#jimin drabble

[hoseoksluna]

THE END OF THE WORLD | pjm

pairing: best friend!jimin x f. reader

genre: fluff

rating: 13+

summary: when you thought your period cramps would bring in the end of the world, you didn't realize your feelings for jimin would get reciprocated in the middle of it all.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: reader is on her period; brief mention of period blood, jimin has a cute (non-sexual) fixation on reader's feet, kissing, anxiety, the problematics of heavy thoughts, insecurities and feeling not worthy of good things.

luna's note: this little thing literally came out of nowhere. i started writing this at work on friday when i had severe cramps and i felt soft enough to write a little fluff. where my jimin girls at? i've been heavily fixated on jimin lately, seeking comfort in him, buying pcs from muse photoshoot bc it's my favorite. the jimin i wrote about is an older, buffier jimin with blond hair bc that's my weakness. i hope you like this figment of my imagination and that it makes you as soft as it made me. i love you all, sending kisses mwah.

𓂃 ౨ৎ

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The pain that coursed across your lower tummy felt like the world ending, and your boy friend carried more beauty than a mere mortal could ever achieve. Too bad there was that doomful space between those two words that speak of his role in your life, even though his current position suggests such closeness that those letters could easily melt together. 

Jimin rests the side plane of his face on the middle of your thigh. You repose on the left side of your bed, seemingly bloodless while you exude liters upon liters of the carmine liquid, which makes you wonder how you’re still alive. The wings of your ovaries constrict and constrict, right under his face, reflecting the membrane of his own pair that you’ve watched grow into those of an archangel throughout the trajectory of your life with him. You try to ignore the pain, even as your features twist in helplessness, and instead imagine the colors that could swift through those feathers. 

Pistachio green. Brown that fades into a soft pink. Maybe a little subdued yellow. 

You’ve always thought he was an angel by the way his presence in your day simply made it better. More joyful, more loving, more gentle. But the more you blossomed into adulthood with him, and your frontal lobe developed as well as your unconditional feelings for him, the more you comprehended he was your angel. And not just an ordinary one. 

He was your archangel. 

He would protect you from people that had no space in your life, no luck or love to pepper your nose with. On the packed public transport, he would cover your knees with his hand so no male strangers would touch you with the back of their legs. If a guy came to make a mess out of your life, he would deal with him in a way that would force him to apologize to you and never bother you again. If someone, no matter their gender, caused you sadness in any small or big form, he made sure they regretted it. And, more often than not, your archangel bought you boba. 

You must’ve tried all the flavors from your favorite bubble bar by now. And by all means, crème brûlée was your favorite—only because when you drank it for the first time, you realized that you irrevocably loved the boy with the faux blond hair, pillowy lips, kind heart and confidential tattoos. And when this dawned upon you, it seemed as though Jimin knew—because he blushed and didn’t say anything for a while. The unspoken information, kept safely in the cores of yours and his being, not born into this world. That’s why it’s your favorite. 

It’s the one that is set on your nightstand right now, unopened, with the straw still captive in the translucent foil. It took only one response to his daily how are you text for him to drive to your usual bubble bar on his way to you, and upon seeing the beige peek through the cup, along with the brown sugar syrup, it’s a miracle your knees didn’t give out on you. The fact he chose this drink over all the other ones you love fed your heart the delusions that maybe, just maybe he loved you back. 

That he wasn’t just a kind boy, whose love language was physical touch, and that’s why he’s laying in your lap. 

Maybe, if you did any good in your life, Jimin gazes at you from this lower position while fondling your aching tummy because he feels something deeper than a sympathy for you. 

The pain almost forces you to ask that life-altering question for clarification. Almost. It is on the tip of your tongue, perfect and fluid, breathless and fearless, but you hold it back because Jimin extends one finger and traces patterns on your bloated belly. 

And not just any patterns.

He’s drawing wings. 

His own flutter in the air. Green, brown, pink and yellow. As if he’s giving life to them by drawing a miniature version of them on your clothed skin. And as they flutter, they open and close, open and close. They lift him, leave him hovering above you for a mere second while his hands find a good spot on the mattress outside of the lines of your body, until he settles. His body plops down onto yours, bringing in such heat that you softly gasp and close your eyes at the impact, and you don’t know what to feel, what your hands are doing as they lift, too, and interlock behind his neck, and you don’t know what this is. 

Is this what friends normally do? 

You wouldn’t know. Jimin has been your only boy friend since… forever. And you can’t think properly because the heat penetrating you mingles with your cramps and his body weight messes with your brain, emptying it out until there’s only two sentences that linger. 

One: I love you, Jimin.

Two: We are connected beyond the laws of this world, through strings which are transparent. 

The second sentence only expands, in metaphorical terms, on the first one.

Jimin’s cheek is reddened by his former position in your lap. A circle of soft and wrinkly skin that must be as warm as the rest of him. His blond hair is a bird’s nest, which an entire league of lesser angels must take care of. And his mellow smile gives off such snug light that it reaches his eyes, dissolving there like sparks of a dying fire. 

You love him, and you fail to understand how it has come to be—him laying on top of you. Did you smiling at the cashier in the grocery stop while you paid for your pads earlier get you this blessing? If the world ended in the next minute, you’d be happy, you wouldn’t mind at all because this, this is everything to you. You’re afraid to speak, to break the spell of the moment, and you feign an absolute calmness, not daring to move an inch, despite the fact your internal organs are colored by fireworks that burst and burst as soon as his breathing syncs with yours. 

It’s not that your lungs copied his—his lungs copied yours, and there’s something terribly intimate about that. 

You can’t halt the scarlet tinge rushing through your cheeks, one of the flower-shaped fireworks flung through you. Jimin’s tender eyes fall to them, one by one, and his mouth cracks the tiniest of smiles, as if he, too, held himself back from ruining the moment. The room is saturated with rosiness that feels light, and you wonder how long has it actually been since you’ve put on these rose-colored glasses. 

How strange it is in reality, to love someone without them knowing. 

You’re a slave to things hitting you all of a sudden. You tend to live in a dreamy headspace, walking through life seeking the arts, the poems, the book lines that cut through your heart without any ounce of pity, and when reality infiltrates that fog like the winter’s sun, the rosiness loses its hue. 

Just like right now. 

What are you doing? What is Jimin doing and why is he doing it? It’s not right, it shouldn’t be like this, you haven’t done anything to deserve this. You don’t think smiling at a cashier would make you deserve—

“Is the pain any better?” 

His tender voice percolates into your anxious thoughts like a pyrotechnic with colors inside its throat, the very fireworks inside you, and they meet in the middle of your sternum, connecting, clicking, never to be torn apart—at least not for a while. Their bond erases your fear, making space for a clean frame of mind, and your brain cells focus on your aching lower belly. The pain has lessened due to the heat radiating off Jimin’s body and seeping into yours, you let out a long breath that caresses the shorter pieces of his hair, and your muscles loosen, your senses returning to you. 

You can smell Jimin.

Apple shampoo, the sweet vanilla of his fragrance, laced most delectably with the manly spice of his aftershave. And the savoriness of his natural scent. 

A moment of physical serenity. 

Your fingers twitch behind the nape of his neck, pining to play with his hair. You take a lungful of the whole essence of him, your pining dilating as your instinct begs you to fist the downy material of his cashmere sweater, drag him up and bury your nose in his neck. 

You do none of those things, however. Your fingers keep on twitching, and so you close them into a fist, holding your thumb for comfort, willing the blackness of your thoughts away. 

You nod your head and suddenly, your body does as it pleases. For a reason unknown to you, your free finger taps the center of the back of his neck, and you’re not sure if it was that brief touch that cast such light in his eyes, or whether it was the fact that he’s helping your cramps. 

You wish you’d stop thinking at all. It’s exhausting, fighting and analyzing all the fucking time. You wish you could just live in the moment, experiencing the beauty of your senses quietly without any intrusions of your thoughts, and as Jimin sizes you up with all that light glossing over his irises, it seems as though he knows the ins and outs of your daily struggles. 

You don’t know that he’s been paying attention all this time. A very close one, at that. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, throwing you off balance enough that your eyes widen and the blood in your veins turns cold. The pain in your belly stops at once as all your concentration is fixed on the call-out. “You haven’t touched your favorite boba. You haven’t said a full sentence since I came over and you keep frowning. What’s wrong?” 

His chest lifts and he reaches over to your bedside table, grabbing the drink he spoke of and placing it on your swollen tummy. His teeth rip off the plastic foil over the straw and he plunges it with utmost expertise inside the large cup, setting off the fireworks inside you all over again as if it was New Year’s eve. And maybe it is—maybe Jimin has fast-forwarded the time and given you a chance to make a change in your life, a new year resolution that could make everything better. 

If only you weren’t such a coward—a wolf of bravery in a foolish, timid sheep’s skin. 

But the tears that rush through when Jimin tilts the cup and the straw to your lips while holding it steady, they have the power to clean you off the old and the ostensibly innate structure of your insecurities. And when they roll down your cheeks and Jimin’s mouth parts in abrupt shock molded by compassion, you sense that their power is bigger than you. 

Your lips wrap around the thick straw and suck in the saccharine, creamy delight. It suffuses all of your senses, and once the black, squishy tapioca plops into your mouth, a soothing tendril of joy overwhelms every inch of your being. To such an extent that you begin to bawl. 

And splutter out the contents of your mind. 

“My mind is always running and I’m so tired of it, like I can’t catch up anymore,” you sob, chewing the boba while your tears freely fall. Jimin continues holding the cup and when your hand wraps around his, the other one encloses around your wrist—the gesture propelling you to spill out more. “I’m always analyzing, always thinking if I’m worthy of this and that. If it’s okay, if I should stop, if I should do something or not, if I—” You sigh, not able to find the words to describe what you’re experiencing. Frustration latches onto you, inciting your anger that begins to ooze out of your every pore. “When you were laying down on my lap, all I could think about was—” You stop yourself, slapping your mouth, realizing that you nearly said too much. 

But Jimin knits his brows, and the hand that held your wrist tugs away the limb that halted the flow of your words. “Keep going.” 

Your heart pounds, violently. The moment feels too severe, and yet your mind is oddly… silent. As if the anger that washed over you scrubbed it completely clean—clean enough that you perceive this to be an interruption rather than a saving. Your mouth wants to continue to speak and your heart… it pushes the words up your throat. 

You feel like puking your guts up, although there’s a strange determination prickling the ends of your fingertips. 

You swallow and in the middle of the interlude, Jimin sits up. Sets your boba on the hard surface of your closed laptop nearby. The sudden distance pulls you, as if by a string, to a sitting position as well, and both of you simultaneously criss-cross your legs while your heart threatens to leap out of your esophagus. You’re stomaching the feeling that you’ve done something wrong, which caused him to exit the closeness you were in, and you tense up and nearly tremble with the need to fix it. 

Jimin opens his mouth, about to say something, but you’re quicker. You’re going to give him what he asked you, just so you can have him close again. 

“When you were in my lap, I couldn’t believe it,” you start softly, graced with the attention of his eyes as they flick up to you in surprise. Your nerve endings sizzle, giving you the words to continue, no matter how devastatingly acute this situation is. “I tried to think of all the things I did that made me deserve having you this close, but I came up short every time. I didn’t understand how our closeness happened to begin with and I didn’t think I was worthy of it. Still do. That’s all.” 

You exhale loudly, detecting no heaviness on your chest, but absolute freedom, out of which blades of grass grow, a perfect home for wildflowers. But a cloud extends over it and it begins to rain as you watch Jimin’s natural expression break into a vivid canvas of dolefulness. The eye contact breaks along with it. The faux-blond boy hangs his head low, his long eyelashes flitting, and you think the world is ending right now as you’re taking small, careful breaths, knowing they’re the last ones. 

But Jimin’s forefinger finds your big toe, and he plays with it. Moves it back and forth, fondles it, squeezes it. Makes the last seconds of this life a little more bearable before it collapses over your head. Ponders something unknown, seemingly prolonging this end. And when he’s had enough and he fists all of your toes and looks up at you, it’s not that he stops this finale. 

He snatches you and takes you to the other world.

“I have something to tell you as well,” he says, his voice coated by that sadness and regret his whole energy is permeated with. He blinks rapidly, running his tongue over his bottom lip inside his mouth, gathering courage or perhaps waiting for your full attention because you’re dipping your gaze in and out of the intimacy of the way he’s holding your foot and the nipping graveness of this moment. 

Everything is too much at once.

“I’ve been a fool,” he starts, similarly like you did, biting the bottom lip he moistened as if to punish himself while busying his eyes on your pink toenail. He strokes the lacquer, shaking his head slowly. “I’ve done all of those things and I still do them without telling you the truth, without confessing.” He flicks his eyes up at you from his downward position, elbows propped on his knees, his stature hunched and buffy. Stops the beat of your heart with that brief look as you anticipate his next words. Sighs, the sound loud and heavy, bearing the kind of guilt and affliction that gnaws at the flesh he owns. Your brain turns off and every morsel of your feelings desires to help him, to make him feel better, but the following words that come out his mouth are the last stop to the other world, and everything is born anew. “I’ve loved you since the moment I first saw you. Soaked like a puppy in the rain, waiting all alone for your friends to finish flirting with the guys outside of the club in Hongdae. I’ve loved you since that moment because you were just like me. You weren’t in the mood, you didn’t want anyone to talk to you. I’m still surprised you smiled your beautiful smile at me when I waved at you, that you let me talk to you.”

The memory sails before your eyes like a murky cloud. All of your friends standing under the roof, smoking and talking to guys, not leaving any space for you to hide yourself from the rain. Jimin finding you in that crowd, waving at you, perceptibly softening when you waved back and smiled because you felt lonely, overlooked and profoundly depressed and he was the only one who saw you. The memory ends at the scene when Jimin walks towards you, takes off his jacket and holds it over your head while getting soaked himself.

Your cheeks were dry from your tears, but they get stained all over again as new tears begin to pour, your heart tender, beating hard but quietly from his confession. Jimin moves your foot over to his lap, drifting his fingers over it, and the tickling sensation prevents your anxious thoughts from reappearing. You breathe in his words, letting them in, letting the change in, all while you squirm and hushedly giggle from his tickles. 

Strange, strange emotions, towering over you, but they feel right—they feel like heaven, and you think that’s where your archangel has taken you.

He loves you. 

You love him and he loves you back.

He loves you.

“I’m sorry that I confused you. I should’ve told you sooner, but I was… afraid,” he says, boring his eyes into yours, sending out the authenticity, with which he covered his words, and the regret he deeply feels. “I was afraid you were comfortable with us being just friends, but still I couldn’t physically keep my distance. It was a mistake on my part, so again I’m sorry I made you feel this way.” 

Your heart grows and your body is too small to cage it inside, ferocious and wild with all the love it feels for the faux-blond boy. You feel constricted and you rid yourself of the iffy sensation by inching a little closer and enveloping your arms around his shoulders. And this time, you have the freedom to sink your fingers into his chamomile-colored hair. You have the freedom to feel the softness, to hear his quiet, confidential purr of pleasure from your touch, which essentially spurs you on to move a little further upon this trail of freedom. 

“I’ve loved you for a long time, too,” you confess, and it’s the easiest thing your mouth ever emitted. No dark thoughts ruin it, but instead you understand that everything Jimin has done for you was through the strings of love that connect you to him. Your delusions weren’t delusions; they were all true conceptions and they were broiling, begging to be let out. “I fell in love with you because of your actions, because of the way you took care of me, because of the way you treated me. No one has ever treated me like you did. You’re a beautiful person with a kind heart—”

Jimin interrupts you with a cry of your name. He yanks you fully into his lap, wrapping your legs around him to make you comfortable, and he embraces you. Tightly, heartfully. You fit into him like petals to disc florets, and you never want to leave. An ardent awareness of safety swallows you whole, especially when he scrunches up your hair and nuzzles his face in your neck, breathing against you so heavily that your entire world spins. 

And then he pulls you away, and asks you the kind of question that deprives you of everything you ever knew, romantically. 

“Can I kiss you? Please, let me kiss you. Jebal.” 

The smile that stretches over your face aches as you vehemently nod and Jimin doesn’t waste a singular second. 

He smashes his mouth against yours, igniting hundreds, if not thousands, of butterflies with a loving fire that they spread across every inch of you. The kiss is deep, and unlike any kiss depicted in any kind of art that you ever longed for. Your mind is gone as soon as Jimin breaks the kiss for a millisecond and goes for another one, seizing your lips, owning them, doing to them whatever he wants. The past world is gone, heaven is in full bloom, with a legion of lesser angels celebrating the kiss of the ending century. The time is gone, too, as both of you kiss until your lips get numb, and the look you give to each other makes those innocent winged creatures cover their eyes in shyness. 

The kissing doesn’t stop there. 

With every turn of the head, with every peck and with every brush of the tongue, it fulfills everything you ever lacked. You forget every poem you learned. The colors of the paintings you liked pale in comparison. And every book scene you envisioned before you went to bed is filled with emptiness. Jimin becomes the center of your new life that stands above the fictional one you so earnestly wanted, and you tell him of it with every kiss you reciprocate.

With words, too, later when you’ve caught your breath and Jimin is spooning you with his hand on your lower belly, occasionally stretching his neck over your shoulder to take a sip of your delicious boba. And you tell him again in your dreams, where the comprehension that you no longer have to live in your headspace in order to be happy and fulfilled unfolds. You make friends with the angels and tell them as well, watching what they do as they run their fingers through his hair, making mental notes, folding them into your heart. 

You do what you learned in the bathroom the following morning, even through the excruciating pain of your cramps. Jimin kisses your feet for it, orders you to rest as he massages them, having brought you some painkillers. And when they take effect and you can function like a normal human being, you note down your first life full of art with him.

And title the first page—“THE END OF THE WORLD, THE BEGINNING OF MINE”.

© 2025 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

BACK to masterlist

[95rkives]

cw car sex

ᝰ.ᐟ jimin is determined to ruin you in the backseat of his car, but the seatbelt buckle might get to you first.

“Jimin, this is the worst place you’ve ever fucked me.”

You barely get the words out before his next thrust has your head knocking right against the stupid car door. Again. For what feels like the hundredth time.

Jimin doesn’t even slow down. If anything, the complaint just makes him grin, all smug and unbothered as he leans down, breath warm against your cheek. “Mm,” he hums, sliding a hand under your thigh to hitch it up higher around his waist. “I don’t know… I think it’s kind of fun.”

Fun.

Your back is at war with the middle seatbelt buckle, your legs are cramping, and your spine has fully accepted its fate as a sacrifice to the gods of uncomfortable car sex. Meanwhile, Jimin—perfectly comfortable Jimin—is having the absolute time of his life, his hips rolling deep, deliberate, like he has all the time in the world.

“Fun for who?” you huff, shoving at his shoulder. “You’re not the one getting assaulted by a cup holder right now.”

Jimin laughs, the sound all breathy and smug as he kisses along your jaw, nipping just to be annoying. “You’re so dramatic,” he murmurs, voice all honeyed amusement. But he must take some pity on you, because he sighs—real exaggerated like, as if he’s the one suffering—and shifts, one strong arm wrapping around your waist. With hardly any effort, he pulls you up, switching positions until you’re in a straddle across his lap, your knees sinking into the leather on either side of him. “There,” he says, smirking. “Don’t say I never do anything for you.”

He rocks up, deep and slow and just obnoxiously good, and whatever clever retort you had dies instantly.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, and instead of some pretty, breathless moan, what comes out of your mouth is a very undignified—

“Oh, fuck you.”

Jimin laughs, looking way too proud of himself. His grip on your hips tightens as he rocks up again, slow and teasing, like he has all the time in the world. “You are, baby,” he murmurs, pressing a lazy kiss to your jaw. “And you’re doing such a good job.”

[gukcnt]

۶ৎ BENEATH THE FACADE OF OUR FRIENDSHIP —

“I’ve loved you since the day we met, since you dropped your stupid pens and looked at me with those wide, nervous eyes like I was some kind of savior. I love the way you laugh when you’re nervous, the way you cry at sad movies and pretend you’re fine, the way you burn cookies and insist they’re edible. I love how you ramble about poetry, how you bite your lip when you’re thinking, how you always smell like lavender and vanilla. I know every damn thing about you—your fears, your dreams, your favorite fucking tteokbokki place—and I’ve tried so hard to be okay with just being your friend, but I can’t anymore.”

pairing: dom!jimin x sub!femreader

genre: college au, best friends au, friends to lovers, unrequited love, slowburn, pining, coming of age, character driven, emotional angst, comedy, smut, fluff

warnings: 18+, explicit smut, angry!jimin, protective!jimin, emotional vulnerability, confrontation and revelation, conflict resolution, romantic declarations, angry love confessions, miscommunication, post conflict healing, crying, screaming, heartbreak, argument, oral sex (f. receiving), eating out, clit stimulation, tongue fucking, face riding, face sitting, cum swallowing, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, several sex scenes, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, creampie, missionary and riding position, rough sex, angry sex, body worship, making out, hickies/marking, breast play, nipple play, nipple sucking, begging, praise kink, dirty talk, longing, fingering, oral sex (m. receiving), cock sucking, cock palming, face fucking, hair fisting, erotic tension, possessive tenderness, intimate dialogues, physical and emotional responses during sex, power dynamics, post sex intimacy, raw emotional connection during sex, slow burn consummation, expressing deep love during sex, morning sex, aftercare

wc: 14.8k

masterlist

۶ৎ

The lecture hall at Seoul University was a cavernous space, its high ceilings echoing with the restless hum of freshmen settling into their first week of classes. It was September, and the air carried the crisp bite of early autumn, mingling with the faint scent of new textbooks, freshly sharpened pencils, and the bitter tang of coffee clutched in nervous hands. Rows of worn wooden desks stretched across the room, their surfaces etched with years of idle doodles and initials, a testament to the countless students who had passed through. The windows, tall and arched, let in slants of golden morning light that danced across the faded linoleum floor, illuminating specks of dust swirling in the air. The room buzzed with anticipation, a chaotic symphony of whispered conversations, rustling backpacks, and the occasional squeak of a chair.

You, a 19-year-old literature major, sat in the back row, your heart thudding with a mix of excitement and dread. Your life until this moment had been a quiet one, shaped by the rhythms of your small coastal hometown. You were the eldest of three siblings, always the dependable one, carrying the weight of your parents’ hopes on your shoulders. Your childhood smelled of sea salt and pine, tasted of your mother’s kimchi stew, and sounded like the crash of waves against the shore. You’d spent your teenage years buried in books, dreaming of escape, of a life where your words could paint worlds. Seoul University was your chance, but now, surrounded by strangers with their confident laughs and city-bred ease, you felt like a sparrow in a storm. Your fingers twisted a strand of your dark hair, the motion a nervous tic, as you hunched over your notebook, pretending to reread the syllabus for Introduction to Poetry.

Across the room, Park Jimin sat slouched in his chair, his lean frame draped in a loose black hoodie that seemed to swallow him. His dark hair, slightly too long, fell into his eyes, casting soft shadows across his face. At 19, he was a dance major, his scholarship a hard-won ticket out of Busan, where he’d grown up under the care of his single mother. Her late-night sewing, the whir of her machine a lullaby, had paid for his dance lessons, but it was his talent—raw, electrifying—that had brought him here. Jimin’s life was one of contrasts: the freedom of movement on a dance floor, the weight of responsibility at home. He carried a guarded heart, scarred by a father who’d left when he was too young to understand why, and by friendships that had frayed under the strain of his ambition. Yet his eyes, almond-shaped and warm, held a quiet kindness, a spark that flickered beneath his reserved exterior.

You didn’t notice him at first, too caught up in your own anxieties. The professor, a wiry man with glasses perched precariously on his nose, droned on about the course, his voice a monotone hum that blended with the room’s ambient noise. Then came the moment that changed everything: a group project on analyzing a poem. You’d overslept, your alarm silenced by a dead phone battery, and had sprinted across campus, your sneakers slapping against the pavement, your backpack bouncing wildly. You burst into the lecture hall ten minutes late, your cheeks flushed, your breath ragged. As you hurried to your seat, your bag caught on a desk, spilling its contents across the floor—pens, a battered poetry anthology, a half-eaten granola bar. The clatter drew every eye, and you froze, mortification burning through you.

Jimin, seated a few rows away, watched the scene unfold. He saw the way your shoulders hunched, the way your hands trembled as you scrambled to gather your things. Something stirred in him—a pull he couldn’t name. Without thinking, he slid from his chair and knelt beside you, his movements fluid, like a dancer’s. His fingers brushed yours as he handed you a stray pen, the contact brief but electric, sending a jolt through your skin. You looked up, startled, and met his eyes. They were deep, molten, framed by lashes that seemed unfairly long. His lips curved into a small, lopsided grin, softening the sharp angles of his face.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible, your face burning. “I’m a mess.”

“You’re not a mess,” he said, his voice low, steady, with a hint of a Busan accent that made the words feel warm, like a hearth. “You’re just human.”

The moment passed, but it lingered, a quiet spark in the chaos of the lecture hall. You sat back down, your heart still racing, as the professor called out project pairs. “Park Jimin and… y/n,” he announced, and your eyes flicked to Jimin, who was already looking at you, his expression unreadable but curious.

Over the next few weeks, you worked together, meeting in the library’s quiet corners, where the air smelled of old paper and dust, or in the campus café, where the clink of cups and the hiss of the espresso machine formed a comforting backdrop. The café was your favorite, its walls lined with mismatched art, its tables wobbly but sturdy. You’d sit across from Jimin, your notes spread out, a cup of chamomile tea cooling beside you. He’d sip an iced vanilla latte, the condensation dripping onto the table, leaving little rings he’d trace with his finger when he was lost in thought.

Jimin was patient, listening as you rambled about your love for rhymes, your fear of failing your parents, your dream of writing a novel someday. His presence was steadying, like an anchor in a storm. He shared pieces of himself too—stories of his mother’s sacrifices, the way dance made him feel weightless, the way he hummed old pop songs when he was nervous. You learned he loved spicy ramyeon but couldn’t handle kimchi’s heat, that he had a scar on his knee from a childhood fall, that he sketched in a notebook he kept hidden. He learned you loved the smell of rain, that you wrote poems in a leather-bound journal you never showed anyone, that you cried at the ending of every sad novel.

Each meeting was a thread, weaving a fragile bond. You laughed when he accidentally spilled latte foam on his notes, as he scrubbed at the stain. You blushed when he complimented your analysis, his voice soft but earnest. You didn’t know it then, but for Jimin, that first brush of your fingers had been more than a spark—it was a flame, small but persistent, that would burn quietly in his heart for years to come. Every smile you gave him, every shared glance, fanned it higher, even as he told himself to keep it hidden, to be content with the friendship blooming between you.

By the end of the semester, Jimin wasn’t just your project partner. He was your friend, someone who made the chaos of university feel less daunting. You finished the project with an A, celebrated with cheap street food under the neon lights of a Seoul night market, the air thick with the sizzle of tteokbokki and the chatter of vendors. As you laughed over a shared plate, sauce smudging your chin, Jimin watched you, his heart aching with a love he didn’t yet have the courage to name. For now, he was content to be by your side, to be the one who made you smile, even if it meant burying his feelings deep, where they couldn’t risk breaking what you’d built together.

The autumn bled into vibrant spring, and by your sophomore year at Seoul University, your friendship with Park Jimin had woven itself into the fabric of your daily life, as essential as the air you breathed. The campus, with its sprawling courtyards and ivy-clad buildings, became a backdrop to a bond that grew stronger with every shared moment. You were 20 now, your dorm room a cozy haven of fairy lights, dog-eared novels, and the faint scent of lavender from a candle your mother had sent. Your life was a delicate balance of ambition and anxiety—late nights hunched over essays, part-time shifts at a bookstore, and the constant pressure to prove you belonged in this city, far from the quiet coastal town where you’d grown up as the responsible eldest sibling, always smoothing the edges of your family’s chaos.

Jimin, also 20, a dance major whose grace on stage belied the weight he carried off it. Raised in Busan by his single mother, a seamstress who worked late into the night to fund his dreams, Jimin had learned early to mask his struggles with a smile. His scholarship demanded perfection, and he poured himself into dance, his body a vessel for stories he couldn’t speak. His dorm was a cramped space cluttered with worn dance shoes, protein bars, and a single photo of his mother tacked to the wall, her tired eyes mirroring his own on the hardest days. Yet, with you, he was lighter, his laughter unguarded, his presence a warmth that chased away your doubts.

Your friendship was a constellation of small, vivid moments, each one a star in the galaxy of your shared history. Study sessions in the library were a ritual, the air thick with the musty scent of old books and the hum of fluorescent lights. Jimin would smuggle in convenience store snacks—crisp seaweed chips for him, spicy tteokbokki-flavored crackers for you—his fingers brushing yours as he passed them under the table, a silent rebellion against the stern librarians. You’d pore over your notes, your pen tapping a nervous rhythm, while Jimin sketched absentmindedly in the margins of his notebook, his pencil tracing the curve of your jaw when he thought you weren’t looking. “Focus,” you’d chide, catching his eye, and he’d grin, that lopsided smile that made your chest flutter, though you chalked it up to the caffeine.

Afternoons often found you in the campus courtyard, sprawled on a checkered blanket beneath a cherry blossom tree, its petals drifting like soft pink snow. You’d read poetry aloud, your voice weaving through the warm air, Neruda’s verses rolling off your tongue: “I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.” Jimin would listen, his head tilted back, eyes half-closed, the sunlight catching the sharp line of his jaw. Sometimes he’d hum a melody, low and sweet, a habit from his childhood. You learned he loved iced vanilla lattes, the way the sweetness lingered on his lips, and he knew you craved strawberry milkshakes when you were stressed, the kind with extra whipped cream that left a frothy mustache you’d laughingly wipe away.

Jimin was your anchor in the storm of university life. When you failed a midterm and hid in the stairwell, your sobs echoing in the cold concrete space, he found you, his sneakers scuffing the steps as he sat beside you. He didn’t speak, just offered you his hoodie, the fabric warm and smelling faintly of his cedarwood cologne. “You’re not a failure,” he said finally, his voice soft but firm, his hand resting on your shoulder, grounding you. When your roommate moved out, leaving you scrambling to cover rent, he spent hours helping you craft a job application for the bookstore, his patience unwavering as you rewrote it three times. He celebrated your small victories—your scholarship, your first published poem in the campus literary magazine—with a quiet pride, his eyes crinkling as he toasted you with a cheap plastic cup of soju in your dorm.

You knew Jimin just as intimately. You knew he hated confrontation, his shoulders tensing at the slightest raised voice, a remnant of childhood arguments he’d overheard. You knew he called his mother every Sunday, his voice softening as he spoke in his Busan dialect, promising to visit soon. You knew he pushed himself too hard, his body bruised and aching from endless dance rehearsals, yet he’d never admit it. You’d seen him at his lowest, like when he sprained his ankle before a major performance, collapsing on the studio floor, his face buried in his hands. You’d knelt beside him, your fingers brushing his sweat-damp hair, whispering, “You’ll dance again, Jimin. I know you will.” He’d looked at you, his eyes glassy but grateful, and nodded, trusting your words more than his own heart.

Your friendship was a tapestry of silly, sacred moments. There was the night you dragged him to a karaoke bar, the neon lights casting a pink glow on his cheeks as you both downed soju shots, your laughter slurring into song. You belted out a cheesy duet, your voice cracking on the high notes, while Jimin’s was smooth, effortless, his dance training giving him a performer’s ease. He teased you mercilessly when you tripped over the mic cord, catching you before you fell, his hands warm on your waist. Another time, you went hiking on a whim, only to get lost in the hills outside Seoul. The air smelled of pine and earth, and when you slipped into a mud puddle, your sneakers squelching, Jimin doubled over, his laughter bright and unrestrained, echoing through the trees. “You’re a disaster,” he gasped, helping you up, his fingers lingering on yours.

Baking together was a comedy of errors. Your dorm kitchen was barely functional, the oven temperamental, but you decided to make chocolate chip cookies one rainy afternoon. Flour dusted Jimin’s cheeks like soft snow, and you giggled as he flicked a pinch at you, the white powder catching in your hair. He mixed the dough with exaggerated care, his tongue poking out in concentration, while you snuck spoonfuls of it, earning a playful swat. Half the cookies burned, the kitchen filling with the acrid scent of char, but you ate the salvageable ones, sitting cross-legged on the floor, the rain pattering against the window. “We’re hopeless,” you said, and he grinned, his eyes soft. “We’re perfect.”

Your friend group—Hana, Minho, and Soo-jin—became a second family, their teasing a constant soundtrack. Hana, with her sharp wit, would smirk over her coffee, saying, “You two are basically a couple, just admit it.” Minho, ever the jokester, would mime a wedding march, dodging your swat with a cackle. Soo-jin, quieter but no less mischievous, would raise an eyebrow when Jimin draped his jacket over you on chilly nights, murmuring, “When’s the proposal?” You’d roll your eyes, laughing it off, your voice firm: “He’s my best friend, you weirdos. Stop it.” Jimin would chuckle, his smile bright but brittle, a facade you never questioned. You didn’t see the way his gaze lingered on you, the way his hands flexed when you hugged him casually, the way he swallowed his pain to keep you close.

Those moments—study sessions, courtyard afternoons, karaoke nights, baking disasters—were the threads that bound you. Jimin knew your fears, your dreams, the way you chewed your lip when you were nervous. You knew his silences, his resilience, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about dance. Your trust was absolute, a haven in the chaos of youth.

Jimin’s love for you was a quiet wildfire, burning beneath the surface of his carefully crafted facade, hidden in the crevices of his heart where no one—not even you—could find it. It was a love that had taken root the moment your fingers brushed his in that chaotic lecture hall, a love that grew with every shared laugh, every late-night conversation, every fleeting glance. By your junior year, it had become a constant ache, a bittersweet companion to every moment he spent with you. He carried it like a secret treasure, both precious and painful, guarding it fiercely behind his warm smiles and easy laughter.

In the soft golden light of a September afternoon, you sat together in the campus courtyard, the air crisp with the scent of fallen leaves and distant coffee from the nearby café. You were sprawled on a checkered blanket, your hair catching the sunlight as you read aloud from a worn copy of love poems, your voice rising and falling like a melody. Jimin lay beside you, propped on one elbow, his sketchbook open but forgotten in his lap. His eyes traced the curve of your cheek, the way your lips moved over the words, the faint freckles dusting your nose. To anyone else, he looked relaxed, content, but inside, his heart was a storm—raging with the urge to reach out, to brush his fingers against your hand, to confess the words that clawed at his throat. Instead, he sketched absentmindedly, the pencil tracing lines that mirrored your silhouette, a silent ode to the love he could never speak.

His devotion was in the details, woven into the fabric of your friendship with a tenderness so subtle you never questioned it. He memorized your coffee order—iced caramel macchiato with an extra shot of espresso when you were stressed, a dash of cinnamon when you were happy—and slipped it into your hands during late-night library sessions, the cup still warm from the barista’s machine. When the autumn chill crept into the air, he’d drape his oversized denim jacket over your shoulders, the fabric carrying the faint scent of his cologne, cedarwood and vanilla, grounding you in its warmth. He walked you home after every late class, his steps matching yours, his eyes scanning the shadowed streets to ensure you were safe. He listened to your rants about your professors, your fears of failing, your dreams of publishing a poetry collection, his gaze soft but intense, as if he were committing every word to memory.

But love, for Jimin, was also pain—a sharp, relentless ache that pierced him every time you called him “bestie,” every time you hugged him with the casual ease of friendship, your arms loose and fleeting. Each time your friends teased you about being a couple. You'd laugh waving it off. Jimin would force a chuckle, his lips curving into a smile that never reached his eyes, but inside, his chest tightened, his throat burned. He’d clench his fists under the table, nails biting into his palms, grounding himself in the pain to keep the facade intact. You never noticed the flicker of hurt in his gaze, the way his shoulders tensed, the way his laughter sounded hollow. You never saw the way he swallowed his longing, burying it deep to preserve the fragile balance of your friendship.

Late at night, in the solitude of his cramped dorm room, Jimin’s facade crumbled. The walls were thin, the air heavy with the scent of old wood and the faint tang of his sweat-soaked dance clothes piled in the corner. He’d lie on his narrow bed, the springs creaking under his weight, staring at the ceiling where glow-in-the-dark stars—remnants of a childhood whim—faded into the dark. His mind replayed every moment with you: the way you’d tucked a strand of hair behind your ear during a study session, the way you’d grinned when he’d snuck you a strawberry milkshake, the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about your favorite books. He’d imagine what it would be like to hold your hand, to kiss you under the starlit sky, to call you his. But then reality would crash in—you didn’t love him that way, you never would—and the ache would sharpen, a knife twisting in his chest. He’d whisper to himself, “It’s enough. Being her friend is enough.” But the lie tasted bitter, and sleep rarely came.

Jimin’s popularity on campus only deepened his isolation. He was a star in the dance department, his performances drawing crowds who marveled at the fluidity of his movements, the way his body told stories words couldn’t. Girls lingered after his shows, their eyes bright with admiration, their voices soft as they slipped him notes or confessed their crushes in hesitant whispers. Some were bold, brushing their hands against his arm, offering shy smiles as they asked him out for coffee. But Jimin was a fortress, his heart reserved for you alone. His responses were polite but distant, a single glance—sharp, unyielding, his dark eyes like a storm—enough to send them retreating. He didn’t care about their attention, their affection. It was your laughter he craved, your presence that lit his world. To him, no one else existed.

You, oblivious to the depth of his feelings, saw him as your safe haven, your constant. You’d nudge him during lunch in the cafeteria, the air thick with the smell of kimchi and fried chicken, and say, “Jimin, you’re such a catch. Why don’t you date someone? You’d make an amazing boyfriend.” Your tone was light, encouraging, your eyes crinkling with a smile as you stole a fry from his plate. Each word was a dagger, slicing through the fragile armor he’d built. He’d nod, his jaw tight, his fingers curling around his chopsticks until his knuckles whitened. “Maybe someday,” he’d mutter, his voice low, forcing a smile that felt like a betrayal. You never noticed the way his eyes flickered with pain, the way his shoulders slumped slightly, the way he pushed his food around his plate, appetite gone. You never saw the storm raging beneath his calm exterior, the way your words echoed in his mind long after you’d changed the subject.

His love was a silent vow, one he’d made without your knowledge. He’d decided long ago that having you as a friend—close enough to share your secrets, your laughter, your fears—was better than risking it all for a confession that might shatter everything. If being your best friend meant he could keep you in his life, could see your smile, could hear your voice, then he’d bear the pain. It was a sacrifice he made daily, a choice to hide his heart to protect yours. But every moment with you was a dance on the edge of a blade, a balance between joy and agony, and Jimin danced it with a grace that belied the weight he carried.

In the quiet moments, when you weren’t looking, he’d steal glances, his eyes tracing your face as if to memorize it for a lifetime without you. He’d watch you laugh, the sound like wind chimes in a summer breeze, and think, I’d give anything for you to look at me the way I look at you. But he never said it. He never would. Instead, he poured his love into the small things—the coffee cups, the late-night walks, the way he’d linger just a moment longer when you hugged him goodbye, savoring the warmth of your body against his. It was enough, he told himself. It had to be. Because losing you, even the thought of it, was a darkness he couldn’t face.

The October evening draped Minho’s off-campus apartment in a crisp, autumnal chill, the kind that made you pull your sweater tighter around your shoulders. The living room glowed with a warm, amber haze from fairy lights strung haphazardly along the walls, their soft twinkle casting playful shadows on the worn wooden floor. The air was thick with the mingled scents of greasy pizza, the sharp tang of soju, and the faint sweetness of vanilla candles flickering on the coffee table. A playlist of lo-fi beats hummed in the background, barely audible over the laughter and chatter of you, Jimin, Hana, Minho, and Soo-jin, sprawled across mismatched couches and cushions.

You were 21, in your senior year, and the weight of impending graduation loomed like a distant storm. Tonight, though, you’d shed that burden, letting the soju loosen your limbs and warm your cheeks. You sat cross-legged on the couch, your body tilted slightly toward Jimin, who was beside you, his presence as familiar as the beat of your own heart. Your head buzzed pleasantly, the alcohol painting the world in softer edges, and you giggled at something Hana said, your shoulder brushing Jimin’s. He was protective as always, his arm resting casually along the back of the couch, not quite touching you but close enough to feel his warmth. His eyes, dark and watchful, scanned the room, ensuring you were safe, comfortable, happy. The faintest scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something citrusy—clung to the air, grounding you.

The game of truth or dare had started as a whim, a way to keep the night lively after the pizza boxes were emptied and the soju bottles began to dwindle. The coffee table was a battlefield of crumpled napkins, half-eaten crusts, and sticky shot glasses, the candlelight reflecting off their surfaces like tiny stars. Hana, her hair dyed a bold crimson, kicked things off with a mischievous grin, daring Minho to serenade a throw pillow with a love song. Minho, ever the clown, clutched the pillow to his chest, his voice warbling through a dramatic rendition of a cheesy ballad, his glasses slipping down his nose. You laughed until your sides ached, clutching Jimin’s arm for balance, your fingers digging into the soft fabric of his black sweater. He chuckled, but you didn’t notice the way his gaze lingered on your hand, the way his smile faltered for a fraction of a second.

Soo-jin went next, choosing truth. Her confession—that she’d once “borrowed” a library book and never returned it—drew gasps and playful jeers. She tossed a cushion at Hana, her laughter bright, her short bob swaying as she dodged retaliation. The game rolled on, each turn upping the ante, the room growing louder, warmer, more reckless. You took another sip of soju, the sweet burn sliding down your throat, and leaned back, your shoulder now fully pressed against Jimin’s side. He shifted slightly, his thigh brushing yours, and you thought nothing of it—Jimin was your best friend, your safe harbor, the one who knew you better than anyone. Physical closeness was normal, wasn’t it?

Then it was Jimin’s turn. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sweater, a nervous habit you’d noticed years ago. “Truth,” he said, his voice steady but low, almost swallowed by the hum of the music. His dark hair fell into his eyes, and he brushed it back, the motion quick, almost impatient.

Minho, lounging on the floor with a shot glass dangling from his fingers, smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Alright, Jimin,” he drawled, dragging out the words. “Do you love someone? Like, really love them? Not just a crush, but the real deal.”

The room stilled, the air shifting, heavy with anticipation. You turned to Jimin, your eyes wide, a grin tugging at your lips. Love? Jimin? Your best friend, who shared his fries with you, who stayed up late helping you cram for exams, who knew your obsession with spicy tteokbokki and your hatred of early mornings—how had he never mentioned this? Your heart gave a curious lurch, eager for gossip, oblivious to the storm brewing beside you.

Jimin’s jaw tightened, a muscle flickering in his cheek. His gaze darted to you, so brief it was almost imperceptible, before he looked away, staring at the flickering candle on the table. The flame danced, casting shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips. “Yeah,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper, rough with something you couldn’t name. “I do.”

Your mouth fell open, and you slapped his arm, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “What?” you exclaimed, your voice bright with drunken enthusiasm. “You never told me, your bestie, about this? Who is she? Spill, Park Jimin! How dare you keep secrets?”

Hana and Soo-jin exchanged a glance, their smiles faltering, but you were too tipsy to notice. Minho raised an eyebrow, his smirk fading into something unreadable. Jimin’s smile was tight, almost pained, his eyes shadowed as he shrugged. “It’s… complicated,” he muttered, his voice flat, deflecting. He reached for his soju glass, downing it in one swift motion, the liquid glinting in the candlelight. You pouted, nudging him again, but the moment passed, the game moving on. You didn’t see the way his hand clenched around the empty glass, the way his knuckles whitened, the way his chest rose and fell with a shuddering breath.

The dares grew bolder, the truths more invasive. Hana had to text her ex something embarrassing, and Minho dared Soo-jin to do a cartwheel, which ended with her knocking over a lamp, sending you all into hysterics. The room was alive with chaos, the kind of reckless joy that only comes from youth and alcohol. You were laughing, your head tilted back, when it was your turn again. “Dare,” you said boldly, the soju making you fearless, your voice ringing with confidence.

Hana’s eyes gleamed, her lips curling into a wicked smile. She leaned forward, her elbows on the coffee table, her crimson hair catching the light. “Oh, this is gonna be good,” she said, pausing for effect. “Kiss Jimin. On the lips. For ten seconds.”

The room erupted in cheers and whistles, Minho clapping like he’d just won the lottery. You laughed, waving a hand dismissively, the dare feeling like nothing more than a silly game. “Easy peasy,” you said, turning to Jimin with a playful grin. “Ready, jimin?”

Jimin’s face was a mask, his eyes dark, unreadable. His hand was fisted in his lap, the veins in his forearm standing out, his jaw so tight you could see the tension in his neck. But you were too drunk, too caught up in the moment, to notice. You leaned in, your heart light, your lips meeting his in what you thought was a fun, friendly kiss. His lips were soft, warm, tasting faintly of soju and something sweet, maybe the candy he’d been eating earlier. For a split second, it felt… different. Right. Your head spun, not just from the alcohol, but from the unexpected warmth pooling in your chest.

Then Jimin kissed you back, and everything changed. His hand shot to your waist, gripping you hard, his fingers digging into your skin through your sweater. He pulled you closer, his kiss deepening, no longer playful but desperate, hungry, like he was pouring every ounce of his soul into it. His other hand cupped the back of your neck, holding you in place, and you gasped into his mouth, your hands grabbing his shoulders for balance. The room faded—the cheers, the music, your friends—until it was just him, just the heat of his lips, the frantic beat of his heart under your palms.

Ten seconds stretched into eternity. Then, abruptly, he pushed you away, his hands shaking as he released you. His chest heaved, his eyes blazing with a storm of anger and hurt, his lips red and glistening from the kiss. “Enough,” he snapped, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. The cheers died, your friends staring in stunned silence. Jimin stood, his chair scraping against the floor, and stormed out, his footsteps heavy, the door slamming behind him with a force that rattled the walls.

You sat there, frozen, your lips tingling, your heart pounding so hard it hurt. Your sweater was askew, your hair mussed from his hand, and you could still feel the ghost of his grip on your waist. The room was silent, the air thick with tension. Hana’s mouth was open, Minho’s smirk gone, Soo-jin’s eyes wide with shock. You blinked, your mind struggling to catch up, the soju clouding your thoughts. What had just happened? Why was he so angry? It was just a dare, just a game.

“Uh… wow,” Hana said finally, breaking the silence, her voice uncertain. “That was… intense.”

You forced a laugh, but it sounded hollow, your hands trembling as you smoothed your sweater. “He’s probably just drunk,” you said, trying to brush it off, but your voice wavered. You grabbed your soju glass, downing the rest, the burn doing nothing to quell the confusion swirling in your chest. Jimin’s kiss, his anger, his departure—they didn’t make sense. He was your best friend. Your Jimin. What had you done wrong?

The next day at the university was a blur of gray skies and restless thoughts, the campus draped in the heavy dampness of an impending autumn rain. You sat through your morning literature seminar, your notebook open but untouched, the professor’s voice a distant hum as your mind replayed the previous night: Jimin’s lips on yours, the raw hunger in his kiss, the fury in his eyes as he pushed you away and stormed out. Your stomach churned with worry, your fingers twisting the hem of your oversized sweater, the soft wool fraying under your nervous grip. Jimin hadn’t shown up to class, hadn’t answered your texts or calls, and the silence was deafening. You’d sent him a dozen messages—“Are you okay?” “Please talk to me.” “Jimin, I’m worried.”—but your phone remained stubbornly blank, the screen’s cold glow mocking your growing unease.

At noon, you found yourself in the bustling cafeteria, the air thick with the scent of kimchi stew and fried dumplings. The clatter of trays and the chatter of students felt suffocating, amplifying the knot in your chest. You sat at a corner table, picking at a bowl of bibimbap you had no appetite for, the vibrant colors of the vegetables dull against the storm in your mind. Your eyes kept darting to the entrance, hoping to see Jimin’s familiar figure—his dark hair falling into his eyes, his easy smile—but the doorway remained empty.

That’s when Minho approached, his usual playful grin replaced by a seriousness that made your heart lurch. He was one of Jimin’s closest friends, a lanky economics major with a sharp wit and a knack for reading people. Today, his dark eyes were intense, his jaw set as he pulled out a chair and sat across from you, the scrape of the metal legs against the linoleum floor jarring in the crowded space. His hoodie smelled faintly of cigarette smoke, a habit he swore he’d quit but always fell back on during stressful times.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, cutting through the cafeteria’s din. “We need to talk.”

You swallowed, your throat dry despite the untouched bottle of barley tea beside you. “Is it about Jimin? What’s going on? He’s not answering me, Minho. I’m freaking out.”

Minho leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his fingers interlaced so tightly his knuckles whitened. His gaze pinned you in place, and for the first time, you noticed the frustration in his eyes, a flicker of exasperation that made you shrink into your seat. “How can you not see it?” he said, his voice steady but laced with an edge that cut deeper than you expected. “Jimin’s in love with you. He’s been in love with you since freshman year, since you two were paired up for that poetry project. Everyone knows it—Hana, Soo-jin, me. It’s so fucking obvious, but you keep acting like it’s a joke, like he’s just your ‘bestie.’ You’re breaking his heart, and you don’t even realize it.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, stealing the air from your lungs. Your fork slipped from your fingers, clattering against the bowl, the sound sharp in the bubble of silence that seemed to form around you. Your mind raced, fragments of memories flashing like a disjointed film: Jimin’s soft smiles when you rambled about books, the way he’d drape his jacket over you when it was cold, the hurt in his eyes when you laughed off your friends’ teasing. In love with you. The idea was so foreign, so impossible, that it felt like a betrayal—not of Jimin, but of the friendship you’d built, the one you thought was unshakable. Your chest tightened, a dull ache spreading as guilt clawed its way up your throat.

“What?” you whispered, your voice trembling, barely audible over the cafeteria’s hum. “No, that’s… that’s not true. He’s my friend, Minho. He’s never said anything, never even hinted—”

Minho cut you off, his voice sharper now, his frustration boiling over. “He doesn’t say it because he knows you don’t feel the same. Do you think he’s stupid? He sees the way you look at him—like he’s your brother, your safety net, not someone you’d ever want. He’d rather have you as a friend than lose you completely, so he keeps his mouth shut and lets you hurt him over and over again.” He leaned closer, his eyes narrowing, his words relentless. “But last night? You kissed him like it was nothing, like it was a fucking game. You were drunk, giggling, treating his feelings like a dare. Do you have any idea how much that destroyed him? He’s been carrying this for years, and you just… you just stomped on it.”

Tears pricked your eyes, hot and stinging, as Minho’s words carved into you. You saw it now—the way Jimin’s smile faltered when you called him your best friend, the way his hands clenched when Hana teased you about being a couple, the way he’d look away when you encouraged him to date. How had you been so blind? Your lips trembled, and you pressed a hand to your mouth, trying to stifle the sob threatening to escape. The cafeteria’s noise faded to a dull roar, the world narrowing to the weight of Minho’s accusation and the image of Jimin’s anguished face as he’d left the night before.

“I didn’t know,” you choked out, your voice breaking as a tear slipped down your cheek, warm against your cold skin. “I swear, Minho, I didn’t know. I never meant to hurt him. He’s… he’s everything to me.”

Minho’s expression softened slightly, but his eyes remained hard, unyielding. “Then why didn’t you see it? You know him better than anyone. You know how he looks at you, how he’s always there, how he’d do anything for you. You think he brings you coffee every morning because he’s just being nice? You think he walks you home at midnight because he’s got nothing better to do? Open your eyes, for fuck’s sake. He’s not your friend—he’s in love with you, and you’re killing him.”

The sob broke free, low and ragged, and you buried your face in your hands, the salt of your tears mingling with the faint taste of your lip balm. Your mind was a storm of regret, guilt, and confusion, each memory of Jimin now tinged with a new, painful clarity. The time he’d stayed up all night helping you revise your essay, his eyes bloodshot but his smile unwavering. The time he’d driven across the city to pick you up when your car broke down, his voice gentle as he told you not to worry. The time he’d held you when you cried over a fight with your parents, his arms warm and steady, his heartbeat a quiet anchor beneath your cheek. How had you missed it? How had you taken his love and twisted it into something platonic, something safe?

Minho sighed, his shoulders slumping as he watched you cry. He reached across the table, hesitating before resting a hand on your arm, his touch awkward but grounding. “Look,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle. “I’m not saying you’re a bad person. You’re not. But you need to fix this. Jimin’s not okay, and if you care about him like you say you do, you can’t keep pretending everything’s fine. Talk to him. Be honest, even if it hurts. Because if you don’t, you’re going to lose him for good, and I know you don’t want that.”

You nodded, your hands still covering your face, your breath hitching as you tried to pull yourself together. The cafeteria’s noise crept back in—the clink of chopsticks, the laughter of a group nearby, the hum of a vending machine—but it felt distant, like it belonged to another world. You wiped your eyes, your fingers smearing mascara, and looked at Minho, his face a mix of pity and resolve.

“Where is he?” you asked, your voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“He’s at his apartment,” Minho said, leaning back in his chair. “He didn’t want to come to campus today. Said he needed space. But I think he needs you, even if he won’t admit it.”

You stood, your legs shaky, the weight of Minho’s words pressing down on you like a physical force. Your backpack felt heavier than it should, the straps digging into your shoulders as you slung it over your back. “I’ll go to him,” you said, more to yourself than to Minho. “I have to.”

Minho nodded, his expression unreadable. “Just… don’t make it worse, okay? He’s been through enough.”

You didn’t respond, couldn’t find the words. Instead, you turned and walked out of the cafeteria, the cool air outside hitting your tear-streaked face like a slap. The campus was alive with students hurrying to classes, their voices a blur as you moved through them, your heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination. You had to see Jimin. You had to face the truth, no matter how much it hurt. Because Minho was right—you couldn’t lose him, not when he was the one person who’d always been there, the one person you couldn’t imagine your life without.

As you headed toward the bus stop, the first raindrops fell, cold and sharp against your skin, mirroring the storm raging inside you. You didn’t know what you’d say to Jimin, didn’t know how to fix the pain you’d caused. But you knew you had to try, even if it meant tearing open your own heart in the process.

The evening air was heavy with the threat of rain as you stood outside Jimin’s apartment, your heart hammering against your ribcage like a caged bird desperate to escape. The building loomed before you, its weathered brick facade stained with years of city grit, the hallway beyond the entrance dimly lit and smelling faintly of damp wood and stale cigarette smoke. Your hands trembled as you knocked, the sound sharp and echoing in the quiet corridor. Each second that passed felt like an eternity, your breath shallow, your stomach twisting with a cocktail of guilt, fear, and something you couldn’t yet name.

When Jimin opened the door, the sight of him stole the air from your lungs. He looked wrecked—his dark hair disheveled, strands falling into his bloodshot eyes, the shadows beneath them stark against his pale skin. His usual warmth was gone, replaced by a coldness that made your chest ache. He wore a faded black t-shirt and sweatpants, his shoulders hunched as if carrying an invisible weight. The faint scent of his cologne—sandalwood and citrus—lingered, but it was overshadowed by the sharp tang of exhaustion and something raw, like the aftermath of tears.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice low and jagged, like broken glass. He leaned against the doorframe, blocking your path, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as if to shield himself from you.

“We need to talk,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. You stepped forward, refusing to let him shut you out. He hesitated, his jaw tightening, then stepped aside, letting you into his small, cluttered apartment. The space was a snapshot of his life—dance shoes scattered near the door, a stack of books on the coffee table, a half-empty mug of coffee on the counter. The air was warm, thick with the scent of him, and the dim light from a single floor lamp cast long shadows across the room, making it feel both intimate and oppressive.

He closed the door with a soft click, the sound unnervingly final. You turned to face him, your hands twisting together, your pulse a relentless drumbeat in your ears. He leaned against the wall, his posture defensive, his eyes fixed on the floor. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he said, his voice flat, but you caught the tremor beneath it, the crack in his carefully constructed armor.

“Jimin, please,” you said, your voice breaking, the words spilling out like water from a cracked dam. “What happened last night? Why are you avoiding me? You didn’t come to class, you didn’t answer my texts—I’m worried about you.” Your throat tightened, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. The memory of his kiss, his anger, the way he’d stormed out, played on a loop in your mind, each replay sharper, more painful.

He laughed, a bitter, hollow sound that cut through the air like a blade. “You’re worried?” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, his eyes finally meeting yours. They were stormy, dark with a mix of anger, hurt, and something deeper, something that made your heart stutter. “You really don’t get it, do you? You never have.”

“Then tell me!” you yelled, frustration erupting like a volcano, your voice echoing off the walls. Your hands clenched into fists, your nails biting into your palms, the pain grounding you. “Stop shutting me out! Stop acting like I’m the enemy when all I want is to understand why you’re hurting!”

He moved so fast it stole your breath, crossing the room in two strides and pinning you against the wall. His hands slammed against the plaster on either side of your head, caging you in, his body inches from yours. The heat of him was overwhelming, his chest heaving, his breath hot and ragged against your face. His eyes burned into yours, raw and unfiltered, a maelstrom of emotions—anger, pain, desperation, and a love so intense it made your knees weak.

“I love you,” he said, his voice low and trembling, each word a wound torn open. “I’ve loved you since the day we met, since you dropped your stupid pens and looked at me with those wide, nervous eyes like I was some kind of savior. I love the way you laugh when you’re nervous, the way you cry at sad movies and pretend you’re fine, the way you burn cookies and insist they’re edible. I love how you ramble about poetry, how you bite your lip when you’re thinking, how you always smell like lavender and vanilla. I know every damn thing about you—your fears, your dreams, your favorite fucking tteokbokki place—and I’ve tried so hard to be okay with just being your friend, but I can’t anymore.”

His voice cracked, his hands trembling against the wall, his knuckles white. “Not after last night,” he continued, his words raw, spilling out like blood. “Not after you kissed me like it was a game, like it meant nothing. Do you have any idea what that did to me? To have you in my arms, to taste you, to feel you, and know it was just a fucking dare? I’ve spent years pretending I’m okay, smiling while you call me your ‘bestie,’ laughing when our friends tease us, but every time you do, it’s like a knife in my chest. And I’m done. I’m done pretending.”

You stared at him, your heart shattering into a thousand pieces, each shard piercing your chest. The air was thick, suffocating, the weight of his confession pressing down on you. Your lips parted, but no words came at first, only the sting of tears streaming down your cheeks, hot and unstoppable. “Jimin, I… I didn’t know,” you whispered, your voice small, fragile, barely audible over the pounding of your heart. “I never saw it. I never thought—”

“Of course you didn’t,” he interrupted, his voice softer now, but no less broken. He stepped back, his hands falling to his sides, his shoulders slumping as if the fight had drained out of him. “Because I never told you. Because I was too scared of this—of you looking at me like you are now, like I’m some stranger you don’t know what to do with. I’d rather have you as a friend, even if it kills me, than lose you completely. But I can’t keep doing this. Not after last night.”

He turned away, running a hand through his hair, his movements jerky, restless. The room felt smaller, the walls closing in, the air heavy with the scent of his cologne and the salt of your tears. You stood frozen, your back against the wall, your hands trembling as you tried to process his words. The truth was a tidal wave, crashing over you, dragging you under. All the moments you’d shared—his quiet care, his protective glances, his unwavering presence—flashed through your mind, now cast in a new light. How had you been so blind?

“Jimin,” you said, your voice shaking as you stepped forward, reaching for him. He stiffened, his back to you, his shoulders rigid. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how you felt, and I hate that I hurt you. I never meant to. You’re… you’re everything to me. You’re my best friend, my safe place, the one person I can’t imagine my life without. I don’t know what I feel right now—I’m confused, I’m scared—but I know I can’t lose you. I won’t.”

He turned slowly, his eyes searching yours, raw and vulnerable. “Don’t say you’re sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Just… tell me what you want. Tell me if I’m wasting my time, if I’m just a fool for loving you. Because I can’t keep hoping, not if you’ll never feel the same.”

Your breath hitched, your chest tight with the weight of his words. You stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat of him, to see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the faint scar above his eyebrow, the way his lips trembled. “I don’t know if I’m in love with you,” you admitted, your voice raw, your tears falling freely now. “Not yet. But I know I care about you more than anyone. I know my life is better because you’re in it. I know I want to find out what this could be. Can we… can we try? Please?”

His eyes widened, hope and fear warring in their depths, like a storm breaking over a calm sea. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears, his touch gentle but firm, grounding you. “Try what?” he asked, his voice barely audible, his breath warm against your lips.

“Us,” you said, your voice trembling but certain. “I want to try us. I don’t want to lose you, Jimin. I can’t.”

He stared at you, his chest rising and falling, his eyes searching yours for any hint of doubt. Then, with a broken sound—half sob, half groan—he pulled you into his arms, his lips crashing against yours. The kiss was desperate, raw, a collision of years of unspoken longing and pain. His lips were soft but insistent, tasting of salt and need, his hands tangling in your hair, pulling you closer until there was no space between you. You kissed him back, your hands clutching his shirt, your heart racing as you poured everything into it—your guilt, your fear, your hope.

The world fell away, leaving only the heat of his body, the press of his lips, the thunder of your pulse. The kiss was a storm, wild and all-consuming, and when he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, his breath ragged, you knew nothing would ever be the same.

The air in Jimin’s cramped bedroom was heavy, saturated with the electric hum of anticipation, the faint glow of a single bedside lamp casting a warm, amber halo across the rumpled sheets. The bed, unmade and strewn with soft, well-worn linens, carried the lingering scent of his cedarwood cologne, mingling with the musk of his skin, a heady combination that wrapped around you like a second embrace. The walls, adorned with faded posters of dance performances, seemed to pulse with the weight of the moment, as if the room itself held its breath. Your heart thundered, a wild, erratic rhythm that echoed the unspoken desires that had simmered between you for years, now boiling over in a crescendo of need.

Jimin carried you in his arms, his muscles taut yet tender, the heat of his body seeping through his thin cotton shirt into your skin. His strength was effortless, a dancer’s grace honed by years of discipline, and yet his touch was reverent, as if you were a fragile treasure he feared to break. He laid you down on the bed, the mattress sinking slightly under your weight, the cool sheets a sharp contrast to the feverish warmth of his proximity. The fabric grazed your back, soft but slightly coarse, sending a shiver through you as it kissed your skin. His lips, still swollen from the desperate kiss in the living room, found yours again, and the world dissolved into the taste of him—sweet, with a faint trace of soju and the sharp bite of mint from his breath. His kiss was a slow burn, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips before slipping inside, tangling with yours in a dance that was both tender and ravenous, igniting a molten heat that pooled low in your belly.

He pulled back, his eyes—dark, almond-shaped, and shimmering with a storm of emotions—locking onto yours. The lamplight caught the flecks of gold in his irises, making them glow like embers. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice a low, trembling rasp, each word heavy with the weight of his restraint. His breath, warm and uneven, ghosted across your cheek, carrying the faint scent of his cologne and the raw, masculine edge of his arousal. “I’ve wanted you for so long, and if we do this… I won’t be able to stop. I need to know you want me too.”

Your throat tightened, emotion swelling like a tide as you saw the raw vulnerability in his gaze—the boy who’d hidden his love behind a facade of friendship, now baring his soul in the dim light. “I’m sure,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the chaos of your heart, the words tasting of truth and longing. “I want you, Jimin. I want all of you, everything you’ve kept inside.”

A tremor ran through him, his eyes fluttering closed as if your words were a sacred hymn, a balm to the ache he’d carried for years. “Fuck, you have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, his voice breaking, raw with a need that bordered on desperation. He kissed you again, deeper, hungrier, his lips moving with a fervor that made your head spin. His hands, warm and calloused from countless hours of dance practice, slid under your shirt, the rough pads of his fingers grazing your skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. He lifted the fabric over your head, the cool air hitting your bare torso like a shock, your skin prickling as his gaze—intense, worshipful, and almost pained—drank you in.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said, his voice a hushed confession, barely audible over the pounding of your pulse. His fingers traced the curve of your waist, the soft dip of your collarbone, his touch so light it was almost ghostly, yet it burned, branding you with his adoration. He leaned down, his lips brushing your shoulder, soft and warm, leaving a constellation of open-mouthed kisses that sent shivers cascading down your spine. The scent of his hair—clean, with a faint trace of coconut shampoo and the subtle musk of his sweat—filled your senses as he moved lower, his breath hot and teasing against the swell of your chest.

His hands found the clasp of your bra, and with a deft flick, it fell away, the straps sliding down your arms like whispers. Your breasts were exposed to the cool air, your nipples hardening instantly, tight and sensitive under his gaze. Jimin’s breath hitched, a low, primal groan rumbling in his chest as his eyes darkened, pupils blown wide with desire. “Perfect,” he whispered, his voice thick, almost reverent, as if he were beholding a masterpiece. He cupped your breasts, his palms warm and slightly rough, the contrast delicious against your soft skin. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, slow and deliberate, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. The sensation was electric—a sharp, tingling heat that made you arch into his touch, a soft moan spilling from your lips, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

“Jimin,” you breathed, your voice trembling as he lowered his head, his lips closing around one nipple, his tongue swirling in languid, deliberate circles. The wet heat of his mouth was intoxicating, the gentle scrape of his teeth a thrilling edge that made you gasp, your hands tangling in his dark hair, the strands silky and cool against your fingers. His tongue flicked rapidly, then slowed, savoring you, each movement precise, worshipful. The sounds—your ragged breaths, his soft groans, the wet suck of his mouth—wove a tapestry of intimacy, raw and unfiltered. He kneaded your other breast, his fingers pinching your nipple just enough to make you squirm, the pressure sending a rush of warmth between your thighs, your pussy growing slick, pulsing with need.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmured against your skin, his voice muffled, his lips brushing your nipple as he spoke, the vibration sending another wave of arousal through you. He switched to your other breast, his tongue teasing, his teeth grazing, and you felt your core clench, the ache intensifying, your arousal coating your inner thighs. His worship was meticulous, each kiss, each touch a declaration of his longing, a silent vow etched into your flesh. Your skin was alive under him, every nerve singing, every inch of you attuned to his devotion.

He pulled back, his lips glistening with saliva, his eyes locked on yours as he slid lower, his hands deftly unbuttoning your jeans. The denim rasped against your skin, the sound loud in the quiet room as he tugged them off, the fabric grazing your thighs, your calves, until they pooled on the floor. Your panties clung to your damp core, the thin cotton darkened with your arousal, and Jimin’s gaze dropped, his breath catching in his throat. “Fuck,” he whispered, his voice raw, almost broken, his hands stilling on your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh with a possessive gentleness. “You’re… you’re so fucking perfect.”

His fingers traced the edge of your panties, the touch teasing, featherlight, and you felt your pussy pulse, the ache so intense it was almost painful. He slid the fabric down slowly, the cotton dragging against your skin, cool and slightly damp, until you were completely exposed. The air hit your slick folds, a shock of sensation that made you shiver, your vulnerability laid bare before him. Jimin’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening to near black as he stared at your pussy, glistening with your arousal, the pink of your folds swollen and inviting. “I’ve dreamed of this,” he said, his voice hoarse, his hands trembling as they rested on your thighs. “Of seeing you like this, of tasting you, of making you mine.”

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding as he spread your thighs wider, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh, the pressure grounding yet electrifying. He lowered his head, his breath hot and uneven against your core, the anticipation coiling tight in your belly, a knot of need that threatened to unravel you. When his tongue finally touched you, a slow, languid lick from your entrance to your clit, you moaned, the sound raw and unrestrained, your hips bucking involuntarily. The sensation was overwhelming—warm, wet, and so intimate it made your head spin. His tongue was soft yet firm, tracing every fold, every sensitive ridge, with a precision that spoke of his devotion. The taste of you drew a low, primal groan from his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin, sending a fresh wave of arousal pooling at your entrance.

“Jimin, oh God,” you gasped, your hands fisting the sheets, the fabric cool and slightly rough against your palms as he swirled his tongue around your clit, the pressure perfect, relentless. The room was alive with sound—the wet, rhythmic lapping of his mouth, your breathless moans, the creak of the bed as you writhed under him. He sucked gently on your clit, his lips sealing around it, the suction sending a bolt of pleasure through you, your thighs trembling, threatening to close around his head. His fingers joined his tongue, one slipping inside you, the intrusion smooth and slick, curling upward to stroke that sensitive spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. Your pussy clenched around him, hot and greedy, the wet squelch of your arousal mingling with his groans, the sound filthy and intoxicating.

“You taste so fucking good,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust, his lips brushing your folds as he spoke, the vibration sending shivers through you. “I could stay here forever, just like this, making you come apart for me.” He added a second finger, stretching you slightly, the fullness intensifying the pleasure as he pumped them slowly, his tongue never stopping its assault on your clit. The combination was devastating—each stroke, each lick building a pressure that coiled tighter, hotter, until you were teetering on the edge. Your climax hit like a tidal wave, your body arching off the bed, a keening moan tearing from your throat as your pussy pulsed around his fingers, soaking his hand, your arousal dripping onto the sheets. The scent of your release filled the air, musky and sweet, and Jimin groaned, lapping at you gently as you came down, your body trembling with aftershocks, your skin hypersensitive.

He kissed his way back up your body, his lips leaving a trail of wet heat across your stomach, the soft curve of your ribs, the valley between your breasts. Each kiss was a brand, a claim, the faint salt of your skin lingering on his tongue as he reached your mouth. The kiss was deep, hungry, the taste of your arousal sharp and intimate, his tongue tangling with yours in a way that made your core clench again, already craving more. You tugged at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin, and he pulled it off in one fluid motion, revealing the lean, sculpted lines of his body. His chest was smooth, his muscles taut from years of dance, his skin a warm, golden hue that glowed in the lamplight, marred only by a faint scar on his ribs from a childhood fall. The sight of him stole your breath, his beauty both delicate and powerful, a contradiction that made your heart ache.

You sat up, your hands roaming his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart under your palm, the heat of his skin searing your fingertips. You kissed his collarbone, the salty tang of his sweat mingling with the faint musk of his body, a scent that was uniquely Jimin, grounding and arousing. Your lips trailed lower, brushing the hard planes of his pecs, the slight dip of his sternum, the ridges of his abs, each muscle quivering under your touch. Your tongue darted out, tasting him, the salt and warmth of his skin intoxicating, your teeth grazing just enough to make him hiss, his breath catching in his throat. His hands tangled in your hair, his fingers tightening as you kissed lower, your lips brushing the coarse hair at the base of his abdomen, the scent of him stronger here, musky and primal.

“Fuck, you’re killing me,” he groaned, his voice rough, his hips twitching as you unbuttoned his jeans, the denim rasping as you tugged them down along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, hard and thick, the tip flushed a deep pink and glistening with precum. It was beautiful—long, slightly curved, the veins prominent under the smooth, taut skin, pulsing with his arousal. You wrapped your hand around it, the heat of him searing your palm, the weight heavy and solid. He moaned, his head falling back, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard, the sound raw and desperate. “You don’t have to—fuck,” he gasped as you stroked him slowly, your thumb brushing over the sensitive tip, spreading the precum down his length, the slickness easing your movements.

“I want to,” you said, your voice soft but firm, the words tasting of desire as you leaned forward, kissing the base of his cock, your lips brushing the coarse hair there, the scent of him overwhelming—musk, salt, and the faint sweetness of his arousal. His reaction was immediate—a low, guttural moan, his hands tightening in your hair as you licked a slow stripe up his length, the salt of his skin mingling with the slight bitterness of his precum. You took him into your mouth, just the tip at first, your tongue swirling around it, the taste sharp and heady, the weight of him heavy on your tongue. He cursed, his hips jerking forward, and you felt a surge of power, knowing you could unravel him like this, reduce him to moans and trembling.

But he stopped you, his hands gentle but firm as he pulled you up, his eyes blazing with a need so intense it stole your breath. “I need to be inside you,” he said, his voice raw, his chest heaving, sweat beading on his brow. “I’ve waited too fucking long to love you like this, to feel you around me.”

He laid you back on the bed, his body covering yours, the heat of his skin a delicious contrast to the cool sheets, the faint rustle of fabric under you grounding you in the moment. He kissed you, slow and deep, his hands guiding your legs around his waist, the coarse hair of his thighs brushing your softer skin. You felt the blunt tip of his cock against your entrance, hot and slick with his precum, and you tensed, your pussy still swollen and sensitive from your orgasm, the slickness of your arousal coating your folds, dripping onto the sheets. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot and uneven, the faint tremor in his voice betraying his restraint.

“I want you,” you said, your voice trembling with need, your hands gripping his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin, leaving faint crescent marks. “Please, Jimin, I need you.”

He pushed into you slowly, the stretch intense, almost overwhelming, as your pussy enveloped him, hot and tight, the slickness easing his entry but not dulling the fullness that made you gasp. The sensation was exquisite—a slow burn that radiated from your core, your walls fluttering around him, gripping him as if your body had been made for him. He groaned, his face buried in your neck, his breath ragged against your skin, the sound vibrating through you. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he moaned, his voice breaking, raw with emotion. “So tight, so wet for me, like you were made for this, for me.”

He paused, letting you adjust, his hands stroking your sides, his fingers tracing the curve of your hips, the soft skin of your belly, grounding you in his touch. The scent of him—sweat, cologne, and the musky edge of his arousal—wrapped around you, intoxicating, anchoring you in the moment. When you nodded, your breath hitching, he began to move, his thrusts slow and deep, each one dragging against your walls, igniting sparks of pleasure that made your toes curl. The wet, rhythmic slap of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with your moans, his low groans, the creak of the bed, the sounds raw and unfiltered, a testament to the intensity of your connection.

“Jimin,” you whimpered, your hips meeting his, the friction building a delicious pressure in your core, your pussy clenching around him, slick and hot, the wetness coating his cock, making each thrust smoother, deeper. He shifted, angling his thrusts to hit that sensitive spot inside you, and you cried out, your voice breaking, your pussy pulsing, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. His cock felt perfect, filling you completely, each stroke a declaration of his longing, his love, the veins pulsing against your walls, the tip brushing your deepest places.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he panted, his voice raw, his eyes locked on yours, the lamplight catching the sweat on his brow, the flush of his cheeks. “To feel you, to love you like this. You’re everything, my everything.” His words were a lifeline, pulling you deeper into the moment, and you kissed him, your tongues tangling, your breaths mingling, the taste of him grounding you even as you spiraled.

He quickened his pace, his thrusts harder, more desperate, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you felt the pressure in your bones, the promise of bruises blooming under his fingers. The pleasure was blinding, your pussy fluttering around him, the wet heat of your arousal coating his cock, dripping down your thighs, soaking the sheets. Each thrust was a claim, a vow, the rhythm relentless, the sound of your bodies colliding a primal symphony. You felt your climax building, a tight coil in your belly, hotter, tighter, until it snapped, your orgasm crashing through you, your pussy pulsing around his cock, soaking him with your release. You screamed his name, your body arching off the bed, your nails raking down his back, leaving red trails in their wake, the pleasure so intense it stole your breath.

He followed moments later, his thrusts faltering, a low, guttural moan tearing from his throat as he spilled inside you, his cock throbbing, his release hot and thick, filling you completely. His body shuddered, his breath ragged against your neck, the scent of his sweat and arousal enveloping you as he collapsed onto you, his weight comforting, grounding. The room fell quiet, save for the sound of your ragged breaths, the faint hum of the city outside, the rustle of sheets as he shifted to hold you closer.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice soft but certain, his lips brushing your forehead, the touch tender, almost fragile. Tears pricked your eyes, overwhelmed by the depth of his feelings, the intensity of what you’d shared, the raw, unfiltered connection that had transformed everything.

“I… I’m figuring it out,” you admitted, your voice trembling, your hand resting over his heart, feeling its steady, rapid beat, the warmth of his skin grounding you. “But I know I need you, Jimin. I need this, need us.”

He smiled, a small, hopeful smile, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and pulled you closer, his body a warm cocoon around yours. His hands stroked your hair, your back, his touch gentle, reverent, as if he were memorizing every inch of you. The longing that had defined your friendship had ignited, blossoming into something raw, something sacred, and as you lay there, wrapped in each other, the scent of sex and sweat and love heavy in the air, you knew this was only the beginning.

The room was a cocoon of warmth, the air heavy with the lingering scent of sweat, musk, and Jimin’s cologne—a woody, citrusy note that clung to the sheets. The bedside lamp cast a golden glow across the small bedroom, its light pooling on the crumpled duvet and the curve of Jimin’s bare shoulder as he lay beside you. Your bodies were tangled, your leg draped over his, your cheek pressed against the steady rise and fall of his chest. His heartbeat was a quiet drum beneath your ear, grounding you in the surreal aftermath of what had just happened. The world outside his apartment felt distant, irrelevant, as if the universe had shrunk to this bed, this moment.

Jimin’s fingers traced lazy circles on your back, his touch featherlight, sending shivers across your skin despite the warmth. His dark hair was mussed, strands sticking to his forehead, and his lips, still swollen from your kisses, curved into a soft, unguarded smile. You’d never seen him like this—raw, vulnerable, his usual facade of playful confidence stripped away. His eyes, those warm, almond-shaped pools you’d known for years, held something new: a fragile hope, tempered by fear.

You shifted, propping yourself on one elbow to look at him. The sheet slipped, exposing the curve of your hip, and Jimin’s gaze flickered down, his breath hitching before he met your eyes again. “What happens now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with the weight of the unknown.

Jimin’s hand stilled on your back, his fingers pressing slightly into your skin as if anchoring himself. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and when he spoke, his voice was low, raw, laced with an intensity that made your chest ache. “We figure it out,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “Together. But… I need to know, Y/N. Do you mean it? What you said about trying? Because I can’t—” He paused, his jaw tightening, his voice breaking. “I can’t go back to pretending I’m okay with just being your friend. Not after this. Not after feeling you like this.”

The vulnerability in his words hit you like a wave, your throat tightening with emotion. You reached out, cupping his face, your thumb brushing the faint stubble along his jaw. His skin was warm, slightly rough, and he leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “Jimin,” you said, your voice thick with tears you hadn’t realized were there. “I meant it. I don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m scared, but I know I can’t lose you. I… I think I’ve been blind for a long time, but I see you now. I want to try. I want us.”

His eyes snapped open, shimmering with unshed tears. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear that,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I’ve loved you for so long, Y/N. Every day, every moment we spent together, it was like… like I was collecting pieces of you, holding them close because it was all I could have. I’d watch you laugh, watch you cry, watch you live, and I’d think, ‘If I can just be near her, if I can just be her friend, it’s enough.’ But it was never enough. I wanted all of you. I still do.”

Your heart clenched, guilt and love warring within you. “I’m sorry,” you said, your voice trembling. “I’m so sorry I didn’t see it. I hurt you, and I didn’t even know.”

He shook his head, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touched. His breath was warm against your lips, smelling faintly of mint from the gum he’d chewed earlier. “Don’t apologize,” he said fiercely. “You’re here now. That’s what matters. Just… don’t leave me. Please.”

“I won’t,” you promised, your lips brushing his as you spoke. The kiss that followed was soft, tender, a seal on your words. His lips moved slowly against yours, savoring every second, his hands cradling your face like you were something precious, fragile. You tasted salt—your tears or his, you weren’t sure—and it only deepened the ache in your chest, the overwhelming need to hold him closer.

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other, the world silent except for the soft hum of the city outside and the occasional creak of the old apartment building. Eventually, exhaustion pulled you under, and you fell asleep in his arms, your dreams a kaleidoscope of his smile, his touch, his voice whispering your name.

Morning light filtered through the thin curtains, painting the room in hues of gold and soft pink. You stirred, blinking against the brightness, the warmth of Jimin’s body pressed against your back pulling you fully awake. His arm was draped over your waist, his breath tickling the nape of your neck, steady and slow, as if he were still asleep. The air smelled of him—his cologne, his skin, and the faint musk of last night’s intimacy. Your body ached in the best way, a reminder of how thoroughly he’d loved you.

You shifted, turning to face him, and found his eyes already open, watching you with a quiet intensity. His hair was a mess, his lips parted slightly, and the morning light highlighted the faint freckles across his nose, a detail you’d never noticed before. “Morning,” he murmured, his voice husky with sleep, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Morning,” you replied, your voice soft, a smile tugging at your lips. You reached out, tracing the line of his jaw, and he caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. The gesture was so tender, so intimate, it made your heart flutter.

“You’re still here,” he said, his tone half-teasing, half-relieved, but his eyes betrayed the depth of his fear—that you might have regretted it, that you might leave.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said firmly, leaning in to kiss him. The kiss started gentle but quickly deepened, his hands sliding to your hips, pulling you closer. You could feel him hardening against your thigh, and a spark of desire flared in your core, your body responding to his touch as if it had always known how.

“Jimin,” you breathed, your hands roaming his chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath his skin. He groaned softly, his lips trailing down your neck, nipping at the sensitive spot below your ear. The sensation was electric, your skin tingling under his touch.

“Want you,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low, desperate.

You nodded, your breath hitching as he rolled you onto your back, his body hovering over yours. But then he paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Ride me,” he said, his voice a husky command that sent heat pooling between your thighs. “I want to watch you.”

Your cheeks flushed, but the desire in his gaze emboldened you. He lay back, his hands guiding you as you straddled his hips, his cock hard and ready beneath you. The sight of him—his golden skin, the way his muscles flexed, the way his eyes devoured you—was almost too much. You positioned yourself, your hands braced on his chest, and slowly sank down, gasping at the stretch, the fullness. He filled you completely, the sensation overwhelming, a delicious mix of pleasure and pressure.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Jimin groaned, his hands gripping your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh. “You feel so good.”

You began to move, slow at first, finding a rhythm. His eyes were locked on you, dark with lust, watching the way your breasts bounced with each movement. The air was thick with the sounds of your gasps, his moans, the slick, wet rhythm of your bodies. Your breasts swayed, and he reached up, cupping them, his thumbs brushing your nipples until they pebbled under his touch. The sensation shot straight to your core, making you clench around him, drawing a low growl from his throat.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice reverent, his hands worshipping your body. “Look at you. Fuck, I could watch you forever.”

You leaned down, kissing him, your tongues tangling as you rocked faster, the pleasure building, coiling tight in your belly. His hands roamed your back, your ass, guiding your movements, his hips thrusting up to meet you. The room was a blur of heat, sensation, the creak of the bed, the slap of skin against skin. You came first, your climax crashing over you, your vision blurring as you cried out his name. He followed moments later, his grip tightening, his body shuddering as he spilled inside you, his moan a raw, desperate sound.

You collapsed onto his chest, both of you panting, your bodies slick with sweat. He held you close, his lips brushing your forehead, your hair, murmuring soft words you could barely hear but felt in your bones. “I love you,” he whispered, again and again, like a prayer.

The next week was a whirlwind. You and Jimin were inseparable, navigating this new territory with a mix of excitement and trepidation. You spent nights in his apartment, cooking together—his laughter filling the kitchen as you accidentally spilled sauce on the counter—or studying in the library, his hand resting on your thigh under the table, a quiet claim. Every touch, every glance, was charged with meaning, a language you were both learning.

Your friends noticed the change immediately. At a group dinner at Hana’s place, the air buzzing with the smell of grilled meat and soju, Hana was the first to speak up. “Okay, spill,” she said, pointing her chopsticks at you and Jimin, who sat close, his arm draped over the back of your chair. “What’s going on with you two? You’re practically glowing.”

You blushed, glancing at Jimin, who smiled, his thumb brushing your shoulder. “We’re… together,” you said, the words feeling both foreign and right. Jimin’s hand tightened slightly, a silent thank you.

Soo-jin gasped, clapping her hands. “Finally! I was about to stage an intervention.”

Minho, ever the skeptic, raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re not just ‘besties’ anymore?” he teased, but his smile was genuine. “About time, Jimin. I was getting tired of watching you pine.”

Jimin laughed, but his eyes were soft as he looked at you. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Worth the wait.”

Later, as you walked home, the night air crisp, the city lights glittering, Jimin pulled you close, his breath visible in the cold. “They’re happy for us,” he said, his voice warm. “But I don’t care what anyone thinks. As long as you’re with me, I’m good.”

You stopped, turning to face him under a streetlamp, its light casting a halo around his hair. “Jimin,” you said, your voice steady despite the emotion swelling in your chest. “I love you.”

His eyes widened, then softened, a smile spreading across his face, so bright it rivaled the stars. “Say it again,” he whispered, stepping closer, his hands cupping your face.

“I love you,” you repeated, your voice stronger now, each word a vow. “I love you, Park Jimin.”

He kissed you, right there on the sidewalk, his lips warm against the cold, his arms wrapping around you like he’d never let go. “I love you too,” he said against your mouth, his voice trembling with joy. “Always have. Always will.”

Months passed, and your love grew like a living thing, deep and unshakable. You graduated together, your caps flying into the air as Jimin pulled you into a hug, his laughter echoing in the crowded stadium. You moved into a small apartment together, its walls lined with photos—silly selfies from college, a candid of you dancing in the rain, a shot of Jimin mid-performance, his body a blur of grace. The space smelled of coffee and his cologne, of home.

Jimin pursued dance, landing a spot with a prestigious company, his performances drawing crowds that left you breathless with pride. You worked as a writer, your poetry published in small journals, each piece infused with the love you’d found. You supported each other through late nights, through doubts, through triumphs, your lives a tapestry of shared dreams.

One evening, as autumn leaves fell outside, you sat on the balcony, wrapped in a blanket, Jimin’s arms around you. The city was alive below, its lights twinkling, the air crisp with the promise of winter. He kissed your temple, his lips lingering, and you felt the depth of his love in the silence.

“I used to think I’d never have this,” he said, his voice soft, reflective. “I thought loving you from a distance was all I’d get. But now… you’re my everything, Y/N. My home.”

You turned, kissing him, your heart full. “You’re my home too,” you said. “I love you, Jimin. More than I ever thought I could love anyone.”

He smiled, pulling you closer, and you sat there, watching the stars, knowing that whatever came next, you’d face it together. The night stretched on, infinite, and so did your love—a flame that would burn bright, unwavering, for all the years to come.

[borathae]

Tenderness

"Jimin has a hard time accepting that people don't want to hurt him. Something about you makes him ease up however and because of it, he asks you to cut his hair. You help him gladly of course."

Pairing: Jimin x f.Reader

Genre: slight Angst, Fluff, Hurt and Comfort

Warnings: Jimin has trauma, he's scared but she makes him feel at ease, like please give this man a hug, innocent skinship, also they're just friends currently but idkkk there is so much tension between them, god i'm going insane actually

Wordcount: 2.6k

a/n: i'm actually so sad :( also listen. the hug was inspired by the way Jimin hugs :( i fucking want a Mimi Hug no JOKE </3

You are in the back garden, pruning the roses when someone suddenly steals the sunlight from you. It had once warmed your skin. The air feels chilly in the shadows all of a sudden.

You stop working, lifting your eyes at the person.

Jimin. Dressed in a long arm shirt and flowy pants, he walked through the grass barefoot and with his long hair tied back. The fabric of his shirt is striped in black and white. He is hiding his eyes behind a pair of dark sunglasses. 

“You’re in my sun”, you tease.

“The sun doesn’t belong to you”, he throws backs sassily.

“I’d still prefer it if I had sunlight.”

“Too bad. I’m here now.”

You scoff in amusement, straightening up by rolling your shoulders. Such bickering is normal between you and him and amuses you these days.

“Do you wanna help me?” you offer him your second pair of pruning scissors, which he declines with a shake of his head.

“I have a, uh, favour to ask of you.”

You are working on the rose as you talk to him. He watches your movements with his eyes just slightly zoned out. 

“What’s up?” 

“Okay so, don’t laugh at me, but I talked to Tae and he said that you’re really good at cutting hair.”

“Yeah, I am. Nobody in this family wants to trust me, but I’m so good at cutting hair, like so good.”

He scoffs in amusement, reaching out to play with a rose leaf mindlessly.

“Sure you are.”

“Mh-hm, I am. Why did you ask him?”

“It’s just, I was wondering, uh, if maybe you want to do my hair.”

You stop working, studying him in surprise. You didn’t expect such a request.

“Your hair?” you make sure

Jimin nods his head. 

“Sure, uh, yeah I can. Just...why me?”

“Because you’re good, I already told you. And because Tae can’t cut hair. He thinks that he can, but he is shit at it. Don’t tell him I said that.”

“I’m not better than a professional though. Wouldn’t a stylist be better than me?”

“No, uhm.” He shies away, touching his own neck in soothing. “I’m not ready to, uhm. It’s hard for me to have strangers touch me. I, I don’t know them and, and I… uhm, they could hurt me. Uhm, it’s hard, I guess.”

“Oh”, you realise, “gosh Jimin, I’m sorry that you feel this way. I understand your feelings and I’ll gladly cut your hair.”

“Thank you”, he whispers, “see you later then. In my wing. Bye.” 

And with that, he flees, keeping his head low in embarrassment. You know that it wasn’t easy for him to share his feelings right now. He is a lot like Yoongi in that regard. Although Jimin is definitely that way because he was never truly allowed to feel. In more sense than one. Not only was he forced to keep his emotions off, he was also punished for any show of emotion which didn’t benefit his abusers. Sharing his feelings equalled being hurt to him in his past. So of course he fled the second he did it. You are still so proud of him for sharing his feelings. It means that he is healing. 

You finish garden work and take a quick shower. Knowing Jimin, he meant the evening hours when he said “later” so you don’t feel too stressed about going to him. 

After the shower, you have early dinner with Yoongi and Jungkook where you tell them that you will cut Jimin’s hair later and they show their expected surprise. When you tell them his reasons however, they react with empathy. They leave for a hunt after dinner, needing their own vampiric meals. You kiss each of them on their lips and wish them a good hunt, then you make your way upstairs to Jimin’s wing. 

He always keeps his doors locked because he feels safer this way, resulting in you having to ring his doorbell.

All of you have doorbells installed, which makes it a lot easier to visit each other. It was Taehyung’s idea and Yoongi had to be the one to install them. He did it gladly, gloating about how easy it was once it was done.

Jimin opens the door after the first ring. He is in different clothes and judging by the slight pearls of sweat on his forehead, he has been dancing. 

“Is it a good time?” you ask him.

“Yes. Come in.”

You step out of your house shoes once inside, while Jimin locks the door.

“Were you dancing?”

“Yes.”

“That’s nice. How’s the studio?”

“Good. I love the natural light in it.”

“It’s already dark though.”

“For you, yes. Not for me. The moonlight is better than sunlight”, he says and hurries past you, “wait in the living room. I need to shower.”

“Alright, will do.”

Jimin’s living room was once a guest bedroom. The one you stayed in during your first night at the estate to be more exact. Yes, That Night where Taehyung had actually planned on eating you before you, unknowingly, managed to change his mind. 

The room once smelled of oakwood and myrrh, but smells like orange blossoms and clean wood these days. The walls changed out of their outdated grey coat into a cherry red dress. White ceilings and a decorated voute seem to practically glow next to the red and the ivory curtains give even more lightness to the otherwise warm-coloured room. The furniture is antique, but in perfect condition and throughout the room, Jimin placed vases with fresh flowers. He isn’t afraid to show his sensitive side these days. It reflects in how delicate the decorations in his wing feel.

You lie down on his sofa. Its red pillows swaddle you, inviting you to close your eyes for a while. It is so comfortable here. 

You probably would have dozed off for a post-dinner nap if Jimin hadn’t woken you again. His steps are quiet normally, but the floorboards creaked under his weight as he walked to you.

You sit up, “I’m awake.”

“Sure”, Jimin says sarcastically, eyeing the deep dent you left in his throw pillow, “just so you know, that pillow is a hundred years old and the stitching is delicate.”

“Huh? Hm?” You look at the pillow, smoothing it out. “Sorry. Nothing happened, I swear.”

“Don’t sweat it. Can we start? I wanna get it over with”, he says and leaves the room again.

With a grieving heart – a nap sounded so good – you leave the comfortable couch to follow him. 

You find him in his bathroom, sitting by the powder table in only his towel. The silver scar on his back contrasts against his black tattoos. He is tracing the entrance point of the scar on his chest mindlessly, but lifts his eyes when he senses your presence. His hand lowers, the self-disgust disappearing from his eyes. He shifts in embarrassment, clearing his throat.

Knowing him, he wants you to ignore his scar. He can’t stand it when people mention it. It is already awful enough that he has to look at it each time he undresses. 

“Anything in particular you wanna get?” you ask him as you close in on him.

“Just shave it there and give it texture on top”, Jimin says, lifting up his hair to show you his neck.

“So undercut with some length on top?”

“Yeah. It’s hot and I need air.”

“Right? It’s so hot lately. This summer is insane”, you agree, picking up the shaver, “should we go with the setting you have on?” 

“Yes. But make sure the fade is good.”

“I will, don’t worry. Is it okay for me to touch you?” 

Jimin glances at you. Surprise and gratefulness. He can’t keep up eye contact, lowering his eyes at the table as he nods his head. 

With his consent, you touch his hair. You run your fingers through it, eyeing his hands. They ball to fists at the first contact, tightening with such strength that his knuckles pale. He is scared.

“Did you practice choreography?” you ask him in hopes of distracting him.

“No I.” He clears his tightened throat. “I guess I just danced.”

“That’s nice too. I’ll shave it to up there. Is that alright?”

Jimin inspects the point you show him and nods his head. You pick up the shaver and turn it on. Jimin moves his head away when you put it close to him, flinches and moves back again.

“Sorry”, he whispers, glancing at you in embarrassment.

“Don’t apologise. Did you change your mind?” 

“No.”

“Alright. Want a break?”

He shakes his head silently.

“Alright. Just tell me if you need it”, you say and put the shaver against his neck.

Jimin is tense during the first couple of shaves, but relaxes soon when his traumatized mind realizes that you genuinely don’t want him harm. He even opens his fists and begins playing with his bracelets mindlessly. Only around his ears, a certain stiffness returns to him and his eyes ghost over the shaver fearfully. 

So you give him a break, soothing him by tracing his ears softly. 

“Gotta clean you up”, you tell him even though both of you know that this was just an excuse to mask the gesture of comfort you give him. If you didn’t mask it, Jimin would get way too embarrassed however. 

He is tense at first. His eyes switch between your hands, your face and the shaver you put aside. 

You reach the spot right behind his ear where the harder point of his shell blends into the softness of his lobe. You rub it slowly. Jimin’s lids flutter, his head sways back just once before he fixes it again.

Another rub of the same spot and Jimin’s head rolls back again, lids closing halfway as goosebumps cover his skin. Yet another rub and he breathes so deeply that his chest lifts and sinks visibly, eyes closing for just a second before he forces them open again.

He straightens up, glancing at you in embarrassment. You act oblivious for his sake, giving his shoulders an innocent rub.

“There we go. Now you’re clean. I’ll continue.”

“Yeah. Okay”, he whispers, staring at you in the reflection of the mirror. He can’t truly make sense of the emotions in his chest and what they mean. He also can’t stop them and so he stares.

Jimin doesn’t flinch away anymore when the shaver touches him. You can finish the shaving without any more obstacles. He even stays calm when you shave him around his other ear. Only for a split second his neck tensed up, but relaxed within a breath because he felt safe more than he does troubled in your presence. 

You place the shaver on the table and use a fluffy brush to sweep away any stray hair. The sensation sends shivers down his spine. He tries to cover them up as best as possible.

“Do you like the fade?” 

“Yes. It’s, uhm, it’s what I wanted”, he speaks quietly, looking at himself with sparkling eyes. He doesn’t even notice that he is gazing, too mesmerised his new look has him. 

“Nice. That’s good to hear. I’ll just do the texturing and then you’re done.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

His words are honest, bringing a smile to your lips.

“Of course.” You pick up the scissors, showing them to him. “I’ll use these.”

You give him time to observe the potential danger. He nods his head in consent. You begin. He doesn’t tense because you gave him the opportunity to prepare. 

“Your hair is fun to work with. You’ve got so much of it.”

“Thanks. It’s hot during summer.”

“I can imagine. Should I take some length too?”

“Yes, please.”

You can finish the cut with no obstacles, moving on to the last step instantly. You clean him and then style him with a light mousse. He lets you with gratefulness in his eyes. Truly, he can’t stop looking at you. It is as if something about you has him captured. You don’t notice his eyes on you because you take your job as his hair stylist way too seriously and are blind to anything but his hair.

“There we go. Now you’re done. How do you like it?” you ask, finally meeting his eyes. For but a moment, your breath hitches. He never looked at you like this before. “Uh..”

Jimin clears his throat and shifts his eyes away. The air is charged between you and him, but neither tries to talk about it.

You take a step back. Jimin looks at himself for a while. His expression is stoic and if you didn’t know him better, you would think that he hates the haircut. In the end however, a small smile hushes over his lips and he nods his head.

“I like it.” 

You smile proudly.

“I’m happy to hear that.”

He shimmies on the chair awkwardly, touching his new undercut.

“You can, uhm, leave now if you want to.”

“How about we clean up and then show Tae your new style?” you suggest because you know he doesn’t actually want you to leave, but thinks that you already want to.

“Yes. Okay.” He turns away to hide the giddy smile. “Do you think we can get him to watch a movie with us?”

“I think that he’ll be the one to suggest it.”

Jimin laughs. You laugh with him.

“Yeah, that actually sounds like him”, he agrees. 

“I bet he wants to watch one of his boring French movies.”

“They’re not boring, you just have no taste.”

You laugh, “no I do. His movies are like five hours long. That’s way too long.” 

“Don’t tell him that.”

“Oh honey, I do. He knows and teases me for it.” 

You and Jimin share laughter. Your eyes meet. The tension in the air is almost suffocating.

His smile drops. 

You stop laughing, feeling tight in your chest for but a second, “what’s wrong?” 

Jimin stands up and turns to you so he can close the distance.

You instinctively take a step back, but Jimin still pulls you close.

He hugs you. 

“Oh?”

Jimin hugs as if he is overcome with adoration. Jimin hugs as if he needed the other for his survival. Jimin hugs as if he thanks the universe for the other’s presence. He doesn’t hug often, but when he does, it is spilling over with his honest adoration.

You didn’t expect it right now, but can’t deny that it melts you. He has one arm around your waist strongly and cradles the back of your head with his other hand, while his cheek rests on your shoulder with his face hidden in your neck. You can even see from the reflection in the mirror that he has his eyes closed. He hugs just like him. With his entire heart and soul. 

You hug him back with just as much tenderness, rubbing his back slowly. Goosebumps follow your touch. He melts into your embrace. 

“What’s that for?” you ask him quietly.

“Haircut.”

You chuckle, “do you like it that much?”

He nods his head and gives you a squeeze.

“Thank you”, he whispers. 

You know that he doesn’t only speak of the haircut. That he thanks you for giving him the space and time he needed to realise that the haircut won’t end in pain for him. You smile fondly, squeezing him back.

“Of course. You can always come to me for help.”

“I will.” He holds you so close and breathes your name. Nothing else follows. Just your name. Said with just as much heart and soul as his hug carries.

[jiminswh0re]

his body is NOT a joke.. like holy fuck?????

[cybsoo2]

tease me too much

╰┈➤ synopsis — Arousal and embarrassment are the only two things that make Jimin blush.

╰┈➤ pairing — jimin x reader

╰┈➤ word count — 650+

╰┈➤ content warning — mature themes, kissing, thigh riding, cumming too soon, hair pulling

ੈ✩‧₊˚ note ; this felt like a writing exercise

You share careless kisses. Swollen tongues leave strings of saliva that follow your breath. Rising chests rush to take in air before diving back down. 

Jimin bites your bottom lip, bleeding out under the pressure that’s building in his pants. Sore swelling strains his movements. His inflamed body feeling overloaded by your tender taunts.

You keep teasing him into temptation. Toying with the hem of his shirt and running your knuckles along his taut abdomen. His stomach all tied up in knots that leave him sensitive. 

You love the way you can get him so worked up so easily. Only a few dirty words and wandering touches leave him falling apart in front of you. Watching the way he blushes and begs for more; Why would you ever give in so quickly. You'd much rather savour his suffering.

Overwhelmed, weak hands fist at the sheets and your shirt. Jimin feels his pulse at the pit of his stomach. His muscles twitch under your insistent smile. He stays soft and pliable for you to puppet, but a tension rises inside his thighs. Jimin finds himself growing restless. So, he ruts himself faster against you to rid himself of the tightness. 

You grab fistfuls of hair at the back of his head; giving short tugs when you grind into him. Your groans linger in the air while you force his into the collar of your shirt.

Jimin’s pink lips leave needy kisses on your neck. Burn marks are embedded into your rosy skin. He mumbles lustful ‘I love you’s through trembling pants. A red-hot heat spreads through your sighs. Deep desire drives itself from his heart to his hips. His lips latch themselves onto yours desperately.

He grabs one of your hands and guides it down to the bulge in his pants. It's straining against the tight fabric. The uncomfortable feeling blurs between pain and pleasure. He needs more, and he's begging you through hushed whines of 'please. please I need it'.

But you don't give into his begging so easily. You take to teasing him a bit. Pulling back your hand and holding his hips still; stopping the friction that he so desperately craves.

The consequences of this is a whine stuffed into your mouth and his own selfish hands reaching down to rub himself raw. You're kisses are not enough, he needs more to satisfy himself. You seem to notice his selfishness and it grows on your nerves. He wants to reach the end so badly that he's willing to act like a brat.

A sharp tug to the back of his head makes his arms buckle and collapse into your embrace. The feeling of your hands in his hair, pulling at the strands that send a tremble down his spine. His head dizzy with pain. A type of pain that he hates to admit he likes. And before he can stop himself, muffled moans are sounded out into the crevice of your collarbone. Eyes rolled back into his head and lips left open in pretty pleasure.

His whispered whimpers drive you insane. A pale red passion keeps you moving to continue. You turn his head up to carry on but small gasps tumble off his tongue.

“Stop…stop,” Shy pleas prompt you to sit still.

“You okay?” You question quietly while tying your hands up in his hair. You wonder if you went too far, teased him a little too much. A nod rubbed into your neck and a mumbled ‘Mm-hmm’ answer your question. 

Jimin gives out tired gasps as he rests against you. His whole body is shaking and he has to give himself a minute to settle down. Tummy tied tight in embarrassment and his eyes avoiding your own. A shameful sin soaks his body.

You pet down his hair from where it sticks up in sweaty strands. As Jimin climbs down from his climax, you decide that'll spare him the humiliation and pretend not to notice the wetness that soaks through the thigh he straddles.

© cybsoo2 2025, all rights reserved

[perfectlyoongi]

WHEN THEY LOVE YOU THE MOST

ㅤ⚘.fandom ... bts. ㅤㅤಇ.ft. ... jin, jimin, taehyung, jungkook x gn!reader. ㅤ⚘.genre ... headcanons. ㅤㅤಇ.content ... fluff. ㅤㅤಇ.word count ... ~330 each / 1.3k total.

↬┊JIN

after long days of fighting and several hours of communication, at the end of forced smiles and impromptu conversations, between your home and the world, Jin loved you the most when you were tired.

it was when the world was most challenging that Jin found little details about you to love: the way your eyes almost close when you laugh, the way you always stretch your back before taking a deep breath, the way you always manage to find gentle words amidst the chaos in this world. at all times, you were beautiful.

but it was when you arrived home defeated that Jin loved you the most.

he could see on your face your silent plea for affection; he could see in your dragging feet your silent request for a massage; Jin could see in you that it was at that moment that you needed the most love. and he would give it to you. without ever thinking twice, always so helpful and ready, Jin loved you. simply that.

on the most tiring days, when it seemed like the world was taking over you, Jin would take you in his arms and show you that with him you would always have a safe haven. close your eyes. rests. relax. let Jin’s gentle touch take you to lands of tranquility. let Jin’s sweet voice guide you along the most serene paths. let Jin love you.

it didn't matter the day or Jin’s state: he could be tired, totally defeated after a long day of working, he could have just arrived from a long trip, there was no excuse for Jin not to love you. he made you a priority every day. your well-being was equivalent to Jin’s well-being.

so every day, when he knew you weren’t well and needed a quiet moment in the comfort of the one you loved, Jin would love you until you felt like yourself once again.

↬┊JIMIN

among the most graceful blues and the most comforting oranges, amidst all the hopeful yellows and beyond the most addictive purples, Jimin loved you the most when the entire world glowed with the most intense colors and nature played the most ethereal symphony in all the cosmos.

it was when the world shined brightest that Jimin loved you the most.

perhaps because Jimin retains in his heart all the fragments of celestial particles from the various ancient constellations that contained stories of endless lovers; perhaps the entire cosmos had sprinkled Jimin's soul with the immortal love of the oldest and most faithful gods; perhaps because you were framed by the magic sprinkled by the stars that painted you in fascinating golden and tender glowing tones; or perhaps because Jimin simply loved you and all this emotion was only heightened when the days were more colorful and life was more beautiful.

but what if you were the one who gave beauty to life? would that be possible?

in fact, Jimin couldn't think about his last grey day. when was the last time the turbulent clouds of the world's negativity hung over Jimin? when was the last time Jimin felt the need to grab all the crayons and color his life? he had no answer to such questions; for, it was since you entered Jimin's life that he saw his heart and soul being constantly painted in tones of affection and understanding.

yes. you were the one who gave beauty to life. it was you who painted Jimin's life and it was in the colors of your love and the contours of your passion that Jimin found all the happiness in his life. yes. Jimin loved you the most when life was more beautiful, because it was when he thought about the beauty of the world that he realized that all charm only existed because of you.

you, the cause of all the harmony in Jimin's life. you, the painter of Jimin's soul. you, the one Jimin loved the most.

↬┊TAEHYUNG

when the world seemed too big and all the storms were concentrated in one point, and all the darkness in the universe expanded beyond Taehyung's heart, and all the negativity in the world weighed heavily on his shoulders, Taehyung loved you the most when all the horror of a future and the fear of a past haunted his essence.

like a thick cloud hovering over him, Taehyung felt constantly defeated, as if life itself had given up on him and offered him only remnants of fragments of hope and dreams that didn't even seem real, not when felt and lived by Taehyung. and it was in those moments that Taehyung loved you the most.

fearing that his darkness would expand like a thick fog on winter days, Taehyung decided to love you, wanting to use the remaining fragments in every word exchanged, in every delicate touch; as if opening a window to let all the evil fly away, Taehyung loved you when he was most fearful about you, about his life.

in so much chaos, there was only one certainty. in so much chaos, there was only you.

and it was you that Taehyung had decided to love. and you were the one who brought the glue to put together all the leftover fragments into new hopes and dreams.

when Taehyung was scared, he knew he could love you, because it was in the waves of your love, in the clouds of your affection that he found his safe place, that haven of shelter that was always, and forever, there waiting for Taehyung. simply you. what evil could touch Taehyung when he was protected by the kindness of your heart? what darkness could consume Taehyung if he was enveloped in the light of your essence? what bad luck could strike Taehyung when he was with you, when he was loved by you.

and he just reciprocated. when the world got scarier, Taehyung returned all the love you gave him, always offering more than he could.

↬┊JUNGKOOK

among the smiles of thousands and the dreams of hundreds, amid so many promises and stories, in the refuge of various memories and details, Jungkook loved you the most when he believed.

it was when hope began to dawn on Jungkook that he could love you more. when Jungkook was consumed by that feeling so pure, so intense, only one goal moved Jungkook’s entire body: taking you in his arms, leaving the whole world silent for a few moments, Jungkook loved you.

it was the magic of possibilities, the complex spells of stories that could happen, the delicate dust of memories that could be fabricated — it was the idea of a future that made Jungkook love you more.

Jungkook knew from a very early time that it was you: the way your hearts beat in sync at the end of a date, the way your hands fit together perfectly, the way he only felt like himself by your side — you brought out the best in Jungkook, qualities and flaws that he learned to love because, quite simply, you loved them.

and Jungkook was sure it would always be you. that person who would wake up next to him when he was old and the music was too loud; that person who would hold his hand when the sun said goodbye to the day and tranquility stretched across the horizon.

in every way, you were always the one by Jungkook’s side in every future he could think of. and it was imagining these futures, creating plans for an eternal life by your side that he loved you most.

when Jungkook’s eyes shone most intensely, when his lips uttered the sweetest words, when his hands caressed you with grace — it was in the privacy of your home that Jungkook loved you the most, because it was there that he believed in a true love, in an eternal love that would go far beyond that physical life.

ㅤㅤ♡ feedback is appreciated ♡

[vanillakook]

⠀ ୨୧ masterlist ୨୧

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

key:

drabble ✮

request 𖦹

one shot ✩

series ⛧

links 𐙚

everything includes smut.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

bts

the boy is mine - j.j.k ✩

munch - j.j.k ✮

the roommate - j.j.k ✮

art: objective or subjective? - j.j.k ✮

dopamine - j.j.k ⛧

genshin

coming soon

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attack on titan

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[shadowkoo]

Touch Of Cherries - Teaser

→ Summary: With Valentine’s Day fast approaching, your thoughtful and devoted boyfriend is determined to make it unforgettable. But when you suggest something completely unexpected like a threesome - with his best friend, no less - he’s caught entirely off guard. Shock quickly turns into curiosity, and as the day draws closer he realizes there’s a whole new side of you he can’t wait to discover.

↠ jimin x f.reader x jungkook | 681 words | 18+ ↠ genre: smut, romance, pwp, threesome

→ Full Fic Warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, explicit sex, threesome, hand job, blow job, extreme teasing, dirty talk, edging, humiliation, degradation, punishment, choking, spanking, orgasm denial, food play (candied cherries, chocolate-covered strawberries, whipped cream, ice cream), butt plugs vibrators, cock rings, vibrating nipple clamps, flogger, feather tassel, leather paddle, blindfolds, tape, silk ties, muzzle, spit play, cum play, bdsm themes, dom/sub switch, mainly dom!reader, bratty!jungkook, submissive!jimin, & more!

→ Networks: tagged below

@ksmutsociety @k-vanity @keopihaus

@lapydiaries @bangtanwritershq

→ Author Note: a big thanks to booki @kwanisms for creating this stunning banner for me! y'all are not ready for this fic i swear, it's unrealllllll!!! as always, likes & reblogs are appreciated ♡

Jimin mewls into your ear as you stroke him, his breathing turning ragged, his hips subtly bucking into your touch. He’s close—so close—but you won’t let him have it. Not yet.

Your grip tightens around his shaft, thumb circling the sensitive head just enough to make him tremble. A surprised gasp escapes his lips, but before he can beg for more, you pull away entirely.

His frustrated whimper only fuels your desire.

You do it again, bringing him to the very edge and making his whole body tense with anticipation, only to snatch it away at the last second.

The night is just getting started, and Jimin is already at your mercy. Exactly where you want him.

Shifting your attention to Jungkook, who has been waiting far too patiently on the bed, you slide your hand down to his zipper, pulling it down with deliberate slowness. His jeans slide to his knees, exposing thick, tense thighs that flex beneath your fingertips as you trail them up toward the outline of his growing arousal, straining behind the fabric of his briefs.

Your fingers dip just beneath the waistband, teasing just enough to send a ripple of goosebumps across his skin before you tug the fabric down, freeing him completely.

“Mmm, you look more than ready for me,” you murmur, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Tell me, do you want my hands on you?”

Jungkook nods frantically, desperation written all over his face.

A devilish smile tugs at your lips as you lean in, lips hovering just inches from his aching length. You blow a soft stream of air against it, watching with satisfaction as his abs flex in response.

“What about my mouth?” you purr, voice dripping with mischief. “Would you like that?”

His chest rises and falls with heavy, uneven breaths. “Fuck, yes. I want it all,” he groans, already on edge.

You let a single finger trail along the prominent vein running up his shaft, barely touching him, yet it’s enough to make him shiver. You can feel how hard he’s fighting to stay still, to not thrust into your teasing touch.

“Fuck,” he gasps, his tattooed hands gripping the sheets.

You ignore his frustration, turning instead to Jimin, who is watching with wide, hungry eyes.

“Tell me what to do to him,” you command smoothly.

Jimin blinks, caught off guard. “You…want me to tell you?”

“Yes, baby,” you coo, tilting your head, daring him to defy you. “Or do you have a problem with my demand?”

“N-no, ma’am,” he stammers, quickly shaking his head. Then, after a brief hesitation, his voice turns more confident. “No hands,” he instructs, watching you carefully. “Do whatever you want, just don’t use your hands.”

A wicked grin spreads across your lips. You love a challenge.

Obliging, you lower yourself between Jungkook’s thighs, letting your tongue flick out to deliver the lightest kitten lick along his length. It’s so brief, so teasing, yet powerful enough to make his whole body tense. You repeat the motion, each barely-there touch making him groan in frustration, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

And you? You’re just getting started. But, if you’re being honest, you could use a little attention yourself.

"Hmm. I don’t think this is working for me," you muse, pushing yourself to your feet with a sigh of faux disappointment. Your gaze sharpens as you look down at Jungkook. "Move up against the headboard."

He obeys without question, shuffling back until his toned back meets the plush pillows, kicking off the last of the fabric clinging to his ankles. His darkened, lust-filled eyes track your every movement.

You crawl forward on your hands and knees, slipping between his legs until your body is back in its previous position, your breath warm against his heated skin.

"Jimin?" you purr, flicking your tongue out to tease the thick head of Jungkook’s length, reveling in the way his thighs tense beneath you. "Be a doll and fuck me with those gorgeous fingers of yours while I take my time enjoying your friend a little longer."

→Taglist: want to be notified when i post the full fic? join my taglist here!

©shadowkoo 2025. All rights reserved.

[jjungkookislife]

Kinktober Day Five: Jimin

pairing: neighbor!jimin x f. reader

genre: neighbor au, s2l, smut 18+

summary: Every Friday night, you give your neighbor a show.

wc: 930

warnings: alcohol use/mention, voyeurism, mutual masturbation, phone sex, use of a vibrator (jimin can control it also), mention of edging, praise and degradation

kinktober day five - ✊ fisting 🪟 mutual masturbation 👋🏼 impact play

date: October 29, 2024

It’s another Friday night. Work has been hell and you treat yourself with a hot bubble bath and a glass of wine. Your hair is still drying as you do your makeup in your mirror. 

You’ve splurged on a new lingerie set. Something pink and lacy. You sit at your usual spot by the window, waiting for your neighbor to show. 

A smile lights up your face when the bedroom light comes on at 8 on the dot. You sip your wine as the curtain moves to the side and Jimin sits on his bed shirtless. His hair is wet from a shower and his skin glows under his bedroom light. 

You’d only found out his name after last Friday when he’d written on a dry-erase board, so you can moan it, he’d written beneath it. 

Perhaps you should just head next door so he could fuck your brains out but something about him watching you from his bedroom window made it more thrilling. 

It had been an accident the first time you’d done this. Jimin had left his bedroom window wide open, his soft moans carrying to your bedroom. 

You made eye contact as he came on his hand, and you shut your eyes as he chuckled. The next day, a gift card to the local coffee shop was in your mailbox with a post-it note that said sorry. 

You sit on the edge of your bed, your tiny robe undone. You set your glass of wine on the nightstand as you spread your legs for him. 

Jimin watches with hooded eyes as you rise from the bed. He can hear the soft music you play as you sway your hips seductively to the beat. 

Jimin spreads his legs wider as he watches you. You face away from him as you drop the robe. You smile at him from over your shoulder before bending forward. 

You swear you hear him curse. 

Heat builds in Jimin’s abdomen as he watches you dance for him. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t get the urge to go over during your sessions, but the game's thrill made it too fun to give up. Though he’d jump at the chance to feel you wrapped around his cock. 

He palms himself over his sweats. His lip is tucked between his teeth as you sit on the bed and spread your legs. You push the lace aside and show him your wet cunt. It makes his cock throb. 

Excited by his response, you swirl your finger around your clit. Jimin curses, his attention on you as you undo the bra, tossing it somewhere in your bedroom. You spread your legs further, undoing the bows on the side that hold the panties together.

Jimin groans, if only he could touch you, fuck you. He’d have you screaming for the whole neighborhood to hear.

You lay back on your bed, your hand brushes something beside you, and you pause to write something on the dry-erase board.

I wish it were you.

You hold up the sign to the window and Jimin smirks. He takes his board and writes something before showing it to you.

It’s his phone number.

You quickly dial and he answers on the first ring.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you respond breathlessly as you sit on your knees.

“Don’t get shy on me now, babe. We’re just getting started,” Jimin grins as he puts the phone on speaker and sets it beside him. “Why don’t you show me that purple toy of yours? I’m sure we can have some fun with that.”

“You know, you can control it,” you giggle as you set up the toy to give him access. You fall back on the bed with the toy between your thighs. Jimin listens to your every moan and groan, his cock hard as he takes his pants off. 

“Oh, this is so much better. How about we make you cum?”

“Please!”

“Hmmm, you seem a little too eager, baby. Better turn this down,” Jimin chuckles as the toy slows down. 

“You asshole!” you huff as you palm your breast.

“You don’t know the half of it, love. Now spread your legs for me, and maybe I’ll let you cum,” Jimin smirks as he raises the vibrations on the toy. He fucks his fist with his other hand, biting back a moan as he watches your legs tremble. Jimin enjoyed watching you, and he loved when you watched him from your window.

“Fuck,” he curses softly as you buck your hips. Your breaths have grown heavier, and whinier as the soft vibrations of your toy come through the speaker of his phone.

“That’s it, baby. Keep touching yourself for me. Show me how wet I make you. Bet you wish it was my fat cock splitting you open, filling you to the brim until I cum.”

“Jimin!” You cry out, near tears as his words go straight to your core. You’re right on the edge, your body tingling with pleasure as your eyes squeeze shut.

“Good girl, keep rubbing your clit. Cum for me like the little needy slut you are,” Jimin smirks as you curse, panting heavily.

His name escapes you, as you rub your clit, doing as Jimin says in front of your window. You hope he’ll let you cum soon, though the devilish grin on his face states otherwise. He might edge you for a little longer, but he’s reaching his peak soon, and he’d love to make you cum with him.

Perhaps tomorrow night, you could come over to his place.

masterlist

[kth1fics]

Safe Haven (M) | PJM

Safe Haven

⟶ Pairing: Park Jimin x Female Reader ⟶ Genre: royalty, smut, 18+ ⟶ Tropes: forbidden love au, medieval royal au, royal king’s guard werewolf!jimin ⟶ WC: 16.2k+ ⟶ Warnings: mild birth scene mention (hardly any details!), mentions of d*ath, brief fighting/attacking descriptions, blood mentions, hair pulling (when attacked), weapons mentioned, poison/venom mention, random side character d*aths, soft pining, kisses, fingering, oral (f), unprotected sex, etc ⟶ Beta: Sarah bean! @caelesjjk ⟶ Summary: When a wolf protects the royal family for many years, he’s faced with one special princess who he’ll do anything for. ⟶ Author’s Note: Apart of the “To Love a Monster” collab! I took a long while to get this fic out – and I am sorry for those who have been waiting for it. It may take me months to write and readers minutes to read, but I do hope that this fic holds a special place in someone’s heart in the end! Please enjoy & leave some feedback if you have the time! ⟶ Song Recommendation: Bound to You by Christina Aguilera

Masterlist ◈ Mail Box ◈ AO3 ◈ Ko-Fi 

Freshly welcomed into the King’s Guard, Jimin, a sprouting young wolf, rushes around the corridors of the castle to obey the barking orders of his higher-ups. Making haste, all servants and guards make their purpose of assisting the Queen.

“Hurry!” Hoseok, another royal guard and close friend to Jimin, shuffles through the utility room. “Gather more cloth!”

“Aren’t people usually more prepared with things like this?” Jimin frantically follows, his voice rushed with the fast pace movements. 

“I’m afraid not,” Hoseok huffs a laugh.

The two younger royal guards speedily ransack each drawer and closet until their arms are full of materials. They stumble back down the hall towards the birthing chamber. A room enclosed for the parties who participate with the anticipated arrival of the next royal kin. A domestic, darkened room provided with the country's softest furnishings. Royal officials and servants are permitted to be within the room for the delivery to ensure that there are no scandals around the birthing practice.

A midwife places herself before the legs of the Queen. A moan of pain rips from her Highness’s throat. Jimin and Hoseok stand idly as the birthing of child number three crowns at the entrance of the world, preparing to gain its first breath of fresh air. The scene is natural for humans, even more common for a royal to carry out in front of an audience.

For Jimin, he prefers not to stare like the others. His polished amber eyes trail to the lines of the floorboards, using any peripheral view for his advantage.

“It’s a girl!” He hears the cries from a newborn baby, the declaration announced by the midwife who’s wiping off residue from the infant.

Placed on the chest of her mother, the newest child of the royals whines freely. The sound rings through the ears who listen. The King is joyous, regardless of being unable to create a proper heir to his throne. But with the first two daughters – and now third, the royal guards know his Highness will move quickly in trying for a son.

Servants flutter about, handling the delicacies of aftercare for childbirth. Jimin follows after his friend, handing off the pile of cloth to a maiden. Bodies move around another like an assembly line. 

For a moment, and only a moment is needed, did Jimin finally take a swift glance at the newborn who screams her upset. He locks eyes with the infant over the shoulder of Hoseok, seeing a warmth of an everlasting hearth as she cries wet droplets down her face.

Then it happened.

Jimin is struck with something that is indescribable. Something that couldn’t be defined. He’s heard through stories and lores within his lineage that this phenomenon could happen to anyone at any time in one's life. He hears about it through those he’s close to and those who experience it. It’s a once in a lifetime deal.

He can feel the shift of his weight when he locks eyes with the newborn baby. As if this new formed motion represents an outstanding astronomical level. Where his world, which once revolved around the Sun as it does for everyone, now revolves around this small, fragile child.

Jimin’s heartbeat thumps in his ears as the world freezes around him. Hoseok and the other royal wolf guards all sense a change in the wind. If it isn’t Hoseok ushering him out of the way of the other servants and departing out of the chamber, he’s sure the royal family would have done it themselves. 

With his head on a silver platter.

Hoseok’s palm slaps the side of Jimin’s cheek to gain his consciousness from whatever daze he’s fumbled in. It takes him a few good taps before Jimin blinks. His blood runs rampant inside him with warmth and excitement.

The second Jimin looked at the third child of the royal household, everything changed within him. All of a sudden, nothing else matters. The yearning of knowing and willing to do anything, be anything, for her is the only constant demand singing at the back of his head.

“You didn’t,” Hoseok’s hushed tone stays low. “Not a royal!”

“How am I supposed to control that?” Jimin stresses. “I can’t choose who this happens to! I didn’t expect this to happen to me!” He runs a hand through his soft hair, exhaling sharply as his mind begins to race.

“You’re going to learn,” Hoseok claims. His eyes are sharp and narrow. “You will learn to control it. A wolf is not allowed to be mixed with a royal. They’ll kill you.”

His imprint will be kept secret from the royals and the precious baby girl. But for his wolf mates, each of them knows the severity of the situation. Not one member will speak of it, they only can respect it. As for Jimin, he’ll spend the rest of her life – your life – being what you need him to be. A friend, a brother, a protector. Whatever you require of him, he will act accordingly in secrecy while obeying his rightful duties to the royal throne.

White flurries fall slowly from the gray clouds above, decorating the large courtyard, you look down towards the sheet of fresh snow. Most of the garden that blooms the most gorgeous flowers is now a mess of dead plants and weeds. The bare trees stand firm. But those who stand strong in the winter months like hollies with red berries and camellias, continue to stand out next to the beauty of sheared evergreens and deciduous shrubs with colorful stems.

Your eyes are not trained on admiring the bright snow that cascades from the sky so beautifully. Normally you would. As you sit by your glass window with a blanket around your shoulders, you look down from your chambers on the third level of the castle to fancy something different.

Men – some of the royal guards – play around with one another in the cold weather. Some have shifted to their wolven form, others remain in their noble suits. The one you fixate your stare on is your personal guard, Jimin.

He stands leaning against the stone staircase beside a few of his equals. Chatting away about who knows what, watching the others roughhouse. Jimin is quite handsome, he always has been. For as long as you can remember he’s looked the same, minus the fluctuation of hair styles and added tattoos that linger his body and a few added battle scars.

As a guard he wears your family's sigil proudly – a lotus flower – on each of his articles of clothing. Customized into each of the guards’ crested plates of metal armor and sewn into each leather hide. 

Jimin possesses the unfair mix of unlimited masculine and feminine traits, having a soft-looking composure and full lips plus a sharp jawline and toned muscles. His voice is nearly angelic when speaking in hushed tones but also stern as ever when he leads with his strong confidence. He may not be as large as his fellow wolves, but he’s proven himself countless times to your family to have the privilege to be your personal guard. There’s nobody quite like him; no one you’ve met in your life that is.

You commend him in silence, appreciating what you can watch from afar. Even from a distance behind a glass window, he somehow manages to make your heart race. An infatuation some may call it. A yearning. He and your family have been consistent in your life, he’s comfort – as are they. But you knew from a young age, from when you began favoring Jimin’s company over others, that you need to call it ‘nothing’. Because whatever feelings that spin deep inside you are never to be spoken aloud. It’s foolish for your Kingdom, family, and you to long for a wolf who doesn’t see you as anything but a duty.

What’s more disappointing is that you don’t need to admit these infuriating feelings to Jimin, he already knows. He would never allow it to get far by cutting you short and being curt with clipped words and disapproving looks.

He is a wolf and you are a royal. Two beings who have no business intertwining besides with loyalty to the family and the job of a guard. Your acquaintanceship between another is only going to be professional. Perhaps it’s to keep the bloodline pure, untainted. How every sibling of the family is betrothed to a neighboring kingdom, growing the alliance across countries. And not one of them has a blend of wolf’s blood in them. Even though werewolves are evident in the world around you.

“Aren’t you supposed to get ready for the party tonight?” A maid who's making your bed quips up as you're daydreaming down into the evergreen.

“I’ve been stuck on deciding which dress I should wear.”

“No, you’ve been stuck staring out into the courtyard,” she corrects.

You slump in your seat as you stubbornly hold your position by the window. When you look back down, you admire the off-brown and black tones of that particular wolf you fancy. She isn’t wrong, you know. His kind eyes and kind smiles make you feel warmth like no other, and you enjoy seeing them when you gain the chance.

“I can multitask,” you feebly argue. You drag the blanket tighter around your shoulders, keeping in the warmth of your body as much as possible. “Besides, the party isn’t for a few more hours.”

“Princess, you already have guests arriving. Half the guard is at the entrance welcoming the parties who show up early. Let’s not begin to mention how several potential suitors are arriving today. You’ve failed to marry even when betrothed. Such a shame what happened with the Jeon family.”

“I prefer not to be a royal. It doesn’t feel right the way we work,” you sigh as the joyful wolves down below have fun while you’re stuck in your tower with envy. “Can we braid my hair the way we did at my Aunt’s wedding? It cascaded down beautifully.” You speak while staring out of the window, purposely ignoring the heavier topic your maid mentions. “I’ll go with the silver dress. That one that comes with the gorgeous fur shawl.”

You notice the way that Jimin has suddenly turned to look up toward your window, half expecting to see you through the glass. Even in the midst of his comrades, he finds a way to give you an ounce of attention. He shakes his head momentarily, already scolding you without knowing what you’re supposed to be doing. Jimin knows looking for him isn’t on your agenda, you purposely put him there.

“For me to do that,” – you hear the voice of your maid – “I need you to get out of your chair and into your washroom.”

A small frown carves into your face when Jimin circles his finger in the air and directs you to turn around, go back to your business. He knows he’s escorting you tonight at the party, you will see him later. To make his point come across sternly, he disassociates his eye contact – bringing his attention back to his other peers and away from you.

“Princess,” your maid bids you once again.

Reluctant to leave your post at the window, you stand up regardless. You have a long night ahead of you while the castle starts to fill up with guests for your younger brother’s birthday party.

You can’t be bothered with the chattering staff or the nuisance of guests who flutter around the halls of your family’s castle. Each moment you find open to run away, to a quieter place and away from their eyes, you take it. Swiftly moving left and right until you can find your favorite spots to hide since you were a child. 

One of which happens to be past the hallway of family portraits. If you travel far enough you find yourself at a dead end. With cabinets, paintings, and curtains outlining every inch of the stone walls. Torches are lit to illuminate the surrounding areas, bringing light to the beautiful surroundings.

But little do most know, that behind painting number two – the one in the golden frame with green shrubbery and a little boy playing the flute – lies a secret behind it. You just need to get here without anyone seeing you sneak in. There’s no point in a secret hideout if you accidentally show it to other guests.

You wait for the time, seeing when that end of the hall becomes vacant and people rush toward the call of the buffet lines. The small talk you make with a few distant relatives is only an act, pretending to walk along with them but slipping away when you find your moment to.

Pressing lightly, the nook of a room behind the large painting greets you. It’s closet sized, filled with a few pieces of your past and littered in dust from lack of touch. Tarps are draped over unused furniture; you’re thankful that this hideout is never really used. The painting that acts as a door allows you a small peeping eyehole to look out and judge when you can come out.

The silver dress you picked for tonight's gathering is a smart choice for you; you’re able to sit down comfortably without restriction. You love the look of a free-flowing gown, falling nicely with the way you walk. Patting off a layer of dust from a chair, you’re able to seat yourself as you take an old notebook in your hand.

Small doodles linger on the pages, all drawn by your younger self. You remember each of them, no matter how terrible they may look. It’s how you pass time while hiding in here. The low lighting from the cracks of the portrait gives you most of your light source, and occasionally you will add flame to the candle that rests on the top of the desk beside you.

You scowl at the dried black ink next to the quill pen, the feather beaten up and torn. It’s been years since you’ve last touched it. Maybe browsing through all the pages of your books won’t be so bad as you loiter in your small den.

“Princess Y/n.”

A spark of panic zaps through you like lightning in the sky on a stormy day. Surprised by the voice of none other than Jimin, your personal royal guard. You watch as fingers curl around the edge of the portrait-door and a beautiful, yet stern, face peeks through. His amber eyes catch you as they squint at your mischievous behavior. 

“I knew you would be hiding somewhere.” He comments as he pushes himself through the opening and into the room. Jimin wears the guards festive wear, a beautiful pink etched coat with cream leather hide armor. He’s sure to close the door behind him; he’s more stealthy than you can ever be. “Are you upset?”

“No,” you turn your head back to the book in your hands. The weight of his gaze on you is nearly suffocating. “I simply wanted solitude.”

“You know you are to be returned. They’re calling upon your brother shortly for his ceremony. It’s a big event for him,” his tone is low but he maintains a soft tenor to it. Jimin is far too kind toward you even though he’s meant to be a guard and nothing more. His exterior has toughened over the years, as it should to fill his part. Although, the sweeter half of him sticks out to you and perhaps that’s what you’ve held onto all these years.

“Sadly, I know.” You shut your eyes and sigh heavily, “I’m not quite in the celebratory mood. I would much prefer to be in my chambers.”

“That’s selfish of you.” Jimin’s hand comes to take away your book, placing it on the desk where it belongs. He bends down to level his face with yours. “You should be happy for your brother, he’s of age to carry out duties now. To be what he needs to be. Something you should understand.”

You hear the underlying hint Jimin gives you. He’s softly scolding you, as usual. 

At first you say nothing in response. Downcasting your eyes to your empty hands as you think what can be said to counter him, but you draw nothing.

You’re the third child in the family of four. A role where you feel invisible and forgotten. Always having second bests and hand-me-downs. Once your brother, who is a few years younger than you, sprouted from the womb of your mother – all chances of your favor flew out the window. As a male in this royal world is keen, any daughter is denied the spotlight. But you never craved a place to rule, or to do what a princess must do. Your oldest sister, the most responsible one of all, desires that for herself. You see it in the way she presents herself. Aces every test and diplomacy role she is given.

The second oldest is the fairest, she didn't need to do much to gain the popularity or attention she is given. It comes so unfairly natural to her thanks to the outstanding looks she’s been blessed with. A privilege only few and far between are given. Life for her is as simple as breathing, all she needs to do is point and ask.

Your younger brother is everything that your father waited for. Of course, your father, the King, treats all his children with love and passion. Keeps you sheltered, fed, and protected. However, the moment he received a bouncing baby boy – that tears any favoritism away from you or your sisters. A male has an unfair advantage in the royal family, it’s just how the world is.

“Princess –”

“– I know,” you unwillingly stand up from your chair. Jimin straightens himself as well, taken aback by your swift movement. “I want to retire after his ceremony,” you say curtly.

You take a single step toward the door as your hand reaches out to push against it, Jimin’s hand  grabs your wrist gently, like catching a delicate rose. Softly, he lowers your arm down as he steps before you with a concerned look on his face. His eyes search for signs of distress on your face.

“You’re upset,” he affirms.

“Nothing works in my favor,” you address with a choleric tone. Anger isn’t something you want resting on the surface, but it’s leaking out of the seams of your composure. “Sometimes, I truly despise being a royal daughter.”

You stare at the digits wrapped around your wrist, noticing how Jimin hasn’t let go of you yet. It feels cruel how you wish there was more meaning to the contact. Why can’t he hold you the way you long for him to?

Your eyes meet his with confusion and sadness. The pretty amber color still stands out in the low lighting, they’re beautiful to stare at. But you can’t read what’s going on in his mind. 

Jimin feels your sadness. He is connected to you deeply, little do you know. You can never know. It’s safer this way. Slowly, he releases your wrist letting his fingertips be the last thing that brushes against your skin. He can only comfort you so much without overstepping his boundaries. If he capsizes every time you give him those hopeless eyes, he’ll lose his placement in the guard and lose you indefinitely.

“Please,” he breathes, “We must go.”

Jimin pushes the hatch open steadily, peering out through the eyehole to make sure the coast is clear to sneak back into the festivities. He leaves space between the two of you as you walk side-by-side.

Silent tension surrounds you as your heels click with every step you take. There’s a dullness in your eyes, a lack of enthusiasm the closer you approach the center of the party. The amount of people here drains you even as you wear a kind smile.

Your little brother’s coronation will go quickly, you hope. Jimin’s words resound in your head, causing you to reflect on what he said.

“That’s selfish of you.”

You make your way to your designated chair at the family table quietly. The talks and commotions between the castle’s guests, family from far and wide, don’t phase you as you blur out the noise. The red liquid poured graciously in a chalice beside you becomes your saving grace; your delicate fingers grasp the cup and run over the smooth jewels embedded on the sides.

Your eyes find Jimin’s across the crowded room as he stands on guard near one of the walls. His hand rests over the handle of his sword casually, a weapon they choose first before shifting as a last resort. He can read the longing in your eyes with a mix of desperation and gloom. 

You wait to see his expected disapproving look. The one that tells you to pay attention to something else other than him – but you don’t. He stuns you confused as, instead of his typical stern look, he looks down at the ground. Deep in thought.

Are you truly selfish when nobody around you is selfless?

Your chamber is a sanctuary. Filled with all the necessities you need to live like royalty. An abundant amount of candles have been lit to brighten the room, giving it a soft aura. 

You wear your hair down, untied from the tight braids you wore for the majority of the night. Your nightgown, cream in color and silk to the touch, is loose in all the right places. The ceremony took its time as you waited to retire for the night with the little patience you have left. You’re positive plenty of men are still celebrating at their feast. 

Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.

A loud thud shakes the doors to your room, a verbal grunt can be heard. You look over at your maid who does the same as she slowly walks toward the noise. There's a scurry of traffic beyond your door as the two of you try to make out the words that are being shouted. You take a step with her, but with that single step you catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye. Through the window you see a flash of red light. Smoke rises as pieces of the garden have been lit to flame. Upon closer inspection, you peer down your window into the once beautiful scenery to find brawls of fights. Men fighting enemies with swords, crossbows and guns.

Another thump hits the outside of your chamber’s doors and you twist your head to see your maid inches away from the handle, ready to pull.

“Don’t!” You turn frantic to shout at her.

But it is too late. Your maid already has her hand twisting the handle to pull the door open. But a force pressed the door faster than she anticipated – a body of a man standing guard slumped against the doorframe and now falling to the floor. A wound across his neck as blood smears across your family’s sigil on his leather chest plate.

Both you and your maid screech at the sight as you back away from the door. You can hear the commotion louder now as bodies rush past the halls as they run away from the intruders.

“Hide!” Your maid shoos you quickly and frantically while her first attempt of shutting your chamber’s door fails.

You’re not given a moment to think before you watch as two ruffians walk up to the door, one holding a flamed torch and a hand dagger as the other holds a handgun. They’re dirty from appearance, wearing torn up clothes but come armed with weapons that look like they belong to someone wealthy. They smile evilly, curling their lips at the sight of you as they advance on your maid.

“There’s a royal,” one comments in a ghoulish tone. They step over the body below them like it’s a fallen tree trunk. They laugh among each other, giggling at whatever is playing on in their minds. You definitely do not wish to know.

Your maid twists away, hoisting her skirt up high enough to let her legs lounge as she begins to run toward you. It provokes one of the men, making him chase her immediately as he finds it funny to stalk her. Threaten her with the slices he mimics with his dagger in the air.

Slowly, your feet have backed up along the path of your room. You make sure you keep as much furniture between you and the intruders. Your eyes remain open wide, trying so hard not to blink and miss any sudden movements.

You feel small compared to the man’s stature as he creeps closer and closer to you. Hectically, your hands reach around the tops of dressers and tables to find anything to use as a weapon. A letter opener? A pen? Anything to defend yourself from whoever these men are who impose your safe space.

More screams and shouts can be heard throughout the castle halls and outside. The place is being run down with bandits, unknown persons who you cannot identify from first glance. They wear close to all black attire, worn down from several years. Protected by pads and suitable armor, as if they collected stolen pieces and placed them together.

You hold your arms closer to your body with the heat of the males heavy gaze on you. His eyes look bloodshot as he studies your options of escape.

“Come here little royal,” he sneers while his beaten up boots scuff across the floor.

Your maid is chased across the wall, quickly making her way toward you as the other man follows her like a hunter. Herding his prey together before they set to kill.

They rush the two of you, forcing you to nearly trip over your own feet as your gown betrays you while you step on the very end of it. A small rip of fabric resounds but you’re in too much of a haste to notice from where.

Your maid screams in horror as you yell out for help. Your bodies fumble across the expanse of your chamber’s, trying to find the opportunity to rush out of the door if you can. To escape the men who run after you.

Where are the rest of your guards? What is happening and why are your werewolf guards not attacking? Who are these men and what do they have to attack the castle with? In all your years on this planet, you’ve never been caught in a situation like this. No intruder has ever made it past the front gates until now.

A knife is thrown in your direction, missing you but landing straight into the wall beside your head.

“Oops, guess I need to try that again,” you hear the male speak with malicious intent.

The other has gained enough momentum to grab your maid, pull her in as she struggles to fight him off. He’s rough, holding her arms as he pushes her against the wall. You're already rushing to her side, using your fists to hit the man on his arm and back.

“Get off of her!” you bawl, throwing your fist at him as fast as possible.

A hand grips your hair, yanking you back away from the two and onto the closest table. Your back hits the surface hard as the man presses you down. He threatens you with a dagger pointed at your face as his other hand holds you down by your shoulder.

The brute force immediately makes your eyes water as you stare up at the man in fear. You wrap your hands around his wrists to push him off, holding him off for as long as you can. Your kicks and screams do nothing to phase him, only fuels him.

You feel his hand slide to your throat; latch his ugly, dirty fingers around your neck. It’s brief, like a flash of lightning. But just as soon as he repositions himself, an arrow shoots straight into his head. Visibly shaken, you struggle to process the vicious man above you losing the life he has.

Your efforts of pushing begin to work as his lack of strength weakens by the second. A final push, not made by you – but from your personal guard, Jimin, knocks the man entirely off of you. He’s quick, already primed and prepped to shoot the other ruffian the second he turns away from your maid and to see his comrade passed out on the floor. Jimin launches another arrow with a flick of his finger, a perfect shot.

Both ruthless and merciless men seem to be dead, fallen to the floor of your chamber’s as pools of blood leak from their bodies.

You and your maid tremble in fear and anxiety. Frightened at the series of events and how the two of you were nearly brutally attacked.

Jimin wears streaks of blood across his face as his hair falls out of place. His beautifully tailored festive armor is now beaten and destroyed with stains. You look at him with confusion and anguish as reality sets in.

“Jimin,” you cry out in a broken sob. Your throat tightens and feels as if it’s being pricked by a dozen thorns while your hand runs up to touch the area where the man laid his fingers on.

“I’m sorry,” are the first words out of his mouth. Solemn and saddened. But he’s relieved to be here for you, even if he is cutting it short and close to being a second too late. 

It isn’t his fault the castle has been blindsided and an evil group has snuck their way inside its walls and started a reign of terror. But he takes blame for not being at your side every second that he should have been. Instead, he rushed to the frontlines once called upon. Tried to stop the invasion from penetrating deeper into the castle. 

In most cases this strategy works, but unfortunately tonight – it doesn’t.

But as the fighting continues and larger groups of people begin rushing in from all areas of the castle – equipped with tainted metals containing mountain ash and wolfsbane – the royal guards are not as prepared. A minor setback, yet it almost costs your life.

“I came as soon as I could,” he steps closer to you with sympathetic eyes. He’s hurt, more worried about how you are as he feels your dread and fear. “I’m so sorry.”

There’s still many battles being fought throughout the castle. People being slayed as guards protect as much as they can. Jimin helps you stand straight, holding you close to him as he’s escorting both your maid and you out of your chamber’s.

“Jimin,” you repeat as you hold onto him, wrapping your hands desperately around him. “Who are they?”

He brings the two of you deeper into your chamber, rushing you to a secret doorway that leads to a hidden passage. Your castle is littered with these; most guards know several entrances but not a lot of exits. It’s a maze down there; dark, cold, and gloomy as well. As a child, you would wander through some just to see how far you could reach without cowering out.

“They must be from the South. They’re fighting with wolfsbane. Their weapons are laced with it.”

It’s common knowledge that wolfsbane is rare near these grounds. It’s ordinary for them to grow down South, but they can be imported. Your family is known for being guarded by werewolves; so an attack like this must be heavily planned.

“Remember the passageways?” Jimin grunts as he pushes both you and your maid toward a panel against the wall. It’s colored like an archway, but the third one can be open with a twist of a lever. Specifically the sconce hanging to the left of it. “I need you to escape through them.”

You hear the falter in Jimin’s voice momentarily, how he sounds like he staggered his breath.

“Are you hurt?” You ask alarmingly. Your eyes frantically scan over his exterior, looking for any noticeable signs of a wound.

“Princess, I need you to go through the passageways,” he turns the lighting fixture swiftly. The secret door clicks open, a cool gust of air puffs through and hits against your skin. “Don’t worry about me. I need to protect you and the rest of your family.”

Your maid understands, already stepping through as she’s pulling you with her. Jimn is a guard, he needs to go and maintain his duty. Your maid is a servant – she is here to assist you until she can no longer. She begs you to step quickly, down the stone stairs into the pit of the passages.

“Jimin, no!” You grip tighter on his forearm as he tries to shrug you off of him. Blood tarnishes your cream colored nightgown as you’re pulled away from Jimin. It must be from those Jimin has fought already. “Come with me!”

Jimin takes your chin in his hand and inspects the distress on your face. Even when rushed, worried about your safety and life, he looks at you like he’s lost in your eyes. The gentle touch of his fingertips feels serene, featherlight even though they’re calloused through the years of combat. 

He’s moving you back into the passageway, gripping the door with his other hand to shut it on you when the moment comes. There’s displeasure spilling out of him only because he is infuriated by the way you stubbornly won’t see the concern for yourself.

“I need to protect the family. This is me protecting you,” he speaks sternly. “Please listen to me, princess,” he exhales slowly. His eyes flicker across your features with tenderness, “I am not losing you. Use the passageways,” he reminds you. “Exit at the stables. I will meet you there. You know which way to go?”

You stare at him dumbfounded at first. Like time is slowing down, but you cannot shake the feeling that you won’t see him again. You don’t feel convinced.

“B-But –”

“Go!” Jimin practically growls out his demand to you. In an instant, his amber eyes shine with a blue ring around his irises. It’s the first time Jimin has ever used that timbre with you, making you jolt away with shock. 

He warns you to watch your step and stay on the correct path toward the stables. Keep close to your maid and stay quiet. He rips off his cavalier shoulder cape, draping it around your shoulders to keep you warm as you descend into the chilly pathways. Jimin closes the door promptly, forcing you to turn with your maid and to escape to safety. Your heart ricochettes inside your chest, pounding erratically as you rush.

Throughout the narrow hallways, dripping with leaking water spouts and cobwebs, you hear the signs of savage wolf growls and barks as your royal guard begin shifting as their last resort. Cries of pain and fighting scare you further as you follow the lead of your maid, wondering how you’ll survive what comes ahead. The thin slippers still on your feet dampen with every hurried step you take as you hold Jimin’s cape tighter against your frame to stay as warm as possible.

“I am not losing you,” replays inside your head and inside your heart.

Moonlight shines from above as your maid cracks open a hardened rock exitway. You came across many forks in the maze of the castle's passageways, but you remember from your past the correct ways to take. The two of you are at the stables, you can smell the mixture of horse and hay in the air. The area is unhit from the onslaught of violence for now.

“Shall we take a horse?” Your maid suggests as she creeps behind a bundle of stacked hay.

“Jimin said he’ll meet us here,” you remind her. 

The chill of the outside runs straight through your body. You curse to yourself at your poor choice of attire.

Together, the two of you watch the distance of all the violence. You see bloodshed with many reinforcements coming from every side of the castle. The thought of Jimin being caught in this mess sends a shiver down your spine. Wolves – your family's guards – have shifted to their creature form. They’re larger than any wild wolf; standing on all four limbs taller than most humans. 

They’re very swift at responding to the attackers, taking them out one by one. But you know the attackers are fighting against them with poisonous tactics – an advantage to go against such beasts. With these weapons, the werewolves near invulnerability, speed, and strengths are weakened once hit with the toxins. You can already witness it with a few of your guards.

“We’re still inside the castle walls, Princess. We need to get out of here fast,” she insists. Her eyes scan around for an opening, an escape route for the two of you. You’ll have to be fast.

“He knows we are here!” You yell at her in a hushed tone. “I’m not leaving unless it’s with –”

Just as you attempt to finish your sentence, the loud sound of wood snapping through the entrance door interrupts you. Men rush in, manically screaming in an uproar as the flames of their torches begin touching the fodder in the stables. Setting the straw ablaze in a matter of seconds.

You and your maid slouch back into a corner, away from view for as long as you can. Horses neigh with anger, jumping and kicking as the brightness and heat of fire creeps toward them. You cannot fathom the thought of losing these beautiful warhorses as they’re each tied to their own box.

“Release them,” you whisper to your maid before you frantically get up from your position and reach for the first horse.

Your soft hands flick up the lever to the wooden door, opening it up for the horse to run through and stumble toward the exit of the stables.

The maid begs you to stay hidden, but you refuse with stubbornness. In the same breath, you hear a shriek from her as you are in the midst of lifting another lever. The attackers have noticed her and shortly spot you as well.

She looks at you with panic, “Run!”

In seconds, she is being grabbed once again by these aggressors. Forced down with a hard shove as she hits the ground. You shout, scream, and cry at the men who flock over toward her. A pitchfork near you is the first thing you see to use as a weapon. Surely you can scare someone off with the points of the tines. 

A bellowful growl grows from a stampede of three wolves bursting onto the scene. They’re far too fast for your eyes to keep up, seeing flashes of their fur dashing around you to strike your attackers. Their teeth bare as they snarl and bite into the flesh of the men, claws digging through the fabrics and skin.

One wolf is nearly all black, slicked fur making it shine in the night. Another has a warm russet color, speckled with hues of beige but warm under the ember of the fires around you. The last wolf is your wolf – you know him far too well. Brighter shades of light brown are in his face as the rest of his pelt darkens into a deep dark, chocolate color. His amber eyes, now sparked with blue, casts over to you briefly as he takes out an enemy, his paw stepping hard against his chest and pressing down.

It’s like whiplash with how fast the royal guards cleared out the stables as the fire consumes the fixtures around you. Smoke fills the air, rising heavily as thick clouds form. Pieces of the loft areas begin to break and fall as the other roped up horses huff and puff.

The stark black wolf is the one lifting your maid off the ground as it nudges her. She’s wounded, you can tell as red covers the fabric of her left arm. You take a step toward her, wanting to console and help – but in return you are barked at by Jimin. He rushes toward you, his speed frightening you as you backpedal away from the area. He stares hard at you, growling in a low tone as ashes fall behind him.

He’s moving you away, wanting you out of the area. The other two wolves bark in his direction, some form of communication you cannot understand as Jimin glances back and responds with his own call. 

The russet colored wolf jumps toward Jimin as you watch your maid latch onto the black fur of the other. She gives you a sympathetic look, mouthing the words ‘get out of here’ to you.

A large beam from above falls and crashes in the middle of the stables, breaking other fixtures in its path. Ember’s rise from the burning building with a massive gust of wind as you turn your face away from the crash.

“Jimin!” You cough as your arms shield you. Your eyes tickle in pain from the smoke, the fire’s brightness doesn’t help either.

You can feel the brush of fur against you as a heavy body presses into your front. You smell the wilderness immediately as you fall forward, burying your face and arms into Jimin’s coat. He nudges you with his shoulder and a grunt. Somehow able to understand what he’s saying.

Quickly, you pull yourself up along his back like one would do for a horse. Your face remains embedded into his fur as you wrap your arms around his neck, hooking your fists onto his coat to anchor yourself.

You move with the russet colored wolf as he clears out the path ahead of you and Jimin. Taking down any attacker standing in the path to escape. It’s difficult to hold onto a wolf, feeling your limbs tighten around Jimin as hard as you possibly can just to stay on top as he dashes through the terrain.

His goal is to get you out of here safely, remove you from the premises. He brings you farther and farther away from the castle and closer to the woods. The last glimpse you dare to make shows you the image of the russet wolf turning back toward the scorched castle grounds.

You pray for the good safety of everyone. Hope the castle is still together after the royal guard protects and saves the night.

It’s freezing as Jimin runs through the thicket of the wilderness, deeper than you ever dare to go alone. You keep your head down, pressed into his back as bitter cold breezes over the surfaces of your body that aren't protected by Jimin’s warmth. The nightgown you wear is thin, not topped with layers among layers of fabrics and wiring like a corseted dress would have. Not to mention the tingling burn to your bare feet as the winter air touches them. But he is warm. A heated beast beneath you, emitting a comforting temperature the more your fingers curl into the roots of his bristle fur.

His breath is labored, chest heaving as his limbs carry you fast. Jimin zips through the rough terrain of the earthy woods, jumping and dodging the obstacles in his way. You fear the tightness of your muscles as you cling on to him, feeling the exhaust of your body as they sore.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been a passenger on Jimin’s back. Everything has happened so quickly. It isn’t until you hear the noises of strangers. The padding of snow under Jimin’s paws begins sounding different. Now stepping on hardened ground.

Your eyes blink open as you take in the surroundings passing by. Glowing lights in tapered windows of wooden cabins flash in seconds. Secured doors and moss growth along the sides of several cabin-like housings. 

Jimin leads with a howl, rushing toward the only place he knows will keep you the most protected. He slows his pace as he draws near, beckoning with a warning call for the door to swing open and allow him in. You find yourself entering with him, a soft warmth from a low burning fireplace greets you as the two of you enter.

You feel the way Jimin stumbles, his body catching up with how taxed he must be. The way his shoulders shrug tells you to dismount him as his mouth pants labored breaths. Carefully, you slide until your toes touch the floor below you.

“Jimin?” Your first concern comes out worriedly. Your hands still roam his fur as you notice the warmth of red liquid staining your palms – even pieces of your clothes. It’s enough to make you feel uneasy about the open wounds you fail to find through his pelt.

He’s quick to move from you, tripping over himself as he walks deeper toward the back of the cabin. A low growl rumbles from his chest as a warning, unwanted contact from you.

You take a step to follow him, seeing how hurt he is – it only wrenches your heart tighter. Your eyes grow wider the further he steps away from you, scurrying himself as he barks in the air for help.

A soft pair of hands hold onto your elbow, keeping you from the beast in pain. You snap your head toward the contact, searching for the reason why you’ve been halted.

“Don’t.” A woman with dark, long wavy hair speaks in a low tone. Her skin is aged but glows beautifully. Bundled up in layered clothes, she wears a worried look just like you. But it’s because she is stressed about your concern over the wolf in agony. “He will be alright.”

The door behind her has already been shut tight as the woman urges you to sit on the closest couch. Your eyes flick back to Jimin who continues to pad down the end of the hallway, twisting into a new shape as his body slowly transforms back into a human state. It’s an image you never expected to see, completely magical and out of this world as you catch glimpses of a wolf morphing into man.

His deep groans turn more audible as his real voice is able to break free.

“Wolfsbane –” he curses out into the open as he’s hunched over. He breathes heavily, open mouth catching air for his lungs as his fingers now claw at the bloody abrasion on the left side of his chest.

From your spot on the sofa, you witness Jimin suffering in a fetal position with no clothes. He’s turned to the side, hiding what he can in his vulnerable state. His long hair, usually kept neatly pulled back, falls dramatically across his face. His nose scrunches as his lips pull back to show his seething teeth.

“Jimin!” You begin to stand up, but the woman holds her hands out before you.

“Stay, Princess! Please!” Her voice is soft.

She tries her best to be respectful, honoring your title even in the severity of a situation. “I’m his mother.” She claims before gripping a knitted wool blanket off the back of a chair and rushing over to her son.

You blink, stunned as you process all the movements and information playing out in front of you.

Jimin coughs as his head presses into the floor. You watch in horror the way Jimin’s body rejects the burn of the wolfsbane that entered his system. Jerking and moving in his place as some mystical natured element helps overcome his pain. Jimin’s mother places the blanket over Jimin, shielding him from your innocent eyes. She squats beside him, hand placing over his forehead as his face twists with strain.

“Fight it,” she encourages as she pushes back his bangs to inspect his eyes. They’re reddened on the edges. The infection attacks deeply within him. His blue shiny irises that come out when he taps into his wolf form is stationary, shining brightly as he internally battles the poisonous herb. “Push it out, you can do it.”

You catch him staring at you as he overcomes this annoyance. It’s not enough to be deadly for him, but it is a good amount to weaken his overall state for the time being. His body fights to heal properly, but he’ll be ready soon.

The first initial wave of pain eases on Jimin. You don’t notice it due to the blanket covering his body, but a small pool of tainted blood leaks out of his wound. Spoiled by the wretched poison. It’s what his body needs to do, reject it and remove it entirely from him.

“Can I help in any way?” You stand and step toward him as his panting calms.

“No, no!” Jimin’s mother’s hands shoot out, shooing you. “You don’t need to do anything! His body is healing,” she reassures. “It may not make any sense, but he is going to be good. Just give him some time. Wolves have an accelerated healing power.”

“But –” you begin to counter. You feel helpless, powerless. Your heart hurts from seeing Jimin in such a distraught state. You can’t shake the image out of your head.

“Stop,” you hear Jimin breathing out. His tenor voice aching as his body shivers. “Stay over there,” he begs. “Just give me a second, Princess.”

All you can do is wait. Watch the way the man you care for struggles with himself as his supernatural body convulses and kicks out the vicious wolfsbane as he rapidly recovers. His grunts and groans do nothing to help, making you worry even more. 

When Jimin finally settles, he lays limp on the floor. Relief washes over him as the surging pain seizes and his body begins to feel like normal once again. Sweat has slickened the roots of his hair, surely the rest of his skin expelled other toxins.

He starts to lift himself off the floor, using his arms to push him up to a sitting position first – then enough to stand. He clutches the blanket around him. Holding it tight around his waist and covering his lower region.

“Take your time,” his mother whispers. She, too, stands with him. Using her hands to help guide him if he wavers on his feet. He’s taller than her, but you can tell she’s strong from the way she helps hold her son up.

“I have to go back,” he says to her, but stares at you.

Jimin takes a few tentative steps until he catches the motion easilier. He walks over to you in concern, abandoning the dripped blood on the floorboard from where he once laid. You're shivering in place, not realizing it yourself.

“Mom, would you mind finding something the princess can change into? Clean her up a little as well?”

You waste no time rushing yourself to him regardless of Jimin pleading for you not to. That doesn’t stop the way your arms wrap around his torso, feeling the warmth of his smooth skin as you hold him. Your head curls into his shoulder as his free arm surrounds your back, pulling you against him.

“Please, be good. Back up,” he slowly walks you in his embrace. 

You feel the rumble of his voice through his chest as you press desperately against him, not wanting to let him go just yet. He’s homely like your favorite hiding place back in the castle or the comfort of your bed after a long day of duties. It feels right to be with him as your mind speaks these words of nonsense.

“Don’t leave again,” you beg as your heartstrings twinge with sadness. You think latching onto Jimin even more would be the answer of his choice, but alas it is not. His arm is placing you down on the sofa for you to sit as he kneels on the floor. Even when you try grabbing at him, he politely pushes your hands away.

“Mom,” Jimin calls out as his hands grip the bottoms of your bare feet. He runs his palms across them, feeling how frigid they’ve become. Jimin ignores the way your cold hands try to turn his head to look up at you, stubbornly keeping it down and focused on your toes. When he fails to hear a response, he shouts again, “Mom!”

“Jimin!” You call to get his attention, fingers running through his thick locks to expose his face. Cupping his cheeks doesn’t suffice either, even your attempt to tilt his jaw fails. He isn’t budging from his position.

His mother comes out of another room with an abundant amount of clothes. Each of them look heavy, thick. Enough to hopefully keep you bundled up in the chill of a winter’s night.

Jimin squeezes your feet with his hands, trying to circulate more blood flow as he tries to warm you. He suffers knowing you’re freezing, not in an ideal state. But he can also feel the way your heart pangs with confusion and hurt. He can smell the fear radiating off of your body as you process so much.

“Would you mind changing into these?” His mother comes into your view. She begins placing pieces out in order to dress. Layers ready at your will. “I can wash your nightgown. Rid you of those stains. I can try patching up the tears in your skirt.”

The doleful look in your eyes tells her enough at one glance. She sighs as a tear trickles down the bridge of your nose.

“Why won’t you look at me?” Your voice cracks mid sentence as you stare helplessly at Jimin.

It’s languid the way his eyes flick up to you, shrouded with sadness behind his lashes.

“You’re freezing,” he states.

“I’m more hurt that you won’t let me do anything for you,” you respond with irritation. “I’m fine. You’re not.” You gesture to his exposed chest, muddied with swipes of blood on his left side.

“There’s nothing there anymore. The wound is sealed already. It’s just drying blood.”

He looks down back at your feet, finally noticing his stained hands – how he’s holding you with his own filth. The thought upsets him entirely.

Abruptly, Jimin stands. Turning away from you and rushing over to the fireplace to place more wood in the burning embers. He tightens the blanket around his waist, pacing across the floor of the cabin for anything he thinks you need before he departs.

“Run a bath,” he tells his mother. “It’ll warm her up faster. Then she can change into the clean clothes.”

“I don’t want that,” you speak. “I’ll take the clothes as they are. But Jimin –”

“– I need to go back,” he whips around in his spot. Jimin is fast on his feet, gathering some more blankets and gripping your hand. “My old room is just over here. Make yourself at home. I know this isn’t ideal but it will keep you safe and warm. My mother,” Jimin glances over at her, “She’ll be a great help. Please, take care of the Princess before I return.”

You rip your hand away from Jimin while stubbornly holding your place on the couch. It’s an act you never suspected yourself to do so harshly. The appalled look on your face puzzles Jimin. Makes him look down at you in silence, awaiting for you to speak.

“No,” you stare back. “Why can’t you just stay?”

“I have a duty,” he responds just as fast. “One to serve the royal family.”

“I am the royal family!”

“I am a part of the entire pack fighting for the kingdom right now. I must be with them.”

The frustration causes your blood to boil under your skin. Heat rises to your cheeks as anger takes over. He’s staring you down. Jimin is right after all. But yet again, without him even speaking, you can hear his voice repeat the words ‘that’s selfish of you’. It rattles inside your head as your lips quiver with emotion.

You turn your head, eyes filled with sorrow dropping to your lap. The scolding fire from his bright eyes hurts you deeply. Yet he doesn’t have intentions to upset you, Jimin only wants to protect you.

“Go.”

The single word comes out so cold, so unlike your usual tone. It catches Jimin off guard.

The entire time Jimin’s mother stands in silence, trying to read the room herself as the two of you cast a tense environment. She has no place to utter a single word, not here. For a moment, she shares a cautious glance with her son. Something in her eyes that tells him that he needs to do something – say something.

“Prin –”

“– I do not want to see you.” Your voice sounds meek, on edge of falling over in the pool of emotion laying inside of you. If only he can understand how important you’ve made him in your life. How special he is and the comfort that comes with him when he’s around. Imagining him returning beaten up again bothers you. Thinking he might not come back at all is even worse.

“Just, go.” You command.

“Y/n,” Jimin speaks in a gentle voice. He steps closer to you with a heavy heart, “I’m sorry.” Slowly, he leans down to level his head with yours. It’s alright with him that you refuse to look back. Jimin knows he has your attention regardless. You feel the soft graze of his knuckle run along the edge of your jaw, surprised from the tender touch. “I really am sorry,” he smiles faintly as he leans in just enough to place his plump lips delicately on your temple.

Jimin leaves your side, turns on his heel and swiftly moves out the front door. It’s a rush from the way his body forms back into wolf and his paws press into the ground, carrying him further away from you. He wants to be here for you, but his loyalty lies deep to the guards and your family. Jimin knows you are safe, under the protection of his mother and the community surrounding the cabin. He would never just leave you.

A gust of wind blows in from outside, the chill reminding you how low the temperatures are. Jimin’s mother kindly shuts and locks the door. Silence stills softly in the ambiance of the crackling fireplace.

It breaks you knowing Jimin isn’t staying by your side. The rational side of your brain screams at you, telling you he is doing the right thing. But the emotional soft boundaries you have, that are more tender than a baby bird, weakens the further Jimin is. Like a piece of your heart constantly stripping from you. Cracking and bleeding from unreciprocated love.

The gentle face of Jimin’s mother approaches you, her soft hand places it upon your shoulder to gain your attention.

“Princess,” she begins with a kind tone. “Please know, we’ll do anything to protect you. You’re in a safe place now. My name is Mira. Let’s have you change into something warmer. I can make some tea as well.”

Her words do not stop the slow streams of tears dripping from your face. You wipe away each of them the moment they pass the curve of your cheeks, frustration and heartbreak laying deep within you.

When will he come back, you begin to wonder. Will he come back? Flashes of the ruffians and ruthlessness they project remind you how dangerous they are. What damages have they done with your family's castle? To your precious belongings?

And then it reminds you… You haven’t thought about your family. Your father and siblings, are they safe and sound? Are they escorted off the property by the guards as they clean up the mess of the intruders? How selfish of you, truly, to only think of yourself and Jimin.

Your realization serves you like the small piece of bread and tea served to you on a platter from Mira. It makes you cry more about how childish and foolish your mind is.

“He does love you,” Mira speaks again. Her eyes crinkle with wrinkles as she smiles. “He does the things he does because he loves you.”

Jimin yearns to return to your side the moment his feet step out of his childhood home. He rushes back to the castle grounds, reconnecting with the king's royal guard and abolishing any trespasser standing in his way. He fought for hours with righteousness and duty, tearing apart men limb from limb as he dodges the poisonous silver weapons laced with a venomous herb. When the time comes that the invasion of hoodlums either retreat or have been eliminated by the brute force of the royal guard – Jimin doesn’t hesitate to rush back to you. 

He’s been given the blessing from his higher-ups. Notified that the castle will be on high alert while the rest of your family has been scattered to their own locations of safety. They too have their own personal guards who stand their grounds and hover their sides. What matters now is that the kingdom is still intact even after such a brutal attack. They are not overthrown and they will continue on as supreme rulers.

As for any hostages held from the invaders, they will be judged appropriately and prodded for questions and answers before the royal court. Jimin has seen this many times, but never to this extent. This is the first time in his line of duty that the castle was attacked – but he is thankful for the outcome.

He wouldn’t know what would have happened if it turned out different.

His chest heaves with heavy breaths as he slows his pace the moment his eyes lay on the door to his mother’s house. Inside he knows you are waiting, impatiently he assumes. But seeing your face again will give him a sense of relief. A calming vortex that sinks deep inside his body and warms his nerves.

Jimin’s blood pumps in his ears as he calls out to his mother in the form of telepathy – a unique trait wolves have with one another. An inner circle of connections that allows wolves to speak to other wolves. Mira is ready by the door, twisting the handle and allowing Jimin a swift entrance into the house.

He tries to step quietly as his heavy wolf form causes the wood flooring to creak under his steps. His pads resound a soft thud as he walks. At first, he expects to walk straight to his room as he remembered he offered you his place to rest. But as his nose picks up your immediate scent, he realizes that you’re still resting on the couch right in front of the fire.

“She hasn’t moved,” Mira murmurs under her breath. Jimin’s mother stayed up all hours he was gone, watching and keeping you company. “I’ve given her plenty of tea and washed her face with a heated cloth. I’ve kept adding more wood to the fire to help. Even in her sleep, she still shivers. She may have hypothermia,” she warns.

He wouldn’t put it past him if this is the case. You were never made for enduring February winters in just a nightgown after all. Barefooted may he add.

Jimin walks over you, his nose sniffing at your skin to seek any discomfort your body may radiate. You lay there bundled up as much as you can under heavy fabrics of wool and fur. Jimin smiles to himself fondly as he sees the way you tuck your chin into the blanket and cover your nose.

A tentative look is shared between Jimin and his mother before he nudges his head against your arms.

You rouse from your slumber momentarily and your immediate reaction is to tighten your body and move to a more comfortable position. However, Jimin doesn’t allow you. He nudges you again and this time he digs his nose between the crack of your arms, prying them open so he can slot his head through and force your arm around his neck.

Mumbling in your sleep, you groan at the annoyance of being woken up. But when you feel the soft bristles of fur against your face and the undeniable warmth coming from them, you cling onto whatever is pressing against you.

It wakes you further. Enough to make you register enough to know Jimin is in your arms right now. Your fingers cling onto him tightly, screwing them into knots as you inhale deeply into the side of his neck. He smells like the frozen forest mixed with burning embers; the smell of smoke clogging between his roots.

His warmth is what reminds you of home. It forces happiness to leak out of your eyes as a warm tear drips onto his fur the more you bury your face into him. His movement forces you to wake up, urging you with a tug to get off the couch and follow him.

Leisurely, you hang from him while he ushers you to the other room – his room. Your feet stumble as the two of you pass Mira. You don’t care how clumsy you look, you’re just happy to have Jimin back.

“Jimin,” his mother tries speaking in a hushed tone. “Remember who you are to her.”

He doesn’t stop his stride as he enters his old bedroom with you nearly hanging off of him. It’s upkept well thanks to his mom. Nothing moved or changed over the years. With a few more nudges and suggestive pushes, he has you falling into place upon the mattress. It’s low to the ground, easy for him to step on it even in wolf form and lay comfortably as you attach yourself to his back. 

This form is undoubtedly the warmest. And with his wolf form he serves as a natural furnace for you. He doesn’t mind the way your fingers dig into his fur or the way your cold body presses desperately against his. He allows anything that will warm you up.

His eyes meet his mother’s as she leans in to shut the bedroom door. Words and feelings cannot describe his unfair bond to you – but with werewolves, they have a mutual understanding of how things work.

Jimin groans with a huff before putting his head down on the bed. He stays awake, alert, and listens to the sounds and conversations running through his head. Even when the threat is over, he still stays guard. Ready to pounce on anything that comes toward you.

For now, you may sleep comfortably. Jimin will be able to tell you later about the results of the castle and your family. 

You’re greeted by coldness as you toss and turn. The fresh chill pricks your cheeks, jolting your nerves to wake when you want nothing more than sleep. Chirps of wild birds sing outside of the window that casts a dull ray of sun into the room. It still looks dark out. There’s also an ache in your joints and muscles, particularly in your neck.

Perhaps you slept awful,  used to having your luxury linens and perfectly fluffed pillows. Instead you spent the night balled up, tight, against the only thing that holds heat.

The fire isn’t what saves you from the brisk cold of winter. It is the tender bristles of a wolf’s fur that hordes blissful heat, warmer than a copper pan filled with rocks warmed at the edge of a fire.

But you are not welcomed with that same softness of Jimin’s fur anymore. When you turn again, you realize you press against the smooth surface of his broadened back. Black ink decorates down his spine in the phases of the moon as your eyes focus from the haze of sleep. Does it make any sense to see the man you adore, shirtless with his back to you in the same bed? 

Absolutely not.

Your clogged head tries to clear the fog of confusion as you edge away from Jimin. He’s tucked under the covers, just as you. His chest rises and falls slowly, in a deep sleep. He’s more exhausted than you, his body fought all night. It makes sense he finally collapsed into a resting state; relaxed and dare you say, delicate. The branded ink shines subtly as his skin, miraculously still smooth, feels even warmer under your tender fingertips. Slowly, you trace invisible patterns onto his skin, mesmerized by the way he doesn’t pull away from you.

You feel guilty for snuggling up closer to him, knowing very well he isn’t in a conscious state for him to put you back in your place like all the other times. But you feel drawn in and addicted to his warmth and security in such a tender position.

Jimin inhales and exhales deeply, shifting his head when he feels your fingers tickle the nape of his neck. He shifts in his sleep, moving his body enough to force you to freeze. His hand reaches back, swatting away your hand as if it is a dainty bug crawling on him. But he realizes it’s nothing but a hand – your hand – and instead, he grips it. Pulling it around him and stretching your arm across his torso so that he can hold it against his chest. Jimin curls himself in a fetal position, dragging you flush against his back.

“Stop tickling me,” he murmurs in a groggy voice. He huffs out a small burst of air, humor laced with it.

Your forehead presses into his spine, a small smile creeping up on your lips.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Silence falls once again except for the subtle sounds of Jimin’s breathing. You could stay like this forever if you were able to. Ignore all responsibilities of life and stay with Jimin. Deep down, you secretly wish this. Having his protection and solace, bringing you solitude and clarity. You know that he is all you will ever need. He’s been exactly everything you need him to be in your life, even when times get tough and he guides you to do something you’re stubbornly against. It’s all for your well-being. Your overall happiness. Jimin has never steered you down the wrong path; even if it’s the path you wouldn’t pick yourself.

He is strong in many ways you aren’t. Rational and accountable. You know he will do everything in his power to let you have the perfect life and he will never leave you.

This feeling of unfulfillment with your heart always reminds you how a large piece of him belongs there. No matter how much room you make for your family and potential suitors that come your way. Nothing will fill the undeniable love you have toward your personal royal guard.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. This time with a different reason.

You’re apologizing for yourself. For the position you put yourself in even though you never win the fight with your emotions. How you cannot control this bond between the two of you and how you cannot change the way you feel toward him. You know you could never be with a wolf, let alone your own personal guard. The years between you doesn’t matter either. Jimin still looks as you first remember him, minus the added tattoos, scars and array of hair styles he’s sported. He has always been your guard, a figure to look up to, a brother, and a best friend without being them at the same time.

The connection you feel with Jimin is unexplainable. A natural magnetic draw you feel. A compelling force screaming at you that this – he – is exactly what your mind, body, and soul needs.

“Get some more rest,” Jimin urges as he squeezes your hand a little bit tighter.

“I am being honest with you,” you declare.

“So am I,” Jimin’s sleepy voice seeps through.

Your small tiff stirs Jimin awake. He turns slowly, still maintaining his hold on your hand as he faces you. The small puff of his cheeks shows you how tired he must be as his eyes remain closed. Jimin leans in, pushing your head into his chest as he rests his face into the top of your head.

“Rosemary,” he speaks out loud. He inhales slowly, admiring the sweet scent of the herb used to wash your hair every night. “It suits you so much.”

You feel a flush of warmth coursing through your body in such an intimate position. You have never been this close or tangled with Jimin like this before. There’s faint scars across his chest from what you can see, memories of past battle wounds that cut too deep perhaps.

“Are you hurt?” You question. Wondering how his body never correctly healed these specific marks.

“Not anymore,” he hums as he pulls you in tighter.

You can hear the faint beating of his heart as you twist your head to lay against his chest. It thumps calmly, like a lullaby whispering in your ear.

“Why are you here?” You dare to question. 

A heavy thought that’s been weighing on your mind for far too long. You want to thank him for welcoming you into his solitude and keeping you warm throughout the night. Even then, you hardly remember moving from the couch to this bed. Jimin sharing a bed with you doesn’t make any sense to you. Especially how he rests with no clothes on; assumingly you believe as the blankets cover more than your eyes can see.

“Warmth,” he responds. “I had to keep you warm. But I fell asleep.”

“Why are you still here then…?”

Jimin exhales deeply. He still rests as much as he can even with your quizzing questions.

“I’m pretending I’m still dreaming.”

“Dreaming?” You blink.

“Yes.” Jimin’s hand gingerly raises to stroke the side of your head, brushing off any stray locks. His palm is so warm against you, the contact heating you instantly. “A dream. Would you like me to leave?”

“No,” you blurt out faster than you expected. “I just don’t understand,” you try leaning back to look at his face.

“Princess,” he tsks. “How can I explain this?” He questions himself more than you. Jimin places his lips on your forehead and rests them there as he contemplates his words. “A wolf cannot be mixed with a royal. But you desire a wolf. And a wolf desires you.” He hesitates with the next sentence that leaves his mouth. “However, it will never be allowed. And thus… a dream.”

“You dream of this?” You ask, stunned.

“Don’t you?” He huffed a laugh. “I know you do. There are times that I can read it all over your pretty face. I can feel it too.”

“I-I,” you feel flustered. Your feathers fluffed every which way as Jimin speaks so carelessly of such a sensitive subject.

“I know how you feel for me,” he states. “I’m sorry you do. Even when I try to keep you on the right path, show you your responsibilities and guide you to your title's destiny… you found a sanctuary in me.”

Jimin continues to stroke your face with his thumb, his nose breathes out hot air against your forehead. He caresses you tenderly, holds you dear to him as if he is afraid to let you go.

“I’ve… I have always loved you,” you confess. Swallowing thickly as your throat closes up with emotion. Jimin allows you to slide your arms around him again.

“I know. I can feel everything you feel,” he sighs. “Your happiness. Your sadness. That painstaking broken heart every time you’re forced to live your reality.”

He smiles softly against your skin, peppering small kisses where his lips rest.

“I also feel the way you can’t control your emotions. How you constantly battle with what’s right and wrong. How not a single person draws your attention more than I do. I can’t really explain how I can feel these things,” he tilts your head to look down into your eyes. “It won’t make any sense.”

In the soft morning light, his features are more admirable. His skin glows beautifully, like a natural highlight illuminating off of the edges of his face. Jimin cracks open his eyes, only slightly, to peer down at your innocent expression. A face he’s seen for many years after being scolded or pressed for answers. The beauty in his eyes, that crisp amber hue, shifts a shade darker as they land on your parting lips.

“Jimin, I don’t want this to be a dream.”

You’re honest about it. The aura of intimacy is fueling the room so purely, it’s nearly smothering. Jimin allows his walls to break down for you to enter; let’s you in his space even when it goes against everything the two of you know.

His thumb flicks your bottom lip, feeling the soft flesh under his digit. He can feel the natural draw, how his body is aching with a tantalizing need to kiss you. To have you, just for now, before he must go back to reality.

“I’ll do anything for you,” he declares as he looks down at you sadly. “I devoted myself the very first moment I saw you.” His breath shakes as he lets out a breath he was holding.

“Princess,” he begins, the small curve of his lips upturning. He knows this is dangerous, it’s not allowed. Years of pining and rejecting you, fearing the system of the world and the way of life, he’s taking his one and only opportunity to be selfish. A thing you know so very well. Jimin leans down, lips nearly brushing yours, “Please forgive me.”

Your lips press together in a gentle embrace. He pours his unannounced love for you with this kiss; all those years of pent-up, hopeless desires and unfathomable attachment finally burst through with the only way he can show you. 

There’s no way of telling how long your kiss lasts; and eternity sounds like an understatement. Your breath hitches in your throat, surprised by the act and realism of Jimin – the man you’ve grown to love throughout all these years – has committed such a sinful, yet delightful, treason for the sake of his own greed. The same act you do not disgust, appall, or dislike. You greet it, after a few moments of shock, with happiness. A passion of feeling what you pined for all this time. Acceptance, understanding, and need.

Jimin’s warm fingers run along the side of your face and down the length of your arm. “Pretend it’s just a dream.” He smiles in between kisses.

A subtle tear breaks the brim of your eye as you capture Jimin in a passionate, breathtaking kiss. You bring him closer, wrapping your arms around his neck and tasting his tongue in your mouth. 

When it’s just a dream, you’re allowed to cross the lines of right and wrong. Do the things you want to do, impulsively or not. That’s why you don’t bother to wait when you desperately cling to him, tangling your soft fingers through his messy hair. You feel the way Jimin presses himself into you, not a care of his royal guard status or what your title is. He brings his love out to another being – you.

You feel the gentle pull of his hands at the lining of your padded clothes. There’s so much keeping you bundled, but he’s sure he can keep you warm with his body. His hands roam under the fabrics, feeling the touch of the soft skin of your hip. He skirts his hand up your back, pressing his palm onto you to drag you into him.

“Are you sure?” You question him as if you’re being fooled. Tricked into thinking this truly is a dream and not something you will remember.

“I’ve never wanted something so desperately,” he admits with no embarrassment. “So many times I’ve had to tell you to look away from me. Entertain these other suitors… It hurts. But I know I will always be there for you even if your feelings aren’t as they are now. Even if you didn’t feel for me. I can’t help that. I’m bound to you.”

Your eyes roam the expanse of his body that you can see against the pale sheets of his old mattress. His words send glee to your heart. Had you known this hurts him as much as it hurts you, you would do something about it. Find a way to make something work. There must be a way.

“I’m sorry for being so distant with you in regard to your emotions. But, I do it to protect you. I’m not right for you.” Jimin whispers as his lips reconnect with yours. A carnal desire brewing deep inside of him, no doubt inside of you too.

“Jimin,” you whimper against his mouth. The crack in your voice is threatening to snap.

“Tell me to stop.”

“Don’t,” you sniffle. 

Your head is a clutter of sensitive emotions ransacking your brain. Clouding your headspace as if you are in a daydream. But you accept it. Allow this illusion, real or not, to be as real as it can ever get.

You accept him and this moment of time.

The heat of Jimin’s body keeps you warm from the chilled air outside of the sheets. Slowly, he shifts to have you laying on your back as his body crawls over you. Jimin plants soft and wet kisses down your jawline to a sweet spot on the side of your neck, multitasking with the buttons of your thick clothes.

The second he is able to free portions of your body from the garments, his skin slides over yours. Touching every delicately smooth surface of your body. Rising goosebumps through each sway of his fingers across every inch. You melt into his touches, a quiet whimper and pleasant hum escaping your nose.

“You’re so beautiful,” he comments as he levels his head with yours. He takes a moment to peer down at your morning face, admiring the way you look even with a rough night. Jimin remembers your eyes the most. How genuine and curious they are. He reminisces about the first time; when a shot of an electrifying spark penetrated his entire being because of his imprinting nature… how it connected him to you for as long as you live. “I will never lose you.”

Jimin can feel the way your body speaks to him. How together all your nerve endings and atoms feel as if they join like a perfect puzzle. It leads him further to your core, trailing his hand tentatively as he waits for a clear sign for him to continue.

He presses himself gently against you, showing you his growing need for you. The hardened appendage pokes you like a soft tapping on a door, trying to be as polite as possible.

You take his face in your hands, pulling him down for another emotional kiss. You nod to him, giving him the clearing to roam your most secretive bits.

After removing the access clothing from your legs, his fingertips glide up your inner thighs. He shivers when he inhales suddenly, taking in the small whiff of your scent. Instinctively, and almost casually, you bend your knee to allow more access for him.

Jimin’s fingers ghost over your core, brushing against the edges before feeling the slick heat from your lower lips. He teases you at first but not on purpose. Jimin swallows nervously, fighting with his body to remind himself to take things slow.

He takes your bottom lip between his teeth, pulling at the plump piece of flesh as his index finger runs down your slit. You shutter with a breath of hot air blowing out, enjoying the foreign touch.

Unsure what to do with your hands, you begin to run them down his hard chest to mimic the similar style of approach he does on you. Though you’re halted the moment you hit his navel by his hand.

“Allow me to focus on you,” he requests in a soft tone. He raises your knuckles to his mouth where he plants a chaste kiss to them.

He suggests for your hands to remain away as he descends down the valley of your breasts. Each tender kiss he leaves to your feverish skin in the commute to your lower region has you squirming. You hoist the blankets over your body as Jimin disappears underneath them, taking the heat too. He’s able to maneuver skillfully between your legs, slotting himself neatly as you spread them wider.

You don’t get to see the way Jimin licks his lips when his eyes focus on your core for the first time. How your scent hits his nose at full force, reminding him how beautifully wet you’re becoming with the tension built up around you. His finger returns to you, sliding down your slit and nudging against your clit. It causes you to jolt, instinctively closing your legs around him as much as possible. But he keeps them open with his hands and body as he moves closer.

Peeking under the covers, you see the dark hair of Jimin sinking between the junction of your thighs. You capture the scene, branding it in your memory the moment Jimin’s mouth abruptly comes down on to your clit. You cry out, gripping the blankets in hard fists as his tongue languidly flicks over your sensitive bud as his finger teases your entrance.

“Shh,” he tries to tame you when he inserts his finger into you. You clench tightly, shift your legs even more as your body adjusts to Jimin.

He’s wondering what you’ll feel like if he inserts another, if it’ll pull another whimper and a moan from you. And he has to; to spread your entrance wider and stretch your walls open enough to allow him inside. Prepare your body for the intrusive thoughts bleeding into his mind of your body shaking under him with pleasure.

Jimin curls his fingers once he adds a second one into the mix, slowly pumping them in you at a steady pace as his lips caress your clit. The tip of his tongue flicks your bud so dangerously, it makes you cry out even louder and begins to disturb the silent winter morning air.

His free hand comes down to your waist to stop your hips from bucking into him. Jimin releases his mouth from you and calms his fingers as he hushes you once again.

“Quiet, Princess. Please.”

“Jimin, I-I’m-” You pant softly. Your chest shakes with the rise and fall and intense pounding of your heart.

“Don’t be sorry,” he interjects. Jimin slides himself up your body again while still securing his fingers inside your core. “I know it’s hard to not be loud.” He places a kiss to your cheek before finding your mouth, the taste of you still lingering on his plump lips. Gently, he adds a third finger into your entrance and captures your whine with a sealed kiss.

He uses this moment to experimentally widen your walls with the scissoring effect of his fingers. Fighting off the impulsive clench your body naturally does. When his thumb presses into your clit your body jumps.

Your hands rush to his head, combing through his hair as you fight to anchor yourself on something.

Jimin winces from the strength and harsh pull, but he doesn’t let it bother his actions. Instead, he is kissing your neck again as his hand wraps around your back. He lifts you up like it’s easy until you’re straddling his lap, legs still parted wide for him. Jimin removes his fingers from you, allowing him to push you closer against his hardness. The contact makes his neglected member flinch with excitement.

Your cheeks prick with sparks of warmth as you look Jimin in the eyes again. Both completely naked and in each other's own embrace. Your hot slick presses against his shaft and Jimin cannot help but use his hand to push you into him again.

The blankets have fallen around the two of you, leaving Jimin’s strong muscles to hold you upright on top of him and exposed for him and only him.

“You can’t tell anyone…” he begins as his lips lock with yours. “What happens here must stay here.”

“But what if I don’t want that?” You ask, catching your breath in between kisses.

“Want and need are two different things.”

“I want both of those though,” you exclaim. “I want and need you, Jimin.”

He silences you again, but this time with his tongue. He dives deep into your mouth, groaning with the taste of you that excites him.

“Don’t ever speak of this,” he reminds you. “You mean more to me than you can ever imagine. You’re special to me, Y/n. You will always have me.”

Your heart tightens in your chest as you hear his sincere words. Relief is an understatement. The reassurance and verbal notice of Jimin’s confession is enough to send you to cloud nine. His loyalty and dedication to your family's name isn’t the only thing he cares for. The importance of you and how you are something more to him sends your heart into eternal bliss. Maybe all it took is to finally hear it from the source.

“I’ve always loved you,” you declare as if Jimin never knew this himself. 

He nods, leaning in to capture another kiss from you as your hands tugs on his shoulders. Your mouths move together so perfectly, reminding you how you want nothing more than to do this for the rest of your life. Lightly, your clit brushes against his hardened and untouched dick. The sensation of how close you are to it sends excitement through your body, arousing you more as you desperately rock against him for more stimulation with his help. Your slick drips along his lap, making the glide easier for you.

You admire the tip of his cockhead pointing up toward you, silently requesting to be touched.

“Help me,” you whisper as your legs try to help raise you above him.

Jimin positions his cock when you’re hovering over him. Your arousal drips teasingly over him, dressing the mushroom head of his tip in a shiny coat. He breathes out a strangled breath as the curse word ‘shit’ runs out of his lips. 

Slowly, you drop down on Jimin’s cock. Allowing him to stretch you open as the first inches penetrate you. He holds you up, allows you to sink down at your own pace as both your mouths open with pleasurable surprise. A silent gasp leaves the two of you breathless as you sit flush against him, ignoring any prickling pain as your walls flutter around his cock. Squeezing and unsqueezing rigorously as your head tosses back with eyes screwed shut. Jimin groans with a string of incoherent words, muffled by the way he presses his lips into the side of your neck.

“Oh,” you whimper. 

Knees already threatening to buckle and morph into jelly, your hands hold onto Jimin’s sturdy shoulders when you look down between the two of you. There’s fascination running through you as you watch the way your breasts rub against his chest each time your body moves down his; watching the way he disappears inside of you and filling you up.

The two of you moan in unison as you experimentally roll your hips into him. Jimin’s fingers tighten around your thighs, jerking his hips up to meet yours. He keeps a leisurely pace with you as he wishes nothing but to make you feel pleasurable. You can feel the way your orgasm slowly builds within you as you hold Jimin’s head closer against your neck. A desperate way of holding onto something while you begin to tremble with sensitivity.

“Is it too much?” He questions as he holds you impossibly closer to his body.

You breathe deeply, clutching his cock with your walls.

“No,” you choke out. “I need more.”

Jimin pulls you off of him to greet your face with his. He lays you down expertly, letting your body rest soft against the mattress again. Jimin is able to hook his arm around one of your legs and gently lifts it higher, testing the new angle and watching the way your face contorts with pleasure. 

You cry out his name as you feel his cock run across a specific spot inside of you, making your toes curl and back arch. The sparks in your body flying like lightning in the sky.

There’s a tightness in your stomach that shoots down to your lower region, alerting you of your approaching orgasm. Jimin notices from the way you shake with each thrust he gives. He holds your legs wide, allowing deeper access to push into you as his abdomen flexes every time his body bangs into yours.

“Like this?” He breaths out, a glimpse of blue shining from his eyes.

“K-keep… Y-yes,” you moan, feeling him hit every mark with this new angle.

Jimin lowers himself down to catch your lips with his, closing your mouth and muffing your noises to the best of his abilities. He absolutely loves hearing the sounds of your whimpers and pleasure, but he’s not trying to allow everyone else to hear them.

Another quick and particular movement of Jimin’s hips has you coming undone beneath him, bucking your hips up to match his thrusts as you squeeze tight around him. You feel the way your nails dig into his shoulders as you shake uncontrollably as Jimin continues to thrust through your orgasm. The sounds of your bodies colliding heightens with squelching noises, your dripping arousal coating his entire pelvis and leaking onto the sheets below.

With a few more sharp thrusts, Jimin pulls out of you and spills his seed onto your stomach. Dressing your smooth skin with strings of milky residue. You catch the ending bit, watching the way his cum spurts out of his cockhead as Jimin presses his pelvis down, using both him and you to squeeze his slick-hardened cock.

Jimin moans with you, still molding your lips together as he holds you close to him. When the two of you calm down from the euphoric sensations, he places his forehead against yours. He looks down at you with soft and serene eyes. Filled with love and adoration. This new sense of energy and vulnerability flows through him.

It’s happiness he shares with you when you both shyly smile at another. Ignoring all the heated labor breathes and dampened hairlines. You get lost in his eyes, wishing that the crisp amber coloring is the solution to all your worries and problems. And in some ways – they are.

“I love you.”

Jimin speaks calmly as he declares his emotions for you. His lips press into yours once more to seal his statement.

You can’t help but look up at him with watery eyes. You want to burst into a full blown cry when you see the way his eyes glisten too, but you don’t. Not wanting to spoil the moment of sincerity for either of you.

“I love you too,” you respond as you brush strands of fringe away from his softening face. It’s almost long enough to tuck behind his ear, which you scowl when you watch the piece fall right back in his face.

You share a soft chuckle with him as he moves slowly, making sure to not spread the mess on your stomach everywhere.

“I’ll clean us up and we can go back to resting for a bit.”

“Okay,” you smile softly. Your hands begin to cover yourself the further Jimin pulls away from your body. 

Jimin is quick to find a feasible cloth from the corner of the room and just as fast to return to you on the bed. He wipes you off first, as he should, before cleaning himself. He kneels down on the mattress as you try to subtly admire his entire naked body. Realizing he is still so unfairly beautiful without the suited armor and clothing he usually wears.

“I should have you know, now that you’re awake…” he huffed a laugh. Jimin slides himself under the covers, meeting your body with his. His arm crosses over your torso, hand running down the other side of you until he pulls you close by the waist. “Your family is safe. We defeated the threat last night and your castle will undergo some reconstruction from the damages. But everything is maintained again. I’m sure we will have to return within the day.”

The news makes you happy. The outcome could have been far worse in many ways. But hearing these words from Jimin is comforting. It makes you proud and grateful for him. You aren’t sure what the future will bring. How this dreamy secret must never be spoken about. What this could all mean now. But what you do know, is that he loves you too, and that is enough for now.

Moodboard credit: @/kth1

© 2023 All rights reserved under @kth1​ - do not copy, repost, modify, edit, or translate any of my work without my direct consent. This TUMBLR and AO3 are the ONLY places my fics are posted.

[jhugas]

‘Im not done with you…’- Park Jimin

✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

Genre: contains angst, mainly smut

Pairing: Jimin X 8thmember! Afab! Reader

Summary: your argument was stupid and getting hurtful, so you expected a few things from Jimin, but not this…

Word count: ~1,9k

Warnings/tags: oral (f receiving), fingering, penetration (d in v), cum eating (m eats), unprotected sex, 3 diff position including a standing up one- he carries her-(he hellaaaa strong, he can carry anyone), cum stuffing, creampie, reader cums twice, they cum 2gether, some French kiss, make out ofc, big d! Jimin, Reader has a dick bulge in her stomach, reader gets hella tired at the end lol, and also forbidden love/sex ig? by the agence.

✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

You and Jimin were arguing endlessly and it was getting more and more heated. And the worst is, that you’re fighting over nothing.

You started arguing over something stupid, then started mentioning deeper topics and just using each other’s weaknesses against each other. The main reason you started arguing for got lost in the way, and you bring this up.

‘Why did we even start fighting for? You’re just straight insulting me! Can’t you keep a normal conversation? Is it that hard??’ you yell at him, while the two of you are sat on the same couch against the wall.

‘Listen, I don’t understand anything you’re saying. You get mad at literally everything! We literally agree. I agree with you y/n!!!’ he yells back.

‘Oh so you agree now? Well good! I guess we can stop arguing!’

‘No y/n, I ALWAYS agreed with you, you just don’t understand!’

‘Well then, why are we fighting?!’ You say as you get up, looking down on him and confused on why did you start fighting, slowly calming down.

‘Why did w-‘ you began to say, before Jimin got up too, and cut you by smashing his lip against yours.

You don’t really understand why he kissed you all of a sudden, you’ve never kissed before, but indeed, you can’t say there was never something between you two.

You remember that one time, when you were both sitting down in the pool at night, all alone during summer, and you were just talking together about love and how you wished to find it. And it’s just the way he was staring at your lips when you were talking and the way he was looking at you, that installed an oddly comfortable tension.

It’s true, you felt like your body was moving on its own, trying to feel his lips on you, anywhere, but it didn’t happen.

In fact, your agency didn’t let any idol of the same group date each other, and even if you could just have fun without dating, you never talked about it, so he might not feel the same…

But though you always wanted to kiss him, you didn’t know if it was the right thing to do. Working with someone you might fall in love with is… complicated. But Jimin doesn’t care.

His lips are moving along with yours, still a bit shy but getting more and more bold each second. He has his hands on you, one behind your head, and the other one in between your waist and lower back to hold you close to him, in fact, both of your hips are stuck together.

You pull back to breathe and look at him with a worried look.

‘What’s wrong? Are you alright?’ He asked you when he noticed the way you’re looking at him, he needed to feel his lips on yours again as soon as possible.

‘Are you sure this is okay?’ You whisper with your lips almost touching his.

‘You don’t need to think about anything… just relax and enjoy, you have nothing to do…’ he whispers back, before slowly completing your lips with his again, his bottom lip filling the gap in between yours as he gently sucks on your top lip.

His hand lowers to your ass, leaving you time to stop him if you wanted, but you don’t. He notices and doesn’t lose time to grab your thighs, before lifting you up, making your legs wrap around his tiny waist. Then he leaned his head to the side to get a better taste of you, sliding progressively his tongue in to feel you better.

You can’t help but moan in the kiss. His hands sliding in your panties and the way he’s carrying you is too attractive, he’s making you feel so loved and wanted, and makes you all needy simultaneously.

Because of your position, he gets on his knees on the couch, facing the wall, and makes you sit on the top of it in front of him. He stopped kissing your lips and began to leave kisses on your body instead, from your neck, to your cleavage, to your stomach until he reached your lower stomach.

He looks up at you in admiration with his siren eyes, asking permission to take off your shorts and panties to feel your pussy in his mouth. And as soon as you nodded, you lifted your hips to make it easier for him to take off your shorts and panties in one go, something that he successfully did.

You are now legs open, revealing your bare wet pussy right in front of his shining eyes.

Then he started.

He kissed your thighs, slowly and sensually, then got closer to your lips, before pressing his plump lips against your clit and start giving it a few licks with his tongue.

He also teases your hole, licking the edges just enough to tease you and make you want more.

Curses leave your lips as his tongue works on your clit and his hands grab firmly your thighs to keep them open. You, you are grabbing his hair, bringing him closer to you though it’s not possible, and enjoying his moans through your body vibrations.

His tongue is precise and pleases you at the perfect pace, making your orgasm come faster than usual, and getting wetter each move. And Jimin doesn’t mind, he loves the taste of your juices and would love to drown in it, he always fantasized about how good you’d taste.

He keeps sucking on your clit meanwhile his fingers get to your entrance and eagerly push them in, curling them perfectly and immediately finding your sweet spot. Jimin had so much control over his tongue and fingers it was insane, there is no other like him, he’s the only one that can make you feel like this, and he was ready to prove it to you.

Obviously, you felt your orgasm coming closer and closer as you grab his hair harder, the position being complicated for him but he doesn’t mind, all he wants to hear is you screaming his name.

‘Fu- ugh Jimin! I’m gonna cum!’ you say with the energy you have left, shamelessly showing him how good HE makes you feel.

When he hears this, he decides to go faster to make you cum harder, and it happened.

You cum hard all over his fingers, closing your walls around his fingers as he doesn’t stop until you’re totally done, falling from your high.

Curses leave both of your lips as he pulls out his fingers of you, and leave your clit by itself. Jimin can’t help but taste you on his fingers, feeling your sweet juice on his tongue after playing with it.

Meanwhile, you’re still trying to catch your breath against the wall, still sitting on top of the couch.

‘I’m not done with you…’ Jimin tells you, looking deep into your eyes.

You only manage to answer ‘huh?’ In your state, before he carried you again and started kissing you eyes shut closed, shoving his tongue in your mouth.

You let yourself do and as he told you before ‘just relax and enjoy’. He still has your legs around his waist as he holds you high enough to pull down his pants and Calvin Klein boxers, your bare wet pussy against his lower stomach, and you feel his cock hitting your ass.

‘Be careful…’ you tell him, but he’s not listening, he’s busy aligning the tip of his cock with your cunt.

First, he slides it in between your folds to stimulate your sensitive clit and tease your entrance, before pushing his thick cock inside you.

You throw your head back and arch your back as Jimin carries you safely, and started to make you bounce on it.

He’s grabbing your ass firmly, making you jump up and down his dick as it hits your sensitive sweet spot again. You were so sensitive that even when you tried to not move too much to annoy Jimin, you were still squirming while Jimin, in fact, wasn’t struggling at all.

He was 100% stable and wasn’t ready to let go or stop anytime soon.

Wet clapping sounds, your whimpers, and Jimin’s low groans and moans became louder and louder, still clapping his balls against your ass as his cock pounds into you.

Then suddenly, Jimin decided to switch position, so he pulled out, for one reason; he wanted to see his cock disappear in your cunt.

He heads to the kitchen and lays your back against the kitchen table, as your ass is at the same height as his hips, making it easy for him to slide in and out of you.

You rest a little bit before he slowly pushes his tip in you, observing how his big and thick cock disappeared in your little hole. And once he was all the way in, he could see a bulge in your lower stomach, your lips grabbing his cock as he pulled back. Your sensibility is now more than enjoyable, and you get more pleasure with each thrust.

‘Take off your shirt baby… I wanna see you all naked for me…’ he says, excited at the idea of seeing your titties jump.

‘Do it for me-‘ you answered, too tired to even think straight.

At your words, Jimin doesn’t lose any time and takes off his hands of your hips to take off your shirt, then waiting for you to arch to unclip your bra, finally being able to see your body entirely naked for the first time. You looked more than ethereal, seeing you all open for him and so vulnerable made him feel so trusted.

He can feel your walls clench around him, and also his high coming fast.

‘I’m gonna cu- cum soon.’ Jimin warns you.

‘Cum in me, I wanna cum with you…’ you answer breathlessly.

Jimin is happy at the green light, he’ll be cumming in you and watching his thick semen get out of your cunt too.

He keeps on pounding into you, watching your boobs jump in circles and making you feel every single inch of his thick and big cock he was so proud of. You already felt it when you were secretly grinding on each other years ago, too scared to do more, but feeling it inside you was much different.

‘Fu- I’m cumming!’ He screams, as he pushes his dick deeply into you to cum the further possible. He paints your walls in white and you feel his warm cum resting in you. Then you came next, your juice drowning Jimin’s cock that was still in you, whispering to himself ‘so tight’.

Your body started shaking as Jimin made sure you didn’t hit your head on the table.

Then finally, the two of you calmed down. Not moving as both of your juices mix together in your spot, until he pulled out slowly, making you feel so empty all of a sudden.

He watched his cum get out of your cunt and slide down to your asshole, but Jimin wanted to stuff you more. As you were relaxing laying down, he used his tip to gather his white cum and shove it in your cunt again repeatedly.

‘What just happened?’ You ask Jimin.

‘I said don’t worry love, let’s take a shower now. Had fun?’ He whispers.

‘Yes…’ you whisper back, before Jimin carried you to the toilet then to the shower, helping you feel better and cuddling you a lot.

Let’s say this was an apology for every mean things you told each others.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs, comments and likes are extremely nice and helpful. Thank you!

Masterlist

[95rkives]

AFTER HOURS⼂PJM

summary: one unforgettable night, one unforgettable name, and a mind-shattering orgasm.

pairings: jimin x fem!reader

genre/warnings: smut, softdom!jm, strangers hooking up, intoxicated characters, unprotected sex (wrap it up), rough-ish sex, public sex (club bathroom), slight dirty talk

wc: 1k

a/n: here’s some filth for the soul! spideykook is coming right after this one hopefully before the end of the week! (reals this time :p)

The bass thrums through your body, deep and heavy, rattling your bones as you move. Everything is a blur—flashing lights, pulsing heat, bodies pressed together in a sea of sweat and sin. You don’t know how long you’ve been dancing, don’t remember when you locked eyes with him, but now his hands are on your waist, his breath hot against your ear, and none of it matters.

Your body hums with alcohol and want, and so does his. He’s pressed against your back, fingers digging into your hips as the music swallows you both whole. Every time you move, you can feel him—hard, burning against you, the friction sending electric shivers through your spine.

You don’t know his name. You don’t need to.

You arch into him, your body reacting on instinct, and before you can think, he’s grabbing your wrist, pulling you through the throng of people. His grip is firm, urgent. You don’t question it.

The hallway leading to the bathrooms is dimly lit, quieter but still alive with muffled music and the occasional moan from someone getting laid somewhere in a secluded corner. It’s filthy. It’s reckless. It’s perfect.

He stumbles as he shoves the door open, dragging you inside with him. His mouth is on yours before the door even shuts, hot and desperate, all tongue and teeth. You moan into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. He tastes like whiskey and sin, and you want more.

His hands are everywhere—gripping your ass, sliding up your sides, cupping your breasts. He groans into your mouth when you tug at his belt, your fingers clumsy from the alcohol. “So fucking impatient,” he breathes against your lips, but he’s no better—his hands shake as he tugs at your dress, hiking it up roughly until his fingers find the heat between your legs.

“Fuck, baby, already so wet for me,” he groans, pushing your panties aside.

Your head tilts back against the door with a thud, a breathless moan slipping past your lips as his fingers slide through your slick folds. It’s messy, rushed—he doesn’t waste time teasing. He presses one finger in, then two, curling them just right, and your legs almost give out.

“Need you,” you gasp, your own hands working at his jeans, shoving them just low enough to free him. Your breath catches at the feeling of his cock, hot and heavy against your palm.

He lets out a strangled groan, his forehead pressing against yours as his hips twitch forward. “Turn around,” he orders, voice low, wrecked.

You obey without hesitation, your hands bracing against the door as he spins you in place. His body is flush against your back in seconds, his lips finding the shell of your ear. “Gonna fuck you so good, baby,” he murmurs, his voice a promise and a threat all at once.

One hand slides down your thigh, gripping just behind your knee as he lifts your leg, hitching it up against the door. You feel the head of his cock slide against your entrance, teasing, and you push back against him with a frustrated whine, and it’s all it takes for him to thrust in, hard and deep, your moan echoes off the walls.

“Shit—” you gasp, your temple dropping against the cool surface of the door as he buries himself inside you. He’s thick, stretching you open in the best way, and it’s almost too much. Almost.

He doesn’t wait. His free hand grips your waist, holding you steady as he pulls out just enough before slamming back in. His pace is rough, frantic, like he can’t get deep enough, fast enough. Each thrust pushes you harder against the door, your body rocking with the force of him.

The bathroom is filled with the sounds of skin on skin, the wet, filthy noises of him fucking into you, the occasional groan muffled against your neck. You barely notice the knocking on the door, someone impatiently trying to get in. Jimin just laughs, breathless. “They’re gonna have to fucking wait.”

Your nails scrape against the door as his thrusts get sharper, rougher. Your body is on fire, every nerve ending alive with sensation. He reaches around, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast, and you cry out, legs trembling.

“Close?” he pants, his lips brushing against your ear.

You can only nod, words lost in the haze of pleasure.

“Good,” he groans. “Milk my cock dry,”

That’s all it takes. The coil in your stomach snaps, pleasure crashing over you in waves as your orgasm tears through you. You convulse around him, searching through your memory for a name to moan.

“Fuck,” you gasp, still shuddering as he keeps thrusting into you, chasing his own release. “What—what’s your name?”

He laughs against your shoulder, breathless, almost delirious. “Took me fucking you against a door for you to care?”

You don’t get the chance to reply because he slams into you one last time, his body tensing as he groans, spilling inside you. He grips you tight enough to bruise as he rides out his high, his breath hot and ragged against your neck.

For a moment, all you can hear is your own heavy breathing, the distant pulse of the music outside, the occasional muffled knock from whoever is still waiting for the bathroom.

Then he pulls out with a low groan, his breath still coming heavy as he adjusts himself, quickly zipping up his jeans. He steps back, just enough to give you space, but his eyes never leave you.

“Do you have a name, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice low and teasing, like he’s not entirely sure he cares but wants to hear it anyway.

You can barely form a sentence, still shaken from everything. “You... didn’t tell me yours.”

His smile widens. “I didn’t, did I?” He steps closer, his body just a few inches from yours, his breath brushing against your lips. “Jimin,” he murmurs, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Now you know.”

You swallow, heart pounding, legs still shaky. “Well, Jimin,” you say, meeting his gaze, “I’m not sure if I’ll ever forget you.”

Jimin chuckles, leaning in like he’s about to kiss you, but pulls back when you try to meet him halfway. “Let’s leave that up to fate.” he says with a wink, before slipping away like a ghost, leaving you standing there, breathless, with a name you won’t be forgetting anytime soon.

[persphonesorchid]

Minisode: Jimin

Notes: hehehe 😭 Jimin has finally made it to my blog in his own fic y'all

Warnings: MC and Jimin are drunk

Jimin's head feels light, despite the fact that he's perfectly capable of holding his liquor, and the promise that you could hold yours as well, you both cling to eachother as you stumble towards his apartment door in a fit of high pitched giggles.

He doesn't even know what you're laughing at, but something about the sound makes him giggle too as he fumbles to press his finger against the keypad on his door. You're leaning heavily against him, your arm wrapped around his own, and he stares at the lock with his finger hovering over it.

"Gimme a sec." Jimin abandons trying to remember the code, mind too fuzzy with the drinks he had to even hold his hand steady. He fishes for his keycard in your purse, digging past your house keys and both your phones to find it tucked in the little inner pocket. He smiles drunkenly as he presses the chip to the scanner, and pushes the door when it clicks open, herding you in first and trying to make sure you don't trip over your own feet. He's not as drunk as you are, but way past tipsy.

You plop down in the entryway, fingers tackling the straps of your heels with an expression that tells Jimin you're concentrating really hard to do so. He helps, batting your hands gently away to pull the straps from the little buckle at your ankle, and then pulling you to your feet.

"I'm never drinking with you again." You groan, as Jimin nudges house slippers to you with a soft laugh, "I should've stopped at the first soju bomb."

"You said you could keep up, not my fault." Jimin toes his shoes off his feet, sliding them into the fluffy comfort of his house slippers. He steps over the raised platform that leads towards the living room and kitchen, a hand holding your arm to keep you steady as you follow. "Easy."

He watches as you carefully lift a leg, your eyes not even open and he guides you forward. He leads you towards the kitchen, sits you down at the island where you press your cheek against the cool marble with a sigh. You grumble something that Jimin can't decipher, and he passes you a bottle of water.

"What?" He asks, brushing your hair away from your face with a gentle hand. You peek an eye open, the movement of your hand taking the bottle from him looking like it took more effort than it should. Your limbs weighed down by the alcohol running through your bloodstream. You sigh heavily as you drag yourself to sit straight, head lolling forward.

"It's cold in here." You slur, the fingers of your other hand curling around the cap of the bottle, but you're squeezing the bottle too tight and Jimin knows it'll spill if you crack the seal.

He takes the bottle and opens it for you, pressing it back into your hand with a chuckle, "It's not. You're anemic." He moves to turn the heat up anyway, as fall is on the cusp and the nights aren't as warm anymore when the sun takes its warmth as it sets.

He comes back to the kitchen to find you've barely taken a sip of the water and you're most definitely asleep.

"Y/n..." He dips his fingers into your hair, coaxing you out of the sleep that hasn't yet deepened too much to give him trouble to rouse you. "Drink the water, you can't sleep at the counter."

You groan, lifting your head with much effort and taking enough sips of the water until Jimin's satisfied and you're pushing the water away.

"Let's get you to bed, c'mon." He guides you carefully off the chair, and towards his bedroom.

Jimin laughs under the sound of you starting to sing a song, very off-key and loud, clinging to him as you stumble along. He guides you carefully to his bedroom, letting you flop face first into his bed with a loud groan, your singing tottering off into incoherent mumbles of what Jimin believes is the song. He fishes through his drawers, finding clothes for you to wear, and turns to find you already halfway out your dress.

"Y/n!" Jimin covers his eyes with the tee-shirt he holds, he stretches a hand blindly forward, keeping his hand at your shoulder level. "You can't just...take this."

He shakes the tee-shirt and boxer shorts at you, his other hand coming up to cover his eyes even though they're tightly shut. You're giggling at something, fingers brushing his when you take the clothes from it, and in the quiet that follows, he wonders if you could hear his heart kicking against his ribs.

"M'done." You say and Jimin uncovers his eyes to find you fully dressed. He cleans the smudged make-up off your face with a couple of wipes, but when he tries to pull away you wrap your arms around his neck. He's forced to steady himself with his palms on either side of your hips, sinking into the soft mattress, noses almost touching, he breathes your name.

"Mimi?" Your eyes are barely open, slightly red as you try to stay awake. Jimin tries to pull away but you've locked your hands behind his neck. "I think I'm drunk."

"Yes, you are." Jimin says softly, laughing, "and you should sleep, yeah?"

You nod, but don't let go, "I think I like you, too."

Oh, Jimin's heart staggers and then skips ahead, and when he pulls away this time, it's easy. He doesn't know what to say to that, with a warmth spreading from his chest to settle in his cheeks. He takes a breath and all the times he's daydreamed about this doesn't quite compare to this moment.

You're squinting at him, a pout on your bottom lip, and its something he'd rather talk to you about when you're both sober enough.

[7ndipity]

Dating Jimin headcanons

Jimin x Reader

Warnings: swearing, lil suggestive, not proofread

A/N: I wrote about half of this at like three in the morning while playing the Face album on loop, send help lol

Masterlist

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Dating Jimin is sweet. In every sense of the word.

I remember reading somewhere where they described him as in love with being in love, and I thinks that's a great way to put it.

Like two of his favorite movies are The Notebook and Like Crazy, he's a sappy bitch(I mean, me too, but damn boi)

Another one who I could see being friends first? There's a certain level of trust that has to be there first before he'll let himself actually fall for someone.

Once he falls though, he falls HARD.

Dates would usually be more lowkey, like visiting different cafés or walks along the river.

Every now and then, though, he likes to pull out all the stops for something like a weekend getaway(remember when he planned that whole trip to Japan for him & JK so they could go to Disneyland?)

I think he would like taking classes with you, like the jewelry making vlog or the flying yoga Run! ep. He likes finding new hobbies to do together.

Calls you cute nicknames like "Love" and "Baby"(that one tends to be more of a whine tho)

Likes buying you lil gifts. Books, plushies,(*cough* matching couples rings).

Another Acts of Service king.

You need help with absolutely anything, he's there. Even if he has no clue wtf is going on, he's there to offer moral support.

Surprisingly shy about pda, at first.

Like, this mf would blush if you so much as held his hand for the first couple dates.

After that, however, Lord help you.

Texts you constantly.

"I miss you." "You only left like two minutes ago." "I still miss you🥺"

He lives for softness with you.

Just laying together in bed, talking for half the night is his idea of the perfect evening honestly.

Binge watching shows together and coming up with sub-plots for the characters that are, arguably, better than the main storyline.

He's said before that he's very protective of his friends and loved ones, so it shouldn't be a surprise that I put him on the Protective Squad.

Not exactly possessive, but gets jealous(and sulky) very easily.

He will slip up to you and not so subtly kiss you on the cheek or shoulder to regain your attention

So much side-eye, I swear, the Sass from this man-

He's a fucking tease. You know it, I know it, your grandma probably knows it.

Gets flustered by the littlest things though?

Like, he could've been all over you not ten seconds ago, but you brushing the hair out his face turns him into a red-faced mess.

Goes from loud to silent treatment when y'all fight(we've heard the stories from Tae and JK, he ices people out when he's mad) but crumbles if he even hears you crying.

Probably tells you he loves you for the first time after a fight, because it made him realize how scared he was to lose you(oh, I made myself sad)

The most reassuring bf ever. He knows what it's like to judge yourself over every little thing, but he will make sure you never forget a single one of your positives sides though.

In conclusion, he's wonderful and I'm very soft now, bye.

[blueberryarchive]

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Rain was pouring down outside your window when Jimin arrived at your door drenched, with an indecipherable shine in his pupils. His leather jacket glistened as it fell to the ground, and he reached for you, his wet, rough hand gripping your chin with uncontrolled force, kissing you so hard your teeth ached.

"Ji, what are you supposed to do here? My dad is going to be here any minute."

Jimin snorted, turning to you with a sly fluidity. In his movements, there was so much confidence that he scared you. His body only relaxed at times when he had hit the target. Jackpot.

He didn't care that your furniture got wet with his clothes or that his muddy boots left marks on the freshly washed floor. Tonight he didn't mind being a gentleman, bringing you a flower that he stole in a random market, or asking about your mom's health.

You were in your pajamas, waiting for your father to go get something for your mother. The little set did not escape Jimin's eyes, even when adrenaline coursed through his veins in such a way that his fingers trembled, and a smile did not vanish. It gnawed at him not being able to tell you the fistful of money he had right in the jacket that he had just thrown on the ground.

He moved the coppery strands from his face, revealing a bruise so you would stop talking about your father. Somehow he appreciated the punch, he hated that you spoke of your father as a deity, an invisible being that would prevent Jimin from going through your window at night to steal a kiss from you, and then two, two becoming complete studies of your anatomy with his lips. The pleasure of listening to every sound you make.

"Oh God," your voice shuddered, seeing the bruise.

When you got near to see it better, he examined your features; every detail. He loved you so fervently it scared him. He could leave anything behind except your beautiful face and your innocence. And to think that Namjoon left you for his shitty girlfriend.

The night he came to bring you your things from Nam's apartment, he consoled you with a simple kiss and a promise to get you away from that damned city and take you to a place where there was a beach where you two could rest from the pain of existing and just be able to enjoy eating ice cream in the afternoons.

Maybe you have forgotten, but not Jimin. Never Jimin.

Now whenever he could, he came to your window after climbing a couple of branches until he reached the glass window where two knocks away was his piece of heaven. A heaven with the smell of clean clothes and your strawberry shampoo.

"Do you have a suitcase?" he asked, biting his index finger eagerly. His rings decorated his hand, and sunglasses were on the tip of his nose.

"Suitcase? Jimin, my dad told me he's coming in five minutes. I need you to go. I told you it's too dangerous to be here." You reached out and took his face in your hands. There was a gesture of absolute security that didn't change after hitting him on the cheek. "Namjoon knows you've been coming."

"I don't care." he laughed childishly, reaches the inside of his pocket and gives you a withered daisy that's been there since this morning. You took it and sighed, putting it between his hair and his ear. The laugh, the flower, his colorful hair. How dare he be so enchanting in a moment of dread?

"How come you don't care. Are you stupid?" You mumbled, squeezing his temples. You turned to the window and covered your face in pure frustration. Your nerves were eating you alive.

Silence. The rain dimmed, and the candlelight seemed to increase its fire as Jimin's body stopped behind yours. His hands snaked up to your waist and neck, squeezing hard in both places.

"It's not your dad that's coming, is it?" you inhaled as much as his tether allowed you. "Don't lie to me, doll. You know I don't like it." His clenched teeth moved closer to your ear, pressing his nose into your profile. Both breathed sharply, one due to lack of air and the other due to excess of you.

"Namjoon said that I should stop seeing you." Just by mentioning that name, his body shook, letting his head fall on your shoulder with that devilishly contagious laughter.

"Ah, too bad Namjoon won't be able to come stop me."

Your heart dropped to your stomach, and your hands trembled trying to remove Jimin's hand from your neck.

"Look at your face, God, you're so cute when you're scared. I'm not an animal, I won't kill him. I just stole his car." he brought your body closer without moving his hands from his position until he took you to the window, the car was downstairs. "And the money in the metal box behind the sink."

Fuck. Jimin was going to die that night. Namjoon wouldn't forgive him for that.

"Run away with me, hm?" His fingers began to trace your chin and the beating vein in your neck. "I promise you that you will not have to work another day of your life, and I will give you everything you need: money, love, food, sex." A flirtatious smile from both of you, his thumb reached your lips, and you started playing with it.

His soaked body clung to the thin fabric of your pajamas, and you felt like you could sense every curve of his body, every muscle. You closed your eyes and gasped at the feel of his fingers rubbing against your clit.

"Say yes, say you'll go with me away from here. You'll regret it if you don't, you know because you're smart. Much more than all of them, than me, than fucking Namjoon." His fingers brushed against the spongy walls of your pussy and you turned into a nervous wreck on his arm that held your body.

"My parents-"

"Fuck your dad. I'm the one who knows what's best for you. I'm going to protect you, baby, I promise. God, you're so wet." His hand bulged between the little silk shorts you were wearing.

"Fuck me," you murmured, looking for a place to hold yourself, your hand leaning on the window.

"Say yes first."

You nodded vehemently, his arms turned you around and lifted you up. With his hand, he pushed aside the cloth that covered your pussy, and his cold hands slammed you against the glass, with nimble fingers he unzipped his jeans and wasted no time sinking you slowly but firmly in his cock.

"Fuck," he growled into your ear, licking your earlobe, the hairs on your arms standing up with the warm wetness.

The sudden rumbling of the door startled you. Jimin didn't even flinch without breaking the poisonous rhythm of going in and out of your cunt. His free hand covered your mouth as Namjoon's deep voice called your name, anger welling up from his throat behind the door.

Fuck. Jimin was going to die today.

"Doll, my eyes. Nothing else."

You sighed, Jimin's hand getting wet with your tears of pleasure. Jimin was the first man who made you orgasm, and his voice was one of the main reasons.

"You're mine. Fuck Namjoon." He removed his hand from your mouth and indicated silence with his finger. You nodded and put your arms around his broad shoulders. "I'm going faster, okay?" he whispered as Kim continued to make the door shake under his fist.

You closed your eyes tightly and opened your mouth looking for air.

Fuck. You will die tonight, and it will be Jimin's fault.

Jimin's sweet lips leaned in for a chaste kiss. "Say with me, baby." Jimin's gaze was so dark and lustful that you felt you were fucking a demon.

"Okay,-" you whispered, biting your lip when the tip touched that spot that made you see stars.

"You're mine..."

"...I'm yours"

"And you're going away with me."

"OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR, JIMIN. OR I SWEAR I'M GOING TO BREAK IT, MOTHERFUCKER. I WILL KILL THAT BITCH TOO."

"And I'm going away with you, Ji." you whimpered, kissing him like a schoolgirl in love.

"You are mine" was Jimin's mantra until he came inside you.

"Mine." It was yours when Jimin's body fell on the couch and you rode him until you had to grab his hair to keep from passing out. The milky and thick cum staining your pretty shorts.

Silence again. That was not a good sign.

"Put on my jacket, doll. We have to go now before he comes back with the others." Jimin kissed your forehead and opened the window, raising his hand for you to take.

A devilishly beautiful smile that you couldn't deny. Not now, not that night you met him.