liyah ♡ᰍ ˚

Las Vegas already feels like it’s humming before you even properly arrive in it, like the entire city is a living thing that inhales neon and exhales heat. The dry air hits you the moment you step outside with your friends, your skin tightening slightly under the sun that feels too bright to be real, too staged, like it’s been turned up for an audience. Day 1 of the concert hasn’t even begun, but everything already feels like it’s leaning forward, waiting.

You and your friends had landed with a plan that wasn’t really a plan, just a loose agreement to follow anything that felt vaguely ARIRANG-featured, anything tied to BTS lore, anything that might make the trip feel more like a pilgrimage than a vacation. It’s ridiculous, you think, as you walk past tourists filming fountains and gamblers spilling out of casinos like they’ve forgotten what time is. But it’s Vegas. Everything here is supposed to be a little ridiculous.

That’s how you end up there.

The Lotus Magic Shop sits wedged between two louder buildings, its sign small enough to miss if you blink. But something about it pulls your attention anyway. Soft gold lettering, a faint glow even in daylight, like it’s remembering being important once. Your friend laughs immediately when she sees it.

“Okay,” she says, pointing. “That is literally a Magic Shop. We have to go in.”

You don’t argue. None of you do. The name alone feels like permission.

Inside, the air shifts. It’s cooler, quieter, like the city got muted the moment the door closed behind you. Shelves line the walls in uneven rows, filled with trinkets that look half antique and half staged, crystal animals, dusty jars, folded paper charms tied with string. It smells faintly like cedar and something metallic underneath, like old coins or rain that never fully dried.

And then you see it.

The One Wish Willow.

It sits on a middle shelf like it doesn’t belong there, in a highly deceptive, retro, and cheap-looking mass-market packaging. The vintage 1980s-style box is designed to look like an ordinary, inexpensive novelty trinket you might impulsively pick up from a gift shop.

6.99.

Seven dollars, basically. It’s always the seven when it comes to BTS and Army!

You stare at it longer than you mean to.

“It grants one wish, it says!” The exterior and packaging also prominently display "Amaze your friends!" alongside important user warnings. Warning Labels: The packaging and included instructions heavily stress that wishes are irreversible and cannot be repeated.

Your friend snorts. “That’s so fake.”

“Obviously,” another says, already walking away. “But it’s cute. Get it for the memory.”

You should leave it there. You know that. You absolutely know that. But Vegas has a way of making bad ideas feel like traditions, like souvenirs you’re supposed to collect without questioning whether they’re real.

So you buy it. “Are you sure about this?” The cashier asks with a strange look on his face.

“Well, yes.” He continues giving you a look, but then shrugs. You pay him and that is that.

Seven dollars feels like nothing in a city designed to make everything feel like nothing.

When your friends see it at checkout, they laugh.

“You bought a cursed dead wood?”

“It’s not cursed,” you say automatically, even though you don’t actually believe that either. You just tuck the box into your bag like it belongs there. Like it was always meant to come with you.

Outside again, the sun is louder. The world is louder. You almost forget about the shop entirely by the time you’re rushing toward the venue, checking your phone every few seconds like it might suddenly tell you you’re late.

Soundcheck passes are real. You still can’t believe it even as you’re being guided inside with a crowd that feels too excited to be contained in a single building. Everything is flashing wristbands and security instructions and the distant thump of rehearsal sound bleeding through walls.

Inside the stadium, the scale hits you in pieces instead of all at once.

The stage is massive, extending into long catwalk legs that reach deep into the audience sections like arms stretching out to touch as many people as possible. Your seat is just slightly off-center, close enough to feel lucky, far enough to feel invisible. You notice it immediately. You always notice it immediately.

You’re not front row. Not even close.

Your fingers tighten around your phone as you sit. You can already feel the logic forming in your head: they will look everywhere, but not here. Not exactly here. Not you.

You really want them to see you. To acknowledge your existence and not just as a light in the crowd. But as... you. 

Still, you came prepared. Your bag opens like a small arsenal of anticipation, light sticks, snacks you won’t eat, tissues you don’t need, and the poster you spent too long making.

On it, in bold exaggerated handwriting: “Can you BE MINE? 1 for Yes or 2 for Yes.”

It’s stupid. It’s supposed to be stupid. That’s the point. It’s based on Jimin’s solo work, a joke turned into hope turned into something you can hold instead of just thinking about. 

BTS is about to step onto that stage. And more specifically, Park Jimin…the PARK Jimin, is about to exist in the same physical space as you again, even if only briefly, even if only in passing light.

You tell yourself that should be enough.

Soundcheck starts with “Swim,” then “Alien,” then “Fya.” Fifteen minutes that feel like they stretch and compress at the same time, like time is reacting to sound instead of the other way around.

When BTS come out, the stadium erupts in a kind of sound that feels too big for human lungs. You watch them move like they already know exactly where every camera is, every angle, every expectation. Kim Namjoon. Kim Seokjin. Min Yoongi. Jung Hoseok. PARK JIMIN. Kim Taehyung. Jeon Jungkook.

They look effortless in a way that makes you feel slightly unreal for existing in the same space.

Jimin moves like he’s half-aware of gravity but not fully obeying it. Like a fairy, if you will.

He circles the stage during “Alien” with the others, and you immediately stand a little straighter, as if that helps. You lift your poster slightly higher. You even try a small, awkward dance, something to make yourself noticeable, something to separate you from the blur of fans around you.

He comes your direction during the rotation.

Your chest tightens so sharply it feels like it might interrupt the moment itself.

He’s closer now. Close enough that you can see the way his hair sticks slightly to his forehead, the way his expression shifts between focus and warmth depending on where he’s looking.

You raise your poster higher.

“Can you BE MINE? 1 for Yes or 2 for Yes.”

Your heart is doing something unhelpful and frantic.

But his eyes don’t land on you.

They sweep over your section like a light passing over glass, brief, reflective, gone. He’s looking lower, closer to the barricade, the very front rows where people are practically reaching into the stage. His attention is anchored there, grounded in proximity.

You are just far enough back to become part of the crowd instead of part of the moment.

He smiles at someone else. Waves. Moves on.

And then he’s gone.

Just like that.

The disappointment is not immediate. It arrives a few seconds later, like your body needs time to realize what your mind already understands.

Soundcheck ends quickly after that. The members leave in a blur of coordinated movement and flashing lights, and the stadium slowly deflates into noise again, fans talking, laughing, already rewriting the moment into something softer.

You stay seated.

Long after everyone else begins to shift and stand and stretch and leave, you remain still, your poster resting against your knees like it suddenly weighs more than it did before.

Your friends notice.

“It’s okay,” one of them says quickly, sitting back down beside you. “It’s just soundcheck. You’ve got the main show. He’ll definitely see you then.”

“Yeah,” another adds. “There’s still so many chances. And your poster is literally iconic.”

You nod because it’s easier than explaining that something about it already feels decided. Like you’ve seen the shape of how today will go, and it doesn’t include what you wanted.

They eventually leave to get food, promising to come back before the show starts. The stadium empties in waves for a brief moment. You stay behind, claiming you need to charge your phone, even though it’s more about not wanting to move yet.

You open your bag slowly.

That’s when you see it again.

The One Wish Willow box.

It sits at the bottom like it’s been waiting patiently, as if it knew you’d eventually run out of distractions and remember it existed.

You turn it over in your hands.

6.99.

A joke. A souvenir. A stupid little object from a stupid little shop in a city that thrives on illusions. Spark the middle and break in half.

You almost laugh.

“What harm could it do?” you murmur under your breath.

It’s not even a question you expect an answer to.

You open the box.

Inside, the One Wish Willow is smaller than you thought. Delicate. Ordinary. Almost pathetic. Like something you could snap between your fingers if you wanted to.

You hold it anyway.

The stadium hums faintly around you. Distant staff and fan movement, echoing sounds from the VCR play around the venue, the lingering ghost of music still trapped in the walls.

You exhale.

“I wish Jimin would finally notice me,” you say quietly, almost amused at yourself.

There’s a pause.

Your brain tries, genuinely tries, to stop you there. To let it remain harmless. A joke. A story you can tell your friends later.

But you don’t stop.

Because if you’re going to pretend magic is real, it might as well be honest magic.

“…and that once he does, he can’t stop thinking about me. Like I stay in his mind. Like he can’t look away, even when he tries. Like he…”

Your grip tightens slightly.

You don’t know why it suddenly feels harder to breathe in a building full of air.

You continue anyway.

“…like he falls for me completely and can’t stop.”

The moment the sentence leaves you, you break the piece of wood. The air shifts.

Not dramatically. Not visibly.

Just enough that you notice it afterward, like a sound… a jingle… is registered by your ears after it’s already said.

Your phone buzzes beside you. You put away the broken willow in your bag.

You glance down automatically.

A notification lights the screen from a fan update account: soundcheck clips uploading. Thousands of fans reacting. People laughing about interactive moments you didn’t get to experience properly.

And somewhere in that noise, a strange thought forms, quiet and uninvited.

Like something heard you.

Like something is listening now.

Outside, the stadium begins to fill again.

And far away, under stage lights warming up for the main show, Day 1 of 4 starts to feel less like the beginning of something.

And more like the first time something has already chosen you back.

Your friends eventually come back with food in hand, talking over each other about how insane it already feels, how this is only Day 1 and somehow everything already feels like too much and not enough at the same time.

“You’re too quiet,” one of them says, handing you a drink.

“I’m fine,” you reply automatically, but not mention you embarrassingly pulling out that one wish joke trinket and making an actual wish.

Instead, you let the conversation wash over you while your eyes drift to the main stage again. The long catwalks stretch out like empty roads now, the barricades still lined with early fans trying to capture the perfect shot to show that they made it to the BTS concert and have the "best seats in the house". Staff members move across the floor, taping cables, checking screens, resetting the world for tonight’s main show like nothing supernatural had ever brushed through it.

But you cannot shake the feeling that something did.

By the time doors open for the general audience for the main concert, the energy shifts completely.

The stadium fills so fast it almost feels violent. Allegiant Stadium becomes a single body exhaling heat, light, and sound all at once. It's also just a bit overwhelming the more and more you think about it and look around. The crowd becomes a living thing pressed shoulder to shoulder, lightsticks blooming like a field of synchronized stars, and VCR music begins to play ominous traditional Korean instrumental tunes.

You and your friends are back in your seats discussing surprise songs they're hopeful to see, random tweets they saw online, and other yapping about BTS. Things have settled and feel different. Fuller. Heavier. Like whatever happened during soundcheck and you being embarassed by Jimin's lack of attention towards you has been swallowed by something larger.

When the show begins, it begins like impact.

“Hooligan” hits first, and the stage explodes into movement. Then “Aliens,” then “Run BTS,” and the entire stadium screams like it is trying to keep up with its own heartbeat.

BTS move like they are in control of gravity again, but you notice something subtle now that you did not during soundcheck. It is not obvious at first. Just small pauses between movements. Slight changes in where attention goes.

And more than anything, you notice Jimin.

He is smiling, performing, spinning into choreography like he always does, but his eyes keep drifting in ways that feel slightly unfocused. Not lost. Just… searching. Like he is looking for something he cannot name. His body language also looks off at moments, but maybe you're overthinking it a bit much.

Yeah, maybe you are just imagining it.

But then it happens again during “Fake Love.”

He and Yoongi walk toward the extended stage leg closest to your side of the floor. The crowd erupts around you, phones rising like a single wave. You rise too without thinking, lifting your poster again even though your hands are already tired from holding it earlier.

“Can you BE MINE? 1 for Yes or 2 for Yes.”

You watch him approach.

This time, he is closer than soundcheck. Close enough that you can see the way his expression tightens slightly when he scans the crowd.

He stops.

Just for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

His eyes pass over barricade fans first, then the middle sections, then yours.

And for a moment, his gaze catches yours and he looks very elated to find you.

He then looks like he is reading the sign you made and laughs. Then he raises a peace sign. A 2. Answering your question. You and your friends suddenly cheer from the interaction of finally getting noticed.

Then his attitude shifts and he looks away sharply, almost as if something pulled him out of it, and continues moving.

You lower your poster slowly.

“Wait what was that?” your friend shouts over the music.

“I don’t know,” you answer, but your voice sounds like it belongs to someone else. “But who cares, I got noticed! Yay!”

You and your friends continue to fangirl and cheer throughout the set, and the rest of the concert continues like a dream that refuses to stabilize.

“Mic Drop” shakes the stadium so hard your ribs feel like they are vibrating separately from your body. “Fya” turns the crowd into pure movement, with other members like Taehyung and Hoseok coming onto your side. “Fire” makes everything feel like it is burning without heat.

During “Idol,” the members walk the perimeter in a procession, and you catch glimpses of them moving past your section. RM looks out into the crowd with a calm focus that feels almost grounding, like he is seeing the whole stadium at once instead of just pieces of it. Jin waves toward a section slightly farther away, laughing at something a fan is doing. Jungkook runs ahead of the others briefly, then slows like he remembers he is supposed to stay in formation.

But Jimin.

Jimin keeps pausing in small, inconsistent ways. Not enough for anyone else to notice if they weren't his fellow members and staff, though just enough for you to start noticing it as a long time fan. Is something wrong?

Once, during a transition, he turns his head toward the stage wings like he heard something offstage. Another time, he looks directly into the crowd again and holds it for a beat too long, then blinks like he is resetting himself.

Your stomach tightens.

You tell yourself it's likely exhaustion. Lights. Noise. Pressure. Anything normal. This is the last stop of the first leg of the World Tour, maybe he's not feeling 100%.

But the thought from earlier returns anyway.

Like something heard you.

By the time the encore begins, you are physically drained from all of the standing or screaming you've been doing for over an hour. 

“Come Over” feels soft after everything that came before it, like the stadium is exhaling. “Butter” makes everyone laugh and sway, the members joking with each other, moving without precision on purpose.

During “Dynamite,” Jimin spins mid-step and for a brief second looks directly toward the center sections again.

And again, it is like something inside him stutters.

Like he is trying to focus on one thing and failing.

The surprise songs hit differently.

“Permission to Dance” shocks fans at it's sudden return to being played, to the dismay of some, but it brings back some soft memories from Permission to Dance tour. “Go Go” is chaotic and playful, but even then you notice Jimin lagging half a beat behind the others at one point, then correcting himself instantly like it never happened. He laughs it off, but you can tell members like Taehyung catch it immediately that this isn't normal for Jimin.

You hope everything is alright and that he isn't pushing himself.

The final stretch of the concert slows everything down. The members do their ending ments, thanking fans for coming to Vegas, mentioning how they know many travelled fair to be there and also coming back to this venue after 4 years. Time surely has passed. Jimin's ending meant is very normal during this: just teasing fans to make some noise and hoping everyone gets home safely after the show.

“Please” has them sitting on the rotating stage, turning slowly so every side of Allegiant Stadium gets its moment. The crowd is still loud, but it is softer now, emotional in a way that feels like collective fatigue and joy mixing together.

You watch Jimin during that rotation, recording with your phone for some clips to have as memories.

You zoom in with your phone. He is smiling again. Playing around with Yoongi who keeps poking at him, followed by Jungkook who slaps his knees.

But every so often, his eyes flick toward your section.

And stares deeply, as if he’s trying to find…you.

Then “Into the Sun” begins.

It feels like goodbye stretched into music. Slow, aching, and impossibly tender.

The members stand at the edge of the stage, waving, lingering, and walking backward as if refusing to fully leave yet. The stadium roars with everything it has left, a wall of sound that vibrates in your chest like it could keep them there forever.

And then it is over.

The lights come up gradually at first, then all at once.

Harsh, white, and unforgiving. Reality forcing itself back in like cold water after a fever dream.

The crowd doesn’t move right away. Everyone just stands there, stunned into a lingering, messy noise. Some still cheering, some already crying, a few calling out names that won’t be answered again tonight. The magic drains slowly, like water slipping through cupped hands.

Your friends stay frozen beside you for a long second. Then the disbelief spills out.“No way… that’s it?” one of them says, voice cracking. “I can’t believe it’s actually over. It doesn’t feel real.”

Another lets out a shaky laugh, rubbing their face with both hands. “I’m not ready. I’m literally not ready. How are we supposed to just go home after that?”

You swallow hard, throat tight. The stadium lights feel too bright on your wet eyes.

“But hey,” the first friend adds, trying to rally, “we’ve got tomorrow. and Wednesday. and Thursday.”

A half-hearted “Yay” ripples through your little group. Flat, tired, and sarcastic. You join in, but it comes out more like a groan.

Tomorrow suddenly feels less like a gift and more like the last step toward the edge of a cliff.

Your friends grab your arms anyway, pulling you forward before the ache can settle too deep.

“Photos,” one says, already steering you toward the barricade. “We have to get barricade photos while it’s emptying out. Come on.”

You follow them because it is easier than thinking. Easier than sitting still in your seat with your body suddenly too aware of itself. Legs shaky, chest hollow, the ghost of every chorus still ringing in your ears.

The barricade area is less chaotic now. Still slightly crowded, but more manageable. Fans take turns posing, laughing, recreating moments from the show that already feel like memories instead of present tense.

You take a few photos with your friends. You smile when you are supposed to. You hold your lightstick up. You try to match their energy.

But your feet hurt.

Your entire body feels like it has been emptied and refilled too many times in one night.

Eventually you drift away slightly, letting them continue taking pictures while you find a random empty aisle seat closer to the back of the floor section. It is not your seat. You do not care.

You sit down like your body finally makes a decision without asking you.

The relief is immediate and almost dizzying.

You lean forward, unlacing your boots with slow fingers. The floor feels colder than you expect. You pull out your foldable flats from your bag and slip them on, exhaling like you have been holding your breath for hours. You put your boots away in a reusable bag you had folded up in your main bag.

The thought of walking back to the hotel already makes your legs ache. The Strip will be chaos. Fans everywhere. Glittering noise and traffic and exhaustion all wrapped together in a single direction.

“Fans packed like sardines,” one of your friends had called it earlier.

It feels accurate now.

You lean back in the seat for just a second, holding onto your clear bag of stuff and your shoe bag.

Just one.

That is when it happens.

A hand grabs your arm.

Firm. Immediate. Real.

You are pulled sideways before your brain fully processes what is happening, taking a strong hold of your bags before they slip off.

“Wait–” you start, voice rising instantly, shock snapping through your body.

The grip tightens and drags you faster, away from your seat, away from your friends, toward one of the darkened tunnels that leads backstage.

Your breath catches hard.

Where are you going?!

The direction BTS disappeared into? Why? 

Your instinct is to scream. 

You almost do.

But the person stops abruptly and turns slightly, sensing it before it happens. A hand rises quickly, finger pressed to a masked mouth in a clear shushing gesture.

“쉬,” the man says quietly. [“Shh.”]

Your heart slams so hard it feels like it is trying to leave your chest.

The man is small-framed, wearing an oversized hoodie that swallows his body shape completely. A mask covers most of his face, leaving only his eyes visible.

And when you see those eyes properly, everything in you goes still in a way you had once joked about.

Not panic.

Not excitement.

Just total system freeze.

Because your brain refuses to accept what your eyes are showing you.

No.

No way.

That is not–

The man pulls you further into the tunnel, away from the noise of the stadium, deeper into the dim backstage corridor where everything sounds distant and muffled.

Your mind finally catches up to your body.

This is how you thought it would go, once, in a very delusional dream you had many years ago about BTS at Speak Yourself tour when you were still in college.

Well not like this. Not literally. But in that vague, impossible way you dreamed about and immediately laughed off once you woke up.

If it ever happens, you had told yourself, you will freeze. You will not scream. You will not move. You will just accept it because it cannot be real anyway.

And now you are doing exactly that.

Because the man glances back at you again, and the mask shifts slightly as he turns.

And when you meet his eyes properly this time, there is no room left for doubt.

It is him.

Jimin.

He is staring at you like he is still trying to confirm something.

Then, in a low voice, barely above a breath, he speaks in Korean first.

“왜 이렇게 조용해요?” [“Why are you so quiet?”]

You do not answer.

You physically cannot.

He lets out a short exhale that sounds almost like relief, then shifts his grip slightly, still holding your arm but gentler now, guiding instead of dragging.

Then he adds, in careful English, softer and more deliberate than before.

“I need you to come with me. Just for a moment.”

Your legs move because he is moving.

Not because you decided.

Because something in your brain has completely stopped arguing.

And as the tunnel opens further into the backstage world, where lights are colder and voices are lower and everything feels like it is happening behind reality instead of inside it, one thought repeats in your head over and over again.

This is not supposed to be happening.

And yet it is.

The corridor behind the main tunnel is nothing like the stadium.

The sound drops off so sharply it feels like your ears are malfunctioning. One moment there is 50,000 people still screaming somewhere behind concrete and steel, and the next there is only the hum of emergency lighting and the distant vibration of machinery you cannot see.

Jimin keeps walking until the noise of staff and stagehands fades completely.

You try to count doors as you pass them. You lose track after the third.

He finally stops in a narrow stretch of corridor that looks unused, like it exists only for maintenance and forgotten movement. No staff. No cameras in obvious sight. Just pale walls and a flickering light overhead that makes everything feel slightly unreal.

He releases your arm.

For a second, you do not move. You just stand there, staring at him in the hoodie and mask, your brain still refusing to fully translate what is happening into something logical.

Then he exhales, like he has been holding something in since soundcheck.

And suddenly, he steps forward.

Fast.

Before you can process it, your back hits the wall.

Not painfully. Not violently.

But firmly enough that your body registers it as final.

Your breath catches sharply, eyes widening instantly as your hands lift slightly between you and him out of pure reflex.

He is close now. Too close for any normal backstage interaction. Close enough that you can see the slight uneven rise and fall of his chest, like even he is not fully steady.

The mask is still on, but his eyes are completely uncovered.

And they are not performing anymore.

They are focused.

Locked.

On you.

Your voice tries to form something, but it does not make it out.

He takes his mask off and speaks first, in Korean. 

His voice is low. Controlled. But there is something strained underneath it, like the words are being pulled out instead of chosen.

“오늘…” he starts, then pauses, as if correcting himself mid-thought. “오늘 제대로 못했어요.” [“Today… I couldn't do my best.”]

Your brows knit slightly. You know some Korean, so you're only able to catch fragments of words. Today. Could not. Best.

You do not question why he is speaking to you in a language that you don't really understand, mainly due to being a bit nervous of killing the vibe right now. Jimin continues speaking, not looking away from you at all. 

“계속 당신을 찾으려고 했어요.” [“I kept trying to look for you.”]

Your breath stutters.

That word. 당신.

You know enough Korean to understand the weight of it. You. You specifically.

His hand lifts slightly, then stops midway, like he is unsure whether he should touch you again or not.

He continues anyway, voice tightening just a little.

“잠깐이라도 안 보이면…” [“If I could not see you, even for a moment…”]

He stops.

His gaze flickers across your face like he is checking whether you are still here, still real, still reacting.

Then he exhales through his nose, a sound that is almost frustrated with himself.

“불안했어요.” [“I felt anxious.”]

Silence drops between you.

It is not empty.

It is full.

Full of the stadium somewhere behind you. Full of the fact that this is Jimin. Full of the fact that he is standing too close, speaking like you are not a stranger he pulled into a corridor five minutes ago.

Your mouth opens slightly.

Nothing comes out.

Your brain finally forces a question to the surface.

What.

He watches your confusion register. His eyes soften slightly, and for the first time there is a crack in the intensity, like he realizes you are not following everything.

He shifts, leaning back just a fraction, giving you the smallest amount of space against the wall.

Then he switches to English.

Careful. Slightly uneven.

“I kept losing focus on stage.”

Your breath is still unsteady, but at least now you can understand him clearly.

He continues, eyes still locked on yours.

“I would be performing, and then I would look for a second, and you were not in my sight.”

A pause.

His fingers curl slightly at his side, like he is restraining something restless in his own body.

“And I could not stop thinking about it.”

Your heart is beating so hard it feels loud in your ears again, even without the stadium.

You manage a small, broken sound. Not a word. Just disbelief trying to become speech.

He nods once, like he understands that reaction more than he wants to.

Then he speaks again, softer now, but no less direct.

“I do not know why it was happening today.”

His eyes move over your face again, slower this time, like he is trying to confirm something that still does not make sense even to him.

“I have performed hundreds of times,” he says. “But today… I kept feeling like I needed to see you.”

The word see lands heavier this time.

Not just notice.

Not just glance.

See.

Like you were supposed to be part of something that he could not complete without you being there.

Your back is still against the wall. His proximity has not changed much, only softened at the edges.

And then he adds, quieter, almost like he is admitting something he did not plan to say out loud.

“I thought I was imagining it at first.”

A beat.

“But it kept happening again.”

He tilts his head slightly, studying you in a way that feels less like performance and more like confusion mixed with certainty that should not coexist.

“And when I finally saw you clearly during ‘Fake Love’…” he pauses, swallowing slightly. “It felt like something clicked.”

Your fingers tighten slightly against the wall behind you, grounding yourself in something physical because nothing else feels stable.

You force yourself to speak, voice thin.

“You… you saw me?”

That is all you can manage. Stupidest question ever since you know he did and acknowledged your poster, but double confirmation from him would be nice.

He nods immediately.

“Yes.”

Simple.

Absolute.

No hesitation.

Then, after a pause that feels heavier than anything before it, he adds in English again, quieter now.

“I could not stop looking after that.”

The corridor hums faintly.

Somewhere far away, staff voices echo briefly, then fade again.

He does not move away.

You do not move either.

And in the strange silence between a stadium full of people and a hallway meant for nobody, it becomes very clear that whatever this is, it did not end when the concert did.

Your mind latches onto the only logical thread it can find, even as your body refuses to fully cooperate with logic anymore.

Did it actually work?

Did the One Wish Willow actually fucking work?

That stupid seven-dollar box sitting at the bottom of your bag. A joke. A souvenir. Something you were supposed to laugh about later.

Now nothing about this feels like a joke.

Jimin is still standing in front of you.

Too close. Too real.

And then his hands lift.

Slowly.

Carefully.

He cups your face like he is testing whether you are solid.

His palms are warm through the chill of the hallway air, thumbs resting just under your cheekbones. For a moment, his expression shifts like something inside him tightens again, like even gentle contact is not enough to settle whatever is happening in his head.

His voice drops, and this time he speaks in Korean again, slower than before, like he is choosing each word as it comes out.

“볼수록…” he murmurs. [“The more I look at you…”]

His gaze drags over your face like he is trying to memorize it in real time.

“너를…” he continues, then stops briefly, exhaling through his nose. [“You…”]

Then he finishes it, voice quieter but heavier.

“가지고 싶어져.” [“I want to have you.”]

A pause.

Not loud. Not dramatic.

Just heavy in the way silence becomes heavy when someone says something they were not supposed to say out loud.

His thumbs press slightly more firmly against your cheeks, not painful, but enough that you feel the intensity sharpen.

“그냥 보는 걸로는 부족해.” [“Just looking is not enough.”]

Your breath catches.

Not because you understand everything perfectly, but because you understand enough.

Enough to feel the meaning behind it pressing into the space between you.

His eyes flicker across yours again, like he is checking your reaction, and something in him seems to lean forward before he consciously decides to follow it.

The distance between you disappears further. The distance between you vanishes.

Jimin’s mouth finds yours like he’s been starving for it, slow at first, almost reverent, lips soft and plush as they press against yours. Then the hunger takes over. His hands slide from your cheeks into your hair, gripping just tight enough to tilt your head back as he deepens the kiss. His tongue slips past your lips, hot and insistent, tasting you like he wants to devour every small sound you make.

You moan into his mouth and he answers with a low, throaty sound of his own, pressing you back against the cool wall of the hallway. His body is solid heat against yours, firm chest, narrow waist, the hard line of his thigh pushing between your legs. One of his hands drops to your hip, fingers digging in as he rolls his hips forward, letting you feel exactly how much he wants you.

“Fuck…” he breathes against your lips in English this time, the word ragged. Then he’s kissing you again, filthier, tongue stroking deep and slow while his hand slides under the hem of your shirt. His palm is scorching against your bare skin, fingertips tracing up your ribs until he cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple through your thin bra. It pebbles instantly under his touch and he groans, pinching lightly, rolling it until your back arches off the wall.

You clutch at his shoulders, the ash hoodie fabric bunching in your fists. He’s still in stage clothes underneath, sweat-damp tank top clinging to his body, and the scent of him fills your head: clean sweat, faint cologne, and something darker, purely him. You suck on his tongue and he shudders, grinding harder against you, the very obvious ridge of his cock pressing insistently against your thigh.

“너 때문에…” he pants between kisses, voice wrecked. “이렇게 됐어… [Because of you… I’m like this…]”

His mouth trails down to your jaw, then your neck. He bites, sharp enough to sting, then soothes it with his tongue, sucking a mark right below your ear while his hand squeezes your breast harder. Your hips jerk against his thigh, chasing friction, and he chuckles darkly against your skin before kissing you again, messier this time. Lips wet, tongues sliding, spit-slick and desperate. His free hand grips your ass, pulling you tighter against him so you can feel every inch of his hardness rocking against you.

You’re both breathing hard, almost panting into each other’s mouths. His forehead rests against yours for half a second, eyes half-lidded and glassy with want, before he dives back in-kissing you like the world is ending, like this stolen hallway is the only place left. One of your hands slips under his hoodie, nails dragging down his back, and he hisses, hips snapping forward again in response.

He’s just starting to push your shirt higher, mouth moving down toward your chest, when–

A sound cuts through the hallway.

Footsteps.

Sharp. Controlled. Fast.

A voice follows immediately, colder than everything else in the corridor.

“지민아.” [“Jimin.”]

The spell breaks instantly for a moment.

Jimin’s hands drop from your face like he has been shocked. His entire posture changes in a single snap, shoulders tightening, breath shifting.

He turns his head.

RM is standing at the end of the corridor.

His expression is not confused at first.

It is sharp.

Then it turns fully into disbelief.

His eyes move from Jimin to you, then back to Jimin.

“뭐 하는 거야?” [“What the hell are you doing?”]

Jimin takes a half step back so quickly it looks involuntary, like his body is suddenly remembering it is supposed to have boundaries.

“What the fuck?” his eyes widen, and mutters under his breath, but not directed at anyone in particular, like he is realizing the situation at the exact same time everyone else is.

He looks down briefly, running a hand over his face, then turns slightly away from you as if trying to physically reset himself.

The shift is so abrupt it makes your stomach drop. What’s going on?

It’s as if someone just turned the volume of reality back on too fast.

Namjoon steps closer, eyes narrowing as he takes in the corridor, the distance between you and Jimin, the way Jimin is standing like he is trying to reassemble his own thoughts.

“무슨 일이야?” Namjoon asks, voice controlled but clearly strained. [“What is going on?”]

Jimin does not answer immediately.

Namjoon exhales sharply, looking between you both again.

“끝나고 나서 너 갑자기 후드 쓰고 마스크 쓰고 뛰쳐나갔다며.” [“After the show ended, you suddenly grabbed a hoodie and a mask and ran off.”]

He gestures vaguely down the corridor.

“스태프들이 계속 찾고 있었어.” [“The staff have been looking for you everywhere.”]

A beat.

Then his eyes flick to you again, slower this time, assessing.

Jimin suddenly lets out a short, strange laugh.

It is not the kind of laugh that belongs in this moment.

It is too light.

Too detached.

Namjoon notices immediately, his expression shifting.

“왜 웃어?” [“Why are you laughing?”]

Jimin tilts his head slightly, still half turned away, then looks back at you like he has just remembered you are there in a different way than before.

Then he says, in Korean, almost casually:

“그냥… 이 팬이 눈에 들어와서.” [“Just… this fan caught my eye.”]

His gaze lingers on you.

Then he adds, slower:

“같이 데려가고 싶었어.” [“I wanted to bring her with me.”]

Namjoon scoffs immediately.

“호텔까지?” [“To the hotel?”]

His disbelief sharpens.

“너 지금 우리 전부 다 걸고 그런 짓을 한 거야?” [“You’re putting all of our reputations on the line for that?”]

He gestures between Jimin and the corridor like he cannot believe he is having to say this out loud.

“그냥 데려가서 여기서 키스라도 하려고 한 거야?” [“Did you just drag her here to kiss her in a hallway?”]

The air goes still again, but this time it is different.

Not charged.

Just heavy with consequences.

Jimin opens his mouth like he is about to respond, then closes it again.

His expression shifts slightly, like he is trying to grasp something that keeps slipping out of reach.

Then, unexpectedly, he starts laughing again.

Softly at first.

Then a little more.

Namjoon stares at him like he is no longer sure what he is looking at.

You do not move.

You cannot tell if you should.

Jimin finally looks at Namjoon properly, still smiling faintly like the situation is slightly unreal to him.

Then he says, in Korean:

“형, 그냥 영어로 말해줘.” [“Hyung, just tell her in English.”]

A pause.

Namjoon blinks.

“뭐라고?” he asks, voice flat with disbelief. [“What?”]

Jimin tilts his head slightly toward you again, eyes briefly sharpening as if refocusing on the original thread that started all of this.

His voice lowers when he speaks next, calmer now, but still unsettling in its certainty.

“그냥 영어로 말해줘.” he says first, almost absentmindedly, like he is setting the tone of the moment for himself. [“Just say it in English.”]

Then, after a beat, he adds in Korean, slower, deliberate, as if each word has already been decided and there is no room left to argue with it.

“데려간다고 말해.” [“Tell her she’s coming with us.”]

Namjoon does not move right away.

The word hangs in the corridor like something physically uncomfortable.

“데려간다고?” he repeats, slower this time, like saying it again might make it make sense. [“Bring her with us?”]

His eyes flick to Jimin first. Then to you. Then back again, sharper now.

“지민아, 너 지금 무슨 말 하는지 알아?” [“Jimin, do you know what you are saying right now?”]

Jimin does not look away.

He stands straighter now, like the earlier instability has been replaced with something more fixed, more certain in a way that is almost worse.

“I know,” he says simply in Korean, then exhales once. “알아.” [“I know.”]

Namjoon lets out a quiet breath through his nose, frustration and concern mixing in a way that makes his voice drop lower.

“아까부터 이상했어.” [“You’ve been strange since earlier.”]

He gestures slightly toward Jimin, controlled but tense.

“무대에서도 집중이 계속 끊겼고, 스태프들도 봤어.” [“Even on stage, you kept losing focus, and the staff noticed.”]

His gaze sharpens.

“이거 그냥 넘길 문제가 아니야.” [“This is not something we can just ignore.”]

Jimin’s jaw tightens slightly, but he still does not step back.

Namjoon finally looks at you properly now, like he is including you in something he did not plan for. It makes you nervous. He is your bias wrecker after all.

Then he switches to English, voice softer but very deliberate.

“I need you to listen carefully.”

You swallow.

He glances briefly back at Jimin before continuing.

>"Jimin wants you to come with us."

>A pause.

>Not dramatic. Just heavy. The kind of pause where a single second stretches long enough for your pulse to beat twice, three times, while your brain tries to assemble the sentence into something that makes sense.

>"Okay…" The word comes out before you can stop it. Neutral. Question shaped. A placeholder while your mind scrambles for footing.

>Namjoon's expression tightens slightly. Not anger. Something closer to the careful patience of someone explaining the rules of a game you haven't agreed to play.

>He adds, more carefully now, "But you need to understand… this is not normal."

>His eyes flick down the corridor, checking for what? Security? Staff? Other fans spilling out of nearby exits? Then back to you.

>"I think he is going through something. Mentally. Like a crisis. I don't know what triggered it, but this behavior is not like him."

>Behind Namjoon, Jimin says nothing. Doesn't move. Just keeps smiling that small, knowing smile, watching you like you are the only person left in the world. 

>Something cold traces down your spine. Not fear. Not yet. But the awareness that the ground has shifted beneath your feet, and you haven't noticed until just now.

>Namjoon's voice drops lower, pulling your attention back.

>"I am not letting you be pressured." He says it like a fact. Like a line he has already drawn in his own mind and will not cross. "But I also cannot just leave you like this in the middle of Allegiant Stadium."

>He exhales, a slow controlled breath, and takes a step slightly closer to you. Close enough that the ambient noise of the departing crowd seems to recede. Close enough that his next words feel like they are being placed directly into your ribs.

>"If you go with us, you stay calm. You do not post anything. You do not record anything. You do not argue. You just go where we go and we figure this out."

>His eyes sharpen. Not cruel. Precise. The way a leader's eyes sharpen when they know the margin for error has just shrunk to nothing.

>"And you tell your friends you left with other people from the concert. Other friends. Tell them you'll be back at their hotel tomorrow. You understand?"

>A beat. Then, softer, "Can you do that?"

>"Yes." You blush a bit from his authoritative tone, which is one of the things you love about him.

>The word leaves your mouth at the exact same moment your phone buzzes in your hand.

>You glance down instinctively.

>No signal.

>That's strange. The stadium has been crowded all night, but your service has held. Now the bars at the top of your screen sit empty, replaced by a small, blinking icon you don't recognize.

>Another flicker. The screen stutters, ghost inputs, a lag you have never seen before, and for a split second, the edges of your wallpaper pixelate into gray static.

>Then your phone dims.

>Not the slow fade of low battery. Not the auto brightness adjusting to the corridor's fluorescent glare. This is different. It is like the screen is struggling. Like something is pulling the life out of it in real time.

>The phone goes dark.

>Then it lights up again, dimmer. Then dark. Then dim.

>Namjoon notices.

>You see the exact moment he does, the slight pause in his breathing, the way his gaze drops to your hand for half a second too long.

>"That's fine," he says quickly, already interpreting it, already smoothing over whatever jagged edge has just appeared in the air between you. "Your phone is probably overloaded with the mass usage of the stadium network. Just say you couldn't share location."

His tone is steady, but there is tension underneath it now.

Jimin finally speaks again, quietly in Korean.

“형, 빨리 가.” [“Hyung, let’s go quickly.”]

Namjoon does not respond immediately. His eyes stay on you for another second, like he is still deciding whether this is a mistake that can be stopped.

Then he exhales once, sharply.

“Okay,” he says in English, more to himself than anyone else.

He turns slightly, gesturing down the corridor.

“Follow me.”

The walk feels unreal.

Not fast. Not chaotic.

Controlled, like your body has been inserted into someone else’s plan and is now expected to cooperate.

The corridors shift from narrow backstage passages into wider service halls. You pass staff areas, locked doors, rolling equipment cases. Every sound feels muted, like the building is underwater now.

Then you reach the loading area.

The air changes again.

Colder. More open. Outside doors are partially raised, letting in flashes of Las Vegas night light, distant traffic, and the lingering echo of a stadium that is still emptying out behind you.

A black Escalade is already waiting.

Engine running.

Lights on.

Other members are not here.

Just this.

Just Namjoon, Jimin, and you.

Security is stationed nearby. A few staff members in BTS tour uniforms. And near the vehicle, a man you recognize from earlier briefings, likely head of security, labeled Mr Lee by the staff.

He looks at you immediately.

Not with curiosity.

With assessment.

Like you are a problem that has entered a controlled environment.

His eyes flick between you, Jimin, and Namjoon in quick succession.

One of the security staff leans slightly toward Mr Lee, speaking under his breath.

Namjoon notices immediately and steps forward before it escalates.

“괜찮아요.” he says firmly in Korean. [“It’s okay.”]

Then he switches to English for clarity, voice calm but authoritative.

“She’s with me. She’s a friend.”

There is a pause.

The security team does not look convinced.

Mr Lee’s gaze lingers on you a moment longer than comfortable, then shifts back to Namjoon.

A quiet exchange happens between them without words needing to be said.

Then, finally, Mr Lee gives a short nod.

No approval.

Just acceptance of responsibility being transferred.

No one argues out loud, but the air says everything anyway.

Namjoon opens the door to the Escalade.

“Get in,” he says gently, looking at you again.

Behind him, Jimin is already waiting, eyes fixated on you like the decision was never really open to question at all.

And the night outside of the venue, fans continue to walk home, unaware that something with bts has already changed direction completely.

he car ride feels wrong in the way dreams feel wrong. Not frightening at first, just assembled incorrectly, with pieces that belong to different realities forced into the same scene.

The black Escalade pulls away from Allegiant Stadium smoothly and disappears into the Las Vegas night with dark windows and practiced timing. Outside, the Strip is exactly what you imagined it would be after Day 1 of a BTS concert. Thousands of people flood the sidewalks in every direction. Lightsticks still glow in people’s hands. Fans carry banners rolled under their arms and film themselves while walking in crowds thick enough to slow traffic. Cars inch forward beneath giant LED billboards and neon reflections.

You should be out there.

You should be squeezed between your friends, complaining that your feet hurt and replaying every moment from the show. You should be hearing someone insist Jimin definitely looked in your direction at one point. You should be heading back to the ARIA, where you're staying at, and deciding whether overpriced room service is worth it. Or if you should door dash some food from somewhere.

Instead, you’re here.

Inside a black SUV.

With Jimin and Namjoon.

You unlock your phone.

It freezes once before opening. The screen flickers for a second before stabilizing and immediately reveals a flood of notifications.

Friend 1: WHERE ARE YOU HELLO????

Friend 2: DID U LEAVE WITHOUT US?? WHERE'D YOU GO?

Friend 1:YOU LEFT YOUR POSTER BTW I'LL SAVE IT.

You stare at the keyboard.

Your fingers hover for longer than necessary.

Eventually you type:

you: sorry!! ran into some friends from online and hanging out for a bit 😭 my phone is glitching rn and i cant share location

you: but im okay!! don’t wait up if i’m late

You stare at the message again after sending it. It looks normal enough. Weird, but not alarming. Your friends know concerts are chaotic. People split up all the time.

You lock your phone.

Only then do you realize one of your hands feels warm.

You look down.

Jimin is holding it.

There is nothing dramatic about it. His fingers are loosely intertwined with yours between the seats as though he reached over without thinking and never stopped. He isn’t gripping tightly. He isn’t even looking at your hand.

He’s looking at you.

Not glancing.

Looking.

You’ve spent years watching performances, interviews, clips, fan interactions, livestreams. You know his expressions. You know what his performance face looks like. You know what his fanservice face looks like. You know what his polite public smile looks like.

This isn’t any of those.

His eyes look almost unfocused around the edges, soft in a way that makes your stomach feel strange. Like he found something unexpectedly beautiful and cannot stop checking whether it’s still there.

His thumb brushes lightly across your knuckles once.

You look away first.

On your other side, Namjoon sits with his elbow resting against the door. His expression is neutral, but not relaxed. His phone keeps lighting up. You accidentally catch pieces of the group chat reflected faintly in the screen.

Jungkook asking where they are.

Taehyung asking if everyone’s alive.

Jin saying staff is really upset with them right now.

Namjoon types for a while.

Namjoon: Found him. Coming back. Will explain.

Then another message appears.

Namjoon: Actually.

Namjoon: Something’s weird.

He sends it.

Locks the screen.

And goes back to staring out the tinted window.

After a while he finally turns slightly toward you and says in English, quietly enough that it feels private, “You okay?”

You blink.

The question feels too normal.

You swallow and answer honestly. “I think so.”

Namjoon nods once and looks away again before saying, “You don’t have to be afraid,” then pauses briefly before adding, “but I know this is strange.”

You almost laugh.

Strange feels like the wrong word for being pulled out of a stadium by your celebrity crush after making a suspiciously specific wish to a fake magic item.

The ride ends before your brain can finish processing any of it.

Eventually the scenery outside changes. The Strip becomes cleaner. Taller. More expensive.

Then the SUV turns and your eyes widen slightly when you realize where.

The Waldorf Astoria.

Which feels absurd because you and your friends are staying at ARIA. Practically next door.

>The car doesn't approach the front entrance. Instead it descends into a private underground level. Concrete walls. Controlled access. Security checkpoints. Quiet lighting. The kind of infrastructure designed specifically so famous people never have to become public if they don't want to.

>The vehicle comes to a smooth stop. Before anyone can speak, Jimin opens the door and gets out. Then he immediately turns and reaches for you. You grab your things and take his hand because, apparently, that is what your body does now. You are not questioning anything right now. He pulls gently but decisively, and suddenly you're moving again. Namjoon unfolds his tall frame from the backseat and follows behind with the energy of someone who has accepted this situation without approving of it.

>You're led through the garage toward a set of elevators tucked behind another secured entry point. Private elevators. No guests. No chance encounters with fans or sasaengs. Jimin pulls you inside, grip firm and possessive, and Namjoon steps in right after you, earning a visible eye roll from Jimin.

>Jimin presses the button to close the elevator doors immediately before any of their staff could enter with them. Three's already a crowd.

>Once again you're sandwiched tightly between them, Jimin in front of you, Namjoon behind. No space. No escape. The elevator starts its smooth ascent and your pulse spikes.

>Oh god, not here. Not with both of them like this. Your mind races. You can feel every inch of them. Your clothes are wrinkled, your makeup is ruined, and these stupid foldable flats make you feel small and unprepared.

>Jimin notices the split second your eyes flick toward Namjoon. His expression shifts instantly, still calm, but now sharply attentive. He leans in closer, chest brushing yours, and murmurs low against your ear in Korean.

>"여기 봐요." Look at me.

>Your face burns as you obey. The second your gaze meets his, his eyes soften with dark satisfaction. Then he dips his head without hesitation.

>His lips find the side of your neck, hot and deliberate. He kisses you open mouthed, slow and wet, sucking gently at first before dragging his teeth along your pulse point. A helpless little whimper escapes your throat before you can stop it. Embarrassment floods you. Namjoon is right there, inches away, witnessing every second of this. But the shame only makes your body react stronger. Heat pools low in your belly.

>Jimin smiles against your skin, clearly loving it. He loves the sound you made, loves how you tremble knowing you have an audience. His hand slides around your waist, pulling you tighter against him as he kisses lower, sucking harder at the sensitive spot just above your collarbone. His tongue traces slow, filthy circles before he nips again, hard enough to make you gasp.

>You can feel Namjoon's solid warmth at your back, his body heat radiating through your clothes. The elevator feels impossibly small. Jimin's free hand trails up your side, thumb deliberately brushing the underside of your breast through your dress, teasing the curve as his mouth continues its assault on your neck. Licking. Sucking. Marking you.

>Another needy, breathy moan slips out of you. Jimin's grip tightens possessively, his breath hot and ragged against your damp skin. He's completely lost in teasing you now, staring deeply into your eyes whenever he pulls back for air, his gaze hooded and hungry.

>Behind you, Namjoon clears his throat. Loudly. He stares fixedly at the glowing floor numbers like they are the most fascinating thing in the world, his jaw tight, his ears visibly red. This is probably one of the most embarassing moments of his life, and he can't believe Jimin's audacity right now. 

>Mortified of being watched by your bias wrecker, you push weakly at Jimin's chest, your voice shaky and breathless. "Jimin, Namjoon is right here. Let's save this for when we're alone."

>Jimin scoffs, low and amused, his lips still grazing your flushed, marked neck. He steals one last slow, deliberate kiss right under your jaw, tongue flicking teasingly, before he finally pulls back. His eyes stay locked on yours, dark and full of filthy promise.

>The elevator doors open with a soft ding.

The hallway outside is quiet and expensive in a way only luxury hotels can be. Thick carpet. Soft lighting. Closed suite doors.

Before Namjoon fully exits, Jimin moves.

He takes your wrist and starts walking quickly.

“지민아,” Namjoon calls.

Jimin doesn’t stop.

One door.

A keycard.

A green light.

The door opens.

You’re pulled inside.

And before Namjoon reaches it–

Click.

Locked.

Outside, there’s silence.

Namjoon stands there staring at the door for a second before letting out a tired sigh.

Nearby doors open.

Jungkook appears first and looks around before asking, “왔어?” [You’re back?]

Then he notices one person missing and asks, “지민이 어디 갔어?” [Where did Jimin go?]

Other doors open.

Jin.

Taehyung.

Yoongi.

Hoseok.

Namjoon rubs his face and says quietly, “…나도 아직 잘 모르겠어.” […I still don’t really know.]

Everyone waits.

Then he adds, “근데 여자 한 명 데려왔어.” [But he brought a girl.]

The hallway goes silent.

Jin immediately lowers his voice and asks, almost whispering, “…팬?” […A fan?]

Namjoon nods.

Jin rolls his eyes.

Taehyung blinks once before saying casually, “지민이 성적으로 너무 답답했던 거 아냐? 오랜만에 투어잖아.” [Maybe Jimin’s sexually frustrated? It’s been a long tour.]

Hoseok immediately smacks his arm. “야.” [“Hey.”]

Taehyung rubs his shoulder dramatically and frowns.

“왜? 진지하게 말한 건데.” [“What? I’m being serious.”]

Jin lets out a quiet breath through his nose and mutters under his breath. “진짜 별소리를 다 하네.” [“You really say the most ridiculous things.”]

Yoongi shakes his head before Taehyung can continue and says quietly, “아냐.” [No.]

Everyone looks over.

Yoongi crosses his arms loosely and leans against the wall.

“대기실에서도 이상했어. 계속 멍 때리고 있었어.” [“He was strange in the dressing room too. He kept spacing out.”]

His expression turns thoughtful.

“…집중을 못하는 느낌?” […“Like he couldn’t focus?”]

Hoseok nods slowly.

“맞아.” [“Yeah.”]

He glances toward Jimin’s closed hotel room door.

“…누구 찾는 것 같기도 했고.” […“And it kind of felt like he was looking for someone.”]

That makes Namjoon’s expression tighten.

He noticed it too.

Not enough to interrupt the concert.

Not enough to panic.

But enough.

Enough that he checked on Jimin between transitions.

Enough that he remembered him staring too long toward one side of Allegiant Stadium before snapping back into choreography.

Enough that he noticed Jimin miss a cue during rehearsal and brush it off.

Namjoon looks back at the closed suite door.

Then quietly says:

“…공연 중에도 그랬어.” […“He was like that during the show too.”]

Nobody says anything after that. Because suddenly this feels less like recklessness.

And more like something none of them understand.

The hallway goes quiet. Namjoon stares at the closed door for several more seconds.

That is their shared grand presidential suite.

Normally they barely saw each other once schedules ended. Separate bedrooms. Separate routines. Namjoon goes out often to avoid feeling enclosed in these concrete buildings only meant for their temporary lodging.

But tonight…

His eyes linger on the door.

He thinks back to the corridor.

The look on Jimin’s face.

Too focused.

Too emotional.

Too unlike himself.

Namjoon exhales.

Then turns.

“…오늘은 내가 다른 방 써도 돼?” […“Can I stay in someone else’s room tonight?”]

Everyone looks at him.

Jungkook blinks.

“왜?” [“Why?”]

Namjoon rubs the back of his neck.

“그냥… 좀 놔두는 게 좋을 것 같아서.” [“I just think… it’d be better to leave him alone tonight.”]

His eyes drift back toward the closed door.

“생각 정리할 시간 필요할 수도 있잖아.” [“He might need time to organize his thoughts.”]

His shoulders lift slightly.

“…내가 옆에 있으면 오히려 불편할 수도 있고.” […“Me being there might make it harder.”]

Nobody speaks immediately.

Jin studies him.

Then quietly asks:

“너 괜찮겠어?” [“You okay with that?”]

Namjoon exhales softly.

Not really.

But he nods.

“내일 되면 괜찮아질 수도 있지.” [“Maybe tomorrow things will be better.”]

His eyes lower.

“…그냥 오늘 하루 이상했던 거면 좋겠어.” […“I just hope today was weird and that’s all.”]

A pause.

Then Jungkook lifts his hand.

“형 와!” [“Hyung, come stay with me!”]

Taehyung immediately points.

“야 왜 너만.” [“Hey, why only you?”]

Jungkook looks offended.

“내 방 제일 커.” [“My room’s the biggest.”]

Taehyung scoffs.

“내 방도 커.” [“My room’s big too.”]

Jin immediately cuts in.

“둘 다 조용히 해.” [“Both of you, be quiet.”]

That finally earns a small smile from Namjoon.

Small.

Tired.

He nods.

“고맙다.” [“Thanks.”]

Before leaving, though, he looks at Jimin’s door one more time.

For a second he considers knocking.

Checking in.

Talking.

But he stops himself.

Jimin isn’t dangerous.

He’s overwhelmed.

Exhausted.

Maybe emotional after finally touring again.

Maybe tomorrow they’ll talk.

Maybe tomorrow Jimin will apologize.

Maybe tomorrow things will feel normal again.

Namjoon turns and follows Jungkook down the hallway.

Behind him, the door stays closed.

And he doesn’t notice that for the first time in years…

he feels uneasy leaving Jimin alone.

    Meanwhile, behind the locked hotel room door, you stand in unfamiliar silence and realize for the first time all night that there are no crowds now, no friends, no staff, no excuses.

You are completely alone with him.

The place is quieter than you expected.

Not silent. Hotels are never truly silent. There is still the low hum of the air conditioning somewhere overhead, the faint vibration of elevators traveling through hidden shafts in the walls, and the distant pulse of Las Vegas existing dozens of floors below. But compared to the roaring stadium, the screaming crowds, the lights and constant movement, it feels unnaturally still.

And huge.

You hadn’t actually processed where you were until now.

Your eyes drift upward first.

The ceilings are absurdly high.

Then outward.

The suite opens far beyond what your brain expected when someone says hotel room.

It isn’t even a room.

It feels like an apartment.

No. Bigger than that.

A long central living space stretches ahead with polished wood floors and designer furniture arranged so intentionally that it almost feels untouched. There’s a sitting area with couches and a television mounted into the wall. Farther in, a dining area. Decorative lighting. Another hallway branching deeper into the suite.

Your brain immediately compares it to your room at ARIA.

Two queen beds shared amongst three women. Suitcases exploded across every available surface that is NOT a bed. Phone chargers fighting for outlets. Someone’s makeup bag permanently open for the duration of the trip.

This feels ridiculous in comparison.

Your eyes continue wandering.

There’s another side of the suite too.

You notice another closed bedroom farther away across the living space. Bigger than a normal connecting room. Another member probably stays there.

You wonder who.

Not that you’d ask.

For some reason the thought of accidentally opening the wrong door and discovering another BTS member relaxing in pajamas or even naked feels more embarrassing than ending up backstage with Jimin.

Your attention shifts back.

Jimin is watching you.

Not intensely this time.

Almost shy.

Like he forgot what this would look like through someone else’s eyes.

You glance around once more and laugh quietly.

“…Your room is huge.”

His expression softens immediately.

He looks around too.

Then gives a small shrug.

“익숙해져서 잘 몰라요.” [“I’m used to it, so I don’t really notice anymore.”]

Then after a second he smiles faintly.

“…근데 그렇게 말하니까 갑자기 큰 것 같네요.” […“But hearing you say it makes it suddenly feel big.”]

"Hehe, yeah.." You smile back at him.

He stands there for another second before walking over.

Without really thinking, he reaches for your wrist again.

Not pulling.

Just guiding.

His fingers wrap loosely around your hand this time.

Then he quietly says:

“이쪽이에요.” [“This way.”]

He leads you across the suite.

Not toward the center.

Toward the left side.

As you walk farther in, the layout starts making more sense.

The shared spaces stay behind.

The hallway narrows.

There’s a bedroom tucked off separately, with its own bathroom and sitting area outside the room.

This must be his room.

When Jimin opens the door, you notice now how his actual bedroom feels more lived in than the rest of the place.

A hoodie tossed over a chair.

A phone cable plugged in.

Water bottles.

A few bags.

Enough signs of actual life that suddenly this stops feeling like a luxury hotel and starts feeling strangely personal.

Jimin releases your wrist after he closes and locks the bedroom door.

For the first time since he pulled you from your seat at Allegiant, he seems uncertain.

He glances around once, then quietly walks to the edge of the bed and sits.

And just… sits.

His shoulders look different now.

Not smaller.

Just heavier.

You remain standing for a moment, watching him.

Finally he looks up at you.

His eyes still carry that earlier softness, but something else lies underneath now.

Fatigue.

Maybe embarrassment. Does he regret bringing you now? 

You swallow.

This feels like the moment you should ask about him.

You take a small breath and speak carefully.

“I wasn’t sure when the right time was to ask…”

His expression shifts.

“But… are you okay?”

His brows move slightly.

You look down briefly before meeting his eyes again. “What Namjoon said… about how you were acting during the concert.”

You hesitate.

“I know this probably sounds weird because I’m literally your fan and everything, but… I like you.” Your face warms. “I mean… obviously I do.”

That draws a faint smile from him.

You continue anyway. “But if something’s wrong… I don’t want to do something if you’re vulnerable or not okay.”

The room falls quiet.

Jimin stares at you. Then, unexpectedly, his eyes begin to water.

Your stomach drops.

His gaze lowers. His hands clasp together loosely. When he speaks, his voice is quieter. “Kind of. I’ll say it in Korean first, to let my feelings out, as it’s hard to describe in English.”

He exhales, then switches into Korean. “괜찮긴 했어요.” He looks at his hands. “근데…”

He lets out a short, embarrassed laugh. “나이 드는 게 생각보다 별로예요.”

You stay quiet, letting him continue.

“예전 같지가 않아요. 예전엔 하루 종일 연습하고 공연해도 괜찮았어요.”

He translates for you. “When I was younger… I felt unstoppable.” His smile is small. “But now… my body feels different. It doesn’t help that military happened.” His expression tightens. “I hated it.”

His voice lowers. “Coming back… touring again after so long… I keep thinking… what if I get hurt? What if I get sick? What if I can’t keep up and everyone has to slow down because of me?”

Your chest tightens.

He laughs once under his breath. “You know… I started noticing every little thing. My knees. My stamina. My breathing.” He smiles faintly. “And then I started thinking too much.”

He finally looks at you. “And today… I saw you.” He shrugs slightly. “And everything burden and problem disappeared.”

You think for a second, then walk over and sit beside him. Not too close. “You say all this like your value is in how perfectly you perform,” you say softly. “I think people came back because they missed you. You’re allowed to get tired. You’re allowed to not feel twenty forever.” You smile a little. “And honestly… if a member got hurt or needed a break, I think ARMY would want them to rest and be healthy more than perfect. You don’t carry everybody.”

His eyes soften. Then he laughs, small and real. His shoulders lower. “Thank you.”

After a moment his ears turn faintly pink. He looks embarrassed. “…I’m sorry. For grabbing you. And bringing you here suddenly.” He rubs the back of his neck. “This is probably really weird.”

You shake your head, expression softening. “There’s no need to apologize. I’m here… as a fan.” You pause. “And as a friend.”

His eyes widen slightly, then soften. After a moment he reaches for you slowly, carefully. His fingers curl around yours and he tugs gently, inviting.

“Will you stay tonight?” he asks quietly. “…I think I need comfort.”

Your heart twists. You nod. “Okay.”

His face relaxes. You both sit there for a while. Eventually he stands and begins to undress, leaving only his sweatpants on. Shirtless. His body is toned yet compact, bigger than yours but somehow delicate in the low light.

He pokes your side gently, nudging you to do the same. You undress, slipping out of your lace black dress, socks, and shoes until you’re left in your undergarments. He promises to give you one of his shirts afterward.

When you sit beside him again, a strange awareness settles between you. Not bad. Just heightened. You are suddenly very conscious that you are in a hotel room with Jimin at midnight.

He looks at you quietly, then smiles. “You being here… makes me really happy.”

Your face heats. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He scoots closer. “I thought if I got close I’d realize I imagined all of this. But you’re still here.”

He leans in and kisses you. Softly at first. Warm. Unrushed. His lips move against yours with tender care, deepening gradually as his tongue brushes yours. You lift a hand and touch his cheek, feeling the smooth warmth of his skin beneath your palm. He sighs into the kiss, the sound low and needy.

His hands find your waist. With gentle strength he helps guide you onto his lap until you straddle him. Your thighs settle on either side of his hips. The new position presses your bodies closer, and you feel the heat of his bare chest against you. His hands slide up your back, holding you there as the kiss grows slower, deeper, more sensual. Every brush of his tongue sends warmth spreading through your body.

Then suddenly he freezes. His eyes widen. He pushes you away, body jerking back. Fear flashes across his face angrily saying:

“씨발!…”

He moves too quickly and loses balance, falling off the bed.

You jolt upright. “뭐야?!” A word in korean slips out, “What? Why did you do that?”

He sits up, rubbing his face. “I-I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.” His breathing is uneven. “I’ve had weird experiences before… with people. Something in my brain… triggered.”

“You’re scaring me a bit.:

“I know, I know. I’m sorry! Please forget about it.”

You stare at him, chest aching at the genuine fear in his eyes. He notices your concern and reaches over, squeezing your hand. “I’ll make it up to you,” he says quietly.

He does.

Jimin coaxes you onto your back with soft kisses along your jaw and neck. He peels away the last of your undergarments with careful hands, then settles between your thighs. His mouth is warm and insistent. He starts slow, teasing licks and gentle kisses that make your hips twitch. Then he grows bolder, tongue pressing flat and dragging over your most sensitive spot before circling it with focused intent.

Your fingers thread through his hair as pleasure builds. He hums against you, the vibration pulling a moan from your throat. He doesn’t rush. He savors every reaction, every gasp, adjusting to what makes your thighs tremble around his head. When release finally crashes over you, sharp and overwhelming, he keeps going, gentling you through it until you’re boneless and panting.

Afterward he climbs back up, lips shiny, and kisses your forehead. He disappears into the bathroom for a moment and returns with a warm, damp cloth. With tender care he cleans you, wiping away the evidence of your orgasm with slow, soothing strokes. He presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh, then helps you slip into one of his oversized shirts before pulling you into his arms.

Eventually the tension fades. Conversation replaces the awkwardness. Exhaustion wins.

Later he curls behind you in bed, one arm draped around your waist, warm and sleepy. You both drift off like that.

At 3:45 AM you wake and quietly slip into the bathroom outside the bedroom with your phone to pee. Notifications from friends, memes, photos. No stress calls from friends asking if you've been kidnapped luckily. You'll craft a story later that will prevent them from knowing what's going on.

Then you open reddit and search up the one thing that has been bothering you the most: One Wish Willow. Only two reddit threads with comments come up. People swearing it worked. Others calling it coincidence. Warnings not to wish vaguely. Things going to shit. Warnings not to wish emotionally. Suggestions to buy a crystal for protection...

Your stomach twists.

If this actually worked… why does everything feel so off? Especially with Jimin?

You stare at your reflection, then lock your phone. Nothing bad has happened. Maybe you’re overthinking.

When you return, Jimin is already awake, sitting on the bed, menacingly. His eyes find you immediately, but they look dead. You’re scared to address him being awake, so you plan to ignore it and lay down to continue your sleep.

However Jimin decides to speak.

“어디 갔어요?” His voice sounds clear as day, with a tint of frustration. He speaks in korean, and you manage to understand what he says thanks to the countless kdramas you’ve seen. Not a hard question to answer.

“The bathroom.”

His shoulders tense. “I thought you left.”

You smile and settle back down beside him. “I’m not leaving any time soon. I willl tell you when I go later in the morning. I have to meet my friends.”

His brows knit. “…later?”

You nod. “Yes, I’m going to the concert later too.” You tell him you forgot the exact row, but your seat should be closer this time.

His expression visibly relaxes. “좋아.” Then, quieter: “I want to see you. At all times.”

Your chest tightens at the words, but you don’t question them. Instead you let him pull you closer, holding you like he needs to be sure you are still there.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Is it odd to say you’re progressively starting to feel a bit weirder about this. But will you do anything about it? Despite the strange situation you’re in, the answer is no. - - ▶ cue: Emotions by Brenda Lee 

↻      ◁ II ▷     ↺

- -

But the next morning, he was nowhere to be seen.

When you finally opened your eyes, blinking against the harsh, bright sunlight piercing through the cracks of the heavy blackout curtains, the couch beside you was completely empty. You checked your phone—it was god knows what hour of the late morning—and the realization that you were alone in the vast, quiet space hit you like a cold splash of water. The heavy dark duvet was pulled back, the plush pillow still holding the indentation of his head, but Jeongguk was gone.

So naturally, you grew a bit anxious.

A tight, familiar knot formed in the pit of your stomach as you sat up, the silence of the multi-million dollar apartment suddenly feeling incredibly heavy. Your mind instantly began to scramble, racing back through the events of the previous night. You hoped with everything you had that he would just forget what he said last night. You prayed the tequila had completely wiped his memory, that the slurred confessions about true love and people coming up short in comparison to you would just evaporate into the morning air. If he forgot, everything could go back to normal. You could go back to being the constant, unshakeable variable in his life.

But then the darker, terrifying thoughts started to bleed in, turning your anxiety into full-blown panic.

What if he remembered? What if he woke up with a pounding headache and a crystal-clear recollection of every single word that had left his mouth? What if he was so thoroughly mortified, so repulsed by the fact that he had crossed that sacred platonic line and laid his soul bare, that he had physically chosen to flee his own home just to avoid looking you in the eye?

You stood up, your knees slightly shaky, your eyes darting toward the hallway. His bedroom door was still closed, but the heavy silence in the apartment made it feel like he had abandoned the entire place just to escape the mess he’d created in the dark.

That’s when you heard the faucet running.

The sharp, metallic hiss of rushing water cut through the suffocating silence of the apartment, drawing your attention toward the kitchen. Your heart skipped a beat, the knot of anxiety in your stomach loosening just a fraction, only to tighten again with a completely different kind of tension.

With small steps, your feet padding quietly against the cold hardwood floor, you made your way down the hall. Every single breath you took felt like lead, heavy and burning in your chest. You braced yourself for a tense, awkward confrontation, preparing to play off his drunken rambling as a massive joke.

Instead, you rounded the corner and saw him in all his glory, completely naked from the belt up.

The bright morning sunlight poured through the kitchen window, hitting the sharp, fiercely toned lines of his back and shoulders as he stood in front of the sink. He had a clean pair of grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, exposing that dark, dangerous happy trail you’d been obsessing over the day before. His skin practically glistened, completely washed clean of the previous night's sweat and alcohol, and his dark, damp hair strands curled slightly around his nape. He was rinsing out a couple of mugs, hands moving with effortless, domestic grace.

As if sensing your presence, Jeongguk turned around.

There was no repulsion on his face. No awkwardness, no frantic desire to flee. Instead, his sweet, round eyes instantly crinkled at the corners, and a warm, lazy grin spread across his face, his silver lip piercing catching the morning light.

He greeted you in a sweet, entirely normal manner.

"Morning, sleepypants," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly morning rumble that vibrated pleasantly in the quiet air. He set the mug down and gestured toward the espresso machine on the counter. "Coffee?"

You sit down awkwardly on one of the high barstools at the marble kitchen island, your hands folded in your lap as you nod your head. "Yes, please. Black is fine."

The silence stretches between you for a bit, heavy and thick on your end, though Jeongguk seems entirely unbothered as he presses a button on the espresso machine. The low whirring of the grinder fills the space, and the rich, dark scent of coffee begins to bloom in the air. Your mind is still a frantic mess of questions, the sheer weight of his shirtless torso in the bright morning light not helping your ability to think straight.

Unable to take the suspense any longer, you clear your throat. "Koo?"

He hums in response, not turning around just yet as he watches the dark liquid drip into the mugs, patiently waiting for you to continue.

You swallow hard, tracing a invisible line on the marble counter. "Do you... do you remember last night?"

Jeongguk freezes for a split second, his shoulders tensing just a fraction before he slowly turns around to face you. He leans back against the counter, crossing his tattooed arm over his bare chest, a totally blank, deadpan expression washing over his features.

"Last night?" he repeats, blinking his eyes with exaggerated confusion. He tilts his head, looking down at his own bare torso and then back up at you. "Wait... what year is it?"

You instantly catch onto the stupid joke, a rush of exasperated relief flooding your chest. You reach out, grabbing a random crumpled tissue you found sitting on the edge of the counter, and throw it straight at his face.

He ducks, but it clips his shoulder anyway. Jeongguk bursts into a loud, boxing-glove laugh, his eyes crinkling into those familiar, endearing crescents as the heavy tension in the room instantly evaporates.

"Yes," he says, his laughter dying down into a soft, knowing smile as he holds your gaze, his voice dropping back into that low morning cadence. "I remember last night, Y/N."

Your stomach drops straight through the floor. The relief you felt a second ago evaporates, replaced by a sudden, choking wave of heat that rises all the way to your face. You fumble with your words, your tongue feeling thick and clumsy as you try to form a coherent sentence.

"You—you remember?" you stammer, your hands nervously gripping the edge of the marble counter. "Then... what you said on the couch. Before you fell asleep. Did you... I mean, did you actually mean it?"

Jeongguk stays quiet for a while. The playful morning light suddenly feels too bright, too exposing. He doesn't move from where he’s leaning against the counter, but the easy grin vanishes from his face. He looks down at his feet, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard, his chest expanding with a deep, deliberate breath.

When he finally lifts his head, his eyes are dead serious, devoid of any tequila-induced haze.

"Yes," he says, his voice a low, steady vibration. "I meant it."

You blink, your chest tightening so fast it hurts. "What... what did you mean, Jeongguk? Exactly?"

"I meant what I meant," he mutters, his jaw clenching as he shifts his weight. He crosses his arms tighter over his bare chest, a defensive instinct kicking in as he tries to maintain his footing. He’s trying to stay casual, trying to play the enigmatic card, but the slight twitch in his silver lip piercing gives him away.

"Yes, but what does it mean?" you push, your voice cracking slightly out of frustration. You lean forward on the barstool, completely done with the riddles. "You don't get to drop a bomb like that, tell me everyone else comes short in comparison to me, and then just say 'I meant what I meant.' What does that mean for us, Jeongguk? What are you actually saying?"

Jeongguk stares at you, the silence stretching out between you like a taut wire. You can practically hear the furious looping in his head, the terrifying friction between the decade of friendship holding him back and the raw, suffocating desire to just stop hiding.

"It means exactly what you think it means, Y/N," he says defensively, his voice rising a fraction. "Why do I have to spell it out?"

"Because you were drunk!" you snap back, your own walls going up because you're terrified of getting your hopes destroyed. "Because people say crazy things when they've had six shots of tequila! You told me I'm the standard for your love life. Do you have any idea how insane that is to hear from your best friend?"

That's the breaking point.

Jeongguk cracks. The stubborn, defensive posture completely shatters, his arms dropping to his sides as he takes a sudden, aggressive step forward, closing the distance between the counter and your stool. He looms over you, his bare chest heaving, his eyes wide and burning with a desperate, chaotic intensity.

"It's not insane!" he bursts out, his voice cracking with a raw, emotional force that echoes through the quiet kitchen. He grips the edge of the marble island right next to your thighs, leaning down until his face is just inches from yours, entirely undone. "It's not the tequila, Y/N! I've been sober for months on tour and I thought about it every single day. Every girl I look at, every person I talk to, I'm just looking for you in them. I'm tired of pretending I don't. I'm tired of the mystery. I meant that I’m in love with you, okay? I’ve been in love with you for years!"

"You're crazy!" you snap back, the pure panic in your chest bubbling over into anger as you push yourself back against the barstool. "You are completely crazy, Jeongguk! You can’t just wake up one day and decide to ruin a ten-year friendship because you had a breakthrough on tour! You don't just get to tear down everything we built because you feel like it!"

He flinches as if you physically struck him. The fierce, looming intensity drains from his posture in an instant, leaving him looking raw and incredibly small despite his broad frame. His eyes turn visibly sad, a thick, glossy sheen coating them under the bright kitchen lights. His jaw tightens, his silver lip piercing trembling just a fraction before a bitter, hurt laugh leaves his throat.

"Well, excuse the fuck out of me if I have feelings," he spits out, his voice cracking with a dangerous mix of anger and absolute rejection. He pulls his hands off the marble counter and takes a step back, wrapping his arms tightly around his torso again, as if trying to shield his chest from you. "Excuse me for actually trusting my best friend enough to be honest. I didn't decide to feel this way, Y/N."

"It’s not even about that!" you yell back, your hands flying into the air out of sheer frustration. You slide off the barstool, finally standing on your own two feet so you don't have to look up at him. "Jeongguk, think for one second! Could you actually afford to lose me if a relationship goes south? If we do this, if we cross that line and it blows up in our faces, we don't get to go back to being friends. I'm gone. You're gone. Everything is ruined. Can you honestly afford that?"

At your words, his entire demeanor shifts from heartbroken to super pissy and defensive, the vulnerability of his ego being bruised making him lash out.

"It wouldn't go south!" he barks, his chest heaving as he glares down at you, his face flushing a furious, hurt red. "Why are you already deciding we're going to fail? And you know what? It doesn't even matter because you’re standing here acting like you have the high moral ground! Like you're the only one who cares about our friendship and I'm just some reckless idiot trying to break it!"

"I don’t have a moral ground!" you shout, stepping right into his space, your voice matching his volume. "I’m just trying to be smart about this! Someone has to be, because you're clearly letting your emotions run completely wild right now!"

"Why should you be smart?!" Jeongguk erupts, his frustration completely breaking through the ceiling. He throws his hands up, the silver rings on his fingers flashing aggressively in the morning sun. He steps so close you can feel the radiating, shirtless heat of his skin, his breath hitting your face in short, ragged gasps. He looks down at you, his eyes searching your face with a suffocating anger. "Why do you always have to be the logical one? Tell me the truth, Y/N—have you ever even thought about me that way? Even once? Or am I just the only idiot who’s been suffocating in this for years?"

"Of course I’ve thought about you that way!" you burst out, the truth ripping through your throat before you could even try to stop it. "Every single day for the last ten years, Jeongguk! I have been suffocating right next to you, watching you date other people, watching you become a global superstar, completely terrified that if I said a word, I’d lose you forever!"

Jeongguk completely freezes. The furious, pissy retort dies right on his tongue, his mouth hanging open slightly as his chest heaves. His round eyes widen, the glossy unshed tears making them look impossibly huge as he processes your words.

"You..." he stammers, his voice becoming a breathless, vulnerable whisper. "You have?"

"Yes! But you’re sitting here acting like it’s so simple," you say, your voice trembling with an overwhelming mix of anger, frustration, and a decade's worth of built-up tension. You take a step closer, your eyes locking onto his parted lips, then tracing up to the raw, completely undone expression on his face. He looks so helpless, so utterly desperate for your touch, standing there shirtless in the bright morning light.

You need him to understand. You need to prove to him that this isn't just some casual, easy dynamic he can play with. You want to prove a point—to show him exactly what he's playing with, exactly how dangerous this boundary truly is.

Before he can utter another word, you reach out, your fingers gripping the soft fabric of his sweatpants at his hip to pull him in, and you slam your lips against his.

Jeongguk lets out a sharp, muffled gasp into your mouth, his entire body jolting at the sudden impact. But the hesitation lasts for less than a second. The moment he realizes you are actually kissing him, he completely shatters. A low, desperate groan rumbles deep in his chest, and his tattooed hands flies to your waist, his fingers digging into your skin with a terrifying, suffocating hunger.

The kiss is chaotic, fierce, and overflowing with ten years of unspoken agony. You pour everything into it—all the logic, all the smart choices, all the fear of losing him—crushing your lips against his until your teeth click. He tastes like the rich espresso he just brewed and the sharp, lingering heat of his own desperation. He follows your lead completely, surrendering to the dominance you admitted to just hours before, letting you call every single shot as he whimpers against your mouth, his frame trembling beneath your hands.

When you finally pull back, your chest heaving, your lips swollen and tingling, you try to step away to establish the boundary again. "See?" you breathe out, your voice shaky as you stare at his dark, completely blown-out pupils. "That is what we lose if—"

"No," Jeongguk whines instantly, the sudden loss of your lips making him sound incredibly small and pathetic. His hands tighten on your waist, physically yanking you right back against his bare, warm chest. His nose brushes against yours, his breath hot and ragged. "No, Y/N. Please. Just one more. One more."

"Jeongguk, I'm trying to make a point—"

"I don't care about the point," he groans, his voice turning super whiny, his bottom lip pushing out in a desperate, pouty expression that completely contrasts his heavily tattooed, muscular frame. He leans his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering shut as he practically begs. "Just one more kiss. Please. Y/N. One more, and then I’ll listen to the logical stuff. Just one more."

You melt away entirely under the pathetic, desperate drag of his voice. Every ounce of your hard-earned logic completely liquefies, dripping away into the space between your pounding hearts as you slide your hands up his radiating chest to cup the back of his neck, pulling him right back down to you.

The moment your lips meet again, Jeongguk kisses you like it’s the only thing he was ever put on this earth to do.

It is an agonizingly deep, consuming kiss that destroys any remaining illusion of your platonic past. He devours you, his plush lips parting with a fierce, wet desperation that immediately slicks your skin. He uses his tongue with a heavy, deliberate stroke, sweeping into your mouth to claim you entirely, tasting intensely of the bitter espresso and the sweet, clean mint from earlier. Every tilt of his head is a calculated shift to press deeper, his silver lip piercing sliding hot and sharp against your bottom lip, an intoxicating friction that sends a jolt of pure electricity straight to your core.

You let out a helpless, broken moan right into his mouth, the sound vibrating against his teeth.

The small noise completely undoes him. Jeongguk’s hands abandon your waist to roam frantically all over you, his palms hot and heavy as they map out your body. He slides his hands down the curve of your back, his blunt fingernails digging into your clothes, before lifting up to cup your jaw, his tattooed thumb firmly pressing against your pulse point to hold you perfectly still for his assault. His chest presses flush against you, the hard, sculpted lines of his abdomen crushing into your frame until you can feel the frantic, booming rhythm of his heart matching your own.

He is entirely consumed, a slave to the sudden shift in your dynamic.

He briefly breaks the kiss, his lips only parting a fraction of an inch from yours, leaving a string of wet, heavy breaths between you. His glossy eyes flutter open, looking at you with a gaze so completely wrecked and swimming with desire that it makes your knees buckle. He whines against your skin, a high, desperate sound cutting through his deep morning rasp as his forehead drops heavily against yours.

"I'm gonna make you feel good," he pleads, his breath hot and ragged against your swollen mouth as his hands slide back down to desperately grip your hips. "Please, Y/N... please let me make you feel good. Just let me. Please."

You don’t reply right away, your mind completely fracturing into a thousand pieces as you stand frozen in his kitchen. Your thoughts pull you in every direction, desperately trying to analyze the wreckage of the last five minutes.

The damage is done. You already kissed him—not just a gentle slip of the lips, but a fierce, devastating confession of a kiss that blew every single one of your carefully constructed boundaries right out the door. The sacred line of the friendship hasn't just been crossed; it’s been entirely incinerated.

As you stare down at his flushed face, a dark, heavy thought slips into your mind, taking root before your logic can tear it down: Would it really be so bad to just go through with it?

If everything is already broken, if the mystery is gone, why keep fighting the very thing that’s been suffocating you both for a decade? You look at his chest rising and falling in sharp, ragged gasps, his skin radiating a maddening heat that pulls you in like gravity.

Before a single word can tumble past your swollen lips, Jeongguk completely unravels. His knees give out, hitting the hardwood floor with a soft thud as he drops down right in front of you.

The global superstar, the man who fills stadiums worldwide, is entirely brought to his knees, looking up at you with huge, glassy, pleading eyes. He looks so sweet, so raw, and completely submissive to whatever you decide next.

"Please," he whimpers, the word spilling out of him like a broken prayer. "Please, Y/N."

He doesn't wait for your permission. His hands slide up the back of your legs, his palms scalding hot through the fabric of your clothes as he pulls your hips closer to his face. He buries his face against you, his warm forehead pressing firmly against your lower stomach as a ragged breath hitches in his throat.

"Let me make you feel good," he begs into your clothes, his voice dropping into a desperate, deep vibration that resonates straight through your skin. "Just let me do this for you. Please."

Then, his plush lips press against your clothed thighs.

He kisses you right through the fabric, his mouth hot and damp, leaving heavy, branding presses of his lips along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He nuzzles his face deeper against your legs, whining softly when you don't immediately push him away. The absolute friction of his silver lip piercing catching against the material, combined with the desperate, worshipful way his hands tighten on the back of your thighs, makes your breath hitch sharply in your throat. Your hands fly to his bare shoulders just to keep yourself steady, your fingers digging into his smooth, firm skin as the room tilts on its axis.

Your fingers sink deeper into the smooth muscle of his bare shoulders as the sheer weight of his worship pulls you under. The internal debate, the frantic logic, the fear of what happens when the dust settles—it all completely evaporates.

"Okay," you finally whisper, the single word cutting through his desperate, ragged breaths. "Okay, Jeongguk. Do it."

The permission hits him like an electric shock. He doesn't waste a single second, his hands moving with an frantic, desperate urgency. He grips the waistband of your pants and underwear together, his knuckles brushing against your skin as he tugs them down your legs in a breathless hurry. You kick out of them, your feet hitting the cool hardwood floor, leaving you completely exposed to him in the middle of the bright kitchen.

When he leans his head back in, you let out a sharp, involuntary hiss as the hot, concentrated burst of his breath hits your sensitive pubic area.

But he doesn't touch you yet. Jeongguk just stays frozen on his knees, his hands still tightly gripping the back of your thighs to anchor you in place. He’s just looking. His sweet eyes are wide and completely dark with a devastating mixture of awe and pure hunger. His chest heaves, his silver lip piercing glinting as his lips part slightly, his gaze completely tracing every inch of you as if he’s memorizing a holy text.

The intense, unblinking weight of his stare makes you shift your weight, a sudden spike of heat rushing to your face. "Jeongguk," you breathe out, your voice trembling. "What... what are you doing?"

"I need more room," he rasps, his voice dropping into a thick, desperate growl.

Before you can even process the words, his large hands slide under your thighs and around your back. In one swift, effortless motion, he lifts you completely off the ground. You let out a small gasp, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he carries you out of the kitchen. He moves with a singular, fierce focus, and in a matter of seconds, you’re in his bedroom.

He lays you down onto the mattress, and you find yourself completely sprawled across the dark, silk sheets of his bed, the heavy clean cotton scent of him enveloping you entirely.

Jeongguk doesn't even let you catch your breath. He crawls up onto the mattress immediately, his large, heavy body looming over yours for a fraction of a second before he slides right back down between your thighs. He hooks your knees over his shoulders, pinning you open, and buries his face directly between your legs.

The first touch of his tongue is a wet, heavy stroke that makes your entire body arches off the bed. He eats you out like it’s a form of salvation, his mouth hot, wide, and utterly ravenous against your wet skin. He uses his tongue with a frantic, consuming rhythm, lapping at you with deep, deliberate strokes that pull a loud, undone moan right from your throat. The slick, wet sounds of his mouth against you echo in the quiet room, completely destroying any lingering sanity.

Even as he devours you, the desperate, pleading energy from the kitchen doesn't leave him. Every time you twist your fingers into his damp, dark hair to pull him closer, a muffled, high whine breaks from his throat, vibrating directly against your clit. He nuzzles his face deeper into your heat, his silver lip piercing sliding sharp and intoxicating against your most sensitive spots, making you sob his name into the empty air.

"Please," he whimpers against your wet flesh, breaking his rhythm for only a split second to breathe your name, his voice cracked and completely wrecked. His hands grip your hips so tightly his knuckles turn white, silently begging you to hold him there, to let him keep drowning in you. "Please tell me it's good. Tell me you like it, Y/N. Just let me stay right here."

You can only cry out in response, your hips instinctively rolling into his mouth as his tongue darts back inside, deeper and more desperate than before, completely surrendering his entire existence to the rhythm of your pleasure.

The sound of his name ripping from your throat sends a visible shiver straight through his broad, shirtless frame. Hearing how undone you are only makes him more desperate, his tongue working with a frantic, wet rhythm that has your hips rolling blindly into his face.

"You're so good, Koo," you gasp out, your knuckles turning white as you fist your fingers into his damp, dark hair, pressing him closer. "Ah—yes, right there. You're making me feel so good. So good..."

Jeongguk lets out a muffled, high whine directly against your core, the high-pitched, needy sound vibrating straight through you. The praise completely undoes him. He sucks a hard, bruising path up your inner lip, his silver piercing scraping perfectly against your most sensitive flesh, pulling a loud, broken sob from your lungs. He is utterly buried in you, his hands gripping the undersides of your thighs so tightly that his bicep muscles bulge under his smooth, tattooed skin. He nuzzles deeper, lapping at your slick heat with a ravenous, worshipful speed, swallowing your whimpers like they are the only thing keeping him alive.

The friction is too much. The intense, deep heat building in your lower stomach is expanding so fast it feels dangerous, blinding you to everything else in the room. You are getting so entirely into it, the overwhelming pleasure clouding your logic until you can't breathe, can't think, can't handle the agonizingly slow burn of just his mouth anymore.

You want him. You want all of him.

With a breathless cry, you pull your hands out of his hair and adjust the position you're in, your palms sliding down his broad chest, past his tensed abs, to the low waistband of his grey sweatpants. Jeongguk senses the shift immediately, his head lifting, his lips glistening, dark hair falling wildly over his wide, blown-out eyes as he looks up at you with a breathless, questioning whimper.

You don't say a word. You simply hook your fingers into the cotton of his sweats and underwear, tugging them down past his hips in one swift, demanding motion.

His cock springs free, thick, heavy, and leaking a bead of pre-cum that glints in the bedroom light. It twitches against his lower stomach, fully erect and radiating a maddening heat. Jeongguk lets out a raw, hitched breath, his hands trembling on your mattress as he hovers over you, completely exposed, his chest heaving as he waits in agonizing suspense for what you're going to do to him next.

You wrap your fingers firmly around the thick, pulsing base of his shaft, the skin scalding hot against your palm. Jeongguk lets out a shaky, pathetic gasp the moment your hand closes around him, his hips twitching forward instinctively. Without giving him a second to recover, you lean forward, parting your lips, and slide the plush, leaking head of his cock straight into your mouth.

He completely loses his mind.

A loud, ragged moan rips from his throat, echoing sharply in the quiet bedroom. You swirl your tongue around the sensitive ridge, catching the slick pre-cum, before sinking your mouth lower, drawing him deeper down your throat. The rich, clean scent of him mixes with the musk of his arousal, entirely consuming your senses. You use your tongue to stroke the sensitive underside of his shaft, your lips wrapping tight around him to create a fierce, suffocating vacuum as you bob your head in a steady, demanding rhythm.

He throws his head back, hair spilling over his forehead as a continuous string of broken groans and breathless whimpers spills from his parted lips. He doesn't try to hold back, his chest heaving as he watches you through hooded, blown-out eyes, his silver piercing catching the light every time his jaw slacks.

"Ah, God, Y/N," he pants, his voice cracking with pure, unadulterated worship. His large, tattooed hand flies to your hair, but he doesn't push you down—he just cradles your head with a trembling, gentle grip, completely submissive to your pace. "You're so perfect. Look at you... fucking hell, you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Please, you're destroying me."

The praises are heavy, thick with a devotion that makes your chest ache. He’s praising you in a way you've never been praised before, treating your mouth like a sanctuary, completely unbothered by his own ego. You take him deeper, your thumb rubbing over his balls, and the combination makes his hips roll blindly against your lips, a low, desperate whine vibrating in his chest.

The edge is getting too sharp for him. The friction of your wet mouth and the agonizingly sweet torture of the rhythm has him shaking from head to toe. His fingers tighten in your hair, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps as he feels himself reaching a dangerous point of no return.

He suddenly pulls back just enough to slip his cock from your lips, a heavy string of saliva connecting you for a fraction of a second. Jeongguk hovers over you on his knees, his entire body trembling, his face flushed a dark, beautiful red as he looks down at your wet, swollen lips.

"I can't—I can't just take," he begs, his voice breaking completely as he drops his forehead against your chest, his chest heaving against your skin. He is entirely undone, crying out as his hands slide down to grip your hips, physically pulling you back down onto the mattress. He positions himself right between your soaked, aching thighs, the heavy head of his cock rubbing torturously against your wet core. "Please, Y/N. I need to be inside you. Please let me come home. Please let me inside."

A dark, heady rush of power floods your veins as you look down at him. Seeing the man who fills stadiums worldwide reduced to a trembling, pleading mess right under you is intoxicating. You smirk against the flushed skin, your fingers sliding up his damp neck to tilt his face up.

"Put it on then, Koo," you murmur.

You say your consent, and the word acts like a green light. Jeongguk scrambles, blindly fishing a condom from the nightstand drawer—you aren't even paying attention to where he gets it from, your eyes locked onto the sharp, beautiful lines of his tensed muscles as he tears the foil open with his teeth.

His hands are shaking so violently it takes him two tries to roll the latex down his thick, pulsing length.

The moment he’s protected, he doesn't wait. He lines the wet, heavy head of his cock against your slick opening and sinks into you in one deep, agonizingly slow push.

A loud, broken sob rips from your throat as he fills you completely, stretching you out until you're entirely consumed by the sheer size of him. Jeongguk lets out a guttural, trembling groan into the crook of your neck, his large frame collapsing over yours, his full, shirtless weight pinning you into the dark silk sheets.

"Ah, God, Y/N... you're so tight, you're so warm," he whimpers, his voice completely wrecked as he begins to move.

The friction is instant and overwhelming. Jeongguk doesn't fuck you with the practiced, cocky rhythm of a man in control; he fucks you with a desperate, frantic hunger, his hips snapping forward in deep, heavy thrusts that rock the entire bed. He is completely starved for you, his tattooed hand sliding under your lower back to lift your hips higher, taking every single inch you have to offer. The wet, slapping sound of his skin hitting yours echoes in the quiet bedroom, mixed with his continuous, vocal praises.

He’s riding the absolute edge from the very first stroke, the decade of built-up desire making him impossibly sensitive. His breath comes in short, panicked gasps against your ear, his silver lip piercing grazing your pulse point as his pace turns frantic, unhinged.

"I'm gonna—Y/N, I'm close, I can't hold it," he cries out, his voice cracking. He gives three more deep, blind thrusts, his entire body locking up as a low, ragged scream tears from his lungs. He spasms against you, his cock twitching violently inside your walls as he finishes first, spilling himself entirely into the condom.

But he doesn't stop.

Even as his climax ripples through him, leaving him completely overstimulated and trembling, he refuses to pull out. He knows you haven't crossed the line yet. With his jaw clenched and his eyes swimming with tears from the sheer, burning sensitivity of his post-nut state, Jeongguk forces his hips to keep moving.

He whimpers miserably with every single stroke, the friction against his overstimulated skin clearly driving him crazy, but he keeps pushing inside you anyway.

"I've got you," he pants, a high, needy whine breaking from his lips as he drags his body up and down yours, his movements slower now, heavier, grinding his pelvis right against your clit with agonizing precision. "I'm not stopping... please, baby, come for me. Let me feel you clamp down on me. Please."

The sight of him pushing through his own overstimulation just to please you completely shatters whatever restraint you have left. Your internal walls collapse. Your hips begin to roll frantically against his, your toes curling into the silk sheets as the tight coil in your lower stomach snaps.

You scream his name as a violent, crushing orgasm ripples through your body. Your internal muscles clamp down tightly around his thick shaft, milking him through the latex. Jeongguk lets out a loud, pathetic whimper at the tight squeeze, his forehead dropping heavily onto your shoulder as he rides out the wave of your climax with you, completely spent, completely yours.

He collapses right besides you, his massive, shirtless frame molding perfectly against you as he pulls you into his chest. Both of your chests are heaving in the quiet room, the only sound the ragged asymmetry of your breathing slowing down. Jeongguk nuzzles his face into your hair, tracing his plush, swollen lips along your jawline before kissing you tenderly on the cheek—a soft, lingering pressure that feels entirely detached from the frantic, consuming chaos of just moments ago.

You lie there, the cool air of the bedroom hitting your bare skin where his body isn't pinning you down. The reality of what just happened begins to settle into your bones, the heavy fog of pleasure lifting to reveal the massive, uncharted territory you’ve both just stepped into.

"Jeongguk," you breathe out, your voice still a little raspy. You turn your head slightly, trying to look at him. "We should talk about it. About... us. What this means."

He lets out a soft, tired groan, burying his face deeper into your neck. His large, tattooed arm wraps securely around your waist, pulling you so close there isn't a single millimeter of space left between you.

"We will," he promises, his low rumble vibrating right against your skin. "I promise we’ll talk about everything you want. Just... please let me enjoy this moment for a second. Let me just hold you."

You agree, nodding your head slightly against his chest, but you are visibly lost in your thoughts. Your eyes trace the unfamiliar contours of his bedroom, the dark silk sheets, the heavy shadows on the wall. The anxiety hasn't completely vanished, it's just waiting on the periphery, whispering questions about tomorrow, about his career, about the fragile ten-year foundation you just risked.

As if sensing the sudden shift in your energy, Jeongguk shifts. He props himself up on one elbow, hovering over you just enough to look down into your face. His eyes are incredibly soft, completely clear of the tequila from last night and the blinding lust from minutes ago. He reaches up, his gentle thumb tracing your cheekbone, wiping away a stray bead of sweat.

"Hey," he murmurs, his piercing catching the soft light. He looks at you with an unwavering certainty that makes your heart skip a beat. "I’m going to make sure nothing goes south. I promise you. I love you, Y/N."

Hearing the words spoken so clearly, without a drop of alcohol or adrenaline to hide behind, makes the last of your defenses crumble.

"I love you too," you whisper back.

He smiles—a genuine, boyish grin that reminds you exactly of the teenager you met a decade ago—and pulls you back down against him. As you nuzzle your nose deep into the warm, clean-scented crook of his neck, listening to the steady, unshakeable beat of his heart beneath your cheek, the frantic thoughts in your mind finally begin to quiet down.

You were pissed about it all, to say the least. Annoyed that your vacation had to be cancelled, annoyed at the fact you couldn’t stay warm in the slightest, annoyed that you had to be shovelling snow out of your driveway right now.

Well, attempting to shovel snow would be a better way to put it. In theory it seemed like the right thing to do– try and get your car out just in case, start to clear a path for when you’d finally be able to greet the outside world, triumph over whatever winter gods are trying to keep you locked in your home.

In reality, you could hardly move– three layers of pants, two coats keeping all of your joints locked down. God, and the snow. It was coming down way too hard, piling up faster than you could brush it away. Hurting your cheeks with the freezing temperatures, making your bones throb with want to go back inside.

It is safe to say that you did not succeed. That was an easy enough conclusion to come to with the two halves of your snow shovel in your hands. Eyes staring blankly at the object with utter… you don’t even know the word.

Cheeks flushed red with cold, head lifting to the sky as you blink. What the fuck! How shitty can your shovel be! What the fuck is wrong with the snow!

Okay, maybe you did buy it at the dollar store. But that isn’t the point! Where has quality gone in our nation! Caring about the consumer! Yeah, that was never there to begin with! But still! You like to think that there's a point in that somewhere!

The snow falling on your skin feels like the sky is laughing at you, mocking you. It probably is. Cancelling your trip, forcing you to stay at home into the lonely confines of your small neighbourhood.

Yeah, the world is out to get you, you’ve decided it.

A grumble leaves your throat in annoyance, quiet cusses leaving your lips as your legs try to waddle themselves inside. Layers of clothing restricting every movement you make, joints feeling stiff and bones feeling cold. You are no more than a penguin, are you?

“Stupid fuckin’ shovel, stupid fuckin’ snow…” You huff, slamming the thick oak door behind you. Hoping, in a way, that you could pretend none of the frost was there in the first place.

It’s not that you hate snow– of course not. You don’t like to hate much of anything. But when it’s this deep, this thick, you can’t help the sour mood you fall into. Can’t help the sickly feeling in your gut that it has somehow wronged you simply for existing.

Whatever, not that it matters much. You aren’t mother nature. You can’t change it or your now cancelled– most likely non-refundable plans.

What you can change? A nice warm pizza in your tummy.

You hum to yourself, tapping off your boots before ridding yourself of them entirely. Soon follows your jackets, puddles of water quickly forming on the floor where it falls. Snow melting much too fast now that it is in the warmth of your home.

You stare at it in spite, another way mother nature has wronged you today.

You know what? No, not your problem right now. That is a problem for you later today! The wood would be fine. And if it isn’t?

…

You groan, throwing your head back as you move to the bathroom. The battle of opposing forces inside of your head has won again– being responsible, doing the right thing.

Your hand snatches a towel, “Stupid shovel… stupid snow…” You huff, kneeling on the ground to wipe away the liquid that pooled.

You hang the towel back in the bathroom for it to dry before finally making your way to the kitchen. To finally make the frozen pizza you want– no deserve! Yeah, you’ve had a hard day today, being an adult is too hard sometimes. You deserve a little treat don't you?

Feet scuffling against the floor, fluffy socks dragging along the surface allowing you to quickly slip against the tiled floor. Your hips sway, a quiet hum leaving your lips as your hands move diligently, efficiently. Placing the pizza in the oven, setting the timer, flipping the switch on on the kettle.

Everything happens with practised ease. With movements that leave no room for error. Careful, efficient, the way your parents always taught you. The right way.

If you do everything correctly, things will never go wrong. You’ll never have to worry. When everything is in your control, everything is perfect and content.

It’s too bad the right way never accounts for things out of your control. When the world causes you to tense and get annoyed– when it doesn’t behave the way it's supposed to, like you want it to. Just like stupid shovels and a winter storm no one predicted.

But hey, at least you still have power. Your backup generator is there if you need it. Can still watch your dramas and eat warm food. Keep yourself sane while the insane persits just outside of your door.

Lonely, lonely, lonely winter storm~ whatever shall you do~

Your head begins to sing to itself while you wait. Maybe you already were going insa–

Bang.

What the fuck was that?

Your eyes instantly dart to the basement door wide with fear– the source of the sound.

A crash, a quiet cry, a scurry all sound in quick succession. Too loud to miss. Too loud to ignore. Too distinct to place on anything else.

You know winter noises. The crash of shutters against the window, the influx of snow on glass. The beating of hail against the roof or the creaking of pipes chilled from the cold. The noises you just heard? None of the above. They couldn’t possibly be. They weren’t. They were too… too…

Human.

Shit, shit. Is someone in your basement?! Oh god, oh fuck.

The room, it freezes over.

Your pulse starts to race– hairs raise, stand on end. Breath filtering through your nose as you start to panic. Fingers grip the countertop as you try to ground yourself. Try to figure out a way to escape this.

If horror movies have taught you anything– it’s how to run. Grab everything you can, high tail it out before you become victim to the unknown lurking just below the surface of your floorboards. Before you can be possessed or worse, chased down by some mass murdering clown.

That would be the smart thing to do– the wise thing. To get out of your house as quickly as possible, call the police to investigate it for you before you have to become the ‘final girl’ of a movie franchise of your own.

But the storm, the storm would never allow for the right thing.

The police would never make it in time, the roads far too hazardous to truly reach you. If they did, you would already have frostbite from the cold outside by the time they made it. You might be worse off than before–

At least, that’s what you tell yourself. The reasoning formulated in your head as you grab a broom from the closet, slowly make your way to the basement door. Completely ignoring the nagging feeling in your gut, the one that tells you that you actually want to travel down the stairs. A string tugging you along a path predetermined, forcing you to forego anything you had thought before.

No, your line of reasoning had to be the object pulling you down those stairs, creaking with every slow, nagging step that you take. It could never be curiosity, a want to understand the unknown guide leading you astray from the dirt road you’ve taken time and time again.

The right road that would lead to the right solution is all but forgotten in this moment. Only adrenaline spurring you on, fingers clenching and unclenching around the broom handle in your grip. Fingers tied so tight around the metal that your knuckles may as well be white.

You're terrified– scared out of your mind. The only noise passing through the drums of your ears is your own pulse, the accelerated beat of your heart as you try to clear the fog that dances over your brain. Fear must be clouding your judgement, making you follow it blindly into the light; well, dark.

Your breath leaps from your chest in short pants, eyes haphazardly harding around your form as you make it to the bottom of the stairs. Something is keeping your legs moving when all your brain wants to do is turn back and run. Call the authorities like you should be doing instead of risking everything to satiate the incessant need pulling at the back of your skull. Acting on instincts alone, allowing the string of fate to tug you around the corner. The urge to investigate is stronger than anything you had ever felt before. Anything you’ve ever wanted to feel before.

He sees you before you see him.

“P-please..” The quiet, almost non-existent voice sends a chill down your spine. One you were not expecting in the slightest.

Terrified, panicked. Shaking like a leaf, eyes welled with tears. It’s almost like he knew you were coming down all along, just… didn’t know what to do about it. Too scared to move, too scared to hide. Too scared to do anything but sit there and wait.

Just as petrified as you.

Nothing about the scene before you is making much sense at all. Not to you, at least. Why is he so scared? Why is he in your home? Why isn’t he doing anything but sitting there with pleading, helpless eyes? You try to take everything in, try to fit the pieces of the picture together.

Basement window opened slightly, just enough to allow the man— was he a man? To climb inside. Pretty blonde hair completely dishevelled on his head, grime coating what you know would be such pretty locks. Eyes with double pupils brimmed with tears threatening to spill at any second. Pink plush lips quivering with worry, fangs biting into them so hard you fear they may bleed. No, they are bleeding.

He is definitely not a man. Nor is he a beast. An intoxicating swirl of the two combined into a species of hybrid you’ve never seen before.

The first thought in your head is one it shouldn’t be. One that makes your heart stop for entirely different reasons than before. Makes you drop the broom in your hands, allowing it to fall to the ground with a clatter. Defences dropped completely in the face of the stranger before you.

He only flinches at the noise, blood covered hands reaching in panic to cover his all too sensitive ears.

Any worries have left you– something seeded deep within your soul tells you he isn’t a threat in the slightest. Not to you, at least. Never to you. Maybe it is the same string as before pulling you along. Pulling you to what destiny has provided.

He is absolutely gorgeous. Even with the grime and his pale complexion from the cold you can tell that easily. He might just be the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen, and you find lost in yourself what to do about it.

What is anyone meant to do when a drop dead gorgeous hybrid enters their home in the middle of a blizzard? Just as scared as you were moments before? Looking like he might freeze to death if you don’t–

Holy shit he must be frozen solid.

It’s only then that you come to your senses, your eyes racking over him once more as you take in all of him for more than just the beauty he brings.

His clothes are thin– far too thin for this weather at least. Tattered on the edges, few stains spotting the fabric, though its clear effort was spent trying to get them out. Your mind wants to wonder why he would worry about that, worry about making himself appear presentable, but raking your vision down you know there is no time for it. Not with the blood on his palms or the red of his flesh.

Your body moves quicker than your brain can think, crouching down in front of him. Noticing the way he flinches once more, the fear in his eyes more palpable, hurting worse than a gunshot wound.

The constriction of your chest is dumb, or at least it should be. Feels almost benign, unfounded. You just met him, you're scaring him, but for an unexplainable reason you wish you could take all of his worry away just for that moment. Make him feel a little better, a little warm. A little safe.

“It’s okay… it’s okay…” Your voice mumbles, trying to soothe him or yourself, you’re not entirely sure.

“I-I’m sorry… pl-please don’t.. It’s just so cold… Please…” He begs, though neither of you are sure what for. Not to hurt him, not to send him back outside. All you know is the tears that now flow from his eyes, cresting along his cheeks, dripping to the floor.

“Not going anywhere…” You hope your voice sounds stronger than you feel, hope he can’t hear the way the strings of your heart break, hope he hears how much you care in your tone all along, “Trust me a little okay…?”

You know your words mean nothing, that it might have been an impossible task for him to do so. But you had to try. Had to hope.

It should be hard for you to trust him too, it should be hard to rectify your fear in the face of the one who had caused it. It isn’t the right thing– none of this is the right thing, but it all just comes too easily. Compassion, caring takes over the anxiety too easily. Too brilliantly to do anything else other than care for this hybrid that has wound up at your door.

He was just a scared hybrid doing whatever he needed to to survive. Terrified out of his mind that he would freeze or starve out there– probably had no burrow or… you’re not sure, honestly, what his home might be like. But no home nevertheless. You could never just send another person out there to die.

He stiffens as you reach out for him, gently take his hands in your own. They feel like ice, frozen solid. You don't want to acknowledge what could have happened to them if he was out there any longer.

Without thinking you raise them to your lips, blowing on them as best you can. Trying to do anything to get the blood flowing again before you take him upstairs. Warm him up properly. Make him feel like more than a snowman once again.

You don’t notice the way his form completely loses all stress as you touch him for the first time, speak to him the first time. He feels transfixed on your voice– it had to be too sweet to be real. But you were too focused on your mission. Too focused on making sure the man who has broken into your home is okay to notice the way his lips part slightly at your tone.

You don’t notice the way his breath hitches, the way all of his hair stands on edge as a current runs through his body, breathing life into every pore he possesses. Nor the way his eyes widen, losing their will to cry as he stares at you.

Don’t notice the recognition on his face.

You don’t notice a lot of things he does that day. Too focused on getting him into a warm shower– one he was very confused by, you might add. Too focused on getting a warm meal in his belly. Too focused on getting him in nice, clean clothes. A set that will properly keep him warm.

You could worry about other things later. But this felt right. This felt like something you were always meant to do. Or maybe that was just the size of your heart talking– you could never be too sure. But you liked to think it was the former. Liked to hope that Jimin, who you later learned was a spider hybrid, was always meant to come tumbling through your window, into your life for good.

The days that follow are easy– falling into a rhythm with him, taking care of him is just too simple. As basic as breathing, maybe.

Though, it hasn’t exactly been hard with how much he sleeps. How deep he’s nestled in your bed, blankets piled on top of him to drown out any chills that may attempt to slip into his bones. It’s almost like hibernation– if you could describe it. Re-building his energy, making himself feel strong again before he faces the world.

You can’t blame him, honestly. Not after everything he’s been through. Only god knows how long he had been out there. How long he had to brave the snowstorm, the cold weather that previewed it as well. You would probably do the same thing. Hide yourself from everything that hurt you.

Most days you wish you could be doing the exact same thing as him. Hide under a pile of blankets and forget the rest of the world exists. But the voice of your parents would always nag you out of it, force you to be human with the rest of society because it's the right thing.

You humph, gently placing a plate of food on the bedside table. Let him occupy your room for as long as he needs, preparing meals for him even though he never touches a bit of it. It’s the least you can do with his condition.

You don’t think you’ve ever wanted to stop someone's pain so badly. You hope you can by just doing small things like this. You sigh, heading for the door once again. Another day on the couch.

“Human…?” His voice is quiet, almost non-existent as he calls for you. Cracking slightly, the first time he's spoken in days.

You quickly turn to face him and almost want to fall to your knees at the sight. Fluffy blonde hair peeking from just below the covers, doll eyes peering at you while the rest of him stays hidden beneath the surface. Does he know how destructive he is?

Wait, no. Now isn’t the time to be thinking about this. He’s letting his defences down, actually talking to you. Stop it.

“Hmm?” You gently call back, glued to your spot in the doorway. You don’t know what he would do if you moved, how startled he may be because of it. You want to talk to him– to find answers.

“What time is it…?” He slowly asks, pacing his question. You notice a slight lisp behind his words– how much of an effort he puts to cover it up.

“Mmm.. about 1? I made myself some lunch so I was just stopping by.” You explain, trying to justify your presence in the room.

“Oh.” He looks beneath the blankets, eyes darting around the room, “Okay. Thank you.”

It seems neither of you are great conversationalists, awkward air passing between the space left between your bodies. You don’t blame him. You don’t know what you would be thinking, feeling if you were in the same place as him. If you didn’t really know what your fate was going to be.

“How are you feeling?” You ask quietly, playing with your fingers to distract from the nerves that you feel. As much as you want to jump, pin him down and ask every single thing your heart begs for, you know that isn't the right thing to do. You know you should be slow, careful with this. At least, that's what the articles online have told you.

“Better…” His voice comes out smoother this time, finally coming out of sleep as he sits up in the bed. Gently taking the plate into his lap, scrunching his nose. “It’s not cold in here like out there.”

You can’t help but smile to yourself. He seems so relaxed, so at ease. Not scared in the slightest of you or what you may do. You forget all about the fact that you should probably be scared of him too.

“Not really,” You smile gently, eyes glancing at the window as he starts to eat, “I was really worried about you, scared me bad.”

You don’t see the flush that covers his cheeks.

“I-I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to… your window was the first one I could get through and I knew I couldn’t take the storm anymore so I–”

“Hey, It’s fine.” You turn your attention back to him, “I’m just glad you’re okay, yeah? It must’ve been terrifying out there.”

“It was.” He doesn’t hesitate in answering in the slightest, eyes serious as they focus on you. They’re beautiful, really. His eyes.

“I’m sorry…”

He shakes his head, “Not your fault human, I left the reserve. My fault.” He tells you in earnest, wanting you to believe it with every piece of your soul that you could never do anything to hurt him, “Come sit?”

The question is quiet, but you oblige nonetheless. Legs moving you slowly, perching at the end of the bed to face him. Kicking your legs slightly as you stare at the pattern of your sweats.

“The reserve?” You ask, turning slightly to face him. His face is suddenly smiling, nodding at your question. He must like the place a lot, see it as home for him to become so excited.

“Yeah! Where I live,” He explains, continuing to shovel food into his mouth as he speaks, “They say humans can't hurt you there, you get to hunt like in the wild too.”

He hums, content in talking about the one place he has ever found comfort in, found friends in. You can’t help but smile as he speaks, too.

“Yeah? It sounds really nice.” He’s nodding his head once again, as quickly as he can.

“There are lots of other arthropods to play with there. Lot’s of food. Sometimes the humans that visit will give you some too, but they’re normally scared of me.” He suddenly looks serious, eyes coming to meet yours once again, “You’re not scared of me, right?”

You jerk your head back, brows furrowing together in confusion. How could someone be scared of someone like Jimin? You’ve only known him for a matter of days and you doubt that you could ever be.

“Of course not.” You tell him, gently reaching a hand over to place on his knee. He doesn’t flinch away like you expect him to. “You just needed some help, we all need help sometimes.”

He smiles, the serious demeanour retracting from his face in an instant. Back to smiling down at his food happily. The silence doesn’t feel as awkward anymore, at least you don't think it does. It makes you happy, stretching on as he continues to eat like a man starved. He probably is, days of not eating and only sleeping.

“Why did you leave it?” You tilt your head, staring out the window once more. Few snowflakes trickle against the blue sky, “I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I figure if we’re going to be together through the storm–”

“You’re not gonna kick me out?” His face is awestruck, fork dropping to the plate in surprise. What is he talking about? Kick him out? In this weather?

You quickly shake your head, hand slowly pulling itself back from your knee. He whines in protest, quickly trying to force himself back under your heat. The touch of your hand warmed him up more than anything else in this room– more than the blankets, more than the heater or the warm towels.

His hand tangles itself with your own, pulls you back to his covered knee. Keeps your hand in place with his own while he uses the other to eat. Good. This is better. He likes it when you touch him. The way your small hand feels wrapped in his own.

Makes the tips of his fingers tingle, warmth spread throughout his skin. This is right. This is good.

“Why would I kick you out?” You ask in disbelief, either unnoticing or uncaring to the way he holds your hand– he’s unsure. Not that it matters much! “It’s too cold for anyone out there. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

He smiles, the pit of his stomach only warming more at your words, “Good.”

“We have to wait for the snow to melt to drive you ba–” He cuts you off once again, not wanting to think about going back. At least not without you.

“My friend Taehyung leaves a lot,” He begins to explain, fingers squeezing your own as his palm lays heavy against the back of your hand, “He always talks about how fun it is. All the cool things he gets to see, you know?”

He places his plate to the side while he talks, licking one of his fangs gently. You don’t want to think about how handsome he looks while he does such an action.

“So I wanted to try it out, but we’re not really supposed to leave, you know? ‘Cause then we’re not protected.” You nod along, “And I don’t really have wings to fly out so… I had to wait until they weren’t really paying attention.”

“And that just happened to line up right before the snowstorm was supposed to hit.” You finish for him and he nods, looking down at his lap, “That has gotta be such shitty luck, Jimin. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s really not, you just wanted to go out and experience new things and you almost ended up dead.” You frown at him, trying to get the man to understand the gravity of what may have happened. He simply shakes his head, plush lips tilted into a small smile just for you.

“I said it’s okay.” He tries to make you believe it, leaning closer. Feeling nothing like the stranger he was only days before. “I got to meet you, so it was all worth it.”

Mate. Mate. Mate.

Jimin has a mate that he’s going to be with someday. Someone he’s going to fall in love with. Someone he’s meant to be with, be happy with for the rest of his life. Someone that isn’t you. You really need to accept that and move on from this stupid fucking crush you’ve developed. One that will amount to nothing but heartbreak.

All hybrids have them– Jimin is not excluded from that. You know it’s true. Know it’s so true that you can hardly breathe but he just makes it so easy, too fucking easy to fall for him.

He takes care of the house, cleans it for you whenever there is a mess. Does the dishes after dinner. Takes out the trash. Tells the spiders in the yard not to mess with you– okay, you’re not entirely sure he does that last one. But he is adamant he can speak to them, and who are you to rain on his little spidey parade.

As the seasons change and the months pass, he only makes it easier and easier. Fitting into your life like he was the only piece missing. Filling in all of the bits and pieces you never knew you needed, wrapping silk around your heart and pulling it tight before you could ever think about letting him go.

Even as the months heat and his deep blue roots grow out from his bleached hair, he has no desire to the place he once called home. The reserve quickly pushed aside every time you try to bring it up. Saying he likes it better here, that this is now his home.

To be honest, nothing makes you more happy. Nothing in the world could possibly make you feel better than Jimin. His little webs he places in the corners, the soft way he clings to you when he becomes needy, the way he likes to show you any bugs he catches before he eats them. You’re not sure you could continue in your life without it.

Yet still, still. You’re not sure if this is right. The right thing, the right way to go about it all.

You often fear that you’re keeping him from what he really wants, if he actually wants to go back but feels indebted to you in some way. If that’s the only reason he actually sticks around.

You worry you’re being selfish in that regard. And then once again you find yourself spiralling into the void of questions you could never have answered. Feelings that will always be unaccounted for because Jimin has a mate.

Or at least, will have one. Someday. And you’re not sure if you could handle that day coming. Not in the warm heat of spring, flowers blooming alongside feelings for an arachnid that has entered your life.

One that has no intention of leaving your side anytime soon, if he has anything to say about it.

But nothing, nothing in the world could prepare you for this. What could prepare the thrum of your heart or the butterflies in your tummy? You never expected him to hold you this close, keep your body pressed against his own in the small space of the coat closet. Keep his face tucked away in your neck, whining in pain at something you could never think to discern.

So quickly you were pulled away, without a second to waste you were dragged onto his lap. One second kicking off your shoes, covered in mud from gardening, the next a hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you into the dark confines. Only Jimin there to cover up your scream, lips delicately pressed to your ear uttering a quiet please. Voiced laced with a whine so pained you couldn’t help but join him without a second to spare.

A thought to think– a debate on whether this is right to do or not, for yourself and your own heart.

“Min? Min, what’s wrong?” It’s the only thing you can think to ask, pulling him away from your neck, making his head face your own. Hands gently cupping either cheek as your eyes attempt to make out the features of his face.

It’s too dark, you can’t see anything. The only answer he gives is in the form of a pained groan, not even his eyes reaching you through the darkness. You start to panic, feel the nerves along your spine light up in trepidation.

He’s hurt. He has to be. What happened? Is he okay? He’s never acted like this before. Not with you. Never before has he seemed so hurt, so dishevelled save for the night you first met him.

Just before this the two of you were gardening, mid-morning sun shining bright overhead. A light breeze passing through the trees keeping the two of you cool. That was it! He only went inside a few minutes before you, a few minutes alone and he was already hurt this bad.

Oh god, you never want him to hurt. To be in pain. It hurts your heart just as bad as it hurts him, if not worse.

You’ve fallen a lot farther than you thought.

“Min, let me just turn on the lights okay? Let me see what’s wrong.” You try to coax him, try to kneel from his lap to reach the string above you. Panic flooding through you as he keeps you snug, keeps you from helping him.

You stop your struggle, veins running cold as he lets out a sharp, violent hiss. A sound he’s never made before, never dare uttered towards you– around you in general. It leaves you nervous, scared for entirely different reasons than before.

But one thing is clear from the way his fingers dig into the skin of your wrist almost painfully. The same wrist that was reaching for the string. He doesn’t want you to turn on the light.

“Okay…okay I won’t…” You tell the arachnid, slowly lowering yourself back onto his lap. Letting go of the struggle, letting go of the resistance. It isn’t what he needs right now, isn’t what he wants.

His grip loosens, arms returning to their place around your waist. Holding you close. Keeping you in his arms. His face nuzzles back into your neck, inhaling deeply with every breath he takes. Smelling you. Imprinting the memory of it in his brain.

“What if I use my flashlight…? Would that be okay?” Once again, the response is a much short, quieter hiss. A lot less defensive, angry than the first. Just a sign of dismissal.

“Okay…” You say quietly, bringing one arm behind him to gently run through his hair. Scratching his scalp in a way that always has him preening, “Can you please tell me what's wrong? So I can help…? Please…”

Your voice is quiet, almost a beg as you ask him. He squeezes your body tighter in response. Would’ve basked in the tone you gave him if not for the pounding behind his eyelids. Still, he knows if he’s going to get you to stay, he has to talk. No matter how much it hurts.

A whine leaves his lips, nose running along the column of your neck as he tries to scent you, “Hurts.”

He answered, his voice shaky and quiet, but it gives you nothing.

“I know Min, I know…” You hush quietly, trying to consol something that you do not have the answer to. Your other hand slowly starts to soothe up and down his back, trying to relax the poor boy enough to speak.

“The light. Hurt eyes. Head Hurts.” He gruffs out, burying his face into your skin to block out any other source that he could.

Your lips part in a soft ‘o’ as the picture becomes clear to you. Staying outside too long, helping you in the garden had come at a cost to the poor spider in the form of a splitting headache.

How could you have been so dumb to let him help you? The articles you’ve read, the pieces you’ve tried to put together to understand the man in your life– they told you as much. How delicate some species' eyes could be but… Jimin never seemed to have that issue before. Never mentioned it, anyway. He doesn’t mention a lot about himself.

You frown.

“Min, I’m so sorry…”

He only grumbles in reply, blunt nails digging into the back of your shirt to keep himself grounded. To keep his head from pounding any louder.

“Let me– Let me go get you some Ibuprofen, yeah?” You hope the sound of your voice isn’t making everything worse. If it does, he doesn’t say anything, only shaking his head, burrowing it further under your hair.

“Just… stay.” He sighs in defeat, shoulders relaxing as he holds you close. He doesn’t need medicine. He doesn’t need anything else. He just needs you. Why can’t you understand that?

“I’ll–” You breathe, trying to force the flush of your cheeks to disappear. He can see in the dark, you know that much. You wouldn’t want him seeing this. The effect he has over you. Doesn’t he know how dangerous he is?

“I’ll stay.”You sigh in defeat, unaware to the pride that blooms in his chest at the battle won. The quiet chirp from his throat that he has you here, with him. Where you’re meant to be.

Hours pass just like that, just the two of you wrapped in each other's arms. No words spoken but quiet requests to know the other is okay. That the other is safe. Even as your muscles begin to cramp, bones start to become sore you don’t dare to move. Don’t dare to do a thing when you are the only one that matters to him right now.

Jimin makes it so easy to pretend.

Especially as his migraine begins to lift, as the conversation between two souls becomes more frequent. As he moves your body to the side so your head can rest against his chest. As his fingers smoothe over the skin of your thigh, rubbing gentle, comforting circles into your flesh.

“And then Namjoon, you know how bad a flyer he is, ran straight into the director of the park. Made her spill her whole coffee all over.” He smiles to himself as he tells the story of the bee hybrid, eyes heavy as he looks down at your form. So cute and small, “and you know what he said?”

You shake your head, “what?”

“‘You need some honey?’” He recites, dipping his voice in a deeper octave to mimic what you can only assume to be Namjoon’s. His voice falling into quiet giggles, you quickly follow suit. Laughing at stories of friends, feeling at home in the dark closet.

You don’t care how long the two of you have been in there. Only that he isn’t in pain anymore.

“I’m glad you’re okay now.” You tell him, eyes feeling heavy, the soothing tremor of his voice vibrating in his chest making your head start to fog. Inklings of sleep slipping into your frame. Head lulling back against him, looking up at him with sleepy eyes.

He nods, his throat constricting at just how perfect you look there, fingers teetering on the brink of digging into your skin once more. “Feeling a lot better… my vision is still a little spotty but it's okay.”

You pout. He has to hold back a coo. Too cute. Do you even know how cute you are when you get like this? Probably not.

“No, it’s not okay. I should have known. Told you to go back inside so you don’t get hurt. I don’t like it when you get hurt.”

His heart pounds once, twice before he releases a shaky exhale. Do you know what you do to him when you talk like that? When you show him just how much you care?

The level of restraint he has, it has to be impressive. If he was Taehyung, he would have taken you right there. Wrapped your arms in webs so you couldn’t move. Mate you without a second thought.

Seriously, what did you think you were doing? Talking to him like that? Making him feel like he’s going insane, a few short strings from breaking free and just taking you to his nest. Keeping you there.

You can’t say things like that to him. Not with how innocent you look, with how terribly he already wants you.

A harsh breath comes out of his nose as he forces the thoughts away. He’s not Taehyung. He’s not going to take you for his own selfish desires alone. No, he’s going to keep lulling you into his web like he knows you want. Knows you need. Keep being a good little spider for you.

“I should have told you.” He says quietly, lips coming down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, “Couldn’t have known my species is sensitive like that.”

You hum in quiet annoyance, “Still… read online about some glasses that can help some insects manage light… should have bought them.”

A courting gift? No no, you don’t know what that is. No matter what his spider screams he knows that isn’t true.

He sighs, he needs a distraction. Something to calm the voice in his head screaming at him to kiss you.

Your leg kicks out gently as he starts, feeling like nothing but a feather tickling across your skin. Gentle silks laying across the surface from his wrists, spinnerets hard at work to produce the webbing he places on your thigh.

He huffs quietly, a smirk of a laugh coming out as he moves your leg back, “Tickles?” He asks, an amused lilt present in his voice. Oh god, he’s going to start teasing you again. He loves teasing you.

“What are you doing?” You ask quietly, eyes glancing down to where his fingers move expertly. Thread after thread moving through his fingers, decorating your skin as he draws pictures. Paints flowers, sunsets, anything he can think of really across the canvas of your thigh.

“Just drawing… calms me down.” Marking you, claiming you. Showing every other arthropod that this one is his, this one is Jimins’. Well, at least for the next 3 days when the stick wears off. “Do you want me to stop?”

A tingle runs through your spine as he works, eyes not able to leave his hands for even a second. Your stomach swarms with what has to be a hive of bees, your core bubbling with something you don’t want to describe or think about.

You just hope he can’t smell you. Can’t hear the race of your heart, the increase in breath. The flush on your cheeks that travels all the way to your ears.

He can.

“N-no… It’s okay. I want you to feel better so… do what you need to do.” You mumble, trying to get your feelings to calm down before you fully lose it.

You have to buy those glasses.

Being a spider is just too difficult!

At least that’s what Jimin has told you time and time again over the past 8 months you’ve spent with him. Cold, icy months blossoming into the summer heat with him by your side. With him making residence in your home, cementing his place in your life without any regards for going back to his original home.

It’s too hard for him out there anyway! People at the park think you’re scary so they won’t give you any snacks, security removes your webs when they become too prominent around the landscape. Something about having to “give other spiders a chance” and them “taking up too much space.”

Can you believe them?! All the time and effort he put into his pretty webs, gone in a flash! The strain the sun caused his eyes, the pounding headaches he endured stringing up pieces of silk along the trees, creating a beautiful orchestra of white to claim his territory.

Thank god he doesn’t have to deal with that anymore, at least. Ever since you bought him those sunglasses, making webs outside has never been easier. Catching prey so much easier than ever before.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the sight of him eating the bugs he catches, but who are you to yuck his yum? You know all of the things he’s had to endure as a spider. Everything he’s convinced the world hates him for simply based on his breed alone. The least you can do is show kindness around his diet.

That’s how you end up rubbing his back in soothing circles time and time again, fangs piercing a stuffed animal or piece of fruit– anything he can get his hands on really, as he whines, flinches as he spits out all of his venom.

His venom is one of the worst things he’s had to deal with, you’ve learned. It builds up behind his teeth, waiting to be used on a waiting victim when there is no such thing. No exit point for the liquid to flow.

His fangs begin to ache, begging to pierce something just to release all of the pent up tension in his gums. It hurts too bad, too much to just keep it inside. So once a month, you find yourself in the same position, trying to help him relieve the aggression with soothing, gentle words as he spits the venom out in a way you can only imagine is unsatisfying. Leaving his fangs sensitive and achy for days to come.

In general, his fangs seem to be a point of special contention within the hybrid. They’re too pointy, cause too many issues. The extended canines digging into his plush lower lip just a little too hard making every movement just a little too uncomfortable. God, and he has to worry about brushing them to perfection– keep them pretty for his mate.

At least, that’s what he tells you.

The rest of the world hurts him. You don’t.

Today especially. At least that's what you can assume by the stretch of his arms, the whine bubbling from the back of his throat. His arms reaching for your form, beckoning you, calling you to join him on the couch. All worked up, acting like a wounded puppy that needs nursing just to get your attention.

It always works. Always will.

Some would say he’s become more pushy— more desperate for your attention, forcing it from your grasp without realizing it yourself. That’s what your friends have told you. How easily you fit into the palm of his hand with no more than a simple gesture coaxing you forward into his sweet embrace, never noticing the glares he sends others who enter your home.

No, you would deny all of it. Listen when he tells you that you don’t need your friends anyway. It just feels so good to be needed by him, wanted by him in a way you can never have him. In whatever way he’s willing to give.

r weakness than ever before. No matter how much you’ve tried to avoid it, how much you’ve tried to do the right thing and shove the stupid, pesky feelings down, he’s managed to twist himself into the confines of your heart. Filling a deep hole inside with his pretty silks and crooked little teeth. Takes up a lot more space then you’d ever be willing to admit. Not to him, anyway. Not when he could find his mate any day now.

You’ve been thinking about it more and more lately– the prospect of his mate. It’s difficult not to when he treats you so kindly. When he creeps in your bed at night to cold you, when he reaches out for your comfort alone. When he graces your neck with his fangs his lips–

You drop the dishes back in the sink, shoving your thoughts back into the deep dark recesses of your mind. Maybe if you can be his comfort for now, that will be enough. Even if it isn’t right.

Maybe that’s just how far you’ve fallen, how much he’s tangled you in his embrace. Not that it matters much, you smile all the same. Abandoning your task on only his third whine and fourth dramatic roll of the night. Giving in is so easy when it’s him.

But! It’s a new record for how long you’ve held out! Even got two stomps out of him. You should be proud of yourself.

Maybe you are, though it's for different reasons entirely as Jimin grabs at your wrists, pulling you down beside him. Nudging his face into the crook of your neck with a quiet, pained whine.

You like to ignore those other reasons. They’ll only hurt more if you face them head on. But it's hard to, so hard when he’s this close. When he’s holding you like you may just be the very thing from shattering his world apart.

Or maybe you’re over thinking things.

Yeah. It’s probably that.

“Y/n…” You feel his lips ghost your neck as he whines, wiggling slightly in discomfort.

His duality is always impressive, has been making your brain go a little haywire since he first moved in, since he became more comfortable in your presence. Letting you see him for what he really is. Always playing so cute, so pliant when he needs something– attention, food, for you to just give in and give him what he wants.

Other times he acts as if he could be the reincarnation of Arachne herself. Beautiful, deceptive. Terrifyingly aware of how attractive he is to the human eye. You think he does it on purpose. Likes to see your head spin as you try to keep up with which apparition of Jimin you will experience that day.

He doesn’t know how dangerous it can be, especially for you. How easy it can be to believe that it's real and not just the flirt of his personality. At least you have cute Jimin for now. It’s a little easier to manage.

“You okay Minnie? Something happen?” Your arm reaches up for where he clings to it, fingers gently petting through his fluffy blonde hair. The action seems to soothe him, make him almost pur from the feeling of your fingers alone. Make him feel the slightest bit better from whatever might be irritating him.

He forces his wrists onto your lap, nuzzles his face further into your neck. Inhale all the scents you have to offer. Let you see the issue of spiders.

The tiny holes of his spinnerets come into view, red and inflamed. Shit. They have to be hurting. The skin jutting out slightly more than it should be. Pretty strings of silk hanging in a messy manner. Clogged glands always hurt. Always make for issues.

You frown at the sight, delicately taking his wrist into your hand, looking at it closer. No, not too bad you have to take him to the doctor… you can handle it fine. But it won’t feel good, it never does. Dummy must’ve gotten too excited while webbing up the basement again, got his poor spinnerets working too hard. Overproducing silk to the point it has nowhere to go.

“Min!” You whine, already grabbing a pair of tweezers from the side-table– you’ve learned it’s always good to have a pair on-hand. “I told you that you gotta be more careful!”

“I know!” He hisses almost pathetically, “Just got ahead of myself!”

His voice is no more than a grumble, turning his head away from you yet not pulling away in the slightest. Pretending he hates when you scold him, when you show just how much you care about him.

You pretend it isn’t cute in much the same way.

“Always end up getting ahead of yourself,” You sigh dramatically, acting as if having to take care of the arachnid bothers you more than it actually does. Truth be told, you don’t care in the slightest. Who knows, maybe it even makes you preen in delight.

Feeling wanted as your fingers try to be as gentle as possible while removing the silk. Pulling out the little pieces strand by strand, work out the knot it's made under the skin to try and bring him some relief.

Though, no matter how careful you may be, he still flinches in pain all the same. Trying to cover it up like it was nothing, like every poke and prod doesn’t hurt. Like he can be tough under your gentle hands and pained gaze. He knows it has to be done and no matter how much you hate to see him in pain, you do too.

The dull ache will grow worse and worse, could even turn into an infection if you don't handle it as fast as possible. Worst case? He may have to have his spinnerets removed completely. A fate that feels worse than death to a spider hybrid– or so you’ve read at least.

Soon after he came into your life you did everything in your power to learn as much about his species as possible. Scoured webpage upon webpage, blog post on blog post, youtube video after youtube video. Even went down the sticky threads of a reddit rabbithole to try and learn everything about him.

The only thing you found: how horrible arthropod hybrids are treated in your society. Either sold at auction for absurd prices or cast aside completely depending on how “inhuman” they look. How they are used as tools to show wealth or are discarded from the rest of the world completely. The notion alone had pissed you off to no end.

Jimin was a member of the latter group– or at least that’s what you assumed. From behind no one would be able to tell he was any less than human. His lack of multiple limbs or fluttering wings left him to the devices of the reserve. Probably cast aside, dropped off by the people that raised him for not providing anything that went along with their definition of ‘value’.

Your eyes pinch into a quiet glare. They’re just fucking stupid. Anyone could see that Jimin is perfect. Anyone could see that he did not deserve the treatment he's received, nor deserved to be in the state he was in when you first found him.

And while you’re glad he didn’t end up with anyone else, still didn’t end up in an auction house like many others had, you hate them for thinking they could define his value. That they could define him for more than what he lacked. He still has beautiful fangs. Still has beautiful eyes and his natural cobalt-blue hair. He is still perfect to you.

A sharp hiss leaves his lips, arm attempting to jerk back from your hold as your grip tightens just a hair too hard. As you accidentally tug on a far too sensitive part of the knot. Getting a little too lost in your head while your fingers pick away diligently. Trying to ease the pain as fast as you can.

“Human!” He whines, quickly shushed by a flurry of apologies leaving your mouth. Face flushed, panic in your eyes as he admonishes you.

Once again you’re reminded all too well of how far you’ve fallen for him. Heart racing, brain yelling at itself for hurting him.

It’s dumb, you know that. Everything about the schoolgirl crush you’ve formed on him is. But it doesn’t stop the frown on your lips, the gentle rub of your fingers into his skin as you try to make it up to him.

A quiet grumble leaves his lips, heart hurting at the little dejected expression you wear. He forgives better than he forgets, moving his arms back to the pillow propped on your lap, allowing you to continue your work.

A pout stays on his lips as he watches your hands move. Watches the way the tweezers move under the thin layer of skin. Watches the way you move softer now, taking your time with him. Trying your utmost to not hurt him again.

To you it feels far too intimate. To him, it leaves him almost feral.

“Been working really hard on them lately, haven’t you?” Your voice sounds, trying to distract him or yourself from wandering thoughts– you’re not sure. He’s almost clean– almost all better so you can stop playing nurse. Get a warm washcloth to soothe the skin, take away any ache that lasts from the overused glands.

He nods, “Autumn is coming up…” He mumbles, the words leaving his lips in almost a shy fashion. Like it’s a secret that isn’t a secret at all in the coy fashion he knows you adore.

He knows all too well all of the things that make your stomach flutter. Listens to your heart beat like it’s his favourite song, the flush of your cheeks his favourite painting. Every little twitch of your lip or tap of your feet he catches with ease. You are his favourite everything.

You’ve become far more interesting than any book, far more gorgeous than any actress. Learned to read you better than yourself.But he supposes that would happen to any hybrid who had to wait as long as him, endure as much as he has.

Humans are tricky things, you know? You have to wait and wait and wait just for them to finally give into what they really want. Play the long game to win a prize at the end like he wants, deserves.

He’ll win it soon. August.

“Mmm? Having a contest with the house spiders or something?” You giggle, an effort to try and keep the atmosphere as light as possible. Try to distract from any pain he may be feeling at the moment.

Jimin is convinced he can speak to them– the house spiders that you allow to stay in the corners of your house. Another one of Jimin’s pitfalls that you couldn’t help but wonder into. He claims that they’re his friends, that he talks to them all the time. You, on the other hand, are unconvinced. They probably just use him for food!

“How did you know?! Who told you!” He gasps in mock surprise, head dipping low to rest on your shoulder before he continues, “No, not this time…they all know I would win anyway.”

“I know you would,” He doesn’t allow you in the basement to look at them, at least he hasn’t in the last month, but you’ve seen plenty strung around the house. Dotted in the corners of each room, his way of claiming territory. “You’ve always got such pretty silk.”

His face flushes– he knows you can’t see it. It’s good if you don’t, better if you have no clue how much your words affect him. Exactly how much those words mean to him.

Hopefully you will soon enough. Hopefully, if things go according to plan, you’ll know a lot of things. But right now you just need to stay a little clueless. Just for a little longer.

That’s what he promises to himself.

“What’s happening in autumn then?” You ask, finally pulling the last bit of silk from his left wrist. Both finally clean, finally working like they should be.

Taking each wrist into one of your hands, your thumbs find the openings to the spinnerets. Fingers rubbing gentle, soothing circles into the flesh. Your version of a little makeshift massage. One that always causes him to fall apart under. Spine slumping, mouth parting slightly as he watches your fingers work. His brain going a little empty along with the soothing motion of your fingertips.

Another thing that you don’t understand the intimacy of. The extent of what your touch means to him. How terribly it makes him want to bite you.

His voice is a pitch lower than before. You can’t help but notice the way his breath stutters in his throat at the gentle movement of your thumbs. The way his pupils expand ever so slightly. The way he leans into your touch, avoids eye contact at all costs.

You can’t help the blush that dusts your cheeks, the flutter of your ribcage. The way you keep going just because you know it’s making him feel good.

Stop it! You’re thinking in a bad way again! It isn't right! It’s just from the massage, the relief after his spinnerets are cleared! God, you can’t think about him like this. Can’t do this to yourself! Calm down, seriously. None of this is a big deal.

You know he can hear fast your heart is beating regardless of the argument going on inside of your brain.

“Autumn is mating season.” Your thumbs stutter.

Oh. That is something all of the articles definitely neglected to tell you. They didn’t tell you anything about… that aspect of spiders. Not that they explained much to begin with but certainly nothing about breeding.

You can’t help the way your grip tightens, trying to find purchase– stability at the revelation. Heart thrumming in your chest faster, more aggravated than before. The chill that travels down your spine with the hum of his voice so close to your ear.

Can’t help the sinch of jealousy that finds you either.

Fuck, you hate that he’s smirking– without even looking at his face you can tell! You know he can hear the exact pitter-patter of your heart, any little sound or smell you let out he can easily pick up. Knows your exact emotions before you know them yourself.

“Ah… I see.” This topic really shouldn’t make you so embarrassed! Pull yourself together!

You know that all hybrids have a cycle they go through. Heats, ruts, anything in between. You knew that when Jimin came into your life he would be the same! Knew there would be a time when he’d have to lock himself in the basement, body flooded with hormones. The pretty sounds you’d have to block out filling the house.

But still, because it’s him, you can’t help the nerves that arise from your core. The realisation that it would be coming sometime soon.

If you’re going to make it through you’d have to invest in some soundproof headphones. For your own sanity.

“Mmm?” He smiles, voice sweet and saccharine. Away with the pain of existing also left cute Jimin, leaving a deadly predator in its wake. One that likes to taunt and tease you while acting as innocent as an angel.

Leaves your brain confused, floundering trying to keep up with his deceptively sweet tongue. Doing it all just to get a cute little reaction out of you.

Guess he picked up on the exact little whirlwind of your mind, “You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed…”

“Shut up!” You whine, trying to stand from the couch so you can retrieve a washcloth. Try to avoid the way your heart is going to pound out of your chest, the way you know you’ll fall farther into his clutches.

His arms lock on firm, face nuzzling into the crook of your neck to rub his cheeks against your skin. Scent you just like he does a million times a day claiming that it's necessary. Spiders smell so much less than other hybrids– he has to do it or else.

Or at least that’s what he says– you think that it’s another lie.

“What!” He laughs, “Not like I’m saying anything dirty, it’s only natural.” He chides, sliding back against the couch, pulling you into his side with ease. Slotting you in like you’re meant to fit there, not whatever mate he meets in the future.

Your brain yells at itself. You know how dangerous that line of thinking is.

“Unless you want me to be dirty? I could if I wanted, you know.” He smiles as innocently as a wolf, fangs oozing with confidence behind them.

“Oh my god!” You sigh dramatically, putting on the front you always do when your heart feels like it may just explode. When you feel like digging an early grave because Jimin knows exactly what he’s doing.

You simply roll your eyes, “And I could punch you in the dick if I wanted to, you know?”

His laugh is always so pretty, boisterous yet still as light as air. Head tilting back, his neck on display as he chastises you for the empty threat. One you both know won’t come true, at least not right now.

He smiles, a gentle kiss being placed on your forehead as he urges you to stay. Promising he’ll be a ‘good little spider’ so you don’t have to worry about him. The implication of snacks and movies making you stay. The way he pouts when you tell him you’re not buying anymore BugBitez™ until the end of the week confirming that this is where you need to be right now. That it’s right.

It’s almost too easy for him too. Everything is too easy for you when it comes to Jimin. He claims the exact same.

Or at least, that’s what he mumbles in your ear now. Arms wrapped around you as tight as he can manage. Movie nearing its end with Jimin on the cusp of consciousness, you having lost the plot of it a long time ago.

Something about Aliens? Cowboys? Mothman? You couldn’t even hope to guess. Not when his breath is in your ear.

It’s hard to focus when he’s so close like this. When he’s saying pretty words that could get you lost in your fantasy over and over again. Making him harder and harder to give him up every moment that passes you by.

“Got lucky with my human.” He mumbles, half asleep, face buried in your hair, “Really good human.”

His lips move so lazily when they speak. Fangs running across the surface your skin like they have a mind of their own. Never daring to pierce the surface. Never daring to bite you for real. No matter how bad he really, really wants to.

How bad he wants to mate you. Make you his pliant little prey– see if the rumours about what his venom does to humans is real.

Your breath stutters but you pay it no mind. Trying, begging your eyes to remain focused on the movie. To ignore how deceptive sleepy Jimin is. Tomorrow, he will act as normal. His words will carry no weight.

He isn’t your boyfriend. You aren’t his mate. You two are just friends sharing a house.

Feelings you have no right to have are forced down over and over again. It seems like it's become a daily occurrence– a pattern of habit you have no hope in breaking. The love piling behind your eyelids means nothing when the person he is meant to be with could be around any corner.

But it’s getting harder. Too hard to hold them back and restrain yourself. Especially on nights like this when it feels like fate that the two of you met.

Thinking back on that fateful day now, all of those months ago, you’re sure it had to have been. Maybe the winter gods (if such a thing existed) decided to shine their light on you; to make the blizzard a little less lonely. Make your life filled with long days and even longer nights just a little bit brighter.

Or maybe they hated you and wanted you to suffer.

Wanted you to live a life knowing your affections will never be reciprocated, knowing that Jimin has a fated one out there somewhere just waiting for him. Knowing that it isn’t you. Cursing you to a life of watching Jimin fall for another.

Thinking becomes so hard when it’s about Jimin. When it’s about the man who made you so far into the pits of hell that you don’t think you’ll ever crawl out.

So instead your fingers simply squeeze his hand. Rub gentle, soothing circles into the skin. Care for him like you’re meant to instead of thinking about what the future may hold. What will happen when he does find his mate. What they might be like, what they might dress like, if they’ll have to move in here, if you’ll have to watch him fall in love over and over again every single day.

You think you might hate them.

You sigh.

No, that wouldn’t be fair. Could never be fair to Min. He deserves happiness. He deserves the world whether or not you’re a part of it.

You hope he isn’t able to pick up on the changes in your scent.

“Mmm mm, got lucky with you Min.”

August 11th.

A beautiful dream shattered by the incoherent nightmare that is your spider pacing around your room. A pillow pulled to either side of your head, doing everything in their power to drown out the noise as an audible groan leaves your lips. His nervous prattling too early in the morning for your liking.

Any other day it would be fine, you would think that it’s cute. The way he worries his lip between his teeth. The way he gently bites down on the pad of his thumb, one arm crossed while the other soothes the skin of his chin.

Any other day you’d sit in bed, listen to him. Mock him slightly with how much worry runs through his body.

But he isn’t talking about his mate any other day, is he? No, it seems that the occasion has been saved for this morning. His head running a mile a minute, losing all composure he once had before. Losing his very sense of self as anxiety courses through his veins.

“What if it isn’t good enough? I need to present it to her soon. Need to make sure everything is perfect for her.” Apparently he had met her. When? You have not a single clue. Jimin hasn’t left the house in weeks other than to go hunt bugs and to go to the grocery store with you.

“What if the web isn’t big enough? She might not like the style either…” He grumbles, eyes locked on the carpet as he moves back and forth across your room, “God and what if she hates the food… No, no you know what she likes.”

“Jimin, she’ll like everything. It will be fine.” You groan, sitting up in bed to face him, voice gruff with morning air.. You don’t want him to be in here, talking about this. Talking to you about this. Shattering your heart every second that passes by.

You knew it would happen someday, you really did. You tried to do everything right. Tried to pretend reality wasn’t creeping through your windows with every second that passes by. Try to ignore the impending sense of doom that covered your skin.

Did everything right only to end up failing once again due to the rations of Park Jimin.

You try to look at him through the fuzz in your eyes, sleep still trying to force you back into its clutches with everything that it has. Try to see what he is doing– understand what he is saying. His voice continuing to speak yet not fluent enough for you to actually understand. His body twitches ever so slightly, head jerking as his teeth dig deeper and deeper into his thumb. It was almost like you weren’t even in the room– not to him at least. Lost within the tangles of his brain.

Pulling himself deeper and deeper into the recesses of his mind, spiralling out of control of everything that seems rational, everything that he is meant to do or meant to say. It’s almost like he isn’t in the room at all. Isn’t pacing along your floor, surrounded by your scent. Comforting his inner spider before it loses control entirely with the hormones that rush through his veins.

August 11th. The date was circled 5 times on his calendar– red exclamation points, doodles scattered across the stupid day. Yet now, for the life of him he can’t seem to remember why. He can’t seem to remember much of anything though, so that isn’t a surprise. Only his web. The gifts he’s prepared for this day. Yeah. Those are the only things he can seem to think about.

A hand lands on his shoulder– one that isn’t his own. Who’s touching him? He isn’t sure. Isn’t sure of much other than the smell combing through the room that becomes sweeter and sweeter by the second. Honey he is unable to resist.

Especially with how soft the hand is that touches him. How gentle it is on his shoulder, his pace back and forth falling just so he can revel in it. Understand it.

“Hey Min.” Oh. It’s you. Your voice coming through the fog. Your voice startling him from the dream.

Gorgeous, gorgeous you.

Mate.

“It’s gonna be okay, yeah?” Why do you sound sad? No, maybe it’s distressed. His face falls.

No, no, no. You shouldn’t be sad. You should never be sad. You should always be happy with him. You should love him. His love should make you whole. Your love makes him whole.

Wait, does he have your love yet?

Now he isn’t sure.

All he knows is that he should. You should. He should wrap you up in his nest, hold you close until you feel nothing but him. Don’t think about anybody else. Look at anybody else. You should always be happy and safe. Happy and safe with him just like he feels with you. Has always felt with you.

More than that stupid reserve. More than his webs back there. It was fate that brought the two of you together, right? Right? So he should be allowed to indulge just a little. He should be allowed to let go of this stupid, fucked up play he’s been putting on for so long. He should be allowed to do whatever he wants.

The reserve always taught him he was a wild spider, you know?

Wait, spider.

Spider.

His rut. That’s what’s coming today. That’s why the day was circled. That’s why Jimin isn’t acting like himself. That’s why his spider is itching, clawing to come out to play. Why he so desperately wants all of you to himself.

He hasn’t even presented his web yet.

He tilts his head at you, blank eyes staring down into bright ones. Ones that hold his entire world at your fingertips.

“There he is.” Your smile is almost blinding. Makes his head pound just like the sun's rays.

That’s right. That’s why he needs to keep his composure. To keep that smile on your lips. To keep you happy. To keep you falling in love with him slowly the human way. The way he knows you’d prefer. Knows you adore every second of.

He isn’t Taehyung. He isn’t Taehyung.

The human way is better. Better at keeping you pliant. Better at keeping you happy. Better at keeping you unafraid.

He hates when people are scared of him. Hates when people flinch with every movement he makes. Hates when people can’t just love him like he so craves. He’s still a hybrid. He still wants love. He was bred for it just like the rest of them.

So when you came into his life, so gentle and caring despite the palpable fear that scented the air– weighed it heavily, it sparked light behind his eyes. When he felt you touch him, felt the sparks dance across his flesh and allowed himself to inhale once more. When there were no traces of fear within you, only the scent of his mate. His eternity.

He knew he had to do the right thing. Had to make you love him the human way. Had to make you fall for him, endure the wait. Endure the daily struggles of his instincts just so you would never be afraid of him. The end would be worth it.

He would never let you fear him even at the cost of his own sanity.

Because he isn’t Taehyung. He’s Jimin. He’s a good spider.

“You need to be careful Min…” You tell him quietly. Your voice is the only anchor to his shaky world. The light brought him back from the edge over and over again today.

He needs to leave your room before all of his planning goes to waste. Calm himself down. Present to you his web and all of his gifts so you can accept him properly.

“Your thumb… it’s bleeding honey…” He tilts his head again, inspects your hands as they move closer. Tries to force lucid thought from behind his heavy eyelids as you touch his skin directly.

Tries to ignore the throb deep inside as you gently remove the finger from his lips. Pull it away from the fang that was piercing him. The sting of the bite.

He hadn’t even noticed it.

He watches as a single drop spills from the abrasion. Slipping down his finger. Feels the way your hands come up to cup his cheeks.

Leave. Leave. Leave.

The way your thumb comes to his lips, worry etched across your features as you swipe away any remaining blood from his lower lip.

Leave. He needs to leave.

He isn’t sure how your finger ends up in his mouth. His plush lips wrapping around the digit, tongue curling around your flesh as he licks away the red spilled. Sucking on it gently as heat curls in his stomach. His eyes half-lidded, staring into the recesses of your very soul.

A groan passes through him at the taste of your skin. How sweet you are against his tongue. Do you even know what a vixen you are? What a tease you’ve come to be over the past 9 months?

No. Of course you don’t. Not with the blush that rushes to your cheeks. The stutter of his name that passes through his lips. The questions that you ask– what are you doing? Wh-why?

He wants you to be quiet. To enjoy you for all it’s worth. Enjoy everything you have to offer.

The command is silent– no more than the press of his bleeding thumb to your lips. The demand that you part them for him. To clean that wound that you unknowingly caused.

A hand on your cheek directing your head back. He’s been a good little spider, you can be a good little girl too, can’t you?

You are.

“J-Jimi–” He slips it inside, resting the pad against your tongue. Holding it in place. Asking, begging for this one little thing from you. You don’t mind, do you? You’ve always made him feel better before. This is no different, is it?

And so you do.

He watches the way your eyelids fall, your lips close as you begin to gently suck against it like he so craves. Like he desires down to the very cells that make up his body.

To imagine it’s his cock instead. Gently fucking into you over and over again, teaching you how to take his it how he likes. How he knows you’ll like. You’ll love everything about him. You’re meant to. It’s in the fabric of your DNA and soon it will all be his. Right after he shows you his–

Shit.

He needs to leave.

Got carried away in his fantasy. In pretending again.

His rut is coming too fast, too strong now that he finally has his mate in his grasp. He needs to leave. He needs to calm down so he can go this properly.

He leaves you on the bed, more confused and distressed than when he first entered. Annoyance hovering over your entire wake in a blanket of unrest. One that you know will not ease your soul for the rest of the day.

The spider has locked himself away. Hiding from you. Keeping himself in the basement, door locked, shutters drawn to drown out any sense of you that may be persisting.

You, on the other hand, have had nothing to do but stew in your own emotions. Think about every little decrepit detail that occurred hours prior. Edicting yourself to only address him by spider even in your thoughts.

It’s spiteful, sure. But it’s the least he deserves, you know? After everything he’s put you though– pulling you along like a little puppet on a string. Making you sit idly by for him to give you any lick of affection he’s willing to part with. Making you feel special, like you're worth something every second that he gets only for him to remind you with too much familiarity that he isn’t yours to have.

He woke you up, told you about his mate, looked at you like he was going to fuck you, and made you suck on his finger only for him to leave? The sheer fucking audacity of this man.

You’re sick of it.

Sick of having to force everything down because you know it isn’t what he wants. Sick of falling in love with him every day. Sick of having to play house. Sick of not having him. Sick of being playing the lovesick fool.

So, into the novels you fall. Into alternate worlds that are far better than your own. Displacing yourself into new habitats, new environments to escape the confines of the four stuffy walls that surround your body, head, and heart.

Into a world where it’s okay to fall in love with whoever you want. Where it’s okay to feel wanted. Where reality can be shut away by your headphones and a good snack. Where you can ignore the body approaching behind you. The tap on your shoulder.

You try to, honestly. And a good attempt it was.

Keeping your grip firm on the pages, nails digging into the paper below. Breath in your lungs held as if doing so would keep him away. Eyes tracing the pages over and over again though reading nothing. Attempting to appear as if you didn’t notice him at all.

Maybe he would leave, that was your biggest hope. Take the headphones placed firmly over your ears as a loud, obnoxious hint. That he would see you’re not interested and retreat to his basement layer to plot on the next way to torture your heart.

He doesn’t. He never would.

His frame comes to kneel in front of you. To stare up at you with those big brown doe eyes that you know you could never escape. Placing a gentle hand on your knee, trying to get you to see that he is there. That he wants to see you.

You see his lips move, though ignore entirely what they say. Letting out a huff, turning your body away from his own. Continuing to mindlessly stare at the pages even though their contents holds no meaning in this moment. No real value.

His forehead drops to your leg, a sigh leaving his throat. Words mumbled from his lips you’re unable to make out– not that you would want to hear them anyway.

Maybe it’s a temper tantrum of sorts. Giving him a taste of his own medicine. To feel even a pinch of what you do. He probably never does.

Your fight is a good one. It truly is– at least you think so. But it all comes tumbling down the second his lips press against your knee. His hands reaching past your iron grip on the book to hold your own.

You will always fall to the likes of Jimin.

Especially when you see his lips mouth the word please. His brows crested with worry, his lower lip quivering in worry. Fangs biting the surface to try and soothe the nerves he feels.

Any sense of foreboding he held earlier, gone. The tick of his shoulders, the cold, blank stare of his eyes vanished. Your Jimin, the one you’re used to, in love with, rising to the surface again.

You’re unable to fight against the plea, no matter how much you want to. Unable to fight against him.

“What is it.” Your voice is harsh as you remove your headphones, setting the book to the side. Much more than it appears he’d like it to be if the flinch of his neck is anything to go by.

“I…” Words feel lost in his throat, but he forces himself to continue forward, “I have something I need to show you, human…”

Why is he acting so weird? Acting like earlier never happened? He seems nervous, almost petrified at your reaction. As if anything you say could break him entirely.

You don’t understand it at all. Anything about this situation, really.

“Okay…?” You watch his face carefully, trying to reason. To figure out why exactly the air seems so heavy. Why this situation feels so tense. “Show me then?”

“I…You have to come with me?” It sounds like a question, his face flinching at his own words. He’s meant to do this perfectly. Why can’t he seem to get it right? Why can’t his instincts help him with this? “Like, I can’t bring it up here… I need you to follow me?”

“Huh?” The quiet breath leaves your throat as your features pinch.

He quickly tries to explain further, trying to help you see through the worry on your face, “Not far I promise. Just to the basement, yeah?”

Your head jerks back in surprise, “You never let me go down there.”

“Yeah but…it’s special this time.” Oh.

It’s almost as if the pieces click together on their own. Your brain drawing conclusions, making decisions for you despite the obvious staring right in your face. His mate is probably down there. Wants you to meet her.

You can only sigh, accept your fate for what it is. Follow the boy with the string to the basement once again, just like the first night he came tumbling into your life.

“Okay.”

He holds your hand as you walk.

Holds it as if his life depends on it. As if it’s the red string of fate that has tied your two bodies together for the rest of eternity. As if he might die the second you two part. As if you might run away the second he lets go.

You never do, never try to run away from him. You’ve tried to run away from your feelings for so long. The least you can do is see through to the end of them, right? That would be the right thing to do. The dignified thing instead of trying to throw a tantrum on the floor.

The walk to the basement feels like the longest in your life. A marathon you have no training for, no experience with tugging you along. Silence extended for miles along each creak of the floorboards, each set of the dim stairs.

Jimin left the lights off, dusk settling along the horizon not long ago. Only distant flickers from the basement coming through as you make your way down. Candle light in the distance lighting the way.

He doesn’t say a thing as your feet reach the bottom of the stairs, toes cushioned by soft silk lining the floors. He doesn’t have to.

It’s beautiful. That’s the only way you can describe what he’s turned the basement into.

Beautiful silks cover every waking surface– the floors, the walls, the ceiling all lined in brilliant patterns of white dancing across the surface. Creating stories as if they were living themselves.

You wish you could stare at them. Admire them for the rest of your life. Decipher each piece laying, coating the surface. Envisioning the world through the eyes of Jimin. Through the world around him.

Webs cross from floor to ceiling, taking space over the room. Intricately laid in patterns you are more accustomed to with spiders. Webbed hatching sectioning off parts of the space, acting as furniture for the bug to rest on.

As your eyes scan the room, you finally find what you think has to be the most gorgeous web in the world. Sitting in the far right corner of the room stands a nest that takes up the entire corner. The effort it took to make it clear in its craft. So soft, so comfortable.

You almost want to curl up in it yourself.

Illuminated by only the glow of candle light, Jimin does nothing but watch as you take everything in. Watch as your face changes into that of euphoria. Mesmerised by everything he has worked so hard on, everything he’s done just to impress you.

You turn to face him, staring at him with nothing but wonder in your eyes.

“Jimin, this is– fuck this is incredible,” Your voice is breathless, cut off by how overwhelmed you are with everything. With him. “This must’ve taken you so long, it’s so beautiful. Oh my god, how did you–”

He can’t take it anymore. Can’t take it now that he has you here, has you in his web. Now that he can keep you in it forever. Complimenting him. Completing him. He needs to finish with the rest of this fast. Before he does something he’ll regret. Before he finishes showing you how good a mate he will be to you properly.

He tugs you forward, practically puzzling as he tugs you deeper into his room of webs. Expertly guiding you through each one without a second to spare.

Jittery, excited. Feeting rocking themselves back and forth as he sits you on a blanket placed on the ground.

He isn't going to last much longer. Not before his heat takes over. Before he loses his mind at you in the sight of his nest. His mate in his nest. Waiting to be bred. Waiting for–

No, no Jimin. Stop it. Stop acting like a spiderling that doesn’t know what to do with himself now that he has his mate in his nest.

“I…” He takes a deep breath, voice shaky as he tries to calm himself down, “I made us a picnic… I hope you like it.”

His spider hisses at the words, hating having to describe it as something stupid like a picnic. No, it's a nuptial gift. Evidence that he’s a good enough mate. That he’s good enough for you. That he deserves you.

You watch him, watch as he pushes the basket filled to the brim with food over to you. Watch as his frame shakes slightly as he stares at you, fingers tapping against strings of webs closest to your leg.

You can’t help but feel lost. Overwhelmed with affection, but utterly, entirely, hopelessly lost all the same. What is he doing? Why is he presenting all of this for you? Shouldn’t he be doing this for his mate? Isn’t all of this some type of courting ritual?

Oh.

It appears the puzzle you constructed– pieces matched together haphazardly stuck together with glue isn’t the solution after all. Isn’t the reality presented before you know.

You’re… you’re Jimin’s mate?

Your eyes widen, head jerking to meet Jimin’s gaze. His pupils shaky, not daring to leave the surface of the basket. Not daring to move an inch until you accept him.

You’re an idiot.

“J-Jimin a-are we…?” You hesitate to ask, hesitate to break the gentle balance residing over the entire basement.

His head snaps to face your own, eyes plagued with the same blank, predatory look as before.

“Mate.” Deep, harsh, scratchy. His voice makes you feel like he’s going to devour you whole. Like he is the monster waiting in the deepest recesses of your nightmares when that couldn’t be farther from the truth. When in reality he is the very being your soul yearns for stronger than any other.

The revelation, the– everything leaves you overwhelmed. Emotions strung up for the stars, casting aside any comets that tried to hurdle towards the perfect glass encasing this moment. This eternity you wish to live in forever as you finally understand that he wants you just as much as you want him.

You can’t help but grab his cheeks– ignore how venomous he looks, and press your lips against his own. Can’t help the explosion behind your eyelids, the sparks that travel across your skins in euphoric waves. The way your heart swells like a balloon, racing in your chest so fast you fear you may die.

Every emotion you’ve felt that day, every nagging, creeping sensation finding its way into the back of your skull vanishes in an instant. No going back. No orchestra or chorus reprise. No thoughts of not being his mate. You are his mate.

Only him.

Only Jimin.

He doesn’t part with you, not for a second. Not when he finally has you against him. When you so easily rise into his lap. When his natural instincts finally stop screaming at him and take over completely. Kiss you with everything he’s worth. Devour you whole.

His hands find purchase on your hips, blunt nails digging into the skin. Mocking him for not doing this in the closet with you all those months ago. Allowing him to truly understand how good it would’ve felt then. How good it will feel every second that follows.

He thinks you have to be the prettiest thing in the world.

His spider thinks that you need to be bred full of his spiderlings. Fucked so hard that you wont be able to walk– wont be able to leave his nest. That he’ll be able to tie you up nice and pretty, stuff you with his cum over and over again until you’d never even think about leaving.

His spider is winning.

“Min…” Your voice is breathless, trying to keep up with the flurry of kisses he presses against your lips, your face– anywhere he can reach. It’s like he’s addicted to the feeling, like he’s making up for lost time.

“Min, I love you.” And just like that, any sanity he has left vanishes.

His spider has won.

Without a second thought you’re lifted from your place on his lap, thrown carelessly into his nest. His nest where you will stay. His nest where he’ll keep you. All thoughts vanished from that pretty little head of yours. Just like it should be.

His hands find the back of his collar, shirt discarded without a second thought on the floor. He doesn’t need it anymore. Not when he has you. When he wants to feel you fully.

You can only stare– fawn at his tan skin. The gentle muscles on display for you. For your eyes only while he crawls towards you. Stalks you just like they might a pretty little butterfly caught in their web. Wrapped in webs and killed without a second thought.

His lips find yours once again. Slotting together, filling the other to make them whole. Dazed in lust and passion, neither soul hoping there would ever be a way out for the other.

Well, there won’t be for you. But that’s okay. You’ll love it. Love every second of it.

He knows it as his fingers dance against your skin. Sliding beneath the hem of your shirt, running with skilled ease up your sides. The chill that racks through your body is evidence enough. The way you so easily allow him to draw your shirt over your head solidifies it. Your shorts follow, making it set in stone.

Your breath comes out in short pants, every slight touch, every little movement sends fire burning through your skin. Igniting you, setting your core ablaze with heat that only he can extinguish.

Fingers gently sliding over your ribs, thumbs coming just blow your breasts to rub circles into the skin while his fangs nip gently into your lower lip. He can’t bite you now. No, after he mates you he can bite you all he wants.

He groans at the thought, hips rocking themselves against your clothed cunt. Allowing you to feel all of him– the press of his cock, the motion of his need allowing you to fall higher and higher into a heaven you did not think possible.

You whine at him to do something, anything. Too impatient to wait any longer. Too impatient to live a second more without something, anything buried inside of you.

His smile is sick, twisted as he reclines back on his heels. Allows himself to get a good look at you.

“Shh, Shh…” His hand cups your cheek, smoothing his thumb against your lips. Pressing it inside with more ease than before. More compliance than before. There’s a good little girl.

“Poor thing is having a hard time, huh?” He mocks gently, hips pressed firm against your own allowing you to feel every inch of him, “Pretty lips all swollen, pussy a little mess from just kissing… mm mm…”

He groans, hand slipping between your legs. What he finds is no more than a mess of a girl. Hips bucking upwards. Slick dripping from your center, panties coated in arousal. Puffy little clit begging for any attention he’s willing to give it.

Without any hesitation his thumb finds your clit, pressing against it without any thought of reprieve. Without any thought to give you any of the relief you crave. You’ve made him wait this long, you can wait a second, no?

He groans high as you buck against his hand, mewl leaving your lips as some sort of plea. Ah~ how cute. Such a little thing so desperate for something, anything that you’re willing to give up your very head in return? How cute! How adorable!

His spider preens. Is almost so belated he doesn’t notice the hands that come down to grip his wrist. Hold him in place all so you can circle your hips against his thumb. Rub adorable little rings into your clit without any help from him. Use him to make yourself feel good.

A coo leaves his lips. Who is he to deny such a pretty little human?

“Ah pretty baby wants to feel good, does she?” He almost giggles at how pathetic you look. How adorably you cling to him. How hard you try.

His arm is ripped from your grasp, pulling back from the very place you desire him most. Where your arousal soaks the cotton of cotton, so palpable he can practically taste it in the air.

“It’s okay baby…” He sees the annoyance in your face, the battiness you hold in your heart coming to light. Excited to tame it. Excited to quell the pretty little devil in his web.

Tie you up. Breed full.

Breed you.

His fingers work fast. Arms are pulled over your head, silks quickly pinning them to the surface. Strings wrapping and wrapping until he’s sure you’re secure. Sure you can’t move.

His hips gently rock against your own, clothes cock pressing against your core. Watching as your hips buck, as you try to urge him closer with a pathetic whine.

See exactly how you struggle against the strings.

Perfect, perfect girl. How did he get so lucky, huh? Can never be sure.

You’re unable to stop the cry that leaves your throat as his hands pull your panties aside, finger thrusting into your wet heat. Filling you up, making you feel a little more whole.

“Min~” The moan of his name is shaky. Every sense you have in overdrive as he works his finger against your walls. Every push inside deeper, harder. Curling against your walls in the exact way you craved.

Pleasure coils in your stomach faster than you thought possible. A second finger joining the first, pumping in and out as he prepares you for his cock. Prepared you to take all of him and nothing less.

He knows you can do it. You can, can’t you?

“Mhmm baby, I know… head a little clearer now, huh?” He chuckles, chastising, “Can only think when you’re full. It’s so cute.”

You whimper at his words, head rolling back as the coil pulls tighter and tighter within your gut. Urging you to just let it snap, feel everything you’ve been waiting for.

“F-feels good…” You mutter quietly, unable to see the haze cloud his vision. The way his amused expression drops into that of a wild animal.

Without any warning his fingers pull out of your heat, body leaving your own entirely as he stands. Grabbing your hips, dragging them closer. Flipping your body over. Setting you pretty on your knees, arms uncomfortable crossed in front of you.

He quickly rids himself of his pants, allowing his cock to spring free from their confines. Head red and messy as it hits his stomach. Angry at how neglected you’ve left him. How desperately he wants this.

You have no way of preparing yourself for the drag of his cock through your lips. The gentle nudge against your clit. Thick head dragging through your folds, spreading your arousal. Mixing it with his pre-cum.

Making you messy. Making you dirty just for him. Making you belong to him.

“Gonna fill my mate.” All humour is gone from the man behind you, as if he is someone else entirely. It’s really too bad your head has a few too many screws loose to care. Care about anything other than the way his firm head presses against your hole. The way his blunt nails dig into your flesh.

“Gonna breed her. Mate her. Make her mine.” It’s almost as if his word is a command. The very sentences he utters become law.

You can only nod your head. Give yourself to the very man that fate led you to all those months ago. “Want~”

The thrust of his hips into your walls is almost too much to bear. A cry leaving your lips as he fucks himself inside in a single thrust. Forcing you to take him to the hilt, to feel all of him stretch your walls. No break. No waiting around.

You’ve both done enough waiting.

It hurts— the burn, as he stretches you full. Presses his cock against your walls making sure your cunt remembers no one but him.

The way he gives no reprieve, fucking into you like an animal starved. Pulling back until only the tip remains inside before fucking himself fully inside once more.

“Min!” You cry, waves of pain and pleasure boiling all the same within your bones. All the same inside of your blurred head, nothing but static and thoughts of him behind the line of your eyes. Slipping off into space as you let cunt clenched pathetically around his cock.

“Good mate, taking me so well. Such a good human.” He groans, hips pulling back and thrusting into you over and over again. Making you fall apart with his pace. Pumping his cock into your pathetic little hole fast and hard. Ruining you for any other man.

Making sure he will be the only one you allow to enter heaven.

Your moans come out wanton, pleaing. Hips start to move back against him, trying to keep up with his pace despite the burn you begin to feel in your tied arms. Desperate to let him know just how good he’s filling you. Just how good he’s making you feel.

“My mate.” His pants come out harsh, breath on your neck as he hovers close. The sound of skin and against skin is the only thing you’re able to hear. The pressure of Jimin’s lips against your neck makes you feel like you’re about to go insane.

He’s desperate to make you fall apart on his cock alone. Pleasure building and building, the coil tight. Ready to snap at any moment. Ready to fall apart at his command.

“Gonna make you mine forever pretty.” His voice is featherlight once more. The switches have you reeling, your brain spinning. “Want that, don’t you? For me to bite you? Mark you up? Breed you full of my spiderlings? Ruin that pretty little head for anything else.”

He sighs, nails digging into your hips where they’re sure to leave bruises. You nod your head in agreement, moans spilling past your lips as his hips change their angle. His cock hitting the spot that leaves you seeing stars on every thrust.

“Say the word and you’re mine.” You feel his fangs against your skin. The harsh drag across your delicate skin. “Forever.”

You can’t take it anymore, pleasure burning through you. Blinding you. Unable to think about anything else other than the rough thrusts of his cock against your walls.

“Please.” It’s no more than a whimper, but he swears it’s the loudest thing he’s ever heard.

His teeth clamp into your flesh— the final thing needed to push you over the edge into bliss. Your body stutters, walls a vice around his cock as the coil finally snaps. Heat flowing through every cell you possess. The only thing in your soul is Jimin.

Your back arches, eyes dotting with black as you allow it to overtake you. Jimin rocking you against him, groaning as he fills you with his cum, painting your walls white. Allowing you to ride out your high with him. Finally allowing the rut to rid his brain for only a moment.

He slowly pulls out of you, panting. Quickly moving to cover your center back up with your underwear. Make sure all of his cum stays tucked away in your pretty little pussy to get you nice and pregnant.

You can only whimper, body twitching at every movement he makes. Worn down your bones— energy sucked so dry you can’t even feel the throb of your neck. Don’t even notice the blood that drips from where he marked you— claimed you in the way only a hybrid can.

All you're sure of is the need to be close to him. Need to feel him.

Is this what he had been feeling all along? Marks were known to do that, to allow you to feel what your mate does. If he had to endure what you’re feeling right now, it had to have been hell for him.

“Min…” you calm his name. Pull him from where he stares between your legs. Where his fingers rub circles into the surface of your underwear, spreading any cum that leaks from your twitching hole.

Within a second he’s at attention, staring at you with all of the love in the world. You’re not sure how you missed it before. How you could have deluded yourself into believing any less.

He pouts as you wiggle at your restraints, silk holding your arms in place all this time. He gently shakes his head, slowly flipping your body back over onto its back. Crawling over you to look at your face properly. Take in your fucked out expression. Ruined his pretty little human. Made her perfect.

“Don’t want to.” His lower lip juts out at you, eyes wide just like a begging dog. “Look pretty tied up in my web. Should stay like this. Forever.”

“I don’t think my job would like that very much.” You giggle, lip pouting out to match his own. He leans down, quickly capturing your mouth in a quick kiss.

Something hard pressed against your leg once more. His hand comes down to guide it against your heat. Rub against you despite the oversensitivity and cum leaking from your hole.

“Then we move to the woods together… I’ll hunt for us…” He grumbles, pushing your underwear to the side once more. Collecting any cum that has spilled out with his cock, gently fucking it back into your cunt with the head.

A whine rips from your lips due to oversensitivity. Pussy sore, aching from what he just put you though. What you aptly begged for. Yet you can’t deny him. Don’t want to deny him with how good it feels to be filled. How addicted you’ve become. Cock drunk.

“Wh-what?” You try to breathe, walls fluttering around his length as he slowly thrusts back inside. Filling you to the brim once again. “W-we can’t do that, Minnie…”

His thrusts are slow, languid. Almost like he’s making love. Treating you with utmost care despite how wrecked your entire frame is.

He is entirely unaffected. His rut leaves him wanting for more and more until you have nothing left to give. Face twisting into confusion at your words.

“Why can’t we? Make you up a nice pretty web… keep you full all the time” He hums against your neck, gently licking at his mark, “treat you like a real good mate, yeah? Fill you up over and over. Will look so pretty with my spiderlings.”

He moans the words, hips speeding up ever so slightly at the thought. It dawns on you that this must be his rut talking. Filling his head with nonsense he knows can’t come true. In a few days when he wakes up from it, he’ll probably pretend he never said anything about taking you to the woods. Keeping you there.

No harm in agreeing, is there? Especially when he makes you feel so good. So happy and full. When it makes him feel just as good. When your head starts to feel fuzzy, the exhaustion weighs heavily on your consciousness. You’re on birth control anyway, it's fine.

“Mmhmm… sounds nice..” You moan quietly, already feeling your second orgasm approaching. Allowing yourself to become lost in the same dream as him. Allowing yourself to fall victim to pretty words and false promises. Ones that he intends to make true.

“Gonna take such good care of my mate.” He groans, face buried in your neck. He feels your walls clamp around him, pulling him in over and over again. Cunt never wanting him to leave.

His hand draws between your thighs, fingers rubbing quick circles into your clit. Neither of you are going to last long. Both too sensitive to do anything but fall into the pleasure of each other.

Pussy fluttering against his cock, head rolling back as your high runs through you once more. White clouding your vision, ears ringing as you are overcome with fire. Drowning in the feeling of his cock fucking you full of his cum once again.

He lets out a harsh groan as he fills you. Breeds you just like a good spider would. Makes you feel complete as he helps you through both of your highs.

Your eyes feel heavy— too heavy to stay open even a second longer. Too tired to stay awake as he pulls your underwear back over your center. As he pulls your body close to his own.

He doesn’t blame you, never could. It must be hard having to keep up with a hybrid during their rut. But he knows you can do it. Knows you’ll do it for him. Especially with the promises you made. The ones you made only to him.

The last words you hear before falling under the veil of consciousness is a simple declaration. One you’ve waited months to hear.

“I love you.”

“Y/n! Hurry up!”

The whine of Jimin’s voice is louder than any car, highway, hell— aeroplane you’ve ever heard, you’re sure of it. The grip of his hand around your own is like iron, tugging you along the worn trail path, trying to urge you faster than your feet will allow.

“I’m going! I’m goin!” You chide with him, giggle leaving your lips at his hurried nature. You don’t think you’ve ever seen the spider more excited. Maybe even more so than when he strokes the bite mark scarred into your shoulder– your permanent reminder that you are his and he is yours.

“Not fast enough!” He groans, head rolling back in annoyance, “The best spot is going to get taken!”

He’s told you about this spot time and time again– excitement palpable with every mention. A beautiful clearing back at the reserve, one that the trees shine perfectly through. The best spot for basking in the whole park, as well as for begging humans for snacks.

You smile at the thought. Following as close behind him as your feet will manage. Blanket and bags of food tight in your grip. After months of paperwork, he can finally return to this place without fear they’ll take you away from him. The mate licence in your wallet proof enough of it.

He finally gets to take you to the reserve– the place he called home for so long before he met you. The place where he first learned how to be a proper spider. The first place he learned to make friends. He’s most excited about the latter part, getting to show off his shiny new mate to all of his friends. The one he caught the human way.

He’s been talking about it for days, since you first brought up the idea of visiting. Of wanting to see where he lived before he met you. Prattling on and on about everything he’s going to show you, how he’s going to introduce you to Jungkook if he can. About the waterfall over the cove that you two can swim in without anyone finding out.

All of it is a dream come true for your little spider. Your mate.

You smile at the thought– how excited he is as he helps you set up the blanket on the ground. As he helps spread food all around you. Body jittery, head twitching at every little sound.

It’s clear he’s going a little crazy with joy. Entirely ecstatic to have you here with him. Sitting across from him on the ground in a way that almost mocks the picnic you had in his basement that night months ago.

Ah, sorry. Nuptial gift ceremony. He liked it a lot better when you called it that.

“Oh! And then, after we eat, I can introduce you to the head of the park! She’s Namjoon’s mate, but she doesn’t know it yet.” He talks to himself, chatting idly about nothing as he presses another strawberry to your lips. You eagerly take it, biting down on the fruit without a second thought.

You cover your mouth with your hand as you speak, “Really? It must be difficult to confess to her, then.”

He nods his head, overexcited as he looks past you into the trees. Nose twitching as he tries to pick up a scent. Yellow tinted sunglasses high on his nose to block any light from hurting his delicate pupils.

You can’t help but think about how beautiful he is. How lucky you are to have him.

His hair has grown out since that fateful day months ago, blonde replaced by a deep blue that puts the night sky to shame. How his frame has bulked out ever so slightly. Pretty tan skin looking more healthy than ever. His head off in the clouds, trying to ground himself so he doesn’t pick you up and drag you off into the woods.

The human way is never easy for him.

“Mhmm… he’s trying but he isn’t very good at it. Doesn’t understand how humans like it to be done…” He mumbles.

“Hybrid’s do it different?”

“Yeah,” He seems a little lost in space, nose twitching harsher as he tries to recognise the exact scent he knows will be coming soon. Jungkook can never hold himself back from a picnic, no matter how far. He just wishes his nose was stronger.

“Hybrids just take their mate right away. Prove they’re a good mate and then it’s done. But human’s you have to teach.” Your shoulders drop slightly, and maybe if it wasn’t for the love you felt for him or the mate mark pressing against your neck, you would have understood the severity of his words. Of teaching a human, tricking them into making them fall.

“Oh…” You pout, head coming down to rest against his shoulder. None the wiser to the meaning behind his words, “I’m sorry… it must’ve been hard for you.”

He only shakes his head, “It’s okay. I just didn’t want you to ever be scared.”

Suddenly, Jimin is standing. Eyes darting across the underbrush that surrounds the treeline. You follow his vision, squinting slightly to try and make out exactly what he is looking at when two antennae pop over the other side of a bush. Twitching, pointing in your direction. Hunting down food as they move closer.

The insect moves close, tilting his head as he finally moves within your line of vision. Mop of brown floppy hair on his head, wide bunny eyes. Twitching nose all the same. If it wasn’t for the lack of ears and black antennae jolting from his head, you would’ve thought he was a rodent.

“Kook!” Jimin’s voice is loud as he quickly run’s to meet the boy. The other looks just as excited, eyes lighting up with stars as his legs take off in the same direction. The two fall into a puddle of laughter and play fighting as they fall to the ground in greeting.

The infamous Jungkook, an ant hybrid– the biggest ant hybrid you’ve seen, mind you. Jimin’s best friend is finally revealed. And you have to say, seeing them together. Watching as your mate attempts to playfully tie him up silks has to be the prettiest sight you’ve ever laid eyes on.

“Oh my god, Min!” You laugh as Jimin struggles, the giant ant hybrid easily breaking free from the others strings. Instantly the attention is on you. Jimin leaning back to his heels, head thrown back as he whines.

“Shut up! He’s gotten stronger! My webs hold you good enough!” You continue to laugh, unaware of the ant sneaking closer. His antenna tickling your shoulder as he stares at the food in front of you. Begging for just a little taste to bring home to his colony, a little bit to make the queen happy.

You happily oblige, making room for the two of them to join you once again after their little scuffle. A reunion too cute to not try and remember forever. And just like that, conversation begins to flow easily between the three of you. Almost as if Jimin never left in the first place.

The two of them spend all afternoon catching up– Jimin reciting the story of how you two met, Jungkook opening up about the cute human that’s started to come by the park every saturday. Pulling his antennae down as he speaks, clearly embarrassed. Telling you all about how they met, about the reserve.

“Ah~ don’t mind him. Kookie’s just embarrassed cause he doesn’t know how to talk to girls.” Jimin teases, leaning over to ruffle Jungkook’s hair. His arm tightly wrapped around your frame, holding you close. “Not every day that an ant hybrid has a mate outside of their colony, you know?”

“Hyung! Shut up!” He quickly whines, eyes shooting a subtle glare towards the other. Legs kicking slightly underneath his frame. “You… know what it means… especially cause she’s human…”

“I know.” His fangs shimmer as his hand reaches out to ruffle his hair, “Don’t worry. She’ll wanna be your queen in no time.”

You nod your head in agreement, picking up another piece of fruit and popping it into your mouth. Nothing much to add to the conversation– you’ll never really understand the intricacy of hybrids and how they work. Especially those like Jungkook and Jimin.

Yet, you can’t help but feel at peace with that. At peace with them and this moment. Content with your life, content with your mate and the life you’ve built together. You hope that Jungkook can do the same with his own someday. Build a nice little colony or whatever it is that ants do.

“Mhmm, anyone would want someone as cute as you.” You smile, watching as the ant’s eyes go wide. Blush covering his cheek as he tries to pull his antenna down to cover them. Jimin instantly pounces on the other, starting a new round of play fighting. Laughing about having to defend his mates honour. That she isn’t allowed to look at any other hybrid. No one but him.

You giggle along with them, leaning back from your spot. Taking a mental picture of the scene in front of you. Jimin happy, playing. The sunset over the horizon as the three of you laugh in the woods. As Jimin no longer looks anything like that spider all those months ago.

And maybe he’s right. Maybe you did fall into his trap lined with silk. But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Even when you wake up in the middle of the woods. When you wake up in a cabin decorated in pretty webbing. When you come to find society is far behind you. When you discover no one else other than Jimin telling you that this is exactly what you asked for.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

⋆𐙚 if you enjoyed this fic, please consider buying me a kofi!

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Your arms wrap tighter around yourself as another heavy gust of wind breezes by. Effortlessly, it sweeps a discarded plastic fast food wrapper further down the street, away from where you’re standing. Your fingers brush against the numberless goosebumps blossoming on your bare arms. The ends of your hair tickle your skin as it moves with the invisible force, grazing your shoulders and back. 

  Your chin trembles. Though not as vigorously as before, as now it’s only because of the chilled air and not anymore from your tears. Tears that dried with the wind on your cheeks, leaving behind messy streaks of mixed makeup that you spent over an hour perfecting. You can’t wait to wash your face clean.

Numerous cars speed past, music blaring through the open windows, their horns beeping. Across the street, a group of intoxicated girls around your age surrounds a stray cat, cooing and giggling as they snap countless photos, stumbling over themselves but never falling. Nearby on a short brick wall, a couple sits cuddled together, enjoying each other’s company over a shared ice cream cone. The street is littered with people all around, yet you don’t hear anything, just static filling your ears 

The restless thoughts crowding your mind drown out the sounds of the bustling street around you. 

How could such a perfect night have gone so terribly wrong?

How could he do this to you? 

How dare he do this to you, again?

Before your mind could spiral any further into a pit of distress, your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of an approaching car. The hum of the tires sounded so close you couldn't ignore it. When you lift your head to see, the relief of familiarity washes over you. 

An all-black BMW, your best friend’s car, luxurious and sleek, parks in front of you, the passenger-side door only an arm's length away. You sniffle as you release yourself to readjust the strap of your bag over your shoulder. The moment the car is in park, Jimin jumps out, leaving the door open behind him and you exhale a breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding in. 

You don’t know what you were so worried about, maybe because it was well into the late hours of the night and so abrupt. But Jimin always came when you called. He was always there when you needed him, no matter what.

Jimin’s eyebrows were pinched in concern, a frown present on his puffy lips. His strides were swift as he paced over to you, dense blonde hair bouncing in the wind.

 You hated seeing him so upset. More than that, you hated being the cause, which you seemed to have been a lot lately. He didn’t say anything as he approached. Instead, he grabbed the black leather jacket draped over his arm to wrap around your bare shoulders. His scent engulfed you, warm vanilla with a hint of bourbon; it settled your restless nerves. You welcomed the warmth, clutching the shoulders to secure its place over you.

With a gentle guiding hand on your lower back, he leads you over to his car, opening the passenger door for you. Still with no words exchanged between you two, you slide onto the plush, leather seat. The swift movement makes your dress ride up, and you miss the way Jimin’s eyes lock in on the exposed skin of your thighs. As quickly as it comes, he erases the thoughts with a slight shake of his head. 

 As he reaches over you to fasten your seatbelt, you toe off your high heels, strappy black stilettos, pushing them aside to make space on the floor for your aching feet. When the seatbelt clicks, signaling that you’re safely secured, you thank him barely above a whisper, him giving you a closed-lip smile in return. Once Jimin was settled in the driver’s seat, seatbelt buckled, and hands positioned at nine and three o’clock, he turns to you. 

“My place?” He asks, though he already knows the answer. You nod your agreement. 

Typically on nights like these, your best friend coming to your rescue; the car ride to his house was anything but serene. There was so much to say—too much to say. Jimin wanted to know everything, firing off questions so quick your mind could hardly formulate proper answers. And you were just as eager to spill, sparing him no specifics as you filled him in on all the infidelity details your sorry boyfriend never failed to supply. 

Not this time, though. 

The silence in the car was deafening, thick and heavy. Jimin apparently has nothing to say, and well after the night you just had, neither did you. The only noise in the car was the quiet hum of the vents, steadily blowing warm air. Shortly into the drive, you took the liberty to turn the heat on. 

 None of that bothers you, though. What bothers you is that your best friend seems…mildly irritated. He didn’t even need to say anything for you to figure it out; it was practically oozing from him.

His eyes are narrowed, zeroed in on the road, not in a focused way, more like in an "I can’t even look at you right now” way. His posture is stiff, too perfect, as his back presses firmly against his seat. His lips are pressed into a firm line, neither a frown nor a smile.

You can’t understand it. What’s there for him to be irritated about? You were the one who just caught your boyfriend cheating again. Was he upset that you called him to come pick you up? If that’s the case, he should’ve left you right there. You are more than capable of getting yourself a ride. You’re well versed in getting Ubers, and you’ve ridden the bus from time to time. Enough to know how to get home.

Fed up with the seeming silent treatment, you finally speak. “You’re not going to ask me what happened?” 

Did you mean for it to come out as bitter as it did? Maybe, maybe not. But you’re already on edge, and his lack of interest was getting on your last nerve.

There was a pregnant pause as Jimin came to a stoplight, fist tightening on the steering wheel. With a clenched jaw, his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek. A telltale sign that something was bothering him. You’re almost unsure if it’s the traffic light that tints his face red or his sheer frustration.

“Do I really need to?” The bite in his words matches yours. He turns to face you full on, the most attention he’s given you the entire ride. With his tone firm and low, he snaps, “How is this time any different from the last? Or even the one before that?”

 Rather than giving him an answer, you swallow the lump in your throat, turning your body away from him to gaze out of the window. The last thing you need is to be reprimanded by your best friend. Especially considering it’s nothing you have not heard before. He should be comforting you, threatening to drive over to Theo’s right now and kick his sorry ass. Of course you would never allow that to happen. You would never want anything bad to happen to your best friend or your shitty boyfriend, but still the sentiment was nice.

You hear Jimin sigh, but he doesn’t say anything else, instead continuing the drive when the light turns green. 

Before long, you make it to Jimin’s neighborhood. With practiced ease, he navigates the familiar streets. Right at the first turn at the stop sign and continuing straight until he reaches the second-to-last house on the left.

Jimin pulls into his driveway, putting his car in park before shutting it off. For a moment neither of you says anything. Jimin exhales and lets his head fall onto the headrest. You can feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of your face, but you don’t dare to give him the eye contact he’s seeking. Your petty mind determines that he needs to feel how upset you are with him. 

When he calls your name, you roll your eyes, folding your arms over your chest. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings earl—"

“You didn’t hurt my feelings,” you lie right through your teeth, barely able to keep the tears collecting on your waterline at bay. Internally you thank the heavens above your voice didn’t tremble, a dead giveaway to your emotional despair.

For a moment your best friend does nothing. Then with not a word more to say, he pulls the key from the ignition and opens his car door. 

Shielded away from his eyes, you quickly wipe away the tears sliding down the corners of yours. Feeling pulled together enough, you take a moment to gather your purse and heels from the floor. Though, you don't bother to put your shoes back on. The distance from Jimin’s driveway to his front door is short anyway. 

Naturally, Jimin comes to open the car door for you. You shiver, greeted again by the cold air. As you exit the vehicle, you make no effort to thank him, swinging the strap of your purse back over your shoulder. From behind, you hear a sassy grumble of "You're welcome," that you choose to ignore. 

The walk from Jimin’s car to his front door feels like an eternity. From the wind blowing your hair into a tangled mess, the pebbles and rough gravel digging into the soles of your feet to the suffocating tension between you and your best friend, which you still couldn’t really understand. All you wanted to do was take a hot shower and turn your brain off for the rest of the night under a massive pile of blankets.

Jimin pulls out his key to unlock the door, and now it’s your turn to ignore the way his sharp jaw ticks. When the front door opens, the heat from inside surrounds you,  comforting you like a warm hug. You learned early on that your best friend loved to be just as toasty as you, always keeping a spare jacket or blanket around if or whenever it got too chilly. Another reason you’ve been friends for so long. You make a mental note to thank him later for turning the heat on when you're not as irritated with him. 

Your heels drop to the hardwood with a dull smack, joining a few pairs of Jimin’s piled on the floor. Your purse follows behind, on the ottoman next to the door, covered with other jackets, scarves, and things alike. Your best friend comes up beside you, discarding his own jacket and shoes.

You take notice of the comfy scene in front of you. On the couch, Jimin’s favorite blanket lies in a messy heap, like someone tossed it away in a hurry. Before the couch, a half-eaten bowl of popcorn sits in the middle of the glass coffee table, an opened can of soda beside it. In the background, the murmured chaos of an abandoned action movie, gunshots, explosions, some screaming, and then more gunshots emits from the television speakers.

The guilt that washes over you overtakes any of the irritation you felt earlier with Jimin. Once again, your tumultuous relationship has not only caused problems for you but also for the people around you.

 Of course he was upset. He had a right to be. If the roles were reversed, you’d probably be a little upset too. Lord knows how much you valued your couch potato time.

“I’m going to go wash up,” you mutter, your tone not nearly as snappy as it was before, and you don’t wait for his response as you make your way down the hall towards his bedroom. 

You close the door behind you with a heavy sigh, twisting the lever on the knob into its locked position. Guarded away from the outside, you take a moment to finally breath. Since all this shit’s transpired, you feel like you’ve been fighting for breath.

You squeeze your eyes shut and lean back. Your head thuds when it makes contact with the door behind you. In through your nose and out through your mouth. You repeat the mantra in your brain over and over. When you feel like you’ve finally caught your breath, your brain switches to autopilot. You’ve performed this exact routine far too many times. 

You reach behind yourself to tug down the zipper of your attire, a black mini dress you bought at a cute little boutique for this very date night. The piece drops, pooling at your feet. Usually you’d ask Jimin to help with the zipper, but you’re not quite ready to face him yet, and you’re sure he does not want to talk to you. Next to go are your bra and panties. The matching lace set joins your dress in the laundry hamper, which Jimin will wash for you after you’ve fallen asleep for the night like he always does.

Inside the closet in his bathroom, you grab a spare towel and washcloth stacked neatly on a shelf. You set it aside on the sink to turn on the shower, twisting the temperature dial to the hottest setting. You love showering at Jimin's; the water at home was never scalding enough for you, and the water pressure was never enough to soothe your aching muscles. Plus, his bathroom was stacked to the brim with the best of the best skincare products. You wouldn’t dare catch sight of the cheap drugstore stuff you tend to reach for in here.

As the water warms up, the bathroom fills with misty steam. From the cabinet drawer, you grab a packet of nearly empty makeup remover wipes. You don’t need to look in the mirror to know that you look a mess. Although you couldn’t even if you wanted to, the glass is all fogged up. 

Gently, you drag the wipe all over your face, making sure to reach every nook and cranny until your skin feels, for the most part, clean. You toss the wipe, soiled with pinks, brown, black, and a bit of shimmer, into the wastebin underneath the sink.

Now you’re ready to shower.

You eagerly welcome the hot water as it cascades over you, soaking every inch of your tired body. You take a moment to enjoy the feel of the water droplets raining over your skin. However, before long the steam from the shower begins to feel suffocating, and before you know it, your eyes are brimming with tears. 

With every water droplet that pelts your skin, the weight of tonight feels heavier and heavier until—

It finally breaks you.

You curl into yourself as your body is wracked by uncontrollable sobs. Instinctively, your hands come up to cover your face, slapping over your mouth, even though you’re alone in the bathroom. It feels like you’re choking on your own breath. Throat and chest burning with how hard you try to keep your sobs in.

 You need to get out of this bathroom quick.

Vision blurred from tears, you reach for your washcloth and then Jimin's body wash. You then drench the square cloth with a generous amount of soap, the scent of lavender filling the small space. You’re practically panting now. Every gasping breath triggers a new wave of tears. You press your lips together firmly until it hurts. You're known to be a loud crier, and you don’t want to alarm Jimin. 

Through it all, you scrub yourself clean, rinse, and do it again. But the icky feeling never goes away. In fact, it settles deep in the pit of your stomach and makes its home there. Weightless, you drop to the tile floor below, one hand clutching your stomach and the other over your chest right where your heart is, and you let yourself cry.

You cry until your throat is sore and until your eyes are bloodshot red. Until your wails have subsided into pathetic shuddering breaths that make your chest jerk. You cry until you can’t physically cry anymore. Until all that’s left is a soggy, heartbroken human on the wet shower floor.

────˚‧୨ᰔ୧‧˚────

Like a zombie, you emerge from Jimin’s bedroom slowly and in desperate need of some fuel. The living room is quiet and dark when you step in. Your best friend sits with his back pressed against the couch’s arm, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. Awaiting on the television screen is the play menu for Shark Tale, your comfort movie. Two mugs of warm tea replace the popcorn and soda on the coffee table. Instantly you recognize the one on the right as yours. Jimin found it at a thrift shop years ago early into your friendship. He bought it because he said the bunny on the front reminded him of you. Eyes twinkling and cheeks round, as it sat in a patch of unruly wildflowers. You rolled your eyes playfully when he showed it to you, insisting that he keep it at his house, since you were there more than you were home anyway. 

The dragging of your footsteps alerts your best friend. He looks up from his phone, gaze sleepy as his eyes settle on you. You did your best to hide the evidence of your breakdown with what limited supplies you had. Though there was nothing you could do for your bloodshot eyes and splotchy skin. If Jimin notices your disheveled appearance, he doesn’t say anything.

Jimin sets his phone on the coffee table, patting the open spot on the couch next to him with a small smile. You join him without a second thought.

The sofa moans with your movement as you settle onto the plush cushion, grabbing the throw blanket to cover your chilly legs. Jimin’s basketball shorts didn’t offer you much coverage. You would think that after spending so many nights here, there would be something of yours to sleep in. 

Nonetheless, all you were privy to were a pair of too-short gym shorts and a shabby university t-shirt. You did find, however, in Jimin’s underwear drawer, a pair of your panties neatly folded and tucked in a corner. You were thankful for that. 

When you seem comfortable enough, Jimin uses the remote to press play. The small living room area was then filled with the sound of Shark Tale’s opening scene.

The two of you watch the movie as it plays, sipping your respective mugs of tea. It’s not nearly as tense as it was earlier, but it was still a little awkward. 

The warm beverage alleviates some of the soreness in your throat. When you're sated and cozy enough, you set the cup back in its previous place. Beside you, Jimin clears his throat. From the corner of your eye, you can see him glance at you, the TV screen, and then back at you again. You pretend to not notice him, trying your hardest to focus on the scene of Oscar being manhandled by the twin jellyfish brothers, Ernie and Bernie. 

 Another minute passes before Jimin finally decides to break the silence. His voice is steady and cautious when he turns to you and asks, “So… what did happen tonight? With Theo?”

Eyes still trained on the screen, you fiddle with the seam of the t-shirt you’re wearing, Jimin’s t-shirt. You pinch the thin fabric, flicking it back and forth between your fingers. Soon Jimin is going to have to throw this old thing out. Not only was it sporting several sizable holes, but there were loose threads everywhere.

You shrug when you say, “I thought you didn’t want to know.” 

Jimin’s exhale is loud, but his tone is still calm. “That’s not what I said, and you know it. I asked what made this time different. I feel like that’s a fair question.” You’ll give it to him; your best friend is and always has been blunt. 

With no rebuttal, you grab your mug from the table, yet you don’t take another sip from it. Instead, you rotate the ceramic in your hands, watching the liquid slosh all around. 

“He cheated on me again.” The way you say it so plainly is almost startling. 

Sadly, Jimin’s demeanor doesn’t change. That part he’s used to. He leans forward, as if to ask for further details without actually uttering a single word.

“He didn't confess it to me this time; I found out.” 

Theo was nothing if not an excellent victim player. Since the beginning of your relationship, he could never keep any of his rendezvous to himself. Before you could even begin to suspect anything, he’d be spilling his guts to you, sparing the explicit details. He’d cry like a baby, falling to his knees begging for your forgiveness, and by the end of it all, somehow you were the one with the heavy heart, apologizing for your shortcomings. 

Eyes downcast, you swallow down the lump forming in your throat. If you weren’t so focused on the dark-colored liquid in your mug, you would see the way Jimin freezes, his face morphing into pure disgust. 

“Well,” you correct yourself, your voice going a little shaky, “I snatched his phone before he could delete anything. But yeah, I found the messages. All of them.” 

Against you will, your mind travels back to earlier in the night. 

Your boyfriend had invited you out to dinner, a way to make it up to you for standing you up a few nights ago. There was this new restaurant in town that you’d been begging him to go to. But each time you’d ask, he would always decline, claiming that it was too expensive even though you were usually the one who paid for your meals. That’s why when he told you your dinner would be at this restaurant, you were overjoyed. 

In the beginning, the dinner went wonderfully. The ambiance was romantic, live music playing in the background and a lit candle separating you two on the table. You hadn’t argued at all leading up to the dinner. Not when you took a little longer to get ready, not when you put the restaurant’s address into the GPS wrong (507, not 501), and not even when you couldn’t decide what you wanted to eat. 

Everything was perfect, until it wasn’t. 

You see, your boyfriend was not the sharpest tool in the shed. Like an idiot, he left his phone faced down on the table, and throughout the night it rang and rang with incoming calls, messages, and you’re pretty sure emails. This wasn’t uncommon. Your boyfriend works a taxing job. His phone was always going off as he needed to be available whenever. In fact, you wouldn’t have suspected a thing if it weren’t for the guilty looks he’d send your way every time the device sounded with a new message. 

You grew fed up with his suspicious actions and snatched the phone from the table. He tries to reach for it but backs off when he gathers the attention of a couple of onlookers. 

The contact name on the phone screen is visible, Jerry’s Pizza, but the message was hidden behind a passcode. 

You tongue the inside of your bottom lip, fury clouding your mind. “Why the fuck is Jerry’s Pizza texting you at,” you look towards the clock at the top of the screen. “Nine p.m.?”

He huffs like he has the nerve to be upset. “It's probably just some promo stuff.” 

This man must think you’re stupid. “What’s the passcode, Theo?”

Your boyfriend drops his fork, and the metal utensil clashes onto the porcelain. He leans back in his chair with a smug look on his face. “Are we seriously doing this right?” 

You swallow, teeth clenched when you hiss, “Unlock it.”

“God _____, seriously. We’re having a good night; don’t let your insecurities ruin it.”

“Unlock the fucking phone now, or we’re done!”

When he finally does give you the passcode, you’re disappointed but not surprised. You scuff and shake your head as you read the many messages from one of the many girls he’s been hooking up with. "Unfuckingbelievable."

Fresh tears sting your eyes. “God, Jimin. They were so fucking filthy. I…I didn’t even know," you stop yourself, shaking your head. “I’ve never heard him say things like that before.”

The look on Jimin’s face portrays exactly what he feels for you. He scoots closer to grab the mug from your shaky hands, setting it on the coffee table. Hands now free, he interlocks his fingers with yours as you continue.

That familiar wave of emotion bubbles up inside, just as furious as before. You can barely speak now, choking on your own words when you say, “Th-they were t-talking about me in them—" you end in a hitched breath. 

Jimin pulls you into him as you succumb again to your tears. He engulfs you with his embrace, shushing your cries and petting your hair. “Shh, shh. It’s okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to say anymore.” Your best friend rocks you both back and forth, calming you with words of comfort.

He holds you as you cry, soaking the front of his shirt with your pain. He doesn’t say anything, letting you release it all. You calm down after a while and separate from him. 

Jimin leans towards you and cups your cheeks in his hands, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. In turn, you grab his wrists, seeking his comfort and closeness. “God _____," he shakes his head, face full of nothing but sorrow. “Honey, I’m so sorry.” 

It’s your turn to shake your head now. “Not, not your fault,” you hiccup as you try to catch your breath. 

Jimin calls your name once, and then again. When you finally open your eyes, his are pleading with yours. Briefly, your heart stutters. 

His palms cup your cheeks. “Listen to me. Theo is a fucking idiot. He does not deserve you. He never did.” When new tears fall, he wipes those away too. 

Jimin releases a devastating sigh, shaking his head. “I hate that this happened to you.” He swallows thick, and there’s a hopeful gleam in his eyes. “I’m just relieved you’re finally leaving him.”

His words knock you back into reality. You blink, eyes flickering away from his to stare down at the couch instead. Instinctively, your bottom lip makes its home between your teeth. 

Jimin frowns, immediately taking note of the hesitation swimming in your features.

 “_____?” he calls, in the exact tone your mother uses when she suspects you’re hiding something from her (she’s usually right). He leans forward, attempting to regain your eye contact, and you dodge his brown orbs. “You are leaving him after this, right?” 

You don't say anything. You don’t have the courage to lie right to his face, or even tell him the truth, for that matter. 

Jimin’s exhale is long and tired. He then closes his eyes and slowly nods twice. Bitter understanding. 

The light-haired man leans away from you, removing his hands from your face. Instinctively, you reach out for him, hands hovering in midair, but he makes no effort to appease you.

Jimin drags a hand down his face, and it makes his eyebrow hairs go askew. “Please tell me that this is some sick joke, that you’re not actually thinking about taking him back after this.” 

You press your lips into a firm line. The agitation inside of you is and has been steadily building. It bubbles up and overflows when you say, “Everybody fucks up, Jimin. Some people are just better at hiding it.” 

Jimin scuffs as he shakes his head, standing up from the sofa. Running both hands through his hair, he chuckles in disbelief. The hollow, humorless rumble sends a shiver down your spine.

 "Unfuckingbelievable,” he unknowingly echoes the same word you said earlier in the night. “I can’t believe you’re making excuses for him. Still!” 

You shoot up too, quick and agitated, planting your hands on your hips. “All relationships have their problems, Jimin! That’s just the way it is. When I go home, we’ll talk, and I’ll fi—we'll fix it. We always do.” There’s uncertainty in the way you say it. Like you’re trying to convince yourself as well as him.

The sour look he’s giving you right now makes you want to flick his forehead, dead right in the center where that stupid vein is protruding. 

“God, I didn’t come here for a damn lecture. I would’ve gone to my parents’ for all that.” Jimin shrugs at you like he doesn’t care, and you know he doesn’t. It pisses you off even more.

Anyone who knows Jimin knows that your best friend is a caring man. A kind, gentle soul, as your mother liked to call him. He wouldn’t hesitate to give the shirt off his back to his greatest enemy (which he does not have) if they were in need. That’s just the type of person your best friend was. The love that Jimin had for you was undeniable. You know he’d do anything for you because he’s proven it to you time and time again. But you learned quickly in your friendship that Jimin tolerates bullshit from no one. He has had no problem with putting anyone in their place, including you. Particularly when it came to your unstable relationship. 

 Your glare is harsh, words provoking when you spit, "Especially not one coming from you.” 

Jimin’s eyebrows shoot so far up, they're nearly hidden by his grown-out bangs. He smirks like he’s ready for a challenge. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

This time, you shrug. “You’re in no position to be passing judgments on my relationship, considering your track record.” The words tasted just as bitter leaving your mouth as they did hearing them said aloud. 

Jimin’s expression turns stone cold, but his smirk doesn’t waver. “My track record.”

You don’t spare him an opportunity to clapback. If you were judging correctly, you had the upper hand in this argument, and you needed to keep your momentum. 

“Don’t even pretend to be shocked, Mr. ‘I can’t keep a girl longer than a week before I’m bored and ready to hop on the next available piece of ass.

Jimin doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you can see his Adam's apple bobble when he swallows. “It’s like that, huh?”

“Oh, it’s exactly like that. You’re no better than he is."

You should’ve known you were in trouble when his smirk grew wider. “You see, that’s where you’re wrong, _____,” he taunts, wagging his pointer finger at you. It triggers your eye twitch. 

“I've treated every single booty call better than that man has ever treated you since you started dating.” He points an accusatory finger at you. “Unlike your shitty boyfriend, I know how to properly conduct myself.” 

Your jaw is clenched tight, and your eyes are narrowed into furious slits. “Bullshit.” He takes a step closer to you, and your stance is unwavering. “Yeah?”

"Yeah, Jimin, that’s bullshit, and you know it. I’ve seen how you treat those girls. Love them one day, fuck them the next, and then you're done, ready for a new one. It takes a dog to know one, Jimin,” you retort, arms folded over your chest with an eyebrow arched. 

“Don’t even pull that shit with me, _____. I make sure whoever I’m dealing with knows exactly what they’re getting into. They knew that being in a relationship was not my end goal. I just wanted to fuck around, and they were fine with that.” 

You scuff. “And they were fine with you just dropping them for the next, like it’s nothing!?”

Jimin laughs high and loud, though there’s no humor behind the sound. His eyes are blown wide, both hands in his hair. He looks exactly how you feel, crazy.

“God _____! What don’t you understand? I’m fucking single; I can do that! Your boyfriend is not! But for some reason he acts like he is!” Jimin’s words are booming, bouncing off the living room walls between you. Pretty soon you think the neighbors will come knocking with the police, and you hope that doesn’t happen because the elderly couple next door is very sweet.

The shock on your face had to be laughable. Throughout your entire friendship, Jimin has never raised his voice at you, not once. 

How dare he yell at you like that? You aren’t a child!

 Your mouth flies open, ready to shoot back with something, anything just from the sheer volume of his voice. But just as quickly as your lips fall open, they shut. Jimin’s words settle over you like ice, cooling down your temperament as your brain processes what he’s saying.  

There’s practically smoke coming from Jimin’s ears as he continues. “I’ve never kept anyone on edge all day waiting for a simple text to let them know I’m okay. Nor have I played on their insecurities to better justify my own. I’ve never fucked someone else while I was dealing with another woman, even if we weren't in a committed relationship because I’m a decent human being.” 

Your heart hammers in your chest as you shift your gaze away from his to your sock-clad feet. A silent admittal of defeat, but Jimin doesn’t stop.

“I don’t make them feel worthless, like they aren’t my equal, like I’m more deserving of respect." He comes in closer, so close that you can feel his breath on your face with every word. “How dare you even have the audacity to compare me to him? You couldn’t count on him to attend his own funeral. But who’s always there when you need them?” 

You don’t dare answer. 

“Me! I’m there! Every late-night call, every text message, every single time you need me, I’m always there. Always! Picking up the broken pieces that he leaves behind without a single fuck given.” 

With an icy glare, he leans in until the tips of your noses are nearly touching. “I’m not anything like him. I’ll never be.” 

You exhale the breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding as Jimin brushes past you, just barely missing your shoulder. He’d never hurt you deliberately, no matter how upset with you he is. Though you kind of wish he did. After the unjustified nasty attitude you’ve had with him tonight, you kind of wish he would just curse you out a little, throw you a few extra insults, and send you home to your cheating boyfriend. Then perhaps his compassion wouldn’t make you feel so sick to your stomach. 

Maybe that’s the exact thinking that’s gotten you into this mess in the first place. 

What are you supposed to do now? 

“Fuck,” you exhale with your head tossed back.

 At this angle, you’re face to face with the popcorn ceiling. God, you hate popcorn ceilings; they remind you of long, humid summer nights at your grandma’s unair-conditioned house in the country. Feeding feisty chickens and milking cows for two and a half months straight.

It makes your neck ache, but in this position on the edge of the couch, you ponder. Not just about your argument with Jimin, but everything you’ve been through. The disaster of tonight, your entire relationship with Theo, and all the lying, cheating, and sneaking. The heartbreaks he puts you through time and time again. Then finally your friendship with Jimin. Seemingly the only piece of stability in your life for God knows how long. 

You think about it all until the credits of your abandoned comfort movie start rolling. Begrudgingly, you reach over to grab the t.v. remote, shutting off the device with a simple click of a button. Instantly, darkness engulfs the living room. Briefly, you ponder sleeping right there on the couch, but you know your back would hate you for it, and more importantly, you need to fix this mess with Jimin. You don’t want to, but you make the short trek back toward the room at the end of the hall. 

You stop just before the doorway, peering into the bedroom. The courage you built up suddenly depleted. 

Moonlight streams in through the cracked blinds, the only source of light, neatly illuminating the room in linear streaks. Jimin sits on the edge of the bed with his head hanging low, drained, between his shoulders, elbows planted firmly on his knees. The long sleeves of his shirt are rolled up now, exposing the veins in his forearms that jump with every clench of his fingers. You’re not sure how long he’s been sitting like that, but it looks like he hasn’t moved in a while.

Through his long bangs, you can see the worn expression on his face—eyes squeezed shut, nibbling at both lips. Your heart shatters at the sight. For a moment, it feels like he’s the one that’s just been cheated on, not you. 

You take in a deep breath as you step into the dark bedroom. The floorboards creak beneath you, alerting Jimin of your presence. His keen sense of hearing. Like a hawk stalking its prey, Jimin’s gaze never falters as he watches, silently calculating your every move. Are you coming as a friend or a foe ready for more? 

Though uninvited, you settle onto the made bed next to him. You inhale deep through your nose. The faint scent of the lavender shower gel you used earlier still lingers in the air. 

“I’m sorry,” you start. You wait for a moment, giving Jimin the opportunity to say anything, but he lets you continue. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting towards you.” You shake your head. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, Jimin. You didn’t deserve any of it. I—" You pause, rapidly blinking away unshed tears. Dammit, you’ve already cried so much tonight; you don’t feel like another headache.

Jimin grabs your open palm lying between you and gives your hand an encouraging squeeze. It gives you the strength to finish. “I shouldn't have been so snappy with you tonight, especially since you were just trying to help me.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “And I’m genuinely sorry for always dumping my bullshit relationship problems onto you. It’s not fair. I—I don’t know.”

 You shake your head, squeezing Jimin’s hand in return. “I just want you to know that I really, really do appreciate everything that you do for me. I know that I don’t show it enough, and I apologize for that.” A lone tear tickles your cheek as it trails down your face, soaking a tiny spot on your t-shirt. You wipe away the wetness with your free hand. “From the bottom of my heart, I love you, Jimin, so so much.” 

You don’t possess a way with words like Jimin does. That silent charm that wraps people in comfort, alleviating any and all of their worries. Your only hope is that Jimin can at least feel what you’re trying to convey.

“I love you too,” he whispers, his voice watery and thick. You don’t doubt a single word. “But that’s not why I’m upset.” Your brows knit together in confusion. 

Jimin looks off to the side, like he’s carefully contemplating what he’s trying to express. “I’m not upset with you for needing me, _____. I’d never be upset because of that. We lean on each other; we support each other. That's what makes us a team. There have been plenty of times when you’ve been there for me too. It’s what we do.” 

You shake your head. “I don’t...”

Jimin sighs, clenching his pants at the knee. What he wants to say sits at the tip of his tongue. His tone is firm when he declares, “Theo does not deserve you.”

You close your eyes as you nod your agreement. “I know that, Jimin.”

“But do you though? Seriously, _____. I don’t think you do.” 

"I do, Jimin. I know, I really do. I'm—"

 “Can’t you see that my heart is broken for you?" 

Any excuse you had ready for him dies right there in your throat. You blink your eyes open, and when you look at him, really look at him, it’s all you can see.

 It’s written in the way his shoulders slump with defeat. The way he fiddles with his fingers clasping and unclasping his hands. It’s in the way his chocolatey brown eyes, usually warm and inviting, are downcast and wet with unshed tears. In fact, you can barely keep his gaze because the emotion there is so intense. 

 “Throughout your entire relationship, I’ve watched you be there for him, constantly giving him your all until there is nothing left. And at the end of the day, what does he leave you with?”  

Your best friend doesn’t wait for you to answer.

Jimin scuffs, dark espresso eyes shiny with tears. “Agony. Insecurities that eat at you every day _____.” He clutches his shirt, right where his heart is. “It devastates me.”

Fuck, how could you have been so blind? So wrapped up in your own problems that you failed to notice how it was affecting Jimin. He has always felt so deeply. Of course, when you’re hurt, he hurts too. 

“Why do you love him?” 

Like a fish out of water, your mouth opens and shuts, only able to produce  stuttering breaths. 

The next question that comes from him is barely above a whisper. “Why can’t you leave him?”

"Because—" The word rushes out of you quicker than your mind could process it. Your eyes bulge as you slap your hands over your mouth.

“Because what?” He rushes, successfully tugging your hands away from your face. 

You pinch the frayed hem of your t-shirt. “Forget it, Jimin. It’s nothing.”

Your best friend shakes his head, his thick hair moving with him. “Don’t do that. Tell me. Please, _____.” 

  You try to fight it, you really do, because once you say it, there’s no going back. It’ll become real, and it won’t just belong to you anymore. It sits on the tip of your tongue, waiting for the perfect moment to break free. 

When Jimin calls your name, you look up to meet his gaze. His eyes are pleading with yours, filled with misery as they silently beg for an answer. “Please.”

Fuck it. If there’s anyone in this world you could spill your deepest secret to, it would without a doubt be Jimin. One of the few people on this world who you trust wholly.

“Because Jimin, if I leave him, then who’s going to love me?” 

It grows silent, as if your words shatter the tension in the air surrounding you.

To finally say it aloud feels like a major relief. A thousand-pound weight being lifted off of your shoulders. Consequently, at the same time, there’s a dreadful sinking feeling deep within you. A sick feeling that you've been trying to fight for too long. The admission was devastating but desperately needed. Maybe now, the journey to solving the root of this vulnerability can finally begin.

Jimin’s lips pull into a deep frown before he whispers your name. “Is that…really what you think? That you’re unloveable?”

If there was one thing Theo knew how to do well, it was keeping you humble. It started off subtle. A joke or two here and there, always defining him as the central point of your life. You’d laugh it off every time, never quite able to detect the subliminal honesty. For a while, it continued on like that, until it built into something blatant. 

It didn’t take long for you to actually start believing that. No other man in their right mind would want a woman so damaged by their own insecurities. You thought that he truly was the sole person that you could rely on. Thankfully, Jimin was always there to prove him wrong at least a little. But, as far as romance went, forget it. There was no one better for you than him. 

You chuckle solemnly. “No one is going to put up with me, Jimin." 

Your best friend sighs. He lets go of your hand, standing from the bed. For a moment, you think he’s ready for another fight. But you don’t have it in you to argue again. Much to your surprise, he gets down on one knee and then both, kneeling down in front of you. 

 A startled gasp sneaks through your lips. “Uh, Mini?” you whisper, slightly panicked.

Jimin grasps both of your hands in his. He licks his bottom lip, and your eyes follow the pink of his tongue. “Let me,” he whispers, a determined look in his eyes. 

You blink dazedly at him. “What?”

“Let me love you." He confirms exactly what you thought he said. “Just for tonight.” 

You sputter, pulling back slightly, though you don’t let go of his hands. “Jimin, that’s not—" You shake your head. “Do you know what you’re asking? Where’s this even coming from?”

Jimin chortles, rubbing the backs of your hands with his thumbs. "It's always been there. From the moment we met, I knew I wanted you. But at that time, I was in no place to be in a relationship.” 

You arch a brow. “And now you are?”

“Shut up." Jimin nudges your knee as you bite down on your bottom lip, suppressing your grin.

“I’m not asking for a relationship.” He then wiggles his eyebrows at you when he says, “At least not right now anyway.” 

Jimin squeaks when you dig your socked toe into the meat of his thigh. He grips your foot in his hand, restricting you from delivering anymore nudges. 

“Be serious,” you chide, even though the smile on your lips has spread wider. “Are you… really into me?”

Jimin grins, his pretty teeth on full display. “In more ways than one. All I need is one night. One night to give you what you truly deserve. Let me love you how you should’ve been a long time ago.”

The thrill that bubbles up inside you is dangerous. It’s a foreign feeling, one that you don't recall ever experiencing before. But, oh, it is so welcomed. Then, a sudden wave of realization halts your excitement. A major bump in the road. 

Your boyfriend.

You almost don’t want to say it, afraid that it might ruin the exhilaration in the air. The question comes out strained with a touch of hesitancy. “What about Theo?” 

But Jimin shrugs like he doesn’t have a single care in the world. “What about him? He’s had his fun.” 

Jimin lets go of your hands, and you frown at the loss of contact. It’s short-lived, however, when his firm grip takes hold of the backs of your legs, making you gasp. 

His breath hitches at the sound of your satisfaction when he caresses you there, thumbs working overtime to unknot your tense muscles. You sigh, relaxing under his touch. Slowly, as if time isn’t of the essence, he runs his hands all the way down your legs until his fingertips reach the heels of your feet. At the same leisurely pace, he drags his digits up until they brush over your inner things, bunching up the thin material of your basketball shorts. 

 “Isn’t it time you have a little of your own?”

You have to consider Jimin’s words carefully. There’s so much at stake if you agree. For one, your friendship with Jimin will never be the same. Though you suppose, he kind of set that in motion already with his little impromptu love confession. 

The greatest damage done will be to your relationship. No matter how you try to spin it, sleeping with Jimin tonight will make you a cheater, betraying your boyfriend in the same way that has left you with a sizable hole in your heart. 

Won’t that just make you a hypocrite in the end? Did you even have that kind of promiscuity in you?

Apparently it lied dormant inside you, because as quickly as the doubt comes, it dissipates. Just like that, your mind rationalizes the decision. 

What’s the harm in indulging for just one night? After all, it’ll be with your best friend, someone you’ve known for years and trust with your life. Not with some random man you met at some sketchy club or bar.

 If Theo can do it, why can’t you?

Instead of using words to respond, you let your body do the talking. With ease, you wrap your legs around his middle, pulling your best friend forward. Jimin lets out a surprised huff as he collides with your front, his face mere centimeters from your braless breasts. The surprise on his face is quickly replaced with enthusiasm as he admires the pillowy mounds displayed casually in front of him. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, and with as much courage as you could muster, you simply request, “Show me.” 

The grin that breaks out on Jimin’s face is infectious. A manifestation of pure joy. Thinking back as hard as you can, you can’t remember a recent time when you’ve seen him look so happy. 

He takes your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, hooded gaze flickering from your eyes then to your mouth and back to your eyes again. His thumb sits there for a moment, caressing your skin as his eyes scan across your face in a way that you could only describe as admiring. When he seems fulfilled enough, Jimin tilts your face down, guiding you towards him, and you let your eyes flutter shut. As the anticipation builds, your heart hammers beneath your ribcage. You can practically hear the thumping in your ears. 

But then there’s a pause so pregnant that it has you blinking your eyes open in confusion. If you weren’t nervous before, you certainly were now. Did you do something wrong?

You pull back slightly, just enough so that you can see Jimin’s face. Your best friend looks slightly hesitant. A gleam of uncertainty shines in his brown orbs, like he can’t believe you actually said yes. 

“Jimin,” you urge, the tenderness in your voice easing his nerves, and you try your hardest to ignore yours. “Kiss me, please.” 

The blonde man doesn’t need any further encouragement. Jimin closes the small gap between you, slotting his mouth together with yours. 

This is not the first time you and Jimin have kissed. That was years ago, back in your freshman year of college in your tiny dorm room after too many shots of illegally purchased Fireball. Surprisingly, even with your heavily intoxicated mind, you remember that day like it happened yesterday. The way you could barely keep yourselves upright, your bodies feeling too heavy and sluggish. Or how you both giggled and bantered throughout the entire ordeal, the alcohol refusing to let you take it seriously. 

You just don’t remember it feeling so damn good.

Jimin’s lips are soft when they press to yours, coated in a thin layer of chapstick. He takes his time when he kisses you like he’s always wanted to. Every peck, brush, and pressure was deliberate. Slow and searing. He needed to savor the moment, afraid of what he might miss if he went too fast. You’re not sure if you’ve ever been kissed like this before. 

With an unprecedented eagerness, you welcome the taste of him, a faint raspberry with a hint of mint. His favorite herbal tea. The same kind he always made for you after a taxing night. The plush feel of his lips has you humming in satisfaction, legs squeezing tighter around his middle. Jimin grunts, fingertips gripping the soft flesh of your thighs. 

Together, your lips work in near-perfect harmony, trading almost silent gasps and breathless sighs between each other. Noting what you liked, what you loved, and what you could probably do without. 

Jimin presses into you firmer, the hand holding your chin coming up to cradle the back of your neck. He licks at your bottom lip, begging for entry that you so graciously grant, letting your mouth fall open wider. The wet muscle of his tongue glides expertly over yours, and your nipples perk beneath your t-shirt. With every breath you take, the sensitive buds press harder into your best friend’s chest. 

Jimin's free hand grips your hip to pull you impossibly closer. A shudder wracks your body when your covered center unexpectedly meets the solid muscle hidden under his shirt. The corners of his lips twitch upwards into a smirk, clearly enjoying the evident effect he has on you.

"Damn." Jimin pulls back with a wet smack, gasping for breath. Brain foggy from the kiss, you chase his mouth with yours, craving the feel of him back on you. Jimin waits until you’re close, and then he pulls back. The groan you emit signifies your displeasure, letting your mouth fall into a frown.

He giggles at your enthusiasm, and he shakes his head naughtily at you. You lick your lips as you watch him with what you’re sure are hungry eyes. 

Jimin reaches a hand behind him, gripping the collar of his shirt. With a quick tug, he pulls the garment over and off, tossing it somewhere on the floor behind him. 

You lean back on your hands, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth. The mattress sinks under your palms with the weight. Unabashedly, you take in the sight of your best friend, scanning over the muscled, toned lines that define his body. An appreciative hum tumbles past your lips, and you nod your approval. 

Has your best friend always been so ripped? 

Jimin chuckles at your reaction. A quick brush of his fingers pushes his thick bangs off of his forehead, leaving his blemish-free skin on full display.

“Like what you see?” He asks breathily, even though he already knows the answer. Under the basketball shorts, his fingers trail up and down the sides of your bare thighs. The ticklish sensation makes you tremble just slightly. 

“Mm, not too bad." You feign nonchalance and shrug, eyeballing the necklace adorning his thick neck. You can’t wait to have the shiny silver dangling over your face when he fuc—

“Ow!” You yelp when Jimin pinches the skin there, not enough to leave a mark but just enough for you to feel it. 

He pulls you in close again, your foreheads nearly touching. “Watch yourself,” he warns in a firm whisper, thumb caressing the tender spot. His warm breath hits your chin with every word. “Or you won’t get to have any fun later.” 

His words, the tone he used with you, almost sounded…mean? But for some strange reason it doesn’t alarm you. In fact, it might’ve even turned you on a little if the wet patch forming in your panties was anything to go by. 

Jimin captures you in another passionate kiss, this one more dynamic than the first. He wastes no time slipping his tongue back in, licking and sucking his presence in your mouth. A gentle hand cradles the back of your head, pulling you in close and keeping you there. You keep up as best as you can, mirroring his actions with your own. You may not be as experienced as Jimin, but the way he was gripping every part of you—your shirt, the back of your neck, and your hands—desperate to keep you close reassures you that you were doing just fine. 

Every brush of his lips, flick of his tongue, and airy whine from his mouth smothered by yours makes you dizzier by the second. 

When you both pull back, lungs burning from your lack of oxygen, breathy pants fill the warm, quiet air. You were virtually frozen earlier, but the bedroom has grown far too hot now. 

“Fuck,” Jimin groans. He smiles unbelievably to himself, shaking his head. “There’s so much I want to do with you tonight.” Like a bobble head, you nod in certain agreement. He then captures your eyes in a heated gaze, the hunger in his eyes undeniable. He licks at his kiss-swollen lips, and your eyes follow every movement. 

“Can I take care of you? Will you let me, baby?”

“Yes, yes, please.” 

Jimin’s chuckle sends a delighted shiver down your spine. Taking the hem, he frees you from the confines of your t-shirt, pulling the fabric off of you with ease. When he tosses it, it lands somewhere on the bed behind you. 

Your nipples stand firm and proud, already pebbled from your heated kiss with Jimin. He practically salivates at the sight of them, running the wet muscle of his mouth back and forth over his plump bottom lip. You know that he’s always been a boobs man, but the fact that your boobs were the cause of his content had a bit of pride swelling in your chest. It feels incredible to be wanted so unabashedly.

Jimin reaches up, his hand hovering over your left breast. “May I?” He asks, eyes flickering up to gauge your reaction. 

You swallow down your anticipation. “If you don’t, I feel like I might explode.”

Jimin hums, and his smile is sincere. “We can’t have that now, can we?"

You sigh, breath stuttering when he strokes his thumb over your erect nipple. With his other hand, he cups your right breast. Heavy and squishy, it fills his left palm, your stiff bud grazing his skin. When he squeezes your boob, gentle and cautious, your thighs squeeze together in response, the dull ache between your legs becoming increasingly more difficult to ignore. 

“Beautiful,” Jimin whispers, pinching the hardened peak with his thumb and pointer finger. You don’t say anything; you can’t say anything with how hard you’re biting down on your bottom lip. Your best friend leans down to pepper a trail of kisses across the plane of your chest, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He then flattens his tongue, licking a stripe between the valley of your breasts, and blows on the wet skin. You cradle the back of his head, tangling your fingers in the blonde locks. 

“Oh!” you gasp when he engulfs your nipple with the wet warmth of his mouth, reflexively tugging at his hair. Jimin groans from the action, the vibrations from his delight traveling from your nipple straight down to your cunt. His tongue flicks in rapid successions over your nipple before circling your areola. In his other hand, he rolls and tugs your right nipple, still pinched between his fingers. 

The simultaneous assaults on your sensitive buds have your head reeling. The discomfort between your thighs was no longer dull but immense. Your pussy flutters around nothing, steadily soaking your panties with arousal.

“Jimin,” you mewl, eyes slamming shut when his teeth graze just barely over your stiff peak. When he sucks, the pressure creates stars beneath your eyelids. Your mouth drops open in a silent gasp, eyebrows pinching together. It makes your spine arch, further thrusting your chest into his mouth.

Your breast bounces back into place when he releases your nipple from his mouth. Every quick breath from his mouth cast over your stiff peak, chilling the wet, heated skin. 

You take a moment to catch your breath, but as soon as you inhale, the air is knocked from your lungs again when he sucks the skin of your left breast into his eager mouth. Pleasure explodes over your breast as Jimin marks you with his love bite. Satisfied with his work, he kisses the prominent bruise before he sucks your left nipple into his mouth, giving it the same attention as he did the first. 

Squirming under his keen affection, your hips jut forward to collide with his abs. It offers a brief smidge of relief, but not nearly enough. The ache emitting from your center was absolutely unbearable. Trapped behind too many layers of clothing, your clit was begging to be rubbed. 

You loosen your grip on the comforter, snaking your hand between your bodies down toward your wetness. Just as your fingers breach the waistband of your shorts, Jimin captures your wrist in his hand before interlocking his fingers with yours. You cry out in frustration, and you feel Jimin smirk around a mouthful of your tit. When he releases your nipple with a wet pop, a thin string of his saliva connects you.

It continues on like that for what feels to you like forever. Jimin ravages your breasts, alternating between your nipples, licking, sucking, and nibbling to his heart’s content. Hickeys now litter your chest, a bold yet beautiful display of his insatiable desire. You won’t dare to wear any low-cut top or dress for at least a week. By the end, your cunt is still untouched and practically weeping, confined by your soaked panties and basketball shorts.

When Jimin is finally satisfied, he releases your tit, and your chest is wracked with heaving breaths. He leans forward to peck you once on the lips and then once more. “Lie back,” he whispers against your lips, a hand on your shoulder guiding you to lay flat on his bed. You follow his command, maneuvering so that you’re in a comfortable position on his bed. You’re not quite sure what to do with your hands, letting them rest on your stomach. 

Jimin hooks his fingers in the waistband of your shorts, tugging them past the thickness of your thighs then down the rest of your legs. On the floor, they drop in a heap in front of him. 

A sharp intake of breath comes from Jimin, and you prop yourself up on your elbows. Your best friend, still on his knees before you, is face to face with your panty-clad pussy. That sinful tongue of his makes another appearance, and you make a mental note to buy him a new chapstick later. 

When he whistles appreciatively, your body flushes. “Damn,” he mutters, a finger tracing down your slit. The wet fabric sticks uncomfortably to your skin, molding itself to the shape of your slick folds.

 “You’re soaked, baby.” Jimin leans down to plant a firm kiss on your lips, and when he realigns himself, there's a slight sheen coating his mouth. 

“Jimin,” you whine, coated with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. He’s got you leaking like a fucking waterfall, and all he’s done was play with your tits. 

“Okay, okay,” Jimin chuckles, finally removing your panties from your hips. The dampened fabric joins your bottoms on the floor. You shudder, wet skin greeted by the warm bedroom air. 

 “Hush your whining.” 

Without warning, he licks a slow, broad stripe up your slit, stopping just below your needy clit. Along the way, he collects your juices on his tongue, savoring the heady taste. A strangled moan escapes you as your head falls back between your shoulders. 

Jimin groans from the sheer taste of you, his eyes fluttering shut. His tastebuds are trembling with delight. You’re more delectable than he could have ever imagined. He’s positive he can never eat another pussy ever again; he doesn’t want to eat another pussy ever again. Your juices have saturated his tongue, forever claiming his mouth as yours. 

Jimin grips the meat of your thighs, pushing them up to your chest to allow himself a clear shot at your pussy. You hook your hands underneath your knees, keeping the position he put you in. It gives you the perfect view to watch Jimin feast on your weeping sex.

His smirk is dangerous when he purrs, “Hold on tight, pretty.” 

He wastes no time burying himself between your thighs, moaning when your essence graces his tongue again. You cry out, toes curling when the thick muscle flicks over your winking entrance. 

“Oh fuck, fuck!” Your eyes flutter shut, rolling behind your closed eyelids. 

His mouth works diligently against you, his wet tongue heavy as it drags over and then through your folds, further soaking your wetness with his saliva. The sound of it is vulgar, reminiscent of someone mixing a larger bowl of mac and cheese. It makes you gasp, body heated in a blush. 

"Yes, Jimin," you shiver, elbows going shaky beneath you. Your fingers grip where you hold your shaky legs up for him, crescent moon shapes indenting your skin. Jimin hums, sucking your labia into his heated mouth. Your hips buck once, twice, and he releases them with a wet pop. 

You fall back against the plush bed, arms weakened by the immense pleasure. Your hips have a mind of their own, canting forward chasing the euphoric feeling of his mouth, and he so graciously gives it to you. Your breathing is shattered. Shaky moans and excitable squeals tumble past your parted lips, echoing off the walls of his once quiet bedroom. 

Jimin flattens his tongue, shaking his head from side to side. His mop of fair hair, gone messy from your tugging, tickles your inner thighs with the movement. He eats your pussy like a man starved. Like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have on this Earth. Even when his face is stuffed in your heat, his senses completely overtaken by the smell, feel, and taste of you, he can’t fucking get enough. He doesn’t think he ever will.

Every flutter of your empty walls sends another syrupy gush of your arousal, soaking his face and the bedsheets beneath you. You can hardly breathe as Jimin drinks you up, taking everything you give him, his lips greedy when it slurps at your leaky opening. 

It's so messy and so fucking wet.

When Jimin pulls away, his mouth and chin are shiny with his efforts. He sighs  contentedly as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, panting like he’s the one getting the best head of his life instead of you. He breathes, “You’re so juicy, baby.” 

Hypnotized by you, he delves back in, effortlessly parting your folds with his soaked tongue, licking up and down, up and around, but never where you need him the most. Where your ache is the most ferocious.

“Jimin,” you practically sob, heart hammering in your chest. Unshed tears have begun to collect at your waterline. God, it was good, so fucking good, but you might die if he doesn’t get his mouth on your clit soon. 

“Please, I-I need,” but you break off into a choked whine when his nose bumps your clit, the only bit of stimulation it’s gotten all night. 

Jimin detaches from your pussy with a wet pop. Hooded eyes glance up to meet yours. There's a hint of a smirk on his lips. The corners of his mouth lifted just barely. He was clearly enjoying the torture he was putting you through. 

“What was that, baby?” 

"My," you plead, voice watery and thick. “I need, my-you..." You hesitate, cheeks burning with what you want to say but can’t quite bring yourself to do it. 

Jimin steals the words right from your throat. “You need me to suck that pretty, little clit?” 

You swallow thickly, nodding before you can respond. “I need it.” You watch as Jimin’s jaw ticks and the grip he has on your hips goes tighter.

 “Say it." There's a tilt in his voice that’s unfamiliar to you. You can’t quite put your finger on it. 

Your eyes bulge. It's humorous how quickly the fog clears from your brain. “What?”

“I want to hear you say it. Tell me what you need.” 

“Jimin,” you whine, kicking your leg in frustration. Your body heats as it floods with embarrassment. “Are you serious?” 

Jimin smiles wickedly, pearly whites on full display. “Say it, _____. Or we stop right here.” 

“I uh, I need you to..."

There’s an amused glint in his eyes when he lifts his eyebrows, watching for you to continue. He plans a kiss at your inner thigh in encouragement. 

Your inhale is deep, pride tossed out of the window when you plead, “I need you to suck my clit, Jimin."

When he sees the desperation in your eyes, deep espresso connecting with yours over the plane of your quivering stomach, he loses it. You sob when his mouth engulfs your needy bud wholly. Your fingers scramble, letting go of our legs to tangle in his blonde strands, pulling tight. Jimin groans, and the vibrations shoot straight through your clit to the very tips of your toes. He holds you down himself, pinning your thighs to your chest, rendering you helpless to his merciless suction. 

The tip of his tongue circles your clit, quick and firm. “God yes!” You moan when his lips wrap tight around your swollen bud to suck incessantly. Back arching from the bed, toes curling in the open air, tears finally leak from the corners of your eyes, trailing down your temples. 

When he slips his finger in and then another, knuckle-deep, your slick walls grip him up instantly. They pulse around the slim digits, drawing him in deeper. He didn’t even need to move; the pressure alone sent you over the edge, crashing headfirst into euphoria. 

When you cum, it’s not shrill and elegant like those well-produced pornos you’ve watched before. It’s deep and guttural as it blossoms from the pit of your stomach until it rattles through you, seizing your body. Your muscles tighten, thighs quivering around his head as he delivers wave after pleasurable wave with his soaked tongue and fingers. 

And Jimin loves every second of it.

He doesn’t let up, even after you’ve cum. It’s not until you’re whining, pushing weakly at his head, that he takes mercy on you, pulling away after one final kiss to your spent pussy. 

Vision still teary, you blink up at the ceiling, lying there in disbelief and panting as you try to catch your breath. Reaching a hand up, you wipe away the tiny beads of sweat that have collected at your hairline. 

Below you hear Jimin finally rise from the floor, but you make no attempt to get up, still spent from your amazing orgasm. There’s some rummaging, the sound of clothes hitting the ground, and then the bed dips with Jimin’s weight. He clambers over to you, covering your body with his. You welcome his added heat, arms weakly coming up to wrap themselves around his neck.

He smiles down at you, eyes flickering all across your face, soaking in your post-orgasm haze. His touch is gentle when he brushes stray hair away from your sweaty forehead. 

“Hey you,” he greets, leaning down to give you an Eskimo kiss. 

You trace a finger down the slope of his jaw down to his chin before you cradle his cheek in your palm. “Hey yourself." You smile back, voice slightly hoarse. 

“How are you feeling?” 

You swallow, licking at the dryness on your lips. Your grin is sincere when you say, “I feel amazing. You’re really good at that, you know.” 

Jimin giggles, interlocking his fingers with yours to kiss the back of your hand. With his thumb he strokes the skin. 

“Thank you, Jimin.” 

Your best friend leans down to capture you in a gentle kiss. Your tongue darts out to swipe across his lip, dipping inside to taste yourself on his tongue. You pull away, satisfied and a little breathless.

 “Of course. It’s what you deserve.”

You hum, tracing a finger from his sternum down to the ridges that make up his abs. He shivers under your feather-light touch. “Do I maybe deserve a little something else?” You tilt your head to meet his gaze. 

Jimin raises his eyebrows at you. A playful gleam in his eyes. “A little something like?” He trails off.

You hold his eye contact, and with your free hand, you reach down between his legs to take hold of his stiffened member. Jimin gasps, shutting his eyes tight. He’s heavy in your palm, his skin smooth and warm to the touch. He must’ve been hard for quite some time

“Yeah,” Jimin nods, breath knocked from his lungs when you squeeze the base of his cock. “I think that can be arranged.”

You hum, working your hand over his stiff rod. He grunts when your strokes come faster, his freehand fisting the sheets beside him. “Just like that, pretty,” he encourages, and you do exactly as you’re told. 

You soak in how beautiful he looks in ecstasy. The way his thick brows pinch with every stroke. How his plush lips fall open, unleashing sounds just as pretty as he is. Delicate yet husky. Your favorite part is the way his stomach muscles quake with the effort of holding himself up. 

“Fuck, baby,” Jimin moans as your wrist flicks upwards, from base to head. 

When you glide your fingers across his reddened tip, your digits slicking with his precum, a hand claps over your wrist, restricting your movements. 

His eyes bore into yours, his voice strained when he breathes, “If you don’t stop, I’ll come, and I don’t want to yet. Not until I’m inside you.”

You shiver, exhilaration rattling your bones. “Then, what are you waiting for?” 

You allow Jimin to position your body until you’re lying on your side. When he assures you that you're comfortable, he comes up behind you, slotting his chest to your back. You lean into him, comforted by the feel of his own heart thrumming in his chest. Nerves and excitement are coursing through his veins as well, anticipating what is to come. Your senses heighten at the feel of his hard cock nestled between your ass cheeks.

He leans in to kiss the plump of your cheek before reaching behind himself to retrieve a condom from inside his nightstand. 

You stop him, a quick, gentle hand on his thigh. “Can you… I want you to fuck me raw.” 

A muttered curse from behind makes you grin. “_____, are you sure?” 

You nod, thighs rubbing together, the heat between your legs intensifying at the mere thought. “I want to feel all of you. Is that okay?” 

“Fuck, yeah, that’s okay." Jimin doesn’t need much convincing to agree. He just needs to get inside you quick. His hand slides from your hip to your thigh, cupping underneath your knee to prop your leg up and open enough.

 “Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers, cockhead sliding through your slippery folds to nudge at your needy clit.

You gasp, reaching a hand up to tangle in the hair on the back of his head. “I’m fine, Mini." You roll your hips back, seeking more of that delicious pressure on your pearl. Your teeth clench in a hiss when he bumps it again. “Just please fuck me.”

You watch, eyes eager as Jimin slides in without much resistance, filling you up to the brim. It knocks the air from your lungs. He’s so incredibly thick, thicker than any other dick you’ve taken before. It feels like he’s splitting you open in the best way possible. 

Jimin groans, engulfed by your soaked warmth. His body flushes, one hand fisting the bedsheets, the other with a vice grip on your hip. Quick short pants slip past his mouth to coat the shell of your ear.

You spread your legs wider, the propped one coming to hook behind his thigh. Somehow, it slips him deeper into your flooded canal, leaving you both crying out. 

“Holy shit, Jimin,” you breathe, as your walls pulse around him, adjusting to his sheer girth.

Jimin’s chuckle is breathy, full of disbelief. He pecks your shoulder before resting his forehead there. He’s thinking exactly what you are.

Why does it feel so fucking good?

 “I know, baby.” He gives an experimental thrust of his hips that has your eyes rolling, his hips pressed flush against your ass. “So fucking good,” he murmurs in your ear, and a delighted shiver journeys down your curved spine. 

The pace he sets is maddeningly slow, nothing like what you’re used to. Languid rolls of his hips that stuff you full before leaving you just about empty, only to fill you right back up again. You can hardly breathe through the feel of him, gasping for air every time he presses back in. Jimin moves from your shoulder, attaching his lips to the juncture in your neck, licking and sucking. It leaves you with marks so fierce you have no idea how you’ll cover them later.

“Jimin,” you whine when the pace gets to you. A pressure that builds and builds but never fully erupts. 

Looking back, you capture him in a lust-filled gaze. "Fuck me faster, baby, please.” 

Jimin grunts, his brows furrowing when he picks up his pace, his hips meeting your ass cheeks with resounding smacks. They’re enough to fill the bedroom and bring a warm hue to your cheeks. 

The noises spilling from your cunt are just as lewd. Roaring slickening when he glides in and out. Messy when it soaks his cock in your transparent juices, dripping down your thighs onto the bedsheets below. 

Jimin tweaks your stiff nipples with his thumb before pinching them between his fingers, rolling and tugging. The pain, sharp and temporary, makes you jerk, toes curling tight. 

“Shit!” you wail, fist pounding the bed. “Just like that baby.”

"S'good, pretty?” he whispers, choked up with his own pleasure. 

You don’t respond; you can’t respond with the way the pounds into your dripping heat. He wraps you in his firm hold, his arm coming to sling across your chest. The extra leverage he needed to pull you back, forcing you to meet his deliciously deep thrusts. 

The force of his fucking rocks the bed beneath you, the headboard banging against the wall. You’ve definitely got to write Mr. and Mrs. Welles an apology letter tomorrow. 

There is nothing you can do except take it, helpless to his powerful pumps. Like a ragdoll, you lie limp, taking everything he gives you. The heat in your lower tummy swells, your pussy squeezing around his heavy cock. “Close,” you choke, your mind fuzzy and delirious. 

Jimin gasps as he thrusts upwards one last time, filling you to the hilt before he pulls out completely with a wet pop. He leaves you empty, clenching nothing, the heat in your belly subsiding. 

Your eyes fly open, complaints ready to fly past your lips, but Jimin stops you. 

“Hands and knees,” he pants as he palms your ass cheek. "Want to fuck you from behind.”

Any rebuttals you had ready die right there on your tongue. You prop yourself up on all fours, limbs slightly wobbly, and arch your spine in a way you know will make the light-haired man crazy. 

You feel Jimin position himself behind you. Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you wiggle your ass, swaying from side to side to tease him a little. 

Your yelp is shrill when his palm collides with your right cheek, flinching at the feeling.

Jimin hums, marveling at the ripples it creates. “Behave,” he tsks as he palms the sore area and you lick your abused lips. 

He groans as he feeds his cock to your pussy. Your walls greedily accept him with a filthy-sounding squelch. When he’s all the way in, he steadies himself, with both hands on your hips. His huff grazes the skin of your back. “How are you still so fucking tight?” 

You sigh, dropping your head forward between your shoulders. He holds you in his palms, caressing your fleshy hips.  

He wastes no time in setting a brutal pace, fucking you faster and harder than before. You scramble, hands finding purchase on the bedsheets, but each roll of his hips sends your body forward and back, tugging the sheets loose from the mattress corners. 

"God, yes,” you groan, body trembling with delight. He pounds into you, the flesh of your ass smacking his thighs and lower stomach with every thrust. Its roaring and filthy.

Jimin is just as, if not more vocal than you, whining, groaning, and gasping every time he stuffs you full. It sets your body alight to know he’s just as affected as you are. 

He grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back, and your spine bows deeper than before. "Oh, fu—," you try, but you can’t even get the words out as he plunges into you. Rhythmic and precise.

It doesn’t take much until you’re drawing near again and you know you’re close when the fluttery warmth in the pit of your stomach returns, your pussy squeezing Jimin tight. 

He cries out, falling over to cover your sweaty back with his front. “M’ not gonna last,” he whimpers, rocking forward, body trembling with the efforts of his pumping.

He fucks you like that. His body is glued to your back, constant rolls of his hips that slide him deeper and deeper. His tip nudges incessantly at your front wall, gliding repeatedly over that spongy spot. The spot that has you seeing stars.

When Jimin feels you tighten up around him, he snakes his hand under your body to circle your swollen bundle of nerves. Like magic, the added pressure is just what you need to reach your peak. 

The coil, pulled taut in your tummy, snaps, and euphoria pulses through your veins, hot and rapid. Your mouth falls open, eyes squeezing shut as you gush around his cock. A strangled wail that you’re not even sure came from you resounds in the room, but you can barely hear it past the blood rushing in your ears. Falling face-first into the mattress, your muscles seize as your body is overtaken by the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Through it all, Jimin's hips never let up, and you flutter around him, creaming his thick cock. The ferocity of your orgasm triggers his own. Jimim ruts once, twice, and then he comes with a breathy sigh that sounds something like your name, painting your quivering walls with his hot seed.

────˚‧୨ᰔ୧‧˚────

It’s early when Jimin comes to the next morning. He can tell by the lack of sunlight beaming through his cracked window blinds, covering his bedroom in a barely there glow. 

He smacks his lips tiredly, muscles achy with exertion making their presence known, and in an instant, memories of last night come flooding back to him.

 Picking you up outside of that restaurant. The sight of you ripped his heart to pieces. Standing there alone in the cold, looking so vulnerable, clinging on to what little sanity you had left. You looked so heartbroken but yet so beautiful. Always so beautiful. 

Or later on, when he confessed his love for you. An undying ache that’s been tugging at his heart after all these years of being your friend, your best friend. A title he doesn’t take lightly. Not because he was in love with you, but because he loved you. Every part of you, your mind, your heart, and soul.

 How you didn’t turn him away, accepting his affection and embracing it wholly. There was so much love he had to give, so much time he needed to make up for after all these years lost. 

Jimin turns his head, and there you lie, a beautiful smile on your face directed at him. His heart stutters in his chest. 

“Good morning,” you greet, your tongue peeking out to wet your lips. 

Jimin rolls over on his side, readjusting on his pillow. “Morning,” he grins, all teeth. “How’d you sleep?”

You inhale deep, your smile never leaving your pretty lips. Your gaze is still slightly hazy with sleep when you look at him. There’s a gentle glow surrounding you, radiating utter bliss. Happy and carefree. It’s been so long since he’s seen you like this, too long.

“Mmm, I slept amazing, thanks to you.” You reach out to poke the solid planes of his stomach, hidden by the comforter. You yawn, hands coming up to rest under your head. “Though, I should rough you up for letting me fall asleep without my bonnet on. I just got my hair done.” 

Jimin snickers, scooting closer to you. He grabs hold of your hands, interlocking his fingers with yours. “I did try to wake you up, but considering it's been so long since you’ve been fucked to sleep, I figured you needed it." 

Your eyes widen, mouth curving up in disbelief. “Fuck you!”

Jimin shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Been there, done that.” 

You gasp, reaching over to smack his arms as you’re taken over by giggles. “Shut up, Jimin!” 

He laughs, dodging your harmless blows, and you don’t oppose when Jimin sits up, scooping you in his arms. Effortlessly, he plops you down over his lower stomach. When your giggles subside, you trace a finger over his chest, covering his skin with invisible doodles that only you can see.

“I uh..." you clear your throat. “I talked to Theo earlier." 

Jimin does his best to mask his apprehension. “Yeah?” He fingers the hem of his t-shirt you’re wearing, which basically belongs to you.

You nod. “He wanted to know where I went.” 

“Did you tell him?” 

“I did.” Jimin arches his brow when you smirk. You lean over to grab your phone from under the pillow. You tap the screen, turning the device on, and there’s a bright glow cast over your face. Swift fingers tap a few more times before you turn the screen to him. “I sent him this.”

Jimin squints at the brightly lit screen, but when his vision clears and he recognizes what you’re showing him, he gasps incredulously. 

On the screen is a picture of him and you, tangled together in his bed and obviously naked under the sheets. In the picture, Jimin is still fast asleep, eyes closed and his mouth slightly ajar. But you, on the other hand, are wide awake. In fact, you’re posing for the camera, two fingers up in a peace sign next to your face and your mouth pouted in “duck lips." On your skin, his love bites from last night are proudly displayed.

Below the picture, there’s a message from Theo that you have no plans to respond to. It included every curse word in the book, words that Jimin didn’t even know existed. 

You shrug, locking the phone, and tossing it aside. “I think it’s safe to say we’re done.” 

Jimin tosses his head back in a laugh. He shakes his head as he says your name. “You’re unbelievable!” 

“Noo, what’s unbelievable is that I stayed with him for so long," you counter, rolling your eyes. You grab both of his hands in yours. 

“Thank you,” you nod. “For staying by my side through all of this. And dealing with my stubbornness. I truly don’t know what I would do without you. I love you, Jimin.” 

Jimin’s grip is gentle when he grabs the back of your neck to pull you into his kiss. You gladly accept, cradling his face in your hands. 

When you pull away, you’re breathless. “I love you,” Jimin whispers on your lips. “So much.” 

You beam, sitting back on his muscley thighs. Your head tilts, however, when your clothed center comes in contact with something firm.

 “Are you…hard?” Your question is laced with amazement. 

Jimin groans, cheeks reddening in embarrassment when you laugh aloud. “I can’t help it; everything you do turns me on. You could literally breath and I’d be hard as a rock.” The heat between your legs makes a fierce return.

 “Hm, is that so?”

You hook your thumb in the waistband of your panties, ready to slide them down your legs. Jimin licks his lips as hunger clouds his pretty brown eyes. “You were so generous to me last night. Why don’t you sit back and let me take care of it, baby?"

────˚‧୨ᰔ୧‧˚────

Your arms wrap tighter around yourself as another heavy gust of wind breezes by. Effortlessly, it sweeps a discarded plastic fast food wrapper further down the street, away from where you’re standing. Your fingers brush against the numberless goosebumps blossoming on your bare arms. The ends of your hair tickle your skin as it moves with the invisible force, grazing your shoulders and back. 

  Your chin trembles. Though not as vigorously as before, as now it’s only because of the chilled air and not anymore from your tears. Tears that dried with the wind on your cheeks, leaving behind messy streaks of mixed makeup that you spent over an hour perfecting. You can’t wait to wash your face clean.

Numerous cars speed past, music blaring through the open windows, their horns beeping. Across the street, a group of intoxicated girls around your age surrounds a stray cat, cooing and giggling as they snap countless photos, stumbling over themselves but never falling. Nearby on a short brick wall, a couple sits cuddled together, enjoying each other’s company over a shared ice cream cone. The street is littered with people all around, yet you don’t hear anything, just static filling your ears 

The restless thoughts crowding your mind drown out the sounds of the bustling street around you. 

How could such a perfect night have gone so terribly wrong?

How could he do this to you? 

How dare he do this to you, again?

Before your mind could spiral any further into a pit of distress, your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of an approaching car. The hum of the tires sounded so close you couldn't ignore it. When you lift your head to see, the relief of familiarity washes over you. 

An all-black BMW, your best friend’s car, luxurious and sleek, parks in front of you, the passenger-side door only an arm's length away. You sniffle as you release yourself to readjust the strap of your bag over your shoulder. The moment the car is in park, Jimin jumps out, leaving the door open behind him and you exhale a breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding in. 

You don’t know what you were so worried about, maybe because it was well into the late hours of the night and so abrupt. But Jimin always came when you called. He was always there when you needed him, no matter what.

Jimin’s eyebrows were pinched in concern, a frown present on his puffy lips. His strides were swift as he paced over to you, dense blonde hair bouncing in the wind.

 You hated seeing him so upset. More than that, you hated being the cause, which you seemed to have been a lot lately. He didn’t say anything as he approached. Instead, he grabbed the black leather jacket draped over his arm to wrap around your bare shoulders. His scent engulfed you, warm vanilla with a hint of bourbon; it settled your restless nerves. You welcomed the warmth, clutching the shoulders to secure its place over you.

With a gentle guiding hand on your lower back, he leads you over to his car, opening the passenger door for you. Still with no words exchanged between you two, you slide onto the plush, leather seat. The swift movement makes your dress ride up, and you miss the way Jimin’s eyes lock in on the exposed skin of your thighs. As quickly as it comes, he erases the thoughts with a slight shake of his head. 

 As he reaches over you to fasten your seatbelt, you toe off your high heels, strappy black stilettos, pushing them aside to make space on the floor for your aching feet. When the seatbelt clicks, signaling that you’re safely secured, you thank him barely above a whisper, him giving you a closed-lip smile in return. Once Jimin was settled in the driver’s seat, seatbelt buckled, and hands positioned at nine and three o’clock, he turns to you. 

“My place?” He asks, though he already knows the answer. You nod your agreement. 

Typically on nights like these, your best friend coming to your rescue; the car ride to his house was anything but serene. There was so much to say—too much to say. Jimin wanted to know everything, firing off questions so quick your mind could hardly formulate proper answers. And you were just as eager to spill, sparing him no specifics as you filled him in on all the infidelity details your sorry boyfriend never failed to supply. 

Not this time, though. 

The silence in the car was deafening, thick and heavy. Jimin apparently has nothing to say, and well after the night you just had, neither did you. The only noise in the car was the quiet hum of the vents, steadily blowing warm air. Shortly into the drive, you took the liberty to turn the heat on. 

 None of that bothers you, though. What bothers you is that your best friend seems…mildly irritated. He didn’t even need to say anything for you to figure it out; it was practically oozing from him.

His eyes are narrowed, zeroed in on the road, not in a focused way, more like in an "I can’t even look at you right now” way. His posture is stiff, too perfect, as his back presses firmly against his seat. His lips are pressed into a firm line, neither a frown nor a smile.

You can’t understand it. What’s there for him to be irritated about? You were the one who just caught your boyfriend cheating again. Was he upset that you called him to come pick you up? If that’s the case, he should’ve left you right there. You are more than capable of getting yourself a ride. You’re well versed in getting Ubers, and you’ve ridden the bus from time to time. Enough to know how to get home.

Fed up with the seeming silent treatment, you finally speak. “You’re not going to ask me what happened?” 

Did you mean for it to come out as bitter as it did? Maybe, maybe not. But you’re already on edge, and his lack of interest was getting on your last nerve.

There was a pregnant pause as Jimin came to a stoplight, fist tightening on the steering wheel. With a clenched jaw, his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek. A telltale sign that something was bothering him. You’re almost unsure if it’s the traffic light that tints his face red or his sheer frustration.

“Do I really need to?” The bite in his words matches yours. He turns to face you full on, the most attention he’s given you the entire ride. With his tone firm and low, he snaps, “How is this time any different from the last? Or even the one before that?”

 Rather than giving him an answer, you swallow the lump in your throat, turning your body away from him to gaze out of the window. The last thing you need is to be reprimanded by your best friend. Especially considering it’s nothing you have not heard before. He should be comforting you, threatening to drive over to Theo’s right now and kick his sorry ass. Of course you would never allow that to happen. You would never want anything bad to happen to your best friend or your shitty boyfriend, but still the sentiment was nice.

You hear Jimin sigh, but he doesn’t say anything else, instead continuing the drive when the light turns green. 

Before long, you make it to Jimin’s neighborhood. With practiced ease, he navigates the familiar streets. Right at the first turn at the stop sign and continuing straight until he reaches the second-to-last house on the left.

Jimin pulls into his driveway, putting his car in park before shutting it off. For a moment neither of you says anything. Jimin exhales and lets his head fall onto the headrest. You can feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of your face, but you don’t dare to give him the eye contact he’s seeking. Your petty mind determines that he needs to feel how upset you are with him. 

When he calls your name, you roll your eyes, folding your arms over your chest. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings earl—"

“You didn’t hurt my feelings,” you lie right through your teeth, barely able to keep the tears collecting on your waterline at bay. Internally you thank the heavens above your voice didn’t tremble, a dead giveaway to your emotional despair.

For a moment your best friend does nothing. Then with not a word more to say, he pulls the key from the ignition and opens his car door. 

Shielded away from his eyes, you quickly wipe away the tears sliding down the corners of yours. Feeling pulled together enough, you take a moment to gather your purse and heels from the floor. Though, you don't bother to put your shoes back on. The distance from Jimin’s driveway to his front door is short anyway. 

Naturally, Jimin comes to open the car door for you. You shiver, greeted again by the cold air. As you exit the vehicle, you make no effort to thank him, swinging the strap of your purse back over your shoulder. From behind, you hear a sassy grumble of "You're welcome," that you choose to ignore. 

The walk from Jimin’s car to his front door feels like an eternity. From the wind blowing your hair into a tangled mess, the pebbles and rough gravel digging into the soles of your feet to the suffocating tension between you and your best friend, which you still couldn’t really understand. All you wanted to do was take a hot shower and turn your brain off for the rest of the night under a massive pile of blankets.

Jimin pulls out his key to unlock the door, and now it’s your turn to ignore the way his sharp jaw ticks. When the front door opens, the heat from inside surrounds you,  comforting you like a warm hug. You learned early on that your best friend loved to be just as toasty as you, always keeping a spare jacket or blanket around if or whenever it got too chilly. Another reason you’ve been friends for so long. You make a mental note to thank him later for turning the heat on when you're not as irritated with him. 

Your heels drop to the hardwood with a dull smack, joining a few pairs of Jimin’s piled on the floor. Your purse follows behind, on the ottoman next to the door, covered with other jackets, scarves, and things alike. Your best friend comes up beside you, discarding his own jacket and shoes.

You take notice of the comfy scene in front of you. On the couch, Jimin’s favorite blanket lies in a messy heap, like someone tossed it away in a hurry. Before the couch, a half-eaten bowl of popcorn sits in the middle of the glass coffee table, an opened can of soda beside it. In the background, the murmured chaos of an abandoned action movie, gunshots, explosions, some screaming, and then more gunshots emits from the television speakers.

The guilt that washes over you overtakes any of the irritation you felt earlier with Jimin. Once again, your tumultuous relationship has not only caused problems for you but also for the people around you.

 Of course he was upset. He had a right to be. If the roles were reversed, you’d probably be a little upset too. Lord knows how much you valued your couch potato time.

“I’m going to go wash up,” you mutter, your tone not nearly as snappy as it was before, and you don’t wait for his response as you make your way down the hall towards his bedroom. 

You close the door behind you with a heavy sigh, twisting the lever on the knob into its locked position. Guarded away from the outside, you take a moment to finally breath. Since all this shit’s transpired, you feel like you’ve been fighting for breath.

You squeeze your eyes shut and lean back. Your head thuds when it makes contact with the door behind you. In through your nose and out through your mouth. You repeat the mantra in your brain over and over. When you feel like you’ve finally caught your breath, your brain switches to autopilot. You’ve performed this exact routine far too many times. 

You reach behind yourself to tug down the zipper of your attire, a black mini dress you bought at a cute little boutique for this very date night. The piece drops, pooling at your feet. Usually you’d ask Jimin to help with the zipper, but you’re not quite ready to face him yet, and you’re sure he does not want to talk to you. Next to go are your bra and panties. The matching lace set joins your dress in the laundry hamper, which Jimin will wash for you after you’ve fallen asleep for the night like he always does.

Inside the closet in his bathroom, you grab a spare towel and washcloth stacked neatly on a shelf. You set it aside on the sink to turn on the shower, twisting the temperature dial to the hottest setting. You love showering at Jimin's; the water at home was never scalding enough for you, and the water pressure was never enough to soothe your aching muscles. Plus, his bathroom was stacked to the brim with the best of the best skincare products. You wouldn’t dare catch sight of the cheap drugstore stuff you tend to reach for in here.

As the water warms up, the bathroom fills with misty steam. From the cabinet drawer, you grab a packet of nearly empty makeup remover wipes. You don’t need to look in the mirror to know that you look a mess. Although you couldn’t even if you wanted to, the glass is all fogged up. 

Gently, you drag the wipe all over your face, making sure to reach every nook and cranny until your skin feels, for the most part, clean. You toss the wipe, soiled with pinks, brown, black, and a bit of shimmer, into the wastebin underneath the sink.

Now you’re ready to shower.

You eagerly welcome the hot water as it cascades over you, soaking every inch of your tired body. You take a moment to enjoy the feel of the water droplets raining over your skin. However, before long the steam from the shower begins to feel suffocating, and before you know it, your eyes are brimming with tears. 

With every water droplet that pelts your skin, the weight of tonight feels heavier and heavier until—

It finally breaks you.

You curl into yourself as your body is wracked by uncontrollable sobs. Instinctively, your hands come up to cover your face, slapping over your mouth, even though you’re alone in the bathroom. It feels like you’re choking on your own breath. Throat and chest burning with how hard you try to keep your sobs in.

 You need to get out of this bathroom quick.

Vision blurred from tears, you reach for your washcloth and then Jimin's body wash. You then drench the square cloth with a generous amount of soap, the scent of lavender filling the small space. You’re practically panting now. Every gasping breath triggers a new wave of tears. You press your lips together firmly until it hurts. You're known to be a loud crier, and you don’t want to alarm Jimin. 

Through it all, you scrub yourself clean, rinse, and do it again. But the icky feeling never goes away. In fact, it settles deep in the pit of your stomach and makes its home there. Weightless, you drop to the tile floor below, one hand clutching your stomach and the other over your chest right where your heart is, and you let yourself cry.

You cry until your throat is sore and until your eyes are bloodshot red. Until your wails have subsided into pathetic shuddering breaths that make your chest jerk. You cry until you can’t physically cry anymore. Until all that’s left is a soggy, heartbroken human on the wet shower floor.

────˚‧୨ᰔ୧‧˚────

Like a zombie, you emerge from Jimin’s bedroom slowly and in desperate need of some fuel. The living room is quiet and dark when you step in. Your best friend sits with his back pressed against the couch’s arm, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. Awaiting on the television screen is the play menu for Shark Tale, your comfort movie. Two mugs of warm tea replace the popcorn and soda on the coffee table. Instantly you recognize the one on the right as yours. Jimin found it at a thrift shop years ago early into your friendship. He bought it because he said the bunny on the front reminded him of you. Eyes twinkling and cheeks round, as it sat in a patch of unruly wildflowers. You rolled your eyes playfully when he showed it to you, insisting that he keep it at his house, since you were there more than you were home anyway. 

The dragging of your footsteps alerts your best friend. He looks up from his phone, gaze sleepy as his eyes settle on you. You did your best to hide the evidence of your breakdown with what limited supplies you had. Though there was nothing you could do for your bloodshot eyes and splotchy skin. If Jimin notices your disheveled appearance, he doesn’t say anything.

Jimin sets his phone on the coffee table, patting the open spot on the couch next to him with a small smile. You join him without a second thought.

The sofa moans with your movement as you settle onto the plush cushion, grabbing the throw blanket to cover your chilly legs. Jimin’s basketball shorts didn’t offer you much coverage. You would think that after spending so many nights here, there would be something of yours to sleep in. 

Nonetheless, all you were privy to were a pair of too-short gym shorts and a shabby university t-shirt. You did find, however, in Jimin’s underwear drawer, a pair of your panties neatly folded and tucked in a corner. You were thankful for that. 

When you seem comfortable enough, Jimin uses the remote to press play. The small living room area was then filled with the sound of Shark Tale’s opening scene.

The two of you watch the movie as it plays, sipping your respective mugs of tea. It’s not nearly as tense as it was earlier, but it was still a little awkward. 

The warm beverage alleviates some of the soreness in your throat. When you're sated and cozy enough, you set the cup back in its previous place. Beside you, Jimin clears his throat. From the corner of your eye, you can see him glance at you, the TV screen, and then back at you again. You pretend to not notice him, trying your hardest to focus on the scene of Oscar being manhandled by the twin jellyfish brothers, Ernie and Bernie. 

 Another minute passes before Jimin finally decides to break the silence. His voice is steady and cautious when he turns to you and asks, “So… what did happen tonight? With Theo?”

Eyes still trained on the screen, you fiddle with the seam of the t-shirt you’re wearing, Jimin’s t-shirt. You pinch the thin fabric, flicking it back and forth between your fingers. Soon Jimin is going to have to throw this old thing out. Not only was it sporting several sizable holes, but there were loose threads everywhere.

You shrug when you say, “I thought you didn’t want to know.” 

Jimin’s exhale is loud, but his tone is still calm. “That’s not what I said, and you know it. I asked what made this time different. I feel like that’s a fair question.” You’ll give it to him; your best friend is and always has been blunt. 

With no rebuttal, you grab your mug from the table, yet you don’t take another sip from it. Instead, you rotate the ceramic in your hands, watching the liquid slosh all around. 

“He cheated on me again.” The way you say it so plainly is almost startling. 

Sadly, Jimin’s demeanor doesn’t change. That part he’s used to. He leans forward, as if to ask for further details without actually uttering a single word.

“He didn't confess it to me this time; I found out.” 

Theo was nothing if not an excellent victim player. Since the beginning of your relationship, he could never keep any of his rendezvous to himself. Before you could even begin to suspect anything, he’d be spilling his guts to you, sparing the explicit details. He’d cry like a baby, falling to his knees begging for your forgiveness, and by the end of it all, somehow you were the one with the heavy heart, apologizing for your shortcomings. 

Eyes downcast, you swallow down the lump forming in your throat. If you weren’t so focused on the dark-colored liquid in your mug, you would see the way Jimin freezes, his face morphing into pure disgust. 

“Well,” you correct yourself, your voice going a little shaky, “I snatched his phone before he could delete anything. But yeah, I found the messages. All of them.” 

Against you will, your mind travels back to earlier in the night. 

Your boyfriend had invited you out to dinner, a way to make it up to you for standing you up a few nights ago. There was this new restaurant in town that you’d been begging him to go to. But each time you’d ask, he would always decline, claiming that it was too expensive even though you were usually the one who paid for your meals. That’s why when he told you your dinner would be at this restaurant, you were overjoyed. 

In the beginning, the dinner went wonderfully. The ambiance was romantic, live music playing in the background and a lit candle separating you two on the table. You hadn’t argued at all leading up to the dinner. Not when you took a little longer to get ready, not when you put the restaurant’s address into the GPS wrong (507, not 501), and not even when you couldn’t decide what you wanted to eat. 

Everything was perfect, until it wasn’t. 

You see, your boyfriend was not the sharpest tool in the shed. Like an idiot, he left his phone faced down on the table, and throughout the night it rang and rang with incoming calls, messages, and you’re pretty sure emails. This wasn’t uncommon. Your boyfriend works a taxing job. His phone was always going off as he needed to be available whenever. In fact, you wouldn’t have suspected a thing if it weren’t for the guilty looks he’d send your way every time the device sounded with a new message. 

You grew fed up with his suspicious actions and snatched the phone from the table. He tries to reach for it but backs off when he gathers the attention of a couple of onlookers. 

The contact name on the phone screen is visible, Jerry’s Pizza, but the message was hidden behind a passcode. 

You tongue the inside of your bottom lip, fury clouding your mind. “Why the fuck is Jerry’s Pizza texting you at,” you look towards the clock at the top of the screen. “Nine p.m.?”

He huffs like he has the nerve to be upset. “It's probably just some promo stuff.” 

This man must think you’re stupid. “What’s the passcode, Theo?”

Your boyfriend drops his fork, and the metal utensil clashes onto the porcelain. He leans back in his chair with a smug look on his face. “Are we seriously doing this right?” 

You swallow, teeth clenched when you hiss, “Unlock it.”

“God _____, seriously. We’re having a good night; don’t let your insecurities ruin it.”

“Unlock the fucking phone now, or we’re done!”

When he finally does give you the passcode, you’re disappointed but not surprised. You scuff and shake your head as you read the many messages from one of the many girls he’s been hooking up with. "Unfuckingbelievable."

Fresh tears sting your eyes. “God, Jimin. They were so fucking filthy. I…I didn’t even know," you stop yourself, shaking your head. “I’ve never heard him say things like that before.”

The look on Jimin’s face portrays exactly what he feels for you. He scoots closer to grab the mug from your shaky hands, setting it on the coffee table. Hands now free, he interlocks his fingers with yours as you continue.

That familiar wave of emotion bubbles up inside, just as furious as before. You can barely speak now, choking on your own words when you say, “Th-they were t-talking about me in them—" you end in a hitched breath. 

Jimin pulls you into him as you succumb again to your tears. He engulfs you with his embrace, shushing your cries and petting your hair. “Shh, shh. It’s okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to say anymore.” Your best friend rocks you both back and forth, calming you with words of comfort.

He holds you as you cry, soaking the front of his shirt with your pain. He doesn’t say anything, letting you release it all. You calm down after a while and separate from him. 

Jimin leans towards you and cups your cheeks in his hands, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. In turn, you grab his wrists, seeking his comfort and closeness. “God _____," he shakes his head, face full of nothing but sorrow. “Honey, I’m so sorry.” 

It’s your turn to shake your head now. “Not, not your fault,” you hiccup as you try to catch your breath. 

Jimin calls your name once, and then again. When you finally open your eyes, his are pleading with yours. Briefly, your heart stutters. 

His palms cup your cheeks. “Listen to me. Theo is a fucking idiot. He does not deserve you. He never did.” When new tears fall, he wipes those away too. 

Jimin releases a devastating sigh, shaking his head. “I hate that this happened to you.” He swallows thick, and there’s a hopeful gleam in his eyes. “I’m just relieved you’re finally leaving him.”

His words knock you back into reality. You blink, eyes flickering away from his to stare down at the couch instead. Instinctively, your bottom lip makes its home between your teeth. 

Jimin frowns, immediately taking note of the hesitation swimming in your features.

 “_____?” he calls, in the exact tone your mother uses when she suspects you’re hiding something from her (she’s usually right). He leans forward, attempting to regain your eye contact, and you dodge his brown orbs. “You are leaving him after this, right?” 

You don't say anything. You don’t have the courage to lie right to his face, or even tell him the truth, for that matter. 

Jimin’s exhale is long and tired. He then closes his eyes and slowly nods twice. Bitter understanding. 

The light-haired man leans away from you, removing his hands from your face. Instinctively, you reach out for him, hands hovering in midair, but he makes no effort to appease you.

Jimin drags a hand down his face, and it makes his eyebrow hairs go askew. “Please tell me that this is some sick joke, that you’re not actually thinking about taking him back after this.” 

You press your lips into a firm line. The agitation inside of you is and has been steadily building. It bubbles up and overflows when you say, “Everybody fucks up, Jimin. Some people are just better at hiding it.” 

Jimin scuffs as he shakes his head, standing up from the sofa. Running both hands through his hair, he chuckles in disbelief. The hollow, humorless rumble sends a shiver down your spine.

 "Unfuckingbelievable,” he unknowingly echoes the same word you said earlier in the night. “I can’t believe you’re making excuses for him. Still!” 

You shoot up too, quick and agitated, planting your hands on your hips. “All relationships have their problems, Jimin! That’s just the way it is. When I go home, we’ll talk, and I’ll fi—we'll fix it. We always do.” There’s uncertainty in the way you say it. Like you’re trying to convince yourself as well as him.

The sour look he’s giving you right now makes you want to flick his forehead, dead right in the center where that stupid vein is protruding. 

“God, I didn’t come here for a damn lecture. I would’ve gone to my parents’ for all that.” Jimin shrugs at you like he doesn’t care, and you know he doesn’t. It pisses you off even more.

Anyone who knows Jimin knows that your best friend is a caring man. A kind, gentle soul, as your mother liked to call him. He wouldn’t hesitate to give the shirt off his back to his greatest enemy (which he does not have) if they were in need. That’s just the type of person your best friend was. The love that Jimin had for you was undeniable. You know he’d do anything for you because he’s proven it to you time and time again. But you learned quickly in your friendship that Jimin tolerates bullshit from no one. He has had no problem with putting anyone in their place, including you. Particularly when it came to your unstable relationship. 

 Your glare is harsh, words provoking when you spit, "Especially not one coming from you.” 

Jimin’s eyebrows shoot so far up, they're nearly hidden by his grown-out bangs. He smirks like he’s ready for a challenge. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

This time, you shrug. “You’re in no position to be passing judgments on my relationship, considering your track record.” The words tasted just as bitter leaving your mouth as they did hearing them said aloud. 

Jimin’s expression turns stone cold, but his smirk doesn’t waver. “My track record.”

You don’t spare him an opportunity to clapback. If you were judging correctly, you had the upper hand in this argument, and you needed to keep your momentum. 

“Don’t even pretend to be shocked, Mr. ‘I can’t keep a girl longer than a week before I’m bored and ready to hop on the next available piece of ass.

Jimin doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you can see his Adam's apple bobble when he swallows. “It’s like that, huh?”

“Oh, it’s exactly like that. You’re no better than he is."

You should’ve known you were in trouble when his smirk grew wider. “You see, that’s where you’re wrong, _____,” he taunts, wagging his pointer finger at you. It triggers your eye twitch. 

“I've treated every single booty call better than that man has ever treated you since you started dating.” He points an accusatory finger at you. “Unlike your shitty boyfriend, I know how to properly conduct myself.” 

Your jaw is clenched tight, and your eyes are narrowed into furious slits. “Bullshit.” He takes a step closer to you, and your stance is unwavering. “Yeah?”

"Yeah, Jimin, that’s bullshit, and you know it. I’ve seen how you treat those girls. Love them one day, fuck them the next, and then you're done, ready for a new one. It takes a dog to know one, Jimin,” you retort, arms folded over your chest with an eyebrow arched. 

“Don’t even pull that shit with me, _____. I make sure whoever I’m dealing with knows exactly what they’re getting into. They knew that being in a relationship was not my end goal. I just wanted to fuck around, and they were fine with that.” 

You scuff. “And they were fine with you just dropping them for the next, like it’s nothing!?”

Jimin laughs high and loud, though there’s no humor behind the sound. His eyes are blown wide, both hands in his hair. He looks exactly how you feel, crazy.

“God _____! What don’t you understand? I’m fucking single; I can do that! Your boyfriend is not! But for some reason he acts like he is!” Jimin’s words are booming, bouncing off the living room walls between you. Pretty soon you think the neighbors will come knocking with the police, and you hope that doesn’t happen because the elderly couple next door is very sweet.

The shock on your face had to be laughable. Throughout your entire friendship, Jimin has never raised his voice at you, not once. 

How dare he yell at you like that? You aren’t a child!

 Your mouth flies open, ready to shoot back with something, anything just from the sheer volume of his voice. But just as quickly as your lips fall open, they shut. Jimin’s words settle over you like ice, cooling down your temperament as your brain processes what he’s saying.  

There’s practically smoke coming from Jimin’s ears as he continues. “I’ve never kept anyone on edge all day waiting for a simple text to let them know I’m okay. Nor have I played on their insecurities to better justify my own. I’ve never fucked someone else while I was dealing with another woman, even if we weren't in a committed relationship because I’m a decent human being.” 

Your heart hammers in your chest as you shift your gaze away from his to your sock-clad feet. A silent admittal of defeat, but Jimin doesn’t stop.

“I don’t make them feel worthless, like they aren’t my equal, like I’m more deserving of respect." He comes in closer, so close that you can feel his breath on your face with every word. “How dare you even have the audacity to compare me to him? You couldn’t count on him to attend his own funeral. But who’s always there when you need them?” 

You don’t dare answer. 

“Me! I’m there! Every late-night call, every text message, every single time you need me, I’m always there. Always! Picking up the broken pieces that he leaves behind without a single fuck given.” 

With an icy glare, he leans in until the tips of your noses are nearly touching. “I’m not anything like him. I’ll never be.” 

You exhale the breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding as Jimin brushes past you, just barely missing your shoulder. He’d never hurt you deliberately, no matter how upset with you he is. Though you kind of wish he did. After the unjustified nasty attitude you’ve had with him tonight, you kind of wish he would just curse you out a little, throw you a few extra insults, and send you home to your cheating boyfriend. Then perhaps his compassion wouldn’t make you feel so sick to your stomach. 

Maybe that’s the exact thinking that’s gotten you into this mess in the first place. 

What are you supposed to do now? 

“Fuck,” you exhale with your head tossed back.

 At this angle, you’re face to face with the popcorn ceiling. God, you hate popcorn ceilings; they remind you of long, humid summer nights at your grandma’s unair-conditioned house in the country. Feeding feisty chickens and milking cows for two and a half months straight.

It makes your neck ache, but in this position on the edge of the couch, you ponder. Not just about your argument with Jimin, but everything you’ve been through. The disaster of tonight, your entire relationship with Theo, and all the lying, cheating, and sneaking. The heartbreaks he puts you through time and time again. Then finally your friendship with Jimin. Seemingly the only piece of stability in your life for God knows how long. 

You think about it all until the credits of your abandoned comfort movie start rolling. Begrudgingly, you reach over to grab the t.v. remote, shutting off the device with a simple click of a button. Instantly, darkness engulfs the living room. Briefly, you ponder sleeping right there on the couch, but you know your back would hate you for it, and more importantly, you need to fix this mess with Jimin. You don’t want to, but you make the short trek back toward the room at the end of the hall. 

You stop just before the doorway, peering into the bedroom. The courage you built up suddenly depleted. 

Moonlight streams in through the cracked blinds, the only source of light, neatly illuminating the room in linear streaks. Jimin sits on the edge of the bed with his head hanging low, drained, between his shoulders, elbows planted firmly on his knees. The long sleeves of his shirt are rolled up now, exposing the veins in his forearms that jump with every clench of his fingers. You’re not sure how long he’s been sitting like that, but it looks like he hasn’t moved in a while.

Through his long bangs, you can see the worn expression on his face—eyes squeezed shut, nibbling at both lips. Your heart shatters at the sight. For a moment, it feels like he’s the one that’s just been cheated on, not you. 

You take in a deep breath as you step into the dark bedroom. The floorboards creak beneath you, alerting Jimin of your presence. His keen sense of hearing. Like a hawk stalking its prey, Jimin’s gaze never falters as he watches, silently calculating your every move. Are you coming as a friend or a foe ready for more? 

Though uninvited, you settle onto the made bed next to him. You inhale deep through your nose. The faint scent of the lavender shower gel you used earlier still lingers in the air. 

“I’m sorry,” you start. You wait for a moment, giving Jimin the opportunity to say anything, but he lets you continue. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting towards you.” You shake your head. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, Jimin. You didn’t deserve any of it. I—" You pause, rapidly blinking away unshed tears. Dammit, you’ve already cried so much tonight; you don’t feel like another headache.

Jimin grabs your open palm lying between you and gives your hand an encouraging squeeze. It gives you the strength to finish. “I shouldn't have been so snappy with you tonight, especially since you were just trying to help me.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “And I’m genuinely sorry for always dumping my bullshit relationship problems onto you. It’s not fair. I—I don’t know.”

 You shake your head, squeezing Jimin’s hand in return. “I just want you to know that I really, really do appreciate everything that you do for me. I know that I don’t show it enough, and I apologize for that.” A lone tear tickles your cheek as it trails down your face, soaking a tiny spot on your t-shirt. You wipe away the wetness with your free hand. “From the bottom of my heart, I love you, Jimin, so so much.” 

You don’t possess a way with words like Jimin does. That silent charm that wraps people in comfort, alleviating any and all of their worries. Your only hope is that Jimin can at least feel what you’re trying to convey.

“I love you too,” he whispers, his voice watery and thick. You don’t doubt a single word. “But that’s not why I’m upset.” Your brows knit together in confusion. 

Jimin looks off to the side, like he’s carefully contemplating what he’s trying to express. “I’m not upset with you for needing me, _____. I’d never be upset because of that. We lean on each other; we support each other. That's what makes us a team. There have been plenty of times when you’ve been there for me too. It’s what we do.” 

You shake your head. “I don’t...”

Jimin sighs, clenching his pants at the knee. What he wants to say sits at the tip of his tongue. His tone is firm when he declares, “Theo does not deserve you.”

You close your eyes as you nod your agreement. “I know that, Jimin.”

“But do you though? Seriously, _____. I don’t think you do.” 

"I do, Jimin. I know, I really do. I'm—"

 “Can’t you see that my heart is broken for you?" 

Any excuse you had ready for him dies right there in your throat. You blink your eyes open, and when you look at him, really look at him, it’s all you can see.

 It’s written in the way his shoulders slump with defeat. The way he fiddles with his fingers clasping and unclasping his hands. It’s in the way his chocolatey brown eyes, usually warm and inviting, are downcast and wet with unshed tears. In fact, you can barely keep his gaze because the emotion there is so intense. 

 “Throughout your entire relationship, I’ve watched you be there for him, constantly giving him your all until there is nothing left. And at the end of the day, what does he leave you with?”  

Your best friend doesn’t wait for you to answer.

Jimin scuffs, dark espresso eyes shiny with tears. “Agony. Insecurities that eat at you every day _____.” He clutches his shirt, right where his heart is. “It devastates me.”

Fuck, how could you have been so blind? So wrapped up in your own problems that you failed to notice how it was affecting Jimin. He has always felt so deeply. Of course, when you’re hurt, he hurts too. 

“Why do you love him?” 

Like a fish out of water, your mouth opens and shuts, only able to produce  stuttering breaths. 

The next question that comes from him is barely above a whisper. “Why can’t you leave him?”

"Because—" The word rushes out of you quicker than your mind could process it. Your eyes bulge as you slap your hands over your mouth.

“Because what?” He rushes, successfully tugging your hands away from your face. 

You pinch the frayed hem of your t-shirt. “Forget it, Jimin. It’s nothing.”

Your best friend shakes his head, his thick hair moving with him. “Don’t do that. Tell me. Please, _____.” 

  You try to fight it, you really do, because once you say it, there’s no going back. It’ll become real, and it won’t just belong to you anymore. It sits on the tip of your tongue, waiting for the perfect moment to break free. 

When Jimin calls your name, you look up to meet his gaze. His eyes are pleading with yours, filled with misery as they silently beg for an answer. “Please.”

Fuck it. If there’s anyone in this world you could spill your deepest secret to, it would without a doubt be Jimin. One of the few people on this world who you trust wholly.

“Because Jimin, if I leave him, then who’s going to love me?” 

It grows silent, as if your words shatter the tension in the air surrounding you.

To finally say it aloud feels like a major relief. A thousand-pound weight being lifted off of your shoulders. Consequently, at the same time, there’s a dreadful sinking feeling deep within you. A sick feeling that you've been trying to fight for too long. The admission was devastating but desperately needed. Maybe now, the journey to solving the root of this vulnerability can finally begin.

Jimin’s lips pull into a deep frown before he whispers your name. “Is that…really what you think? That you’re unloveable?”

If there was one thing Theo knew how to do well, it was keeping you humble. It started off subtle. A joke or two here and there, always defining him as the central point of your life. You’d laugh it off every time, never quite able to detect the subliminal honesty. For a while, it continued on like that, until it built into something blatant. 

It didn’t take long for you to actually start believing that. No other man in their right mind would want a woman so damaged by their own insecurities. You thought that he truly was the sole person that you could rely on. Thankfully, Jimin was always there to prove him wrong at least a little. But, as far as romance went, forget it. There was no one better for you than him. 

You chuckle solemnly. “No one is going to put up with me, Jimin." 

Your best friend sighs. He lets go of your hand, standing from the bed. For a moment, you think he’s ready for another fight. But you don’t have it in you to argue again. Much to your surprise, he gets down on one knee and then both, kneeling down in front of you. 

 A startled gasp sneaks through your lips. “Uh, Mini?” you whisper, slightly panicked.

Jimin grasps both of your hands in his. He licks his bottom lip, and your eyes follow the pink of his tongue. “Let me,” he whispers, a determined look in his eyes. 

You blink dazedly at him. “What?”

“Let me love you." He confirms exactly what you thought he said. “Just for tonight.” 

You sputter, pulling back slightly, though you don’t let go of his hands. “Jimin, that’s not—" You shake your head. “Do you know what you’re asking? Where’s this even coming from?”

Jimin chortles, rubbing the backs of your hands with his thumbs. "It's always been there. From the moment we met, I knew I wanted you. But at that time, I was in no place to be in a relationship.” 

You arch a brow. “And now you are?”

“Shut up." Jimin nudges your knee as you bite down on your bottom lip, suppressing your grin.

“I’m not asking for a relationship.” He then wiggles his eyebrows at you when he says, “At least not right now anyway.” 

Jimin squeaks when you dig your socked toe into the meat of his thigh. He grips your foot in his hand, restricting you from delivering anymore nudges. 

“Be serious,” you chide, even though the smile on your lips has spread wider. “Are you… really into me?”

Jimin grins, his pretty teeth on full display. “In more ways than one. All I need is one night. One night to give you what you truly deserve. Let me love you how you should’ve been a long time ago.”

The thrill that bubbles up inside you is dangerous. It’s a foreign feeling, one that you don't recall ever experiencing before. But, oh, it is so welcomed. Then, a sudden wave of realization halts your excitement. A major bump in the road. 

Your boyfriend.

You almost don’t want to say it, afraid that it might ruin the exhilaration in the air. The question comes out strained with a touch of hesitancy. “What about Theo?” 

But Jimin shrugs like he doesn’t have a single care in the world. “What about him? He’s had his fun.” 

Jimin lets go of your hands, and you frown at the loss of contact. It’s short-lived, however, when his firm grip takes hold of the backs of your legs, making you gasp. 

His breath hitches at the sound of your satisfaction when he caresses you there, thumbs working overtime to unknot your tense muscles. You sigh, relaxing under his touch. Slowly, as if time isn’t of the essence, he runs his hands all the way down your legs until his fingertips reach the heels of your feet. At the same leisurely pace, he drags his digits up until they brush over your inner things, bunching up the thin material of your basketball shorts. 

 “Isn’t it time you have a little of your own?”

You have to consider Jimin’s words carefully. There’s so much at stake if you agree. For one, your friendship with Jimin will never be the same. Though you suppose, he kind of set that in motion already with his little impromptu love confession. 

The greatest damage done will be to your relationship. No matter how you try to spin it, sleeping with Jimin tonight will make you a cheater, betraying your boyfriend in the same way that has left you with a sizable hole in your heart. 

Won’t that just make you a hypocrite in the end? Did you even have that kind of promiscuity in you?

Apparently it lied dormant inside you, because as quickly as the doubt comes, it dissipates. Just like that, your mind rationalizes the decision. 

What’s the harm in indulging for just one night? After all, it’ll be with your best friend, someone you’ve known for years and trust with your life. Not with some random man you met at some sketchy club or bar.

 If Theo can do it, why can’t you?

Instead of using words to respond, you let your body do the talking. With ease, you wrap your legs around his middle, pulling your best friend forward. Jimin lets out a surprised huff as he collides with your front, his face mere centimeters from your braless breasts. The surprise on his face is quickly replaced with enthusiasm as he admires the pillowy mounds displayed casually in front of him. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, and with as much courage as you could muster, you simply request, “Show me.” 

The grin that breaks out on Jimin’s face is infectious. A manifestation of pure joy. Thinking back as hard as you can, you can’t remember a recent time when you’ve seen him look so happy. 

He takes your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, hooded gaze flickering from your eyes then to your mouth and back to your eyes again. His thumb sits there for a moment, caressing your skin as his eyes scan across your face in a way that you could only describe as admiring. When he seems fulfilled enough, Jimin tilts your face down, guiding you towards him, and you let your eyes flutter shut. As the anticipation builds, your heart hammers beneath your ribcage. You can practically hear the thumping in your ears. 

But then there’s a pause so pregnant that it has you blinking your eyes open in confusion. If you weren’t nervous before, you certainly were now. Did you do something wrong?

You pull back slightly, just enough so that you can see Jimin’s face. Your best friend looks slightly hesitant. A gleam of uncertainty shines in his brown orbs, like he can’t believe you actually said yes. 

“Jimin,” you urge, the tenderness in your voice easing his nerves, and you try your hardest to ignore yours. “Kiss me, please.” 

The blonde man doesn’t need any further encouragement. Jimin closes the small gap between you, slotting his mouth together with yours. 

This is not the first time you and Jimin have kissed. That was years ago, back in your freshman year of college in your tiny dorm room after too many shots of illegally purchased Fireball. Surprisingly, even with your heavily intoxicated mind, you remember that day like it happened yesterday. The way you could barely keep yourselves upright, your bodies feeling too heavy and sluggish. Or how you both giggled and bantered throughout the entire ordeal, the alcohol refusing to let you take it seriously. 

You just don’t remember it feeling so damn good.

Jimin’s lips are soft when they press to yours, coated in a thin layer of chapstick. He takes his time when he kisses you like he’s always wanted to. Every peck, brush, and pressure was deliberate. Slow and searing. He needed to savor the moment, afraid of what he might miss if he went too fast. You’re not sure if you’ve ever been kissed like this before. 

With an unprecedented eagerness, you welcome the taste of him, a faint raspberry with a hint of mint. His favorite herbal tea. The same kind he always made for you after a taxing night. The plush feel of his lips has you humming in satisfaction, legs squeezing tighter around his middle. Jimin grunts, fingertips gripping the soft flesh of your thighs. 

Together, your lips work in near-perfect harmony, trading almost silent gasps and breathless sighs between each other. Noting what you liked, what you loved, and what you could probably do without. 

Jimin presses into you firmer, the hand holding your chin coming up to cradle the back of your neck. He licks at your bottom lip, begging for entry that you so graciously grant, letting your mouth fall open wider. The wet muscle of his tongue glides expertly over yours, and your nipples perk beneath your t-shirt. With every breath you take, the sensitive buds press harder into your best friend’s chest. 

Jimin's free hand grips your hip to pull you impossibly closer. A shudder wracks your body when your covered center unexpectedly meets the solid muscle hidden under his shirt. The corners of his lips twitch upwards into a smirk, clearly enjoying the evident effect he has on you.

"Damn." Jimin pulls back with a wet smack, gasping for breath. Brain foggy from the kiss, you chase his mouth with yours, craving the feel of him back on you. Jimin waits until you’re close, and then he pulls back. The groan you emit signifies your displeasure, letting your mouth fall into a frown.

He giggles at your enthusiasm, and he shakes his head naughtily at you. You lick your lips as you watch him with what you’re sure are hungry eyes. 

Jimin reaches a hand behind him, gripping the collar of his shirt. With a quick tug, he pulls the garment over and off, tossing it somewhere on the floor behind him. 

You lean back on your hands, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth. The mattress sinks under your palms with the weight. Unabashedly, you take in the sight of your best friend, scanning over the muscled, toned lines that define his body. An appreciative hum tumbles past your lips, and you nod your approval. 

Has your best friend always been so ripped? 

Jimin chuckles at your reaction. A quick brush of his fingers pushes his thick bangs off of his forehead, leaving his blemish-free skin on full display.

“Like what you see?” He asks breathily, even though he already knows the answer. Under the basketball shorts, his fingers trail up and down the sides of your bare thighs. The ticklish sensation makes you tremble just slightly. 

“Mm, not too bad." You feign nonchalance and shrug, eyeballing the necklace adorning his thick neck. You can’t wait to have the shiny silver dangling over your face when he fuc—

“Ow!” You yelp when Jimin pinches the skin there, not enough to leave a mark but just enough for you to feel it. 

He pulls you in close again, your foreheads nearly touching. “Watch yourself,” he warns in a firm whisper, thumb caressing the tender spot. His warm breath hits your chin with every word. “Or you won’t get to have any fun later.” 

His words, the tone he used with you, almost sounded…mean? But for some strange reason it doesn’t alarm you. In fact, it might’ve even turned you on a little if the wet patch forming in your panties was anything to go by. 

Jimin captures you in another passionate kiss, this one more dynamic than the first. He wastes no time slipping his tongue back in, licking and sucking his presence in your mouth. A gentle hand cradles the back of your head, pulling you in close and keeping you there. You keep up as best as you can, mirroring his actions with your own. You may not be as experienced as Jimin, but the way he was gripping every part of you—your shirt, the back of your neck, and your hands—desperate to keep you close reassures you that you were doing just fine. 

Every brush of his lips, flick of his tongue, and airy whine from his mouth smothered by yours makes you dizzier by the second. 

When you both pull back, lungs burning from your lack of oxygen, breathy pants fill the warm, quiet air. You were virtually frozen earlier, but the bedroom has grown far too hot now. 

“Fuck,” Jimin groans. He smiles unbelievably to himself, shaking his head. “There’s so much I want to do with you tonight.” Like a bobble head, you nod in certain agreement. He then captures your eyes in a heated gaze, the hunger in his eyes undeniable. He licks at his kiss-swollen lips, and your eyes follow every movement. 

“Can I take care of you? Will you let me, baby?”

“Yes, yes, please.” 

Jimin’s chuckle sends a delighted shiver down your spine. Taking the hem, he frees you from the confines of your t-shirt, pulling the fabric off of you with ease. When he tosses it, it lands somewhere on the bed behind you. 

Your nipples stand firm and proud, already pebbled from your heated kiss with Jimin. He practically salivates at the sight of them, running the wet muscle of his mouth back and forth over his plump bottom lip. You know that he’s always been a boobs man, but the fact that your boobs were the cause of his content had a bit of pride swelling in your chest. It feels incredible to be wanted so unabashedly.

Jimin reaches up, his hand hovering over your left breast. “May I?” He asks, eyes flickering up to gauge your reaction. 

You swallow down your anticipation. “If you don’t, I feel like I might explode.”

Jimin hums, and his smile is sincere. “We can’t have that now, can we?"

You sigh, breath stuttering when he strokes his thumb over your erect nipple. With his other hand, he cups your right breast. Heavy and squishy, it fills his left palm, your stiff bud grazing his skin. When he squeezes your boob, gentle and cautious, your thighs squeeze together in response, the dull ache between your legs becoming increasingly more difficult to ignore. 

“Beautiful,” Jimin whispers, pinching the hardened peak with his thumb and pointer finger. You don’t say anything; you can’t say anything with how hard you’re biting down on your bottom lip. Your best friend leans down to pepper a trail of kisses across the plane of your chest, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He then flattens his tongue, licking a stripe between the valley of your breasts, and blows on the wet skin. You cradle the back of his head, tangling your fingers in the blonde locks. 

“Oh!” you gasp when he engulfs your nipple with the wet warmth of his mouth, reflexively tugging at his hair. Jimin groans from the action, the vibrations from his delight traveling from your nipple straight down to your cunt. His tongue flicks in rapid successions over your nipple before circling your areola. In his other hand, he rolls and tugs your right nipple, still pinched between his fingers. 

The simultaneous assaults on your sensitive buds have your head reeling. The discomfort between your thighs was no longer dull but immense. Your pussy flutters around nothing, steadily soaking your panties with arousal.

“Jimin,” you mewl, eyes slamming shut when his teeth graze just barely over your stiff peak. When he sucks, the pressure creates stars beneath your eyelids. Your mouth drops open in a silent gasp, eyebrows pinching together. It makes your spine arch, further thrusting your chest into his mouth.

Your breast bounces back into place when he releases your nipple from his mouth. Every quick breath from his mouth cast over your stiff peak, chilling the wet, heated skin. 

You take a moment to catch your breath, but as soon as you inhale, the air is knocked from your lungs again when he sucks the skin of your left breast into his eager mouth. Pleasure explodes over your breast as Jimin marks you with his love bite. Satisfied with his work, he kisses the prominent bruise before he sucks your left nipple into his mouth, giving it the same attention as he did the first. 

Squirming under his keen affection, your hips jut forward to collide with his abs. It offers a brief smidge of relief, but not nearly enough. The ache emitting from your center was absolutely unbearable. Trapped behind too many layers of clothing, your clit was begging to be rubbed. 

You loosen your grip on the comforter, snaking your hand between your bodies down toward your wetness. Just as your fingers breach the waistband of your shorts, Jimin captures your wrist in his hand before interlocking his fingers with yours. You cry out in frustration, and you feel Jimin smirk around a mouthful of your tit. When he releases your nipple with a wet pop, a thin string of his saliva connects you.

It continues on like that for what feels to you like forever. Jimin ravages your breasts, alternating between your nipples, licking, sucking, and nibbling to his heart’s content. Hickeys now litter your chest, a bold yet beautiful display of his insatiable desire. You won’t dare to wear any low-cut top or dress for at least a week. By the end, your cunt is still untouched and practically weeping, confined by your soaked panties and basketball shorts.

When Jimin is finally satisfied, he releases your tit, and your chest is wracked with heaving breaths. He leans forward to peck you once on the lips and then once more. “Lie back,” he whispers against your lips, a hand on your shoulder guiding you to lay flat on his bed. You follow his command, maneuvering so that you’re in a comfortable position on his bed. You’re not quite sure what to do with your hands, letting them rest on your stomach. 

Jimin hooks his fingers in the waistband of your shorts, tugging them past the thickness of your thighs then down the rest of your legs. On the floor, they drop in a heap in front of him. 

A sharp intake of breath comes from Jimin, and you prop yourself up on your elbows. Your best friend, still on his knees before you, is face to face with your panty-clad pussy. That sinful tongue of his makes another appearance, and you make a mental note to buy him a new chapstick later. 

When he whistles appreciatively, your body flushes. “Damn,” he mutters, a finger tracing down your slit. The wet fabric sticks uncomfortably to your skin, molding itself to the shape of your slick folds.

 “You’re soaked, baby.” Jimin leans down to plant a firm kiss on your lips, and when he realigns himself, there's a slight sheen coating his mouth. 

“Jimin,” you whine, coated with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. He’s got you leaking like a fucking waterfall, and all he’s done was play with your tits. 

“Okay, okay,” Jimin chuckles, finally removing your panties from your hips. The dampened fabric joins your bottoms on the floor. You shudder, wet skin greeted by the warm bedroom air. 

 “Hush your whining.” 

Without warning, he licks a slow, broad stripe up your slit, stopping just below your needy clit. Along the way, he collects your juices on his tongue, savoring the heady taste. A strangled moan escapes you as your head falls back between your shoulders. 

Jimin groans from the sheer taste of you, his eyes fluttering shut. His tastebuds are trembling with delight. You’re more delectable than he could have ever imagined. He’s positive he can never eat another pussy ever again; he doesn’t want to eat another pussy ever again. Your juices have saturated his tongue, forever claiming his mouth as yours. 

Jimin grips the meat of your thighs, pushing them up to your chest to allow himself a clear shot at your pussy. You hook your hands underneath your knees, keeping the position he put you in. It gives you the perfect view to watch Jimin feast on your weeping sex.

His smirk is dangerous when he purrs, “Hold on tight, pretty.” 

He wastes no time burying himself between your thighs, moaning when your essence graces his tongue again. You cry out, toes curling when the thick muscle flicks over your winking entrance. 

“Oh fuck, fuck!” Your eyes flutter shut, rolling behind your closed eyelids. 

His mouth works diligently against you, his wet tongue heavy as it drags over and then through your folds, further soaking your wetness with his saliva. The sound of it is vulgar, reminiscent of someone mixing a larger bowl of mac and cheese. It makes you gasp, body heated in a blush. 

"Yes, Jimin," you shiver, elbows going shaky beneath you. Your fingers grip where you hold your shaky legs up for him, crescent moon shapes indenting your skin. Jimin hums, sucking your labia into his heated mouth. Your hips buck once, twice, and he releases them with a wet pop. 

You fall back against the plush bed, arms weakened by the immense pleasure. Your hips have a mind of their own, canting forward chasing the euphoric feeling of his mouth, and he so graciously gives it to you. Your breathing is shattered. Shaky moans and excitable squeals tumble past your parted lips, echoing off the walls of his once quiet bedroom. 

Jimin flattens his tongue, shaking his head from side to side. His mop of fair hair, gone messy from your tugging, tickles your inner thighs with the movement. He eats your pussy like a man starved. Like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have on this Earth. Even when his face is stuffed in your heat, his senses completely overtaken by the smell, feel, and taste of you, he can’t fucking get enough. He doesn’t think he ever will.

Every flutter of your empty walls sends another syrupy gush of your arousal, soaking his face and the bedsheets beneath you. You can hardly breathe as Jimin drinks you up, taking everything you give him, his lips greedy when it slurps at your leaky opening. 

It's so messy and so fucking wet.

When Jimin pulls away, his mouth and chin are shiny with his efforts. He sighs  contentedly as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, panting like he’s the one getting the best head of his life instead of you. He breathes, “You’re so juicy, baby.” 

Hypnotized by you, he delves back in, effortlessly parting your folds with his soaked tongue, licking up and down, up and around, but never where you need him the most. Where your ache is the most ferocious.

“Jimin,” you practically sob, heart hammering in your chest. Unshed tears have begun to collect at your waterline. God, it was good, so fucking good, but you might die if he doesn’t get his mouth on your clit soon. 

“Please, I-I need,” but you break off into a choked whine when his nose bumps your clit, the only bit of stimulation it’s gotten all night. 

Jimin detaches from your pussy with a wet pop. Hooded eyes glance up to meet yours. There's a hint of a smirk on his lips. The corners of his mouth lifted just barely. He was clearly enjoying the torture he was putting you through. 

“What was that, baby?” 

"My," you plead, voice watery and thick. “I need, my-you..." You hesitate, cheeks burning with what you want to say but can’t quite bring yourself to do it. 

Jimin steals the words right from your throat. “You need me to suck that pretty, little clit?” 

You swallow thickly, nodding before you can respond. “I need it.” You watch as Jimin’s jaw ticks and the grip he has on your hips goes tighter.

 “Say it." There's a tilt in his voice that’s unfamiliar to you. You can’t quite put your finger on it. 

Your eyes bulge. It's humorous how quickly the fog clears from your brain. “What?”

“I want to hear you say it. Tell me what you need.” 

“Jimin,” you whine, kicking your leg in frustration. Your body heats as it floods with embarrassment. “Are you serious?” 

Jimin smiles wickedly, pearly whites on full display. “Say it, _____. Or we stop right here.” 

“I uh, I need you to..."

There’s an amused glint in his eyes when he lifts his eyebrows, watching for you to continue. He plans a kiss at your inner thigh in encouragement. 

Your inhale is deep, pride tossed out of the window when you plead, “I need you to suck my clit, Jimin."

When he sees the desperation in your eyes, deep espresso connecting with yours over the plane of your quivering stomach, he loses it. You sob when his mouth engulfs your needy bud wholly. Your fingers scramble, letting go of our legs to tangle in his blonde strands, pulling tight. Jimin groans, and the vibrations shoot straight through your clit to the very tips of your toes. He holds you down himself, pinning your thighs to your chest, rendering you helpless to his merciless suction. 

The tip of his tongue circles your clit, quick and firm. “God yes!” You moan when his lips wrap tight around your swollen bud to suck incessantly. Back arching from the bed, toes curling in the open air, tears finally leak from the corners of your eyes, trailing down your temples. 

When he slips his finger in and then another, knuckle-deep, your slick walls grip him up instantly. They pulse around the slim digits, drawing him in deeper. He didn’t even need to move; the pressure alone sent you over the edge, crashing headfirst into euphoria. 

When you cum, it’s not shrill and elegant like those well-produced pornos you’ve watched before. It’s deep and guttural as it blossoms from the pit of your stomach until it rattles through you, seizing your body. Your muscles tighten, thighs quivering around his head as he delivers wave after pleasurable wave with his soaked tongue and fingers. 

And Jimin loves every second of it.

He doesn’t let up, even after you’ve cum. It’s not until you’re whining, pushing weakly at his head, that he takes mercy on you, pulling away after one final kiss to your spent pussy. 

Vision still teary, you blink up at the ceiling, lying there in disbelief and panting as you try to catch your breath. Reaching a hand up, you wipe away the tiny beads of sweat that have collected at your hairline. 

Below you hear Jimin finally rise from the floor, but you make no attempt to get up, still spent from your amazing orgasm. There’s some rummaging, the sound of clothes hitting the ground, and then the bed dips with Jimin’s weight. He clambers over to you, covering your body with his. You welcome his added heat, arms weakly coming up to wrap themselves around his neck.

He smiles down at you, eyes flickering all across your face, soaking in your post-orgasm haze. His touch is gentle when he brushes stray hair away from your sweaty forehead. 

“Hey you,” he greets, leaning down to give you an Eskimo kiss. 

You trace a finger down the slope of his jaw down to his chin before you cradle his cheek in your palm. “Hey yourself." You smile back, voice slightly hoarse. 

“How are you feeling?” 

You swallow, licking at the dryness on your lips. Your grin is sincere when you say, “I feel amazing. You’re really good at that, you know.” 

Jimin giggles, interlocking his fingers with yours to kiss the back of your hand. With his thumb he strokes the skin. 

“Thank you, Jimin.” 

Your best friend leans down to capture you in a gentle kiss. Your tongue darts out to swipe across his lip, dipping inside to taste yourself on his tongue. You pull away, satisfied and a little breathless.

 “Of course. It’s what you deserve.”

You hum, tracing a finger from his sternum down to the ridges that make up his abs. He shivers under your feather-light touch. “Do I maybe deserve a little something else?” You tilt your head to meet his gaze. 

Jimin raises his eyebrows at you. A playful gleam in his eyes. “A little something like?” He trails off.

You hold his eye contact, and with your free hand, you reach down between his legs to take hold of his stiffened member. Jimin gasps, shutting his eyes tight. He’s heavy in your palm, his skin smooth and warm to the touch. He must’ve been hard for quite some time

“Yeah,” Jimin nods, breath knocked from his lungs when you squeeze the base of his cock. “I think that can be arranged.”

You hum, working your hand over his stiff rod. He grunts when your strokes come faster, his freehand fisting the sheets beside him. “Just like that, pretty,” he encourages, and you do exactly as you’re told. 

You soak in how beautiful he looks in ecstasy. The way his thick brows pinch with every stroke. How his plush lips fall open, unleashing sounds just as pretty as he is. Delicate yet husky. Your favorite part is the way his stomach muscles quake with the effort of holding himself up. 

“Fuck, baby,” Jimin moans as your wrist flicks upwards, from base to head. 

When you glide your fingers across his reddened tip, your digits slicking with his precum, a hand claps over your wrist, restricting your movements. 

His eyes bore into yours, his voice strained when he breathes, “If you don’t stop, I’ll come, and I don’t want to yet. Not until I’m inside you.”

You shiver, exhilaration rattling your bones. “Then, what are you waiting for?” 

You allow Jimin to position your body until you’re lying on your side. When he assures you that you're comfortable, he comes up behind you, slotting his chest to your back. You lean into him, comforted by the feel of his own heart thrumming in his chest. Nerves and excitement are coursing through his veins as well, anticipating what is to come. Your senses heighten at the feel of his hard cock nestled between your ass cheeks.

He leans in to kiss the plump of your cheek before reaching behind himself to retrieve a condom from inside his nightstand. 

You stop him, a quick, gentle hand on his thigh. “Can you… I want you to fuck me raw.” 

A muttered curse from behind makes you grin. “_____, are you sure?” 

You nod, thighs rubbing together, the heat between your legs intensifying at the mere thought. “I want to feel all of you. Is that okay?” 

“Fuck, yeah, that’s okay." Jimin doesn’t need much convincing to agree. He just needs to get inside you quick. His hand slides from your hip to your thigh, cupping underneath your knee to prop your leg up and open enough.

 “Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers, cockhead sliding through your slippery folds to nudge at your needy clit.

You gasp, reaching a hand up to tangle in the hair on the back of his head. “I’m fine, Mini." You roll your hips back, seeking more of that delicious pressure on your pearl. Your teeth clench in a hiss when he bumps it again. “Just please fuck me.”

You watch, eyes eager as Jimin slides in without much resistance, filling you up to the brim. It knocks the air from your lungs. He’s so incredibly thick, thicker than any other dick you’ve taken before. It feels like he’s splitting you open in the best way possible. 

Jimin groans, engulfed by your soaked warmth. His body flushes, one hand fisting the bedsheets, the other with a vice grip on your hip. Quick short pants slip past his mouth to coat the shell of your ear.

You spread your legs wider, the propped one coming to hook behind his thigh. Somehow, it slips him deeper into your flooded canal, leaving you both crying out. 

“Holy shit, Jimin,” you breathe, as your walls pulse around him, adjusting to his sheer girth.

Jimin’s chuckle is breathy, full of disbelief. He pecks your shoulder before resting his forehead there. He’s thinking exactly what you are.

Why does it feel so fucking good?

 “I know, baby.” He gives an experimental thrust of his hips that has your eyes rolling, his hips pressed flush against your ass. “So fucking good,” he murmurs in your ear, and a delighted shiver journeys down your curved spine. 

The pace he sets is maddeningly slow, nothing like what you’re used to. Languid rolls of his hips that stuff you full before leaving you just about empty, only to fill you right back up again. You can hardly breathe through the feel of him, gasping for air every time he presses back in. Jimin moves from your shoulder, attaching his lips to the juncture in your neck, licking and sucking. It leaves you with marks so fierce you have no idea how you’ll cover them later.

“Jimin,” you whine when the pace gets to you. A pressure that builds and builds but never fully erupts. 

Looking back, you capture him in a lust-filled gaze. "Fuck me faster, baby, please.” 

Jimin grunts, his brows furrowing when he picks up his pace, his hips meeting your ass cheeks with resounding smacks. They’re enough to fill the bedroom and bring a warm hue to your cheeks. 

The noises spilling from your cunt are just as lewd. Roaring slickening when he glides in and out. Messy when it soaks his cock in your transparent juices, dripping down your thighs onto the bedsheets below. 

Jimin tweaks your stiff nipples with his thumb before pinching them between his fingers, rolling and tugging. The pain, sharp and temporary, makes you jerk, toes curling tight. 

“Shit!” you wail, fist pounding the bed. “Just like that baby.”

"S'good, pretty?” he whispers, choked up with his own pleasure. 

You don’t respond; you can’t respond with the way the pounds into your dripping heat. He wraps you in his firm hold, his arm coming to sling across your chest. The extra leverage he needed to pull you back, forcing you to meet his deliciously deep thrusts. 

The force of his fucking rocks the bed beneath you, the headboard banging against the wall. You’ve definitely got to write Mr. and Mrs. Welles an apology letter tomorrow. 

There is nothing you can do except take it, helpless to his powerful pumps. Like a ragdoll, you lie limp, taking everything he gives you. The heat in your lower tummy swells, your pussy squeezing around his heavy cock. “Close,” you choke, your mind fuzzy and delirious. 

Jimin gasps as he thrusts upwards one last time, filling you to the hilt before he pulls out completely with a wet pop. He leaves you empty, clenching nothing, the heat in your belly subsiding. 

Your eyes fly open, complaints ready to fly past your lips, but Jimin stops you. 

“Hands and knees,” he pants as he palms your ass cheek. "Want to fuck you from behind.”

Any rebuttals you had ready die right there on your tongue. You prop yourself up on all fours, limbs slightly wobbly, and arch your spine in a way you know will make the light-haired man crazy. 

You feel Jimin position himself behind you. Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you wiggle your ass, swaying from side to side to tease him a little. 

Your yelp is shrill when his palm collides with your right cheek, flinching at the feeling.

Jimin hums, marveling at the ripples it creates. “Behave,” he tsks as he palms the sore area and you lick your abused lips. 

He groans as he feeds his cock to your pussy. Your walls greedily accept him with a filthy-sounding squelch. When he’s all the way in, he steadies himself, with both hands on your hips. His huff grazes the skin of your back. “How are you still so fucking tight?” 

You sigh, dropping your head forward between your shoulders. He holds you in his palms, caressing your fleshy hips.  

He wastes no time in setting a brutal pace, fucking you faster and harder than before. You scramble, hands finding purchase on the bedsheets, but each roll of his hips sends your body forward and back, tugging the sheets loose from the mattress corners. 

"God, yes,” you groan, body trembling with delight. He pounds into you, the flesh of your ass smacking his thighs and lower stomach with every thrust. Its roaring and filthy.

Jimin is just as, if not more vocal than you, whining, groaning, and gasping every time he stuffs you full. It sets your body alight to know he’s just as affected as you are. 

He grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back, and your spine bows deeper than before. "Oh, fu—," you try, but you can’t even get the words out as he plunges into you. Rhythmic and precise.

It doesn’t take much until you’re drawing near again and you know you’re close when the fluttery warmth in the pit of your stomach returns, your pussy squeezing Jimin tight. 

He cries out, falling over to cover your sweaty back with his front. “M’ not gonna last,” he whimpers, rocking forward, body trembling with the efforts of his pumping.

He fucks you like that. His body is glued to your back, constant rolls of his hips that slide him deeper and deeper. His tip nudges incessantly at your front wall, gliding repeatedly over that spongy spot. The spot that has you seeing stars.

When Jimin feels you tighten up around him, he snakes his hand under your body to circle your swollen bundle of nerves. Like magic, the added pressure is just what you need to reach your peak. 

The coil, pulled taut in your tummy, snaps, and euphoria pulses through your veins, hot and rapid. Your mouth falls open, eyes squeezing shut as you gush around his cock. A strangled wail that you’re not even sure came from you resounds in the room, but you can barely hear it past the blood rushing in your ears. Falling face-first into the mattress, your muscles seize as your body is overtaken by the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Through it all, Jimin's hips never let up, and you flutter around him, creaming his thick cock. The ferocity of your orgasm triggers his own. Jimim ruts once, twice, and then he comes with a breathy sigh that sounds something like your name, painting your quivering walls with his hot seed.

────˚‧୨ᰔ୧‧˚────

It’s early when Jimin comes to the next morning. He can tell by the lack of sunlight beaming through his cracked window blinds, covering his bedroom in a barely there glow. 

He smacks his lips tiredly, muscles achy with exertion making their presence known, and in an instant, memories of last night come flooding back to him.

 Picking you up outside of that restaurant. The sight of you ripped his heart to pieces. Standing there alone in the cold, looking so vulnerable, clinging on to what little sanity you had left. You looked so heartbroken but yet so beautiful. Always so beautiful. 

Or later on, when he confessed his love for you. An undying ache that’s been tugging at his heart after all these years of being your friend, your best friend. A title he doesn’t take lightly. Not because he was in love with you, but because he loved you. Every part of you, your mind, your heart, and soul.

 How you didn’t turn him away, accepting his affection and embracing it wholly. There was so much love he had to give, so much time he needed to make up for after all these years lost. 

Jimin turns his head, and there you lie, a beautiful smile on your face directed at him. His heart stutters in his chest. 

“Good morning,” you greet, your tongue peeking out to wet your lips. 

Jimin rolls over on his side, readjusting on his pillow. “Morning,” he grins, all teeth. “How’d you sleep?”

You inhale deep, your smile never leaving your pretty lips. Your gaze is still slightly hazy with sleep when you look at him. There’s a gentle glow surrounding you, radiating utter bliss. Happy and carefree. It’s been so long since he’s seen you like this, too long.

“Mmm, I slept amazing, thanks to you.” You reach out to poke the solid planes of his stomach, hidden by the comforter. You yawn, hands coming up to rest under your head. “Though, I should rough you up for letting me fall asleep without my bonnet on. I just got my hair done.” 

Jimin snickers, scooting closer to you. He grabs hold of your hands, interlocking his fingers with yours. “I did try to wake you up, but considering it's been so long since you’ve been fucked to sleep, I figured you needed it." 

Your eyes widen, mouth curving up in disbelief. “Fuck you!”

Jimin shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Been there, done that.” 

You gasp, reaching over to smack his arms as you’re taken over by giggles. “Shut up, Jimin!” 

He laughs, dodging your harmless blows, and you don’t oppose when Jimin sits up, scooping you in his arms. Effortlessly, he plops you down over his lower stomach. When your giggles subside, you trace a finger over his chest, covering his skin with invisible doodles that only you can see.

“I uh..." you clear your throat. “I talked to Theo earlier." 

Jimin does his best to mask his apprehension. “Yeah?” He fingers the hem of his t-shirt you’re wearing, which basically belongs to you.

You nod. “He wanted to know where I went.” 

“Did you tell him?” 

“I did.” Jimin arches his brow when you smirk. You lean over to grab your phone from under the pillow. You tap the screen, turning the device on, and there’s a bright glow cast over your face. Swift fingers tap a few more times before you turn the screen to him. “I sent him this.”

Jimin squints at the brightly lit screen, but when his vision clears and he recognizes what you’re showing him, he gasps incredulously. 

On the screen is a picture of him and you, tangled together in his bed and obviously naked under the sheets. In the picture, Jimin is still fast asleep, eyes closed and his mouth slightly ajar. But you, on the other hand, are wide awake. In fact, you’re posing for the camera, two fingers up in a peace sign next to your face and your mouth pouted in “duck lips." On your skin, his love bites from last night are proudly displayed.

Below the picture, there’s a message from Theo that you have no plans to respond to. It included every curse word in the book, words that Jimin didn’t even know existed. 

You shrug, locking the phone, and tossing it aside. “I think it’s safe to say we’re done.” 

Jimin tosses his head back in a laugh. He shakes his head as he says your name. “You’re unbelievable!” 

“Noo, what’s unbelievable is that I stayed with him for so long," you counter, rolling your eyes. You grab both of his hands in yours. 

“Thank you,” you nod. “For staying by my side through all of this. And dealing with my stubbornness. I truly don’t know what I would do without you. I love you, Jimin.” 

Jimin’s grip is gentle when he grabs the back of your neck to pull you into his kiss. You gladly accept, cradling his face in your hands. 

When you pull away, you’re breathless. “I love you,” Jimin whispers on your lips. “So much.” 

You beam, sitting back on his muscley thighs. Your head tilts, however, when your clothed center comes in contact with something firm.

 “Are you…hard?” Your question is laced with amazement. 

Jimin groans, cheeks reddening in embarrassment when you laugh aloud. “I can’t help it; everything you do turns me on. You could literally breath and I’d be hard as a rock.” The heat between your legs makes a fierce return.

 “Hm, is that so?”

You hook your thumb in the waistband of your panties, ready to slide them down your legs. Jimin licks his lips as hunger clouds his pretty brown eyes. “You were so generous to me last night. Why don’t you sit back and let me take care of it, baby?"

────˚‧୨ᰔ୧‧˚────

Your arms wrap tighter around yourself as another heavy gust of wind breezes by. Effortlessly, it sweeps a discarded plastic fast food wrapper further down the street, away from where you’re standing. Your fingers brush against the numberless goosebumps blossoming on your bare arms. The ends of your hair tickle your skin as it moves with the invisible force, grazing your shoulders and back. 

  Your chin trembles. Though not as vigorously as before, as now it’s only because of the chilled air and not anymore from your tears. Tears that dried with the wind on your cheeks, leaving behind messy streaks of mixed makeup that you spent over an hour perfecting. You can’t wait to wash your face clean.

Numerous cars speed past, music blaring through the open windows, their horns beeping. Across the street, a group of intoxicated girls around your age surrounds a stray cat, cooing and giggling as they snap countless photos, stumbling over themselves but never falling. Nearby on a short brick wall, a couple sits cuddled together, enjoying each other’s company over a shared ice cream cone. The street is littered with people all around, yet you don’t hear anything, just static filling your ears 

The restless thoughts crowding your mind drown out the sounds of the bustling street around you. 

How could such a perfect night have gone so terribly wrong?

How could he do this to you? 

How dare he do this to you, again?

Before your mind could spiral any further into a pit of distress, your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of an approaching car. The hum of the tires sounded so close you couldn't ignore it. When you lift your head to see, the relief of familiarity washes over you. 

An all-black BMW, your best friend’s car, luxurious and sleek, parks in front of you, the passenger-side door only an arm's length away. You sniffle as you release yourself to readjust the strap of your bag over your shoulder. The moment the car is in park, Jimin jumps out, leaving the door open behind him and you exhale a breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding in. 

You don’t know what you were so worried about, maybe because it was well into the late hours of the night and so abrupt. But Jimin always came when you called. He was always there when you needed him, no matter what.

Jimin’s eyebrows were pinched in concern, a frown present on his puffy lips. His strides were swift as he paced over to you, dense blonde hair bouncing in the wind.

 You hated seeing him so upset. More than that, you hated being the cause, which you seemed to have been a lot lately. He didn’t say anything as he approached. Instead, he grabbed the black leather jacket draped over his arm to wrap around your bare shoulders. His scent engulfed you, warm vanilla with a hint of bourbon; it settled your restless nerves. You welcomed the warmth, clutching the shoulders to secure its place over you.

With a gentle guiding hand on your lower back, he leads you over to his car, opening the passenger door for you. Still with no words exchanged between you two, you slide onto the plush, leather seat. The swift movement makes your dress ride up, and you miss the way Jimin’s eyes lock in on the exposed skin of your thighs. As quickly as it comes, he erases the thoughts with a slight shake of his head. 

 As he reaches over you to fasten your seatbelt, you toe off your high heels, strappy black stilettos, pushing them aside to make space on the floor for your aching feet. When the seatbelt clicks, signaling that you’re safely secured, you thank him barely above a whisper, him giving you a closed-lip smile in return. Once Jimin was settled in the driver’s seat, seatbelt buckled, and hands positioned at nine and three o’clock, he turns to you. 

“My place?” He asks, though he already knows the answer. You nod your agreement. 

Typically on nights like these, your best friend coming to your rescue; the car ride to his house was anything but serene. There was so much to say—too much to say. Jimin wanted to know everything, firing off questions so quick your mind could hardly formulate proper answers. And you were just as eager to spill, sparing him no specifics as you filled him in on all the infidelity details your sorry boyfriend never failed to supply. 

Not this time, though. 

The silence in the car was deafening, thick and heavy. Jimin apparently has nothing to say, and well after the night you just had, neither did you. The only noise in the car was the quiet hum of the vents, steadily blowing warm air. Shortly into the drive, you took the liberty to turn the heat on. 

 None of that bothers you, though. What bothers you is that your best friend seems…mildly irritated. He didn’t even need to say anything for you to figure it out; it was practically oozing from him.

His eyes are narrowed, zeroed in on the road, not in a focused way, more like in an "I can’t even look at you right now” way. His posture is stiff, too perfect, as his back presses firmly against his seat. His lips are pressed into a firm line, neither a frown nor a smile.

You can’t understand it. What’s there for him to be irritated about? You were the one who just caught your boyfriend cheating again. Was he upset that you called him to come pick you up? If that’s the case, he should’ve left you right there. You are more than capable of getting yourself a ride. You’re well versed in getting Ubers, and you’ve ridden the bus from time to time. Enough to know how to get home.

Fed up with the seeming silent treatment, you finally speak. “You’re not going to ask me what happened?” 

Did you mean for it to come out as bitter as it did? Maybe, maybe not. But you’re already on edge, and his lack of interest was getting on your last nerve.

There was a pregnant pause as Jimin came to a stoplight, fist tightening on the steering wheel. With a clenched jaw, his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek. A telltale sign that something was bothering him. You’re almost unsure if it’s the traffic light that tints his face red or his sheer frustration.

“Do I really need to?” The bite in his words matches yours. He turns to face you full on, the most attention he’s given you the entire ride. With his tone firm and low, he snaps, “How is this time any different from the last? Or even the one before that?”

 Rather than giving him an answer, you swallow the lump in your throat, turning your body away from him to gaze out of the window. The last thing you need is to be reprimanded by your best friend. Especially considering it’s nothing you have not heard before. He should be comforting you, threatening to drive over to Theo’s right now and kick his sorry ass. Of course you would never allow that to happen. You would never want anything bad to happen to your best friend or your shitty boyfriend, but still the sentiment was nice.

You hear Jimin sigh, but he doesn’t say anything else, instead continuing the drive when the light turns green. 

Before long, you make it to Jimin’s neighborhood. With practiced ease, he navigates the familiar streets. Right at the first turn at the stop sign and continuing straight until he reaches the second-to-last house on the left.

Jimin pulls into his driveway, putting his car in park before shutting it off. For a moment neither of you says anything. Jimin exhales and lets his head fall onto the headrest. You can feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of your face, but you don’t dare to give him the eye contact he’s seeking. Your petty mind determines that he needs to feel how upset you are with him. 

When he calls your name, you roll your eyes, folding your arms over your chest. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings earl—"

“You didn’t hurt my feelings,” you lie right through your teeth, barely able to keep the tears collecting on your waterline at bay. Internally you thank the heavens above your voice didn’t tremble, a dead giveaway to your emotional despair.

For a moment your best friend does nothing. Then with not a word more to say, he pulls the key from the ignition and opens his car door. 

Shielded away from his eyes, you quickly wipe away the tears sliding down the corners of yours. Feeling pulled together enough, you take a moment to gather your purse and heels from the floor. Though, you don't bother to put your shoes back on. The distance from Jimin’s driveway to his front door is short anyway. 

Naturally, Jimin comes to open the car door for you. You shiver, greeted again by the cold air. As you exit the vehicle, you make no effort to thank him, swinging the strap of your purse back over your shoulder. From behind, you hear a sassy grumble of "You're welcome," that you choose to ignore. 

The walk from Jimin’s car to his front door feels like an eternity. From the wind blowing your hair into a tangled mess, the pebbles and rough gravel digging into the soles of your feet to the suffocating tension between you and your best friend, which you still couldn’t really understand. All you wanted to do was take a hot shower and turn your brain off for the rest of the night under a massive pile of blankets.

Jimin pulls out his key to unlock the door, and now it’s your turn to ignore the way his sharp jaw ticks. When the front door opens, the heat from inside surrounds you,  comforting you like a warm hug. You learned early on that your best friend loved to be just as toasty as you, always keeping a spare jacket or blanket around if or whenever it got too chilly. Another reason you’ve been friends for so long. You make a mental note to thank him later for turning the heat on when you're not as irritated with him. 

Your heels drop to the hardwood with a dull smack, joining a few pairs of Jimin’s piled on the floor. Your purse follows behind, on the ottoman next to the door, covered with other jackets, scarves, and things alike. Your best friend comes up beside you, discarding his own jacket and shoes.

You take notice of the comfy scene in front of you. On the couch, Jimin’s favorite blanket lies in a messy heap, like someone tossed it away in a hurry. Before the couch, a half-eaten bowl of popcorn sits in the middle of the glass coffee table, an opened can of soda beside it. In the background, the murmured chaos of an abandoned action movie, gunshots, explosions, some screaming, and then more gunshots emits from the television speakers.

The guilt that washes over you overtakes any of the irritation you felt earlier with Jimin. Once again, your tumultuous relationship has not only caused problems for you but also for the people around you.

 Of course he was upset. He had a right to be. If the roles were reversed, you’d probably be a little upset too. Lord knows how much you valued your couch potato time.

“I’m going to go wash up,” you mutter, your tone not nearly as snappy as it was before, and you don’t wait for his response as you make your way down the hall towards his bedroom. 

You close the door behind you with a heavy sigh, twisting the lever on the knob into its locked position. Guarded away from the outside, you take a moment to finally breath. Since all this shit’s transpired, you feel like you’ve been fighting for breath.

You squeeze your eyes shut and lean back. Your head thuds when it makes contact with the door behind you. In through your nose and out through your mouth. You repeat the mantra in your brain over and over. When you feel like you’ve finally caught your breath, your brain switches to autopilot. You’ve performed this exact routine far too many times. 

You reach behind yourself to tug down the zipper of your attire, a black mini dress you bought at a cute little boutique for this very date night. The piece drops, pooling at your feet. Usually you’d ask Jimin to help with the zipper, but you’re not quite ready to face him yet, and you’re sure he does not want to talk to you. Next to go are your bra and panties. The matching lace set joins your dress in the laundry hamper, which Jimin will wash for you after you’ve fallen asleep for the night like he always does.

Inside the closet in his bathroom, you grab a spare towel and washcloth stacked neatly on a shelf. You set it aside on the sink to turn on the shower, twisting the temperature dial to the hottest setting. You love showering at Jimin's; the water at home was never scalding enough for you, and the water pressure was never enough to soothe your aching muscles. Plus, his bathroom was stacked to the brim with the best of the best skincare products. You wouldn’t dare catch sight of the cheap drugstore stuff you tend to reach for in here.

As the water warms up, the bathroom fills with misty steam. From the cabinet drawer, you grab a packet of nearly empty makeup remover wipes. You don’t need to look in the mirror to know that you look a mess. Although you couldn’t even if you wanted to, the glass is all fogged up. 

Gently, you drag the wipe all over your face, making sure to reach every nook and cranny until your skin feels, for the most part, clean. You toss the wipe, soiled with pinks, brown, black, and a bit of shimmer, into the wastebin underneath the sink.

Now you’re ready to shower.

You eagerly welcome the hot water as it cascades over you, soaking every inch of your tired body. You take a moment to enjoy the feel of the water droplets raining over your skin. However, before long the steam from the shower begins to feel suffocating, and before you know it, your eyes are brimming with tears. 

With every water droplet that pelts your skin, the weight of tonight feels heavier and heavier until—

It finally breaks you.

You curl into yourself as your body is wracked by uncontrollable sobs. Instinctively, your hands come up to cover your face, slapping over your mouth, even though you’re alone in the bathroom. It feels like you’re choking on your own breath. Throat and chest burning with how hard you try to keep your sobs in.

 You need to get out of this bathroom quick.

Vision blurred from tears, you reach for your washcloth and then Jimin's body wash. You then drench the square cloth with a generous amount of soap, the scent of lavender filling the small space. You’re practically panting now. Every gasping breath triggers a new wave of tears. You press your lips together firmly until it hurts. You're known to be a loud crier, and you don’t want to alarm Jimin. 

Through it all, you scrub yourself clean, rinse, and do it again. But the icky feeling never goes away. In fact, it settles deep in the pit of your stomach and makes its home there. Weightless, you drop to the tile floor below, one hand clutching your stomach and the other over your chest right where your heart is, and you let yourself cry.

You cry until your throat is sore and until your eyes are bloodshot red. Until your wails have subsided into pathetic shuddering breaths that make your chest jerk. You cry until you can’t physically cry anymore. Until all that’s left is a soggy, heartbroken human on the wet shower floor.

────˚‧୨ᰔ୧‧˚────

Like a zombie, you emerge from Jimin’s bedroom slowly and in desperate need of some fuel. The living room is quiet and dark when you step in. Your best friend sits with his back pressed against the couch’s arm, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. Awaiting on the television screen is the play menu for Shark Tale, your comfort movie. Two mugs of warm tea replace the popcorn and soda on the coffee table. Instantly you recognize the one on the right as yours. Jimin found it at a thrift shop years ago early into your friendship. He bought it because he said the bunny on the front reminded him of you. Eyes twinkling and cheeks round, as it sat in a patch of unruly wildflowers. You rolled your eyes playfully when he showed it to you, insisting that he keep it at his house, since you were there more than you were home anyway. 

The dragging of your footsteps alerts your best friend. He looks up from his phone, gaze sleepy as his eyes settle on you. You did your best to hide the evidence of your breakdown with what limited supplies you had. Though there was nothing you could do for your bloodshot eyes and splotchy skin. If Jimin notices your disheveled appearance, he doesn’t say anything.

Jimin sets his phone on the coffee table, patting the open spot on the couch next to him with a small smile. You join him without a second thought.

The sofa moans with your movement as you settle onto the plush cushion, grabbing the throw blanket to cover your chilly legs. Jimin’s basketball shorts didn’t offer you much coverage. You would think that after spending so many nights here, there would be something of yours to sleep in. 

Nonetheless, all you were privy to were a pair of too-short gym shorts and a shabby university t-shirt. You did find, however, in Jimin’s underwear drawer, a pair of your panties neatly folded and tucked in a corner. You were thankful for that. 

When you seem comfortable enough, Jimin uses the remote to press play. The small living room area was then filled with the sound of Shark Tale’s opening scene.

The two of you watch the movie as it plays, sipping your respective mugs of tea. It’s not nearly as tense as it was earlier, but it was still a little awkward. 

The warm beverage alleviates some of the soreness in your throat. When you're sated and cozy enough, you set the cup back in its previous place. Beside you, Jimin clears his throat. From the corner of your eye, you can see him glance at you, the TV screen, and then back at you again. You pretend to not notice him, trying your hardest to focus on the scene of Oscar being manhandled by the twin jellyfish brothers, Ernie and Bernie. 

 Another minute passes before Jimin finally decides to break the silence. His voice is steady and cautious when he turns to you and asks, “So… what did happen tonight? With Theo?”

Eyes still trained on the screen, you fiddle with the seam of the t-shirt you’re wearing, Jimin’s t-shirt. You pinch the thin fabric, flicking it back and forth between your fingers. Soon Jimin is going to have to throw this old thing out. Not only was it sporting several sizable holes, but there were loose threads everywhere.

You shrug when you say, “I thought you didn’t want to know.” 

Jimin’s exhale is loud, but his tone is still calm. “That’s not what I said, and you know it. I asked what made this time different. I feel like that’s a fair question.” You’ll give it to him; your best friend is and always has been blunt. 

With no rebuttal, you grab your mug from the table, yet you don’t take another sip from it. Instead, you rotate the ceramic in your hands, watching the liquid slosh all around. 

“He cheated on me again.” The way you say it so plainly is almost startling. 

Sadly, Jimin’s demeanor doesn’t change. That part he’s used to. He leans forward, as if to ask for further details without actually uttering a single word.

“He didn't confess it to me this time; I found out.” 

Theo was nothing if not an excellent victim player. Since the beginning of your relationship, he could never keep any of his rendezvous to himself. Before you could even begin to suspect anything, he’d be spilling his guts to you, sparing the explicit details. He’d cry like a baby, falling to his knees begging for your forgiveness, and by the end of it all, somehow you were the one with the heavy heart, apologizing for your shortcomings. 

Eyes downcast, you swallow down the lump forming in your throat. If you weren’t so focused on the dark-colored liquid in your mug, you would see the way Jimin freezes, his face morphing into pure disgust. 

“Well,” you correct yourself, your voice going a little shaky, “I snatched his phone before he could delete anything. But yeah, I found the messages. All of them.” 

Against you will, your mind travels back to earlier in the night. 

Your boyfriend had invited you out to dinner, a way to make it up to you for standing you up a few nights ago. There was this new restaurant in town that you’d been begging him to go to. But each time you’d ask, he would always decline, claiming that it was too expensive even though you were usually the one who paid for your meals. That’s why when he told you your dinner would be at this restaurant, you were overjoyed. 

In the beginning, the dinner went wonderfully. The ambiance was romantic, live music playing in the background and a lit candle separating you two on the table. You hadn’t argued at all leading up to the dinner. Not when you took a little longer to get ready, not when you put the restaurant’s address into the GPS wrong (507, not 501), and not even when you couldn’t decide what you wanted to eat. 

Everything was perfect, until it wasn’t. 

You see, your boyfriend was not the sharpest tool in the shed. Like an idiot, he left his phone faced down on the table, and throughout the night it rang and rang with incoming calls, messages, and you’re pretty sure emails. This wasn’t uncommon. Your boyfriend works a taxing job. His phone was always going off as he needed to be available whenever. In fact, you wouldn’t have suspected a thing if it weren’t for the guilty looks he’d send your way every time the device sounded with a new message. 

You grew fed up with his suspicious actions and snatched the phone from the table. He tries to reach for it but backs off when he gathers the attention of a couple of onlookers. 

The contact name on the phone screen is visible, Jerry’s Pizza, but the message was hidden behind a passcode. 

You tongue the inside of your bottom lip, fury clouding your mind. “Why the fuck is Jerry’s Pizza texting you at,” you look towards the clock at the top of the screen. “Nine p.m.?”

He huffs like he has the nerve to be upset. “It's probably just some promo stuff.” 

This man must think you’re stupid. “What’s the passcode, Theo?”

Your boyfriend drops his fork, and the metal utensil clashes onto the porcelain. He leans back in his chair with a smug look on his face. “Are we seriously doing this right?” 

You swallow, teeth clenched when you hiss, “Unlock it.”

“God _____, seriously. We’re having a good night; don’t let your insecurities ruin it.”

“Unlock the fucking phone now, or we’re done!”

When he finally does give you the passcode, you’re disappointed but not surprised. You scuff and shake your head as you read the many messages from one of the many girls he’s been hooking up with. "Unfuckingbelievable."

Fresh tears sting your eyes. “God, Jimin. They were so fucking filthy. I…I didn’t even know," you stop yourself, shaking your head. “I’ve never heard him say things like that before.”

The look on Jimin’s face portrays exactly what he feels for you. He scoots closer to grab the mug from your shaky hands, setting it on the coffee table. Hands now free, he interlocks his fingers with yours as you continue.

That familiar wave of emotion bubbles up inside, just as furious as before. You can barely speak now, choking on your own words when you say, “Th-they were t-talking about me in them—" you end in a hitched breath. 

Jimin pulls you into him as you succumb again to your tears. He engulfs you with his embrace, shushing your cries and petting your hair. “Shh, shh. It’s okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to say anymore.” Your best friend rocks you both back and forth, calming you with words of comfort.

He holds you as you cry, soaking the front of his shirt with your pain. He doesn’t say anything, letting you release it all. You calm down after a while and separate from him. 

Jimin leans towards you and cups your cheeks in his hands, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. In turn, you grab his wrists, seeking his comfort and closeness. “God _____," he shakes his head, face full of nothing but sorrow. “Honey, I’m so sorry.” 

It’s your turn to shake your head now. “Not, not your fault,” you hiccup as you try to catch your breath. 

Jimin calls your name once, and then again. When you finally open your eyes, his are pleading with yours. Briefly, your heart stutters. 

His palms cup your cheeks. “Listen to me. Theo is a fucking idiot. He does not deserve you. He never did.” When new tears fall, he wipes those away too. 

Jimin releases a devastating sigh, shaking his head. “I hate that this happened to you.” He swallows thick, and there’s a hopeful gleam in his eyes. “I’m just relieved you’re finally leaving him.”

His words knock you back into reality. You blink, eyes flickering away from his to stare down at the couch instead. Instinctively, your bottom lip makes its home between your teeth. 

Jimin frowns, immediately taking note of the hesitation swimming in your features.

 “_____?” he calls, in the exact tone your mother uses when she suspects you’re hiding something from her (she’s usually right). He leans forward, attempting to regain your eye contact, and you dodge his brown orbs. “You are leaving him after this, right?” 

You don't say anything. You don’t have the courage to lie right to his face, or even tell him the truth, for that matter. 

Jimin’s exhale is long and tired. He then closes his eyes and slowly nods twice. Bitter understanding. 

The light-haired man leans away from you, removing his hands from your face. Instinctively, you reach out for him, hands hovering in midair, but he makes no effort to appease you.

Jimin drags a hand down his face, and it makes his eyebrow hairs go askew. “Please tell me that this is some sick joke, that you’re not actually thinking about taking him back after this.” 

You press your lips into a firm line. The agitation inside of you is and has been steadily building. It bubbles up and overflows when you say, “Everybody fucks up, Jimin. Some people are just better at hiding it.” 

Jimin scuffs as he shakes his head, standing up from the sofa. Running both hands through his hair, he chuckles in disbelief. The hollow, humorless rumble sends a shiver down your spine.

 "Unfuckingbelievable,” he unknowingly echoes the same word you said earlier in the night. “I can’t believe you’re making excuses for him. Still!” 

You shoot up too, quick and agitated, planting your hands on your hips. “All relationships have their problems, Jimin! That’s just the way it is. When I go home, we’ll talk, and I’ll fi—we'll fix it. We always do.” There’s uncertainty in the way you say it. Like you’re trying to convince yourself as well as him.

The sour look he’s giving you right now makes you want to flick his forehead, dead right in the center where that stupid vein is protruding. 

“God, I didn’t come here for a damn lecture. I would’ve gone to my parents’ for all that.” Jimin shrugs at you like he doesn’t care, and you know he doesn’t. It pisses you off even more.

Anyone who knows Jimin knows that your best friend is a caring man. A kind, gentle soul, as your mother liked to call him. He wouldn’t hesitate to give the shirt off his back to his greatest enemy (which he does not have) if they were in need. That’s just the type of person your best friend was. The love that Jimin had for you was undeniable. You know he’d do anything for you because he’s proven it to you time and time again. But you learned quickly in your friendship that Jimin tolerates bullshit from no one. He has had no problem with putting anyone in their place, including you. Particularly when it came to your unstable relationship. 

 Your glare is harsh, words provoking when you spit, "Especially not one coming from you.” 

Jimin’s eyebrows shoot so far up, they're nearly hidden by his grown-out bangs. He smirks like he’s ready for a challenge. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

This time, you shrug. “You’re in no position to be passing judgments on my relationship, considering your track record.” The words tasted just as bitter leaving your mouth as they did hearing them said aloud. 

Jimin’s expression turns stone cold, but his smirk doesn’t waver. “My track record.”

You don’t spare him an opportunity to clapback. If you were judging correctly, you had the upper hand in this argument, and you needed to keep your momentum. 

“Don’t even pretend to be shocked, Mr. ‘I can’t keep a girl longer than a week before I’m bored and ready to hop on the next available piece of ass.

Jimin doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you can see his Adam's apple bobble when he swallows. “It’s like that, huh?”

“Oh, it’s exactly like that. You’re no better than he is."

You should’ve known you were in trouble when his smirk grew wider. “You see, that’s where you’re wrong, _____,” he taunts, wagging his pointer finger at you. It triggers your eye twitch. 

“I've treated every single booty call better than that man has ever treated you since you started dating.” He points an accusatory finger at you. “Unlike your shitty boyfriend, I know how to properly conduct myself.” 

Your jaw is clenched tight, and your eyes are narrowed into furious slits. “Bullshit.” He takes a step closer to you, and your stance is unwavering. “Yeah?”

"Yeah, Jimin, that’s bullshit, and you know it. I’ve seen how you treat those girls. Love them one day, fuck them the next, and then you're done, ready for a new one. It takes a dog to know one, Jimin,” you retort, arms folded over your chest with an eyebrow arched. 

“Don’t even pull that shit with me, _____. I make sure whoever I’m dealing with knows exactly what they’re getting into. They knew that being in a relationship was not my end goal. I just wanted to fuck around, and they were fine with that.” 

You scuff. “And they were fine with you just dropping them for the next, like it’s nothing!?”

Jimin laughs high and loud, though there’s no humor behind the sound. His eyes are blown wide, both hands in his hair. He looks exactly how you feel, crazy.

“God _____! What don’t you understand? I’m fucking single; I can do that! Your boyfriend is not! But for some reason he acts like he is!” Jimin’s words are booming, bouncing off the living room walls between you. Pretty soon you think the neighbors will come knocking with the police, and you hope that doesn’t happen because the elderly couple next door is very sweet.

The shock on your face had to be laughable. Throughout your entire friendship, Jimin has never raised his voice at you, not once. 

How dare he yell at you like that? You aren’t a child!

 Your mouth flies open, ready to shoot back with something, anything just from the sheer volume of his voice. But just as quickly as your lips fall open, they shut. Jimin’s words settle over you like ice, cooling down your temperament as your brain processes what he’s saying.  

There’s practically smoke coming from Jimin’s ears as he continues. “I’ve never kept anyone on edge all day waiting for a simple text to let them know I’m okay. Nor have I played on their insecurities to better justify my own. I’ve never fucked someone else while I was dealing with another woman, even if we weren't in a committed relationship because I’m a decent human being.” 

Your heart hammers in your chest as you shift your gaze away from his to your sock-clad feet. A silent admittal of defeat, but Jimin doesn’t stop.

“I don’t make them feel worthless, like they aren’t my equal, like I’m more deserving of respect." He comes in closer, so close that you can feel his breath on your face with every word. “How dare you even have the audacity to compare me to him? You couldn’t count on him to attend his own funeral. But who’s always there when you need them?” 

You don’t dare answer. 

“Me! I’m there! Every late-night call, every text message, every single time you need me, I’m always there. Always! Picking up the broken pieces that he leaves behind without a single fuck given.” 

With an icy glare, he leans in until the tips of your noses are nearly touching. “I’m not anything like him. I’ll never be.” 

You exhale the breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding as Jimin brushes past you, just barely missing your shoulder. He’d never hurt you deliberately, no matter how upset with you he is. Though you kind of wish he did. After the unjustified nasty attitude you’ve had with him tonight, you kind of wish he would just curse you out a little, throw you a few extra insults, and send you home to your cheating boyfriend. Then perhaps his compassion wouldn’t make you feel so sick to your stomach. 

Maybe that’s the exact thinking that’s gotten you into this mess in the first place. 

What are you supposed to do now? 

“Fuck,” you exhale with your head tossed back.

 At this angle, you’re face to face with the popcorn ceiling. God, you hate popcorn ceilings; they remind you of long, humid summer nights at your grandma’s unair-conditioned house in the country. Feeding feisty chickens and milking cows for two and a half months straight.

It makes your neck ache, but in this position on the edge of the couch, you ponder. Not just about your argument with Jimin, but everything you’ve been through. The disaster of tonight, your entire relationship with Theo, and all the lying, cheating, and sneaking. The heartbreaks he puts you through time and time again. Then finally your friendship with Jimin. Seemingly the only piece of stability in your life for God knows how long. 

You think about it all until the credits of your abandoned comfort movie start rolling. Begrudgingly, you reach over to grab the t.v. remote, shutting off the device with a simple click of a button. Instantly, darkness engulfs the living room. Briefly, you ponder sleeping right there on the couch, but you know your back would hate you for it, and more importantly, you need to fix this mess with Jimin. You don’t want to, but you make the short trek back toward the room at the end of the hall. 

You stop just before the doorway, peering into the bedroom. The courage you built up suddenly depleted. 

Moonlight streams in through the cracked blinds, the only source of light, neatly illuminating the room in linear streaks. Jimin sits on the edge of the bed with his head hanging low, drained, between his shoulders, elbows planted firmly on his knees. The long sleeves of his shirt are rolled up now, exposing the veins in his forearms that jump with every clench of his fingers. You’re not sure how long he’s been sitting like that, but it looks like he hasn’t moved in a while.

Through his long bangs, you can see the worn expression on his face—eyes squeezed shut, nibbling at both lips. Your heart shatters at the sight. For a moment, it feels like he’s the one that’s just been cheated on, not you. 

You take in a deep breath as you step into the dark bedroom. The floorboards creak beneath you, alerting Jimin of your presence. His keen sense of hearing. Like a hawk stalking its prey, Jimin’s gaze never falters as he watches, silently calculating your every move. Are you coming as a friend or a foe ready for more? 

Though uninvited, you settle onto the made bed next to him. You inhale deep through your nose. The faint scent of the lavender shower gel you used earlier still lingers in the air. 

“I’m sorry,” you start. You wait for a moment, giving Jimin the opportunity to say anything, but he lets you continue. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting towards you.” You shake your head. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, Jimin. You didn’t deserve any of it. I—" You pause, rapidly blinking away unshed tears. Dammit, you’ve already cried so much tonight; you don’t feel like another headache.

Jimin grabs your open palm lying between you and gives your hand an encouraging squeeze. It gives you the strength to finish. “I shouldn't have been so snappy with you tonight, especially since you were just trying to help me.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “And I’m genuinely sorry for always dumping my bullshit relationship problems onto you. It’s not fair. I—I don’t know.”

 You shake your head, squeezing Jimin’s hand in return. “I just want you to know that I really, really do appreciate everything that you do for me. I know that I don’t show it enough, and I apologize for that.” A lone tear tickles your cheek as it trails down your face, soaking a tiny spot on your t-shirt. You wipe away the wetness with your free hand. “From the bottom of my heart, I love you, Jimin, so so much.” 

You don’t possess a way with words like Jimin does. That silent charm that wraps people in comfort, alleviating any and all of their worries. Your only hope is that Jimin can at least feel what you’re trying to convey.

“I love you too,” he whispers, his voice watery and thick. You don’t doubt a single word. “But that’s not why I’m upset.” Your brows knit together in confusion. 

Jimin looks off to the side, like he’s carefully contemplating what he’s trying to express. “I’m not upset with you for needing me, _____. I’d never be upset because of that. We lean on each other; we support each other. That's what makes us a team. There have been plenty of times when you’ve been there for me too. It’s what we do.” 

You shake your head. “I don’t...”

Jimin sighs, clenching his pants at the knee. What he wants to say sits at the tip of his tongue. His tone is firm when he declares, “Theo does not deserve you.”

You close your eyes as you nod your agreement. “I know that, Jimin.”

“But do you though? Seriously, _____. I don’t think you do.” 

"I do, Jimin. I know, I really do. I'm—"

 “Can’t you see that my heart is broken for you?" 

Any excuse you had ready for him dies right there in your throat. You blink your eyes open, and when you look at him, really look at him, it’s all you can see.

 It’s written in the way his shoulders slump with defeat. The way he fiddles with his fingers clasping and unclasping his hands. It’s in the way his chocolatey brown eyes, usually warm and inviting, are downcast and wet with unshed tears. In fact, you can barely keep his gaze because the emotion there is so intense. 

 “Throughout your entire relationship, I’ve watched you be there for him, constantly giving him your all until there is nothing left. And at the end of the day, what does he leave you with?”  

Your best friend doesn’t wait for you to answer.

Jimin scuffs, dark espresso eyes shiny with tears. “Agony. Insecurities that eat at you every day _____.” He clutches his shirt, right where his heart is. “It devastates me.”

Fuck, how could you have been so blind? So wrapped up in your own problems that you failed to notice how it was affecting Jimin. He has always felt so deeply. Of course, when you’re hurt, he hurts too. 

“Why do you love him?” 

Like a fish out of water, your mouth opens and shuts, only able to produce  stuttering breaths. 

The next question that comes from him is barely above a whisper. “Why can’t you leave him?”

"Because—" The word rushes out of you quicker than your mind could process it. Your eyes bulge as you slap your hands over your mouth.

“Because what?” He rushes, successfully tugging your hands away from your face. 

You pinch the frayed hem of your t-shirt. “Forget it, Jimin. It’s nothing.”

Your best friend shakes his head, his thick hair moving with him. “Don’t do that. Tell me. Please, _____.” 

  You try to fight it, you really do, because once you say it, there’s no going back. It’ll become real, and it won’t just belong to you anymore. It sits on the tip of your tongue, waiting for the perfect moment to break free. 

When Jimin calls your name, you look up to meet his gaze. His eyes are pleading with yours, filled with misery as they silently beg for an answer. “Please.”

Fuck it. If there’s anyone in this world you could spill your deepest secret to, it would without a doubt be Jimin. One of the few people on this world who you trust wholly.

“Because Jimin, if I leave him, then who’s going to love me?” 

It grows silent, as if your words shatter the tension in the air surrounding you.

To finally say it aloud feels like a major relief. A thousand-pound weight being lifted off of your shoulders. Consequently, at the same time, there’s a dreadful sinking feeling deep within you. A sick feeling that you've been trying to fight for too long. The admission was devastating but desperately needed. Maybe now, the journey to solving the root of this vulnerability can finally begin.

Jimin’s lips pull into a deep frown before he whispers your name. “Is that…really what you think? That you’re unloveable?”

If there was one thing Theo knew how to do well, it was keeping you humble. It started off subtle. A joke or two here and there, always defining him as the central point of your life. You’d laugh it off every time, never quite able to detect the subliminal honesty. For a while, it continued on like that, until it built into something blatant. 

It didn’t take long for you to actually start believing that. No other man in their right mind would want a woman so damaged by their own insecurities. You thought that he truly was the sole person that you could rely on. Thankfully, Jimin was always there to prove him wrong at least a little. But, as far as romance went, forget it. There was no one better for you than him. 

You chuckle solemnly. “No one is going to put up with me, Jimin." 

Your best friend sighs. He lets go of your hand, standing from the bed. For a moment, you think he’s ready for another fight. But you don’t have it in you to argue again. Much to your surprise, he gets down on one knee and then both, kneeling down in front of you. 

 A startled gasp sneaks through your lips. “Uh, Mini?” you whisper, slightly panicked.

Jimin grasps both of your hands in his. He licks his bottom lip, and your eyes follow the pink of his tongue. “Let me,” he whispers, a determined look in his eyes. 

You blink dazedly at him. “What?”

“Let me love you." He confirms exactly what you thought he said. “Just for tonight.” 

You sputter, pulling back slightly, though you don’t let go of his hands. “Jimin, that’s not—" You shake your head. “Do you know what you’re asking? Where’s this even coming from?”

Jimin chortles, rubbing the backs of your hands with his thumbs. "It's always been there. From the moment we met, I knew I wanted you. But at that time, I was in no place to be in a relationship.” 

You arch a brow. “And now you are?”

“Shut up." Jimin nudges your knee as you bite down on your bottom lip, suppressing your grin.

“I’m not asking for a relationship.” He then wiggles his eyebrows at you when he says, “At least not right now anyway.” 

Jimin squeaks when you dig your socked toe into the meat of his thigh. He grips your foot in his hand, restricting you from delivering anymore nudges. 

“Be serious,” you chide, even though the smile on your lips has spread wider. “Are you… really into me?”

Jimin grins, his pretty teeth on full display. “In more ways than one. All I need is one night. One night to give you what you truly deserve. Let me love you how you should’ve been a long time ago.”

The thrill that bubbles up inside you is dangerous. It’s a foreign feeling, one that you don't recall ever experiencing before. But, oh, it is so welcomed. Then, a sudden wave of realization halts your excitement. A major bump in the road. 

Your boyfriend.

You almost don’t want to say it, afraid that it might ruin the exhilaration in the air. The question comes out strained with a touch of hesitancy. “What about Theo?” 

But Jimin shrugs like he doesn’t have a single care in the world. “What about him? He’s had his fun.” 

Jimin lets go of your hands, and you frown at the loss of contact. It’s short-lived, however, when his firm grip takes hold of the backs of your legs, making you gasp. 

His breath hitches at the sound of your satisfaction when he caresses you there, thumbs working overtime to unknot your tense muscles. You sigh, relaxing under his touch. Slowly, as if time isn’t of the essence, he runs his hands all the way down your legs until his fingertips reach the heels of your feet. At the same leisurely pace, he drags his digits up until they brush over your inner things, bunching up the thin material of your basketball shorts. 

 “Isn’t it time you have a little of your own?”

You have to consider Jimin’s words carefully. There’s so much at stake if you agree. For one, your friendship with Jimin will never be the same. Though you suppose, he kind of set that in motion already with his little impromptu love confession. 

The greatest damage done will be to your relationship. No matter how you try to spin it, sleeping with Jimin tonight will make you a cheater, betraying your boyfriend in the same way that has left you with a sizable hole in your heart. 

Won’t that just make you a hypocrite in the end? Did you even have that kind of promiscuity in you?

Apparently it lied dormant inside you, because as quickly as the doubt comes, it dissipates. Just like that, your mind rationalizes the decision. 

What’s the harm in indulging for just one night? After all, it’ll be with your best friend, someone you’ve known for years and trust with your life. Not with some random man you met at some sketchy club or bar.

 If Theo can do it, why can’t you?

Instead of using words to respond, you let your body do the talking. With ease, you wrap your legs around his middle, pulling your best friend forward. Jimin lets out a surprised huff as he collides with your front, his face mere centimeters from your braless breasts. The surprise on his face is quickly replaced with enthusiasm as he admires the pillowy mounds displayed casually in front of him. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, and with as much courage as you could muster, you simply request, “Show me.” 

The grin that breaks out on Jimin’s face is infectious. A manifestation of pure joy. Thinking back as hard as you can, you can’t remember a recent time when you’ve seen him look so happy. 

He takes your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, hooded gaze flickering from your eyes then to your mouth and back to your eyes again. His thumb sits there for a moment, caressing your skin as his eyes scan across your face in a way that you could only describe as admiring. When he seems fulfilled enough, Jimin tilts your face down, guiding you towards him, and you let your eyes flutter shut. As the anticipation builds, your heart hammers beneath your ribcage. You can practically hear the thumping in your ears. 

But then there’s a pause so pregnant that it has you blinking your eyes open in confusion. If you weren’t nervous before, you certainly were now. Did you do something wrong?

You pull back slightly, just enough so that you can see Jimin’s face. Your best friend looks slightly hesitant. A gleam of uncertainty shines in his brown orbs, like he can’t believe you actually said yes. 

“Jimin,” you urge, the tenderness in your voice easing his nerves, and you try your hardest to ignore yours. “Kiss me, please.” 

The blonde man doesn’t need any further encouragement. Jimin closes the small gap between you, slotting his mouth together with yours. 

This is not the first time you and Jimin have kissed. That was years ago, back in your freshman year of college in your tiny dorm room after too many shots of illegally purchased Fireball. Surprisingly, even with your heavily intoxicated mind, you remember that day like it happened yesterday. The way you could barely keep yourselves upright, your bodies feeling too heavy and sluggish. Or how you both giggled and bantered throughout the entire ordeal, the alcohol refusing to let you take it seriously. 

You just don’t remember it feeling so damn good.

Jimin’s lips are soft when they press to yours, coated in a thin layer of chapstick. He takes his time when he kisses you like he’s always wanted to. Every peck, brush, and pressure was deliberate. Slow and searing. He needed to savor the moment, afraid of what he might miss if he went too fast. You’re not sure if you’ve ever been kissed like this before. 

With an unprecedented eagerness, you welcome the taste of him, a faint raspberry with a hint of mint. His favorite herbal tea. The same kind he always made for you after a taxing night. The plush feel of his lips has you humming in satisfaction, legs squeezing tighter around his middle. Jimin grunts, fingertips gripping the soft flesh of your thighs. 

Together, your lips work in near-perfect harmony, trading almost silent gasps and breathless sighs between each other. Noting what you liked, what you loved, and what you could probably do without. 

Jimin presses into you firmer, the hand holding your chin coming up to cradle the back of your neck. He licks at your bottom lip, begging for entry that you so graciously grant, letting your mouth fall open wider. The wet muscle of his tongue glides expertly over yours, and your nipples perk beneath your t-shirt. With every breath you take, the sensitive buds press harder into your best friend’s chest. 

Jimin's free hand grips your hip to pull you impossibly closer. A shudder wracks your body when your covered center unexpectedly meets the solid muscle hidden under his shirt. The corners of his lips twitch upwards into a smirk, clearly enjoying the evident effect he has on you.

"Damn." Jimin pulls back with a wet smack, gasping for breath. Brain foggy from the kiss, you chase his mouth with yours, craving the feel of him back on you. Jimin waits until you’re close, and then he pulls back. The groan you emit signifies your displeasure, letting your mouth fall into a frown.

He giggles at your enthusiasm, and he shakes his head naughtily at you. You lick your lips as you watch him with what you’re sure are hungry eyes. 

Jimin reaches a hand behind him, gripping the collar of his shirt. With a quick tug, he pulls the garment over and off, tossing it somewhere on the floor behind him. 

You lean back on your hands, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth. The mattress sinks under your palms with the weight. Unabashedly, you take in the sight of your best friend, scanning over the muscled, toned lines that define his body. An appreciative hum tumbles past your lips, and you nod your approval. 

Has your best friend always been so ripped? 

Jimin chuckles at your reaction. A quick brush of his fingers pushes his thick bangs off of his forehead, leaving his blemish-free skin on full display.

“Like what you see?” He asks breathily, even though he already knows the answer. Under the basketball shorts, his fingers trail up and down the sides of your bare thighs. The ticklish sensation makes you tremble just slightly. 

“Mm, not too bad." You feign nonchalance and shrug, eyeballing the necklace adorning his thick neck. You can’t wait to have the shiny silver dangling over your face when he fuc—

“Ow!” You yelp when Jimin pinches the skin there, not enough to leave a mark but just enough for you to feel it. 

He pulls you in close again, your foreheads nearly touching. “Watch yourself,” he warns in a firm whisper, thumb caressing the tender spot. His warm breath hits your chin with every word. “Or you won’t get to have any fun later.” 

His words, the tone he used with you, almost sounded…mean? But for some strange reason it doesn’t alarm you. In fact, it might’ve even turned you on a little if the wet patch forming in your panties was anything to go by. 

Jimin captures you in another passionate kiss, this one more dynamic than the first. He wastes no time slipping his tongue back in, licking and sucking his presence in your mouth. A gentle hand cradles the back of your head, pulling you in close and keeping you there. You keep up as best as you can, mirroring his actions with your own. You may not be as experienced as Jimin, but the way he was gripping every part of you—your shirt, the back of your neck, and your hands—desperate to keep you close reassures you that you were doing just fine. 

Every brush of his lips, flick of his tongue, and airy whine from his mouth smothered by yours makes you dizzier by the second. 

When you both pull back, lungs burning from your lack of oxygen, breathy pants fill the warm, quiet air. You were virtually frozen earlier, but the bedroom has grown far too hot now. 

“Fuck,” Jimin groans. He smiles unbelievably to himself, shaking his head. “There’s so much I want to do with you tonight.” Like a bobble head, you nod in certain agreement. He then captures your eyes in a heated gaze, the hunger in his eyes undeniable. He licks at his kiss-swollen lips, and your eyes follow every movement. 

“Can I take care of you? Will you let me, baby?”

“Yes, yes, please.” 

Jimin’s chuckle sends a delighted shiver down your spine. Taking the hem, he frees you from the confines of your t-shirt, pulling the fabric off of you with ease. When he tosses it, it lands somewhere on the bed behind you. 

Your nipples stand firm and proud, already pebbled from your heated kiss with Jimin. He practically salivates at the sight of them, running the wet muscle of his mouth back and forth over his plump bottom lip. You know that he’s always been a boobs man, but the fact that your boobs were the cause of his content had a bit of pride swelling in your chest. It feels incredible to be wanted so unabashedly.

Jimin reaches up, his hand hovering over your left breast. “May I?” He asks, eyes flickering up to gauge your reaction. 

You swallow down your anticipation. “If you don’t, I feel like I might explode.”

Jimin hums, and his smile is sincere. “We can’t have that now, can we?"

You sigh, breath stuttering when he strokes his thumb over your erect nipple. With his other hand, he cups your right breast. Heavy and squishy, it fills his left palm, your stiff bud grazing his skin. When he squeezes your boob, gentle and cautious, your thighs squeeze together in response, the dull ache between your legs becoming increasingly more difficult to ignore. 

“Beautiful,” Jimin whispers, pinching the hardened peak with his thumb and pointer finger. You don’t say anything; you can’t say anything with how hard you’re biting down on your bottom lip. Your best friend leans down to pepper a trail of kisses across the plane of your chest, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He then flattens his tongue, licking a stripe between the valley of your breasts, and blows on the wet skin. You cradle the back of his head, tangling your fingers in the blonde locks. 

“Oh!” you gasp when he engulfs your nipple with the wet warmth of his mouth, reflexively tugging at his hair. Jimin groans from the action, the vibrations from his delight traveling from your nipple straight down to your cunt. His tongue flicks in rapid successions over your nipple before circling your areola. In his other hand, he rolls and tugs your right nipple, still pinched between his fingers. 

The simultaneous assaults on your sensitive buds have your head reeling. The discomfort between your thighs was no longer dull but immense. Your pussy flutters around nothing, steadily soaking your panties with arousal.

“Jimin,” you mewl, eyes slamming shut when his teeth graze just barely over your stiff peak. When he sucks, the pressure creates stars beneath your eyelids. Your mouth drops open in a silent gasp, eyebrows pinching together. It makes your spine arch, further thrusting your chest into his mouth.

Your breast bounces back into place when he releases your nipple from his mouth. Every quick breath from his mouth cast over your stiff peak, chilling the wet, heated skin. 

You take a moment to catch your breath, but as soon as you inhale, the air is knocked from your lungs again when he sucks the skin of your left breast into his eager mouth. Pleasure explodes over your breast as Jimin marks you with his love bite. Satisfied with his work, he kisses the prominent bruise before he sucks your left nipple into his mouth, giving it the same attention as he did the first. 

Squirming under his keen affection, your hips jut forward to collide with his abs. It offers a brief smidge of relief, but not nearly enough. The ache emitting from your center was absolutely unbearable. Trapped behind too many layers of clothing, your clit was begging to be rubbed. 

You loosen your grip on the comforter, snaking your hand between your bodies down toward your wetness. Just as your fingers breach the waistband of your shorts, Jimin captures your wrist in his hand before interlocking his fingers with yours. You cry out in frustration, and you feel Jimin smirk around a mouthful of your tit. When he releases your nipple with a wet pop, a thin string of his saliva connects you.

It continues on like that for what feels to you like forever. Jimin ravages your breasts, alternating between your nipples, licking, sucking, and nibbling to his heart’s content. Hickeys now litter your chest, a bold yet beautiful display of his insatiable desire. You won’t dare to wear any low-cut top or dress for at least a week. By the end, your cunt is still untouched and practically weeping, confined by your soaked panties and basketball shorts.

When Jimin is finally satisfied, he releases your tit, and your chest is wracked with heaving breaths. He leans forward to peck you once on the lips and then once more. “Lie back,” he whispers against your lips, a hand on your shoulder guiding you to lay flat on his bed. You follow his command, maneuvering so that you’re in a comfortable position on his bed. You’re not quite sure what to do with your hands, letting them rest on your stomach. 

Jimin hooks his fingers in the waistband of your shorts, tugging them past the thickness of your thighs then down the rest of your legs. On the floor, they drop in a heap in front of him. 

A sharp intake of breath comes from Jimin, and you prop yourself up on your elbows. Your best friend, still on his knees before you, is face to face with your panty-clad pussy. That sinful tongue of his makes another appearance, and you make a mental note to buy him a new chapstick later. 

When he whistles appreciatively, your body flushes. “Damn,” he mutters, a finger tracing down your slit. The wet fabric sticks uncomfortably to your skin, molding itself to the shape of your slick folds.

 “You’re soaked, baby.” Jimin leans down to plant a firm kiss on your lips, and when he realigns himself, there's a slight sheen coating his mouth. 

“Jimin,” you whine, coated with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. He’s got you leaking like a fucking waterfall, and all he’s done was play with your tits. 

“Okay, okay,” Jimin chuckles, finally removing your panties from your hips. The dampened fabric joins your bottoms on the floor. You shudder, wet skin greeted by the warm bedroom air. 

 “Hush your whining.” 

Without warning, he licks a slow, broad stripe up your slit, stopping just below your needy clit. Along the way, he collects your juices on his tongue, savoring the heady taste. A strangled moan escapes you as your head falls back between your shoulders. 

Jimin groans from the sheer taste of you, his eyes fluttering shut. His tastebuds are trembling with delight. You’re more delectable than he could have ever imagined. He’s positive he can never eat another pussy ever again; he doesn’t want to eat another pussy ever again. Your juices have saturated his tongue, forever claiming his mouth as yours. 

Jimin grips the meat of your thighs, pushing them up to your chest to allow himself a clear shot at your pussy. You hook your hands underneath your knees, keeping the position he put you in. It gives you the perfect view to watch Jimin feast on your weeping sex.

His smirk is dangerous when he purrs, “Hold on tight, pretty.” 

He wastes no time burying himself between your thighs, moaning when your essence graces his tongue again. You cry out, toes curling when the thick muscle flicks over your winking entrance. 

“Oh fuck, fuck!” Your eyes flutter shut, rolling behind your closed eyelids. 

His mouth works diligently against you, his wet tongue heavy as it drags over and then through your folds, further soaking your wetness with his saliva. The sound of it is vulgar, reminiscent of someone mixing a larger bowl of mac and cheese. It makes you gasp, body heated in a blush. 

"Yes, Jimin," you shiver, elbows going shaky beneath you. Your fingers grip where you hold your shaky legs up for him, crescent moon shapes indenting your skin. Jimin hums, sucking your labia into his heated mouth. Your hips buck once, twice, and he releases them with a wet pop. 

You fall back against the plush bed, arms weakened by the immense pleasure. Your hips have a mind of their own, canting forward chasing the euphoric feeling of his mouth, and he so graciously gives it to you. Your breathing is shattered. Shaky moans and excitable squeals tumble past your parted lips, echoing off the walls of his once quiet bedroom. 

Jimin flattens his tongue, shaking his head from side to side. His mop of fair hair, gone messy from your tugging, tickles your inner thighs with the movement. He eats your pussy like a man starved. Like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have on this Earth. Even when his face is stuffed in your heat, his senses completely overtaken by the smell, feel, and taste of you, he can’t fucking get enough. He doesn’t think he ever will.

Every flutter of your empty walls sends another syrupy gush of your arousal, soaking his face and the bedsheets beneath you. You can hardly breathe as Jimin drinks you up, taking everything you give him, his lips greedy when it slurps at your leaky opening. 

It's so messy and so fucking wet.

When Jimin pulls away, his mouth and chin are shiny with his efforts. He sighs  contentedly as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, panting like he’s the one getting the best head of his life instead of you. He breathes, “You’re so juicy, baby.” 

Hypnotized by you, he delves back in, effortlessly parting your folds with his soaked tongue, licking up and down, up and around, but never where you need him the most. Where your ache is the most ferocious.

“Jimin,” you practically sob, heart hammering in your chest. Unshed tears have begun to collect at your waterline. God, it was good, so fucking good, but you might die if he doesn’t get his mouth on your clit soon. 

“Please, I-I need,” but you break off into a choked whine when his nose bumps your clit, the only bit of stimulation it’s gotten all night. 

Jimin detaches from your pussy with a wet pop. Hooded eyes glance up to meet yours. There's a hint of a smirk on his lips. The corners of his mouth lifted just barely. He was clearly enjoying the torture he was putting you through. 

“What was that, baby?” 

"My," you plead, voice watery and thick. “I need, my-you..." You hesitate, cheeks burning with what you want to say but can’t quite bring yourself to do it. 

Jimin steals the words right from your throat. “You need me to suck that pretty, little clit?” 

You swallow thickly, nodding before you can respond. “I need it.” You watch as Jimin’s jaw ticks and the grip he has on your hips goes tighter.

 “Say it." There's a tilt in his voice that’s unfamiliar to you. You can’t quite put your finger on it. 

Your eyes bulge. It's humorous how quickly the fog clears from your brain. “What?”

“I want to hear you say it. Tell me what you need.” 

“Jimin,” you whine, kicking your leg in frustration. Your body heats as it floods with embarrassment. “Are you serious?” 

Jimin smiles wickedly, pearly whites on full display. “Say it, _____. Or we stop right here.” 

“I uh, I need you to..."

There’s an amused glint in his eyes when he lifts his eyebrows, watching for you to continue. He plans a kiss at your inner thigh in encouragement. 

Your inhale is deep, pride tossed out of the window when you plead, “I need you to suck my clit, Jimin."

When he sees the desperation in your eyes, deep espresso connecting with yours over the plane of your quivering stomach, he loses it. You sob when his mouth engulfs your needy bud wholly. Your fingers scramble, letting go of our legs to tangle in his blonde strands, pulling tight. Jimin groans, and the vibrations shoot straight through your clit to the very tips of your toes. He holds you down himself, pinning your thighs to your chest, rendering you helpless to his merciless suction. 

The tip of his tongue circles your clit, quick and firm. “God yes!” You moan when his lips wrap tight around your swollen bud to suck incessantly. Back arching from the bed, toes curling in the open air, tears finally leak from the corners of your eyes, trailing down your temples. 

When he slips his finger in and then another, knuckle-deep, your slick walls grip him up instantly. They pulse around the slim digits, drawing him in deeper. He didn’t even need to move; the pressure alone sent you over the edge, crashing headfirst into euphoria. 

When you cum, it’s not shrill and elegant like those well-produced pornos you’ve watched before. It’s deep and guttural as it blossoms from the pit of your stomach until it rattles through you, seizing your body. Your muscles tighten, thighs quivering around his head as he delivers wave after pleasurable wave with his soaked tongue and fingers. 

And Jimin loves every second of it.

He doesn’t let up, even after you’ve cum. It’s not until you’re whining, pushing weakly at his head, that he takes mercy on you, pulling away after one final kiss to your spent pussy. 

Vision still teary, you blink up at the ceiling, lying there in disbelief and panting as you try to catch your breath. Reaching a hand up, you wipe away the tiny beads of sweat that have collected at your hairline. 

Below you hear Jimin finally rise from the floor, but you make no attempt to get up, still spent from your amazing orgasm. There’s some rummaging, the sound of clothes hitting the ground, and then the bed dips with Jimin’s weight. He clambers over to you, covering your body with his. You welcome his added heat, arms weakly coming up to wrap themselves around his neck.

He smiles down at you, eyes flickering all across your face, soaking in your post-orgasm haze. His touch is gentle when he brushes stray hair away from your sweaty forehead. 

“Hey you,” he greets, leaning down to give you an Eskimo kiss. 

You trace a finger down the slope of his jaw down to his chin before you cradle his cheek in your palm. “Hey yourself." You smile back, voice slightly hoarse. 

“How are you feeling?” 

You swallow, licking at the dryness on your lips. Your grin is sincere when you say, “I feel amazing. You’re really good at that, you know.” 

Jimin giggles, interlocking his fingers with yours to kiss the back of your hand. With his thumb he strokes the skin. 

“Thank you, Jimin.” 

Your best friend leans down to capture you in a gentle kiss. Your tongue darts out to swipe across his lip, dipping inside to taste yourself on his tongue. You pull away, satisfied and a little breathless.

 “Of course. It’s what you deserve.”

You hum, tracing a finger from his sternum down to the ridges that make up his abs. He shivers under your feather-light touch. “Do I maybe deserve a little something else?” You tilt your head to meet his gaze. 

Jimin raises his eyebrows at you. A playful gleam in his eyes. “A little something like?” He trails off.

You hold his eye contact, and with your free hand, you reach down between his legs to take hold of his stiffened member. Jimin gasps, shutting his eyes tight. He’s heavy in your palm, his skin smooth and warm to the touch. He must’ve been hard for quite some time

“Yeah,” Jimin nods, breath knocked from his lungs when you squeeze the base of his cock. “I think that can be arranged.”

You hum, working your hand over his stiff rod. He grunts when your strokes come faster, his freehand fisting the sheets beside him. “Just like that, pretty,” he encourages, and you do exactly as you’re told. 

You soak in how beautiful he looks in ecstasy. The way his thick brows pinch with every stroke. How his plush lips fall open, unleashing sounds just as pretty as he is. Delicate yet husky. Your favorite part is the way his stomach muscles quake with the effort of holding himself up. 

“Fuck, baby,” Jimin moans as your wrist flicks upwards, from base to head. 

When you glide your fingers across his reddened tip, your digits slicking with his precum, a hand claps over your wrist, restricting your movements. 

His eyes bore into yours, his voice strained when he breathes, “If you don’t stop, I’ll come, and I don’t want to yet. Not until I’m inside you.”

You shiver, exhilaration rattling your bones. “Then, what are you waiting for?” 

You allow Jimin to position your body until you’re lying on your side. When he assures you that you're comfortable, he comes up behind you, slotting his chest to your back. You lean into him, comforted by the feel of his own heart thrumming in his chest. Nerves and excitement are coursing through his veins as well, anticipating what is to come. Your senses heighten at the feel of his hard cock nestled between your ass cheeks.

He leans in to kiss the plump of your cheek before reaching behind himself to retrieve a condom from inside his nightstand. 

You stop him, a quick, gentle hand on his thigh. “Can you… I want you to fuck me raw.” 

A muttered curse from behind makes you grin. “_____, are you sure?” 

You nod, thighs rubbing together, the heat between your legs intensifying at the mere thought. “I want to feel all of you. Is that okay?” 

“Fuck, yeah, that’s okay." Jimin doesn’t need much convincing to agree. He just needs to get inside you quick. His hand slides from your hip to your thigh, cupping underneath your knee to prop your leg up and open enough.

 “Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers, cockhead sliding through your slippery folds to nudge at your needy clit.

You gasp, reaching a hand up to tangle in the hair on the back of his head. “I’m fine, Mini." You roll your hips back, seeking more of that delicious pressure on your pearl. Your teeth clench in a hiss when he bumps it again. “Just please fuck me.”

You watch, eyes eager as Jimin slides in without much resistance, filling you up to the brim. It knocks the air from your lungs. He’s so incredibly thick, thicker than any other dick you’ve taken before. It feels like he’s splitting you open in the best way possible. 

Jimin groans, engulfed by your soaked warmth. His body flushes, one hand fisting the bedsheets, the other with a vice grip on your hip. Quick short pants slip past his mouth to coat the shell of your ear.

You spread your legs wider, the propped one coming to hook behind his thigh. Somehow, it slips him deeper into your flooded canal, leaving you both crying out. 

“Holy shit, Jimin,” you breathe, as your walls pulse around him, adjusting to his sheer girth.

Jimin’s chuckle is breathy, full of disbelief. He pecks your shoulder before resting his forehead there. He’s thinking exactly what you are.

Why does it feel so fucking good?

 “I know, baby.” He gives an experimental thrust of his hips that has your eyes rolling, his hips pressed flush against your ass. “So fucking good,” he murmurs in your ear, and a delighted shiver journeys down your curved spine. 

The pace he sets is maddeningly slow, nothing like what you’re used to. Languid rolls of his hips that stuff you full before leaving you just about empty, only to fill you right back up again. You can hardly breathe through the feel of him, gasping for air every time he presses back in. Jimin moves from your shoulder, attaching his lips to the juncture in your neck, licking and sucking. It leaves you with marks so fierce you have no idea how you’ll cover them later.

“Jimin,” you whine when the pace gets to you. A pressure that builds and builds but never fully erupts. 

Looking back, you capture him in a lust-filled gaze. "Fuck me faster, baby, please.” 

Jimin grunts, his brows furrowing when he picks up his pace, his hips meeting your ass cheeks with resounding smacks. They’re enough to fill the bedroom and bring a warm hue to your cheeks. 

The noises spilling from your cunt are just as lewd. Roaring slickening when he glides in and out. Messy when it soaks his cock in your transparent juices, dripping down your thighs onto the bedsheets below. 

Jimin tweaks your stiff nipples with his thumb before pinching them between his fingers, rolling and tugging. The pain, sharp and temporary, makes you jerk, toes curling tight. 

“Shit!” you wail, fist pounding the bed. “Just like that baby.”

"S'good, pretty?” he whispers, choked up with his own pleasure. 

You don’t respond; you can’t respond with the way the pounds into your dripping heat. He wraps you in his firm hold, his arm coming to sling across your chest. The extra leverage he needed to pull you back, forcing you to meet his deliciously deep thrusts. 

The force of his fucking rocks the bed beneath you, the headboard banging against the wall. You’ve definitely got to write Mr. and Mrs. Welles an apology letter tomorrow. 

There is nothing you can do except take it, helpless to his powerful pumps. Like a ragdoll, you lie limp, taking everything he gives you. The heat in your lower tummy swells, your pussy squeezing around his heavy cock. “Close,” you choke, your mind fuzzy and delirious. 

Jimin gasps as he thrusts upwards one last time, filling you to the hilt before he pulls out completely with a wet pop. He leaves you empty, clenching nothing, the heat in your belly subsiding. 

Your eyes fly open, complaints ready to fly past your lips, but Jimin stops you. 

“Hands and knees,” he pants as he palms your ass cheek. "Want to fuck you from behind.”

Any rebuttals you had ready die right there on your tongue. You prop yourself up on all fours, limbs slightly wobbly, and arch your spine in a way you know will make the light-haired man crazy. 

You feel Jimin position himself behind you. Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you wiggle your ass, swaying from side to side to tease him a little. 

Your yelp is shrill when his palm collides with your right cheek, flinching at the feeling.

Jimin hums, marveling at the ripples it creates. “Behave,” he tsks as he palms the sore area and you lick your abused lips. 

He groans as he feeds his cock to your pussy. Your walls greedily accept him with a filthy-sounding squelch. When he’s all the way in, he steadies himself, with both hands on your hips. His huff grazes the skin of your back. “How are you still so fucking tight?” 

You sigh, dropping your head forward between your shoulders. He holds you in his palms, caressing your fleshy hips.  

He wastes no time in setting a brutal pace, fucking you faster and harder than before. You scramble, hands finding purchase on the bedsheets, but each roll of his hips sends your body forward and back, tugging the sheets loose from the mattress corners. 

"God, yes,” you groan, body trembling with delight. He pounds into you, the flesh of your ass smacking his thighs and lower stomach with every thrust. Its roaring and filthy.

Jimin is just as, if not more vocal than you, whining, groaning, and gasping every time he stuffs you full. It sets your body alight to know he’s just as affected as you are. 

He grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back, and your spine bows deeper than before. "Oh, fu—," you try, but you can’t even get the words out as he plunges into you. Rhythmic and precise.

It doesn’t take much until you’re drawing near again and you know you’re close when the fluttery warmth in the pit of your stomach returns, your pussy squeezing Jimin tight. 

He cries out, falling over to cover your sweaty back with his front. “M’ not gonna last,” he whimpers, rocking forward, body trembling with the efforts of his pumping.

He fucks you like that. His body is glued to your back, constant rolls of his hips that slide him deeper and deeper. His tip nudges incessantly at your front wall, gliding repeatedly over that spongy spot. The spot that has you seeing stars.

When Jimin feels you tighten up around him, he snakes his hand under your body to circle your swollen bundle of nerves. Like magic, the added pressure is just what you need to reach your peak. 

The coil, pulled taut in your tummy, snaps, and euphoria pulses through your veins, hot and rapid. Your mouth falls open, eyes squeezing shut as you gush around his cock. A strangled wail that you’re not even sure came from you resounds in the room, but you can barely hear it past the blood rushing in your ears. Falling face-first into the mattress, your muscles seize as your body is overtaken by the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Through it all, Jimin's hips never let up, and you flutter around him, creaming his thick cock. The ferocity of your orgasm triggers his own. Jimim ruts once, twice, and then he comes with a breathy sigh that sounds something like your name, painting your quivering walls with his hot seed.

────˚‧୨ᰔ୧‧˚────

It’s early when Jimin comes to the next morning. He can tell by the lack of sunlight beaming through his cracked window blinds, covering his bedroom in a barely there glow. 

He smacks his lips tiredly, muscles achy with exertion making their presence known, and in an instant, memories of last night come flooding back to him.

 Picking you up outside of that restaurant. The sight of you ripped his heart to pieces. Standing there alone in the cold, looking so vulnerable, clinging on to what little sanity you had left. You looked so heartbroken but yet so beautiful. Always so beautiful. 

Or later on, when he confessed his love for you. An undying ache that’s been tugging at his heart after all these years of being your friend, your best friend. A title he doesn’t take lightly. Not because he was in love with you, but because he loved you. Every part of you, your mind, your heart, and soul.

 How you didn’t turn him away, accepting his affection and embracing it wholly. There was so much love he had to give, so much time he needed to make up for after all these years lost. 

Jimin turns his head, and there you lie, a beautiful smile on your face directed at him. His heart stutters in his chest. 

“Good morning,” you greet, your tongue peeking out to wet your lips. 

Jimin rolls over on his side, readjusting on his pillow. “Morning,” he grins, all teeth. “How’d you sleep?”

You inhale deep, your smile never leaving your pretty lips. Your gaze is still slightly hazy with sleep when you look at him. There’s a gentle glow surrounding you, radiating utter bliss. Happy and carefree. It’s been so long since he’s seen you like this, too long.

“Mmm, I slept amazing, thanks to you.” You reach out to poke the solid planes of his stomach, hidden by the comforter. You yawn, hands coming up to rest under your head. “Though, I should rough you up for letting me fall asleep without my bonnet on. I just got my hair done.” 

Jimin snickers, scooting closer to you. He grabs hold of your hands, interlocking his fingers with yours. “I did try to wake you up, but considering it's been so long since you’ve been fucked to sleep, I figured you needed it." 

Your eyes widen, mouth curving up in disbelief. “Fuck you!”

Jimin shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Been there, done that.” 

You gasp, reaching over to smack his arms as you’re taken over by giggles. “Shut up, Jimin!” 

He laughs, dodging your harmless blows, and you don’t oppose when Jimin sits up, scooping you in his arms. Effortlessly, he plops you down over his lower stomach. When your giggles subside, you trace a finger over his chest, covering his skin with invisible doodles that only you can see.

“I uh..." you clear your throat. “I talked to Theo earlier." 

Jimin does his best to mask his apprehension. “Yeah?” He fingers the hem of his t-shirt you’re wearing, which basically belongs to you.

You nod. “He wanted to know where I went.” 

“Did you tell him?” 

“I did.” Jimin arches his brow when you smirk. You lean over to grab your phone from under the pillow. You tap the screen, turning the device on, and there’s a bright glow cast over your face. Swift fingers tap a few more times before you turn the screen to him. “I sent him this.”

Jimin squints at the brightly lit screen, but when his vision clears and he recognizes what you’re showing him, he gasps incredulously. 

On the screen is a picture of him and you, tangled together in his bed and obviously naked under the sheets. In the picture, Jimin is still fast asleep, eyes closed and his mouth slightly ajar. But you, on the other hand, are wide awake. In fact, you’re posing for the camera, two fingers up in a peace sign next to your face and your mouth pouted in “duck lips." On your skin, his love bites from last night are proudly displayed.

Below the picture, there’s a message from Theo that you have no plans to respond to. It included every curse word in the book, words that Jimin didn’t even know existed. 

You shrug, locking the phone, and tossing it aside. “I think it’s safe to say we’re done.” 

Jimin tosses his head back in a laugh. He shakes his head as he says your name. “You’re unbelievable!” 

“Noo, what’s unbelievable is that I stayed with him for so long," you counter, rolling your eyes. You grab both of his hands in yours. 

“Thank you,” you nod. “For staying by my side through all of this. And dealing with my stubbornness. I truly don’t know what I would do without you. I love you, Jimin.” 

Jimin’s grip is gentle when he grabs the back of your neck to pull you into his kiss. You gladly accept, cradling his face in your hands. 

When you pull away, you’re breathless. “I love you,” Jimin whispers on your lips. “So much.” 

You beam, sitting back on his muscley thighs. Your head tilts, however, when your clothed center comes in contact with something firm.

 “Are you…hard?” Your question is laced with amazement. 

Jimin groans, cheeks reddening in embarrassment when you laugh aloud. “I can’t help it; everything you do turns me on. You could literally breath and I’d be hard as a rock.” The heat between your legs makes a fierce return.

 “Hm, is that so?”

You hook your thumb in the waistband of your panties, ready to slide them down your legs. Jimin licks his lips as hunger clouds his pretty brown eyes. “You were so generous to me last night. Why don’t you sit back and let me take care of it, baby?"