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#pjm smut
kingofbodyrolls · 2 days
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My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | eight
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🐴Chapter summary: with Jessi in a wheelchair you’ve taken on every task around the ranch, and finally realize how hard it is to run. But it’s a welcomed escape from Jimin, though it doesn’t help when Jungkook tries to push you two together again. 🐴Chapter title: Love You, Hate You 🐴Pairings: jimin x reader (main) 🐴Characters: female reader (isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters. 🐴Genre/AU: ranch!au, slice of life!au + smut, humor, fluff, slow burn and angst 🐴Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact! 🐴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 🌸 🐴Chapter warnings: mention of blood from a head wound, some blood from a cow giving birth and otherwise the standard angst and angriness. Yep, sorry again 😭 Things will somewhat start to look up in the next chapter!! ☀️ And if you feel like you need a reminder where the story is heading, read this spoiler 🫶 🐴Status: ongoing 🐴Word count: 9.5k
🐴Taglist: @kookswifesblog, @kiki-zb, @babejinnie, @ownthesunshine, @allie-is-a-panda, @glllhjh, @bergandysam, @13-manggaetteok, @jeonsbabygirlsworld, @antisocial-mochi267,
*tumblr isn’t letting me tag you! There could be a lot of reasons for that, check out this lovely post about it.
🐴Now playing 💿 “Love You, Hate You” by Rebecca Lavelle. [Wanna listen to the serie’s playlist?] 🐴Author’s note: I really feel like I’m putting my characters through hell 😂 I really do feel bad for Jimin and MC — but we’re almost there!!!! (also, when do you think one of them will snap and finally talk to each other???). 
It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there. Wanna see the book cover?
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“Hate you, love you, want you and I need you It’s not easy It makes me cry Need you, want you, hate you Love you, need you, want you Gotta go, say goodbye, say goodbye” - ‘Love you, Hate you’ by Rebecca Lavelle
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Once more, Jungkook propels the car with an urgency that flirts with recklessness, yet you refrain from voicing concern. The unspoken agreement between you acknowledges his competence behind the wheel. Witnessing the transformation, his tears replaced by a steely resolve as he assumes control, leaves you in awe. The shift in his focus is palpable, a laser-sharp intensity that cuts through the emotional haze.
The familiar road unravels beneath the wheels, leaving a veil of dust in the truck’s turbulent wake. Your gaze fixates on the passing landscape, a silent witness to the gravity of the night. The realization dawns that informing the girls is not just a practical idea; it’s a lifeline to assuage their likely anguish. Retrieving your phone from the snug pocket of your jeans, you declare your intention, fingers poised to bridge the distance between uncertainty and reassurance. “Just gonna inform the girls.”
Jungkook nods, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on the road ahead. You embark on a mission, fingers dialing Soo-ah’s number with a determined precision. The phone ascends to your ear, the ensuing silence pregnant with the unspoken gravity of the message you’re about to deliver. 
The moment Soo-ah’s voice resonates through the phone, an undertone of anxiety and fear punctuates the connection, mirroring the collective uncertainty that binds you all. “Jessi’s been in a car accident, and we’re en route to the hospital,” you disclose, your voice carrying the weight of recent tears. However, amid the distress, you impart a tentative reassurance, “She’s alive, but there’s something off—her words were slurred. I think she hit her head. But we will know more when we get to the hospital.” 
Turning to Jungkook, you observe the fierce determination etched in the pallor of his knuckles, a testament to the vice-like grip on the wheel. Traces of dried tears mar his cheeks, a visual echo of the emotional tempest that has swept through him. In that moment, a palpable lump lodges itself in your throat, an involuntary response to the profound vulnerability laid bare in the silent interplay of clenched fists and tear-stained faces. 
The remainder of the journey unfolds in stifling silence, the cabin suffused with an unspoken tension that hangs thick in the air. The specter of fear, like an insidious intruder, stealthily reclaims its place within the confines of your bones. 
Anxiety courses through you—for Jessi’s well-being, for the unknown revelations awaiting, for the uncertain terrain that stretches beyond. The all-encompassing fear becomes an insidious force, its weight rendering the atmosphere within the confined space utterly paralyzing.
The hospital materializes on the horizon, a beacon of both hope and trepidation. Jungkook, propelled by urgency, deftly navigates the maze of parking spaces, abruptly silencing the truck’s ignition before catapulting out of the vehicle with a sense of purpose. 
In tandem, you and Jungkook storm into the emergency department, urgency pulsating with every step. As you approach the desk, a receptionist greets you with a smile—her eyes, pools of warmth and empathy, mirroring the softness of her welcoming expression. 
“We’re looking for Jessi,” Jungkook declares, a pillar of tension leaning against the elevated desk. 
The receptionist’s nod is both swift and affirmative, a reassuring beacon in the sea of apprehension. “Room 134340,” she utters, the numeric sequence hanging in the air like a lifeline. 
In unison, you and Jungkook practically bolt towards the imposing doors, a shared urgency propelling you forward. The corridor becomes a labyrinth of tension as you navigate the sea of room numbers, each passing moment marked by the thunderous cadence of your hearts echoing within your chests. 
Please let her be okay.
At last, the numbers the receptionist shared come into view, and with a delicate touch, you ease the door open, unveiling a serene image—Jessi, reclined on the bed in peaceful sleep. Your gaze lingers on her slumbering form, taking in the telltale signs of the ordeal she endured—bandages encircling her head, a cast cradling her right arm, and another enveloping her left leg. 
The scene before you paints a grim reality, a tapestry of injuries that whispers tales of struggle. Yet, in the midst of this stark portrayal, the ember of relief flickers—she’s alive. 
A lump lodges in your throat once more, and with teardrops poised in the corners of your eyes, you approach your sister. Jungkook follows in your wake, settling on the bed. Leaning in, he tenderly caresses her cheek, mirroring the gentle touch that first bridged the gap between his fingers and her skin at the scene of the accident. 
Your gaze lingers, capturing the rivulets of tears tracing Jungkook’s expressive contours once more. In the soft luminescence of the room, his eyes shimmer with a profound mixture of emotion, fixated on your sister. 
A hush descends as the door swings open, ushering in a figure clad in the sterile garb of a doctor. Your attention pivots, fixating on this harbinger of information. 
“Hello. Are you Jessi’s family?” The doctor’s gaze oscillates between you and Jungkook, and your response is encapsulated in a silent nod. Words seem to elude you once more.
“Yeah, This is her sister, and I’m her friend,” Jungkook affirms, his voice carrying a burdened undertone that hints at the unspoken complexities and tensions simmering beneath the surface—an emotional undercurrent that has woven its threads through the past weeks. 
The doctor’s nod carries a weighty reassurance as he imparts the diagnosis. “Alright. Jessi has a minor concussion; the impact against the steering wheel caused some bleeding. She’s also dealing with a broken arm and leg, along with a few bruised ribs. Thankfully, that’s the extent of her injuries,” he imparts. 
“When can she come home?” Jungkook’s voice, simultaneously textured with rough edges and a tender timbre, resonates in the room. He reaches for Jessi’s hand—the one untouched by the cast—infusing the question with an unspoken urgency and a touch of vulnerability. 
“As a precaution due to the concussion, we’d like to keep her under observation for a day or two. After that, you can take her home. However, she’ll need to use a wheelchair, and rest is absolutely crucial,” the doctor informs you, leaving a weighty prescription for recovery in the air. With that, he departs, leaving the two of you alone with Jessi, still in the embrace of a healing slumber. 
Your gaze locks onto Jungkook, and as Jessi’s fingers stir against his, a soft gasp escapes you. Jungkook, attuned to the subtle movements, shifts his attention to your sister’s face. Her eyes, a slow dance of reawakening, flutter open, and she casts a weary but genuine smile at both of you. “Hi,” she utters, and the simplicity of that greeting carries a profound weight, a testament to resilience and the indomitable spirit that endures even in the face of adversity.
A shared chuckle resonates between you and Jungkook, but he takes the lead, concern etched in his question, “How are you holding up?” 
“Everything fucking hurts,” she confesses, the words escaping through gritted teeth, and a wince that lingers in the air. 
As you observe, her speech is no longer marred by slurs, and a glimmer of hope flickers within you. Offering a gentle smile, you cling to this positive sign, a fragile beacon of recovery in the aftermath of the accident. 
“We were worried there for a second,” you admit with a smile, your heart still tethered to the lingering uneasiness. 
“I’m fine. I’m gonna be fine,” she reassures with a languid smile, her eyes retaining a drowsy allure. 
Jungkook continues to tenderly stroke her hand, a lone tear betraying his emotion as it slips from the corner of his eye. 
“Why are you crying?” Jessi inquires in a weary tone, her question carrying a subtle mix of curiosity and fatigue. The fatigue in her tone, juxtaposed with the curiosity in her eyes, creates a moment of vulnerability and curiosity, inviting the reader to delve deeper into the emotional intricacies of the scene.
“Because you look so bad,” he chuckles through a teasing sob, a bittersweet smile dancing on his lips as he attempts to lighten the heavy atmosphere with a touch of humor. 
Jessi scuffs, “If I could slap ya, I would,” she drags out, a playful smirk tugging at her lips, “Sis, can you do it for me?” 
You shake your head, a fond smile playing on your lips as you observe their usual teasing banter. Despite the ordeal, the fact that she can still summon her playful spirit brings a sense of relief, a small but reassuring glimmer in the midst of uncertainty.
Your laughter lingers in the air, but a subtle sadness creeps into your voice as you inquire, “What happened?” 
She groans, eyes rolling in frustration as she recounts, “There was this red car that appeared out of nowhere in the turn, driving on the wrong side of the road.” 
Your eyes widen with concern, a gasp escaping your lips. “What happened to the red car? Did it just drive off?” 
“Managed to dodge the car, but ended up colliding with a damn tree instead,” she says, a hint of frustration in her tone. 
“And to top it off, the guy just speeds away like nothing happened!” she scoffs, her irritation palpable and echoing the injustice of the situation.
“Do you have any idea who that was?” Jungkook demands, a mix of curiosity and sternness in his gaze, his fist clenching at his side as if ready to confront the reckless driver.
“Some arrogant city slicker. Never seen that car around here. Clearly not a local,” she scoffs, disdain dripping from her words as she curses the reckless driver.
“Can you call Namjoon for me?” she suddenly requests, locking eyes with you. You find yourself curious about why she specifically wants to talk to Namjoon at this moment.
When you shoot her a quizzical look, she adds, “I want to tell him something.”
“Can’t it wait?” you counter, not quite grasping why it’s so urgent for her to speak with Namjoon right now.
“No.” 
Fine. You reluctantly pull out your phone and dial Namjoon. Describing the situation, you implore him to come as soon as possible, and he assures you he’ll be there swiftly.
As the minutes tick by in the hushed room, the tension thickens, yet an unspoken understanding binds you, Jessi, and Jungkook together. Silence reigns, pregnant with the weight of shared concern, creating a strangely comforting atmosphere.
The hospital doors burst open, revealing a disheveled Namjoon sprints in, clutching a bouquet of flowers. His eyes scan the room, taking in the sight of your sister lying on the bed, and his breath catches in a mix of relief and worry.
His voice laced with concern, Namjoon places the bouquet on the bedside table, his eyes fixed on your sister. “It looks bad. Are you okay?” he inquires, his worry echoing in the sterile hospital room.
“Fuck you. I’m fine,” she retorts, a smirk playing on her lips. The room fills with laughter, and seizing the moment, you gesture to the couch on the other side of the room, silently signaling to give Jessi and Namjoon some space. Jungkook rises from the bed, joining you on the couch.
Without a hint of preamble or consideration for the weight of her words, Jessi suddenly declares, “I want to break up.” Her words echoing through the room with a weight that sends a jolt through both you and Jungkook. You exchange a glance, realizing you’ve stumbled upon a moment too intimate for your presence.
Namjoon wears a puzzled expression, questioning, “Are you sure about this? Is it the concussion talking?” 
Definitely, she shakes her head.  “No, my mind is crystal clear.”
Regret lingers in her eyes as she confesses, “I’m sorry, but I can’t be with you anymore. I want to break up.” Her gaze, tinged with sadness, speaks volumes as she nervously bites her lip, the weight of her decision palpable in the room.
Namjoon nods thoughtfully, “Okay. No hard feelings. I understand.” His gaze shifts to Jungkook, a hint of unspoken understanding passing between them. “You can always call me—whether it’s just to talk or if one of the animals gets sick. Friends?” The air seems to lighten with the sincerity of his words.
“Friends,” she breathes out, the words carrying the weight of a burden lifted from her heart. Her gratitude spills forth, a sincere “And thank you, Namjoon,” echoing in the room.
She shares a smile with him, and his response mirrors the sentiment. From your perch on the couch, the intimacy of their moment feels oddly intrusive, and you can’t shake the sense of being an unintended witness to the delicate unraveling of their relationship.
Namjoon pivots, offering a parting nod and a soft farewell before gracefully exiting the room.
As his presence fades, you exhale the breath you’d been clutching, the room finally free from tension. “Well, that was uncomfortable.”
Jessi chuckles, seemingly unfazed by the awkwardness you just witnessed, her laughter echoing through the room.
You rise to your feet, stretching your tired body, and with a gentle tone, you ask, “Do you want to head home now, Kook?”
Jungkook remains seated on the couch, exchanging a meaningful glance with your sister. “I was actually thinking about staying and bringing her home tomorrow,” he says, his voice carrying a quiet determination.
Your eyes flicker open, but you quickly compose your expression, offering them both a gentle smile. “I’ll call Soo-ah to come pick me up then,” you say, your voice carrying a mix of understanding and reassurance.
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Jessi doesn’t possess a single bone wired for relaxation. Despite the doctors’ earnest advice to take it slow and steady, does she heed it? Absolutely not.
With determined grit, she maneuvers the wheelchair around the house with one hand, attempting to shoulder every task single-handedly, only to find herself faltering at each turn.
In her quest for a simple glass of water, disaster struck – the glass slipped from her grasp, dancing precariously on the edge of destruction before miraculously escaping the fate of shattered fragments.
Your sister’s unwavering stubbornness has sparked numerous discussions, leaving you weary from the incessant cycle of repeating yourself.
“Why can’t you just stay put and let me handle it?” you groan at her futile attempt to set the dinner table. Exasperated, you snatch the plate from her hand and expertly arrange it on the table.
You’ve relocated all her belongings to the guest room, a practical move given her current inability to navigate the stairs. It’s a convenience for everyone, yourself included.
Exasperated, you burst out, “Sit your ass down!”
Her laughter rings through the room as she retorts, “I am sitting.” You can’t help but roll your eyes at her playful defiance.
Kneeling down, your eyes lock onto hers, a plea in your gaze. “I can take care of everything for you. Pushing yourself too hard will only slow down your recovery. Is that what you really want?”
Her gaze shifts away, words escaping in a soft mumble, their meaning lost in the air between you.
“What was that?”
Her response is a defiant whisper, almost a rebellion against her own vulnerability. “No. I don’t want that. Fine. You can do everything. It’s just not in my nature to let everybody do everything for me.”
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When you told your sister you could handle everything on the ranch, little did you anticipate the relentless demands that awaited. Now, sweat beads roll down your hairline, and sticky shirts cling to your fatigued body—your new normal. Soreness and exhaustion threaten to overcome you, yet you persist. The unwavering support of Soo-ah, Ara, and Ha-rin becomes your lifeline, and you find yourself profoundly grateful for their presence. Without them, the daunting tasks ahead would be impossible.
Despite the relentless physical and mental demands, there’s an undeniable love that fuels your every effort. It’s in the rhythmic cadence of working with the horses, the joy of discovering ripe veggies in the garden, the satisfaction of feeding the cattle and horses. Cleaning the stable, tending to the yard, and meticulously fixing the fences become more than just chores—they’re threads woven into the tapestry of a passion that now defines you.
As if the outside challenges weren’t enough, the list of tasks inside the house seems never-ending—cleaning, organizing, tackling taxes, and conjuring up dinners that dance on the taste buds. The sheer magnitude of it all makes you marvel at Jessi’s ability to juggle these responsibilities, leaving you to wonder how she navigates this intricate dance without succumbing to the relentless rhythm of exhaustion.
In the whirlwind of responsibilities, Jungkook offers to lend his hands in fixing one of the fences on your property.
The anticipation of Jungkook’s assistance becomes a beacon of relief in your hectic schedule, and a mischievous thought flits through your mind—wondering if you could sweet-talk him into tackling the entire task, granting you a rare and much-needed moment of respite.
In the driver’s seat of your brand-new pickup truck, a lustrous shade of dark purple that gleams in the sunlight, you reflect on its arrival, replacing the ghost of the white one marred by Jessi’s unfortunate accident. The former wreck, irreparably damaged, made way for this sleek, modern model, boasting enhanced comfort that transforms every drive into a genuine pleasure.
As you turn the key in the ignition, the hum of the engine beneath you, and shift the truck into first gear, anticipation courses through you. The Eastern paddock awaits, its fence in need of repair, and Jungkook has promised to join you. The radio provides a lively soundtrack, and you find yourself singing along with joy, only to fall into a hushed silence as the familiar silhouette of a blue truck comes into view, neatly parked beside the fence.
Cursing under your breath, frustration seizes you as you realize Jungkook— that damn traitor, has sent his brother to handle the job he promised to do. 
The betrayal stings, especially considering the current strained terms between you and Jimin. Anger simmers within, escaping in a low, gritted scoff as you pull your car up beside Jimin’s.
Jimin dives into the task at hand, effortlessly measuring wire lengths and expertly cutting them to fit the fence. There’s no denying it, not that there ever was – Jimin is undeniably attractive. As you observe from the comfort of your car, your gaze lingers on his sweaty forehead, his biceps flexing beneath the rolled-up shirt. Another curse slips from your lips; why does he have to look this good?
A whirlwind of emotions courses through your veins – desire entangled with frustration. Jimin’s effect on your mind is infuriating. Yes, you still crave him, but the bitterness lingers. He chose someone else without engaging in a conversation about what transpired, a choice that feels painfully immature.
Relaxing your crossed arms, you swing the door open and step into the sweltering air. You circle the car to grab your tools and approach Jimin, who doesn’t bother to cast even a fleeting glance your way.
You scoff and roll your eyes. No greeting? This is a new low. You expected, at the very least, a bit of small talk. Seems like even that was too much to ask for.
“Hey, Jimin,” you say, attempting to mask the tension growing thick in the air. He remains silent, his focus fixed on his strong and calloused hands diligently working on the fence.
At least you’ve chosen to be the bigger person, maintaining your politeness. You dive into the task at hand, assisting him in measuring, cutting, and applying the new wire. The absence of conversation hangs heavy, a stifling silence that feels more like a heavy weight on your chest. It’s uncomfortable, this void between you two, and you can’t help but despise it with every fiber of your being.
In the suffocating silence, you realize that attempting conversation is futile, as he remains resolute in ignoring your every plea. Determined to endure the unbearable tension, you find yourself silently cursing Jungkook in your mind for orchestrating you into working with Jimin. There’s no question about it— you’ll have a serious talk with him later about this stupid plan of his!
Your hands accidentally collide with Jimin’s a few times, and the contact sends a jolt through you, a sensation you hastily withdraw from as if burned. The lingering touch awakens something buried deep within, a sentiment you’re determined to suppress. Those residual feelings must be banished, relegated to the recesses of your heart.
You can’t help but notice Jimin’s persistent gaze fixed upon you, and it’s disconcerting. The emotions swirling in the air are indescribable, leaving you puzzled about the cause of his intense scrutiny. Yet, the expression etched on his face is far from one of happiness or satisfaction; instead, it bears the weight of pain and unresolved sentiments.
The realization hits hard—there’s no denying it now. You and Jimin let your moment slip away, a truth that’s crystal clear now.
As a heavy sigh escapes your lips, you find yourself yearning for a past rewritten, a canvas of memories painted with different hues.
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“It’s official!” 
In an exuberant burst of joy, you proclaim the moment, your voice echoing in giddy celebration as you sit on the grass. Beside you, Yoongi chuckles, and the tranquil scene unfolds with Holly and Marshmallow leisurely grazing on the grass.
Ecstatic, he declares, “We’re in business, baby!” His laughter resonates, and his radiant smile competes with the brilliance of the sun. You join in the laughter, though the pet name doesn’t quite sit right with you.
Playfully, you groan, “God, please don’t call me ’baby’,” as laughter continues to ripple between you. His response is a simple, hearty chuckle.
As the sun dips below the horizon, a serene quiet blankets the hilltop, providing a perfect backdrop to absorb the significance of the moment. You and Yoongi, now proud business owners of a wild horse gentling venture, revel in the excitement of the journey ahead. The prospect of working with more horses and bringing joy to people through these extraordinary animals fuels your anticipation.
With a hint of emotion in his voice, a touch of longing, Yoongi shares, “I’ve already found our inaugural customer.” Intrigued, you turn to face him, your eyes prompting him to reveal more about this exciting news.
With a weighted voice, laden with deep emotions, Yoongi reveals, “There’s a guy not far from us. He’s taken an interest in Holly.” Your gasp resonates with the dread that settles in—oh no, not Holly.
“But isn’t she yours to keep?” you ask, a tinge of sadness reflected in your eyes. Expectations of Yoongi keeping Holly for himself, the first horse you both worked on, echo in your question. The bond he shares with her seems uniquely special, so why part with her?
“I truly adore her, but she’s just a horse. And this is business,” he sighs, his voice carrying the weight of the decision as he gazes at the sunset. A lump forms in your throat, and tears well in your eyes. The thought of selling Mikrokosmos, your horse, feels almost impossible. She’s not just a business asset; she’s a part of you, and the idea of parting with her is heart-wrenching.
“Well, I hope she’ll love her new home,” you say with a bittersweet smile, gently shoving him playfully on the shoulder. The mixture of emotions swirls between you two, acknowledging the business aspect while secretly hoping Holly finds as much happiness in her new home as you both found in each other’s company.
“I hope so too,” he murmurs, his lips pressed into a tight line. The deep affection he holds for the horse is evident, and you sense the internal struggle he’s facing. This decision weighs on him, and you find yourself sharing in the silent understanding of the emotional complexity tied to their parting.
As the sun dips below the horizon, casting hues of warm orange and pink across the sky, you remain on the hilltop, sharing the tranquil moment with your horses grazing beside you. In the company of Yoongi, your best friend, you reflect on the genuine bond that has grown between you. His presence is a comforting constant, a reliable listener, and a confidant you deeply appreciate.
In a moment of vulnerability, you confess, “You know... I’ve never really felt at home anywhere since I left the ranch.” The weight of emotions settles over you, and tears threaten to escape. 
Sensing your need for comfort, Yoongi turns to you, wrapping you in a gentle hug that speaks volumes without uttering a single word.
Amid the hues of the setting sun, Yoongi poses a poignant question, his voice laden with a mix of emotion and weariness. “Do you feel at home now?” he asks, and a soft chuckle escapes your lips, a response teeming with a complex blend of gratitude, uncertainty, and the subtle realization that ’home’ might be more than a physical place.
“I actually do.”
Words tumble from your lips as you gaze over the ranch from the hilltop, the golden glow of the sun casting a warm aura. “I never thought I would feel at home again. But this place has a way of working its magic on everything,” you confess, a testament to the transformative power your surroundings have woven into the fabric of your heart.
His smile echoes the sentiment, and he envelops you in a tight hug, as if the embrace itself is a testament to the enchantment this place has cast upon your lives. 
“That it sure does,” he murmurs, a shared acknowledgment of the profound connection you both feel to the land beneath your feet.
In the vast expanse of uncertainties, you shudder at the mere thought of navigating through the challenges without Yoongi by your side, a reliable anchor in the unpredictable sea of life. The gratitude for his friendship lingers in your heart, a sentiment too profound to be expressed in mere words.
“Will you come over tomorrow? The guy that wants to buy Holly will come and pick her up in the morning…” You discern the unspoken plea in his eyes, and with a tender smile, you draw closer, seeking solace in the warmth of his presence.
“Of course I’ll be there, Yoon.”
After the sun’s final bow, Yoongi rides back to the Park ranch, and you descend the hill towards your home. The term ’home’ once felt foreign, but now it wraps around you like a familiar embrace, an unwavering truth – your refuge, always and forever.
The next day, fueled by a hasty breakfast, you dash to the stables, the eager anticipation of your visit to Bell Ranch propelling you forward. Your task at hand: preparing Marshmallow for the journey ahead.
In the quiet embrace of the barn, you exchange a warm greeting with Marshmallow, ushering him into the center of the space. There, you deftly equip him with a saddle and bridle. As you guide him outside, the crisp morning air envelops you, and the gentle caress of the early sun bestows warmth upon your skin. A deep inhale fills your lungs, and with a graceful exhale, you mount Marshmallow. With a subtle nudge, you prompt him into a rhythmic gallop, traversing the lush expanse of green that unfolds before you.
The journey feels fleeting, far too brief for the solace it provides. Arriving at the stables, you swiftly dismount and tenderly remove Marshmallow’s tack. Leading him to one of the paddocks, you release him to the embrace of the open space, allowing him a well-deserved respite while you prepare to work with Yoongi.
You make your way to the pen, where Yoongi bids farewell to Holly. His arms envelop the brown mare’s neck in a tight embrace, soft pats accentuating the silent conversation between man and horse. Tears trace a path down his cheeks, and unexpectedly, you find your own emotions stirred, empathizing with the bittersweet parting, even though Holly isn’t your horse.
You acknowledge him with a quiet nod, hesitant to disrupt the tender moment between him and Holly. Leaning against the fence, you observe the heartfelt exchange. Holly emits a deep, resonant whinny, and for a fleeting moment, it feels as though she comprehends the impending separation.
As the sound of a truck pulling a trailer draws near behind you, the realization dawns—it’s time. Yoongi lifts his head from its resting place on Holly’s neck, offering her a final, affectionate pat before reluctantly stepping away.
With a heavy heart, Yoongi guides Holly towards the waiting trailer in the yard. The man has preemptively opened the trailer door, and as Holly steps inside, Yoongi closes the latch with a palpable reluctance. Standing on the sidelines, you observe the exchange—the man handing Yoongi some money, their handshake resonating with unspoken emotions. As the man returns to his car and drives away, Yoongi walks over to you, a profound sadness etched on his face.
“It’s okay,” you offer a comforting reassurance to Yoongi, wrapping him in a gentle hug.
He shares a bittersweet acknowledgment, a tinge of sadness coloring his smile, as both of you reluctantly shift your focus away from the departing car.
“Do you want to work on Mikrokosmos? I feel like I need something to do to keep my mind off Holly,” his request hangs in the air, laced with a subtle vulnerability as he looks at you with a sheepish smile. A shared understanding passes between you, and you nod in agreement, both silently making your way toward the stables, seeking solace in the comforting routine of working with Mikrokosmos.
With a confident stride, you retrieve Mikrokosmos from her stall, guiding her down to the pen without the need for a rope or halter. Yoongi walks beside you, a wistful smile playing on his lips.
Swinging the gate wide, you usher Mikrokosmos into the pen, her graceful steps echoing within the enclosure. Yoongi assumes his customary perch atop the fence, his observant eyes tracking the movements of the spirited mare.
Allowing Mikrokosmos to explore your scent, you initiate a tactile connection by stroking her forehead, tracing the path down her elegant neck, and along the sinewy contours of her shoulders. As your hands ascend to her back, you apply a gentle yet firm pressure, echoing the techniques you observed from Yoongi weeks ago, establishing a silent rapport with the magnificent mare.
Feeling the mare’s ease under your touch, you gradually increase the pressure, traversing her back with a comforting rhythm. When your eyes seek Yoongi’s for guidance, a silent understanding passes between you. Without a spoken word, he reads your unspoken query. “She’s ready,” he asserts with unwavering confidence, his voice a testament to the bond you’re building with Mikrokosmos.
Emboldened by Mikrokosmos’ serene response to your touch, you decide to take a daring leap, mimicking Yoongi’s approach with Holly. With a sense of excitement and trepidation, you pull yourself up onto her back. To your delight, she remains unfazed, allowing you to settle in, planting your bum securely on her back. It’s a moment of triumph, a testament to the trust building between you and the spirited mare.
In a breathless moment, Mikrokosmos stands still, and then, breaking the silence, she releases a soft whinny. Your heart swells with a mix of wonder and joy. As you pat her neck, a gentle coaxing with the press of your legs encourages her to move. Together, you embark on a slow journey around the pen, a newfound connection unfolding beneath you. From atop the fence, Yoongi grins widely, witnessing the magical communion between rider and horse.
A surge of pride and accomplishment courses through you. It’s a defining moment, a testament to the progress made. Confidence radiates from your every move as you navigate the pen on horseback, a triumphant smile adorning your face.
As a sudden pressure builds in your bladder, frustration wells up internally. Of all the moments, it has to be now. Succumbing to the inevitable, you voice your discomfort, “I need to use the restroom. Can you look after Mikrokosmos until I return?”
Yoongi acknowledges with a nod, and you smoothly descend Mikrokosmos’ body, grounding your feet in the sand. With a burst of energy, you vault over the fence, sprinting all the way up to the main house.
You forgo the courtesy of knocking, opting to swing the door wide open as you make a beeline for the bathroom.
As your fingers extend toward the door handle, it unexpectedly swings open, catching you off guard and sending a jolt of surprise through you.
As the door swings open, you’re met with the unexpected sight Deiji, draped only in a towel. Her damp hair and glistening skin hint at a recent shower, and the small droplets of water sparkle in the light. A startled shriek escapes her lips as her gaze locks with your equally surprised and wide eyes.
Panicking, you blurt out, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Your words stumble over each other as the sound of approaching footsteps from upstairs adds to the awkward tension in the air.
Down the stairs descends Jimin, clad in nothing but a pair of snug grey joggers, his feet bare, hair wet, and your jaw practically hits the floor.
“What’s the matter, babe?” He queries, running a hand through his damp hair. His eyes find your startled form, and he instantly eases into a more relaxed demeanor.
You’re caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Your heartbeat skyrockets, and you’re torn between the urge to look away and the magnetic pull keeping your gaze fixed on Jimin. Every contour of his physique, from well-defined pectorals to a happy trail of natural brown hairs leading down to his crotch, leaves you both captivated and flustered. He is everything you imagined and more. 
A sudden wave of heat engulfs the room, making you feel as if you’re suffocating. You become acutely aware that you might have been staring for too long, as both Jimin and Deiji shoot you concerned glances, their eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.
“What are you doing here?” Jimin inquires, casually flexing his abdominals with a smirk playing on his lips. It’s a dirty move, and he knows it. Why does he have to look so devilishly good, practically flaunting something you can’t have? It’s not fair—Park Jimin is a temptation, and you can’t help but feel he might be your downfall.
As realization dawns, you suddenly recall the purpose of your intrusion. “I have to pee,” you blurt out, a mixture of embarrassment and urgency in your tone.
Amused laughter fills the room, and Deiji graciously clears some space, saying, “You can use it; I’m done anyway.”
Nodding, you flash her a grateful smile, a strange mix of nerves and curiosity swirling within you. As you pass her, a trail of her sweet floral scent lingers, enveloping you. Just before slipping into the bathroom, you steal a glance at Jimin. His face wears a smirk you can’t decipher. 
Suddenly, it dawns on you - this is the first time he has spoken to you in weeks.
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Basking in the midday sun, a gentle breeze toys with your hair, allowing its tender touch to dance across your neck as you gallop through the undulating hills astride Marshmallow.
Thundering across these expansive landscapes, a spirited gallop grants temporary solace to your heart, momentarily eclipsing the tumult within. Damn Park Jimin and his angelic and devilish looking face. The ache intensifies witnessing him with his infuriatingly perfect girlfriend; a pain that lingers, leaving you uncertain if you’ll ever get over him.
Granting Marshmallow unrestrained freedom, you traverse diverse landscapes—dense forests, the serene lake, and finally, the ranch’s Eastern expanse. Yet, an unsettling discord interrupts the tranquility, an eerie cry that echoes of an animal’s distress. Tensing the reins, you guide Marshmallow toward the source of the ominous noise.
Arriving at the scene, your eyes widen at the sight of a cow standing in the paddock, its posture awkward, and a pair of feet protruding from its laboring form. A gasp escapes you as the realization dawns – the cow is giving birth.
Dismounting from Marshmallow, urgency propels you toward the struggling cow. The rhythmic movement of the legs suggests the birthing process, something doesn’t seem right and you don’t know what to do. In a quick reflex, you pull out your phone, dialing the only person you know what to do.
The ringtone echoes anxiously, each second an eternity as you plead silently for the familiar voice to answer. The urgency in your chest intensifies with each passing ring. Please, just pick up, dammit!
Relief floods over you as Namjoon’s voice resonates through the phone, a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. “This is Namjoon,” he declares, and in that instant, it’s as if the universe aligns to bring order to the chaos around you.
“Thank god! Can you come and help? There’s a cow giving birth in the Eastern paddock, and it sounds like she’s in distress!” Your urgent plea pierces through the phone, echoing the distress emanating from the laboring cow.
“You know these animals can handle calving by themselves, right?” He chuckles on the line, and you roll your eyes, dismissing the notion with a hint of impatience. There’s no time for a history lesson; immediate action is what you need.
“The baby cow’s legs are moving back and forth—is that normal?” Your voice carries a hint of sternness, convinced that this situation isn’t within the realms of normalcy. Silence greets you on the other end, and for a brief moment, you fear he might have hung up.
“I’ll be there as soon as possible!” His voice, once calm, now carries a sense of urgency and stress, and in that moment, you grasp the gravity of the situation.
“Try to see if you can pull the calf’s legs out until I arrive, okay?” His urgent plea echoes in your ears, mingling with the distant sound of a car door opening and closing on the line, signaling hope that he’s racing to your aid.
“Pull its legs out?” Your frantic voice echoes into the void as the call disconnects. A heavy sigh escapes you as you gaze at the distressed cow. Uncertainty clings to you like a shadow; you’re torn between the fear of causing harm and the weight of Namjoon’s expertise urging you to act. He’s the vet, after all, and if he says it’s the necessary step, you steel yourself for what needs to be done.
Rolling your sleeves up, you step forward, determined to help the distressed cow. Your hand rests gently on its back, employing the same calming touch you would use with a wild horse. Slowly, your hand traverses down its body to its hindquarters where the legs protrude awkwardly. With a careful grip, you attempt to pull, but to no avail. It becomes apparent that the helpless calf is firmly lodged inside, presenting a daunting challenge.
Beads of sweat mingle with the dust on your brow, the relentless struggle to free the trapped calf becomes a desperate dance. The distant hum of an approaching engine brings a surge of hope, and relief washes over you as Namjoon’s truck roars to a halt behind you. Oh thank god!
With a swift, purposeful stride, Namjoon emerges from his truck, the familiar cadence of urgency echoing in each step. In his firm grip, the vet bag swings like a lifeline as he hastens toward you and the distressed cow.
Apologies linger in Namjoon’s voice as he swiftly dons a pair of absurdly long, cerulean gloves from his well-stocked bag. His keen eyes scan the scene, assessing the situation as he poses a question that cuts through the tense air, “It’s still not out?”
Retreating to give Namjoon the space he needs, you watch in awe as he envelops the tiny legs with his gloved hands, channeling the strength of his entire body into each determined pull.
“It normally doesn’t take this long to birth a calf…” sweat beads on Namjoon’s forehead as he exerts more effort, a hint of concern in his voice. With a final determined tug, the calf emerges, first the legs, then the head and the rest of its body. Namjoon carefully lowers it to the ground, leaving the newborn covered in a mixture of slime and blood.
Namjoon discards his gloves into a wash bag, his eyes shifting from the exhausted cow to the newborn calf finding its bearings on the grass. “Calling me was the right move; it didn’t appear the cow could manage to push the calf out on her own,” he remarks, a touch of relief in his voice.
Gratitude fills your words as you express, “Thanks for rushing over and handling everything – I mean, doing the heavy lifting for me.” A soft chuckle escapes your lips, acknowledging the reality that pulling out a calf was far beyond your strength.
“No problem,” his response is accompanied by a warm, bright smile, radiating reassurance. As he stows away his bag in the truck, he turns to you, locking eyes with you.
“How’s Jessi doing?” His question comes with a warm smile, yet beneath it, a subtle dance of curiosity and nervousness in his browline. A soft chuckle escapes you as you contemplate the enduring care he holds for Jessi, even after the end of their relationship. It’s nice that they are able to stay friends and still care for each other like this.
Your smile mirrors his, genuine and bright. “She’s holding up well, still bossing everyone around. Though she’s confined to crutches for now, the silver lining is that the casts are scheduled to come off in just a few days.”
His smile widens, and he nods appreciatively. “Well, that’s a relief to hear.”
You chuckle again, the sound echoing in the air. Namjoon, a genuinely good guy, radiates warmth, and it’s a bittersweet realization that things didn’t work out between him and your sister. Deep down, you silently wish him a future where he finds someone who can fulfill the desires that shimmer in his eyes – a quest you sense he’s earnestly pursuing.
“I’ll get going then. Everybody needs my help today.” He chuckles, his robust frame resonating with the warmth of his laughter, and Namjoon announces his departure. Acknowledging his unwavering commitment to helping others, you nod in farewell, watching as he steps into his truck and drives away.
You return to Marshmallow, your hand gently caressing his neck in appreciation before seamlessly mounting him. With a swift swing of your leg over the saddle, you guide him on the journey back home.
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“Why are we subjecting ourselves to this culinary chaos again?” you groan, placing yet another dish onto the grand table in your dining room, glancing at Jessi for an answer.
Jessi gracefully moves around the table, lending a hand in setting up while ensuring everything is perfectly in place. “It’s all in celebration of liberation from the cast!” She jubilantly shakes her once-encased arm and leg, now liberated. You can’t help but roll your eyes; your sister’s idea of a celebration might be a bit eccentric, but it’s her party after all.
In the bustling kitchen, Ha-rin and Ara work tirelessly to craft an array of delectable dishes, infusing the house with a symphony of tantalizing aromas. Meanwhile, you, Jessi, and Soo-ah engage in a meticulous dance, setting the table with precision and placing each carefully prepared dish, allowing wisps of steam to rise and tantalize the senses.
As the feast approaches, your sister has extended invitations far and wide, and that inevitably includes Jimin and his girlfriend. The mere thought of encountering him again prompts a preemptive groan, and you find yourself yearning for a way to evade the impending interaction. Alas, with him being your neighbor and frequent collaborator on ranch-related endeavors, avoiding him proves to be a challenging feat. You scuff at the predicament, silently longing for a different reality.
With an audible clunk, you assertively place the plates on the table, the reverberation echoing the intensity of your emotions.
“Easy there!” Your sister scolds, her tone a playful warning, as she delicately places the glasses in front of the plates.
You chuckle, a lightness returning to your mood, and set the plates down with a flourish before heading into the kitchen to collect the utensils.
Anticipation gnaws at you as you set the table, a desire to get through this dinner quickly, fueled by the looming presence of Jimin. His silence has become a heavy weight, and ever since that unexpected glimpse of him almost naked, unwanted thoughts and vivid images intrude your mind. You scold yourself, reminding that he isn’t yours to entertain such thoughts about. It’s not fair to him or Deiji, and you need to push these images aside.
As you mope around the dining room, preparing for the gathering, the atmosphere shifts with the arrival of guests. Jungkook bursts in, enveloping your sister in a warm embrace before turning his attention to you. His hug is almost too tight, prompting a small squeak to escape your lips, and he responds with hearty laughter that fills the room.
As Jimin and Deiji make their entrance, you acknowledge them with a subtle nod, instinctively creating a bit of space between you. The air seems to tighten with unresolved tension, and you navigate the space carefully, aware that every step brings you closer to a rendezvous with emotions you’d rather keep at bay.
Hoseok strides into the room, with Yoongi next to him, he’s the first to envelop you in a warm embrace, a radiant smile on his face. He peppers you with questions about how you’ve been, and with a reassuring nod, you assure him that everything’s going well. Then, seamlessly, Yoongi joins in, encircling you with his arms, a reassuring and tight embrace that momentarily eases the complexities lingering in the air.
“Missed you,” he chuckles, his arms refusing to release you as you playfully roll your eyes. Amidst the friendly banter, you can’t help but notice Jimin’s intense gaze fixed on you. His eyes darken, and the once bright smile on his face transforms into a subtle frown, leaving you with a sense of unease.
Your heart sinks, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. Does Jimin not know that Yoongi is gay, and that his kiss was merely his attempt at figuring out his sexuality? It occurs to you that he probably doesn’t. After all, Yoongi hasn’t openly shared his sexual orientation, and you’ve kept it confidential as well. The pieces start falling into place, and you comprehend the anger simmering in Jimin’s eyes. If he assumes that you and Yoongi are a couple, it would explain the tension and frustration etched on his face.
How do you convey to Jimin that your relationship with Yoongi is nothing more than a deep, platonic friendship, without revealing Yoongi’s sexual orientation?
And in the grand scheme of things, does any of this even hold weight now? With him having a girlfriend, laying the truth bare seems futile. Why would confessing change a thing? He’s maintained radio silence for months, a streak of silence that shows no signs of breaking, so why break it now?
Yoongi releases you, and you respond with a playful slap on his shoulder. As he steps back, falling in line behind Hoseok, you can’t help but catch the subtle way his gaze traces Hoseok’s figure.
As you glance over, you spot Namjoon and Seokjin in the hallway, each holding a bottle of wine. A smile plays on your lips as they make their way toward you, meticulously placing the bottles on the table before joining in the gathering.
Namjoon envelops you in a warm, tight hug, his curious voice breaking through the buzz of the room. 
“How’s that calf doing?” he inquires, while Seokjin raises an intrigued eyebrow at him.
Gratitude warms your voice as you assure Namjoon, “He’s doing fine with his mother and the rest of the herd. Thank you so much for helping.” A warm smile accompanies your words, and you motion for them to take a seat.
“That’s great,” he remarks, pulling out a chair and settling in beside Seokjin.
Ha-rin and Ara make their entrance into the dining room, their foreheads glistening with the sweat earned from their hard work in the kitchen.
You take your seat beside Yoongi and Soo-ah, casting a glance across the table where Jimin and Deiji have settled. Jessi and Jungkook, positioned next to each other, are engaged in a playful banter that echoes the dynamics of a married couple, the subject revolving around trucks and bikes. Despite your eye roll at their antics, a sweet smile tugs at your lips, warming your heart with the familiarity of their friendship.
Ha-rin’s exhausted yet earnest voice scolds gently, pointing with pride at the array of delectable dishes that have emerged from the depths of her labor in the kitchen throughout the day. “Please, eat your heart out. I’ve practically lived in that kitchen to create this feast,” she urges, her eyes reflecting the passion poured into every culinary creation with the assistance of Ara.
Expressions of gratitude fill the air as your entire group starts delving into the carefully crafted dishes before you. The aroma is irresistible, and your anticipation intensifies as you eagerly anticipate the first savory bite, your hungry stomach protesting its emptiness.
Savoring the heartiness of the meal, you indulge in a bit of everything, each mouthful a symphony of delectable flavors. A wave of gratitude washes over you for having Ha-rin on the ranch, as her culinary skills elevate the dining experience, compensating for your own culinary shortcomings.
Seokjin, caught in the rapture of each bite, pauses to express his culinary admiration. His eyes gleam with appreciation as he licks his lips, savoring the flavors. “Ha-rin, this is truly incredible. Would you mind sharing the recipe later? I don’t want to miss out on a single secret behind this delightful feast.”
Ha-rin’s laughter, a melodic accompaniment to the clinking of cutlery, fills the room. A subtle blush tints her cheeks, and a bashful yet confident smile reveals her teeth. “Thank you,” she responds graciously, “I can send you the recipe later, no problem.”
You can’t help but chuckle, observing her graceful gesture of tucking a strand of short, black hair behind her ear. Her eyes, adorned with a spark of admiration, linger on Seokjin as he savors every bite.
As you glance around the table, a warmth spreads through you, witnessing everyone relishing the moment. Namjoon gracefully pours wine for those seeking a more refined sip, while others opt for the familiar companionship of beer or the simple refreshment of water.
You relish a small glass of red, a rare indulgence that harmonizes beautifully with the culinary symphony on your plate, you’re about to shift your attention back to the feast when you feel the weight of Jimin’s gaze. His eyes pierce through the air, intense and fervent, as though etching a connection with the depths of your soul.
A nervous gulp courses through you, a fleeting warmth that fans the flames of self-consciousness. Your throat tightens imperceptibly, a subtle reminder of the unspoken tension in the air. Summoning courage, you lock eyes with Jimin, your gaze unwavering. The question lingers in the charged atmosphere – why is he studying you with such intensity?
Deiji’s laughter echoes, a stark contrast to the storm brewing in Jimin’s eyes. With narrowed gaze, you shoot back a piercing stare, mirroring the frustration and pain you’ve bottled up. Unnoticed, your fingers tighten around the utensils, and red begins to flare behind your eyelids.
“Calm down,” as frustration tightens your grip on the utensils, Yoongi’s calming whisper in your ear nudges you back from the edge. With an exasperated huff, you release your clenched hands. Jimin’s persistent gaze lingers, a puzzle you can’t decipher. Annoyed, you shoot him a furrowed frown, determined to focus on your meal. If he has something to say, he can use words instead of cryptic glances. You refuse to grant him more of your time without a proper conversation.
You practically spear the defenseless food on your plate, the residual anger simmering within. Beside you, Yoongi chuckles, a sound that offers a glimmer of solace. In the midst of your inner turmoil, it’s a relief to know someone can find enjoyment in this tense dinner.
Throughout the remainder of the dinner, laughter dances in the air alongside light-hearted conversations, a melody you struggle to fully engage with. Purposefully steering clear of Jimin, you catch his occasional glances in your direction, each one like an unspoken question lingering in the room.
As the final bites are savored and the dinner concludes, a collective effort ensues to tidy up the remnants of the feast. While some bid their goodbyes and disappear into the night, a handful remain, drawn to the allure of the terrace to indulge in leisurely drinks before ending the day’s festivities.
Soo-ah, Ara, Ha-rin, Yoongi, and Hoseok gravitate towards the terrace, creating a lively ensemble beneath the canvas of a sky painted with the remnants of a sunset that bid its farewell just hours ago. The air, now a gentle embrace, cradles the warmth of the departed sun, fostering an ambiance ripe for drinks and smalltalk.
You cradle the red wine in your hands, the rich hue mirroring the depth of your thoughts. It’s only your second glass, but who’s keeping track anyway?
You exhale with a profound sigh, sinking back into the chair, as if the weight of the day is lifting off your shoulders in that single breath.
Hoseok gazes at you, concern etched across his face. “What’s eating at you?”
You let out a frustrated groan, a desire to yank at your own hair bubbling beneath the surface. Uncertain about revealing the source of your vexation, you debate whether to open up about what’s truly bothering you. Given that your friends are well aware of your feelings for Jimin, it’s not as if you’d be sharing some profound secret.
“I’m just tired of Jimin,” you confess with a deep exhale, absentmindedly twirling the wine glass in your fingers, the crystal capturing the soft glow of the terrace lights.
Yoongi chuckles knowingly; he’s been a willing listener to your rants and frustrations about Jimin countless times. The girls exchange sympathetic glances, silently urging you to share more of your feelings.
“It’s frustrating, really. He hasn’t spoken a word to me since that awkward encounter when I met him and Deiji coming fresh out of the shower. The only thing he did say was to question why I was there. And now, he keeps looking at me with this strange intensity and weird look and I just can’t figure out what’s going on in his head,” you confess, letting out a heavy sigh.
Hoseok bursts into laughter, breaking the tension with his infectious humor, “Maybe he wants a threesome?” Your eyes roll at his playful comment, appreciating how he effortlessly lightens the mood, a skill he seems to master whenever things get awkward.
“I’m sure he doesn’t. Not that I’m interested!” Laughter ripples through the group, a collective release of tension that eases the weight on your shoulders.
“Maybe he just wants to talk then?” Hoseok suggests, his eyes holding a glimmer of hope beneath the terrace’s soft glow.
“If he wants to talk to me, he should just do it instead of giving me those fucking angry eyes,” you scoff, the frustration and deflation evident in your voice.
“I’m just so angry!” you declare, your body tensing with each word before finally releasing the built-up tension.
“We get it,” Soo-ah remarks, her voice understanding and sympathetic.
“Love is hard,” she adds with a touch of melancholy, her gaze lingering on Hoseok. You know that she likes him, but you don’t know if Hoseok feels the same for her. 
You let out a bitter, angry chuckle, the sound escaping from deep within as a manifestation of the frustration and tension bubbling inside you.
“By the way, does his girlfriend look familiar to any of you?” you inquire, turning to face them, only to be met with a chorus of laughter. Their unexpected reaction leaves you bewildered and searching for answers.
Ara quirks an eyebrow, suppressing a smile behind her delicate hand, and gently teases, “You haven’t realized yet?”
You shake your head. Realized what?
“She looks like you.” Ha-rin’s revelation is like a sudden thunderclap in the midst of a quiet storm, her words hanging in the air with a weight that sends a shiver down your spine. 
She looks like you? 
Every fiber of your being comes alive, reigniting the small fire you had extinguished for Jimin. The embers, once dormant, now glow and dance, casting an unexpected warmth that spreads through the chambers of your heart. The uncanny resemblance between you and Jimin’s girlfriend becomes a flickering flame, illuminating the shadows of your emotions and casting doubt on the carefully constructed walls you’ve built around your feelings.
Could this mean what you think it does?
Fuck.
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Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I would very much appreciate it if you reblogged the chapter, if you liked it ✨ A small review or a comment would also mean a lot to me, and even a like. But please, don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜
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btsugarush · 3 months
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I’d Hate To Say it | pjm (m.list)
❝i needed you and you fuckin’ left me.❞
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summary: when you return home from studying abroad, you come to find your former best friend, jimin, has made drastic changes to his life that could put him in danger or behind bars forever.
pairings: drug dealer!jimin x f!reader.
warnings: smut, violence, fluff, blood and gore, ex best friend!jimin, gang member!jimin, tattooed/pierced!jimin, long hair!jimin, use of guns/knives, mentions of self harm, mentions of abuse, alcohol abuse, drugs, drug addiction, angst, murder, strong language, 18+, minors dni.
author’s note: yes, yes another one. obviously i had to write something with my love jimin. also if you can’t tell i have an obsession for tattoos and piercings.
©btsugarush. please do not repost.
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yoongiphoria · 5 days
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renegade | pjm
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→ summary: is it insensitive for me to say get your shit together, so i can love you?
→ pairing: idol!pjm x f!reader → warnings: angst; smut; clubbing; drinking; fwb and unrequited love (??). barely proofread → word count: 1.7k → note: i will write something with a happy ending eventually. happy one year to like crazy!
→ listened to: like crazy - jimin; renegade - big red machine
my blog is 18+ only. minors DNI.
In the dark, there's only you and Jimin.
He's hot, always runs warm, and fire crackles under your fingertips when you skim them along the waist of his jeans. Where the fabric hugs his bones and muscles just right, and he knows it.
He always did care an awful lot about his looks. In a way that unsettled you, almost. You stop moving at the zipper, nails skimming along the metal teeth that close over him. You wonder how much those jeans cost. More than two weeks’ salary for you, you'd imagine.
He catches the pause in your movements, pulls away from the trail of embers glowing down the side of your neck. “Don't think so much, baby.” His chuckle runs low. Flippant. You feel it in your chest. "Just for tonight, yeah?"
Just for tonight. He tells you not to think, but all you can do is think. Think about your job, and your apartment, and your family down in Anyang, and how the man who has his silver rings grazing your cheek doesn't fit into any of these things. 
Park Jimin pops like a flash, a burst of indulgence and irrationality—he feels wholly out of place in this officetel of yours, his million-won sneakers casually discarded at your doorstep.
Still, you let him in. Even though this just for tonight is the eighth in recent memory—but really, who's counting?—and your chest will ache like picked-clean bones when you wake up and those million-won sneakers are nowhere to be found. 
You need him. And for reasons that slip just out of your reach, he needs you just as badly.
There are a million reasons you and Jimin don't belong together. Case in point: You'd met him entirely by accident.
When you think back on it now, you don’t remember much. Sweat-tacky skin, shoelaces black with grime, lights strobing across unfamiliar faces. You remember a boy with a delicate face handing you a drink—you remember hearing your mother’s voice echoing in the back of your head, never accept a drink from a stranger—and throwing it back, the inside of your throat feeling burnt and raw.
You remember the world growing dark around the edges, the music dulling into nothing but a tremble in your feet, your limbs liquefying and dissolving into the humid air. You remember seeing the delicate face in front of you and thinking, I could kiss him.
And you remember doing just that. Soft, startlingly gentle hands pressing into your jaw, lips even softer, the fruity sheen of soju working its way onto your tongue.
The alcohol was enough to make you forget that you didn’t belong there, not at all. You’d stumbled into Elite thinking it was someplace else, another club your friends had told you about—already drunk, running away from something you couldn’t identify, looking for a place, maybe a person, to make you forget.
You don’t believe in fate. You never have. Life is a series of choices, and meant to be is something morons say to feel better about the ones they’ve made.
Fate isn’t real. Not when you’re who you are, and Jimin is… Jimin.
And, well. You may be inferior in a lot of ways, but you find yourself biting your lip whenever you catch him studying his looks in your bathroom mirror, or holding your tongue whenever he mumbles about the price of fame. You wonder if he’s ever drawn up a budget. Worried about retirement.
He is Park Jimin, the voice of an angel, revered like a god among men, but he is woefully out of touch with reality, and it makes you simmer with both pity and resentment, and wonder how someone could be so goddamn selfish.
Selfish enough to swoop into your life whenever he feels like it. To unmoor you from everything you know, spin you upside down and sideways, and leave just as quickly as he came. Nothing but chaos and instability in his wake—a hurricane.
If fate exists, you’d hope it would be more generous than this.
Anyway.
He presses you against the wall, right between the furniture you’re almost ashamed to own. He kisses you slow, then fast and hot, then slow again, all over. A trail down your jaw, picking open the buttons down your shirt to kiss you between your breasts.
You wonder if getting here meant taking back roads and hidden exits, or if he simply got into his car and drove here, because he knew no one would think to look for him here—in a part of Seoul that people don’t tend to remember, all uneven roads and rundown restaurants, rarely frequented by anyone except the people who live in it, just as forgotten as their neighborhood.
He tugs down the cups of your bra—impatient, can’t wait long enough to unclasp it. Your peak hardens under the ministrations of his tongue. You make sounds, so much noise, because he’s always known just how to pull it all out of you. You feel him smiling against your skin, lips curving up around you, and grasp at his hair. 
Platinum, this time. You miss when it was black-brown, the time he showed up with his fringe in his face, growing straight down into his lash line.
May: The club. Your bra hanging off his door handle like a dorm room sock, sweating iced americanos appearing at his front door in a plastic sleeve, texts under "JM.” Always taking a taxi across town, because your place didn’t have guards and locked gates and 24-hour CCTV like his.
June: Silence. A world tour, maybe, or an overseas brand campaign. You couldn't bring yourself to scroll—somehow, seeing his image on your feed, all made up and coiffed, made you feel robbed of something. You thought a lot about the little marks dotting his hairline, and the tiny scars on his cheek, and wondered if knowing those things meant you knew him better than anyone else did.
July: More silence. Suddenly, a note slipped under your door, found only when you finally deigned to power through the wet blanket of humidity and despair in your apartment and vacuum the entryway, for once. A tiny piece of paper folded in half, a new phone number, but unmistakably his handwriting. Back at his glossy, gaudy apartment building, each squeak of your Docs against the marble tile like a security alarm, holding in all the questions you wanted to ask. Cries echoing against the near-sterile emptiness of his bedroom; shining condom wrappers discarded next to your ruined underwear; carefully dabbing green primer and peach concealer against the mottled blossoms on your neck, so your friends wouldn't ask and your boss wouldn't see.
August: Strawberry lip balm. His jacket on your kitchen chair. A quiet week off in which he burned your toast and made up for it with a kiss that tasted like sesame oil. Meeting one of his friends on accident. Your first fight, over laundry, and then laughing because who cared, anyway? Why bring the knives out, as if there was something to fight for?
September: Quiet, again, and then.
He pushes into you, and it's hardly the first time, but after so much time without it might as well be. You feel the heat and pressure and pulse of pain.
He might be a hurricane, but he comes to a stop, stilling, when he feels your leg stiffening against his side. "Hurts?"
"A little," you breathe. Your fingers dig into your sheets—oddly enough, they're the kind you can get at Namdaemun, stitched with a floral pattern. It reminds you of your childhood, a sudden needle prick of recognition in your chest, and something about it has your heart caving in as you murmur, "Go slow, please."
He laughs, a dull tinkling. Goes a bit slower but not by much. There was a time you admired his impatience, that insatiable need to pursue everything at a hundred and ten percent, even if he damaged himself in the process.
Now, not so much. It took you a while to realize that he wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice you, too. 
He fills you. He rolls into you. You grab his shoulder, desperate to meet his movements, and cry out when he starts slamming into you. 
“You're so beautiful," he groans into your ear, his fringe sticking to your temple and breath on your skin. "So, so pretty. Can't believe you're mine.”
And he's always had that possessive streak, hasn't he.
You wonder what you're doing. 
Playing at domesticity, maybe, like it gives you some footing here. Here, in your own apartment. You pull out the nice mugs, and you have to rinse the dust out of them. You hang disposable drip bags over the rims of each, wait for the electric kettle to kick on.
There's a lot to love about Jimin. All out there for the taking, and it's no wonder he's so brilliant and magnetic, the music industry's golden boy. He can sing and dance. Has perfected the art of affected humility, that aw shucks grin and shrug and playful laughter that makes your mom think, well isn't he just the sweetest thing. Pretty, too. All lips and eyes and perfect hair, thighs ripe in shiny skin-tight leather, unexpected muscles teased under a billowing designer shirt. 
But there isn't that much to love, either. Not in a real way. The real parts are somewhere deep, and you're not privy to them, and it doesn't matter how much you love him if he's holding himself out of your reach.
You watch as the water boils, the switch snapping off, and start pouring—gentle, tiny pours. A sharp scent comes curling up. Citrus. Chocolate. You watch the grounds bubble up with some distant pleasure, listen for the tinkle of the first drops hitting ceramic. It almost makes you feel like everything's going to be okay.
You finish. Neatly dispose of the drip bag. Just one, for him, in the end, because you'd decided last minute that you were a bit jumpy, and perhaps the caffeine wouldn't help. 
You carry the mug into the bedroom. To your surprise, he's awake. Shirt on, running a hand through that lush hair, and the first thing you notice is that he's beautiful in the morning.
The second thing is the look on his face, when he sees you standing there with the coffee. A corner of his mouth angled downward, jaw set, eyes cool, but soft at the edges, because all of his face is soft and he can't help it. 
The softness of his face doesn’t make it hurt any less, when he opens his mouth. Or maybe it makes it hurt more. Salts the knife digging between your ribs. Coats the bullet with fire.
Because the first thing he says is—
"I wish you'd stop waiting for me."
169 notes · View notes
taegularities · 2 years
Text
love me better | pjm (m)
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thank you so much for this absolutely stunning banner, maggie @kth1​​​​​ <33
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Summary: “And your kisses taste bitter now after all.”
Park Jimin still remembers you from a fervent night, not expecting in his wildest dreams that you’d join his team to solve the case of the most dangerous thieves in the country. But he soon realises that of all things, you might be the hardest riddle he’s ever had to crack.
⋙ pairing: Jimin x reader ⋙ rating: 18+ ⋙ genre: strangers to lovers, bits of fwb, detective!au; angst, fluff, smut ⋙ warnings: quite some angst (don’t say i didn’t warn you), secrets secrets!, past minor character death/drowning (only mentioned), guns, (talk about) fears/past trauma, thefts and detective stuff, injuries, car accident, crying, unhealthy coping mechanisms, betrayal, bottled up feelings, some pov changes, hyung line cameo !! explicit sexual content: multiple (3) sex scenes, dom!jimin, sub!reader, unprotected sex (be responsible y’all), teasing, flirting, heavy sexual tension, fingering, oral (f. & m. rec.), dirty talk, lots of mid-sex convos lol, petnames, breast play, soft & rough sex, some aftercare, ... lmk if i forgot smth the fic is huge ⋙ word count: 36.7k (just like that.... sorry 😐) ⋙ a/n: GOSH IT’S FINALLY HERE. it took me 7. damn. months to finish this and !!! i so hope you guys like it 😭 thank you for beta’ing and for your patience, precious angels @missgeniality​​​​ and @jimilter​​​​, you fixed this mess and were there for me alllll this time 😭 and thank you also to @btsmosphere​​ for brainstorming with me when i found myself clueless 🤍  let me know what you all think. feedback is highly appreciated !!! <3 ⋙ uploaded to AO3, too (for those who prefer pdfs or mobile readings!)
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➳ listen to the LMB playlist for the full experience 🖤 
MASTERLIST | WIPS
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A sudden, bright red flashes and a loud thump of his heart sounds in his ears.
Jimin’s surroundings remind him that his favourite place in the whole wide world is the luxurious, dark grey sofa standing in his quiet office. He adores it when the sun rays shine through his large open window just enough to drench his face in the comfortable warmth. Loves to watch the snow’s soft descent in the darkest and coldest winter.
The solace and peace that come with lying on the warm upholstery fabric and thinking about his current case – or nothing at all – is an unmatched feeling sent from above. With his phone turned off, one arm draped over his eyes and the other dangling from the side of the couch, Jimin thinks there might never be a way of relaxation superior to this.
It’s what he likes to do. It’s his thing.
The club isn’t.
And he doesn’t think he’d find himself here at all if it was up to him. If Hoseok hadn’t dragged him all the way up here from the far-away office in the city, Jimin would most likely still be drowning in the work that seems to advance slowly.
He doesn’t know why he’s sitting on this very stool at this very corner of the town, letting the shrill music numb his ears and the lights blind his sight. With a small sigh, he closes the camera roll and darkens the screen, shifting his focus from the phone to his bitter whiskey. Staring at a stolen item without the chance to retrieve it won’t do much right now anyway.
Once he’s stuffed the device in his pocket, he drags his eyes back to the dance floor again, pressing his full lips together as he looks for the now-familiar face in the crowd of strangers. Despite the fact that you’re someone he’s seeing for the first time tonight, he can’t seem to get enough of the sheer confidence you emanate.
Perhaps it’s that very gaze you shoot at him whenever he looks at you, too. Perhaps it’s the gentle, almost unnoticeable smile that follows and the tongue that darts out to wet your lips. There’s something about you that’s been distracting him enough tonight to forget the entire case.
And with the mysterious glances you provide him with, he doesn’t think he has to keep pondering his options.
There aren’t that many anyway.
“Are you going to try something?” Hoseok asks, nudging his friend lightly with an elbow.
You notice very well that he doesn’t avert his focus while conversing with his handsome friend – and then again, you reckon he’s trying to make clear who his attention belongs to. Subtle boldness hidden behind a sweet yet dangerous smile – your absolute favourite.
“What makes you think I want to?” Jimin responds, cocking an eyebrow while taking another burning sip of his intoxicating liquid.
Hoseok shrugs his shoulders, heart-shaped lips forming a grin as he answers, “Just the look of absolute satisfaction from you everytime she smirks at you.”
“Hey,” Jimin retorts as he places the glass back on the counter, finally meeting his friend and colleague’s eyes, “you brought me here against my will. Might as well use the night to have some fun.”
“I’m not stopping you!” The music grows louder in volume, the annoying beat dominating rather than the voices that are singing the indecipherable lyrics, and Hoseok leans close as he yells, “In fact, I’m encouraging you! It’s exactly why we’re here after all.”
Jimin laughs and nods with a squint of his eyes, an enthusiastic smile spreading across his face before he tries to find you again. Which proves to be the easiest task of the century, and his arm nearly knocks off his drink when your idle steps distract him from every movement around him.
You’re inching closer slowly, his eyes clearly subject to your attention and your head tilted in mischief. He doesn’t know your name; doesn’t know how you feel; has never seen you before  – but from up close, you’re so undeniably pretty that he wishes he had. What higher power has hidden you from his greedy gaze until now? 
You plump onto the seat next to him, waving off the bartender with your hand before he even gets to take your order. The man in front of you watches your actions carefully, an amused twinkle shimmering in his pupils as you lean in and ask, “Is there something you wanna say to me?”
If you thought you could render him speechless with your sudden appearance or make him stumble over his own words, you were utterly wrong. Because he seems unaffected, one side of his mouth twitching upward when he starts, “Just that…”
He smacks his luscious lips, the smile so lovely that it almost makes you believe that you’re talking to a stranger who’s out for your heart.
One of his fingers point to the dance floor, and your eyes follow, blending out the music and listening to him explain, “The guy you were dancing with was trying so hard to turn you around and make you grind against him. Poor man never got his wish though.”
“That’s because I didn’t let him touch me. Greasy fingers… he’s gross. And he has a habit of…” You pause, crafting your words carefully until you nod and add, “Of being a cocky, irritating presence in every club of the town.”
He raises his eyebrows, his mouth forming an ‘o’, and you inquire, “Right? I mean, a sane man wouldn’t annoy his ladies like this, would he? You wouldn’t, right?”
The laugh he gives you, one that you join in, is coated with sugar and honey, the pure tenor so soft, but his words so contradicting, “Of course not. Respect is given. I know how to handle my women.”
“Ah. Alright, Mister Heartbreaker then–”
“Park Jimin.”
How lovely it sounds rolling off his tongue.
“Mister Heartbreaker Park Jimin. Tell me how you handle your women.”
Jimin’s sure he’s surpassed the stage of playing coy and innocent long ago, the reasons to play around words nearly vanishing as he adds bluntly, yet carefully, “I’m someone who prefers execution over explanations.”
He is only half aware that he’s stopped talking to his friend. Which is okay – Hoseok will let Jimin and you do your thing quietly, but not without a telling smirk on his face.
And Jimin’s gaze hasn’t strayed from your eyes once since you sat down to keep him company. Any other man you usually have the pleasure – or inconvenience – to meet, knows exactly where to look; one lick of the lower lip, a tilt of the head and a finger on your knees speak volumes.
But Park Jimin seems to contain his intentions inside this fascinating brain of his; almost as hard to read as you are.
“Interesting,” you say with a cocky smirk.
Your high heels clatter against the ground sharply when you stand; a sound so clear despite the incessant thrumming of the music. A gentle finger of yours comes up to remove the disturbing, blonde lock of hair out of his face, and you give him a smile before you say, “Execute then.”
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Jimin’s tongue operates in a way that lets you glance into a mind far more intriguing and alluring than you’ve ever experienced before. Men could spend full nights with you and pin you under their bodies whichever way they wanted; but the attraction that his personality exudes remains unmatched.
And when you give in to his charm and find yourself behind the club, sandwiched between the wall and him, you realise just how well and elegantly his tongue truly moves. The dance he entertains you with isn’t a soft and gentle waltz, but a wild and fast tango that melts you in his touch.
As the muffled noises permeate through the heavy door next to your body, you indulge in the way his hand trails your body, unsure where to settle as he presses a knee between your thighs. Your faces hide in the darkness, only lit by the neon green exit sign above the door, and yet you see the hunger every time you part for a single moment and stare into his telling eyes.
“What do you want me to do?” he asks breathlessly, his fingers holding your jaw in his soft grip as he searches your gaze for an answer.
You think he knows what you want – it’s always the same.
They don’t ever say no to more, and they never assume you’d walk away after exploring your skin so far. Sometimes it brings a sense of emptiness into your chest, knowing that you��re the all too ready prey that lets the predator take her home and bite.
But then again, doing this is all that you’ve ever known.
With a tempting smile and a palm ghosting over his bicep, you inch closer to his lips, letting him register the flowery scent blooming from your neck before you answer, “I want you to…”
A hand wrapping around his, you bring it to your ass, listening to him drawing a sharp breath. “...touch me here…” And then, his fingers travel to your heat through your guidance, an obvious bulge pressing against your thigh as you finish, “...and here. But not in this dusty alley and not against this cold wall.”
“Why not?” he inquires, lifting your dress before he kisses your neck softly. “A minute ago you wanted me so badly, please, Park Jimin.” 
You roll your eyes at his damned dimpled grin, tempted to remark something just as snarky before you change your decision and state, “I just thought you’d rather hear me screaming and crying at full volume for you instead of trying to stay quiet here.”
“Well, to be fair, the thought of you forcing yourself to st-”
A stray cat breaks his train of thoughts, suddenly flashing by your bodies as you both flinch at the sudden interruption. With the intoxication slightly broken, you laugh, letting go of his collar as you raise an eyebrow and say, “And that’s exactly why a bed would be a better idea.”
And who is he to deny your suggestion anyway?
No, you’re a mind-numbing existence among the boring faces of strangers; one who keeps him entertained even when Jimin tackles the long ride home. As he tries to catch every green traffic light, you’re there to laugh about his jokes and baffle him with your own wit, talking about everything that crosses your mind until he drags you into his room and silences you with his awaiting, ready-to-consume tongue.
For the life of you, you can’t tell what his bedroom looks like – his fingers and his lips exploring your body drive you insane so intensely that you can’t keep your eyes open for too long. It’s a night spent in lustful moans and sweet kisses, his body tiring yours until you grow weak and limp and your eyelids flutter shut.
With one of your legs sticking out from under the thin blanket, you let his fingers graze the expanse of your skin, humming in content until you finally fall asleep. You look like a dream on his satin sheets, your face lit by the shine of the half moon that gives you a fairy-like glow that Jimin wants to know more about.
And yet, when he wakes up in the morning, with your eyes being the first memory of the turbulent night before, he finds his mattress empty. The other side of the bed seems cold to the touch, the pillow and sheets so smooth that he wonders if he imagined you. If you were here at all.
But the obvious foreign scent that he inhales in the very next moment tells him that no part of you had been a breathtaking figment of his vivid imagination.
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Your calmness and enchanting mystery don’t leave Jimin’s mind until two weekends have rolled by and ended again. It takes him one distraction too many to forget the hidden emotion in your eyes and the readiness with which you gave yourself to him.
Only to disappear the very next morning.
As Jimin stops wondering what happened that night and why you suddenly vanished into thin air, he finds himself hovering above more important things than your body. Sleeves rolled up and eyes drooping, he glances at the scattered files that contain hints, evidence and protocols of the last few weeks.
Trying to figure out what the group his case deals with might do next proves nearly impossible; even more so with each robbery they successfully get away with. Reading a pattern shouldn’t be this hard. Jimin has handled cases worse than this one; no matter whether they circled around vandalists or peculiar art thieves.
What is he not seeing?
His features remain calm, but his knuckles pale. A thumb strokes the piece of paper that has crucial information about the last theft, written black on white. Reading the lines over and over again turns out to be immensely tiring; he doesn’t think staring at them or breaking his head over the words might bring him any closer to the answer.
Right when his body begs him to carry it home, Jimin’s eyes blinking to rid themselves of sleep, the door to his office opens with a click. He doesn’t expect any company at this evening hour; he’s sure the floor is empty aside from his presence still lingering in his suffocating and dimly lit room.
“Do you like it better here than at home, Hobi?” he queries.
He lifts his gaze and runs a hand through his ash-blonde hair, the sight slightly blurry until his co-worker’s shadow takes a solid form. Hoseok flips the light switch, and Jimin protests with a grunt and a shaking head, motioning him to darken the room again – but his actions still when something else catches his attention.
With one foot on the threshold and a hand clutching a bag, serene, familiar eyes stare back at him; they don’t showcase any sign of confusion or fascination the way Jimin’s do. The mystery surrounding the not-so-stranger still glows as gloomily as the last time, and Jimin finds himself wondering if it’s the sleep deprivation that’s dipping his mind into hallucinations after all.
But then you enter the room, your shoulder lightly bumping into Hoseok’s and a laugh falling out of you at the coincidence of the situation. Your lips aren’t tinted red anymore as in the night he touched you for the first and last time; but you still look like he’s known you for longer than he actually has. Like this isn’t just the second time he’s meeting your eyes.
“You might remember her,” Hoseok says, smirking at Jimin knowingly.
The younger man catches himself fast, letting out an exhausted breath before he eyes you with something akin to boredom, nonchalance. You shift from one leg to the other, glancing to Hoseok and then back to Jimin as your tongue toys with the inside of your cheek.
“I do, yeah,” Jimin confirms, thoughts drifting back to his empty mattress. In some way, a scenario like this isn’t rare after a meaningless one night stand with a stranger that has the stare of a poisonous snake. Yet, the memory bothers him. “What brings you here, uh…”
He blinks at you, watches your lips part before he fakes a guess on your name despite being fully aware of the word he whispered dozens of times that night. A sweet melody that escapes between his lips so smoothly is hard to forget.
You nod, stepping closer and stretching out a hand for him to take. Behind you, Hoseok presses his lips into a thin line, hands on his slacks-covered-hips as he observes the awkward exchange.
You feel his stare more than you see it, well aware that Hoseok probably knows that you were once trapped under Jimin’s body, filled to the brim and a moaning mess like you’ve never been. Not before Jimin, not after Jimin.
“I’ll be joining you here. My division sent me here to help you out with the… the Swan case,” you explain, tilting your head. You’re hesitating; like uttering this sentence is burning your tongue.
Jimin knew another force would join his group all too soon – he just didn’t think it’d be you.
From what he gathered, it had to be someone he knew; perhaps that one woman who’s known worldwide for solving the case of a misunderstood art thief. Or maybe the detective he met at the last gathering of his organisation – he seemed promising and skilled enough to switch to this case.
But it’s you.
The woman who has somehow, inexplicably, been haunting him since the first time her lips touched his neck and her fingers grazed his thighs. What are the odds?
Jimin chuckles quietly, a lock of hair falling into his crescent eyes that he brushes back immediately. Then, he says, “Welcome on board, then. But next time you can come to my office in the morning, if you’d like. It’s okay to take a break and go home – both of you.”
“Says you,” you tease, a mocking lilt in your voice that sounds like the soft song of chirping birds at sunrise, “besides, I don’t sleep much anyway.”
“That I can imagine.”
Because who else would walk away at the ass crack of dawn after falling asleep late, leaving him questioning and irritated?
Jimin shakes off the incessant thoughts. Apparently, they rule over his mind with a harder force than he expected or ever wanted; but with you standing here, the scene keeps reappearing over and over again.
“Do you guys need some time alone?”
Hoseok’s voice chimes through the tension electrifying you both, bursting the bubble that had excluded him till now. You finally realise that he’s still standing there too, and so you let out a deep breath before you say, “No, no, I was going to leave anyway. I just wanted to stop by and… introduce myself again, I guess.”
“And you just happened to know that I’m still here,” Jimin voices. There’s no hostility in his sweet, small voice, but something about his words sounds sharp and intense, anyway.
“I just thought I could try,” you defend, shrugging your shoulders as you nod towards Hoseok, “and saw him leaving the building.”
The man in question mimics your movements, shoulders lifting before he waves his hands and says, “But just for the record – he’s always here. I bet he sleeps in this office sometimes.”
“I do n–” Jimin’s words die on his tongue when he decides to sigh instead, pinching the bridge of his nose with sleep fogging his brain. “Anyway. When are you starting?”
“Monday.”
Closing the files, Jimin readies himself for the drive back home, eager to end the day and to rid his thoughts of the investigation. In this state, he won’t be able to glue the pieces together anyway. Hoseok whispers something to you and you converse back, both your voices fading as the rustling of Jimin’s coat fills his ears instead.
“Then enjoy your weekend,” he eventually says, shooting an unexpected wink at you that you respond to with a raised eyebrow, “luckily we get these off at least. Can’t wait to work with you, Detective.”
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Whiskey and noting down his thoughts keep Jimin’s mind on track as your face creeps its way into his brain constantly.
A weekend never felt this long, and the vacant and silent loudness in his apartment never this numbing. He doesn’t know where this excitement – or tamed rage – comes from, but the more he thinks of you, the more you distract him from the task at hand.
Working with you face to face doesn’t make things easier either. Monday passes, the week progresses and you’re blinking at the stack of papers sprawled on the table in front of you, but he finds his own focus drift every now and then, much to his chagrin.
It’s only when you slump back into a chair and tell him to read the files, that he loses himself in the riddle of the papers again. But it’s always the same; never a new clue jumping out. It’s like the answer is right in front of him and he is unable to pick it out. It tickles the back of his brain; a little as though he has all the necessary puzzle pieces, but doesn’t know how to combine them.
“It’s something obvious, right?”
You sigh when he repeats the same words for the umpteenth time tonight, throwing your head back as you respond, “I think so, yeah.”
“Then why the fuck…”
“Jimin.”
“No, no, look. Okay.” He lifts his hands in front of his body, closing his eyes as he summarises, “They always rob rich people. Like, public, known people. They’re too high class for simple robberies like banks and stuff. And they always steal jewellery, like necklaces, earrings or bracelets. Never any money or pure gold bars.”
“Yes.”
“But there must be a pattern–”
“Jimin,” you repeat, grabbing his wrist before you pull his attention from the files. He turns around slowly, exhaustion yet again written all over his countenance as he leans against the table. “Take a break.”
You place the fore and middle finger of your right hand between your eyebrows, massaging the space lightly before you let your hand fall again and say, “Do this. It’s gonna help you relax. And remove this scary frown of yours.” You laugh when he smirks, crossing your legs on the chair as you lean back. “I used to do that a lot in my old division.”
“If you’re saying that, then it must be true.” Jimin buries one hand in the pockets of his slacks, the other following your suggestion and calming his expressions. “By the way.” You look at him in question, not missing the slight judgemental tone of his voice. “Why did you never tell me you’d join us here? I’m sure you already knew the night we met in the club.”
The question catches you off guard, and your eyes stick on him for a second longer, unblinking. Then, you let out a deep breath, humming in thought before you confess, “I didn’t think you’d be part of the team here. For all I knew, you could’ve been a highschool teacher or… or, I don’t know, an architect?”
“Architect,” Jimin mocks, rolling his eyes, “not an architect.”
“Well, the point is that I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I never really considered my private life important enough for a stranger to know.”
“Hmmm.” He clicks his tongue, gathering the ball of disappointment of the last weeks between his lips before they form the words he’s been desperate to ask. “Is that why you didn’t spend that night? You wanted us to stay strangers.”
You shrug your shoulders, laughing off the awkward tension between you two as you explain, “Staying? That’s not what I do.”
“What is it that you do, then?”
“I like meeting new people,” you confess, your voice so calm that it feels like you might yawn any second now. “There are a lot of lovely men out there who have a talent of doing just what I like.” You pause for a second, your lips still parted and eyes moving to the ceiling before they find him again. “And women. Love women.”
“So,” Jimin drawls, clearing his throat, “you just go around burning yourself into all these people’s memories?”
“Why? Have I burned myself into yours?”
“I mean… It took me two weeks to remember Hoseok’s name despite seeing him every single day.” Fingers lifting from the already relaxed spot on his face, Jimin taps his shiny, black boots against the ground underneath. “What do you think?”
There’s something so undeniably attractive about his fearless openness and way of talking. Most people you meet aren’t exactly the epitome of timidness and silence either, but they often meet you with a brazenness that you can’t help but live through with a fake smile. But Jimin seems to mean each one of his words. He seems to calculate them, politely and genuinely.
You, however, are just as blatant and stupid as the people you meet. And in that sense, you don’t wait long before your rotten mouth declares, “Why do you make me wanna kiss you?”
Jimin’s eyes blow wide for a fraction of a second at your shameless approach as he realises that this is not just harmless small talk anymore. Just like the night in the loud, hot, uncomfortable club, you seem to follow ulterior motives. Your hips aren’t moving to the music anymore as they did back then, but your words and the sound of your voice lure him in anyway.
He pushes himself off the edge of the table, stepping closer, slowly, before he leans down in front of you. Hands still residing in his pockets, he stares at you for a small, fleeting moment; and then, he nudges your nose and places a finger under your chin. Lifts your head to take a better look at your seductive gaze.
You close your eyes and part your lips. Get ready for him to adhere to your wishes and give himself to you. You inhale sharply when his mouth brushes against yours, and only exhale after the lightest of pecks that he graces your lower lip with.
Pictures of both of you flash through your mind: your half naked bodies colliding, right here on his chair, you straddling him and moving gently, temptingly. In your imagination, lewd sounds of moans, gasps and kisses fill the air; and you’re ready for him. Ready for his touches.
But then, he suddenly retreats; cuts through your daydream with a knife.
“I’ll kiss you when I’m the only one you want to kiss.”
The smirk that follows shows his pride over the statement he just uttered, and your eyebrows come together in a frown as irritation fills your chest and your guts. Why does he care this much? Why is he saying what he’s saying?
To add to your demise, he lifts a hand, two fingers massaging the stressed spot on your forehead before he says, “Do this. Feels relaxing.”
And before you can blink twice, he’s turned around and shifted his focus to his beloved investigation again.
Jimin is playing a dangerous game that you’ve used to battle so many men before. One to keep them yearning and wanting, but keeping your heart and mind at bay without ever letting them too close. It’s more art than a game, really, and you thought you’d mastered it very well already – until now.
Today, you find yourself losing the tug of war for the very first time in oh so long.
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It doesn’t take a genius to realise that your mind is a fascinating miracle.
The conclusions Jimin drew in the last few weeks according to the available hints come easily to you – assuming you didn’t know about any of them already. As you scan files and papers, you summarise your deductions before Jimin can fully inform you about them, and the eagerness you work with almost exceeds his own spirit to hustle from time to time.
You’re munching on tiny bites of your lunch as you compare a sheet of information with a picture of some party. These are pieces of Jimin’s self-compiled folder, but he never really paid much attention to them till now. For some reason, you seem to be fixated on them; keep telling him that there’s something about it, something’s important about these.
“We’re on lunch break,” Jimin says, letting his spoon fall into his spicy soup before he leans back, “concentrate on not feeding your nose and cheeks instead.”
Your lips move with the words you read, and when you’ve reached the end of the line, you lift your face to look at him, telling him solemnly, “Give me a second. I swear I’m close.”
“Listen, you haven’t eaten anything properly since you opened the office this morning. What about tea? Coffee? Wat–”
“Wait, Jimin,” you interrupt with an annoyed shake of your head, your forehead wrinkling and your palm holding your face.
With a sigh, he shifts his attention to his meal again, fixing his eyes on the dirty dishes in the sink as he waits for you to converse with him again. Not even Hoseok is this bad. In fact, Hoseok has said that the situation between Jimin and you reminds him a lot of busy days when the older man must come between his younger friend and his work, forcing him to eat, drink and breathe.
Jimin blinks once before he decides to stare at the photograph from afar, not as concentrated as you, but taking in the content anyway. It seems like a picture from a huge gathering, a kind of party with guests from the highest level. They’re millionaires known to the entire world, living in this very country and this very city, residing in houses bigger than Jimin or you can ever dream to live in.
Three square tables are arranged in a way that all of the guests are visible on the picture, each of them occupying one side of each table. Jimin knows that at least half of them have already been robbed, and that again, half of those are so filthy rich that they never bothered to file a serious complaint. Not because they work with the thieves, but because a tie or a hair clip they own costs more than the necklaces and bracelets that they lost.
The sole, striking connection to the criminals shows in the middle of each table, in the form of a blue swan, paper folded neatly in origami style to the majestic animal. The colour of the symbol always stays the same; and the bird remains consistent, too. Jimin knows the picture is important to figure out some sort of pattern; or at least he does now, watching you work so diligently.
And it seems like you’ve finally figured it out, because only a moment later, you break his train of thoughts and nearly yell, “Heureka!”
“What? What, what?”
Your pupils shake, your mind collecting your thoughts, and you bite your lower lip as he grows nervous and repeats, “What?”
“So,” you start, excitement clearly visible in your eyes as you half lean over the table, “this list is organised by the date of the thefts and next to said dates are the names of the, uh, victims.” Your finger wanders over each line, reading the names out loud. “So the first one was this Kim guy. Who’s sitting at the very left table, on the, let’s say, west side of it.”
Jimin nods, a hand gesture pleading for you to slow down and take a breath; you oblige immediately, inhaling through the nose before you continue, “And the second person… Lee, she’s sitting on the middle table. West side, too.”
“Okay.”
“The third name on this list is Gong. Who,” you pause, returning to the picture, pointing to a bald, middle-aged man with a crooked smile, “third table. Try to guess? Yes, the west side as well.”
Jimin thinks he’s beginning to understand, his mind slowly following your blabber as nervousness and a sense of triumph bubble in his guts. You speak on, explaining to him in double time how the fourth and fifth victims both sat at the north side, on the first and second table respectively; and when your voice grows louder, Jimin raises a finger into the air.
“So that means…” he begins, the conclusion taking a clear form in his mind, “they’re working their way through people according to this photograph. Clockwise, from left to right… so then, solving the puzzle correctly would mean…”
He taps the tip of his forefinger against the shiny material of the picture, and you nod slowly, speaking before he does, “Seong Hyunwoo. He and his family are next. And if I’m not wrong… then it should happen in exactly eight days.”
His smile drops, eyes immediately searching for yours as he blinks and questions, “How do you know?”
“According to this list and the dates, they seem to follow a pattern of exactly fifty-five days.” You shuffle the pages and gather them into one, shoulders shrugging and your tone casual, almost matter-of-factly. “Probably need that time to prepare and think about their next steps and whatever.”
“This is insane.”
“Hm?”
“The fact that I was never able to solve this,” Jimin confesses; and as soon as he utters these words, discouragement floods his insides, his body falling back against the chair as his eyes turn gloomy. He gestures toward the papers, scoffing lightly as he says, “It was right in front of my eyes and I couldn’t solve it. Basic information. Might as well get fired.”
You watch him fidget with his fingers for a second, emphatic and fond; and when he refuses to meet your stare again, you tell him, “Well, finding two separate pieces is an achievement, too. Piecing them together is harder. If you hadn’t found these things, I wouldn’t have been able to conclude what we just did. And I think you just need to… sleep more, too.”
“Yeah, but…” Jimin hesitates, lips blowing raspberries in slight frustration. He wants to be happy about what the picture and the list reveal; but he can’t help but feel defeated anyhow. “Anyone would’ve found this information. And it wasn’t too hard to figure out.”
“Hey,” you interject, pouting with playful hurt, “does that mean I’m not all that smart? Maybe you didn’t want to solve the case then…”
“No, I was just saying that…”
“Ah, cut that bullshit,” you interrupt yet again, dismissing his comment with a light wave of your hand, “you’re not a bad detective. You’re awesome, but… it’s okay to look at the bigger picture sometimes. You’ll find the details once you do.”
You flash a blinding smile at him – so bright and shiny that he loses concept of time and space for a split second before gravity pulls him back into the small break room. He’s thankful. Not only for the fact that you’ve stepped closer to victory, but for your behaviour toward his whiny, childish attitude as well.
You don’t seem to judge; seem to aim for encouragement instead.
A warm palm slides across the table, settling on your fingers slowly as he mumbles, “Thank you.”
Blood rushes into your face and heats your skin, an innocent expression spreading on your countenance as you gaze at his hand on yours.
But the awkward, silent moment passes as fast as it appeared, and you join his happiness when he laughs and declares, “This is so fucking dumb. These guys are idiots… should’ve expected that people as smart as you exist.”
“Please,” you whisper quietly, barely audible as he watches your smile widen with amusement.
A hum vibrates across his chest, and he observes your sudden timidness further before he jokes, “Who the hell still says heureka, by the way?”
“Shut up!”
Under the table, you kick his shin lightly, and he cries out in pain with a tender laugh. One you turn into a symphony by adding your own, lovely sound.
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As soon as you figure out the date and location of the next robbery, informing your force busy with this case, you spend your upcoming evenings and nights observing Seong’s house.
What sounds tiring and tedious in the beginning, soon proves to be even more tiring and tedious eventually. Even if it’s part of your job, you’d rather spend your nights elsewhere. But Jimin keeps you occupied – he doesn’t only provide information you might need in the upcoming time, but keeps the mood floating, too.
Now and then, you remind yourself where you are and what you’re doing. Try not to let your mind shift too much, averting your gaze from the dimpled smile he throws you in the darkness merely lit by dull street lamps.
But despite the thrill and excitement of the situation, some moments stretch too long, and when the big, awaited night finally breaks in, you say, “Any moment now.”
In the passenger’s seat, Jimin licks his lips, squinting his eyes to shoot the mansion another look before he mumbles, “I sure hope so. Couldn’t sleep at all last night.”
On cue, you yawn into your hand, leaning back with a sigh as you blink away tears of exhaustion. You, for one, would go in and warn the married couple if you could, but according to Jimin, Seong and his family have caused him and his force trouble on more than one occasion.
Apparently, they have a reputation of the prestigious, not-so-humble pair among detectives already, hiring one group for past minor thefts while consulting another at the same time. Jimin doesn’t like repeating the story of when both detective groups chased each other the same night, enabling the real thieves to escape with ease.
To say that this was the most embarrassing day of his life must be an understatement.
“If we went in, they’d just cause unnecessary drama and wake the neighbourhood. Easy for the Swans to catch the hint and abandon their mission,” he told you, eliciting a sigh of frustration out of you until you shrugged your shoulders and kept observing.
What fatigue the profession brings…
“Tired, too?” Jimin questions as you pinch your nose, blinking to rid your eyes of sleep.
“Can’t wait for today to be over.”
“Told you we should’ve brought coffee.”
“How much coffee have you had today already?
He shrugs his shoulders, fingers brushing back the blonde, smooth hair as he remarks, “Not enough.”
If you’ve ever seen a full-blown caffeine-addict before, they’ve never compared to the amounts Jimin consumes on a daily basis. There must be coffee flowing through his veins instead of blood, you’re sure of it – how he survives a day without the tell-tale, jittery signs the bitter liquid usually causes is beyond you.
But at least he looks awake – his eyes, usually such serene and calm crescent moons, stare at the street, focused and attentive. You, on the other hand, feel your gaze drooping the more time passes.
With your head hanging low, your breathing becomes more relaxed, and before you know it, Jimin is nudging your arm, his voice stern and impatient as he says, “Hey! Can’t fall asleep now.”
“I’m sorry,” you exclaim immediately, clearing your throat as you sit up, “shit, I’m sorry, how long di–”
“Barely ten minutes. It’s fine, but focus.”
“The endless waiting just…”
“I know,” Jimin confirms. When the lights of the mansion die, he leans forward, his forehead furrowed, but his demeanour still posed despite the nervousness he must be feeling. “But patience is a virtue. And it’ll be worth it in the end.”
In the quiet moment of the night, you flinch and freeze, suppressing the whimper hiding in the back of your throat before you gulp it down. You’re not sure if he’s noticed, but he side-eyes you with what you interpret or misunderstand as a hint of confusion.
Trapping your lower lip between your teeth, you blink at the now dark house you’re guarding, telling him, “My ex boyfriend used to say the same thing.”
For a moment, the silence in the car is so deafening that you reckon he might not have understood you. Or perhaps he’s moving on, unable to respond properly and acting as though you never said what you said.
But then, you feel a hand sneak to your knee; a tender touch that robs you of your senses for a moment before you turn to look at him. He’s blinking at you, full lips parted before he asks, “Are you alright?” He waits – and when you don’t answer, fighting your clogged throat, he adds, “Bad break up?”
“It was…” you start, ready to break the truth to him, but you compose yourself and sigh, “messy from beginning to end. Like… messier than we wanted it to be.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
His hand rubs against your knee before his fingers travel up. The gesture is harmless and soft, but his fingertips wandering up to your arm as if to take a load of your pain build a burning trail along their way.
If you weren’t where you are, in the middle of duties that might lead to one of the biggest nights of your life, you might let the cloak of sadness wrap your heart and open up to him. Perhaps you’d even let a tear or two flow, tell him that it was neither your nor your boyfriend’s fault who isn’t part of your life anymore.
But then, something more crashing than your thoughts happens.
The police radio chimes, unpleasant noises cracking the peace of the night before Hoseok’s voice, panic-ridden and stressed, asks, “Jimin. Jimin, you guys there?”
Jimin grabs the walkie-talkie with eyes blown wide, suddenly alarmed as he answers and Hoseok explains, “Man, they’re not coming to the Seongs. Abort the mission, it’s a trap. I repeat, it’s…”
You don’t register more of his words.
Daunting ringing, shrill and mind-numbing, blends out every sound. You only faintly hear Hoseok say that the thieves knew about your set-up. That they came prepared, attacked prepared – just not the house they were supposed to.
You expected it; you didn’t think they’d be stupid enough to fall into your quiet trap so fast – but apparently, you were stupid enough to hope. Thinking of possible scenarios, your force had split into two groups, and Hoseok’s was guarding the house listed next after the Seongs.
But as it seems, the other group had been sloppy, fully expecting that you’d be the one experiencing the action first hand. And from what you’ve understood, the tires of Hoseok’s car have been punctured, and when he rushed to help the family screaming from inside the house, he’d already been too late.
“There’s almost no trace of theft,” he says, and his voice trembles, anger and frustration filling it, “if the diamond jewellery they acquired at a charity wasn’t missing… you wouldn’t notice shit.”
In your haze, you never noticed Jimin’s infinitely sunken face, staring at the radio silently. Chest deflated and leaning back, he nibbles at his lips, throwing you a cautious look before he questions, “Which direction did they flee into? Maybe we can still catch them.”
But Hoseok sighs again, smacking his lips, “Wonho and some others were close to me and chased the car when we saw it escape, but… they lost them.” A small pause, a dull thump echoing through the speaker. And then, he continues, “Can you fucking believe they were right in front of our noses and we lost them? Didn’t notice shit?”
You swallow thickly, emotions brimming your eyes; and then you lean in, clutch the steering wheel and answer, “Yeah… yeah, I can.”
“Jewellery again, you say?” Jimin questions again, chewing on the inside of his cheeks. 
“Yeah. The only hint left behind,” Hoseok confirms, falling quieter by the moment, “that and the… the blue swan.”
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City lights and smiling faces that pass in a blur keep your thoughts occupied when you drive him home in silence. The tumult twirling inside you and tugging at your guts is a discomfort you maintain with unmatched strength. And even when the car engine finally dies and you hear him sigh, you think that’s it for tonight.
That you’ve kept your tears at bay successfully, shown courage and calmness.
But then, Jimin shifts, placing a hand on your shoulder as his tender voice asks, “Are you okay?”
Crestfallen and distracted, you look up at him with misty eyes. Desperation floods through the holes of your heart when you see his expression fall with yours, and as self-control starts fading, the sobs escape eventually.
Jimin doesn’t know why the failed mission affects you the way it does. As far as he’s used to his job, things can always go wrong unexpectedly – he’s neither new to this nor surprised by it, but perhaps you are. At least it’s apparent in the way your knuckles pale around the steering wheel and your body seems frozen in place.
But then, you lean forward in your seat as you bury your face in your hands, and Jimin brushes the curtain of your hair aside before he places a soothing palm underneath your shoulder blades. Your silence soon becomes a tremble, your head shaking as your muffled voice says, “We were so fucking close. So close and they knew.”
“Yeah…”
Jimin’s whisper dissipates as your sobs grow louder. He lets you dry your eyes of endless tears, his hand moving in small circles on your back as he coos whatever promises his mind can conjure. He’s upset, too – but your state draws all his attention.
And after a while that appears like an eternity, you finally slow down. Your breaths steady only slowly, your chest rising and falling heavily till you inhale a deep breath and lift your body. Your fingers brush your hair behind your ears, swollen eyes still fixated on your lap and your limbs quivering.
His hand wanders from your back to your shoulder, and he presses just once, watching you bite your lower lip nervously before you say, “This is pathetic.”
“Is it?”
“Of course it is…” You sniffle and clear your throat, your voice still shaky and tears still drying. “Have you ever seen a detective lose it like this?”
Jimin blinks at you, scanning his memories of the last years that he has been in this force; and then, he responds, “No. But I also have never met two detectives who handle, speak, react or are the same.”
You smile a little at his comforting words, moving your head to meet his reassuring eyes as one corner of his mouth twitches upward. For a moment, you don’t speak a single word; let the warmth of his touch flood you instead. The crease between your eyebrows relaxes palpably, and your heartbeat finds its regular pace again as you anticipate his next move.
What is he going to do? What is he going to say? Is there any way to mend the pain he’s so unaware of; a way to let him know silently how much the broken shards of your heart are piercing your lungs?
You don’t know whether he’s searching for an answer to your unspoken questions or merely looking at your crushed state. But you do understand his urge to make you forget for at least now; drag you back into the present to him; lift the weight on your shoulders, even if just for a moment.
“There’s no one way to deal with grief,” he then whispers, hands cradling your face and gentle thumbs wiping at your tears, “and no matter where yours comes from or how you decide to react to it, it’ll never be pathetic.”
A small pause. Three beats of your heart pass. He smiles at you again, and you feel your body float.
“You’re anything but pathetic, honestly.”
In such a dark night, Jimin’s beam shines brightly, an oasis after the world let you live dehydrated and thirsty for warmth for so long. You don’t know how much longer you’ll let yourself fall into his eyes; you know you shouldn’t, and you sure as heck know that you don’t want to.
But when you lean forward and press your lips against his, you throw caution out the window like you never have before. Somehow, Jimin seems to break your armour and shatter your walls, and his strength and stubborn way to fight through your mind leave you utterly weak.
His thumb is still grazing the apple of your cheeks when your kiss deepens. His hands still remain on you when he asks you to come inside. You hope he doesn’t notice the emptiness in your soul and in your pupils; but he’s too busy anyway.
His arms pull you into him, holding you for dear life; even when he focuses on closing the door behind you and especially when your back hits the covers of the bed that you still remember all too well.
He only lets you breathe once his lips move to the skin of your neck, tender butterfly kisses driving you insane as he pushes a knee between your clothed legs. And then, breathing heavy, his weight on yours, he says carefully, “Don’t leave again. Not tonight.”
You swallow thickly as his fingers trace your bare arms, nails leaving a pale trail in their wake as you plead, “Then give me a reason to stay… please.”
Obliging, he closes the distance between you yet again, your tongues meeting for just a moment before he moves on to your jaw and your collarbones. He litters open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips wander, and his hands tug your loose, white linen shirt down enough to expose the mounds of your tits.
Teeth nibble at your flesh and his palms bury underneath your bra, pushing it away when you wrap your legs around his hips. A singular “fuck…” rolls off his tongue at the sight of you half naked. He still remembers the feeling and image of your body from the last night you spent like this, but seeing you fully sober and clear-minded awakens a desire too profound, too intense.
But then, you whimper – and when he realises that the sound resembles your gut-wrenching cries in the car too much, the feverish kisses and possessive touches suddenly stop. As the fog of lust clears and gives way to transparent and logical thoughts, Jimin understands what path the both of you have chosen, wrongfully.
“What’s going on?” you ask him quietly, lifting your head to look at him in worry.
Maybe you’re always like this. Drowning your pain while letting strangers fuck it away momentarily; perhaps there’s melancholy swimming in your eyes all the time, because you never allow yourself to feel what your body and mind want you to feel.
Your breakdown in the car seemed genuine and rare; like you aren’t used to displaying your vulnerable side in front of someone you barely know. Pathetic, you said. A human emotion so common in this world, an ideal therapy when any other kind of remedy fails. If crying is already pathetic to you, then he isn’t going to let you hide any longer.
Because contrary to your reaction in the car, all of this stems from ingenuity and affliction. And you need to let it out.
“This won’t do,” he then says, pushing up your bra and shirt again before he lets himself fall next to you.
“But I want to–”
“Listen,” Jimin interrupts gently, pulling you into him and hugging you close despite your protests, “you can talk to me about your feelings or you can’t. But I’m not doing this with you just to suppress the pain and make it come back again later.”
Tears prick your eyes, frustration running wild inside you as you box against his chest softly and exclaim, “What’s so… what’s so fucking wrong about just letting it pass for a moment?”
“It just… hey. Hold still for a moment.” He squeezes your body once, halting your movements a second before he feels your shoulders tremble again. “It just comes back later. How did you not realise that yet?”
He feels your silent crying less than he hears it in the way his shirt becomes damp. There’s not a drop of confidence left that you usually portray; instead, Jimin feels as though he’s holding a fragile shell in his arms and keeping it from shattering.
There are so many cracks inside you. He doesn’t understand why you won’t let anyone repair them.
“You know,” he begins, burying his face in your hair. He sighs when you finally wrap your arms around his torso. “I could be anyone right now.” Staring at the shadows in the dark room, he licks his lips. “Any man in this world and you’d let me distract you.”
It stings to hear it from him.
It’s like he’s gathered all your insecurities into one sentence and summarised them for you. You want to defend yourself with a meager, stupid excuse, but then he breathes in and continues, “Which is okay, you know? If it’s your thing, it’s your thing. But ignoring your condition in the process won’t help you in the long run.”
“Yeah,” you respond through gritted teeth, your voice a little too loud and his body flinching clearly. “I know. I know, okay? I’m not stupid, Jimin, and you can’t tell me what to–”
“I am not telling you what to do. But I am telling you what I won’t do. And you won’t use me for your own purposes.”
It’s harsh. So, so blatantly direct. And god, no one has ever told you an obvious truth like this before.
You pull back and lift your head, trying to decipher his expressions in the barely lit bedroom to your best abilities. You think he’s smiling at you; somehow, he’s always smiling at you.
Slowly blinking, his fingers pull the blanket behind him over both of you, the warmth and his voice causing goosebumps on your skin as he tells you, “I won’t ever say no to you if you want me like this as long as you’re not using me. When it’s genuine and not a spur of the moment decision . But… I’d still like to be the only one you want to kiss.”
Jimin’s tenderness and reassuring beam remind you of a distant presence that floats in an unknown realm now. He, too, used to let his soft fingertips wander along your bare arms; you still remember the shapes he liked to draw on your warm flesh when he lost himself in your loving gaze.
You gulp down the heavy knot in your throat before you let out a shaky breath, and when courage lets fear and agony settle down enough, you whisper, “There was someone I used to know.”
The thinking pause that follows remains quiet. Jimin hums at your words, but doesn’t interrupt you; lets you collect your thoughts until you’re ready to speak them out loud. And when you are, you reveal, “My boyfriend… the boyfriend. We’d pretty much grown up together… and I’d been in love with him since I could think.”
A bitter taste spreads on your tongue as you reminisce about what you lost, and you grimace at it before you swallow it down and continue.
“His name was Yoongi,” the knot in your throat grows thicker and bigger, the feeling of his name almost like a forbidden spell, “he somehow found himself caught in the Swans’ web, and he… didn’t escape it. Things happened and things escalated and suddenly I couldn’t protect him anymore and I blinked just once and–”
Jimin’s hand rubs your back slowly, running up and down as if to remind you to breathe between your words. There’s strength in talking about your own suffering of this level; and he’s more proud than anything that you’re powering through your tragedy this well.
You’re not crying the way you did before. In some way, it almost feels like you’re reciting a speech that you’ve practised in your mind a hundred times before, your voice rattling down sentences numbly and automatically.
“He left. Me, his friends, his family. The world?” you speak on. Jimin hums again, nearly as if to assure you that your pain is valid. “It’s why I hate the thought of them roaming it… drinking, eating, enjoying their freedom, laughing about jokes and attending parties in expensive attire. Because they don’t deserve it with the blood on their hands.”
“They don’t,” Jimin agrees, interrupting your monologue with a nod against your scalp.
Whatever he thought your outburst merely half an hour ago might mean, it wasn’t a situation of this extent. Perhaps he thought that you have an intense sense of justice, or that the infamous group of thieves insulted you or your unit on a deep, personal level.
But this is torment he never thought he’d ever have to heal or lessen.
“And it’s why I live the way I live.” Your voice shrinks, but your eyes still hold his. You see tenderness in them. See care and affection. It’s the type that might ruin you, if you just let it. “I’m not built for love or committing to one single person, Jimin. That's why I’m not picky.”
“What if one person’s worth it all, though?”
“Jimin…” you utter slowly, smiling against his chest as you bury your face in the fabric of his shirt, “just so you know… despite anything and everything… any other man wouldn’t feel the way you feel right now.”
Your words cause a clean cut across his heart and tear it into two halves. Because whatever you say, he’s still just momentary satisfaction. You won’t give in to anything more, not now, not ever.
Jimin isn’t in love with you; he doesn’t think he’s explored your being enough to admit an emotion like this to himself already. But what he does know is that he’s falling, and that the word love, as absent as it might be at the moment, won’t stay away forever. Not with you.
And although the thought hurts every little fibre of his body, he’s not ready to let you fall just yet.
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Though it proves impossible, he sometimes thinks it’d be easier if he did let you fall.
Jimin vowed to you he wouldn’t let you use him – but once you open up and break the barrier to let trust float between you, he starts making up a false sense of security in his head that you’re beginning to heal. Breaks his vow, so fragile; shocked how easily he bends to your wishes – because the vow seems like a distant memory when he touches you again.
But once your weak, confused, past-revealing moments pass, your transparent expressions return, and despite anything you feel for him, your countenance never truly reveals any of your true emotions. So Jimin reckons you know exactly what you want… or don’t want – bringing back his familiar confusion.
He can’t help but hope, though.
He tries to fill the crater in your heart, your being so hard to resist. He still doesn’t let you use him when your mind goes haywire, but you’re still like a game he’s lost whenever he begins the trail of pecks and touches on other days.
So your embraces soon turn into fervent touches. Fervent touches accompanied by moans. Moans drawn out by each other that have him still hoping and hoping and hoping.
He’s unaware that you, however, do fall.
Deep into a tumult as days go by; you want to shut off your brain and your feelings, and keep ignoring whatever Jimin awakens in you whenever you find yourself pinned underneath him. Despite your constant principles that you still hold onto, it becomes harder to escape whatever Jimin’s soul is made of.
To the point where you keep denying your heart his affection, but go back to him anyway.
When they say, temporary pleasure helps fuel your loneliness, they’re not lying. As time passes and your body becomes accustomed to Jimin’s touches, you realise that emptiness feels more prominent the deeper your mind circles around him.
His face nuzzled in your neck and an arm draped around your torso, you try to focus on anything but his warmth. It’s almost as though his limbs wrapped around you leave burns on your skin; and determined to cool your body and your nerves, you say, “There’s an annual party in the town hall this weekend. Yoongi used to tell me that the Swans attend it every year, so I thought I might tell you we could–”
Jimin’s hum against your shoulder distracts you momentarily, and you quiet down as he questions with shut eyes, “Can we talk about this later?”
“Why?”
“Don’t feel like it right now…”
He lifts his face to seek your tired gaze and deflates just a little when numb eyes stare back. Again. As always. His heartbeat stops for a miniscule moment before the flicker in your pupils drags him back to life, and with confidence lacing his fond voice, he mumbles, “Let me kiss you instead… here…”
Full lips press against your jaw, a light touch that barely counts as a kiss. “Here, too.” A trail of pecks spreads across your cheeks, and his naked body shifts on top of you again as his legs part your bare thighs. “And here…”
He still tastes like whiskey and dry fruits when his mouth meets yours in a daze, and as he climbs further on you, you feel a leaking, semi-hard length brush your pelvis teasingly. You draw a breath as much as his actions allow, and he swallows your moans when the tip of his cock prods at your slick entrance carefully.
Intimacy has become a constant between you; and you realised soon enough that he wasn’t bluffing when he told you he’d never say no to you. Even if you reject his sentiment every single time. Even if he might have become the only man you want to kiss. Even if it hurts him.
As his lips find their way back home to your neck, open-mouthed kisses toying with your senses, you sigh with desire. And when his hand squeezes your waist tightly, you gasp before you say, “What are you doing?”
You know exactly what he’s doing – and you understand that every feverish touch you shared an hour ago wasn’t enough for him. It never is. Not even for you.
And still, Jimin shakes his head against your collarbones, stating quietly, “I don’t know.” A pause settles between your words when his member slides inside your heat swiftly, and he hisses sharply before he continues, “I feel like you’ll leave if I stop kissing you… so I’m trying to…”
You let out a breathy laugh, wrapping your arms around his torso as you moan softly. He’s not moving; merely kissing your shoulder and your arm, fingers travelling up and down your sides. Arousal pools around his cock, your legs widening for him and lips parted as you tell him, “Memorising only works for so long.”
“Hmm?”
“You’ll forget,” you explain, throwing your head back lightly when his hips finally fall into a familiar rhythm. You’re struggling with your words – and it’s a beautiful sight to revel in. “Everyone forgets, ‘cause I’m… nothing special to them. Just like I’m… Jimin…”
“Yes, baby,” he mutters, his cock rubbing against your walls in slow, tender motions. Whenever he becomes this sensual with you, you know the afterglow ruins you more than any feral night ever could. “I’m right here. Say what you’re trying to say.”
It’s hard to gather thoughts on your tongue and let them out for him to hear; his motions and proximity cloud your mind too much. Your fingers embark on a journey down his body, settling on the flexing muscles of his ass as he fucks you affectionately.
“Like I’m nothing special to you,” you breathe, letting him remove your hands from his bottom to intertwine his fingers with yours. He kisses your neck again, lifts your arms above your head and pins them against the mattress. “In a month you’ll be with someone else–” You cry out for a moment when your words earn you a sharp, hard thrust. “And find pleasure elsewhere.”
“Shut up,” Jimin orders, and when your words fall silent, your mewls and sounds increase, “stop talking, please.”
And just like that, the tender late hours pass with hushed, whispered words and a credulity you haven’t given in to since love hurt you the last time. It almost feels real and true; like it’s not a lucid dream that will pass once this case is over. Once you fall back into bad, old habits of drowning yourself in oblivion that might or might not numb your pain temporarily.
When he’s spilled inside you and your sight becomes blurry, he hugs you tight to his chest, blowing against your hair until he clarifies, “It’s not true by the way, you know?” You let out a small, soft sound resembling a harmless whimper, and he adds, “You do mean something to me. You’re not someone I fuck just to throw away again.”
“What if I do?” you question, your voice barely a mumble as you move closer to his warmth. “Throw you away.”
He stills for a second. Focuses his eyes on a spot in the darkness. Swallows the distress building in his throat; and then, he admits, “I don’t know.”
“What are you going to do, Jimin?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
His teeth take his lower lip captive. Painful stings come and go in waves with you, and yet, it seems like he’s always ready to indulge in your existence. Instead of rethinking his choices and fearing the inevitable, however, he leans in and kisses your scalp once again.
And that’s all he does. No more melding of your bodies. No more naive touches and dancing of your tongues. No more words. 
Just a whiskey kiss and a night’s sleep that keeps conjuring your face in his dreams; over and over again.
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“If I ever left, what would you do?”
The night air felt crisp and refreshing on your dry skin – despite the cold of October, you felt content. A little like you did when the first leaves fell when you were younger. You’d always been a sucker for rain and the pastel, beige serenity of fall.
But it was prettier with him. Even if the things coming out of his mouth were utter horseshit.
“Stop asking such deranged questions,” you told him, pushing him until his body lay half on the pavement.
Your legs were dangling off the edge, and you stared a few feet in front of you, observing the little family of ducks that swam past you in the still water of the river. You wondered what it was like – to keep swimming, to indulge in the chill of the liquid.
You wondered if they ever swam far enough to where the river met the ocean; were they ever aware of the vastness of the world? Or did they just realise when they landed there?
Sometimes, even today, you want to know if there was a vastness for you too that you hadn’t discovered yet. But with him, you didn’t care about the unveiled parts of the world as much anymore as you used to. You were okay staying just here, feet almost touching the surface of the water, watching waterlife, with him.
“No, but I’m serious,” Yoongi argued, rubbing the spot you slapped, “if I ever decided to like, do photography instead or something, what then?”
“Then I’ll go with you.”
He smiled, eyes fixated on the opposite riverbank, and his shoulders brushed yours scarcely as he said, “You really don’t need to think twice about it, huh?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Even if it kills you?”
“Yeah.” You grimaced, eyebrows furrowing before you turned to look at him. “Hey. What’s with the sudden, weird questions?”
“You called me weird.”
“Yoongi. Seriously,” you deadpanned, staring at him in warning. Not that your cute, little expression scared him – but he liked to act like it did anyway.
He was either in a good mood or feigning one to make you laugh, as he always did, because when he spoke again, he teased, “Look at you, enamoured by my whole being.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You’re so in love with me, but way too flustered to admi–”
“Hey!” you exclaimed, lifting a finger to his face that he attempted to bite with his tell-tale amused gummy grin. “Are you trying to reenact our confession?”
Yoongi nudged your shoulder before he wrapped a strong arm around you, almost pushing the cap off your head when his cheek touched yours. Fingers trailed to your tummy and opted for a tickle attack, his voice a little higher when he asked, “And if I am?”
“I just think you’re saying some weird stuff!”
“I just…” he began, squeezing your bicep lightly, and his breath grazed your face, warm and comforting in contrast to the freezing wind. “No.” He shifted, searching for words, and the tip of his shoes touched the water ever so slightly. “I just want to say that whatever shit might happen tomorrow or next week or whenever we decide to… take the next step...”
Yoongi paused and sighed, practising a firm grip around you as if to shield you from the evil of the universe. Then, he added, “You need to prioritise yourself.”
You stared into his face with sudden fear thronging its way to your heart. Despite the thorough knowledge you possessed about him, he was difficult to read at times, and you wondered why he wasn’t letting you break the seal that hid his thoughts just yet.
“What are you trying to say?” you inquired.
“That happiness comes in a hundred ways. The things we are doing and trying right now are dangerous and we might not be able to find a solution in the end,” he explained, but his words were still a riddle, dripping in mystery. He shrugged his shoulders, then said, “So if anything goes wrong… ever. I want you to understand your priorities, with or without me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, without y–”
“No, I’m being honest. Accept the love you get, and fight the hardships thrown at you, okay? I’d do the same for you. ”
His words blur in your mind, and when a body flinches next to you, you realise that you’re dreaming of an entirely different time – things have changed. The world has evolved – to the better or worse, you can’t say.
It doesn’t feel good at least; that’s what you can say with certainty.
But despite the faded images, you still remember the quiet and timid nod you answered with; still know that you had good reason to be suspicious about what he’d said.
Because why did he sound like he knew?
Why did it feel like he could glance into the future, and see how it was coloured for you – from the monochrome hues to the pitch black you’d walk through? And if he knew… why did he promise to you… why did he promise the things he promised?
Your eyes snap open before the memory can play out further – before he can pull you closer and place a kiss onto your lips.
You hate waking up like this.
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As soon as Jimin entered the party thirty-two minutes ago, the urge to stray away from the bustling crowd and to transform himself into a silent sleeper grew. The gathering seems too loud, the alcohol too warm and the heat too unbearable.
Suffocating in his own newly tailored suit, Jimin tilts his head as his eyes scan the guests, your palm resting on his angled arm softly as you chew on the inside of your cheek. Each of you carrying a gun, you mentally repeat the plan for tonight – observe, converse, flee if need be.
The goal is to collect hints and keep every passing body in the chandelier-lit room safe and sound. Don’t act, just react. Or at least, do not act dangerously as long as you’re not forced to.
Boring conversations between him and other VIP guests pass, some recognising him from the news and older cases, and others inching closer to him to catch sight of the intimidatingly beautiful lady accompanying him.
The amount of times Jimin has pulled you away from thirsty eyes with ulterior motives is rising to a tiring number, and he’s close to sending you home due to the lack of happenings until–
“Jimin…” you whisper, fingers tugging at his blazer, but your eyes never leaving the ominous presence you have spotted.
“I know,” he responds. He gulps, slight tension carving a frown between his eyebrows. “Come on.”
As your nervous steps carry you closer to the faraway table, your eyes focus on the busy hands of the man occupying one of the seats. From the six chairs that surround the cloth-covered table, he’s the only one to keep himself company, and when your bodies move close enough, his gaze darts from his fingers across your body up to your faces.
His eyes look unfazed, bored even, and he stops his motions around the paper napkin when he realises that you approached him specifically. The blue swan, not supported by enough folds of the material, collapses onto the table as the man’s fingers intertwine. And before either Jimin nor you can greet him properly, he beats you to it, “May I be of help?”
While you both take a seat in front of him, the man’s stare seems to stay fixated on you. Jimin doesn’t quite understand what has enraptured him this much, but as an alarm rings in his mind in a high-pitched, jarring tone, his knees shift closer to you and his hand grabs yours underneath the table.
Holding back a shaky breath, your head turns to his for only a single moment – but it suffices to read the fear and discomfort written in your pupils like he’s never seen before. But then, the man opposite of you blinks and his attention shifts, cocking an eyebrow when Jimin smiles and answers cheerfully, “You might be!”
The guy nods calmly, flashing back a somewhat mischievous, somewhat clever smirk as he says, “I’m Kim Seokjin. Happy to help. Shoot.”
“I was actually conversing with someone about engagement rings,” Jimin explains, never mentioning his name; bullshitting his way through the talk on the spot, “and they pointed me to you. So I thought you might know where to get the best of the best.”
Seokjin points into your direction, almost as if you’re not there and decoration, his eyes resting on Jimin’s as he declares, “Your girl looks nervous about that.”
Jimin laughs, and the usually sickly and soft tone sounds ingenuine and turns your guts in a one eighty motion. He squeezes your hand as if to signal something, and then says, “She’s never been to a party this big. Or met people as big as you.”
“How do you know I’m big?”
“You look like it.”
Seokjin’s full lips fall for a slight moment, almost unnoticeably – because being in his position and big isn’t a compliment he cherishes, especially since his group always tries to be as subtle and smooth about every move as possible.
He has lovely eyes and a well shaped face, hair combed and parted on the side – if he wasn’t this intimidating, you might be able to admire his attractiveness on any other day.
“Ah,” he voices, catching his composure fast, “so. Engagement rings. If we’re talking one that’s fancy but not too over the top. Diamond rings, fourteen carat gold and zero point one carat diamond, about one centimetre ring band. Depends on what the lady likes, though.”
And then, Seokjin’s suddenly chuckling, and Jimin joins for a tiny moment before Seokjin teases, “One usually doesn’t talk about that stuff in front of their girl, though.”
Jimin shams embarrassment, rubbing the side of his neck with his free hand as he jokes, “Really? My bad. I’ve always been the oblivious one in this relationship. Not very experienced in love.”
If anyone’s well versed in emotions and love, it’s him. His heart doesn’t compare to the stone cold gemstone residing in your chest – it seems like Seokjin notices, too, because tight-lipped, he mutters, “Ah. Alright.”
When you realise that you’re just as present as the other two men, you decide to show Kim Seokjin that you’re not mute, and your heart thumps in your throat when you point to the dead blue swan and ask, “What’s with that?”
Seokjin acknowledges the half folded napkin for a moment, his gaze bored; as if he just noticed that the swan is there. Unbothered, he touches the creation with his fingertips, looking back at you slowly as he answers, “A hobby.”
“Really?”
“Mmmh. I make… all of them.”
Shit.
He must know. He must know that you know – all of them? What else would he be referring to if not the hints left behind after his glorious thefts?
“You do?” Jimin questions, and when you look at him, admiration and caution fluctuate in his eyes.
It’s impressive, Seokjin’s craft, even if it means gloom and excessively more work for you. Origami usually symbolises success and fortune, promises all the good things to the one folding the cranes or birds or flowers – if it wasn’t the arguably most dangerous thief in the country conversing with you right now, you might have praised his skills some more.
“People admire them, Mister Park.”
When he utters the name he’s not supposed to know, you inhale, and Jimin presses his fingers into your hand enough for you to clench your jaw, but keeps his calm stance. Seokjin leans forward; his voice is soft and soothing, but his eyes hide secrets and trouble behind their pupils. Duality unmatched.
“You can call me Jimin,” the man next to you tells him, his smile reappearing before, gathering bravery and intimidation, he adds, “off duty.”
“But you’re not off duty.”
“Well… let’s pretend that I am.”
“Why?” Seokjin wonders, and you blink at the casual tone of the conversation. All of you are acting as if you haven’t exposed your identities to each other so blatantly – this seems dangerous… menacing. “Are you trying to frighten me less by saying that?”
“Can anything intimidate you at all, Mister Kim?” Jimin inquires carefully, the slightest nervous tremble in his voice that you’re sure no one hears but you. “There’s a car outside. Why don’t you and I get there and we talk some more engagement rings?”
“I think I’ll pass,” Seokjin politely declines, but Jimin doesn’t give up just yet.
“And if I asked nicely?”
Your eyes flicker down for the smallest moment, and you see Jimin raise his gun under the table as cautiously as possible – though you’re still sure Seokjin realises his intentions.
“Hmm,” Seokjin hums, his face inching closer some more, “listen.”
He points to the corners of the enormous room with his eyes, his smile utterly sweet as he explains, “There are people standing in every corner. Busy conversing and talking about some bullshit the rich like to talk about. And those conversing with them are keeping a careful eye on me. All the time.”
Your heart drums in your ears, almost muffling all noise, and you’re sure things will escalate tonight if you whisper just one wrong word… just one wrong step. And Seokjin proves your thoughts, warning disgustingly softly, “Shoot me, and they’ll shoot you, and then your people will shoot them and my remaining ones might shoot innocent people.”
You gulp. This is insanity.
“A massacre on a Saturday night is genuinely not my favourite TV show.”
You freeze, blinking, and then ask, “Why are you here, then?”
“I’m here, because,” he motions between Jimin and you, shrugging, “I knew you would be. You’re here, because you knew I would be. So I thought we could talk.”
“What do you want to talk about?” Jimin asks, growing irritated with each passing second; you’re sure he’s muttering his words through gritted teeth.
“About… not letting your force meddle anymore. You,” Seokjin points at you, and your heart stills for a second, “you’ve lost someone before, haven’t you?” His eyes dart to Jimin, and he places his chin in his palm. “Wouldn’t wanna lose more people, I bet.”
You’re perplexed.
Unable to answer, you push yourself closer to Jimin, moving your head to look at him – and you catch him eyeing you carefully. There’s a cryptic feeling swimming in his stare, and you can’t quite interpret it; but you think it’s something akin to fear mixed with affection.
It looks like he’s trying to decipher whether you’d actually be affected if you lost him – and he’s not sure if he’s liking the answer you shoot back or not.
Because your waterline is damp, and your head spinning; you want to be alone with him, want to shield him, wrap your arms around him and tell him he needs to stay. To fucking stay, that one person in your life to not walk away.
Then again, you want him to keep himself out of this. Want to tell him to abandon this whole thing.
But you don’t.
Instead, you draw a deep breath, looking back to Seokjin and shaking your head. Jimin lets his hand sink along with his head, closing his eyes as Kim Seokjin brushes a finger against the table cloth, stands and leaves.
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You feel the first wave of relief of the night when you step into Jimin’s bedroom almost an hour later. The car ride dragged endlessly as your lips stayed sealed, your body sinking in your seat while he attempted his best to keep his eyes on the road and not on you.
Even from the side of his eyes, he could see your limbs tremble in after-shock. He didn’t consider how much seeing your worst enemy might affect you, but in retrospect, he should’ve fully expected the turn of events. Whatever part of his brain reckoned that your heart has hardened enough to face your nightmares head-on, has now shut down and given way to remorse.
Because fuck, you must be hurting so much.
But he didn’t consider shooting questions at you like the nuisance of a detective that he is when you stared out of the car window, lost in thoughts. He doesn’t conjure the courage to do so when you take off your jacket and drape it over the leather chair in his dark, gloomy room.
And he doesn’t even bother you with his curiosity when your eyes droop further, exhaustion and pain clear in them. But it seems that he doesn’t have to anyway; because when the silence of the night becomes too loud, you state, “That asshole remembers Yoongi and mocked me for being alive in his stead.”
There’s a hint of hysteria lacing your voice, slight panic making your chest heave, and Jimin’s body shoots forward reflexively to calm your stressed nerves. Your insides are raging enough for you to prevent tears, your eyes glinting in want of revenge as your fingers close to fists and open again repeatedly.
“I should’ve shot him,” you voice, sitting at the edge of his familiar bed as your fingers tug at your scarf. God, it’s nearly choking you. “Who cares who sees? He’s the criminal, and I should’ve shot him–”
“Hey,” Jimin interrupts, a stray hair falling into his forehead and eye as he whispers your name tenderly, “I know what you mean, and I’m with you, but let’s tackle this with a cool head, okay? Get some rest now and…”
His voice fades into nothing and words die on his tongue. Everything he just uttered falls into oblivion and his hand slowly drops when he catches a glimpse of something he didn’t seem to notice all night.
It shimmers faintly in the light of the lamp on his bedside table when you remove your scarf for the first time today; there’s something unique and beautiful about it. Like it’s made of a dozen little diamonds; like it’s made just for you to wear it around your neck.
Who knew something as simple as this could drench you in grace, elegance and radiance? Who knew something as mundane as this could pierce his heart so profoundly?
Jimin only remembers to blink, once your voice pulls him out of his trance. Your fingers pinch his chin softly, raising his head to make your eyes meet as you cock your eyebrows in question. And when you look at him, it feels like you’re staring into the mirror. His gaze resembles your broken one – but the agony derives from entirely different reasons than yours.
“And…” he starts again.
He looks so much younger when he’s in pain. So much more innocent. And he thinks, maybe you’re right – maybe the only way to get rid of the sorrow is to drown in temporary pleasure again. Perhaps it’s why you took that path in your life at all.
“And?”
“Spend the night here,” he begs as if it’s not too late to step into a taxi and go home anyway. But the plea sets you on fire nonetheless. “With me.” He sighs, placing a hand on your cheek as he moves closer. “I want you. Here. Now,” as his lips draw closer to yours and he repeats, “with me.”
You wish you were strong enough to give in to your affliction and push him away. To grieve properly for once, cry and scream and talk it out; but it seems as though Jimin’s hold on you is stronger. And when he kisses you softly, cautiously, you think that his touch might be some sort of remedy anyway.
Your fingers wander to his hand that’s sliding your dress up your thighs slowly, and brings it to your waist. Arms wrap around his neck as you begin to shift on the soft-scented, light bedsheets, your back hitting the mattress when he kisses you with a stronger force.
“Why?” you question when he pecks the skin under your ears and opens your legs with his. “Why do you always ask me to stay?”
You know there is no right answer to it; none that you might want to hear. Or rather, one you do wish his mouth to utter, but one that scares the cold soul out of you. Falling for Jimin sounds like doom – like he’s falling into a trap that will leave him in peril and suffering.
When he doesn’t reply, focused on his actions, you open your mouth again.
“Because,” you add, biting your lip when he lifts your dress up to your waist, “I don’t know how to say no anymore.”
“Good,” he merely answers. “Me neither.”
In truth, you can’t read the thoughts in his whirring brain. The one whose energy is getting drained as though you’re a succubus luring him in and ruining him inside and out. Your presence tears at his heart and cuts it open like a newly sharpened knife, but he’d rather bleed out than find you gone and out of his reach.
Because your absence feels like an endless void; not like a torn heart, but like you’ve left his chest empty and taken the organ with you. And you keep squeezing. Keep squeezing all the time.
Your palms grab his face before he begins to venture down your torso the way he always does, and pressing against his cheeks, you say, “You don’t see the problem right? The difference between us.”
“I–”
“No,” you interject, closing the distance between his tinted lips and your parted ones, “you’re the type for sweet kisses. And…” You sigh, choosing your words carefully, fully aware how dramatic you must sound. “I like the bitter ones.”
And the force with which his mouth attacks yours again feels more fierce than ever before. And you let him. He knows about you; knows about your innermost feelings and fears and rules and worries. But he doesn’t seem to care in the slightest; or maybe he’s just trying to shut you up – like a child covering its ears from an inescapable truth.
Because you don’t even taste bitter. More like cherry – like sugar and honey. Promising, despite being death in disguise; a lethal imposter. Arsenic poison.
Something tugs at his heart hard as he attempts to figure you out more; and the more everything begins to make sense, the more he chooses silence. It doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Because when he backs away and takes off his clothes, you decipher a hint of pain and rejection in his eyes that startles you. Scares you.
But at the same time, he’s too affectionate and weak to not give in to you. You know, and he knows.
You always fear that you might be just another phase in his life that he might want to toy with and throw away; the way others do – but aren’t you doing the same thing? Letting him strip you bare out of selfish demands, with your hair hanging low, your lips on his as you find yourself without your clothes, your bra, your earrings. The necklace around your neck drops and the rings around your fingers scar his back.
The moment feels unreal, like a mirage, the ultimate illusion. You’re not doing this for the first time – his touch isn’t a stranger to you. But the quiet moments still let your thoughts overflow, and you overthink that he might be distracted and intently focused on you at the same time.
Like you’re knotting his thoughts and sending his mind into a frenzy; like he’s thinking about something not present in the moment, but that involves you nevertheless.
You’re not sure. You can’t put it in words anyway. Too hazy.
“I don’t believe you,” he whispers, and you don’t understand what he’s referring to.
But then he crawls south, and you whimper when his hand touches your thigh; the soft kisses up and down your legs make you wince enough for him to conclude that bitterness isn’t all you seek. Because he’s kissing you sweetly, gently – and you don’t seem to get enough of it.
He savours the moment, like he’s no rush – then freezes for a split second as his luscious lips reach your thigh, staring up at your squirming form; closed eyes. His jaw clenches in pain, and his heart lurches. If he wanted to, he could confront you right now.
But then he thinks, it’s alright to make you his just this once – or pretend that it’s him you want. Thoroughly. Entirely.
And every little moment you share with him in the next hour passes in a blur too fogged to remember. It’s like you’re basking in it just for the moment, no particular urge to commit it to memory but to feel him just now, just here instead.
When he’s elicited every possible sound out of you, whimpered and groaned and grunted and moaned over your body, filled you up to the brim, you don’t remember the time and date anymore.
Don’t know what day it is when he holds you close. Kisses you into oblivion. Strokes your face and exhausts your body – you think he whispers things you might dream of later. Not sure.
And when he’s spilled and finished, drawing another high out of you, the night has progressed, and suddenly he’s cleaning you up… and you wonder where time went. And why he looks at you the way he does. And why… he pushes you close without uttering a single word.
With your sweaty body sticking to his, you hum a familiar melody quietly. It sounds like you’re content for the very first time tonight; as if you’re not plagued by the everlasting distress that your restless movements usually indicate. Right now, you’re calm against his chest. Peaceful and breathing steadily.
Jimin tries to not showcase his own misery that begins batting his heart again once the fever of your touches cools down. But as the blanket of heaviness drags his being to hell and back, he parts his lips in an attempt to ease his mind. Stares at the dark ceiling and the unlit lamp, then to you and then back into the void.
And eventually, he expresses, “Being a detective has its good and bad sides… you know?” You open your eyes calmly, surprised by the change in his voice that suddenly sounds stern, serious. “Sometimes, when I solve a case, I feel like I’m at the top of the world and able to achieve absolutely anything I want to.”
“I know,” comes your response in a whisper.
You breathe in his scent, brush your lips against the lines of his chest, painfully clueless about how much it worsens Jimin’s heartbreak. Waves of thoughts flood his mind and his chest starts feeling weightless and crushed simultaneously. But chaos might lie ahead if he chooses to ignore and bask in your warmth further.
It doesn’t feel very warm anymore anyway.
“But then, there are days when nothing works out. Like now,” he continues as the grip around your torso loosens. Mild panic grows behind your ribs, but you try to conceal it. “We could’ve caught them that night, right? I thought it was because we were stupid and miscalculated. But we didn’t.”
The pauses between his words display his confusion and broken coherent string of thoughts. You know he started his speech unprepared and is now, troubled and baffled, searching for the right words to not fuel your pain. Or not to fuel his pain.
His heartbeat thumps against your ear unwaveringly while yours stands still. And you only avert your focus from its sound when he says, “There’s no way we did. Figured there must be something… or someone… telling them everything they need to know.”
You stay silent as if to not interrupt him, but the lack of words tumbling out of you seems to confirm his thoughts when you neither question nor answer his statement. You look at him carefully, drawing circles and ovals on his abs.
He gauges your reaction for a second longer, and when he’s met with quietude and a trembling finger against his skin, he finally concludes, “It’s you.” 
Your voice stays absent once more, and with your answers, the movements of your hands stop, too. “The necklace you were wearing tonight was one they stole a while ago. But you know that, don’t you?”
You’ve apparently grown fond of your mute side, because you continue your apparent speechlessness until his heart drops further. He wishes he wasn’t right; wants you to grow furious, tell him that he’s gone insane, that this is nonsense and that you would never do such a thing. Not you, not to him.
But…
“It’s in your nature, isn’t it? Breaking hearts. Even mine,” he says, his voice drenched in mock but shaking at the same time. “But then again, this is not about me. You never really cared about me or what I felt or what you meant to me.”
Meant.
“Such is life.”
He sighs as soon as the last word slips past his dry lips, closing his eyes to stop the spinning of the world that you have shattered into tiny, tiny splinters. He isn’t sure whether it’s the betrayal or your own fear towards the group that cracks his soul more. But whatever it is, the emotions you ignite in him don’t seem to falter – and it seems that he hates this fact the most.
Squinting his already shut eyes tighter, Jimin’s irritation reaches a peak, and when your frozen body refuses to move, he calls out your name questioningly.
And instead of pulling up your defence and fighting against the allegations, you take a deep breath. As memories of Yoongi swim to the surface of your mind, you remind yourself why falling for the enemy might break you again. Love and fondness have no place in your life, and so you ignore the affection Jimin evokes in you and numb yourself yet again.
“Do you expect me to be scared of you… Park Jimin?” you finally speak up, eliciting a scoff out of him as he removes his arm from underneath you.
The loss of touch cuts you open and shakes your guts, but you don’t falter. Not even when you bite into your lip to suppress the sob; not even when the voices in your head scream at you to fix this, to finally make one thing in your life right.
“I don’t expect anything anymore,” he admits, words fading to a hushed whisper, tiredness seeping through. “But maybe you should be.”
“Why? What are you going to do? You won’t shoot me… you’re too smart for that.”
Jimin lets out a small chuckle; it could pass as amusement if the air around you wasn’t thick and tense and suffocating. “I’m naked and unarmed right next to you,” he says, shaking his head as he clicks his tongue. “And the weapons you’re using against me right now are more lethal anyway. What’s a gun compared to them?”
In truth, he is too smart to harm you. Not because he needs you or because having you dead might affect the progress in this case profoundly. But because imagining a world and a life without you seems ridiculous. Impossible to a degree that he finds nearly laughable.
But despite the fact that you deem him too smart for his own good, he questions your courage to come to his place with a stolen jewellery adorning your neck. It’s astounding how you might not have included this bit in your calculations while working on a case that deals with theft from A to Z.
Or perhaps…
“You did this on purpose, right? Wearing that tonight.” Jimin’s eyes finally snap open again, his head moving to find your bewildered gaze.
The intimidation knocks the wind out of your lungs, and as he scans your expressions and your naked torso, you feel self-aware for the first time since the conversation started. You tug the blanket over your body further, folding your arms in front of your chest as he adds, “You gave me a hint. Why–”
“I didn’t…”
“But you did.”
It’s the only scenario that makes sense. The fright written all over your face when you talk about the group; the paralysis that befalls you as soon as you merely mention Yoongi’s name; your tears, your crumbling body and the way you seek warmth and comfort anywhere but at home.
You never disclose your private life and never invite him to your place. Something about you always seemed like you were running away from danger and freeing yourself of guilt and pain. And now he knows why.
“Jimin, I didn’t–”
“Stop,” he exhales, his heart hammering against his chest and calmness finally fading as he props his body up on his elbow and stills your words for the umpteenth time tonight. A hand harshly wraps around your face, fingers digging into your cheeks and squeezing the flesh painfully. “Why are you doing this? Why are you fucking retreating into your stupid fucking shell like this?”
Your waterline grows damper until a single tear trails down your temple and into your hair. You stare back in disbelief and pain, placing a palm over his as he crowds your space and cages you in with his other arm.
His whole being is pleading for something, begging for the end of all of this and trying to make you his without the hardships and borders separating you both.
“Please, just…” he starts and shakes his head, blinking away tears and leaning in closer. His hair tickles the skin of your face, and his pupils move from one spot to the other. “I hate this, I hate you, I– fucking hate that all of this is a lie.”
“Jimin, you can’t–”
“Can’t what? Huh? You fucking hurt me, and you know, but I…” He pauses, drawing a deep breath; considering whether he wants to say it or not… until he does. “I still want to kiss you.”
His lips brush yours softly, almost not noticeably, and his legs shift under the blanket nervously as his cheeks grow wet. He laughs through his madness, crazy for you and every piece of you that breaks him. “I should be smarter than this, right? I should just arrest you.”
You wish as much as he does that he’d stop running to you, running for you. Nothing about your relationship spells optimism, and the reality of you keeps blinking an arrow to hell. But still, he chooses to ignore it again. Kisses you again. Crashes his lips against yours aggressively as his hands entwine with yours once more.
You’re a riddle and an open book; a mirage and a painfully real existence.
And your kisses taste bitter now after all.
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When bright sunlight breaks through the window the next morning, you wake up disoriented and with an ache in your head, most likely consequent to the lack of sleep last night.
As you cover your body in clothes Jimin provided you, ready to answer any question he might present, he paces across the room idly. Dark circles of exhaustion and heartache colour the skin underneath his eyes. The lazy breakfast still stands on his living room table, the cereal softening in the milk that’s growing warm and unpalatable.
None of you can eat; both of you feel sick.
“Before… before Yoongi died,” you begin; his name feels like acid on your tongue, “Seokjin forced me to reveal the name of the traitor amidst their circles. I used to tell him that I had this weird feeling of someone betraying us. And once I stopped obsessing over it, he concluded that I got to know and just wasn’t telling him.”
Jimin’s steps halt in the middle of the room, and he inches closer to your form resting at the edge of the couch. He kneels in front of you, looking at you attentively before you continue, “It’s fucking crazy how right he was. But I convinced him that I didn’t know, that there were more important things to focus on.”
You gather memories in a chronological order to prevent your thoughts from tangling up in your mind. You rub your tired eyes, then place a palm on your dry cheek, and when you look at him again, he asks, “And then?”
“Important things like theft started becoming less important when every robbery went wrong and we almost got arrested multiple times. Then,” you draw a deep breath, the image of what happened next clearly fogging your brain, “Seokjin urged me to finally say the name. Threatened me, ‘cos he was sure I knew. But Yoongi was someone he trusted, so he didn’t consider him a traitor, ever.”
You bite into your cheek the moment Jimin’s eyebrows furrow, and a hand settles on your knee as if to assure you that he’s there for you. For you. The fraud, the cheat, the danger sitting in his ultimate proximity.
“And once things escalated, Yoongi–” you can barely complete the sentence, a sob choking your words, “jumped in and admitted everything. Signed his own death sentence. And they all…” Your fingers on your thighs begin to quiver, and when the distant memory becomes sharper and more palpable, you let out a whimper.
Jimin rubs soothing patterns against your knee, his free hand brushing away your hair before the back of his digits ghost over your drenched cheek. You don’t know when your harmless speckle of emotions turns to frantic sobbing, and the only sight you decipher through your blurred vision is his lips falling into a deeper frown. 
“Hey…” he mumbles; then lifts your sunken face, but regrets it almost immediately – the red-rimmed eyes and the deep distress between your eyebrows are a sight he would erase without hesitation, if he could. “Breathe. It’s okay, yes?”
“No…” It’s really not. You wish it was. “I want to leave, I–” You hiccup, the air pressed out of your lungs. “This hurts me. I don’t want to stay with them anymore, Jimin, but…”
“It’s okay. I promise I can help you.”
“And what if you can’t? They think I owe them my life, because they were all I ever had. I don’t fucking know where my parents are, I don’t– fuck, I don’t even know if they’re alive.” It’s a cage you can’t escape – you’ve always understood, but you know that Jimin will stay adamant as well. The pensive, slow shake of his head says more than his mouth ever could. “Helping me and knowing me and being with me… it will get you killed, Jimin.”
“So what if it does?” he argues, shifting closer when your sigh exhibits every ounce of frustration you harbour. You wish you could tell him that losing another man close to your heart might break whatever remains of you. And the damage would be irreversible, the death you’d die inside everlasting. “What if I’m ready to risk all of this for you?”
“Why–”
He interrupts your question by crushing your lips with his; a frail attempt to put all his affection into the touch and to show you what he truly feels. But as soon as he starts, you push him away again, hands firmly pressing against his chest before you stand and escape his grip.
Rising to his feet, he looks into your starry, wet gaze and his feeble legs carry him merely two steps closer to you before you raise a hand and question, “Don’t you understand? How dangerous this is for you? This isn’t something you can be selfish about, Jimin…”
“Like you? Aren’t you being selfish, too?” He laughs for a moment, and the slight mock breaks your heart further. “This is ridiculous. You know I can help you. I’m a good detective and you know it. I–” Gulping, he moves another inch, stopping when you take the same step back. “You can’t tell me you don’t want my help.”
“I do,” you confess, blinking away the remaining tears as the fog in your head clears and gives way to an entirely different, desperate idea. “But I won’t risk it. I don’t care how ready you are to do so, but I won’t.”
“Please–”
“No. Fucking stop and underst–”
“Understand what?” he yells out in exasperation, and you flinch. Your hand grabs the edge of the windowsill behind you, your fingers grazing the cold metal of the gun you placed here this morning. You forgot about it.
Spleen crosses his expressions for a split second as he licks his lips. The view he presents is nearly blistering; and his voice, usually so silky and soft, grows coarse when he says, “What the fuck is there to understand?! Why are you trying to manipulate my decisions? I just… Do you know why I’m still here and running after you?”
Your chest is heaving by the time he brushes his fingers through his hair. Lost, dark eyes stare at you like he’s lost track of time and space. And when your palm wraps around the pistol grip slowly, you reckon he might not be the only one losing his mind.
Still, you want to know. Want him to keep talking.
So he does.
“Because there’s no other you in this world. I know that the earth will keep spinning, you know? And that people come and go, but if it’s someone else to stay, then I don’t want it.” His words echo in your mind like a menace, and you swallow the knot of ache in your throat when he opens his mouth to speak again. “You exist just once, and I’m in love with the full piece of you.”
With his words, Jimin stirs something in you that you’d deemed long forgotten. You didn’t know anyone could ever revive the hidden feeling again; but to you, it’s so utterly confusing and new that you shut it down and lock it in its chamber again. Maybe the lock will keep it captive better this time.
Because the truth is – no matter what you’ve come to feel towards him, you don’t know how to tackle the infamous emotion of love anymore. Jumping from one place to another – you have known nothing else, other than avoiding fondness and softness and a melting of your heart for so long. Yoongi and Jimin both couldn’t have loved you any better; but you’re not ready to commit to it just yet.
If ever.
Instead, you grip the handle of the gun tighter, watching Jimin’s eyes blowing wide when you bring the weapon to your front with a clicking noise. Both hands wrap around the metal, and you point it straight to his pained chest as he lets his arms fall.
The first human reflex to a gun is to lift your hands up; that’s what Yoongi always told you when you spiralled too much. When you got overwhelmed by weapons, danger and risks too much. But Jimin, the skilled detective every unit seems to praise day in, day out, does nothing alike. Instead, he sighs, clearly at the edge of his patience as he shifts from one leg to the other.
“You’re being absurd now,” he claims, but doesn’t move an inch. “I know you won’t.”
You know that he’s aware of the fact; and even you understand very well that there’s no scenario in this or any alternative world where you’d pull the trigger. Maybe you’ve lost the last semblance of sanity, ultimately; there’s no other reason for your actions, for your soul going awry.
Jimin knows that deep inside, your feelings rooted for him extend the phenomenon of a one night stand. It’s not a fleeting business relationship; you’re not ships in the night. But maybe it’s time to let go of the hand he tries to hold so urgently; maybe you’re too wound up and caught up in your head to make decisions for yourself that don’t end impulsively. Dangerously.
Maybe.
You have a storm to weather. And he needs to let you.
Needs to watch you step away and open wounds in his heart, the once nonchalant organ bubbling with vital desire. Your tears and sobs that never end call forth a thundercloud over your heads that lets agony and pain rain down onto your broken souls.
And when you finally whisper a, “I’m so sorry” into the quiet room and close the door behind you, Jimin collects himself enough to not run after you as he’s gotten used to. Keeps standing, lets the sunlight illuminate his face, lets his legs turn wobbly.
A small part of him keeps hoping that you might come back; but everything else inside him dies when he finally realises the absence of your voice.
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The next morning, you don’t come to work.
In fact, you don’t deliver a single sign; not even a sick notice. To everyone in the office, it’s a peculiar occurrence, because you never seemed like less than a diligent detective, always motivated and eager. To Jimin, however, it’s the least of all surprises.
He doesn’t reckon he’ll ever see you again. But his office feels empty without you; as if he can hear the yawns of loneliness echoing.
His home has lost the colour you brought, even if your world was drenched in monochrome sorrow – though there was a remnant of hope in your voice. In your touch. In your whole being. Without this very voice, Jimin’s mood hits the skids.
And slowly, surely, surrender creeps closer until he realises–
No.
Thief or not, there were things between you that felt real. You weren’t a daydream – you were there, and you were you.
This isn’t something you can be selfish about.
That’s what you said to him – perhaps, however, it was you who was being selfish all along.
So when three days and eleven hours have passed, Jimin grabs his set of keys and sets the booze aside. Three days were enough to reflect on the last few weeks; the touches you shared; the insecurity in your eyes.
You were distant, not because that’s how you’ve come to know life. Not because you saw him as a one night thing – you always came back. But because in your gaze, there was always a hint of something, no matter how profusely you attempted to refuse the heart he was handing you on a silver platter. And it scared you.
The drive to your place proves endlessly unlucky; apparently, the world works against him, along with you. Red lights stop him at every intersection, suspending him helplessly. A construction site forces him to take a detour, and he spends a whopping fifteen minutes searching for a free parking spot.
He spent the last fifty-nine hours thinking and rethinking your exchange, over and over again. Words seem to come easy in his head now, and he thinks he knows what he wants to tell you after all. But then…
Exhausted, with dark circles decorating his face like cheap eyeshadow, he knocks at your heavy door, simultaneously anxious about what you might say and intrigued about what your place might look like. He remembers you mentioning your address multiple times, but you never really invited him there.
It’s prettier at yours. More trees. My neighbourhood is basically wasteland, you’d always say, shrugging his questions off.
He knew what it meant: that you weren’t ready to let anyone in just yet. That you came back to him because a little something about him lured you in, but never gave in enough to let him in, too.
Any confession or inquiry he had prepared seems to disintegrate like cotton candy on his tongue when the door opens.
His breath hitches and his heart jumps, hands clutching the frame of your entrance until his knuckles pale. A sea of jumbled thoughts keep washing in, and he’s not sure whether he wants to pamper you or yell at you.
Your hair is dishevelled, the eye contact tired but filled with pain. You stare at his feet before your pupils flicker up to his, and for a moment you look guilty. As if you’ve done something that might hurt him again.
“Just give me two minutes to ta–”
Jimin’s words die on his tongue when a stranger shows up behind you – your helpless gaze, pained and confused, seems to make sense now. But when Jimin looks at you again, your initial uncertainty morphs into fear that he can’t quite decipher. And when you speak, he understands why.
“You should go,” you nearly whisper, carrying a warning in your tone, like you’re quoting your thoughts from a few days ago. “You really should.”
What’s with you and the constant pain you carry? You might be hellbent on keeping him from the danger you bring – but why is the sting still so seething, so prominent? Why does looking at this guy, whom Jimin has never seen, never connected a memory to, tear at his heart like that?
The man rips the door open some more, fully clothed and frustrated as he observes the tension between you two, and asks, “Am I a joke to you?”
His voice is venomous, annoyed. Sounds like he was clearly expecting more of you, and you didn’t give him what he craved. Or perhaps you did, and the aftermath was something he didn’t anticipate.
Either way, his tone is agitating – and Jimin doesn’t want to hear him talk you down like that.
So he relaxes the crease between his eyebrows, counts to three internally, takes a deep breath. Gathers his irritation in his eyes, his gaze lethal and hooded; and then, he tilts his head and tells the man, “Leave.”
You release your jaw as quickly as you clench it, considering to build a barrier between the men before you change your mind. Because you don’t really want to defend the intruder standing next to you – you met him barely two hours ago, still smelling like the intoxicated air of the shabby bar.
So you keep yourself together, not feigning any anger towards Jimin – because despite the fear and unease, your heart feels soothed at the sight of him. And as you shift your weight to your other leg, gulping thickly, you turn to the guy next to you – Taesoo, was it? – to open your mouth.
His hand rests on his jangling belt, the button of his jeans undone, and before you can speak, he beats you to it, “It’d be nice if you told him something. I was here first anyway, and after the things that happ—”
“Leave,” you echo Jimin’s words, quietly but firmly.
He raises a corner of his lips in mock, shaking his head before he disappears into your room. For a moment, Jimin and you participate in a stare-off; then you avert your eyes again, brushing back your hair with a sigh.
When Taesoo emerges at your side again, pushing past you harshly, you groan, listening to him state, “You seemed like a crazy bitch all evening anyway.” You reckon he refers to your hazy, distracted state, more focused on your drinks than his touch. He nods towards Jimin, shooting one last, “Have fun with her,” before he departs.
Jimin’s jaw clenches visibly at the sound of the insult thrown at you, but his mind soon shifts elsewhere when you step onto the threshold slowly. You look tired, craving a good night’s sleep, dark circles under your eyes indicating that you’ve been awake for way too long.
But the steadiness in your voice surprises him, your arms folded as you ask him with raised eyebrows, “Why are you here?”
For such a smart, observing person, you seemingly still haven’t decoded the entirety of his feelings. He knows that somewhere inside, you sense why he drove all the way to your place, and that you understand why he’s here, waiting for something, trying to utter a little confession or two.
You either want to pull the answer out of him, or you’re still ignorant to how he looks at you.
“I miss you,” he admits, keeping his admissions present tense, fully intending on letting you know once and for all.
This game has been going on for too long. You need to stop making him chase you, need to stop acting like the mouse in this cartoon-come-to-life.
You slowly retract your steps, shaking your head in exhaustion, but he takes the same step forward, continuing, “There are a couple things I need to tell you.”
“Just,” you start, rubbing your temple, “let it be.”
“Let be what? There’s nothing here to start with.” He inches closer, his body almost touching yours, and a hot breath grazes your face as he admits, “I’m trying to make it something.”
“Don’t.”
You try to walk away, settling your hand on the door and ready to push it close again before he grabs your wrist mid-action. He invites himself in, careless about his surroundings as he calls your name.
Breathless, you watch the scene unfold in a matter of seconds: you feel his body close in, his harsh touch harden, the click of the door sounding, and suddenly… you’re trapped between him and the wall, arms pinned next to your head and his lips on yours.
Your eyes widen before they fall shut gradually. The sweetness of his tongue merges with the bitterness of yours instantly, and you let the feeling consume you; let his movements turn your body to mush.
For those fleeting seconds, the Swans don’t exist. The man who left your home a minute ago doesn’t exist. The hurdles and wall between Jimin and you, the crack between your lives – non-existent. You’re thrown back into memories of him, fond and hot, still burning before gravity pulls you back to your feet again.
With his grip around your wrists weakened, you free yourself and push him back, and he tumbles before he moves closer again. Slower this time, intimidated by your tears… frustrated, perhaps. 
Your hollow eyes must be a hoax – because behind them, he sees a downward spiral, and he shakes his head in sorrow, lifting a hand. He places his palm on your damp cheek, pressing further when you don’t resist him this time but whisper, “Jimin…”
“No,” he interrupts, eyebrows furrowed as he catches your tears, “I know it sucks to lose someone like this. I know death can happen whenever and that it hurts and sucks the soul out of you. But… you can’t change what happened.”
Your lower lip and chin are quivering, your eyes red; he wonders how often you looked just like that the last few days. He wonders how many of those times he could’ve made and kissed you better.
“Fuck, this is such a cliché statement,” he adds, sniffling, mentally gripping his fractured heart to keep it from splintering more, “but it’s true, okay? And—and it’s also true that I’m here. Alive, with you, and so, so in love with you.”
He pauses. Watches the emotions swimming in your eyes, a sliver of hope and fondness and devotion glimmer. 
And then, he tells you, “I know you feel the same. I just know it, and you can’t tell me otherwise, okay? I’ll take care of you… I know how to, so – please don’t push me away anymore.”
The sounds of your tears ebb down slightly, and you look at him with dozens of answers in your gaze to the one question he asked. When he repeats a hushed, “Okay?” you swallow another thick knot, fooling yourself once more as you whisper, “Stop…”
“Do you really want that? Do you mean that?”
His forehead touches yours with an intense fire burning between you, and you question for a moment whether you’d ever be able to put it out. There’s no power in this world strong enough to fight against it properly.
So you dissolve the web of lies for the first time in months, opting for the one and only truth you feared for so long as you shake your head and answer, “No.”
And as an answer, he merely sighs.
The type of sighs that convey more than a verbal response ever could. Longing, yearning, quiet affection hidden in one single exhale.
His lips and body crash against yours, and your back hits the wall with full force, knocking the breath out of your lungs. He traps you with his hands pressed against the wall, tilting his head to taste you just a little more.
Despite his impatience, his mouth works slow, and his tongue dances with yours tenderly, memorising your movements. You let your hand wander to his blonde hair, dishevelling it with a slight whimper. A shiver courses through your body, goosebumps arising all over your skin – you can’t count how often you two have done this, but it has never felt the way it does now.
Like you’re ending some kind of chase. Like you’re solving riddles you didn't know about.
Jimin's lips break the kiss when his lungs start to burn, and you take a deep, needed breath as he moves his attention to your cheek, your jaw, down to your shoulders. You lift your head to grant him access and he grabs a patch of your hair before he buries his face in the crook of your neck.
“Shit…” is all you manage to murmur as he holds you close, and you’re certain that he knows your knees might buckle if he didn’t.
Because your limbs are putty, weak under his touch, your mind concentrating on your surroundings as he nibbles, licks and bruises your skin.
You once heard that sex and desire puts those filled with lust through a temporary yet full shutdown of their short-term memory, and with Jimin’s body against yours, you don’t question the theory anymore. Because you barely remember the time and date; you wouldn’t know where you’re standing if the wall didn’t press against your spine.
“Still want me to stop?” Jimin asks when he emerges, brushing back your hair before he plants a peck on your nose. Then your forehead. Your temple.
Sweet, soft, lost.
His eyes crave you so clearly, but his hands touch you carefully, gauging your reaction. You shake your head, placing your palms over his rapid heartbeat as you breathe, “No.”
“Okay,” he whispers, letting his fingers slide to your hips, “okay.”
And then, his mouth is kissing down your body, slowly and cautiously, his eyes not leaving your face until your eyelids flutter shut. His hands raise the fabric of your shirt, baring your stomach and part of your breasts. His tongue leaves a flaming trail along your tummy, delicate bites teasing your sides occasionally.
His digits creep closer to your pooling heat, not as fast as you’d like him to – but when he finally presses a finger against the damp cloth of your panties, you moan out his name. Gulping, he shakes his head, biting his lip before he tells you from below, “I missed this.”
Jimin knows his obsession with you has become ridiculous. He shouldn’t have thought about you this much after being apart from you for just a few days. But you’re the mystery clouding his mind in every waking second – you’re like a case he hasn’t cracked yet. And for the first time, he doesn’t feel the desire to anyway.
This time, he won’t look for hints and clues to decipher your thoughts, but let you deliver them to him yourself. At your own pace. As long as you feel the same.
He brings his lips to your thighs, fingers tugging at your panties without ever ripping them off. You brush the hair strands off his face, eager to watch him become as delirious and hazy as you are – if he isn’t already. There’s a beginning fog in his pupils, whispering something that you understand right away.
The way he teases you throws you in a frenzy for sure, a soft, single touch that makes your guts turn and your thoughts dissolve. 
“Don’t stop,” you whisper, and your eyes shoot open, your gaze begging with your words.
Weak and enchanted, he obliges, continuing to lick and tease his way up until his tongue brushes the wet patch of your panties. Arousal seeps through and colours the fabric darker, despite the lack of direct touch, and he pushes a finger against the clothed entrance of your cunt. His mouth attaches to the dampness, searching for your clit until he hears you whimper and plead.
“Use your words,” Jimin says, circling his finger over your panties, “can’t hear you.”
“Take it off…”
“Take it off?” he repeats, fingertips wandering to the hem of your panties and tugging again – enough to drive you insane, but not enough to rid you of your clothing. “That’s what you want?”
“Don’t… don’t ask stupid questions,” you tell him, staring down at him, coloured lips parted and dry.
Jimin laughs for a tiny, barely-there moment; and you nearly miss the sound, because in the next moment, he’s gratifying your request eagerly. He pushes your ruined panties over your ass and down your trembling legs; watches the shiver of your body.
And as his thoughts stir and begin to run wild again, remembering the last days and your last conversation, he waves them off by dipping in right away – your touches are precious, and his mind is collapsing. But while he acts immediately, he takes his time during the actual ministrations, placing a hand on your pelvis to keep you in place before his tongue begins its eager work on your pussy.
You shiver when his lips touch your cunt, spreading your legs further, and tell him, “This feels… so–”
“I know. I know, sweetheart.”
You shake your head involuntarily when he utters the new pet name, not ready to fall for him deeper, but not strong enough to push him away either. It’s so hard to think at all… his tongue lapping up your juices, his palm holding your thigh, placing your leg on his shoulder… strands of hair tickling your skin – the world is an endless, dark chasm and it’s swallowing you whole.
Electricity and sparks only flicker in your vision when he licks you through the built-up of your high and watches you come undone with his name on your tongue. You whisper it and then yell it, entirely enrapturing him with your movements and sounds until his head is positively spinning.
His cheeks flushed red, he emerges slowly, crawling up your body to wrap an arm around your waist. But you’re way ahead, pushing his body backwards, lips finding his again as you make out on your way to your bedroom.
You barely remember how you got there, but when you push him onto your mattress hard, observing the change in his dangerous eyes, nothing else matters anyway. Albeit shaking and heavy breathing, you put all your energy into the act, throwing him onto his back as two pairs of hands start to undress him hastily.
The familiar sight of his bare body hits you like a truck, flooding yearning through you as you straddle him before he gets the chance to react.
“What are you…” he begins, but you lean in, your hair a curtain draped to the left side, and meet his lips for a brief moment.
He throws his head back, moaning quietly when you journey down his body, lips kissing every patch of skin until they touch the erect length resting against his stomach.
Leaking and aching, his cock screams for attention, and you grant his body all your focus and affection as you lean in and let your tongue run a stripe along his shaft. He doesn’t question anymore what you might be doing; instead, he groans, thick lips opening just a fraction.
“Good?” you ask as your fingers sneak around his dick, teasing, amazed by the rockhard stiffness hiding underneath the warm skin.
He opens his eyes for a split second to glance down at your naked form, barely believing that you were standing on the other side of the door, tired and insecure just minutes ago. Your naked body doesn’t just lure him in out of pure, unbridled desire, but whispers quiet, longing promises to him, too.
Like, that you want him… that you genuinely want him. That you’re doing this, letting him do this, because you missed his touches as much as he missed your gazes. Or at least that’s what he interprets.
You lick along his length once more before you angle his cock and wrap your lips around it. Your head bobs up and down slowly at first, the vibrations of your hums sending a current through his sweating body; your tits hang between his legs and your ass in the air. It’s so surreal, so heavenly that he whispers, “I’m gonna lose my mind…”
Pride floods through your guts, temporary bliss so incomparable to the pain the world inflicted on you in the previous days. You let yourself lose with him as your tongue works its way along his shaft, devouring his moans, producing extra saliva to drench his cock.
You only stop when his cock hardens impossibly, his breaths stuttering – you want him inside; want him to spill inside. So you crawl up with your nails racking his smooth skin, hands sliding along his torso, brushing the tattoo beneath his chest and his bicep that you’ve grown to love; memorised.
Straddling him with parted lips, you look down at his surreal form, your breathing erratic and eyes unfocusing as you say, “You’re pretty… so pretty.”
And perhaps your words would’ve affected him enough to let his thoughts clear if you weren’t grabbing his drenched cock again, bringing it dangerously close to where your cunt pulsates for him. Because as soon as he understands the situation, he shakes his head, stopping your attempt to ride him deliriously as he grapples your sides and flips you over in an instant.
Your back hits the mattress surprisingly, and you gasp, trapped between the bed and him; your legs still spread, but your toes curling in. Hissing and confused, you immediately, reflexively, apologise as though you’re used to making mistakes, “I’m sorry.” You wait, watching him prop up his naked body on his elbows. “What happened?”
Jimin gulps, his gaze soft but melancholic, hints of pain scattered across his dark pupils as he admits, “I can’t do it like this.”
“What?”
“You… you fucked that guy.”
“I–”
There’s no wish more profound than to fuck the thoughts of this man out of you. To make love to you through the night, reach your deepest parts, intensely enough until you can’t remember a single name but Jimin’s. But at the same time, your lifestyle has never been his – and he remembers.
So whatever desire floats inside him, he needs to fight through the haziness and be responsible. If you fucked another guy before him, he doesn’t want to be your sloppy seconds.
But when you speak again, you surprise him and, as it seems, even yourself. “I didn’t.” You place your warm palms on his soft back, pushing him closer barely noticeably. “He and I didn’t.”
Despite the questions in his shaking eyes, Jimin remains calm and collected, his lips inching closer to yours until you can feel the hot comfort of his breath grazing your face. The touch of his fingertips on your jaw, his chest against yours, arms wrapped around your shoulders set all of your nerves and veins alight.
Blood isn’t helping your heart pump anymore the way his touch does. If he chose to stay just like that, the entire night and day, you think you’d be okay with it, too.
“Why not?” he asks when he speaks again, caramel dripping from his tongue, sweet but charred, infatuated but scared.
“I…” you begin, momentarily distracted by the hard length rubbing against your clit. You moan and writhe, and he holds your face firmly, looking at you as you confess, “I kept seeing you instead.”
“Really?”
Pillowy lips kiss the expanse of your neck and settle on the crook of it, his hips moving to align his cock with your entrance without ever sliding in. It’s doesn’t resemble his usual teasing and cockiness when he drives you crazy, tortures you with touches without ever advancing. Waiting for you to beg and move, waiting for you to tell him how badly you want him.
No, this time, it’s something else – a feeling you can’t quite name. Care and fear and anger collecting in his crude and lewd motions. A nonverbal, silent plea for you to utter something, for you to seek his lips, to tell him you don’t want anything else.
Perhaps that’s the problem. Jimin has always wanted you for himself. The only one you want to kiss, the only one to haunt your dreams. Maybe he’s greedy or maybe he’s fallen too deep into all of this utter shit; but he’s always lived differently. A heart that contains love and demands love back.
Not used to the vast darkness filling the volume of your own.
But some things not even you’ll be able to deny.
“Really…” you mutter, your eyes falling close.
His nose nudges against yours; everything is a slow process, but you melt and dissolve and fall ultimately when he whispers, “Do you have any idea how much I missed you?”
“Jimin…”
“I know you like burning yourself into people’s memories,” his tip pushes into your soaked pussy, one arm letting go of your shoulder to press your thigh into the mattress, “you like them to remember you, and you like to forget them,” you whine and moan, moving your hips, begging for more, “but goddamn, putting me on your list? That was cruel.”
The coherency in his words is astounding; you don’t think you could utter more words than necessary, even if you tried. The level of hurt passing through Jimin must be profound enough for him to drown in his thoughts, even now.
“I– I didn’t,” you manage, desperate and shivering, losing every ounce of sanity.
“What is it then… that you did, huh?”
A single tear escapes the corner of your eye, and he wipes it away immediately, caging you in further as you hold onto him for dear life. The room turns a few shades darker with his dim stare, cold, but you moan and cry out when he pushes in some more.
You throw your head back, registering the touch of his fingers along your sides as you hear him ask, “Why did you hurt me again?”
You’re not sure what answer he wants. You don’t even think he realises you can’t answer at all, too focused on the way he sheathes himself inside you, piercing through you slowly, deeply.
But he doesn’t seem to expect a response either; because adjusting, shifting, balls deep inside you, he groans, “No more, okay?”
He knows you can’t give him promises that defy the life you lead. You think he understands as well as you that the future is uncertain, that none of you know what it entails. But there’s something inside you that wants to soothe both your aches, so you mumble timidly, “Okay…”
If it was up to you, you wouldn’t lay a finger on his heart anymore. But your days and your occupation, lacking moral and respect, are unpredictable. For now, however, it seems to do.
Because Jimin’s eyes close, his grunts deeper now, the grip around you tight and protective and his cock building a steady rhythm. He’s slower and softer than usual; tonight, he takes his time, focuses on your expressions and sounds.
The little droplets of sweat on your forehead. The sharpness of your nails digging into his flesh and alternating with soothing rubs. Your eyes involuntarily squinting when his damp hair strands touch your eyelids. And the sound of his name from your lips… your pleas, your moans, your breaths.
“You’re the prettiest like that,” he tells you, kissing your earlobe, “free of thoughts and worries… could look at you all day.”
The way he always looked at you during lunch breaks, lazy evenings after work or when it was your turn to lead a meeting in the office.
A series of mumbled words escape your mouth in a hurry, overwhelmed by the varying pace of his hips; once he hammers into you deep and then he pulls back and pushes in carefully. Perhaps he’s letting your bodies lead the way; because even he seems beyond the point of true consciousness. A little lost, a little dizzy.
“Don’t want you to stop,” you tell him amidst the fever dream you breathe through, and he lifts his chest from yours just enough to look at you properly.
Your bodies, hot and sweaty, quiver from the lack of contact, the temperature of the room colliding with the warmth between you as he promises, “Don’t worry.”
It’s a short, silent and tender affair, the collision of your bodies and souls. It feels like mere seconds pass when he’s wrapped his lips around your nipples; then released them; then kissed the underside of your tits, penetrating your walls and every inch of your sensitive spots.
You barely notice that his hips and legs are already stuttering, his mouth whispering sweet nothings, and you rush to bring your fingers to your clit, only for him to push your hands away and do it for you.
“Fuck,” he curses, losing his mind when your shouts grow louder. “Fuck, wanna hear this all day, you know?”
“I know,” you cry out, throwing your head to the side, and he suckles at the flesh of your soft neck.
Your legs become restless as he rubs the bundle of nerves, incessantly pounding into you, and the combined penetration brings you to the brink of insanity.
In the years you’ve allowed your broken self to cope with sex, there must have been longer sessions. Harder or faster, memorable or seething hot. Tonight, with Jimin, might not be the experience of a lifetime, and you probably won’t remember every ardent touch or impatient stare he grants you with.
But for the first time, you feel something that’s unfiltered. Not fleeting or meaningless or another get-together you’ll store with every other get-together in the past. This is real; it feels real. Perhaps not like a fairytale, but at least like its own novel.
Jimin’s stamina and endurance come to an end when you whisper his name one more time; tell him sweetly, hushed, “Want just you… please.”
He doesn’t know what your words strike in him, but it’s enough for him to let go ultimately. A groan emerges from the depths of his chest, his body collapsing on yours again, barely floating to not suffocate you beneath him. He takes a deep breath, trembling, and says, “I swear I really am… in love with you.”
You believe him. With all the emotions swimming in his eyes, evident in his touches, how could you not? With the way the world changes, how could you not reciprocate it?
And you want to tell him – but before you can, he’s letting more admissions fall, spilling inside you with a sound so intriguing that it renders you speechless. His face falls against your chest, his ear listening to your rapid heartbeat as stars explode in your vision just as much as in his; your moans broken and your body floating.
It all ends as soon as it begins.
Your naked, vulnerable bodies fall into your bed in unison, his embrace carrying you with him, both your essences spilling out of you as you catch your breaths.
“I can run a shower,” he says, a hand rubbing his face in exhaustion while the other grabs tissues from the nightstand and begins to clean you up slowly.
When he’s done, he sits up, opting to stand, but you grab his bicep and pull him back, shaking your head with big eyes staring up at him. He thinks he could die in those eyes – no dreamy sigh in this world showcases the feelings his heart carries for you.
Blinking, exhaling, you say, “Not yet.”
Obliging with a nod and affection in his gaze, Jimin fishes the discarded underwear from the floor, half hanging off the bed, and hands you yours while pulling up his own. It’s strange, the feeling of clothing against your battered sex.
But his arms caging you into a hug, impatient and urgent, make up for the discomfort immediately.
For a few minutes, you listen to the silence of the room. A few cars drive past the complex you live in, the traffic unusually busy for the isolated corner you chose as your city residence. It’s different here; quiet but still louder than what you’re used to. If you were surrounded by the silence you usually hear, you might react with more fret and panic.
“You’re still unsure,” Jimin whispers, breaking you out of your trance, “about us.”
It’s surprising. The way he continues the conversation from before like nothing happened in between. But you understand his thoughts. You know what must be plaguing him, or how painful the uncertainty of a future with you must be.
After all, confessing love, affection and otherworldly emotions doesn’t guarantee anything, right?
“Not about what I feel for you,” you admit, mumbling against his chest, “but I’m scared.”
“It’s Seokjin you’re worried about, right?” he asks, shifting closer, noticing the way you flinch at the mention of the ominous name. “We’ll end this thing soon.”
“He’s just… dangerous. He’s not just a thief, Jimin–”
“I know,” he interrupts, tangling your legs with his. It’s like he’s trying to creep closer, trying to meld your bodies with not an inch between you left. “But we were close before, so if…”
You hiss when he presses too hard, his skin rubbing against yours, and you emerge from his chest to say, “I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it.”
It’s the first time you refuse to address your fears. But despite your wish to steer clear from this conversation, it seems that the world still hears your worries and troubles.
The comfort of his arms, wrapped around your torso and your sorrow, doesn’t last long; just like joy doesn’t last long on any other day.
Because in an instant, you hear the smashing of your door, like someone’s broken in with an axe and demolished your entire entrance. From your bed in your room, you can’t decode what the thunderous noise is, flinching hard, reflexively pushing yourself into Jimin’s arms.
There are no voices yet, just a panting from afar, and you sit up with the blanket covering your torso, eyes darting through the room to find a weapon. You think Jimin dropped his gun in the living room when he entered; you think your own are hidden in the closet, too far for you to fetch.
And right when you remember the pistol buried underneath your things in the second drawer, your arm shooting towards it once your brain clears, your bedroom door opens with a mind-numbing thump.
“What the fuck,” you hear Jimin murmur next to you, and in your fear, you just realise now that he has risen to his feet, scouring your empty bed for a weapon in nothing but his underwear. Defenceless. “Get out.”
He says it to you, but you’re frozen in place, watching a face walk closer to you that you’ve never seen before. It happens in slow-motion, like time is standing still.
In those moments, you realise a few things.
First, the second man, right behind the first, is one of the thieves living in your mansion, a trusted accomplice of Seokjin, probably here by his command, too. He looks unamused; like he just wants out, not eager to fight.
Second, they’re carrying weapons like knives and guns, clearly in a better position than you, their eyebrows furrowed in anger that you might not be able to win against.
And third, they’re looking at Jimin.
Without a glance to you, the familiar face throws clothes at you that you didn’t see him holding before, covering your face as panic spreads in your chest. You lift the shirt off your head, instantly yelling, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”
“Leave, just–”
Jimin’s voice is muffled and scared, his fists ready to defend himself. But when the first hit lands, he stumbles back onto the bed, finding it difficult to keep his posture when the enemy is attacking with the grip of his gun.
You don’t listen to his pleas right away, letting out a siren scream before you curse, “You fucking bastards, you can’t–”
“Get dressed. Get in the car. No aggression, okay?” the stranger tells you, pointing to the clothes before he adds, “He’ll be fine if you stay calm.”
All those threats. The constant rivalry and wrongful doings. They’re sickening and insane – but somehow, they’re the only madness that still keeps the man you’ve fallen for safe.
“Lower the gun, please,” you say as firmly as you can, but you can hardly help the shake in your voice, the breaking of your words.
You grab the shirt and drape it over your body with quivering fingers, never leaving Jimin out of sight. He’s looking into the intruders’ eyes, still unarmed, relying on his fists once again to face the blade and the bullets.
“I’m done,” you add, still deflating at the sight of them not listening to you. Because their arms are still raised. Still pointing at him.
Jimin throws you a single look, slowly.
He doesn’t utter a word.
Then, he nods so slightly that you almost miss it – and right when you button your jeans, he gulps.
“No, don’t–” 
You exclaim it into the room involuntarily, automatically falling forwards, your palms catching yourself on the bed before Jimin is going in with another reckless punch. You’re not sure if it’s an attempt to actually defend himself or to give you time, but you can barely react with the tears blurring your vision.
As if a voice whispered something to you, you pull yourself up, your breathing erratic and uneven as you walk backwards to the door. You’re not silent enough to escape without notice, but you try; you try. For him at least. 
But with the door shut and in the time it gets to press down the handle, open it and run out of the room, your hair is caught in the firm grip of the familiar man, twirling you enough that you see the horror in front of you unfold.
You think the man holding you urges the stranger to finally finish the job, shakes his head, impatient and annoyed. But his hisses don’t stop his colleague.
A hook to the chin of the man you kissed a few minutes ago. A knife cutting through the back of his hand that tries to defy it. The grip of a gun smacking against a temple, letting his body fall onto the mattress and limp against the pillow.
The last thing Jimin hears are your screams, shrill and crying, his name floating somewhere in between before the world falls dark.
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When Jimin opens his eyes again, the world is dark and dull.
His body is stiff and heavy when he opts to sit, and he wonders if he was tied to the bed, unable to move his limbs and head. But once he lifts his face, he realises that it isn’t his torso or his legs that are shackled to place – it’s his mind, forbidding further movement.
Because the pain shoots into his head like an arrow, sharp and stinging, the headache so shattering that he falls back into the pillow again. The spot near his face is sticky and smells disgusting. He doesn’t dare to open his eyes and examine the source.
Instead, his hand taps in the dark, searching the bedside table blindly until he touches the box of tissues and pulls out two or three. He rolls the napkins to a ball, pressing against the wound with a sharp hiss until his head stops spinning. 
For a second, there’s a beep in his ears, but his first instinct of making sure he’s not too badly injured tells him that his hearing isn’t impaired. He still hears the cars outside, and still makes out the chirping crickets through the open window.
Gradually and slowly, he opens his eyes. The sight begins blurry, but clears slowly. So his vision is somewhat stable, too. But with the hit he suffered, enough to knock him unconscious, it must still be bad. Because god, it hurts. A concussion for sure.
The tissues turn as sticky as the pillow, so there must be dry blood. And he feels dizzy. But just like the pain, time won’t stop, and if he lets more of it pass, more things could happen that he's tried to avoid for months. If they haven’t happened already.
He sits up once and for all with an agonising groan, not daring to shake his head before he gets to his wobbly legs. He sways, flashbacks to older cases emerging when he suffered worse, and walks over to the standing mirror near the window.
An inspection tells him that there’s no fluid or blood spilling from his nose or ears, but his damp, dirty hair coloured red is still telling enough. He wishes he could call help, get himself checked in an emergency room, diagnosis and treatment and all. But until then, too many things can happen; and the silence of your room and your absence don’t allow him selfishness, not right now.
The scream he heard before he passed out still echoes in his mind loud and clear, fuelling the headache. Where did they take you? What happened after he closed his eyes?
If he made protecting you his biggest goal, has he failed already?
The pain in his head distracts him too much to let the tears spill, hammering with each step he takes. He walks to your closet, leans down as he searches the content of the boxes at the bottom. In theory, invading your privacy goes against the laws, but if there’s a chance to get you back like that, he can’t muster the strength to give a fuck.
He finds a passport. Doesn’t need it. Brochures for vacations in foreign countries, letters and pictures of when you were younger, with chubbier cheeks and a more radiant smile. No. Redundant. 
Jimin gets up. Walks to the night table. The one on his bedside proves utterly useless, too – there’s nothing he can do with small keys, locks and copies of official documents. God, you need to take care of your things better.
It’s not until he rounds the bed and scours the content of the other night table that he finds something he can work with. For one, there’s a pack of medicine. Ibuprofen? He takes out two of those, clutching them tight in his fist. Then, right underneath it, he finds a small A6 notebook.
A first glance onto the first page reveals names he knows or has never heard of, numbers and addresses scribbled next to them. Bingo – if this isn’t the thing he was looking for, he might be screwed.
He closes the notebook and hurries to pick up the clothes off the ground as fast as his body and head allow. Even his haste movements are careful and accompanied by grunts, but he pushes through the pain as he walks across the living room and into the kitchen. He fetches himself a glass of water, swallowing the pills to dim the pain and prevent inflammation.
Somewhere on the ground, he finds the phone he possibly lost last night while attempting to win you back. Pictures of your form pressed against the wall, the feeling of your lips on his, your hands trying to resist him with your whole being without succeeding emerge from his memory. He’s not sure if it’s the injury or your missing touch that hurts more.
The phone, laying in some corner, thankfully missed by the intruders, has minimal battery life left. He picks it up impatiently, pressing a cloth against his head he found in your kitchen. And then, he dials a familiar number until the voice greets him in worry.
“Hey. Hey, where the actual fuck are you?”
Hoseok sounds exasperated, busy; he never truly curses, and when he does, there’s a valid reason behind it. The reason this time being Jimin’s absence for hours. The radio silence since last night, the not showing up to work, the never calling in sick.
“There’s so much bullshit going on, Hobi,” Jimin says, providing no context or explanation.
“Like what?”
“Like.” He tells his older friend where he went last evening. What he did since then. What happened in the middle of the night, and what’s happening now that the sunrise is still so far away. “Some people broke in and took her with them.”
“Where to?!”
Jimin sighs, kneeling on the ground with the notebook open in front of him. He flicks through the pages, searching for a clue that might help. He recognises his own name, Hoseok’s, and a few others he knows from work. Those are numbers and information that co-workers at the office exchange just to be sure, but they’re not what he’s looking for.
Until, finally, knocking out the breath of his lung, he sees it. After months of searching, nothing could have brought him closer than paying you a visit, leafing through this very notebook and settling on this very page. There were reasons why you never let him in. Fears and worries keeping you from revealing the secret faraway place your true boss – along with you – resides in. Of course this apartment isn’t your permanent residence.
It could’ve been as easy as this.
There’s an address next to Kim Seokjin’s name that Jimin doesn’t recognise. He’s not sure if it’s in this town at all, because it looks cryptic, the postal code indicating another place, another city. The address occurs more than once, and he thinks most of the names it stands next to are closely related to the Swans in one way or the other.
“Dude–” Hoseok exclaims on the other side of the speaker, impatient.
“I think I know where they are. I’ll send you the address before my phone dies.” His head throbs, and he lets out a sound of despair, cursing, “Fuck.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you in pain?”
“Just an injury to the head,” Jimin says casually, like his head isn’t bursting. “That's why I was unconscious.”
Hoseok exhales in worry, something in the background creaking like he’s ready to transport his friend to the hospital immediately. Then, he states, “That could be a concussion, man. You can’t work like that. And don’t you think of–”
“I’ve wasted enough time when I was passed the fuck out.” Jimin types the address into Hoseok’s chat, sending it hastily before he says, “Sent.”
For a second, the line goes silent, but then Hoseok lets out a frustrated breath, remarking, “Shit, that’s really fucking far away. Outside the city, I believe.”
“I know, just,” Jimin confirms, desperate, scared, “if you can, get there.”
“Of course.”
Hoseok hesitates, obviously thinking about something he wants to say, fearing his friend’s answer. But he tries anyway, “But I’m calling the ambulance for you.”
“No, don’t.”
Of course.
“Jimin, I–”
“Fucking don’t. Direct order. Alright?”
Jimin can see heart shaped lips pressing together, a head shaking, two fingers curled around suspenders and hair strands hanging low. It’s the same look Hoseok sports on stressed days, and he imagines his own state and direct order aren’t any less taxing than those days.
“Listen, you goddamn idiot,” Hoseok says, close to losing his sanity and patience, “you might get into an accident, or worse. Do not–”
“I’ll take a cab then, fuck.”
“I swear, you–”
And then, the line goes dead. Not because his phone battery has given up, but because Jimin has heard and forwarded the information he needed to. One last goal now.
He digs into the pockets of his jeans, making sure that the car keys are there, but he still dives for a different object first.
Fishing out his phone again, he dials the number of a taxi, trying to sound as calm as possible. He saunters back to the kitchen, searches for a first aid kit, finding one sparsely filled, and takes out some cotton and a bandage. He tunks it into the open bottle of alcohol next to the sink, absolutely sure this won’t do long-term.
But who could care?
Leaning over the sink, he waits until part of the pain and the spinning of his head have subsided. Then, he trudges to his private car, gathering one more gun than he already carries before he enters the cab wordlessly, ignoring the driver’s remarks and shutting him up with a flash of his badge.
Then, he mutters an address, takes a deep breath and watches the world fly by.
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When you open your eyes again, the world is blinding and bright.
You don’t remember exactly when they closed. Perhaps when you were sitting in the backseat, resisting their grips, yelling into the congested space of the car. Screaming his name from the top of your lungs, yearning to go back, trying to ask the world around you if he’s alright and alive.
The birds and the wind you heard through the open window couldn’t whisper to you what went on between the walls of your temporary apartment. So when they held you back, drenching a cloth with chloroform right in front of your face, you stopped resisting.
Maybe it was better to waste your hours away in unconsciousness than to worry about something you had no control over. Not like this, unarmed, trapped, the damsel in distress you never saw yourself as.
You’re not sure who brought you to your room – you’re certain it’s your room – because you don’t think you were awake enough to realise. Even though you’ve regained full consciousness, you still don’t dare to open your eyes just yet.
Somewhere in the distance, you think you hear a voice.
Only that it’s not in the distance.
It’s right next to you.
“Why are you back here?”
His voice is tender and soft, talking to you after such a long time. Your heart falls into unknown pits, because you didn’t think you’d see this day ever again. Or hear him again. A tear escapes the corner of your eyes, your hands clutching the blanket you didn’t realise was there.
He doesn’t sound like he’s drowning right now – sounds so very alive. 
But you only understand his absence and your own madness when your eyelids finally do flutter open. The room is empty. And still. Cold, considering that your bedroom stands on the ground floor. Your soul is the only one alive here; and you don’t believe in ghosts.
“You’re not really here,” you tell Yoongi’s voice, rubbing your forehead like it could dissolve his face from your mind.
“Of course I’m not.”
You laugh a little, sniffling.
“So I’ve gone crazy. Cool.” Your laughter ebbs down, and you stare at the boring, white ceiling above you. For an expensive, prestigious manor, your room is as monotone as any vacant, vapid place. “It’s rude of you that you’re not here.”
You hear a familiar chuckle, sounding through your skull, and he… you… your mind says, “I think it’s worse that some part of me is still there. Not that you should forget about me, but,” he pauses, hesitating, “maybe it’s time to move on.”
“I don’t know how.”
“I think you do,” he refutes. You wonder how far your abilities of holding a soliloquy with two different voices can go. “Do you remember what I said?”
“You… you said a lot of things.”
“The day we sat at the riverbank.”
Of course your unconsciousness would remind you of the same old dream again. You’re not sure why it’s always that one conversation that your little brain always brings back, but you’re growing sick of it.
“You said to prioritise myself,” you answer, angling your legs, pulling them closer, “to not throw away my life.”
“Yeah.” He waits. Lets you think. “So?”
“So. That’s what I tried to do for so long,” you tell him, your voice breaking, not quite as firm as you’d like it to be, “when I promised you to live a better life for you, I meant it. In the beginning, I thought I could.” You shrug your shoulders, shaking your head, still dizzy from the chloroform. “But I think I butchered it.”
But he’s having none of it, arguing, “Hey. You know the security here… you know your way out blindly. Use that for yourself. You don’t need anyone to save you… you’re stronger than that.”
His voice carries a hint of your own now… the way you speak, the way you usually think when you’re not on rock bottom. Somehow, knowing that it’s you telling yourself all of this and not really him – not really anyone else – is… comforting.
You sit up. Rub your eyes. Adjust to the darkness and stare into the faint light of the lamp on the desk opposite of you. And you hear his dim voice speak one more time.
“Thought so.”
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The forest shows warning signs at every other mile, ranging from visualisations of animals crossing the road or riverbanks ahead.
Sometimes, Jimin’s eyes catch sight of signs predicting falling rocks or approaching humps. But with a throbbing head and trembling hands, he never pays much attention to the subtle cautionary advices placed on the side of the road.
As the streets ascend and descend, he drives through the quiet night, surrounded by thickets and trees with a spinning mind. The voice of the navigation guides him calmly, but his heart’s beat overshadows it all.
Hoseok might kill him if he finds out his friend abandoned the cab near the office. Took one of the work cars instead. Which he’s operating right now; sure that it was safer for long distances than his private car. There was no way he’d trust a cab driver into this damned forest or risk his life, even less in a dangerous, possibly deadly situation like this.
Hoseok calls and updates him every now and then, informs him that he’s almost gathered their whole force, collecting the tools they might need, and that he will join his friend soon. Jimin knows that soon isn’t soon enough. Even he, driving around for what feels like ages, is only now reaching his goal; until Hoseok arrives, a lot can happen.
He parks a good half mile from the place he seeks, abandoning his car in the middle of nowhere to avoid attention he doesn’t need. Jogging the rest of the way, he follows the road, the sound and the lights.
And when he’s finally snuck close enough, the scenery reminds him of the ominous origins of romanticised fairytales.
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You’re stronger than that, aren’t you?
When Yoongi left you alone in this world, it wasn’t to mope around – he wanted you to conquer your dreams and prioritise yourself and… live. 
This isn’t living though, right? Perhaps you should start now.
You push yourself off the mattress, shaky legs carrying you until you gather your strength and plant them against the ground steadfast. Wiping your tears with the back of your hand, you tip-toe to the door. You’re ready to negotiate with whoever’s standing in front of your room – ready to knock him unconscious when need be.
But when you touch the door with your fingertips, it’s already open to a slit, the yard in the middle of the manor empty and silent. Maybe you could hear a needle fall if there wasn’t distant turmoil raging inside the mansion. From where you stand, it sounds like quiet chatter, but you know it’s just the usual chaos before bedtime you’re used to from this place.
When you step out, the wind blows for a small moment, unusually cold for a warm day. You brush your hair from your face, keeping your sight clear in fear you might miss the smallest movement from the corner of your eyes.
But when nothing happens, you take a deep breath, fixating your gaze on the door on the other side before you cross the yard on your tiptoes quickly. You open the door carefully, trying not to let it creak too loudly; but it seems that no one’s in the hallway anyway.
Eyes darting to and fro, you bend a bit, taking off your shoes and placing them next to the door. Your fingers dig into the fabric of your shirt as your stare falls onto the staircase, and you begin to move slowly. Navigating through the place in darkness proves harder than you imagined.
Paranoid, you search for signs of life, holding your breath as you climb the staircase in fast motions. You hiss and cringe at every echo your steps cause, although it’s dull and barely audible. To keep your sanity, you focus on your mental map of the place, knowing that you need to reach the first floor and cross the hallway to find yet another staircase that will lead to the main exit.
You have no choice but to cross those metres.
But to your misery, you’re more nervous than you thought.
Because when you’ve crossed half the hallway on the first floor, you realise that you’ve taken a wrong turn, cursing at yourself internally – you’ve lived here for so long. You should know better. And the regret only grows when you suddenly hear voices at the end of it, panic flooding your chest before you turn on your heel and ready yourself to walk the correct path instead.
But as soon as you turn, your body nearly crashes against another person present in the hallway, and you gasp in fear as you topple a few steps back, drowning in fear. You almost slip and fall onto the marble floor, close to yelling out a cry for help.
The man, however, catches you with a hand wrapped around your arm, pulling you to your feet again until you’ve found your balance and cleared your blurry vision enough to recognise him. He’s the second man who broke into your apartment just tonight, shaking his head at his accomplice as though he was sorry for you.
You don’t know his name; know nothing about him. There’s nothing you can say to him, nothing else than to beg for him to stay quiet. As you keep staring at each other, your breath hitching and hair sticking to your sweaty forehead, you prepare yourself to run away or do something you should not be considering at all.
But then…
His grip loosens around your limb, and he gulps, backing away in quiet permission. His actions say that he’s not your enemy – that it’s okay to trust him, and that he’ll trust you in return. That you don’t deserve whatever Seokjin is cursing you with.
You don’t know why he brought you here in the first place then; but you take what you get. Guilt sometimes arrives later, you guess.
With damp eyes, your shivering legs carry you past him, your gaze never leaving his and your hands still balled into fists, ready to fight if he decides to betray you after all. But when he doesn’t move, his head hanging low, you accelerate your steps, whisper the smallest, “thank you so much”, and run into the opposite direction of where the voices are creeping closer.
Hazy and scared, you inch closer to the desired staircase, walking down the steps in alert with the entrance as your ultimate goal. You tap through the darkness until your hand is touching the handle, your breaths uneven before you step into the garden – and that’s when you see them.
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The place looks like a small castle. Probably perfect to hide an entire crew of mastermind thieves, but fitting to vampires rather than a quiet mafia. The outer garden, adorned with colourful flowers, lays still, the petals and leaves slightly flickering against the mellow breeze; it wouldn’t be surprising if yellow werewolf eyes were staring back at him.
Kneeling, with the gun cocked and in his tight grip, Jimin tip-toes through the bushes that are planted at the edges of the yard. He wonders if he could see you from here – hear you breathing from a room, feel your presence, awaiting and alive.
Solving the case has become a second priority; if he can anyhow get you out of this hell and the clutches of those people, he’d consider his mission successful and cleared. He can refocus on the purpose of this case once he’s seen you breathing and well.
For a few moments, he waits. His legs twitch in anticipation, urging him forwards, telling him to trudge towards the entrance and find you in whichever room they’ve hidden you. But right when he opts to leave his crouching positions, voices seep through the air of the crisp forest night; one of them, he recognises immediately.
“Then that’s done, too,” the other guy says, and from where Jimin watches, the man silences for a second to yawn. “I really need to go to bed. You owe me.”
“You say that as if I haven’t done a hundred things for you before,” Seokjin says, a slight laugh lacing his voice so softly that, without any knowledge about him, he might sound like a casual sweetheart.
Jimin’s head focuses on registering every word the pair utters, but it proves hard with the distance between them and the still aching temple. The painkiller has kicked in at least subtly, though he still feels like the mess he was back at your apartment. The light is hidden behind the horizon, but sunrise must not be far.
He fishes out his phone, staring at the battery status, happy that the charger in the work car provided him with just enough to do what he wants to do. Tapping the symbol of the camera, he calculates the angle, hastily pressing the recording button for evidence.
“You also owe me for driving all the way to the city and back. Dealing with her wasn’t as easy as you said it would be,” the man speaks again, laughing as though he cracked the joke of the century. “She’s feisty.”
“That’s a good word to describe her.”
“I was gonna call her something else, but–”
“Anyway,” Seokjin interrupts, clenching his jaw with a dark gaze; the hands in his pocket turn to fists, “she’s gonna stay here when we start our next project.”
Seokjin mentions a name directly from the list you and Jimin wrote down weeks ago. Back when you deciphered the picture of that prestigious, rich party, rambling about cardinal points and whatnot.
The guy next to him nods, still in a clownery mood that won’t subside as he jokes, “I’m surprised that someone in this country still owns a tiara at all. I hate people who crown themselves like they’re fucking royalty.”
Seokjin joins his snicker for just a moment before he hears a rustling sound in the bushes next to him. It’s too dark to make out shadows or whatever creeps behind the trees, but he does catch a glimpse of a stray cat.
He continues nevertheless, saying, “And I need some of you to stay, too.”
The man looks baffled, even somewhat annoyed as he questions, “Me, too?”
“It’d be nice of you to do so.”
“Why?! I’ve been there every single time, and–”
Jimin’s eyes flit from the cat that disturbed his peace to the situation unfolding in front of him. In his surprise, he dropped not only the phone, but his gun, too, and retracting those now might cause too much noise. Especially with the way Seokjin’s back has already straightened in alert and his focus has shifted.
Ears clearly perked.
Not even the third presence joining the party lets his attention falter; Jimin notices it in Seokjin’s stance and in his movements. The subtle little steps towards the bush, yet not close enough to see Jimin just yet.
“Sir, we found a car about half a mile from here. It’s empty and abandoned, still intact. And the hood is still kinda warm.”
That’s all the middle-aged woman says. But Seokjin doesn’t react surprised, nor do his eyes wide. He merely nods towards the clown standing next to him all this time, telling him, “Go check it out. Keep your eyes open, though, yeah?”
This time, his colleague doesn’t bat an eye or argue further. It’s clear that he’s not feeling up to the task, especially after the long night and after preparing himself to go to bed soon. But he can’t defy his boss if he wants to sleep peacefully tonight.
The two strangers stroll away, unbothered, like they’re taking a walk. Hands in their pockets, they mumble something neither Jimin nor Seokjin can hear; perhaps an annoyed grunting and groaning.
“It’s fine to come out now,” Seokjin sings, apparently in a better mood than before.
Jimin freezes. Feels another sting in his head when he moves.
“And you might leave any unnecessary weapons right there.”
Jimin isn’t scared of Kim Seokjin.
He’s dealt with bigger psychopaths before. Those who don’t have a villain origin story, no mental health condition, nothing to justify their actions with. They brought him on the verge of death one too many times, and Seokjin, unarmed and smiling, seems like a kid’s toy compared to them.
So the fear rooted in Jimin finds it source not in what Seokjin could do to him… but what he could do to you if Jimin failed this mission and left you here to suffer.
“What happened to your head?” Seokjin asks, laughing a little, unabashed and mannerless.
“Your minions,” Jimin answers, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.
He steps closer to where the enemy stands, inhaling the fresh air of the forest and the garden. It’s a wonderful place to camp or hike – if there wasn’t a nest of criminals in the middle of the woods, he might have considered a trip in the future.
“If it helps anyhow,” Seokjin defends, flashing his teeth, crinkles around his amused eyes, “I just told them to bring her here, not to knock you almost dead. I can totally talk to them if you’d like.”
Jimin puffs out an annoyed breath, his eyebrow rising in mock, but he lowers it immediately when he feels the pain behind it. Biting his lip for a second, he answers, “I appreciate the hospitality, but… it’s fine.”
“Don’t say I didn’t offer.”
Jimin is in no mood to beat around the bush. He’s sick of those games, and of this hide and seek, the cat and mouse bullshit, all the suffering they bring. Lowering his gaze, blinking, he asks, “Where is she?”
But the answer doesn't alleviate the pain or soothe his worries; only irritates him more.
“Why don’t you go look?”
“Right.”
“I’m serious. She’d be delighted to see you.” Jimin looks up at Seokjin’s words, trying not to let the admissions fog his mind enough to lose focus. “I’m not gonna act like she forgot about you in just one night, so I’ll admit that she really… like, really wants to see you.”
“Why,” Jimin begins, shaking his head slowly, “are you telling me?”
“Because I’m honest. I appreciate honesty.”
There’s something comedic about the way Seokjin says it. It’s like he’s adding absurdity to a scene he’s acting out, like he’s in a movie, building up to the climax. Hiding something to attack with as soon as the villain’s jokes have landed well enough.
If a build-up is what he wants, Jimin will play along until reinforcement arrives.
“Man,” Jimin mocks, his thumb rubbing his forefinger in nervousness, “that’s why you’re a thief, right? And why you steal and hide.”
“I steal and hide, because those people have way more than they need. Come on, Park. A fucking tiara? Set of rings they won’t use? All the diamonds in this world they’ll never wear, but they just want the thrill of owning them.”
He steps closer, brushing his fingers through his long, dark hair. He truly does resemble an antagonist in a blockbuster.
Smirking, he continues, “We get those. Then sell them to… buyers we know again. We buy things for people actually in need, and support our families who have raised us with nothing.”
“So your excuse is your chivalrous Robin Hood act?”
“Whatever,” Seokjin shrugs, rubbing his hands together, “at least Robin Hood was the first thing this whole affair made you think of. That means something.”
“Was killing Min Yoongi an act of chivalry, too, then?”
That’s what silences the man in front of Jimin immediately. He straightens his posture once more, the smile vanishing from his face, an expression so poisonous replacing it that Jimin thinks he might attack any moment.
It seems that Min Yoongi is a weakness for everyone in this household. For once, Jimin reckons it’s okay to hit that wound.
Seokjin, apart from whatever his countenance and the shadow on it suggest, remains somewhat calm, questioning with a little more vexation in his voice, “What do you know about Yoongi? You’ve known her for what, a few weeks? And you act like you know her whole damn life story. Wouldn’t be surprised if she overshared.”
He shakes his head, his smirk ingenuine and mocking, “I gotta admit, I only sent her to you as a spy. But that woman…” His voice shrinks. “Took a damn necklace we stole and wore it in front of you.”
The tone of his voice might be quiet and serene, but his words are dipped in venom and anger. He isn’t hiding it as well as he’d like.
“Kim Seokjin,” Jimin spits, not particularly veiling his own resentment, “you look so fucking noble, but then you keep a girl here against her will. Without noticing what it’s doing to her, huh?”
“I think I know what it’s doing to her,” Seokjin responds, never dropping the façade of a know-it-all, “her boyfriend died for her and now she’s suffering the aftermath of lying and hiding. Sending her to you– forcing her to do our dirty work is the least she can do to make things right.”
“Make things right…”
This time, it’s not Jimin rasping those words in fury, ridicule and indignation. Sometime during the conversation, the entrance of the mansion opened soundlessly. The climax of your very own movie proves to be right now, the dramatic moment so palpable that Jimin wonders if he’d wake up if he pinched himself hard enough.
You’re still wearing the clothes you left in. Your hair is a mess, your eyes tired, and you stand at the entrance with your arms wrapped around your body. A light sway accompanies your steps, feet carrying you to the grass and near the bush where Seokjin and Jimin stand.
If Jimin has anything to say to you or to warn you about, then he can’t remember anymore.
The only thing ringing true so clearly is that… you. That he needs you to smile. That he needs all this to be over. That he’s tired of this, losing his will to live through this moment, that he wants to flash forward to a day where you’re both okay.
In each other’s arms. His voice telling you that he loves you.
All that passes his lips instead is your name.
And you look back with the same sorrow; close to saying whatever you want to say before Seokjin side-eyes you and interrupts, “Only half expected that.”
“Jin… please,” is all you manage, disappointed in yourself that you can’t quite verbalise what you’re pleading for.
“Go back in.”
Jimin watches your head shake, stubborn and reluctant as you inquire, “Why would I?”
“You’ve done more than enough damage.”
“I haven’t done… shit,” you answer, obviously just as done with his relaxed commands as anyone else. You hate that he utters those things like they’re natural; like everyone’s bound to listen to whatever he orders. And you did, for a large part of your life – but not tonight.
“Right,” Seokjin replies, turning his head a little further, apparently not fearing Jimin all that much. No one might, standing in front of a bandaged man like him. “Fucking the enemy isn’t anything at all, right?”
For the teeny tiny moment that your and Jimin’s gazes meet, fleeting and ephemeral, his eyes signal to the bush slowly; you barely take in more of Seokjin’s scolding as Jimin touches the empty holder of his gun and lowers his hand again immediately.
One more warning from Seokjin, and he turns back to the awaiting Jimin, acting as though time stood still for him. For the leader of such a notorious group, robbing half the richest people of the country, one would think he was more careful.
But as he prepares for another endless nefarious speech, expanding the night and his ego, you move to the bush quietly, careful to not make a noise until–
Seokjin hears the susurrating swishes of the bush and its leaves within a moment, only realising what’s happening when you’ve picked up the gun with trembling hands and stuffed Jimin’s phone into the back pocket of your jeans.
You hold the gun towards the man who raised and ruined you, your arms shaking so much that Seokjin can’t quite decide whether he wants to laugh or skin you alive. But he opts for an option in between, gritting his teeth with fires burning in his eyes before, broad shoulders lifting, walks over to your form. Confidence drips in his stride, like he knows you will not pull the trigger on him.
His fists are balled, ready to serve a hit; but Jimin, with all the strength he can muster, jolts forwards, nearly falling to the ground as he tugs at Seokjin’s leg and brings his body to an uncomfortable fall.
“Shoot! Anywhere, you,” Jimin yells, holding the kicking man tight, his feet missing Jimin’s face just barely, “you don’t have to kill him, baby, just–”
You’re confused and panting, your hands sweaty around the pistol, your vision becoming blurry before you blink the mist away and take a deep breath. You realise that you’re crying, and that your chest is hurting, that it’s hard to shoot someone who has thoroughly destroyed you, but who you might never be able to hate a one hundred damn percent.
But if you hesitate, he’ll end you both. And by god… you can’t lose another man you’ve learned to cherish so dearly.
You can’t.
You can’t.
So your ears ring. Twice.
It shakes your guts and your heart, sobs filling the night air as you keep holding the gun, cautious to not drop it for anyone to pick up. You stare at your target; watch him scream out in agony, a bullet-sized hole in his black pants where you missed Jimin’s hand by a hair’s breadth.
He’s writhing and cursing, attempting to stand but failing immediately. Jimin looses his grip around him and gets on his feet, hurried and tumultuous voices from the inside snatching his attention as he watches you catch your breath desperately.
Seokjin’s pain overwhelms him enough to stay on the ground for the seconds that you need, and as Jimin runs over to you with a hand on his throbbing head, adrenaline floods your body enough to regain your senses.
You grab his hand tightly, just as damp as yours, and sniffle, the survival instinct so strong that you wonder if you’ve ever experienced a sight this clear. But panic still rises in your chest, and you’re beginning to ask yourself if you’ll make it out of here alive. The steps behind you, in the manor and in your head, creep closer, and you half expect someone to tear you back by your hair.
But some of Seokjin’s people never park too far from the house; and in that sense, you reach the nearest car soon enough, gathering all your power before you lift the gun and shoot into the window thrice to weaken it. You smash the handle of it against the glass, relieved when it breaks, opening the door from the inside before you scurry Jimin and yourself inside.
Brushing large chunks of glass off your seat with your bare hand, you comb through the glove box restlessly, mumbling like a mantra, “Spare key… spare key,” until you find it.
Jimin next to you bends forward, holding his rotating head as his body sways back and forth. You want to take care of him; god, what would you do to drive him to the nearest hospital if fleeing wasn’t your first and foremost priority.
“It’s okay,” you assure, pushing him back, trying to readjust his body, so he doesn’t get hurt, “we’ll get through this. It’s okay, I promise, I fucking promise.”
More tears spill as you turn on the engine, more panic and fright coursing through your body when you hear voices grow louder and people’s faces appear in your proximity. Seokjin, from where you can still see him, has managed to stand at least somewhat, albeit still wobbly on his legs, not really able to catch up to you just yet.
With a deep breath, you drive off, not minding the bumps and darkness as you make a beeline through the carefully planted garden, and to the paved road. You go well over a hundred, your recklessness shooting past limits as well; you don’t know what you’re doing or where you’re going. Not sure how long you’ll be able to escape.
You pray for a few moments of silence, and the world grants you those just for a minute or two.
Because soon enough, you hear another car in the distance, dangerously close, and when your chest begins to rise and fall harder, you allow yourself a glance at Jimin. He’s dozing off; like his body is finally allowing him some peace.
But you’re scared of what might happen if he went silent; so you nudge his shoulder, sniffling again as you exclaim, “Hey! Hey, please, look.” He opens his eyes, his lips pouting, and follows your finger pointing at the road. “We’re almost there.”
You have no clue where there is; you just need to keep him awake.
“Listen, I…” Jimin mumbles your name, managing to place a palm on your knee, “I love you, okay? Didn’t know I ever would, back… back in the club, but… you’re so fucking…”
“Shhh,” you answer, your face drenched with tears. It hurts, fuck, it hurts so much; why does he sound like he’s saying goodbye? “Be quiet, it’s okay, yeah?”
The club. Yeah, you remember. The way you danced, and his eyes; the night, the morning after, his scent. You remember.
“Fuck, just wait a second, okay?” you repeat over and over again, terrified and alarmed, losing hope when the chasing car sneaks closer.
And you think you would promise him some more, give him more reassurances that might or might not be justified.
But then… a light blinds your vision.
Like you’re in heaven. Like you’re dying.
Whatever it is, it comes towards you at a worrying speed; and you think you hear sirens blaring behind it. In your horror and as an immediate reaction, you tear the steering wheel into the wrong direction, escaping the daunting light before you realise what you’ve done.
But there’s no time for more realisations anyway. Because suddenly, your car has left the road and entered the edge of the forest. Crashed against a tree. Airbags out, your nose bleeding, oxygen pressed out of your lungs.
Jimin, next to you, eyes closed and unresponsive.
More sirens, more lights, more shouts, and more gunshots.
And you, drifting away ultimately.
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The light that you blink into once you open your eyes reminds you of heaven, too. Somehow, it proves to you that you’ve found your place beyond life, and somehow, it doesn’t scare you anymore.
And maybe you’d hold onto this thought if your limbs weren’t aching. If your body was more weightless, floating on clouds and not on what you decode as a bed very fast. Dizzy and tired, you sit up slowly. The room is empty, and only one bed stands in the middle of it.
There’s an incessant beeping in your ear, and you soon decipher where it comes from. A pipe is pumping something into you, and the monitor registers your heartbeat, steady, soft, and clearly alive.
Near your bed, on the small table, rests something like a remote control, and the symbol of the bell probably means that you could summon nurses with just one single press on it. But the quietude is nice… serene. There are questions you need answered, but for a second, you bask in the peace after the world exploded left and right around you.
And when you’re ready, you do use the button – and as expected, a flurry of nurses comes in, checking and engulfing your surroundings, like you’re an unknown species ready to be probed.
“Just… just one, please,” you plead quietly, crossing your legs under the thin blanket and your hospital gown.
Everyone except one male nurse leaves, and he sits down on the bed next to you, smiling. That’s their act, you know. It’s how the medical staff looked at you that visited the manor after Yoongi’s death. Reassuring, like they could lift your pain with this smile somehow.
You adjust to it.
“Hi,” you say, your voice friendly and quiet, but carrying remnants of fear.
“Hey,” he answers, his voice sweet and deeper than expected, “my name is Namjoon.”
“Nice to meet you, Namjoon.”
“How do you feel?” Namjoon questions, looking up at the monitor before he places a thumb under your eye.
He fishes out a light from the pocket of his scrub, checking your pupils carefully. God, the constant light. Annoying.
Without awaiting your answer just yet, he places a hand on your back, asking, “Can you breathe for me for a moment?” And when you do, deep inhales and exhales, he adds, “Okay. Breathing normal. Your pulse, too. You scared the hell out of us.”
“I did?”
“Hella. An accident in the middle of some forest? Running away from thugs? We don’t get that every day.”
You smile again, appreciating his humour. He doesn’t try to sugarcoat things, doesn’t attempt to lift your worries by telling you it’s going to be okay. He seems genuine, so you answer, “Thieves. Not thugs.”
“All the same evil for me,” Namjoon admits, patting your thigh, “who could care anyway? It’s done.”
You furrow your eyebrows, somewhat glad he addressed this topic before you even had the chance to mention it. Because it gives you more reason to ask, without feeling ashamed. “What do you mean by it’s… what happened?”
“Uh.” Namjoon’s full lips part, light brown hair falling into his eyes. He looks young and sweet; perhaps that’s why he understands how to talk to you. He isn’t bored of his job yet. “When we found you, one of the cops… no, detectives said you’d torn the steering wheel and knocked you and the passenger unconscious.”
At the mention of him – not even his name – something stirs in you. You want to ask.
But you wait.
“There was this big, dramatic showdown and we waited in the ambulance, because that main guy had called us to follow him. The bad guys were outnumbered, though, partly unarmed. The detectives shot a few unconscious, and arrested some more. Found the manor you fled from, repeated everything, then put an end to the horror.”
“They… did someone die?” you ask carefully, thinking about Seokjin. You don’t want him to pass away just yet – you want him to live some more. Carry guilt, sorrow and pain some more. “The leader?”
“Nah. No one died, I think,” Namjoon confirms, shrugging, “not the leader at least. He was wounded. A lot of them were, since the detectives came on so damn strong. But there will be trials soon.”
Shit. So much happened in such a short time?
“How long was I unconscious?”
“Just two days, love. It could have been worse.”
It could have been worse.
You know worse things happened. Just not to you.
“The guy next to me… the other detective–”
“Park Jimin, right?”
“Park Jimin, yeah, yes,” you say, suddenly louder, sitting up some more as Namjoon’s hands float in front of your body, protective. “Where is he? Is he…”
Your eyes whisper the word your mouth can’t, and Namjoon doesn’t understand it for a moment long enough for you to panic before his eyes blow wide and he exclaims, “Oh, no, no! God, no. He’s… he’s just in the room next to yours. But it was worse with him… longer surgeries and check ups, and he was unresponsive for a while, ‘cause his head and all…”
“And now?”
“He’s… still passed out.” He says it like he’s sorry. Like he’s not a doctor, but a God, obliged to save every single patient entering the walls of the clinic. But apparently, not even a God can help everyone. “But he’s better. The wounds are healing, so… he’ll be okay.”
You’re not sure what you need to process first.
The fact that you’re alive? That the boss of the Swans, a group impossible to catch over years, is awaiting a trial he will lose? He can’t buy himself out of this, you’re sure. Or maybe the realisation that only a wall separates you and the sleeping presence next to your room, unaware of your thoughts or what’s happening in his force?
Whatever it is, your stay at the hospital gives you ample time to think about it all.
Because Jimin doesn’t wake up for a few more days.
You stroll through the hospital grounds, share food with strangers sitting on benches, taking in the sun. Some of them are old, smacking their lips, and their hair is grey and their smiles sweet and tender. Their spouses visit them sometimes, and you wonder how it feels to spend an eternity with someone you love like this.
There are afternoons when you cuddle up in your bed, muffling the sound of past voices, trying not to think of gunshots and screams and darkness, surrounded by trees. You throw out the nurses, urge them under tears to leave you alone.
And in the evenings after those afternoons, you take more walks. More shared snacks. Taking meds for your healing head, nose and heart. Stabilising your breathing, reassuring your traumatised lungs.
Conversations with kids who broke their arms or mothers who stay here with their sick toddlers. Terminally ill people, talking about life and how it’s important to cherish it, or, alternatively, how it’s fucked up and unfair.
Every single time, you pass his room. Peek inside, see the blonde bundle of hair. His chest falls and rises, like an angel sleeping carefully, lips shining in the sunlight, albeit pale.
And when you pass the room for the fourth or fifth time – who really knows – you catch a glimpse of him looking back. Squinting, barely awake, mouth open and arms unmoving next to him.
You don’t think you’ve run to medical staff this fast. You don’t think you’ve ever run this fast in your life towards anything.
There are constant tears you keep wiping away, angry at them, because they’re blinding you, blurring the sight of Park Jimin coming back to life to you. You stand in the corner of the room, holding yourself together, waiting until the nurses are done with the check-ups and have confirmed his stable state and form.
Jimin doesn’t speak much – he doesn’t say hi to them or converses with them the way you did. Namjoon tells you he’s still confused, still needs to rest. And before you can say anything more to him or the man on the bed, Jimin falls asleep again.
Tonight, they allow you to stay here.
You don’t take a no, never give in. You argue that you’re okay enough and that they’re keeping you there just for science anyway. It makes no sense, you know, and they find it funny enough to laugh with you, leaving you alone ultimately.
You hold his hand all night. You brush through the dirty blonde, light, messy hair. You press a cheek against his fingers, cry silent tears into his palms.
And you don’t leave until he opens his eyes again.
He blinks at you… smiles. Glad that you’re both still here. He doesn’t ask for an explanation, doesn’t want to know what happened over the course of The Night, as you and Namjoon have baptised the day you shall not name.
Instead, his thumb rubs the back of your hand, and the first thing he mumbles is, “We’re some tough motherfuckers.”
You laugh through your tears, relieved and breathing heavily. Your heart thumps to the beat of his; follows the rhythm of the up and down on his monitor.
“I hate this smell,” he adds, and you sob harder.
“Me too,” you tell him, “I fucking hate it, too.”
His voice… his voice. It makes you realise that he’s here, and he will stay. Min Yoongi will never be prouder of you than he might be right now. Because you’ve finally broken the metal bars of your jail.
And freedom has never felt this real.
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As days pass, you and Jimin develop a quiet routine that your bodies live through automatically.
In the morning, you lay around, talking about whatever comes to your mind, focusing hard on not discussing the events that brought you here in the first place. Then, a nurse usually checks in, gives you some meds, and then leaves you for another couple hours.
Around noon, you go for a walk around hospital grounds, watching flowers bloom and children run around, fresh mothers leave with their newborn babies and elderly people conversing and bonding over similarities in illnesses.
When you come back, you eat and complain, remarking how the soup is too watery or the porridge too mushy. The orange juice here tastes too sour for some reason, and you attempt to joke about your miserable situation to endure the physical pain and frustrating smell of the hospital better.
By the evening, when the sun sets, things usually become even quieter – it’s relaxing, though, no real trace of awkwardness but of still melancholy and longing to go out into the world fearlessly again. Jimin, usually a bundle of optimism, has crawled into a shell despite still smiling now and then. Cracking a bad joke here and there.
You think it’s the pain that has made him this silent.
But when you watch the sunset through the window of his room one day, you realise what’s happening in his mind. Because you’re grazing the skin of his arm with the tip of your fingers, looking at the orange silhouette around his blonde, messy hair – but he remains unbothered, instead whispering, “It’s always so pretty. The sky during this time.”
And you answer, “It’s like no sunset’s the same, right?”
To which he states, “Right. Hospitals may be shitty, but I think I’ll remember these moments with you.” Then, he looks at you, smiling tenderly before his gaze shifts back to the sky and he adds, “Hope you will, too.”
That’s when you understand. Jimin’s painting a picture of a future that differs so much from what you imagine; like your roles have been reversed. He knows what you feel for him – but you know that he remembers your fears, too. Perhaps he thinks you might change your mind and leave.
Thinks you might back away and revisit the life you had before you met him. And more than ever, you feel like you need to clarify your thoughts and erase his doubts.
So you gulp for a moment, placing a warm palm on the back of his hand before you ask, “We can remember more of those moments, right?” You smile at him, scared you might be losing what you finally thought yours. “Together?”
When Jimin looks at you again, the smile he responds with looks ingenuine. A little like the hopeless promises you gave him weeks ago when he asked you to stay. When you’d nod yes, tell him you weren’t going anywhere despite knowing deep down that you weren’t going to last.
You know the look – his is the same. And it’s terrifying.
Rushing and panicked, you lean forward, keeping your voice calm to not overwhelm him as you whisper, “I know you think I’ll leave again. But this time…”
He waits patiently, full lips opening just by a tiny fraction. You hold his gaze for a moment, a little lost in the waves of his pupils, and when they remind you of still water, you rewind and build your sentence new.
“When Yoongi died,” your hand stops over his fingers, softly entwining your grips, “he was on a ship. With Seokjin and his people. I wasn’t there.”
Jimin’s eyes look empathic, the gap between his lips widening as if to say something soothing, but you continue, “Seokjin said Yoongi drowned, because the ship sank… and apparently, he was one of the few who could escape the accident. And, well, I believe that one of those things was a lie.”
You roll your eyes to hide the pain, hoping that Jimin doesn’t see them well up in the evening sunlight. “Ships don’t just sink.” You sniffle, your mouth twitching upwards to a grin you hardly mean, and explain, “Knowing of a death like that comes with so many side effects. Like. I was scared of the ocean. Really fucking terrified.”
You remember the sleepless nights. For the first time in your life, you felt what an insomniac felt, spending the late hours awake, contemplating love, the breaths you took, the memories you carried. Wondered if you’d ever be able to see pictures of high waves again; if you’d ever accept an invitation to a beach trip again.
But.
“I’m using past tense, because I did get over it. You know how?” Jimin stays still and silent, watching you, furrowing his eyebrows in worry as he tilts his head in question. “I watched videos of paintings. You know, those tutorials… acrylic painting stuff. I didn’t wanna learn, I just wanted to ease my mind, and to be able to sleep. And then one day, I stumbled upon this one woman painting the night.”
Starry and quiet. You remember the utensils the artist used. A lot of tape to form a circle, drawing and tapping the brush around it until she took the tape off and painted the very last object that completed the picture at last.
“The ocean at night, to be specific,” you elaborate, smacking your lips, nodding, “but you know what else it had? The moon. And I’ve always admired the moon.”
Amidst your confessions, Jimin laughs quietly, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb before he finally breaks and asks, “What are you trying to say?”
“That something will be nice about your fears, too, I guess. You’ll find something redeeming even when you’re afraid. And we can’t be afraid forever anyway.” You chuckle softly, realising how crazy you must sound – but now that you’ve started, you might go all the way after all. “When I saw the moon, it was too pretty to be scared of the ocean anymore. The reflection was beautiful.”
In the distance, you hear the chatter of passing nurses, quiet whispers and laughter. It’s a good alternative to the usually hushed talk about grief and failed days at work, and you listen to their inaudible, cheerful conversation until it’s out of reach. On agonisingly slow days, this optimism keeps you afloat.
“So…” you add, fully aware how corny you must sound – but you don’t care, because you think that after all this time… he deserves to know. “Maybe you can be the moon in this new scenario. And maybe my fears of opening up are below the surface of the ocean. If I swim up, take a breath and look at the elegance that the combination of the moon and ocean is… maybe things can be okay again then.”
You’d be the surface then, right? The carrier of everything that lies underneath the waves. The host of the fears, but focused on beauty instead of scary depths.
“Do I even make sense?” you question when he stares for too long, most likely processing the words that not even you can’t quote anymore.
“I think so,” he answers, holding onto you tight, leaning in, “it makes sense.” Soft, rosy lips brush against yours before meeting your mouth gently. It’s nothing more than a peck, a fleeting touch that he breaks to say, “But I think you should think of yourself as the moon first.”
Despite the nonsense you just uttered, his words fly by you in a moment’s notice. But you don’t question the message further. Instead, you bask in the silence of the world, watching the sun descend and the moon ascend.
You don’t ask him what he meant when you go to sleep. Neither do you question his words when several more days pass, and you get used to your nurse’s kindness. When they release you and let you walk freely and you keep coming back to visit Jimin.
Even when he leaves, still drowsy on medication, strolling through the world after weeks, you don’t wonder about the meaning behind whatever he’d attempted to let you know. Less even, when you watch the trial and Seokjin behind bars, let Jimin help you get away with some social work, because you always suffered blackmail and manipulation by Mister Kim.
Doubts and insecurities about the feelings you house for him only resurface when he doesn’t touch you anymore. He doesn’t kiss you and doesn’t tell you he loves you. Nevertheless, he stays with you. Lets his shiny, sweet personality seep through his cracks soon again, finding new jokes to cheer you up with.
But the romance you shared, the one you reckoned would finally bloom healthily now – it stays dormant.
That is, until you pull him to your car on a cold winter afternoon, refusing to tell him where you’re going despite his incessant, poking inquiries. You distract him with your favourite songs, attempting to resist his teases, ignoring the way he squishes your cheeks, the way he trolls you for cursing at other drivers.
It isn’t until you drive off the highway and through an old, historic town, following your navigation’s instructions that you land at an empty, freezing beach.
Apart from you, there are only teenagers taking an evening walk, or couples laughing their way along the shore, a hand clutching a leash while their dogs run freely. They’re covered in thick jackets just like you, and they’re wiping their hair out of their faces just like you when you exit the vehicle.
They’re living and breathing and joking around the way you are – and still, something about you and your souls separates you from the rest of the world and its inhabitants.
“I…” Jimin mutters, brushing back the tresses that keep falling into his eyes, “are you sure this is the right place?”
You smile.
There will never be enough reassurances for him to understand that you don’t fear the seaside anymore. Jimin is always careful, though, always easy on you, tries to make sure you’re okay – multiple times, until you’ve sighed in frustration and demonstrated you’re over whatever worry.
You guess this might be the ultimate confrontation, though. You might not be able to step to where the waves meet the land just yet – perhaps you’ll postpone starfish-gazing and shell-collecting to another day.
But for now, this should do. So you nod slowly, answering, “Yeah. Of course. I know you like it, and… I just wanted to thank you.”
“That’s new. No mocking today an–”
“Shut up. I’m serious. Not anyone would just force me to abandon a temporary…” you scrunch your nose in disgust, “shabby old apartment and give up the guest room for me, and you just… just thank you for being an anchor.”
Since your accident and your hospital stay, Jimin and you have adjusted to each other’s fears enough to know when to digress. Your conversations have become more light-hearted, an attempt to dodge the gloom that hangs over your heads and the trauma connected to it. You don’t bottle up feelings per se – it’s more a try to move on. To forget.
Together.
But sometimes, when the room falls quiet and the smiles and jokes die down, you’ll say something to warm his heart, or vice versa. And none of you respond with much but a soft, simple smile. Reassuring, comforting. A palm on the other’s hand. A slight nod.
Jimin does the same this time before you flash a smile back, breathing in the air as you lean against the engine hood with your arms folded around your torso. He sniffles from the cold, and for a few minutes, you stare into the distance with squinted eyes, letting the wind burn in your eyes.
You watch the waves crash against the shore and rocks. From afar, you observe a child holding a shell pressed against his ear, not quite realising that he doesn’t need it in order to listen to the ocean. You want to tell him it won’t work from here – but instead, your eyes dart to his parents, and their laughter fills you with warmth.
Seagulls make happy sounds and descend from the air, just for a moment to touch the surface of the water. And only when you’ve breathed in more of the salty air, does Jimin clear his throat, look at you and say, “Thank you, too. It’s nice to leave the house for a bit.”
“It is.”
“And you look happy today, too.”
You blink at him, not quite expecting his statement; but then you laugh a little, humming before you tell him, “I think I am. It just,” you shrug, clicking your tongue, “feels nice to not think of the past all the time anymore.”
“I know what you mean.”
“Like, I catch myself planning tomorrow’s dinner and next week’s trip to the old town,” you continue, enthusiasm and vitality in your firm voice, “or I consider buying stuff for a new hobby, and even getting another, proper degree. It’s just. Nice.”
With a purposeful shift, Jimin’s body inches closer, his shoulder touching yours, and you look at his side profile when he questions, “Do you know what major you’d choose?”
“Not at all,” you confess, shifting towards his body, too. If you could, you would put your head on his shoulder and bask in his warmth and affection. But you hold yourself back a second longer as you add, “Something fun. How about archeology? Or astronomy. Just anything, so I’ve something to do and don’t bother you all the time anymore. Perhaps get a job and move out and–”
“I don’t mind,” Jimin interrupts, nudging your elbow slightly, “you staying. I don’t mind it.”
“Really?”
“I promise.”
You let your arms fall and bury one hand in the pocket of your jacket, bringing the other to your hair to comb through it slowly. Your tongue darts out to lick your dry lips wet, gulping for a moment as you process his words, but remark anyway, “But I can’t stay forever.”
It’s a statement, but there’s a questioning tone hiding in your voice, unsure and timid, like you’re hoping he’d wave your worries off and keep you with him anyway. And to your relief, he shrugs his shoulders, giving in to your hopes as he asks, “And why not?”
You fall silent.
The last months have been nothing but a healing process, soft and quiet and well-paced. You split the chores, spent time together and alone, going for walks in the evenings and visiting places to see more of the world. No matter what you feel for him, the friendship you’ve grown to is worth more than the painful love was.
But you still can’t deny that the thought of being with him–
“Being around you is a challenge,” Jimin suddenly says, looking at you, drawing closer.
He pushes his body off the hood of the car to step in front of you, hiding the sun and the ocean. His silhouette leans in, placing a palm on your waist and wrapping the other around your own hand.
For a split moment, your heart stills, and your mind tries to make sense of his words that followed the suggestion to keep him company so immediately. So you furrow your eyebrows in wonder, pupils flickering, and ask, “Why?”
“I just,” he starts. Then pauses.
It’s a peculiar thing, his pair of eyes.
You never quite know what he might say next – you reckon that’s how he felt when he first met you. The indecipherable stare, almost succeeding in veiling fears. But you know him well enough. You understand that he’s feeling uneasy, insecure.
And when he speaks again, you know why.
“I’m still in love with you.”
Still in love…
Was there any piece of you that thought he stopped loving you? Was there ever a little voice whispering to you that he’d moved on, realised that you were no good for him? And if there wasn’t, then why are you still surprised?
“I feel like being around you without telling you this is a challenge,” Jimin continues, shrugging his shoulders, his demeanour relaxed and nonchalant, but his voice fond and loving, “and I want you to stay with me. But I needed to let this out first.”
You’re not sure if you want to cry or cheer. Wipe your tears or fall into his arms. The euphoria and rush of adrenaline you feel are strangely wrapped in bittersweetness, and when you can’t figure out how to move your body, you continue to stay still.
With your mind still somewhat functioning, however, you open your mouth, swallowing another thick lump before you ask, “Then why didn’t we…”
Do this earlier? Give in to each other months ago? Fall asleep on the same bed, kissing and smiling, indulging in understanding and solace?
“You weren’t happy,” is what he argues. He chews on the inside of his cheek and moves towards you. Lets out a sigh of longing. “And I’m just… not as good at stitching people up as others might be. I thought I was, but you did for yourself what I couldn’t have.”
If you were somewhere else or with someone else, you might be mad. In another time or space, you might’ve felt your heart break at someone’s reluctance to help you heal. But since you’ve known Jimin, you’ve realised that no one in this world should truly depend on anyone else.
When people go to therapy, or find a confidant to pour their heart out to, do they truly do it to seek help and heal in the process? Or do they do it to learn more about themselves, to finally understand what they need to do in order to find happiness and the will to exist?
Perhaps Jimin has understood something that you didn’t before – that he would guide you through sorrow, but that it was ultimately you who’d pull yourself out of it fully.
You entwine your fingers with his, shivering from the cold, and then murmur somewhat inaudibly, “Thank you. For guiding me.”
“It’s the least I could do… I just didn’t think you could take love and… everything that comes with it just yet.”
“And now?”
Jimin sighs again, and you see his eyes soften behind the blonde strands of hair that the gust keeps blowing into his face. One last step, one slight shake of his head, and suddenly, your foreheads are touching.
The hand on your waist pulls your body close and against his, and then his fingers wander to your face to settle on your cheek as he whispers, “Now you look like…”
He doesn’t speak further, but you think you understand.
Back in the hospital room, when he said you needed to be your own moon, he meant that you had to find a cure in yourself, not in someone else. He’s rather the warm sun reassuring the moon; searing hot and comforting. Like the star going down in the horizon right now.
Lately, his presence has started feeling like a constant; like home. Not like the night, but like the light of the day.
He brushes back your hair, tilts his head. He smiles, and you remember the first time he looked at you – back when you knew nothing about him except for the fact that his touch felt different.
When you left his home after the very first night. Then met him again in his office. When he told you he wasn’t a toy who you’d use to patch yourself up again, but someone who wished to be your ultimate choice; because you wanted him to be, not because you needed it for your own selfish reasons.
Since then, quite a few things have changed; with time passing, they feel different now. Less dark.
Today, his words of you being your own moon finally make sense. It wasn't because he wasn’t ready. But because he was waiting for you to be ready.
Now you look like…
You look like he’s the only one you want to kiss. Like he’s the only one whose lips you crave. No past ghosts, no haunting memories, no old habits and toxic coping mechanisms.
For the very first time, no demon gnaws at your mind when his lips touch yours once again.
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okay, ngl, this was the HARDEST fic i’ve ever written and it drove me insane. i know it’s not perfect, and i’m not a detective/mystery author, but i hope this was ok and the work from over half a year worth it 🥺  i hope you guys like how it turned out !!
if you did, please please consider liking AND reblogging !! i appreciate feedback, even if it’s just keysmashing in the tags, and it’s super important to me with this fic <33 i’m happy about all (kind) words, so feel free to talk to me hehe :]
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darkelixirr · 1 month
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You're Mine. - Park Jimin
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Just a little jealousy...
♡pairing: jealousy!jimin x fem!reader ♡rating: explicit!mature 18+ ♡genre: SMUT ♡wc: 1.3k
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You and Jimin out with friends. Spending time with each other, laughing and enjoying the many conversations. He can't seem to keep his hands to himself. Always groping at your thighs, his hands going to where you need them the most.
"Jimin.. Please.." You whisper low enough for him to hear. A chuckle leaves his lips. You know he heard you, the grip on your thigh told you that. But he continued on his conversation with his friends. Ignoring the neediness in your voice.
You couldn't help but spread your legs, begging him silently to touch you. To ease the ache between your legs. You leaned back in your seat, a deep breath emitting from your lips as you squeezed your thighs together.
"So, how has it been?" You looked up, plastering a smile on your face.
"It's been g-good." Jimin tightened his grip on your thigh.
"We should hang out some time, together alone you know." You hummed, a tight smile on your face. You glanced over at Jimin. His face was stern, his eyes never leaving the boy in front of you. You placed your hand on his thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He let out a deep breath, straightening his posture.
You felt his hand move up your thigh, your skirt bunching up around his waist. You let out a shaky sigh. His fingers grazed over your exposed pussy, a smirk playing on his face.
"You're mine."
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sunnebeam · 9 months
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stolen kisses, pretty lies.
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DRABBLE.
pairing: park jimin x reader / past jung hoseok x reader
warnings: smut (minors do not interact), unprotected sex (please practice safe sex irl!), making a sex tape, creampie, revenge au, past character death, morally gray characters
masterlist + disclaimers.
note: my ult goal is to write a revenge au multichap with either ot7 x reader or multi-member x reader, but i'll make do with this cute lil drabble for now since i don't have the time yet ;) here ya go, a smutty drabble for mister j.m
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Hoseok always used to say you were irresistible.
You suppose your late husband was right since the man behind you, the man who's painstakingly not your husband, won't stop trailing soft kisses on your neck.
The both of you are sitting naked on the edge of the bed, with you sitting on his lap. His hands are running up and down your arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake which he mistakes for excitement.
If only he knew they're for disgust.
"Is it recording?" he asks, his breath tickling your ear.
You nod in response, looking at the camera in front of you, eyeing the blinking red light and observing your mirrored selves on the small LCD screen.
"Good."
You can't believe this is happening. You can't believe you're about to record a sex tape with a man who's not your husband.
With the man who killed your husband.
With Park Jimin.
His hand slides down your body to your glistening core, checking to see if you're ready for him. Once he sees you're wet enough, he plants your feet on either side of his toned thighs, and spreads your legs all nice and wide for the camera.
"You're so pretty," he groans when he sees the shiny mess between your legs through the camera's screen. "And you smell so good. Like the day we met."
You remember that day. You wore your best clothes, put on your best makeup, and sprayed on your best perfume. Your mission was to impress, to seduce.
And needless to say, you succeeded.
"I can't believe you're mine," Jimin rambles on through your reminiscent thoughts. "You're mine, right, baby?"
No.
"Yes."
He teases your hole with his tip, smearing it with your slick. The sensation makes your head fall back onto his shoulder, but you hold back the moan that's threatening to escape.
"And I'm yours?"
No.
"Yes."
He slides inside slowly, dragging it out for the camera, before he eventually bottoms out. You can't hold back your moan anymore. Husband or not, the stretch feels deliciously good.
"I love you so much, baby," he grunts as he grips your hips and starts bouncing you up and down, gently and deeply, before you eventually pick up the pace.
Snaking a hand down between your spread legs, you play with your clit frantically, rubbing circles on the sensitive nub, all while your bouncing never stops. Jimin hums appreciatively when you clench around him just the way he likes.
You whimper, staring at the footage reflected in the camera's LCD. Your pussy lips are swollen, your nipples are pert, and your cunt is clenching. You have to admit, it's a pretty erotic sight.
If only you were with a different man.
"Say my name. Say it."
Hoseok.
"Jimin— oh! Oh!"
He's manhandling you now, foregoing any gentleness he showed earlier and just straight up fucking you on his hard cock. Your moans turn into screams, and when you eventually reach your peak and clench uncontrollably on his dick, his grunts grow louder.
"That's right, give it to me," he coaxes, fucking you through your orgasm and trying to reach his own.
It only takes a few more seconds before he spills inside you, his juices mixing with yours, and he groans into your neck. When he has nothing left to give you, he pulls out and spreads your pussy lips wide open, making sure the camera captures the moment his cum and yours dribble out.
"Fuck, that's hot," he groans.
It is, you're not gonna lie.
"Let me clean you up, baby," Jimin tells you, setting you down beside him on the bed before he gets up. "Oh, and turn off the camera, will you?"
You watch as he goes to the bathroom to get a towel. Your eyes flicker to the camera, then to the bathroom, then back to the camera again.
You don't turn it off.
After all, tonight's the night you've been waiting for.
Tonight's the night you'll tell him about the day you met — that you weren't an actual staff at the golf club he frequented, and that you didn't accidentally mess up his cleaning instructions. Tonight's the night you'll tell him it was all calculated — that you bumping into him again at the restaurant he loves and him finally asking you out on a date were all planned to the smallest detail.
Most important of all, tonight's the night you'll tell him the truth.
That you were the wife of the man he hit with his car one rainy night and ran off without calling an ambulance. That you were the wife of the man he left for dead on the side of the road and tried to cover it up with the authorities. That you were the wife of Jung Hoseok.
And tonight's the night you'll get his confession on camera.
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COPYRIGHT 2023. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
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kiestrokes · 6 months
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Geonbae Pt.2 | NSFW
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Pairing: fuckboy!Park Jimin x Reader/You/Yn Rating: NSFW! Mature (18+) Minors DNI. Word Count: 4,594 Genre: three part mini-series, smut, a smidge of fluff, friends to ??? Warnings: drinking, cuddling, the seductiveness that is Jimin’s libra sun, idk let me know if I missed anything.
Sexually Explicit Content: marathon sex, sexual intercourse, vaginal penetration, penis in vagina, fingering, kissing (making out), biting, marking, ear biting, nipple stim, clit stim, overstimulation for both parties, missionary, reverse cowgirl, cowgirl, mild choking, multiple orgasms for both parties, condoms, one small creampie slip-up.
Summary: Looks like that bootycall to the one Park Jimin has worked out in your favor, just don't expect to walk straight tomorrow…or for a week basically. He has a notorious fuckboy reputation to uphold still, can't let you leave without at least four orgasms.
🗝️ Note: listen, it is finally here, and I am satisfied with it. Not just satisfied, but overjoyed, elated, all the dopamine chemicals screech in rejoice. Hasn't been beta-ed!
Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted below.
DLS Masterlist ⭒ Santa’s Dirty Little Secret ⭒ Geonbae Pt.1 ⭒ Read it on Ao3!
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“I’m ready.”
Jimin's fiery gaze meets yours and you raise your knees to give him better access. His hips tremble as he rubs himself between your damp folds before allowing himself to sink gradually into you. A low groan leaves his parted lips as your entrance stretches to accommodate him.
“Fuck, sorry, it’s been a while” Your fingers tighten on the back of his neck, while the other fists his hair.
“Why are you apologizing?” Jimin grunts.
His hips snap up once he is fully nestled inside, causing your body to flex up against his, the sensation echoing across your skin.
“Habit” you pant, pressing your knees into his sides as your pussy adjusts to him.
“You don’t have to do that with me,” His hands rustle up the sheets coming to rest on his forearms on either side of your shoulders. “I want you to just enjoy yourself tonight. Can I enjoy you?” His tone simmers to a low on the question and you nod.
Jimin’s grin catches you off guard more than the kiss does. The crinkling of his eyes under the rise of his plush cheeks, a quality you have adored from the beginning of your friendship. Combined with the way his sumptuous lips are soothing the stirring of your nerves, how they blanket your mouth like your favorite sweater.
Jimin hips start an unhurried rock into you, and you mirror the movement. Feeling the familiar warmth begin to flame out across your body from your core. Each stroke brushes deep into every muscle, the sensations lighting each corner of your skin.
Jimin moans your name into the crook of your neck, chased by each of his grunts. Just as lost as you are in the feel of him. His hands have found purchase on your body, digging into the back of your thighs at the summit of your ass. Lifting your hips into his thrusts, so that he is entirely submerged in you at each advance.
“Shit, you feel so good,” his lips skim across your cheek, blackened eyes meeting yours.
“So do you,” Your voice pitches as he ruts into you hard, his width spearing you open. Causing your cervix to flare against the tip of his sheathed cock.
Jimin's eyebrows pinch together as you squeeze him internally and he groans, throwing the rest of his weight into your joined sexes. Seeking more of it, more of you.
You claw at his back, head falling back and gasping as the stretch nearly consumes you. Jimin cries out, his body shuddering into yours, and then he's gone and you’re clenching around nothing.
“Fuck that was just…too close.” He stares down at you, hands in tight fists and pretty dick standing at full attention.
“I want on top.” You lift up onto your elbows, gaze devouring the very nude Jimin who is still standing stiffly at the side of the bed.
He gives you a tight nod and you exchange positions. Jimin sits at the edge of the bed before tugging you into his lap from behind. Your legs slip to the outside of his thighs and you glance over your shoulder to center yourself.
Jimin palms your ass open, to give your cunt an easy path to his swollen cock, and for a moment your brain short circuits at the intimacy of this. How your other partners had to beg for this view, and yet you’re giving it to Jimin so easily. His eyes jump to yours when he feels you freeze.
“Hey, you ok? Still want to do this?” His hands leave your ass instantly and smooth up your sides.
You nod eagerly and Jimin blinds you with another smile, forgetting the penetration and tugging you down into his lap for a kiss over the shoulder.
His hand presses into the valley of your ribs and the other cups your jaw as he hums into your mouth. The vibrations soothe your anxious mind, tossing them away like waves in the ocean, getting rolled down into the undercurrent.
Jimin pulls away, his eyes still closed, “we can go slow.”
You nod, nose rubbing his, and lift your hips just enough so that you can take him in your hand. The motion causes Jimin’s lashes to flutter open, and his eyebrows to converge as you rub him between your folds. Your own body jerks when you bump his fat tip against your clit.
Jimin’s hands drift to your hips and he laughs breathlessly against your moan when you finally sink onto him. He has the perfect dick, and you just know that he knows it. Not too long that you have to worry about impaling your cervix, but deliriously thick. How his broad base stretches your entrance and tugs at your g-spot with every rise and fall.
“Jimin,” You moan against his mouth once fully seated.
Jimin whimpers your name in response when you kick your ass back, rubbing him audaciously all those previous nerves having sunk away. His eyes drift open and close as you begin to draw him in and out, your pelvis tilting forward and squeezing him mid-length before slowly pressing his dick back into your slick walls.
You nudge his cheek, lips seeking his and he moans a compliance. His mouth devouring yours as you pick up the slightest amount of speed.
Jimin’s tongue rolls across yours, before sucking it into his mouth. The motion causes your speed to increase, and Jimin grunts in response into the depths of your mouth. His hands tighten on your hips earning a shudder from you as he dives impossibly deeper into your mouth, one hand returning to your jaw. You let out tiny whimpers in between the movement of lips.
“Fuck, Jimin,” you mumble as he kisses you harder, nibbling at your bottom lip.
He breaks with a gasp trailing kisses down your neck, until his nose is pressed between your shoulder blades and he's bouncing his hips in time with you, driving right into the front wall of your cunt.
“Oh fuck” you grasp at his hands, one on your hip and the other between your cleavage with his small fingers spread at the base of your throat holding you tight into his thrusts. “Jimin,” you whine.
His breathing is heavy as he places a kiss on your shoulder, “You ok?”
“Yes, deeper.”
Jimin lets out another breathless laugh and slips his arm across the fold of your thighs and hips. Pressing you into his lap with a drawn-out moan of his own as you swirl your hips. You do it again and feel his body tighten.
“Fuck,” your name and the curse are hissed together through Jimin’s clenched teeth.
You moan in response, bracing your hands on your calves and bearing down as hard as you can on Jimin’s thighs. Relishing in the new, strangled version of your name that escapes his lips. Tossing your head back at the feeling of him bottoming out inside of you at this tight angle.
“Oh Jimin, you feel so good” you breathe.
He stutters your name again, you don’t know if it’s from your praise or the fact that you returned to your previous motions. Slamming your pelvis down with a tight squeeze of his cock each time.
“Jimin,” you moan and his hands clench against your skin.
Lights scatter across your closed eyelids suddenly and the distant sound of more fireworks startles your eyes open. You watch the fire blaze against the stars and the inky night sky.
You pitch forward slightly to get a better view causing Jimin to cry out at this shift, his hands dropping from your body. You huff a laugh and bring your palms up to your thighs, bobbing up and down with newfound leverage at this angle.
There's a soft thud as you feel Jimin collapse behind you, “s-shit.”
You moan a laugh, looking over your shoulder catching Jimin watching you with hooded eyes, his eyes jumping to yours from your ass when he catches you staring at him.
“You’re fucking amazing” he breathes, gone is the warmth of his chocolate irises and in their place is the darkness of his spread pupils. Heat radiates up your chest at the sight of him so fucked out and all for you.
“Jimin,” you whisper almost as a beg.
“As soon as you come I’m right behind you,” his hands drift to the outside of your hips.
You nod, body already tightened on itself. You sit back, hands bracing beside Jimin’s torso and slip him in and out against the front of your pubic bone.
“Ohhh shit,” Jimin’s body stiffens almost instantly. “what are you doing?” Jimin moans underneath you, relaxing again.
“Coming” you pant, hips thrusting erratically, you press a hand to his cock squeezing the half that isn’t buried inside you.
“Fuck-shit” Jimin stiffens under you as you climax, entrance squeezing his tip tightly.
Jimin’s hands are on your breasts, suddenly squeezing each globe firmly, before pinching your nipples.
“Shit, Jimin!” your body snaps forward and Jimin sits up with you, his resolve lost. His hips drive up into you as your hands skid on your damn thighs, slick from sweat and effort.
Jimin groans and suddenly you're on your knees and Jimin is pounding into you from behind. He presses you down into the bed with one hand on your shoulders, the noises coming out of his chest almost savage.
“Jimin,” you cry and his front folds over your back, abs rippling at each curve and pull of his spine.
“That's it love, come for me, please come for me” Jimin groans through clenched teeth. Burying himself deeply in you with each slam of his hips and so deep it nearly consumes himself.
His hand slips up to the nape of your neck and fists tightly into your hair. That’s it, that's all it takes for your walls to seize around his cock, your moaning intertwined with his voice as Jimin repeats your name like a prayer.
“Coming so pretty on my dick,” each word punctuated with a rough drag of his swollen member.
Until you’re squeezing your thighs together as hard as you can, in an attempt to ease your own orgasm as it rolls through you in waves, drowning you in overstimulation.
Jimin finally stills as your pussy squeezes him tightly, his release spilling into the condom with a throaty groan. Your ragged breaths are a soft backtrack for the fireworks continuing to explode outside.
“Fuck Jimin,” you whimper as a familiar lightness fills your bones, like your marrow has been replaced with helium and you could float away at any moment.
You shift your hips forward, in an attempt to escape Jimin’s cock that is still embedded in you. He gets the idea and pulls out with an intake of air.
While Jimin is busying himself with discarding the condom you move to drag yourself to the other side of the bed. But Jimin catches you, pulling you back by your waist. Rolling the two of you over onto your sides and spooning his naked body against yours in a way that is so painstakingly intimate, but so very Park Jimin.
“I told you to quit avoiding me,” he trails the pads of his fingers over the curve of your hip.
Laying skin-dimpling kisses across your shoulder blades, up to the crook of your neck.
“I'm not avoiding you now, you just finished so I thought-”
“We aren't done yet,” Jimin nuzzles into the junction of your shoulder, fingertips curling into the soft skin of your stomach. “Do you think after a decade of friendship, I’m going to let you go so easily?”
“You’ve fucked all of our friends,” you say casually, with a blasé shrug all the while your mind is racing at the thought of what Jimin was promising; more orgasms.
“But you held out the longest, why is that?” Jimin’s tone is flooded with candid curiosity.
“I was always content in my relationships,” you glance over your shoulder at his face, but his eyes are downcast, watching his hand glide across your sweat-glazed skin.
He hums, “What about when you were single?”
“You know I never remained single for long.”
“How come you never gave me the chance?” His eyes skip to yours finally, his brown irises alight with inquisition.
“Park Jimin, dating? That's laughable,” you can’t stop the actual snort that leaves your nose.
“I have dated!” Jimin flips you onto your back in mild offense, making you erupt into full-bellied laughter.
“And none of them ended well!”
You feel the heat creep into your cheeks as he nuzzles himself between your thighs again, pinning you to the bed with his well-muscled thighs.
“So I’m just good to fuck?”
Jimin’s eyes lid and you know he is feeling the same rush of renewed arousal that you’re experiencing under his touch and gaze.
“And a great thrower of house parties, and to go shopping with, and picker of the best gifts,” you prattle off a short list of his talents.
Jimin lazily circles one of your nipples, his eyes absentmindedly watching the flesh pucker against the scrape of his nails, “Mmm sounds to me like I’m boyfriend material.”
“Maybe rentable boyfriend material,” you laugh, but it sounds wispy and thick, catching in your throat on its way out.
“Fine,” Jimin pouts, “I guess I’ll take what I can get. Consider me yours, and yours only to rent whenever you need me.”
“I’ll hold you to it Park,” you stroke his bangs back from his brow and he turns his face to kiss the palm of your hand, mumbling an ask about how many orgasms you’ve had in one night.
“Maybe two? Definitely no more than that. Why?”
“Our goal is to at least double that amount,” He slants his torso up your body while his other hand dives between your thighs.
Lowering his mouth to hover over yours whispering your name in promise, “god you’re so fucking wet.”
You gasp as he rolls your clit between his thumb and forefinger languidly, before dipping two fingers into your swollen entrance painting your release over the sensitive hill of nerves.
Jimin's mouth seals to yours as he begins to strum, and you anchor yourself to him by tangling your hands in that fluffy chestnut-colored hair of his.
Your moans become lost in the cavern of his throat as his tongue dances with your teeth nipping at his bottom lip. Jimin pulls back, lips kiss bitten, puffier than you imagined they could get when your body starts to tremble with the approach of your next orgasm.
You clutch at his wrist, your hips trembling as you get overwhelmed by not just his touch but his eyes. How his perceptive gaze jumps from your rolling hips, over the rise of your upturned tits, to your face, where he holds your hooded eyes with a fixed stare as you gasp and beg.
“Jimin,” you whisper and he groans, slanting up to kiss you again, a simple but weighted kiss.
Before his digits dive to your core, fingers curling into the front wall of your cunt, you claw at his back and arm. Jimin watches as you arc off the bed under his touch.
Jimin’s brows pinch together and he unintentionally presses his swollen dick into your leg, letting you know he's equally as turned on.
“Jimin,” your hips roll shamelessly into his hand.
Calling him to you both visually and verbally. He's up on his knees, hand still thrusting into your rocking hips as he nudges your thighs wider and you fan them open eagerly.
“Jimin, I’m close, oh please don’t stop” you vocalize your praise, having discovered that kink of his moments before your first orgasm of the night.
“Not stopping love, come on I can feel you, you’re so close” Jimin moans, one hand on you and the other on himself as he sits back on his heels.
You press your head back into the bed at the sight of him fisting himself, his tip swollen and leaking.
Your body arches again and everything snaps, Jimin’s hand is gone suddenly and he's buried in you to the hilt. His lip is bitten between his teeth as you work him, chasing the echoes of your orgasm. His hands firm on your hips as you thrust, he gasps your name as your cunt continues sucking him in harshly. Jimin’s hips bear down on you, unmovable as you continue to come around him.
“Fuckkk, love, oh,” He gasps out.
Jimin’s orgasms right behind you, his hands leaving your hips with one final press. You watch as those hands rub up his chiseled stomach, across his nipples as he spills into you. You understand what is happening; why Jimin is rubbing himself, needing to be touched everywhere as his orgasm twinges each nerve ending. You flip him over, palms pressing hard into his chest as he moans low in appreciation.
Finally the right direction on the bed, with Jimin’s head resting on the pillows. You rake your nails lightly down his stomach, watching as his pupils dilate and he gasps your name.
You stretch to reach for a condom, Jimin slips from your cunt with a shiver as you rifle through his bedside drawer. Sitting back on his sculpted thighs once you’ve acquired what you need. Jimin watches you with wide eyes as you rip the condom open, rolling it over his sensitized length with full intent to ride him again.
He’s more vocal than before, alternating between moans, whines, and grunts the entire time. Thrashing against the bed, clutching you to him, his hands trembling up your spine, digging into the crease of your thighs, clenching your hips and breasts all in deep appreciation as you ride his cock.
“F-fuck,” Jimin stutters out, before breaking off to moan your name.
His head tossing, mussing up his hair even more. You moan at the sight of him, so wrecked and all for you.
“Love, if I knew you were like this in bed, damn.” His body tenses under your spread thighs, “I would’ve kicked everyone out during the Secret Santa party,” he pants out, head pressing back into the pillows as he fights off his orgasm.
You laugh just as breathlessly, as your body pulls taut, “It’s better this way, starting the New Year off right.”
The moan that escapes you, vibrates pre-echoes of your climax through your body and across his.
“Shit why do you feel so good?” You ask as you stroke his stomach again watching his skin erupt into goosebumps and following it with a quick snap of your hips.
Jimin looks more fucked out than ever, cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes blazing into yours as he says the next words a firmness that nearly makes you come, “I was made for you.”
You moan, hand pressing between the swells of his pecs and Jimin shudders, “Gonna come for me, Park?”
Your body shakes with effort, just as overheated as his, but determined to ruin the man beneath you first.
Jimin cries your name, rutting up into you as you thrust back, orgasm exploding up his body. His hands seize your waist as he arches into you. You continue to ride him through the aftershocks, your climax dancing just at the edge of your vision.
“Uhh-mmm” Jimin whimpers underneath you, head tossing with each slap of your ass.
His hands flexed helplessly against the outside of your leg. You moan again, and Jimin stiffens under you when your walls give one final squeeze as the band inside you snaps.
“Jimin,” you wail, coming apart, causing the muscles of his thighs to spasm as he looks at you wide-eyed, mouth gasping in a perfect circle.
You slam your ass down, pussy sucking him in as you orgasm.
“Stop, stop, fuck- please,” he gasps.
His body shakes as his cock pushes out another release, an empty one into the condom as you incite a dry orgasm from him. Jimin mumbles your name in a quiet plea as you cease your movements.
You comply graciously, slowly folding over him for a light kiss that he tilts his chin up for before you roll off to lay beside him, your body spent. His own body shudders hard beside you and he groans through the aftershocks of the overstimulation you just inflicted.
While he is catching his breath Jimin asks what you were laughing about earlier.
You huff a laugh, “Namjoon being the king of destruction breaks the door lock.”
Jimin sits up shakily, hands rolling the spent condom off his length, “Oh it doesn’t actually lock, so the only thing he broke was his nose.”
“Park, your bedroom door doesn’t lock?”
You lift up onto your elbow as Jimin ties a knot and tosses the condom into the waste basket beside the bed. He shakes his head, reclining back in the dampened spot next to you.
“No, I had an incident with a hookup. She locked herself inside and I had to call the fire department to get her out.” He winces at the memory before his eyes drift over to take in your horrified stare.
Jimin waves his hands with a laugh,“She’s fine now married, and has a baby I think.”
“Do you keep tabs on all of your hookups?”
“I’m not heartless you know,” he rolls on his side to face you.
The moment thickens but for a different reason. There is a sadness in Jimin’s eyes that you hadn’t quite noticed before, it takes you a moment to realize what exactly it is, loneliness.
“I just haven’t found the right partner yet.”
You nod in understanding and pull him into your body for a hug, fingers tracing up his spine as he nuzzles into your neck.
“Do you want to shower?” He mouths into your collarbone.
“I don't have any clothes,” you laugh softly as Jimin pulls away from your embrace.
Jimin rolls his eyes, “You can borrow some of mine.”
With that, he slinks out of the bed, and you roll on your back to admire his bare ass.
“Playing into the boyfriend act already, hmm?”
You scramble across the soiled sheets to follow him.
Jimin winks over his shoulder at you, “Come on, let's have a shower.”
You shower together, in muscle rejuvenating clouds of steam and tangerine scented body scrub. Jimin diligently cleans you from behind before his hands drift lower to work out another orgasm, kissing the water off your neck
“Jimin,” you whine.
“I want you to come as hard as you made me earlier,” He huffs huskily before nipping the shell of your ear.
Jimin traps you between his body and the cold tile, both nearly equal in their firmness. The porcelain bites painfully and pleasurably into your nipples. He encases your thighs together with his while his hand starts to rapidly stroke across your clit.
The direct touch, the cold tile and Jimin rubbing himself listlessly into your backside have you begging and whimpering in no time. Your head is thrown back on his shoulder, while his hand drifts up from your hip to squeeze your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers.
“Oh fuck,” you shudder into him and damp lips meet your neck with a sly laugh.
“I think you can come harder than that,” his hand makes its way to your neck and you bite your lip at the squeeze, trying and failing not to pant.
He squeezes lightly as he rocks your hips into his working hand with a slow roll of his.
“Jimin,” you plead.
“Yes love?” He rumbles against your ear, voice tainted with pride before sucks your earlobe into his mouth.
“Ah fuck, harder.”
Jimin moans softly before squeezing your throat harder, a panting gasp escaping you as you rub your hips against his arm. His other fingers move so rapidly that you’ve lost count of the orgasms that have come and gone.
Lost in the dizzying featherlight stroke that he slows to as each orgasm coasts over your body. You whine deeply, everything is so slick and hypersensitive.
“Ahhh” you scream, pressing into Jimin's hand at your throat to cool your forehead against the tile.
Your legs shake violently at this climax and Jimin groans proudly, catching you quickly as you begin to fold.
“Oh damn, I need to sit down” you mumble in belated realization.
Jimin's musical laugh fills your ears as he carefully lowers the two of you to the shower floor, your back resting snuggly against his chest.
“How many was that?” You tilt your face to him, blinking against the misting spray of the shower.
“I uh...wasn’t counting, I was busy.” His cheeks tint at his confession.
You laugh out loud and tug his face to yours for a deep kiss full of appreciation and admiration.
The two of you leave the shower once you gain some sea legs and Jimin has the chance to clean your latest releases from the folds of your cunt.
Swaddled up in fluffy towels you stop short, surveying the damage you both had done to his bed. Jimin quickly slips past you, pulling open dresser drawers to gather you a pair of his briefs, socks, sweats, and a hoodie.
“You get dressed and head to the couch,” He presses the clothing into your waiting hands with a soft peck to your lips. “I will put the blankets in the wash, so we can cuddle up and watch The Holiday.”
“Ok, bring blankets,” You give him another quick peck before turning back to the bathroom with your newly acquired wardrobe.
Once clothed you pad out in Jimin’s thick socks and collect as many of the pillows from his now stripped bed that your arms will hold, and waddle towards his living room.
Jimin is clothed in a simple white t-shirt and gray sweats when you arrive, his hair drying in haphazard waves as he pours champagne into two flutes.
A massive pile of white comforters awaits you. Spread out across his plush, deep-cushioned couch. He retrieves some of the pillows from your strained arms and the two of you pile into the makeshift bed with soft laughter.
All the lights have been extinguished, the curtains open just a smidge and Jack Black’s quick fingers working across the keyboard on the television. Only the soreness between your legs sets this night apart from your usual hangouts with Jimin.
Once you’re settled against each other, Jimin leans forward to pluck the glasses from the table.
His warm eyes meet yours in the dim light as you clink glasses, “to the New Year.”
“Geonbae,” you whisper as the two of you take heavy swigs, Jimin already reaching for the bottle to refill your flutes.
The two of you drift into a gossamer cloud of champagne bubbles, the early 2000s romantic comedy, and fluffy blankets backed by the sound of the washer filling. With every sip of the sweet ambrosia Jimin’s stolen kisses increase in carnality as the two of you drain the bottle.
Your name is spoken like an incantation against your lips between each press of his until he’s nuzzled into the hollow of your throat.
Jimin's breathing levels out to a steady rise and fall and you wonder how someone so angelic looking could be the most careless heartbreaker you know.
Distantly, like a faint echo in the deepest recesses of your brain, you wonder if you were going to let him break your heart too.
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© COPYRIGHT 2023 by kiestrokes All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced without written permission from the author. This includes translations.
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here4kpopfics · 1 year
Text
I Can Do Better | PJM
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Pairing: Jimin x (f)reader
Genre: Smut. Porn with the smallest plot.
AU: friends to fwb, coworkers 
Wordcount: 2,639
Summary: Your boyfriend of two years just dumped you and you're angry and sad. So get hammered with your coworker at his place and eat bad food and watch trash TV. Which leads to some interesting conversations.
Warnings: Drinking. Fingering. Thigh riding. The good stuff.
Rating: M / 18+
AN: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE MOST BEAUTIFUL CREATURE IN EXISTANCE. There was a conversation about fingers and somehow we got here. Thank you to @playmetheclassics​ for beta reading AND @classicseffects​ making me a gorgeous perfect banner and divider.😘
and as usual, please leave feedback. Either with a reblog or send me an ask. It’s greatly appreciated. 💜
Masterlist | AskBox | Coffee?
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How the hell did I get here?
That’s the question you’ve asked yourself at least four times in one night. 
Your boyfriend of two years decided to take you on a date, a great one. A great restaurant, a trip to your favorite arcade, and an ice cream afterwards. It was perfect. 
Except when he dropped you off at your apartment and broke up with you, saying he had a job offer overseas and didn’t want to do a long distance relationship. He barely gave you a chance to respond before he left you at your doorstep, completely dumbfounded. 
You don’t even remember choosing not to go into your apartment and instead getting in your car, stopping at the liquor store and buying whatever was cheap and strong. You don’t recall getting back in the car, driving another ten minutes, parking in the guest lot, storming your way to a door and slamming on it until it opened. 
That’s when you first asked the question as your best work friend, Jimin, opened the door, glaring daggers at you. 
“Why the hell are you slamming on my door, y/n?”
Your only response was to lift the bag of alcohol toward him. “We’re going to drink all of this. I have Thai food being delivered here in seventeen minutes.” 
You don’t let him respond, having to squeeze between him and the doorway to get inside, sitting on the floor in front of the couch, pulling out the bottles and mixers. You ignore the heavy sigh coming from the smaller man as he drags himself to the kitchen, grabbing two cups and sits down next to you. 
“Are you going to tell me why we’re drinking on Thursday night?”
You nod, finishing up a horrible concoction that was sure to hit quickly. 
“Taehyung broke up with me.”
“Oh.” you miss his wide eyes as you start working on the same concoction for him. 
“Yep. He got a job out of the country, and decided two years wasn’t worth at least trying long distance and peaced out before I could say anything. Next thing I know, I’m here.” Your phone pings, and you look at it briefly, getting up. 
“Food is here. Perfect timing, here’s your drink.” You hand him the drink and hurry to the door to accept the food. 
When you return, Jimin’s already moved everything off the coffee table and made space for the abundance of food you barely remember ordering. You leave the food with him, making your way to the kitchen to grab extra napkins and utensils. 
It’s not until you finally sit back down and help divide up the food that he finally speaks again. 
“Wait, didn't you have a date tonight?”
It’s at this you snort a laugh, not caring if it’s attractive or not. 
“Oh yeah. It was perfect too.” You nod, stuffing your face with whatever was in front of you. “Good food, then to the arcade we always went to when we started dating, ice cream, and then bam, dumped.” 
You take a deep swig of your drinking, sticking your tongue out in disgust at the flavor. “But hey. What a way to make it memorable, right?” 
“I guess…are you going to be okay?” He’s a little hesitant, having only ever experienced you acting like you were fine, leaning heavily into the sarcasm when you were livid when at work having a customer scream in your face about something that was their fault. 
You finally look at Jimin, and put on the best smile you can, knowing you both know it’s fake.
“I have to be. What’s done is done according to him, so I have no other option but to get over it.”
“It still meant something to you, y/n. That’s two whole years. You can’t just tell yourself you’re fine after two-.” 
“Hey, Jimin?” you interrupt, lazily pointing your chopsticks at him. “I appreciate it, I do, that you’re trying to get me to feel feelings and process them like a healthy adult. I love that about you, truly.” You ignore his blush and continue. 
“But that’s not why I came here. I came here to get drunk, eat delicious takeout, and watch something shitty on the tv with you to forget this happened. Can we do that instead? Process emotions later? Please?”
He watches you for a second, trying to figure out if he should push further, but decides against it. Silently nodding and handing you the remote. You mumble a thank you and scroll through whatever streaming platform he was already on.
You both settle on a ridiculous reality tv show about hot people living together, you have no idea what the show's point is, but you two become somewhat invested the more you drink. 
The second time you ask yourself the question is two hours and many cups of your horrible drink mixture later. You and Jimin are still sitting on the floor, backs against the couch and both shit-talking one of the contestants, if that’s what they even are. 
You lean your head against the seat of the couch as Jimin spews some nonsense about how unrealistic and fabricated the drama in the show is. You giggle, turning your head so you can see Jimin. 
God, he’s pretty. Perfect jaw, perfect lips, perfect eyes, perfect smile, perfect hair, those perfect lips again. 
“Ugh, here they go again, those idiots.” You snap out of your intrusive thoughts and turn your focus back to the tv. The horrible female contestants are sitting around drinking and talking about men they’ve slept with, or more specifically, their fingers. 
One girl starts going on about the importance of long fingers providing better orgasms and another debates back that it’s actually the thickness that matters. You start to zone out, not catching yourself thinking out loud in time. 
“Tae has long fingers…”
“I’m sorry, what?” Your eyes widen, keeping them locked on the screen that is now paused. 
“I didn’t say anything.” You lie, but he’s already shifting to look at you. 
“No, I’m pretty sure you said something about your now ex’s fingers.” He smirks at your glaring expression toward him. 
“Well, he does. He has long fingers. And sure as hell knew how to use them.” Why you’re defending or better yet, bragging, about your now ex boyfriend is beyond you, but you feel the need to do it anyway. 
“I’m sure he did.” He scoffs, taking another swig of the gross beverage. 
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, y/n, that the length of someone’s fingers means nothing. It’s all about what you do with them. And, I remember you drunkenly telling me about him fumbling and you having to fake it a few times with him.” 
“I did not! I’ve never faked it with him!” 
He leans back against the couch, laughing, twisting his head to meet you, glaring at him. “Why are you glaring at me?”
“I’m hoping you’ll spontaneously combust.”
He laughs again. “Aish, you’re delusional, y/n.” 
“Like you could do any better? Your fingers are half the length of his. Your pinky is like a stub.” You cross your arms and turn back to the screen at the sudden silence, ignoring how he looks at you. 
A second later, he gets up, walking in front of you and into the kitchen. You can hear the sound of water for a moment before he makes his way back, this time sitting on the couch directly behind you. You lean your head back, resting it against his crossed legs as his fingers trace your jawline, sending shivers down your spine. 
The third time you ask yourself how you got here is when he finally leans down enough that his lips barely brush over yours. 
“I can do better.” He whispers, lifting his head up just enough that your eyes lock on to one another, his asking for permission and yours giving it with a slight nod and twist of the head to grant him better access. His lips mold against yours in a slow but very needy kiss, his fingers still tracing your jaw and down your neck to your collarbone. 
He finally pulls away, tapping your arm twice, and you immediately twist to be on your knees facing him. He slides his legs down to rest on the floor with you sitting in between them, hands bringing your face up to meet his lips again. His tongue playfully licks across your lips and you open up, allowing him entry to devour you, moaning around him all the while. Your hands sliding up his inner thighs. He pulls away, giving you one last kiss before smiling down at you.
“Stand up, princess.” He demands it so confidentially while still sounding like the perfect prince. You stand up, his hands dragging down your waist as you stand until they rest on your hips. He looks up at you, eyes sparkling as he grins something sinister. 
“Lift your dress for me.” The command is barely a whisper as his hands move under your dress to your ass, squeezing just enough to make you bring your hips forward as you lift the skirt of your dress to reveal your lace underwear. 
The sigh he lets out at the sight of the lace is enough to cause a whole new flood of arousal to soak your underwear. He kisses just above the waistband of the lacey lingerie, one hand slipping down to the back of your thigh while the other runs up and along your stomach, dipping down over the lace. 
His thumb slides down to your center, running up and down your folds through your underwear, gawking at the wet sounds you’re already making.
“Fuck, that guy is an idiot for breaking up with this.” He murmurs before burying his face in between your legs, rubbing his nose against the damp spot. You whisper a few curse words, forcing yourself to continue to remove your dress. He pulls away from your center, leaning back against the couch, almost dazed by the matching lace bra that you remove along with the ruined underwear. 
“Get the fuck over here, princess. I need to show you what a real orgasm is.”
You swallow nervously as you straddle his lap, yelping when one of his hands comes down to smack your ass. He brings your hips down to his, guiding yours to grind against him, soaking his pajama pants in the process. His lips find your neck and you whimper as he marks you across your neck and collarbone. 
“Fuck, Jimin, please.” Your voice strains out as you continue rutting against him, whimpering every time your clit touches the now wet fabric.
“Please what, princess? What do you need?” He buries his face in your neck, panting against your skin.
“Anything. Something. Fuck.” Your fingers tangle in his hair, needing something to hold on to. Jimin just smirks into your neck, using both hands to roughly grind you against him. You cry out, feeling the tightness in your core when he abruptly stops. 
“What the fuck? Why’d you stop?” 
He brings his face back, admiring your flustered expression for a moment as he repositions you both. Suddenly you’re facing away from him and he’s made it so you’re only straddling one of his thighs, removing his pajama pants in the process but leaving his briefs. Before you can reach down to help him relieve any tension from the massive bulge below you, he’s lightly pushing between your shoulder blades, easing you to lean forward until you can basically rest your arms on the coffee table. 
He slips a hand between you both, halting any movement from you. He uses his middle and ring finger to spread your arousal everywhere, smothering your bundle of nerves in it, before returning back to your entrance where he slips the two fingers in without warning. You gasp, pressing further down on his fingers as he curls them in an upside-down come hither motion. 
“You’re going to fuck yourself on my fingers and my thigh, princess. Think you can do that?” 
You nod quickly, desperate for any kind of friction, almost jumping when he adds his index as well. His other hand begins guiding your hips against his thigh and it’s suddenly a whole new experience when it’s his skin against your clit and not the fabric.
You continue grinding against his thigh, clit rubbing against skin with every pull forward and fingers sinking deeper with every roll back, a moaning mess the entire time. Every pull forward, his fingers curl into a claw, pressing against your walls, while every roll back he straightens them out and spreads them as wide as they can go, flexing the muscles in his thigh simultaneously. You both know you’re not going to last long, clenching around his fingers and losing your previously steady rhythm.
“Gonna come for me, princess? Gonna come all over these fingers you think are too small?” His voice is teasing and you nod frantically, but shake your head right after.
“Not too small, fuck, anything but too small. Fuck, I’m gonna come.”
“He ever make you feel like this?” He asks more seriously, waiting until you pull forward to shove his fingers in even deeper as you roll back. Your groan is deep within you, desperate to be free. 
“No.” is all you can bring yourself to respond with. You can almost see the smug smile on his perfect face. 
“Good. Come for me, y/n. All over my fingers, like a good girl.” 
On command, and with one final push forward and back onto his fingers, you’re coming around them, clenching down as you reach that perfect high. He doesn’t stop though, holding you still as he fucks his three fingers in you harder than before. You scream his name as his fingers coax out an immediate second orgasm that’s smaller than the first, but still as strong. 
When you finally still yourself and catch your breath, you roll onto your back on the couch, watching him palm his erection through his underwear as he licks his fingers. 
And that’s when you ask yourself the question for the fourth time. 
How the hell did I get here?
You wait until he’s almost done cleaning yourself off him when you finally speak again. 
“What the hell just happened?” You close your legs, starting to reach for your dress, when the hand that just tortured two orgasms out of you lands on your knee, slowly reopening your legs. 
“You insulted my abilities and I had to prove you wrong.” His hand slides down your thigh again, squeezing the muscles along the way. You don’t stop him. 
“But I just got out of a relationship.”
“I wasn’t asking you to be my girlfriend, princess. There’s a difference.” He takes a sharp breath staring at the mess he’s made of you between your legs, palming himself even more. 
“And, I don’t mind being a rebound if it’s with you. I can make you feel good if that’s all you need from me.” His eyes dart up to yours, completely serious about his offer.
“No strings?”
“None whatsoever.” He grins, and you use your foot to press against his erection through his underwear, earning a grunt from him. 
“Okay. Make me feel good, Jimin.” You whisper, pressing your foot down harder. 
“Your wish is my command, princess.” He quickly gets the words out as he stands up, picking you up bridal style and rushing to his bed. 
You both know you’ll wake up tomorrow regretting it and questioning your friendship, but that’s not important now. What’s important is the way he made you forget all about your stupid breakup with just his fingers and the curiosity of what else he’s capable of.
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Hope you liked it. Happy birthday to my little squish Jimin. 🥰
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shina913 · 1 year
Text
The Boyfriend Experience | PJM
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The Boyfriend Experience: Jimin
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The BFE: Masterlist
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Pairing: Escort!Jimin x Virgin.Fem!Reader
Rating: M 🔞; NSFW
Genre: sex!work AU; fluff; smut
Warnings: legal sex work (in this AU); sex for hire; cussing; explicit sexual conversations; alcohol consumption; dirty talk; exhibitionism; clit play; breast/nipple play; heavy petting; oral sex (mutual); protected sex; orgasm denial; stamina!; multiple orgasms; (somewhat) rough sex but with aftercare
Word count: 9,132 words
Summary: 💬 By the time he knocked at the door, I was a bottle of wine deep. I answered sheepishly, gripping onto a nearly empty wine glass. He let me know that it’s everyone’s first time once and that there was no need to be nervous. I didn’t need to do anything I didn’t want to.
A/N: This was supposed to be posted by Jimin's birthday but I couldn't get my shit together and RL got in the way so ...here we are! Anyway, I kept flip-flopping on my ideas re: how to write the reader-insert character here so I hope this characterization works out fine.
A/N2: As in my other fics, I listen to a lot of music while I write. For this one in particular, I had my Miguel playlist going--specifically, the song, "Use Me." It also helped that I watched that Run BTS performance multiple times 🤣
A/N3: Also, I want to thank @internetjunkdrawer for beta'ing this, sending me suggestions, and just being my reliable Jimin consultant 😜 Thank you, @itdoesntmatterwhy as well for allowing me to run a couple ideas by you and making sure that this scenario was plausible and that OC wasn't a caricature or silly stereotype! 😘
‼���IMPORTANT: Although the narration will include Jimin's name, OC/Reader will not address him as so because she booked him under an assumed alias. Weird, I know but--let's just go with it 😉
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“Crap!” You gasped after picking up the empty bottle of wine. You only intended to have a couple glasses–maybe three–to calm your nerves. Next thing you knew, you’d downed the whole thing.
Before you grab another one out of your kitchen, your apartment’s buzzer goes off making you jump. Even after drinking a whole bottle of wine, you were still edgy. Could anxiety burn off alcohol? Was that even possible?
You stood and attempted to take a step, but you almost lost your footing on wobbly legs. Welp...that certainly answered your question about the alcohol.
You shook your head, refocusing your vision and smoothed the creases on your dress before walking towards the intercom.
“H-hello?” You spoke nervously into the box.
“Hi, YN. It’s me.”
You were expecting a deep, husky, come-hither voice–like one that was made for phone sex. Instead, he sounded like a completely normal guy…a normal guy whom you were paying to have sex with you.
How did you even get to this point?
A couple years back, at an office holiday party, you had drunkenly confessed to your work-wife that you were a virgin. She was incredulous at first and thought that you were pulling her leg. But you told her, absolutely zero experience with dick.
Since then, she’s made it her mission to get you laid. Secretly trying to fix you up during happy hours or random nights out with her.
Once, you came very close to going all the way. You confessed to your date that you had never had sex before. From that point on, the dynamic turned for the worse. He treated it as a fetish and it ultimately put you off.
Needless to say, you stopped dating for a while. Until your friend asked you what you planned to do for your 30th birthday.
You hadn’t really thought about it since it was months away. You figured a nice dinner with your closest friends would suffice.
Why don’t you try this app?
It all started with a damn app. You thought it was another trash trend that she was trying to get you into. But this wasn’t your run-of-the-mill dating app.
An escort service?
There was no way you were paying anyone to have sex with you. It just sounded…wrong?
Out of curiosity, your friend let you browse through her app. She had recently become a member and was raving about her experience, following her most recent breakup with her boyfriend.
As you scrolled through, you had to admit that these guys were hot and promised discretion. But they came at a premium price.
After a week of thinking it through, you asked your friend to officially send a referral to the company. Days later, you heard back and received your own confirmation to access the app.
You browsed through it, then closed out of it. Browsed. Closed out. You did this several times for the next few weeks. It was almost part of your daily routine. There was one profile in particular that kept calling you back and this whole time, you’d been gathering up the courage to actually book him.
Finally, after a particularly difficult week, you opened the app again. You scrolled down to his profile and tapped on it. Unlike in the past where you’ve repeatedly chickened out after ogling at his photos, you finally click on the date-picker icon and zero-in on one particular day. By some stroke of luck, he was free. You took it as a sign–so you clicked on “book,” and a few minutes later, received a confirmation notice.
Your heart raced at the memory. You had many opportunities to cancel–but you didn’t. And tonight was the night. You release a deep breath, calming yourself down.
“Come on up!” You buzzed him right in.
You round the corner to your kitchen and discard your empty bottle then quickly check yourself in the mirror. You look slightly flushed and your pupils dilated…but it didn’t bother you. It was just the alcohol working itself through your veins.
Seconds later, you hear a knock on the door.
“It’s just a guy…calm down,” you mumble to yourself before grabbing the door handle.
“Hi there,” Jimin said with a small smile.
“Holy shit,” you breathed out.
The corners of his mouth quirked into a chuckle.
For a supposed casual night in, he was still dressed to impress. He wore a light gray suit and a white button-up without a tie.
Nope–this was no normal guy. The soft crinkle in his eyes that he had when he smiled was in stark contrast to the rest of his look. His hair was brushed to the side and those plush pink lips were like magnets that you were immediately drawn into.
“Will you invite me in?”
You shook your head. “O-of course,” you stammered. “Oh my god. Where are my manners?” You said in a slightly higher-than-normal octave. “Come on in!”
He walks–no–struts in and takes a quick look at your living room before turning back to face you.
“Can I give you a kiss on the cheek?”
It took you a second to realize that you were the only other person in the room and he was asking if he could kiss you on the cheek!
“Yes,” you answer meekly.
He smiled again, closed in on you and planted a soft kiss on your cheek. You felt a little flutter in your belly and it made you smile.
“You smell nice. What’s that?”
“YSL…Black Opium.” You weren’t sure if it was sensual enough. Although you contemplated getting a Chanel sample or something a bit more spicy-smelling, you ended up going with your everyday perfume. Besides, you couldn’t stand any of those scents anyway.
He hummed. “I can smell the vanilla and coffee notes–sexy.”
You were surprised at his in-depth knowledge of women’s perfumes but your cheeks warmed up at the thought that he found it sexy.
“You can put your stuff over here,” you walked over to your dining area and pointed to one of the chairs.
“Thank you,” he responded politely as he set his bag down.
“Would you like a drink?”
“I’d love one,” he replied.
You smiled and offered him a seat on your couch, urging him to help himself to some food.
“Uh–sorry I didn’t have dinner set up. I figured I’d ask you what you felt like eating rather than making assumptions. I have a charcuterie board, though?”
His eyes drift over to your coffee table where you had refreshments set out. “Wow, that’s nice of you. I’m honestly fine with whatever you like. I’m not picky,” he smiles.
He gestures towards your sofa “After you.” You smile nervously and walk back to the living room, where he follows close behind you.
“Do you prefer red or white?”
“I’ll drink whatever you’re drinking.”
Well…you had just downed a bottle of white before he got here so maybe it would be helpful to retrieve a fresh bottle if you were offering it.
While he settles on your couch, you excuse yourself to go into the kitchen to grab the bottle of white you had chilling in the fridge. After uncorking it, your eyes drift to the plain envelope that you had sitting on your countertop. You presumed it might be rude to have the money in plain sight sitting in the living room.
Cash in-hand, you return to the couch. He sat there with his jacket off, completely relaxed with his legs in a figure-four position, his arm draped across the back cushion.
Reaching for the bottle, he takes it from you and pours two glasses. You mouthed your thanks and proceed to the next order of business.
“Here’s uh–your…” You struggle to find a formal word for it, until you settle on, “Your compensation.” 
He reaches out for the envelope. “You mean, my fee?”
You grimaced. You were paying him for sex but you felt that he deserved some respect. “I just didn’t want to be too blunt about it,” you muttered.
“Nothing blunt about getting paid for a job, YN. And thank you,” he says after accepting the envelope and sets it aside. He reaches to pick up the glasses on the coffee table and hands one to you.
He raises his, inviting you to a toast. “Here’s to a night of fun.” You raise yours and clink it against his. “To a night of fun,” you echo before taking another healthy sip.
“Mm…Is that a vintage?” He comments on the wine, holding up his glass to the light. 
“It is. It was a good year. I have memberships at a couple different wineries. This one in particular is one of my favorites,” you divulged.
A smile ghosted his lips. “Soon to be mine, too.”
He took another sip and you followed with a longer swig.
An awkward silence falls. A few moments later, you shift in your seat and clear your throat to gather your nerves. “So…d-do we just get into it?”
He smiled warmly at you. “Why don’t we talk a bit more? Get comfortable, get to know each other. We don’t need to rush into it.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to come off too eager or anything,” you chuckle nervously. “It’s just that I’ve never done this before, so I don’t really know how this works.” 
His tone was sincere and reassuring. “That’s alright. And you have me until the next morning, so we can take our time.”
You blew out a sigh of relief after he reminded you of your booking. “Right.”
You could have booked him for just a couple hours, which was about the average time for an experience. But for your particular case, you thought it would take some more time.
“How was your day today?” The question seemed so mundane but it was casual and you could tell that he wanted to make you feel at ease.
“Fine. Good,” you gave him a small smile.
“And what was good about it?” His gaze was so unnerving. The look in his eyes had this odd combination of calm turbulence. It was a look that said, ‘I want to take good care of you…by nailing you to the mattress.’
You fluttered your eyelashes and giggled nervously. “To be honest with you, I spent half the day getting ready because I was really looking forward to tonight,” you finished with a whisper.
“Well, that makes both of us then,” he smiled before taking another sip of wine. “So tell me, what would you like to get out of this experience?”
You inwardly cringe. You had filled out the intake questionnaire and comments section. Wrote out fantasies and things you’d like to try. You didn’t really want to repeat all of that in front of him. “You read my profile, right,” you ask carefully.
“Yes, I did. But I would still like to hear it from you. Maybe you missed a few details or changed your mind since you filled out your profile.”
You thought about tip-toeing around it but Jimin didn’t seem the type to mince words. He looked like somebody who appreciated honesty.
You’d contemplated this date for weeks…maybe even months! It took you a while to actually pull the trigger on this and it was mostly because your birthday was closing in. Another year older, another year of an unremarkable, nonexistent sex life.
You purse your lips and shrug your shoulders sheepishly. “Nope. Nothing’s changed…I just want to have sex,” you say quietly. “Pretty boring, I know.”
“There’s nothing boring about sex…at least, it shouldn’t be,” he interjects.
You mentally kick yourself for that ‘boring’ comment. Why did you book him if you thought it was going to be boring? You could have just gone to a bar and picked someone up or just slept with the mailroom guy at your office. That guy seemed like he could be really discreet, too.
But no…You did not want the mailroom guy. You wanted this experience to be special and memorable. People can think you were shallow for this but at this stage in your life, you wanted someone who not only knew what they were doing but one who was also far better-looking than any average guy at a bar…or a mailroom.
As soon as you came across his profile, he looked like the perfect guy who ticked all of your boxes.
“So…I hope you don’t mind but I’ve made a list. I’m a huge fan of efficiency and I want to be able to make the most of my time with you.”
His eyebrows lifted, his interest piqued. “Oh, nice. I like that.”
“I’m kind of a Type-A, so…” you trail off apologetically.
“I don’t mind,” he says softly.
After he assures you, you picked up your phone off the coffee table and pulled your notes app up on the screen. You peered up at him as he waited in anticipation. 
“Let’s hear it,” he coaxes.
You start to read off your list. “So…oral sex–you go down on me, and then I’ll go down on you. I read on your profile that you’re okay with that. Is that still accurate?”
He smiles and nods politely and urges you to continue rattling off activities you’d like to try during your booking.
“And there’s regular cowgirl and reverse cowgirl…definitely want to see what that’s about,” you muttered. “I also want to try doggy-style if…that’s what they still call it?”
“Last I checked, that still applied,” he smiled.
“Okay, great! And uhm…I also want to try standing sex? I’m a bit of a yoga enthusiast and I heard that’s sort of a must-try position?”
He grinned and nodded in affirmation. “That all sounds very achievable.”
You breathed out a sigh of relief. “Oh, okay! I was afraid that I didn’t book enough time for this.”
His eyes widened. He was perplexed but he didn't make it obvious to you. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Y-you mean you want to get through all of that…tonight?”
“Well, yeah,” you answer matter-of-factly. “I thought that we might as well knock out as much as we can because let’s face it, you’re a little expensive and I’m not sure if I would like to book another session,” you clarify.
While the overnight rate was cheaper than the hourly rate, what you were paying him still wasn't considered chunk change. You wanted to make the most of your experience and get your money’s worth.
He shifted in his seat. “I understand,” he says with a warm smile. “And we can try all of that but I want to make sure that you’re fully satisfied, not because you’re crossing out a to-do list.”
You sighed. “I just wanted to try a variety of things other than ‘missionary.’”
“There’s nothing wrong with ‘missionary’. If you take your time with foreplay and your partner knows how to position you properly to hit the right spots. You can get some good orgasms out of it.”
Your eyebrows lifted. “Oh…” You responded in a slightly higher octave. 
“I can show you how good ‘missionary’ could be,” he said with a slight twitch of his brow.
“O-okay,” you stuttered with a voice unrecognizable as your own. “That’s…uh, okay. I can add that to the list,” you say shakily.
Silence falls between you two as you exchange tense gazes. He took another sip of his drink and you watched as his tongue licked off some errant droplets of wine that were on his lower lip.
“Was there more?” He queried with a soft smile.
You blinked furiously as the wine started to settle into your veins, making you speak before you thought about it. “I’m sorry, I was just a little distracted–you’re…really, really good-looking. And I-I just…I didn’t expect–” You halt your babbling. “Sorry. I’m…I’m…I’m just–”
“Hey,” he rests his hand on your knee quelling your anxiety, “Stop apologizing. It’s just us here and I get that you’re nervous but you don’t have to be. You can trust me, okay?”
You nodded at his reassurance.
“And thank you for the compliment. I think you’re beautiful,” he added.
You feel a slight flush on your cheeks, muttering your thanks, then exhale sharply to reset your thoughts. “How long have you been doing this kind of work?”
Really, though, what else would you talk to an escort about?
“A while now,” he answers simply.
“And…do you enjoy it?”
“I do, as a matter of fact,” he responded with certainty. “I find it rewarding. A mutual fulfillment of pleasure.”
“Really?” You were skeptical. “You get pleasure from all of your clients?”
“Yes,” he answers confidently.
You found that hard to believe. A normal person can’t possibly be attracted to or get off on just anybody… “And you’ve never met anyone whom…you didn’t want to have sex with?”
He chuckled softly. “So far, that hasn’t happened to me.”
“Huh. That’s pretty unbelievable,” you remark before taking a gulp of your wine.
“You’d be surprised. When you have an innate desire to please your partner…” His fingers subtly brush your arm. “It fuels you…and you experience the same high.”
This piqued your curiosity even further. “And exactly how many–”
He shook his head and tutted. “Tonight should be all about us, YN. Just you and me. Nobody else.”
You nodded wordlessly. It was amazing how he had this silent, soft power to him. From the outset, he sure didn’t look like it at first. He seemed like someone you’d go see a chick-flick with at the movie theater, hold hands or share an ice cream sundae afterwards then he’d walk you home and end the night with a kiss on the cheek.
But the longer you sit here with him, you’re finding that he still looked like the type to go see that chick flick with you…except in this scenario, he’d be finger-fucking you in the back row, while you try your best to muffle your orgasmic moans. Then, he’d take you home and end the night by licking ice cream off your naked body.
Your chest heaved as you took in a deep breath at the thought of this man ravishing your body for the rest of the night.
“Are you alright?”
You gulped audibly. “Uh–y-yeah. Yes!” Your voice is shaky but you try not to make it obvious.
Unfortunately, your efforts fail because he still senses it.
He calmly takes your glass and sets it on the coffee table. You swallow hard when he scoots closer to you. His hands came up and pushed through your hair and brushed your cheeks with a gentleness.
Cupping your jaw and tilting your head up slightly, he asks, “May I?”
Ignoring the fluttering of nerves in your belly, you held his gaze. “Yes.”
He took your breath away with a kiss. His tongue traced the seam, then dipped inside, licking and teasing.
He lowered you against the couch’s headrest, your body flushed with his, moaning when he shifted to lie half over you. Your hands slid up and down his back, your leg lifting to hook over his hip. He caught your lower lip between his teeth and stroked the curve with the tip of his tongue, making you sigh.
He groaned in response…the sound was so erotic it made you wetter.
Your back arched as his hand crept beneath the hem of your dress and snaked upwards to squeeze your thigh under the material.
“Your skin is so soft,” he murmured against your mouth. He kissed his way following your jawline, then buried his face in your neck. “Do you like when I touch you?”
“Mm, yeah…hmm…” You moaned incoherently in response.
He continues to suckle on your neck, he pulls his hands from underneath your dress. It now traveled up your torso, where he gave your breast a gentle squeeze. He felt your nipple harden under your bra.
Things were escalating quicker than you had expected. If you didn’t take hold of your senses, you’d sooner pop your cherry on your couch. It wasn’t what you had envisioned for your ‘perfect night.’
“Hmm…my bedroom is uh, right around back there,” you utter softly.
He lifted his head. “It doesn’t have to be in the bedroom…” He planted a soft kiss on your chin, “…Or on a bed,” then darted his tongue in that notch at the base of your neck.
“So…you mean…h-here?” You squeaked.
“Yeah. Why not?” You hadn’t thought about having sex on the couch. And though it sounded appealing, you’d rather be comfortable.
“Uhm…I think I’d prefer the bed…if that’s okay with you?” You felt weird that you had to ask him about this. You hoped you hadn’t killed the mood.
“Of course, we can do that. Remember, it’s not about what I want. This night is all about you and I want you to fully enjoy yourself. So if it’s the bed you want, then…” He trails off and holds his hand out to you. You take it and you both walk towards the bedroom.
You weren’t exactly sure whether it was the alcohol, your nerves…him? All of the above? Either way, the path to your room felt much longer than it usually did.
Once in there, he sits you on the mattress and remains standing in front of you.
He slowly starts unbuttoning his shirt. You watched him carefully, his mouth was lax, his eyes hooded. Anticipation has your stomach churning and your thighs clenching shut. 
With his final button unfastened, he closes in with his shirt draped open. You suddenly have the urge to run your tongue down his center.
As if reading your mind, he coaxes you. “Go ahead.”
With his permission you reach up and run your finger down his chest. While he looks down to follow your trail, he nudges his way between your thighs. You look up at his face and see his lips quirk at the edges and his eyes sparkle, the slight crinkling in the corners softening the moment’s intensity. 
He dips his head down. As your lips brush, only very lightly, your body giving way as he crawls over you. Your hands fly up to his hair making him growl his approval as he moves his hands to the base on your spine and urges your body closer to him.
His tongue licks into your mouth and your heartbeat spikes. His hands drift down your body, gripping your thighs, his hands sliding upward beneath the edges of your dress until his fingertips find the lace of your panties, making you gasp.
“Uh…w-wait.”
He immediately stops. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, no,” you respond quickly.  “I…” you exhale sharply. “I’m sorry, I’m just really nervous. I’m in my head about it.”
He brushed your cheek gently. “Listen, if you’re not ready–”
“No, I am, it’s just…ugh,” you shut your eyes and groaned.
At this point, he rolls off you and sits up while you remain lying down, hiding your face in your hands. 
“Hey, come on. Talk to me,” he urges softly. “What are you feeling or thinking?”
“I’m sorry if I’ve wasted your time.”
His eye brow creases in confusion. “Wasted my time?” he echoed. “H-how?”
You uncover your face and find the strength to sit up and meet his eyes. The beauty of this agreement was that you can terminate the experience at any point. Their business guaranteed satisfaction. And although you knew in your mind that he would no doubt satisfy you, you weren’t sure if you’d exactly satisfy him.
“I mean, you can definitely keep the money. I know that we had a deal and–”
“Is that what you really want? To terminate?”
“W-well…” you sighed with hesitation.
“Aren’t you attracted to me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I’m very attracted to you. You’re perfect!”
“Then why?” He asks.
You shrug your shoulders. “I just…felt like doing something crazy,” you mumble.
“And do you do crazy things often?”
You shook your head vehemently. “Oh no, no. Very rarely.”
“So you consider yourself to be rational most of the time?”
You nodded softly.
“You said it yourself, you’re a Type-A so…this means that you thought about this very carefully. This wasn’t a decision that you took lightly. How long did you consider this before you decided to book me?”
You let out a sharp breath. “I don’t know…weeks? Maybe even months after I gained access to the app.”
He regards you intently. “Okay so…that means that you weren’t doing this on a whim. You thought about this carefully and decided that you want this. But…now that you have me, why won’t you take me?”
You shook your head. “It’s not you. It’s…” You let out a sigh of frustration. “I don’t know why this wouldn’t just come naturally to me. I’m a grown woman, not a teenager…this is just embarrassing.”
“There’s nothing embarrassing about being a virgin.”
That was something you’d never added to any of your dating profiles in other apps but somehow, the promise of discretion and professionalism gave you a sense of security to divulge this on your Boyfriend Experience app.
You groan in frustration. “It’s just sex! I don’t know why I’m so torn up about this.”
“If it’s just sex that you want, why go through with this? Why hire me? You’re a beautiful woman and I’m sure at some point, someone’s propositioned you?”
“Yeah,” You sighed. “But…I guess…maybe this whole time, I’ve been searching for something specific. And I think, to make that happen, I probably have to pay for it.”
“Alright, well…you have me right here.”
“Exactly why are you still here? I just offered to pay you for the entire night for practically doing nothing.”
“I’m here because I find you interesting.”
“Interesting?” You chuckle incredulously. “Right…an almost 30-year old virgin is interesting.”
He shook his head softly. “I see that you’re conflicted about this. And to me, that’s interesting. I want to know why you feel this way.”
“Is this the first time you’ve ever met a woman who can’t make up her mind?”
“I’ve met women who can’t decide what entrée to order at a restaurant or what shoes would match their dress perfectly. But if at the end of the night, we end up in a bedroom together? They know what they want at that point.”
You hug your knees to your chest. “Honestly, I never really thought about it much until I realized that my 30th birthday was coming up. I don’t know about you but sometimes, a milestone like that puts things into perspective.”
“Because everyone else in the world has got such an exciting sexual roster?” He asks wryly.
You laughed. “No, it’s not that. I put off sex not because nobody ever caught my interest. It’s just that I’ve heard so many stories from my girlfriends and even a couple of my guy friends where they talk about their first times. Some of them have fond memories of it. Like, how special and romantic it was. And then you get stories of the ones who hated it because either they felt pressured, their partner blew their load too early, or that neither of them had any clue about what the hell they were doing.”
“That pretty much sounds like how most people’s first times are,” He chuckled. 
“But that’s just it, right? Why can’t mine be an experience that was completely enjoyable, memorable, and pleasurable? Is that an unrealistic expectation?”
“I think, if anything, that sounds very realistic and practical of you,” he says without a trace of judgment in his voice.
“Really? You don’t think it’s too idealistic? Or delusional?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I feel like everyone has some idealistic vision of how their first time would go. Doesn’t matter if you’re 16 or 36. You want to have good memories about it. You just want everything to go well.”
He wasn’t lying. It’s what you hoped your first time would be like. None of these awkward memories from when you were a teen or whenever your friends had lost their virginity.
Then he inhaled sharply. “I will say that most of us romanticize it too much. Like, the lighting has to be right with some music playing; or that you have to be in love with that person first and when you’re done, you cuddle until the sun comes up and then you’re going to be together forever.”
You laughed because when he came through your door, you had music playing, some candles, wine…You weren’t in love with him but you at least wanted to get the mood right for this moment.
“I’m not trying to be cynical or make fun of people who dream of that. Now that I’m,” he cleared his throat, “A bit more seasoned in that area. I think that as long as you feel some connection with that person and you’re doing it on your own terms, that’s what matters.”
“And you’re able to form a connection with all of your clients?”
“Of course.”
“Because you have to?” You thought you were finishing a sentence for him.
He exhaled quietly and smiled. “In my line of work, it’s all about choices. It’s what you choose to do. And whatever that choice is, you have to be in it, 100% because otherwise, what’s the point?”
“But you have off-days, I’m sure? Like, you wake up feeling like shit, not wanting to be this walking, talking fantasy for someone?”
He chuckled softly. “Who doesn’t have days like that? I’m still human. If I feel the need to take a break, I do. I turn the app off and then nobody can book me on those days. I can’t take care of my clients if I don’t take care of myself first.”
He then adds, “Also, we don’t want to make anybody feel as if they’re obliged to do anything…and in turn, clients can’t and don’t force us to do anything we don’t want to either. This is why we have these conversations, to have that fail-safe.”
“Hm,” you smirked. “That makes sense.”
You hesitate to ask and don’t want him to feel as if he’d wasted his time completely. “Would it be okay if we talked some more?”
“Of course,” he smiled warmly.
“I’ll get the wine then,” you remarked.
“Good idea.”
******
“What do you do when you’re not, you know, working as an escort? Do you have a day job?”
He leaned back against where his head rested–which was on your thighs, while you laid, curled up on your side, your elbow supporting your head. You didn’t mind the position. You were both completely comfortable.
In keeping with the spirit of comfort, you change out of your dress and into an oversized sleep-shirt over your carefully selected lingerie. You figured, in case things escalated again, you’d be prepared. He kept his shirt off–you weren’t exactly sure if he meant it as a way to entice you–which, let’s face it, you were practically drooling. But so far, he hasn’t made a move to pick up where you left off.
He sighed. “I used to have one, during my first couple years doing this. And then ultimately, it became too hard to keep up with all of these different schedules so I quit that and never looked back.”
You couldn’t imagine how challenging it would be for him to meet with clients and try to make it to a nine-to-five. And you figured that with what you were paying him, he certainly can afford it.
“Do you go out when you’re not working?”
“Nah, I’m sort of a recluse,” he laughed.
Your eyebrows lifted in surprise. “No way!”
“I am. It may not seem like it but sometimes I just like chilling at home. I don’t sleep much when I’m working so I try to catch up on that when I’m off.”
“You don’t sleep much because…your clients keep you up?”
His eyes were tickled with amusement. “Not all the time,” he says. “I often have trouble sleeping when I’m working.”
“What do you do when you can’t sleep?” You wondered with curiosity.
“I work out or…watch TV late at night.”
“How much interesting TV could be on at like, 3 in the morning?”
He chuckled. “Oh, you’d be surprised! I’ve developed a habit of watching people dig for gold in this random hole where they find the most random shit except actual gold,” he jested.
You laughed out loud.
“Seriously! They find random doorknobs from, like, the 17th century. Which, by the way, they actually hired and paid an expert to test and confirm the age. And I’m like–who the fuck cares about a rusty old doorknob? Where’s the gold? Seriously, it’s been over five years of this and at no point does anyone think, hmm…maybe there is no gold after all,” he ranted very passionately.
At this point, your elbow gives way while you collapse in giggles. 
******
You ended up ordering food to be delivered at your place. He put his shirt back on but left it unbuttoned. It was difficult not to get distracted by his tattoos or his chest, in general but you tried to keep your focus on the conversation.
For the next couple of hours, over takeout containers, you continued talking about the most random things, sharing appetizers and eating off each other’s plates. You laughed and made jokes as if you’d known each other for years. He was a great conversationalist and for the first time since he walked through your door, your nerves had settled.
He looked more relaxed as well and it wasn’t just because of the alcohol. It must be difficult being in his shoes. Trying to keep up your interest in someone’s rambling stories about their life and all the while trying to seduce you into bed.
Now, he didn’t look like somebody intent on seducing you. He just looked like a normal guy. A normal guy whom you enjoyed having a conversation with.
After you put away your leftovers, you move back into the bedroom, and the conversation takes a slightly different turn. 
“Seriously though, why haven’t you had sex with anyone? I’m sure there’s no shortage of horny guys out there. Is it a purity thing?”
You laughed heartily. “God, no! No, no…” You shook your head in between giggles.
“And you’ve never had any experience with sex at all? No kissing, touching…what about masturbation?”
“Oh, pfftt,” you blew out a raspberry. “I said I was a virgin, not an innocent! I’ve dated before and it’s gone as far as heavy petting? But no legitimate penetration, so to speak.” 
He laughed and nodded at that. “Okay.”
“I’ll also have you know that I’ve invested in a very nice vibrator, since I’m a big girl and I can afford it now,” you both laughed. “And we have a really great relationship. In the end, we both know which of us feels used.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Ahh, so you’ve had an orgasm then?”
“Yes, I have,” you say simply. “Just…not with anybody.”
“I hope we can still rectify that tonight.”
His eyes glistened when they gazed at you. Though, not the same way they did when you both sat on the couch. There was a sincerity to that look–a sincere desire to give you what you need. A desire to please you.
A calm washes over you and you decide to try something.
“Could you please do me a favor?”
“Sure. Since you asked so nicely and if it’s in my power, I’ll do it.”
You hesitate for a beat. You figured he’d make up something on the spot but you needed a little boost of confidence. “Can you tell me…if…if you find me attractive?”
At this point, he sits up on the bed and moves closer to you.
Cupping your cheek, he runs his thumb gently across your lips. “You know, the moment you opened the door, the first thing I noticed was your mouth. When you talk, I just could not take my eyes off it.”
You feel a warm flutter within your chest. Afterwards, his lithe fingers drift lower to your neck, his fingers brushing over a specific spot. “I also noticed your freckle here. When you swallow, it draws my attention to this vein on your throat.” You swallow reflexively, earning you a small smile from him.
“And this here,” his thumb grazed the notch at the base of your neck, right between your clavicle. “Mm…I think it’s just sooo sexy,” he purred.
A shiver ran down your spine, making your breath hitch. You blink slowly, trying to stop your eyes from reflexively rolling to the back of your head. 
His hand traveled back up to your face, his finger brushing your ear. He was so close to you that you could hear his ragged breathing. He was as aroused as you were, his cock tenting under the sheets.
“So, to answer your question: yes, I find you very attractive,” he rasped slowly..
With that, you let out a small whine and practically attack his mouth. The sudden onslaught doesn’t seem to take him by surprise as if he had fully expected you to play into his trap. And you didn’t mind it one bit.
You sighed and he took advantage of the opening, dipping his tongue inside. His kiss was confident, skilled, and just the right amount of aggressive.
Pulling back to cradle your jaw, he looked into your eyes. He rubbed the tip of his nose against you, his hands sliding along your bare arms.
“Are you sure about this now?”
“Yes. Absolutely, yes,” you breathed out.
Jimin’s hands slid back up your shoulders and onto your throat, leaving a white-hot trail across your skin. Cradling your head, he tilts it back and seals his mouth over yours again.
He settled over you, his chest hot to the touch. He helps you push his shirt off him, dropping it to the floor. His ardent mouth moved down your throat, his hands pushing your bra up to palm your breasts through the sleep-shirt you put on since taking your dress off hours ago.
You lift off the mattress, struggling to rid yourself of your shirt, which he helps you with. Then, you reach back and unclasp your bra, tossing it to the side.
In an instant, he was back on you, lips wrapping around your nipple and suckling, his weight supported by one forearm on the mattress, his other hand pushing between your legs.
He cupped your clothed heat, his fingertip gliding over the material, grazing the seam of your cleft. His tongue flicked over your nipple, then sank his teeth into the hardened tip.
His hair tickled your skin as his open mouth slid over your cleavage, his chest expanding as he breathed you in, nuzzling and wallowing in your scent. He captured the tip of your other breast with hard, deep suction. The pleasure shot through you, your walls clenching in reflex.
He moved down your torso, licking and peppering kisses across your stomach. Once he gets past your waist, his shoulders force your legs wider until you feel his hot breath over your cleft. His nose pressed against the wet material, stroking you. He inhaled with a groan.
“You smell intoxicating.”
Jimin fiddled with your panties’ waistband, peering up at you for approval. You lifted your hips and gave a small wriggle. That was all he needed to pull the constricting material off. It was soaked through anyway.
“Did you wax?”
The question takes you by surprise. “Y-yeah. Why?”
“When? Today?”
This is a really odd time to ask about personal hygiene. You blinked a few times, “Uhm…like, three days ago?”
“Hm, good.”
“Okay, but what does waxing have–”
“Because, if it’s only been less than 24 hours, I can’t do this,” He held you open with his thumbs, and dragged his tongue over your clit. Your back arched with a cry, all your senses out the window. Tilting his head, he thrust his tongue into your opening, teasing and fucking it rhythmically.
”Is that good?” He paused to check on you.
“Ohh….ffffuckk…yes, it’s good,” You writhed with pleasure, your core clenching and releasing.
He smiled mischievously. “Alright, guess I’ll continue then.”
His lips were around your clit, sucking, tonguing it. He was eating you with an intensity that you were helpless against. The flesh between your legs was so swollen and sensitive, so vulnerable to his expert mouth.
When you feel yourself tipping close to the edge, you wrench yourself away from his hold.
“Wait, wait–n-not yet,” you breathed out.
He pauses his oral assault on you. “Were you close?”
“Yes, but I don’t want to cum just yet.”
He chuckled in confusion. “Oh-kay…” he dragged out.
You sat up and captured his mouth. You taste traces of you on his lips–it was incredibly arousing.
“I want you,” you moaned.
He gasps as you unfastened his pants, reached inside his boxer briefs and wrapped your hands around him. But he obliges, deepening your kiss further.
You shifted positions, until he was leaning against your headboard. You moved lower, sank to your knees, pulling his pants low enough to give you the access you needed.
He exhaled harshly. “YN, are you sure—”
You cut him off when your lips wrapped around the tip. He reached back, the whites of his knuckles showing how hard he gripped the lip of your headboard.
You held him in your hand and mouthed the plush head, sucking gently. The softness of his skin and his scent made you moan. You felt the vibration ripple through his entire body and heard a rough sound rumble in his chest.
You peered up at him and he touched your cheek. “Lick it.”
Aroused by the command, you fluttered your tongue across the underside and moaned with delight when he oozed with pre-cum. Fisting with one hand, you hollow your cheeks and draw rhythmically.
“Hmm…fuck yes…just like that.”
The erotic sounds he made and the way he slowly bucked his hips into your throat spurred you on. You were so turned on by his pleasure. His hands pushed into your hair, pulling and tugging at the roots, the twinge of pain making you greedier.
Your head bobbed as you pleasured him, his veins pulsing through the length of his cock. You released him with a pop. Tilting your head to the side, you slid the flat of your tongue up his length.
You were in complete awe of him as you watched his head fall back, fighting for breath.
You rested your hands on his hips, frantically working your lips and tongue, desperate for his climax. His balls were tightening, you cupped and tugged on them gently, making him gasp in pleasure.
“Ah, YN…stop.” His voice was a guttural rasp.
“Stop.” He dislodges your jaw from him, pulling you up to his level and gives you a swift kiss. “As much as I really, really want to keep fucking your mouth, I think we should take care of you first.”
You roll off him and he gets up off the bed. He reaches into his back pocket and produces a foil packet before pulling his pants and boxers off. You watch intently as he rolls the condom down his length.
You swallow roughly when he swiftly tugs at your ankles and positions your bottom at the edge of the bed.
“Just so we’re clear, you need to tell me at any point if you feel discomfort or there’s anything that you don’t like. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” you respond firmly.
His fingers parted your folds and rubbed your clit in slow circles, making you moan. Finding that you were still soaked for him, he leans in, hooking your legs to his waist and lined himself up to your center.
“Try to relax, okay?” You nod.
“Ready?” he asks urgently. You nod again, because speech has evaded you at this point. 
He rips his hand from between your thighs and in one calculated movement, he moves his hands to your bottom and lifts you. Slowly, carefully, he pushed in, making you tense up instinctively.
Ow! Fucking hell!
This was not a vibrator or some other fake dick you’ve been used to. It was the real thing. The sensation was…different. 
Sweat misted his brow. “YN?” he pants. “Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?”
You inhale sharply. “Just…two seconds. I just need a few seconds.” You slowed your breathing, wrapping your legs around him tighter, adjusting to the mixture of pleasure and pain. You know he’s not even all of the way in. 
Your hands slip over his sweat drenched back as he holds still for a few moments, giving you time to adapt to the feeling. 
“Okay, keep going,” you assure him. He pants as he slowly withdraws from you, re-entering on a deliberate, steady thrust. This time he’s a little deeper and the fullness is making your head spin.
“Can you take more?” he asks urgently.
More? How much more is there?
You took some calming breaths. When you felt like you had a handle on it, you kiss him slowly, arching your back and pushing your breasts up to his chest. You thrust yourself upward, deepening the connection.
“YN, tell me you’re ready.” he breathes. 
“Yes, I’m ready.”
With your prompt, he extracts himself and drives back inside of you. You sigh, tilting your hips forward in acceptance as he moans in appreciation and repeats his swift thrusts, again and again.
The soreness from the stretch slowly fades with his steady rhythm. Before you knew it, you were bucking your hips against him greedily, but in sync with his movements.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he breathes on a deep plunge. Your head lolls back against the mattress, lost in the pleasure of it all.
In one swift move, he pulls back and pounds into you. You cry out but not from the hurt. You’ve taken him to the hilt and loving every bit of it. You reach up behind him and grip his shoulders as he increases his thrusts, slamming into you, repeatedly hitting that sensitive cluster of nerves in you. You yelp in pleasure when he finds your lips, plunging his tongue into your mouth.
Slowly, you feel that familiar buildup of pressure within while he ate you out minutes ago. But right when you feel like you’re about to fall apart, he pauses his assault and pulls out of you.
The feeling of emptiness has left you confused and somewhat hazy. Distantly, you hear him grab a hold of your hand to pull you up off the mattress. 
“C’mere,” he beckons you off the bed–which, you weren’t even sure how you managed to support your own weight since your legs felt like jello.
He motions for you to stand in front of the wall.
“Keep your hands there,” he says, propping your hands up. You do as he says and he rewards you by planting a soft kiss on your shoulder. He positions himself behind you, gently urging your legs apart while his hands roam your front. He massages your breasts in his hands, making you gasp when he pinches and pulls on your overly sensitized nipples.
One of his hands slides down your torso and abdomen until it settles between your thighs. His fingers parted your lips, feeling around for your clit.
“Oh my god,” you choked out once he hit the target, making you lean your head back against him.
“Good?” His warm breath tickled the shell of your ear while he nipped at it.
“Hmm...yes,” you drawled while his fingers rubbed and circled your flesh. You couldn’t help but reach your hand back towards his nape to pull him closer to you. If he worked in a couple more circles around your clit, you swear, you could have exploded right then.
“Tell me what you want, YN,” he whispered in your ear.
“You…please,” you whined, grinding your groin to his touch.
“I’m here,” he answers. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you back in, please,” you begged pathetically before that delicious pressure in you deflates.
Lowering your hands from the wall, he adjusts your position while you jut your bottom out for him, pushing your back down slightly. His hands steadied you as he pulled your hips closer to him, opening yourself up so he could slide back in.
A low, broken cry escaped your mouth as he adjusted you at the right angle, taking your breath away when you felt him slide in deeper. The stretching was even more intense this way. It was unbearably arousing. If he ever allows you to cum tonight, you feel as if you’d shatter into a million pieces and never recover.
Your core trembled, clenching desperately around him. He made a rough sound, pulling out just a little before sliding back slowly. The tip of his cock massaged the bundle of nerves deep inside you that no premium-priced vibrator would ever reach.
Palms slipping and sliding restlessly against the walls, you moaned gutturally, repeatedly.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he said urgently. “Let me hear how much you like it.”
“Oh, fucckkkk…” Your legs shook violently on a particularly deep, measured stroke, your weight supported only by the wall and his hold on you.
You could do nothing but take what Jimin gave you, the rhythmic push and pull, the sounds of skin on skin filling the room–it was an incredibly dizzying environment.
One of his hands left your hip, and cupped your cheek, turning your face slightly back towards him, seizing your mouth and groaning into it while continuing to pound into you.
Everything in you goes rigid as that same all-too-familiar feeling threatens to spill out of you. 
Your breaths become more constricted. “Come on, baby. I know you’re close…” he said gruffly, sliding his other hand down to your center to tease your pulsing clit.
Finally, it became too much. You came with a breathless cry, shaking violently, your hands squeaking over the wall as your sweaty palms slipped. He keeps his firm hold on you and plunged deeper and harder, his fingers still on your clit, driving you insane. One orgasm rolled into another, your cunt rippling around his relentless thrusts.
You held onto him, trembling, tears pooling in your eyes. Raw moans spilled from him, making you so hot and slick that your body offered no resistance and instead welcomed his desperate need for his own climax.
His mouth twisted in a grimace of agonized bliss, his eyes losing their focus as his orgasm built. 
He came with a deep, hoarse growl, spurting so hard into the condom, you felt it. His whole body jerked hard, then shuddered. Over and over, heating you from the inside with thick washes.
He collapsed against you, his lungs heaving for breath.
******
“Are you okay?”
He laughed in response as he stood by your bathroom’s doorway. “You’re asking me? Shouldn’t I be asking you?”
“I’m good. Sore but otherwise, good,” you say calmly.
There it was again, that soft crinkle in his eye when he smiled. As if he didn’t just fuck you senselessly moments ago.
You pull the sheets back from the bed, where you sat and patted the empty space next to you, inviting him to get in.
“Are you sure?” He asked with a hint of hesitation. “I told you, I’m fine sleeping on the couch.” He was in a pair of sweats now and not much else.
You roll your eyes. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Now c’mon, get in.”
With your permission, he slid under the sheets and made himself comfortable next to you.
“Do you feel any different?”
You paused and thought carefully before you answered him. “You know what? I don’t,” you laughed. “I thought that some proverbial curtain would lift and things would look or feel differently but…no. I feel the same.”
He hummed noncommittally. “Hm…okay.”
“I mean, don’t get me wrong. This isn’t a testament to what we just did. And…that was pretty mind-blowingly euphoric back there.”
He laughed heartily. “Aw, c’mon, YN! Don’t fuck with me.”
“Well…too late for that now,” you countered wryly.
He doubles over as he’s in absolute stitches, making you laugh as much.
“I swear, I had to pick pieces of my brain off the floor. Is that normal for you?”
He sighed heavily after calming down. “I mean…” he shrugged. “You’re giving me too much credit.” Then his expression turns accusatory, “You told me you hadn’t done any sort of sexual activity with anyone. So, where’d you learn to suck dick like that?”
“Porn.” You say flatly.
He threw his head back in laughter. “Seriously?”
You scoffed. “What did I tell you? I’m a virgin, not an innocent.” Not gonna lie, you did do a bit of ‘research’ before tonight. True to your Type-A personality, you needed to know what you were getting yourself into. Unfortunately, you had to use an incognito browser and painfully to wade through dozens of pop-ups of erections and weird-ass shit before finding the more helpful videos.
“Well, shit,” he blew out a puff of air.
After a few beats of silence, he turns to you again. “Look, I know you had a list–”
You giggled. “Ugh, that seems so embarrassing now.”
“Hey, it’s not embarrassing to have goals.”
“Don’t patronize me,” you teased.
“I’m not patronizing you. Just saying, at least you have a good idea of what you want.”
“I guess, yeah.” You relented.
You glance at your phone’s clock then stare back at the ceiling. You had no idea how other partners would compare to him. Did you even want other partners? This would be a very expensive venture if you decide to keep this up with him.
Moments later, as you start to feel the fatigue settle in, you feel him brush your bare arm. You thought it was probably his insomnia keeping him up. “You know, we still have a few hours before our time is up.”
You turn to him, eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. “You have the energy to do that again?”
He shrugged. “I brought a few condoms, and…I’d really love to see that ass bounce again. Maybe with a reverse cowgirl?" As soon as he sank his teeth into his bottom lip, you knew you were done for.
You were happy to indulge in Jimin a bit more. He ticked all of the boxes that you had on your list and even added a few more that had your mind melting from multiple orgasms by the end of your experience.
It was the perfect way to ring in your 30th birthday.
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Tagging: @internetjunkdrawer @itdoesntmatterwhy @deepseavibez
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musicloverxoxo7 · 1 year
Text
Run BTS – featuring Jimin
Idol!Jimin   x   fem!reader
Summary: Jimin’s black Run BTS outfit has you going crazy. So when he wears it when he returns from Busan, it’ll have consequences.
Themes/warnings: smut with a bit of plot, protected sex, nipple play, handjob, fingering, bit of fluff, Jimin has one bratty moment and is a little dominant at one point, established relationship
Wordcount: ca. 1.6k
Disclaimer: 18+, DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU ARE UNDER 18
I do not own BTS. They merely inspire me. None of this is related to their persons in real life.
Like about 1% of the world population, you spent your Saturday watching BTS. The only difference to most others? On Monday Jimin will come home to you, like he has been doing for the past three years.
As you watch him dance to Run BTS in that all black outfit, you can hardly wait for that to happen.
You work until 5 on Monday and pack your stuff quickly at the end of the day. Chances are he’ll already be home by now.
All the ride home on the metro you don’t think of anything but the black shirt flying up and revealing his bronze skin, or the way the leather pants were just loose enough to leave a little to the imagination. And to make it easier to move, of course.
You bite your lip. Practicality wasn’t on you mind when you first saw that outfit. It has taken you 3 days to come up with that.
The walk to your home is only five minutes from the station. You speed walk, earning a raised eyebrow from a lady walking her dog.
In the elevator, you’re very impatient, shuffling your feet, shifting to handbag from one hand to the other.
Finally, the doors slide open, and you hurry along the corridor. Seconds later, you’ve unlocked the door and push it open. The hallway is empty. You slip out of your shoes and drop your handbag. A sliver of light comes out from under the bedroom door, which is closed.
You walk over there and press down the handle gently. If Jimin is asleep, you don’t want to wake him.
Jimin sits on the made bed, one leg bent, scrolling through his phone. He’s engrossed in something on the phone and doesn’t notice you. That gives you time to look him up and down properly.
You’re doomed.
He’s wearing the black Busan outfit. From your point of view, it’s hard to tell, but it looks like the shirt is not buttoned.
You sigh, imagining running your hands over his torso. Perhaps tracing his “Nevermind” tattoo.
Jimin turns his head, looking mildly surprised.
“I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I tried to be quiet. I thought you might be asleep.”
Jimin holds out his arms, the phone still in one hand.
“Come here babe. Let me hug you.”
You’re very willing to do that. You crawl onto the bed and sink into his arms. And yes, you were right. The shirt is not buttoned.
With your cheek against his bare chest, you feel very happy.
“I’ve missed you”, Jimin whispers into your hair.
“I’ve missed you too, honey.”
You place your hand on his chest and feel the powerful muscles underneath. Your fingers slide down a little to draw circles around his nipple. His stomach muscles start tensing as you keep doing it.
Jimin’s head drops back, away from your hair. You take his nipple between your thumb and index finger and give it a twist and tuck.
“Babe…”
“Stop or keep going?”
“Keep going.”
So you do. You’ve always loved that he has sensitive nipples and isn’t weird about you touching them. Unlike one or another guy you’d dated before him.
You shift position so that you can straddle him. His dark, sexy eyes meet yours. His beautiful lips are slightly parted.
You keep playing with his nipple as you place kisses and little bites along his jawline and down his neck. Jimin moans throatily. Good indication that he’s into it. If the bulge in his pants hadn’t already given that away.
You spread your legs a little more and slide your hand under your dress’s skirt to draw circles on your clit.
When you withdraw your hand from Jimin’s nipple, he whines. His slightly absent eyes return to you. Your slide your hands to his bulge and rub your flat hand over it. Jimin moves his hips in synch with your touch for maximum friction.
In the meantime, the circles on your clit make your thighs shake.
“Help me open this”, you say, pointing at the front of his pants.
“How about I take over from you. Then you have two free hands to open them.”
His eyes glisten darkly and dangerously as he looks at you, the corner of his mouth drawing up into one of his devilish smirks.
You withdraw your hand from under your dress and get to work opening the pants. What first looked complicated is actually quite straightforward. As soon as they’re open, Jimin’s hand disappear under your dress.
He pushes your underwear aside, runs his fingers from your clit to your entrance and gathers some of your wetness. He moves back to your clit and starts drawing patterns in exactly the right spot. You press your hips forward into his fingers.
With his pants out of the way you push away his boxers and can finally close your hand around his dick. The tip leaks some more precum as you draw your thumb over it. Jimin throws his head back and sucks in a breath.
You adjust your grip and start moving your hand up and down his length. The velvety skin feels wonderful. You keep the rhythm slow for the time being.
Jimin’s touch makes your toes curl. You almost let go of his dick as you approach your high. His movements remain steady, even as he moans due to your touch.
“Jiminah”, you whine, writhing and bucking your hips. You lean against his shoulder as your walls contract, and you’re pushed over the edge.
He starts to withdraw his hand once your high slowly abate, but you take it and push it further under your dress. He swirls his fingers around your entrance.
“Oh, babe, you’re wet.” He sinks one finger into you. You push yourself down on it. It feels so nice. “And relaxed. Do you want more?”
You nod. He adds another finger, moving them in you gently. You move your hips along. It feels good, but not filling enough.
“Please Jiminah, can I…” You eye his dick, your hand still wrapped around it. His eyes are heavily lidded, his pupils nearly as big as his irises. Another smile is curling his lips upwards.
“You have my permission to use me in whatever way you want.”
You instantly let go of his dick, open the drawer next to the bed and get out a condom. You roll it on quickly. All the while, Jimin’s fingers keep moving in you. Your stomach muscles tighten, but you breathe through it.
“Take your hand away, please.”
He doesn’t. A playful smile plays across his features. Instead, he hits you g-spot. Your back arches and you let go of his dick.
“Jiminah.”
But he keeps hitting your g-spot instead of sliding out. You bite your lip.
“Please honey”, you plead. “I need more.”
“You want me to fill you up properly?”
“Yes. Please.”
His fingers disappear and he pulls you forward, practically lifting you up. You help until you’re right above his dick. You grab it and position it at your entrance.
You sigh as you slowly sink down on him. His girth feels heavenly.
Jimin pulls you into a fiery kiss as you move up and down, rotating your hips in a way that feels nice for you and you know he likes. As you increase your speed, moans from both of you mix into the kiss.
Slowly, your legs turn into jelly. You can’t keep up the speed.
“Get on all fours, babe”, Jimin whispers.
You slide off him and turn around until you’re on your hands and knees. Jimin comes up behind you, bunches up the dress around your waist and runs his hands over your ass. He slaps your ass. You inhale sharply. It doesn’t really hurt, but it stings a bit.
“I love your ass, babe”, he says, running his hand over the stinging spot. You merely manage a hum as an answer.
His dick slides between your legs, rubbing against your clit. You throw your head back and whine.
“I want you to play with your clit, okay?”
“Okay.”
You bring your fingers to your clit as he takes his dick away and starts sliding back into you. You push your hips back, so he gets where you need him more quickly.
His thrusts are deep and slow, driving you nuts as he rubs against your g-spot while you rub your clit. The combination is heaven.
It doesn’t take long until you feel another high coming. Your walls start tightening around him more frequently.
“Babe, you almost there?”
“Yeah.”
His thrusts become faster, slightly less deep. He still hits your g-spot every time. Your arms give out as the orgasm washes over you. Your face hits the mattress.
“Almost there. Hold tight”, Jimin breathes.
You push your elbows into the mattress, so he gets enough friction as the waves of your orgasm slowly ebb away.
Jimin’s fingers dig into your hips as he bottoms out, releasing in you. You can feel him pulse. He leans forward and places a kiss on your shoulder.
“I like your outfit, by the way. I’ve been thinking about it since you sent me that picture on Friday.”
“You like the outfit or me in the outfit”, Jimin teases, his breathing still labored.
“Your thighs in those pants and the shirt flying around while you danced. You could have just gone without, to be honest.”
“Only for you, babe.”
You turn your head and meet Jimin’s eyes. He winks at you.
© musicloverxoxo7, 2022
Please do not copy, translate, or repost my work. Doing so will make you legally liable for stealing intellectual property.
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cherrysoulth · 1 year
Text
DIAMONDS I
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💕Pairing: Jimin x Reader
✏️Genre/au: Non-Canon, Action, Smut, Mafia AU
✏️Rating: PG 18+, explicit
📝Wordcount: 5443
⚠️Warnings: Explicit smut
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Hii! Did you stumble across this work? Glad you're here 😊 Please, let me know your thoughts once you are finished. Feedback keeps me motivated to write 😁
Decided to write a one-shot of a parallel universe of The waiter because this song inspired me XD
Note that English is not my first language, so please if you find grammar mistakes, let me know. :)
My gratitude goes to @moonleeai for beta reading 💜
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Have it all
Rip our memories off the wall
All the special things I bought
They mean nothing to me anymore
But to you
They were everything we were
They meant more than every word
Now I know just what you love me for
~Sam Smith - Diamonds
Walking inside the party you made sure your posh, self-sufficient smile stayed up, never dropping the mask for the vultures of your mother’s so-called guests. Your break up with the magnate Jeon Jungkook, still fresh on everyone's mouth while your heart still bleeds inside the pitch black dress hugging your chest and puffing out all the way down to your knees. Your matching high heels are heard from your confident steps as you approach the hotel bar asking for a glass of champagne, looking perfectly modest at your parents eyes, while what you would like to chug down is a double of whiskey with ice.
The bastard was playing mafia king while you were a respectable lawyer with the law tattooed in your soul. Almost literally, since you had the date of the first big case you won permanently printed on the left side of your ribs. Your first case against drugs was nonetheless related to one of his associates and although you are thankful it was the case allowing you to uncover the whole web of lies he had been throwing over you, that truth hurt.
Your poor, stupid heart had fallen for the sweetness and gentleness he seemed to have in his; even the almost brutal passion he showed in the bedroom. But to you, love couldn’t get past the fundamental fact that he was part of a criminal organisation; that due to some of his decisions people died in the streets or dirty motels like rats. That those deaths were not only tragic on their own but that they also left  families broken. 
The only thing your love did for him, and having lived together up until that point, was to not call your friends at the DEA to put his ass in jail. Not that it would have been a smart move anyway without proof; you know you would have ended up dead and probably suffering before it. Very likely by one of his own men’s hands. However, you still had the audacity to tell him that it was the only reason you would step away and act like you had broken up for any other reason; like you hadn’t seen anything. Not that you had seen enough anyway.
Someone bumps into you as you walk away with your glass and you look at the gorgeous and ethereal creature that stands in front of you. He seems just as charmed by you because it feels like time has stopped since neither of you move, lost in each other’s eyes. It’s the reminder of Jungkook in freshman year at the university and how he had looked at you exactly like that, which sends you back to reality and you apologise to the man, asking for a cloth from the next waiter coming closer. 
It’s your father approaching to offer to get it cleaned at the hotel laundry what sorts the situation. Jimin, who introduces himself to both of you, excuses himself and walks out of the bar towards the elevators, presumably to change his suit. Your father scowls you as soon as the door closes and you look at him, with an arched brow. 
“It was an accident,” you mutter, not willing to take the blame. 
“You would do yourself, and your mother, a favour if you behaved like the lady we taught you to be,” he whispers in an annoyed tone. “The break of your compromise with Mr. Jeon doesn’t need to be the end of your chances to marry a good suiter. The party is full of them. Make sure you cause a good impression,” he states before approaching and kissing your forehead, hands rubbing your arms. “We want the best for you, Darling. Please.” he then mutters with a much softer tone and glare. 
You can only nod. No matter how hard you have worked to achieve your place in one of the most prestigious lawfirms in Seoul, it means nothing to your family if you don’t marry and secure the linage and continuity of the business as the only heir to your parents. The anger in you for the way they speak so tragically of your break up with Jungkook, as if he was the best of all men that you could have chosen to spend your life with, makes you want to go get screwed by the first pretty face that lingers around. Maybe even to be seen at a late hours club dancing your heart out for the paparazzi.
A man interrupts the sweet father-daughter moment and you are introduced to Seokjin, his prince-looking son. You soon recognise the man, who hasn’t introduced himself expecting you to know who he is. He is an associate of your father with his franchise in the city. You automatically see the game your father is playing and more than before, you just want to leave the party and unwind from the whole getting-you-a-husband experience. Unfortunately for you, your father has other plans and engages you into the conversation, making sure to brag about your achievements while making you look humble and modest. ‘When will this torture end’ you think, almost rolling your eyes.
Seokjin seems like someone you could get along with, but unfortunately doing so would make your parents sign up for a wedding and you are simply not up for it. He seems genuinely interested in you by the questions he makes and you try to entertain the conversation with caution not to let the sour humour that practically exudes from you since your break up make an act of presence. The sound of the elevator, however, seems to distract you from the conversation at the right moment. Jimin steps out of it and your heart skips a beat.
He walks your way in a black suit that clings to his body like a glove, unusually tight at the waist, differentiating him from the rigid-looking male suits present. As soon as he is in your reach he says, “I think this suits me better, I should thank you for that little accident, Darling.” with his eyes on you and a sweetness to them that doesn’t match the sharp eyeshadow that he’s used. You are speechless but can’t figure out if it’s because of his approach or his beauty. Maybe it’s both. “Do you need me to save you from this conversation?” he mutters, leaning closer and laughing as he stands straight again. 
“Jimin-ssi, let me present you, Kim Seokjin,” you say drifting away from the unpolitness that the CEO’s son doesn’t deserve. “I’ll be fine with him, I appreciate it,” you mutter once they have exchanged basic information to become acquaintances. They seem to like each other, genuinely, and somehow that makes you glad. 
“All right, I’ll let you two go back to the conversation you were having before I interrupted,” he says with a bright smile. “I’ll go sit at the bar. If you need me, just look my way,” he whispers before bowing to you and Seokjin. 
It’s that sudden thought that you don’t really know the man that makes you notice what you just allowed. Thing is, his charms draw you in to wanting to know more than what he has just let out to introduce himself to Seokjin. The prince looks at the angel and walks away in what you would swear is awe and you can’t avoid to smile; you are not the only one who’s been tempted. 
“Have you known him for long?” wonders Seokjin, turning to you after he takes a sip of his flute. “You two seem close,” he points out and a shade of pink paints your cheeks, realising the way he has put his hand between your shoulder blades and he hasn’t made you uncomfortable in the slightest. 
“Not long really,” you respond truthfully, then realise how bad that can make you look, “but Jimin has that thing that makes you feel safe around him,” you rush to correct, masking your apprehension good enough. At least for your parents sake, it’s best that you keep appearances. 
“I can tell, I feel like I knew him from somewhere,” he says, looking to the side with a slight frown before meeting your eyes again, “but it’s impossible. I would remember someone like him.” His tone lets you know the meaning behind his words, he’s being open about his attraction to Jimin.
“Seokjin…” you hesitate a second. “This might be improper of me to ask but… Are you by any means–”
“Gay?” he interrupts with a smile and you nod with doe eyes waiting for what he’s to say next.
“Between you and I… And this is me guessing that you are of another kind from these people… I’m bisexual.” he admits and you smile at him brightly. “My parents don’t know… Or at least they act like they have no clue about it.” 
“To keep the image,” you say before taking a sip. “Oh, sir, do I know things about that?” 
“I know,” he interjects, “that’s why I’m speaking freely. I can only guess what this party is truly about and I can only say that I pity you.”
“No interest in me then,” you tease before taking another sip, looking around the room. 
“Don’t take me wrong, that’s not what I meant at all,” he says, getting your attention. “I think you are attractive and from what I’ve heard you are smart. No matter how much your father tried to minimise the importance of your career, it hasn’t fooled me. I’ve read articles and you are really good at what you do. Marrying you instead of a frigid posh-princess would be it.” he looks at you above the glass of champagne, seductively. You swallow. 
“I didn’t expect that,” you say, clearing your throat. “I mean–”
“My apologies if I was too direct there,” he rushes to do damage control.
“No, no, on the contrary. I much rather someone who is genuine than to be playing the chase.” you rush to reassure. “I just didn’t expect that from any of my father’s colleagues son’s to be honest. Everyone…” 
“I know, I would like to–” he stops immediately when his father signals him from across the room pointing to his phone. “If you’ll excuse me?” 
“Sure! Don’t worry.” 
“It was a pleasure to speak. I hope we can repeat it,” he mentions with a bow. 
“I would be glad to,” you reply politely, unsure as to why you just don’t feel attracted to him.
As he walks away, you scan him through, noticing the formalwear wraps perfectly at his well built buttocks. A ‘not bad’ pout draws in your face before the awareness of someone picking on the gesture makes you panic. You scan the room. The only person with eyes on you is Jimin, and he looks away with a laugh, making all the blood in your body rush to your face. You bite your lower lip and chug the rest of your flute down your throat, before turning around, deciding to abandon the party.
The amount of flutes you’ve had during the tormentous situation, escapes your knowledge and although you are normally very careful with getting drunk, it becomes obvious that a slight dizziness is playing a part in your decision. But as you leave the glass object on the near table a voice stops you in your tracks. The room seems to have fallen silent too.
“Ares, may we speak?” the voice resounds in your mind and you feel like you are about to lose your balance and faint, in either order. 
You turn around and you must look as drained of blood as you feel because his face expresses surprise and somehow, worry. ‘Escape plan, now’ your mind buzzes and you search across the room, having become disoriented as to where the bar is. Jungkook feels way too close, although you are aware that he is keeping a way more than polite distance. He repeats the question, but you are preoccupied and Jimin is not in his seat. You feel the tears prickle in your eyes and look for your parents instead but all the room has gone back to their conversations and they seem more than pleased to have him talk to you, because they don’t give a second glance in your direction.
In that moment something takes over you, ‘You can do this. Refuse, block, move away.’ “No. We have nothing to say.” You tell him and begin to turn around again, dismissively, but he grabs your forearm whispering for you to listen to him. You turn with a death glare, “Let go of me, Jungkook, or I’ll scream this house down.”
“I doubt you will,” he talks under his breath, confidently. “Besides, it–”
“Dove, sorry for keeping you waiting.” Jimin says from your left flank and Jungkook lets you go at the instant. “Are you sure you left the jacket in your room? I haven’t been able to find it,” he says, keeping his eyes on you before turning slightly to Jungkook. “Oh, sorry, are we not leaving?” he says, returning his eyes to you, looking way more gentle and innocent than you know him for. 
“Yes we are, Chimmy. My jacket is at the entrance, sorry, I got distracted,” you let out and cringe internally to how improper it is to you to nickname him when you barely know him. “Excuse us,” you say to Jungkook and bow out of your own proper behaviour, seeing Jimin do the same. You see him astonished from the corner of your eye as Jimin puts his hand at your lower back and walks with you to the entrance. 
He asks for your jackets to the buttler and he goes inside the room behind the reception where they keep the larger jackets for those clients who pay an extra for it. Jimin eyes the furry white jacket you are handed and giggles for a reason you don’t understand before helping you in it. Then the soft blue uniformed man passed him another fluffy coat in black, like a raven's wings. You watch as he puts it on and you smile at the coincidence. “May we?” he says, offering his arm.
Outside, he is given the keys of a pretty dark purple Porsche Boxster and then accompanies you to your door and waits for you to sit comfortably before closing the door. Finally starting the car and leaving the premises he speaks, “Chimmy. I think I like it.” The giggle that follows makes you blush.
“So corny, I know. I just couldn’t think of anything better at the moment,” you explained, opening the jacket a little bit as the heater inside the car is working too well. He makes quick use of his hands without taking his eyes off the road; turning off the heater and opening the sunroof of the car while reducing its speed. He looks at you and nods in a muted question, you nod back and lean on the headrest while breathing in the cold air of the night. 
You don’t ask where he is taking you at first and just enjoy the fresh air of the autumn night, away from that senseless event, away from the strings of your parents. You are sure, once back, you will hear from them and it’s going to be an uncomfortable conversation, like it all is lately. You are fed up. “You will have to tell me where you want to go or what you want to do. I’m driving aimlessly,” he points out and you open your eyes to look at him. 
The wind seems to have a deal with him because it makes his hair go backwards beautifully, only accentuating how handsome he is. “I can’t believe I got in a car with a stranger,” you voice without a thought and he chuckles. “How did you know I needed to get out?” you finally inquire.
“I know who he is and by your face, you know what his business is. It wouldn’t have sat well in my conscience if I had let him charm you to his world,” he says while using the indicator to turn right. You are at a loss of words processing whatever that can mean. “May I suggest we stop here and talk until you decide what you want to do?” he questions.
“Sounds like a good plan, Jimin-ssi.”  
He stops at a viewpoint towards the city and you soak on the spectacle of little lights it displays. It never gets old. The feeling of being much more tinier than you think makes you smile. You can’t help but notice his eyes are on you and not the view for some time. The light pollution has the sky coated and you can’t see the stars but you know they are there. You let out a sigh.
“How do you know who he is?” you inquire moving in your seat to face him.
“I’m surprised you don’t.”
“I do. He’s my ex, but what about you? This is not something he goes around screaming,” you concede not up for a cat and mouse chase.
“Let’s say I’ve seen what his organisation is capable of and that I would very much like to see him between bars.” he lets out with what you can guess is a sort of grunt of resentment.  “What he does is so wrong… It should end. How did you date him?” he wonders, leaning at an angle between his seat and the door. “Didn’t your parents investigate him?”
“I’m not even sure they know… I obviously can’t say a word because these people are dangerous, but he wasn’t even in when we started dating,” you explain and he looks at you attentively. “God… I barely know you, what are we even doing talking about this. I don’t-” You panic a little, aware that this could be one of those tricks the organisation plays to prove loyalties. That talking too much could put everyone you know in danger. The most concerning part is how has he come across them and saw anything if he is not related to the criminal work himself or partnered with someone inside. He surely acts like he is single and these people don’t let you roam around with just anyone from the other gender. 
“I understand,” he says with a gentle smile that makes his eyes turn into tiny moons. 
“Are you from the Intelligence Service?” you finally have the courage to ask.
“Oh, no, Darling. I just happen to have crossed paths with the wrong people. Just like you did,” he points out. “At least I got something nice out of it.” he says, extracting a white gold chain full of swarovski crystals. 
“No jokes,” you say, appreciating the piece. “I feel a little bit less pathetic now that you showed me this.” you point out and he raises an eyebrow questioning. Reaching inside the neck of your dress you extract a white gold necklace with a three carat, rose diamond in pearl cut, with a matching sapphire next to it. “Diamonds are forever, even if relationships are not.”
“Beautiful!” he says looking at it with interest. “May I?” he refers to touch it and you politely agree. “It’s magnificent. I wish I had a better light to view it.” he mutters letting it go. 
“It’s flawless. He made sure of it,” you say and the memory of the day he gifted it to you comes back rushing with all the emotions you felt. 
He was at the peak of his career, or so it seemed, because you would have never guessed where he got the money to buy the expensive piece. You were celebrating the numbers reached at the end of the year from the face business that kept all that was happening in the background hidden and he pulled you aside into his home office. 
“I have something for you,” he said, whispering in your ear. “Close your eyes.”
He put the piece gently on you, careful with the baby hairs sticking out of your formal bun. You opened your eyes at the feeling of the weight of it and looked at the piece astonished. Even if jewellery wasn’t your forte or something you paid too much attention to, aside from it being an accessory, you did understand what you were wearing. 
“Oh my god, Jungkook. You didn’t have to, this must have cost a fortune!” you said, feeling overwhelmed by wearing something of the calibre that wasn’t gifted by your parents. 
“It’s just a token for your constant support. It represents us together,” he said, kissing your cheek before embracing you and making your lips melt together. You could still feel the taste of his bourbon stained tongue and how warm he made you feel. He reached for your left hand and put it up in the air, to the side, making you tilt your head to look as he did too. “Soon I’ll put a matching ring on this finger. I just have to find the perfect diamond for it.” 
His words didn’t shock you as much as the casualty in which he said it, as if knowing it for certain. “I think my parents will be glad that we stop living in sin,” you said with a giggle. 
“Wouldn’t you?” his tone, although calm, couldn’t hide the slight hurt. 
“I would. We’ve talked about it,” you said, placing both hands at his chest, meeting his eyes in a plea. “I love you, gukkie.” The nickname made him smile immediately. Not the attractive smile he dedicated to everyone around, the one that had everyone wrapped around his little finger. No. The one that made him look like an innocent bunny, the one that reminded you of the first time he stole your breath. The one that reminded you of the time you fell in love with him. Four years ago. 
“I love you too, my rose.”
“I shouldn’t have brought up the subject,” he mutters and hands you his handkerchief before looking away, you realise a couple of tears are falling down your cheeks and rush to dry them with the item offered then you keep it between your fingers over your lap for a second.
“It’s not sadness, I don’t miss him. I just… I feel hurt because I was lied to,” you partially lie. 
“I wish I didn’t understand the feeling,” he says, touching his lips with his elbow over the downed window at his side. “But let’s not talk about that,” he suggests. “I know only a few overheard things from you at the party, I would like to know which ones are true,” he says, positioning himself to look at you again. 
“Damn, I hope it was all good.” The smile on your face is sincere. There’s something in him that simply seems to soothe you. 
“You are a lawyer and just won one of the most important cases in South Korea,” he points out and you feel flustered. 
“They exaggerate, I’m not the best. I also have a great team with me.”
“Don’t undermine your value, Diamond,” he says, raising your chin for you to look at him the same way you looked at the crowded room when you entered the party. “The world needs more people like you.” 
You don’t know what takes over you but your digits rest gently against his thumb and the next thing you know, you are both leaning for a kiss. His lips curve in a smirk the moment your lips touch and he presses them inviting you to part yours. The kiss goes slow as you both drink from the nectars of your mouths and you feel like you are tasting the clouds. 
.
Not in a million years  would you have guessed that you would sneak through the back door of the hotel when a worker finished smoking and went inside. Neither would you kiss at every stop of the stairs until reaching his room. For sure, never, that you would be making out with the stranger in his bed like a couple of horny teenagers. 
He chuckles against your throat in response to a giggle when he grabs your ass, just like it happened when you were reaching his room floor. He nibbles and bites softly with an open mouth, his front teeth making goosebumps flourish all over your skin while your hands entwine over the bed. He lets his slide down over your arms until reaching your sides, sliding down to grasp your ass in handfuls and you gasp. He raises his upper body before using his shaft against your covered core, eyes hooded with desire, parted lips exposing the shallowness of his breath. 
You take grasp of his black hair at the scalp, softly sliding your fingers as you move up to find his throat and imitate what he has so expertly done to you. He grunts and has to remove his hands from your flesh to take hold of his own weight as you work.
He stands on his knees and you raise up using the moment you start undoing his shirt. His hand slides behind your back to undo the zipper of your dress. His chiselled chest displays right in front of your face as you get rid of the last button and you press a kiss on his ribs, where a ‘nevermind’ tattoo displays. He takes his shirt off from his arms and pulls your straps down your shoulders, letting him see your bra. 
He traces the extra lace at the upper part of your breasts where the thicker fabric covering them comes to an end, but the translucent silver looking material continues an inch. Your skin reacts to it and it sends a shiver down your spine. 
He slides his fingers up your sternum, where the two gems rest and he pulls his hand away. Unclasping his own necklace, he puts it on the bedside table, "Let's forget about them."
You nod and reach to your nape to unclasp your necklace. Taking it off you see the shine of both stones against the dim light of the room and you leave it next to his chain. 
Immediately his lips find your throat and his arms surround your waist to lean you on the bed. Getting comfortable between your legs. The cold of the metallic buckle makes you gasp for a moment and instinctively reach to separate it from your skin. 
He makes a little space to see what's going on, concerned, then realises no harm has been done and sits on his legs, unbuckling it. He starts pulling off the trousers down his thighs but you put a hand on his and move to stand, gesturing for him to do the same. 
When he obeys, you pull them down to his ankles, lowering to your knees and he meets your eyes when you look up. His crotch, in grey boxers, is right in front of you but he doesn’t look proud or greedy for having you in that position. He only seems to wait and your eyes fall on his bulge. 
Your dominant hand follows and you outline the shape of him, making his breath hitch when you trace the tip. The fact that he's still a stranger becomes your safe place. No need to worry about being judged because even if he does, you don't need to see him tomorrow. Something, maybe that thought itself, gives you the strength to unleash. 
You approach your face to his area and nibble on the middle of the girth. This time he hisses letting his head fall backwards and you pull the fabric covering him to his knees, looking at the perfection of his member. Hard and straight it springs out touching your nose. His eyes lock on yours again when you grab him and press the tip of your tongue at the juncture of his head. 
He squints his eyes and hisses once again, opening them, when you take it in your mouth. You play around it with your tongue, circling it, sucking softly, and his hand meets your nape, holding your hair but not inducing anything. 
The moment you start bobbing your head he grunts and you feel his precum spill over your tongue. "Damn…" he says using his grip to get away from your mouth and holds his shaft with one hand. "Stand, Diamond." 
He lets go of himself when you obey and grabbing you by the waist he makes you sit at the edge of the tall bed and fall on his knees in front of you. He gently discards your silver laced panties and grabs your legs to put them on his shoulders as he leans forward kissing the insides of your thighs. 
It's the first time you do this with anyone who isn't Jungkook and it just feels oddly cool to feel this man's tongue gently rub your knob. He works slowly, exploring, trying, and teasing until you are gasping at the verge of an orgasm. Then, his rhythm changes and seems to undo and redo his traces. 
You almost cry his name, unravelling in his mouth as he doesn't let go of your legs and keeps it going while you are at your peak. The aggressiveness in which he keeps it going makes you try to pull away but his grip becomes almost bruising and he nibbles a bit hard on your left thigh. "Let me do it again…" he mutters, looking at the spot before looking at your pleading eyes. "You taste so good…" 
His words send a wave of pleasure through you that you let out in a moan as you nod. He returns to it with closed eyes, focused, and moans the moment you arch your back again for him. 
He lets you find a spot in the bed to rest when he stands wiping precum from his tip before reaching for a napkin to clean it from his thumb. He leans forward to kiss you; his lips meet yours lightly, playing with the intensity until he pulls away and you involuntarily try to follow him with your mouth. 
He opens the drawer of his nightstand and pulls out a condom, opening it with ease. "Wanna keep it going?" he questions right before he starts slipping it on. You nod, feeling your body radiate heat to the thought of feeling him inside of you. 
He makes sure you are comfortable over the bed and allows his lips to fall on your neck trailing little nibbles as he mumbles how much he wants you. He seems in a trance, just as much as you are and when he aligns in you, you use your heels to encourage him pushing further in. He grabs at the back of one of the thighs to stop you and spanks slightly the other while hissing for you to stop. To your complaint, he lets go and obeys making both of you gasp when he fills you to the hilt. 
His hips snap on yours almost immediately and the hard grip stays on your thigh, as your nails start digging on his back. "Stop that damn it…" he says and you chuckle in response, before he pulls out and puts you on all fours, fucking you relentless with a hand at your nape. You grip at the sheets as if you were going to shred them before he angles better, making you let your forehead over the bed as he keeps it going and spills with a growl. "F-fuuck…" 
Both spent, he whispers for you to sleep with him and make use of his room as much you need.
Soon the drowsiness of exhaustion drifts you to slumber and he, who seemed to be just as tired, opens his eyes when your breath turns even. You don't notice him standing slowly, pacing the room completely naked with the calm of owning it and reaching to the nightstand for your necklace. 
He walks to the bathroom and takes a bag from underneath the sink. He places the jewel over a scale and then over a paper, taking a picture of the piece with a smartphone also from the bag. He types the characteristics and sends it all to the receiver before putting everything away. He goes out of the bathroom and makes sure to place the piece like nothing happened. 
His phone buzzes on the nightstand; unknown number. 
"Folder created. Ready to receive," says a male voice at the other side of the phone. 
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I hope you enjoyed this. Let me know your thoughts and reblog to let it spread 😊 See you soon! ~
© 2021-2022 Cherry Soulth, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind, translations, unsanctioned adaptations are not allowed.
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kingofbodyrolls · 3 months
Text
Stuck in a Snowstorm (m) | pjm
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*Part of 'the winter collection'. Read part two.
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 😀
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“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.
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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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yoongiphoria · 8 months
Note
any member + question…?
I’d prefer to leave everything else up to your interpretation because I am curious to see what other people think the song is about. 🫣
question...? | pjm
✰ pairing: ex!jimin x reader (non idol au) ✰ warnings: angst; light smut (18+ only, MINORS DNI); a breakup; reflections on said breakup; best friend!taehyung; set in los angeles (yes that's a warning); one mention of el*n m*sk (derogatory); mentions of & allusions to christianity; alcohol; discussions of age and feeling old ✰ word count: 1.9k ✰ note: yeah i don’t have anything to say about this one except that, like most of my favorite fics of mine, it practically wrote itself. thank you for the request, anon! i hope i did it justice :’)
✰ listened to: question…? - taylor swift
"So, I thought I'd tell you before someone else did."
The first warning sign is the way Taehyung's eyes can't meet yours, something he typically has zero qualms about. He weaponizes them, actually. Will shove his face into yours and stare for no reason, catching you so off-guard that you don't realize he's snatching fries from the edge of your plate.
The second is his voice. A hint of edge to that typically silken voice—a blade sheathed in velvet.
You're instantly on edge, but Taehyung doesn't hold you in suspense for long. The third warning, really.
"He's here."
You don't even have to ask who he is. There's only one he that Taehyung would care enough to warn you about at a party like this—he’s already four servings of wine deep, wobbling on his ridiculous boots and belting operatic renditions of Christmas songs in the middle of August, so you know it must be serious, whatever's got him looking this haunted and sobered up.
The he, apparently, is to blame.
Before you can say anything, though—suggest an Irish goodbye, craft an elaborate escape plan that involves minimal travel time and contact with any of the other partygoers, tell Tae for the twentieth time you need to get laid and move on already—
He walks in. 
And, as luck would have it, his eyes find yours. Right away—even with the unfamiliar girl on his arm.
You remember the last time you attended a party like this.
Two years ago, at twenty-five, you already felt far too ancient for house parties. The kegs in the kitchen, stickered-over beer pong table, and LED light strips at Jeongguk's place feel like relics of a long-forgotten past; feel almost offensive to lay eyes on, when you have a 401(k) and dental insurance and car payments. But Taehyung, as always, had managed to convince you. Said it would be fun, a trip down memory lane, and you didn't have the heart nor the time to explain to him that the whole thing would just make you feel despondent about getting old.
Plus, he'd just broken up with some guy whose name you couldn't remember, and per usual, he was being horribly and publicly depressed about it. It was starting to get pitiful, the way his name popped up every night on your Spotify feed next to the corporate-generated sad girl hours playlist.
So, you caved. Abandoned your ThinkPad and spreadsheets in a desk drawer. Put on boots, sparkly eyeshadow, and a tiny shirt that hadn't seen daylight since 2016, and got in the front seat of his Audi, and let him take you to Jeongguk's place in the Arts District.
The odd feeling started to sink in as you walked past the busted elevator, hiked the two flights of stairs to Jeongguk's place, let yourselves in through the open door and shouted your greetings over the mind-melting bass beat. Like you were play-acting a teenager, too big for the skin you’d outgrown, all your bones tingling with misplaced energy in a city that always felt way too big.
The weight only solidified when you ran into Jeongguk himself. You remembered him as immature, a hoobae with childlike energy and enormous eyes, but it had been endearing back in college, infusing your group with playful spirit. Now, he just seemed even more juvenile. Careless even—pursuing different projects on and off whenever he felt like it, his generational wealth funding his exposed-brick loft and seven-dollar horchata lattes and the array of half-empty drinks crowding the kitchen counter. 
Come in, he’d said, yelling to be heard over his own music. Everywhere you turned, it felt like too much. Too much bare skin, too much noise, too much of people who looked just a bit too young, too much of Jeongguk’s mirrorball reflecting thousands of shards of light into your face.
I need a minute, you told Taehyung, but he wasn’t listening—already chatting up some girl in a USC sweater with hearts in his eyes, and all you could do was hope she was old enough to be drinking the beer she was holding. 
When you finally ducked out, finding some reprieve on the narrow balcony outside and inhaling lungfuls of cold air that made your eyes water, it took a second for you to realize someone was already standing there.
A beautiful someone. The most striking person you’d ever met, full lips and pointed chin and eyes that creased into brilliant stars.
Jimin, he introduced himself, and it struck you that he looked sad even when he was smiling. Let’s get out of here?
In your more melodramatic moments, much to Tae’s exasperation, you like to split your life in half. There’s a Before Jimin, and there’s an After Jimin.
Before Jimin, you’d date once in a while, whenever the urge struck. Pick whatever suitable guy popped up in your Hinge likes, ask him—point-blank, no small-talk-beating-around-the-bush-icebreaker bullshit—whether he’d like to catch a movie, or grab a coffee, or get a weekend lunch. The date would go just fine, and you’d schedule a second date, and then a third, but inevitably things would fizzle out before they even got in your pants, because they were always too boring or lacking basic common sense or smiling at you weird. (Even Tae had given up on trying to convince you to stick with anyone. Claimed it would be easier to get Elon Musk past Saint Peter than to get you to settle down.)
You suppose there’s a During Jimin, too.
It started off with a bad choice: going off with a stranger you were meeting for the first time, in a city where you couldn’t really trust anyone you’d just met. Sneaking out of the party and down a block or two to some bar, where you ordered an overpriced soju cocktail that tasted nothing like the ones in K-Town and he ordered a beer, and you discovered that, unlike most of Jeongguk’s friends, he actually had a 9-6 and health insurance—and a laugh you wanted to hear for the rest of your life.
(Tae gave you an earful for it the next day. Said what if he turned out to be a serial killer and god, honestly I can’t leave you unsupervised anywhere and tell me he was at least a good kisser, then shot you the world’s most venomous glare when you told him there had been no kissing at all.)
The second date was a picnic at the Echo Park Lake, sandwiches from Bub’s and watching the swan boats meander around the water. He kissed you, took you to dinner and drinks in the evening. Parked in front of your apartment complex when he dropped you off, and your heart had already swelled with so much affection by then that you invited him in.
He laid you down on your bed. Ran his hands over every part of you, littering butterfly kisses all over your jaw, your shoulders, the curve of your waist, your calves. Treated you like a rare and precious thing. Pushed into you, slow and hot, and you relished in the feeling of him inside you like it was something you’d already been missing.
Breaking your own rules. Another wrong choice.
Life, then, became Jimin. Glass-like laughter on Saturday mornings, lazy Sunday afternoons with those plush lips pressed all over your body, hands squeezing your thighs. Weekdays working remote, silent companionship in your one-bedroom—you at your standing desk, him at the kitchen table—and making sandwiches for lunch. Holding hands in the backseat of an Uber. Mixing friend groups for Friday-night dinner, though you never joined them at Jeongguk’s afterward. Stealing kisses at the crowded table, all of his friends teasing him for being whipped before clapping just to embarrass you.
Holding each other when life seemed too much to bear. His soft whispers. Ankles crossing beneath the sheets, simple comfort.
Thinking you’d never be able to love someone as much as you loved him. Thinking any morning in which you woke up to anything but the sight of his face was a wasted one.
The wrong choices caught up to you, eventually.
Miscommunications. Complicated circumstances. Arguments, over a lot of things: you flinching away from his touch when you didn’t feel like having his hands on your body; him taking issue with the guy who seemed a little too cozy with you at work. You claiming he was too much; him claiming you weren’t enough.
Nights the sheets went cold on the left side of the bed, because he’d walk out in the middle of an argument and decide not to stay the night, after all. Nights you missed his touch even when you’d grown sick of it. Nights you missed him, period, and had Taehyung come over with his Switch and a bottle of soju to make it better.
(Tae always complains when you get to the After Jimin part of the story, because he’s not religious but comparing the end of your year-long relationship to the death of Jesus Christ still feels vaguely sacrilegious, and he claims that talking about God makes him itchy, and anyway the A in A.D. doesn't even stand for "after"—but it’s the closest analogy you’ve got, and it’s really his fault you’re telling this story, so he can fuck right off.)
Anyway—After Jimin. The last time you said he was too much, he ended things, and that was that. Didn’t put up a fight, just gathered his things and walked out of your place for the final time. Maybe After Jimin is a misnomer, when you feel like there hasn’t been very much of an after at all—when no one else has, even for a moment, occupied the crater he left in your life. Everything second-best after the meteor strike. 
Before Jimin, and After Jimin. Except for you, there is no resurrection. No redemption, no salvation, no promise to eternal life. It's just you, and your wrong choices, and thousands of questions that'll go unanswered into perpetuity.
You watch as Jimin floats around the party. He's never been the flashiest person in the room. He moves with a more subtle elegance, an aura of I don't belong here, but I'll indulge. Beauty that's quiet, mysterious, enticing. 
Beside him, his girlfriend. Yaeeun, you think her name is, and they suit each other. Hers is a simpler beauty, you think. Uncomplicated, but beauty all the same. Her features ground his. Make him more approachable—a person to speak to, instead of an object to be admired.
It’s nice, you think. You’d heard he was in a relationship again, a few months after he broke it off with you, and you think it’s nice that he’s still with her. 
Watching him make his way around the room, toward where you and Tae stand with half-finished drinks and unsteady minds, you only have questions. Like—
Did he ever kiss her in a crowded room? 
Did he ever leave her house in the middle of the night?
Did he ever put up a fight when she said it was too much, or wish he could still touch her? 
Jimin's just a few feet away now, saying hello to Jeongguk's cousin from home, and Taehyung bends down to whisper something into your ear. You can hardly hear him over the music, but you can still make out the words.
She kind of looks like you.
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quinnluvsbangtan · 4 months
Text
MASTERLIST~
I ONLY WRITE FEM!READER
I will not write anything i am uncomfortable with, if i dont do your request please dont ask why
smut : 𖤐
fluff : ☽
angst : ᜊ
KNJ:
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coming soon...
KSJ:
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coming soon...
MYG:
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coming soon...
JHS:
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coming soon...
PJM:
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coming soon...
KTH:
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coming soon...
JJK:
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coming soon...
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dxmbxtch · 1 year
Text
vampire//pjm
—jimin needs blood to quench his vampiric thirst. but there’s no where for him to get this blood..other than his girlfriend.’
pairing ::: pjm x fem!reader
rating ::: 18+
genre ::: smut
warnings! ::: smut, blood, masochism
song ::: linked below
“blood.. I need blood,” jimin said, pacing around the room.
jimin is my boyfriend, and yes, he’s a vampire. he usually gets blood from a butchers shop but this time, he forgot to refill. he needed blood and there wasn’t really anywhere to get it, at twelve am... except me.
he looked pretty human like, except while drinking blood. he had naturally pretty pale skin, with jet black hair. sometimes his eyes changed color to a reddish brown, but usually were a deep brown to the point they looked black. he had plump lips, which always had a very red tint to them. he was kind of tall and very, very pretty.
and no. vampires don’t dissapear in sunlight. that’s just a myth. their skin gets a little irritated and they might get light headed, but that’s about it. and garlic doesn’t kill them either. they don’t like the smell and taste of garlic, that’s all.
“drink mine,” I chimed in.
he looked at me, eyes almost red, his iris almost taking the diamond shape. “nice joke.”
“I’m not joking,” I said. “I trust you.”
“no,” he said, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“who said I don’t like pain?”
he looked back at me, this time his eyes were wide as he nearly choked on his saliva. “I-,” he choked out. “this is different, baby. it’s dangerous. I can’t exactly control myself when I’m drinking blood.”
“what other choice do you have? the shop is closed and you can’t get any blood till morning. if you can stay without it till morning, sure, go on.”
he swallowed his spit. “I can try.”
“right, then,” I scoffed and rolled my eyes, laying down on the bed. “okay, I’m going to sleep. good luck.”
“no,” he whined. “stay with me!”
I was about to speak but closed my mouth as his hands tightly threaded through his hair and he crouched down. “fuck,” he cried out, "I need blood!”
I got up and walked to him before squatting down on the floor. I ran my hand through his black hair softly before speaking, “jimin, please, drink mine, I hate seeing you suffer like this.”
he looked up at me. his eyes had turned more reddish, his iris now a perfect diamond shape. his lips blood red, his fangs grown and slightly poking out, panting.
“get away from me,” he said, pushing my hand away roughly and jolting away from me. “I’m dangerous.”
“you don’t scare me. I know you won’t hurt me,” I said, moving towards him again.
“fuck! go away!” he lightly yelled, grabbing my waist and yanking me away from him, but not hard enough to actually cause harm. he leaned back, his hands on his side supporting him, his legs lightly spread.
I took in a breath. “my blood will relieve you.”
he looked puzzled. ”but, but that would mean harming you...?”
“it won’t. not if I consent to it. trust me.”
I felt him softening up a little, and made my attempt to move towards him again. he put up no resistance.
I smiled softly before settling myself inbetween his legs. I placed my hand on his jaw, tilting his head slightly before leaning in and letting my lips melt against his in a soft kiss.
he was a little hesitant but kissed back, hand finding its way to my waist.
I ran my hand agaisnt his adam’s apple, which caused him to part his lips. I took the opportunity and slipped my tongue in. before he could do anything, I brushed my tongue against the tip of his sharp fang. a small slit appeared on me, a little blood dripping out and into his mouth.
he gasped, and immediately pulled away, pushing me away.
“fuck! why would you-” he paused, his tongue poking at his inner cheek as he tasted the red. “your blood tastes so sweet...”
his eyes had totally transformed, and were a light red. his skin was paler than usual and his fangs had grown more.
he looked scary, but I felt no fear. the shape of his pretty eyes, plump lips that I knew so well, perfect hands that I always held, it all provided comfort to me.
it was the person I love more than anything.
“drink more of it.”
“a-are you really sure?” he looked nervous, but his thirst grew.
“yes,” I said, getting up from the floor. I reached my hand out to him, and he took it, getting up himself. his hand was almost icy cold. “I’m sure.”
I held onto his hand and led him to the bed. he got on and sat agaisnt the head rest. I got on and sat on his lap, his hands snaking around me.
“you should know,” he said. “when us vampires bite humans, our fangs let out this venom. the vemon makes the person feel high and drunk, but causes no actual harm and no hang over. sometimes this venom can also make someone feel drunk and/or turn them on. the turn on part is rare, but still a possibility. and our saliva has some special magic in it, so if I lick and kiss the bite, it’ll heal quicker. the saliva heals the wound.”
I was stunned. “that’s— min, I want to know what it feels like. bite my neck.”
he chewed on his lip nervously before finally nodding. “okay.”
he brushed my hair to the other side as I tilted my head in order to give him more access to my neck. he leaned in forward, lips brushing agaisnt the sensetive soft skin.
“please, please, please tell me if you even start to feel lightheaded, or if the bite hurts too much. okay? please.” he said.
“I promise.”
“thank you.” he smiled softly before placing a tender kiss on my neck. his lips went up and down my neck, painting it with wet kisses.
then, I finally felt the sharp tips of his fangs gazing my skin before sinking in carefully. one of his cold hands left my waist and wrapped around the back of my throat to keep me from moving too much.
his eyes widened a bit when a pleasured moan left my parted lips. he carefully pulled away, admiring the crimson now dripping down my neck, before he reached back in.
his lips engulfed the wounds as I felt him starting to suck on it.
I rested my head against his shoulder blade as he started drinking my blood, a few groans leaving him once in a while.
his tongue caressed the little wounds, before his lips came around them again.
while he drank me, I felt the venom from his fangs slowly start to do its magic. at first I felt like as if I had drank a shot or two of vodka, which made me feel tipsy. then, I felt a tingling sensation between my legs, a sense of desire and lust forming. the more he sucked my neck, the more turned on I felt.
I shifted uncomfortably on his lap. his grip on the back of my neck grew a bit tighter, as if to tell me to stay still, which I tried even though it was hard to, especially with my core now throbbing. I could feel some wetness starting to form.
after some time, I felt myself getting a bit dizzy and lightheaded.
“j-jimin,” I whispered, “lightheaded...”
he quickly pulled away from my neck before looking me in the eyes. there was blood dripping down the corner of his lips and to his chin. his hand left my throat and instead came up to wipe at his chin.
he panted a little before leaning back against the headboard where his lips couldn't reach the wound anymore, closing his eyes, waiting for his human form to start taking over. it took him more time to become human like than to transform into a complete vampire.
his hands drew soothing circles on my hips as I gently brushed through his hair with my fingers. his skin started becoming a more tanned shade, and his eyes changed to a more brownish red, fangs shrinking just a bit.
the first thing he asked me after he regained control over himself was, “baby, are you okay? did the venom have its effect? did I drink too much blood?”
I nodded. “I’m fine. the bite didn’t hurt that bad, it felt kind of nice actually. and no, you didn’t drink too much, I feel alright. but the venom...”
“the venom? what about it?”
“I uh, I kinda think I need your help now..”
“sure baby, but with what? what effect did the venom have on you?”
“uhm..”
“love, please tell me, I need to know what effect it's having on you.”
I bit my lip nervously. “give me your hand, I’ll just show you instead of speaking.”
he cocked a brow, giving me his hand, which was warmer than before. “okay...?”
I slowly brought his hand down between my legs, placing it on my core, before whispering, “help..”
“I-” he said, keeping his hand still. “it turned you on, didn”t it?”
I chewed on my lip and nodded.
“are you sure you want me?” he asked.
“yes,” I said, finally looking into his eyes, which were intently staring into mine. “I want you.”
it didn’t take long for confidence and light dominance to take over him as he cupped my clothed core outside my pajama shorts.
he leaned in and pressed his lips onto mine. the iron taste wasn’t nearly as strong as I had expected. vampires really do absorb blood huh.
it was a short passionate kiss before he pulled away. he pushed my hair out of his way before placing soft kisses on the other side of my neck.
“please, min, hurry,” I whispered, staring to grind myself against his hand, the venom continuing to strengthen the effected.
he hummed against my neck before bringing his hand up to my waist band, and then slipping it in and down the shorts. his fingers slowly brushed against my folds through the thin fabric of my panties. he rubbed my throbbing clit in an up and down motion as I leaned back my head.
“fuck,” he whispered as his fingers trailed down and felt my wetness soaking the clothing.
he then slipped slipped it hand back out, fingers wrapping around the bottom of my tank top.
“may I take this off?” he asked gently.
“yeah...” I trailed off hesitantly.
he cocked a brow. “baby? anything wrong?”
“uh, well... I’m not exactly the prettie—”
“you are.” his hands went from trying to take my top off to inching up under it. I felt is fingers gingerly run over my curves.
“you haven’t even seen my body though?”
“yes, but I know for a fact thatyou are still the sexiest, prettiest, hottest and most beautiful girl I have ever seen.”
I smiled, a light red coating my cheeks. “you can take it off.”
he smiled a wide smile, fingers returning to where they were before, as he slowly lifted up the tank top, taking it off completely.
“woah..” he whispered, staring in awe, taking in my now completely topless self in front of him. I tried to cover myself, but his hands quickly took hold of my wrists without even sparing a glance at them. vampire instincts huh?
his eyes looked at my collarbones, before moving down to my chest, and then my stomach.
“you're a literal goddess..”
“no I’m not,” I said, looking away, cheeks reddening.
“you are baby, don’t shy away from me..” his crimson eyes met mine again.
his hand left my wrist and held onto my jaw, tilting my head again. he started placing more desparate wet kissed along my neck, his other hand starting to trace my collarbones.
I tried to keep up my confident and bold persona, but it was hard not to melt into his arms.
his hand traced down my collarbones and gently cupped my breast, squeezing lightly. his eyes were glued to my face, trying to figure out my reaction to his touch.
“baby,” he said, “lay down please?”
I nodded, getting off his lap. he moved out of the way and I laid down on the bed.
“can I, uh, ask something?” I whispered.
"sure," he smiled. "go on?”
I bit my lip before mumbling, “can you, like, drag your fangs along my skin until it bleeds? I, um, kind of liked the pain, and the venom felt so good.”
his lips formed an ‘o’ shape, as if surprised my request, but it soon turned into a smirk. “of course I can.”
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kiestrokes · 7 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. 
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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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