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mrworldwideshoulders · 2 years

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One Plus One || reader x PJM

Title: One Plus One Pairing: reader x PJM Word count: 2.3k Rating: rated T / PG-13 Genre: fluff (hehe), maybe a little bit of crack, friends to lovers Summary: Everyone around you seems to be getting married, while you’re feeling like you might be the only single girl left on the planet (or at least in your friend group), but a surprise confession from your best friend and wedding date just might change that. Inspired by Marry You & Treasure - Bruno Mars Warnings: the amount of sweet cotton candy fluff contained within this fic may be damaging to your health, alcohol consumption (they are at a wedding) A/N: this fic is soft and fluffy and it makes me very happy :’) I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. thanks for reading! ly - robyn P.S. As always I do not own BTS or their likenesses, nor do I own the music of Bruno Mars (lol), they simply inspire me. inspo playlist here

a part of the Hooligans series; masterlist here

The wedding is beautiful. The bride, the venue, the flowers, the centerpieces, even the normally hideous bridesmaids’ dresses - all breathtaking. It sounds cliche, but…you wish it were you, standing in front of your friends and family, in a white dress, professing your undying love and affection for the man next to you. You’d hoped it would have happened by now but at the moment it’s not looking promising. Your last long-term relationship ended in relative disaster, you haven’t had a successful date in six months, and once again you’re disgustingly single, with no prospects on the horizon. Now with wedding season upon you, and all of your friends and colleagues tying the knot, you’ve been reminded of that depressing statistic every time you get one of your so-called friends’ wedding invitations in the mail, plus one included, “just in case.” Damn them and their wishful thinking.

"You know you don't have to go to every wedding you get invited to," said your best friend and preferred plus-one Park Jimin when you asked him once again to accompany you to the event. "And you don't have to bring a plus-one every time either, just because they gave you one."

"Of course I do," you protested. "They’re my friends and I want to support them. And I know that. But it's depressing if I don’t, and I look pitiful and sad going by myself. Do you know how boring it is to go to a wedding by yourself? God, so boring. Who else is going to critique every little detail of it with me?"

"Ah, so you need me around to keep things interesting." Jimin nodded, cracking one of his knowing smirks. "Say no more. I'm your man."

You can always count on Jimin to deliver - well, that's an understatement - you can always count on Jimin to overdeliver. Always. It also doesn't hurt that he has impeccable taste in suits, not to mention he wears the hell out of them every time. This time he arrives dressed to the nines in an expensive-looking gray suit, blond hair perfectly styled as usual.

"I'm sorry, who gave you the right to look hotter than me?" you demand from behind him as he's fixing his tie in your hallway mirror. You're well aware of how attractive your best friend is, handsome in that angelic Hollywood heartthrob kind of way. You can't go anywhere with him without someone trying to slip him their number, or attempting to get his number.

His face brightens when he sees you, then he catches himself and clears his throat. "Just putting my looks to good use for once. Besides, isn't the bride supposed to be the center of attention?"

"Please." You roll your eyes. "They say weddings are a great place to meet people. I have to at least try, you know."

"I'm kidding." He chuckles. "You look beautiful, y/n."

Your cheeks color under your foundation and you're grateful he doesn't notice, or he'd never let you live it down. "You're totally just saying that," you say, self-consciously touching your neck. "But thank you."

The ceremony goes off without a hitch, and you find yourself tearing up once or twice as the bride and groom recite the vows they wrote for each other, even though you promised yourself you wouldn’t cry this time. At the reception you're seated with one other person you're acquainted with, a mutual colleague of yours and the bride, and the rest of the table is people you don't know, a mix of guests from both the bride and groom's sides. Jimin, of course, is his usual charming self, and has made friends with most of them by the time they start serving dinner. As you’re getting up to join the buffet line, the champagne you’ve been sipping all night seems to hit you all at once, and you nearly topple over, but you land against Jimin’s chest, which is more solid than it looks, suddenly wrapped in his arms.

You glance up. “Sorry,” you manage.

Jimin looks down at you with an amused expression and chuckles. “Don’t worry about it. Lightweight.”

You steady yourself and aim a slap at his shoulder. “I’m not a lightweight, you jerk. You’re the one who kept bringing me drinks when you knew I hadn’t eaten anything.”

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I forgot you were a lightweight.” He dashes off suddenly.

“Hey!” you shout, scurrying after him.

After the bride and groom have their first dance, he tugs you out onto the dance floor, insisting that people who don’t dance at weddings are the worst. You’re lucky he’s such a good dancer, or else you’re sure you’d look ridiculous. When the DJ announces the bouquet toss and asks all the men to clear the dance floor, Jimin turns to you, looking excited. “Are you going to do it?” he asks.

“What?” you scoff. “No, of course not. I caught it at the last wedding I went to, and look how much good it did me. It’s a dumb tradition, anyway. Give someone else a chance to be disappointed.”

“Go for it,” he says, shoving you towards the cluster of women gathering at the front of the room. “Maybe you’ll get lucky this time,” he adds, smirking.

“I highly doubt that,” you say under your breath, positioning yourself somewhere in the middle of the group and raising your hands, not intending to make much of an effort to catch it.

“One…two…three!” The bride launches the massive bouquet backwards, and the room erupts in cheers as it sails through the air…landing directly in your arms. Your mouth falls open. Again? “Y/n! When’s the big day, y/n?” she beams into the microphone, as the crowd shoves you to the front.

You laugh awkwardly and the crowd of crestfallen women disperses, leaving you to make your way back to your table, your slightly squashed bunch of roses and cascading greenery in tow. Jimin sits in his spot, arms crossed. He’s positively grinning, a little too smugly for your liking.

“I told you,” he says.

“You,” you say, gesticulating at him with the mangled bouquet. “This is your fault. Every time I catch the damn bouquet it probably adds another year to me finding someone.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” He winks. “He might be closer than you think.”

The evening starts to wind down, with the DJ transitioning to mostly slow songs and the lighting about half as bright as it was when the party started, and the reception hall mostly deserted except for a handful of other wedding guests still milling around. You flop down into one of the ribbon and tulle adorned chairs and wiggle your feet out of your high-heeled sandals, your tipsy fingers fumbling with the straps. Your hair is disheveled, coming down out of the updo you spent most of the morning on, and your makeup is almost certainly melted off or smeared halfway across your face. Not that it matters - the bride and groom have since made their exit, headed off to their honeymoon destination under an arch of sparklers, and the photographers have already stopped taking pictures for the night. You heave a loud, huffing sigh and pin your plus-one with a glare. “God, my feet are killing me. Jimin, did we have to dance to every song they played tonight?”

“Sorry.” Jimin smirks. “Got caught up in the moment.” He turns toward you. “It was fun, though, wasn’t it?”

“I suppose,” you say begrudgingly. “Thanks for coming with me, by the way. Sorry for hijacking your weekend again. They should really just stop giving me plus-ones.” You lean back in your chair.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “That's what friends are for, right? But it’s a good thing I like weddings.”

You chuckle half-heartedly. “Well, that makes one of us.”

“And you don’t?” says Jimin, leaning over. “Your ‘wedding vibes’ Pinterest board would like a word with you.”

“Okay, first of all, rude, and second of all…ugh, never mind.” You sigh. “I like the idea of weddings, even if they are expensive and overcommercialized. I think, if done right, they're beautiful celebrations of love, and I would like going to them more if I weren’t so pathetic and single. I just…” You trail off. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”

“What?” he says. He props his chin on one fist and stares at you.

You bite your lip and avoid his gaze. “I feel…stuck. Almost every single one of my friends is getting married and moving on and making these big life changes and commitments. I love my life. I do. And I’m happy for all of them. But it's really lonely to feel like everyone is moving on without you. That's all.”

"Everyone goes at their own pace." Jimin reaches over and touches your hand. "And you still have me," he adds. "I'm not married yet."

"Well, it's only a matter of time before someone snaps you up and makes an honest man out of you," you say, sighing again. "I'm surprised someone hasn't already. And I'm sure she won't like you being my wedding date every weekend. So eventually you'll move on without me too." The thought makes you deeply melancholy for some reason. "Eventually it'll just be me, boring, single, and going to weddings all by myself. I'll probably die alone and be eaten by cats. Not even my cats, like random cats from the street, drawn in by the smell of death." You cup your chin in one hand and stare at the centerpiece on the table, the floating candle almost burned down to nothing.

“So marry me, then,” says Jimin.

You start and look over at him. "What?"

"Marry me," he repeats.

You don’t know if it’s the champagne or the pain in your feet or the serious look on Jimin’s face, but you can’t help but burst out laughing. “Very funny,” you let out in between laughing and gasping for air, expecting him to start laughing along with you, reaching over to slap his arm. "I think we've both had too much to drink, don't you?" He just sits there, head cocked to one side, watching you mischievously. Your laughter fades. “You are kidding, aren’t you?”

“No.” He smiles. “I’m serious. I want to marry you, y/n.”

"Jimin, we aren’t even dating!” you yelp. “Don’t we have to date for like a year minimum before we start talking about getting married?”

“Who says? We’ve been best friends for years. We’ve known each other longer than a lot of people do before they get engaged. We even lived together at one point. And don’t forget you’ve brought me to every wedding you’ve ever been given a plus-one to. We've practically been dating already without even knowing it.” Jimin shrugs. “So why not?”

"Why not?" you squeak. "What do you mean, 'why not'? You could have your pick of anyone who’s the slightest bit interested in you. Why would you want to marry me?"

"You're right," he says. "I could pick anyone. And I pick you." His eyes soften. “I’ve been in love with you for a while, y/n. You're the best person I know, and I can’t imagine my life without you in it. I can’t imagine not seeing you every day. I can’t stand the idea of anyone else being your wedding date. And I don’t want anyone else being mine, either. I want to be by your side, y/n. Always. And if that means marrying you, then so be it.”

“Jimin…” you falter. “Really? How long have you known?”

“I don’t know." He looks down thoughtfully. "Maybe a year? After that guy broke up with you over text?" You remember the guy, who in hindsight wasn’t even your type. "I just…realized I was tired of seeing you get your heart broken, over and over, wasting your time and your tears and your brainpower on these guys who probably never thought twice about ending things."

"I never knew,” you say softly. “A year? Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“I was waiting for my moment.” He smiles. "Every time I thought about it you had just gotten into a relationship or just gotten out of one, or there was something else going on, and the timing just never felt right.”

“I - I don’t even know what to say.” Your cheeks flush.

“Say yes. Say you’ll consider it." He grabs your hands. "Think about it, y/n. We're already so good together as friends. I think it could really work."

You look at your best friend, blond hair rumpled, cheeks pink, tie adorably loose around his neck, nothing but affection in his eyes. He’s never looked at you like that before - or maybe you've just never noticed. "What if it doesn't work?" you say. "What if you're wrong and it doesn't work, so we break up, and we end up hating each other so much that we never speak again? I’ve always had the worst luck with guys. You know that. What are the chances things will end up going badly with you too? You're my best friend. I don't know if I'm willing to risk losing you."

"That won't happen," he says firmly.

You bite your lip pensively. "Do you really think so?"

"I know so," he says emphatically.

You hesitate. “Okay,” you say finally. “I'll consider it. Under two conditions.”

“What is it?” he asks.

“We actually have to date first. I’m not going to marry you right off the bat, my parents will think I'm pregnant and desperate or something."

"So we date first," he says. "Okay. What's the second thing?"

"The second thing is…you accept full responsibility if this blows up in our faces."

“It won't. But I promise,” he says, going straight in to plant a warm kiss on your cheek. “We’ve got this.”

You look up at him, smiling wryly. “I guess you knew what you were talking about when you made me do the bouquet toss, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did. I know everything.” He pats you on the head.

––––

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts au #bts crack #bts jimin #jimin fluff #park jimin #park jimin x reader #park jimin fluff #jimin x reader #bts x reader #marry you #bruno mars #mrworldwideshoulders #reader x pjm

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kiestrokes · 7 months

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Will Scream for Soju | SFW

👻 You managed to trick all seven members into the local horror corn maze. It might cost you though, will it be your life or your wallet?

🧟‍♀️ Read it Here

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happy10thousandyears · 11 months

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English speaking pjm fans who say dongr@ng deserve to die like do yall even play this game like. smh

#he used to care so much about saving lives and curing people #until he got into k Corp and witnessed what they can do #regrow flesh drag bodies from the brink of death without effort. without pain. all you need to pay is the monetary cost #k corp made him question and ultimately look down on the value of human lives #most pjm employee characters suffer and crack under the weight of the system #and it twists them #corporate horror!! corporate tragedy!!#it’s just like hell screen (the short story) you cannot call yoshihide evil for letting his daughter burn in that carriage #when the system didn’t leave him any good choices

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kingofbodyrolls · 4 months

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Stuck in a Snowstorm (m) | pjm

*Part of 'the winter collection'. Read part two. Part three coming soon!

Summary: You don’t know how you ended up here. Stuck with your mortal enemy, Park Jimin, in you car – in a fucking snowstorm.

Pairing: Jimin x female reader

AU + genres: enemies to lovers, pwp (very little plot – let me be honest, it’s just pure smut). Humor/crack, smut.

Rating: Mature/explicit/R18 - this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.

Word count: 6,1K

Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸

Warnings (general) + triggers: Jimin is just a mean jerk and reader is a brat 😂 Lots of banter, crack and anger towards each other.

Warnings (explicit): unprotected sex, dirty talk, orgasm denial/delay, hair pulling, oral (female and male receiving), breasts and nipple play. Also, use of a tie 👀

Author’s note: This is actually a story that I planned to write all the way back in 2017 – better late than never, right? 😂 I had only made the plot with some outline, so I basically started from scrap. But it had been stuck in my mind since FOREVER and now I just miss Jimin a shit ton, so I made this. I hope you enjoy it! Also, it shouldn’t be taken too seriously, it’s just smut with minimal plot and don’t question the characters bad actions or some minor plot holes 😂 (Also, I did not proofread this, just because).

Also, merry Christmas / happy holidays – this is my gift to you wonderful people out there 💜

AND are you guys looking forward to Jimin’s ‘Closer than This’ tomorrow???? 💜

If you prefer to read on AO3 you can read it here 😀

“I can’t believe this…” in disbelief, you mutter, your voice tinged with uncertainty, while you desperately activate the windshield wiper, yearning for even a fleeting glimpse through the thick curtain of falling snow.

“I can,” Jimin declares from his spot beside you in the passenger seat. His playful critique follows swiftly, delivered with a pout and a firm voice, as he shakes his head in mock disbelief, “You're a terrible driver.”

“Am not!” you retort defiantly, your voice cutting through the air, even as your unwavering gaze remains fixed on the snowy expanse ahead.

A curtain of thick snow descends, veiling everything in an opaque white shroud. The road ahead is swallowed by the relentless onslaught, turning visibility into an elusive challenge.

Your hands clench the wheel with a vice-like grip, the strain evident as your knuckles whiten under the pressure. The tension in your entire body is so palpable that it hurts to fucking drive.

Exhaustion weighs on you heavily, a relentless burden, yet the realization hits that you're only halfway to your friends' Christmas party. Two more hours loom ahead, a daunting stretch of time spent in the company of Park Jimin, your sworn enemy.

The decision to share a car ride is a mystery even to yourself; perhaps it was a fleeting concern for the planet, a noble intention to save fuel by consolidating into one vehicle. Yet, as the journey unfolds, the real reasons behind your choice become an enigma.

Regret courses through you like a bitter undercurrent as you ponder the altruistic intentions behind considering the planet and the environment. The thought of advising Jimin to take his own car nags at you, a missed opportunity for a peaceful solo drive. In a self-cursing moment, you rue your own kindness.

“Let me drive; I’m a better driver than you anyway.” Jimin declares with casual confidence, his tone carrying an air of nonchalance.

“Fuck off, Jimin!” you hiss, frustration dripping from your words like venom.

You squint against the relentless assault of heavy snow, the world outside morphing into an indistinct blur as visibility dwindles.

Your pace is deliberate, a cautious dance with the road, but after several minutes, you relent, succumbing to the inevitable by slowing down even further.

“Fine!” you declare, seizing the steering wheel in a determined clench, bringing the car to an abrupt halt.

You pivot your gaze towards Jimin, the words cutting through the tension, “You fucking drive then.”

Shifting the car into park, you unclip your seatbelt with a determined click, swing the door open, and brave the biting embrace of the freezing snowstorm outside.

In synchronized movements, Jimin mirrors your actions, and together, you step out into the frigid air. The two of you converge outside, a silent agreement palpable in the crunch of snow beneath your feet, as you navigate around the car, preparing to swap seats.

“If you crash my car, I’ll kill you.” you menace, venom seeping through your words as you stride past him, positioning yourself in front of the vehicle.

He nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders, a smug satisfaction evident in his demeanor, relishing the fact that you've conceded to let him take the wheel.

Jimin confidently eases his plump figure into the driver's seat, and you avert your gaze (definitely not looking!). With a self-assured demeanor, he expertly adjusts the seat to accommodate his frame.

You attempt to thaw your chilled hands under the blast of hot air from the air conditioner, the sour mood hanging heavy around you as you settle into the passenger seat, donning a visible pout.

“Relax, I’m not gonna crash your precious car,” he teases, the playfulness evident in his voice, just before smoothly shifting the car into gear and forging ahead.

In response, a huff escapes your lips, arms instinctively crossing in a silent declaration of your lingering displeasure.

You surrender to a sense of ease as Jimin takes the wheel, his deliberate pace aligning with caution. It's a mutual understanding — in this snow-laden terrain, slow and steady becomes a shared creed for safety.

The once teasing atmosphere now gives way to palpable tension, the air thick with the weight of swirling snow that has intensified. Jimin, too, struggles visibly against the heavier onslaught, the challenge of navigating through the snow turning the car into a place of shared unease.

Your gaze fixates on Jimin, observing as his fingers clench the steering wheel with a tension mirroring your own, and his shoulders stiffen in sync. A chuckle escapes you, unexpectedly audible, as you notice the ironic similarity between his reaction and your earlier demeanor.

“What’s so funny?” Jimin spits, the tension reverberating unmistakably in his voice, each word a note in the symphony of strained emotions.

“Your driving,” you start to chuckle, the amusement laced with a hint of mischief.

“You're not exactly outclassing my skills,” you declare, sinking into the seat with a self-assured smirk, relishing the satisfaction of your own driving prowess.

“You’re a fucking brat, you know that?” he seethes, the words charged with anger, his gaze sharply turning towards you, locking onto your eyes.

Despite Jimin's cautious speed, the car subtly veers, casting doubt on whether you're still on the road or lost in the oblivion of the thick snow. The blinding white landscape offers no clarity, leaving you uncertain and immersed in a disorienting wintry haze.

“I can’t see fucking shit!” he exclaims, abruptly bringing the car to a halt and cutting the engine in an instant, plunging you both into an eerie silence amid the obscured surroundings.

Your gaze locks onto him, urgency etched across your face. “What are you doing? We've got Seokjin's Christmas party in less than an hour!” The frustration in your voice reverberates, a ticking clock amplifying the stakes of the impending deadline.

“It’s not safe to drive in this freaking snowstorm!” he bellows in response, frustration escalating in his voice, punctuated by the sharp flick of the hazard warning lights, signaling the urgency and danger of the situation.

“I just want to get there already. I'd rather not be stuck with you,” you seethe, teeth gritted, a visible huff escaping in a cloud of anger. The tension hangs heavy, fueled by the biting words that linger in the now frosty air.

“Like I'd willingly be stuck with your sour attitude,” he retorts, his gaze sweeping you from head to toe for some inscrutable reason. “I don't even like you,” he declares, the words loaded with an unspoken tension that hangs in the frosty air between you two.

You gape at him, the bitter truth resonating in the air—an unspoken agreement that neither of you harbors any liking for the other. The animosity between you has solidified into a hostile dynamic, despite the shared circle of friends that consistently throws you together, much to your enduring displeasure.

Jimin exudes an infuriating level of cockiness, ceaselessly pushing your buttons and expertly tapping into the art of annoyance until it feels like your nerves are unraveling at his mere presence.

You'd willingly brave the biting cold rather than endure the prospect of an unpredictable future confined with him inside the car. Fate seems to revel in mocking you, as the car rapidly succumbs to the encroaching chill, each passing minute intensifying the unwelcome cold that now permeates the confined space.

You clutch your arms tightly around your body, desperately running your hands up and down in a futile attempt to gather some warmth. A curse slips from your lips as you question your own sanity—why in the world did you take off your jacket for the drive? Now it's trapped in the damn trunk, and the thought of braving the freezing cold to retrieve it is utterly unappealing.

“Cold?” he chuckles, the sound carrying an edge of amusement that only amplifies the chill sinking into your bones.

You nod your head.

“Well, I’m not giving you my jacket,” he states matter-of-factly, cocooning himself in the evident warmth of his puffer jacket. Damn Park Jimin and his infuriating nonchalance, he's truly a master of being a jerk!

“Can't even manage a simple act of kindness,” you mutter with disdain, the words escaping in a sharp hiss, a low and almost grumbling tone, accompanied by a dismissive eye roll.

“What's that?” he asks, a smirk playing on his lips, relishing the snug warmth of his jacket while you shiver in the cold.

“Fuck you, Park!” you shout directly in his face, your words laced with frustration. Instead of a retort, he just chuckles, the sound taking on a manic edge that lingers in the frosty air, leaving an unsettling resonance to your heated exchange.

An indeterminate amount of time slips away, lost in the relentless snowfall that shows no sign of relenting. Frustration building, you reach for your phone and decide to text Seokjin, realizing that this damn snow isn't planning on letting up anytime soon.

You [15.42]: Stuck in a snowstorm with fucking Park Jimin. I don’t know when we’ll arrive 🙄

Jin [15.48]: Just stay safe 😂

Fuck Seokjin! You’re convinced that he’s somewhere enjoying a good laugh at your misfortune.

A surge of realization hits you like a bolt of inspiration—there's a blanket tucked away in the backseat. Swiftly moving up, you make your way to the center console.

“What’re you doing?” Jimin questions, his curiosity evident in the quirk of his eyebrow as you navigate over the center console, leaving him bewildered by your sudden, mysterious movements.

“There's a blanket back here,” you announce triumphantly, finally laying hands on the sought-after comfort. With a satisfying plop into the seat, you tug the blanket snugly over your cold body, a gesture that transforms the atmosphere within the car from chilly discomfort to a brief oasis of warmth.

After a few contemplative minutes, Jimin breaks the silence with a question that hangs in the air, “Mind if I join you?”

Your mouth falls agape, and your eyes widen in astonishment at his unexpected question. Collecting yourself, you respond with a hint of sarcasm, “You weren't keen on sharing your jacket with me. What makes you think I'd be willing to share my blanket with you?” The tension between you and Jimin escalates with each word, hanging palpably in the cold air.

Without a pause for your response, he defies the silence, navigating over the center console with the same determined crawl you had exhibited moments before. The unspoken tension between you both amplifies, turning the confined space into an arena of silent rivalry.

Seated beside you, he makes a grab for the blanket cocooning your shivering form. Resolute, you refuse to surrender it, your hands engaging in a tug of war with him.

“Share, you brat,” he hisses with a mix of irritation and amusement, his determination evident in the forceful tug at the blanket.

“No!” you hiss back defiantly, the word laced with a stubborn refusal as you hold your ground.

With a forceful yank, he wrenches the blanket from your grasp, and in the struggle, he ends up with it draped across his lap. The victorious outcome of the skirmish leaves a charged atmosphere between you and Jimin, the warmth of the blanket now a coveted prize in his possession.

A triumphant smirk plays on his lips as he envelops himself in the captured blanket. His eyes lock onto your moping expression before descending further, a mischievous gleam indicating that his victory goes beyond the simple conquest of the blanket.

“I can totally see your nipples,” he chuckles.

You glance down, and sure enough, your nipples stand out against the satin material of your dress. Swiftly, you react, pressing your hands over your breasts in a sudden move to conceal their visibility.

“Why the fuck are you look at my tits?” you yell at him, your frustration audible, but he merely chuckles in response.

“You must really be freezing, huh?” he observes, and you simply nod in agreement, a silent acknowledgment of the biting cold that permeates the confined space.

“I can warm you up,” he suggests with a playful wink, both eyes and eyebrows conspiring in unison. The underlying implication of his words hangs in the air, and you instantly grasp the nature of his playful proposition.

“I'm not that desperate, Park,” you scoff with a hint of disgust, the rejection laced with a prideful undertone. In response, he simply chuckles, finding amusement in your candid dismissal.

Following his suggestive remark, an electric charge seems to surge through the atmosphere in the car. Your mind involuntarily races, envisioning the prospect of warming up next to him, his hands tracing every contour of your body, his di—

Stop. You admonish yourself sternly, a mental command to cease the vivid thoughts involving him. He's your enemy, you remind yourself, emphasizing the intense dislike you harbor for Park Jimin. The internal conflict heightens, the struggle between attraction and animosity weaving a complex web within your mind.

His chuckle resonates beside you, a sound that grates on your nerves. Irritation mounts, and you sharply turn your head towards him, your annoyance evident in the flicker of your gaze.

“Need help?” he inquires, his gaze suddenly deepening, the darkness in his eyes unveiling a subtle intensity that lingers in the air.

“With what?” you spit back at him, the confusion evident in your tone.

“You're grinding against the seat,” he bluntly points out, his gaze fixed on your crotch. You glance down, discovering your unconscious movement against the fabric of the seat. A sudden realization dawns, and an expletive slips from your lips.

A wave of discomfort washes over you, an intense desire to squirm and disappear into the ground, engulfed by the embarrassment that now saturates the air. The profound sense of shame hangs heavy, making the moment so excruciatingly humiliating.

You inhale sharply, drawing in a breath that seems to shudder through you, and with a deliberate move, you roll your hips once more.

“No…” you murmur, the word escaping with a shaky uncertainty that even your own ears can detect.

Jimin scoots closer to you, the warmth radiating from his body sending sparks that seem to dance through yours.

He leans into you, his mouth dangerously close to your ear, and in a breathy whisper, he offers, “I can help you with that.”

His words alone send a jolt through your body, a sudden tightening that ignites a fiery sensation. Damn it. The internal conflict and desire entwine, creating a tumultuous storm within you in the presence of him. It's undeniable—your entire being yearns for the touch you never thought you'd crave.

His warm hand finds its way to your thigh, and a low moan escapes your lips at the contact. Fuck.

His hand ventures down to the hem of your dress, grabbing and pulling it back to expose more of your thighs. A shiver runs down your spine as the cold air embraces your newly exposed skin, and a hiss escapes your lips. However, the sensation is quickly replaced by a different kind of warmth as his hand cups your clothed core. A breathless expletive escapes your lips, leaving your mind in a blissful blank state.

Instantly, you feel the warmth of his hand intimately against you, and your head falls back against the seat involuntarily. A soft gasp escapes your lips as you respond to the touch, unable to resist rolling your hips into the sensation.

“You’re needy,” he breathes against your ear, the words carrying a provocative weight that reverberates through you.

His warm breath sends a cascade of shivers down your spine, clouding your thoughts in a haze of desire. The desire for release intensifies, eclipsing any reservations you may have about seeking it from your mortal enemy.

“Shut up and just touch me,” you utter in frustration, the words punctuated by the deliberate grind of your hips into his hand, a desperate quest for any kind of friction. You're acutely aware of the desperation seeping through your actions, but at this moment, you don’t give a fuck.

And touch you he does. His fingers begin to rub your clit over the fabric of your panties, and you don't hold back your moans.

Your hips gyrate, a rhythmic dance in pursuit of your impending orgasm. The sensation builds rapidly, a cascade of pleasure on the brink. The question lingers in your mind—why does your body respond so eagerly to his touch?

He tugs your panties to the side, his touch on your clit eliciting a gasp of pleasure from your lips. The warmth of his fingers against your skin amplifies the sensation, and you're already soaked.

“You're so wet already,” he chuckles against your ear, his lips teasingly grazing your skin. The desire to retaliate surges within you, but then, with a sudden and deliberate movement, one of his fingers enters your pussy, stealing your breath away.

He skillfully fingers you with one finger, the motion of his wrist simultaneously stroking against your clit, creating a sensation that's nothing short of delicious. The desire for more intensifies, an insatiable craving building within you.

“More,” you breathe, your voice escaping chapped and laden with a raw, lustful edge.

Jimin adds one more digit, and you relish in the precision with which he finds your soft spot, hitting it perfectly.

“Are you gonna come on my fingers?” he whispers in your ear, the suggestive question sending an instant jolt through your body, a yearning for more.

A throaty moan escapes your lips as you willingly spread your legs wider, granting him more space.

He deftly introduces a third finger into you, and you feel yourself losing control, swept away by the overwhelming pleasure. It's already so good—how is he so skilled with his fingers?

The way he skillfully uses his fingers inside you while simultaneously rubbing your clit with his wrist propels you relentlessly toward the precipice of climax. The knot in your stomach tightens, and you're on the verge of that intoxicating release.

“Jimin, fuck. I'm gonna come soon,” you pant, the urgency in your voice underscored by the rhythmic grind of your pussy against his hand.

He accelerates the pace of his fingers inside you, bringing you to the brink, but just as your body teeters on the edge of release, he abruptly withdraws his fingers and hand altogether.

His fingers and hand vanish, leaving you hanging on the precipice of your orgasm. The abrupt absence intensifies the frustration and desire you feel surge through your body. Fuck!

Your legs tremble beneath you, and a frustrated hiss escapes your lips as you pant for breath.

“You didn't want to share the blanket,” he spews, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he revels in your evident frustration.

You're on the verge of tears, overwhelmed with anger. The desperate desire for release compounds the emotional turmoil within you. The audacity of him! The frustration boils over, cementing Jimin as nothing short of a fucking jerk in your mind.

“I'm not letting you come unless you beg for it,” he adds in a smug voice, a smirk playing on his lips as he purposefully puts some distance between you.

You can't believe him. The brink of pleasure was within reach—just a few more rubs and you would have unraveled on his fingers. The yearning is palpable, a frustrating ache that intensifies with each passing moment.

You growl at him, caught in a heated internal debate about whether to plead with him or not.

Your pussy clenches around emptiness, a visceral reminder of your desperation.

“Please, Jimin. Please let me come,” you implore, locking eyes with him and turning your body toward him. The desperation in your gaze is palpable. Almost inadvertently, you press your chest closer, your stiff nipples drawing his gaze downward.

He licks his lips teasingly, a wicked glint in his eyes, before seizing your hips and drawing you irresistibly toward him. With a swift yet controlled motion, he manipulates your body, guiding you to lie on the seat. As you settle into the unexpected position, he chuckles at the genuine confusion etched across your face.

“Because you asked so nicely,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with sarcasm, and in a bold move, he shoves your dress up to your stomach. With swift precision, he snatches your panties, sliding them down your legs. “I'll give you what you want.”

He discards your panties with a deliberate flick, his focus unwavering as he plunges down to your throbbing pussy. There's no hesitation; he immediately delves into licking at your folds and clit with a hunger that matches your own.

Your body instinctively arches off the length of the seat, a wave of pleasure coursing through you. It feels unbelievably good. In the heat of the moment, your hands find his hair, fingers gripping and pulling at the strands, eliciting a guttural groan from him.

Your muscles tighten, and the echoes of the previous orgasm, forcefully ripped from you, return with an intensity that feels tenfold. Each breath is a furious pant as he continues to lap at your folds, the relentless pleasure building and intertwining with your gasps.

Then, with a skillful touch, he adds a finger to your clit, rubbing it in tantalizing circles. Your senses heighten, and just as you succumb to the pleasure, he skillfully continues to ravish your entrance with his tongue.

“Jimin!” you scream his name, a raw and unrestrained cry escaping your lips as you reach the peak of ecstasy on his tongue. Your body tightens, toes curling, and you involuntarily hitch your heels against his legs. In the throes of pleasure, your vision blurs, and you fight for air.

He chuckles, a throaty sound that reverberates in the aftermath of your high. Not giving you a moment to fully come down, he skillfully inserts two of his fingers inside you, drawing a hiss from your lips at the touch—your body rendered oversensitive.

He extends his fingers, proudly displaying them, glistening with your intimate juices. A wicked glint in his eyes, he issues a command, “Clean them.”

You meet his gaze defiantly, a spark of challenge in your eyes, before obediently rising to carry out his command. Taking hold of his hand, you sensually draw his slick digits into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them like a provocative dance. Your eyes lock onto his, witnessing the raw desire in his gaze as you release his fingers with an audible ‘pop’.

“I hate you,” you declare, breathless, the words carrying a mixture of frustration and desire. His response is a low chuckle, his perceptive gaze catching the teasing glint in your eyes.

He leans back, a provocative smirk playing on his lips, and starts palming himself through his dress pants. Your eyes involuntarily follow the movement of his hands, and a jolt of desire courses through you as you realize he's already rock hard. The unmistakable bulge strains against his pants, a visual testament to the arousal simmering between you two.

“I can help you with that,” you purr, a sultry promise lingering in your eyes, eager to reciprocate the pleasure.

He chuckles, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and smoothly turns his body to fully face you. With a teasing smirk, he unzips his pants, skillfully pulling down both his trousers and underwear enough to liberate his hardened dick.

His cock springs free, defiantly brushing against the bottom of his loosened tie, a sight that's undeniably tantalizing. Perfectly sculpted, it's veiny and slightly flushed at the tip, mirroring the allure of every inch of him. A surge of conflicting emotions overwhelms you – the hate, the desire, the acknowledgment of his undeniable appeal. You despise how effortlessly good-looking he is, from the tousled blonde locks to those lips you now crave to taste.

However, your gaze returns to his dick, noting its average size but with a satisfying girth that catches your attention. A subtle hint of anticipation flickers in your eyes, and your tongue instinctively darts out to moisten your lips.

“Then get to work,” he pants, a breathy command, as he sensually spreads his legs, creating an inviting space for you.

You descend eagerly, ensuring your mouth is generously coated with saliva before you engulf him, starting with just the tip.

He hisses the moment your lips meet his dick, his head instinctively colliding with the window behind him, an involuntary exclamation escaping, “Ah, fuck.”

You engulf more of him, your mouth descending entirely, and the sound of his primal moan reverberates in response. You add a sultry hum, a note of satisfaction coursing through you.

You initiate a slow, deliberate pace, skillfully sucking him off, and anything beyond your mouth's capacity, you sensually stroke with your hand.

His hands seek out your hair, effortlessly capturing the neatly arranged high ponytail that he grasps with a possessive confidence.

You revel in the subtle tension, accelerating your descent on him with a newfound urgency. Your tongue skillfully traces intricate patterns, dancing across his tip and the sensitive folds of his frenulum.

He moans in ecstasy as you withdraw with a satisfying ‘pop,’ only to treat the head of his throbbing dick like a tempting lollipop, your tongue swirling around it with deliberate sensuality.

As you glance up at him, he appears utterly lost in the moment. His eyes, once vibrant, are now dilated orbs of desire, his parted lips releasing audible breaths. The state of bliss enveloping him transforms his features into a breathtaking display of vulnerability and beauty.

You envelop him once more, relishing the subtle tremor that courses through him, a tangible response to the sensations you're skillfully orchestrating with your lips and tongue.

He yanks you away from him, his voice a raw whisper laden with desire, “I want to fuck you.”

You prop yourself up, captivated by the transformation before you. The usual arrogant Park Jimin is replaced by this vulnerable, needy version, and against your better judgment, a desperate craving for him builds inside you. You ache for him to consume you entirely.

A mischievous smirk plays on your lips as you echo his earlier taunts, “Beg for it,” you challenge, aware of the palpable tension between you, a shared desire pulsating in the charged air.

A low, throaty chuckle escapes him as his fingers glide through the tousled strands of his blonde hair, a mixture of frustration and amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’re really a fucking brat,” he hisses, a smirk playing on his lips.

He sits up, a subtle smirk playing on his lips as he sheds his open jacket, the confined warmth of the car now turning uncomfortably sweltering. You can't help but acknowledge the irony; at least you're not freezing anymore, which, after all, was the primary objective of this unexpected detour, wasn't it?

“Please let me fuck you,” his plea hangs in the air, a desperate echo of your own request, and you can't help but chuckle, slowly crawling closer to him.

“Turn around, let me straddle you. Leaning against the headrest will give us more space,” you suggest, and he shifts in an instant, his arousal evident in the casual sway of his dick with each movement.

Then you confidently straddle him, your hand instinctively reaching for his dick, guiding him to align perfectly with your eager entrance.

Before you lower yourself onto him, you sensually trail his dick through your wetness, relishing in the intimate friction. A moan escapes your lips as you then descend onto his lap in one smooth, sultry motion.

The exquisite stretch sends a shiver down your spine, and he effortlessly glides in, eliciting a breathless ‘Fuck!’ from your lips.

As your hands find their place on his shoulders for support, his eyes, now hooded, follow your every movement as you begin to ride him with a rhythm that echoes the passion pulsing between you.

You pant furiously, your breath hot against his face. The sensation of him inside you is nothing short of heavenly, an electrifying connection that feels as if every contour of him aligns perfectly with every curve of your pussy.

“Ah,” ecstasy courses through you with each fervent bounce on his throbbing length, a harmonious rhythm of pleasure escaping your lips in breathless gasps.

“You’re so tight,” his ragged breaths synchronize with the rhythmic clench of your walls, his hands anchoring to your hips, adding an electrifying intensity to each blissful plunge into your velvet warmth.

Between gasps, you manage to growl, “Fuck. I hate you,” only to be met with his deep, throaty chuckle as he continues the relentless rhythm of his thrusts, each one a tumultuous clash of conflicting desires.

Amidst heavy breaths, he accuses, “I know you're lying,” his words punctuated by the rhythmic tempo of his panting. Undeterred, he leans in for a searing kiss, his lips caressing yours with a softness akin to pillows. Your defenses crumble as you melt into his touch, tongues colliding in a fervent dance that defies the lingering tension.

“Why is it that you feel so damn good?” you gasp, interrupting the kiss only to plunge back into its intoxicating depths. Each moment spent in his embrace feels like a surrender to a passionate whirlwind. His every thrust reverberates through you, sending electrifying shivers down your spine, an exquisite dance of pleasure and desire that you find impossible to resist.

“Perhaps I should prolong your climax, just as you did to me?” you purr with a mischievous smirk playing on your lips, resurrecting the playful brat within you.

He chuckles, his hands leaving the curve of your hips to gracefully undo his tie at his neck. Your gaze fixates on him, observing each deliberate move as he frees himself from the constriction of the tie, all while you continue to ride him with an unabashed hunger.

“You really are a fucking brat,” he mutters, the corners of his lips quirking into a sly smile as he pulls off his tie. “Now, shut up,” he commands, silencing any potential retorts by expertly stuffing the tie into your open, protesting mouth.

You yield to the makeshift gag, sinking your teeth into the fabric, muffling the symphony of your own desperate moans.

A smirk plays on his lips as his hands reclaim your hips, commanding, “Now take it like the fucking brat that you are.”

His movements become a relentless rhythm, thrusting deep inside you. All you can do is cling to his shoulders, swept away by the force of his desire.

Ecstasy courses through you, and you can't help but moan into the fabric of his tie. It feels too damn good to contain.

His voice drips with satisfaction as he senses your walls tightening around him, and a smug grin plays on his lips. “You like that, huh?”

A guttural moan escapes your lips in response, the crescendo of pleasure building, and you sense the impending climax drawing near.

“Fuck yourself on my dick,” his command hangs in the air, thick with desire, as his hands abandon your hips, embarking on a journey down your back. With a swift motion, he unzips your dress, letting it cascade down your shoulders.

Your naked breasts dances to the rhythm of his powerful thrusts, an erotic ballet of passion and desire.

“Fuck. You’re not wearing a bra, just like I thought,” his eyes widen in delighted surprise, a devilish grin playing on his lips. His hands eagerly exploring the contours of your exposed tits.

His words hang in the air, sending a shiver down your spine. “Your tits are beautiful,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing delicate patterns around your stiffened nipples. Your body reacts instinctively, a primal moan escaping through the tie as desire courses through you.

Every grind and movement becomes a challenge as he expertly tweaks and pulls at your nipples, sending waves of pleasure and distraction through your body. You fight to maintain a rhythm, desperately trying to pleasure yourself on his dick amidst the electrifying sensations dancing across your chest.

As your walls clench around him, a whirlwind of sensations floods your body, signaling that the peak of pleasure is just a breath away. Every nerve is on edge, and the anticipation of an imminent climax tingles through you, a storm about to erupt.

As he skillfully massages your tits, he breathlessly teases, “You’re gonna come, aren’t you?” his words send shivers down your spine, intensifying the pleasure that's building within you.

With a fervent nod, you surrender to the sensations, your muffled moans echoing through the tie as pleasure courses through every inch of your being.

As he plunges into you, he urges you with a guttural command, “Cream my cock, brat.” The raw desire in his voice fuels the intensity of your connection, igniting a blaze of passion.

Overwhelmed by desire, his dick finding every exquisite spot within you, you unleash a guttural moan, your pleasure echoing into the fabric of the tie as you climax on his pulsating cock.

Jimin's fingers twist around your hardened nipples, sending electric shocks of ecstasy through your body. A guttural exclamation escapes your lips, muffled by the tie, as pleasure courses through every fiber of your being.

He pounds into you relentlessly, the rhythm building towards an intense climax. His hands firmly grip your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he desperately seeks his own release.

He reaches the peak of ecstasy, his body shuddering with the force of his release as he spills into the warmth of your pussy.

Heaving for breath, the silence between you two speaks volumes, a shared understanding lingering in the air as you descend from the euphoric heights of your climaxes.

Collapsing onto his chest, you revel in the soothing aftermath, liberated from the restraint of his tie. As his body relaxes within you, the intimacy lingers, a tangible connection forged in the heat of passion.

His lips graze your neck with a gentle touch, igniting a cascade of thoughts about the significance behind this tender gesture.

As laughter fills the air, shattering the lingering tension, your attention shifts to the foggy windows and the oppressive heaviness in the car, making each breath a deliberate act.

As you hastily redress, Jimin slips into his jacket and steps out of the car, retrieving your coat from the trunk. With a gentle handoff, he passes it to you, and you quickly slip into its comforting warmth.

“Thank you,” your gratitude escapes in a hushed whisper, laden with a touch of bewilderment. The encounter, while undeniably electrifying, leaves you grappling with conflicting emotions. It's Park Jimin, your sworn adversary, and the intensity of the shared moment hangs between you, a paradox of pleasure and rivalry.

“You’re welcome,” his response carries a self-assured smirk, echoing the lingering traces of the shared intimacy. As he confidently returns to the driver's seat, you mirror his actions, settling into the passenger's seat, both enveloped in a charged silence that speaks volumes.

The snowfall has eased, no longer as relentless as before. A subtle nostalgia creeps in as you reflect on his desire to keep you warm. The gentle flakes now fall, leaving you yearning for the lingering warmth of his touch.

As he revs the engine to life, a gust of chilly air sweeps through the car, causing you to emit an involuntary grunt. His chuckle fills the cabin, accompanied by a smirk and a teasing wink. “I can warm you up anytime,”

You shoot him a moping gaze, wondering if he has a knack for deciphering your thoughts. Can he sense the magnetic pull, the unspoken attraction that mirrors your own inner turmoil?

You return his smile, a silent agreement resonating between you as he steers the car forward, setting the wheels and unspoken possibilities in motion.

Three hours fashionably late, you finally arrive at Seokjin's Christmas party. The distant hum of music greets you as you step out of the car, signaling that the celebration is already in full swing.

As you rap your knuckles against the door, you steal a glance at Jimin who's busy adjusting his attire. His fingers deftly tighten the knot of his tie, and his pants get a quick, inconspicuous tug into place.

As Seokjin swings the door open, a tantalizing waft of mouthwatering aromas envelops your senses, instantly sparking a smile on your face.

Seokjin's laughter echoes as he playfully accuses, “You fucked Jimin!” and your jaw drops in disbelief to the floor.

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hellbornsworld · 7 months

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JUNGKOOK WATTPAD RECOMMENDATIONS(3)₊˚✧ ﾟ.🐈‍⬛˚₊‧꒰ა ‧₊˚

˖°࿐ •⁀➷˖°࿐ •⁀➷˖°࿐ •⁀➷˖°࿐ •⁀➷˖°࿐ •⁀

"Would you dare to go inside?"

❝The moment I put this ring on your finger, you became my property.❞

🫧 𝐒𝐄𝐗 & 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 | CEO!Jungkook X Employee!Reader | Fuckboy JK | Completed | Re-Uploaded in inkitt

"Do me Jungkook, p-please."

"With all the pleasure. I will fuck you, only fuck you with everything I have."

"I'm just 2 % straight y/n, but I can love you more than a hundred percent straight man"

"Admit it Jungkook, she'd rather sleep with me." Jimin Vs Jungkook

"fuck yourself... and let me watch"

❝She's a delicate little flower, hyung,❞ Jungkook grabs his leather jacket and slips it on. ❝And if anyone is going to hear sinful moans pass those innocent lips, it'll be me.❞

"i have died everyday waiting for you."

"i should be the one lying next to you at night."

What's wrong with being a little chaotic? -J JK

🫧 𝗥𝗲𝗱 | Mafia+Ceo!JK X Reader | 53 Chapters | Duration-8h 18m | Ongoing

"That dress-" he says, eyes raking down your body. "-is 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯 fucking distracting."

🫧 A Little Burden | Jungkook X Reader | 36 Chapters | Duration-3h 35m | Completed

I still remember that day clearly.....every night it comes back to me like a nightmare. The small fragile human getting pushed into my arms. Tears streaming down my face as I looked at her....Doctors storming in from everywhere trying everything they could to keep her alive. The look in her eyes she gave me made me break inside.

She knew she wasn't going to make it.

She smiled at me and took one last look at her child before speaking.

" notice me senpai " - jjk

A child must be sacrificed in order for the city to gain its happiness. a tale when doom and love are two sides of the same coin.

When the doctor tells the Jeon's that their newborn Jungsoo could die due to his premature birth, Mr. Jeon decides to clone him as soon as possible.

To their surprise, Jungsoo is able to grow up happy and healthy along with his clone, Jungkook, who's the total opposite of him.

❝ -How much is your daughter? ❞

Jungkook loves food and computer games, but compare to those two you are his favorite thing in this world.

He is the spitting image of an Angel but the blood in his veins is that of the Devil's.

❝Your son, he looks very similar to Jungkook...❞

Leave it to a 3-year-old to bring two parents back together.

❝ she slipped away the same way the velvet box slipped in my hand ❞ she was oddly peculiar and pure mystery yet, he still finds the refuge of feeling at "home" to the mute girl whom he met at the seaside.

A prince and servant girl grew up together in a castle. Best friends for life until that love as friends changed to something more. All was well until the prince was to be married and everything changed. Forever forbidden to be together but can one fateful reunion change everything?

"Jeon Jungkook, I like you." You said, your eyes wide and cheeks on fire. You finally had the guts to tell your long time crush what you feel about him. Jungkook smiled, giving you a spark of hope and a wash of relief. Or maybe it was a false hope or just him being kind as he says, "I'm sorry but I'm already in a relationship."

"...Kookie" she calls that's when Kookie's small little hands tugged onto his mother's sleeve's pulling her to look at him.

"what's wrong Kookie?"

❝I want to buy her❞

"You smell very nice."

"Are you...trying to flirt or something?"

A socially awkard witch has to struggle with being the sudden love (?) interest of a wolf shifter

"If they catch us, they will kill us."

"I don't give a fuck right now, baby."

"I don't call myself a pornstar, but I'm pretty famous on Live Babes (LB). I make money doing what people ask from me and they are mainly men, married man. Some even gave a wife or kids. But I don't care about that at all. The only thing I want is to continue earn their money. Oh! It's already 9PM! Don't forget to watch the show!"

"I can't wait, princess." -J.JK

What would you do if one day you woke up as Jeon Jungkook?

🫧His Gangster Girl | Jungkook X Gangster!Reader | 68 Chapters | Duration-8h 57m | completed

'She is a maze with no escape.'

🫧 Fuck It List | BFF!Jungkook X Reader | 60 Chapters | Duration-5h 30m | Completed

• Go skinny-dipping

• Have a make-out session

• Try foreplay with ice .....

˖°࿐ •⁀➷˖°࿐ •⁀➷˖°࿐ •⁀➷˖°࿐ •⁀➷˖°࿐ •⁀

MASTERLIST is here for other recommendations

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eoieopda · 1 year

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menace (pjm) - pt. i

Just because you hate him doesn't mean you can't fuck him.

Pairing: Park Jimin x Kim!Reader Type: 1/6 (Mini-Series) ⇢ Next Chapter | Masterlist Word Count: 1.8K Summary: Your shithead brother, Seokjin, is throwing his annual Valentine's Day party. You didn't want to go in the first place - and now his shithead friend, Jimin, is responsible for getting you there. Content: Smut (18+ - DON'T TEST ME, MINORS); Seokjin's younger sister AU; fuck buddies that hate each other; mean!Jimin; brat!Reader; spanking and one (1) pussy slap; degradation; v fingering; orgasm denial; ✨ t e n s i o n ✨ A/N: I've been marinating on this idea for a minute, so I figured why not try it on Valentine's Day with no prior warning? Jade chooses violence, always. I dedicate this to my wife, @jihopesjoint, because she deserves a Jimin fic for once, lmao. Tagging: @borahae-k @i-purple-buff-bunni @pamzn @myimaginationsrunningwild @nonbinary-demonbrat @mgthecat @btschimeyplanet @jaejoontrashpanda @taebaelove @cyanide-mustard @xjoonchildx @jkoofier (couldn't tag)

“Stop gawking.”

Your tone was flat, and your eyes were fixated on your own reflection as you fussed with your eyeliner. It had been made abundantly clear to Seokjin that you wanted nothing to do with this party, but your brother never listened. It’s tradition, he’d whined, the reservation has already been made.

“I mean it. Fuck off.”

You broke the eye contact you’d been maintaining with yourself and glanced over your reflection’s shoulder. Standing and smirking near the door, Park Jimin cocked his head to the side.

Far and away the worst of your brother’s friends, you added Jimin’s presence in your life to the long list of grievances you held against Seokjin. Other notable entries on that list were: Seokjin shirking off his promise to drive you to the club; asking Jimin to sub in on his behalf; and failing to inform you of the lineup change because he knew you'd kill him with advanced notice.

On Jimin’s list of infractions — among many, many other things — was his refusal to let you finish getting ready at home. He was insufferable and impatient, but he was your last resort. Knowing this, he'd forced you to hurriedly pack up your cosmetics, which meant you had to finish applying them in the club’s green room.

That motherfucker.

“Are they uneven on purpose?” Jimin scrunched up his nose in feigned confusion, gesturing back and forth between your black wings.

You glanced at him briefly before returning your gaze to the task at hand. “Is there really nothing better you could be doing right now? Laying down in the middle of an intersection, perhaps?”

“Here I was, thinking you’d be grateful for the attention. This is your second consecutive Valentine’s Day alone, isn’t it? Poor girl.” Jimin cooed.

When you didn’t turn to acknowledge him the way he expected, you heard footfalls approaching ominously from behind.

“Attention’s what you want, isn’t it? Looking downright desperate in this fucking dress.” Jimin’s palm collided harshly with your ass cheek through the fabric of that fucking dress, fingers digging in and daring you to bruise.

He should’ve known by now what you could and couldn’t take; but if he’d somehow forgotten, your lack of reaction would serve as a necessary reminder. After all, not far from his grip was the bite mark he’d left you with last week.

What is this — amateur hour?

Your bored expression — blinking idly back at him in the mirror — incensed him and you knew it. Jimin’s frustration with you was palpable, never-ending, and wholly reciprocated. It vibrated off him, echoed off you, and trapped you in a perpetual fever pitch. It'd been like this for months, and you got the feeling that it’d stay this way until one of you cracked and tapped out.

It sure as shit won't be me.

Eventually, his hand left you. Jimin himself, however, did not. He stayed put behind you and said nothing; simply watching in silence as you smoked out your lower lash-line with deep, matte brown. His expression was indecipherable, but undeniably focused.

You wondered if part of him relished moments like this. If — in the rare quiet where you weren’t fighting or fucking — he felt at peace. He certainly looked that way, but not for long.

You never let the dust settle, though; never let him get too comfortable, or think he was truly welcomed. You ruined it with pleasure, always, by opening your mouth and saying something sharp.

Then, he’d do or say something cruel in response with the sole purpose of pissing you off. And then that toxic carousel would keep on turning. Around and around and around you went, each silently satisfied that the other was still spinning, too.

Finally allowing Jimin to know that you’d caught him staring, you rolled your eyes. “How about, instead of leering at me, you go find Seokjin and make unsolicited observations about his love life? There’s plenty wrong there to keep you occupied.”

He smirked, just slightly, still refusing to acknowledge the fact that he liked your sense of humor.

“Or —” You drawled, painting your lashes black with mascara. “You could find someone to fuck that actually enjoys your presence. Statistically speaking, there has to be somebody for you.”

When he turned on his heel and headed for the door, you expected that he was storming off. You didn’t look up, unaffected by his near-constant theatrics. That boy was entirely too dramatic, and if the one thing he wanted was your attention, he wasn’t going to get it.

But instead of hearing the door fly open and then slam shut, you heard the lock engage. The faint, metallic click from across the room sent your heart into the seat of your throat. Soon enough, he was pressed against the back of you, hot breath causing your pulse to sprint.

Jimin plucked the tube of mascara from your fingers, earning a glare. “This isn’t waterproof, is it?” he asked with a frown, eyes scanning the label. They flicked up to you and saw the unasked question on the tip of your tongue.

“Because I’m going to make you cry.” His tone was matter of fact as his rough hand slid up the length of your spine to the space between your shoulders. Pinned with your cheek pressed into the countertop, you gasped. You immediately regretted that small concession.

You couldn’t see Jimin's expression, but you knew without a doubt that he was sneering. He quickly gathered the short length of your dress in one hand, which he held tight at the small of your back. Even more harshly, his hands grabbed at the waistband of your thong. He dragged it down in one swift movement, well-practiced but never gentle.

The force of it all caused your cheekbone to dig harder into the countertop. You winced as it smarted, but inwardly, you loved it. Jimin would never hear you say as much, though.

Your underwear dropped unceremoniously around your ankles, leaving your center completely exposed and on-display. A loud smack erupted as his hand collided with the previously corrupted skin of your ass, undoubtedly leaving a fully formed handprint where he’d struck you. You hissed through gritted teeth, but the sting was quickly muted when he grabbed a handful of your delicate cheek, fingertips pinching hard.

When he spanked you again, it wasn’t on the doughy flesh of your ass; it was your unsuspecting, already-aching cunt. Your mouth fell open and a whimper tumbled out. To your dismay, he removed his hand quickly and held it in front of your face.

“Do you see how fucking wet you are?” Jimin scoffed with fluorescent light glinting off his slicked fingers. “Already a mess, and I’ve barely touched you. You’re pathetic — you know that, right?”

You mumbled your reply, but with your cheek pressed hard against the counter, you knew it was incomprehensible. He cocked his head once more in that arrogant, impossible way he always did.

“Didn’t catch that, princess,” he said dryly. His hand spread under your jaw and gave you no choice but to look at him. “One more time, with feeling.”

Insolence building in the pit of your stomach, you narrowed your eyes at him. Loud and clear, you bit back, “I said, you’re right. You’ve barely touched me, princess.”

Judging by his flushed face, you had him feral. Good.

Jimin grabbed your wrists and pulled you flush against his chest. One arm slid under yours, crossed diagonally across your heaving chest, and gripped the strap of your dress. His hold forced you up on your tiptoes, while his other hand forced your legs further apart.

“Such a fucking brat,” Jimin growled against your neck, teeth then nipping at the sensitive spot behind your ear. There was a brief flicker of amusement in his darkened eyes when your low moan escaped you. It quickly dissolved into involuntary mewling as his tongue flicked out to spread its heat over the marks he’d left there. “You want to be punished so badly, but I don’t think you can take it.”

Your voice was breathy, weightless, but there was unwavering defiance in your words. “Try me.”

Jimin had no choice but to respond to your challenge by dragging his fingers down the soft skin of your pelvis; the coolness of his rings left goosebumps in their wake. As his middle finger dipped down to your clit, you willed your knees not to buckle.

“Eyes up,” He ordered, his laser-focused stare ricocheting off the mirror to you. When you rolled them instead, he pushed his long digit into you without warning. You jolted, wavering on your tiptoes for a moment until you were steadied by the forearm across your torso. “Eyes up.”

You blinked, stunned, at your reflection. The hand gripping the strap of your dress dropped to the already hardened nipples peaking through the thin fabric above them. It was impossible to focus on the way he pinched at each of them, or the way he rolled them between his thumb and index finger, because his middle finger was curling against the spongy spot inside of you at an unforgiving pace.

“You’ll need more than one if you intend to take all of me,” Jimin hummed deviously in your ear. “Have you earned two?”

You nodded, turning to putty in his hands as he continued to abuse your g-spot.

“Stupid girl,” Jimin clicked his tongue, then ordered, “Speak.”

“Give it to me,” You spat, though the fight left you as soon as his ring finger slid into your weeping hole. It worked in tandem with his middle finger, scissoring and stretching you open. And then that goddamn thumb pushed hard into your clit, flicking at it cruelly.

You were teetering on the edge of oblivion with white hot heat building in your core, and pleasured tears welling up in your eyes; but you were relentlessly bold. “Harder.”

Jimin smirked as you rutted your hips against his hand. He let out another dry, damning laugh, and then he did the unforgivable: He pulled his digits out of you mere moments before your orgasm could crash over you like a wave.

You scowled at him through the mirror, but you were thankful he couldn’t see the way your hammering heart dropped dead on the floor of your chest.

“I hate you,” You seethed, panting. “Fucking menace.”

Jimin placed a chaste kiss on your temple, in total juxtaposition to how roughly you normally treated each other. “If I recall correctly, you told me to fuck off,” He murmured against your skin. The hand that abandoned you whispered down the length of your neck, then disappeared off the slope of your shoulder. “So, I’m off.”

When he sauntered over to the door, you were too furious to say anything. In fact, your jaw was clenched tightly enough to crack teeth. It only got worse when he called out over his shoulder with a lazy wave of his hand, “Fix your face. I warned you about that mascara.”

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sailoryooons · 3 months

Text

The Underneath | pjm

☾ Pairing: Monster!Jimin x reader (gender neutral)

☾ Summary: “Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.” – Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil OR there is a monster under your bed and you've looked back at it for too long

☾ Word Count: 1,777

☾ Genre: Thriller, Horror in theory

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

☾ Warnings: Just general creep vibes. A lot of this happens in the complete dark so if you don’t like descriptions of total darkness or inability to see, this one is not for you. Mentions of being alone, themes of sadness/depression (though not heavy). Jimin is pretty creepy in speaks in an eerie manner and calls reader ‘it’ a lot and refers to himself as ‘Jimin’ in the third person. Overall it’s just a weird one.

☾ Published: February 10, 2024

☾ A/N: Random creepy monster under the bed Jimin for this lovely Saturday morning. I actually was working on this last week when it was storming, which is why it’s giving the cheesy ‘It was a dark and storm night’ vibes lmfaooo. This Jimin is lowkey a little cute in my head cause he’s just this creepy lil monster under the bed who is like :/ I’m tired of you crying mf. This is for my fifth drable of the 100 Drabble Challenge and today I rolled for monster AU. Enjoy!

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Main Masterlist ☾ 100 Drabble Masterlist ☾ Ask ☾ Song Inspiration

“Holy diver, you’ve been down too long in the midnight sea,” you hum, tracing patterns in the condensation on the glass pane. It’s cool to the touch, sending goosebumps down your arm. Your forehead presses against the window, feeling the damp condensation clinging to it as rain beats on the other side. “Oh, what’s becoming of me?”

The tip tap of the rain matches the dappled shadows dancing across the room. The streetlight shining through the window is a weak glow, broken up by the shadow of your hand and the swaying tree branches as they bow under the wind.

Wind batters the house. The home creaks under the pressure of the wind. A crack of lightning dazes you and your eyes flutter, blinking away bursts of colors and stars as you try to adjust to the darkness of your room again. The electricity flickers, a deep-bellied groan of thunder chasing the lightning.

“Gotta get away, Holy Diver.”

You don’t know why that song. It’s the only thing that comes to you in the emptiness that slinks in on the heels of your sadness, a tune fit for thinking of nothing. Feeling nothing. Being nothing.

You don’t even remember the first time you learned the Dio tune.

“Like the eyes of a cat in the black and blue,” you mumble, the words catching over themselves as you become unfocused, vision blurring. You’re not really thinking of the song, but your lips move. They sound the words.

Lightning flickers again. This time the power fails, the salt lamp in the corner of your room blinks off and the fan in the corner goes dead. The quiet presses in like a physical thing, smothering you as you lean away from the window, spooked by the darkness that floods both inside and outside.

Spinning away from the window in your computer chair, your eyes scan the darkness. The furniture in your room takes on new forms. The lamp looks like something tall and vicious. The lumps of blankets and pillows on the bed look like bodies. The blank space under your bed looks like… something.

A mouth. A void. A thing.

Still, the song plays in your mind, an empty cycle of words and music that you can’t shut off. “Something is coming for you, look out!”

The back of your neck begins to tingle as your gaze settles on the blank darkness under your bed. Slowly, you claw your way from the depths of an empty mind to acute awareness, blinking away the daze and focusing only on the gap between the floor and the bed.

Like always, a razor-thin awareness carves its way through you, an instinct that something is there. Licking your lips, you squint as though it can help you see in the cloying darkness. Your eyes tell you that nothing is there, but the goosebumps and pins and needles sensation slithering down your spine tells you otherwise.

You don’t remember the first time you had the feeling that there was something under your bed. You just know it’s always happened, a preternatural awareness slipping into your mind and telling you to look.

As a child, you were always too afraid to look. As an adult, you cannot help but look, seeking out whatever lies in the dark, searching for whatever it is that wants to be seen.

There’s a hiss of sound. You cock your head. It isn’t enough sound to hear, exactly, but more like it’s the idea of a sound. Both a noise and nothing at all.

“You can hide in the sun 'til you see the light.” The words drip from your mouth unaccounted for. You don’t know what makes you mumble them still. “Oh, we will pray it's alright.”

There is something on your bed. You know it like you know there is a storm outside. You know it like you know to breathe air or like to blink.

Outside, the rain grows louder. There is no lightning to reveal what sits on your bed, but you stare nonetheless, trying to work out where it begins and ends. You think there is a shadow darker than others, but it’s hard to tell.

It doesn’t occur to you not to be afraid. There is a buzzing in your head making fear temporarily unavailable, like a cellphone too far to be in service.

“Why did it stop singing?” You sit straight in your chair. The voice comes from the direction of your bed, velvet soft and barely there. You strain to hear it over the pounding of the rain. “It has a lovely voice.”

“I… forgot I was singing.”

“It forgets that it is making sound?”

The voice is both one voice and a hundred. It feels as though it echoes in your mind, smoke slipping into your ears and filling your senses. Your daze grows stronger, making your lashes flutter as the whispers skim over your mind and skin like a tangible thing.

It fades after a moment, the silence following the sensation. You blink, staring into the darkness. You’re sure you can see a shadow sitting on your bed now, and though you can’t see eyes, you know it is looking at you.

“I was sad.”

“Was? Is?”

“Was.” You think about it and realize that you aren’t sad anymore. The void that you felt only moments earlier is gone. “Yeah, I was sad. Now I’m not.”

“How does it feel?”

“Better.”

“Good. It should be happy. I want it to be happy.”

“What are you?”

“Does it want to see my face?”

You hesitate. It isn’t fear that makes you pause. No, this thing has been in your room for as long as you can remember, though it’s never spoken to you before. You hesitate because you think you should be afraid and yet…

“I would like to, yes.”

Lightning lances and you flinch. You only see the thing - a person - on your bed for a split second, but it’s enough to memorize some of his features. Dark grey hair, an angular face with delicate cheekbones, an elegant nose that’s rounded at the tip, sensual lips that look pillow-soft and rosy, and siren eyes that could look into your very soul.

It’s the eyes you remember. Sleepy. Seductive. Piercing. Eyes like that are what great poets write about, what musicians make songs about. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you even in the dark, pinning you to your computer chair, your instincts buzzing.

You stare into the dark. The dark stares back, perhaps even more severely than before.

His presence is oppressive, you realize. It’s a physical thing, like a blanket of nettle pressing against you both mentally and physically, an itch you can’t scratch.

“You’re pretty,” you breathe.

“It may call me Jimin.”

“You can call me by my name. I’m not an it.”

Though you cannot see the creature - Jimin - you get the sense he’s smiling as he asks, “You will give me your name freely to use? Names are so powerful.”

“Yes, I’d prefer you to call me by my name.”

Jimin repeats your name back and the way he says it makes you shiver, rich chocolate dripping off of his tongue. Still, despite sitting in the dark and speaking with him in that hissing, purring voice of his, you’re not afraid, though… it feels like you could be. Like the fear is somewhere locked deep inside a mine, unable to find the path out.

“Why are you so sad? You’re always so sad.” The way Jimin asks the questions makes you lean forward. His voice is a soft call, the rise and fall of the tone and the softness of the whisper alluring. “Jimin doesn’t like it when you’re sad.”

“I… feel very alone. People always leave me.”

He hums. “You’re never alone. You know that though, don’t you?” You nod, unsure if Jimin can see you with those sharp, keen eyes. “Jimin has always been here.”

“I… felt you.”

“And you were not afraid?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I feel like I should be.”

Jimin hums and you can hear him move. The bed creeks as he shifts, though you cannot tell what he’s doing. The pressure of the air around you tightens and you think he might be walking toward you.

“You never have to be afraid of Jimin.” You can smell damp clove and petrichor as he approaches. Like darkness. Like rain. “What if Jimin told you there was a place for you where you would never be sad?”

You hesitate. Jimin is somewhere right in front of you. His body doesn’t radiate heat so much as it radiates energy, an otherness about him that is unfamiliar to you. Perhaps like the static that comes with lightning or the pounding of your heart that comes with adrenaline.

“I think I would like that.”

Cold fingers brush your hand. Jimin chuckles when you flinch and gasp. “No need to be afraid of Jimin. Come.”

Jimin tugs you. It’s gentle at first, but when you don’t move, too slow to catch up, it’s urgent. Worried. Hungry. Demanding. Jimin pulls you out of the seat, his grip turning to iron as he drags you across the room.

Though you’ve told him yes, your body reacts differently. You dig your heels in and lean back, tugging your arm. Your thoughts tangle, trying to get your body to follow him the way your mind wants, but it feels like you’re pressing up against bones and muscles that are unfamiliar, like you can’t get them to work. Like they aren’t yours.

You feel confused. Thoughts thick like cotton, you stumble after Jimin, legs locking and unlocking as you fight for the control to follow him. Jimin hums delightfully and pulls you to your knees, his hands on your shoulders as he giggles.

“Jimin will protect you,” he whispers, his breath fanning your face. It’s cloying sweet, freezing you to the spot as your syrupy thoughts turn solid and realize it’s your instincts making you stop. The fear is there at the last moment, shattering through the dizziness to claim you. “No more sad!”

“Wait-”

“To the Underneath we go. It will be with Jimin forever.”

Jimin gives a brutal pull. You feel your body slam to the ground, thoughts splintering as your head hits the wooden floor. The last thing you remember is the drag of your heavy against the floor, the heavy pressure of static on your skin, and Jimin’s haunting voice singing in the dark.

Like the eyes of a cat in the black and blue, something is coming for you, look out!

#jimin fic #park jimin fic #jimin bts fic #bts fic #bts fanfic #jimin x reader #jimin x you #bts fanfiction #bts x reader #monster jimin #100 drabble challenge

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gimmethatagustd · 3 months

Note

hey just wondering if u have any reader insert poly sort of works ?

hi bestie ✨

i usually don't read poly fics because having more than 1 love interest stresses me out LOL so i only have a small number of recs for you. the one by harrow is very specifically about a poly relationship, whereas the others are more like "threesomes that could become more (?)" fics.

and possess your heart is on permanent hiatus, but still worth the read because B's writing is lovely! EDIT: B IS BRINGING IT BACK !!

posses your heart (ot7) by @chans-room

camgirl AU, this one is yandere so pls check the warnings~

the one with the hall pass (kth, pjm) by @eoieopda

you and your boyfriend have everything important in common — especially your taste in men.

outro: tear (rap line) by @theharrowing

Your relationship with three amazing men felt like a dream come true until insecurity and failed communication caused everything to slowly fall apart.

[ REC. ] (jjk, ksj) by @yoonjinkooked

After being the creative director for HoL for a little while, Jungkook gets a crazy idea of how to combine business & pleasure. His love of cinematography may just be what the HoL needs. Luckily, he finds a very willing worker and an eager customer to experiment with.

two in one (pjm, jhs) by @here2bbtstrash

you finally have a much-needed smoke session with your best friends, just like old times. you’re also pretty sure they’re gay… right?

catharsis (pjm, jjk) by @junghelioseok

no matter what kind of release you need, he’s there.

just sit pretty (jjk, myg) by @lavienjin

jungkook’s hands are wandering all over your body while yoongi is asleep on your couch. can you fulfill your desires without waking him up?

and this fic i haven't read yet but i need to !!!!!

she, by proxy (kth, myg) by @ugh-yoongi

the one where yoongi gets what yoongi wants, even when what he wants is taehyung. especially when it's taehyung.

and then shameless plug,

needy (jjk, myg) by yours truly

Jungkook refuses to admit that he has feelings for you, but he's slowly cracking under the pressure. Will his bright idea of asking his friend to seduce you be the final thing that helps him get over his interest in you?

#poly rec #jai's recs #jai asks #anonymous

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muniimyg · 2 years

Text

nonsense // pjm

competitive auras, drunken confessions, and shamelessness lead to sober decisions

jimin and oc know each others secrets. they’re virgins and make a deal to lose it to one another. after that, they keep hooking up and everyone can’t believe their eyes when they catch glimpses of the two getting along

navi | m. list | ask me ! | send an ask to be on the taglist ! i will not be responding to taglist requests anywhere else !

pairings:

student council president // campus crush!jimin + exchange student // competitive!oc

au/genre:

enemies with benefits

situationship / mini sneaky link vibe

uni au

smut, crack, angst

social media au + written

warnings:

implied + actual smut

virginity topic/sexual tension

name calling, jealousy/possessiveness, academic competitiveness

parts:

20/20 ( completed 11/18/2022 )

note

this is a surprise series ! i couldn’t sleep one night and thought abt this dynamic after rewatching student!bangtan content .

+ this fic goes through time skips without specifics.

parts 1-12 are nov-march

parts 13-19 are april-june

part 20 is 1 year later

playlist available only on spotify !

index # nonesense jm

end.

+ a nonsense christmas

#bts fic #jimin smau #jimin smut #jimin e2l #jimin fwb #jimin scenario #jimin imagine #bts imagine #bts scenario #bts smau #fic rec #bts series #bts edits #bts uni au #bts completed series

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author-ssi · 1 year

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Set Me Free ~PJM

➜Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader ➜Genre: Smut, One-Shot Warnings: dom!Jimin/sub!Reader, dry humping (thigh riding), ass play, Daddy kink, bondage innuendos, mention of a blowjob, use of the nickname doll (out of appreciation, not objectification), mention of guns&murder [18+ MDNI] ➜Word Count: 1.4k ➜Summary: Failing a mission as a trained assassin; the consequences you’re going to face are obviously going to be grave. And all the more so, when Jimin - your trainer/boyfriend - is the one confronting you about it.

A dark figure standing in a bright room is the first thing you can make out when you crack your eyes open. What you come to realise next is that your body is laid on the ground with both your hands and legs tied. You turn your gaze back to the figure that’s walking towards you, almost menacingly slow, and as the distance between you two lessens you’re finally able to see his face. A face you immediately recognise, making your eyes widen. Oh shit. “Surprised to see me, doll?”, Jimin smirks down at you and the hostility that’s radiating off of him can only mean one thing - you failed your mission and he’s come to save you. The intensity in his eyes feels like pressure being applied to you and you can’t help but bow down your head in submission. Still, the frustration of having failed your mission resurfaces in your mind making you scoff at him, “Shut up and set me free”. His brows raise warningly at your boldness before he takes out a small knife from his pocket and drops it nonchalantly at his feet, “Freedom can’t simply be given to you, doll. You have to fight for it”. Weighing out his words, it doesn’t take you long to understand what he wants you to do. Stretching your torso, your head inches closer to the fallen knife before you bite onto the hilt. Jimin’s eyes darken as he watches you wiggle your body until you manage to get on your knees before him. His tongue leaves his mouth to wet his full lips as memories of the times he looked down at you like this flood his mind. Your hands tied behind your back, looking up at him with your mouth open wide. Of course, he doesn’t deny neither you or himself the pleasure, with a slight thrust of his hips towards you, his cock is soon engulfed in the warmth of your skillful mouth. He forces himself out of these dirty thoughts to focus back at the task he has at hand, now; disciplining you. He continues to watch you arch your back and turn your head to the side letting the knife drop from your mouth to your hands. Not even a minute later, you’ve cut yourself free and are now standing before him gripping the knife in your hand. “Come on, doll. Show me what you got”, Jimin offers you a challenging smile, taking on a slight defensive stance.

You don’t waste time, swiftly swinging the knife at him but he’s faster than you. A frustrated grunt leaves your lips each time you miss but you don’t cease your advances, becoming more and more aggressive after each one; and thus more and more sloppy. “Easy now, doll. That’s not how I taught you to fight”, Jimin’s voice is mocking you but the look in his eyes is serious, causing you to halt your movements. Taking a deep breath, your stare, now calculating, is directed straight at him and the moment you notice his shoulders slump, you abruptly pounce on him aiming at his side. This time, he isn’t fast enough, but unfortunately, all you can manage is a slice through the fabric of his shirt. Taking on a more defensive stance, Jimin chuckles lowly readjusting the leather jacket on his shoulders - fleetingly flashing the NEVERMIND tattoo on his skin through the cut of his shirt. “That’s more like it”, you can feel his lustrous eyes pierce right through you, causing shivers to run down your spine; a mixture of fear and excitement taking over you. In one swift movement, Jimin slaps the knife out of your hand and pushes you up against the wall, which now you realise that during your fight you had gotten closer to. “You follow my orders to the letter or next time I’ll tie you up myself”, he growls against your ear and you can’t fight off the cheeky smirk that settles on your lips. “Kinky”, you tease him and you can swear you witness his eyes darken even more before he brings his knee between your legs, applying just enough pressure for you to feel a jolt of pleasure shoot through your body. You let out a little gasp and bite your lips trying to contain yourself, not wanting to give in to him right away. But the moment his full lips graze against the shell of your ear nibbling it slightly, you know you can no longer resist him.

A needy moan slipping past your lips is enough for Jimin to know he has you right where he wants you. “You're such a good girl for me when you want to be”, he smirks as he pulls back to admire the pleasure that’s written across your face; glazed-over eyes, parted lips, pleading expression. Tilting your chin towards him, he instantly connects his lips to yours, kissing them hungrily, swallowing your upcoming moans, as he continues the steady movement of his knee against your clothed pussy. “Jimin, please... I want to feel you more”, you whine moving your hips towards him searching desperately for an increase in friction. Jimin’s smirk widens and his hands roughly grab onto your hips, swiftly closing the distance between you two. Now, he has you placed in such a position that makes it perfectly clear that he wants you to ride his thigh. “That’s not what I meant”, you whine once again and stilling your movements looking up at him indignantly. Jimin, however, glares down at you - a dominant aura emanating from him. “That’s the most you’re gonna get after the little stunt you pulled. So, what’s it gonna be doll?”, he states staring at you intensely yet coolly, his grip on your hips never loosening. “Will you rub your little, wet pussy against Daddy’s thigh now or are you gonna risk getting a punishment when we get back, instead?”, he lays out your options but you know with the way his fingers are now gripping onto your ass, forcing you down onto his thigh - and thus, applying pressure straight to your clothed clit - you have but one option. You whimper plaintively, your hands slowly moving over to hold onto his shoulders, before you start to roll your hips. A pleased hum and a squeeze of your ass is the reward you receive from Jimin as he watches you intensely pleasure yourself against the hard muscle of his thigh, “That’s my girl... Now, let Daddy hear that lovely voice of yours too”, he murmurs huskily against your ear lowering his head towards your neck. A sweet, little cry is heard from your lips when he starts to suck on the soft skin close to the base of your neck and he answers back with a low, rough grunt of his own, barely keeping his composure. His hands begin to massage your ass as a way to distract himself but also in order to help you maintain your hip movement. Fingers dig into the plump flesh when he notices your pace speeding up, knowing you well enough to instantly understand what that means. “Daddy, I’m gonna-”, you pant trying to get the words out but his hot kisses on your neck combined with the constant rubbing on your clit render you speechless. “Cum for me, my lovely doll”, he mumbles without ceasing his assault on your neck and ass; the actions of his teeth, lips, palms and fingers intensifying until the moment he feels your body release with a loud, unrestrained moan.

So lost are you in each other that you have forgotten the situation you’re currently in, until the defeaning sound of an alarm alerts you. Immediately coming down from your high, you shoot an alarmed look around you while Jimin keeps his face buried in your neck still gracing it with little nips and kisses. Not a moment later, an armed man bursts through the door with his gun aimed right at you shouting at you to put your hands up. Begrudgingly, Jimin groans pulling away from you, turning to glare daggers at the man who barged in on you two, “Hey fool, just get out of my way". Simultaneously, Jimin’s one hand draws you to him by the waist and his other draws his own gun; a bullet flying straight to the man’s head in the blink of an eye. “Show-off”, you tease him again with a cheeky smirk and he looks at you with a raised eyebrow. “You’d rather you do it?”, he inquires with an amused smirk offering his gun to you but you shake your head as a ‘no’, smiling innocently up at him.

“I was the one held captive and you’re the one who came to set me free”.

#bts #bts x reader #park jimin #jimin #smut #bts smut #bts jimin #jimin smut #set me free pt.2 #park jimin x reader #jimin x reader #assassin

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kiestrokes · 8 months

Text

How BTS Would React to You Coming Home Drunk (and Horny) from a Night Out with Friends | NSFW

Pairing: BTS x Reader/You/Yn (some gendered + some non-gendered) Rating: NSFW! Mature (18+) Minors DNI. Word Count: 691ish Genre: scenario/imagine, smut, sprinklings or crack/fluff, established relationships. Warnings: mentions of drinking (consensual drunken behavior between partners), reader is wearing a dress because ease of access.

Sexually Explicit Content: penetration (penis is whatever you want to imagine: vagina/ass), cunnilingus, fellatio, nipple play, cockwarming, kissing/making out, overstiumulation, cuddling. Let me know if I missed anything!

🗝️ Note: I’ll format this tomorrow. But in tradition of when this imagine was made, that’s a sober Kie problem. A repost from @/goodsoop. Edited 8/20/23 to include warnings!

Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted here.

KSJ: would be mildly "unapproving" of your loose behavior but would fix himself a double and quickly get on your level. Until you both were drunk, loudly playing video games on the couch of the game room. This of course escalates into you attempting to cheat by climbing into his lap. You end up getting distracted by his beautiful lips and it turns into a sloppy, laughter filled fuck on the sectional. Jin boasts that he, of course, won. In the game and in getting you off.

MYG: was asleep when you drunkenly climbed into bed, laying on top of him Jung-Hoseok-spread-eagle style. Grumbles about the fact you’re going to have a hangover tomorrow. Slips out from under you and begins to remove your clothes. Batting away your wandering hands that are attempting to climb under his shirt. He leaves you passed out on top of the covers to get water and pain reliever. Returning to your sad attempt at getting yourself off. Huffs at you to let him do it, because he secretly loves how pliable and vocal you are when he gives you head this way.

JHS: is also in bed, you strip down to your panties and climb under the covers with him. He sleepily pulls you back into him, large hands drifting down your bare body. You have no trouble rousing Hoseok for drunken foreplay, he’s already hard. But he just wants a little cock warming tonight. To feel you clench around him as he plucks your nipples between nimble fingers and drifts off into the wettest dream of his life.

KNJ: was up late reading, stands up to greet you, reading glasses still on. Catches your mouth just as you tug his face to yours. The two of you clumsily fumbling with each other across the living room. He curses as he accidentally drops you onto the coffee table. But you’re unharmed and laughing, hands already reaching to tug down his sweats. Giving him a thoroughly dedicated blow job. Until he coats your throat and is moaning at you to stop.

PJM: is waiting for you in the bedroom, watching a new drama. Waiting in his boxers for the return of handsy and affectionate you. This is the only time that you’re almost as touchy with him as he is you. You don’t even take your dress off, just drop your panties at the bedroom door. Climbing onto Jimin’s lap to kiss the lips you had been thinking about since your second drink. It’s slow and intense sex that has you both crying out from overstimulation.

KTH: is mopey of course that he couldn’t go with you and the "girls". Has a bit of a wine buzz and is dancing around the kitchen to some Leon Bridges. You slip into his waltz and Tae serenades you, spinning you around the island. Until you’re pulled into a mutual kiss like two magnets, charged by the music and alcohol pulsing through your veins. He pins you against the island with his husky, low groans. Fingers slipping under the hem of your dress, and under your panties until his fingers are coated in your essence. He swallows your cries of pleasure, murmuring quiet pleas against your lips, begging for you to take him out next time.

JJK: he of course is gaming when you get home. So you slip past him, dropping your clothes along the way to catch his attention. He grumbles to his teammates in frustration, excusing himself from the game. Running to catch up with you just as you make it to the bedroom door, nude as fuck. You squeal as he spins you around and peppers wet, open mouth, kisses from your neck to the top of your knees. Before folding you across the edge of the bed, ass bare to him. Making quick, erratic work of your orgasms. Before collapsing on top of you, his t-shirt collecting the sweat that had accumulated on your back. He abandons the game to climb into bed with you, cuddling naked.

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taegularities · 1 year

Text

evermore | ot7 | masterlist (m)

“And when I was shipwrecked, I thought of you. In the cracks of light, I dreamed of you.”

Tales of love as emotions fall apart and grow; vanish and reappear; laced with pain and unadulterated devotion. Friendships, affairs and realisations always linger – now and forevermore.

➳ pairing(s): member x female reader

➳ rating: 18+

➳ genre: slice of life; fluff, angst, smut

➳ status: ongoing

➳ current word count: will be added as we go!

MAIN MASTERLIST | WIPS

if walls could talk | knj

Namjoon’s poisonous looks have been piercing you since the day you were introduced to him – by now, everyone knows about the distaste you harbour for each other. If only they knew about the secrets veiled behind your frowns, too.

» pairing: producer!namjoon x reader

» genre: enemies to lovers; fluff, smut, crack

» read here!

downbeat | pjm

At first, it’s just your voice and the singing sessions online. Then, there are pictures of tender eyes and a fond smile. And when renowned vocal coach Park Jimin meets you face to face, you sweep him off his feet with more than just the melodies you sing.

» pairing: vocal coach!jimin x reader

» genre: strangers to lovers; fluff, smut

» read here!

melodrama | ksj

When you met him first, love gained a new, mesmerising meaning; dizzying emotions you couldn’t quite fathom. When did those sparks fade? When did you start disappearing? For the life of him, he can’t remember – but you think you can.

» pairing: actor!seokjin x reader

» genre: marriage au; angst, fluff, smut

» read here!

paramour | jhs

Hoseok is lucky enough to enjoy every moment of his existence on and off stage. Money, fame, looks – when they say a rockstar truly has it all, they mean it. And then there’s you, the softest spot in his life, plagued by insecurities when the world starts barging into your relationship.

» pairing: rockstar!hoseok x reader

» genre: established/secret relationship; angst, fluff, smut, crack

» read here: pt1 | pt2

cotton candy | kth

Friendships tend to fall apart. The first love fades, people walk away, breezy summers pass within a fleeting moment. Kim Taehyung however – he never does. His cotton candy touch, the late night summer hugs... your feelings for him linger, no matter how much your lives change and shift.

» pairing: photographer/model!tae x reader

» genre: 90s au, childhood friends to lovers; angst, fluff, smut

» read here!

run like a river | myg

The days of him being a worldwide star might have battered his soul, but he’s finally back home again. And you? Still here; still as enchanting as ever.

» pairing: retired artist!yoongi x reader

» genre: exes to lovers; angst, fluff, smut

» read here!

timbre | jjk

You carve your name into Jungkook's mind with constant affection and care, and he keeps hoping that both your hearts beat in unison, synchronised and wild. But in reality, it’s only ever him who falls – you're as still as time... until, you're not.

» pairing: singer!jungkook x reader

» genre: best friends to lovers; angst, fluff, smut

» read here: pt1 | pt2 | pt3

–

✒︎ join the taglist! ♡

© 2023 taegularities. all rights reserved. Reposting and/or translating is not allowed, even if you credit the story properly. – Support me by reblogging! 🤍 Questions about any of those? Or just wanna talk? Come, let’s yell <3

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kingofbodyrolls · 3 months

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Stuck at a Christmas party (m) | pjm

*Part of ’the winter collection’.

Summary: It’s Seokjin’s Christmas party and you’re trying your best to be social with your friends, but it’s really hard when you feel the burning stare of your nemesis, Park Jimin, lighting your skin on fire. It doesn’t help when you feel his hand between your legs under the dinner table.

Pairing: Jimin x female reader AU + genres: enemies to lovers, pwp (very little plot – let me be honest, it’s just pure smut). Humor/crack, smut. Rating: Mature/explicit/R18 - this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact. Word count: 5,1K Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸 Warnings (explicit): exhibitionism, fingering, oral (male receiving), orgasm denial, cum eating, creampie, unprotected sex, choking (in a sexual context), degrading name calling (brat), hair pulling, dirty talk, multiple orgasms.

Taglist: @yopjm

Author’s note: the snowstorm couple are back!!! 🥳 For reference, please think of GDA 2019 Jimin with his sleek black suit when reading this 🥵

ℹ️ This is part of ‘The Winter Collection: Stories with the Snowstorm Couple’, it can still be read as a stand-alone though!

I am going on a hiatus, but I wanted to post this before I left…

As you stand there, befuddled and speechless, you can't fathom how Seokjin deduced the intimate encounter between you and Jimin, your mortal enemy. The questions swirl in your mind—how, what, and why—leaving you utterly mystified.

Rage simmers within you, and you clench your hands into tight fists, resembling an enraged child ready to lash out. However, before you can unleash your fury, Jimin beats you to the punch with a nonchalant explanation, “We got cold.”

Your jaw drops once more as Jimin strolls past you and Seokjin, casually hanging his coat on the rack and discarding his shoes. He carries himself as though what transpired between you is the most ordinary thing in the world.

Seokjin's laughter, that annoying windshield wiper sound, echoes in the air. It grates on your nerves, and the urge to smack him for it intensifies. However, he ushers you inside, and with a frustrated sigh, you release your petty thoughts, letting your shoulders slump in resignation.

“Not a word to the others!” you hiss, jabbing your finger forcefully in Seokjin's face. It's crucial to drive the point home; the last thing you need is for the rest of your friends to find out. The mere thought of enduring their endless teasing is unbearable.

Seokjin mimics zipping his mouth shut with exaggerated hand gestures, and you shoot him a stern glare for good measure, silently urging him to grasp the gravity of your seriousness.

Seokjin accompanies you into the living room, where Jimin lounges on a couch, wearing that infuriatingly smug expression. Despite the lingering resentment, he acknowledges you with a subtle nod, licking his lips teasingly. A shiver snakes down your spine at the suggestive gesture, and you can't shake the feeling that this evening is destined to be nothing short of torturous.

The music pulses through the air, creating a lively atmosphere that encourages conversation with friends. Despite the chatter and laughter around you, there's an undeniable sensation of being watched. Your attempts to catch up with girlfriends are accompanied by the persistent feeling of a gaze, like smoldering embers, leaving your skin tingling with heat.

It's Jimin, his captivating dark brown eyes following your every move, setting you ablaze amidst the festive chaos.

Despite your best efforts to steer clear of him throughout the evening, the inevitable moment arrives when dinner is served. The grand table is a vision of Christmas elegance, adorned with festive ornaments and pristine white plates boasting delicate gold rims. As you approach, the once plentiful seats have dwindled, leaving only two vacant spots side by side. The realization hits you like a silent shock – everyone is settled in their places, except for one person: Park Jimin.

A smirk dances on Jimin's lips as your eyes lock, and with a gentlemanly flourish, he pulls out the chair for you. The attention of your friends is inevitably drawn to the unfolding scene, their curious glances making you squirm. You take your seat, feeling the weight of Jimin's gaze as he elegantly settles his perfect plump ass in the chair beside you.

Amidst the lingering stares and unspoken questions, you divert your attention to the spread before you, purposefully loading your plate with an array of delectable dishes. The clinking of cutlery becomes a welcome distraction, and for a brief moment, you find solace from the constant scrutiny of Jimin's eyes that have tracked your every move since you arrived.

Engulfed in the lively chatter around the table, you savor each bite while selectively tuning in to the diverse conversations unfolding. The clinking of cutlery and the hum of laughter weave a symphony that, for a moment, allows you to lose yourself in the festive atmosphere.

Your senses tingle as a warm sensation caresses your thigh, an unmistakable touch that sends a jolt of awareness through your entire being.

A rush of longing surges through you, an electric pulse that ignites every nerve, and without needing to glance down, you're keenly aware of Jimin's hand, a potent source of warmth, intimately tracing the contour of your thigh. As he gives it a firm, possessive squeeze, you close your eyes, surrendering to the tantalizing dance of desire that envelops you.

A relentless wave of need courses through you, the mere touch of Jimin's hand on your thigh igniting a fiery pool of arousal in your core. It's almost absurd, the intensity of your response—his hand, just on your thigh, and yet it feels as if the entire universe has conspired to stoke the flames of desire within you.

His attention remains fixed on the conversation with Namjoon, his eyes avoiding yours, but the impact of his touch on your thigh is impossible to ignore. The simple act of eating becomes an insurmountable challenge as his hand, like a brand, leaves an indelible mark on your senses. The silk of your dress offers little resistance to the searing heat emanating from his touch, rendering the task of composing yourself an elusive feat.

You grit your teeth, attempting to conceal your mounting frustration, and in a clandestine exchange of glances with Seokjin seated across from you, you're convinced he sees right through the charade. Damn it all.

Jimin's hands persist in their exploration, journeying beneath your dress and ascending higher on your thigh. A stifled gasp escapes your lips, your attempt to conceal the pleasure coursing through you as his fingers delicately trace the contours of your panties.

Your mind races as he inches perilously close to your core, your pussy pulsating with anticipation. Damn, the intensity of the sensation is overwhelming.

His apparent nonchalance fuels your frustration. How can he engage in casual conversation with Namjoon, seemingly unfazed, while his hand stealthily explores the contours of your thigh beneath the table? The audacity, especially in the midst of your friends, leaves you seething with a mix of desire and irritation.

His fingers delicately dance over the fabric that shields your pulsating core, sending a shiver down your spine. Conflicting desires surge within you – an undeniable craving for his touch and the hesitation born from the inappropriate setting, surrounded by the prying eyes of your friends.

With deliberate slowness, he trails his fingers along the edge of your panties, expertly sliding them to the side. A single finger ventures into your slick folds, and an involuntary exclamation of desire escapes your lips. Fuck!

Panic and pleasure collide within you as your body ignites with an uncontrollable fire. Fumbling for composure, you desperately try to conceal the intoxicating sensations Jimin's hand is orchestrating beneath the table. Casting a surreptitious glance at your friends, relief washes over you—it appears they remain oblivious to the clandestine dance Jimin is leading on your fevered skin. Thank god.

Your entire being tenses as an electric current courses through you, a silent struggle unfolding within as you grapple with the urge to control your escalating breaths, ensuring each intake is hushed and every gasp remains concealed.

Jimin's fingers expertly plunge in and out of you, a relentless rhythm that leaves you quivering in your seat. The addition of a second digit amplifies the sensations, intensifying the shivers that course through you. Fuck you, Park Jimin!

You shoot him an incredulous look, but he remains unfazed, deep in conversation with Namjoon as if his fingers aren't skillfully working their magic on you. Frustration bubbles within you, the tightening knot in your stomach threatening to unravel. Shit.

His fingers abandon your pulsating core, and just when you dare to hope for a reprieve, he redirects his attention to your swollen clit. Electric jolts course through your body, and an involuntary flinch escapes you, catching the curious gaze of your friends. The intensity of his touch threatens to betray the secrets you're desperately trying to keep under wraps.

“Are you okay?” Concern etches across Hoseok's face as he leans in, his voice laced with worry. His eyes search yours, dissecting the panic in your stare and the sudden gasp that escaped your lips.

Summoning every ounce of strength, you lift your chin and strive for confidence as you reply, “Y-yes.”

Even as the words leave your lips, their uncertainty rings in your ears, a desperate plea that he won't press for more answers.

The sensation of Jimin's fingers expertly tracing figure eights on your clit sends electric chills down your entire body. Your thighs clench involuntarily, and you find yourself biting your lip, desperately trying to stifle any sounds that might betray the pleasure coursing through you. It's a delicate dance between ecstasy and secrecy, his skilled touch weaving a spell that makes it increasingly difficult to maintain your composure.

As Jimin's fingers work their magic, your heart races, and the sensation is akin to running a marathon. A lone bead of sweat forms on your hairline, evidence of the intensity building within you. Fuck Jimin, unraveling you like this in front of your friends. The promise of payback simmers in your mind, determined to teach him a lesson he won't soon forget.

As your breath quickens, the telltale signs of impending release manifest—quivering thighs betraying your desperation.

You're on the verge, yearning to pry Jimin's hand away from your pulsating core. The last thing you want is to climax in front of your friends; the situation is already precarious. Imagining their potential disgust only adds to the thrill.

The forbidden allure of the moment perplexes you—why does the idea of their judgment fuel your arousal?

Despite your futile attempts to swat his hand away, Jimin remains resolute, intensifying his efforts to push you over the edge. A determined glint in his eyes, he skillfully manipulates your senses. As he continues to stimulate your clit, a rush of liquid heralds your surrender, leaving you slumped against the table, your body succumbing to the waves of pleasure.

An electric surge courses through your body, causing every muscle to tighten, your clit pulsating beneath his expert touch. Desperately trying to collect yourself and avoid drawing attention, you navigate the fine line between pleasure and discretion.

Yoongi's concern cuts through the haze, and he observes, “Are you alright? You seem out of it.”

A quiet, low moan escapes your lips, and in that moment, you become acutely aware of how disheveled and spent you must appear—fatigued and lost in a dazed gaze. Rising from your chair, Jimin's hand reluctantly withdraws from your core, and as your dress gracefully descends with your movement, you manage to murmur, “T-toilet,” your chest heaving with the lingering waves of lust.

In a frenzied hurry, you bolt into the bathroom, your hands gripping the edge of the sink, and you confront your disheveled, panting reflection in the mirror. It feels pathetic, the way Jimin effortlessly coaxed an orgasm from you under the table, using only his fingers. The realization hits hard – you are undeniably and thoroughly fucked.

Inhaling deeply, you attempt to steady yourself just as the bathroom door creaks open, heralding the impending return to the outside world.

As you gaze into the mirror, the source of your overwhelming frustration materializes before you: none other than Park Jimin.

You emit a hiss, a potent blend of frustration and arousal, as your eyes lock with his. Despite the turmoil, you can't deny the magnetic pull of his irresistible gaze, a look saturated with sin, his eyes half-lidded, and his tongue seductively gliding across his lips.

You sense your core clenching with a frustrating ache, an insistent reminder of desire for the infuriating man you both despise and secretly crave.

He teasingly presents his fingers to you, wiggling them suggestively as a sly grin plays on his lips, “You came.”

Your gaze locks onto him in utter disbelief—did he stroll around casually with your essence adorning his fingers?

“Suck them dry,” he commands, a smug smirk playing on his lips as he surveys the aftermath—your flushed cheeks and the deep rhythm of your breaths.

His words linger in the air, a challenge you're quick to accept. Without hesitation, you wrap your lips around his digits, tasting the remnants of your essence. His low groan reverberates as he watches you skillfully suck him dry, a silent dance of desire between you.

With each deliberate suck, you reclaim every trace of your essence from his fingers. When the task is accomplished, you fix him with an intense gaze, a silent challenge in your eyes, daring him to unleash the pent-up desire that simmers between you.

“Can’t stop thinking about me?”

Your gaze locks with his, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you bat your lashes, feigning a sense of dominion you both know is illusory. He meets your challenge with a smug smirk, dragging his tongue over his lips, and in that moment, the taste of him floods your senses, a lingering memory that refuses to be forgotten.

You want more so you decide to match Jimin's honesty with your own vulnerability. As the words escape your lips, confessing, 'I can't get you out of my head either,' a gust of candid truth hangs in the air. The charged atmosphere between you two becomes palpable, an electric tension that leaves you yearning, your desperation laid bare.

With a sultry whisper, you proposition him, your voice dripping with desire. Your eyes linger provocatively on the pronounced bulge in his pants as you suggest, “I can suck you off. It’s the least I can do.”

He skillfully unbuckles his belt, swiftly unzips his pants, and sensually lowers both his trousers and underwear, unveiling his throbbing, substantial dick that eagerly springs forth.

Your tongue darts out to moisten your lips, the lingering taste of him still fresh in your memory, and an undeniable yearning builds within you, an insatiable desire to descend upon him just as you did in the heated confines of the car a mere few hours ago.

He strides purposefully toward the toilet, ceremoniously lowering the seat, and with a provocative gesture, positions himself on it, legs enticingly spread, an open invitation for you to draw near and indulge in the feast of his dick.

You swiftly descend to your knees on the welcoming warmth of Seokjin's floor, grateful for the cozy indulgence of heated tiles. Running your tongue across your lips, you seize his throbbing cock with a determined hand, evoking a hiss of pleasure from his lips.

“Fuck! I missed you.”

“It's only been a few hours, Jimin,” you chuckle before enveloping his pulsating dick in your saliva-coated warmth. He fills your mouth perfectly, and you establish a steady rhythm, savoring the delicious anticipation in the air.

You skillfully handle what can't fit in your mouth, teasing with your hand. Jimin throws his head back, emitting a delicious moan in response to your artistry. Sucking him off with an intensity that borders on desperation, you flatten your tongue and expertly play with his frenulum, eliciting a hiss and soft moan from him.

With a firm grip on your hair, he tugs at your ponytail once more. Drool drips from your mouth as you glide over his cock, expertly hollowing your cheeks to create the perfect suction.

His fingers tighten in your hair, urging you further. Breathing in and out through your nose, you navigate down to his pubic hairs, humming sensually around his dick. The subtle shiver you feel from him fills you with a sense of pride, knowing the impact you're having on him.

“Fuck. You’re so good,” he moans, pulling your hair tighter in his grip, the raw desire in his voice sending shivers down your spine.

“Shit, I’m close already,” he gasps, his voice breathy with anticipation, and you can sense the pulsating urgency of his cock in your mouth, signaling that he's on the brink of release.

Unexpectedly, you withdraw from his throbbing cock, leaving him suspended on the precipice of release. His eyes widen in disbelief, watching as you sensually lick your lips, a spark of mischief and fiery playfulness dancing in your gaze.

“Brat. Finish what you started!”

His demand hangs in the air, laden with urgency, but you defiantly shake your head, a smug smirk playing on your lips. In this tantalizing game of desire, you've decided to level the playing field, returning the favor with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

With a sly smirk stretching across your face, you assertively declare, “No.” Your lustful desire is unmistakable as you deliberately pull away, leaving him hanging. “You made me come in front of our friends, embarrassing me. So now,” you add with determined confidence, “you don't get to come.”

As you swing the door open, you exit, leaving him in the bathroom, his fully erect dick on full display, a silent challenge echoing in the air.

“Fucking brat!” His voice reverberates through the air, a raw and frustrated yell, trailing after you as you make your exit.

A mischievous laughter escapes your lips, an odd mix of satisfaction and empowerment swirling within you. Striding back to the table with your friends, you effortlessly dive back into the conversation, as if leaving Jimin high and dry is just another casual move in your repertoire.

There's a subtle thrill in knowing that maybe, just maybe, you've imparted a lesson on not messing with you.

After a few minutes, Jimin saunters back to the table, and you can't help but notice the lingering outline of his arousal beneath his pants. Apparently, he didn't tend to his needs as you assumed he would. The intrigue in the air grows thicker, adding a layer of curiosity to the already charged atmosphere.

The remainder of the evening unfolds without any further advances from Jimin, and despite the undeniable tension in the air, you manage to restrain yourself, keeping your hands to yourself. The pulsating undercurrent of arousal lingers, fueled solely by the magnetic pull of Jimin's presence.

Dinner concludes, and after lending a hand with the cleanup, the music swells to an even higher volume, enticing people to the dance floor. Amid the lively atmosphere, you join in the dance with your girlfriends, playfully swaying your hips to the rhythm. The pulsating energy is infectious, but beneath the neon lights and thumping beats, you sense Jimin's intense gaze fixed on yours once more.

Sensations of arousal ignite within you, yearning for a more intimate connection that goes beyond the pulsating dance floor. Amidst the crowd, you feel a magnetic pull, a desire for his crotch to be the one you're grinding against. However, such an encounter isn't suitable in the presence of your friends. Suddenly, Jimin materializes on the dance floor, seizing your hand and drawing you into a close embrace. His warm breath grazes your ear as he utters, “Come with me, brat.”

He pulls you away from the pulsating crowd of friends, a flicker of distress in your eyes, yet a clandestine thrill seeping through your veins. The covert glances from your friends affirm that they caught the provocative scene. With determination, he leads you into a secluded room, the door securing your privacy with a decisive click.

His eyes blaze with an inferno of lust, an intensity that borders on fury. There's a dangerous edge to his gaze, and he licks his lips with a hunger that suggests he's poised to consume you whole.

“Some nerve you have,” he begins, a low growl in his voice as he presses you backward, drawing you closer to a waiting bed, its presence dawning on you like an ominous realization.

Nervousness courses through your body, a relentless tide, as he exerts control over you with the sheer dominance of his presence.

“Leaving me like that, you fucking brat,” he hisses, forcefully pushing you down onto the bed.

Despite your nerves, a chuckle escapes your lips, “Well, I think it was only fair.”

“Do you?” he raises an eyebrow, his face hovering dangerously close to yours, the air thick with anticipation.

“Fuck. What do you do to me?” he murmurs, diving in to kiss your lips. Your hands instinctively find his cheeks, and you melt into the soft, plush sensation of his mouth, lost in the intoxicating dance of his lips.

Instantly, your body relaxes, and you wrap your legs around his waist, provocatively pressing your core against his erect dick, eliciting a hiss of pleasure from him.

“I could say the same to you,” you pant, “and I don't even like you. I don't understand,” you murmur between kisses, grappling with the conflicting emotions that the intensity of the moment brings.

“But I want you. Damn it, I want you to fuck me so bad,” you confess with a breathless mixture of desire and urgency, punctuating your words with a daring roll of your hips, leaving no room for ambiguity about your craving for him.

“Fuck.”

He unbuckles his belt with a purpose, the metallic clink resonating with the promise of what's to come. Swiftly, he unzips his pants and skillfully lowers them along with his underwear, gracefully joining you on the bed with a hunger in his eyes.

His arousal is evident, his dick appearing more heated and flushed than ever. The crimson hue tells a tale of the desire he harbors, heightened by your previous act of leaving him hanging and hungry for more.

“You’re such a brat. I’ll fuck you senseless.” His voice, a sultry promise, sends shivers down your spine. With a self-assured stroke of his dick, he spreads your legs, deftly teasing your underwear aside.

Hovering above you, his breath dances on your skin as he murmurs in your ear, “I’m going to shut that pretty mouth of yours up.”

Your body quivers in response as he deftly lifts your legs over his shoulders. In this moment, he appears both commanding and delicate, a paradox you can't help but be drawn to. As your moans escape, his eyes light up, as if you hold the key to his universe. Yet, the bitter truth remains—you are enemies, drowning in mutual hatred despite the intensity of the desire that binds you.

His fingers dance over your sensitive folds, ensuring the cascade of wetness that engulfs you. You're a river in anticipation, and he chuckles, pulling back a glistening digit to savor your essence. His words, whispered with satisfaction, echo in the room, “You taste so good.”

You moan, your body craving his touch, and impatiently inquire, “What's the hold up?”' as you yearn for him to fulfill his promise to ravish you.

In the dim light, he chuckles down at you, gripping his hard dick once more and skillfully aligning it with your eager entrance. The head of his cock nudges your folds, eliciting a desperate mewl of pleasure from your lips. Despite the intense disdain you harbor for him, all you crave now is to feel him deep inside you.

With a powerful thrust, he impales you on his dick, plunging deep into your core with reckless abandon. A primal scream of his name tears from your throat, echoing in the room, encapsulating the sheer intensity of the moment. “Fuck, Jimin!”

His grin turns wicked, a hint of danger in his eyes, as he accelerates, showing no mercy and denying you any chance to acclimate. Every powerful thrust widens and fulfills you in the most exquisite way, leaving you breathless and aching for more.

Though mere hours have passed, the yearning for his dick consumes your thoughts. The magnetic pull of his desire leaves your mind shrouded in dangerous fantasies that dance provocatively through the corridors of your consciousness.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight.”

Moans of pleasure escape his lips, breathless and raw, as he utters your name in a fevered whisper. Holding your legs aloft, he thrusts into you, skillfully navigating the depths, each movement a calculated dance that hits your soft spot with precision, sending ripples of ecstasy through your body.

His intoxicating scent envelops your senses, a heady mix of musk that clouds your mind. The rhythmic dance of his tie brushing against your dress on your tummy mirrors the cadence of his thrusts.

Amidst the tumultuous waves of pleasure, you find yourself caught in a paradox of conflicting emotions. “Fuck, Jimin. I hate you. I don't understand,” you blabber, your words intertwining with the rhythmic surges of arousal coursing through your body. With each relentless thrust, the coil in your stomach tightens, weaving a complex tapestry of desire and disdain.

“I do,” he utters, punctuating his words with a forceful thrust that reverberates through your core, causing a symphony of sensations to cascade through your body.

“You like me, that's why,” he pants, each powerful thrust resonating through your pussy, an electrifying dance of pleasure and desire. It's a truth you're reluctant to acknowledge, and as your heart races, you turn your head away, unable to meet his intense gaze, even as your body betrays your feelings.

“No, no, you look at me while I fuck you, brat,” he seethes with anger. He presses himself down on you, your legs parting to rest on the sides of his arms. His hands find their way around your throat, giving it a light squeeze as he maintains the fast pace of his hard thrusts. The intensity in his eyes matches the fervor of the moment, a collision of passion and dominance that leaves you breathless.

He forces you to turn your head toward him, and the grip on your throat tightens even more. “Just admit that you like me, brat,” he demands, his voice a potent blend of authority and desire, making your heart race as you navigate the thin line between resistance and surrender.

Your mind swirls in a hazy mist, a product of his presence or the firm grip around your neck — it's hard to discern. Yet, amidst the uncertainty, there's an undeniable thrill that courses through you, a strange liking for the intoxicating blend of dominance and desire.

Released from his grasp, you inhale desperately, your breaths echoing the tumultuous whirlwind of emotions within. With the tightening coil in your stomach, you reluctantly admit, “Fine... I don't hate you.”

His hands reclaim your throat, a firm grip that mingles pleasure and restraint, synchronized with the rhythmic precision of his thrusts hitting every exquisite spot within you. “That's not good enough, brat,” he growls, his control both intoxicating and exhilarating.

“I know you like me, because your body tells me so,”

“I know you like it when I choke you, because you clench so much around me when I do,”

“Your body can’t lie, brat.”

Holy fuck. He’s right. At least in some parts. Your mind is a tempest of desire, clouded with thoughts of him, and suddenly you’re screaming, the sound muffled by his firm hands around your throat. Your body spasms uncontrollably, a tidal wave of pleasure crashing around his pulsating dick.

“Fuck. Yeah, cream my dick, brat.” he maintains his relentless thrusts, your orgasm surging through you like a wild storm, leaving you with a symphony of sensations and a loud ringing sound in your ears.

His hands finally release their grip on your neck, and you find yourself panting for air, gasping his name with a mixture of desperation and lust, “J-Jimin, fuck.”

“You’re doing so good. Even if you behave like a brat. Fuck. I’m so close.”

And then his thrusts become erratic and even more frantic, as he desperately seeks his own climax.

“Fuck, Jimin, just like that!” you scream as he relentlessly targets your sweet spot, igniting the familiar coil in your stomach once more. Fuck.

Jimin seems to sense your escalating pleasure, and one of his hands skillfully finds your clit, circling it with a tantalizing touch that nearly makes you scream. “Shit!”

He skillfully pinches your clit, and suddenly, you see stars—you're gone. Squirts of your release gush out, painting his pubic hairs, and Jimin gazes down at you. You thrash around the bed, frantically breathing, your muscles tightening as your vision becomes a canvas of small, white dots.

“Damn. You just squirted all over me,” he breathes in a soft voice, a hint of adoration laced within. However, you can't really decipher his tone as you're lost in the moment, your ears ringing again.

“Damn, that's hot,” he exclaims and thrusts into you again, releasing his warm load inside you with a scream of your name.

He continues to thrust into your core, the rhythm slowing down to a more sensual pace. Your body feels dazed and sweaty, the dress clinging uncomfortably to your skin, the satin now undoubtedly soaked through.

You gasp for air, still catching your breath. “Fucking hell, that was amazing, Jimin.” He chuckles, offering you a gentle smile that quickly transforms into his trademark smirk.

His laughter dances through the air, accompanied by a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You know, we can totally do this again,” he says, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. You can't help but roll your eyes, though deep down, the idea doesn't seem entirely unwelcome. Keeping a sense of mystery, you respond with a playful glint in your eyes, “Maybe.” The rebellion in your spirit mirrors the dance of sparks between you, a familiar game of push and pull that seems destined to continue.

“Brat.”

He chuckles, yet defies the teasing nickname by bending down to kiss you; it’s sweet and tender, a stark contrast to how he just fucked your brains out.

You cast a dismayed gaze at your drenched dress, muttering, “I can't go out in this,” and you groan, feeling the uncomfortable cling of the fabric to your skin, an unwelcome sensation adding to the aftermath of your heated encounter.

“How about we raid Seokjin’s closet?” he suggests, winking with a playful lift of his brows and a light chuckle.

“Is this Seokjin’s room? Did we just fuck on his bed? Damn, he’s going to be furious!” You burst into laughter at the absurdity of the situation. “No way! Imagine if everyone finds out we fucked.” You shriek, wildly waving your hands in the air, the possibility suddenly sinking in.

“Why are you so hell-bent on keeping it a secret?” he asks, genuinely curious, a playful glint in his eyes as he chuckles at your distress.

“Because you're my sworn enemy,” you state matter-of-factly, giving a nonchalant shrug.

“Are you sure about that?” he teases, his eyebrows wiggling playfully. You can't help but roll your eyes at his cheeky demeanor once again.

“And I think they already know,” he laughs, amusement dancing in his eyes as he observes your irritated expression. You groan into your hands, grappling with the realization that he might be right. However, you're determined to cling to any shred of hope you can find.

“We'll just stay up here until my dress is dry,” you declare, as if it's the most brilliant plan you can conjure. Jimin chuckles, his gaze lingering over your heaving form with a hunger that ignites a spark of desire. He licks his lips, suggesting, “Then take it off. That way, it'll dry faster, and we can go for round two in a moment.”

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hyungieyoongi · 1 year

Text

Breeze

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Angst + Fluff + Friends to Lovers

Word Count: 600+

A/N: Requested by the sweetest bean @milk-and-moni. I am so soft for Joonie. I hope you love it.

Becoming friends with Namjoon was like opening a window and letting in a cool breeze on a summer day—easy, refreshing, perfect. It was the type of friendship that made you stop and smile to yourself, thinking about how lucky you were to have someone who understood you entirely. Namjoon was someone who listened so intently when you told him stories about your day. Who remembered your favorite coffee order and made you laugh so hard your sides would hurt. He would take you on trips to his favorite museums, spending hours excitedly telling you about the pieces that spoke to him. You spent more time watching his eyes light up with childlike abandon and less time looking at the priceless art adorning the walls.

Falling in love with him was even easier. It didn’t happen all at once—there was never a moment of intense realization that your feelings for this man had transformed from innocent friendship to one of love. You felt yourself starting to get nervous around him—would he like your new sweater? Did he think the pink blush you had put on your cheeks made you look pretty? Did he think your conversations were interesting enough to keep you around? It was only then that you realized this person you had let in—this breeze of fresh air that had changed the trajectory of your life—had nestled his way into your heart so completely that you didn’t know if you could get him out.

But you had to try, because you knew, deep down, that he didn’t love you that way. You had convinced yourself that this was one-sided. You needed to shut the window, stop letting the breeze through your mind and your heart. If you didn’t, it would overtake you. And you would ruin everything.

You pulled away. You stopped texting, stopped calling. He’d leave you voicemails asking you to come listen to a new song he was writing. Then he started asking if you were okay. Then he started asking what he did wrong. The worst part was, he did nothing wrong. It was you. You were the problem.

You should have known Namjoon would never let you go that easily.

“Is there a reason you’re avoiding me?” Namjoon asked gently. He was sitting on your couch, far away from you, hands flipping his hair nervously out of his face repeatedly. He had his glasses on; his eyes looked slightly smaller because of his strong prescription. He was completely endearing. “Why haven’t you been talking to me as often, or texting me about your day?”

You gulped. His earnest questions, the look of pain on his features; he was beating at the glass of the window you had slammed shut. You didn’t want to let the breeze through.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” you whispered, looking down at your hands in your lap.

“Oh, sweetheart,” your eyes shot up at the endearment, meeting his gaze, full of affection and—dare you hope—love. “You could never be a bother to me.” Namjoon got up, sitting next to you, reaching for your hand to intertwine your fingers with his. The window was cracking, the breeze was starting to blow through your heart again. You could feel it. It was undeniable. “Please, let me back in.”

“Namjoon, I-I’m scared,” you admitted, eyes blurring with tears.

“You have nothing to be scared of. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” He leaned forward slightly, looking into your eyes, searching for something. Silently asking for permission. His lips touched yours in a gentle kiss, sealing the promise of the words spoken between you.

You took a deep breath; the breeze kissed your flushed cheeks. You missed it. You missed him. He leaned his forehead against yours, eyes closed, soft smile on his face. The breeze was here to stay.

---

Check out my other work! ❤️

Taglist: @alpacaparkaseok , @delacyrose224, @aianloveseven , @dulce-pjm , @milk-and-moni, @wittyreader, @royallyjjk

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jeonqkooks · 1 year

Note

Hey 🧡

Can I request number 15 (angst) - "I see the way you look at them" with Jimin?

hopelessly devoted | pjm

pairing: jimin x f!reader, side namjoon x f!reader

rating: PG

genre/warnings: angst, unrequited love au, jimin is a sad boi :(, idk i think that's it lol there's not much other than $4D

word count: 1.3k

note: i hope you're still around anon and i hope you like this <3 !! also massive thank you's to @daechwitatamic and @jeonwiixard for beta-ing me and not letting me think it was a flaming pile of garbage lol! i love uuuuuu 💕

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

“You’re a saint.”

Jimin turns to the left to meet the eyes of a man whose name he still hasn’t bothered learning. They’ve met a few times at birthday parties and other group dinners, but not once has Jimin officially spoken to him. He just knows him as one of Namjoon’s friends.

“What was that?” Jimin asks in a low voice, as to not disturb the scene that’s about to unfold in the adjacent room – the room that he, a dozen of his friends and strangers spent the whole day decorating with heart-shaped balloons and rose petals. The door is cracked open just a few inches so he could hear everything that’s going on and know when to burst in when the time is right.

He sees you with your back turned to him. How fitting; him, always standing behind you, forced to watch you keep your eyes on another man.

“You’re a saint,” the man repeats simply, eyes full of pity, and Jimin realizes then that this stranger knows a secret of his that even you aren’t privy to. “I see the way you look at her.”

Jimin calmly blinks, even though he’s just been caught, bleeding heart and all. A single sentence, cutting him open a few feet away from where love is in full bloom.

He should be scrambling to deny any and all accusations, scoff and pretend that he has no idea what the stranger is insinuating.

Instead, he reminds himself to breathe. He doesn’t have anything to hide, at least not anymore. He’s only a guy, hopelessly in love with a girl who is hopelessly in love with someone else. The excitement radiating off everyone except for him is palpable. Your girlfriends can barely stay quiet and keep from ruining the moment for you and Namjoon. They bounce on their feet in anticipation, unaware that right next to them, Jimin is still wishing on a comet he saw a lifetime ago, that you would turn around. That you would leave everything just to go to him, to finally see him.

“That obvious, huh?” Jimin asks, teasingly self-deprecating even in the face of heartbreak.

What he gets in return is a shrug. “I don’t understand how you can be so selfless,” the man says. “I could never watch the girl I have feelings for be happy with someone else.”

Jimin hums sagely. It isn’t even the truth. He doesn’t want to be selfless, he wants to be selfish. He wants to storm into the room and shake you by the shoulders until you understand that his affection for you extends far beyond the confines of friendship.

He would do anything you ask him to. By extension, he supposes what Namjoon wants falls under this category too. If there’s anything that anyone should know about Jimin, it’s that he would go to the ends of the earth to make sure you’re happy, even if it means putting on a smile and telling Namjoon yes when the other man came to him for help on proposing to you.

Love shouldn’t hurt like this, but it does.

Jimin watches the scene unfold through the crack of the door. He hears the deafening beats of his heart in his ears while everybody waits for the crescendo.

Namjoon gets on one knee, and your friends can all see the exact moment your world stops.

Time halts, and Jimin reminisces.

Four hundred and seventy five days.

That’s how long he’s been thinking about the improbability of you and him, and about how things could’ve gone so differently had he been braver just a little sooner.

Four hundred and seventy five nights Jimin has spent, lying in his bed alone and staring at the ceiling. Restless and aching to the bone. Because four hundred and seventy five days ago, he finally managed to gather the courage to tell you how he felt about you after weeks of nerve wracking contemplation and years of unspoken, untested love. He’d rehearsed countless times what he was going to tell you. There had even been a speech planned, for when you rejected him and told him that the pair of you would be better off as friends.

It took him everything just to stand in front of your door that night, with his love so tangible he could hold it in his hands, clumsily prepared to ask you to keep it.

When you opened the door and flashed him that ever glowing sunshine smile of yours, his heart almost gave out. Five minutes later, it did, but for a reason he hadn’t seen coming. With that beautiful grin still plastered on your face, you uttered the words that completely knocked him off his axis.

“Namjoon asked me out today.”

Kim Namjoon, the man you had been crushing on ever since you laid eyes on him two months prior. He was part of the reason why Jimin decided to grow a pair and confess to you, but as it seems, the universe had other intentions.

He was one step behind.

Always just a step behind.

With every milestone that you reached with Namjoon, the part of him that always held out hope that it’d be you and him in the end gradually chipped away. Your anniversaries, the first time you met each other’s parents, and eventually, when you agreed to move in with Namjoon… Every time he listened to you talk about your boyfriend with a twinkle in your eyes, Jimin could only nod along and smile, muttering words of encouragement to you because he was a good friend.

He was a good friend and he was happy that you were happy.

Despite how much he wished it had been him in Namjoon’s place instead.

Despite how much he thought it should’ve been him.

Jimin understands it better than most people: Love is pain.

The irony isn’t lost on him, how the same word means such different things for the both of you.

You say yes, because of course you do. You’re the princess and Namjoon is Prince Charming, destined to come in and sweep you off your feet. This is your fairytale ending and Jimin is standing right here, merely a bystander to your happiness.

As Namjoon slips the diamond ring onto your delicate finger, Jimin has to grasp the fact that no matter how hard he tries, he will never be the main character in the story of your life. Your tears spill over and he watches Namjoon wipe them away. He commits to memory the complete and utter joy you wear when your now fiance gathers you in his arms and gently spins you around, the content smiles on both your faces blurry from a distance.

Or perhaps it’s Jimin’s own vision clouding from the sting he feels piercing through his chest.

His heartbeat is so loud that he can’t even hear Namjoon usher everybody in. He doesn’t really register his surroundings until your friends all rush to your side with delighted squeals of congratulations.

Jimin has never seen you look this happy before. Surrounded by the love of your life and all your closest friends, you radiate a glow that he has only ever witnessed in his dreams. Nobody seems to notice that he’s still standing there, rooted to the ground, while people celebrate what must be one of the most memorable moments of your life.

It’s not until your gaze dances across the room and lands on him in the dark that Jimin remembers how to fake a smile again. He immediately perks up for your sake, though he’s sure that you aren’t even conscious of the brave face he’s putting on.

He walks over to you then, wearing a bright grin and dragging a sunken heart that no one else can see. The hug you share is one he wishes could last for an eternity, before you leave him for someone else forever. The stranger’s eyes burn the side of his face.

Tonight is just another sleepless night.

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eoieopda · 10 months

Text

menace (pjm) — pt. v

Pairing: Park Jimin x Kim!Reader Type: 5/6 (Mini Series) ⇢ Previous Chapter | Masterlist Genre: Angst + Smut + Eventual Fluff Rating: M (18+) Word Count: 7k Summary: Some conversations are long overdue. AUs: Older brother’s best friend; fuck buddies that hate each other CW: Reader is AFAB & queer; sort of an omniscient POV?; the return of jeon jungkook; the consequences of their own actions; angsty bits but ending on a good note! A/N: This takes place immediately after the events of pt. 3! FYI, I slightly lessened the age gap between Seokjin and Jimin for plot purposes. The smut will return in the final part, so don't fret ✨ ⚠️ 18+ only ⚠️ minors and ageless blogs will be blocked, on sight. my content is not for you. i do not want to interact with you. please respect my boundaries.

When he left your house earlier that day — left you, at your demand — Jimin went home. He shuffled off to his bedroom, dropped like a stone onto his own mattress, and squeezed his eyes shut tight.

He was still stuck on the puzzle. Over and over, he replayed the moment he’d kissed you. It was a reflex, not a choice. The way you gazed up at him, starry eyed, from the cushions of your sofa didn’t leave him a choice. And even though he should have regretted it immediately, he didn’t — not until he watched your face warp, not until you pushed him away.

Staring mindlessly up at his ceiling, Jimin struggled to recall what the fuck this was all for — any of it. The distance, the hostility, the rules. The two of you had pushed forward so recklessly and for so long that the starting line was blurry. Everything was, and the harder he thought about it, the dizzier he got.

To ground himself, Jimin closed his eyes and pressed his palms flat against the bed. His fingers grabbed fistfuls of the duvet below, like he might go flying around the room otherwise. Pinched hard between his thumbs and index fingers, he ran the pads of them over the fabric. As he did, he closed his eyes, breathing slowly and deliberately.

What’s the point?

It took a moment, but he felt it when he bent one knee, foot flat against the bed. The point was actually a rounded corner, and it was pressing into his thigh through the lining of his pocket. Despite knowing better, he fished his phone out. Muscle memory guided him through to his mailbox; consistently shitty judgment clicked on the sole message he found there. The rest of him tensed, awaiting impact.

As a general rule, Jimin didn’t hold on to voicemails — if he bothered to listen to them at all. He believed that anyone who truly needed to speak to him would text him if their first attempt went unanswered. Otherwise, they’d blow up his phone until he stopped screening their calls altogether. But he wasn’t great with rules, as he’d recently learned, so there was one exception:

Jimin had no idea why he kept yours after all this time, but he did.

He played it every now and then; and every time he did, he asked himself why, never arriving at an answer. Self-flagellation was his best guess. After all, no good came from tear-soaked venom, especially not one year after the fact. Knowing better almost never meant doing better, however.

By now, he could likely recite it by memory.

You’re not going to listen to this, but I’ll say it anyway because I didn’t deserve what you did to me tonight, and you deserve to hear it.

You then take a shallow, shaky breath.

I’ve spent years — years — waiting for you to be brave. Followed you around like a fucking puppy, and for what? This?

The crack in your voice is smoothed over by a humorless laugh.

I’ve wasted my own breath defending you to other people when you’re not even there — and I wish I could swallow it all back down.

Then, the coup de grâce:

You are every awful thing people say about you.

For weeks, Jimin beat himself over the head with that last line until he could barely get out of bed. You knew him, knew how much something like that would hurt him — especially when it came from you. Still, you said it anyway, convinced that he wasn’t still the person you thought he was. Back then, two questions spun relentlessly in the back of his mind:

If you wielded that particular knife intentionally, did he really know you? Why would he bother with an explanation or apology when you wrote him off so quickly, so completely?

Groaning loudly, Jimin locked his phone and tossed it onto the mattress next to him just to scrub his hands over his face. It bounced and landed with a smack against the hardwood beneath his bed, but he didn’t flinch. He’d just have to add that to the list of things he’d fucked up lately.

Highest up on that list was breaking the rules of his own mind games. He wasn’t supposed to deviate. All he wanted to do — at the very start — was to hurt you back by proving you right. To finally meet your expectations for him, be every awful thing you said about him in that voicemail. At least, that’s what he thought he wanted. Now, he was left to question his motives.

Was he unwilling to let that anger go, or was he unwilling to let you go? If it was truly ever about revenge, when did it stop?

Jimin asked himself that question as if he didn’t already know the answer. It stopped as soon as it started: when twenty years’ worth of wondering were over, and he finally knew what it felt like to hold you, even if the circumstances looked nothing like they should’ve.

Fuck.

You should’ve punched him for what he did to you, but you didn’t. The realization hit him instead, so hard that his ears were ringing. It was never you that he hated and it should’ve dawned on him a long time ago that all he’d ever been doing was projecting. He should’ve known that no matter how much he hated himself, he loved you more than that.

He always had, hadn't he?

“Fucking idiot,” he growled to himself, swinging his legs over the side of his bed to stand.

Once he pushed himself to his feet, he grabbed his car keys and coat from the place he’d dropped them upon returning from your house. He snatched that fucking phone, too, before heading for the front door to make that same trip again. When he opened the door, he stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide.

Seokjin was frozen with his fist raised to knock. It dropped back down to his side as soon as his surprise wore off.

He raised an eyebrow and asked, “Got a minute?”

It was a mistake, agreeing to meet up with Jungkook for a boxing class. Following the morning’s events, you were still nursing a bruised elbow and, far worse than that, a slow-to-recover ego. Maybe the real problem was the bitterness that sat on the tip of your tongue and never left, no matter how hard you swallowed. Embarrassment, regret, some third emotion you had yet to categorize. One way or another, you were miserable.

You deserve it.

Exhausted and sweat-slicked, Jungkook sat down next to you on the bench you’d all but collapsed on to. To no one’s surprise, he was in significantly better shape than you; and unlike you, he still had the strength to move his arms. He pulled off his gloves, then he made short work of yours without you even needing to ask.

“I’m still not getting it,” he sighed.

The two pairs of gloves dropped onto the floor in front of you with a muffled thump that was louder than his breath had been.

“You’ve been fucking at an alarming frequency for a year, and you’re mad that he kissed you?”

You turned to look at him with narrowed eyes. Incredulous, you huffed, “First of all, what do you mean alarming?”

“I mean bi-weekly — at minimum,” he deadpanned.

This motherfucker.

The earnest, unimpressed look on his face prompted you to jab him in the ribs with your elbow long before you remembered your injury. When you hissed, he rolled his eyes. Then, nudging your shoulder with his, Jungkook’s tone softened. Gently, he asked, “What's actually bothering you?”

“He broke the rules.”

This caught his attention, and he paused. His hands fell motionless in his lap. “Oh,” was all he said. He now knew exactly why you’d been haunting the gym like some sick, sad, Victorian ghost for the past two hours; but judging by the way his brows knit together, he still didn’t have a clue what to do or say about it.

You scooted further back on your seat and pulled your knees to your chest, not unlike the way you’d sat on your living room floor a few hours earlier. Staring intently at the ground, you wondered if there was any way to disappear into the carpet — which someone absolutely should have vacuumed since your last appearance there, but clearly hadn’t. It was quiet for more than a few moments as you and your thoughts got lost in the crop circles of dirt amidst the fibers.

Eventually, you mumbled, “This whole thing went haywire. It was working so well for so long, and now it’s fucked.”

Jungkook leaned against the wall, head tilted slightly to keep his eyes on you. With the corner of his mouth hitched up, he mused, “Was it really working, though?”

You blinked dumbly back at him.

“Is it possible that you weren’t doing this to hurt him? That — and I’m just spit-balling here — you just wanted to keep him around, one way or another?”

The brick in the pit of your stomach was sinking deeper, and its corners were starting to jab you in weak spots you weren’t previously aware of.

Of course I wanted to hurt him. He hurt me first.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, in part to keep from snapping at Jungkook but largely because you wouldn’t know what to say if you did. He had a point, after all, and that was difficult to reconcile. Why else would you have kept at this little game for as long as you had?

That’s the worst part about a long con, isn’t it? It never, ever ends up the way you’d planned. The more time you invest in something, the harder it is to remember why you bought in to begin with.

At the outset, you’d absolutely wanted to bring that boy to his knees. You had every intention of letting him fall on his face from there. He was supposed to feel as invisible and unwanted as you did when you sat at that table for two, all alone. Like cellophane, transparent. You were supposed to stay detached; it’s why you had rules in the first place.

So, why did you keep it going? Why was it eating you up inside when those rules were broken, and you couldn’t? Did you start something, knowing in some hidden corner of your brain that you’d never want to stop?

You didn’t know what else to say, so you dropped your face into your hands and muttered, “Fuck.”

Jungkook, in an attempt to be comforting, slung his arm around your shoulder. His skin was as clammy as yours, instantly causing you to squeal, but he didn’t let you squirm away. Instead, he encircled you, pinning your arms to your sides in the process. He grunted through his laughter, “Let me — comfort — you — you fucking cactus!”

“Hands to yourself, swamp ass!” You warned, still wriggling.

The dangerous look you tried to send him was lost; it crumpled with your face as you laughed hard enough to make your abdominal muscles even more sore. You flailed, but as you tried to get to your feet, his arms constricted. He smiled in that signature Jungkook way — all front teeth and pursed lips — as if caging you in was child’s play.

You whined, “I mean it. I can throw a punch now!”

It took him next to no effort to subdue you completely, leaving you to wonder what the fuck those boxing classes were truly worth. Dejected, you had no option but to slump against him like a rag doll, panting and considering requesting a refund.

“For the record,” Jungkook sighed, “You’re just as gross.”

You scowled even though you faced away from him. “Shut up.”

He glanced down at you. In a matter of seconds, his smirk reappeared on his face. Flexing an eyebrow, he teased, “So, what’s first on your agenda when you get home? Showering or telling Jimin you’re in love with him?”

You knew he said it primarily to fuck with you, that he didn’t mean for it to bruise, but it did. Because, while it was true, that realization didn’t clean up the mess you’d made. It didn’t erase what Jimin did, either, which made things all the more complicated. He knew how much it would hurt — there’s no way he didn’t — and he still didn’t show up for you.

So, what?

What difference did it make if you loved him? You always had, on some level; and he didn’t feel the same. He never had. The only difference time had made was that now, you couldn’t remember how to let people in. You locked that part of you in a vault to keep yourself safe, and then you swallowed the key. Even if his feelings had changed, he’d never be able to slip past defenses you yourself didn’t know how to lower.

And if that was the case, why would he bother trying?

Jungkook suddenly released his hold around you. Startled, you glanced up over your shoulder at him just in time to watch his mouth curve upwards. Unintentionally, yours did too.

“Seems like there’s an overdue conversation to have, yeah?” He hummed.

You nodded, looking back down at your hands in your lap.

“Just — please, shower first. You are ripe.”

When you were nine, your parents enrolled you in dance classes at a local studio. They said that you had more energy than they knew what to do with, that a physical outlet for it all would be good for you. And even though Seokjin was fourteen at the time, he knew better. He knew that decision had nothing whatsoever to do with you.

The truth — which he was sure you realized now — was that your parents needed somewhere to put you on Tuesday and Thursday evenings.

That year was the first in which Seokjin’s soccer team was worth watching. So much so, in fact, that they’d made it to the quarterfinals of a local tournament. He knew it, even back then, that it was meaningless; just a group of shithead teens vying for a trophy they’d sell at a garage sale the following summer. More importantly, he knew that kind of thought isn’t one a ninth-grader should have to have. Your parents didn’t seem to get it, so, he figured, someone should.

They were present for every practice — every Tuesday and Thursday — without fail. They cheered through all of them as if it was the final they were watching, not Seokjin running drills in a bright purple practice jersey. Then, when practice was over, they’d shower him with praise that a fourteen-year-old should’ve basked in. Every time, he’d have to cut them off and remind them of the empty seat next to his in the back of the minivan. Someone needed to notice when you weren’t around.

He was good at that, nudging them, even though he shouldn’t have had to be — and he only fucked up once.

On one drive home, he was too engrossed in his Nintendo DS to think twice when his parents asked him to choose between grabbing dinner with them and going home. Seokjin chose the latter; they dropped him off and headed out to whatever restaurant they’d chosen.

After an hour, he wandered to the kitchen to eat whatever the fuck he wanted to for dinner. His head was buried in the refrigerator when a loud knock at the front door scared him so badly that he smacked his head against a shelf, cursing loudly without any adults nearby to yell at him for it. Confused, he shuffled off towards the foyer, glanced through the peephole, and shoved the door open.

It didn’t make sense, Jimin appearing on his doorstep without calling first. That is, until Seokjin saw you clinging to Jimin’s hand with wet eyes and a trembling lip.

“Forgot my water bottle and went back for it, saw her sitting by herself on a bench outside the studio,” Jimin explained through gritted teeth.

He could’ve dropped your hand at any point after walking you from the studio to your house, but he held it still. “Hyung, she was out there for an hour.”

Seokjin was fourteen the first — and only — time he dropped you. Jimin, at just twelve, was there to pick you up.

Now, well over a decade later, it was Seokjin standing on Jimin’s doorstep. Though the two of them had grown significantly since then, the reason for the sudden drop-in hadn’t changed. Everything else aside, they would always have that one thing in common: You.

“Hyung, do you —” Jimin had barely said a word, and yet he was already stammering. If his eyes bugged out any further, Seokjin worried he’d have to clean them up off the doormat. “D’you wanna come in?”

The youngest stepped to the side, opened the door wide enough for the eldest to slip into the entryway. All the while, it looked like he was actively working to not shit himself. Thankfully, Seokjin had been inside more times than he could count, and he knew his way by heart: straight to the refrigerator to grab two beers.

He tossed one to Jimin, whose nerves nearly made him fumble it. The can smacked into his chest when his hands lagged behind, coming to life just in time to prevent it from free-falling to the floor.

“So,” Seokjin started.

He cracked open his beer without taking his eyes off Jimin, or letting a single emotion register on his face. It might have been a shitty thing to do, but he’d always loved watching Jimin squirm; and this was the most uncomfortable he’d seen his friend in decades.

“Anything you want to tell me, or should I just go for it?”

Jimin’s jaw clenched tightly enough that Seokjin could practically see the blood flowing through the vein protruding from his neck below. Clearly, he was trying to find his words. Lucky for him, Seokjin wasn’t known for his patience. He took over without wasting another second.

He sighed, “I always suspected that you were an idiot, but I didn’t know you were this dumb.”

Dead silence, save for what might’ve been all of Jimin’s synapses sizzling at once.

“No, seriously,” Seokjin snorted. Eyebrow raised, he lifted his hand and gestured to Jimin with his beer. “I’d be impressed if I wasn’t so concerned.”

Jimin’s forehead crinkled as he attempted to catch up. “I — what?”

Heaving a put-upon sigh, Seokjin dropped down into his usual stool at Jimin’s kitchen counter. Elbow to granite, he propped his cheek onto the heel of his hand.

Really, he hoped that years’ worth of friendship meant that Jimin could buffer a little fucking faster. The open-mouthed gawking indicated otherwise, to Seokjin’s dismay. Annoyed that his beautiful mind wasn’t being telepathically read, Seokjin groaned. “You think I throw that fucking Valentine’s Day party every year for — what, my health? My girlfriend only likes me half the time, man. Come on.”

Jimin simply blinked in response, like it was all his brain could manage.

“I’ve been trying to push the two of you together for years,” Seokjin huffed. “I’ve expended so much effort that I should be financially compensated, frankly, but that’s beside the point."

At the rate Jimin’s mouth was opening and closing, Seokjin could’ve easily mistaken him for a caught fish, gasping for air. Nevertheless, he persisted. "I even conned you into playing chauffeur this last time, thinking that maybe that would do it — and you waited another half a year to make a move? Babo.”

The confusion eventually gave way to something unreadable, though, right before Jimin’s hand raised. He landed a swift smack on Seokjin’s bicep with a growl before Seokjin could even think to brace himself.

“Are you kidding?” Jimin shouted.

Oh, you’re mad mad.

Jimin kept swatting, punctuating every word with a hit. “You’re — you — fuck!”

He gave up with a yell and slammed his fists down on the countertop, making Seokjin jump. Just as quickly, Jimin crumpled at the center, doubled over so that his entire upper body rested on top of his folded arms. His forehead dug into the knuckles of his thumbs, which curled around tightly clenched fists. Though Jimin had squeezed his eyes shut, Seokjin could make the educated guess that he was seeing red.

“First of all, what the fuck was that?” Seokjin scoffed.

In a flash, Jimin’s eyes cracked open. Instead of anger, there was something else buried there. Something sobering that made Seokjin’s stomach turn. He felt even worse when Jimin spoke again, sounding outright defeated:

“That shit you said about Chan and his sister,” Jimin grumbled, mouth unable to move fully with the way he’d slumped. “What was I supposed to take from that?”

Seokjin was at a loss, so he took a swig of his beer and swallowed it with a sigh. “What shit? I haven’t talked to Chan in — fuck — year or so now.”

Jimin stood up just enough to press his palms to the countertop, head still hanging while he leaned. “About me being lucky that he didn’t make me swallow my teeth?”

Oh.

Fuck.

Seokjin frowned. For as long as he could remember, his love language had been fucking with people. With you, with Jimin, and with Jungkook, once he popped into the picture. There was a silent understanding that his little pranks and digs were a sign of affection. If he didn’t mess with someone, it was safe to assume that he didn’t give a shit about them.

Until now, he hadn’t thought twice about that conversation with Jimin because it wasn't any different than every other conversation they’d ever had. Clearly, he’d struck a nerve he never intended to aim at. Goddamnit.

He grimaced. “You held off because of me?”

Jimin rolled his eyes, then he sank down on to the stool on the opposite side of the counter. Incredulous, he scoffed, “Was I supposed to see that as a green light?”

Seokjin didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. He nursed his beer in silence, eyes downcast. Jimin, of course, had a point. Several, it seemed, because he continued, “You and your sister are adept at kneecapping people, whether or not it’s intentional.”

It was a direct hit, as far as Seokjin was concerned. He wasn’t the best at reading the room. On the other hand, you were always extremely sensitive to other people’s feelings. It was this consideration that prompted him to raise an eyebrow and ask, “What do you mean?”

Jimin swallowed hard. Whatever he wanted to say was visibly lodged in his throat, unwilling to budge. To help knock it loose, Seokjin — gently — smacked the center of Jimin’s back, right between the shoulder blades. His efforts earned him a scowl, but then an admission.

“Hyung, I fucked it up. Bad.” Jimin scrubbed his hands over his face in an attempt to hide.

Seokjin kept his expectant eyes fixed on him, silently pressuring him to keep talking.

“I blew her off a year ago because I’m chickenshit, and she still hates me for it. So, I’m sorry to say that the ship has fucking sailed — and then I capsized it — and now I’m drowning.”

Deep in thought, Seokjin turned his head away from Jimin to stare into the middle distance. He needed contemplative silence — or, if nothing else, to look pensive — but he found an out instead. Sitting on top of the counter on the far side of the kitchen was a toolbox. As he stared at it, the sound of Jimin’s ongoing melodrama gave way to gears turning.

“If I could talk to her, I think I could fix it, but that’s the problem —”

Blah, blah, blah.

Above all else, Seokjin was pragmatic. A schemer, always one step ahead. He raised his hand to cut Jimin off mid-monologue and asked, “You know anything about plumbing?”

Your drive home from the gym took twice as long as your drive there. Flying on autopilot, your eyes stuck to the road, and your hands went through the motions of turning the wheel, but your mind wasn’t in the car with you. If it was, you likely wouldn’t have driven past your freeway exit, not once but twice.

Unfortunately for you, your inability to focus only got worse as heavy raindrops hit your windshield. Before you knew it, the smattering evolved into sheets so substantial that the drum of fallout against the metal roof left you somewhere close to hypnotized. Mind otherwise blank to your surroundings, all you could think about was Jimin and the steps you’d have to take next.

Obviously, playing stupid games won you stupid prizes. If you kept it up, you’d shatter; and as far as you could tell, a clean break from him was the only thing that might keep you in one piece. You had to shut it all down, crawl back into your bunker, and wait it out. Resurface, maybe, when you stopped wanting him.

When it was safe.

After nearly missing your street, you managed to wind up in your own driveway. Despite reaching your destination, you couldn’t peel yourself out of your seat. The umbrella tucked into the side compartment of your passenger door could’ve gotten you to your front door without too much trouble, but the threat of getting drenched wasn’t what pinned you down. It was the fact that, once again, you were the butt of some cosmic joke. A bookend.

Your first night with Jimin looked just like this one. How fitting that the ending would be waterlogged, too.

Before you could sink into that pit of nostalgia, you unbuckled your seatbelt and reached across the passenger seat for your umbrella. It fought you on the way out of its resting place, snagging against the lip of the molded plastic and threatening to rip. With one last, careful tug, you freed it. You opened your door with your left hand while unwrapping the velcro band with your right.

The effort was ultimately useless. The rain pelted the pavement with such force that it ricocheted, like it was raining from the ground up. Your socks and shoes were soaked within seconds, squelching with every step as you scurried up the path to your doorstep. For once, the universe sided with you and allowed you to unlock your door on the first attempt, rather than the third.

“Motherfucker,” you muttered to no one as you skidded, dripping, over the threshold.

Dumping your umbrella next to your hastily discarded shoes, you tossed your keys onto their designated hook and made a beeline for the shower, shivering as the rush of air cooled your wet skin. As you went, you fought for your life against your soaked sweatshirt, which had all but doubled its weight on your trek in from the car. The combination of its heavy fabric and your laughably sore muscles had you panting before your feet found the tile floor they sought.

Of course, that was cold, too.

You hissed, “Motherfucker,” while slamming the door shut behind you. After chucking the remainder of your clothes in the general direction of your over-filled hamper, you bent down and turned the shower handle as far to the left as it could go. You might have ended up melting your skin off your body, but at least that chill in your bones would be gone.

You couldn’t put your finger on it right away, but something was different. Eyes narrowed suspiciously, you glanced between the shower head and the drain, like staring intently enough would reveal some sort of secret. Eventually, it clicked.

It alarmed you that nothing alarmed you. Aside from the stream hitting the floor, it was quiet. No groaning, no ominous clanking or sputtering — just water, unaccompanied, at the temperature you asked for.

“What —?” Your voice trailed off before you could finish talking to yourself.

For eighteen months, you sent consistent, increasingly angry, written notices to your landlord, begging him to fix whatever was wrong with your plumbing. At the very least, you wanted him to look into it and confirm you weren’t just hallucinating. He ignored you, time and again, until you’d given up entirely. Of course, he waited until then to do something, like it was out of the goodness of his own heart and not the result of your incessant nagging.

And — exactly as you expected — it took him no time at all to fix it. Less than the duration of your occasional cameo at the gym.

Unable to stop yourself, you rolled your eyes and scoffed as you stepped into the shower, letting the frustration evaporate with the steam. It left you with a sigh that bordered a moan, so surprising and genuine that you embarrassed yourself. “Oh, fuck.”

You’d almost forgotten what it felt like, showering with adequate water pressure and without groaning pipes. It was perfect. If you could have, you would’ve stayed there for the rest of the night, ignoring the consequences waiting for you on the other side of the door.

Maybe, you thought, you could watch it all slip down the drain — the dread, all those feelings you never consented to having. You could hide there and scrub yourself clean of the mess you’d made while trying to fix yourself. The hot water supply didn’t support your plan, however, and your hour of boiling yourself like a dumpling came to a tragic, increasingly chilled end.

Faster than you ever had before, you yanked a towel off the nearby rack, encircled yourself with it, and hopped out onto the bath mat. Unlike earlier that day, you intended to rip the metaphorical bandage off quickly. You wanted to thrust yourself out into the hallway before you could get too comfortable in the holdover warmth inside the bathroom. That intention didn’t get you far, though.

As soon as you turned for the door, you saw the note taped to the back of it. The moisture had made the ink bleed slightly, but the message was still legible. In handwriting you could easily pick out of a lineup, it read:

Hope I didn’t make it worse. Should I send the bill to your landlord? Also, you really need to find a better spot for your spare. Not safe! — J

Motherfucker.

Jimin was elbow-deep in dishes when he heard something resembling a thump.

At the rate the storm had kicked up outside, he wouldn’t have been surprised if the wind overturned his garbage can, or knocked a branch loose from the tree looming over his front porch. Whatever it was, it was muffled under the rush of water spilling out of the sky in waves. So, he shrugged and went back to scrubbing the pan he’d used to make dinner.

When the last remnants of his meal were washed away, he used the back of his wrist to push the faucet lever down. Without the additional flow of water, he heard that noise again — louder now, pace almost frantic. His brow furrowed as he pulled off his dish gloves. He hung them carefully over the faucet to dry, then he turned to investigate the source of the sound.

The closer he got to the front of his house, the clearer it became that the noise had nothing to do with the weather. In fact, if he had to bet, Jimin would’ve guessed it was Seokjin showing up unannounced for the second time that day.

“Hyung, I know you love me, but why are you —” Jimin started to whine as he flicked the porch light on and jerked the door open. “— So needy?”

He should’ve known better by now than to make guesses. It never, ever ended up being the Kim he expected.

Instead, it was you, dripping so thoroughly that you may as well have been melting. Your hair was windswept in every direction with wayward pieces of it sticking to your cheekbones. As much of a mess as you were, he couldn’t help but think that you looked beautiful this way, too. If it weren’t for that look on your face, he would’ve reached out to push some of those strands back, away from your eyes.

Oh.

You were crying.

Suddenly panicked, he opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off.

“Why did you do it?” You demanded. The tremor in your voice didn’t match the scowl on your face. “I deserve to know why.”

His eyes widened, eyebrows rising steadily as he cobbled together a response. “Your plumbing is garbage and so is your landlord.” He held up his hands apologetically. “I’m sorry for letting myself in, but I didn’t think you would —”

“No,” you interrupted, voice cracking.

The fist you’d used to bang on his door unfurled slightly, leaving one finger to point accusingly at him. The gesture had him pinned in place, as if you were brandishing a gun instead.

“Why the fuck would you ask me out if you were just going to bail on me? Why — You didn’t even answer the phone.” You were one breath away from sobbing, but you pressed on. “You can’t do that and then do what you did today. You can’t. It’s not fucking fair.”

Before he could do anything — say a word, let you inside — you spun sharply on your heel to leave.

For once, he didn’t react too late. He grabbed your hand and kept you from slipping away. You paused, unsure of what to do with his touch, and refused to look back until his other hand landed gently on your shoulder. He couldn’t help the relieved sigh that slipped out of his mouth when you let him turn you back around.

You didn’t look up at him at first, which Jimin guessed was an attempt to hide away. Making yourself invisible wasn’t something you used to do on purpose, so watching you do it in real time made him ache. Try as you might, it wouldn’t work on him. He’d always known where to look to find you.

“Come inside?" He wasn’t above begging, so that’s precisely what he did. "Please.”

Your eyes lifted from your shoes to glance between Jimin and your car in his driveway. While he didn’t blame you, it stung like hell to know he’d turned you into someone inclined to run. He would’ve let it happen, if that’s what you wanted — dropped your hand and watched you go — no matter how much he wanted you to stay.

But you didn’t leave.

There was a microscopic nod, then you followed him over the threshold. Once the door shut behind you, Jimin let go of your hand so you could take off your shoes and jacket. He took the latter and hung it from the nearby hook, then he asked, “Do you want something of mine to wear? I can throw yours in the dryer.”

You shook your head, unwilling to let yourself be any more vulnerable than you had been already. You lied, “I’m fine.”

Jimin frowned, but he didn’t push you. Instead, he let you take the lead, falling in step behind you as you made your way to his kitchen. Unlike Seokjin, you didn’t take to rummaging through his refrigerator; you simply stood in the corner of the counter and held yourself with crossed arms.

Not knowing what else to do, Jimin took a seat on the opposite side and waited — for what, he wasn't sure. Some sort of sign, yelling, anything. All he got was quiet, save for the sniffling you couldn’t mask. You weren’t even looking at him.

Fuck it. Here we go.

“I can’t give you an excuse because there isn’t one,” he started. “All I have is an explanation, and even that’s shitty.”

This caught your attention. There was a small flicker of amusement in your eyes, though it was gone as soon as it appeared. It was encouraging, even if it was brief.

“You were right when you called me a coward. Fucking childish, too, but I’m not going to sit here and recite the laundry list of things I hate about myself because that doesn’t constitute an apology — that’s just bullshit, and I’ve put you through enough of that.”

Looking at the hurt broadcasted on your face made his throat tight, so he cleared it and prayed he could keep himself together long enough to spill everything he’d been holding back. To keep his focus, he fidgeted with the rings on his fingers. It wasn’t lost on him that the one he gravitated towards was the one you’d gifted him on his birthday several years prior.

There were pieces of you scattered over every surface of his life, his body included.

Fuck.

“Nobody that loves someone should treat them the way I treated you. I fucked it up — all of it — and I’m sorry.”

You looked up at him, expression shifting slightly from hurt to something unreadable. With a shaky sigh, he added, “I should’ve said it a year ago, and I’m sorry for that, too.”

The silence that followed spread like smoke, clouding the space between you. Maybe that’s why he struggled to regulate his breathing. That, or the crushing weight of anticipation on his chest while he waited for you to react — to yell, to leave, to do anything.

To his surprise, what he got was a whisper.

“Why didn’t you?”

Jimin’s eyes switched focus from his hands to your face. He expected to find something accusatory there, but he didn’t. If anything, you looked almost expectant, like you knew the answer before you asked but needed to hear him say it. He didn’t want to — it seemed so trivial now — but he'd gotten sick of not giving you what you wanted, so he answered, “Your voicemail.”

You nodded slowly, thoughtfully, while you processed your response. A few more leaden seconds of silence passed before you finally spoke.

“I wanted to hurt you. I knew exactly what to say to do it, which is…” Your voice trailed off as you searched for your next words. “Unhinged." You shook your head quickly and amended, "No, it’s worse than that. It’s — it’s fucking abhorrent, that's what it is.”

Despite himself, Jimin couldn’t bite back his smile. He whistled. “That’s a big word.”

“You are being so unserious right now,” you scolded him. You scowled and put your hands on your hips like some disciplinarian parent — it was futile. Jimin could see you pressing your lips together to keep your laughter inside, clear as day. “Can you let me finish atoning, please?”

“Can I grab a dictionary first?” He countered with a smirk.

Instantly, your incredulousness washed from your widened eyes to your mouth, which fell open. “I swear to God —”

He threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine, fine, fine. I’m listening, okay? I swear.” You just glared at him, so he said it again. “I promise. Please keep going.”

You took a deep breath and spit the rest of it out quickly, likely expecting him to interrupt you again. “I wanted to hurt you, and there is clearly a part of me that is fundamentally unwell because I didn’t just leave it at that.”

This was a twist he hadn’t seen coming, and it left Jimin thoroughly confused. Head tilted and eyebrows furrowed, he asked, “You didn’t?”

“No,” you sighed. Sheepishly, you scrubbed your hands over your face. They lingered, intentionally or not, as if you were building another wall between the two of you. “I wanted to string you along, make you want me, and then cut you loose.”

Your head drooped, defeated. “I told you. Deeply unwell.”

Jimin was stunned, but not for the reason you seemed to think. His brain buffered, slowing his speech while he tried to process the situation. “You were toying with me?”

In a flash, your gaze snapped up to meet his. Bewildered was the only word he could think of to describe the look on your face. He couldn’t help it; he laughed, “That’s what I thought I was doing.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” you wailed, throwing your head back.

Without watching where you were going, you still managed to successfully crumple onto a stool. From there, you deflated fully onto the countertop, limbs spread out and cheek flush against the granite. You muttered, “I hate us. I really do.”

Jimin mumbled in agreement, too stupefied to comment further. Several minutes passed that way, silently, as you each attempted to piece together the thing you’d — unknowingly, jointly — blown straight to hell.

“Jimin?”

You startled him for two reasons, the least of which being the suddenness of your voice in all that quiet. More than anything, it was your unexpected use of his name. His given name.

After a year of you calling him exclusively by his family name, Jimin was ready to assume that you’d forgotten what followed it. It sounded like a foreign language to him now, so much so that he had to pause to make sure he heard you correctly.

Barely audible, you admitted, “I don’t know why I am the way I am. And I don’t know how to do this — to want this. Not properly, anyway. Not yet.”

So, you did hear him earlier.

He didn’t necessarily mean to confess that fact with the rest of his sins. In fact, he was content to let it dissipate when you didn’t acknowledge it floating out there. He didn’t need you to say it back, or even feel it; he just needed to let it out of the cage he’d kept it locked in. And once he did, he pushed past it so quickly that he genuinely believed you might’ve missed it, but you didn’t.

You heard him, and you didn’t leave.

“Can we go back to the beginning?” You asked, sitting upright and turning your head to look at him fully. “We both have so much shit to work through, but I —”

“Hi,” he interrupted.

You blinked, caught off guard. Arm extended, he reached over the counter and held his hand out to you. Cautiously, you accepted it, smile spreading slowly when he shook it, and you finally caught on.

“I’m Jimin.”

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