#high&low yu | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blissfulflw · 18 days ago

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°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𝐴f𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐻𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠

Pairing- Yu Jimin (Karina) x fem reader

Genre- Smut, Fluff

Word count- 6899

Warnings- 18+ interactions only, G!p Jimin, dom Jimin, mean Jimin, oral, semi public, power imbalance, degration, aftercare, NSFW

A/N: Might’ve gotten a bit too into it but yk it’s yu Jimin who wouldn’t..

You weren’t supposed to be here.

Detention was for kids who didn’t care, who skipped class or smoked in the bathrooms or backtalked teachers with a smirk. You? You were the type who raised your hand too much. Who did extra credit “just in case.” Who ate lunch in the library because even the nerd table didn’t bother inviting you anymore.

But one stupid accident with the fire alarm and a Bunsen burner—and suddenly you were here. Sitting stiff in a too-small desk at the back of room 3-C, hugging your worn hoodie closer, trying not to glance at her.

Yu Jimin.

Legs stretched wide. Black skirt hiked dangerously high. One AirPod in. Not even pretending to do anything productive. Just chewing gum, phone glowing low in her palm, looking bored in the way only someone truly untouchable could.

She wasn’t just hot. That would’ve been easy to ignore.

She was terrifyingly hot. Rumors about her dripped through the halls like syrup. That she got head in the bathroom during finals week. That she made the soccer captain cry once—after hooking up with her. That she’d been suspended last semester for fighting a guy, and won.

And then there was you.

Pathetic little you, who squeaked when she brushed past you in the hallway. Who accidentally bumped into her in gym last month and apologized so hard you nearly cried. Who definitely didn’t stare at her mouth when she chewed her gum or her thighs when she sat like she owned the room.

You dropped your gaze to your notebook. Tried to focus. Pretend the air wasn’t buzzing with heat. That your thighs weren’t clenching.

A low scoff cut through the silence.

“Are you really trying to study in detention?” Jimin’s voice was thick with mockery, sharp and low like a blade sliding between your ribs.

You stiffened, fingers curling around your pen.

“I—I was just—”

“You know this isn’t gonna make you less of a loser, right?” she said, kicking one booted foot up onto the desk across from her. “God. You really are cute, though. All jumpy and awkward like some kicked puppy.”

You flushed, mortified. Your heart pounded painfully in your chest. “I didn’t— I wasn’t trying to—”

“Trying to impress me?” she cut in smoothly, finally lifting her gaze from her phone. Her eyes gleamed. “Don’t bother. I don’t do pathetic.”

You swallowed hard. Said nothing. Prayed she’d lose interest.

But instead, she stood.

Your stomach dropped as she sauntered over, slow and deliberate, like a predator taking her time. She stopped right beside your desk, hands sliding into the pockets of her skirt. The scent of her perfume hit you hard—dark, floral, expensive.

“You always this twitchy, or is it just me?” she asked, leaning down a little, voice a near-whisper. “Because every time I look at you, you get all pink and shaky like a virgin in a porno.”

You stared at your notebook, mortified. You could feel her smirk, even if you didn’t look.

Then—

A hand. Cool fingers curling under your chin. Forcing your face up to meet her gaze.

“You got a crush on me, loser?”

Silence. Heat. Your throat locked.

She laughed—low and cruel.

“Wow. That’s adorable.”

You should’ve shoved her hand away. Should’ve said something sharp, walked out, anything.

Instead, your thighs pressed together involuntarily—and she noticed.

Her eyes dropped, and her grin widened, predatory and amused.

“Well,” she said, straightening, “this just got interesting.”

She didn’t leave.

Instead, Jimin stepped around your desk, casually dragging the back of her fingers along its edge, like she was inspecting it—and you—with bored curiosity. Her presence loomed behind you, and every hair on your neck stood up.

“You really brought homework to detention,” she muttered, amused. “God, you’re precious.”

Your breath caught as she leaned over your shoulder. Her perfume was dizzying. You tried to hide the way your pen trembled in your hand, but she noticed that too.

“What is this?” she asked, flicking the top page of your worksheet with a finger. “Calculus? No wonder you’re so uptight.”

You opened your mouth, tried to say something—anything—but she was already sliding your books aside, scattering your neat little stack of papers like they were trash.

“H-Hey—”

“Relax,” she murmured, voice suddenly right at your ear. “You’ll survive ten minutes without extra credit.”

A few pages fluttered to the floor. Your pen clattered as she pushed it gently out of your grip. You froze, hands limp in your lap now, too aware of how close her front was to your back. The desk creaked as she leaned down more, pressing one hand beside yours, the other landing firmly on your knee.

“Tell me the truth,” she said. “You ever been touched like that?”

You blinked hard, blood pounding. “W-What—”

She laughed again—low, mean, and almost delighted.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

She leaned in so close, her lips nearly brushed your ear. “You ever get wet just from someone talking to you like this? From someone being a little mean?”

Your cheeks burned. She didn’t even wait for your answer.

Her hand slid higher on your thigh, slow and deliberate under the hem of your skirt. You squeaked, instinctively grabbing the edge of the desk.

“Y’know,” she went on, fingers teasing just beneath the fabric, “most girls don’t bring math homework to detention. But you? You’re just begging for someone to ruin all this good-girl bullshit.”

Your voice cracked when you whispered, “Jimin…”

She made a noise in the back of her throat—low and approving.

“Ohhh, that’s cute. Say it again.”

You bit your lip, barely able to breathe. The way she was crowding you, how her thigh now pressed between yours from behind, made your thoughts go fuzzy. The papers on your desk were crumpled now, shoved aside like they didn’t matter. Like they never had.

Because all that mattered now was her—her hand, her voice, and the slow way she rocked her hips against your chair.

“Bet you’ve thought about this,” she said, now grinding just enough for you to feel something hard beneath her skirt. “About someone taking your books away. Spreading you out on this desk. Making you cry for real—not ‘cause of a B+, but ‘cause you’re stuffed so full you can’t even think.”

Your breath hitched.

“Should I show you?” she asked. Her voice dropped, a whisper that burned hot in your core. “Should I make you mine, right here on top of your precious homework?”

_____

Your voice caught in your throat.

You should’ve said no. Should’ve done something—moved, protested, anything. But your body betrayed you first, thighs clenching instinctively around hers, your breathing shallow and hitched. The answer was written all over your skin—flushed, trembling, soaked through your underwear.

Jimin knew.

“That’s what I thought,” she murmured, smirking as her hand slid higher, fingers brushing the edge of your panties under your skirt. “Soaked already, huh? You’re seriously that desperate for it?”

Her fingers grazed your clothed slit, and your whole body jolted.

She laughed softly, dark and mean. “Fucking adorable.”

With one hand still pressed flat beside your hip, she used the other to shove aside your remaining papers—your messy, scribbled math notes and the half-finished extra credit worksheet—until your desk was mostly clear. Then she moved fast.

“Stand up.”

You hesitated—just for a second. That was all she needed.

Suddenly her hand was in your hair, yanking gently but firmly, making your spine arch as you gasped.

“I said, stand.” She looked down at you, her voice quiet but cutting. “Or do you want me to bend you over this desk and fuck you like a bitch in heat while your little math homework soaks up your moans?”

You scrambled to your feet, legs trembling, heart hammering like a caged animal.

The desk dug into your thighs as she turned you and bent you forward with a single, dominant push. Your palms slapped against the surface—papers crinkling under your fingers.

Then you heard it: the low, unmistakable click of her belt.

“W-Wait,” you breathed, panicked and turned on beyond reason. “You… you have a—?”

Jimin leaned down, her breath hot on your neck as she whispered, “Didn’t expect the rumors to be true, huh, baby?”

She pressed her hips forward. Something thick and hard rubbed against the curve of your ass, straining under her skirt.

“I don’t fuck around,” she purred. “And tonight, neither do you.”

Your head dropped to your arms. Your panties were tugged down in one rough motion, the cold air hitting your slick core like a shock. Then—warm fingers spreading you open. Teasing. Testing.

“Fuck,” she muttered behind you, almost reverently. “Look at this mess. You really needed this, huh?”

You let out a broken sound when her cock—not silicone, real, hot and leaking—pressed against your entrance.

“Hope you’re ready, loser,” Jimin whispered, lining herself up. “I’m not stopping ‘til you’re ruined.”

And then she pushed in.

It was slow at first—stretching, burning, splitting you open with each inch. You whined, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the desk. But she didn’t stop. Just kept sliding in, groaning under her breath as your walls fluttered helplessly around her.

When she bottomed out, hips flush against your ass, she leaned in close again. Her hand slid between your legs, stroking lazily as she murmured in your ear:

“Now be a good girl and take it. Just like I know you’ve been fantasizing about every time you saw me in the halls.”

Then she pulled back—and started to fuck you in earnest.

Her hips snapped forward again, driving into you with sharp, perfect rhythm. Your breath caught on every thrust, moans spilling from your mouth without your permission. It was too much, too deep, too good—your brain short-circuiting under the weight of sensation.

Jimin groaned, low and breathless. “Fuck. You clench like you’re in love with me or something.”

Your cheeks flamed. You wanted to deny it—wanted to say something, but all that came out was a whimper as she slammed into you again, harder this time. The desk creaked. Your notes were damp with sweat and spit, crumpled under your hands like the last remnants of a version of you that no longer existed.

She leaned over you, chest pressed to your back, her mouth back at your ear—close enough that you could feel the smirk in every word.

“Bet you’ve never had anyone talk to you like this,” she whispered, breath hot. “No one’s ever made you feel like this, huh?”

You shook your head weakly, tears stinging your lashes.

“That’s what I thought,” she cooed. “All that good-girl crap. All those little A+ grades and cute-ass pencil cases. What a waste.”

She rocked her hips slow—deep—drawing out every trembling whine from your lips before snapping forward again.

“You’re so much better like this, baby,” she murmured. “Bent over. Full of cock. Dumb and messy and mine.”

You let out a cracked, broken moan—and that made her chuckle.

“There it is,” she whispered. “My perfect little loser. Melting all over my dick like you were made to get ruined by me.”

Her hand curled around your throat—not choking, just holding—just reminding you who was in control.

“I see you now,” she said, voice gentler than it had any right to be. “All those stupid, desperate stares in the hallway? You could’ve just said you wanted this. Could’ve told me you wanted to be my personal stress relief.”

Another slow, punishing thrust. You choked on a sob.

“I’d have bent you over weeks ago, babe.”

You didn’t recognize the noise you made when her fingers slid down again, brushing your clit in tight, perfect circles that made your legs tremble.

“Don’t worry,” she breathed, pressing kisses to your shoulder like they were sweet when they were anything but. “You’re mine now. No more homework. No more lonely lunches. Just me, and this perfect little body.”

Your moans were almost sobs now. Your thighs shook. You were close—so close—and she knew.

“Gonna cum for me?” she whispered, licking a stripe up the side of your neck. “Gonna make a mess all over your fucking desk, like a needy little toy?”

She didn’t even wait for your answer.

“You better. You better cum for me, baby, or I’ll fuck you until your legs stop working.”

You came so hard, your vision blurred.

Your orgasm hit like a wave you didn’t see coming—sudden, overwhelming, stealing the air from your lungs. Your legs buckled, mouth open in a silent cry as your body trembled beneath her.

Jimin didn’t slow.

She rode it out, dragging out every aftershock with deep, possessive thrusts that left you gasping, squirming—raw. Your walls clenched around her, slick and spasming, making her hiss through her teeth.

“Fuck,” she groaned, grip tightening on your hips. “You’re gonna kill me with this pussy.”

She thrust once, twice more—then buried herself deep, a shudder rolling through her chest against your back. You felt her cock twitch inside you, and then warmth. She stayed like that for a moment, letting her weight rest against you, her breath fanning hot across your neck.

The classroom was quiet now, except for your ragged breathing and the faint creak of the desk beneath your slumped body.

Then—softly, unexpectedly—Jimin pressed a kiss behind your ear. Not teasing. Not mocking.

Just… warm.

“Damn,” she muttered. “You really were made for this.”

You made a broken noise in response—something between a laugh and a sob. Your legs felt like jelly. Your face was wet. You were drooling onto your own fucking homework.

She noticed. Of course she did.

“Aww,” she said with a soft coo, dragging her thumb gently across your cheek. “You crying for me already, nerd?”

You sniffled. “You’re awful.”

That made her grin.

“Yeah,” she said, sliding out slowly, careful, her hand coming up to hold your waist when your knees wobbled. “But I’m your awful.”

She tucked herself back into her skirt with practiced ease, then gently helped you up. You winced, legs unsteady, and she made a pleased noise as she pulled you flush against her chest.

“God, look at you. Wrecked. Ruined. Probably never gonna look at a graphing calculator the same again.”

You buried your face in her shoulder, humiliated and blissed-out. “You’re the worst.”

“Nah,” she whispered, nuzzling your hair. “I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

Her fingers trailed down your back again—slow, possessive.

“Next time,” she murmured, lips brushing your temple, “I’m taking you in the library. Right where you eat your sad little sandwich. So everyone knows who you belong to.”

You shivered.

She pulled away just enough to look at your face—messy, flushed, eyes glassy.

“You okay?” she asked, quieter now. “Too much?”

You shook your head. She nodded once, serious for a beat, then kissed your forehead like she meant it.

“Good. ‘Cause this isn’t a one-time thing,” she said. “You’re mine now, loser.”

You didn’t move for a while.

Your legs were too weak, your brain too fuzzy, and everything below your waist felt warm and aching and full, even though she’d already pulled out. You just stood there in her arms, small and quiet, the back of your skirt wrinkled and your panties dangling around one ankle.

Jimin held you steady, like it was nothing. Like you weren’t a trembling wreck she’d just ruined over your own calculus homework.

She clicked her tongue. “God. You’re so fucking helpless.”

Her voice was sharp, but her hands were soft as she smoothed your skirt back down, then bent to help you step out of your underwear completely. She folded them into her pocket without asking—like she owned them now.

You didn’t even try to stop her.

“You really are a mess,” she muttered, guiding you back to the chair. She plopped down first and tugged you into her lap like a toy she’d decided to keep—your thighs straddling hers, face tucked into the crook of her shoulder. “Bet you couldn’t even walk home like this. Pathetic.”

You let yourself sink into her chest, boneless and dazed.

“You’re such a brat,” she added, fingers carding gently through your hair. “Acting all quiet and smart, hiding behind your little notebooks, pretending like you don’t want someone to just wreck you.”

You whimpered a little, embarrassed. Her arms tightened.

“You do want that,” she whispered, pressing her lips to the side of your head. “You want someone to see how fucking sweet you are under all that shy bullshit. And guess what, baby?”

She cupped your cheek, tilting your face up so you had to look her in the eyes.

“I see you.”

You blinked at her—wide-eyed and small, cheeks still damp, lips kiss-bitten.

“I see all of it,” she said, quieter now. “And if anyone else ever looks at you like you’re available, I swear to god I’ll make them cry.”

You swallowed, too full of emotion to say anything. She tapped your lip with two fingers.

“Next time,” she said casually, “I’m bringing snacks. And a blanket. ‘Cause clearly you need post-fuck nesting like some pathetic little kitten.”

You buried your face in her shoulder again, heart thudding painfully at her chest.

“I’m serious,” she mumbled, one hand rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades. “You act like you hate me, but I know you’re in love. You’re obsessed.”

You mumbled something unintelligible.

“What was that?” she teased. “Was that a confession? You gonna cry again if I kiss your forehead?”

She did it anyway. Kissed you there. Soft and possessive.

“I’ll take care of you, dumbass,” she said. “You’re mine now. Deal with it.”

And even though she was still calling you names, still being mean…

You’d never felt more safe in your life.

Eventually, the silence in the detention room grew heavy with the smell of sweat and cheap perfume. The clock ticked closer to six, and the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in tired yellow.

But you stayed curled in her lap, soft and sleepy and still twitching a little every time her hands skimmed over your thighs.

Jimin shifted under you and sighed dramatically, her arms still holding you close like you might try to run. “Alright, loser. Detention’s over. Time to move.”

You whined softly, nose buried in her collar.

She scoffed.

“God, you’re needy.” But her hand came up to cradle the back of your head again, thumb brushing over your ear in a way that made your lashes flutter. “Fine. Just give me a second.”

She leaned forward with you still draped across her lap and started gathering your scattered papers one-handed. Your pen. Your crumpled worksheet. Your calculator. She clicked her tongue when she saw the damp smudge across your graph paper from where you’d drooled.

“Look at this disaster. You really did ruin your homework.” She smirked. “Guess I’ll have to do it for you now, too. Useless.”

You made a small noise of protest, and she cut you off with a kiss to the top of your head.

“Shut up. I’m good at math.”

With surprising care, she tucked everything into your bag, then stood with you in her arms like you weighed nothing. You clung to her automatically, legs wrapped loosely around her waist, cheek resting against her shoulder as she carried you out into the empty hallway.

“You’re such a little princess,” she muttered, kissing your jaw between steps. “Can’t even walk after one round? I should be offended.”

You mumbled into her neck, and she snorted.

“Yeah, yeah. You loved it.”

She carried you all the way to her car. Opened the passenger door. Buckled you in.

Once you were tucked safely in your seat, your knees drawn up under her oversized hoodie (she’d stripped it off and draped it over you without a word), Jimin dumped your backpack into the backseat and slid in beside you with a satisfied sigh.

“You’re coming to my place,” she said, like it was already decided. “You can nap or whatever while I fix your stupid homework.”

You blinked at her, still dazed. “You don’t have to—”

“Yes I do,” she cut in smoothly. “You think I’m gonna let anyone else look at your stupid essays and see the heart you dotted over the ‘i’ in your name?”

You covered your face, groaning. “I hate you.”

She leaned over and kissed your temple. “Liar.”

_____

You were curled up on her bed in her clothes, warm and soft and full of post-orgasm exhaustion while Jimin sat at her desk, your calculus book open beside your notes.

She twirled your pen between her fingers like a knife.

“You write like a twelve-year-old,” she muttered, scribbling your answers faster than you ever could.

You rolled onto your side, cheek squished against her pillow. “You’re mean.”

She didn’t look up, but you saw the corner of her mouth twitch into a smirk.

“Yeah, but I’m doing your homework and feeding you later, so shut up and let me spoil you.”

Your chest squeezed.

She really was the worst. And she really was yours.

_____

You dozed for a bit—just long enough to lose track of time. Her bed was stupidly soft, her hoodie smelled like her shampoo, and your body was still buzzing from everything she’d done to you.

At some point, you rolled over and realized she was no longer at her desk.

Then you smelled it.

Something warm, savory, and very, very intentional.

You sat up slowly, a little sore, still wearing nothing but her oversized t-shirt and boxers that practically hung off your hips. Padding quietly down the hall, you peeked into the kitchen—and nearly melted on the spot.

Jimin stood barefoot at the stove, brow furrowed like she was solving a physics equation, stirring a pan and tasting the sauce with the same precision she used to ruin you in detention. Her sleeves were pushed up, her tattoos on display, and your favorite song was playing low from her speaker.

On the counter, you spotted a cutting board with ingredients you definitely mentioned earlier in the week when she kept “casually” asking about your comfort meals. She’d pretended it was part of a joke.

“You really like that stuff?” she’d said, twirling her pen. “That basic-ass dish? For real?”

But she remembered.

Every. Single. Thing.

You stepped in, quiet, until she glanced over and caught you watching.

She rolled her eyes.

“Jesus,” she said, flipping something in the pan like a pro. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not that big of a deal.”

You opened your mouth, but she cut you off.

“I was hungry anyway. You just happen to be pathetic and weak and clearly too dumb to cook for yourself, so…” she shrugged, her voice dropping. “Whatever.”

You smiled, cheeks burning.

She glanced at you again, noticed the way you were wrapped in her clothes, your knees knocking together.

She exhaled. “You look like a fucking kicked puppy.”

Then: “Sit down.”

You sat.

A few minutes later, she brought you a plate—your plate, actually. She must’ve stolen it from your Instagram story or something. Everything you liked, made exactly how you liked it. Even the seasoning was perfect. Your favorite drink followed a minute later, poured into a glass with ice the way you always did it.

When you looked up at her, stunned, she crossed her arms and stared at you like she was daring you to say something embarrassing.

You did anyway. Quietly.

“…You remembered all of it.”

She scowled.

“I’m not an idiot.”

You took a bite. Your eyes widened.

“Holy shit.”

She smirked—just a little. “Of course it’s good. I don’t half-ass things.”

When you tried to offer her some, she leaned down, stole a bite from your fork, and winked. “Tastes better when I eat it from your plate, obviously.”

After dinner, she disappeared into the kitchen again. You assumed she was doing dishes—until she came back with a whole dessert, carefully plated with toppings, looking like something out of a bakery window.

You blinked. “Did you just—”

“No,” she said immediately. “Shut up. Eat it.”

You did. It was perfect. She watched you like it was a test.

You set your fork down, cheeks full. “You’re kind of insane.”

She leaned back in her chair, eyeing you lazily. “And you’re kind of spoiled.”

Then, quieter: “But I guess I don’t mind.”

She reached out and wiped a crumb off your lip with her thumb. Then sucked it into her mouth slowly, eyes on yours the whole time.

“I like feeding my little nerd,” she said, mean and sweet and dangerous. “Makes you extra obedient.”

You wanted to crawl into her lap again. Maybe forever.

After dessert, the air in the room shifted. You felt full—not just physically, but in a way that made your chest warm and your pulse race, even in the quiet.

Jimin leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowing slightly as she watched you finish your food, still feeling the weight of her attention. You hadn’t noticed, but your legs were subconsciously pressed together, like you were trying to hide the way your body reacted to her every move. Every word.

“You look all full and cute now,” she said, voice low. “Like a little pet after a nice meal.”

You made a face at her. “I’m not your pet.”

She raised an eyebrow, giving you that smirk that made your insides twist. “Sure you’re not. But you are my little loser, and that’s basically the same thing.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real force behind it.

“Come on.” Jimin stood up, walking over to the couch and sitting down with an exaggerated sigh. “Get over here, loser. I don’t bite—unless you ask.”

You felt your pulse skip at the teasing tone in her voice, and despite yourself, you followed her. She patted the spot next to her on the couch, a little more casual than you expected.

You sat down, a little awkward, but she didn’t let you stay that way for long. She tugged you to sit sideways on her lap with a single hand on your waist. She didn’t even look at you—just made herself comfortable with her arms around your waist, settling you into place.

You couldn’t help but melt against her, your cheek on her shoulder, feeling her warm body under yours.

She was quiet for a second—just watching you, fingers tracing lazily up your side.

“You’re such a mess,” she murmured, soft and low. “So fucking easy to handle. One little meal and you’re basically purring.”

You were about to protest, but she cut you off before you could.

“Don’t start. I know you love it.” She kissed the top of your head. “I told you I’d spoil you. You can pretend you hate it all you want, but you’re mine now.”

You felt a knot in your chest, the weight of her words sinking in deep. You could feel the truth of them in your bones, and the rush of desire you’d tried to bury was coming back with full force.

“I don’t need to hear this,” you mumbled, but even as you said it, your heart was beating so hard you thought it might give out.

Jimin chuckled, her hands sliding down your back in lazy strokes. She kissed your ear softly, nipping at the lobe in a teasing way that made your whole body shiver.

“You’re cute when you’re pretending you don’t want me,” she whispered. “I can feel you getting soft for me all over again. Adorable.”

You shifted on her lap, trying to hide the growing heat between your legs. Jimin, of course, noticed immediately.

“Aww,” she cooed mockingly, her hands tightening around your waist. “Do I turn you on that much, princess?”

You flushed deep red, face burning. “I—stop it.”

She laughed, but it wasn’t the cruel laugh from before. This time, it was warmer—almost affectionate, but still with that sharp edge.

“C’mon,” she said, kissing your temple. “Relax. You’ve had a long day of being a brat. Let me take care of you.”

You leaned into her more, letting her hold you close, your head against her shoulder. You could feel her fingers lazily playing with your hair, soothing you in a way that almost made you forget how badly she teased.

And yet, every once in a while, she’d murmur something that made your heart race again.

“You’re so lucky I’m into you, you know?” she said. “I could be out with someone who’s not a total fucking nerd. But I like my little messes. Makes me feel powerful.”

You felt the weight of her words, but instead of pushing you away, it only made you cling to her a little more, sinking into her warmth.

“And don’t think I’m done spoiling you,” she added, voice low. “You’re not allowed to go back to being that boring little good girl. Not when I’ve got you this way.”

You let out a soft sigh, knowing deep down that you’d never want to go back. Not now. Not after she’d ruined you, in the best way possible.

“Good,” she murmured, resting her chin on top of your head. “I like it when you’re mine.”

You could’ve stayed like that forever—wrapped in her arms, the tension between you both starting to soften into something deeper.

But, as always, Jimin had to remind you she wasn’t about to let you off easy.

“Now,” she said, pushing you off her lap with just enough force to make you stumble, “get in bed. I’m not letting you go until you’re completely worn out from me. And we both know it won’t take long.”

You didn’t protest this time.

You just followed her obediently, knowing it was exactly where you wanted to be.

_____

You were buried in a mountain of flashcards and textbooks, the library’s hushed stillness pressing in around you. Your lunch—a lukewarm sandwich and an apple—sat neglected at the edge of the table, shielded by scattered notes and half-finished diagrams. You’d told yourself you’d stay late this afternoon, get ahead on biology before Jimin picked you up for… whatever was next.

Your hair fell in your face as you leaned down to scribble another note, pen scratching paper in the quiet. The distant hum of the air conditioner was the only sound until you felt it: a soft brush against your ankle.

You froze.

At first, you thought it was a trick of the breeze—or your imagination. But then you saw it: the hem of Jimin’s skirt slipping under the desk, and her fingers brushing your calf. Panic fluttered in your chest as you realized what she was doing.

You snapped your head up to scan the room. A few students glanced up from their laptops, but no one paid real attention. The librarian was at the far end, shelving books, too absorbed to notice the scene unfolding beneath the table. Your pulse thundered.

You swallowed, tugging at your hair to tuck it behind your ear, trying to appear calm. “Jimin?” you whispered, voice barely more than a breath.

She didn’t answer. Instead, her hand slid higher, teasing the inside of your thigh just beneath the edge of your skirt. You bit your lip, your pen stabbing at the notebook in distress.

Without warning, she leaned in, her breath cool against your inner thigh. Her tongue flicked out, tracing a line from your knee up to where your panties were soaked through. You gasped, clutching your pen, and dropped your forehead onto the open page of your textbook, hiding your face behind the printed paragraphs.

The world became the scent of old paper and Jimin’s perfume as her mouth found the seam of your panties. You twisted, trying to keep your voice down, but you couldn’t stop the soft moan that slipped past your lips.

“Shh,” she murmured against your skin, sliding your panties aside. Her hand curled around your wrist gently, pressing it against the underside of the desk so you wouldn’t flail. “Don’t be so loud, baby.”

Your hair curtained your face as you pressed back, thighs clenching instinctively around her head. She chuckled—low, pleased. “Good girl.”

Her tongue dipped between your folds, soft and insistent, and you nearly strangled on a muffled cry. You tried to clutch the textbook for support, but your other hand found Jimin’s hair, threading through the silky strands, guiding her closer. Every hitch of her breath against you sent tremors through your core.

The library’s quiet seemed to stretch forever as Jimin worked you with careful precision—sliding her tongue along your slit, flattening it against you, then flicking it over your clit in tiny, teasing circles. You bit down on the edge of your textbook, trying to keep quiet, but your body was already betraying you.

Her hand found your other thigh, pressing it open wider as she deepened her ministrations. “Look at you,” she whispered, voice thick. “So desperate—hiding behind your books like some shy little mouse.”

You could only whimper, pressing your face into the textbook as her tongue darted inside you. The feel of her lips wrapped around you, the slick heat of her mouth—it was too much. Your toes curled, and you shifted in your seat, but Jimin’s hand held you firmly in place.

“Gonna cum, aren’t you?” she teased, one finger slipping inside you in time with her tongue. “Such a needy little nerd. You love this, don’t you?”

Your head throbbed against the page, vision blurring as waves of pleasure built behind your eyes. You tried to answer, to deny it, but all that emerged was a broken whisper: “Y-yes…”

That was enough for her. Her movements grew more deliberate, fingers pumping inside you while her tongue worked magic on your clit. You bit down harder on the textbook, knuckles whitening as you fought to keep your voices of ecstasy contained.

And then it happened—you tumbled over the edge, a rush of heat and tension that ripped through your body, making you shudder and quake. You clutched the desk leg, head buried in your book, hair matted against your face, as you came with an almost inhuman keening.

Jimin stayed right there, riding out every spasm of your orgasm with slow, patient strokes until you were a trembling mess in her lap beneath the desk. She pulled back, leaving you panting and sore, glancing up at you briefly with a cruel-smile-gone-soft.

“Pathetic,” she whispered, sliding back into her seat as if nothing happened. She tucked your hair behind your ear from under the desk, popping your panties back into place with casual precision. “Now focus. You’ve got a quiz in thirty minutes.”

You lifted your head, cheeks blazing hot, and stared at her—hair still falling in your face, eyes glassy. She slid a book across the table to block the view of her legs beneath the desk.

“Try to act normal,” she said, voice smug. “Or I’ll do it again.”

Your hand still shook as you picked up your pen, trying to write a coherent note. Jimin leaned over, her breath ghosting your ear as she murmured, “I’m always watching you, loser.”

And you—god, you—couldn’t help but obey.

Jimin didn’t slip away when you thought she might. Instead, she stayed—perched on the metal chair across from you, legs crossed, one boot tapping softly on the floor. The tip of her pencil hovered over her own notebook, but her eyes never left you.

You stared at your biology text, trying to get back into the diagrams of mitochondria, but every time you turned a page, you felt her watching. Then you caught sight of her tongue, sliding slowly over her bottom lip, and you knew you hadn’t imagined how she savored you under the desk.

She sighed—quiet, almost pained. You glanced up, heart lurching.

“Ugh,” she muttered, rubbing at her temple as if you’d just interrupted her headache. But the tone wasn’t annoyed; it was… wistful.

Your stomach fluttered. “Jimin—” you began, but she held up a finger.

“Shh,” she said, voice low. She leaned forward, folding her arms on the desk so her chin rested on her knuckles. “You taste so good. Like… like honey and something floral. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. You tried to focus on your notes—drawing a shaky arrow between two lines of text—but her words echoed in your skull.

“I swear,” she continued, tone casual as if she were complaining about cafeteria pizza. “Every time I chew gum, I almost taste you. It’s driving me insane.”

Your pen slipped from your fingers and clattered to the floor. Jimin’s gaze flicked down to it, then back to you with that half-smirk of hers. “Pick it up,” she ordered softly.

You bent to retrieve it—careful not to expose yourself—and when you sat back up, she was watching your mouth, licking her own lips.

“Don’t make me come back under there,” she teased, voice barely more than a whisper. “Because I will if I have to taste you again. And trust me, I want to. Bad.”

Your pulse thundered so loud you were sure the whole library could hear it. You tried to force your pen to move, scrawling down a definition, but every stroke felt like static.

Jimin straightened, sliding her chair just an inch closer—just enough that her thigh brushed yours under the table. “You know,” she said, tone mocking but gentle, “maybe I’ll kick everyone out and we’ll make our own little study sesh.”

You dared a glance up. Her eyes were soft around the edges, but still bright and sharp. She was serious. And possessive.

“Just… next time,” she added, voice so low you could barely hear it, “leave the books at home.”

She leaned back, picked up her textbook, and opened it with a deliberate snap—like she was done complaining and now expected you to do your work. But you knew better. You could feel the promise in the way she watched you, the way her thigh rested against yours.

And somewhere, between the definitions and the diagrams, you realized you wouldn’t mind at all if she did come back under there. Not even a little.

_____

The library clock ticked closer to closing time, its soft chime hinting at the end of another long afternoon. You closed your textbook with a decisive snap, heart still fluttering from the memory of Jimin’s confession. Across the table, she tucked a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, thumb brushing your cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Done?” she asked, irritation still flitting beneath her words—an irritation you’d come to recognize as care.

You offered a small, tired smile. “Finished,” you whispered.

Her eyes softened, the usual sharpness melting just enough to show relief. She stretched, stretching you against her side, and pushed her chair back. “Good. Let’s get out of here before they lock the doors.”

You packed your things slowly, savoring each movement—zipped pencil case, carefully stacked notes, the lingering warmth of her thigh against yours under the table. When you turned to face her, Jimin’s gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, as if reading every unsaid thought.

“Hey,” she said, voice gentler now. “About earlier… I’m—”

You pressed a finger to her lips.

“I know,” you murmured. “And I…” A beat, then, softer: “I like it. All of it. Even when you’re mean.”

Her smirk returned, half-lidded and satisfied. “Of course you do, loser. You’re mine, remember?”

You laughed quietly, leaning up to kiss her temple. “Mine.”

Hand in hand, you stepped out into the dusk-lit courtyard. The cool air felt electric against your overheated skin. Jimin slipped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you walked.

“I have one more surprise,” she said, voice playful instead of cruel. “Remember how you said you wanted to try that little café down the street?”

You blinked. “You remembered?”

“Duh,” she replied, guiding you toward the gate. “I like doing things you like.”

Your chest swelled. “Thank you.”

She punched your arm lightly. “Don’t get sappy on me now.”

At the café, tucked into a corner booth, you ordered the warm pastries and whipped cream–topped cocoa you’d mentioned. As you waited, Jimin reached across the table, her fingers tangling with yours.

“You know,” she said, leaning in so her voice was only for you, “I never thought I’d actually care about someone’s favorite food. But with you… it matters.”

You squeezed her hand. “I’m glad.”

She grinned, that signature glint in her eye. “Yeah, yeah. Just eat your damn croissant before I steal it.”

You laughed, leaning into her warmth as the barista delivered your treats. Steam curled from the mug as you both took a cautious sip—perfectly sweet, just like the last months had become.

Jimin watched you, satisfied, until you caught her eye and winked. She rolled her eyes, but the tilt of her lips betrayed her. Then, softly, in a tone that was more promise than tease, she murmured, “Welcome to forever, loser.”

You pressed a kiss to her knuckles, heart full. “Forever,” you echoed, as the world outside faded into the soft glow of café lights and the shared warmth of two perfectly mismatched souls—mean girl and loser, now something infinitely more.

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