“What did the handyman say?” Yuna asks, the question riding on that endless optimism of hers, as if she’s searching for a crack of light in a pitch-black room. Normally, you’d admire that. Today, it grates. Today, you don’t have the capacity to play along.

“Namjoon said that one of the pipes to the bathroom, going through the living room, had burst.” You exhale the sentence, your shoulders sinking lower with the release.

Yuna’s face shifts—sympathetic but still stubbornly bright. “But that’s not so bad. Easily fixed, right?”

You turn your head slowly, deliberately, until your eyes lock on hers. It’s probably more of a glare than you intended, but your brain can’t seem to control the muscles in your face right now.

“There’s mold in the wall. Mold, Yuna,” you say, your voice pitching higher at the word. Your hands fly up in a frantic motion before you can stop them, flapping in sharp bursts. “Apparently, the pipe burst ages ago… so the mold has spread, and it’s going to take months to fix.”

Her eyes flicker—not in judgement, exactly, but in that slight, puzzled way that makes your stomach pinch. You drop your hands instantly, as if caught doing something you shouldn’t.

Rein it in, you tell yourself. Stop being weird.

Your teeth find your bottom lip and clamp down. You count to ten in your head, each number dragged out, trying to anchor yourself to something. The espresso machine hisses again, someone laughs too loudly at the next table, the tang of freshly ground coffee prickles your nose.

It doesn’t work. The frustration still swells in your chest, hot and restless, with nowhere to go.

Yuna’s voice has been a soft, constant stream beside you, like background radio you’ve tuned out. You’re still stuck replaying the mold, the mess, the months of chaos ahead—until one word cuts through the static.

Jimin.

Your head snaps up. “I’m sorry—what did you say?” The words come out sharper than you intended, laced with confusion and a little panic.

Yuna blinks at you, oblivious. “Oh, Jimin’s got a spare room. I’m sure he’ll let you stay over while your place is getting fixed.”

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

Your heartbeat punches against your eardrums, almost drowning out the café’s low chatter. The outside street noise filters in through the glass—a car horn blaring, a delivery truck rumbling past—and, absurdly, you swear you can still hear the phantom drip of the burst pipe in your wall at home.

A rush of anxiety skitters up your spine like a cold current, curling tight around your throat.

You can’t.

You simply can’t.

Too many reasons, all crowding each other for space: you hate changes. Changes wreck your routines. You hate living with other people. You’re already overloaded. And this… this is Jimin.

Yuna’s hand lands on your thigh—warm, grounding—but her voice is airy. “Relax. It’s going to be okay.”

“I can’t move in with your brother,” you say, each word clipped, your head shaking before you’ve even finished the sentence.

“Why? You don’t know anyone else…” she pouts.

Ouch. Casual but pointed, like flicking a bruise. The reminder that your social circle is essentially her makes your chest ache.

You stay silent, but Yuna doesn’t wait for permission. She smiles, almost too brightly. “I’ll call my brother right now.”

Your stomach drops. You keep your gaze fixed on the scratched tabletop, unwilling to watch, but the tiny zip of her purse opening still makes your shoulders tense. The whispery scrape of her fishing out her phone feels loud in the quiet pocket between you.

She dials, volume low—but to you, it’s deafening. Each beep of the ring tone feels like someone tapping the inside of your skull. Then… his voice. Through the muffled speaker, warm and deep, even casual. Your pulse jumps. You stare harder at the table.

“Hey, Jimin,” Yuna chirps, “can my best friend crash at yours for a while?”

Please say no. Please say no. You don’t even know him beyond a handful of polite conversations, except in the way you’ve imagined him—standing behind the ice cream counter, sunlight catching in his soft pink hair, a little smirk when he talks to customers.

Yuna laughs suddenly, bright and knowing. “I knew I could count on you, bro!”

Fuck.

He said yes. Why would he say yes? You’re just his little sister’s weird best friend—the one who fidgets too much, the one who probably talks too fast when she’s nervous.

Your mind starts spinning tight, panicked loops. This is bad, right? This is definitely bad.

“He said you can move in tomorrow!” Yuna claps her hands like she’s just announced you’ve won a prize.

You try to smile, but it doesn’t quite make it to your eyes. Sure—you’re relieved you won’t be homeless. But did it have to be with Jimin?

Jimin, your secret crush for years, who you’ve only dared to love in the safe quiet of your own head.

You stare at the open suitcase on your bed like it’s some impossible exam question you haven’t studied for.

Clothes, obviously—but which ones? Every piece you own feels wrong. Your favorite hoodie smells like your laundry detergent at home, the good kind, the one they probably don’t sell near Jimin’s place. But it’s also worn at the cuffs, and you hate people seeing frayed things on you. You fold it anyway.

The weighted blanket is next. It takes up almost half the suitcase, but leaving it behind isn’t an option. It’s the one thing that’s always been able to pin you back into yourself when your mind starts buzzing too loud.

Noise-cancelling headphones—in the side pocket. Fidget toys—the smooth stone, the silicone ring, the tangle—into a small pouch you can keep in your hoodie pocket. You throw in your favorite tea bags, too. You doubt Jimin has any, and you can’t start your day without the specific chamomile blend that doesn’t taste too perfumey.

The suitcase looks chaotic, but it’s your chaos. Familiar textures, smells, shapes. You hope they’ll keep the edges of the new space from feeling too sharp.

The wheel on your suitcase has been squeaking since you left your apartment, a shrill, rubbery sound that gnawed at your ears every other step. You tried to tune it out—counting stairs, focusing on the coolness of the banister under your palm—but halfway up the narrow, echoey stairwell to Jimin’s place, the wheel finally gives up with a sharp pop and rolls clean off.

You freeze, mortified. The suitcase tilts at a dangerous angle, wobbling like it might tumble down the entire flight. Your cheeks burn. You’re suddenly aware of how loud your breathing is in the stairwell, the way every sound seems magnified in this small, echoey space.

And then—

A low chuckle drifts from above.

Your head jerks up. He’s there. Jimin.

Leaning against the banister like he’s been staged by the universe, posture casual but somehow magnetic. His hair is soft pink now—you catalog it instantly, because last time you saw him, it was blond, a sunbeam shade that made his skin glow. The contrast makes him look sharper, more deliberate. Your eyes dart over his face like they always do: the tiny mole near his eye, the faint scar at his eyebrow, the little crook of his bottom teeth when he smiles. His skin looks like honey in the stairwell’s weak light, warm and inviting.

And he is smiling. Smirking, actually. Which does something weird to your chest that you absolutely, absolutely refuse to acknowledge.

“Need a hand, or is this part of your workout?” His voice is smooth and lazy, like warm caramel poured slow.

Your brain stutters. For a beat, all you can think about is how unfair it is that his voice feels like it has a texture, and that you could recognize it even in a crowd.

“I’ve got it,” you mutter, gripping the suitcase tighter, hauling it up one more step. The effort makes your arms tremble. You hope he doesn’t notice, even though you know he definitely does.

He watches you for a beat, head tilted, lips twitching like he’s holding back a laugh. And then it breaks free, sudden and bright.

“Alright, Rocky Road. You do you.”

You blink. “Rocky… what?”

“You know—tough exterior, all kinds of stuff going on inside.” His grin widens, teeth catching the stairwell light. “Also, your suitcase is making that crunchy gravel sound.”

You just stare at him, unsure if he’s teasing you, complimenting you, or both. Your brain replays the nickname on loop, the warmth of it sticking in your chest in a place you’d rather keep locked up.

You shift the suitcase again, awkward, avoiding his eyes. “Right. Okay.”

Somehow—despite the mortification, despite his smirk still hovering in your thoughts like static—you heave the suitcase up another step. And another.

You’re here.

And you wish your chest wasn’t so noisy about it.

The door swings open with a low creak, and the first thing that slams into you is the smell.

Not bad—just a lot. Laundry detergent, sharp and floral, fighting against the sweetness of a vanilla candle that’s burned too long, layered over something savory, soy-and-garlic heavy—maybe leftover takeout? Your brain scrambles to sort it into categories, to label and file, but the scents all overlap and tug at you at once.

The light hits next. Softer than you expected, sunlight spilling in through wide, bare windows. No curtains—just half-open blinds that leave the room striped in brightness and shadow. Your eyes twitch toward the patterns automatically, trying to trace the geometry, but the movement makes your head throb a little.

There’s noise, too. A lo-fi playlist playing faintly through a speaker—too tinny, the bass muffled. Beneath it, the steady hum of the fridge. Now that you’ve noticed it, you can’t unhear it, a low, mechanical buzz settling into the back of your skull.

The living room itself is… lived-in. Shoes kicked near the door, not lined up. A hoodie sprawled over the couch arm like it’s napping. A stack of unopened mail on the coffee table. Your eyes keep snagging on things that don’t “belong” together: bright scatter cushions mashed against a plaid blanket. Colors with no logic.

Your chest tightens. Edges fray. This space doesn’t follow rules, not the kind you’ve built in your own apartment—the ones that make sense. The predictability. The safe. You mourn it quietly, fingers clenched around your suitcase handle like it’s a lifeline.

And then the rules start unfurling in your head, sharp and loud:

Don’t touch what isn’t yours.

Don’t sit until invited.

Don’t rearrange anything, even if it looks wrong.

Don’t stare too long.

Don’t breathe too loud.

“You can dump your stuff in the spare room,” Jimin says, stepping easily around you, like this chaos doesn’t press in on him at all. He grabs something off the counter—keys? A mug? He moves like he belongs here (because he does). “It’s at the end of the hall. Sorry about the mess.”

Mess. He said mess. That word rattles in your brain, because this doesn’t feel like just mess. This feels like walking into someone’s soul and bumping into all the unorganized corners. You’ve never been to Jimin’s place before—it feels invasive, stepping over the threshold. You’d hate if someone did that in your apartment, saw the private randomness of your space.

But here you are.

In his.

And he’s being polite. Warm. Charming, even, with that casual smile as he moves around the kitchen like you’re not standing frozen in his doorway. Why? He’s always been nice to you—his sister’s weird friend who tagged along, who asked too many questions, who never quite fit. But this… this feels different. Too nice. Too soft.

And you don’t understand what it means.

Your throat tightens, words caught there, so you don’t say anything. You just stand too long in the doorway, mourning the home you had to leave, silently repeating your rules like armor. Wondering how you’re supposed to survive in this.

This is going to be a disaster.

→ Permanent taglist*: @nora12379, @jeonsbabygirlsworld, @fancypeacepersona, @ktownshizzle, @pjmxxjm, @kookiewithluv, @mikrokookiex, @parkitrighthere, @rkiveslibrary, 

*I know most of these accounts are deleted and/or have changed, but I don’t give a fuck. If you wish to be removed, let me know!

→ Series taglist**: @graydolan12, @parapiop7, @allie-in-the-moon, @back2bluesidex, @glllhjh, @mar-lo-pap, @taolucha, @generousrunawaylove, @ihateteachingfff, @h6rtf9lt 

**If you want to be added to the series taglist just tell me in a comment, reblog or send me an ask 🍨

→ Author’s endnote: what do ya think? Kept it teasingly short 🤭

☆☆☆☆☆

Jimin hates weddings. He hates the crowds, the lights, the ambiance that is reminiscent of love shared.

Of love he’ll never experience.

You’re beautiful. An angel sent from above in your white dress, your hair sparkling as it cascades down your back. Your makeup is light, like everything about you, and if your family and friends knew you any better, they too would see the fakeness in your smile.

The tightness in your features every time your now-husband wraps his arm around your shoulders and presses a kiss on your cheek.

Jimin clenches his jaw as Jackson, your husband, pulls you close, kissing you. You barely reciprocate, and then you fake your following smile. It goes unnoticed by Jackson, much like it has been doing all night and Jimin scoffs, shaking his head.

“I’ll have a scotch,” your father says, pulling Jimin out of his thoughts.

He’s working behind the bar tonight, helping his mother with the wedding. Indeed, his mother owns a catering company, so weddings and charity events and the likes have been common in his life. He met you at such an event, years ago, while you were both still teenagers and too young to realize that your worlds weren’t made to collide.

Not when you’re the heiress of one of the richest companies in the country, and he grew up on the line between poverty and middle class. But you both couldn’t help the gravity that pulled you towards one another.

In another life, Jimin thinks you would have gotten married. He would have built you a house, given you as many kids as you’d want, loved you every day like it was his last day. He would have kissed you at the altar, would have made love to you on the wedding night, would have held you through your bad days.

He would have given you everything he has. He still wants to, but he knows it’s impossible. Your parents would have never let you marry for love. No, they’ve always been about money and connections, and your marriage to Jackson is just that.

One of money and connections, between a rich Korean company and an even richer Chinese company.

“Coming right up,” Jimin replies to your father.

He wonders, does your father even know that you’ve been in love for all those years?

Does he know that you were telling him you wish you could marry him instead a few days ago?

Jimin pushes the thought away, pouring the glass of scotch your father asked for. He hands it to the older man, who thanks him with a polite smile before sauntering away with the swagger that only rich people have. 

Tonight promises to be hell. Not only because you’re getting married, but also because you’re about to be permanently whisked away from Jimin’s life.

You’re moving to China to live with your new husband. You’d broken down in tears when you’d told Jimin, and he’d held you while you sobbed, kissing the top of your head as if trying to piece you back together. The memory is bittersweet, filled with all the feelings he’s ever had for you, and thinking about it makes his heart ache fiercely.

As the night goes on, Jimin becomes keenly aware that you’re avoiding him, always sending your husband to get drinks for you. It breaks his heart even more - it feels like you’re already gone. When the clock hits midnight, he tells the other barman that he’s going to take a breather if only so that he can be away from you for a moment, away from all the pain he’s been drowning in.

But he should have known better. Because you meet him in the darkness, your soft footsteps revealing your approach, and Jimin turns to look at you.

You’re even more beautiful up close. The moonlight kisses your skin and you look like you’re shining from within. Your eyes are glistening, hosting a myriad of jewels, almost akin to stars. Your lips are curved upwards, yet sadness lingers on your features, much like it’s been lingering in his heart since you told him about the wedding.

“Jimin,” you whisper, your voice so vulnerable he can’t stop himself from crossing the distance between the two of you and taking you in his embrace. 

You melt against him as you bury your face in his chest. The smell of your shampoo hits his nose, followed by the scent of your perfume, the one he gave to you a year ago when he managed to save up the money. 

You’re warm, so warm, yet Jimin reckons he’s never felt so cold.

He murmurs your name, praying to God above to allow him to let you go, yet he can’t. He can’t let go, not when he’s fully aware this is the last time he’ll ever hold you.

“I don’t want to leave,” you breathe against his chest.

He tightens his hold, wishing he could change the outcome for the two of you.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you, pressing a kiss on the top of your head. “You’ll be okay.”

“How can I be okay without you?”

Jimin pulls away just enough to look down at your face, a finger reaching up to your chin to tilt your head back. “You’re strong. Stronger than anyone I know. You will be okay.”

The tear rolling down your cheek looks like a gem in the silver light of the moon, and Jimin dries it with his thumb.

“I’ll miss you,” you say in a small, broken voice.

He pecks your forehead. “Whenever you miss me, just look up at the moon.” He looks up, and you mirror his motion. “And then we’ll be together again.”

Your hands reach up, grabbing the collar of his white dress shirt, and you pull him down. He’s taken by surprise, but he knows your lips by heart and it takes him just half a heartbeat before he reciprocates the kiss, his mouth moving in time with yours.

You sigh, and though the kiss tastes salty from the tears that spill from your eyes and his, it doesn’t slow you down. No, Jimin only holds you tighter, hands getting lost in your long curls. Your hair is soft like satin, soft like starlight, and the small, breathy sound you let out when he reaches the back of your head and lightly pulls on your hair makes him go feral.

He’s never had you before. He’s had other girls, and he’s kept his eyes closed the entire time thinking it was you instead, but it’s a line you've never crossed. The farthest you’ve ever gone was one time by the lakeside, when you’d taken your shirt off while grinding on him. He’d kissed your chest, he'd tasted your skin, and it’s still one of his favourite memories of the two of you.

He says your name, his voice rougher this time around, and you retaliate by moving your hands to the front of his shirt, and then down to his belt. 

“I want you,” you breathe out when he puts his hand on yours, trying to stop you.

“What about your…”

He can’t bring himself to say ‘husband’. Not when it should have been him.

“He won’t know,” you reassure Jimin. “He’s already half drunk.”

Though Jimin does not condone cheating, the way your eyes meet his, burning from within, makes him throw caution to the wind and he grabs your face, crashing his lips on yours. You meet him with the same fire, your tongue finding his, and Jimin grunts as your hand moves down and you drag your palm on his hardening length. 

You taste good. You taste inebriating, you taste like heaven melted into the sweetest liquid. It makes Jimin want more of you, makes him want everything and, before you can unbuckle his belt, he drops to his knees, looking up at you.

Your eyes widen, but it doesn’t take long before Jimin disappears under the skirt of your dress, his mouth exploring the soft skin of your leg. He moves up, slowly, his lips grazing your skin and leaving goosebumps behind until he settles on your inner thigh, tongue darting out. But he needs more, needs to know what you sound like when you come, so he doesn’t stop there, finding your core between your legs and giving you a lick over your panties. 

The sound you make is enough to fuel his fantasies for the rest of his life, and Jimin pushes your panties to the side, his tongue parting your folds to dive into your heat. You shudder, saying his name like a prayer, and then he teases your clit, circling enticingly as he tries to coax more sounds out of you. 

You’re heaven personified. His heaven. When he’ll die, Jimin knows all he’ll remember is the sounds you made when he was pleasuring you. He almost wishes he would die now, almost wishes this was his last act on this Earth, if only so that he could go with the taste of you on his lips.

His dick twitches in his pants at the thought, and he reaches down, squeezing himself. He’s hard, harder than he’s ever been, and he thinks he’d be able to come by just tasting you. But then again he wants to feel you, wants to find completion along with you. So he keeps eating you out, lapping you up, drinking you in until your sounds grow breathier, and you try to grind in his face. 

When he wants to pull away, he finds he’s glued to your pussy, glued to the act of pleasuring you, so he decides to make you come, to bring you to the seventh sky, and he pushes a finger inside of you, fighting against your tight walls until they relax and suck him in.

“Fuck, Jimin,” you cry out over him.

He’s unleashed. A beast that just needs to devour you, and so he does, his finger pumping in and out of you in time with the flick of his tongue on your clit. Soon, he adds a second finger inside of you, and he curls his digits to find the sweet, nutty spot inside of you that he knows will throw you over the edge.

He’s not wrong - a few seconds later, you’re climaxing, your walls pulsing on his fingers as your juices sinfully cover his chin. He guides you through your high, up until you whimper from oversensitivity once the waves of pleasure have passed. Only then does he emerge from beneath your skirt, looking up at you.

You’re brighter than the moon above. You’re the most beautiful creature, woman, in the whole universe, and though you’re not meant to be his for this life, he'll make sure that you are his tonight.

Jimin gets up, letting your dress fall back around you, and then he finds your mouth, kisses you with all the might of his love for you. You kiss him back languidly, tasting yourself on him, and he wonders if you think you taste just as good as he knows you do.

Your hands move to his chest, and you start unbuttoning his dress shirt, your hungry fingers soon caressing his skin. You go down, heading for his pants again, and you manage to deftly unbuckle his belt, and then you unbutton his dress pants. It’s enough for you to slip your hand in, and Jimin bucks his hips as you dive underneath his underwear, wrapping your hand around him. 

“I want you inside of me,” you murmur, your lips still pressed on his. 

You deserve better than the ground. You deserve better than getting fucked on a wall, too, but Jimin figures the wall is better than the ground. So he pulls your hand out of his underwear, entwining his fingers with his.

“I’d fuck you in a bed,” he whispers. “I’d fuck you in a shower, on a couch. Hell, I wouldn’t even fuck you.” His heart fills with love for you. “I’d make love to you. We’d go until the sun comes up, and then we’d start again when the sun goes down.” He says your name softly. “I wish we could have this life together.”

He leans his forehead against yours. “If only it was you, Jimin…” you reply. “If only it was you that I got married to. I’d be the happiest woman alive.”

He kisses you again, softer this time. 

“I do want you, too,” he says when he pulls away from the kiss. He looks around, making sure you’re still alone in the darkness of this side of the building. “But we can’t really do that here.”

“There’s a garden,” you murmur. “I saw a weeping willow, with the branches touching the floor.”

“We can’t,” he says. “What about your dress?”

You look down at yourself, at the white dress that would so easily be soiled with dirt. “Fuck.”

Jimin has never heard you swear before, except while his tongue was on you, and he can’t help the surprised chuckle that falls from his lips. But you’re quick to steal his breath again as you let go of his hand to dive in his pants again. The second your fingers wrap around his dick, and you start moving up and down, Jimin stops caring about everything.

All there is is you, and he’ll make sure to please you until you’re spent.

“Let’s go under that tree,” he grunts, his voice rough.

You smile, and Jimin isn’t sure if he will ever see beauty again once you’re out of his life. Because you’re beauty, inside and out.

You pull your hand out of his pants, and Jimin redoes the button and buckles his belt. It doesn’t take too long for the two of you to find the tree you were talking about, hidden in the darkness at the very back of the garden, far from all the wedding lights. The music from the reception is a distant song, one that wraps around Jimin the same way your arms wrap around his neck as he kisses you under the branches of the willow, fully hidden from view. 

It’s so dark under the tree that he barely can see you, yet it doesn’t stop him from exploring your body. From slowly undoing your dress, letting it pool at your feet.

That way, you might manage to not dirty it too much. 

His clothes are quick to follow, and soon he stands naked in front of you, your hand already caressing his dick again. He doesn’t waste time before removing your panties, and just like that you’re both nude, your bodies reaching for each other.

Jimin takes his time with you. He takes his sweet time pressing kisses on  your neck and between the valley of your breasts. He takes his time teasing your nipples with his tongue, with his fingers. Fingers that he then dives in your heat to make sure that you’re ready for him. Your wetness is slick, his fingers slipping right in, and so he figures you can take him. He turns you around, pushing your hair over your shoulder so that he can gently bite at the skin of your neck while he guides himself towards you.

He doesn’t have a condom, yet it doesn’t stop him. Doesn’t stop him from gently bending you over, helping you hold onto the tree so that you don’t fall. 

It doesn’t stop him from rubbing his tip on your folds, his eyes rolling to the back of his head at the pleasurable feeling. You let out a breathy sound as he starts pushing into you, your walls sucking him right in. 

Your pussy is warm. It’s soft, wet, and it feels so heavenly that Jimin thinks he might come already. He grunts as he bottoms out, and you clench around him once, almost sending him flying over the edge.

“Jimin,” you breathe out.

He bends down, pressing a kiss on the side of your neck. “I know.”

You roll your hips, and his fingers dig in the supple skin of your waist as he groans again.

“You feel so good.”

So do you. Yet Jimin can’t answer - the way you’re moving on his dick surpasses all of his fantasies, and he just knows that he’ll be truly and thoroughly ruined by the end of the night.

Not that it matters.

“You’ll fill me up, huh?” you say, and it’s like lightning striking him in the spine.

Who knew you were so filthy when it comes to sex?

“You’d like that?” he purrs in your ear.

You don’t reply, only circling your hips again, and it feels far too good.

“What a good fucking girl,” he adds, and then he’s straightening, pulling back to fuck into you. 

You moan softly, the sound muffled as you try not to be too loud, yet Jimin focuses on your moan, committing it to memory. And then he unleashes himself, jackhammering into you as he tries to make you come again just so that he can feel it on his dick. 

Reaching around your body, Jimin starts rubbing on your clit, and you say his name in such a sinful way that he feels his balls tightening already. But even then he keeps it in, pushes the feeling aside until all there is is you, the sounds you make, and the pornographic noises your pussy makes every time he pushes in, your wetness coating him so thoroughly he even feels it on his balls.

He’ll go insane. He won’t walk out of this alive, but he doesn’t care. Not if that means he’ll die with you, die proving to himself that you’re his in the ways that matter the most.

You’re getting tighter, your walls clenching on his dick hard as you start meeting his every motion, pushing your hips back into his. He keeps rubbing on your clit, his eyes tightly shut as he holds his cum in. 

“Come for me,” he tells you, and he runs his free hand on your back, losing it in the hair at the back of your head. He pulls on your hair that way, turning your face so that he can capture your lips in a languid kiss.

“Fuck,” you curse in his mouth.

“I love you.”

You come the second he says the words, and Jimin praises you all through your high, slowly fucking you. He milks your orgasm out of you, biting his lips so hard he tastes blood just to keep himself from coming. Indeed, the feeling of your walls fluttering on his dick threatens to push him way over the edge, but the pain keeps it at bay long enough for him to make sure you’re truly spent.

He holds you up, his arm wrapped around your waist as you reach behind you to try and touch him. Your fingers graze the skin of his hip, and Jimin grabs your hand gently, his thumb rubbing the back of your palm.

“You think you can keep going for me?” he asks you, kissing the back of your shoulder.

You nod. “Please.”

Your voice is whimpery, needy, and Jimin immediately complies, starting to fuck into you again, chasing his own high. It hits so hard a few thrusts later that he sees stars, and he stills deep inside of you, releasing his load as he grunts your name. His climax lasts longer than it ever has, and he’s trembling by the time his balls have emptied.

For a minute, all that can be heard under the willow is the mingling of your heavy breathing, and the occasional kiss Jimin presses on your skin. The night returns to its gentle calmness, the shrill cry of a cricket mixing with that of the music. A soft breeze plays with the leaves of the trees, and Jimin thinks he can even hear an owl in the distance, though that might just be his imagination.

He pulls out of you, and you let out a small whine that makes him chuckle. He massages the meat of your ass, and then pulls you up to wrap his arms around your waist as he leans his head on your shoulder.

“I really love you,. You know that, right?” he whispers.

“I love you too, Jimin.”

There’s another silence of him just enjoying your proximity, though your end looms over the horizon, slowly inching closer. It’s like a dark cloud rolling in in the distance, tumbling closer as the storm nears. It breaks his heart, and he keeps his eyes tightly shut, doing his best not to let the tears win.

“Let’s run away,” you say, with so much quiet conviction that the heartache dissipates, and Jimin finally understands.

Finally understands that the sun always comes after the storm.

☆☆☆☆☆

i hope you guys liked this one <3 let me know what you think!

Your only response was to lift the bag of alcohol toward him. “We’re going to drink all of this. I have Thai food being delivered here in seventeen minutes.” 

You don’t let him respond, having to squeeze between him and the doorway to get inside, sitting on the floor in front of the couch, pulling out the bottles and mixers. You ignore the heavy sigh coming from the smaller man as he drags himself to the kitchen, grabbing two cups and sits down next to you. 

“Are you going to tell me why we’re drinking on Thursday night?”

You nod, finishing up a horrible concoction that was sure to hit quickly. 

“Taehyung broke up with me.”

“Oh.” you miss his wide eyes as you start working on the same concoction for him. 

“Yep. He got a job out of the country, and decided two years wasn’t worth at least trying long distance and peaced out before I could say anything. Next thing I know, I’m here.” Your phone pings, and you look at it briefly, getting up. 

“Food is here. Perfect timing, here’s your drink.” You hand him the drink and hurry to the door to accept the food. 

When you return, Jimin’s already moved everything off the coffee table and made space for the abundance of food you barely remember ordering. You leave the food with him, making your way to the kitchen to grab extra napkins and utensils. 

It’s not until you finally sit back down and help divide up the food that he finally speaks again. 

“Wait, didn't you have a date tonight?”

It’s at this you snort a laugh, not caring if it’s attractive or not. 

“Oh yeah. It was perfect too.” You nod, stuffing your face with whatever was in front of you. “Good food, then to the arcade we always went to when we started dating, ice cream, and then bam, dumped.” 

You take a deep swig of your drinking, sticking your tongue out in disgust at the flavor. “But hey. What a way to make it memorable, right?” 

“I guess…are you going to be okay?” He’s a little hesitant, having only ever experienced you acting like you were fine, leaning heavily into the sarcasm when you were livid when at work having a customer scream in your face about something that was their fault. 

You finally look at Jimin, and put on the best smile you can, knowing you both know it’s fake.

“I have to be. What’s done is done according to him, so I have no other option but to get over it.”

“It still meant something to you, y/n. That’s two whole years. You can’t just tell yourself you’re fine after two-.” 

“Hey, Jimin?” you interrupt, lazily pointing your chopsticks at him. “I appreciate it, I do, that you’re trying to get me to feel feelings and process them like a healthy adult. I love that about you, truly.” You ignore his blush and continue. 

“But that’s not why I came here. I came here to get drunk, eat delicious takeout, and watch something shitty on the tv with you to forget this happened. Can we do that instead? Process emotions later? Please?”

He watches you for a second, trying to figure out if he should push further, but decides against it. Silently nodding and handing you the remote. You mumble a thank you and scroll through whatever streaming platform he was already on.

You both settle on a ridiculous reality tv show about hot people living together, you have no idea what the show's point is, but you two become somewhat invested the more you drink. 

The second time you ask yourself the question is two hours and many cups of your horrible drink mixture later. You and Jimin are still sitting on the floor, backs against the couch and both shit-talking one of the contestants, if that’s what they even are. 

You lean your head against the seat of the couch as Jimin spews some nonsense about how unrealistic and fabricated the drama in the show is. You giggle, turning your head so you can see Jimin. 

God, he’s pretty. Perfect jaw, perfect lips, perfect eyes, perfect smile, perfect hair, those perfect lips again. 

“Ugh, here they go again, those idiots.” You snap out of your intrusive thoughts and turn your focus back to the tv. The horrible female contestants are sitting around drinking and talking about men they’ve slept with, or more specifically, their fingers. 

One girl starts going on about the importance of long fingers providing better orgasms and another debates back that it’s actually the thickness that matters. You start to zone out, not catching yourself thinking out loud in time. 

“Tae has long fingers…”

“I’m sorry, what?” Your eyes widen, keeping them locked on the screen that is now paused. 

“I didn’t say anything.” You lie, but he’s already shifting to look at you. 

“No, I’m pretty sure you said something about your now ex’s fingers.” He smirks at your glaring expression toward him. 

“Well, he does. He has long fingers. And sure as hell knew how to use them.” Why you’re defending or better yet, bragging, about your now ex boyfriend is beyond you, but you feel the need to do it anyway. 

“I’m sure he did.” He scoffs, taking another swig of the gross beverage. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, y/n, that the length of someone’s fingers means nothing. It’s all about what you do with them. And, I remember you drunkenly telling me about him fumbling and you having to fake it a few times with him.” 

“I did not! I’ve never faked it with him!” 

He leans back against the couch, laughing, twisting his head to meet you, glaring at him. “Why are you glaring at me?”

“I’m hoping you’ll spontaneously combust.”

He laughs again. “Aish, you’re delusional, y/n.” 

“Like you could do any better? Your fingers are half the length of his. Your pinky is like a stub.” You cross your arms and turn back to the screen at the sudden silence, ignoring how he looks at you. 

A second later, he gets up, walking in front of you and into the kitchen. You can hear the sound of water for a moment before he makes his way back, this time sitting on the couch directly behind you. You lean your head back, resting it against his crossed legs as his fingers trace your jawline, sending shivers down your spine. 

The third time you ask yourself how you got here is when he finally leans down enough that his lips barely brush over yours. 

“I can do better.” He whispers, lifting his head up just enough that your eyes lock on to one another, his asking for permission and yours giving it with a slight nod and twist of the head to grant him better access. His lips mold against yours in a slow but very needy kiss, his fingers still tracing your jaw and down your neck to your collarbone. 

He finally pulls away, tapping your arm twice, and you immediately twist to be on your knees facing him. He slides his legs down to rest on the floor with you sitting in between them, hands bringing your face up to meet his lips again. His tongue playfully licks across your lips and you open up, allowing him entry to devour you, moaning around him all the while. Your hands sliding up his inner thighs. He pulls away, giving you one last kiss before smiling down at you.

“Stand up, princess.” He demands it so confidentially while still sounding like the perfect prince. You stand up, his hands dragging down your waist as you stand until they rest on your hips. He looks up at you, eyes sparkling as he grins something sinister. 

“Lift your dress for me.” The command is barely a whisper as his hands move under your dress to your ass, squeezing just enough to make you bring your hips forward as you lift the skirt of your dress to reveal your lace underwear. 

The sigh he lets out at the sight of the lace is enough to cause a whole new flood of arousal to soak your underwear. He kisses just above the waistband of the lacey lingerie, one hand slipping down to the back of your thigh while the other runs up and along your stomach, dipping down over the lace. 

His thumb slides down to your center, running up and down your folds through your underwear, gawking at the wet sounds you’re already making.

“Fuck, that guy is an idiot for breaking up with this.” He murmurs before burying his face in between your legs, rubbing his nose against the damp spot. You whisper a few curse words, forcing yourself to continue to remove your dress. He pulls away from your center, leaning back against the couch, almost dazed by the matching lace bra that you remove along with the ruined underwear. 

“Get the fuck over here, princess. I need to show you what a real orgasm is.”

You swallow nervously as you straddle his lap, yelping when one of his hands comes down to smack your ass. He brings your hips down to his, guiding yours to grind against him, soaking his pajama pants in the process. His lips find your neck and you whimper as he marks you across your neck and collarbone. 

“Fuck, Jimin, please.” Your voice strains out as you continue rutting against him, whimpering every time your clit touches the now wet fabric.

“Please what, princess? What do you need?” He buries his face in your neck, panting against your skin.

“Anything. Something. Fuck.” Your fingers tangle in his hair, needing something to hold on to. Jimin just smirks into your neck, using both hands to roughly grind you against him. You cry out, feeling the tightness in your core when he abruptly stops. 

“What the fuck? Why’d you stop?” 

He brings his face back, admiring your flustered expression for a moment as he repositions you both. Suddenly you’re facing away from him and he’s made it so you’re only straddling one of his thighs, removing his pajama pants in the process but leaving his briefs. Before you can reach down to help him relieve any tension from the massive bulge below you, he’s lightly pushing between your shoulder blades, easing you to lean forward until you can basically rest your arms on the coffee table. 

He slips a hand between you both, halting any movement from you. He uses his middle and ring finger to spread your arousal everywhere, smothering your bundle of nerves in it, before returning back to your entrance where he slips the two fingers in without warning. You gasp, pressing further down on his fingers as he curls them in an upside-down come hither motion. 

“You’re going to fuck yourself on my fingers and my thigh, princess. Think you can do that?” 

You nod quickly, desperate for any kind of friction, almost jumping when he adds his index as well. His other hand begins guiding your hips against his thigh and it’s suddenly a whole new experience when it’s his skin against your clit and not the fabric.

You continue grinding against his thigh, clit rubbing against skin with every pull forward and fingers sinking deeper with every roll back, a moaning mess the entire time. Every pull forward, his fingers curl into a claw, pressing against your walls, while every roll back he straightens them out and spreads them as wide as they can go, flexing the muscles in his thigh simultaneously. You both know you’re not going to last long, clenching around his fingers and losing your previously steady rhythm.

“Gonna come for me, princess? Gonna come all over these fingers you think are too small?” His voice is teasing and you nod frantically, but shake your head right after.

“Not too small, fuck, anything but too small. Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

“He ever make you feel like this?” He asks more seriously, waiting until you pull forward to shove his fingers in even deeper as you roll back. Your groan is deep within you, desperate to be free. 

“No.” is all you can bring yourself to respond with. You can almost see the smug smile on his perfect face. 

“Good. Come for me, y/n. All over my fingers, like a good girl.” 

On command, and with one final push forward and back onto his fingers, you’re coming around them, clenching down as you reach that perfect high. He doesn’t stop though, holding you still as he fucks his three fingers in you harder than before. You scream his name as his fingers coax out an immediate second orgasm that’s smaller than the first, but still as strong. 

When you finally still yourself and catch your breath, you roll onto your back on the couch, watching him palm his erection through his underwear as he licks his fingers. 

And that’s when you ask yourself the question for the fourth time. 

How the hell did I get here?

You wait until he’s almost done cleaning yourself off him when you finally speak again. 

“What the hell just happened?” You close your legs, starting to reach for your dress, when the hand that just tortured two orgasms out of you lands on your knee, slowly reopening your legs. 

“You insulted my abilities and I had to prove you wrong.” His hand slides down your thigh again, squeezing the muscles along the way. You don’t stop him. 

“But I just got out of a relationship.”

“I wasn’t asking you to be my girlfriend, princess. There’s a difference.” He takes a sharp breath staring at the mess he’s made of you between your legs, palming himself even more. 

“And, I don’t mind being a rebound if it’s with you. I can make you feel good if that’s all you need from me.” His eyes dart up to yours, completely serious about his offer.

“No strings?”

“None whatsoever.” He grins, and you use your foot to press against his erection through his underwear, earning a grunt from him. 

“Okay. Make me feel good, Jimin.” You whisper, pressing your foot down harder. 

“Your wish is my command, princess.” He quickly gets the words out as he stands up, picking you up bridal style and rushing to his bed. 

You both know you’ll wake up tomorrow regretting it and questioning your friendship, but that’s not important now. What’s important is the way he made you forget all about your stupid breakup with just his fingers and the curiosity of what else he’s capable of.

“Can’t sleep, babygirl?” You sit up with a pout and nod, watching as he strolls over to you in his silk pajama pants and matching striped robe, which is untied, showing off his naked and perfectly sculpted torso. You can’t help but almost drool at the sight of him. “I bet you’re worried about tomorrow, huh?”

Jimin plops down beside you on the bed, running his fingers through your hair as you smile up at him. “I am. I’m usually sure about how things are going to go, but this, I can’t get a read on Mr. Choi about the new project.”

Your boyfriend hooks a finger under your chin, “Baby, look at me. You’re the one he calls when things aren’t going right. He calls you whenever he needs anything, advice on what to do with a client or whatever else. He depends on you more than on his secretary at times. You’re one, if not the best financial analyst he has on his team. That other guy has nothing on you. Your boss is going to make you the leader of that project. I can feel it.”

Your heart flutters at how much faith Jimin has in you. Even with how busy he’s been with things getting back to normal after the pandemic, he always finds the time to make sure you know how much he supports you. He’s so proud of you.

How’d you get so damn lucky?

“Thank you, baby; you’re the best.” He smiles into your kiss, loving how affectionate you’re feeling. When he pulls back, you let out a small yawn, prompting him to look at the time. The glowing number on the bedside table reads 1:17 am.

“You must feel so tired. You should get some rest.”

You shake your head, “I won’t be able to fall asleep as fast as I usually do. My brain won’t let me,” once again, you pout, and he chuckles lightly at your cuteness, but that only ignites something inside of him because he knows what you need.

“Want me to put you to sleep? Fuck you until all you can think about is how good my cock fills you up, babygirl?”

Your body immediately responds to his words. You shudder a little, wanting nothing more than to feel him all over you. Slowly, you nod, answering his question. Jimin stands and slips his robe off, and it’s all you can do but stare at how good your man looks right now in the dimly lit bedroom.

You notice the tent in his pants, and you feel smug about it. The fact that he’s this aroused by you already and you haven’t even touched him still somehow baffles you. You’ve been with him for three years now. Three years have not been easy, not because of any severe arguments but because of the time spent apart due to both careers. Although it’s been hard, you both always find the time to communicate each other’s needs and wants.

You begin to lift your shirt, but he stops you, “Let me.” He slowly crawls over to you on the bed.

Lifting your arms, he proceeds to take the fabric off of your body and then pushes you back softly to lay on the pillows. Jimin hums in satisfaction at the sight of your body, already showing signs of your arousal.

The dark gleam in his eyes is enough to make you squirm, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside of you. “Please, Jimin.”

“Please what, YN.”

“Please, touch me.”

Your boyfriend smiles at you before running his fingers delicately across your legs until he reaches the top of your knees and orders you to spread them for him. His eyes are glued to the delicious wet mess coating your thin underwear; meanwhile, your chest is rising and falling in anticipation of what his fingers will do to you. But instead of giving you what you crave so desperately, his hands slide up your torso until they envelop your breasts, thumbs brushing over and over your nipples until they stiff for him.

Your legs jerk when he pinches hard on your nipples, a soft moan causing his cock to twitch in his pants. His favorite thing is listening to your sweet noises.

“My girl is so sensitive.” Jimin hovers over you and drops his head to your chest, and starts to lick at your nipple, wet tongue running over it in soft circles that only make you whine for more of his touch. He sucks and teases, doing the same to the other as your cunt begins to clench around nothing. It’s when he bites down on it that you moan out loud as your body begins to tremble underneath him. “You’re doing so well, babygirl. You’re so good for me, coming only like this. Can’t get over how sensitive you are.”

When your eyes flutter open, Jimin is still hovering over you, smiling and waiting for your breathing to come back to normal. “There she is,” he kisses you, tongue quickly in search of yours as your arms circle around his neck.

You whine into the kiss as he presses his hips against yours so that you can feel how hard you make him. “Jimin, I want you.”

“You’ll have me, baby, but first, I want you to come on my tongue.” He kisses down your chest but not before leaving some marks along the way. His second favorite thing is getting to look back at his little artwork left behind on his favorite kind of canvas. He’ll be going on tour soon, and knowing that his marks will be on your body for weeks to come somehow makes him feel like he’s leaving with you another small part of himself.

You’re pliant under his touch as his deft fingers descend to your hips to remove your panties. You let out a shuddering breath at the feeling of the cold air hitting your exposed heat.

“You’re so quiet,” Jimin darkly chuckles as he moves to lay on his belly. He grunts at the sight of your cunt still swollen from your first orgasm. You let out a loud moan when his whole mouth covers your pussy, sucking and licking quickly in a way that has your legs shaking and wanting to close around his face. Holding your legs apart, Jimin plunges his tongue inside you, and you scream at the sensation of finally being filled by him.

“Oh, Fuck! Please, please.”

“What exactly are you begging for, YN?”

“I—I. Oh!” You try to answer, but he’s already sucking on your clit and teasing your entrance with two fingers. When he inserts them, you gasp loudly. You’re close to coming once more as his fingers drag in and out of you in rapid successions, your walls clenching around them. When he bites your clit, you cry out Jimin’s name. Pain and pleasure making your skin burn for more.

“What—” You surprise him when your hand reaches down to grab his wrist; wrapping your hand tightly around it, you begin to rock your hips against his fingers. Jimin can’t take his eyes away from you. They’re stuck at the way your mouth opens to let your needy whines escape. He’s transfixed at the way you stare at him. Yes, you’re consumed by desire, but beneath all of that desire, he can see the love you have for him. It’s that look that makes him want to be inside you right now. And you do; you love him so much.

So, as you’re fucking yourself on his fingers, he curls them until they find your spot, and he watches as your body begins to shake. Right as you’re about to orgasm, he latches on to your cunt, and he moans as your sweet essence finally coats his tongue.

“Baby,” you pant, your breaths still erratic, “fuck me deep.”

“I’m going to fill that pretty little pussy, baby.”

He’s desperate for you. Jimin doesn’t even take his pants off all the way; the need to have you wrapped around him is intense. His fingers barely wrap around his girth as he pumps it a couple of times. His pretty cock is a mess with precum that you want to taste, but you know he won’t let you. Not tonight.

The hiss you emit when he rubs his cock along your still sensitive but drenched slit makes Jimin let out a chuckle, “You’ve been so good for me, YN. So fucking good, baby.” His praise makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. “But I can see you’re exhausted now. Should we stop?”

“No! Please. I need you.”

“I can see. Look at how needy this little cunt is for my cock,” Jimin groans when he pushes inside you. Your walls are enveloping him, gripping his cock in a tight vise. He places your legs over his thighs and sits on his knees. As he holds you in place, your arms circle his neck, and you begin to move with him.”

“Ah, so big. Baby, you fill me up so well.”

“That’s it, baby. That’s a good fucking girl,” he grunts, and you moan, his words affecting you as pleasure takes over. “I’m not going to last long, fuck, too good.” Your boyfriend stares at where you two are connected, and you feel his dick twitch inside you. He’s dying to see you come apart on his cock. “You’re so beautiful. So fucking beautiful taking my cock like this. Oh, God.”

“Jimin, baby, I’m going to come.” He bites his lower lip as his thumb rubs circles on your throbbing nub. That, paired with how he’s fucking you, sends you over the edge. The pleasure is so intense that you go limp in his arms when you come, words escaping you. The constant fluttering of your tight cunt coaxes Jimin into his orgasm, his seed painting your walls as his loud moans, and your name is the last thing you hear before your eyes shut.

Jimin walks over to the bed after cleaning himself in the bathroom to do the same for you. He smiles as he watches how soundly you sleep. Your hand is placed over your belly, and Jimin’s heart swells because even in your sleep, you’re already protective of the life growing inside of you. You’re not far along to show yet, but he’s so excited to see your belly grow rounder with each passing day.

He often imagines what features and whose personality the baby will inherit, although he hopes it’ll inherit your beautiful heart most of all.

Your hand suddenly reaches out in search of Jimin’s warmth, and he almost coos at your cuteness. Grabbing his phone off the bedside table, he opens an app to turn off the lights and then lies next to you, bringing you in closer to his body and inhaling your scent.

With your eyes closed, you still find his lips and kiss him. It’s just a tiny, quick kiss, but it’s filled with so much emotion, “I love you,” you whisper against his plush lips.

“I love you,” he echoes against yours.

How’d he get so damn lucky?

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do not copy, repost, translate or modify any of my works

“Hey, hey, Y/N, it’s okay,” he shushed you quietly, concern replacing his previously flirtatious tone. “What’s wrong?”

“I had a terrible day,” you sniffled, voice slightly muffled by the damp t-shirt you were pressed against. Jimin grabbed your shoulders, prying you away from his chest so he could look at you. His worried expression made your eyes fill with tears, but his hands kept you firmly in place so you couldn’t hide from him again.

“Tell me about it,” Jimin said simply, hands coming to your cheeks, right thumb brushing under your eye as a stubborn tear fell.

“My new job is a disaster. I’m so stressed and have a million projects to juggle,” you said, Jimin nodding along as you unloaded your stress onto him. “And on top of all of that, I feel like I’ve been a terrible girlfriend to you lately, barely having time to call you, and I just…”

“Shh, shh, it’s alright,” Jimin cooed. “You’re not a terrible girlfriend. In fact, I happen to think you’re the best girlfriend.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m upset,” you grumbled stubbornly.

“No, I’m not. I mean it.” Jimin responded, bringing you into a hug. You snuggled into the crook of his neck, drinking in the warmth and comfort of his embrace. He started humming a song in your ear, making you close your eyes, focusing on his voice, feeling yourself relax. Jimin was here now–everything was going to be okay.

“Dance with me,” Jimin whispered in your ear.

“What, here? Now? After I tried to ruin your shirt?” you asked incredulously, making Jimin giggle.

“Yes, here, now,” Jimin responded, swaying the two of you as he resumed humming, keeping you close to him.

You brought your head up, hands coming to wrap around his neck and play with the hair at the nape of his neck as he continued to sway with you on your kitchen tile. He paused his humming to kiss you on the forehead. He reached for your hand, spinning you dramatically, your socked feet causing you to stumble on the slippery floor before Jimin steadied you. Your laugh filled the room, Jimin’s smile beaming at you.

“Thank you for being here to make me feel better,” you whispered, still swaying to the beat that Jimin was setting for the two of you.

“I’ll always be here for you, Y/N,” Jimin said matter-of-factly. You leaned up, kissing him sweetly on the lips.

“Come on, let’s get you into something dry,” you said when you pulled back, gesturing to his shirt.

“I knew it! This was all a ploy to get me shirtless,” Jimin said loudly, making you roll your eyes at your boyfriend.

“Aish, you’re insufferable,” you joked, intertwining his fingers with yours as you dragged him out of the kitchen. You could finish the dishes later.

“Good thing you love me, right?” Jimin said, bringing your hand up to his lips to press a kiss to the back of your knuckles. You flushed at his romantic gesture.

“Come on,” you grumbled, turning away from him so he wouldn’t see the blush on your cheeks.

“Say it, Y/N,” Jimin said in a sing-song voice, causing you to speed up your steps toward your bedroom. You heard him speed up behind you, making you giggle. “Please, babe, say it,” Jimin whined, trapping you in his arms just as you were about to head into the closet to grab one of his hoodies you kept stashed at your house to sleep in.

“Fine, fine, I love you,” you gave in, Jimin giving you a kiss on the cheek in satisfaction.

“Good, because I love you too.” He dropped his grip around you, watching you with affectionate eyes as you searched for the purple hoodie you had worn a few days ago.

“You know,” Jimin started, causing you to pause and turn toward him as you waited for him to continue, “I think you should take your shirt off too; it only seems fair.”

“Jimin!” you scolded, his laughter filling your apartment as you swatted at his chest. “See? I told you–completely insufferable.”

“Only for you, babe.”

---

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