Ten more minutes. You can barely see the clock from your seat against the wall. The lecture hall isn’t crowded by any means; to the contrary, this Tuesday/Thursday psych class is usually pretty empty. You could have just as easily sat in the middle, but it doesn’t afford you the same view. Well, it does. But not the one you prefer. It’s just that positioned front and center, your staring would look more obvious. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself. If you stare from the corner it’s less conspicuous, which is important because you do a lot of staring in this class. Park Jimin is the TA.
The man in question sits off to the side at a table of his own, typing away on his laptop. This reminds you that you haven’t been doing much other than quietly ogling from a distance. The only notes you’re taking are lackluster doodles of his appearance and the occasional squiggle of your pen at the quiet sighs he lets out when he stretches his back after sitting hunched over his laptop for too long.
Jimin is absolutely breathtaking — even in an ugly plaid three-piece suit and perfectly round spectacles that would look horrid on any normal person. You’re definitely not the only one who has noticed. His beautiful features and fantastic bone structure forge a man who is borderline ethereal. With soft eyes, big pouty lips, a flawless complexion, and a flirtatious demeanor he has enraptured many over the years. He’s popular… like, really popular.
You begrudgingly count yourself among those love-smitten numbers. You know it’s hopeless and illogical. He could have any person he so desired at any point in time. Why would he ever choose someone like you? If you’d been paying any sort of attention to the subject matter of this class you might know that things like feelings and life’s rhetorical questions often don’t make sense.
But you’re shit at psychology. You’re more of a blunt poet at heart, and that heart is often hidden behind twisted brambles of anxiety and sharp thorns of insecurity.
You are but a speck of dirt upon his round glasses. It’s been a hopeless, silent crush for some time, but now that he’s assisting the professor in this core requirement for your academic studies, he has to acknowledge your presence. You’re a speck he has to look at before swiping you out of sight with a wave of his hand.
He’s the object of just about everyone’s affections, and rightfully so. He’s not just gorgeous, he’s charismatic, charming, and such a smooth talker. The word on campus says those pretty lips of his can do a lot of other really wonderful things too. You’ve been watching him chew on them for the past five minutes straight, wondering how many times his deliciously pink tongue can sweep over them before he makes them chapped.
Maybe they’re chapped already. Maybe you should offer him your chapstick? Or maybe you should never talk to him at all, because you don’t stand a chance. Park Jimin would chew you up and leave you bleeding out with a broken heart, and you know it. That doesn’t stop you from imagining all the ways he could take you in his mouth first. You could watch those pretty lips all day long, but you’ll settle for an hour on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
Looking up as if he’s been paying attention all along, Jimin attempts to figure out where the professor is in the lesson. It’s obvious that he wasn’t listening at all and was instead answering messages. It would be nice if he could say they were messages for class, but that’s not true and Jimin is a lot of things, but he isn’t a liar. He’s been talking to Chungha, his current flavor of the week.
He turns toward the students as the professor dismisses the class and there you are, eager and awestruck. It takes every ounce of self control Jimin has not to roll his eyes. Another fan, he presumes. You can’t handle him, but he can tell by the embarrassed way you tear your eyes from him to look anywhere else that it hasn’t stopped you from thinking about it.
Trying to seem nonchalant now is a lost cause. Jimin has no shame and although you busied yourself by packing up your neglected textbooks and darting your gaze to various points in the room for a straight minute, Jimin is still staring at you when you look back at him. He smirks when your eyes meet. It’s not a flirty kind of smirk, you sadly note. It’s condescending in your eyes, which further solidifies your theory: Jimin is too much for you no matter how badly you want a taste of him.
“Did you take notes?” he asks, nodding toward your backpack where you’ve just tucked your computer and sketched up notebook.
“I- uhh…” You panic.
“You know that was all about the exam next week. You’re gonna need those notes if you want to have any hope of passing it,” he tells you, shoving his own computer into his bag.
“I was just.. um, I was–” you attempt to explain.
“Busy staring at me?” He smiles and you know he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s teasing oh gyou.
You balk at the blatant accusation and force a half-laugh, half-scoff from your throat. “No.”
“Yes,” he corrects with a light and mellifluous laugh. “Is there pen on my face or were you hoping you could be?”
“What?” you choke, eyes watering at the idea.
Jimin shakes his head, laughing softly to himself as he remembers his surroundings. With a small clear of his throat and the subtle adjusting of his tie, he provides a suggestion for you. “Get them from Taehyung.”
“Get what?” you ask, drawing a blank on what this conversation was even about. It’s the first time you’ve ever actually talked to him outside of your dreams and it’s proving to be a lot harder than you thought it would be.
“The notes, Y/N. Get the notes from Taehyung, you know, the ones that you didn’t take today because you were daydreaming about my mouth,” he tells you, heading for the door.
Taehyung, who is the only other person left in the room wiggles his fingers at you in a wave. When you turn back, Jimin is gone.
“Need the notes?” Taehyung asks, voice free of judgement.
“Please,” you sigh, relieved that he’d waited.
He spins his laptop toward you, where an email is already open with the notes attachment added. “Drop your address in there,” he says standing up.
“Thank you so much,” you say, frantically typing your student email into the space.
“Hey, y/n?” Taehyung asks, the bristles of curiosity or concern painting his tone with a soft comfort.
“Jimin is a fool,” he tells you.
“If you were looking at me like that, I’d at least ask for your number.” Tae offers a combination of large hopeful eyes and a giant goofy grin as he holds his phone out for you.
Giggling, you take it from his hand and add your number to his contacts list. He purses his lips to hide his excitement as he takes his phone back. He slides it into his pocket before hastily packing the rest of his things into his leather messenger bag.
“Thanks, Taehyung,” you say, waving on your way out the door.
“Wait!” he shouts after you, half of the contents of his bag threatening to spill onto the floor as he scrambles away from the table. He adjusts his belongings and clears his throat, instantly adopting a smooth persona. “Where are you going? I’ll walk you.”
“Wanna come eat with me?” he wonders. He’s confident, but it’s not the same kind of arrogant confidence that Jimin oozes. He’s softer. He feels more real, more attainable. He obviously knows he’s a catch and he’s definitely expressed the same about you. What could be the harm in letting an attractive man stroke your ego a little bit? If you’re being honest with yourself, you can use the boost after such a pathetic display towards your crush.
“Oh, uh… yeah. I guess so,” you agree, letting him lead the way out the door.
“Cool.” Tae takes his glasses off and hooks them in his shirt. Pulling a snapback from his bag, he pushes his hair back and puts it on before he swings his messenger bag over his shoulder. Damn. Why did that raise his hotness like ten whole levels?
“You like hamburgers?”
Taehyung slips into the seat next to you on Thursday, brushing against you very deliberately as he passes.
“Hello, sugar,” he says, licking his lips as he spares a fleeting glance down at your chest.
“Hey, Tae,” you greet him while your eyes are still locked on Jimin.
“Still on Jimin, huh?” he asks. He doesn’t sound particularly disappointed, or surprised for that matter. He’s just stating a fact. You’re relieved he’s not offended. Letting him eat you out in his backseat after dinner was probably not your best decision, although it seems like it meant about as much to him as it did to you.
“I don’t know,” you say with a shrug.
“It’s okay. I can’t blame you. I could put in a good word for you if you want. We’re close,” he informs you, sitting back and spreading his legs wide under the desk.
Sighing, you rest your cheek in your palm. “I’ve got a plan,” you confess.
“Oh yeah?” he chuckles. He playfully knocks his knee against yours as if to signal for you to spill. “Do tell.”
“I think I need a little extra help with this material,” you tell Taehyung.
“Good luck, Y/n. I hope he can squeeze you into his busy schedule, but hey, if he can’t, I’m totally down to squeeze into yours anytime.”
Looking at Tae out of the corner of your eye, you smile at the grin he wears and start to laugh at the way he wiggles his eyebrows at you.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” you joke.
The minutes drag on as you wait for this class to end. Doing your best to seem a little less obsessive this time, you make a point to take notes and look at the teacher more than the TA. Jimin still catches you staring at least three times. It’s embarrassing, but not enough to stop you from approaching him as the room empties out.
“Hi, y/n,” Jimin sings, giving you a knowing smile.
“Hi.” You tuck your hair behind your ear, and smile back.
“Do you need something?” he wonders, purposefully combing his fingers through his silver hair.
Damn, do you ever.
“I was wondering if you had time to help me. I’m struggling with this material and I could really use some one-on-one guidance.” Leaning over his desk you make sure he has a good view right down your shirt, not that his eyes wander from yours. While he shows restraint in his gaze you swear he briefly drags his bottom lip through his teeth before he catches himself.
“One-on-one, huh?” He sticks his tongue in his cheek, looking amused. “I bet Taehyung would give you some one-on-one guidance.”
You’re sure that’s true, but it’s not Taehyung you’re after. Taehyung isn’t the TA. Taehyung isn’t getting paid to help teach a course. Of course you want to say that and in your head you rehearse the words but you can’t seem to find a way to phrase them eloquently enough. Why do you always get stupid brain around him? Your plan is quickly falling apart.
Jimin waits for your response with his eyebrows raised. You know he’s two seconds away from leaving you gaping at him and walking out the door, so you do something incredibly rash and stupid.
“I like you,” you blurt out.
Jimin smiles. He knows that, obviously. He also knows damn well that you’re perfectly capable of looking back at your notes by yourself. You’re definitely smart and dedicated enough to study on your own. He can’t help teasing you anyway.
“Everyone likes me,” he casually informs you as he plants his palms on the desk and leans on them.
He peeks over the edge of his glasses as he looks up at you, like some kind of otherworldly sexy librarian. If deities ever needed a librarian, Jimin wouldn’t even need a resume. His charm and seduction are so strong that you almost miss his rejection. Almost. You’re stunned into silence when it hits you. Just as you’re about to tuck and run, he smiles again.
“But,” he pauses to click his tongue thoughtfully, “I think I have some time on Saturday. I’ll give you my number.” He rips a corner of paper out of his notebook. "Is it okay if I come to your place? Do you have a dorm or…”
"Oh. My apartment’s fine!” you flounder, trying to remember how to speak coherent sentences. Jimin. In your room. How many dreams have you had about this moment? “I mean, yeah, sure. You’ll come to mine, yeah.”
Jimin giggles and it sounds like pealing bells. You’re lost in the beautiful sound of it until you realize that he’s laughing at you. “You okay with that? We could meet somewhere else instead.”
“I wouldn’t mind you in my room,” you sigh. Open mouth; insert foot.
He raises an eyebrow, giving you a chance to backtrack, but you’re both well aware you meant every word of that.
“Okay, y/n. See you Saturday then. Call me.”
“I’ll call you,” you repeat, resisting the urge to slap your palm over your face. You sound like an idiot. Stupid brain strikes again.
Jimin barely notices, all too used to girls falling over themselves to get his attention. You’re no different to him, just another pretty face in a sea of women entranced by the way he walks, talks, and breathes. It’s not his fault he’s so damn pretty. He does note that you’re brave, however. Not many people come on to him so brazenly, and that’s something worth rewarding. Besides, he feels a sort of obligation to help you out. He is getting paid to help out the professor, after all.
He winks at you as he leaves, taking your breath and your sanity with him. You have Park Jimin’s phone number. Park Jimin is going to be in your apartment in two days. Maybe you didn’t bomb that as hard as you thought.
A slow clap beckons you to look back for the source and you find Taehyung looking back at you with his boxy grin. When he’s sure he’s got your attention he raises his two thumbs up in approval.
Jimin is not surprised when Chungha disappears into the clusterfuck of bodies as soon as they step into the party. They may have come here together, but their fling is on its last leg and they both know it. She wants him off her couch, doesn’t appreciate the feeling of tied-down-ness that comes with your friend with benefits staying over all the time. She’s ready to move on, that means he has to as well.
Jimin isn’t even sure whose house this is, but he’s happy to tag along for free booze and maybe a new face to go home with. Luckily, his friends are never far, and he finds them easily. Getting absolutely hammered in the backyard makes them hard to miss. Jungkook is the only one looking particularly bored as a very drunk Taehyung hangs all over him talking about the sweetest thing he ever tasted.
“Why so glum?” Jimin asks, nudging Jungkook’s shoulder with his own.
“I’m the designated driver tonight,” Jungkook sighs, pushing Taehyung off of him.
Taehyung slumps to the ground, immediately entranced by the stars above him. Jungkook kicks at him gently.
“Where’s your girlfriend? I haven’t seen you without your tongue down her throat all week,” Jungkook wonders, looking behind Jimin for the woman in question.
“Girlfriend,” Jimin repeats with a snort. “Hilarious. That’s not a thing. She’s probably looking for her next kill.”
Jungkook regards Jimin thoughtfully, his eyebrows scrunching toward each other. “If you take over DD you can have the futon.”
Jungkook loves his futon. It’s one of his most prized possessions. He keeps it very clean and being allowed to get anywhere near it is a privilege. Jimin is pretty sure he goes over it with a lint roller as part of his nighttime routine. It’s also incredibly comfortable.
Jimin releases a breath in a tortured groan as he thinks over his options. He could get black out drunk and wake up god knows where with a terrible hangover, or he could hang out and watch his friends get black out drunk and then wake up on a futon that feels more like a cloud than a mattress, a little slice of heaven in Jungkook and Taehyung’s little apartment.
“Okay,” Jimin relents. “Give me the keys. I’ll stick to water for the rest of the night.”
“Ah, I love you man,” Jungkook praises, tossing his keys in Jimin’s general direction before grabbing the newly opened can of beer out of Taehyung’s hand below him. Taehyung, still staring up at the sky with a glazed smile, doesn’t react. It takes Jungkook all of five seconds to pour the contents of the can straight down his throat. He follows this by smashing the can in a bicep curl with a giggle and a bashful smile.
“Do it again,” an unfamiliar girly voice pleads from across the table. She tosses him another can and he repeats the action, turning away when he’s finished so that he doesn’t have to see her reaction. Jimin knows what’s going to happen once his friend gets a few more beers in him. Jungkook is going to go apeshit. There will be no trace of this shy hunk of muscle who blushes and coils away from pretty girls. He’ll be chest thumping shirtless and picking up everyone who gets close enough to touch. Half of them will probably end up thrown in the pool, if history is anything to go by, and he’ll most likely have the hottest girl at the party slobbering all over him in the backseat when Jimin drives him home tonight.
Jimin’s suspicions prove true an hour later when Jungkook throws Tae in the pool. Jimin runs to the edge of it in a panic. Tae was very drunk so he needs to make sure he’s not just sinking like a stone. That was his first mistake, although he’d make it again to keep Taehyung safe. His second mistake was wearing these ridiculously tight ass jeans.
Any other pair and he might have been able to pry his cell phone from his pocket the second he felt JK’s hands on his back. Had he worn any other pair of pants he might have been able to throw it to safety in the grass before he hit the surface of the pool. As it stands, his skin tight jeans are soaked through, Tae is slightly more sober than he was when Jimin arrived and is swimming just fine, and Jimin’s phone is totally destroyed.
You should be sleeping. It’s three in the morning. You should definitely not be awake right now. Lifting your phone up for the three hundredth time tonight, you’re not surprised to have no new notifications. That text you sent to Jimin hours ago has gone unanswered.
You typed and erased it at least ten times, agonized over what to say, and how to say it. By the time you pressed send, the message was nothing like how it began and you noticed a second too late that you didn’t even tell him who you were. Adding a second text saying ‘it’s y/n btw’ seemed so desperate. You’ve been waiting for him to ask who you are for so long that you’ve convinced yourself he already knows and he’s avoiding you on purpose. Who else would have said “i’m excited to see you tomorrow” in a text about meeting up to study? He knows it’s you. He has to. The alternative possibility that he plans to see other people tomorrow too is too bothersome to accept. You really need to let this go and try to sleep.
Keys in the door stop you from dragging yourself off the couch. Your roommate will see you and accuse you of trying to run away from him to avoid something. He’s right, of course. You’ve attempted to flee from your problems in the past, against his advice. Now you know better than to try. It’s much better to face things with Yoongi head on. At the very least, maybe he’s got something helpful to say.
“Why’re you up? You look sad.” His words slur just the tiniest bit and he leans against the wall for stability as he takes off his shoes just inside the door. You see right through his attempts at nonchalance. He’s tipsy.
“A boy I like isn’t texting me back,” you admit with a scowl. “You didn’t drive, did you?”
“No, friend dropped me off. Is it Taehyung?” Yoongi asks, not pausing for an answer. “I wouldn’t worry too much. He talked about you a lot tonight. He was really drunk though. You should go to bed. He’ll probably text you in the morning.”
You don’t bother to correct Yoongi. Admitting you’re harboring a huge fucking crush on the campus it-boy is the most foolish thing you could possibly do. It’s embarrassing and naive and Yoongi would pity you for falling for someone so far out of your league. Maybe you should just date Taehyung and forget about Jimin. He sure seems to have forgotten about you.
When the morning comes and your only notifications are an email from Target and a text from your mom, you muster up every bit of courage you could possibly find in your body and call him. You’d rather know if he’s deliberately ignoring you now than agonize over other possibilities all day.
It doesn’t even ring. His phone goes straight to voicemail. You try again, and a third time. Voicemail, voicemail. Could it be you rushed putting his number in and did it incorrectly? You dig through your backpack for the slip of paper he gave you to double check, and sure enough, it’s his number. He’s ignoring you. He turned off his phone to solidify that fact in your brain.
Last night, laying awake waiting for his name to light up your phone, you felt pretty damn bad. In the daylight, with rest and a clear head, you’re absolutely crushed. He was supposed to come over. You had plans. It was stupid of you to think you could earn space in his mind or time in his schedule. He played you, and it hurts.
Studying on your own proves more difficult than you imagined. With only Tae’s notes to go by, you feel like you’re quizzing yourself on things you already know. Turning to the textbook doesn’t give you the specialized knowledge you need for the exam. You could never hope to memorize enough of it that you’d retain something pertinent.
On top of that, your heart hurts. You were so close to spending time together you could practically smell the subtle scent of his cologne. He pulled the rug right out from under you so fast, your ass is sore from falling on it so hard.
Sunday and Monday pass miserably in their slowness as you continue to nurse your tender rejected heart. You spend two days mulling over how you’re going to face Jimin on Tuesday, let alone how you’re going to pass this exam when you’re so disgustingly focused on figuring out why he stood you up and ignored you all weekend.
Tuesday comes too soon and you find yourself lingering outside the lecture hall for way longer than any sane person should.
That’s what bothers you the most about this whole thing with Jimin. He’s stolen your sense. How on earth did you let a stupid crush, on a boy you hardly know, get between you and your grades? You tell yourself no more as you suck in a deep breath and steel yourself to march right through the door. You’re not going to let Park Jimin and his cruelty stand between you and your credits.
With your resolve solid and your head held high, you push yourself forward. You don’t even spare a glance in his general direction as you pass, although it would be a lie to say you didn’t clock him in your peripheral. Tae sits down next to you a moment later and you thank your lucky stars you have a friend here to make you look busy.
“Ready to make this exam your bitch?” he asks, making finger guns at you and clicking his tongue.
“That remains to be seen,” you say, turning toward him in your seat so that Jimin is behind you. “I couldn’t get anything done this weekend,” you confess. “I thought I was more prepared than I am so it really just depends on what’s on the exam.”
“Aw fuck, you could have called me,” he says, passing you his note cards. “We could have studied together.”
“Oh, Tae,” you sigh, pushing his hand back and refusing his offer of notes. “You should use this time for yourself. It wouldn’t be fair of me to take it from you.”
“We’ve got ten minutes.” He points to the clock at the front of the lecture hall. “Quiz me. It will help us both.”
Ten minutes fly by as you do your absolute best to retain any of the information in Taehyung’s carefully written cards. You take one last glance at it before someone slips it from your hand and replaces it with a test. You know it’s Jimin.
Only when you look up and level him with a glare does it seem to register on his face that you’re angry. Realization dawns on him as you snatch the test and lean over it on your desk.
“Y/n, I’m so sorry,” he quietly whispers, but he’s moving on already. The exam is about to begin. He doesn’t have time to explain himself right now. He knows what it looks like. He led you on and stood you up without so much as a text message. He should have asked Tae to tell you what happened, but the truth is that he forgot about you entirely and he knows that is the cruelest thing he could possibly confess.
Nearly an hour later you set your pencil down and run your fingers through your hair. Did any of those answers make sense? Your only possible saving grace is bullshitting your way through the open responses. Maybe you’ll earn some partial credit at the very least.
You swallow the petty words threatening to spill from your tongue as you gather your things and approach Jimin’s desk with your test in hand. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice the anxious glances he threw your way. You swore every time you looked up he was looking at you, so you’d squint like you were checking the time, like you had somewhere more important to be than taking an exam for a core requirement course.
As you slap the packet of your evident failure down on his desk, you don your best apathetic expression. You look down at him and allow a sliver of eye contact, just enough to send the message that you don’t care anymore. You try to look bored. He doesn’t deserve to see how he’s hurt you or angered you. He’s nothing to you. You’re nothing to him, but you’re not beneath him. He’s beneath you. You don’t just look at him; you look through him.
He blinks a few times and a chill runs down his spine. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words won’t form.
“Don’t bother. I don’t care,” you whisper with a roll of your eyes.
You make sure to straighten your shoulders and keep your chin up as you turn on your heel and leave. You bombed that exam and you know it, thanks to your stupid feelings, but at the very least you achieved the victory of shaking Park Jimin to his core. So why do you feel like you’re about to sob in the bathroom down the hall?
Oh. Because you are. You spend at least five minutes composing yourself and washing your face before your phone buzzes with a much needed distraction.
[NEW MESSAGE] Tae: hungry?
Jimin’s leg bounces uncontrollably under his desk while he waits for the remaining students to finish their exams so he can go after you. He wracks his brain for ways to clear the nervous tension dwelling within but it’s no use. Confrontation makes him so uncomfortable. Still, he can’t have you thinking he’s a total douche. He should text you. Fuck, he should call you. And he would, if he had a working phone. The second the last student drops their exam on his desk he’s going to find you and apologize.
He knows his reputation precedes him. He knows exactly what this looks like. You probably think he blew you off to get some or just led you on entirely, but he really did mean to meet up with you. He needs to clear the air. Maybe he’s a little loose with his morals at times, but he’s never an asshole on purpose. He prides himself on being a beacon of positivity and an example on how to make people feel good even if it’s only to make them feel good. He barely knows you, but it bothers him to think that you’re out there thinking he’s a heartless jerk and that he hurt your feelings on purpose.
It’s a big campus and Jimin spends the better half of an hour searching it before he finds you in the cafeteria with Taehyung. You look awfully close, and he almost feels bad interrupting you, but he owes you an explanation. It’s a mystery to him why on earth you would seek out his company when Taehyung seems all too willing to be what you need.
Taehyung notices him before you do. He shakes his head at Jimin disapprovingly. “Cold, man. So cold.”
Jimin nods, hanging his head. He’s well aware. You haven’t turned around yet and don’t intend to. If Jimin can ignore you then you can ignore him too. Besides, if you turn to face him, he might notice your watery, puffy eyes. How incredibly foolish that would be to admit that you’ve been crying about being stood up by someone you’ve barely even spoken to.
“Y/n?” Jimin’s soft voice calls to you, melodic and soothing as ever. “Can I have a minute?”
Taehyung looks between the two of you while he moves a french fry into his mouth at a snail’s pace and slowly chews as if this is free entertainment.
“No,” you answer.
“I’m sorry about Saturday,” he tells you, progressing despite your refusal to listen. He plants his hands on the table beside you and leans in to try to steal a glance at your profile, but you turn your head away.
“Jungkook pushed me in the pool right after this asshole,” he says, pointing at Taehyung. “My phone was in my pocket. It’s ruined.”
“Hey,” Taehyung interrupts, his mouth open in protest and full of half-chewed fries. “Don’t pin this on me. You could have asked any one of us to let her know what happened. You never even mentioned it. Why don’t you just admit that you forgot?” Taehyung suggests, jamming another french fry into his little paper cup of ketchup before cramming it into his mouth.
Jimin fumes for a moment, glaring at Tae before he pulls out the chair next to you and spins it around. He straddles it and rests his chin on the backrest. “Y/n, I’m sorry. I forgot. I swear I never would have done something like that to you on purpose. My phone getting ruined messed up a lot of things, but if you give me another chance, I’d love to prove that I’m not the horrible person you think I am.”
Silence. You glance over at Taehyung, willing him to speak up and either back Jimin up or get you out of this. You’re ready to forgive Jimin already and leave with him right now and it’s not lost on you how bad that looks. It’s so easy for Jimin to have you wrapped around his fingers. You wish he was ugly. You wish you never signed up for this stupid class. You wish you could feel for Tae the way you feel for Jimin so that you could just leave with him instead. You’re about ready to anyway when he finally opens his mouth again.
“I think you should take her out to eat. Eating out is the perfect way to apologize, don’t you think?” Tae’s grin is so wide it makes his eyes crinkle.
You huff out a humorless laugh. If that’s what you wanted you’d stick with the original plan and be in the backseat of Taehyung’s car again in the next twenty minutes. Against your better judgement, you turn to look at Jimin, puffy eyes and runny nose no longer hidden. He’s a little taken back by your expression. He smiles at you softly and reaches out to brush his knuckles against your cheek. You practically melt into his touch.
“Mmm, I would like something sweet.” Jimin licks his lips. “How about ice cream?”
“When?” you ask, embarrassed by the way your voice cracks and by how easily you’re giving in.
“Well, look at the time,” Tae says, standing with his tray and messenger bag. “I’ve got to go wash my hair but you two have fun on your date. Use protection!” he calls behind him on his way toward the exit.
You’d be irritated by his blunt suggestion if his statement didn’t swirl a storm of butterflies deep in your gut. You’re so distracted by them that you don’t realize that you’re still gaping at Jimin in disbelief.
“So?” Jimin wonders, holding out his hand.
“I don’t forgive you,” you insist while taking it into yours. Although it’s probably a lie, he doesn’t call you on it. He simply smiles and gives your hand a tiny comforting squeeze.
“My car is on the other side of campus,” you tell him once you’ve stepped outside. “Where are you parked?”
“Oh, um,” he stalls. “I thought it might be nice to walk, give us more time to talk. Is that okay?”
“Isn’t it kind of far?” you ask, assuming he’s taking you to that chain ice cream shoppe a few miles off campus.
“No, this place is close. It’s a secret. Not many people know about it,” he says with a wink.
“You say that to everyone don’t you?” You narrow your eyes at him, moving out of reach when he tries to put his arm around you.
“No,” he laughs. “I’ve been here with other people, though. I was here with Jin last week.” He smiles, leading the way toward a small alley between buildings.
You follow him easily, questioning again why you have so little self preservation when it comes to him. At the other end of the alley you can see what looks like a park. Green trees line the sidewalk up ahead, creating a canopy against the brilliant sun. The walk to this mysterious ice cream place is shaded and chilly. Jimin slips his jacket off and slings it over your shoulders when he notices you rubbing at your arms.
“Almost there,” he promises. In the distance, framed by two towering oaks, is a tiny little ice cream place. It looks like a mirage, something out of a board game or a fairy tale. The closer you get, the more real it becomes. The siding is faded, the roof looks like it’s in dire need of repairs, and the hand-painted sign reading The Cheery Cherry has seen better days. It’s clean though, sparkling in all the places that matter.
There is a stout old man behind the window with a shining silver ice cream scoop ready and waiting in his hand. Jimin greets him by name and asks for a simple vanilla cone. You’re tempted to judge him, he doesn’t strike you as the vanilla type, but there must be a reason. Maybe this is the best vanilla ice cream on earth. You order the same just in case, taking your first taste as Jimin pulls a few bills from his wallet and hands them over with a shaky hand.
To your dismay the ice cream is not extraordinary; it’s just plain vanilla. You could probably get the same exact type from any grocery store. You should have gone with something else. You should have at least gotten the cheery cherry cone. That might have been a flavor worth tasting. Why was he so bent on coming here for such a bland ice cream?
You suppose you should be thankful for the gesture but you still feel uneasy, like he’s playing you somehow. It almost feels like he’s doing it out of obligation rather than desire. Is he doing the bare minimum because he doesn’t feel like you’re worth more than this? Your company must be the equivalent to a plain vanilla cone. Mediocre. Unremarkable. Ordinary.
Jimin turns back to you with his ice cream in one hand and change filling the other. “Is it good?”
“It’s vanilla.” You shrug.
“Do you want something different?” he asks, counting the money in his hand.
“No, I like vanilla.”
“Figures,” he teases.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” you snap back at him.
“Nothing, sweetheart. I just think you’re soft, sweet. Vanilla suits you.”
“I am not vanilla. I do all kinds of freaky shit,” you argue, realizing too late that you’ve over shared in your annoyance.
Jimin looks you over with a smirk, bringing his ice cream to his lips and dragging his tongue around the edge of the cone where it’s dripping. “Noted,” he says.
“I didn’t mean– I wasn’t – UGH,” you huff, embarrassed that he’s still making a fool of you from the doghouse. You need to change the subject fast. “What'syourmajor?” You rush the question past your lips and he laughs at your flustered state, waiting for you to slow down and ask him in words he can understand.
“Your major?” you repeat, slower this time.
“Oh, uh. Urban studies.”
“You don’t know what that means, huh?” He nudges you with his elbow, falling in stride beside you. Unfortunately, you had just brought your ice cream up to your mouth and his nudging caused you to smear it across your cheek.
You look at him angrily. First he stood you up, forgot about you, then he had the nerve to show up to class today looking like a fucking angel, takes you for ice cream to make it up to you, and now he’s teasing you and making you look every bit the fool you feel like you are. Tears well in your eyes when he laughs at the mess he caused.
“I’m sorry,” he says through his giggling. He reaches out to gently wipe your cheek with his thumb which he promptly pops in his mouth and sucks clean after. “What’s wrong?”
You swipe at your eyes, ridding them of the tears that were about to spill out as your shame bubbles over. “You make me feel stupid,” you confess. “You’re wasting my time.”
Shoving his jacket back at him, you take off in the direction you came, throwing your stupid vanilla cone in the closest trash can and kicking yourself for not leaving with Taehyung instead. Jimin winces at the action, looking like you’ve discarded a precious keepsake rather than a plain, boring vanilla cone.
“Y/n, wait!” he calls, catching up to you with ease. He takes you by the wrist and spins you back to face him. “I don’t think you’re stupid at all. I’m sorry I’m so bad at this.” He sighs, softening his hold on you. “I didn’t know what to think about you when you approached me at first, you know? Girls throw themselves at me all the time.”
You grimace at his words and roll your eyes, snatching your wrist back with a scowl. Of course he thinks you were throwing yourself at him, but you’re sure that you weren’t. You were just being direct about your feelings. Do you really come across as such a desperate person? Maybe you should ask Yoongi for his opinion later.
“But I definitely didn’t mean to stand you up and I don’t mean to make you feel stupid at all. I think you’re pretty smart, you’re cute and you’re actually bolder than I initially thought. I’d love to get to know you better. I know I’m not doing so great so far, but I can be better. Please, sit with me?” he asks, walking to a nearby park bench.
Reluctantly, you follow, although you make a point to drag your feet the whole way there. When you sit down beside him, he loops an arm around your waist and draws you closer, offering his ice cream up to you once your legs brush against his. You reach for it but he pulls it away.
“Hey,” he jokes. “Just lick it. I didn’t make you throw yours away.”
You shake your head and lean forward to drag your tongue over what’s left of his vanilla cone.
“Forgive me?” he asks. His toothy smile catches the sunlight and it genuinely hurts your eyes to keep looking.
“Okay. One more chance,” you agree. “So, urban studies?”
He relaxes back against the bench, taking another lick before he offers the cone to you again. “Yeah, it’s like community development and stuff. What about you, princess? What are you studying?”
You flush at the nickname, heat rising in your face and other places you’d rather not acknowledge. You’re oblivious to the fact that you’re having a similar effect on Jimin. The way you’re licking his ice cream is making his pants feel a little tight.
“Teaching,” you tell him, picking at the peeling paint on the bench.
“Yeah.” You take another lick of his ice cream while he holds it, looking up halfway through.
Jimin’s expression is unreadable, stunned almost. He shifts a little, crosses his legs, clears his throat.
“Kids are fun. I have a younger brother,” he tells you.
“A lot younger?”
“No,” he laughs. “But he’s a total baby so it’s basically the same.”
“Oh, does he get that from you?” you tease with a giggle.
His mouth drops open in surprise. “Hey,” he pouts. “That’s not nice.”
“I never said I was nice,” you tell him, taking another slow lick of his ice cream.
“Clearly,” he scoffs with a roll of his eyes. He drags his lip through his teeth to try to hide the smile curling at the corners of his mouth.
You manage to cram so much conversation into the next twenty minutes on this park bench, learning more about the mysterious campus celebrity than you ever thought you’d know. You hope his interest wasn’t feigned, because it felt so fucking good to have his attention, to have him really listen to you and ask you about your life and your family and your hopes for the future. If you’re not mistaken, you might think this was real progress.
Jimin watches you walk back toward campus with a soft smile and an unfamiliar feeling brewing inside him. You’ve surprised him. You’re not the naive infatuated little girl he took you for. If he had a phone he’d be texting you already. He’d call you tonight, and maybe tomorrow. It’s alarming to him how badly he wants another ten minutes with you. He hates that you declined his offer to walk you to your next class, but damn does he ever appreciate the view.
Thursday comes quickly. After your initial ice cream date, Jimin has found himself curiously seeking your attention rather than the other way around. With his phone out of commission he was hanging around the cafeteria all day yesterday in hopes of catching you. While it’s clear you don’t trust him and you haven’t forgiven him, you seem to have softened up a bit. You spent your meals together and allowed him to walk you to your classes, all while exchanging playful jabs at each other. You might forgive him for bailing if yesterday stood alone. Today is a whole different story.
Now Jimin is staring down a stack of graded exams the professor has dropped on the table at the front of the room. Students haven’t begun to trickle in yet so when the professor takes the opportunity to excuse himself, Jimin wastes no time in flipping through the pile to get a sense of the overall success of the class. When he gets to a test marked in thick red marker with an ‘F’ his stomach drops. He knows it’s yours before he even reads the name. He was hoping maybe you’d been lying about not paying attention.
He shuffles the exam back into place and straightens the pile just as the earliest student walks in. Jimin offers her a wan smile and a tiny bow of his head as a greeting. Although his stomach is still sinking and churning, he’s already thinking about ways he might be able to make it up to you.
Jimin finds you in the cafeteria with Taehyung again, where he has you distracted from your misery by folding and unfolding a cootie catcher in front of your face like you’re in third grade and not your third year of college.
"Pick a color now, y/n,” Tae urges, opening and closing the folded paper four times after you’ve indicated the triangle marked 'pink.’ “Hmm,” he ponders. “It says you need to relax.”
“What is this, a fortune cookie? I thought these things were like truth or dare, or like… who I was gonna marry,” you complain, flicking the craft from his hands.
Jimin picks the paper up off the floor and hands it back to Taehyung. “Do me,” he says.
After a moment of pointing and folding, Tae announces, “It says you need to apologize. Again.”
Jimin looks at you while Tae packs up his stuff. After dropping a kiss on the top of your head he leaves for his next class. The action makes Jimin furrow his brows and frown. A feeling too uncomfortably close to jealousy blooms in his chest. Why did that bother him so much? He’s not ready to acknowledge the answer to that. Instead, he contradicts it by reminding himself that Tae is one of his closest friends and it’s cool that the two of you are getting close too.
“Princess?” Jimin’s song-like voice drifts to your ears once Tae has disappeared. You’ve pressed your face into your folded arms on the table and it’s taking everything you have not to start crying about your failed exam again. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, laying his hand against the small of your back and beginning to rub soft circles there. “I’m sorry I didn’t help you.”
“I wish you were ugly,” you mumble into your arms.
“What?” he laughs, leaning his face down next to yours.
You lift your head to meet his eyes. “If you were ugly this never would have happened,” you insist, sitting up and shaking his hand off your back with a twist of your spine. “Just be ugly! FUCK.”
Jimin smiles before screwing his face up into the most unrecognizable grimace he can manage. He holds it until you start to smile then switches to another terrible expression, with his chin tucked into his neck so that it morphs into several chins and crosses his eyes for extra emphasis on its ridiculousness. When you start to laugh he sticks out his tongue to make it worse.
Once you’re clutching your stomach and doubled over with pealing laughter, he gives you the beautiful smile you’re so used to again. “Let’s do something fun together,” he offers. “And then after that, we’ll get studying and make this right. Please let me make it up to you.”
“Okay,” you agree, leaning into his open arms. It only took a couple days of spending time together to remove the awkwardness you felt when he touched you. He’s even held your hand a few times while you walked together after your other classes. Now, his embrace feels welcome and comforting. You still can’t tell if he’s just trying to be nice or if he actually likes doing it but you don’t mind at all.
“There’s a party on Saturday, will you come with me?”
“Where?” you ask, as if you have any hope of refusing him at all. You’d go anywhere with him and you know it but you want to try to play it cool. Your tone seems more tepid than you anticipate but he doesn’t seem to call you out on it.
“Jin’s,” he tells you, reaching for your hand and lacing your fingers together.
He rubs his thumb against the back of your hand while he waits for you to pretend to decide. You relish in the motion. The tingle of butterflies erupt in your belly again like a cannon aimed at your heart, ready to sink it in an instant. Instead of falling, your heart seems to fly up to your brain and a light giggle escapes your lips.
“Okay. I’ll come,” you say in a euphoric brain fog, looking down at your joined hands. It’s scary how good it feels to have his attention like this, but you hope it doesn’t stop.
“Why are you home?” Yoongi asks, finding you on the couch when he emerges from his bedroom. His late afternoon nap went longer than expected, leaving you believing he was out for the night. You settled in with Netflix and snacks of your own. He flops down next to you, causing you to swing your feet off the couch before they get squashed beneath his butt. He yawns and lets his head dip forward as he pulls out his phone and begins flipping through it.
“It’s Friday night,” he reminds you, his tone scratchy. It makes you giggle.
"I didn’t wanna go out alone and I thought you were gone. You’re gonna be up all night now, you know.”
“I would have stayed asleep but I’ve got a friend in need,” he mumbles, rubbing the remainder of sleep from his eyes.
“Aww, you’re so good to me.” You beam, snuggling up to him and wrapping him up in a tight hug.
“Not you,” he huffs with a disgusted grimace. “Ugh, that’s enough touching.”
You immediately pull back and scoff. “Wow. You’re lucky I know you know you love me.”
He rolls his eyes. “That’s debatable.”
“Yeah, okay,” you mock him in a tone of disbelief. You pop a chip into your mouth. “So why are you really up— if not to support your wonderful, beautiful, perfectly sculpted local couch potato?”
He smiles and steals the next chip from your hand before you can shove it into your mouth. “If you’re good with it, my friend is gonna crash on our couch for a few days. His parents cut him off and he’s got nowhere to go. He’s almost got enough saved up to get his own place, but he could use some help in the meantime. Figured we’re doing alright and we have a couch. You cool with that?”
“Sure,” you agree, trusting Yoongi’s judgment. He’s not gonna let some crazy person stay on your couch. “When?”
“I was just waiting for your approval but I hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to you before I passed out. I’ll go pick him up now, if that’s good with you,” he says slipping his feet into a pair of sandals and looking for his keys.
“What, he doesn’t have a car?”
“Sold it to pay for his books this semester. He’s got nothing. He’s keeping all his clothes in another friend’s closet. It’s kinda sad.”
“That’s rough,” you agree, blowing out a heavy exhale and turning your attention back to the TV.
“I’ll be back in a few. Maybe take it to your room so he can have the couch?” Yoongi suggests.
“Sure, sure,” you say, already sucked back into your show and forgetting entirely about Yoongi and his friend for now.
When Yoongi returns an hour later, you haven’t moved. In fact, you’ve crashed… hard. Yoongi and his mystery guest enter to a chorus of your snores and the Friends theme song.
“Hey, get up,” Yoongi urges, nudging your shoulder lightly.
When you peel your eyes open to look at him, you’re utterly mystified to see the object of your affections a few feet behind him, standing awkwardly in your kitchen with a duffle slung over his shoulder.
Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you blink a few times to clear your vision. You want to be sure it’s him before you open your mouth. He’s there, in black sweats with a grey hoodie pulled up over his white baseball cap. “Jimin?”
“Oh good you know him,“ Yoongi says with relief coating his tone. "I’m gonna get him some blankets. Think you can take your Netflix marathon to your room?”
"Yeah, I can do that,” you mumble, gathering up your mess and disappearing into your room without another word.
Alone in your room, you conjure up a hundred reasons in your anxious mind that could explain why Jimin thought he had to keep this huge secret from you. He’s got nothing? Maybe he was afraid you’d tell people. Suddenly, it makes so much sense why he’s always walking everywhere.
You think back to Tuesday at the Cheery Cherry. His usually steady hands were so shaky handing over those bills he pulled from his wallet. You think of how tightly he clutched his change and even counted it out afterward. If you hadn’t been so preoccupied with your own thoughts of inadequacy, you might have been able to put it together on your own. Your stomach drops when you recall the insulting way you threw your vanilla cone in the trash. The scene replays over and over again until you’re crying into your pillow.
Guilt keeps you awake until well past midnight as you turn these unsavory ideas over and over in your head, looking at them from every possible angle and over analyzing every detail of the time you’ve spent together thus far. Your eyes are now wide and dry, fixed on a black spot on your ceiling that you’re hoping is just a speck and not a spider. The quilt in your hands is frayed, giving your nervous hands something to pick at while you let the silence drive you mad.
The soft knock on your door at half past one is a relief. Yoongi does his best cooking at odd hours, usually bringing you a plate if you’re awake. It’s a surprise to find Jimin outside your door instead. He awkwardly shifts from foot to foot until he finds your eyes in the dim glow of your table lamp.
“Did I wake you?” he whispers, head leaning against your door frame.
You shake your head, looking down at your skimpy sleep shorts and the university hoodie you pulled on to open the door. “I was up.”
“Can we talk?”
“Of course,” you answer, stepping aside so he can come in. Your eyes scan the room nervously, checking for underwear on the floor and counting the half empty glasses of water on your nightstand. If you knew Jimin was going to be in your bedroom tonight, you would have cleaned up. At least you didn’t leave your vibrator out in the open. You don’t think you’d recover from the embarrassment of that.
Jimin follows you to your bed, perching on the edge once you’ve settled back against your pillows.
“I feel like I owe you an explanation.”
“You don’t,” you respond immediately. “I’m happy you’re here.”
“Then why did you run away?” he asks, pulling at his hoodie strings.
“I wanted to give you space. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. You didn’t tell me what you were going through and I didn’t want to…” you trail off, unsure how to articulate just why you ran away.
“You didn’t want to embarrass me? Hurt my pride?” he asks, sarcasm evident.
“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “You don’t owe me an explanation. We aren’t that close.”
“That’s the problem,” he whispers. “I want to explain. I want to be that close to you.” He leans towards you, resting on his hands. He looks confident despite his current situation and it worries you a little. How can he be so sure of himself when he’s crashing on your couch and apologizing to you again for the fourth time in less than a week?
The Jimin you’ve gotten to know recently seems to disappear, leaving on the smooth talking playboy in his wake. He seems too calculated to be genuine. The words he whispers don’t seem like words meant for you. He is him, after all, and money or not he’s still the greatest catch on campus. And you, much to your dismay, are still just you. Unassuming, uninteresting, unexciting you. You’re the plain vanilla cone he’d never ask for if he had the means to get the banana split.
“Why?” you skeptically ask, pulling your knees up to your chest.
Jimin bites his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth while he thinks. “You’re special,” he says. “You’re cute and funny and I like spending time with you. You make me feel like I can be myself with you.”
“But you don’t trust me?” you ask, obviously referring to the elephant in the room. He didn’t tell you he was essentially homeless. How much of himself can he truly be if he was keeping that from you?
“I didn’t want to scare you away, and most girls I… see, don’t get close enough to find out,” he confesses. “I can’t afford to take anyone out right now. I haven’t been able to for a while. But I’m so close to getting enough for an apartment. That’s why I took the TA job; at the end of the semester I should be ready.”
“Jimin,” you start, unsure what to say. You’re still thinking about that goddamned three dollar ice cream cone you threw away.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he tells you, standing up. “I just wanted to be real with you, and thank you for agreeing to let me have the couch for a few days. I’ll let you sleep.”
As you scramble over yourself to reach out, you find yourself on your knees awkwardly clutching your hand towards your chest. You’re still worried about seeming desperate but you can’t let that stop you now. Jimin turns toward you, but you’re unsure of what you wanted to say. You only know that you want to be closer to him too, that you’re not ready for him to go, that if he leaves now you’ll lie awake for the rest of the night reliving this short conversation.
“Stay,” you plead, nervously twirling the string of your hoodie around your fingers as you sit back against the pillows. “Talk to me?”
“Aren’t you tired?” he wonders.
You hold out your hand and he crosses the room to take it, standing next to your bed. You pat the space next to you and tug him toward it. “Wide awake.”
Your yawn says otherwise.
Jimin smiles, climbing over you to lay by your side on top of your blankets. He looks at you expectantly once he’s settled but it’s too much pressure for you to lead the conversation. You only know that you want to keep hearing his soothing voice. You have no idea what you wanted to say.
“You look cute,” he says, breaking the silence and touching your nose with the tip of his finger. “Sleepy and soft.”
“You look sexy,” you complain, waving his hand away. “I kinda wanna punch you for it.”
He throws his head back in laughter. “So feisty.”
“I can be boring instead,” you jokingly offer, rolling on your side to face him.
He does his best to keep his eyes trained on your face, despite the fact that all he wants to do is let them wander down. “I just want you to be you.”
That sounds fake. Again, you battle against the idea that this is all a farce, some sneaky way to get into your pants once and leave you wanting for the rest of your life. He hasn’t bared himself to you enough for you to trust him, so you pry.
“Why’d your parents cut you off, Jimin?” you ask.
He looks at you for a second, stunned at your boldness. That’s definitely not where he thought this conversation was going. He takes a moment to prepare his response and sighs.
“They have this restaurant. It’s a small place right off the coast: Jeongsik. My great grandparents started it from nothing and now my parents manage it. They want me to take over since I’m the eldest, but I want to move to the city and have my own life. I don’t want to work in their restaurant forever and my brother loves it and is perfectly capable. They love me. I know they’re just trying to teach me a lesson,” he tells you. He sounds unsure of that last bit. It probably has a lot to do with the fact that he’s got nowhere to live and he’s penny pinching for meals and they’re shunning him.
“And what is that lesson, Jimin?” you ask, trying to dig deeper before he slips back into playboy mode.
“That being a part of Jeongsik is my only option if I want to be successful. That I can’t make it without them.”
“Can you?” The question is quiet and unassuming. You only want to know how bad it really is.
He takes a deep breath and taps his fingers anxiously against the fabric of the pillow. “I can. It won’t be the same, it won’t be easy, but I can.”
After giving Jimin a moment to say more, which he doesn’t take, you push him further. With your heart on the line and this miracle of an opportunity with him in your room, you’re determined to learn as much as you can. You need to get under his skin. You need to know him, so you can know if you should run.
“What’s your plan then?” you question, shifting closer so you’re face to face against the pillows.
Jimin smirks at your line of questioning. It seems to break him from his thoughts. “Well,” he begins. “The Village has some one bedrooms opening up at the end of the semester, and by then I’ll be ready to make a deposit and lease one. After that I’ve got one semester left until I graduate. Then I’ll move to the city and live my life how I want.”
“Won’t you miss your family?”
“They still talk to me. They’re just not paying for school. Or my car. Or my food.” His heavy sigh at the end contradicts the lightness with which he revealed all of this to you.
“I’m sorry, Jimin.” You reach for his hand, familiarity in the way it fits with yours.
“It’s okay. I have good friends, and I have…” he trails off, catching himself and looking away with an awkward huff of a laugh.
“What?” you wonder, heart fluttering at the possibility that he was about to say ‘you.’ “What else do you have?”
Jimin looks up at you, rising up on his elbow. His eyes search your face for any hint of rejection. When he finds only hope, his hand moves to cup your cheek. It’s warm, adorned with rings that contrast the temperature of his skin.
“You,” he breathes, moving closer. You watch his gaze dart down to your lips before your own eyelids flutter closed. “I was going to say you,” he confesses before he closes the space between you and lays a soft kiss against your waiting lips.
He pulls away way too fast, leaving you to panic in the aftermath. You thought you had feelings for him before, but now that he’s let you in, now that he has shown you his heart, there is nothing more to deny. You’ve fallen, hard. The realization makes you feel trapped, like a frantic dying bird in a cage. But your captor is kind and beautiful and the flavor he left on your lips is the most divine thing you’ve ever tasted.
“Then say it,” you prompt him, urging him to accept the affection you’ve been so desperate to give him.
He kisses you again in lieu of words, longer, deeper, until his tongue is dragging over yours. You fist the material of his hoodie in your hands, pulling him towards you while you turn on your back. He’s hesitant to get on top of you, afraid he might be taking it too far, but you’re insistent. You pull and he caves willingly, slotting a leg between yours and letting his hand drift from your cheek to the back of your neck.
“I like you,” he pants when he breaks away. It feels like your heart flies up out of your chest and does a lap around the room, flapping its hummingbird wings like the wild thing it is before it crashes back into its place.
“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” you plead. “You don’t have to pretend just because you’re here now. I’m a big girl. We can just have tonight.”
You say the words but you know if he leaves tomorrow, you’ll cry all day and probably the day after that too. The truth is, you can talk all you want about how you can do this no strings attached, but you know you can’t. Your strings are so attached to him at this point you might as well be metaphorical shibari.
“I mean it,” he whispers, full, wet lips brushing the side of your neck.
You freeze. You were expecting him to drop the charade and just fuck you or something, but in this moment he exudes tenderness and consideration.
“And because I like you, I think I should go back to the couch before we do something we aren’t ready to do.”
“Stay,” you plead. “We don’t have to do anything, just lay with me.”
He slowly nods and reaches over you to turn off the lamp, planting a soft kiss on your cheek as he settles back into place. You wiggle your form down into the covers and he smoothes the hair from your face before tracing his fingers down your arm. You lean in close enough to smell the subtle clean scent of his cologne. Is it cologne? You doubt it knowing what you know now, unless he’s borrowing it from someone else. You still find yourself enjoying it nonetheless. It’s comforting. Sleep begins to claim you just as he slips his fingers into yours and gives you a tiny squeeze.
You think you respond but you’re in that purgatory state between sleeping and being awake, so you can’t be sure. At least you’re eighty percent sure you gave him a squeeze in return.
That’s how Yoongi finds you in the morning: you tucked neatly into your comforter and Jimin laying on top of it beside you, your hands clasped together in the middle.
“UM!” Yoongi shouts from the doorway, loud enough to wake you both.
Startled, you sit up in bed and look around for the source of the shout. “Fuck! Yoon. You didn’t need to scream.”
“I hope you’re not expecting me to keep this from Taehyung,” Yoongi chides, looking from you to Jimin and back. “That would be quite the moral conundrum.”
“For fuck’s sake. It was never Tae. I am not seeing Tae. We are JUST FRIENDS!” You yell the last two words and chuck your pillow at him for emphasis.
“Okay cool, then Jimin can explain to him whatever this is to him. Jimin, he wants you to call him. My phone’s on the table. I’m taking a shower.”
Yoongi disappears from the doorway and an uncomfortable silence settles over the room. In the light of day, you feel nervous and uncertain. Jimin does nothing to ease your anxiety. He just lays there quietly, unsure what to say.
“Do you want breakfast?” You try to smile and sound as chipper as possible.
He sits up finally and turns his back to you. “I should go see Taehyung.”
He moves toward the door and you feel your chest tighten. “Jimin?”
He turns to you from the hallway, and taking in your confused expression, offers you a smile. “We’re good, princess. I’ll be back tonight, then me and you: party time.” He winks before moving out of sight.
Alone once again, you start to question things. Everything. Are you imagining things or did Jimin seem cold when he left? He kissed you last night, didn’t he? Was everything you talked about too much? Does he regret kissing you? Does he regret staying the night with you without getting anything out of it? You can feel your thoughts spiraling out of control, but you can’t stop yourself from putting up the walls you so desperately wanted to keep down forever last night. It obviously didn’t mean anything to him, despite his claim that he likes you. He probably just meant that he’d like to fool around with you. Like he does with everyone else. You can’t let one night beside him make you think you’re special to him, no matter how badly you want to be.
Knowing you won’t make it through the day without driving yourself completely mad with questions and doubts, you dig your old phone and charger out of a drawer and go after Jimin. He’s leaning over the kitchen counter staring down at Yoongi’s phone when you steal his attention.
“Please take this,” you plead, thrusting the phone and charger towards him.
He looks from the device to you and blinks a few times in surprise. “What?”
“It’s a little old, but if your sim card didn’t get damaged I’m sure it will work in this. I kept putting off bringing it to be recycled.” You laugh nervously as you try to place it in his hand. “But now I’m glad I didn’t. Take it.”
“I can’t accept this, princess. It’s too much,” Jimin says, staring down at the object in your hands.
“Take it for me. If I have to go another day without being able to send you memes I’ll die.”
“Memes?” he repeats, sounding baffled.
“Memes, nudes, the weather forecast. Who cares? I wanna text you. Please take it.”
He licks his lips and smirks at your joke. Was it a joke? It’s hard to tell. He accepts it anyway. “Thank you. I’ll call you later?”
“You’d better,” you tease, offering the grandest smile you can manage before retreating with a slow saunter back to your room.
There’s that view again. He could watch your ass sway in those teeny shorts all day. It takes every last ounce of self control he possesses to pick up Yoongi’s phone and dial Tae rather than sprint back into your room and pin you to the bed. It doesn’t stop him from daydreaming about it though, even as his friend answers.
“What are we doing?” Jimin stands in the sprawling living room of Taehyung and Jungkook’s shared apartment. Both are from wealthy families that are all too ready to give their sons everything that matches the silver spoons in their mouths. They’ve been blessed with a bachelor pad that looks more like a college movie set than anything normal one would find around campus.
“Pick up a controller,” Tae tells Jimin, completely absorbed in the race on their oversized flat screen TV.
Jungkook hasn’t even acknowledged Jimin’s presence yet. Focused doesn’t even begin to describe the way his eyes bore into the television. He doesn’t break from his trance until he wins. Only then does he sit back with a smug grin, dropping the controller in his lap and just barely resisting the urge to gloat.
Taehyung drops his controller too, turning to give Jungkook a congratulatory fist bump. “Take his place,” he says to Jimin.
Jungkook has already vacated his place on the hallowed futon and moved to the row of cup noodles sitting on the counter. The first cup is half empty before Jimin even sits down.
“I suck at these games, Tae,” Jimin grumbles.
“That’s okay. You don’t have to be good. It’s a ploy to get you relaxed enough to talk about y/n.” Taehyung smiles, knowing Jimin can’t refuse now that he’s cornered.
“What about her?” He feigns nonchalance, as if he didn’t just spend last night catching feelings along with your lips between his own.
Taehyung scoffs, half bewildered, half disgusted. “Come on, Jimin. She’s amazing. You like her.”
“I barely know her,” Jimin replies. It’s a lie he can taste like copper on his tongue. He knows your favorite food, where you grew up, what you study, and he’s already programmed your birthday into his borrowed phone so he won’t forget.
Taehyung clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. “Okay then. If you don’t give a fuck, I’m gonna shoot my shot. She’s funny, and nice, and her pussy is so bomb it makes me wanna get married, so if you’re not gonna do something about that then I will.”
Jungkook cackles from the kitchen. “Did you fuck Jimin’s girl?”
“She’s not my girl,” Jimin grumbles, staring daggers at Jungkook, just as Taehyung says that he did not.
Jungkook takes his armload of cup noodles into his bedroom.
“I know you like her,” Tae prods. “She’s not some materialistic bitch who’s gonna leave you if you can’t afford lavish dates every other day. She’s a good, genuine person. She just wants your time and your attention. Maybe your heart. She doesn’t care about the other stuff.”
“Yeah? So I can bring her back to this futon after I buy her dinner from the dollar menu?” Jimin’s nose starts to tingle, months worth of frustrations finally reaching a breaking point. “I can’t get in a relationship right now and you know she’s not a fuckbuddy kind of girl.
“Right, because I didn’t eat her out in my car for fun last week.” He’d date you in a heartbeat if you wanted him. But he knows it’s Jimin you want and he’s more than happy to push the two of you together to see you both happy. He values friendship above all things.
“If that’s all you want from her, fine. But I think you and I both know it’s not and she’s too good for you to string along. If you’re just gonna break her heart, do it now before she falls any harder for you.”
“Why, so you can swoop in and be the good guy again? So you can get her off in your backseat?” The words are venom dripping from his mouth.
Jimin softens. Tae is his dearest friend. He knows he only has his best interests at heart.
“I’m sorry.” He pauses and sighs. “We talked about Jeongsik last night. She knows my parents cut me off.”
Taehyung grimaces. “How’d that go?”
“Now she knows I’m not good enough but it didn’t seem to deter her at all.”
“‘Cause you are good enough and now she can see your true worth as a person, which is a thousand times better than the fake worth of money.”
Jimin seems to consider this for a moment but then expresses the concern gnawing at his insides. “What if she really is just another person who wants to idolize me? I’m really into her, but I need it to be more than that.”
“What if she’s after the meaningless title of being Park Jimin’s girl… like every other girl that has pursued me lately?” The words make him cringe. He’s humble and kind, not one to throw bouquets at himself, but those thoughts are intrusive and hard to ignore.
“Tch. Do you know her at all? Do you really think that matters to her?”
“No,” Jimin sighs. “But what if?”
“She admires you. You like her. Stop making it so complicated and let go of those ifs. You’ll never know if you don’t try and I want to see you try because you deserve to be happy,” Tae insists, starting a new game. “Now pick up that controller. I wanna kick your ass.”
You’ve spent the better part of your Saturday afternoon picking out your outfit for tonight. Yoongi only teased you twice before helping you select something a little bit more slutty than you’d normally pull out for a date. You’re going to a party after all, not some Sunday brunch with your friends.
When it’s almost time for you to meet up with Jimin you find yourself growing increasingly nervous. You run your hand over your thigh and down your calf, testing for any stubble you might have missed in your meticulous hour-long shaving session. On your way back up you tug on your skirt, eyeing it as though your gaze can simply increase its length. When was the last time you wore this dress?
You adjust and fuss over the way your tits fit inside the garment and puff air out of your cheeks. Yoongi squints at you from across the room. Your door is wide open after all.
“Stop worrying so much.” He sighs and clicks his tongue, crossing the room until he can see you in perfect clarity. “You look great.”
“I feel stupid. I should change. Jimin’s gonna think I’m weird if I wear this.” You try to turn and run back to your closet.
Yoongi plants his hands on your shoulders and spins you back to face the full-length mirror hanging over your door. “Look at yourself. Jimin’s gonna think you’re the hottest one at the party. Look at that makeup game.” He gestures to your face. “Wooo! So strong! Wow!”
Your lips twitch into a smile. Yoongi can be so sweet when he’s not busy pretending like he isn’t the softest man on earth.
“What if he doesn’t actually want me?” you ask, strings of doubt still plucking at your insecurity.
“He does,” he says with all the comfort you need in this moment. “I can tell with these kinds of things, you know.”
“That your like, weird sage sense you’re always telling me about? Reading the horoscopes doesn’t make you a fortune teller.”
He laughs. “Don’t be jealous of my power. Have I been wrong before?”
He hasn’t been, at least not with the advice he’s given you.
You exhale a huge breath and cock your head to inspect your appearance one more time. “What if you’re wrong?”
He hums a soft sound before planting a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Then he’s an idiot.”
A knock saves him from the overbearing hug you’re about to give him. He practically sprints towards the door. “That must be him! Pull your skirt up a little, would you? You’re not a nun and it’s gonna ride up anyway.” He pauses with his hand on the deadbolt and drops his tone to a rather loud, strained whisper. “Wait. What underwear are you wearing?”
Your eyes widen and your brows furrow as you angrily march over to your strappy heels and begin to put them on. “Why does it matter?” you whisper back.
“Are they the beige ones?”
“No!” Your hushed tone threatens to break into a shriek. “You know those are my period panties.”
“Please tell me they’re not the green ones.”
“Yoongi!” You get frustrated and lift your skirt just enough to show off a bit of the black lace adorning your buttcheeks as you lift your foot onto the nearby stool to finish setting the strap in place. “Satisfied?”
He breathes a sigh of relief and nods. “Good. Those are good.”
He opens the door faster than you can register the action. Jimin catches the flash of lace and more skin than he’s meant to see as you swing your leg down off the stool and adjust your dress. Heat flushes your face as you meet Jimin’s gaze. His eyes are wide and he licks his lips before nervously clearing his throat. He nonchalantly drops his hands and holds them together in front of his pelvis.
“You-You look good,” he stammers, completely stunned by your appearance.
“Thanks,” you reply with a shy smile. Park Jimin gets flustered? Who’d have thought?
He thought you were beautiful before but he’s never seen you like this. You’re completely decked out and drop dead gorgeous. He’s almost worried he’ll feel inadequate standing next to you tonight but it doesn’t stop him from wanting you by his side, hanging on his arm. He wants everyone to know that he’s there with you.
The pair of you stand there looking at one another and Yoongi slowly turns from Jimin to you, then back to Jimin.
“Have everything?” Yoongi prods, trying to get you to move so he can get on with his evening of relaxation and lazing about.
That seems to break you from your stupor and you nod and walk forward to hook your arm around Jimin’s. Before you get too far Yoongi calls to you and tests your reflexes by tossing your keys. You’ll need those if Yoongi is dead to the world asleep by the time you get home, which is quite possible. You’re not the most dextrous person but Jimin catches them and smiles at you. When you try to take them from his fingertip he moves his hand away and you swipe at the air. He offers to keep them in his pocket and you gratefully oblige. You pull your phone from its confines against your breast and check on the status of your uber with one hand while slipping your other into Jimin’s.
Jin’s party is already in full swing by the time you arrive. It looks like something out of a movie. There are glowsticks, red solo cups, a buffet table of snacks, and loud music by the large inground pool. People inside and outside of this big ass frat house are grinding up on each other, dancing, and spilling their drinks on one another. It’s a little overwhelming honestly. You’ve never been much of a party person and this is a monster-sized one.
Jimin takes your hand in his and gives you a reassuring smile. “You want a drink, princess?”
“Yeah.” You grin and breathe a sigh of relief, feeling your insides melt at the sound of his voice. You know whatever happens tonight you’ll be okay with him by your side.
Jimin keeps you close all night, drinking and dancing and stealing the occasional quick kiss. It’s pretty clear to everyone who’s paying attention that there’s something going on between you. You came with Jimin, you’re there with Jimin, you’re leaving with Jimin. Either Jungkook wasn’t paying attention, or he just plain doesn’t care. The moment Jimin leaves you alone to run to the bathroom, Jungkook steps up behind you in the chair you’re sitting on.
“Hey, y/n!” He smiles, all teeth and sleepy eyes. You can smell the whiskey on his breath when you turn to face him. “You look so pretty tonight.”
“Thanks, Kook.” You know he’s one of Jimin and Tae’s closest friends. If you just hang with him until Jimin gets back, you’ll be able to avoid the advances of all the weird guys here you aren’t familiar with. “I like your boots,” you tell him, looking down.
He follows your gaze to his feet. “Me too, I hope no one barfs on them tonight,” he laughs, lifting his face back up to yours. The words are slightly slurred but you’re still able to decipher them.
His eyes definitely linger on your cleavage on their way back up. By the looks of it, he’s on the short list of people who might end up barfing on those shoes. He holds his liquor well, but if you had to guess you’d say he’s had more than he should have at this point in the night.
“So, I was talking to Taehyung recently,” he starts with a mischievous glint in his eyes. The rest of his sentence seems to get lost in translation on the way to his mouth.
“And?” You smile at him and realize he’s probably too drunk to have anything of worth to say but you wait anyway.
“He told me something.” Jungkook smiles so big his nose crinkles and he giggles like it’s the biggest secret in the universe.
You puzzle for a moment over what could have him so giddy before remembering that Taehyung is intimately familiar with your o-face. You’d gotten so close with him over the last two weeks that the details of your first time hanging out had completely slipped your mind. Jungkook is definitely about to say something crass.
“What did he tell you?” you ask, fearing you already know the answer.
Jungkook leans in closer so he can whisper in your ear. An amused giggle spills from his lips like he can’t contain the punchline to a joke only he knows. Somehow he gets his tone under control and finally speaks. “He told me your pussy tastes like heaven and what a coincidence,” he pauses, “I haven’t had dessert.”
Jimin finds his way back to you just as you’ve moved to elbow Jungkook off your chair. Unfortunately, the alcohol in your system has your brain a little fuzzy and you misjudge the distance and location. You end up elbowing Jungkook right in the dick. Hard.
A circle clears around you as Jungkook doubles over in pain. Jimin steps up next to you, looking down at his friend and trying to piece together what might have led to you inflicting bodily harm.
Jungkook goes from bending over, to squatting, to laying on his side on the floor. He rolls onto his back still clutching the jewels despite the audience of people who have stopped to observe.
“I’m gonna throw up,” he squeaks out.
“Watch the boots,” you remind him as Jimin leans down to help him up and leads him towards something he can barf in. Through the crowd of people, you can see him just barely make it to a trash can in the kitchen. Gross.
Jimin gives Jungkook a pat on the back as he retches and reaches over him to grab a handful of jello shots off the counter. He returns with the rainbow of little cups clutched in each hand. The crowd seems to go back to their business of dancing and talking amongst one another, the random altercation just a fleeting moment in the night.
“What’d he do?” Jimin asks, holding his hand out to you so that you can make your selection.
“He came on to me.” You shrug, picking a blue cup and popping the lid off.
“That’s it? You elbowed him in the balls for hitting on you?” Jimin raises his eyebrows in shock and laughs.
“Well, it was kind of an accident. But,” you pause to bring the plastic shot glass up to your lips, “he insinuated that he wanted to go down on me.” You dip your tongue into the Jello and swirl it around the perimeter of its plastic casing.
Jimin watches you gather all the Jello up onto your tongue with rapt attention. He’s growing so hard watching your tongue work like that. It’s driving him insane. He wants to feel it on him instead. He’s also now acutely aware of how badly he wants to swirl his tongue around your cunt, just like that.
“That makes two of us,” he confesses with an enamored sigh. His hands are still full of Jello shots but that doesn’t stop him from holding your face between them.
He fiercely smashes his mouth to yours and you cave to the welcome intrusion of his tongue. It presses against yours, curling around it as he sucks the blue raspberry flavor from your mouth. You drop the empty cup to the floor and reach for his belt instead, pulling him against you until you can feel him pressed up against your stomach, hard and needy. He grinds his pelvis against you to be sure you can feel him.
“You feel that baby?” he asks, his tone low and sultry.
You grind back with a muffled hum. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re practically dry-humping each other next to the crowd of other sweaty, writhing couples. While Jimin likes how this feels, he’d like to regain the use of his hands. Jello shots be damned.
He pulls away for a second and looks around, depositing all but one of the unopened cups into the hands of the next person that walks by before he squeezes the chosen red one out on his tongue. He leans back in and presses his mouth to yours again. You can still taste artificial strawberry on his tongue. You’re not even sure he swallowed before you started trying to lick his tonsils but you don’t care. You want him now. You need him.
His thoughts are much the same as his free hand wanders down your back, dipping lower for just a second to feel the curve of your ass and squeeze. When you gasp he takes a step back and looks at you through hazy lust-drunk eyes. His lips are red from the gelatinous treat. You’d love to try and suck the color right out of them.
“Princess,” he pants, his hands grabbing at your hips.
“Jimin,” you breathe back, pulling him closer again. “Come home with me.” It’s not really an invitation. He’d be coming back with you anyway since he’s currently living on your couch, but this has a different meaning and you both know it. It’s a plea for him to take you to bed.
You make out on the front lawn while you wait for the uber. You make out in the back of the uber on your way home. You make out on the way up the stairs and you leave a heart shaped love bite on his neck while he uses your keys to open the door. You make out pressed against the kitchen counter, and in the hallway.
Yoongi watches the pair of you act like he’s invisible as you stumble your way around the apartment. He has a spoonful of Fruit Loops half-lifted to his gaping mouth and finally takes his bite when you’ve made it to your room. Thank god you closed the door.
Jimin isn’t as shy this time about laying his weight over you once you’ve dropped down onto your bed. You’re warm and he seeks the heat of your body as your hands explore the taught muscles of his chest. They dance around his belt, slipping up over the curve of his perfectly round ass so you can squeeze and pull him against you, inviting him to grind his solid cock into you. Your movements get slower and more focused when you unbutton his shirt. He tugs it off his shoulders and throws it to the floor before helping you pull that tiny excuse of a dress over your head.
You’re thanking your lucky stars you had the foresight to put on a matching set, despite how foolishly hopeful it felt at the time. The way Jimin is drinking you in wrapped in nothing but a little bit of black lace is making your head spin, or maybe that’s the alcohol.
He sits back on his heels beside you, trailing his fingertips from your throat to the valley between your breasts. He skims over your belly button then side sweeps over your hip and down your thigh, leaving goosebumps in the wake of his touch.
“Wanna take those heels off, princess?” he asks, scooting toward them on his knees.
“I can do it,” you insist, planning on making a show of dropping what’s left of your modesty. You aren’t counting on the way the room turns when you stand up too fast. Luckily, Jimin’s reflexes are quick and his hands on your hips steady you before you can actually fall. Standing up is also doing something terrible to your stomach. It rolls and clenches and your anxiety skyrockets.
Parties aren’t really your thing, and while Jimin might be drunk he is damn good at controlling it. On the contrary, it’s becoming increasingly apparent that you are completely hammered.
“You okay?” Jimin asks, concern dripping from his tone. He stands up and turns you both so you can sit on the edge of your bed.
“I think… I’m drunk,” you confess, unable to explain why you suddenly feel like crying.
“I think you’re right, baby,” he agrees, squatting down to unbuckle the ankle straps on your heels. “Let’s get you some water.”
Your stomach flips again and time slows as you feel the contents of the evening rise in the back of your throat. Panicking, you look to Jimin with wide eyes and a hand flying up to your mouth. He spins around looking for anything to catch what’s surely coming and upends your little trash can. Candy wrappers and old class notes fall to the floor. He thrusts the can under your face just as a rainbow of Jello shots and reappears.
“I’m so sorry,” you cry between heaves, tears streaking your make-up down your face.
“Shhh,” Jimin soothes, gathering your hair away from your face. When he’s sure you’ve finished, he disappears from the bedroom with the offending trash can and you’re left with your horrible, alcohol twisted thoughts.
He’s going to think you’re pathetic and disgusting. Why on earth did you think you could drink that much?
Jimin returns with a glass of water before you can get much further into your self-deprecation.
“You’re never gonna fuck me now,” you blabber, your filter lost. Your thoughts are a jumble of sadness and muddled lust.
Jimin laughs. “Well, I’m definitely not gonna fuck you like this. I didn’t realize you were this drunk,” he softly says. It’s a caring statement, not even a little bit condescending.
You should be grateful that he wants you sober for sex, but it only makes you cry harder because you really just want him so badly and you’re absolutely certain you’ve ruined your chances beyond repair. So, you do the only thing that makes sense right now and cry harder.
Jimin wraps his arms around you and leans close to your ear. “I want to, you know. I want to lay you down and touch you all over.” He presses a soft kiss to the side of your neck. “I want to taste you, feel you. I want to be inside you so badly, but not like this.”
“Please,” you whine.
“Sober up first, okay?” he coaxes. “Can I help you get some pajamas? Brush your teeth?”
“Okay,” you sniffle.
Jimin smooths his hand up your back, tracing the black lace band of your bra with the tip of his finger. “Do you want to take this off?”
You nod, reaching behind you to unfasten the clasp while Jimin reaches down to the floor for the button down shirt he discarded. He averts his eyes while you shed your bra, then holds his shirt open for you. You slip into it but don’t bother to button it up before walking to your door. He helps you get to the bathroom but you insist on doing it yourself so you can clean up and assess just how fucked up you really look right now.
When you close the door behind you, he makes sure to quietly apologize to Yoongi, who is still scrubbing the trash bin Jimin brought out earlier. Yoongi reaches into the cabinet for the bottle of Advil and gestures to a glass of water already on the counter.
Jimin waits for you to open the door and when you finally do he’s relieved that you haven’t fallen asleep. You’ve washed the makeup from your tear-streaked face and brushed your teeth. You’ve even pulled your hair back so it’s no longer in the way. You look at him through a hazy apologetic lens as he offers you Advil and water. The last thing you want to do is ingest anything but if it will help you in the morning, you’ll try it for his sake.
The journey from the bathroom back into your room is a blur. All you can think about is crawling back into bed and sleeping this awful feeling away. You struggle with the covers for a moment until Jimin helps you slide underneath them.
“I’m sorry. Don’t hate me,” you plead in a weak voice.
“Why are you sorry? I don’t hate you,” he assures you, sitting on the edge of the bed.
He’s shirtless. He could have been naked pounding your pussy stupid if you didn’t overdo it on the drinks. You hate yourself a little bit for botching this chance, but if he could just put his arms around you again maybe you’d feel okay, like you didn’t blow it.
“Will you hold me?” you ask.
“Of course,” he replies softly.
The light in the room disappears and the mattress sinks behind you. His arms wrap themselves around your waist and his fingers twine with yours.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers when you squeeze his hand.
The heat of his breath brushes against your neck but you don’t close your eyes. You’re too dizzy. Instead you focus on the soothing rhythm of his breathing until the weight of your eyelids wins out against the nausea and sleep finally claims you.
Your ringtone wakes you late, when the sun in your room is far too bright to be any time before ten. The sound is grating and irritating and you pull your pillow over your head to block it out. Jimin reaches for the phone, you can feel his weight shift and the heat of his skin when he hovers over you.
“Hello?” His voice is gruff and coarse with sleep.
Peeking out from beneath the pillow, you look over to him. His eyes are still closed and your phone is laying on his bare chest, speaker on and screen lit up.
“Gimme your bae,” Jungkook’s voice calls through the phone.
“She’s sleeping,” Jimin tells him. Looking in your direction, he meets your eyes and smiles.
You vaguely remember him making you drink more water last night, giving you Advil, and tucking you in. It’s a very pleasant surprise to find that you aren’t horribly hungover.
“Wake her up,” Jungkook whines. “Bro. She hit me so hard.”
Jimin laughs. “You deserved it.”
“I know,” Jungkook agrees. “That’s why I’m calling. Can I talk to her please?”
“You’re on speaker.”
“Hi, y/n. I got your number from Tae.”
“Hi Kook,” you croak.
“I’m sorry I was a douche last night. I get stupid when I drink whiskey.”
“I accept your apology. Don’t do it again. How’s your dick?” you ask, scooting closer to Jimin and laying your cheek on his chest. He wraps his arm around you and kisses the top of your head. The gesture makes you feel warm all over. He likes you.
“It hurts but I’ll live. Sorry. For real. Do you guys wanna go eat later?” he asks you both.
Jimin answers this time. “Maybe. We have stuff to do first. I’ll text you.” He hangs up before Jungkook can say more.
“What stuff are we doing, hmm?” you question with a giggle, trying to play coy.
“Depends how you’re feeling, princess,” Jimin replies, leaning over you again to deposit your phone on your nightstand. He lingers above you, prompting the cautious exploration of your fingers on his chest.
Suddenly, you are acutely aware of the awful taste in your mouth. In fact, you feel gross all over. Not exactly the way you want to experience sex with Jimin for the first time.
“I’m sorry about last night,” you tell him, wiggling out from under his body. “You must think I am the worst, most unattractive human.”
“No,” Jimin says with a giggle. “I think you’re sexy and sweet. I really like you y/n.”
“Nobody likes me.” You scoff at him in disbelief.
“It’s rude to call people nobodies, don’t you think? Especially when they’ve just confessed their feelings,” Jimin teases, sitting up beside you.
“Well, let me at least brush my teeth,” you tell him, holding his shirt closed around you while you rise from the bed. You step around the clean trash can that’s been placed at the side of your bed thanks to Yoongi, noting that there is also a neat row of condoms on your nightstand and a note that reads ‘be done by 5 i wanna watch Dragonball Z after work.’
You laugh and quickly take care of your morning bathroom routine in record time so you can make use of Yoongi’s gift.
When you come back to your room, Jimin is watching you. His lips are drawn down in a pout, his eyes are half closed, and his chest, still bare, rises and falls heavily with each breath he takes as he rakes his eyes over your bare legs and up. His shirt hangs open on your body, leaving a strip of skin visible from your throat to your panties. He licks his lips when your fingers drag a slow line up that strip.
Parting the soft fabric further, you let it fall from your shoulders and pool around your feet. Jimin sits up for a better view and you wait for embarrassment to strike. It never happens. Instead, his gaze emboldens you. He looks wrecked already and he hasn’t even touched you yet.
“So beautiful,” he whispers.
His assurance pulls you forward, one foot in front of the other until you’re close enough to touch and his hands are on your hips as you climb over him. He leans back under you as you push forward, connecting your lips with a force that borders on overeager. You can feel him smile against your lips and self-consciously, you will yourself to calm down. You have all day, there’s no need to rush.
When your kisses become soft and patient Jimin decides to take the initiative. He has to have you. He wants to be inside you. He sits up and sinks his hands into the flesh of your ass and begins to pull you down so he can grind up against your clothed cunt. When you moan his eyes roll back for a second and he buries his face into your neck to muffle the sound of his own. His tongue works in circles against you, giving you a taste of what’s to come before sucking a spot that has you burying your hand in his hair and grinding yourself down on him with need. He licks a hot stripe to your ear so he can whisper in it. In an instant he’s flipping you around on your back and grinding his pelvis against yours, allowing the dark desire to consume him.
“You like that, princess? You like feeling my cock on that sweet pussy of yours?”
“Yeah,” you whine, circling your legs around his hips. You can’t manage much more than that breathy reply, he is intoxicating and already you are drunk on his fumes.
“I hear it’s the sweetest. Made me so fucking jealous to hear Tae talk about you like that. You’ll let me have a taste, won’t you? Let me show you how good I can make you feel?”
“God did Tae just go around telling everyone?” you pause when the friction rubs against your clit just right. “Oh fuck,” you moan, imaging the pillowy soft press of his lips on your more intimate areas.
He chuckles in response. “No,” he assures you. “Just Jungkook and me. Don’t worry,” he says, persuading you with a careful roll of his hips that has his shaft parting your folds despite the layers of clothing between you. “He won’t talk about it anymore, and you’ll forget all about it by the time we’re done here. I’m gonna eat your sweet little cunt until mine are the only lips you remember.”
“Please,” you whimper, drawing him into a needy kiss.
His fingers dip into the band of your panties and he teases and tugs at them until you’re squirming and begging him to take them off. His lips trail wet kisses down to your breasts and he pauses to take your nipple into his mouth as he carefully works your last remaining piece of clothing down your legs.
Nudging your legs apart again, he settles between them, ghosting the pads of his fingers up the inside of your thigh as he drags your nipple gently with his teeth. He switches to repeat the action on the other side and cautiously slips a finger between your folds, parting them and testing your wetness. Much to his delight, he already finds you soaked.
“Jimin,” you breathe out. “Please.”
“Be patient for me, princess. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” He sits back on his knees between your thighs and uses his thumbs to smear your arousal over your lips. He groans something deep and tortured when he spreads them open.
“Y/n, holy fuck,” he whispers. “You’re perfect. So perfect.”
Heat rises to your cheeks at his praise. It feels like some kind of worship the way he looks down at your cunt, watching his fingers disappear inside you. His satisfied hum is like a hymn to the divine way your hot, slick walls squeeze him, a prayer to the mere idea of having that wet heat wrapped around his needy cock.
“Tae didn’t tell me you were so tight,” Jimin admits, looking up at you under his eyelashes.
“He only used his mouth,” you tell him, throwing your arm over your eyes. “I’ll never forget his lips if you keep talking about him.”
That seems to spark a fire in Jimin. His eyes grow dark and wild. He wants to ruin you. He presses his lips to the inside of your thigh and begins sucking marks into the soft flesh while his fingers continue to pump inside of you. He slowly works his way down, making sure the red spots he leaves behind are sufficient enough to last for days. He makes sure you’ll have the reminder of his face between your legs every time you look down.
“Jimin don’t tease,” you beg, bucking your hips up to seek the warmth of his breath.
“I’m not teasing,” he chides. “I am savoring.” He curls his fingers and presses his thumb to your clit, making your legs jolt. “Trust the process.”
“Jimin–,” you start again, but you’re cut off by the first touch of his lips. It’s barely there, just the ghost of a kiss on your mound. It’s immediately followed by the flat of his tongue, pressing down as he moves it lower, slipping his fingers out as he descends. His tongue parts your folds instead, circling your dripping hole and then dipping inside it.
“Mmmmm,” he hums. “Fuck, you’re sweet.” He spreads you with his thumbs again and goes back for more, lapping at your wet cunt, swirling around your clit, sucking your folds into his lips. But it’s not just the action, it’s the drive behind it. He’s insatiable, moaning at the taste, bucking his hips into the mattress when you whine for him.
Your fingers tangle through his silver hair, twisting and pulling as he devotes himself to your undoing. He moves with you when you grind up against his jaw, stealing a glance up at your face. Jimin feels his cock twitch at the sight of you; breasts heaving, mouth hanging open, eyes squeezed shut. He’s leaking so much precum he can feel it soaking through his boxer-briefs. He’s almost afraid he’s going to lose it and cum in his pants.
“You gonna cum for me, princess?” he asks, lifting his face to push his fingers back inside. He pumps them hard, curling and searching for that elusive spot while he presses soft kisses to your clit. He alternates between flicking his tongue and rubbing against it with his lips, pausing every few seconds to whisper encouragements with warm breath puffed over your swollen bud.
“Come on, baby. Do it for me. Cum for me, princess. Let me taste it.”
“Please Jimin. Pleeeeease. I need you to suck it. Suck it harder,” you beg. “Right there. There! Don’t stop! Please! I’m so close.”
Jimin keeps steady for you despite your trembling thighs. He pounds your g-spot while he sucks as hard as you can take. Your mind goes totally blank, consumed by an orgasm so powerful you can see fireworks bursting behind your eyelids. Heat spreads from your core down your legs, up your spine.
“I’m cu— cumming— Jimiiiiin!” you cry, legs trapping his head like a vice. Your fingers leave his hair in favor of squeezing at your breasts as you ride out your orgasm. You buck your hips when he doesn’t let up after you’ve come down from your high.
“Take your pants off,” you pant, shoving at his head.
He finally pops off with a grin, his chin and lips covered in your slick.
“What if I’m not finished down here?” he teases, dipping his head back down to lick a stripe up your slit. Your whole body jumps when he touches your clit with the tip of his tongue. “Oh?” he feigns shock. “Sensitive?” he smugly asks, going back for one more taste.
“I wanna suck your cock,” you tell him, lazily pulling your legs up and turning your body away from him. You keep your eyes on him as you turn just enough to hang your head off the edge of the bed.
“Are you for real right now?” he asks, standing slowly. The tent in his pants is obscene.
“Please, Jimin. Just a little bit?”
“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he sighs, tugging the zipper down on his jeans and letting them and his underwear fall to his ankles. He kicks them off and steps in front of you, smiling down at your upside down face, a little dumbfounded to have you wanting and willing to have him like this.
Your mouth waters at the sight of the swollen mauve tip standing at attention. He’s rock hard and so thick you’re not sure you can take him in your mouth, or your cunt for that matter. You’re glad he warmed you up with his fingers because you’re already clenching tight at the thought of that thick cock splitting you in two.
He reaches for the row of condoms as you take him in your hand and give him a few pumps. Just as he rips off one of the packets, you guide him towards the entrance of your mouth. You swirl your tongue against the tip and he drops everything, focusing on the way you tease him instead.
He inhales sharply. “Fuck. Who’s the tease now?”
You run your tongue along his shaft and smile when you get to the tip, giving it a quick kiss. “I’m savoring. What happened to trusting the process?”
He drags his lip through his teeth and clenches his jaw as you put his patience to the test but lucky for him you’re kind. He doesn’t have to wait long. You close your lips around him a moment later, reaching around his hips to guide him deeper, controlling the depth of his thrusts until he learns your limits and leans over you. With his hands on your breasts he rolls his hips. He can feel the tip of his cock bumping the back of your throat. He moans when you gag around him.
“That’s it, princess. Suck it. Just like that,” he praises.
Jimin is careful with his pace, and tender with his touch when he twists your nipples. He thinks he’s in control. He thinks he can take this just fine, despite the fact that your mouth feels fucking incredible. It’s when he watches you part your thighs and slip your hand between them to finger yourself while he fucks your mouth that he realizes he’s got none of the control he was so certain of. His balls tighten and he pulls out quickly and squeezes them, pinching at the tip of his cock and leaving you gasping for the breath you couldn’t catch with him in your mouth.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck. I need a second,” he huffs, eyes closed, standing perfectly still. He breathes slowly and deeply. If you could peek into his brain you’re sure you’d see any number of boring things trying to distract him from the image of you fucking yourself with your fingers while you sucked his cock. It’s futile. He’s certain he’ll see it in his dreams.
“Did I do something wrong?” you wonder, shuffling around so that you’re laying back on your pillows.
Jimin ignores your question. He knows you’re well aware he almost came in your mouth. “I need to be inside you like, now,” he says, picking up the condom again.
You watch him tear it open and roll it on with his one knee pressed into the mattress and his other foot on the floor.
“Come on then,” you coax, opening your legs for him to crawl between.
He pushes two fingers inside you on his way up, dragging them out slowly and smearing your wetness around your pussy before he lines his cock up and sinks in to the hilt in one smooth press.
You gasp as he fills you, feeling the stretch of his girth, and he hushes your whimpering and brushes his nose against yours. “I’m sorry baby,” he soothes. “I’ll go slow.” He seals the promise with a kiss before hiking your legs up high around his waist and wrapping his arms around you.
He lies still like this, waiting for the green light while he kisses you breathless. He moves to your neck when you break away to inhale, sucking more little bruises in the skin there. “Tell me when.”
“Move,” you moan. “Move. Fuck me.”
Jimin pulls out slowly, leaving just the tip inside. He pushes back in just as slow, repeating the action several times until it looks like you’re about to cry.
You need it so badly. It feels cruel to have him rocking so gently inside you when all you want is to be ruined by him. “Harder,” you plead.
“Are you sure?”
“Don’t make me beg,” you whine.
“What if I want you to beg?” he jokes, dropping his hips against you. It’s almost hard enough to satisfy you.
“Then I’ll beg.”
Jimin groans, dropping his head to your shoulder as he sets a brutal pace. He pounds into you, forcing the air from your lungs with his powerful thrusts, rolling his hips like his life depends on it. “You’re so fucking good for me, princess. So tight. Feels so fucking good.”
“Go faster,” you tell him, grabbing a handful of his ass.
Shifting higher on his knees, he picks up the pace. Sweat beads on his forehead and over his lip. It beads in the dip of his cupid’s bow and you lick it away before raking his bottom lip through your teeth.
“You feel my fat cock baby?“ he asks. You moan in response pulling your legs higher so he can fuck you even deeper. "You like the way I fill you, don’t you? Want me to fuck you full of my cum? Take it,” he grunts. “You take it so fucking well. You gonna cum for me again, baby?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts.
Jimin pulls out when you start to clench, not quite edging you but stealing the pleasure you were high on nonetheless. You whine at the loss of him, walls fluttering wildly around nothing.
"Can we try something?” he asks, lifting your legs and putting them to the side.
“What did you have in mind?” you wonder. You reach for his cock but he’s already moving, nudging at your hips until you turn.
“Up on your knees for me, princess,” he instructs. He kneels behind you once you’re in position and smooths his hand up your spine, guiding you gently down onto your elbows. “Is this okay?”
“It’s good,” you assure him, wiggling your hips a little to get him moving again.
He teases your slit with the tip of his cock, dragging it through your folds and rubbing it against your clit. Finally, he pushes back inside you, coaxing a fresh wave of arousal with the stretch of his girth. It’s deeper like this and impossibly you feel even more full than you did before.
“Oh, Jimin,” you sigh, dropping your face into your folded arms. “Jimin.”
“Good?” He folds himself over you, pressing his chest to your back and sliding his hands from your hips to your breasts.
You thrust yourself back into him as you answer. “Perfect. You?”
It takes him by surprise but he follows your lead. He drives himself into your cunt while massaging your breasts and kissing your back. “Fuck, y/n…” he moans, letting his teeth drag over your shoulder before he bites down.
You hiss at the sting and he soothes it with his tongue and puckered lips.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous taking my cock like this. Feel how deep I am. You’re squeezing me so tight, baby.”
“Jimin? Jimin, I need—,” you gasp out between thrusts.
“What, princess? What do you need?” he questions, releasing a breast to play with your clit instead. “Want me to pull your hair? Want me to fill you with my cum?”
“I wanna ride you.”
“Oh, fuck.” Jimin pulls back immediately.
He lays down beside you and grabs at your waist, guiding you over his cock and holding on tight as you drop your weight and take him completely. Swiveling your hips, you set a pace slow and steady. Jimin’s thumbs rubs soft circles into your skin as you move.
“Go faster,” he urges, unable to keep his hips from rising to meet yours.
You shake your head ‘no’ and continue with your slow rolling pace.
“Please, y/n. Ride it like you wanna cum with me.”
Smirking devilishly, you slow down even more and lean over him with your hands on either side of his head.
He looks down, watching your breasts sway and the way his cock disappears over and over.
“Fuck, y/n. PLEASE,” he whines, roughly grabbing your hips and pounding up into you.
Your startled laugh quickly turns into desperate cries of his name. His cock hits your g-spot directly. It feels so good you don’t even think you need him to touch your clit to make you cum. But he does. He pinches your bud between his fingers while he slams into you, growling and moaning and begging you to cum with him.
“I’m close,” he grunts, licking his fingers and rubbing furiously at your clit.
“Me too,” you whine. “I’m gonna—”
You don’t have time to finish the thought as he takes you over the edge with him. He slams his head back against the pillows as he pumps his hips and cums to the wild pulsing of your orgasm. Your cunt milks every last drop from him and you cry his name, clutching his wrists and letting your head fall back so you can wail your pleasure at the ceiling.
Jimin gasps, picking up his head to look down at how your pussy spreads open around him. Your slick cum coats the condom and his mouth waters, remembering the sweet tang of your taste. You’ve barely stopped grinding on him when he sits up to push you down on your back.
Pulling out, he kneels beside the bed and pulls you to the edge by your legs so he can gently lick you clean. He exhales a hot and heavy breath, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before standing up to peel the loaded condom off his softening cock.
“That was… wow,” you pant, staring up at the ceiling for a moment as you try to regain your breath.
He’s already back at your side, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you towards his chest.
“Yeah,” he agrees while softly combing his fingers through your hair. He’s tired.
You smile against his sweaty chest and plant a soft salty kiss against him. Through the corner of your eye you see the row of untouched condoms on your nightstand. “We’ve got a lot left. Wanna go again?”
He hums a deep throaty sound and laughs when your hand falls to his limp cock. “I want to, but I need a bit to recharge. I can make you cum again while we wait. Do you want that, baby?”
“I always want that. But you don’t have to.”
The groan in his throat sounds croaky as he leans in to kiss your forehead. “I want to.”
He reaches down to wedge his fingers between your thighs and your whole body jumps at the sensitive sensation. How dare your body betray you in this moment?
“Seems like you might need time to recharge too,” he teases while nuzzling against the top of your head and squeezing you in a warm embrace against him. “I’m okay with just laying here and holding you.”
“Yeah?” You smile and cross your leg over his to get more comfortable. “Mmm. You can always help me study for the next test while you’re here.”
Laughter bubbles from his throat. “Are you trying to seduce me for answers to the exam? You know I don’t grade them, right.”
You roll your eyes and scoff, barely containing your giggles as you look up at him. “I don’t think I need to seduce anyone for answers. My head feels a little clearer now.”
“Oh? Why’s that?” he prods while playfully ghosting his fingers down your side.
“Because I know I can be distracted outside of class now instead. I mean, if you wanna keep doing this,” you explain while nervously drumming your fingertips on his chest. “I know I’m not anything special, but—”
Jimin lifts your chin and pulls you into a deep kiss. “You are,” he whispers when he pulls away.
You lick your lips and blink a few times. “I was gonna say you make me feel like I am the most special vanilla ice cream cone on the planet.”
His shy, warm smile fills your stomach with butterflies even as he makes his joke. “Want me to lick you up?”
“And so much more.”
It’s a weighted confession. You sit up to look at him so he knows this. He purses his lips and casts his away. He was avoiding this conversation.
“I don’t know how much more I can give you. I want to be what you deserve, but things are so hard right now. I don’t know that I can be someone who’s good enough for you. You deserve to be showered in gifts and taken on dates. You deserve to be given flowers every day. I don’t even have a car to take you somewhere for a vacation. I’m not sure I can be what you want.”
“Just be yourself,” you state plainly, cupping your hand around his jaw. “That’s what I want. So far I like the person I see. I like you, the real you.”
“I like you too,” he blurts, eyes snapping back to meet yours. “But I can’t afford—”
You press a finger to his lips. “I don’t need expensive dates or fancy gifts. I don’t need you to take care of me— well, last night was the exception and you didn’t need money for that. I just want you to be with me. Talk with me. Spend time with me. Maybe have lots of sex? I don’t know, we can figure out the rest later.” You laugh, embarrassed by your own boldness.
“You see everything that I am and you still want me.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re amazing. Now I know for sure you’re too good for me. But,” he pauses and slips his hands into yours, “I want to keep seeing you. I like talking to you and the more time I spend with you, the more certain I feel about the choices I’ve made. No one’s ever made me feel so free. I want to hold onto that feeling. I want to hold onto you.”
You tell yourself not to cry as you straddle his waist and hover above his lips. “I’m yours then. Are you mine?”
He catches your lips between his and buries his hands in your hair. “I’m yours.”