↳You come to realize that your highschool sweetheart and you just aren’t meant to be when his attractive best friend walks back into town and sweeps you off your feet.
↳You come to realize that your highschool sweetheart and you just aren’t meant to be when his attractive best friend walks back into town and sweeps you off your feet.
↳You come to realize that your highschool sweetheart and you just aren’t meant to be when his attractive best friend walks back into town and sweeps you off your feet.
↳You come to realize that your highschool sweetheart and you just aren’t meant to be when his attractive best friend walks back into town and sweeps you off your feet.
pairing: model!jimin x teacher!reader
genre: smau, crack/humor, fluff, drama
updates:tbd
series: unfortunate beginnings
status:ongoing
a/n: round 2 my dudes✌I’m really excited for this au since it’s the beginning of a little project I’m working on! there’s gonna be a lot of drama/borderline slight angst(?) anyway let me know if you wanna be on the tag list and I hope y’all have fun reading and enjoy!!
Later that night when you finally put all the kids to sleep, you quickly prepared yourself for the call that your husband promised earlier that day, you did your makeup and put a provocative but comfy outfit, underneath some lingerie to spice things up and your trusted vibrator right beside you, you closed the door of your room and just in time the face of Jimin was glaring at you with a cheeky smile.
He let several buttons of his shirt loose, in his hand a cup of wine though you notice two emptied cans of beer.
In the background you recognized his current favorite band playing.
Drunk Jimin was fun, so you didn’t mind.
“Hi there, kitten” he said to you chuckling in way that you found cute but also sexy.
“Hi babe” you responded “You are having a drink, I see” he nodded in way that resembled an enthusiastic child.
“umhm” he mumbled “why you look so hot today? your tits look amazing in that dress” he bluntly confessed.
You blushed at his comment.
“And you unbuttoned your shirt just for me, right?” you asked him playfully, he bit his lip “I can even see you pierced nipple, if i had to guess, I’d say you are flirting, what a slut” you teased him chuckling.
“Watch your mouth or I will have you fixed properly when I come back” he warned raising an eyebrow “I want to see your body, take off the dress” he requested, you did as he said only leaving you with a very skimpy lingerie, he smiled pleased opening his legs on his chair.
“Good” he said with a raspy tone “kitten you are so fine, my pants are so tight right now because of you” he confessed.
“Show me”
Jimin stoop up from his chair, you could only see the lower torso and crotch area where a tent was forming in his pants, then he suddenly unzipped his pants and took out his dick from his underwear, the erected member went up to Jimin’s bellybutton, he took his dick with one hand and started to give it a few strokes, you could hear him moan, you immediately felt how your walls clenched and how the juices were now spilling in your lingerie, he seated in his chair again his lips parted and with darker eyes full of desire.
“I want your pussy around my cock so bad” he said giving his dick a few more strokes while he moaned again “Are you wet? Show me”
You opened your legs and with a hand put aside your panties and introduced a finger inside then you took it out and passed your fingers through you slit until you found your clit making you moan and started to give it a few circular strokes, then you showed to the camera the sticky mess that your fingers were.
“Shit that’s so hot” he said stroking his cock harder while he moaned.
“Unbutton your shirt” you requested while you played with your nipple and the other hand stimulating your clit.
He followed your instructions revealing his two pierced nipples and his rib tattoo, pants on his thigs, while you watched him touch himself with his moaning and the lewd sounds he was making, you dammed the distance that in this moment was between you two.
You took your bra off letting your swollen breast be free, Jimin choked a moan at the sight and his breathing was heavier, took off your panties and turned on your vibrator.
“Uh your are such a fucking…ugh slut aren’t you…ah kitten?”- he said with difficulty, his cock wet of precum, his digits caressing the tip while he kept his strokes, shamelessly looking at you.
Your walls clenched once more and you felt the knot in your lower belly beginning to unknot, while you were hot mess, moaning at the pleasure you were giving yourself.
You felt your breast starting to leak milk, at that moment you saw how your husband was getting desperate to keep it together, now he is moving his hips with his hand still in his length.
“Ahh yn, I can’t” he mumbled “I’m gonna cum, I can’t mmm” he was slurring all fucked up from pleasure, you could also feel it.
“Me too, me too” it didn’t pass long when spurts of white cum spilled on Jimin’s abdomen, while he said your name when he came, he closed his eyes riding the wave of pleasure, and you did too, it felt delightful.
“You better prepare yourself, because when I come back home I will not stop till next week” a devilish smile on his soft face.
Summary: You are a young witch in her fifth year in Hogwarts. You come from a long line of pureblooded Slytherins and you want to make your family proud by focusing on your studies. But ever since you started your first year, what is possibly the most flirtatious boy in your house has been giving his all to grab your attention.
Word count: 2.82k
A/N: Slytherin!Jimin x Slytherin!Reader, a/n/n= annoying nick name, I’m going to change the age differences between the members for the sake of the fanfic. I’m going to be writing the members into the houses that RM sorted them into. BTS’s Hogwarts Houses.
Warnings: swearing, 1 year age gap between jimin and reader (But it’s not really focused on), magic, mentions of Twilight. Sometimes Y/n gets flustered easily. idek. Their relationship is all over the place to be honest.
he really gives me Slytherin vibes in this gif.
To say that I had no interest in boys would be an understatement. I didn’t give four shits about them. I already had enough trouble with keeping my grades up, training for quidditch and being a proud Hogwarts student.
My family came from a long line of ambitious Slytherins. Although not nearly as known as the Malfoys, we had quite the reputation. When I had been sorted into Slytherin in my first year, I made it my top priority to not disappoint my family. That meant doing my best to leave an impression in Hogwarts. To be remembered. Recently I’d been falling behind in transfiguration. Today, in the middle of the lesson, I had tried to catch up with stuff I’d yet to write down. Something that Professor Snape had not appreciated. He’d given me detention, and so by the end of the day I didn’t have enough time to finish the homework assigned by other teachers.
Currently I was sat in the Slytherin common room, trying to catch up on work. I heard footsteps come into the common area and I immediately knew who they belonged to. I sighed and ignored the person that I came in.
I did mention that I had no interest in boys right? Well there was this one guy who just couldn’t take a hint. He had been on me since first year all the way to my fifth year. This year. He followed me through the halls, trying to make conversation with me. I only ever tried to push him away, so I never know why he keeps trying. Sometimes he reminds me more of a Hufflepuff than a Slytherin. How he was friends with one of the students that couldn’t be more of a Slytherin still puzzled me? (And I don’t mean that stereotype that Draco Malfoy left behind for us. I mean a true Slytherin.)
But he also held that cheeky side that gave him that Slytherin trait. He was very naturally flirty and he used that on me and if I’m being totally honest. I kinda liked it. But never acted on those feelings. He was flirty with everyone. Thats what I always told myself.
When that same boy sat next to me on the couch I did the same thing I always did. I didn’t pay him any attention. “So a/n/n…”
“You know I don’t like that name,” I say as I kept my eyes on my parchment.
“Anyway,” he says, changing the subject as soon as it emerged. “I’ve started reading this book.” He paused, when he saw that I was still paying him no mind he continued. “It’s called Twilight. Do you know it?”
I look up at him with a glare. “Yes, I do know it. Unfortunately.” You may be thinking. A pureblood Slytherin reading muggle books? Let me assure you that my family is very accepting regardless of bloodline. I had multiple muggle friends outside of Hogwarts. Most of them, much more loyal than anyone else here. But anyway, back to the “conversation” at hand. “And?” I asked him through gritted teeth as I held my glare on him.
“I was wondering,” he muses, ignoring my hard stare. He leans back against the back of the couch, looking up at the ceiling of the chamber. “When does it get interesting?” I snort out a laugh. I couldn’t help but laugh at his question. I clutched my stomach as I doubled over in laughter. The look of confusion on his face only making the whole situation funnier than it already was.
When I finally come down from my laughing high, I finally answer his question. “It doesn’t.” His once confused expression turns into one of unamusement.
“Okay, I get it,” he says. “So you don’t like Twilight.”
“Not in a million years.” I shake my head.
“So which books do you like?”
“I’m not telling you,” I say. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and nests his head into the crook of my neck.
“Please tell me,” he pleaded. He began trailing kisses up my neck. I could hear my heart beating and felt my face heat up. Merlin’s beard, Y/n. Get a grip on yourself.
“Fuck off Jimin,” I stuttered. His actions were flustering me and by the smirk I could feel on his lips. He knew this too.
“Sorry, but I can’t do that,” he says against my neck. His teeth grazing my skin, causing a shudder to run down my spine. “Not until you answer my question.” He holds onto me tighter. One of his hands moving to hold onto my hip opposite him. I clamp my mouth shut. My stubbornness getting the best of me. “I guess you don’t want me to stop then.”
I huffed and tied my best to stay focused on my homework. Jimin’s kisses travel up to my jaw, making me tilt my head back. “Jimiiiiiiin,” I whined and I feel him smile against my skin.
“I asked for what books you like, not my name,” he states. “I try to glare at him from this position. Obviously failing. “But I can live with that too.” He places a kiss on the corner of my lips. My cheeks heat up and they are undoubtedly red. Butterflies flutter in my stomach and he pulls away when he hears someone calling his name.
“Jimin let’s go,” says the voice of a fellow Slytherin. “Everybody else is probably waiting for us in the great hall.” When the black haired boy spots his friend sitting next to me, he stops. But that doesn’t last long as he continues as if he didn’t notice me. “If you make me arrive late one more time then I’m disowning you.” Jimin looks at me and smiles.
“See you in a bit, doll.” He kisses my cheek and stands up. Jogging up to Yoongi who was just getting out the door. I bring my hands up to my warm face. I could only imagine how red it was. If I’m being completely honest, if there’s one boy I do care about in this entire school, it’d have to be Jimin. Somehow, along the way, his small talk and flirting found its way into my heart.
That same night I had moved up into my dormitory so that I wouldn’t have to see Jimin again when he came back from dinner. I only had a third left of my assignments yet to be finished and I decided that it would be best if I left them for tomorrow. Since it was going to be Saturday tomorrow and I had the whole day off.
The beams of light that came in through the window broke me out of my sleep. I groaned and rolled over onto my opposite side. Covering my head to block out the sounds of owls and already active students I clamped my eyes shut. I shaken abruptly, and my pillow was yanked away from me and I was met with the sight of my best friend. She was yelling at me to get up as she pulled me up by the arms. “Nooooooo,” I whined. She rolled her eyes at me and ignored my complaints. She pushed me off of my bed and I tumbled onto the floor.
“Get dressed,” she orders. “We’re going to Hogsmede. I don’t care what you say. You haven’t gone out of this damn school for more than a week and you need a break.” I huff at her and she scolds me, acting like a mother. “DOn’T HuFf At Me.”
I had done what she asked and gotten dressed in a casual outfit. We went down the staircase and into the common room.
On the couches, was sitting Jimin. His silver hair pushed back, showing his forehead. A pair of thin rimmed spectacles perched on his nose as he read a book. Thankfully not Twilight. When he heard me and F/n coming down the stairs, his eyes lifted of the pages and landed on me. He smiled at me. “Good morning,” he said. His smile widened and he shut his book after marking where he left off.
“Good morning,” I mumbled back. Jimin giggled and stood up from the couch. He was wearing a grey wool sweater that matched his hair and a pair of black ripped jeans that accentuated his thighs. The spectacles giving him a cute look. After what had happened yesterday, I didn’t want to hang around much longer than I needed to. But my friend had another idea in mind. Being the social butterfly she is.
“Good morning Jimin,” she beamed. She examined his outfit and complimented him on it. As she talked to him, I made sure to stay behind her.
“Where are you guys going?” he asks F/n. She grabs me by the arm, bringing me forward.
“Me and Y/n are going to visit Hogsmede,” she explained. I tried to move behind her but she wouldn’t have it. “If you want you could come with us.” If looks could kill, the glare I sent F/n would’ve had her dead before either of us could’ve blinked.
“That would be great,” said Jimin. “Is it ok if my friends tag along too?” F/n nodded vigorously. She told Jimin that we would be waiting for him at the Three Broomsticks. Once we were out of the Slytherin common room, I punched F/n in the ribs
“What was that for?!?” she yelled at me. Her brows furrowed together as she rubs the place I punched her.
“You know what that was for.” Good lord, this girl is so dense. When she finally realizes the situation, a smile widens on her lips.
“Ohhhhhhhhhhh! I get it now.” She lets out a laugh worthy of an evil doer. But one that disguises themselves as innocent little schoolgirls. “You don’t want Jimin to come along because of your crush on him.”
“What crush?” I denied. “I don’t have a crush on anybody.”
“Pleaseee Y/n.” F/n rolls her eyes. “Everybody knows that you two like each other.”
“He’s flirty with everyone.” F/n looks at me. The best way I could describe this stare is with the word ‘Really?’. I look away. “Whatever.” I start walking. “Let’s just go to Hogsmeade.”
Me and F/n hadn’t had to wait too long for Jimin and his friends to walk into the Three Broomsticks. Their group of friends was an odd one. A mix of all the Hogwarts houses and most of them from different years. The youngest one of all was a fifth year in Ravenclaw. We’d had a few classes so I knew he went by the name Jungkook. The others though, I only knew because of Quidditch. With the exception of Yoongi, whom I’d seem quite a few times in the common room. The seven of them came toward our table and sat down.
F/n introduced herself. She gave me a pointed look when I didn’t say anything. “I’m Y/n,” I said quietly. I just want to go back to my bed. Everyone began talking and making conversation. F/n got along great with the two Hufflepuffs as was expected. They all talked to each other while I sat back and drank my butterbeer. I moved my mug around, watching as the foam moved atop the golden drink. When I looked back up I saw that Jimin had been staring at me. My cheeks flushed red as I looked back down at my drink.
“I’m gonna go on a walk with Y/n,” said Jimin, rising from his seat. My head shot up to look at him with wide eyes. He walked around the table until he was standing next to me. He grabbed my wrist, pulling me out of the wooden chair. I stumbled to my feet as Jimin dragged me away from the group. People watched as he lead me out of the Three Broomsticks and down the main street. Other students as well as villagers stared at us. Jimin was giving of an energy I couldn’t quite place. All I knew is that it made me want to sink into the floor. He pulled me into a small alley behind a store.
He turned to face me. His eyes seemed to pierce into my soul as he got nearer to me with each of his steps. He stopped right in front of me and I could feel his warm breath fanning my face. “You care to explain to me Y/n?” I looked at him in confusion.
“Wh-what?”
“Don’t pretend,” he said and for the first time ever, Jimin wasn’t smiling at me. His gaze was hard, unwavering, while I struggled with the smallest bit of eye contact. “Whenever I’m around you, you go quiet. You ignore me and everyone else around you.” I gulped hard. I felt like I was being scolded by my mother. A feeling of regret, sadness, anger, and disappointment making the feeling of breathing a lot heavier. “I try to talk to you but you always block me off. I came today in hopes that when you were with your friend you’d be more open with me,” he said. He stood up straight and turned to face the other side of the ally. He leaned his forehead against the stone wall and ran a hand through his hair.
I took this moment where he was silent to speak up. “If you’d only take a hint, you’d know that I don’t want you to talk to me,” I say. “Oh, and that thing you call talking. I consider it flirting and seeing as you do it with everybod-”
He turned to me and slammed me against the wall, while making sure my head didn’t hit it. His hands moved so that they were on either side of my head. Any confidence I had in me when I had been speaking dissipated and I shrunk lower against the wall. Jimin’s head followed mine as he maintained eye level. He leaned in closer until his lips were against my jaw. “Do you see me doing this with anyone else?” I froze under him. He nipped at my skin. “Hm? Do you?” I shook my head while my throat let out a whimper.
“I’ve liked you ever since you arrived at this school. I tried to talk to you, to get closer to you,” he said, pressing his body against mine “But you were always so damn focused on studying.” He bit the side of my neck. I let out a gasp of surprise and squirmed away from him. But Jimin wasn’t having it. He let out a low growl as his hands flew to my hips, holding me in place. “Sorry for acting like this, but I can’t help it. Not when you’ve blocked me out for so long.”
His forehead fell against my shoulder and his nose brushed against my collar bone. He sucked in a deep breath, followed by a sigh. “I’ve liked you for so long and tried to show you for so long that I don’t know what to do anymore. If you just don’t like me back then you could’ve just said so a long time ago,” he mumbles into my skin. When he looks up at me, his eyes shine. Making it look like there were tears in his eyes. The thought broke my heart.
“I’m so sorry Jimin,” I said, placing my hands on his shoulders. “I do like you. So so much. Somehow. Through all that ignoring and trying to get you away, I fell for you. I fell so hard that I couldn’t bring myself to speak to you like a normal person.” The older Slytherin looked up at me. His arms were wrapped around me and he straightened up so he could face me. He was now so close that our noses nearly touched.
“You really like me back?” he asks, eyes looking into mine. I nod, assuring him that what I said wasn’t a lie. “Um, can I kiss you?” For the first time, I looked into his eyes without breaking eye contact. I nodded and Jimin leaned in closer than he already was, until our lips touched. The kiss seemed to go on forever. Our lips dancing together in synchronisation. My hands ran through Jimin’s silver hair. When we pulled away for oxygen, our moment together was stopped as we heard our friends calling for us. “Should we continue this later?” asks Jimin.
“Only if I get to call you mine and you get to call me yours.” I smirked at him. “Will you be my boyfriend?”
A smile etched it’s way onto Jimin’s lips. “I thought you would never ask.” He took a step back, intertwining our fingers as he led me out to find the rest.
a/n: hello yes 911? i would like to cRY about this damn fucking ask because how on earth am i supposed to choose between these i’m in tears aaaaa this is an absolute mess i cannot function at all this is far too much to handle too many body parts i am a tiny human being
You knew three things about Park Jimin. In order, he was, despite all, a very kind man. Secondly, he was the devil and thirdly, which Jimin himself insisted to be true, was that he was in love with you.
•type: Jimin x reader • rating: SFW • w/c:6.3k•main masterlist
•genre/about: fluff, friends? to lovers? very much romantic vs. emotionally constipated feat. adulthood feat. extremely pining Jimin because when the guy is the pining one is peak intellect fight me, the reader has specific zodiac placements but other than that nothing bodily wise is mentioned
•c/w: mentioned attempt to coerce someone into drug abuse, mention of past eating disorder, discussion of self-image issues, mildly suggestive
•a/n: was just rifling through my drafts and remembered this was a thing. I liked it even though it’s unfinished and kinda sappy
There were three things that needed to be known about Park Jimin, was what Tilla told you while you had jogged to meet her boyfriend’s roommate. In order: he was a Libra Sun, Gemini Moon, and Cancer Rising, which can all be summarised in one category - he was incredibly flirty. Though Tilla insisted she had already said Libra Sun whatever that meant and that there was no other, literally no other, bar for her Namjoonie, that was as ethereal as Jimin. Those were the things that preceded his fine name - good looking to an insane degree and flirty. Hence why when you had glimpsed the top of his bleached head, you had already swerved hard left then and remained the only one from the clash of two social circles - Namjoon’s and Tilla’s - as an absolute mystery.
Tilla once again insisted that she had alreadymade everyone aware of your Scorpio Sun status…whatever the hell that meant.
Now, some years, not a lot but some years gone, you knew three more accurate things about Park Jimin. In order, he was, despite all, a very kind man. Really, not even being an eternal sceptic -
“It’s that Capricorn Moon of yours, I’m telling you,” Tilla declared, passionately waving around a fork and accidentally sending a piece of egg flying into Namjoon’s face who was unsuspectingly sitting by the neighbouring cafeteria table. A victim in many cases. That’s how they met actually.
- not even being an eternal sceptic, could sway that despite the occasional, human hiccup, Park Jimin was an attentive and caring man. Secondly, he was the devil.
As you had gawked at the suggestive photo of him, grabbing his crotch, long tongue poking at the corner of his full lips, the entire shebang and acknowledging that he made that sort of lewd act look artistic, you knew that Park Jimin was an ocean if not the whole world of hurt. When you confronted him over the group breakfast, why would he ever send such a thing, he had only smirked over a cup of orange juice and after innocently fluttering his eyelashes, asked whatever did you mean. Of course, not five minutes after another picture had followed.
All of that could be ignored, pushed, shoved, burned and forgotten. If not for the third thing.
The third thing which Jimin himself had insisted to be true.
Which is that he was in love with you.
You wake up one day and you’re an adult. An adult with bills to pay and taxes to be deducted. You work away in a job you don’t like but don’t dare to change because unemployment is no joke and you live in a studio apartment too small that costs too much and is not in any shape or form of any resemblance to the appealing pictures of the white and green variety found on Instagram. Your socks have holes and your shoes let in water when it rains too hard. You’re so very lonely but you’ve given up on the dating scene because the fear of being messed up, being damaged is too great. Dating is hard. Opening up to people is hard.
There is very little romance to be found while you wander on a path that feels like a wrong choice but you don’t want to think about it too hard yet because what if you had messed up and what if you will end up exactly like hundreds of others, figures in the disgruntled mass, all chasing a dream that maybe didn’t even exist.
It’s all very bleak.
Except for Saturdays.
Saturdays are these nice little blankets of comfort where nice things are possible, given, of course, that you spend money on them but that doesn’t matter. You can sleep in, then tuck the sheets that need a wash, over the bed and grabbing only your wallet to name, venture out into the city. You’ve got your tote bag, because nowadays everyone has them and you stroll, briefly careless, underneath the sun. And then you can get a coffee of your choice and an overpriced something that the barista swears their soul for and you can sit and dream in the plushy chairs of the ambient little coffee shop.
It’s as near to perfection as you can get.
If not for Park fucking Jimin.
You’re not a university student anymore and you’re far from high school, all the romantic nonsense of meet-cute, friend of a friend and such are well over, you’re simply too old for it. It must be some ultra ironic twist of fate for him to look into the shop window just at the moment when you look out. He freezes mid-step and meets your gaze, recognizing you, well because…because supposedly he was in love with you.
It was a damp July night and cicadas were in a full shriek all around the small meadow. You passively watch from the sidelines as Namjoon and Tilla sway together, completely in their own world. Namjoon had gone through your immaculately designed trials and tribulations from hell and made it through with passable grades. And in spite of the habitual threats of emasculating him with a corkscrew and the rather deep resentment for their romance, you are, in the end, happy for these two baboons and hold your fingers crossed that they will not contribute to the divorce rates and instead be one of those couples, farting next to each other in their old. Or whatever the fuck they did.
You guard your champagne like it’s a lifeline because holy hell Yoongi was snorting that shit by the litres and you salute quietly to yourself - to the end of an era.
But… but Jimin is also there. Jimin was…complicated. For you, at least. He’s looking at you. He was always looking at you but it never quite grows into being creepy. It’s simply peculiar by now but it’s been already four years since you were begrudgingly introduced to each other and you’ve made peace with being in his focus.
He outdid himself this evening. Absolutely stunning visuals from Mr Park. It’s just an objective fact, you think to yourself.
“I like you,” he suddenly says, the light breeze ruffling his hair.
You laugh awkwardly but Jimin doesn’t.
“Uh…I like you too.”
“No, no,” he shakes his head. “I’m in love with you.”
After a stilted pause, he continues.
“Strange, isn’t it?” his smile seems bizarrely self-conscious. “To be in love?”
What do you say when such a thing is just dropped upon you with no warning whatsoever?
“Guess so.”
Well, probably not that.
Jimin left quickly after. Went on the world tour or whatever models did and you don’t see him anymore.
Usually, the confession meant the end of the movie, the culmination of the plot, the beginning of the happy ever after but this was real life and as such there was nothing, just the fearful pondering of what could have been better and self-congratulatory pats of what was avoided. He becomes a voice in your head, forever confusing you as to why would he say such a thing and a distantly familiar face printed on the covers of laminated, high-end magazines.
Yes, all the cuteness, all the cliche romance is over. But if you believed them, which you didn’t, but if you did, then the image of Park Jimin bounding towards you with a smile so wide his eyes did the thing of narrowing into thin lines, would be the only one who’d fit the scenarios.
“Hello, stranger,” he beamed, hooking off the mask and advancing forward with great speed and agility. It was that grace of an unceasing charmer. Cancer Rising. Whatever that meant. You scamper upwards, weighing between a hand wave or a nod of the head and then you’re left standing still as Jimin hugs you. Not a casual press against the side hug but a bone-crushing, enveloping-you-fully-until-all-you-smell-is-my-cologne type of hug. The breed of which you’ve missed dearly.
It takes him a while, a couple of wags from left and right, to step back and look you over. As he’s smiling wide you focus on that one crooked tooth in his mouth. A one, neat little flaw to remind you and everyone else that he was, in fact, a human being but unfortunately this was Park Jimin and even his flaws were at their worst merely endearing.
“You look lovely,” he praises and you clear your throat. Did he have to be so sincere about it?
“You too. Though you must hear it often.”
He inclines his head.
“I like to hear it from you. Thank you.”
You hum, glancing down at your occupied seat. Jimin does too.
“May I join?” he asks.
“Sure.”
You meant to say no. Did you? Did you really? There’s nothing wrong with talking a bit with Jimin, right? Catch up? He wasa friend of a friend, anyway.
And also the guy who was in love with you.
Okay.
Alright.
Like that makes sense.
He pulls the chair and nestles into it, running his hands through his hair. You had seen nearly all the colours of the rainbow on his head. How he had even a scalp to hold onto, the world may never know.
“How have you been?”
“….I’ve been here.”
He gives a gracious laugh. Jimin was always so quick to laugh.
“And is it nice here?”
You glimpse outside.
“Not really.“
He chuckles again. It must be the condensation from all the coffee making. The shop was getting quite toasty.
"What about you? What have you been doing?”
You fetch Jimin his matcha latte, declining his offer to pay back.
“Worked nonstop, pretty much,” he shrugs. “I went on a runway once, but I stopped doing it when I developed an eating disorder and my manager suggested to do cocaine.”
You are left sitting with your mouth wide open like a fool.
Jimin’s eyes crinkle as he smiles at such a thing. Like it wasn’t fucked up as all shit that it happened.
“I’m better now though. Kicked that piece of shit away.“
Everyone knew that everyone had self-image issues. That was the selling point, it was profitable for even the objectively perfect to be doubtful of themselves and spend thousands and thousands on diet pills, form-fitted clothes, alternative "healthier” eating which was the same look-obsessed culture now rebranded itself as wellness. Yes, you comprehended that but it didn’t make it any less unbelievable to hear someone like Jimin, Park the motherfucking Jimin, openly reveal that he didn’t like how he looked.
He curiously watches your brain gear and error over and over again.
“Don’t apologise if that’s what you want to do?” he laughs, quietly, shyly, like he’d done something wrong. “It’s not your fau-”
“I just think that’s an atrocious fucking horseshit,” your mouth runs on auto-pilot because your brain is lacking. It was never a good combination.
“What is?”
“For anyone to ever think you’re not beautiful.”
Unbeknownst to you, Jimin blushes bright red because it’s the brutal honesty in your tone that truly does him in. He was used to the saccharine compliments that seeped like poison from strangers’ mouths, designed to reel in and it never failed to sicken him. But he still found enjoyment in hearing the odd little praises if they came from you. You who had no ulterior motive. Oh, how he knew about the lack of any motives. Truth be told just fifteen minutes ago he had yelled at himself “enough!”. But all the attempts to forget you had boarded a plane, flew to the Himalayas and tossed themselves from the highest peak the moment he glanced at you through the window. Not even he himself quite understood this thing he had for you. What he did know was that he hated matcha latte but never had the heart to correct you so he suffered through it the times that you got it for him. And that was perhaps more of an insight than he could ever explain to others or to himself.
“And to…to suggest drugs? What the fuck is wrong with these people?” you snarl, gripping your coffee cup with pulverising strength, briefly wondering why Jimin winced. Did he not like the coffee? He had never complained before…
“Don’t know,” he replied casually, “I didn’t stick around to ask.”
“That’s good. Are you..are you actually fine, though? Or are you doing your thing of lying to not seem like a burden?”
He smirked mirthlessly.
“I’m actually fine. Dealt with it.”
You leaned back into the chair with a heavy sigh.
“So, how’s Joontill?”
You snort.
“Enjoying the fine Australian weather.”
Jimin frowns in confusion and you mirror his expression.
“They’re in Australia right now?”
“Well, yeah. Namjoon got that internship at Murdoch University. They’re doing some kind of study about the Coral Reef. Tilla is finding herself on a new spiritual journey. Something about crystals.“
More than once, you had looked at Tilla and Namjoon and thought that there were more commonalities between a tiger and a cockatoo than those two. Nevertheless, the two weirdos persisted in their mutual obsession with each other.
“I knew that, it’s just…I was meaning to stay here for a while and they offered me their place to stay until I found my own.”
“Maybe they left you a key in a mailbox or something,” you ponder.
“Oh, yes, truth is indeed stranger than fiction. I’m settling down here. Since I’m not doing runways anymore, I applied for a place in a local fashion and lifestyle magazine. I’m done chasing the glory,” he exhaled snidely, eyes momentarily darkening at what clearly were fractures of some sour memories.
“That’s nice,” you lightly remark, careful not to prod at anything still aching. “What will you be doing?”
“Writing, editing, maybe modelling,” he took a sip of the coffee, flinching again.
He must hate it, so why was he still drinking it?
“Sort of jack-of-all-trades help.”
Both of you agree that it’s a needed start over. Seemingly only minutes pass but then the barista reminds you that they’ll be closing in fifteen minutes.
Dishes of pastries have piled all around and when you look outside, with a stiff neck and even stiffer backside to your surprise the sky has turned dark. Unavoidably, like all good things did, Saturday had come to its inevitable end. The air is fresh and cool outside and your cheeks glisten with unexplainable heat. Jimin stretches with a smile, whining at the sore muscles. The lights of the nearby fruit vendors starkly remind you of Joontill’s wedding night and so, still operating on a basic instinct of speaking first - thinking never, the question rips out of you whilst lingering in each other’s presence.
“Do you still like me?”
Jimin, who was in the middle of saying goodbye, freezes like a deer caught in the headlights. He stands like that for a moment and then smiles as though you were sharing some private joke.
“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, I still do.”
“Scorpio venus,” Tilla enunciated like you were not getting some rudimentary piece of common knowledge. “If he’s making eyes at you, you’re doomed, sis.”
You put the powder brush away with a sigh. All you asked was did she knew why that Jimin guy had been gawking at you at her boyfriend’s party.
“Ain’t your boy-toy the same house?”
“Those are placements, not houses,“ Tilla amended, hanging upside down on the bed, lollipop sticking out of her mouth. "And yes, Joonie -”
“Joonie,” you scoffed.
“- is also Scorpio venus. How do you think I know I’ll get my guts rearranged this night andtomorrow morning?”
You crinkle your nose in disgust.
“Gross.”
“I’ll be going now,” he sighs and it is mind-boggling to you how he does that. Confesses and then proceeds life as normal. Most people would be digging themselves in a ditch, you first and foremost, but not Mr Park. He had told you twice already that he fancied you and then simply left.
You bite discreetly on your lip. What would happen if you would cast everything aside? Take him by the hand and lead away? Well, the thing would be is that he would probably fall out of love the moment you’d fall into it. That’s why there was the term “timing”. Time was a precarious thing and often changed with every passing wind. And you were well aware of how painful it’d be to actually fall in love with Park Jimin. You had been dancing on that edge for years now and as such had tethered nicely to the side of inactivity. Even if you found out that loitering around him in person made you irrationally want to kiss him.
As you part, each walking in your own separate directions, you think of being so sneaky by waiting until the very last second to glimpse back at him. Just once. But as you do, you find that to his credit, Jimin was, as before, already looking.
“Shut the fuck up,” you growl not even bothering to lift your head from the pillow. Tilla doesn’t have to say anything. That smarmy, annoying little face of hers does more than words ever could.
“I did not speak!“ she objects but with a tint of amusement. The weird subject of you and Jimin had entertained her for years with no signs of stopping. Behind her, there sprawls the beautiful vistas of the Australian sea, the sun high in the sky while outside you can perhaps glance at a faint glimmer of stars aimlessly wandering through space.
"Oh, I do wish you would just seize the bull by the horns. Jimin’s fine enough of a stallion and by rumours -”
“Don’t you dare to discuss Jimin’s dick out loud!”
Somewhere outside of the camera comes Namjoon’s grumbling threat. When Tilla points her phone at him, he’s found with a toothbrush lodged in his mouth, tugging his shorts over his ass.
Unfortunately not an unseen sight.
“I’ve got eyes only for you, babe.“
"Liar, liar, tiny thong on fire,” he throws her a stormy glare. “You were thirsting over those surfers all day. I know.”
“Oh, you do? Why don’t you come here and punish me then.”
“Please, I beg of you, there’s only so much vomit I can project!” you interrupt, physically gagging at the unfolding scene.
Tilla merely rolled her eyes and you try not to ponder too much on the fact that judging from the peculiar angle one of her hands must be tied to the bed.
“But back to you, listen, I know it may be hard to believe, only for you of course, but Jimin is still carrying a massive fucking torch for you. If you don’t do anything, that flame will go out.”
“So? Wonderful! I want it to go out!“
Tilla’s eyes soften.
"Babe…”
You shake your head once more.
“No, don’t pity me.“
"I’m not pitying you! It’s just that it’s not really a plan - to move to Alberta, adopt seventeen dogs, go insane one night and then die from hypothermia while streaking outside, after which your dogs feast on your decomposing flesh.”
You regard her with a raised brow.
“Why ever not? I’ve spent my entire life with that plan.“
Tilla sighed leaning back into the pillows. Her wrist was indeed locked in a pair of fuzzy, pink handcuffs.
“You know you are capable of love, right?”
“I’ve loved you my entire life,“ you are quick to agree.
"And Namjoon.”
“Doubtful.“
Tilla smirks and Namjoon groans somewhere in the distance.
"Know your place, boy-toy,” you bark at him. “I was here first.”
“She was,” Tilla interjects, pointing one solemn finger off the camera. At this point, Namjoon mutters something about “women” and exits stage left.
“You know I’m not saying you should jump Jimin because he’s gorgeous and nice and has the hots for you-”
“That’s exactly what you’re saying.”
“No, well, maybe a little bit, but it’s fine if you reject him because you don’t like him or because you know you won’t regret it. But do you remember Katie?”
Could you ever forget the little wench who’d stolen your purple, fuzz covered purse bedazzled with the words “icon”? It was a vicious and unjust crime that took weeks to get over.
“Do you not regret punching her in the face that day she came to school with your bag?”
Of course, you did. Being a seven-year-old who had not yet hit a growth spurt such as yourself, Katie then seemed so invincible and tall. But now as an adult, having the sage wisdom and knowledge that one famed day you’ll knock out not one, but two dudes of senior class when they tried to pocket your hard-earned money, you deeply mourned the fact that you hadn’t given her the knuckle sandwich that heinous skank clearly deserved.
“My point is, don’t let Jimin be another Katie. You’re so bitter already, god knows, we don’t need you to be any grouchier in your old.”
“Ha ha ha,” you mock her dryly but deep down you knew she was right. It was that mutated, single-celled organism called a brain you both shared like any other friendship that lasted longer than most marriages. “Anyway, I’m surprised you let him stay over. You’re usually so twitchy about anyone touching your stuff.”
Tilla frowned and a sickly squirming feeling rose in your stomach.
“I didn’t? What are you talking about?”
“Jimin said that until he’ll find his own place, he’ll stay at yours. Went to look for the spare key and everything.”
She shot upright in terror.
“Namjoon! NaMJOONIE!”
Immediately, the doors burst open.
“What happened? Are you hurt? Are you alright?!”
“Did we actually say “yes” when Jimin called us about staying over?!“
"I did say "yes”,“ comes his bashful voice. "But I didn’t mean it for him! I meant it for you, considering what we were in the middle of…”
These horny amoebas.
“You picked up the phone when you were having sex?!”
Tilla graciously ignores your outrage.
“Do we have any spare keys?”
“Of course, not. It’s unsafe.”
If group chat messages were true, then Yoongi moved back to Korea three months ago and Hoseok had left across the country to finally finish his degree in contemporary dance, that means -
A ring by the door.
- that you were the only one in the city that Jimin was familiar with.
You and Tilla exchange glances and slowly, annoyingly slowly, upon reaching the same conclusion as you, she blossoms into a broad smirk. When you rip open the door, the phone still in hand, you find Jimin there, knuckles suspended in the air, clearly not expecting the eager welcome.
“So, a funny thing -”
“JIMIN!! HELLO!” comes a scream from down your thigh.
“Oh, hello, Tilla!” he leans down to wave at her, smiling brightly. “You seem to not have left me a spare key, Mrs Kim-Hogen.”
“Uh, yeah,” Tilla glances nervously to the side where no doubt guilty Namjoon was hiding outside the camera. “Well, you know Joon, all butterfingers.”“
"Or skilled fingers. Are those handcuffs I see?”
As he was leaning down, a chain previously tucked underneath Jimin’s shirt falls out. It sways in the air, back and forth and you have this small but really rather intrusive thought. Would it sway like this in your face when he’s on top of you? The thought vanishes with an aggressive shake of the head.
“Why yes, they are,” Tilla purrs. “Whoever said that long-lasting relationships are a drag needs to find themselves a better partner. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. Don’t you forget it, angel!”
“Oh, I’m nothing if not a hopeless romantic, Mrs Kim-Hogen,” and with that chain still dangling, he has the absolute gall to look up and meet your gaze. “Just my person’s quite stubborn.”
No. You’re not doing this.
“Okay, well that’s enough of that,“ you huff.
“WAIT NO! There’s so much I want to ask him! What happened to the fashion show? What happened with Mi-Ran? Are you settling dOWN JUST FOR-”
You smack the phone shut, tired of serving as a tripod so these two gossipy bitches could discuss their sexcapades. No, you did not want to hear any of the details of what they both got up to, thank you very much. The thought alone left a sour taste in your mouth. The phone is tossed on the sofa. It bounces back and falls onto the floor.
Naturally.
Jimin crosses his arms behind his back.
“So,” he begins awkwardly.
“So,” you echo.
It’s weird. You’re strangers but not really. You’re sweethearts but not even close. You’re friends but were you?
It’s all so very odd.
“I understand if you don’t want me to crash here but on the off chance, if you say yes, may I ask?”
Smooth. He has engaged the Libra as Tilla would say.
“Yes,” you dumbly answer, without hesitation gripping the door in a panic. You did not just agree to it.
Jimin too seems shocked. His eyes are wide and his mouth is falling slightly open. There’s that crooked tooth again.
“Yes? Wait, yes, as in, I can ask or yes as in…” he exhales a shaky breath. “As in I can stay with you?”
“Yes, you can stay with me,” you drawl. No, that was not what the shards of brain masquerading themselves as an intellect told you to say. You were meant to say that you’re truly sorry and you wish you could but the space is simply too small to allow another person in. But as such you say neither of those words, the sentiment coming from your mouth is quite the opposite.
“You sure?” he clarifies and you roll your eyes.
“Do you want to stay on the street? Because one more -”
“No, no,” Jimin laughs, hastily waving his hands. He’s practically glowing and you turn to look away. “I’d rather stay here, thanks.”
“Well, then, come on in.”
He shuffles inside and you note the lack of baggage. He also didn’t have any in the coffee shop. The only thing he carried was an unassuming shoulder bag thrown over his shoulder.
“Chanel?” you point at it, with an arched eyebrow as he shimmies through the small hallway, trying to shrug his jacket off.
“What? Oh, no, an airport at…Berlin, I think. It’s hard to keep track of all the places I was.” Showoff. “Why Chanel specifically?” he grunts, kicking his shoes off. It’s only by a miracle that you have spare slippers available. They were fuzzy and adorned with large cows but he’ll have to suck it up. To his credit, Jimin doesn’t even bat an eye.
“Oh, I don’t know,” you reply after a moment. “I just thought that Chanel was your outbreak.”
A teasing smile is back on his face and you turn your back on it, switching on the overhead lamps in the living room.
“Hmm, I wonder how you knew that.”
“…Tilla told me,” you stubbornly refute, peering into your fridge to offer as a snack.
“And not those magazines on the table?”
Your eyes snap to the offending objects, recalling that underneath the odd bill and notebook, there did sit a varied collection of Jimin’s faces. Harper’s Bazaar, L'Officiel Hommes. Pieces he knew you had no interest in. When drunk on a political debate night one night, you’d sparred with Namjoon for about thirty minutes about how journals like these were nothing but laminated drivel and the fact that they were grey was just about the only thing that differentiated them from yellow pages.
“Wrong subscription,“ you brush away and Jimin chuckles while taking in your house.
His eyes are wide and his gaze curious. With a reminiscent smile, he inspects your diplomas, most of which he was there to witness in the audience. You remembered, when you got your honorary diploma, the so-called summa cum laude, after long hours and tears and breakdowns. He had been the loudest to cheer you on. So loud, he, in fact, beat not only your entire family and Tilla combined but also made himself noticeable in the eyes of the university choir’s leader. Your classmates had teased you on and on about what supportive boyfriend you had and you were so happy that day the distinction didn’t seem worth pointing out. Your hands tighten around the fruit plate. Had he…liked you already then? No, impossible! Impossible. Wasn’t he dating someone around that time? Christine? Magnus? Rosa? You couldn’t even recall. The point was, there wasn’t a day in university Jimin’s life that was spent in a bed unwarmed. You smack the plate perhaps a tad harsher on the table than strictly necessary.
Jimin giggles on the side. Despite much of your protests, Tilla had hung up some of the childhood polaroids you both shared, making for rather nostalgic, albeit embarrassing mementos.
"Oh, my God, look at those cheeks,” he coos, pointing at a five-year-old you, wrenched in a tin foil spacesuit. The combined result of watching both E.T. and Back to the Future a day before the “what do you want to be” theme day in the kindergarten.
“And the pigtails! This is gold. I must capture this!” he pulls out his phone and before you can throw something sharp in his direction, the mortifying embarrassment is already stored in his gallery.
“You share that to the group chat and I’ll-”
“-emasculate me?” he finishes. “Yes, I know. I think you’ve threatened to do that over a hundred times and yet here I stand - still endowed.”
“Don’t test your luck, Park,” you growl, arranging the final orange slices. “Any day now. It could happen any day now.”
He snickers and sits down by the table.
“I like your home,“ he says, swaying a bit. "But why is it so small?”
“Oh, I’m trying to save up as much as I can. This place already costs an arm and a leg. Hard to imagine what bigger spaces would rip off.“
Jimin pops a grape in his mouth.
“True.”
“Do you want ramen, perhaps?“
He tilts his head.
"As a food, not as a pickup line,” you threaten him with a knife that was used to cut the oranges. Jimin quickly tugs it aside.
“Sure. I’m just wondering since when did you get so nice? Did you miss me, perhaps?” he clicks his tongue and leans in with a mischievous smile illuminating his face.
“Don’t say nonsense,” you snap back but you did. Just a little tiny bit. Sometimes. On the oddest of days.
While the water boils you get down to business.
“There is only the couch that you can sleep on. It’s a pull-out, but still a little small overall. You’re okay with that?”
“I’m okay with a pull out though I much prefer the keep in method,” he wiggles his eyebrows while leaning against the countertop. You push past it.
“As you can see there’s not much to explore. The door on the left there is the bathroom, door on the right just this weird storage space. Any questions?”
“You’ve got a partner?”
You close your eyes and exhale rather dramatically.
“Say goodbye to your penis, Jimin,” you grimly mutter and move towards him with a melon scooper clutched tightly between fingers. He rushes backwards, laughing.
“I’ll take it as a no,” he blurts out, looking too unconcerned for someone whose life hinged on the kindness of your rotten soul. “It’s just so I would know what to do if someone rushes here while I’m there naked on the sofa.”
The water boils and you pour the packet into it, stirring absent-mindedly with Jimin’s eyes locked on the back of your skull.
“And, of course, so I would know whether or not I’m free to seduce you.”
You drop the seasoning into the water.
“What makes you think you can seduce me?” you casually reply, fishing out the plastic. “It hasn’t worked in all the years we’ve known each other.”
He crosses his palms underneath the chin, appearing for a second misleadingly angelic.
“Yes, but I wasn’t really trying then. All in all, it’s getting quite pathetic on my end to pine you after all these years."
It’s just the steam from the pot, it’s just the steam from the pot, that’s why my face is so warm, you tell yourself.
"So I’ll take this opportunity to be straightforward with you.”
You really didn’t need for him to be any more straightforward. He already confessed - twice! - what was there even left to do?
“And if you’re not my girlfriend/my wife/my fiance by the end of this, I guess…" he trails off into silence. The humour in his voice had drained and you find yourself fearing the end of that sentence. As much as you would prefer Jimin not to waste his time on you, ultimately and with no little amount of heinous selfishness it would still sting to have these feelings be lost. You let out a small groan.
Make up your mind woman, you scold yourself, let him go if he wants to go. Yes, it’s for the best. You and Jimin were simply incompatible. Worse than being two opposite magnets, you were brown and he was blue, mixing them together would just make a sludge, a neither that nor this colour which was both dull and unusable for any self-respecting artwork. Some people could be the opposite and meshed well, green and blue, Tilla and Namjoon, some, you and Jimin, was a no go.
As you’re weighing the matter in your own metaphors, you don’t notice that Jimin never actually finished the sentence. The threat was largely only reserved for himself. “I guess, I’ll leave you alone.” But he never had the guts to say it out loud, scared that it would come true if he did.
Your eyes droop dangerously low. You and Jimin had made him a place to sleep, using decorative pillows and extra fleece blankets for now. He told you that his stuff was still being shipped. He had washed the dishes while you made a quick run to the store to get him some toiletries. He was given his towel and the apartment was coated in the small glow of the living room lamp. Quiet music was swimming through. Jimin said that he’ll turn it off. It was strange to have him here. To have anyone here. The second Tilla and Namjoon had gotten married, her absence gradually grew more and more until now she was in Australia. It was unusual, but you found that you didn’t mind it just yet.
“Hey, __________,” Jimin whispered and your ears naturally perked at the sound of his voice, all the way from your lofted bed.
“Hmmm?”
“Don’t….don’t believe too much what these papers say about me.”
There was a hint of frailty in his tone and you’re once again brought to the fact of how horrible these last few years had been for him. The times that he appeared in yellow pages were not tremendous in the count, but there was never a single good entry. Just the clubs, the arrest, the reckless spending and driving and so forth.
“Don’t worry,” you murmur back, eyes closing. “I never did.”
At first, Sunday comes like it had a thousand times before - lazy with sleep weighted eyes, the gnawing realisation that the fun is halfway over. Tomorrow is Monday and it’s just hours, once again hoursaway from Doing The Labour. It’s exhausting to Do The Labour. As you pull a pillow over your head, scoffing at the sunlight streaming through the window, you whine to yourself - you don’t want to Do The Labour. But the hunger grumbling in your stomach is a stern reminder that you have to, want to or not. You lift your head up, groggy and squinting in the pouring light. You stretch, something cracks, and there’s a persistent, mysterious ache somewhere in your back. Adulthood. But as you climb down, opening the window to let in the fresh, morning air, you glimpse at Jimin sleeping on the sofa. Dark hair messy on the pillow, soft snores rising from his open mouth.
The gust of morning breeze rips through the curtains and he shivers, instinctively pulling the blanket nearly up to his ears to protect himself from the unwanted elements. You smile and then for the first time in a very long time you allow yourself to sit and simply gaze into the city. Dogs and their sleep weary owners trudged in and out of the park, runners in their never-ending mission to make everyone else feel lazy took laps amidst the freshly opened shops, half-abandoned construction and the occasional stray cat. Together and separate - the life of a city.
And when Jimin wakes much has changed and yet nothing really. The Sunday like many before this one is spent quietly, with a nameless, bright cartoon in the background, coffee made, and yoghurt to be enjoyed. Despite what your fears always insisted, it’s actually quite simple. You’re still you and he’s still him and you’re both here in this small apartment, on this lazy Sunday morning because you want to be here. It’s just that simple.
As Jimin shuffles over, still partially sinking into slumber, you quickly delved into a bowl of non-sugar non-fat diet no-additive greek yoghurt just not before throwing a handful of strawberries and half a pack of chocolate chips.
Jimin smiles over his cup of coffee.
“I like to eat healthily,” you establish, shaking the very last of the chips into the bowl.
“I can see that,” he bites his lip to not laugh and the chain around his neck dangles in the air as he reaches down to lay a light kiss on the side of your cheek.
You get into a freak accident and wake up to your body surrounded by seven crying men. Or your unrequited love doesn’t seem so unrequited after all.
Chapter warnings
Minor cussing, Implied self deprecration but very slight
Chapter Rating: T (For Teen Audiences and Up)
Chapter 4: The Fairy Godmother
FLASHBACK
Twiddling your thumbs inconspicuously wasn’t such a good idea after all as your employer’s sharp gaze pierces you right in your jaded soul.
You didn’t mean to sound so cynical and judging from his tells, Eugene wasn’t too happy with you, or at least with how you viewed yourself.
His manicured nails beckon you forward and you gulp, eyes darting to the pile in front of you– Eugene Lee Yang, tarot master and occultist, absolutely hatedit when his readings were disrupted but once you came in through his door looking for all the whole disgusting world like a damned drenched train wreck, eyes bugging out with tears leaking to your puffy cheeks, he pauses, red lips pinched looking for an explanation which you give.
You fidget in your seat by his raglan couch, the sign by the door right below the Yin Yang Quatro’s flashy neon label saying ‘Closed for business’, as you silently try to assess a quick look at the spread laid out on the table.
One death card and two other major arcana.
Whoever the client was, the universe was basically telling him or her to fuck off from the situation and just let things be.
Yikes.
“Baby girl, look at me. ” He gripes and you flinch, staring at his kohl rimmed eyes.
Your boss was a very hot man, and if he wasn’t gay you would have considered your options but he was happily married to a wonderful husband and you were stupidly in love with the seven banes of your existence.
Hence the tears.
“So you’re telling me, that those stupid boys left you to fend for yourself while you were sick in bed?” He hums when you nod your assent meekly, sharp jaw twitching with annoyance as his fingers tap lightly over his silk jacket. “Were they aware?”
You shake your head, “I mean I did send them a text but I was left on read. Maybe they were just busy or something. ”
Eugene snaps his narrowed gaze to you and you gulp. “Huh. Busy. So you were seriously completely alone?”
Another shake of the head. “Some friends took care of me back at my own apartment so…” You trail off unsure if throwing Taemin into the mix with his consent was okay.
Eugene may be fairly strict with the shop rules but when it came to his employees, you in particular, he was an overprotective mama bear and anyone–rather, any man’snamementioned by you was automatically on his watch list.
Your boss pretends to ignore the friend part for a moment, “I see. And you don’t think you deserve any of their attention when you’ve been nothing but a good friend and room mate to them?”
“That’s not–”
Eugene holds a hand up to shush you. “Not yet done speaking, doll.” He sighs. “YN, you know I despise little girls without any backbone. What, you don’t think you’re beautiful enough to be appreciated by a bunch of fuckboys? Bitch, you don’t need them. You don’t need their attitude. You’re a queen. Act like it. ” He sniffs daintily.
You give him a watery giggle and he smirks.
“Besides, if they so much as leave you high and dry one of these days, I will go to your house and castrate them inch by fucking inch.”
Nothing could compare to an angry Yang boss.
END OF FLASHBACK
“Who the fuck are you?” The Beta Tau Sigma member frowns, arms tightening around you as his brothers close in forming a protective ring around the both of you and your physical body peacefully settled on the hospital bed.
The visitor merely raises a perfect, delicate brow, canine teeth bared for a moment only to recede when his irises pierce yours, and as if a magnetic pull traps you, you subconsciously fly–float to the stranger. “ Eugene!” You bleat happily, arms looping around the man’s lean shoulders.
Today he was wearing a baby blue silk coat and long skirt, looking for all the world like a top runway model. His red lips land on your hairline. “Hello, doll.” He coos and everyone, the Min included, stands stock still as the dress you had been wearing shimmers in the light like an ethereal pixie.
“Holy shit. Was that YN?!” Jeongguk, the wide eyed buck that he was furiously looks to the space where you presumably stood and back to your body with mild hysterics until one of his hyung’s, Seokjin was it, lightly knocks him upside the head.
“But hyung she just–”
Seokjin frowns. “Yes we all saw. It’s just…difficult to wrap our heads around the thought that two YNs are here. ”
Jimin, having had dried his tears long ago speaks up with a much clearer voice directed at Eugene. “I’m sorry, but we’ve known YN since we were kids and I’m afraid we haven’t seen you around before…sir?” He hesitates contemplating whether he was using the correct gender noun.
A sharp laugh echoes within the cramped space of the hospital room, and the boys shift awkwardly, some seeming anxious at the tone the other man had taken.
You let go of your boss and reluctantly float back to the others, Yoongi snatching you up to his side, pushing you behind him with a grim stare at the newcomer.
You remember that Eugene isn’t dangerous to you.
But Eugene Lee Yang was dangerous to those he disliked.
And it appears your boys weren’t faring well in that department.
So with a grimace, you stick closer to Yoongi, ready to tug him just in case your boss decides to chuck his expensive shoes against someone’s head in his wrathful wake.
Of course he would be mad.
You couldn’t count the number of times he’d witnessed you cry over these men you were now trying to cover for.
With all the lip chewing you were immersed in, someone addresses the huge elephant rearing its trunk over all of you.
“That question aside, what is happening here–uh, sir?” Hoseok is quick to beat his brothers to the punch, although quite warily.
He wasn’t going to be disrespectful to possibly the only person who could give a fucking explanation to everything. He had a gut feeling that whoever this man was, was someone who could help YN and he wasn’t taking any chances just so YN can recover fast.
He didn’t think he could live another week without being blessed with your lovely smile.
He actually fucking missed you already even if you were right here in spirit.
Eugene quirks a brow but his lips curl up in a genuine smile directed at the resident sunshine, and although he knew that all of them contributed to a majority of YN’s sadness, this Hoseok was the least guilty from what he’s heard so far.
“Jung Hoseok I presume?” Eugene asks and the boy stammers out an affirmative response. “Charmed. Yes, well. Before I answer any of your questions, YN if you would?” He gestures to you and you reach for him despite Yoongi’s quiet protest.
He didn’t like you leaving him for some other man no matter who they are.
Two things happen simultaneously as soon as you touch the Yang boss’s hands.
You feel a heavy weight settle over you, as if you were being pulled down by gravity.
And then your bare foot touches the hard, cold, bleached tiles one after the other and you shiver with a soft squeak.
“HOLY SHIT YN?!”
A chorus of quaky gasps fill the air and then you are swept up into the nearest person’s arms, this time Taehyung’s.
You turn your smooshed cheeks from your holder and shoot a glance at the Yang boss with pure joy. “H-how?”
Eugene smiles at you gently. But then he sighs, the shadows appearing on his face aging him for a bit, a tick in his jaw forms and he rolls his eyes. “Doll, you know I’m magical. But that’s beside the point. ” He sharply claps his hands garnering command at everyone’s undivided scrutiny.
Eugene was like that. Commanding with his presence at every turn.
“Gentlemen, if you could, I would love to be invited to your home as we have much to talk about as regards YN’s current…state. ”
Namjoon, ever the leader steps forward almost in an unconscious manner as if to assert his dominance, “As long as it will help YN, we are willing to do anything. ”
Unexpectedly, the Yang boss doesn’t laugh, doesn’t mock them, only considers them for a moment and then looks at you. “I can see what you meant, darling.” You flush for some reason and they all turn to look at you but your boss clears his throat, and straightens. “We don’t have the luxury to waste any more time. For YN’s sake, I suggest we go now. Because as of this moment, I am your fairy godmother and she’s Cinderella. Once the clock strikes midnight, it’s poof. If you catch my drift.”
For years now, you have loved the Beta Tau Sigma boys. But you thought it was unrequited. Until you were involved in a freak accident and your soul learns that that love may not be unrequited after all.
Cheating but not really, angst, slight smut and sex dolls, frat parties, use of weed
A/N. To read the safe for work rest of this series, please proceed to my side blog @clutterfield.
YOONGI POV
The lights are low as the bass booms all over the large interior of the Beta Tau Sigma’s after party.
“Oh baby,” Yoongi moans as his cock throbs, pulses inside the woman’s throat, coating her tongue with his hot white release.
What was her name again? Jieun was it? Naeun? Fuck if he gave a damn. The only thing he remembered was getting high on weed and tugging some random chick to his bedroom.
And now here he was about to get laid but why the fuck was he feeling guilt gnawing like a vice at the back of his mind whenever he thought of your pretty face– he frowns as his dick goes limp too fast for his liking.
The woman’s tits come in full view as she attempts to go on all fours with the clear intention of submitting but then something snaps inside the frat member’s conscience and he stops here to her obvious disappointment. “Get out.” He remarks hastily pulling up his briefs and joggers, suddenly angry at himself, at the world for some odd reason or another and the woman squeaks, shocked and mortified as he none too gently drags her out and locks the door behind him once left alone.
He plops down onto his bed, black sheets still messy from a much earlier romp and he closes his eyes in frustration, slinging an arm over them, taking deep measured breaths to calm himself just as his therapist told him to do.
Grasping for his phone, he thumbs through the group chat and curses upon seeing that YN had asked if one of them could pick her up somewhere but didn’t receive any response. “We’re fucking assholes.” He grouses, throat raw as if wanting to cry.
Why did he want to cry anyway? Fuck, maybe he was too high on weed after all.
Where are you? He texts but after a few minutes, you don’t respond and his eyes flutter shut.
He doesn’t notice that the message failed to send.
SEOKJIN POV
“Where the fuck is everyone?” He gripes, in a sour mood as he balances a pan of freshly done tacos on one hand and his phone in the other.
He still had to check on the steak and his kitchen was already a fucking mess– some of the Sigma members had decided to crash his fridge and steal all the bottles of expensive bordeaux they could find and even graciously left stains on the counters -which he would be the one cleaning up for fuck’s sake!
A hand on his crotch surprises him enough to nearly drop the food tray and as he swivels to shout at the person, his lips are almost immediately assaulted with saliva and teeth, a little bit of spunk too. If he could guess, someone already shot their filthy disgusting load into her mouth.
He wondered why he ever allowed himself to eat her cunt once.
“Oppa, Yoongi-oppa was being mean to me…” Her nasally voice sticks to his skin unpleasantly and he shoves her off.
“Don’t fucking touch me. Who’s fucking girl are you anyways? Yoongi’s?”
Another pout and then Jimin and Taehyung jogs through the room, only to spot her.
“Yah, aren’t you Changbin’s?” Taehyung asks.
She shrugs, eyeing them like a feast and the two don’t hide their disgust. “Get the fuck out and go back to your boyfriend. ” Jimin grits his teeth and the girl huffs, heels clicking as she stalks out.
Seokjin merely raises a brow at them. “She’s been fucking everyone here I take it?”
Both maknaes nod and Seokjin sighs, pushing the tray for them to take. “I’ll be in the washroom scrubbing my mouth.”
NAMJOON POV
He remembers explicitly stating that no women were allowed in the house.
Not when YN was coming home any minute now.
They had forgotten to warn her that the Sigmas were having an annual gathering and he didn’t want to give YN the wrong idea that they disrespected her in any way.
She was family (well more than that…at least to him anyway as he couldn’t speak for the others), this was also her house and he wasn’t a fuckboy enough to subject her to what the fuck ever goes on when one of them brings in women.
He sees Jeongguk pass by, a pack of cigarettes in hand and he stops him. “Guk, who the fuck gave that hussy permission to be here?” He eyes Lee Jieun, all dressed up in the shortest little black dress, breasts hanging out and butt cheeks exposed laughing at the group playing poker by the pool.
Jeongguk squints and growls, “Why the fuck is she here?”
Namjoon steps back an inch, surprised at the younger man’s sudden intense dislike for her. “You know her?”
Jeongguk gives a grim smile, “Yeah, she’s the one who keeps on bullying YN at her workplace. ” He then stares at the leader curiously, “So she hasn’t slept with you, huh?”
“What do you mean she bullies YN?” Namjoon frowns, not liking where this was going. “And fuck no. I wouldn’t even fucking touch her with a ten foot pole. She screams STD for fuck’s sake.” He points out just in time as someone’s tongue touches hers in a horrific public display.
Jeongguk grimaces. “Well good for you, hyung. We were all drunk once and bam, my cock’s inside a loose pussy. I don’t know about the others but that’s how it went for me. ” He grunts. “We all had to get tested at some point because of her. Who invited her anyway? should I call security?”
“No need. I got this.”
Both men turn to see Hoseok, obviously having just woken up from his nap on the couch and heard bits and pieces of the conversation. “And Guk, is it true she bullies our YN?”
“Yeah, hyung. I had to step in one time. Looks like the bitch hasn’t learned her lesson at all.” He gripes.
Hoseok’s eyes turn murderous, the deadly quiet daunting. “Well. Whoever brought her in will not be part of the Beta Tau Sigma once I’m done.” He looks to the leader for affirmation, the latter giving his consent.
Hoseok smiles. This will be fun.
JIMIN POV
He furrows his brows. “Hey, Taetae, why is YN-noona asking us to come pick her up? Didn’t she take her car?”
Taehyung looks up from his food, mouth stuffed full like a squirrel preparing for winter. “Yeah?”
Before any of them can even respond to your chat, a piercing screech fills the air and they look out down below to watch as Hoseok grips Changbin’s slut to the gates. A couple of the guards take her from their hyung and shut the metal grates in her screaming face.
Jimin whistles impressed as the rain drowns out her screams.
He loved tits, adored them really and that cunt did have great globes but it couldn’t compare to YN’s soft tender ones, the only time he’d had a chance to touch them was when she accidentally fell on his lap and scramble off.
It was great. She was great. And he missed her.
Was she coming home now?
He would have to lead her through the side entrance so she wouldn’t be privy to the men around here.
Seven of them were enough after all.
TAEHYUNG POV
He hurriedly guzzles down the wine as Namjoon calls for a meeting downstairs.
With a swift look at his twin, they take the stairs one at a time in a leisurely pace, knowing that shit was about to go down.
He however tries to call you discreetly as he lazily watches Changbin plea for mercy from being ousted from the frat house much like his whore had been, and by the looks of it, he knew he won’t be changing his hyung’s mind.
His call goes through voicemail. Strange.
“Your girlfriend was bullying YN.”
Huh? What does that–
“No, she’s not my girlfriend, I swear! She’s just a past hook up!” Changbin bleats nervously. He was on his knees before them, and Taehyung gets even more confused when Yoongi pops out of nowhere, expression feral and decidedly more sober than the last hour he’d seen him.
“Your fucking hook up spiked my fucking drink with drugs you asshole. ” He grumps, wrist swinging a suspicious looking package before throwing it at Namjoon whose eyes narrow as he goes to sniff and inspect the box. “Weren’t we clear on what goes and what stays here? Recreational weed is the limit, none of the other fucked up stuff.”
“Sorry but can we go back to the bullying YN part?” Seokjin pipes up, gliding through the room like the Dionysus he was, eyes so intense that most of the men shrink under his presence.
Changbin seems to zone in on himself as the other guys exchange furtive glances. “I-I can give you a copy of the video someone took.” He offers feebly to save face.
The seven members of Bangtan freeze.
“Video? What video?” Hoseok grouses, ready to throw fists.
“Uh, some people from Uni caught Jieun and her friends throwing coffee at YN–Miss YN,” he corrects himself at the glare he receives, “a few times. I think they wanted to take it to the school board but I heard the board did nothing so it just fizzled out.” He gives them his phone and sure enough, the evidence is plenty as a few people crowd around it.
Bangtan growls when they hear YN hiss, clutching her hands meekly.
It is then that Jeongguk steps forward, cracking his knuckles. He was going to murder them. “Those old bastards, huh?”
Taehyung hums as everyone turns to him, “I know the school director. I can take those copies directly to him.”
Namjoon nods as he tosses the phone to Taehyung. “Do that, Taehyung-ah. In the meantime, what will we do with you Changbin?” He taps his chin in contemplation and as Taehyung beckons Jeongguk to go make copies of the vidoes, they hear a sharp slap echo and then the clanking of broken metal, signifying that someone’s ring had been snapped in half, probably by Yoongi.
“Dude deserves it.” Jeongguk huffs.
Taehyung thinks that was too merciful.
No one hurts you, their YN. Not even indirectly.
JEONGGUK POV
He was fucking spent.
Panting, his hand is thick with his release as he comes down from the best orgasm he had had in awhile.
He didn’t mean to look into it.
It was just there among the videos as he tried make multiple copies all at once.
You were in swim class, in a fucking one piece bathing suit, all pink and soft and peachy, lips tinted with slight gloss (how the fuck did you manage not to look like a drowned rat compared to others?), and he just lost it.
But once he’s come to his senses, he sees green. Why the fuck did Changbin’s phone have a video of you in swim class? Were there others like this being leaked?
If there was, it was a serious invasion of your privacy and he didn’t like it one bit.
HOSEOK POV
It was fucking three in the morning and Hoseok was embarassingly balls deep inside his sex doll.
After the debacle with Changbin and Changbin’s whore, he and the guys had a round of alcohol and now he was fucking horny as hell.
It’s not like he was depraved.
It was just that his sex doll looked a lot like you, his YN.
“Ugh, fuck, baby doll,” he mutters as he cums a whole load, mouth attaching to almost life like breasts – your breasts– hips eratic and wanting for more.
He spends the next few hours calling your name.
He wakes up in the morning sated.
And then he gets up, a horrific realization coming to light.
They had never checked in on you after all that had happened. Did you even get home safe?
He runs to your room and knocks on your door. No answer.
There was something about the island that was serene, calm, something that was shattered when the 8 of you stepped foot on the sand. What would have been a tranquil quiet morning had turned into the usual chaos.
“Seriously Hyung! Again?” You wake startled to Jungkook shouting at the man currently enclosing you tighter in his arms, ignoring the maknae.
“This is the third night in a row,” Jungkook continues when neither of you reply, he’s angry but there’s more to it, he’s hurt. You try to pry the hands around you away, trying to get your thoughts together after being harshly woken, but Yoongi doesn’t move an inch, only offering you a grumbling “tsk” to your movement.
“Hyung!“ Jungkook yells for his attention. You don’t have to see him to know he’s got his tongue harshly pressed against his cheek in annoyance, you can feel it, just as you can feel his stare that you swore was burning you more than the Sun’s heat.
“Jagi fell in love with me first,” the prince let out smugly, you can feel the smirk on the back of your neck. “I saw her first, we would never have met her if it wasn’t for me.”
“So?” The maknae replies seething, while your jaw drops at the Prince’s audacity.
“So I get Princess whenever I want,” Yoongi chuckles arrogantly.
You nearly choke as Jungkook storms out, leaving Yoongi amused and you stunned.
“Kookie wait!” You call after him but the chains around you called Min Yoongi wouldn’t give.
“Yoongi that was mean,” you scold him lightly, which finally makes him let you go, only to turn you to face him.
He’s so pretty in the mornings, so carefree, it’s hard to hold on to your annoyance when he attacks you like this.
“He woke us up,” is his only reply, as if that justified everything.
“That doesn’t excuse you being mean,” you pout, leaping to the maknae’s defence. “This is the last time you convince me to sleep next to you.”
“Tough, you’re sleeping next to me tonight too,” he states confidently, completely disregarding your statement.
His behaviour was giving you multiple cases of whiplash, and it was too early in the morning for so many.
“Yoongi, that’s not fair.”
He sighs, the self-assured attitude melting away to reveal his vulnerability, the change makes you still. He has a soft look in his eyes as he gazes into yours, but there was an intense sentiment behind them that takes your breath away.
“Y/n, I thought I was going to lose you forever,” he admits quietly, the heaviness of his tone making your heart ache. “I still have nightmares Jagi, I still wake up believing we didn’t make it out.”
Your eyes tear up, you had those dreams too. Worse ones sometimes, your father dragging him to the guillotine with the others lined behind him while you scream, restrained by his guards. You shiver at the reminder of those horrible images.
“The only thing that convinces me we did is waking up to you in my arms,” he looks down at your fingers, playing with him softly to distract himself. He wasn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but he’d let you see it.
“Yoongi talk to them,” you sigh, understanding his point, but you had six others to also think about, and you knew in the long term this would cause a rift. “They’ll understand…”
He kisses your hand softly, contemplating your point even if he looked like he was ignoring it.
“Not yet,” he hums, “I want to keep you to myself a little longer.”
The smirk he gives you makes you gulp, your skin starting to burn under the new dangerous glint in his eyes. You fight the pleasant shiver that travelled down your body, biting your lip to stop yourself smiling.
“The bed’s big enough for someone else to join us, you can’t keep hogging me,” you shake your head, laughing lightly at the way his gummy smile grew.
“Fine, on one condition,” he grins, leaning in, his eyes drawn to your lips before looking at you suggestively. “Admit you love me the most.”
Your jaw drops for the umpteenth time that day.
“Min Yoongi what’s gotten into you this morning?”
“I’m happy,” he breathes against your lips with a sincere smile.
The sight has your heart flying, unable to control your own bashful grin that he starts kissing. He kisses the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, loving the sound of you giggling at his ministrations, holding you closer.
“I fell in love with you the moment I met you Y/n,” he mumbles against your skin, his nose nudging your jaw with affection before his eyes meet yours. He’d tell you it a million times. “You’re the reason I’m free.”
His heartfelt confession made the words of love you wanted to return get stuck in your throat behind the rising emotion. You kiss him again instead, slowly, deeply, making sure he understood how you felt for him too.
“Am I interrupting?”
Yoongi groans when you pull away, turning to see Namjoon leaning on the doorway with a knowing smirk.
“Yes,” Yoongi grunts, trying to pull you back.
“Morning Joonie,” you greet him much to the Prince’s dismay. Well that was his morning ruined.
“Morning Princess,” Namjoon says softly, walking up to you both to kiss your forehead before sitting next to you, playing with your hair.
“Let me guess,” Yoongi huffed. “The maknae had some complaints.”
For a second he thinks Joon didn’t hear him, not with the way he was staring down at you fondly, dimple peeking out of his cheek. Yoongi rolls his eyes at the way you’re grinning back. All the reservation your head bodyguard, or ex bodyguard he supposed, had about his affection for you had disappeared the second you both confessed. It was as if the proverbial dam broke, and Namjoon’s show of love could no longer be controlled.
I think I preferred it when he denied his feelings, Yoongi thinks to himself but even he knows he doesn’t mean it.
“Hyung you’re upsetting the others,” Namjoon states, not taking his eyes off of you.
“Am I upsetting you?” Yoongi challenges, ready to call out any self serving agendas he might be hiding dressed as concern from the others.
“Is Jungkook okay?” you ask, feeling a pang of guilt for the youngest.
“He’s swimming it off little queen,” Namjoon reassures you, thumb trying to soothe the crease between your brows of worry. “He’ll be fine.”
“Are you both going to start arguing?” You could already feel the atmosphere changing even through the grin Namjoon was wearing.
“Yes.” “No.”
Well that answered that. Yoongi scowled at his younger friend, buttering you up and feeding you white lies, at least he was honest.
You sigh, it was definitely too early for this, and you didn’t want to hear it. You’ve been caught between their little spats before and never ended well. You jump out of bed, using the glares they were both giving each other to your advantage.
“Where are you going?“ they both ask simultaneously, Yoongi propping himself on his elbows to watch you leave.
“To see a friend.”
—
The knocking on the door can only be one person, one very stubborn runaway princess on a mission. There’s a sigh as the door is reluctantly opened, a sheepish grin from you that could only be described as trouble.
“You’re going to get me killed,” Nym says matter of factly, opening the door wide to let you through without complaint.
“I’m not going to get anyone killed,” you reply, already taking a seat though you technically hadn’t been invited to.
“They’re going to realise you’re over here more than you are over there,” they chuckle.
“Because we’re friends,” you pout. “And they know how thankful I am to have you.”
Dammit, you had a way with words, you could convince the stars to stop shining if you wanted it. The journey to the island was a long one, after the first flight on the private plane, there was a long car trip to a helicopter which brought you here. The island was owned by Namjoon and Yoongi under an alias not even you knew about.
“It would get lonely here if I didn’t visit you,” you admit, thinking about how alone you were in your old life and comparing it to now.
This place was an isolated drop of paradise floating in the calmest ocean, the only people living on it were doing so under their command or permission. Two out of a handful of the people lived in this house, Nym, the tech genius who kept the island safe, secure and under the radar for the guys, also your new best friend. And her husband, the getaway driver and pilot, Lee Minho.
“You have seven men ready to lay down their lives for you at your villa,” an eyebrow rises, calling you out completely. “I don’t think lonely is the term you’re looking for.”
“I know, and I love them,” you agree. “But there’s a lot of testosterone…”
Nym laughs, making you laugh too.
“Sure you’re not using me for my tech gifts?”
“Maybe a little,” you tease, not meaning it at all, before getting down to business. “Anything yet?”
“You’re right,” she sighs. “They have been watching her, but no one’s taken her in for questioning as far as I can see.”
You nod, taking the information in.
“And as for contacting her to let her know you’re okay…” Nym hesitate, “I’d hold off for now.”
“I know,” you let out a deep breath, thinking to yourself. “I wouldn’t implicate her, or risk them finding us. I just want Sana safe.”
Your head is hung low, if anything happens to your best friend because of your escapade you’d never forgive yourself. You knew she would be the first place they check, the one to keep an eye on, she must be worried sick… A hand squeezing your shoulder breaks you out of your thoughts, a reassuring smile from your saving grace. Nym could hack into anything, satellite feeds, security cameras, all without leaving a trace. Thank goodness she was working with you and not against you, which begged the question-
“So you haven’t actually told me how the guys recruited you,” you say before realising you might come off a bit rude with your prying. “Not that you have to tell me of course.”
The tech genius shrugs like it was no big deal.
“Yoongi’s uncle wanted to use my skills in the worst kind of way,” Nym admits before clarifying, “the world war kind of way, when I refused I became a fugitive, Namjoon and your prince got me out. A lot of us here are like that, we’re not loyal to a monarchy, just the ones who helped us escape.”
Your jaw drops, that was not what you were expecting at all. Well that was a bombshell.
“Yeah, the crown is corrupt in most places, I’m glad you don’t have to wear yours anymore.”
“Me too,” you agree wholeheartedly, you never wanted that weight on your head again.
—
The afternoon Sun had peaked in the sky when you walked back home, like an alarm blaring. Or maybe that was your guilty conscience making it feel so. The others had strictly laid down the law not to contact anyone from the outside world, and you weren’t stupid, you knew the implication if you did. But this tiny molehill you were hiding would be made into seven big mountains if they ever found out.
You’re so deep in your thoughts you don’t realise you’ve made it to the door, walking through it in a trance. The second you turn to the door to ensure it was closed, arms wrap around you from behind making you jump back to reality.
“You’re spending a lot of time over at their house,” Taehyung states in his signature deep timbre, not needing to elaborate. Soft kisses start at your temple working their way down your face.
“I really like going over there,” you giggle when his nose tickles your neck as he nuzzles himself as close to you as he can.
“I know,” you feel the pout of his lips on your skin. “I’m getting jealous.”
“Jealous?”
“It feels like you’re running away from us,” it’s the little huff that has you biting your lips to stop from laughing but you can’t hold it back.
“I’ve already tried to run away from you guys once,” you can’t help chuckling. “It didn’t go well, I won’t be doing it again.”
“Don’t joke about running away with someone else,” he grumbles, making you both walk to the sofa like huddled penguins, refusing to let you go. “It’s not fair, we’ve escaped to paradise and I see you less than when we were on duty in the castle.”
“Tae we’ve only been here a week,” you need to stop laughing at his behaviour before he got grumpy, but he was so cute like this. He falls back into the sofa, taking you with him with a yelp.
“I don’t care, I’m not letting you go for the rest of the day,” his head is buried again in your neck as if that would cement his statement, legs locking onto yours keeping them in place.
“Okay,” you agree to placate him but he seems to have more on his chest.
“Yoongi Hyung gets you enough,” he starts ranting, head falling back on the sofa as he complains. “I can’t sleep unless I’m hugging you and he doesn’t let me join.”
“You hold Jiminie and Kookie all the time,”
“It’s not the same!” He whines dramatically, starting to fake cry like a child. “Yoongi Hyung is so mean, and you love him more than us.”
He waits for you to correct him, hiding his insecurities through his pretend wailing.
“Taehyung, that’s not true and you know it,” you nudge your head with his, seeing right through his little act. Any other day you might’ve teased him, or pretended to contemplate it, but you knew that Yoongi’s attachment issues were going to cause just that, more issues.
“Prove it,” he doesn’t drop the childish tone. “Stay here with me all day.”
“I said I was going to, you big baby!”
You feel him laugh, his chest shaking with it as he pressed his lips together to stop it coming out.
“Can we nap?” You ask him yawning, “Jungkook woke us up at stupid oclock.”
“And Yoongi hyung kept you up late,” he grumbles, lying you both down.
You ignore the remark sheepishly, settling into his arms as his leg straddles your waist to keep you from leaving as if this were all a cruel ploy to escape him.
Good thing the villa had air conditioning.
—
“Taehyung we’re borrowing Princess for a second!”
Did no one want to let you sleep in peace? Jimin’s loud announcement ripped you from your slumber like a blaring alarm. You hear a grumble of disapproval from behind you, hands trying to keep you in place as Hoseok pulls you out of his hold.
Like a scene from a bad diamond heist, Jimin quickly puts a pillow in Taehyung’s arms, grinning in satisfaction when he settles again.
You on the other hand wobble on your feet before Hoseok steadies you, an amused smirk on his face when you grab onto him for support. You give them both a grumpy glare which they choose to ignore, dragging you down to their room. You’re half asleep when they push your shoulders, making you sit on the chair in the middle of the room a length away from the foot of the bed.
“Why do you both look like you’re about to interrogate me?” You ask the pair.
“Because we are,” Jungkook announces his arrival, closing the door as he grabs another chair and sits on it in front of you the wrong way round. The back of the seat faces you as the youngest straddles it, arms crossed at the top, his eyes boring into yours.
He’s about to speak but you’re all distracted by the door opening again.
“Ya did you seriously just slam the door in my face?” Jin’s ears have gone red with rage as he spits at the maknae who giggles like he has a death wish.
“You’re too slow Hyung!” he complains grinning mischievously, maybe he did it on purpose, but he wouldn’t admit it.
“Can we get back to the matter at hand please?” Jimin sighs seriously as he addresses the room.
“Which is what exactly?” You yawn, still not quite awake.
“Your betrayal,” Hoseok states bluntly, making your heart jolt out of your chest.
“M-my what?” You splutter out, how… how did they know? You try to keep the guilt and stupor off your face. Ignorance until proven guilty, that was the saying your father taught you growing up amidst his scandals.
“You told Yoongi Hyung you loved him first,” Jungkook pouts, an irritated scowl on his face from the memories of the morning.
“You said you fell in love with him the moment you met him,” Hoseok’s eyes narrow in distaste.
“We’ve managed to come to terms with it,” Jimin says before muttering to himself, “even if it is annoying.”
“So the question remains little Queen,” Jin stands behind Jungkook. “Who did you fall for next?”
Any sigh of relief you had been in the middle of was swallowed back down. Nope, no way, you were not getting into this. You almost want to be accused of the other thing.
“All of you,” you diplomatically reply, meaning it.
“Princess we’re not above torture if we need it,” Jimin warns, ready to tickle it out of you if neccessary. “Who?”
“This isn’t fair,” you whine before word vomiting your defence. “I didn’t even realise I was for ages and when I did I realised it about you all!”
“Yet you still figured out you loved Yoongi Hyung first,” Hoseok should have been a lawyer with the way he was ready to pick apart your argument.
“But I do love you all,” your puppy dog eyes and pout may have worked any other day, but not this day. Today they were determined to know and settle it once and for all. Min Yoongi was monopolising you and they needed weapons against it, something to wipe that smug smile off his stupid royal face.
“It’s Namjoon I’m telling you,” Hoseok sighs, all of them turning to each other suddenly ignoring you.
“Nope Namjoon was the harshest on her out of us all for ages,” Jin disagrees. “He was fighting his feelings.”
“I don’t know, Princess might like the mean type,” Jimin comments, contemplating the facts like their question was the hardest puzzle on the planet.
“Then it’s me,” Jungkook exclaims like he’s solved it. “I ignored Princess for months before giving in.”
“Because you were shy, idiot,” Jimin refutes him, rolling his eyes.
You use their distraction to your advantage, trying to sneak away but you must’ve forgotten who they were. They weren’t the world’s best bodyguards arbitrarily.
Jin grabs your arm, bringing you back to the chair with a thud.
“Little queen, you’re not leaving without giving us an answer,” Hoseok looms over you, his hands on each side of the chair, trapping you in place. You look up at him earnestly, how could they be insecure about your love for them?
“Look I didn’t realise I loved you all until that night I met my father,” you explain calmly like you were in police custody, being framed for a crime. “But gun to my head, I was falling for you all from the moment we met as we all got to know each other, there wasn’t a time when I loved someone more or less.”
“But you fell for Hyung first,” Jungkook grumbles through pouting lips, pulling Hobi away so he could attack you with them visually.
“I met him first,” you chuckle, “he came into my life like a dream when everything was dark and I was alone, and then he disappeared, but when he came back he brought you all with him.”
They all go quiet, like your words were confirmation that you loved the prince more than them. It shouldn’t make their hearts sink, not when they knew you loved them too, but a sad jealousy hit them, making all their demenours deflate. It felt as if you and Yoongi had something they could never share, it left them feeling on the edge of their own relationship, like you both were at the centre and they were on the outside looking in. They wanted you to love them just as much.
“You guys remember when Sana left,” you try to rouse them from their thoughts. “That morning after when you all panicked as I was crying,”
You laugh to yourself at the memory, remembering all the ways they were trying to get you to stop.
“I was crying because I loved you all and I was happy,” you explain hoping they would really hear what you were trying to say, “I was sad Sana left, but I was happy you were all with me.”
The looks they give you has your heart reaching for them, you knew where they were in themselves. You had been there, thinking they didn’t love you the way you loved them, that they all loved someone else, it was a feeling you would never forget.
“Just because I fell for someone first doesn’t take away how much I love the rest of you,” you tell them wholeheartedly, meaning every word.
“But Yoongi Hyung-“
“Yoongi and I relate to each other a little bit more,” you cut Jungkook off, “we wore our crowns reluctantly, there’s an understanding there I admit you all can’t empathise with, and I would never want you to, but that doesn’t mean I love him more.”
“But we want to understand too,” Jimin mumbles dejectedly, looking at the floor, the corners of his lips weighed down. “We want a special bond with you too.”
You let out a breath of laughter at his words, didn’t they see the bond you had with them, the way they all kept you alive when the crown threatened to bury you again and again.
“You all don’t realise it,” you say smiling but your eyes watered as you thought of every moment of love you had with them, all those times you were too blind to your own feelings. “But each of you have touched my life in your own way, I was so alone before you.”
Their eyes glisten like yours, but you don’t mind when your tears drop.
“You didn’t just save me,” you confess, your voice growing thicker, “you saved Yoongi too. How can I love you any less?”
—
Their figures go rigid at the scenes playing in front of them, the static on the screen doing nothing to hide the facts. Namjoon and Yoongi feel their chest seize for you as the words blare on the intercepted news channel.
Your father was dead, and with you missing, your cousin and Taeyeon were to take the throne. Nym watches the pair in concern, each of them could feel the pressure from the sudden tension, the air so thick it was suffocating. Your kingdom was on the cusp of ruin.
“Don’t tell her,” his solemn voice breaks the minute of silence.
Namjoon’s jaw drops in shock, that was usually his line, Min Yoongi was always the first one that suggested telling you everything.
“Hyung we can’t keep this from her,” Namjoon states dumbfoundedly, unable to believe what he was hearing.
“We can, and we will,” Yoongi replies sternly, no room for argument in his tone, but he forgot who he was talking to.
“Hyung that’s her father, he might be a piece of cr-“
“If we tell her she’s going to want to go back,” Yoongi snaps, advancing into Namjoon’s space heatedly, not willing to back down. “The second we step on to any national soil we all end up with a noose around our necks and she knows that, she’ll go alone.”
He looks at the Prince’s unhinged posture, stepping back to breathe and calm the situation down. Titles didn’t matter when they were both fugitives, in Yoongi’s country the head bodyguard would think twice before opposing him, but when he was under his command, he brought down his consequences like a tonne of bricks on whoever disobeyed him. Here they were evenly matched, stripped down to two men who only wanted the best for you, both as stubborn as each other.
“Hyung we have to tell her, plus she doesn’t have the means to go back even if she wanted to,” Namjoon tries to placate the Prince, knowing he wasn’t going to get through to him by matching his energy.
Yoongi laughs under his breath as if the cleverest amongst them said something stupid and it pisses him off. His jaw clenches hard as he holds himself back from unleashing his own fury at his friend for ridiculing him.
“Namjoon for as long as you’ve known Princess, when she wants something, has anyone been able to stop her?” He shakes his head.
“She’ll listen to us,” Namjoon pushes back, knowing you would, you always listened to him when it mattered. You trusted him with your life, more than the others, he knew that, it was never stated out loud, but with his whole heart he knew it. You always looked to him first, you might’ve fallen for the prince first but Namjoon was the one you sought implicitly above anyone else. In the game of chess, you were the Queen, he was the next powerful piece on the board, what people believed to be the King but actually the Rook. He protected you, he understood the politics better than anyone else did, even Min Yoongi. He could see the outcome to all the scenarios the situation called for, but one stood out amongst them all. If they kept this from you, you would never forgive them.
“She’ll find a way,” Yoongi continues, deep in his own thoughts. “Don’t say a word.”
The conversation makes the third forgotten person in the room uncomfortable… especially when glowing feline eyes turn towards them like prison lights about to catch an escapee.
“Don’t say a word,” he repeats himself warningly.
There isn’t a reply, just hesitation. This was morally wrong, there was no way-
“Nym, you can’t tell her.“
“But if her fathers dead, he can’t make her marry Wang anymore,” your new friend tries to come to your defence. “She can reclaim the throne-“
“She doesn’t want to rule!” Yoongi yells, startling them. “She’ll think she has to go back, to save her people from a psychopath who probably killed her father.”
“Hyung…” Namjoon places a hand on the prince’s shoulder, calming him. “That’s not our decision to make.”
There’s a silence that fills the room bringing with it a heavy weight on each of their shoulders.
“Taeyeon will kill her if she goes back,” Yoongi says quietly.
“With us beside her?” Namjoon tries to sound reassuring, but he can’t even convince himself.
“She’s tried before and we barely managed to keep her safe,” he strikes where it hurts, harshly throws the events that scarred them all in his friend’s face. “If we go with her Namjoon we’re all dead.”
You and Yoongi understood the rules and the corruption more than any of them did. Any dream of going back and returning to what used to be was buried the second they left. You were both defectors, both traitors of your countries, the public wouldn’t take to your return kindly.
“We can say we knew of a plot that would attack the royal family so we had to get the princess out, he died under suspicious circumstances,” Namjoon offers, gesturing to the screen still playing the events of your fathers death, trying to come up with options for every outcome. “That’s what this whole island is about hyung, we can prove that.”
“I’m not risking her safety,” Yoongi breathes menacingly, unwavering in his conviction. “Do you understand me?”
And Namjoon did, he completely did. He had been the one to utter that line too many times, it was unnerving to be on the receiving side.
Summary: Your boyfriend is currently miles away on Halloween night and you watch the special live he and the rest of the members had scheduled for tonight. But things get interesting when you come up with a special unplanned costume that he seems to rather enjoy on you.
Warnings: SMUT! For this fic there will be: swearing, erotic body touching, mutual masturbation, female masturbation, male masturbation, phone sex over videocall, dirty talk (like, lots).
Word Count: 3759
You turned on your computer and smiled once the video started, watching your boyfriend and his friends on the other side of the screen. Jimin was too busy to celebrate the 31st of October with you this year. He was currently shooting a Halloween special live with the rest of the members quite a few miles away from the city you both lived in. There was no way he could make the trip back in one night, so he and the boys would just sleep in hotel rooms.
Still, as you watched his cute mushy face smiling at the camera, you really wished you could be with him right now. Sighing, you get off your couch and grab some snacks and a drink from the kitchen. You couldn’t be with him personally, but you would be with him digitally. You would watch the full live and text him all about it after.
Chuckling to yourself in your empty apartment, you watch curiously as they play a game to decide who gets what costume for the night. You didn’t know they would be dressed up for Halloween, but it made sense when you thought about it. Their team would definitely prepare something like that for them.
It couldn’t have gone better. You almost choke in your food once you realize what outfit Jimin was supposed to put on. An angel. Coincidentally, he was wearing a white blouse that went along perfectly with the pair of wings he struggled to get on his back. Alongside his blond painted hair and already angelic features, it took your breath away. This man was truly an angel among men, no question about it.
Your eyes couldn’t leave him for the first half hour of the live, your lips with the corners pulled up without you even noticing it until your cheeks hurt. Once they made a little break halfway though, it was like you were called back to reality. You got up and went to the bathroom in the meantime, only to come back in time to hear your phone ping with a message.
Grabbing it from between the cushions of your couch, your smile returns as you realize it’s a text from Jimin. He tells you about how much he misses you and how his day is going, namely about how he got stuck with the angel’s costume. He actually sends you a selfie showcasing his wings, as if you haven’t been watching from the beginning.
That makes you think of something. You always wanted to go out on Halloween with a boyfriend on a couple’s costume. Maybe you two couldn’t be together this year, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t match your costumes. You were pretty sure you still had the props you needed that would go along with the scandalous red dress at the back of your closet…
In a whim, you get up and run to your bedroom, searching for the things you needed. You strip from your hoodie and leggings to a short spaghetti strap red dress, showcasing your bountiful cleavage and soft fluffy arms, as well as your rounded legs. The dress was tight fitting, hugging at your curves perfectly. You skip any make-up except for a bold red lip. And, of course, to tie it all together, you grab the props from a box at a top shelf of your closet: a red trident and a hair band with two little red horns.
Damn, you looked good. Before you second-guessed yourself, you pick up your phone, lay in your still unmade bed and take a pick. Just a bit suggestive, enough to raise a bit of blood. You tell him you miss him too, that you dressed up to match with him and send the picture after.
Back in the living room, you wait in front of the computer for the live to continue and a few of the guys are already sited back in place. You wait for Jimin to come up, but he takes longer than the others and is the last to show up, something the members tease him about as always. Only when the camera zooms on his face do you realize the slight blush ramifying from his cheeks to his ears. You bit your lip as you wonder if it was because of you.
Eventually the rest of the program they had for the live continues and it actually stretches another twenty minutes longer than the planned time. You had a good time watching them, like you always did. But it did feel lonely once the live ended and you closed your computer, realizing you were alone with nothing to do for Halloween.
You were picking up all the snacks you brought to the living room and putting them back in place when your phone rang again. Finishing your task, you go back into the living room and see a message from Jimin. He is telling you not to change your outfit and give him twenty minutes. All in caps.
You suck in your smiling lips as a rush of excitement runs through you. He only used all caps when really passionate about something, he must have really liked your costume. Thankfully, you still had everything on except the lipstick that had smudge while eating. So, as you wait to hear back from him, you take your time to style you hair a bit better, reapply the lipstick and, as silly as it was since it’s not like you would be seeing him personally, you even put on your favorite perfume.
By the time he video-called you, your stomach was in butterflies and your heart skipped a beat at the first ringtone. When you answer, you see him back at the hotel, in his own room, still in his white shirt but no longer wearing the wings. He is laying with his stomach down on his bed, usually slim eyes enlarged as he looked at you through the phone’s screen.
“You’re still wearing it” he whispers in an incredulous manner.
“Of course, you asked me to” you answer back, standing up only to sit back at the head of your bed, where the light from the lamp was best.
“Why are you doing this to me?… You know I can’t go and be with you today, still you sent me a pic like that? You’re killing me here, angel” he whines, with that amazingly cute pout he always made.
“You’re the angel here, Mr. Jimin. May I remind you, today I’m the devil” you point with an index finger to the pointy horns on your head.
He grins and looks away embarrassed for a moment, only to look back at the camera with half-moon eyes.
“You tease me too much, Y/N. Do you know how hard it is to see you like this and not being there to witness? To see you in person, to hug you and touch you and kiss those pretty red lips and… Arrgg!” Jimin was only frustrating himself, it seemed.
“I wish you were here too, love” you confess. Then, a most devilish idea crosses your mind and your heart accelerates with eagerness and anticipation. Maybe you were getting too much into character today, letting such sinful desires guide you. “But, if you were here, just out of curiosity, what would you do? You know, to me, I mean.”
Your bottom lip disappears behind your teeth as you watch Jimin blink in surprise and look away as he licks his lips, gulping hard before responding. The colored flare from before seems to return gradually to his cheeks. All of this pulls at the muscles of your lower stomach in a familiar way.
“I, hum… I would kiss you, for sure” he shyly starts.
“No, no. You never just come up to me and just kiss me like that. You always build up to the kiss, Jimin. So, how would you do it if you were here?” you press for detail.
Jimin changes his position on the other side of the screen, sitting in a similar position to you in bed, with his back against the headboard. He takes a deep breath and looks slightly away from the phone as he answers you again, in a more thoughtful way.
“Well, if I could go and see you right now, the first thing I would do is hug you tight in my arms. Wrap my arms around your shoulders and pull your warm body to mine, breathe in your unique scent.”
You smile at that, picturing it effortlessly in your head.
“And I would hug you back, my hands on your back keeping you close to me. What next?”
“Then I would pull back just a little. Just enough to look at your face. I would frame your cheeks in my hands” he seems to look at his hands as he talks, as if imagining it vividly like you. “I would let my fingers brush your skin slightly before leaning in and kissing you.”
“I can see that. Perfectly, in fact. What type of kiss?”
It’s his turn to bite his plump lip, no more denying the blush evident on his face. He looks away to his right, giving you a nice view of his lean neck and the collar-bones peeking through the shirt. He then looks slightly down as he answers in a lower voice.
“Small pecks. At first.” His eyes glance up quickly into yours before he continues. Even through the phone, the intensity behind them sends sparks down your body. “Then longer kisses. Deep loving ones.”
You nod your head, wondering if he could tell your cheeks were flushed too.
“And I would kiss you back. My hands would be around your shoulders, grasping at the nape of your neck or along your spine. Care to tell me where yours would be?”
When he gets up of bed instead of answering you, you think that maybe you went too far and he didn’t like it. That he was uncomfortable with this. But instead, you listen rather than watch, since he had the camera of his phone against his pants and all you saw was a black screen, as he walks to his room’s door and the sound of the door locking is clear as day.
Jimin resumes his place in bed as if nothing happened, but you were both relieved and giddy.
“Honestly?” he questions staring at the screen with a bit of uncertainty behind shy eyes.
“Yes. Honestly” you assure with poise.
“They would probably move from your face to your waist” he begins, now a bit more confident as he keeps his stare on yours. Those dark eyes have your skin burning from underneath and it gets harder to breathe as he keeps talking. “I would let my fingers sink into your fluffy skin and then squeeze it. Maybe let them wonder all the way to your round bum. Give it a few pinches too, hear you yelp as I do so.”
You body starts itching for something and it’s difficult to keep still. You clean your throat as you switch your position a little, letting your phone stand on the nightstand against the lamp as you sit sideways to look at him, your hands now free. You keep them hugging at your sides.
“You do like to do that” you acquiesce. Jimin smirks on the other side. “I would probably be pulling at your hair by then, one hand clawing at your shoulders or down your chest. Ask you to take your shirt off.”
To your surprise but undeniable delight, he does just that. The phone falls to the bed but you can still see his arms as he raises them to take the white shirt off. Once he picks the phone again, he is half-naked and you can see the blush is spreading heavily to his ears now. But he keeps his eyes on yours, intense and provoking.
“We would be in the bedroom by now, next to the bed. I would… I would kiss down your neck as I pulled those tiny straps down your shoulders” he continued, referring to the current red straps from your dress. He pauses and you realize he is waiting. With a hammering beat inside your chest, you tilt the phone so he can see as you use your fingers to slowly brush them off your shoulders like he wanted. He swallows dry and nods. “Like… Like that, yes.”
“My hands would be all over your skin, down your muscular back, tracing the curves down your arms or creating paths down your torso” you murmur in a deeper voice, expressive. You don’t tell him how you would feel his muscles tensing under your digits whenever you did so, or how he would shudder under your touch. “And then?”
“Then…” he seems to be breathing heavier now, and the crimson color is spreading to his neck. “Then I would pull the dress down your chest and watch your breasts just jump out.” His voice was almost shy, small but filled with want. It made your skin prickle, anticipating his touch that would never really come.
“Oh? You mean these?”
Your hands travel up your body to grab at your chest yourself, squeezing them roughly before you pull the tight fabric off of them and display your naked tits to him. He gasps in surprise, small eyes doubling in size before he closes them and throws his head back against the headboard, half groaning and half whimpering.
“Y/N, fuck, you’re killing me!” he whines, sucking a breath as he looks back at the screen.
“It will be worth it, love. Now, c’mon, what would you do with these?” you try and refocus, ignoring the chills going down your back.
“I… I would burry my face in them. I would hold them in my hands and play with them, kiss them, lick them, suck on them until you scream and pull at my hair.”
Nervous but determined, your hands act as if they belonged to him and start teasing at your hardened nubs, flicking them and pulling at them, rubbing them exactly the way Jimin would do it, except you couldn’t replicate the feeling of his mouth on them. Even so, doing this as he moaned on the other side of the screen was more than enough to have your core burning with desire, jolts of electricity going straight to your womb at every brush of your nipples. Your back arches into your hands and your legs rub together on their own accord.
“Y/N, I am… I want to…!” Jimin is struggling to communicate how he feels but you can see it in his face. Even if far from the perfection it is to see it in person, the pixels don’t hide his blown out heavy eyes, his heated-up face and parted lips, breathing heavier and heavier through them. His hands are nowhere to be seen on the screen and you have a feeling you know where they are placed.
“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine, love” you whisper seductively to the phone.
“What?” Jimin is confused, not getting what you’re hinting at.
So, to clarify him, your hands drop down from your naked chest and, out of his view for now, you pull the rest of your dress down your body and even pull your panties off. You go back to your position in front of the phone’s camera and dangle your underwear in front of it.
“Show me yours, I’ll show you mine” you repeat, and now understanding dawns on his face.
“Oh, fuck me” he exhales, the phone suddenly being moved and once again you don’t see much but you can hear him moving around in a frenzy.
“That’s the point, yes” you chuckle and decide to get a better angle for him as well.
It was a bit awkward, trying to position the phone against your stacked-up pillows so that the most of your naked body is on view for what you are about to do. But Jimin’s reaction so far silence the doubts that threaten to creep in and make you feel embarrassed. You couldn’t be with your boyfriend in person, but it didn’t mean you two couldn’t find pleasure together. And there was nothing wrong with that.
“Ready, love?” you ask as you are laying in bed on your side, facing the still dark screen of the phone.
“Hum, yeah, yes!”
He finally comes into view again, the phone now standing on something tall that gives a perfect angle of him laying down in bed as well. Except, he still has his boxers on.
“C’mon, love, that’s unfair. I’m all naked, why aren’t you?”
He licks his lips and in a swift move, his boxers are gone. And there he was, laying in all his naked glory, his girthy hard shaft standing proud and flushed against his belly. His hands twitch while they remained on his thighs, probably refraining from using them on his cock just yet. Dark eyes set on you, awaiting your next move.
Your hands travel down your soft skin, around the curve of your protruding lower belly, down the sides of your thick legs, into your warm and malleable inner thighs. You huff slightly as your fingers reach your core, delving in between your labia just slightly.
“I’m already so juicy for you, Jimin. I didn’t know I would get this worked up over phone sex” you confess, almost a bit embarrassed by it.
“M-Me too. I didn’t want to tell you, but I was already, hum… hum, leaking and I had to clean myself up before. This… This is really hot, Y/N. It’s making me dizzy.”
You smile at that and your heart expands, while the fire down bellow is fueled by the notion.
“You can touch yourself, Jimin. As if it was me. As if I was there with you right now, taking a hold of your pretty dick and pumping you until you were hot and throbbing, completely hardened in my hands.”
It doesn’t take any further encouragement, Jimin’s hands wrap around himself and you watch in amazement as he moves his hand up and down his stiff member, in a faster pace than you would have probably had, sliding with ease and using his thumb to engage with the red tip every other turn. He has his eyes half-closed as he does so, puffy lips opened, muscles tense and a glint to his skin form the low light around him. It was the most erotic view you had ever seen, Jimin getting himself off at the thought of you, in front of you.
He whispers your name breathless and you moan, your fingers that had been still all this time starting their own work. You imagine his hands on you, much like he was doing. You rub at your moist folds and your body shudders at the jolts of pleasure that curse through you, dragging the tips of your digits up and down the slit until your reach your painfully throbbing clit.
“J-Jimin!” you moan as you start drawing circles around the flesh button, your legs widely spread as you lay with your back to the mattress.
“F-Fuck, Y/N! You look so pretty like that!” he tells you in a high-pitched breath. His hands, from what you can tell through your heavy eyelids, speed up on his shaft. “S-Sink your finger in for me, angel! Let me know how warm and wet you are inside.”
Your fingers brush your clit just once more before going south and easily sliding in to your entrance. You mewl at the feeling, juices gushing around your fingers as you start thrusting them in and out. It takes a lot of will power for you to concentrate and convey with words the feeling to your partner.
“I’m… I’m sizzling and drenched, Jimin. I wish… I wish it was you, love. Ahhh, I wish it was your cock instead” you confess bashfully, your fingers never stopping their work.
You hear him curse under his breath but your blood is starting to rush too rapidly in your veins that it muffles your hearing. You curl your palm so that you can use it to drag against your clit at the same time you sink your fingers, deeper and faster as a ball of pure tension grows and grows down in your belly, about to blow up.
“I’m about to… Y/N, oh, fuck, Y/N let me see it, please, angel” he begs in a cry and you don’t quite get it at first. “Let me see your fingers, please, I’m so close.”
Breathless, you nod and take a hold of the phone with your free hand and, the best you can, angle it so you can still see the screen while he can see your fingers continuously disappearing between your spread legs, into your pink glistening and slick flesh. He groans loudly and you force yourself to keep your eyes open just so you can see the blur that is his hand on his cock, moving so quickly the phone can’t pick it up with definition and it just hazes. His angry red mushroom head is already spewing white cum and you watch as more starts to come out and lands on his ever-moving hand.
Your fingers work to match his impossible pace and you curl them inside just as your walls start fluttering and strings start pulling at the blistering knot inside. The palm of your hands continues rubbing against the engorged pearl of nerves while your fingers curl at that exact spot that has your body jolting and spasming, exactly at the same time Jimin groans and curses your name as thick ropes of white spew out from his throbbing length and land on his abdominal muscles.
You squeal breathless as your hips buck up and the ball of nerves burst inside, spreading rushes of pleasurable relief all across your body, white noise defining your ears, black dotes impairing your vision and your brain melts away in the feeling of being high on dopamine. Your fingers slip out coated in your juices and you struggle to move the phone back to your side, now with only a vision of your face on the camera as you struggle to regain your breathing and coherence.
“That… That was incredible” you hear Jimin say, he too trying to catch his breath.
it’s the hopeful sounding call of your name that alerts you out of your half-awake trance, not having realised the way your eyelids began to fall shut and your head tilt forward as you dozed off, chin propped in your hand. you blink momentarily, gaze darting from one side of the room to the other as you remember your surroundings, and look up guiltily to the already deflated expression of the boy across from you, frozen in position as he stares at you with his finger still pointing to the equation on the page that he’s been teaching you to solve- or at least, trying to.
‘please, for my sanity and mental wellbeing, tell me that you were listening to that.’ jimin already sounds like he’s lost hope, apparently knowing your answer without you even having said it yet.
‘uh.’ you hesitate, a hand coming to rub at your nape sheepishly. with an apologetic grimace, you shake your head very slightly, and jimin sits back in his seat with an exasperated groan, throwing his pen down onto the desk to instead card his fingers through his hair.
‘i’m really sorry, okay?’ you’re quick to jump in and apologise, something seeming to sink in your chest at the thought of jimin’s hard work going to nothing. ‘i should’ve been paying attention, i-‘
‘why does mr han even want us to do this, anyway?’ jimin interrupts incredulously, which isn’t entirely unwelcome, as the thought of apologising profusely to the boy who pushed you into the pool at swimming lessons when you were six and afraid of the deep end (which, no, you’re totally not still kind of salty about, because that would be totally ridiculous and irrational and you’re not that type of person- at least, that’s what you tell yourself as you fold your arms and narrow your eyes at him across the classroom) doesn’t appeal to you that much.
jimin pauses, and you take that as an opportunity to pipe up with an answer to his (probably rhetorical, now that you think about it) question. ‘you’re smart and constantly skipping class, and i’m dumb and have been hated by mr han ever since i passed that note in his math class to ask shiah to go out with me when we were thirteen. i assume that he thinks we’re both in need of a punishment.’
there’s a silence until jimin lets out an agitated sigh, slumping back to his usual position and looking you up and down with a cocked eyebrow and a slight scoff. ‘you’re not stupid, dumbass. you’d get it if you just listened to what i’m explaining to you, for once.’ he emphasises his words by repetitively tapping at your forehead with a delicate digit, prompting a scowl on your behalf as you slap his hand away. ‘besides,’ he continues, sitting back once more. ‘why do you always fall asleep at these tutor sessions? what are you doing so late each night that you always doze off when i’m trying to teach you algebra?’ he raises an eyebrow suggestively, clearly looking to rile you up, his lips curving up in an amused smirk. ‘hm, let me see. looking at you, i’m gonna assume that you’re mega kinky, maybe into slapping-?’
‘oh, shut it, jimin.’ you quickly cut him off, speaking over him loudly. ‘i wish..’ you joke for a millisecond, before returning to your indignant expression and pointing an accusing finger at him. ‘it’s nothing like that, you perv. plus, it’s none of your business. and, from what i hear, sounds like you think about this sort of thing a lot? you sure that isn’t just you projecting your masochistic, twinky fantasies onto me, park?’ you grin teasingly, happy to have flipped the situation around.
suddenly, jimin stands from his chair, the loud scrape of his chair against the cheap flooring almost making you wince. ‘this is stupid.’ jimin announces, swiftly collecting up his belongings from the desk, but still managing to seem nonchalant, as if he’s not in a rush at all. ‘if you’re not gonna pay attention,’ he continues, beginning to head for the door with his backpack slung over one shoulder, ‘then i’m not gonna waste my time in trying. you can tell mr han why these tutor sessions aren’t gonna be happening anymore-‘
’jimin, wait!’ you hate the way your voice sounds almost desperate, and you clear your throat before continuing, seeing the way that jimin stops in his tracks. ‘i am sorry. believe it or not, i do actually wanna pass this class? not to mention, mr han will have us both put in detention if we don’t continue.’
jimin huffs a little, but turns on his heel to look across at you with disdain, clearly not interested in your excuses. ‘if you’re as committed as you say you are to passing, then why do you never pay attention? this is bullshit.’
‘fuck, jimin, it’s not. as fake as it sounds, i do have a reason as to why i stay up so late all the time, and it’s not just because i’m playing video games or some stupid shit like that.’ (it’s not always because of video games, you tell yourself. that statement is simply a white lie for the greater good.) ‘can you… give me another chance, or something? i don’t know, i’m no good at apologising. but, please?’
jimin pauses briefly, his gaze scanning over your expression as if to try and work out whether you’re being serious. ‘you’re right. you’re shit at apologising.’
‘i’ll buy you ice cream!’ you blurt out as a last resort.
jimin pauses again, as if mulling it over. ‘two scoops?’
‘as many scoops as you want.’
‘…tomorrow, then. after class.’
you heave a relieved exhale as you nod, even managing to turn it into a breathy chuckle. ‘i guess no one can say no to the sweetness of ice cream, huh.’ you muse, watching as jimin’s expression morphs into a pleased grin, letting out a momentary laugh of his own. ‘yeah, i guess so. but, i think that the ice cream’s gonna taste even sweeter knowing that it’s your money being spent on it and not mine. i’ll catch you around.’ and with a final, smug remark, the door opens for a second before banging shut once more, and park jimin is gone.
‘fuckin’ loser.’ you scoff, but there’s a slight smile on your face as you sweep your books and pencilcase into your bag and zip it shut. after all, who’s not cheered up by the thought of ice cream?
Summary:Dawn comes and sheds new light. There’s nothing left but fool’s gold.
Warnings/Tags: RATED T - for language; references to alcohol and drugs; the reader isn’t having a very good time; it gets v angsty and v mean; curse money, curse everything; violence (yes, vmin dofight with their fists); blood/gore; crying with glitter on (yes, this is a deliberate input for the tags); Jimin really should have driven off earlier; notes on the fragility of friendship and of relationships in general; um, the ending? idk; angst- non-idol!AU.
=====
-
The soft pad of your feet on the marble is right behind him, “Min wait, it could still work, can’t it? You said you’ve planned enough, how about sourcing the money elsewhere?”
He shakes his head, bitter at how his dreams are dashed, “not enough to get me what I what.”
The kitchen is as you left it, he yanks a drawer open and pulls out the wine he hid from last night, “have a drink.”
Your eyes grow wide at the label, “is that my father’s 1921 Pétrus? Even Idon’t touch that.”
Ignoring you, the wine pools at the bottom of the glass in a deep waterfall, he pours just enough for the both of you. Grabbing the bottle, you inspect the label, squinting at the details. Jimin takes the first sip in a while, it goes down smooth, souring his mouth. You don’t touch yours yet.
“You could have asked father about this, you know. If you wanted it that badly, it’s not as if -”
Another sip makes it past his lips, the taste is bitter as he swallows, “don’t.”
You stop talking, taking your glass and tipping your head back, humming at the taste. Jimin breathes out, licking his lips.
“You know I won’t take something that people would notice to be missing,” he said.
“You don’t have to make excuses, it’s okay,” you said, infuriatingly so.
“Why say that?”
“I get it, Min, I -”
You don’t, not at all. He surges forward, taking the bottle from you, “no, you don’t get it.”
Annoyingly, you dodge his grip and walk backwards, “no but I doget it, Min. I get wanting do something that works like a pick me up, to make you feel more like yourself. I’m the poster child for it, don’t you know?” You almost chortle, but he sees you stop by your wallet, the leather face up with all your cards, then the slim slit that held a packet of snow. The whole image of you comes back to him now and it’s his turn to pry.
“How come you’re so unhappy?”
Immediately, your face changes, he guesses it’s shock.
“What?”
He takes a seat, pushes his own glass away from him, counting the dots on the pitted surface of the table.
“Why are you so sad?”
Maybe he just doesn’t get it - maybe he’ll never really get it, but the least he could do is hear from your point of view.
“You have such a way with words, don’t you?” You said, voice wavering a tad.
“I’m interested.”
That doesn’t seem to placate you because he watches as you wrap his jacket around your front tightly, posture so rigid that if touched you, you’d recoil.“No you’re not. You’re trying to find reasons to find me pathetic and thenyou can finally rid yourself of any responsibility -”
His skin prickles with goosebumps, “responsibility for what?”
You stare at him, features pinched, as if you were about to cry; he attempts to ask again but you explode. Your voice is loud and the kitchen still had high ceilings. The words echoed, bouncing off the marble:
“Responsibility for fucking me for my money!”
“Stop it - ”
“Isn’t that what you wanted to hear, Min? You fucked me for my money, tell me I’m wrong, go on, tell me.”
He doesn’t like hearing this, let alone seeing you like this: manic and on the edge of something he couldn’t quite understand.
“Don’t. I never -”
“Stop lying, I hate it when people lie to me like I don’t deserve the truth,” you said, your voice too loud for this conversation. You rise up, growing as big as your anger, he waves for you to sit down, to calm yourself. “Why aren’t you admitting it?”
“Stop acting like that!” He pleaded, hand outstretched as he glanced at all the doors. It was dawn and the helpers would be on their way soon.
“Acting like what?”
“Like there’s something wrong with you,” he said, a sharp admission like a whip. It works and you retreat, quietening for a moment. He finds the silence and fills it with his thoughts.
“I know you act like that because you need something to justify your selfish behaviour. If there’s something wrong with you, there’s meaning to you how you act, because if there isn’t a reason why,then that scares you. If it’s pointless, you can’t stand it.”
You give him shaky laugh, tears collecting in your eyes and falling down, wetting your cheeks. The glitter drowns in salt, you look at him with contempt through your bloodshot eyes. You looked ravaged for the wrong reasons, someone with an inexplicable fury all directed at him.
“Did you ever stop and think that maybe I slept with you because,” you breathed, sniffing noisily, “because I wantedto?”
He doesn’t say anything, his fingertips cold all of the sudden.
“Are you scared of me, Min? Are you scared of all of this? Scared to be with someone that rattles?” You asked, gesturing wildly. Cringing, he exhaled a strong gust of air. He gets up.
“I’m not scared of you, I actually feel sorry for you.”
When you look at him, he regrets it a little.
“You’re lying.”
Your tears fall freely now, he takes in the rest of you, the wrinkles in your clothes, the glint of your jewellery, his jacket on your body. How did it get to this?
“Get up.”
He doesn’t do what he’s told. It’s humiliating enough to cower reflexively at the sound of your voice. Yet you let out a shaky breath, “I said get up. I’m speaking to you, get up.” He says your name, which sounds and feelsforeign to say.
“Calm down -”
“I am your employer, and when I say get up, you do as you’re told.”
It’s ugly, it’s not you. Jimin does get up and moves back, body hot for all the wrong reasons, he points a finger in your direction. “You don’t employ me, your father does. And I could leak everything I know about you to the press - especially about the drugs. The news would lovethat. And with a family like yours and your name, you’ll make everyheadline,Agassi.”
You laugh as your body animates like its built on a loose spring, moving along the length of the counter like a slinky, “you wouldn’t dare.” Your thumb is near your mouth again, teeth pulling the skin raw.
Jimin raised his eyebrows, gesturing wildly now, “oh, you don’t know what I can do, what I’m capable of. I’ve seen how you actually look at me in the years that I’ve worked here. Like I don’t understand anything, like I’m some animal that you can play with because somehow, you know what I want. Did you ever think that I can pull rank too?”
You’re too quiet so he takes that opportunity.
“You act so high mighty when I’ve never everseen anyone act like the way you did tonight, I’ve seen dogs act with more dignity than you -”
It’s a step too far because you clutch at the counter for support, he stops himself because he doesn’t recognise the sound of his own voice.
“Why didn’t you finish? Carry on,” you mumbled, pushing something on the floor with your foot. Jimin doesn’t think he’s abated the storm since his chest feels tighter then before he spoke.
“What else do you think of me, huh? What else does Mr. Park Jimin think of me?”
When you pry it riles him up. He doesn’t know what you want, not really. It’s crazy how different it was hours ago, he wonders if your father had texted him at all where he would be now. Probably at some tent bar with Namjoon, tossing his head back and wincing at a paper shot of soju, leg bouncing to ward off the cold.
“Stop talking.”
You come near him to provoke, bergamot floats back, the mirth is sickly sweet now.
“C’mon, don’t leave me hanging. Don’t be cruelto someone with less dignity than a dog.”
He winces at his own words thrown back at him, “stop that.”
You jab your finger at his chest, it hurts him more than he expected, he grabs your wrists preventing you from moving but you look at him with those eyes. They’re bloodshot without the dazzle. Don’t make me say it, he thinks.
“Say it, say the truth,” you whispered, crushed.
“I think that it was too easy. That it wasn’t much of a chase to give me the kind of pleasure that I wanted.”
You gasp, wrenching yourself from his hands. He walks away to the other side of the kitchen, dragging his nails across the back of his neck. The spark of pain doesn’t help. Nothing seems to help.
“Fuck you. I could have had anyone. You couldn’t have done anything if I didn’t want you.”
Jimin begins to tidy the overflowing counter, shuttling glasses into the sink. He doesn’t see you but he hears you pacing, “just admit that you hate me.”
He doesn’t respond, his hands on an abandoned plate. The cake he was eating is still there, the icing is messy though. Illegible. When he turns, you’re all the way across the room, smaller than you seem, your shoulders shaking as you sobbed quietly. If you had asked him again if he loved you, he’d say that he’s done so a thousand times. With you in his arms again, he attempts what his mother did when he was young, when she soothed him.
“Shh… I don’t hate you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead, gentle hands on your back in a stroking motion. He cradles your face, lashes heaving with salty tears that drop on his palm. Then, while looking at you, while seeingyou, he realises that you’re the same as him. That’s more painful than anything he’s had to stomach while working here. He realises that the parts that you hide, the parts you don’t want anyone else to know is just as acrid, just as rancid.
“What are we going to do?” You asked after a while.
Trying again, he leans back and affectionately caresses the back of your head, “you’re tired, c’mon I’ll get you up to your room.”
“Min, let’s go to Busan, you said it takes only four hours, really, let’s go,” you said, renewed with a vigour that he can’t gather for himself.
You probably don’t even realise what you’re doing to him.
“We need money, money for gas, money for a place to stay, my parents can’t have us so we need a hotel for a couple of weeks while I sort out the deed to the plot of land, we need -”
Again, you recoil, creating distance, “it’s all about the money with you. Money this, money that.”
Jimin reaches for your wrist, the metal of your bracelets poke through the sleeve of his jacket, “why do you think that money is this corrupt thing? Like it’s dirty? You can do something with what you have, why don’t you get that?”
You weren’t having it, yanking your hand back. Apparently, his grip was too strong as you soothed your wrist with your other hand, “money, then more money, then death,” you mumbled. Jimin tilted his head, confused.
“I don’t want to die. That’s fucking scary.”
He could barely stand going to the doctors and face his own mortality in charts and graphs. The dentist is a private enemy, the plastic coated chair actually being a throne of torture.
“But it’s probably like before the part when you’re born. This blank slate of… nothing.”
“That’s probably not true, it’s probably worse, kind of like -”
Jimin gets distracted by you covering your mouth with your hands, “are you religious? Do you think death is like hell or something?”
His cheeks grow warm, “I never said that! You know what, it’s probably early in the morning, I’m going to the basement parking.”
“Don’t do that!” You said loudly, grabbing him in a way that caused him to stumble. He grunts and prises your hand away, “don’t brush me off Min. I’m not some whore you fucked on the street.”
And he starts to speak because if he didn’t he was afraid of what he’ll do.
“Do you know why your father isn’t here? He hates coming home and knowing that you’re on something, he hates seeing you act loopy or speak all slurred, sniffing up coke like its a meal. It reminds him of herand it kills him. You know it -”
Drawing back, you hug yourself, the tears falling on their own, “no, you’re right. I know that he hates seeing me like this.”
The pain in his temples comes back, what time was it? It feels like he’s been awake for longer than is safe to be driving out. The silence that comes between you is so stifling that he moves away, opening and closing his hand to will some normalcy.
“Love is a fucking joke, you know.”
Jimin wouldn’t know. In the years he’s been around you, he knew of your misery, he could see it on you like a cloud. But he doesn’t understand it, or doesn’t choose to. He didn’t have the luxury to be sad, there was no time, there isn’t even a fucking restaurant to show for himself. Love and torment is luxury to him like time is.
“You got engaged to that Jeon kid,” he said, rather unhelpfully.
You look at him, amused.
“What happened?”
Cruelly and to prove his point, you said, “got bored.”
Unconvinced, he closes the distance, you’re back on the chairs now, “that’s not what happened.”
“Yes, that is what happened. I was the one who broke it off.”
He remembers you crying. He only remembers that.
“I saw you, you were begging him to take you back.”
That stops you from talking, gulping whatever lie you wanted to paint for him. He sees you tug at the sleeves of his jacket, a gesture that made sweater paws.
“You’re so cruel.”
This, he takes in his stride, “I’m sorry.”
Then, his phone buzzes. The lock screen lights up, a message he’s been praying for all night long. Him and Taehyung’s previous messages jitter in his vision.
-
Staying away for the night was good because it prepared Taehyung for the clutter that awaited him en masse. Sure, there was a team of helpers after each event but he would have to retire to his room later on. And if that’s the case, he’d want a clear path, free from sticky patches of alcohol or miscellaneous stains of mysterious liquid.
The apartment has a main entrance which he uses if no one was home. It doesn’t take much to annoy him, a messy house being one of them. He side-steps away from a dying fern right into a puddle of what looked like neon piss.
But it’s not the scattered confetti nor the desiccated cake smeared on the shag rug in the living area that spikes his temperature.
It’s the lone shoe that belonged to Jimin, laying with its sole facing the ceiling. The laces were hastily removed. He knows because Jimin ties them into a stubborn knot. When he checked his phone, there were no new messages from either of you. Jimin hadn’t replied to his morning ones too. Taking a deep breath, he keeps on walking.
-
[7:20PM]: Yo. Tteokbokki?
Taehyung [7:33PM]: Setting up. Have it later.
————Today, 6:46AM ————
Taehyung [6:46AM]: All of the guests leave?
Taehyung [6:48AM]: I’m on my way up.
Jimin pales, his hands start tingling. It’s morning, the day has ended and nothing has changed. There was no restaurant, no dream to build. A car awaits him at the basement but he reeks of booze and sex and sweat. He can’t drive anyone in this state. There’s not enough time to shower either. Next to him you’re frantic, dawning on the same thing.
You’ve both run out of time.
“Is he coming back? Do you have to go?” You asked, shivering.
He sees your bare feet, the thin metal link of the anklet on your left ankle. You’re unsteady because you’ve overlapped your right over your left. You’re not sure whether to inch closer or further away so its end looking like you’re swaying.
“No, it’s Taehyung, he’ll be up soon but I have to go too. Your father might call me anytime.”
You nod, but your eyes are downcast.
“It’s okay. We’ll -”
He stops himself on the account of not knowing what to say, mouth full of cotton. And you’re so hopeful that it gets him all nervous again. He can’t even remember what exactly he promised. You wait, hands clasped, your tears drying over glitter. Finally, he admits that he’s tired. The sound of the door slamming open startles you both, Taehyung emerges into the kitchen in no time. There’s a plastic bag in his hand and a new mop in the other. Jimin’s stomach twists at the sight of the green bomber, the patches droop, its loose threads standing up stiffly.
Taehyung’s eyes flit to you and Jimin, putting the cobbled state of your clothes, the remnants of wine on the table and the fucked-out expression on your faces together. It doesn’t look redeemable to anyone walking in; Jimin’s grateful that it wasn’t your father. Deeply calm, Taehyung walks down the steps, the cool air he brings with him smells distinctively of the city. Of packed subway cars and smoke from the early morning vendors three blocks away from your building.
“Tae -” you said but are cut off.
“You should go up to you room and clean up. Your father won’t like to come home and see you like this.”
Jimin maniacally starts to clear more debris from the party, he tries to get the mop from Taehyung’s hand but it escapes him.
“Meet me in the rooftop in a minute, yeah?” Taehyung asked, placing the mop against the bucket by the trash.
You were out of earshot, ascending the steps to your room. Jimin nods, shoving his hands in his pockets and going to the opposite direction.
-
The rooftop garden wasn’t as well maintained as Jimin remembered. Usually the shrubs were manicured but he was met with overgrown catastrophes. The various concrete features spluttered water in a pathetic stream, wetting the stone in a dark grey. Your father had the biggest penthouse space in Gangnam, befitting of a business tycoon that started from the ground up. The spot where he saw you was hardly anything special, adding nothing to the space.
Dawn comes in orange streaks, easy on his bloodshot eyes. Smog waits to descend upon the city as the horizon is broken by the buildings that jut up from the ground. Below are the images of the street flicking their lights on during the day, driver’s like him stretching their legs, and vendors parking a little further so as to not tarnish the pristine sidewalks.
It strange for Taehyung to suggest meeting up here without any food or a pack of smokes. He should have had both portions of tteokbokki instead of leaving it at the mini fridge by the driver’s quarters. His stomach is caving in, intestines wrung tight from the night’s events. By now, you’re probably showering or in bed. Either way, what started off as a dream ended up as a lofty fantasy. You’re not exactly the kind of girl he expected and you might even say the same thing about him.
Perhaps this time, he’d accept his mother’s well-intentioned ‘I told you so.’ But it’s his father’s quiet disappointment that might kill him. Jimin never heard him say anything in support but he also never heard anything untoward either. It’s in the eyes though. And his father’s eyes said more than what he needed to hear.
He looks down. He doesn’t even have his damn shoes on.
The door flings open, banging against the exposed steel beam meant to complete the rugged aesthetic of the garden. Taehyung is strutting towards him, something brewing in his eyes, something that makes the colour in them dark and flat. The orange of the waking sun does little to conceal the fact that he’s a little pale, a telling sneer forming on his lips.
“You okay, Tae?”
If Jimin wasn’t mistaken, Taehyung looked like he was going to hit him.
He backs up towards the row of shrubs that have seen better days, slowly, step by step.
“Hey, the fuck’s going on? Listen - ”
“You just fucking had to, huh?” His friend snarled.
The pause is unbearable, Taehyung halted less than a meter away visibly shaking, balled up fists in anticipation. Jimin tries to piece things together, had to what? He backs up even more, the heel of his sock-covered feet dragging on the concrete. That wasn’t the right time to hold back, he should have pleaded his case because Taehyung is on him in a second, darting forward with a speed Jimin hasn’t seen since the time they’d brawl for release because being jobless was worse that having no girlfriend back then.
It’s scarier since Taehyung knows where to hit, he knows right where it hurts.Jimin chokes on air as a tanned fist lands on his ribs, a warning that enables him to dodge the next couple of jabs. But he doubles over, winded from the force of the first one. A knee-kick jerks up, hitting him clean on the sternum making him fold, his hands scrabbling to grab onto Taehyung’s shirt.
If he had gotten a wink of sleep instead of half-fighting with you for the night, he might have been able to catapult away or something but Taehyung manages to curl his arm around his neck. The headlock combined with the fact that the bastard was taller than him lifted him on his toes, scratching at Taehyung’s arms with his jagged, bitten nails. Lacking any real choice, he turns his head so that there isn’t much pressure on his airway, still he chokes. Quickly, his hands find purchase on the space between his neck and Taehyung’s bulging arm, once that was accomplished, he bends all the way forward, throwing Taehyung onto the floor.
He grunts at the fact that his shoulder seized at throwing excess weight around. Taehyung always did weigh like a sack of fucking rice.
Jimin was used to not communicating well with others, Taehyung being no exception. But this situation, this ambush,kind of warranted somewords. As he tried to speak, Taehyung grabs him, his long arm shooting forward, his large hand grabbing him by the front of his shirt. And they’re on the floor, barely getting any word in edgeways, Jimin trying his own hand at punching back, participating in this dumb display of violence. The concrete scrapes at the side of his face as Taehyung huffs, fist on Jimin’s cheek. HIs vision sparks, it hurts so fucking bad that he growls, making a cross with his arms to protect his skull from actually shattering. Taehyung hands close over his arms to pin him in place.
“Tae, what the fuck,” Jimin grunts, taking advantage of the fact that the younger one had longer hair. In a moment of strength, he fists the dark locks, bending Taehyung’s neck, the roots lifting from the scalp in a painful undulation. It doesn’t last long though as Taehyung shrugs him off easily, flinging his arms out.
Jimin doesn’t see it coming because he feelsit first.
The coppery taste explodes in his mouth, there’s the sound of a crack too, and his vision spots. He collides with the floor again, but he connects his fist to Taehyung’s jaw with an impact he’s surprised that comes from him.
It’s so idiotic.
Their punches are uncoordinated, blood running down his nose, Taehyung’s lip is split, red spots on his white shirt. His mother’s going to give him hell for that. They don’t even know what they’re doing, grunting at the blows, fists finding everything to land on, bruises waiting to bloom in the afternoon. Jimin hauls Taehyung up, screaming bloodied spit right into his face, his eyes are swollen, his teeth ache as if its nerves are exposed.
“Fucking talk to me! What the fuck are we doing?”
His throat is raw, sweat pools at his hairline. The taste in his mouth makes him spit at the ground, it aches so much more now that they’ve stopped. Taehyung seems content in catching his breath, his face still handsome after a scrape like this.
“D’you fuck her?”
What?
Jimin’s dumbstruck face probably didn’t cut it, and Taehyung prepares to launch another strike.
“Hey! Okay! Okay, fuck! We fucked.”
If Taehyung had told Jimin anything at all, this would have been avoided. He tilts his head at the pretty colours in the sky, it’s brighter. He winces at the raw skin peeling on his knuckles. Taehyung drags himself back, face pink from the exertion, chest expanding and contracting. He looks at Jimin like he’s… betrayed.
“You told her about your restaurant? About your plans?”
Jimin’s head throbs, he pushes his palm over his mouth. More blood, muscles spasming from the adrenaline.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Taehyung turns his head, his hair sticking together at the tips.
“You just never know when to quit, do you even like her like that?”
For the first time in his entire life, Jimin had nothing to say. It wasn’t that he was holding back a reply, he was playing the reel of moments that he missed where it was palpable Taehyung’s feelings for you were real. You were all close in your own way, the kitchen was the hearth of the apartment. Being there didn’t make him feel like an employee.
Being there made him think you were all friends.
“You like her like that?” Jimin asked, cricking his neck.
You didn’t even know Taehyung’s name until he had to clean up your vomit. That was a year in.
Taehyung sighs, this melancholic release that tells Jimin they were thinking off the same thing.
“Whatever man, fuck this, I have the entire house to clean up,” Taehyung said. The moment lengthens to the point of being uncomfortable, the sun is fully lighting the city now. Jimin’s body is wooden from being beat up senseless.
“Feel better at least?” He asked, careful in clearing his throat as his larynx feels funny. It was more of an olive branch in the shape of an uncontested victory on Taehyung’s part. You’re none the wiser, there’s no restaurant, and his best friend can go on pining. For a chilling few seconds, Jimin actually thinks that Taehyung would go for another round. He stays ready to spring up and run this time. The Mercedes isn’t gonna like his punctured state and neither is your father.
And Taehyung gets up, his hand being the other olive branch that Jimin was so glad to see. They both groan as they find their feet, his toes preventing him from stumbling. Jimin isn’t sure what to say. Of course they fought, it was relentless when they were young and poorer. Their parents often questioned why they were fighting rather than talking but they never did that. It’s always the ‘reading between the lines’ bullshit that ended up being a hit and miss exercise. Emphasis on the latter.
“You sure you’re okay?”
His best friend stares at him, a mottled purple bruise forming under his eye. Dried blood crusts at the place where his lip split, Jimin thinks about how he probably looks as mangled. Even if all the emotions have left him over the things that occurred during the past day, he still wanted to check.
“‘M fine ‘Chim.”
It’s not the answer he wanted but it’s enough to give him the reassurance that he can check his phone. Nothing. Taehyung lopes back to the door, the image is so familiar to Jimin that he questions whether what he went through the past twenty-four hours was real.
Jimin thinks that there may not be a restaurant but there’s the country’s infallible gaming culture awaiting them at the end of the day.
“Hey, tteokbokki at the PC-bang later?”
Taehyung turns his head slightly, Jimin sees that tug of his smile.
“Yeah.”
-
In the following weeks, change doesn’t come. Jimin drives your father around, averts his eyes when the building he leads the car into isn’t your apartment building, then avoids going inside unless it’s a last resort. He doesn’t see you much since you’re off going everywhere and anywhere, as wild as ever. Luckily, your father is busy and he doesn’t have to be the one picking you up or dropping you off at the airport. You don’t interact with him beyond the customary ‘hello.’ He’s still deciding whether that bothers him or not.
There’s a day in a particular month where all staff are given the day off. Jimin saw various helpers bring stuff up to the apartment, things like food, wine, the kind he had with you that night. There was a variety of fruits too, rice cakes, other items that he wasn’t familiar with. That day, Taehyung invites him for some barbecue, the crate of beer is shuttled from the back of the fridge at your place. It’s going to waste anyway, Taehyung said.
The studio apartment is low-lying and the balcony is exposed, its furniture battered by the elements. Jimin would rather spend time indoors, his feet up, watching a rerun of some eighties drama but he bears it. Taehyung hadn’t invited him over like this for the past weeks, he was already prepared to spend his free time at the PC-bang after he paid for his lottery ticket.
They don’t speak for a while. Smoke and steam dwindle in the air, his jacket will smell of that stuff soon enough. Taehyung hands him the tongs and he gets to flipping the thin slices of pork belly, the oil splattering outwards.
“Bought extra chilli peppers for your ssam,” he blurts out, eyes on the grill after gulping down some beer. Jimin nods in thanks.
“She’s not even home for this,” Taehyung says, sprawling on the lawn chair, his leather jacket puffing up then creasing. “Happens every year and she’s in Aruba or some shit.”
Jimin’s jaw clenched at the fact that the topic floats over to you. Taehyung pines like he’s an Olympian at it. He bets that if Taehyung was someone in your eyes, he could change you, make you do things you just don’t want to do.
“Maybe she doesn’t like being around reminding herself, you know?” He flips the next strips, more oil spews out, speckling his sleeve.
“You know she was the one who found her a week into college? I heard that she screamed in her sleep for the next six months. Then she got into what she’s doing now.”
Jimin grimaces at the way Taehyung avoids the word drugs.
You said something to him that he remembered as he was cleaning up his wounds after his fight with Taehyung. Must have slipped his mind but when he remembered, it stuck like a nuisance. It was in response to him warning you about the drugs, how you were off the rails and it doesn’t look good.
No you’re right, Min. People might not think that I chose to do it.
He was stupid to believe that things could work, that he could have what he wanted. Taehyung shakes his head, immersed in his own thoughts. Jimin knows that they will never talk about what happened that night, Taehyung looks too hurt. He often does when he meets Jimin for a drink, his eyes losing that spark.
Satisfied, Jimin lays out the seared pork on a lettuce leaf, garnishes it to Taehyung’s liking and offers it wrapped tightly, “here.”
It gets devoured in that cavernous mouth of his, Jimin makes his own, drowns it in spice and chews with his cheeks bursting at the seams.
“Might look for another job,” he said, “go elsewhere, abroad maybe.”
He looks at Taehyung, who eyes him with a tender curiosity. These drawn out silences between them was wrong, it wasn’t reflective of the years spent in this big city. Taehyung nudges the bottom of his bottle against the edge of the table.
“Where?”
“Dunno, Japan maybe?”
There’s a nod, the purse of lips from Taehyung who considers his future. Jimin needed to get away, forget about restaurants and ending the day by the sea.
“Sounds courageous,” Taehyung smiled. Jimin feels a pang of guilt at seeing his friend the way he’s done so for the past couple of years. It’s bitter, the way this phantom acknowledgement weighs on him, like Taehyung’s known all this time.
“When you’re all settled with your chain of restaurants across Asia, don’t forget me, yeah?”
Jimin smiles, eyes shining from the sting of the cold. He remembers entering the border of Seoul with only the clothes on his back and Taehyung’s wide grin. He’s not sure if the rift he caused was repairable but this might be a start.
Summary:You and Jimin are both through the looking glass now and is what you both desire too much?
Warnings/Tags: RATED M - for language; references to alcohol and drugs; references to loneliness in reader pov; Jimin’s a chauffeur (yup); the reader wasn’t having a very good time butnowit’s different; less of the references to shitty techno-pop music more references to the sappy stuff (maybe); light-hearted banter this time; the dreams relate to something real now; it’s really about wanting here; curse money, curse it all; okay, now for the more serious tags: smut (fem-reader; penetrative sex; unprotected sex; the use of ‘Ahjussi’ in the bedroom (only v briefly to tease, i’m sorry); he also has a piercing (guess where?); biting; praise kink; everything is messy, so so messy) - non-idol!AU.
=====
-
Birthdays were a travesty.
They became so the moment you realised that your father and mother cared more aboutwho came than how you felt. The house gets buried in a spool of streamers, the floor swallowed by odd-shaped confetti, the music gets loud.To compensate, you become garrulous, smiling so wide that your cheeks ached.
“Who are you again?”
Your voice comes out slurred, the vowels twisting in your mouth.
The person is familiar under the violet strobe lights, their features aren’t new to you, their touch either. Just as fast as you thought of the question, you think of another. They let your hand go, leaving you floating. The lights get irritating if you stand still for too long, techno-bubble-pop starts hiss through the fridge-sized speakers that are stuck in each corner of the room. Your brain swells from the pressure so you move, you jump and dance. It’s not very impressive, your birthdays.
Quite passé given the circumstances.
Another person shoves their way into the pulsing shoal of people, someone plants a wet kiss on your cheek. You also get sticky during these events, coated in other people’s attention.
“Babe, great party!”
“Mm,” you hummed, eyes fluttering close.
Being surrounded by people got old in the business of living. That’s why you kept moving, can’t be stuck in one place too long otherwise you become aware that they’re not actually here for you, they’re here for the idea of you. Everyone knows you could never compare. Or maybe that was just you.
Didn’t matter. It’s all a game anyway.
Someone says your name but you search for a drink. You didn’t want the hard stuff yet, it’s too early.
As you drank from a shot glass you think that the thing about being alone is that you miss it. You miss the company of others, the touch of a person specifically. But what’s blinding, what the real high for you is the touch of someone who cares.A guy catches your eye, they’re looking at you weird, they must be a friend of a friend. Or a friend of a friend of a friend. Who fucking knows anymore.
Days before your party, you went down to visit another friend. They were working in the financial district, their office at the highest floor of the tallest skyscraper. It took you more than ten minutes just to get to right floor and on the way, you saw this employee. Imposing, broad chested and burly. Reminded you of Jungkook when he was in one of those moods. It was like you were able to superimpose that image, overlay it until it was good enough to feast on.
Look at me.
That’s what you thought when you passed him, cutting it close. Not only did you want the touch of another but you wanted to commit that to memory, despite your fears. You never did come into contact, content with the distance. You wore fear like a security blanket nowadays, made to ward off the consequences of wanting something so much. The odd look from the guy across the room wavers, you realise that he’s not really here.
A shout startles you off-kilter: “Turn that up louder!” Accompanied by a roar of applause and the general clamour that came with parties like this. The music booms, the chandelier atop with its crystal drops quiver to the frequency.
You see Jimin in a matter of seconds, it makes you sling an arm over another person because it’s as if your lungs contracted, shrivelling suddenly. He looked dapper in the setting, all made up in a suit. Handsome in any light, so tempting.
The length of time he’s been working for your family escaped you but it was long enough for the small details of him to come together. Jimin was quiet yet cheerful, you heard his laugh and considered it contagious ever since. Dark hair swept to the side in an ideal arc, rounded eyes, don’t think it passed you how it lingers like it did now.
Once he was through the doorway, carted off by Taehyung, you revert back to a puppet with its strings cut. Inwardly, you wanted Jimin to come back because every time you saw him he was already looking at you. It was enough to sate this tremendous yearning you had, a different kind of addiction.
Maybe he sees you in the way you wanted - the way you needed.
In the red-blue shaft of light you stood under, you buzz from all that you took to keep you sane. Someone gropes your waist and you lean in, taste the bitter gin on their tongue. In exchange you dip your lips to their neck, tasting salt.
Yeah, birthday’s were a travesty.
-
Dancing leaves no room for talking, you liked it that way as it avoids you having to speak about trivial things. No one really wanted to know why you sulk so much or why you’re back here to rot. It helps you forget about the things you couldn’t control.
Thankfully Taehyung took those wretched flowers out of sight. They weren’t worth much if they reeked of your father’s guilt.
Finding success in dragging Jimin up the stairs to the main room, you note that he looked even better in the kitchen lighting. You could see his bright complexion and despite his tired eyes, he was agreeable. Soft hands in yours, you laughed as he stumbled poorly up the final step.
“Careful,” you warned, tugging him close, closer. He dips his head, giving you a strained smile.
It’s faint but it’s there, the scent of sweet shampoo and a hint of soap. Clean, sharp, things you’d expect from someone like him.
The chandelier trembles from the bass, you’re around people again, but this time, Jimin’s hands are on your waist. It’s a little fuzzy so you circle your arms around his neck, his touch is bewitching. You attempt to speak, which isn’t like you at all, frankly. And, as if your mind knows, you end up laughing instead.
What must you look like to him?
Desperate?
Sad?
The realisation makes you pull away, mind throbbing from the protests of Stop that, you’re being weird.You don’t wait long enough to see how he looks at you, blanking out. You laughed too before you separated, failing in being cool. You’re in some partygoers arms now, getting lifted.
“Three cheers for the birthday girl!”
Held above, squeezed at the ribs, you’re overwhelmed by a sea of faces, Jimin is nowhere to be seen.
-
The rest of the evening waxes and wanes, details escape you in your stupor. Taehyung has left, you and Jimin talked and talked and talked.The breaking of one of your cardinal rules wasn’t detrimental but it made you antsy.
He said something that dulled all worry, though.
Something that sounded like love.
Whatever you took or drank wasn’t nearly enough to help with the nerves, this jittery feeling that comes with being seen. You needed another high, one that took you to the edge. That prospect died that moment Jimin kicked your supply under the dishwasher. A part of you was grateful since in some way, he sensed that you didn’t want to be consumed in a numb state.
You didn’t remember that day he spoke of, that day on the rooftop where you were surrounded by papers. Likely from your time trying to make it as a writer. The ideas in your mind were left too long that they festered. The ink that coated your fingers were superficial, the prose coming empty. Insipid.
You keep watching him as he told that story, but your eyes wandered to the dangerous valley that his unbuttoned collar showed. His neck is slender, there’s a mole there too. Very enticing.
The want returns, as if that’s what you needed to survive, telling of the yearning is howling inside you now. Eager, you cling to him as he kicks the door to the spare room shut. Your back hits the bed, mouth wet and fingers searching for clasps, buttons, zips. The removal of clothes is mechanical if not awkward, but what comes after was worth it.
Skin, touch, and proximity.
Perhaps it’s the culmination of stares, touches, and longing. Perhaps you had already been together like this in some way and this was the natural way of things. As if being with Jimin like this switches the sensitivity of your body up a notch, reminding you of nights where you’re sore from being with someone during sweltering summers, sweating not just from being caught under the sun but from a body on yours, between your legs, the sea breeze from Biarritz on your tastebuds. To be transparent about it, you missed holding someone’s cock, a temporary delight that shoves the bitter things trapping you for the past weeks -months.
“Am I reading this -” you begin to ask, a smirk curving your lips. Jimin shakes his head prematurely.
“I want to… I want to touch you,” he said, hovering above as you panted beneath him, clothing already askew. It was just meant to be sunrise on the roof but this is so much better. His eyes are so dark, it’s like they’re soaked in black tar.
“Alright, whatever you need,” you replied, then you caught yourself, “whatever you want, Ahjussi.”
It’s so dumb, he’s not even thatmuch older than you, but old is gold. And you had a feeling that this term of endearment will stick come morning. In response, Jimin gathers your wrists, pinning them above your head, your body arches up, your breathing laboured. The room is spacious but the air is syrupy. It might be just be you though, you had a tendency to get worked up, then your head gets hot from all the racing thoughts.
You see it though, the way Jimin registers your words. Whatever you want. His eyes rove over your body communicating his wants, his needs.You want him to hold you, to feel cocooned, want that sticky slap of skin, sweat on the sheets. To have him quick and rocking inside you, first comes the pain then the pleasure.
“Can I…” He hesitates, hand skimming your side, “touch you?”
It’s too soft, why must he ask twice?
“You can,” you encouraged, twisting your arm back to drag the short zip of your top down. It falls away and his eyes, they go wide. Somewhat conscious of the imbalance, you unbutton his shirt. Under all of that drab, that pristine white cotton hides the ripple of tan muscles. Jimin doesn’t touch you yet, you don’t want to goad but it’s torturous.
“This really okay?”
“Yes - yes,” you whispered.
Glad not to have done the hard stuff, you didn’t have to worry about your libido tanking. The trade off was that the itch didn’t need scratching, it needed eradicating. So much waiting, it leaves ample time for thoughts to creep in. Like how this wasreally okay, that Jimin isn’t really employed by your household, he doesn’t drive your father around. These things don’t matter so much, not really
You’re in the spare room at the lower levels of your apartment, it’s your birthday. And he’s a handsome stranger at the eleventh hour.
He’s touching you so gently, careful hands on your neck, somehow cooling your scorched skin. His tongue flicks out, licking at the pulse of your throat, languid, sending shivers down, down.
“Fuck,” you moaned, his hand coming into contact with your clothed pussy under your skirt. It’s all too reverent at the moment, you can’t help but arch up, nipples brushing against his firm chest. He groans at your neck, open mouth followed by the graze of teeth. There’s too many clothes, not the right kind of friction. Impatient, you shove at his shirt, yank at his belt. He lets you, sounding amused.
Jimin was nice to look at, even in the low light. With the shirt off, your eyes adjust. He’s managed to get half-hard but that’s not the real kicker: there’s an unmistakable glint, are those nipple rings?
“What? Are you laughing?”
You squeeze at his bicep, fascinated at how the blood is displaced, a pale mark in the shape of your thumb on his skin. Lifting your touch, the trace of you fades.
“Nothing. it’s just like you to get something like this done,” you replied, thinking about the sensitivity of them. Your breath comes out in a shudder, so loud in your arousal that it screamed the filth of your thoughts.
“What’s the supposed to mean?” He asked, voice going down a timbre.
“What were you, a wayward?”
You couldn’t seem to reconcile that with the clean cut image of the Jimin you knew. Around your father, he didn’t set foot out of line. His hands settle on your naked skin, your heart beats erratically, hairs standing to attention. He answers as he slips your skirt off you.
“Lost a bet.”
Knuckles brush over your underwear, the slightest pressure, you’re already wet, clit pressing uncomfortably on the mesh. You need something soft, blunter. His fingers tease, a slow motion that temporarily soothes.
“And your nipples were the first thing at stake?” You asked, breath hitching because everything is so warm, the initial wave of arousal makes you lift your hands. It’s only a light touch over his nipples but he gives out a gasping breath, lips wet. It’s unfair that you’re not doing anything, so you rub them, and he weakens, forehead clammy against yours.
“Friends were assholes, got me so drunk that I agreed to -” he starts, briefly cut off because you crash your mouth against his, a messy connection of tongues and the snap of teeth, saliva on lips. The next words are lost, you’re hungry, fingers searching against, delving into his dark hair. So good, so nice.
“Up, c’mon.”
He was talking about moving further up the bed. You oblige, the rush hitting you altogether, head thudding against the tufted headboard. Jimin gets fully undressed then kneels between your legs. Clipped, short nails on your thighs, your nipples harden into pebbled peaks. He lifts your underwear up and off, cool air makes your bare pussy tender, the sensation jolting you.
The mattress is stiff, hardly used. It presses unhelpfully against your back, your thighs spreading, the coil in the pit of your stomach is contained, the need is so sudden, it’s heavy and overwhelmed.
“Hold me,” you whispered, pulling him down, saying it again in a kiss. Darkness heightens touch, your tongue licks into his mouth, teeth nipping at his upper lip, plush and soft.
Jimin’s weight is pleasant, depressing your breath, pushing out your thoughts. There’s no space, just touch. And so, so nice. Like falling and floating, one with air.
“Please, more,” you gasped, grinding your core against his crotch, hand curling on his hair, cock hard as he rolls his hips in a deliberate circle. It burns, this proximity. He groans in your mouth, the slick glide of his length along your slit emits little, wet noises, sparring with the rush of the sheets.
“Harder, Min,” you plead, sighing at the feel of his hands shackling your wrists down.
It shouldn’t be this easy, the surge for something good shouldn’t give way to you losing it this quickly. You hold your breath, canting your hips up, the head of his cock nudges your clit and you hiss. Jimin grunts, leaving you unrestrained. It’s a little premature, making you cling onto the feeling, hands massaging his shoulders, lacing fingers over his neck, sweaty at the nape.
You’re trembling, legs hitching up and thighs spreading wide. The pleasure broils under the arousal, he knows it too. He kisses you with fervour, more weight to it this time, hands busy kneading, squeezing, pinning.
“Jimin,” you gasped, coaxing, shameless in the way you open up to him, his fingers not staying long enough to sink in your heat. His lips find the shell of your ear, his accent faltering a tad, What is it that you need?
“Just hold me,” you said, voice unlike your own.
And he does, all silky smooth skin, heat and taut muscle. You accept it all, tingling everywhere, not sure how your breathing is all ragged from touching and grinding, but it’s there. He presses your legs towards you, taking a moment for you to loosen up till your knees crush your tits, it’s bawdy to be bent like this. Sex is like that.
“Shit,” he marvels. You knew what it must have looked like otherwise Jimin wouldn’t be in pieces right now. To help, you secure your hands at the back of your thighs, holding position. Exposed and trusting. Jimin circles a hand on your ankle, his other holding his cock. The stretch makes you gasp, his hips slowly inching forward.
“F-fuck,” you uttered, pussy clenching at the tip of his cock.
For a long, unbearable moment, nothing happens. Jimin looks pained,his chest heaves while you whimper, relaxing, eyes shutting as white dots spark in your vision.
“It’s okay, you can go like that,” you said, chewing on your lip. It’s a polite way of saying hurry up. Jimin dips his head, eyes turning darker but they shine. He must have heard the desperation in your voice.
“Shh, it’s okay. You can bite me if you want.”
Your legs part as he lowers, you bury your face in the crook of his neck, moaning as the new pressure, the slow ease of his cock spearing inside your pussy. The thrash of your hips is aimless, the grinding is jittered, seeking more of him. Your teeth sinks on the corner where his neck meets his shoulder, it’s salty as your tongue flicks across heated skin. His moans fan your hair, hips beginning to move.
“Fuck,” he groaned, bottoming out, your fingers claw at the sheets, Jimin fucks into you in slow strokes. It’s satisfying, so cathartic like this, exactly how it should be. You’re whimpering, words lost in the clumsy translation of your bodies, the drag of his cock sending you spiralling.
“Keep going - like that,” you gasped, it’s so thick, this feeling, bolstered by the warmth seeping everywhere. And he drives his hips forward, stilling just to grind and you shake. Your pussy clings around his cock as he pulls out and rams back in. You can’t even move, nails clawing at his back, spurring that grunt that dies on the space by your head. Your back arches, loving the harsh, physical contact, thrusts on the liminal edge of pain.
“Ah..ahn,” you moaned, shuddering, teeth locking onto his skin, using all your strength to grind hard and fast, losing it a little each time. Jimin lifts his head, lips sealing over yours, tongue forceful in the way it parts your mouth, everything is sticky, drying sweat makes things chafe but not where it mattered. The kiss is sloppy and wet, Jimin slams into you, the solid smackof hips meeting yours, the stretch of his cock, it’s delicious and you struggled to stay in place, jostled up the bed.
“Shit…ah,fuck,” he huffs, stopping to readjust you both.
“Ah, Min, I can’t,” you babbled, lax as you you bask in the feeling, this thing that’s evaded you for so long.
“You can,” he said, answering your muddled thoughts. He reaches down, thumbing your clit in lazily circles. “You’re really wet, so fucking good, taking me like this, hm?” He brings it up, resting it on your bottom lip, you lick at it, tasting yourself, suckling on the blunt pad until you drag your tongue down his palm, a slick stripe of saliva that makes him laugh. He goes back with the same hand, forking his fingers to expose your clit, simultaneously thrusting. It all goes to your head, bodies sliding in submission, his cock is thick and follows each pull and push of his hips.
“Ah, fuck, fuck,” you choked out.
Jimin hauls you to sit up, and you cry out at the change in angle. He cups your ass, controlling the rhythm, “you’re so good, doing so good,” he said, stroking the small of your back as he assumes this easy grind up. You must have given it away in your face because the next thing he does is jar you, fingers kneading the nape of your neck, “you like that? Me telling you that you’re good?”
And his eyes are dark, his hips jutting up, his cock hitting you deeper, you collapse onto him, trying to wade through the fog of pleasure. He says your name, “want me to praise you?”
You nod, holding onto him, clenching unforgivably around his length, “tell me, tell me I’m good.”
Jimin lowers you back on the bed, kissing everything, your cheeks, your eyelids. “What else? Want me to tell you that you’re beautiful? That you’re good, so good?” He follows this with a forceful thrust, fucking into you steadily again. You moaned, head hitting the sheets, crying out at your clit getting the friction it needed, he keeps close, “want to hear that I’m struggling to hold myself out because you’re this tight?”
You almost cum, if not for him slowing down. He’s relentless with what he says, slipping even dirtier confessions in your ear, talking as if you’re his to own, to use.He knows what to do, as if attuned to every micro reaction you give, always finishing with tender words, never letting you comprehend, until -
“That’s a good girl.”
And then you let go, heat blasting through you in an acute wave, lightning striking from within, sizzling and searing through you, toes curling as Jimin swallows your moans. He holds you down as your stomach tenses, thighs rippling as he continues, chasing his own peak. You let him, yelping into his mouth, trying and failing to contain the pleasure that rips you into overstimulation.
“Ah, fuck, fuck,” he grunts, spilling inside you, fucking you in slower pumps, your eyes squeezed shut, fireworks everywhere, muting all senses, mind emptying into a nothingness. Your orgasm fizzles then ebbs, Jimin rocking into you, hair plastered to his forehead, careful not to jolt you as he pulls away. You blink at the mess between you, the heated, sticky pool of your arousal smearing your thighs, his cock coated in it.
“Fuck,” you breathed, not quite believing it.
For a while, it’s just you trying to catch your breaths. You don’t want it to come back, but it does. You’re hollowed out, you feel hot and in need of something clean. Jimin walks away and comes back swiftly, towel in hand from the adjoining bathroom. He moves with familiarity that it prompts you to question:
“Been here before?” You asked, propping yourself up on your elbows. He grins, spreading your legs to smooth over the raw skin; the towel is rough but does the job.
“Sometimes I crash here if I stay late with Tae.”
That explains it.
The apartment is enormous and it’s just you and your father.
Aftershocks come in the form of static spreads where he last touched, “feel okay?” He asked. You nod, watching him massage your skin, tapping fingers, and handling you as if you were fragile. On a normal day, you’d protest, but it’s lovely. You stare at each other, a little bewildered as to how far to take this. He brushes against your tender core, knuckles on your core for a moment, sending you into a palpable shudder. “Sorry.”
“’S fine.”
More silence. More opportunity to think. You’re not even drunk anymore. Jimin is calm, shifting the sheets until you’re both under them. The weight isn’t as nice but his arm around you isn’t artificial. Sleep should come next but the air isn’t conducive to that, reality bites. You watch each other, accepting this vulnerability. When you think you want to say something or when he looks like he’s considering the same reality, you both keep it to yourselves.
-
Laying side by side on the huge mattress, enveloped under the sheets, Jimin finally speaks. His voice is croaky.
“You look sad.”
It was meant to upset, this concern, but it felt so good to have him say that out loud. Better than being stuck together, sweaty and panting into each other’s mouths. You could get that plenty, but this? It hits all the spots that physical touch can’t remedy.
And that’s bliss.
You could only smile, not giving it away because that would be weird. Who likes being told that they’re sad? You couldn’t tell him that what he said was fine, either. Nothing’s fine about what he said and the fact that you chose to accept it.
The room is sparsely decorated, one painting from an auction hangs by the door. A seascape reminding you of your mother. You search for other things to look at and your eyes wander back to Jimin. The first thing you think about is how he’s neat and clean cut. There’s a method to how he carries himself. His nails are cut short, his hair is trimmed, his skin is bright. In fact, it’s too bright and healthy for someone who barely has a fixed schedule, driving all over the city. For more physical matters, his jaw is cut sharp, unlike the rest of his features, worn soft, down to his puckered lips. He seems to notice this unabashed examination and mumbles, “what?”
“How’d you look like that?” You asked.
“Like what?”
“You’re all… sparkly, pouty, then you get pretty, like really pretty. You’re put together, know what you want, just get on with things. I admire that.”
Blame it on the drunkenness, blame it on feeling like you’re suspending in this haze.
“There’s hardly any light - ” he laughs, a tad nervous.
“No, you’re… strangely sensual, like a creature moulded from a dream. You’re so interesting, magical.”
You scold yourself inwardly, You’re being weird again, stop it. But Jimin hikes the sheets up to cover your shoulders.
“Alright alright, you really are a writer.”
That makes you smile.
“Was.”
You weren’t sure what you were doing now, it’s all a blur. All of your shit hasn’t really gotten together. The point when that happened, when progress just halted, you can’t remember either. You push his hair away, counting the moles on his forehead.
“Really, you look insane, Min.”
He laughs, “flattery again.” It ends in a subtle lisp, his accent lilting in this sing-song manner.
“It’s truth telling. Sounds weird coming from me,” you replied.
He’s quick to come to your rescue when you don’t ask.
“No it doesn’t. I’m just not used to it.”
You meet the inky pools of his eyes, they relax, his blinks are slow.
“To what?” You asked, finding his hand under the sheets. He squeezes his palm against yours.
“Seeing myself how you see me.”
-
The house is empty and Jimin lends you his jacket that he’s retrieved from the kitchen. Everything you both wore was loose, the fabric of your skirt is wrinkled, you’re laying, outstretched on the couch like a cat, comfortable in its surroundings. The main space is trashed, confetti everywhere, it looks robbed.
“What are we gonna do?” You asked, catching him by the back of his thigh. He’s been searching for his other shoe for ages but couldn’t seem to locate it. Walking around in socks on a sticky floor made him grimace, the black wool is soiled. His shirt is on the chair across, his belt tossed under the bed, his tie is somewhere. The metal strap of his watch breaks up the skin from his forearm and wrist.
“What do you mean?” He asked back, looking down at you and smoothing your hair. It’s subtle but he feels you press into his touch.
“If this was one of those movies or novels, we would run away as the next scene,” you said, tugging him down onto the couch. With no luck about his shoe, he lets you slot yourself onto him, your calves flanking his waist. You fit together like a puzzle, like that he could kiss the inside of your knee. The supple skin tastes like you and him, he pauses, his lips lightly pressing.
“Where would we go?”
“Just far, like really far,” you murmured, that glaze in your eyes are back.
Jimin hauls himself up, bare skin scraping on the rough linen of the couch. Your statement spurs a forgotten dream of his, one of many left at the wayside. One that he picks up occasionally when he’s idle, forefinger tapping on the steering wheel as he watches your father exit the elevator, heading to the back seat.
“Busan.”
You reach forward, he kisses you before you ask.
“What will we get up to?”
It’s silly how he’s opening up like this. Jimin harboured wishes: a house by the sea, a humble restaurant with you at the front, bringing in the customers. Some would claim it to be too romantic, tame. His mother chastised him for constructing such lofty ideals, to search for money in something rooted in the sand is recipe for disaster she said. She was warning him about the customers being as fickle as the seasons. Jimin smiled politely, burning on the inside to prove her wrong. Although, its been years since any development regarding that. He’s been on the road for longer than he’d like.
“We could buy a plot of land, then we could build a restaurant.”
So far, you were paying him your undivided attention. While you hold his gaze, you play with his fingers, your thumb on the clasp of his watch. You’re harder to read when there’s a simmering excitement in your demeanour. The silence is too long, prompting him to fill it, to sellhis dream to you.
“It could be good. We won’t see the same face twice, we’re always busy, we’ll sleep well fed, we’d never be bored by the sea -”
You give him a look that he could guess as skeptical. You flick your thumb upwards causing his watch strap to unfasten. It falls down his arm, then you slide it back, closing the mechanism.
“You know this from experience?”
Jimin waits until your lips break into a smile. Relief comes that you’re not actually amused athim, at least that’s what he tells himself.
“I’ve worked at a couple of places before getting here but owning my own hours, feeding people good food - I’ll always come back to that.”
You stand up, hopping on one foot, twirling and totally disinhibited.
“And what would I do there?”
Without hesitating, Jimin says, “you’d be the face of the restaurant.”
You hand him his shirt back, he shoves his arms through, “you have a lot of faith in me.”
Jimin shakes his head, buttoning to the lowest level of decency. That meant three buttons unattended to, making the upper parts of his shirt gape.
“You’d be the one people would come and see, you’d know which drinks paired with which meals, know what kind of music fit the mood. You’d be the most memorable thing there,” he said, enjoying the way you grew shy.
“Each morning, without fail, we’d head down to the local market and buy the freshest produce, I’d let you choose the fish we need because I know you’d choose something good. We’ll end the day with a glass of wine by the beach, stroll along the coast as the sun sets. Me and you, barefoot. It’ll be bliss.”
It’s so vivid to him, he can feel the weight of the bags from the market on his fingers, the sour drop of wine on his tongue. He wriggles his toes as if sand had settled in the web, he’s grinning now because it’s all real. Across the room, you’re biting the skin of your thumb as you lean on the enormous speaker.
“And you’ve planned this with me in mind too?”
It’s a happy accident that his dream has room for you, he could grasp it so clearly which was why it came out in an effortless paragraph.
“We could drive all night, we’d be there in four hours. In fact, we could be by the sea by midday.”
Your expression falters suddenly, you’re teeth bites on the skin more firmly. Jimin braces himself because your eyes sparkle with a distinct edge to them.
“Do you love me, Min?”
Does he?
He plays it by ear, “I could. I want to.”
It doesn’t go well. You remove your hand near your mouth and twist your body away slightly, “what’s that supposed to mean? I thought you wanted me, that you were sick of feeling broken from not being with me.”
Jimin clenches his jaw, springing up to sit straighter, the creases at the elbow of his shirt make it harder to gesture, “it means that I can’t do that in this house. I can’t love you in the way I want to here.”
“Why? You need to explain that to me.”
It’s not the whinging that gets him, it’s the fact that his dream disappeared in the gulf you created. The lack of foresight, of yourforesight is a reminder.
“Your father.”
What he really wanted to say was what he knew: you were both different. It’s not the kind of different that can easily be surmounted by compromise, it’s fated and runs across generations. He surrenders to the reality he’s ensnared in.
“It wouldn’t work anyway,” he said, hanging his head. Apparently, that concerned you so you come back to straddle him. The glitter on your skin has scattered, some shimmer on the tip of your nose.
“It could,” you murmured, your lips ghosting over his, making his eyes close.
For a moment, he let’s himself be fooled that it’s all possible.
“We could build something together, make it real,” he replied, gaining some confidence in between hungry kisses. You giggled as his hands frame your face, the slip of your tongue is playful.
“You’re so serious about this,” you said, “you want to be like someone who employs others, earn your own keep. You’ll be like me then.”
Jimin knows it’s all in jest, that your words were meant to match your actions but that stings a little. His reply comes out before he could stop himself.
“It’s not possible for me to be like you.”
Another kiss, innocent.
“Why not?”
Pulling away, there’s a smile that edges your lips that he wanted to fade.
“Because I would have earned everything myself.”
A beat passes, you give out the softest of exhales, your brows pinching together.
“If that wasn’t so glaringly true I’d actually be offended.”
Jimin’s not sure if he’s crossed the line. Then again, what happened tonight crosses all of the thresholds. You laugh it off, getting up and wandering around again. The cerulean colour on your toenails appear like jelly.
“But seriously, how much have you planned about this restaurant by the sea?”
“I’ve planned enough,” he replied, moving towards you, cradling you in his arms. He feels you melt, going all limber.
“Well could you love me then?”
He doesn’t hesitate, “yes.”
You fall back on the couch together, giddy with dreams. He kisses your forehead, the tip of your nose, the apples of you cheeks. Then came the column of your neck, sweet skin that was his moments ago. He feels drunk on you, hands smoothing at your sides through the jacket that he lent you, sighing at your quiet moans.
“Have you got any?”
Bewildered, he asks, “any what?”
Nervousness is clear on your face, you toy with the collar of his shirt, “money?”
Quick on his feet, he lunges for an answer, “I have some saved. But I have other capital that’s worth more.”
“What other capital?”
Sensing another moot point, he keeps his distance, “you know, I have the skills I’ve picked up, I have the experience - ”
If you weren’t so close, he’d think that he saw you roll your eyes at him.
“Min, you can’t build a restaurant on experience,you can’t balance books on skill alone, where’s the money going to come from?”
Desperate for his dream not to sink so soon, he tucks your hair behind your ear, untangles what he could of your necklaces, “which is whyI need a partner who can provide the funds.”
“And where is this partner that you need at such short notice?”
Jimin bites his lip before speaking, “I mean, you must have something hidden away somewhere, maybe - ”
Abruptly, you untangle yourself from him, “hidden what? Have what? Do you mean cash at hand? People I know who will bend at my every whim?”
He’s silent and takes to buttoning the rest of his shirt up.
“Do you think it’s my choice to move back here? Do you think I’m back sleeping in my childhood bedroom voluntarily?” You complete this with a rough push of your fingers through your hair. “Min, I feel so… defective.If I had what you needed, do you think I’d still be living here?”
Staunch in his belief, he gets up and tries to wrangle you back in his arms, “you’re not really telling me that you have nothing at all, you must have something.”
You turn to him, scoffing, “what you’re looking for, and let’s call it what it is - my inheritance - is in a trust. I can’t just access it whenever I want.”
“But it’s yours, they can’t keep it from you -”
“Everything that I’ve inherited from -” you faltered for a moment, Jimin watches you blink back something he can’t read, “everything I’ve inherited from heris locked up in a trust. That’s the whole point of it, it’s to stop me from acting all reckless, like this,” you said, pointing generally to the room. “The process takes ago too, months even.”
Jimin deflates, “well, nothing happens then. We can’t do anything.” He makes for the door that leads to the kitchen, riled up for a reason he’d like to keep to himself.
Summary:The party carries on but you and Jimin settle in the kitchen. Talking seems better than dancing anyway.
Warnings/Tags: RATED T for language; references to alcohol; Jimin’s a chauffeur (yesss); the reader still isn’t having a very good time at all; more references to shitty techno-pop music; blood (nothing major because it’s tended to through finger sucking, yes, you got that right); nothing like mean-spirted banter to get things going; and dreams!it gets a little introspective; also there’s pining (surprise!); risqué ending if you ask me (seriously); angst - non-idol!AU.
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To be alone with you is rare, Jimin thinks. Since he’s technically under your father’s orders, he doesn’t get moments like these often. It’s mostly a mere brush in the hallway, or the occasional drop off or pick up at the airport. Sometimes, he might have a conversation with you about the weather, your next appointment, even the state of the gardens on the rooftop. You liked to compliment him yet it’s never amounted to more than surface-level chatter. He was fine with that, fine with being the only one doing the perceiving.
“Nice shirt,” you said, laying on the table, gaze to the spotlights above.
“You’re doing it again,” Jimin replied, finding a smile on his face.
“Doing what?”
“Flattering me.”
For a few seconds, nothing happens. Time crawls; he isn’t sure if he’s done anything wrong or gone too far.
“Flatter you?”
“It’s either you’re exaggerating or you want something from me. Either way, it’s flattery,” he explains, unlike what he would usually do, which was to shut up and go about his day.
“How old are you again? You’re so formal when you speak.”
You turn your head in time for Jimin to see you don a lazy smile. You get this tone in your voice, you get timid and he guesses that it’s to appear sanguine. Daftly, he ropes himself into believing it, comfortable that at least here,while the speakers are ran through upstairs and the nobodies wreck the space, he can get to know you.
“Twenty-seven.”
“Ah, I see, you’re close to thirty already,” you grinned, gathering your body up, spine reverting upright. Both straps fall, Jimin sees the way your skin glows under the artificial lighting. His insides buzz, alone in this tension.
“Not that old, and I’m not formal,” he muttered, assuming Taehyung’s role in making the kitchen his. There weren’t many things to do, he curses Taehyung for being so diligent. Why did he even like the idea of being alone with you?
“Beg to differ, Ahjussi.I can imagine you driving around father’s minions as they whisper in the back seat. I bet you know Russian! How about a couple of phrases in Chinese? Don’t tell me you’re not fluent by now,” you said, he sees the drink in your hand, the slice of lime floats pathetically near the top. Jimin doesn’t reply because he doesn’t know how.It’s affronting to be met with your perception of him. Nonchalant, you take a long gulp of the clear liquid, the lime hitting your lips.
“How long have you been working here, Min?”
Again, there’s that damn banmalthat sends Jimin’s pulse quickening.
“You know this,” he replied, coming off a little hurt. The rim of the glass is pressed against your chin, your eyes seem genuinely lost as they blink at the floor. He sees your lashes, wet with dew.
“I do?”
Jimin remembers his first day, fumbling with the knot in his tie being too tight. You were with a few friends, young and laughing too loudly that the sound echoed in the high ceilings. He passed by but you didn’t take notice of him at all. The first car was a Mercedes, quietly luxurious and set low near the ground. Your father was gracious and forgave his early mistakes with a slight wave, It’s alright, the traffic is worse on the other side of the bridge anyway. Jimin recalls the shine of your father’s signet ring choking the pinky finger, a family crest engraved in gold. His own father wore shoes till the soles gave up to the sidewalk. Jimin was able to buy him a decent watch when he got his fifth pay check. After taxes, it’s actually the sixth.
“You were on a break from college -”
“Oh no! I leftcollege during that time, couldn’t stand it. Wait… that was three years ago.”
The recognition is stark on your face, Jimin nods.
“We’ve known each other for ages,” you said, swaying a little as you walked an unsure path in the kitchen. You weren’t wearing any shoes and your toenails were painted a cerulean blue. Jimin relaxes against the counter while you finished your drink. He sees the way your throat expands and contracts. It’s not meant to be erotic but it stirs something similar in him all the same.
More silence occurs so he treads towards you, the backs of his thighs cut by the blunt curve of the table as he rests. When you turn, it’s like you were on the verge of laughter but it leaves you, your features ironing out.
“Do you have someone?”
Jimin stares and stares. In the back of his mind is a sunlit garden, the flutter of the breeze and the feeling of peace at the fact that there was nowhere to go. You flick the straps of your top back up, he notes the details of you. The delicate layer of necklaces, the way your fingers are adorned by rings apart from where they should be. The diamond studs by your ears and the divot between your collarbones where the scent of your perfume would be the strongest.
“Almost,” he said.
Your eyebrows shoot up, the subtle tug of your mouth downwards he takes a victory. Taehyung’s laugh is loud, it breaks his trance, causing him to shove his hands into his pockets. There wasn’t much room since the trousers he wore were fitted.
“Was she good to you to at least?” You asked, holding him hostage with your gaze.
Jimin doesn’t know what to say.
“Was she?” You reiterate, hand clenching over the empty glass. The lime slides and knocks against its walls as your smile returns, though he deems it to be more robotic; the kind you give to guests. “good?”
The tension is shared but he waits. Then your features come alive, your hand shoots out to invite him.
“Sit down, Min. C’mere.”
Jimin wished he had consumed something to help alleviate this burning temperature inside. He stands still, sees you take up space on the tufted chair, one of the straps dropping again.
“You’re allowing me to sit?”
“Oh c’mon on, don’t be difficult,” you exclaimed, patting the backrest of the empty seat. Before he could settle however, you flick your hand.
“Actually, wait, get me another refill,” you said, tone clear and authoritative. The obedient part of Jimin’s brain lights up, his ass doesn’t even touch the seat before he’s springing into action.
“What do you want?”
Craning your head, you end up waving vigorously, “anything you can get your hands on.”
Jimin grabs the hefty bottle of champagne, swiftly pouring the golden fizz into a spare flute.
“Have one with me, please!” You exclaimed, stretching out, the skirt falling open to reveal your legs. Jimin ignores you and controls the portion to a level that he’s seen Taehyung serve. You snatch another flute and knocks the one he’s pouring into to the side.
“Can’t - driving later.”
You rolled your eyes, caressing the rim of the thin glass till it sang.
“It’sonedrink, Min. Go on, I bet father won’t even call you, he’s got a deal going on.”
At that, Jimin feels a certain calm go over him. Your eyes sparkle conspiratorially, raising the flute from the stem.
“Let’s toast!”
He laughs a little, weightless in his next action.
“To what?” He asked, lips tingling for that buzz, the prickle of the fruity bubbles bursting in his throat. You inhale deeply, raising the glass higher still.
“Who else? To me.”
Sprawling in his seat, Jimin cocks his head and arches his brow. You seem to take it the wrong way.
“Is that selfish?” You asked, unsure again, scratching a spot on your forehead that didn’t need attending to. “I mean, it is my birthday. Someoneshould at least toast me even if I have to be the one doing it.”
The air doesn’t crackle this time, instead it becomes listless, as if you were in the stratosphere. You press your lips together, humming as the flute in your hand is held in a weak grip. It comes in flashes, your sadness. Jimin spares you the indignity of begging so he too raised his glass.
“To you.”
Another smile, a grateful one, one that he decides to frame in his mind.
“Thanks.”
After a moment of reluctance, you drink together. Interestingly, the liquid doesn’t scald as he had hoped. What does is the way your stare holds him, irises blown out, skin dewy as your breath mists the inside of the glass. You think everything is easy, I want to know how that feels, his mind blares.
Conversations are louder now, which makes him spring up from his position, the bottom of the flute crashing on the surface of the table. He wipes his mouth with a rough drag of his hand, focusing on the matter at present. Unbothered, you finished your drink.
“Those people up there? They’re not who they claim to be, you know,” he said.
It’s a curse that he has, he can’t help himself. If his family had enough money orif he was smart enough to knock all out all the competitors for a scholarship, he would have been a prosecutor. An interlocutor telling people what’s right or wrong. But, like all dreams that come to pass, he keeps it and calls it part of his character.
The flute in your hand lowers to a muted clink.
“What are you talking about?”
Stopping himself from laughing at the ridiculousness of your inquiry, he gestures vaguely to the entryway.
“Did you not see how they look at you? Don’t you hear what they say when they think you aren’t listening?”
You tuck your hair behind your ear but he sees it, he sees the way your fingertips tremble.
“What were they saying?” You asked, your tone light, like you were merely asking for directions.
It’s easy to accept that the world is flawed but breaking that news to others is often the harder task, his father said once.
“C’mon, tell me,” you urged, blinking rapidly. The dew on your eyelashes might as well have been tears. Jimin bites his lip, scratching the back of his neck.
“I don’t want to…”
You cross your legs, tucking yourself inwards, “what? Think you’d hurt me?”
A beat passes, Jimin finds it difficult to counter that fact.
“If you didn’t want that to happen then why bring it up in the first place?”
There’s a certain boldness that Jimin could access here that would otherwise be unavailable to him in other circumstances. He walks towards you.
“Just tell me, Min! Why be such a tease about this,” you said, frustration edging your tone. You slip the strap of your top up brusquely.
“You have to pay more attention when you’re around people or when you’re in a room,” he said, palm up, forearm articulating outwards. You press your knees together, brows pinching in a way that forces a part in your lips too.
“I don’t -” he stops himself for the moment, “youdon’t want people to take advantage of you.”
The movement in your face is incremental as you drink his caution in, it’s like a reluctant administration of medicine. But what happens next makes his hands go all clammy. You lean away from him, fingers loosely webbed on the table.
“What if I don’t mind people… taking advantage of me?”
Jimin casts a look at the gyrating shadows cast on the exposed hallway behind you. Technicolour warnings flash in his mind: where the fuck is Taehyung? Why isn’t his phone lighting up with orders to go to the business district and pick your father up, stat?
“We shouldn’t be alone like this,” he said, fumbling for something to centre himself. The party has gone on for way too long, he wants the shitty techno-pop to make a mess of his eardrums, he wants the smooth texture of a steering wheel in his hands.
“Why?” You asked, leg come out suddenly, the cerulean tips of your toenails touch the back of his hand. You flick your foot at him and he doesn’t resist.
“We shouldn’t be alone,” he emphasises, making a grab for your arm. Your wallet flies out and you give a shrill shriek. The small plastic sleeve of snow slides out and he kicks at it until it slips where it’s unreachable. He’s strong enough to hold you while you thrash in his arms, cursing him loudly.
“Don’t dothat,” he said through gritted teeth, biceps bulging through his shirt as he restrains you.
“Why? Are you worried? Worried that you’d lose your precious gig of driving my father - fuck,just let me go,” you gasped, but your act wanes and you wilt while whinging about things that didn’t matter. Confident that you weren’t going to try anything funny, he does let you go and you stand up, hugging your arms close to yourself. His phone flashes but it’s just another notification from Naver.
“Waiting to be summoned?” You asked, petulant.
Liberal with his silences, Jimin scrolls and scrolls.
“Can’t he order a taxi-service? It’s soboring for you to be at his beck-and-call all the time, he’s so fucking lazy,” you said, vulgar in the image you portray. Jimin smiles, eyes on the surface of his palm. Lines are cut deep on pale-pink skin, some patches are rough and dry though. When he rubs his fingertips together, they sound like fine grains rushing against each other.
“Why are you smiling?” You asked, grinning yourself.
“You really wanna know?”
“Yes,” you said, perching on the table, bare feet on the sticky leather seat.
“Because you’re gullible - naive.”
You don’t even let that simmer, pressing your hand on your forehead, disturbing your smooth skin into corrugated folds.
“Don’t you think I know that already? But I don’t think you’ve used the right words…”
“What’s the right one then?” Jimin asked, looking up at you as you rub your fingers over your collarbone, your free hand whipping your skirt for more access underneath. Jimin follows each tic, each change in movement till it takes root in him. He becomes hyperaware of his pulse, the sweat trickling from the nape of his neck down the inside of his collar. He’s warm in a drunk kind of way, cheeks likely hot to the touch.
“Weird,” you said, wistful. “I feel really weird,” you said, waving your hand in a tight circle rather dramatically. “That’s what I actually am: weird.”
One summer, Jimin remembers seeing you come home in a strop, throwing your belongings against the wall. An hour later, you were laughing over the phone, kicking your feet up in delight, the phone close to your ear as you ate chips. Back then, Taehyung wasn’t there to fill him in but he saw your sport’s equipment going all mouldy at the entrance on his way to the parking lot. That and a dented trophy, its plaque streaked with mud. As he drove out into the roads choking with sleepers behind the wheel, he put two and two together. Your father completed a deal that day.
“What do you mean?” He pries, you turn your attention to a spot in the kitchen, golden accessories glinting as you settled.
“I have this dream. I have it often - like I’m swallowed by something warm. And it’s dark and I can’t move much, but the thing is, it feels really nice? Like it starts off as something comforting… but then I hearsomething, I hear this tiny scratching that escalates…”
Jimin watches you scratch the skin of your thigh, your eyes closed to recall that alcove in your dream. Your lashes spill dew genuine in your terror, your body giving away a rumble of fear that you couldn’t contain.
“And it gets to the point where it’s unbearable, like nails on a chalk board or people banging cutlery on plates, and it gets so bad that I try to scream but the noise overpowers me. It alwaysdoes.”
Enraptured, Jimin clasps his hands together out of concern. Your eyes are still closed, your tone is pained now.
“Then, as if by some miracle, this light arrives, it’s so bright that I try and cover my eyes with my arms, but they’re so so heavy, like I have weights around my wrist, so I haven’t got any choice. And when I scream for help, nothing comes back, and there’s nothing warm on me anymore, all I can feel is this hot flash of heat, this clash of sound and - ”
There was a pause in which the music from the upper floors inject the silence. Jimin knuckles strain due to how hard he was clenching his fists.
“And when I woke up once, I found a feather in my mouth,” you said, laughing. “Must have come from those boa scarves I had hanging off my headboard. Told Tae to throw it away but I guess he forgot.”
You open your eyes, Jimin finally sees that they appear bloodshot and tired. He didn’t realise that he was holding his breath until you muster a wry smile, the cracked fissures in your lips shine wetly from your saliva.
“Have you ever had dreams like that?”
Immediately, he shakes his head, “not like that but I mostly dream that I’m moving.”
Supposing that you were grateful for the break, you lean close and observe him with your shimmering complexion, “how do you mean?”
Sleeping isn’t insurmountable for Jimin; he could do it anywhere. Once, during the days when he used to halve his time between the southern regions, he slept fetal position in a ferry station till the morning because he was late for the last boat. It’s not often that he dreams but when he does, it’s in motion. Running or walking. Like he knows he’s going somewhere but he wakes before knowing wherehe should end up. A fucking nightmare if you asked him to label it. Rubbing his hands together, he swelters under your gaze. The dry sting he feels after every blink signals that he’s more tired than he thinks.
“It’s always like this: I’m either running or walking,going in one direction but it never ends. Like this treadmill, the path disappears under my feet but it’s infinite. I reach out my hands, I try and grab something real - in fact,” he said, getting lost in the narration, gesticulating as if he was building a diorama for you. “Every single time I thinkI have it, like I can taste, smell, and feelit, there’s…nothing.”
Even awake, he couldn’t hold on to it.
“But what is it? What are you trying to get at?” You asked, eyes wide in your search for him. You run your finger along your lip, pushing the pliant skin till your bottom teeth and gum peeked through.
Jimin shrugs, lightly punching his knuckles together, “dunno.”
Jolted, you set your glass down, shaking your limbs, fingers waggling to spur some life in them, “we shouldn’t be talking about this, we’re not even asleep!” Hopping off the table, you clear the space between the table and the small entryway meant to lead up to the roof. “C’mon and watch the sun come up with me.”
There’s a small glass meant for port wine nearby and Jimin tries to stop you from leaping towards it. In his haste, his hand knocks a flute outwards flat on the table till it shatters. Blood drips from his forefinger, vermillion at first, then a deep wine-dark that trickle on the shard. Turns out that you missed the small glass and patter back to him, your gentle hands guiding his arm up, his finger draining a red vein down into the wrist of his shirt.
“You’re bleeding,” you murmured, the heady scent of bergamot descends on him in a mist.
Jimin’s head goes all fuzzy, he’s never been this close to you that he could see finer details on your face, the way your make up kind of looks like second skin, your necklaces are tangled, one pendant is actually a pair of wings. He lets you guide him so that he’s sitting down again, his finger throbs as more blood leaks; he doesn’t dare look.
Then, you lift his hand and it hovers near your lips, his eyes widen as you slip it in your mouth. It feels strange,the slow suck of your lips, your tongue shaping itself so that it forms a ditch in which his finger rests upon. He feels every bump of your tastebuds whereas you’re probably tasting copper. The blood drains and drains and you hold his gaze, the hollows of your cheeks are prominent. You’re not gripping his hand particularly hard yet he shivers as you push his finger out, the digit coated in your spit, your breath fans his palm and he feels something stir between his thighs, he hears a snag of breath that’s actually his.
Your name comes out in a tortured whisper, he watches you tuck your bottom lip under your teeth, the barest pressure on it seems so enticing to admire.
“Stop fucking with me,” he said, his voice hoarse. You narrow your eyes, fickle in your plans.
“I’m not fucking with you.”
A heavy feeling constricts Jimin’s chest, like his heart is too big for his ribcage. He says your name again, stern,“I mean it.”
You were waiting, doe-eyed and jacked-up, it didn’t matter to him the he may have looked like your next high. He almost does it in a lunge, a split second decision to plant his lips on yours in an open-mouthed admission.
The door slams open because Taehyung bounds in, Jimin prises himself away from you, frantically searching for that goddamn dust pan and brush. The handle juts out near the trash can and he makes a grab for it while you nervously pace around.
“Tae!”
“Everything good?” Taehyung asked, elongated eyes flitting between you and Jimin.
“Yeah,” you replied, another flute in your hand. “I’m sorry that the party’s not over yet,” you add belatedly.
“It’s okay, as long as you’re having a good time,” Taehyung said.
“Mhm, I had fun - am having fun.”
Jimin swipes the crumbs onto the odd angle of the dust pan, tapping it into the designated trash.
“Well, if I’m not needed here, I’m heading home for tonight, that okay?”
It’s not apparent to Jimin straightaway that his hands hand had stopped brushing unnecessary debris into the trash. In his peripheries, he sees Taehyung unhook his jacket, a green bomber that Jimin got him during a trip together in Ulsan. The patches were basically ripped off owing to its cheap manufacturing but Taehyung loves it. Jimin constantly said, It looks vintage, right out of some over-priced thrift store. You’ll fit right in if you ever decide to walk along Garosu-gil.
“Yeah, sure! Thanks so much for staying and helping out Tae,” you said, your voice farther away. Taehyung leaves, waving at Jimin at the same time, “drive safe, kay?”
Jimin nods. The music makes its way back into the kitchen again, he clenches his jaw at the sound of another mashup ruining his sacred memories of eighties synth-pop. The lights dim because you pressed something on your phone, you hum inordinately, twirling in a way that balloons your skirt once more.
“I’m gonna tell the rest hanging around to leave,” he announced.
“You’re gonna tell my friends to leave? Why?”
Getting up and running his hands under the faucet, Jimin finds that the chill helps ground him a little, his wound gradually closing up. Music comes through the speakers in the kitchen, the honey vocals of some current ballad singer acts a salve for his nerves. The lyrics are familiar, aided by the timber in the singer’s voice.
“I can’t leave you with them around, you should head to bed.”
Flicking off the faucet, the trail of blood stained water drains into the metal holes. Warmth follows you wherever you go and he feels it near, even through his shirt.
“You’re not here to look after me.”
Water dulls the shine of stainless steel.
“Then don’t act like you need looking after.”
Bloodshot eyes and a wry smile, they’re the same even in the muted light. Jimin doesn’t like this but he’d rather be the one seeing it that those nobodies. He thinks largely about absence, the immensity of it all.
“Do you want him to come home and see you like this? I don’t think you should keep -”
Lambasted, you pull away with a scowl, “don’t you think that his ‘deal’ has turned into something a little more informal? I know my father, he’s a closer. He should have been here hours ago. Maybe he’s holed up in that studio apartment in Hannam right now.”
You watch him with a kind of strength befitting someone unlike what he expects of you. The apartment was newly refurbished, he went there a couple of days ago because he was instructed to drive someone other than you or your father. She was lovely, demure, and young. Still, he doesn’t entertain your suspicion, he decides that it’s not in his place to do so. But you pry and when you do, it’s an ache poorly disguised as venom.
“What? You think I’m clueless about that place?”
This was a time when Jimin would pray for a notification from Naver, he’ll take anything. A dating scandal centring on some poor idol and a model, a secret affair between co-stars, the discovery of a slush-fund from an esteemed politician. But it’s a miracle distraction that isn’t so easily granted, so he fishes his phone out to scroll and scroll.
“He’s not a bad person,” he murmurs, balking from the weight of your stare.
“Sorry?”
“I said that he’s not a bad person,” he said, pocketing his phone. There was nothing interesting apart from an upcoming holiday involving Peppero’s. You cross your arms, making the glittery top contract from the tightness.
“Doesn’t that depend on what you define as ‘bad’? Sounds like your definition is a little… wide.”
Sure, Jimin has seen things and then some in the years that he’s worked for your father. Everyone is looking for a type of love that fits them. Until that happens, you’re reaching for people that feel like home but really aren’t worth a dime. He gets it because it happens. Instead, he says:
“He works a lot. He works hard all the time.”
You snort, ramping up the music as an obnoxious display, “at least he’s getting some. If he’s gonna bail on me on my birthday, he might as well be having his cake and eat it. The poor girl must be suffering though: two-hundred thread count isn’t really Egyptian cotton, is it? I saw the receipt from Lotte World. He’s so fucking stingy.”
Steps interrupt the flow of the ballad, Jimin cocks his head to hear swearing and merriment.
“There must be another party happening,” you said, lowering the volume to a hush.
“What? Right now?”
“Yeah. The others were talking about another one near Itaewon, a friend of a friend is hosting it.”
Jimin hadn’t heard a single name uttered to address those nobodies. Guess he was right.
“Some friends they are,” he said bitterly.
“Look - I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about them that way. You’re not supposed to be here anyway, you don’t work for me tonight. You should be waiting in a car, waiting for my father to ask you to drive him back here so he could see how much of a good time I’m having.”
He says nothing because that’s implicit in the words you said. Then, as if you weren’t used to it, as if you weren’tborn looking down on people as you speak, you retreat, trying to bury your sentences in makeshift quicksand.
“Min, I’m sorry - I didn’t - I didn’t mean what I said just now.”
The thing is, there was a lot that you said just now. Having had enough for the night, he turns on his heel, a headache simmering beneath the skin of his temples. To acknowledge your apology was to bring light to the truth.
“Min - wait.”
It’s not about you being superior that he considers it. More of the fact that there’s a part of you lodged in his rib, there from the moment he saw you, bathed in the glow of the afternoon sun that day. He stops.
“Have you ever had your heart broken?”
Jimin thinks he has.
He thinks that he’s been walking around with his heart cleaved in two all this time.
“Ever had someone leave you like doing that was nothing to them? Ever lose someone you loved so desperately that it knocks the wind out of your lungs?”
You sound wounded. He thinks back to the parking lot, to images of smeared mascara and a runny nose. The unifying and shameful gaze of the downtrodden in the face of rejection. You’re getting too personal and he doesn’t know where to place himself. He wishes Taehyung was here to diffuse the situation. He hears you scoff.
“Didn’t think so.”
“Why would you ask me that?”
Allowing himself to look, he is met with the sight of you wringing your hands together.
“‘Cause you come off as a happy person.”
Another perception of himself that he fails to register. Jimin feels restless not happy. If there was an hourglass meant to represent his time on earth, the grains are falling at a faster speed than normal. He wonders what kind of person you see in him, what his touch means to you altogether.
“Yeah… well, you know, as happy as one can get nowadays,” you said in the face of his silence.
The buzz of his phone breaks his thoughts, if any. He brings it up to his face, Naver shoots out a frosted rectangle that states gas prices are to hike up starting next month.
“I don’t see how that’s got anything to do with anything.”
Just as he pockets his phone, you draw closer, there’s more mirth in your scent than anything. Your hand finds his arm, fingers tightening over fabric, over muscle, over his pulse.
“Tell me it’ll be okay. Tell me that I’ll feel better.”
As if in a trance, he parrots your plea, “you’ll be okay. You’ll feel better.”
Perhaps he needed to hear it too.
Then there’s that distance again, as wide as a gulf. You worry the waistband of your skirt, twisting it inwards. Frantic, you speed to the counter, pour another drink into a spare glass, there are no limes this time. Jimin presses his palms of the hard table, no matter how much force he puts, it barely shudders.
“It’ll pass.”
And when you look at him there’s a sense of finality in your fear, he couldn’t quite place it. An emotion that looked like a nobody; a faceless being in the ether. He thinks he’s known it before, that fleeting kiss of loneliness, as striking and black ice on a clear, November day.
“How do you know that? You can’t possibly know that, you can’t -”
You’re cradling the glass close as if it’s something precious. Jimin takes a step forward, waits for a beat before letting it out.
“I know what you felt, I’ve experienced it before.”
You don’t drink anything, setting the glass down in a loud clink.
“What have you felt?”
Jimin doesn’t hesitate this time, meeting you in the eye.
“Love.”
You wipe your nose roughly, the dew in your lashes touches the skin under your eyes as you blink.
“You?”
He crosses his arms, “is that something that surprises you?”
You shake your head, “it’s not that. It’s just… you don’t seem like the type of person who gives anything away.”
He retreats.
“It’s not like you know me.”
Sensing something wrong afoot, you approach him in slow steps, “that’s why I said ‘seem’.” You sit back down on a chair, luxuriating on the tough leather, the strap slinking down again. The curve on your shoulder where your bones connect under skin reflect fragments of glitter brushed over it. “Who was she?”
Jimin turns and observes his shadow along the wall, he sees the sunlit garden, remembers being cocooned in the pocket of a second where he could stop doing anything and there were no consequences awaiting him. In his rumination, nothing had changed in his surroundings, the kitchen is still the same, your disposition is buttery and he feels like mush. Being sapped from energy makes him like that: docile. He looks at you knowing that his face is impassive, if not irritated. It’s a fine line to balance.
“Well fine, if you don’t want to -”
“You.”
As if scalded, you rise from your seat and step back. The glass makes its way into the cradle of your hand, the liquid is clear but potent. He knows because his temple throbs on reflex. Restless, you float back to the seat, the gulf between you constricts, holding tension.
“When?”
Jimin digs his hands in his pockets, the left grasping the cool metal of his phone, the right clenching into a fist. You’ve done it now, he thinks.
“Min, when did you feel like that?”
There’s only time now, in this kitchen. Time he doesn’t want to waste.
“I had been working for your father for a couple of weeks and I’d never been invited up before, but he said it’ll be a while till he had to leave again. That wasn’t normal, I usually hang around the driver’s quarters but I found myself at the foot of the spiral steps that led to the roof.”
Sunlit garden.
Fractals of light bouncing off you, the light breeze animating the leaves. It was so bright that he had to shield his eyes.
You in the middle, divine like it was your birthright.
“And I knew your father could see me staring and I expected him to tell me to go back downstairs but he waved me away right as he answered the phone. I walked up and… it was so bright that afternoon, the garden was paradise. I’d never seen anything like it in my life.”
You wear a fond smile in front of him and he joins in, held together by a shared memory. He doesn’t tell you that before the calm that settled over him there was the feeling of strangeness, like he walked in on something private. It was the fact that you were so still, like a mannequin, back turned away from him, staring at a point in the horizon that only you could see. Your face was titled upwards, kissed softly by the rays of sun.
“The garden is pretty in the summer,” you said. Jimin bites his lip to gather himself.
“I saw you before anything else actually. The sunlight touching your face, you were…”
“What? I was what?” You asked, blinking slowly, the glass far away from your lips. It’s followed by that half smile that Jimin mirrors.
“I’d never seen anyone appear so… right. Like nothing was out of place, like nothing could touch you in that moment.”
He sees a slight shiver course through you as you inhaled through your mouth. More rapidly this time, you blink and your eyelashes come away wet, there’s a tremor in your chin that he picks up even though you tried to conceal it in a watery smile.
“When did you say this was again, Min?”
“I told you - a couple of weeks after I was employed.”
Your hand clasps your chin, brows scrunching in an effort to see what he saw, “I can’t remember what I was doing up there, maybe I was -”
Jimin recalls paper scattered in a semi-circle decorated by the fluorescent green squares of Post-it notes.
“There was a lot of paper with you.”
“Ah, I was writing…” you said, filling up the puzzle pieces he’d been missing all this time. “At least I was tryingto write. Why didn’t you come to me and say hi? You could have introduced yourself.”
Jimin shakes his head, fidgeting again, “I felt like I was intruding. Besides, I didn’t want to disturb whatever you were doing.”
You were writing amidst the stillness of the moment.
“Intruding? I wouldn’t have thought so, especially not during that time.”
He wanted to say something but stops himself. He stays in the silence again since he knows that there was a rapid changeover in staff of which he was a part of during that time. Your father said something about needing a fresh start; he understands that there’s more to it, heard snippets of conversations while he drove along the length of the Han. He stops there though, too afraid to ask or know.
Laughter crashes through the space, there was no longer any techno-pop music. Footsteps grow close, your name becomes interlaced in the eruption of noise, they must be coming from the pool, Jimin guessed. They call for you in synchronised squawks.
“Shit, hide!”
Jimin recoils,“why? I’ll just tell them to leave. Wait here.”
“No, I don’t want them to find me, just come and hide with me.”
Whenever he looks at you, he doesn’t feel fastened to reality. And when you touch him, it gets infinitesimally more intense. You grab at him, your grip firm on his bicep. Bergamot and mirth is what he wears tonight along with his wrinkled suit.
“Please -”
It happens when you pull and he pushes.
The kiss is warm, wet, and everything he’s ever allowed himself to dream of.
He tastes the tang of limes and the sweet, glacé cherries from the cocktails you’ve drunk. Then he comes to know something else. Something that ignites heat in his body, maybe it was the small sounds that you made, the tiny gasps and whimpers as he presses himself, crushing the space, your back meeting the wall in a muffled thump.
Whatever it was, it’s full of ardour spurred by his own greed.
His hands come down, feeling the different textures: skin, fabric, then skin.
You moaned in his mouth and sounded so right,his heart leaps, scrabbling fingertips finding your heat. The narrow entryway is dark and you bump along it like a pinball without force. The way his name sounds, full and long in a breathy gasp: Jimin.
Maybe it’s because he may have blurred fascination with love that it feels good.
The faceless nobody that encroaches on you both disappears into its ether for the moment.
You reach a spare room, the decoration matching the modern interior of the rest of the house. It’s quiet and private, an island off the vast continent that is your home.
There’s a moment before it all sets off. The kind that people coined as the point beforethe point of no return. Jimin looks down at you, panting, straps pooling down your arms, heavy golden skirt splayed on the sheets. So much skin is still covered, waiting for him to explore, to taste.The distance was the final gulf that begged to be surmounted. He asks but it’s gentle, he didn’t want to crowd you.
You speak so softly that it almost gets lost in the roar of his heartbeat.
Summary:There’s a party that roars in Gangnam. It’s your birthday and Jimin looks on, wondering why things are the way they are.
Warnings/Tags: RATED T for language; references to alcohol; a badbreakup; vmin being best friends; Taehyung is v soft here; Jimin’s a chauffeur (yes, I know lmao); the reader isn’t having a very good time at all; starts off a little bleak, then carries on in the same tune; it’s all about those simmering feelings imho; references to shitty techno-pop music; there’s cake though!; angst; non-idol!AU.
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The penthouse in Gangnam pulses with strobe lights on its uppermost floor. Jimin thinks that the bright shock of colours in the several row of windows would make an unusually artificial break in the inky sky. He watches the party from a secluded corner, mostly in the shadows. The glass in his hand was already sweating, the surface of the drink vibrating along with the jarring techno-pop flooding from the speakers.
In the centre, you’re dancing with a bunch of nobodies, writhing under the host of colours that flashed on the planes of your face. You had his stupid smile on to compliment that hazy look in your eye while you draped yourself onto the next available person. Together, you whirl in this dance that he likens to chaos. The skirt you wore was long and gold, the slit at the side allowing for generous access to the bare skin of your leg. Your top was really just a strip of glittery fabric across your chest, secured by equally flimsy straps.
Jimin frowns.
Another person - likely a stranger from the long list of nobodies on your contact list - decides to make you drink something. You come away with an even stupider smile, lurid in the way the corners of your mouth flick up.
“You’ll stick out like a sore thumb if you don’t at least move ‘Chim,” Taehyung said, near enough to register.
Setting his drink on a space, Jimin cards his hand through his hair. The suit he wore despite being cotton was rough on his skin, his collar a little too tight.
“I have to leave in a while anyway,” he replied, low enough to make it seem like he was talking to himself. Taehyung sighs, moving along with the crowd, picking up more drinks than what he was setting down. Jimin looks on till he disappears, entering another door.
The music changes, a mash-up of a track from the nineties and something abhorrent. But you were enjoying it, jumping on your feet, arms to the sky, head lolling in a slow roll. The smile stays plastered on your face, and while he was too far away to know for sure, your pupils are blown wide, afflicted by a self-administered elixir meant to last the beyond this night. A glance at his watch showed that he had time to spare before heading down the basement. There was no use in drinking if his job involved him being behind the wheel.
Taehyung appears again, this time hooking his arm through his and he lets himself get dragged along backwards, his attention on you never wavering. The last thing he sees before the wall divides the scene was your arm slinging over someones neck, the sliver of your tongue on their skin. You’ve always sought pleasure but tonight he thinks there’s a harder edge to it. Heat coils in the pit of his stomach, he gets a hold of himself and shrugs off Taehyung, who only rolls his eyes.
“There’s some cake downstairs.”
On the way out, your eyes meet but he isn’t so sure if you recognised him through the haze.
-
As always, Jimin sees Taehyung being busy. The party rages throughout the floors, shaking the foundations of the apartment. Jimin observes him slide numerous cakes out from their flimsy boxes. Aligned neatly, he reads the usual birthday greetings in careful cursive, the icing is consistent, lacking any bubbles. Most of the ones laid out were framed with decorative additions, some having a red border or edible wreathes. Jimin thinks it all looks florid against the obsidian surface of the kitchen counter.
“She’s acting so wild tonight,” he said, grabbing a few abandoned glasses and lowering them into the sink.
Taehyung yanks the door of the dishwasher, grimacing at the moist steam that breathes onto his face. Jimin hands him a couple of plates waiting nearby. Taehyung takes them wordlessly, stacking them on the meshed tray, the sleeves of his white shirt are wrinkled as they nestle on the crook of his elbow. Jimin checks his watch and takes out his phone.
“Still nothing yet?” Taehyung asked, resurfacing with his cheeks a little rosy from the effort.
Jimin shakes his head, dragging a smaller cake towards him. In mint green lettering, it read ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY DARLING, HAVE A GOOD ONE.’ He dips his finger right in the middle, scooping a sizeable dollop and licking it right after. Taehyung shakes his head but makes no move to stop him.
“He should really have been here, it’s been hours,” Taehyung said.
“He’s busy, it’s not like he can leave at the drop of the hat,” Jimin muttered, his temples ringing suddenly.
The kitchen was all black marble and grey accents but he sought the plush interior of a car, the muted lights embedded on the dashboard. Taehyung scrapes his nail at the border of the cake, taking the mint green frosting with it. He sucks on his finger, his brows creasing subtly.
“He could have at least been here for the toast thenleft, she would have appreciated that -”
Jimin takes another dip with his finger, sullying the letters until it read ‘PPY BIRTHD DAR.’ The frosting melts on his tongue, the mint is barely noticeable. It was like eating mild fluoride meant for kids.
“The deals take a while. Besides, he’s working with unfamiliar clients - that doubles the time needed to complete everything,” Jimin replied, running his tongue over his teeth.
“Really? That’s the best you can come up with for him?” Taehyung challenged, his tone dry. Jimin remains unfairly level-headed and practical, he gives a dismissive shrug and wanders around the space, fingers trailing over the chrome handles of the drawers.
“She doesn’t need her father to breathe down her shoulder all the time and she seems like she’s having a good time anyway.”
Not too far off, there was a clear sound of door slamming and unapologetic laughter. Jimin’s frown returns as he hears a few ‘hoots’ and clapping. He assumes that the door stays propped open as more of that fucking techno-pop drivel intrudes the kitchen.
“I don’t think that’s the case,” Taehyung argues. Jimin’s jaw clenches, he’s in half a mind to stride over to the upper floors and seal the clamour shut.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t think she’s having a good time at all,” Taehyung supplied, busy again with unloading a separate dishwasher. The steam doesn’t bother him this time, his hands are efficient and deploys several plates and glasses in quick succession. Jimin disagrees.
“She was dancing all over the place, with that - that man, the one who’s always around her.”
Taehyung’s brows shoot up so much that they disappear under his bangs.
“You mean the DJ? They’re friends, he offered to do this gig for free.”
Ignoring the rational explanation, Jimin crosses his arms tightly over his chest, “the music isn’t worth a single won anyway.”
At that, Taehyung laughed.
“She was dragging him around and he was pushing her off at some point,” Jimin started again, blinking at the memory of you being passed around because you couldn’t stand by yourself for a couple of minutes while disinhibited. He lets his gaze travel down to his shoes, pristine with barely any creases. “It’s embarrassing to watch,” he finished. When he looks up, Taehyung scoffed, slamming the dishwasher shut. But Jimin wasn’t done, tailing his friend to drive his point home.
“You know earlier, when she saw me, she tried to get me to dance with her, then…” he paused, gathering the fragments of the moment in his mind. Your unnaturally strong grip on his wrist as you dragged him into the belly of the crowd, eyes bright and smile wide. Your touch was clammy over his, nails cutting an impression for the few seconds he couldn’t control himself. “I’ve never seen her get thisbad.”
It was Taehyung’s turn to ignore him, getting up to swipe more kitchenware into the sink.
“How many guests are left?”
Jimin shrugs but he had taken a mental note of the people hanging around, “dunno, like fifteen or twenty?”
The sound of your voice pierces the silence in the conversation. It was a loud cheer, a vague plea to keep the music on. And so, the bass thumps the speakers and trickles into the sanctuary of the kitchen. Jimin sighed deeply.
“She’s always been… vibrant, you know? But this year… it’s been tough for her,” Taehyung said, relentless in the way he was wiping down the countertop.
Jimin thinks that Taehyung should have gone to college, been somebody.Not someone who lives with his tail between his legs, picking up after you and bending over backwards to tend to your every whim. Jimin knew he was stuck, caught between the world and an even harder place. He doesn’t like thinking it but it’s there: Taehyung’s too soft for reality.
“Tough?” He inquired, curious as to what could possibly lead you this much astray.
“Yeah - the whole thing hit her harder than what she’s showing us - them,” Taehyung replied.
Jimin puffed out a big breath, turning so that he could have another morsel of cake. He messes with the surface so much that what’s left after his conquest was ‘AVE A GOOD O.’ His fingers come away from his mouth shiny and dries tackily.
“I thought that Jeon kid proposed to her last month.”
Taehyung shrugs, tilting his head so that his hair didn’t get in the way, “no idea.”
A crash resounds in the space, more laughter, the music pounds, pounds, and pounds.Neither make a move to check, that was beyond the scope of what they’re asked for within these walls.
“She doesn’t seem sad, not to me,” Jimin countered, flashes of your stupid smile wrecks through his mind. You almost seemed insultingly happy these days.
“I think that she’s ashamed, ‘Chim.”
Jimin sighed forcefully, laughing to himself.
“That’s a bullshit if I ever heard any.”
Taehyung shoves a couple of cakes so that they’re crowded together, the base cardboards in scalloped trim touch at the sides.
“Of course you don’t believe it.”
Jimin’s mouth twists a little, unsure if Taehyung is privy to what he knows. Thinking about his wording, he throws caution to the wind anyway. Gossiping about employers was nothing new and gossiping about theiremployers has always resulted in more intrigue than answers. It’s like being trapped in a permeant illusion: he thinks that he knows you but you’re just an apparition in the end.
“I saw it. I saw what happened between them,” he said. Taehyung’s eyes widen slightly then narrowed.
“Why play around it then? And why not believe that she’s ashamed after what you saw?”
“How do you know that it went badly?” Jimin asked, “‘sides, I don’t think I was meant to see any of it.”
Taehyung sighed, parting his lips so that Jimin saw him rest the tip of his tongue on the smooth interior of his mouth.
“I pick up after her, I clean where she works, sleeps, and hangs out. She cries when she thinks that no one else is looking. C’mon, tell me ‘Chim.”
It was an ordinary evening, Jimin was meant to pick up your father but got shuttled off to drive you instead. Everything was fine up until you reached the basement parking lot. He had parked the car at a safe enough distance. What he saw was a kind of bloated anger that serrated through you. It was memorable only because it ended unexpectedly. He couldn’t forget the sight of you on your knees, a snivelling heap, fingers clutching at the sleeve of the heir to the Jeon Group. He had to look away, counting the threads on the leather interior until it reached thirty before you were impatiently yanking at the door handle to the passenger seat. Mascara streaked down your cheeks, you sniffed more times than you spoke.
The fucking bastard didn’t even spare a single glance, shooting off in his expensive white Lamborghini before you could even buckle your seatbelt.
“That Jeon kid broke it off. Was an asshole about it too, to the point where she was begging for him to take her back.”
Jimin edited the scene into a couple of sparse words as Taehyung couldn’t wait for him to begin, arranging a couple of the bouquets delivered earlier in a presentable row. Though Jimin preferred if people were doing something while he was speaking, takes the pressure of getting his words right.
“Fuck - really?” Taehyung asked, stopping his fidgety fingers from doing anymore, “I feel sorry her. Where was it?”
Jimin thinks that it doesn’t matter. The emotions were the same. He remembers you being unable to look at him in the eye on the drive back, you were so flustered that you sat in the front rather than the back. He wished that the tremor in your hands were from his imagination but everything was so clear that night, shame dripping over you like a heavy oil spill, coating your wings stiff.
“Seoul Tower. In the parking lot.”
“And you still think that she’s not ashamed?” Taehyung asked, leaning on the counter and resting his pruned fingers on the cool marble. Jimin noticed that the most of the dishes by the sink were now drying.
“I only said that because if she wasashamed, she wouldn’t have gotten on her knees and begged. That’s the whole point of it: shame doesn’t let you do things like that.”
Silence settles like a heavy force over them. Jimin wished he hadn’t said it but it’s out there now. He makes his way to the discrete wine rack, tugging the door open and taking out a bottle of Pétrus. The year is printed at 1921. Taehyung tried to lunge forward but Jimin is agile and spins away, smiling for what he thinks is the first time tonight.
“No! ‘Chim, stop -”
Fortunately, the kitchen is large enough for them to start this sparring. Jimin cradles the bottle close, fingers blindly searching for an opener and Taehyung creeps forward, not a real threat.
“Her father would notice, give.”
The tanned hand that beckons him shows long, well-kept nails. Jimin snatches the opener and begins to slice the sealed foil open, “he won’t, c’mon Tae. Just a sip.”
“He’llnotice,” Taehyung echoes, eyes zeroing on how the coiled spring pierces the spongy cork. “Do you know how much that bottle costs? Of course he’ll notice, you ass.”
Jimin works to ease it up and high until it emit a muted pop.A deep maroon waterfall trickles straight into a wine glass, the delicate stem slotting so easily in his hand. He tastes it in a brief sip, sour at first then it morphs into a richer aftertaste. Hm, so this is what money tastes like nowadays.
“If I do end up driving tonight, I’m allowed one drink. And if I’m having a drink, I want it to be good, carpe diem you know?”
Vehemently unconvinced, and it shows in the way Taehyung handles the dishwasher with a little more deliberation, he walks away muttering, “you’re fucking crazy. That’s not coming out of mypay.”
As Jimin was about to pipe in, he hears you louder and nearer.
“I’ll be back, oh no, don’t worry, yeah… Just stay there!”
Meek, he hides the bottle and glass in a deep drawer and stands up, smoothing down his front. Taehyung ducks away, pretending to arrange the stacked plates, wiping down the counter in frantic motions using a frayed towel.
Then, you enter the kitchen, bounding down the steps, the hem of your skirt fluttering behind. Jimin sees the crown of flowers on your head immediately, but you take it off, passing him by. Cool air laced with bergamot mixed with mirth greets him. The canary coloured petals are wilted but are vibrant all the same. You stop by a box of ornate flowers springing from a box. Jimin had to bring that up earlier, it was heavier than it looked.
“Let me guess,” you said, “straight from the office?”
Finally, you notice him. Your eyes met and yours shine like glass, the smile he saw earlier is there but more contrived, like you walked into their space without permission. Taehyung makes a sound meant to signify a ‘yes.’ Whirling till your skirt expands like a golden umbrella, you pluck a rose from the collection. Jimin doesn’t miss the way your animated movement reveals your legs altogether. He shamelessly drinks that sight in, aching for smooth skin beneath his touch. He sees you sniff the centre, eyes concealed as your head tilts up.
“Smells like…”
You slide up on the counter, sitting with your legs crossing over the other. The skirt falls away, bare leg entering his view as the glittery strap of your top slides down past your shoulder. You appeared ravaged, then. He hates that others could see you like this.
“It smells like my father’s guilt,” you said, abruptly thrusting it to Taehyung’s direction.
“Have them Tae!” You said, grinning once more, swinging your legs. Jimin clears his throat, pacing up the length of the kitchen, praying that by the time he reached the end, you’d gone.
“It’s really okay,” Taehyung said, that voice of submission was back. Jimin doesn’t think that Taehyung could tell you to keep your hands off anything or to not open that bottle of wine now in a random drawer, aerating.
“Have them, please!” You replied, not missing a beat. Jimin hears Taehyung’s nervous chuckle, he glances back and you’re shuffling the box, possibly ruining the arrangement. “Don’t you have a sister? Or these could be for your mother! I’m sure she’ll love these, please Tae.”
The music encroaches into the kitchen. It’s even worse than before and Jimin wants to strangle the DJ for perpetuating such garish entertainment. Prior to any reaction, he hears you plant your feet on the floor. He turns and is met with your stern expression, hands resting on your hips as Taehyung carts off the box of flowers, out of sight.
“Come with me upstairs,” you said, gesturing with your hands to the said direction. Jimin shakes his head. Fuck techno-pop, fuck these nobodies, and fuck this stupid party.
“Should stay here. Might get called anytime soon,” he replied.
“C’mon Min,” you said, urgency in your tone. Whiny even. Jimin never really consented to that nickname but he’s been around long enough that it stuck.
“How come?” You challenged, arching your brow.
Because I fucking hate the music, I hate the way you’re like this right now, and I hate -
“I want you up there with me, please don’t make me beg. It sounds vain but I want to look…” you trailed off, rubbing your arm with your hand. Under the spotlight, you were awfully forlorn. “I need to look…”
Jimin knits his brows together, his suit alarmingly fitted all of the sudden.
“Look like what?”
Taehyung will be back soon since the walk from his room to the kitchen is a couple of meters, but he’s taking longer than what Jimin is used to. The air crackles as he sees you retreat till you meet the counter with nowhere to go. Your fingers inch towards the abandoned flower crown, your pretty nails carving crescents onto the velvet petal.
“To look like I’m wanted.”
Jimin inhales deeply, unable to conceal his discomfort. He tugs at his tie and threads the top button of his shirt through, breathing shakily. Taehyung comes in and you stand up, your shoulders squaring. That stupid smile returns accompanied by outstretched arms. Jimin finds himself drawn to you, his private guise for protection making his wooden limbs move.
“Don’t look so serious Min. I just want to dance more, it’s my birthday,” you said, slurring at the end. Your touch finds him as you lead him upwards. Jimin doesn’t look back but Taehyung’s stare burned nonetheless.
-
Upstairs, the music rattles Jimin’s frame. You weave through the throngs of people - of nobodies - and find an adequate space, right under the brilliant strobe of red, purple, and blue. He lets himself hold your waist, his own hands at the hem of your skirt, barely touching where it counted. Your arms settle on his neck, comfortable.
He supposed that he was out of place wearing a suit amongst party-goers decked out in the latest styles or fashionable garments. Yet, if people thought him odd, they didn’t show it. He even lets himself move to the beat, no matter how irksome it was.
Besides, he liked your warmth near his. The smell of bergamot and mirth is balmy and woodsy: it suited you.
Always have, he thinks.
There was a moment when he felt like time was suspended, when the strobe light, a luminous violet that made all the other bodies melt into a whorl, fell over you both. No one else was in the room and the music wasn’t as shit as he decided. The highlight on your cheeks made it look like there was glitter embedded in your skin and that smile, it wasn’t stupid anymore, it was radiant.
Warm.
You say something to him but it’s lost in the thump of bass, he laughs anyway, his body loosening up a little more. Again, you start speaking so he leans in, too close for justification. He hears you laugh, it’s a wonderful sound, light and airy, like you had never experienced anything that could possibly weigh you down. Then, you raise your arms up, closing your eyes, a strand of your hair caught at your brow due to the tacky surface of your skin. You move to the rhythm with this glow about you. He blinks, awestruck.
A cord snaps.
The music thumps, corroding everything in its wake and you are engulfed with people, the laughter turns menacing then mean.
The spell breaks and he strides towards a doorway, perturbed.
-
As if he was spat out, Jimin stumbles back into the kitchen alone to find Taehyung unloading the dishwasher again.
“She’s gone crazy,” he announced, skin damp from being trapped between people. He doesn’t know how you stand it, being touched unwarrantedly like that. Taehyung shakes his head, laughing through his nose.
“She’s having fun -”
Jimin grabs the forgotten wine and pours more than he was probably allowed.
“You know that people out there are laughingat her?”
“What?” Taehyung asked, standing and shoving his sleeves up further. Jimin blinks back the memories of you dancing theatrically, garnerning smiles and guffaws that were lost due to the blare of EDM. Jimin caught them though, so he stalked off in a huff.
“Most of those people in there aren’t even her friends. And those who stayed don’t even know her middle name.”
Taehyung leans on the corner of the table, the tilt of his head is pensive, “do youknow her middle name?”
“Of course I do. It’s -”
“You’ve got the balls to abandon me in the middle of the dance floor like that,” you said, entering the kitchen with a champagne flute in hand, “and why are you still dressed like that? What are you, a lawyer? Take off your jacket,” you commanded. Jimin forgets about the wine glass in his hand and promptly brings it down. The dark liquid sloshes before it settles.
“Why?”
In the background, Taehyung slinks away, pretending to clean something.
“It’s my birthday, you’re the spoiling the theme,” you replied, gesturing to your glittery gold outfit. Jimin clenches his jaw, cursing the party inwardly.
“Take it off Min,” you said, hauling yourself up to sit on the counter. His ear pricks up at your use of banmaland stares at you, like blinking would be enough to reverse this implicit imbalance. He tries that thing that Taehyung does, running his tongue first on top of his molars till it encounters the smooth interior of his mouth. Doesn’t work. The air crackles again, along with the goosebumps on his skin. Taehyung catches his eye and he could tell that it meant ‘Just do it for fuck sake.’
Times like these, Jimin gets reminded of things he’d rather leave buried far beneath the surface.
In seconds, he turns on his heel and leaves the kitchen. He hears you ask where he was going but he doesn’t catch Taehyung’s reply.
Past Taehyung’s living quarters was a narrow hallway to the elevator that goes straight to the parking lot. Jimin stops in front of the steel doors, fingers itching to punch the downward arrow. The lack of notifications from his phone was becoming an issue. He slips off his jacket, hanging it on a spare wooden peg and heads back in.
On the kitchen island, he finds you and Taehyung conversing in hushed voices. Your hand curves over his shoulders, your body leaning over his back, the wisps off your hair brushing against his. Taehyung has that goofy expression on his face, the apples of his cheeks flushed pink. Jimin lets his eyes linger.
“See! You look way better without your jacket,” you beamed, leaving Taehyung’s side and sitting on the table this time. The skirt gapes and shows more skin, Jimin’s gotten better at directing his eyes elsewhere. There’s more movement, Taehyung gets up and waves his phone, the screen is lit up and buzzing.
“Gotta answer this,” he announced, and you turn, chin resting on your shoulder mouthing Come back soon.
Taehyung gives you a tight-lipped smile, sauntering into another doorway, his voice soothing as he greets the caller on the other side of the line.
Late. (m) | ONE SHOT | PARK JIMIN, JEON JUNGKOOK, 6.7k
Pairing(s): Reader x Jimin, Reader x Jungkook, Jungkook x Reader x Jimin
Summary:Sometimes, it can’t be helped that Jimin and Jungkook are late. It’s no one’s fault, really, since that’s what usually happens when all three of you are together anyway.
Warnings/Tags: RATED M (18+) for language, smut (fem-reader; oral (m-receiving) + feeble attempt at masturbation; hair-pulling; nipple play; slight exhibitionism; penetrative sex; multiple orgasms; threesome); this is one of the ‘morning after’s’ I envisioned that follows up from ‘Hotel’;or it’s just another excuse for me to write a jikook x reader fic lol; fluff;idol!AU - established relationship.
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-
Sleep ladened eyes open to a room that is cloaked in artificial darkness due to the heavy, velvet curtains that border its walls. Realisation of your surroundings sneak up in jumbled puzzle pieces, wading through the fog of your thoughts.
A hotel room. Big, warm bed. Los Angeles.
Then comes your initial, proper examination: sore muscles, sticky skin, another person nearby.
You know it’s Jungkook beside you because he’s swung his leg over you, careless as to its weight on your own body. After you overcame the initial drag of sleep, you register the glaring asymmetry to your bed. Jungkook’s tattooed arm is over his face, his pinked chapped lips in your view with the silver ring that lay at an angle.
“Has hell frozen over? Where did he go?” You asked, sweeping your arm over the space where Jimin slept. Getting up early was a habit of the past and it surprised you more than anything that his side of the bed was cold.
“Morning run,” Jungkook mumbled, clattering his phone on the night stand.
“He goes on morning runs even here?”
The detail might have been lost on you if it was said last night.
Jungkook removes his leg, gently guiding you onto your side so that he could embrace you better. To compensate for the surge in heat, you kick off the comforter, backing up a bit till your ass brushes his half-hard cock.
“Didn’t get to go last night,” he replied, his voice gravelly and in dire need for him to clear his throat. Last night’s memory flares in your mind, their hands on your body, the groans and sighs, the particular satiation that you could only get by being with them.
“What time are you meant to be going for your schedule?”
Jungkook only sighs, broad palms and curious fingers traversing your body. It seems that, like you, he didn’t want to pierce through the comfortable haze that greeted you soon after you woke up. After all, their schedule is steadfast. Obligations were going nowhere but these moments behind close doors were few and far between.
“Dunno,” he muttered, his hands wandering over your body.
“Kook…”
His forthcoming response was the nudge of his hips as he says your name in a soft whisper.
“Wanna shower together?”
-
Jungkook’s careful fingers tangle in your still wet hair, his inked knuckles brushing past your peripheries. Your skin is soft yet pebbled with goosebumps as the ventilation fans through the room. Sat at the edge of the bed, you nudge his thighs apart. As you placed your cold hands over them, he hisses, a quick and discrete sound accompanied by his bared teeth.
“Sorry.”
He shakes his head as you looked up. The angle allows a generous view of his abdominal muscles which, when relaxed, are still defined in grooves and ridges. The difference now, albeit subtle, was that they were tense and rigid from anticipation. You shift because you remember them under your grip, contracting every time he moved.
“Jimin-sshi should be doing his final lap right now,” he muttered, his hand going lower to cup your chin.
“Nice of you think of that before you get your dick sucked,” you replied, blowing gently on his length. He twitches at the contact, the first brush of your lips on the tip earning another audible hiss that he pushed through his teeth.
“He’s missing out is all I’m saying,” he said, nonchalant.
Any prospect of his running commentary is promptly silenced by you taking his cock in your mouth. Soft, smooth, silken hardness is quickly coated in your saliva. You hum at the taste, slackening your jaw in preparation for that delicious ache you’ll feel when he finally moves. Securing your hands on his narrow hips, you squeeze your thighs as his muscles flexed, lifting your head so that his cock bobs against his lower abdomen.
“Ah shit,” he sighed, followed by a shaky moan while you licked a fat stripe from the base of his cock, taking care to tentatively sweep the tip of your tongue over his balls before coming up to rub your lip at the weeping head. The grip on your hair increases, measured tugs at the root. You continue to lap at the head, rewarded by soft puff of breath from above. Making a tight circle with your fingers, you angle his cock, glancing up at his flushed face as you swirled your tongue over the head in languid circles, dipping it on the slit while pearls of pre-cum pool at your tastebuds.
“Fuck, ah - you want me to last or not?”
Batting your eyelashes at him, you sensed that he was less eager to abstain as all he wanted was to fuck your mouth senseless. Jungkook was never one to admit his shortcomings, that much you knew, but his vie for self-control didn’t stop you from placing your hands flat on his thighs for purchase, widening your mouth so you could dip down, saliva running from your lips onto his length. The first thrust of his hips was accompanied by his hand closing over the nape of your neck, you moaned as the even pressure allowed your lips to hit the base, the air momentarily depleting as you hollowed out your cheeks. It’s a tight hold that you constructed and it’s effect was a delightful chorus of moans that made you wiggle your hips, pussy dripping and clenching around nothing.
“Ah,ssss… shit,” he hissed, and you push up, letting his cock leave your mouth in a wet pop, lips skating along the glistening length, your cheek and chin getting most of it.
You’re panting but it doesn’t stop you from taking him again, beginning a quick pace now that your jaw is looser, bobbing your head as you concentrated on sucking the tip before diving all the way down again. Nails impress on your skin, you do the same in places where it can’t be seen. Jungkook bucks his hips again as you brace yourself against him.
You arched your back, thinking that you could feel Jimin’s hands on your skin, then his voice telling you to go down deeper, throat tightening over his throbbing cock. Jungkook’s hand presses down on your neck and you moaned at the encouragement, the hot and flithy drag of your tongue unrelenting. Jerky thrusts of his hips were becoming frequent and you come up for air, lungs just about burning but you keep the contact, rubbing the weeping tip on your lips, slick with cum and saliva. Through hazy eyes, you see the heavy contracting of his chest, the tip of his tongue resting on the side of his mouth, blown pupils only on you.
“I fucking love your mouth,” he babbled, and you press a soft kiss over the head. He hisses again, baring teeth, the small mole below his lip stretching slightly.
“Mm,” you hummed, smiling in spite of being in serious need of the rough strokes that had your throat constricting.
Jungkook curled his bottom lip, the slim silver ring springing to a different direction. In his eyes was a split second decision aided by you sucking on the tip for emphasis. You’re rewarded with a sensitive twitch of his muscles and the tick of his hips upwards. He pushes and you adjust yourself, body straightening immediately. But it’s too careful, so you tap at his thigh prompting him.
It works.
His fingers twist themselves in your hair and his thrusts go from jerky to to full on strokes. The change had you moaning over his length, thoroughly coated in spit. The angle of his hips had you grabbing at the sheets while your lips stretched to accommodate. It’s heaven to hear Jungkook moan, it’s such a distinct sound, a contradiction of sorts when paired with a strained grunt while you snuck a hand between your legs, fingers spreading your wetness along your slit. At the first contact, you almost lose rhythm, caught up in the throb of your pussy, your clit stiff and in need of attention.
Jungkook senses the slight break and amps up his thrusting, the struggle for air is apparent as more saliva and cum mix together from the obscene slide of your mouth over his cock. Abandoning on pleasuring yourself, you signal for him to go faster and he does, almost making you choke on the deep and rough strokes. The flare on your scalp is evident as he grips your hair to aid him, your eyes are closed, legs quivering at the growing wetness between, moaning softly as he grunts, the snap of his hips causing you to drool. The scent of him, fresh from the shower, mixes with this addictive taste, his speed taking on an inconsistent rhythm.
“Ah, fuck… fuck” he groans, you hold it, forgoing air as he chases that peak, the staggered upward thrust had the head scraping against the back of your throat and he keeps you there. Eyes screwing shut, tears pricking suddenly, you feel the ropes of cum spurt, his cock pulsing while spit slick. Pulling back, you hold his cock steady, licking the tip, watching as Jungkook’s head is thrown back, abdomen rigid as you lap up his cum, high off his display of ecstasy. After drawing ragged breaths to recover, he soothes the harshness of his grip on you by rubbing the sore places with gentle fingers.
The latch to the door unlocks.
You hold Jungkook’s cock at the base, sliding your parted lips over it, tongue snaking out in elaborate laps. Above, he groaned, twining his fingers in your hair, a tug that signalled for you to slow but you were too busy making a mess. Jimin strides in, face mostly concealed by a cap and mask. Buzzed, you kiss along Jungkook’s stomach, bringing out soft hisses as your skin brushes his cock.
“Morning to you too,” Jimin said, quickly disappearing into the bathroom.
Water runs and echoes past the open door, a flash of black comes through and settles behind you. Jimin’s hand comes over where Jungkook’s own was placed on your head. It’s subtle but the force of his both hands on you had you diving your lips down, deeper until Jungkook’s cock is firmly enclosed in the wet cavern of your mouth. Your nails dig crescents into the skin this hips, hard enough to press on bone.
“Agh, fuck,” he gasped, his hips shooting up while your throat tightened automatically. You moaned around him as Jimin ran his fingers along your slit, the cold contact made your hips jerk, the blunt intrusion finding home in your wet folds. He comes closer, closer till you feel the brush of his jacket on the skin of your back.
“So wet already, hm? How many times did you cum?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper as his lips caught your earlobe.
“Not yet”, you breathed, releasing Jungkook’s cock from your mouth. You rubbed your open palm over his length. It’s so sticky that each kiss you gave sounded wet, coming away with saliva mixed with cum.
“Jungkookie, you’re slacking.”
You couldn’t help but laugh slightly as Jungkook’s muscles twitched from your lips settling over the sensitive head.
“Y-you didn’t go for a longer run this morning, hyung.”
Jimin’s fingers unfurl, catching the swollen nub of your clit. He gives it a slight nudge and you push your hips back, inviting his fingers to go in deeper only from him to withdraw them.
“Jimin,” you whined, knees scraping on the carpet floor as you widened your legs, pussy dripping past your folds and staining it to a darker shade. He kisses your shoulder, then the space on your neck to placate you.
“You guys used all of the shampoo.”
Jungkook helps you up so you could settle on his lap. You sigh as his cock rests on your lower stomach, still rock hard and heavy.
“I’ve got to wash up too,” Jimin said, swiping your hair away so he could kiss the nape of your neck. The soft contact had you wrapping your arms around Jungkook’s shoulders, which rippled and flexed as he held your hips. You were pliant in their hands, eyes fluttering shut as you kissed Jungkook’s neck, hungry for more contact. Smooth, warm skin along the surface of your tongue, the mole on the side the shade of chocolate chips in the muted light.
“Ah they were meant to replace them,” Jungkook said.
“Not with the Do Not Disturb sign at the door,” Jimin murmured, using the finger that was in your pussy to trail up your spine. It leaves a slick trail, wet and smooth along your back. You moaned against Jungkook’s lips, kissing the mole beneath, grinding at anything to relieve the ache.
“Can’t have anyone walking in while we’re in the middle of this,” you said, craning your head, implicitly asking for a kiss.
Jimin grinned, slotting his mouth over yours as he gently bracketed your throat with his hand. Jungkook mouth suckles on the base of your neck, the wet slide of his tongue compensating for how his teeth was set on your skin previously. It’s a never-ending cycle of touch, kisses, and warmth. All of which culminated between your legs, positively wet, the lewd sopping kind that renders attempts to contain it in vain.
“Let me wash up,” Jimin adds, pulling away, his touch lingering at the small of your back.
Jungkook suddenly stands up, carrying you and walking over to the console. Occupied by hotel stationery and half drunk bottles of water, you sit with your legs spread and raised, cool air comes over your exposed pussy as Jimin enters the bathroom to shower. This time, he leaves the door open too.
“Wish I could stay here for longer,” Jungkook muttered, kissing you again as he tore a foiled packet. Nearby, the water runs in full pelt, it fills your ears as you edged yourself closer, hands curling over the wood, shoulder blades resting against the wall.
“Stay where longer?” You asked, grinning at the instant arch of his brow.
He wets his lips, tugging the condom down,
“Here.”
The air is filled by your mutual sigh as he sinks his cock in your pussy, bottoming out to an audible, wet squelch.
“Fuck,” you gasped, right into his mouth, sucking his bottom lip and rewarded by a soft grunt, his arms hooking under your legs, hiking them up and spreading you wide. A hot wave washed over you, strained in this position, the console angling back from the way his thighs smacked against the hard surface.
“Agh, shit,” he grunted, searching for your mouth against since you had dipped your head down, bewildered at how good it felt even from the outset.
“Jungkook… ah fuck,” you moaned, arms winding over his neck into a stringent chokehold, teeth clashing against his as you angled your hips, tightening around his length in pulses. Words escape you both as he began to move, easy thrusts, the kind that glosses the burn of the stretch, his scent wrapping around you in a shroud, the scent of soap and something else, exacerbated by the heat of his body.
“Fucking hell - shit,” he gasped, your hands fly down to steady yourself, fingers grasping at the edge of the console, bothered by the lack of available surface.
They were always editing themselves to appear amiable, clean cut. But there was much to be desired with the way Jungkook swears - the way the vowels form into its vulgar ends. His incidental lisp melts away, bolstered by the baring of his teeth and hardening of his muscles, each movement deliberate and impactful. With Jimin, his voice becomes authoritative despite softening, evolving into a deeper timbre, an air of smugness accompanying them. They get spoken to your ear, your skin, whispered, grunted or sighed, So fucking tight… ah fuck, so good. The effect is the same, you get light-headed from the praise presented in a filthy delivery.
Your thighs shudder, a futile attempt to shut not out of discomfort but shock at how sensitised your were. Jungkook supports your lower back, curling his inked arm, somehow managing to keep you bolted in place, driving his hips down, his cock hitting at his desired angle. It prompts more wetness to coat your folds, enough for the new wave to be driven out as he draws back, sticky strands at the base of his cock in a lewd tether. When you look up, you take in the freshly trimmed hair, fanning evenly over his brow, the silver bar glinting between darkened strands, a concentrated face, focused entirely on pleasure.
“Miss it,” you said, thinking out loud.
The pace at which they changed their hair was frantic at most, the usual method being bleaching it to the lightest possible colour and darkening as the hair stylists saw fit. Recently, their preference for natural hair colour took precedent and has since remained that way. But while Jimin has opted for lengthier locks, Jungkook has cropped his hair to a more boyish style, abandoning the shoulder-length affair. It robbed you of any morsel of surface area to tug, unfair given that you couldn’t even leave bite marks anywhere on exposed skin.
And given that they wore next to nothing for the concert (a moot point according to them), this was a severecurtailment.
“Hm?”
“Your hair - when it was long.”
There’s a flicker of smirk there, the lip ring shines from your shared spit, his rosy lips a deeper shade from how he was gnawing it earlier.
“Thought it was too long for you, mn?”
“No. I miss it… ah,” you gasped, accepting the thrust of his cock and massaging the nape of his neck for emphasis.
“Was a nightmare to have,” he murmured, skating the tip of his nose along your jaw, the brush of his lips on your cheek inciting shivers.
Jungkook’s admission hardly makes a dent on your personal views: the pony tail would forever be superior in aesthetic. Tied up or left alone, those long tresses paired with the baby hairs on his hairline had you confused on whether to coo or pay attention to the lust that took hold in the pit of your belly. Deciding on a diplomatic means of resolving the tension, you would make it a point to compliment him, saying it softly in bed while tangled up in Jimin’s embrace (who would take to the shower first before all else, lest his motivations leave him entirely).
You look so cute, Kook.
It’s followed by a soft kiss, the experimental tug at the nape where you would tug the hairs at the root. He would groan, a half-hearted attempt to conceal the elation he felt at the compliment.
Ah, stop.
And you and Jimin would laugh, seeing right through it.
“You looked cute,” you replied, breath stuttering as he slowed his thrusts, going for longer, deeper strokes. He makes a noise of complaint, a subtle huff so you lean your head back, surveying his face. Silver accents on tan skin, deep flush under the gloss of his lips. Jungkook’s large eyes blink slowly, an unfocused glaze zeroing on your lips.
“You wanted it more than I did,” he smiled, bursts of exhales signalling a runaway laugh. Your fingers reach up, unfurl on his shoulders, easing the tension of being cramped and folded in half, raking them on the shorn parts at the back of his head.
“’Sides, I think I look better now,” he mused, adjusting and leaning back, his tense abdomen in show. You bite your lip as the full picture of him comes to view, flushed everywhere on his skin, rose ascending along the column of his neck, the jut of his jaw is prominent.
“You always look better - good,” you sighed, hips raising as his hands took your waist. It doesn’t escape you how his gaze is affixed to where you’re connected.
“Do I?”
You grinned, liking this side of him. It’s not often that Jungkook returns the compliment, opting to brushing it off like it’s no big deal. Appreciating him, you see the dark ink on his arm, more cohesive now that the designs are mostly filled and the sculpture of his muscles somehow managing to animate them with each flex.
The TV judders against its mount, Jungkook keeps snapping his hips, pressing you against his chest, sweat making skin slippery, mouths hungry and gasping for each other.
“Ten fucking days, we have to quarantine,” he said, out of the blue.
Ah.
It was nearing the end the LA trip and while all three of you had a harder time being apart from each other, Jungkook was the most vocal about it.
“Uhn…fuck,” you gasped, bare skin chafing on the lacquered surface of the table. It shudders with each thrust, the swell of his cock pushing more slick out your folds.
“Can’t wait that long,” he grunted, his grip on your thighs so forceful that you were sure that he was denting flesh. Your fingers grabbed onto the sides, knuckles stiff as you tried to move your hips incrementally.
“How do you think I’d feel? I won’t get either of y-you - ahn, fuck,” you moaned, shuddering at a particularly hard thrust.
The bottles of water around you trembled and the drawers rattle below. Jungkook leaned down and kissed you fiercely, groaning as you clenched around him, your pussy so slippery and wet that all you hear is the obscene schlick-schlick-schlick as his cock pistons inside you at shallow strokes. It was enough to drive you crazy.
“Too much, ahn,f-fuck,” you gasped, wet drag of his cock entering you in a smooth slide.
“Too much?”
He grips your hair, twists it in his fist as his hips slammed down, the stretch burns but it was euphoric.
“You guys act like we have all the time in the world, yeah?”
Jimin waltzes in, and from what you could make out past Jungkook’s shoulders, he was wearing a white robe, his skin was glimmering from the water, dark hair plastered to his temples. His tone is amused, you could hear his smile curling over the words.
“No comment,” you stuttered, nails digging harshly onto the wooden surface.
Knock knock knock!
Jungkook groans, halting out of respect, but you have to fight yourself from crying out as his cock fills you up to the hilt. Seconds pass, your heart thudding heavily in your ribcage while Jimin’s voice cuts through the daze of your mind.
“Yes, hi…”
“Shit,” you whispered, voice notably thinning into a high-pitched whine. It must be one of the staff members appearing as a physical reminder of their schedule.
“Yes… ah, we were meant to go first? Okay, sure… is Yoongi-hyung nearly done?”
Jungkook skates a broad palm behind your knee, and your eyes widen. The distance between you and the door isn’t vast. Jimin has taken to stick half of his body out, barely widening the door. Below, the console remains at an angle, raised slightly while he breathes out, fanning the hair on your head as your legs quiver, your clit getting the brunt of his thrusts, the swollen nub totally exposed and slick with need.
“… ah okay… Jungkookie and I are just getting ready right now… Fifteen minutes? Okay…” Jimin said, his voice diplomatic yet loud enough to shield the sharp gasp that eventually died against Jungkook’s collarbone as he rammed his hips forward.
“Yes - yes, I’ll make sure to tell him - actually, let me tell him now since he’s with me - Jungkook-ah?”
“Fucking shit…” he groaned lowly, the words barely escaping through gritted teeth as you kissed him fiercely, sliding your tongue against his, sucking the area were his lip ring was, drawing out another grunt. Jimin loved to tease, and it was evident in the rising inflection in his tone. Your head thuds against the wall, eyes fluttering shut, sensation taking over in a stifling wave as sweat coats your skin, condensing on the pitted surface of the console.
“Jungkook-ah, we have rehearsals for the Jingle Bell Ball, and you have to record a Happy New Year message later in the evening, you okay with that?”
Jungkook snapped his head up, still thrusting inside you, his cock throbbing inside your walls. You could only watch as the vein on his neck pulsed strongly, reaching forward as much as you can to lick the mole on the side, suckling and spreading spit as he slowed for his own posterity.
“Yes, I’m okay with all of that, hyung,” he answered, surprisingly calm in his delivery. If not for Jungkook shoving you between him and wall, you could envision Jimin’s knowing grin as he watched the pair of you stagger towards orgasm.
“You sure, Jungkook-ah?”
Before articulating his response, Jungkook’s hips surged forward, grinding at the hilt, your pussy providing this wet pressure, hot waves of arousal over his length as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, mouth setting against his fiery skin to muffle your uncontrollable moans.
“Yes hyung,” he replied, pounding into you, the subtle smackof skin against skin competing with the quiet rattle of the furniture beneath. He grips your jaw suddenly to kiss you deeply, sucking your tongue and drinking in your gasps.
“Yes… yes, thank you…”
Upon hearing the door shut, Jungkook resumed a blinding pace, hitting all the right spots that caused a flood between your thighs.
“Fuck… ahn… ah,” you moaned, wanton and thoroughly shameless as the constant push and pull finally piled together, toes curling as the wood chafed against your skin, the spear of his cock unforgiving for your pussy.
“Shit, this is what you could hear through the door the other night?” Jimin quipped, close enough to kiss your jaw, distracting you only to help you along by sliding his hand down your front, the stacks of rings on his fingers cold on your skin. He circles his finger on your nipple, your body responding in a jittery arch as Jungkook leans back, hands steady on your thighs as your voice transforms into staccato moans of ah…ah…ahn.
“Heard more than that,” Jungkook said, you see his teeth bared through your foggy gaze. You shudder as he stills, Jimin managing to assert himself, softly kissing your jaw. And you’re so far gone, mind empty of anything as electricity surges throughout your body remedying the apparent discomfort of being wedged against the wall.
“‘Cause you really had your ear pressed to the door,” Jimin laughed as he lazily thumbs your clit.
“Tsk,” Jungkook replied, not denying anything either.
“Fuck…ahn…p-please,” you gasped, arching your back, legs dangling in Jungkook’s hold. It seemed to do something to him, and while Jimin turns his attention to kissing along your neck, Jungkook snaps his hips forward, making you cry out, arms shaking in an attempt to anchor yourself.
“Ah, Jungkook-ah’s making you beg, hm?” Jimin whispers, his voice echoing in your ear as you mewled, “good.”
“Fuck… I can feel you tightening around me, you gonna cum, mn?” Jungkook panted, sliding out his cock and fucking back in using the same, controlled force that tears another moan from you.
“Shit… yeah, ah,” you babbled, turning your head to kiss Jimin, in a sloppy meeting of your mouths, his grin so evident as he holds your jaw, the metal of his rings on your hot skin.
“Ah…ssss… ah,” Jungkook groaned, thrusting again and again and again. Jimin licks into your mouth, the pointed tip of his tongue tracing leisurely, ending in a slow suck on your bottom lip. Spit and warmth everywhere as Jungkook hisses through his teeth, the deep thrusts making your toes curl.
“Good, hm?” Jimin asked, ghosting the tips of his nail around your nipple.
“Y-yeah - ah fuck!” You yelped, coming undone at Jungkook’s shallow thrusts, shaking so hard that your eyes screw shut as Jimin muffles your incoherent babbling by kissing you, dragging his tongue to gather the drool the spills from your lips. He forces your mouth open as you cried out, irretrievably wet between your thighs, sweat making the surface harder to keep steady on. Heat rushes down as Jimin holds you while Jungkook chases his own orgasm, his large, bruising hands on your thighs, fucking into you with the quick strokes of his cock.
“S-so good,” you gasped, taking it all.
“One more? Be good for us, hm?” Jimin murmured. It’s a softly-spoken order since he was rubbing your clit with the kind of pressure that you made you keen. Furiously, you nod, capitulating despite feeling so sensitised, and it gives Jungkook the signal to go harder, almost shoving Jimin out of the way.
“‘M good,” you confirmed, “fuck,” you cried out, orgasming again, the violent tremors in your body hardly able to be contained as Jungkook lets out a loud ah, your name punctuating the air, shaking as he came, sweat-slicked shoulders under your grip while he presses forward, the strength of his hold lifting you from the console for a bit. You blink up, your heartbeat pounding against your ribs; Jungkook’s face is shiny, the rose on his cheeks seeping everywhere.
“Shit…” he gasped, letting you down gently, pulling his cock out as you continue to shudder. Jimin fusses over your hair, kissing a path along your neck, suckling your earlobe as Jungkook hums, kneading your flesh at the comedown, raising your leg so he could lave a spot on your calf, escalating your breathing.
“You okay?” Jimin asked continuing the chaste press of his lips on your neck.
“Mhm,” you nod, almost mechanically, boneless in thrum of pleasure you were in. With Jungkook stepping back, he stumbles on the bed, back landing on the messy sheets, half laughing. You realise that you were as sapped as each other. Jimin takes his place between your legs, content with kissing you, hands atop your thighs, careful touches with the hint of his nails scratching lightly. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, the fuzzy fabric of the robe a new texture on your skin.
Somewhere, in the realm of your short-term memory, you recalled the time constraint as you push him so that he was leaning against the console instead. He smiles, relaxed as you adjusted yourself on your knees, limbs feeling a little wooden, shivering at the rough fibres of the carpet on your knees.
“Fifteen minutes, you said?”
“About eight now,” Jungkook added from behind.
Meticulously, you worked to untie Jimin’s robe. It falls apart easily and he places his hand on your head, a fond touch.
“Can I?” You asked, biting your lip at the sight of Jimin’s cock, the answer was in the way his smile fades once you lick along your palm, curling it over his length. His stomach tenses, the lines of his abdomen raising into definition, his upper lip twitching as you fisted his cock, a languid pump, tightening over the tip, tongue flicking over the slit.
“Seven minutes…” Jungkook said, while you pulled back, unfurling your tongue, letting the heavy weight of Jimin’s cock rest, unattended in your mouth.
Time didn’t matter, in fact, it gets suspended when Jimin twists a finger in your hair, his eyes taking on a soft, unfocused glow.
“Sss…ah,” he breathed while you sucked on the tip, the taste of him making you hum.
There are things that makes Jimin moan but there are things that make him whimper. Like Jungkook, he had numerous moles that found home on his body, a particular one was by his left hip, like punctuation on the blank page of skin. Before you take his cock back in your mouth again, you kiss the small mole, triggering memories of long nights where no matter how hard you tried, it always ended up with you being pleasured - a thorough mess by being attended to by two pairs of hands.
“Ah fuck, there’s no time…” he rasps. You nuzzle his cock, licking along his balls, wetting the surface, sucking with enough pressure and loving every moan and whimper that escaped him.
“I’ll be good,” you promised, aware of his fingers in your hair, the first sign of roughened touch that caused your thighs to press together. The sticky residue smeared between eases the slide of your skin, the cool air making it tacky.
“Six minutes,” Jungkook supplied, smugness colouring his tone.
“Fuck,” Jimin gasped as you dive back in, jaw slackening as his entire length goes into your mouth, the weight of its is pleasant, heady even. He smells good, like soap with a little bit of sweat, and you couldn’t help but bracket his hips with your hands, bobbing your head, spit and pre-cum pooling in your mouth.
“Five -”
“Don’t be a brat, Jungkook-ah,” Jimin said, his hips taking on a gentle sway, cock pushing deeper in your mouth. The action is so unlike his bossy command that you moaned around him, leaning back so your hand tugs at his shaft, the slide of your palm along his velvety length growing audible. A wet suction sound, making its way straight to your throbbing core.
“I’ll be quick,” you said, your head arching to his touch, opening your mouth again. It was a veiled attempt at shifting the responsibility to you, but Jimin looks down, cocking his head. He can do quick but it didn’t mean that he liked doing it that way.
“Remember that time you were late?” You asked, tapping the tip of his cock on your lower lip, “don’t want you to be late anymore.”
“It couldn’t be helped,” Jimin nods, pushing some of the hair that got in your eyes, “and I wasn’t thatlate.”
“Everyone was waiting for twenty minutes, hyung.”
“Jungkook… shut up,” Jimin warned, ending in a choked moan, thrusting into your mouth a little more carelessly.
“Wish we had more time,” you muttered, suckling on the head, humming so that the vibrations he could feel all over. It’s so messy now, pre-cum and drool in your desire to make quick work, hasty in your rhythm.
“Ah shit… me too,” Jimin moaned, head thrown back, the sinewy column of his neck is coloured pink, his pulse throbbing visibly under his skin. You hummed around him, hot all over, pre-cum dribbling down your chin, knees rubbed raw.
“Ah fuck… fuck,” Jimin grunts. Drawing back, you gently suckle on the tip, holding his length as you give a few more sucks to his balls, bringing out that soft sigh, so pretty, almost a whimper. You tease him, relishing in the aching throb that you felt all the way down, nosing his cock, face gleaming from spit and cum. Jimin gasped as you dip lower, then you are suddenly aided by Jungkook’s hand on your head, an all encompassing force that had you flattening your tongue, swiping it sloppily.
“Two mi -” Jungkook began, almost making you laugh as you forced your head down, nose pressing against base of Jimin’s cock. You look up, eyes pleasing, throat tightening.
“Fucking hell,” Jimin grunts, spilling suddenly, wet gurgling noises, obscene in the room as those pair of hands hold you down, Jungkook from behind and Jimin cupping your chin. It’s mildly oppressive, the air depleting from your lungs at the force but it’s everything you’ve ever wanted, moaning with them. Your eyes water, released abruptly from their hold, strings of saliva and cum snapping at your chin.
“Ah, fuck,” you gasped, voice hoarse and throat raw.
Jimin slumps back, breathing in lungfuls of air harshly, his cock still leaking so you surge forward, batting your eyelashes at him as he spurts the last of it in your mouth. He sighs, bottom lip tucked under this teeth, the crooked one, the one you’ve always found cute, appearing on show.
Knock knock!
It’s a quiet threat. Behind the door is a ticked off staff, probably tired of being human alarms.
“We’re so fucking late,” Jungkook observes, helping you up, supporting you as your legs were still shaky. Jimin cards his hand through his hair, now damp with sweat, his fingers shone from the silver rings as Jungkook picks you up in his arms, kissing you everywhere. Always the responsible one over the three of you, Jimin quickly fixes himself, flicking the robe to cover his front as he saunters to the door, straightening out his stumble.
You cling onto Jungkook’s body as he lowered you onto the bed. There was a tired glaze over you both, hands twining together as he nuzzled himself in the crook of your neck. Distantly, you hear Jimin’s voice return to its diplomatic tone, smooth and concealing his state of unravel mere seconds ago.
“Ah yes, sorry, we’ll be out soon… yes.”
“Liar,” you muttered, grinning as Jungkook ran his hand along your side, scrunching his nose. He kisses you again, saying everything that screamed of no intention of leaving the bed if he could help it. The door shuts and Jimin reappears, you glanced at his flushed face over your shoulder.
“We have ten minutes to get our asses out the room,” he announced, raising his eyebrows at you and Jungkook given that you were draped over him, legs kicking upwards coyly. It wasn’t much of a grace period at all.
“Did you bargain?” You asked, propping yourself up so you could rest your head on your hand. Jungkook trails his finger along your back, in no hurry at all.
“No but the moment they saw me, they stopped themselves from saying ‘five’ and gave me ‘ten’ instead.”
You all laughed, you relenting first and rolling off Jungkook, who clasped your wrist before letting you go. Jimin comes over to kiss your temple.
“Be back soon, then we can carry on later,” he said, unable to resist kissing you again.
“Ten minutes can be enough time,” you said, tugging at the string of his robe. He flashes you a warning with his eyes, but the glint was unmistakable.
“Later,” Jimin insists, tipping your chin up, smoothing his thumb over your bottom lip. Jungkook kisses along your back, holding onto the final moments before they have to head out. In a light-hearted response, you roll your eyes, teasing them by shrugging them off.
“Hey, we’ll be done soon,” Jungkook said, taking it seriously since he couldn’t see your face.
“I know,” you said, twisting so you could straddle him, much to Jimin’s chagrin.
“Guys, c’mon,” he said, laughter edging his tone. Jungkook nudges his nose against yours, sighing deeply but his hands cling onto your body, inciting an even pressure of his fingers on your skin.
“Fine,” Jungkook sighed, but not before kissing you again.
“I saw the cute headbands for your New Year message,” you said, feeling Jimin’s hands on your waist, plush lips between your shoulder blades. A small win given that he was back on the bed with you both.
“It would look cute as we deliver our New Year’s wishes,” Jimin mused, splaying his hand on your lower back so you could grind over Jungkook harder. You gasped into the kiss, the direct contact of your pussy over Jungkook’s cock making you shudder, who groaned lowly.
“What’s your wish?” You asked Jungkook, leaning back as Jimin supported you with your back on his chest. Jungkook’s eyes darted to the side, a blush colouring his cheeks suddenly. Jimin laughs by exhaling sharply through his nose, going back to kissing your neck, humming slightly.
“Well -”
Knock! Knock! Knock!
The moment dissolves as you cover your mouth with your hands to contain your laughter, alert as to the impatience of the person behind the insistent knocking. Jungkook inhales deeply before giving you a final, chaste kiss and carefully disengages himself from you so he could clean up what he could before being corralled out.
“Later,” he said.
“Why? Tell me!” You grumbled, but it doesn’t last long as Jimin tackles you underneath him, giving quick kisses along your neck. Changing tactic, you look up at him, eyes on his full lips, glossy from all the kisses.
“What’syourwish?”
“Later,” Jimin echoed, his tone light. You rolled your eyes.
“Later,” you mocked, sticking your tongue out.
And they both laughed, Jungkook’s one reverberating from somewhere in the bathroom, Jimin’s right by your ear.
Summary: Months have passed. Jimin tries to take charge of his life, it’s not easy and he doesn’t feel like himself but you’re there. In a way, you always have been. You were strangers for a time, then friends, then mere strangers again, but is going forward and being more what you both want?
Warnings/Tags: Rated G-angst; but there are good parents out there (specifically in this chapter lmao); there are tears too, ooof; Jimin is going throughit rn, but it’ll be okay; if the word ‘maybe’ was a fic (oops); - non-idol!AU (University —> Young adults).
-
Jimin never knew what to do with himself during family dinners. He never knew when to interject or stay silent, which made him an easy target.
“What are your plans, Jimin-sshi?”
Ji-Eun’s father says this as he drinks himself into a violent shade of red. Jimin fidgets, trying to scramble for a diplomatic yet adequate answer. The question was too vague, too open-ended. Did he mean his current plans or plans into the future? Because Jimin didn’t know if he had either. Next to him, Ji-Eun remains silent, a thing that became pressingly irritating in the given circumstances.
“Not sure, Abeoji. I’m happy where I am,” Jimin replies, eating to give himself a break. He doesn’t miss Ji-Eun’s soft sigh as she rises from her seat. Her mother gives Jimin as a small smile.
“I’m sure Jimin’s plans are well and good,” she adds, patting him on the shoulder.
To this, Jimin can’t seem to understand why he felt a dreaded sense of suffocation. The weight of his inadequacies far too oppressive for his liking. He wishes to be apart or elsewhere, perhaps to detach himself from who he was as a person. He tries to pivot, to prepare himself for an onslaught.
Ji-Eun returns with a glass of water for him, “here, drink this.”
Jimin obliges, melting any possibility of being drunk. He guesses that he won’t be escorted to the bus stop tonight.
“How is the job though?” Ji-Eun mother says after a while. Jimin’s nerves don’t settle.
“It’s fine, Eomma.”
The feeling of calling other people’s parents is foreign to him, especially since he doesn’t feel in any way at home under their scrutiny. But he smiles and nods.
That’s all he ever did nowadays.
-
The gate to Jimin’s home is left open.
He walks across the tiny path, his hair ruffled by the breeze. When he finally enters his childhood home, he is startled by his mother’s presence in the kitchen. Illuminated by a single light, she works to wash a couple of vegetables in the sink, shaking them before laying them down. Jimin makes his presence known quickly to avoid being scolded at the late hour. He scrapes the chair back and fills a small glass with water for himself.
“Did my son have a good day?”
Jimin gulps down the drink, unable to feel nothing but shame in holding that title. It wells up and pokes through his eyes, as if he was a sieve for his emotions. In the past months, while getting more serious with Ji-Eun, it’s been a never ending barrage of humiliation; he has never felt good enough, even in his home town. But because it’s his mother, a person who has seen him in every hue, he surrenders and becomes small. She approaches him, placing a tender hand on his shoulders as he dips his head, the tears coming suddenly.
“You can tell Eomma what’s bothering you. It’s okay.”
Jimin inhales a shuddering breath, his chest tight.
Should he even risk baring himself when his problems are so hollow?
It’s been three months of stagnation, of being a convenience store manager, of being in a relationship that he neither feels happy or fulfilled in.
“Eomma,”he whispers, curling his hands into fists since they couldn’t stop shaking, “I’m just having a hard time.”
And it’s this silence that’s most comforting, the gentle embrace of his mother, the scent of her clothes and her warmth. Jimin can’t even look at her in the eye.
“I’m very proud of you,” she murmurs into his hair.
Then, she did what she would do when he was younger, a slight push of her fingers in his hair, a gentle scratch on his scalp. It’s a small comfort that sent a tremendous sense of nostalgia through him. Jimin was back to being a child, he was years younger, and someone else more capable is bearing the burden for now. He snivelled, braving the torrent of emotions. He couldn’t say much as he was crying too hard, the pain of being acknowledged right in the moment being too much.
“Eomma,” he says, his breath coming out like a tremor, “I need to leave.”
She takes his face in her hands, the surface of her palms are soft and warm. She’s always looked at him kindly, in way that he doesn’t understand. Jimin looked like his father but he was raised by his mother, a kind and gentle soul who was selfless to a fault.
“I’ll support you. Eommawill support you.”
And for the first time in a long while, Jimin finds a certain serenity overcome him.
-
You wedge your phone between your ear and your shoulder, shoving past the door as you heft another box.
“You better get here soon, Tae. They think it’s myplace that I’m moving into.”
The line is static for a bit before clearing, “yeah. I’m just stuck at work for another twenty minutes. My roommate’ll be there in a two minutes.”
You rolled your eyes, setting the box in a vacant room. The apartment, under Seoul standards, is decent. It’s not uncommon for people to shoulder the rent by adopting a roommate or two. The times are harder now more than ever, so you understood Taehyung’s compromise.
“Fine,” you huffed, sitting down on the mattress, looking down on the miniature setting of downtown Mapo. Students tour the streets as afternoon wanes into evening; Taehyung shouldn’t have been running this late but it couldn’t be helped.
“Ah, thanks Ahjussi, just there. Okay…”
The voice renders you to a state of alert. It’s familiar in its tone: how it sounds like a song most times, gentle in the delivery of vowels, conjuring up images of a handsome thief. A once a good friend turned temporary foe after a misdirected kiss. Months have elapsed, the time riddled in silence and half-hearted interactions online.
Jimin appears suddenly through the door, as surprised as you were.
“Oh,” he mutters, opening the door widely and letting himself in.
“Jimin.”
His smile is strained and all you could think of was how naive you were. Of course Taehyung and Jimin kept in touch, of course Taehyung trusted Jimin to be his roommate. You examine Jimin subtly; it’s been months and he’s drifted, as he does, further than you liked. You make room, dragging yourself along the bed. The excitement is different, tentative. As if Jimin materialising in front of you suddenly makes him realagain.
“When Taehyung told me that his ‘friend’ will be here, I never expected it to be you.”
That stings a little.
“Oh, I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” he cautions, seeing your face. He gestures with his hands in front of him slightly, “I just meant that, I guess I didn’t expect you and Taehyung to keep in touch.”
The air is suffused with a kind of easy acknowledgment between you, the bygones solidifying at the sight of each other being well and healthy. He came without Ji-Eun after all and a kiss was just a kiss. You worried about Jimin, despite it all.
“He moved back here from Daegu a while back and we hung out a lot since ‘cause I ran into him in a café,” you explained.
Taehyung, boisterous in his embrace, never quite let you go from that day forward. But you can’t help but admit that it was nice to have someone from university who knew you then, before life took over. Taehyung kept his easy-going outlook in life, weathering the dreaded consequences of growing up with a can-do attitude.
Jimin nods, tucking his bottom lip under his teeth. You wait for him to speak, to lend part of himself out in the open. He gives you a strained smile instead, hesitating to meet you in the eye.
“I’m glad though, cause I don’t think we’d see each other.”
You shake your head, “we’re not very good at being strangers, are we?”
His smile grows and your mirror it too.
“No. But I’m kind of glad that’s the case.”
And you think that deep down, past the uncomfortable territory of mishaps that you shared, you really were.
-
Taehyung begins to rise from where he was sat, much to you and Jimin’s protest.
“Where are you going?” You asked, failing to grasp at the hem of his pants.
Jimin hides his face in his hands to laugh, chasing that joke you hauled out from years back. Strange how nostalgia can shape a conversation, varnishing your earlier years in technicolour. It was all so simple; the one thing plaguing your minds were reserving a booth at a student pub or when the next exam was.
“I’m tired guys, and I have work tomorrow,” Taehyung announced, not bothering to wait for a reply. The door slams behind him, leaving you and Jimin alone. You didn’t take it as anything mean, Taehyung had an especially long day and sleep is a currency that was hard to come by these days.
“Must be stressful for him,” Jimin said, his voice a little hoarse.
You nod. Taehyung was spinning plates with all of what he was trying to achieve. There was work, then moving back to the city, then more work. He would often complain that there aren’t enough hours in the day to do anything. Though you all knew that what he really meant was rest.
Seoul wears down even the most resilient eventually.
“Are you still working in that office?”
You swallow the shot of soju and suppress a cough, “yeah. I wanted to leave but they promoted me.”
Jimin chuckled, adjusting his posture, “show off.”
“I’m not showing off! I really wanted to leave,” you exclaimed, thinking about the long hours chained to your desk, as well as the same, banal routine eroding your sense of self. You didn’t understand why living would take such a toll despite being rewarded in spades. You had a place to yourself, enough food, a somewhat independent state of living. Your parents were prouder than most. It’s picture perfect, a future you strive for now a reality. In fact, all that’s left is the company of a small pet, barred solely by the standards of your apartment.
Jimin purses his lips, considering the murky surface of his shot glass. These were the times that you think he was the hardest to read, as if he was caving in himself, retreating away from you.
“Wish I had the option to leave,” he sighed. You remembered that he was in between jobs again, back to tempting and such.
“We can trade places if you like, I’m sure my boss would love to have you.”
Jimin grinned, shoving your shoulder weakly, “I hate office jobs, you know that.”
“Doesn’t mean that you won’t be suited for it.”
Jimin sighs deeply again, craning his head back against the curve of the couch. His hair was back to its dark locks, and it was longer this time. They fanned out in graceful strands onto the fabric, his profile is sharp and his jaw angular.
“I don’t know. Sometimes, I just want time to stop, you know?”
You nod because you do get it. You don’t understand why it all goes so fast, how much older you both were now. Life seemed doable back in university, a steep challenge. You suppose that it still is now, but with the added notion of pressure, of the need to be somewhere already even if you didn’t know where that place or state of being was. An idea comes to mind suddenly, so you face him just as he turns his head. Jimin’s cheeks were flushed pink, his lips equally rosy. Here, he was less hard to read and was back to the handsome thief in your eyes.
“How about we go have that day out, you know, watching performances.”
It’s a suggestion borne out of a hazy memory, of conversations in diners, the kind of wishful thinking that was harmless but held the weight of a promise. Jimin blinks, registering your words.
“You remembered that?”
And you smiled, wistful.
“Of course I did.”
-
Jimin hasn’t been thishappy in a while.
The National Theatre of Korea was magnificent on an ordinary Saturday evening, it’s halls brimming with regulars or newcomers. Dressed closer to the nines that your usual style, you both made it out of the theatre, grinning from ear to ear.
Hoseok waved at you and him. To Jimin’s knowledge, he had been working there for the past two years as the resident set designer. The backdrop for the evening’s performance was his vision coming to life, Jimin had never been prouder. You looped your arm through his, tugging him eagerly. He laughed at your enthusiasm, allowing himself to be guided.
“Did you guys enjoy it?”
Jimin leaps to answer, “of course, Hyung.”
You smiled, “it was wonderful. Thanks for getting us tickets last minute.”
Jimin glances at you then, noticing every detail. Absorbing your features, your happiness, as if that was the very force keeping him upright. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling but it was something other than guilt this time, and for that he was grateful.
Hoseok blushes at the warm greeting, “I haven’t seen you guys for ages, so I’m happy to do this.”
“Do you still have access to the stage, Hyung?” Jimin asked, trying his luck. Hoseok arches his brow but is congenial. You giggled next to him, a conspirator in his scheme. Eventually though, Hoseok leads the way, all three of you going against the current of the crowd.
-
Things looked different on stage.
You and Jimin were sat right where the actors were minutes ago. Shredded confetti littered the corners, the floor is scratched up, the furious swipes of various footwear marking it beyond repair. Jimin liked seeing that because it meant that it was used, that people came to see these performances. You whistled at the overhead lights, the complicated rigging that, from afar, the audience wouldn’t see. Jimin found himself observing you again as the silence conveyed the enormity of the place. Here, the dreams of the performers echoed in the hearts of the audience and he felt a sort of kinship to that.
He hadn’t properly thought about it since leaving but it felt so good to be around others, to be invisible, and to have no responsibilities or any kind of pressure around him. Leaving Busan for Seoul again, that re-centred him. Leaving Ji-Eun, no matter how painful it was to instigate, was a mindful change for the better. He didn’t like seeing anyone unhappy and that was Ji-Eun in the latter part of their relationship. That’s why seeing his mother and father wave him off from the train station was less intimidating and more cathartic.
Now, he was reaping the benefits of trying. He liked your company, he felt at ease.
“I would have been happy as part of the theatre ensemble, anyensemble. I’ve always loved the stage…”
Jimin lets the seemingly endless space of the theatre hold the things unsaid. They lurk in certain spaces, in the curtains, the levelled tiers where seats are found. You wait, comfortable in his musings, his half-baked dreams.
“How are you?”
You ask this while Jimin fidgets then fixates on a faraway point near the back of the theatre. The question isn’t difficult, he’s heard it before, too often these days.
“Well, work’s been the same and -”
You cut him off immediately, “no, I meant - what’s been happening with you? I don’t care about work or what you’re doing.”
Jimin looks at you again as you finish your point.
“Howare you, Jimin?”
He should be relieved really, which makes it silly that all he wants to do is cry. In front of him, you’re oblivious, as your concern is genuine. To add, your eyes are attentive. He finds himself welcoming this spate of emotions that encourages honesty. The space between, where your hands are splayed, the tips of them just touching. He wonders how you knew what to say, to have that ability to reach into his mind.
He holds your attention, his eyes seeking yours, unafraid for once. The first graze of your fingers together makes both of you smile.
“Better.”
It’s not meant to sound like a confession but it feels like it because it’s you. Here, in a venue that holds thousands that it might have been the world’s stage, it’s the most sincere he’s been. He holds onto your smile as the lights flicker above, he cleared his throat to expel any dredge of emotion making him choke up.
“I loved the pansori,” you mused, shifting your legs as if you were making snow angels. Jimin leans on his hands.
“Does it have to be about love, though?” He thought aloud.
You scoffed, “it wasn’t allabout love. There were themes of social class, too.”
Jimin rolled his eyes, “would it kill them to support productions that have less conflict?”
You laughed, “careful, Hoseok might hear you.”
“Good!” He bellowed, his voice reverberating on every surface. You stifled your laugh between your fingers and a part of him wanted to hear it loudly since he missed it so much.
“Besides,” you said, gathering your breath, “that’s what it’s about.”
Jimin cocks his head to the side, confused.
“What’s what all about?” He asked.
You met him in the eye and he registers something flash in them. Maybe it’s in the way your brows scrunched for a second, or how swift you were in blinking it away.
“Love,” you concluded, staring up at the ceiling again, “love’s about conflict.”
-
“Remind me to wear more comfortable shoes,” you complained, grasping onto Jimin’s hand so tightly that his knuckles were ashen.
Namsan Seoul Tower is a distinct spindle that glowed in brilliant blue tonight. Jimin had spontaneously booked tickets prior to the performance and told you whilst changing lines at the subway. The night hadn’t ended yet and you were glad, given that he had been so sullen. It was nice that he took initiative.
“Let’s swap then,” he says, slowing down a little to allow you to adjust. Heat creeped up your neck and spilled over to your cheeks.
“No, I’m fine,” you replied, scurrying forward to join the line of people waiting to be shuffled into the elevators. Jimin rubs your lower back, affectionate and serious.
“You sure?”
You nod, avoiding him in the eye. He brushes this off by grasping your waist so that you weren’t pushing all of your weight into the heels you wore. The warmth of him was distracting, to say the least. You remind yourself that Jimin’s always been like this. Soon, you were directed into one of the elevators, leading to the observatory deck.
Seoul from above is a maze of highways and blacked out shapes. The deck was circular in structure and there weren’t too many people around as it was late. Jimin stayed near, at times, strolling with you to point at vague areas of interest. He even took to pointing out where he used to get the bus to work. Then, in a quieter section, past the watchful eyes of the stewards, you leaned onto the fortified glass, the silence between you oddly comforting.
It makes you braver in ways that alcohol could and it seems that Jimin is anticipating it too, this question at the tip of your tongue.
“We never talked about it,” you muttered.
Jimin blinks, tucking his bottom lip under his teeth. The blood spreads and it becomes redder. You didn’t meant to sully the atmosphere, you didn’t even know where you were headed with your words. All that you remembered was a kiss, the uncomfortable train ride back, and the months of walking around in eggshells and barely interacting.
This confrontation was bound to happen anyway.
“I’m sorry for that,” he began, looking down at the floor, at your feet.
Apologies were overdue but that wasn’t what you wanted to hear. Something aches in your chest, a definite sting as your heart struggles to beat regularly. You don’t say anything, admiring the neon dots that decorate the landscape. From this high, you seemed invincible, ready to tackle any problem. It’s only when you looked at Jimin did you realise the error of your ways.
“I don’t want you to misunderstand. You’ve always been someone I could talk to about anything, I never had to hide myself from you, we’re like that.”
Funny how the words stemming from empathy served the opposite effect. You let out a shaky breath.
The kiss meant nothing to him.
“Right. So, I guess I’ll just be the person, who you go to if you’re feeling like you need a pick me up.”
Jimin’s features flicker to something akin to hurt, but you had to push through. It wasn’t ideal to talk about it in public like this, tainting the beautiful view below. Seoul has always been kind to you at any hour and the nights were yours to dream up infinite possibilities. Now, it seemed too saturated because of this inexplicable hurt.
“It’s not like that,” Jimin replied, reaching for you again. This time, you don’t bother shrugging him off.
“Then what is it? What am I to you?”
And the silence that follows was even harder to bear. He lets go of your sleeve, regretful in every action but at a loss for words. You cast your mind back to all of the points in your life where Jimin was in it, each one coloured in joy despite it all. He says your name, soft and careful.
“Please don’t misunderstand. I don’t want us to be apart or not talk again.”
You remembered the numerous texts he sent, the phone calls you ignored. You weren’t blocking him out of your life out of spite, it just hurt too much to be rejected like that. You had kept it together in the past week as he was undergoing this period of change, but you didn’t want to drag it out for longer. It was hard to pretend that things were alright but it was harder to gloss over the previous events as if they were insignificant.
“I’m really tired of this,” you mumbled, rubbing the heel of your palms over your eyes until you saw white dots. You feel him grasp at your wrist, and you exhale forcefully to keep yourself from acting irrationally.
“I don’t want to hurt you, I never -”
You wrench away from him, narrowly avoiding a passerby.
“You don’t want to hurtme?”
It was crass and accusatory. You didn’t bother to rectify it as Jimin shuts down, appearing awash with guilt. He pressed himself against the window pane, no sure where to look. Then, he makes a move to say something but a steward enters your space, cautious as to the nature of your conversation but nevertheless dutiful.
“We’ll be closing in 10 minutes,” she said, her voice low. You nod, turning away. Jimin grasps at your wrist, saying your name in a plea.
“Let’s talk,” he said, sounding desperate, “please.”
“What is there to talk about?” You snap, ducking into the elevator. Other people filtered in, crowding you into a corner. Jimin shields you despite having enough room, but it’s really because something hot streams down your cheek, blurring your vision.
It’s embarrassing to be crying in an elevator.
It’s embarrassing that the one person you didn’t want as witness is the one protecting you from other, prying eyes.
And it’s even more embarrassing that you can’t run away.
Jimin tries to salvage the situation. The ground floor couldn’t come any faster, the people around you are animated in their conversations, oblivious to your tears. Jimin cradles your head, pushing your face onto his chest. He still smells like he does years ago, it’s a sweet scent you worked hard to forget. It’s ridiculous that the thud of his heart through his clothes made you weak, how his embrace, steady and unwavering, made you want to scream about the unfairness of it all.
Instead, the tears came, staining his chest. Your shoulders shook from holding back, but Jimin cradles your head, this gentle manner startling you into a stupor.
The ring of the elevator disrupts everything, the hurried footsteps around you signalling the time for exit. Jimin doesn’t press you though, holding onto you tightly.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair.
You shake your head, unspeakably tired, pushing him off. You wipe your face roughly, sniffing as the biting air cools your skin. Jimin firmly holds your elbow as you try and rush out. You turn back to him, suddenly furious.
“Was it not clear to you that that kiss meant something to me?”
He stops in his tracks, dumbfounded in a way that conveyed just how clueless he was. That makes your heart ache in its hollow thud. The night air skims your skin, the tips of your finger grows cold. Jimin halts his attempts to draw you closer to him and stands his ground.
“What do you mean?”
You gathered yourself, “it may be a mistake to you but it wasn’t for me.”
Jimin swallows down your words, his face slightly pale under the artificial streetlights. The rustle of leaves from the overhead canopies are intrusive, competing with your shallow breaths. He steps closer.
“You mean that -”
“When you kissed me, I thought that you -” you said, struggling to get the words out, “I thought that you wanted me.”
Jimin pushes his hand along his hair, unravelling it from its style, the dark locks fall and is gently jostled by the wind. He doesn’t say anything, which makes you laugh.
“Yeah. I know,” you said, too far into the other side of things to back out. The humiliation wasn’t ideal but it was out there. Jimin shakes his head suddenly.
“How could you like someone like me?”
What?
His response was unexpected, and you both find yourselves on a bench. You hissed at the cold wood that penetrated your clothes.
“I have a hard time forming a reply,” you said, trying your best to calm down.
Jimin places his jacket over your shoulders suddenly. The warmth abates the chatter in your teeth, he seems to withstand the cold for the moment. He lets out a shaky breath, clasping his hands together.
“I didn’t think you could like me because I’m so…”
You wait, somewhat nervous.
Jimin takes to looking at you in the eye, “because I’m this nobody.”
“What?”
It wasn’t clear to you. Sure, Jimin had trouble adjusting but that wasn’t something you considered as a bad thing. Everyone had their own pace, their own way in life. For a moment, he’s too pained to carry on.
“I mean that I’m stuck. I don’t have anything for myself, I don’t even have my own place, I hate my job. I don’t have any sense of responsibility.”
For the first time it felt like Jimin was the most transparent he’s ever been. You knew that what he was saying was something he preferred to keep to himself. You draw his jacket tightly around yourself, shivering.
“I don’t care about any of that,” you muttered.
It was true. That had no bearing on the kind of person Jimin was to you.
“You will, eventually.”
Jimin says this in a softer tone, a certain kind of sadness that echoes in your chest. He really felt like those things he described and there was nothing you could say to better it.
“I know you, I know that you just need time and -”
“I’vehad time, I’ve had enough of it and I still haven’t done anything,” he said, interrupting you. “And I just can’t see why someone like you would go for someone like me.”
“Jimin, you’re more capable that anyone I know,” you began, “it’s not easy to uproot yourself and move back home, or start over again, here.”
Jimin’s mouth twists into a grimace. You feel like you’ve said the wrong words and given the wrong meaning.
“I just feel like I’ll weigh you down. That you’ll be embarrassed of me.”
You place your hand over his, feeling the raised veins, “you could never be those things to me.”
To this, he inhales a deep breath and lets it out slowly.
“It’s been years since I felt like I had any control over my life. I just don’t want to drag you into this mess.
“That’s not true, Jimin.”
He shakes his head, “I feel like I’m not the kind of person anyone can be proud of.”
You realise then that you and Jimin were operating on a different understanding. You weren’t sure if that made you feel better or not. It comes from a recessed well of feelings he probably had since graduation. An uncertainty that stayed hooked on his back, feeding off his energy. The harrowing part was that he was carrying this privately, in silence.
“Not to me.”
That was the truth of it. But it snags at your chest, this moment of honesty between you. It’s almost too abrupt, for the first time, you were wary of just how transparent you were being. Jimin squeezes his hand over yours. His gaze is sorrowful, laced in a sort of helplessness that you wished you never saw in anyone, let alone him.
Seoul shines from afar. This was how you ended your day, the performances that made you happy a mere vignette in your mind and the observatory deck is far off. Jimin is dejected while your tears made your cheeks tacky.
It leads you one resounding thought: that it’s harder to be like this with Jimin than strangers these days.
Summary: Packed like sardines in a tin, that’s your fate this morning. Until you encounter a beautiful stranger on your morning rush to work.
Pairing: Jimin x OC Female
Genre: S2L, nonidol!au
Rating: NSFW, no explicit sexual scenes but still, if you’re a minor, please kindly shoo.
WC: 1.4K
Warning: accidental stimulation, public stimulation, public grinding, public touching, it’s not really that PUBLIC public but yeah it’s in public
A/N:Just a little one as I’m having a massive block and also time isn’t really on my side. But as I wrote this, I am becoming very fond of OC and Jimin, so let me know if you’d like to read more about these two horny people. As always, comments, likes and reblogs are very much appreciated
You take a deep breath as you squeeze your way into the train carriage. It is so packed, you don’t even have to hold on to anything once the train starts moving; you and your fellow commuters keep each other standing upright. You always go to work earlier to avoid the morning rush hour, however it is your own fault for pressing snooze one time too many this time.
You gasp as the train jerks and instinctively your hand reaches out to grab onto something, only to be jostled around by the other passengers. You are losing your balance and falling backwards, only for your back to hit something hard.
your summer holiday takes an interesting turn when Park Jimin, your step brother’s best friend, barges into your room asking for directions around your parents’ new home, dripping in the same charm and allure you remember from all those years ago, still willing to teach you a few things.
pairing— stepbro’s best friend!jimin x nerdy!reader
genre/rating—R | smut, fluff, slight angst, fwb2l
warnings/tags— summer holiday, rich kids au, college au, strong language, small age gap, sorta weird family dynamics, inexperienced!reader, flirty jimin, he has a filthy mouth, blond jimin, sexual discovery, corruption kink, insecurities, virgin!reader but she’s a secret freak lol, bickering, her fave color is pink, vaping, teasinggg, mouth fetish?, slight coercion, explicit smut ++
note:AHH finally !! i’ve been planning this since march but yk how it is anyway this jimin is literally my fave & i hope you guys enjoy him and the fun ride !! it’s gonna be a lot a lot
