Happy Birthday To The Moon That Lights My Life, My Happy Pill, My Mochi~~ Happy Birthday Jiminie!!
Happy birthday to the moon that lights my life, my happy pill, my mochi~~ happy birthday jiminie!!
I wish you a hundredfold of the happiness you give me. Saranghae jiminah! đâš
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More Posts from Chimchimmarie
Damn it. Heâs hot!!!
đ„
I love this. đ„Č
the shape of your body (explicit)
genre: fluffy slowburn smut
pairing: jimin x reader
summary:Â the same day you finally manage to speak to your months-long public transit crush, you end up seeing much more of him than you bargained for.
word count:Â 24k đââïž
contains: explicit sexual content~*~ (after a slow burn lmao) - new york city grad school AU, strangers to lovers, reader is an art student, public transit thirsting, jimin is a dancer and a nude model, namgi and vhope as side characters, basically everyone is gay (they're ART STUDENTS in NEW YORK CITY it's called realism đ ), a smidge of member x member side character relationships, jimin is biromantic demisexual đ, conversations about body image issues/past relationship struggles/demisexuality and libido, soooo much making out, a couple "failed attempts" at sex, accidental voyeurism (but not how you think lmao YOU'LL SEE), showering together non-sexually, and: fingering, clit stim, nipple play, come eating/sharing đ€ an attempted blowjob, face sitting, & protected sex (multiple rounds đ„”)
A/N: asjdshgkdfjgs i can't believe it's done đ there were so many times i thought i would never finish this fic !!! i have too many friends to thank for talking me off of SEVERAL ledges where i was convinced this whole thing was trash and that i should just stick to short porn or perhaps simply never write again. i'm so glad i saw this one through because there are concepts in here that are deeply important and personal to me wehhh đ« i sincerely hope y'all enjoy this one!! thank u for enduring mostly radio silence while i was in jimin lockdown, and of course, happy early birthday to mini, the light of my mf life đ„°đ (oh and LDOMLT ch 8 is coming next so buckle tf up bitches đ)
an eternity of smooches to @haliiimede for beta reading and just generally being the best fucking person on planet earth âš
read on AO3!
~*~
Youâve taken the subway thousands of times since moving to New York.
Morning rides, squeezed nearly to death between commuters in suits blinking back sleep and school-uniformed kids scream-laughing and paper coffee cups gripped tight by winter-numb fingers.
Long trips with your sketchbook on your lap, riding the line all the way to Pelham Bay Park and back, to surface above ground out where thereâs a little more space to breathe, until the setting sun floods orange glow between the buildings just before you descend again.
Late nights coming home, Namjoonâs head thudding back against the train window behind him as he dozes off, one arm thrown around your shoulder to ward off any drunk creeps, his free hand interlaced with Yoongiâs on his other side.
Itâs always been the three of you, first in friendship, and now that the two of them have figured out theyâre something more, you donât mind it. But when itâs late and youâve had enough drinks to feel warm all the way through, to melt something open inside of you, and you glance over to see a loving flicker of eyelashes exchanged as Namjoon leans down and presses a kiss to Yoongiâs temple, you canât help it.
Thereâs a little bit of an ache there, right behind your ribs. Sometimes.
But mostly, when it comes to the train, you take the 6 to school. You go through the motions this morning the same as you always do: headphones around your neck, bag slung over your shoulder, immediately dropping into the first empty seat you see as the train doors shudder closed and the car starts to move. Six stops down, 51st street to Astor Place, five days a week, you know it like a heartbeat.
You just wish you knew him, too.
Subway Boy, as Yoongi affectionately labeled him the time you got two pitchers of margaritas deep and made the mistake of confessing to your roommates about your crushâ if it can even be called that. Can you truly have a crush on someone you know nothing about, not even their name?
Well, you know a few things.
He must live further north than you, because on the days you see him, heâs already on the train when you board at 51st.
He must like music, because he always has a set of fancy bluetooth earbuds in.
Youâre pretty sure heâs an athlete of some sort, because heâs usually carrying a gym bagâand because during this summerâs heat wave, the one and only time youâve seen him wear shorts, you nearly fainted at the thick, defined muscles of his thighs.
He has an affinity for jewelry, delicate silver always glinting through the multiple piercings in his ears. At odds with this, he seems to prefer to dress comfortably, and youâve seen him in enough branded school t-shirts and sweats to figure he must also be an NYU student, though you canât say for sure if heâs undergrad or graduate.
You deeply hope youâre not crushing on someone who still needs a fake ID to drink, but thereâs no way to be certain.
Most importantly, you know that he is absolutely stunning. Elegantly handsome, with expressive deep brown eyes, skin like glass, and round cheeks and full lips that flush frozen pink on particularly frigid New York days. His hair has changed colors a few times over the months that have passed since you first took notice of him, but itâs currently a honey blonde, and long enough that he often reaches up to card a hand through it. He does it now, pushing loose strands back to expose his forehead as he frowns down at his phone.
On days where you share the same car, you notice very little else that happens on the ride, thoroughly entranced in Subway Boyâs beauty and his mystery. The train could probably catch fire and youâd miss it entirely.
Today happens to be one of those days, and excitement glitters in your bloodstream as you realize heâs seated across from you. The rush of seeing him always feels like its own reward, some kind of cosmic sign that the day is going to be a good one.
And then the train stops moving.
Thereâs an audible reaction from a few people in the car, and you glance up a moment later when a voice buzzes over the intercom. Youâre able to make out âattention passengersâ and very little after that, just the basics about some sort of unforeseen interruption of service and that the train should resume moving again soon.
You sigh, knowing very well that the MTAâs definition of âsoonâ does not often align with typical human expectations. Figuring youâve got some time to kill, you reach into your bag to retrieve your sketchbook and the first pencil you can dig out of the bottom.
âWhat did they say?â A voice, quiet and deep, surprises you before you can even flip to your in-progress page.
You glance up to find Subway Boy staring at you, forearms braced on his knees as he leans forward into the gap between his seat and yours. Heâs got one bluetooth earbud pinched between his fingertips and a confused look on his face, having clearly missed the announcement.
Heat floods your face at the feeling of his eyes fixed on you, and it takes you a second to form a response. âUhâ I didnât get most of it. Something about unforeseen interruption. And that weâll be moving again soon.â
A muscle works in his jaw as he rolls his eyes. âTypical.â
âI donât think they know what âsoonâ means,â you murmur, mostly to yourself as you tear your gaze away from Subway Boy and return to the sketchbook in your lap, rifling through to find your latest half-finished drawing. When you hear him huff a laugh, you have to bite down on the hopeful smile that threatens to shine across your face.
âDefinitely not.â
You force yourself to keep your eyes on the page, assuming Subway Boy must go back to his music when he falls silent after his last comment.
With featherlight flicks of your pencil, you start to add a little depth to the quick study you were working on last night, Yoongiâs half-peeled tangerine that he left abandoned on the coffee table when he stepped out onto the fire escape for a smoke.
Subway Boyâs voice catches you off guard a second time. âAre you drawing?â
You bite down on your lip again, a nervous habit, and you nod as you tilt the page so he can see from across the car.
âWow.â You wonder if youâre imagining the way his voice seems to soften a little. âYouâre really good. Are you an artist?â
You canât help itâ your gaze flits up to meet his again. Itâs nearly overwhelming to lock eyes with your Subway Boy and hear him compliment you, like something out of a wild daydream. âI guess so,â you remark, the corner of your mouth tugging up into a small smile as you say it. âIâve certainly paid NYU enough money in my attempts to become one.â
âKnow the feeling,â he scoffs, but his eyes smile back, pulled into crescent moons.
âWhat did you pay them for?â
âCurrently, a dual MFA/MA in dance and⊠teaching dance. Really went all-in on the dancer thing.â
âOh.â Your eyes widen automatically. Youâve wonderedâ and yes, occasionally drunkenly speculated with your roommatesâ what Subway Boyâs line of work might be, but you have no idea why dancer never occurred to you. Because now all the pieces suddenly fall together in front of you: the toned muscles that flex beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt, the natural grace he exudes, not to mention his perfect posture.
Of course heâs a dancer. It makes perfect sense.
It occurs to you, a beat too late, that a wide-eyed âohâ is not the most normal response to a truly innocuous answer to a question asked of a random stranger.
But the smile in his eyes doesnât falter. âI feel like I see you on this train a lot.â
Your stomach flutters like butterfly wings, and you have to look away, back down to the safety of your sketchbook. âReally?â
Thereâs an extra pause before he speaks again. âMan, sorry. Think I misread that. Now I feel creepy. I promise Iâve only noticed you a normal amount.â Your eyes snap back up to find him wincing slightly, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck.
âNo, no, Iâmâ itâs notââ you stammer, trying to recover. âI, uhâ me too, I have too. Noticed you. A normal amount. I⊠I donât know why I just pretended like I didnât.â
Subway Boy leans forward, head dropping down with a genuine laugh that shakes his shoulders, and you canât help but laugh too, out of sheer embarrassment. Heâs beaming when he rights himself again, and it sends a thrill buzzing through you, all the way down to your fingertips still clutched tight to your pencil.
âThat makes me feel better,â he admits. âAt least weâre both creepy.â
As if the universe itself is intervening to save you from any further humiliation, the train shudders back to life and begins to move again. The sigh you breathe is a strange mixture of relief and disappointment.
âThatâs definitely a new record,â you say shyly as you move to shove your things back in your bag. âMaybe the MTA actually looked up what âsoonâ means.â
His focus is tracked over your shoulder when you look up again, and his eyes dance left to right to chase the patterns in the subway tile as you pull into the next station.
âGuess itâs a miracle,â he says softly, not making eye contact.
âMust be,â you murmur back, letting your gaze drop to the floor, unable to hide your smile now.
He doesnât say anything else, and neither do you, but the warm flush stays in your face for the rest of the ride. When the train pulls into the Astor Place station, you and Subway Boy get to your feet simultaneously, so quickly that your bags knock together as you pull them over your shoulders.
âSorry,â you say in unison, immediately sharing an exhaled laugh at the synchronicity of the moment.
The doors slide open and he gestures for you to go first before following after. Itâs a surpriseâ heâs never gotten off at Astor before, and when he doesnât take the option of heading in another direction but instead falls into lockstep next to you, you seize the opportunity.
âAstor Place today, huh?â You hope the observation still falls into the category of ânoticing a normal amountâ.
âYeah, first day of a new gig. What about you? Class?â
You nod. âPretty standard stuff. But we start a new unit today, so thatâs fun.â
âYou in grad school too?â
âYup, MFA in studio art.â You canât help but tease, just a little. âOnly one masterâs degree for me, Iâm such a slacker.â
His eyes squint again as he smiles. âHey, Iâm just glad youâre not, like, eighteen.â
âI thought that too!â You keep talking before you can stop yourself. âI mean, when I was⊠noticing. I distinctly remember thinking, like, please let me not be thirsting over a straight-up child right now.â
âAhh...â Subway Boy trails off, and you can see a faint pink starting to blossom in the apples of his cheeks. âYou were thirsting?â
You canât help but scrunch your nose up slightly, resisting the urge to full-body cringe at your own stupid mouth. âWe are now officially both creepy.â
He fidgets a little with the strap of the dance bag slung over his shoulder. âHopefully Iâm living up to the hype.â
Youâre grateful to reach the art building before you can dig your grave any deeper. You nod your head in the direction of the glass doors as you slow to a stop, and he does, too. âThis is me.â
âItâs actually me, too,â he remarks, glancing up at the building as if to double-check. âBut I have a little bit, so Iâm gonna grab a coffee I think. But it was nice to finally talk to you. Not thatâ sorry, that was weird. Take out the finally. It was good to talk. Meet a fellow starving artist and all.â
You worry your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment, until you finally work up the courage to ask the question. âDo you have a name?â
âOh!â His eyes widen, more heat-blush coloring his face. âYeah. Park Jimin. Probably couldâve led with that.â
You give him your name, and his voice is like music when he repeats it back.
âWell, good luck in class,â Jimin says with a nod. âAnd hopefully Iâll see you around sometime.â A smile toys at the corner of his mouth, and then he pauses as his words seem to catch up to him. âWell, I mean. I guess I know I will. On theâ trainâ yeah, Iâm gonna go before I say any more stupid things.â
âBye Jimin,â you giggle, and he gives a shy departing wave before he spins on his heel. As he walks away, you canât help but notice the way he drops his gaze and shakes his head, like heâs thoroughly embarrassed by his social performance.
And just like that, Subway Boy has a nameâ one that loops in your head as you float to class, barely feeling your feet touch the floor. Park Jimin. Itâs sweet like him, warm sunshine in your veins as you shoulder open the door to the studio, grab a seat, and start to get set up.
A voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin as Kim Taehyung leans in, having occupied the seat next to you while you were off in la-la land. âKnow what the new unit is?â You start to shake your head, then realize it was a rhetorical question when he waggles his eyebrows and continues. âLife drawing. Ready for some naked people?â
You roll your eyes and grab at the strings of his gray beanie, pulling it down over his fluffy hair and eyes in one swift tug. âBro, we are literally in grad school. Stop acting like a virgin.â
âLike you werenât thinking it too,â he grumbles to himself as he shoves the hat back up his forehead.
You shoot him a look as your professor signals the class to settle and launches in. Itâs the same routine as each unit youâve rotated through in your graduate studio, so you only half-listen, mostly distracted by Taehyung tearing open the paper wrapper of a red heart-shaped lollipop and popping it into his mouth. His latest oral fixation in his millionth attempt to quit vaping.
You lean down to dig into your bag, trying to ignore the sound of hard candy clacking against teeth as you fish out both pencils and charcoal to give yourself options. You pull a couple of each out of their cases, glancing up in an attempt to refocus on the professor, who is still talking.
It takes a second for your brain to process the image in front of you. His shy smile has been replaced with a serious, professional expression, but thereâs no questioning the familiar face, the posture, the silver jewelry, the way he reaches up to run a hand through his hair. Subway Boy Park Jimin is standing in the center of the room, wearing a short black satin dressing gown.
Your jaw goes slack. It feels like it happens in slow motion as you watch Jiminâs strong hands move down to undo the sash at his waist before he shrugs off the flimsy fabric and lets it fall to the floor. And then heâs not wearing anything at all.
You lose your grip entirely on your handful of pencils, and they hit the studio floor with a clatter that certainly feels deafening, each one choosing to roll off in a different direction.
Taehyung glances over at you, brow slightly creased. The lollipop tucked in his cheek impedes his speech slightly, but not enough that you canât understand him. âNow whoâs the virgin?â
You crouch down, praying that maybe you can gather your things unnoticed, but it already feels like every pair of eyes in the room is burning a hole in your back. To his credit, Taehyung at least helps a little, extending a sandaled foot to kick any pencils he can reach over towards you. You scramble around the room to chase after the rest, and you canât bear to look up and see if Jimin is watching you or not. Youâre not sure which would be worse.
Fighting the urge to army crawl out of the room, you grip both hands tightly around your materials as you return to your seat, then tuck everything into the tray of the easel in front of you. Youâre a professional, you tell yourself. Itâs not like itâs your first time drawing someone nude.
Itâs just your first time doing it when you happen to have a crush on them.
But itâs fine. You let out an exhale to ground yourself, then pick up a pencil. Itâs just a body.
You vaguely recall hearing your professor explain that youâd be moving through ten quick-sketch poses to begin with, each held for only a few minutes, before switching to a few longer sessions for the rest of class. As you were too busy chasing your pencils around the room, youâve missed the first pose entirely, and you have to work quickly to get a very rough outline of the second before Jimin moves again at the professorâs instruction.
He switches so fluidly from one pose to the next, and you have so little time, itâs enough to get you out of your head just trying to keep up. You find yourself falling comfortably into a flow state, focused on little more than lines and shapes in front of you and the act of reproducing them on your page. Itâs an exercise you know well, and the repetition of it soothes you.
The studio is quiet, save for the scratching of pencils on paper and the soft classical music your professor has switched on.
By the time you finish sketching the tenth pose, it feels like you can breathe a little easier, and your professor offers Jimin a quick break just as you lean back to admire your work. You do your best to quickly duck behind your easel as he stretches, then reaches for a bottle of water set on a nearby table.
Taehyung removes his sheet of sketches and sets it aside before leaning in, pressing his face against his easel to match yours. âHeâs cute. Bet he gets like, infinite ass-pussy. Just the absolute most.â
âShut up, Tae!â You jerk your foot out to kick the leg of his chair, and a boxy grin stretches over his face as he giggles. You stare daggers back. âYouâre too damn horny today. Like you didnât just get your ass eaten in the supply closet last week.â The rumor had spread through your cohort practically overnightâ probably started by Taehyung himself.
The menace in question shoots you an over-exaggerated wink. âAnd Iâd do it again, too.â
You roll your eyes. âNasty.â
The professor claps to get everyoneâs attention again, and you peer around your easel to watch as Jimin resumes his place at the center of the room. You settle in for the first of a few longer, more detailed sketches, trying desperately to keep your cool about it. But Jimin is unquestionably gorgeous.
He turns to the side for the first pose, arms wrapped around his muscular torso and eyes downcast, fingertips and thumb resting over his neck and chin as if to cradle his own face in his hand. After a long stretch of time where you manage to get most of a sketch done, the professor cues him to move into a second pose, and he faces the back wall, reaching up to drape his arms over each other, crossed wrists resting delicately on the crown of his head.
You could easily see him as a statue carved out of marble, and you try to ignore the flutter of your heartbeat as you attempt to translate his beauty onto your page each time. You have to hold in several sighs as you work on outlining the strong, toned muscles of his back and thighsâ not to mention his perky ass. You canât help but wonder if the rest of the class is struggling silently, too.
Youâre beginning to think you might survive after all when the professor asks Jimin to move again and he does, shaking his body out slightly before reaching to grab a provided stool and shift it to the center of the room. He takes a seat, abdominals flexing as he leans back on his hands and unabashedly lets his legs fall open.
Fuck. You nearly snap your pencil in half.
You try desperately to keep it together as you start your third sketch with unsteady hands. The minutes tick by, and you arenât aware of Taehyungâs eyes on your paper until you hear his stupid whisper again. âWhy arenât you drawing his dick?â
Heâs not wrong. There is a noticeable blank spot at the center of your page. âIâm getting there,â you huff. âWorry about your own sketch, Tae.â
âGirl, you are literally doing detail shading on his legs and he doesnât even have a penis. What is he, a Ken doll?â
You grit your teeth and refuse to dignify Taehyung with a response. Fine. You can do this, you tell yourself. Donât think. Just look and draw. Itâs not a big deal.
With a hard swallow, you trace your eyes down his body, and⊠well, you donât know what you were expecting. Itâs just a soft penis resting limp between his legs, framed by an extremely regular pair of balls. Nothing scary, though you canât quite will the heat back out of your face, canât manage to silence the recurring thought that makes your stomach dropâ itâs cute.
You resist the urge to smack your head against your easel as you finally fill in your sketchâs dick.
You somehow manage to survive the rest of class, but relief still floods your veins when your professor signals for everyone to wrap up what theyâre doing for the day. Jimin starts to come alive again from the fixed pose, tilting his head to one side until something cracks audibly in his neck. You tear your gaze away for fear that his eyes might find yours, and shove everything into your bag as quickly as you can, not even caring what ends up where.
âWhereâs the fire?â Taehyung questions beside you, but you ignore him.
You zip your bag up and sling it over your shoulder, then make a beeline for the exit, keeping your eyes fixed firmly on the floor. Itâs only once the studio door swings shut behind you that you feel like you can breathe again, and you have to keep yourself from outright sprinting to your next class.
~*~
The rest of the day rushes by in an overwhelming blur, your focus entirely shot by the events of the morning. You collapse into a seat on your train home, hugging your bag to your chest, thankful for the first time in your life to not be sharing a subway car with Park Jimin.
When you turn your keys in the lock and stumble in the front door of the apartment, the divine smell of what could only be Yoongiâs cooking immediately hits you full-force. You find him in the kitchen with a towel thrown over his shoulder, searing a large steak in a cast iron pan for what must be a planned date night with Namjoon.
You wrap your arms around his tiny waist from behind as you approach. He responds with his usual greeting: a soft grunt of mild discomfort.
âCan I ask you a question?â you ask, trying to sound as sweet as possible.
âYou just did,â Yoongi notes.
You decide to let his sass go, since you really do need help. âTwo more?â Yoongi hums, somewhat affirmative, and you continue. âI know you work like 47 jobs and never get any time offââ
âSome of us have to pay rent without the luxury of stipends or rich parents, yesââ
âBut is there any way I could⊠maybe possibly encroach upon your date night just this once? Itâs an emergency. I need advice.â
Yoongi sighs, and you shift to peek over his shoulder, arms still wrapped around him as you watch the way he tilts the pan to one side, collecting butter on a spoon to baste over the steak as it cooks. You squish your cheek into his bicep.
âLucky for you,â he begins, his tone relenting, âNamjoonie just called. Theyâve got him working late to prep for the exhibition next month. So date night was canceled anyway.â
âAw, Yoongiiiii.â You squeeze him tight enough that he makes another disgruntled noise, and you finally release your grip. âIâll be your girlfriend tonight.â
He rolls his eyes, but willingly plays along. âThen get the wine, darling?â
You fall into a typical routine: Yoongi pulls a tray of roasted vegetables out of the oven as he lets the steak rest, while you grab a bottle of red at his instruction and fight with the corkscrew in an attempt to get it open. Yoongi watches you, slow-blinking, unamused.
âYou wouldnât last an hour in the restaurant industry.â
âEither help me, or shut up,â you hiss through clenched teeth.
When you finally get settled at your tiny kitchen table, Yoongi nods as if to prompt you while he fills each wine glass with a heavy pour. âLetâs hear it.â
You take a deep breath before launching in and recounting the events of your day, trying not to choke as you simultaneously stuff your face with food. Yoongi eats and listens quietly, no discernible reaction on his face save the occasional lift of his eyebrows. He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest as you finish detailing the way you ran out of the studio the minute class ended.
âAlright. So you saw Subway Boy naked, big deal. Do you know how many dicks Iâve seen?â
You groan. âSpare me the details, please.â
âBut this is what you wanted, right?â You shrug, and he rolls his eyes. âDonât play coy now. Youâve been lusting after this kid for months like a weirdo. So why are you stressed?â
âBecause!â you huff, frustrated. âItâsâ itâs out of order. Itâs not like he chose to get naked in front of me specifically, he obviously just thought it was going to be a roomful of strangers. And it seemed like maybe we could be friends or something, but now I donât know if I should keep pursuing that or just leave him alone. I want to be respectful, but I donât want him to think I took one look at his penis and decided I didnât like him anymore, but then itâs like, how do I hold a conversation when he and I both know I have seen his penis, not only seen but studied it, drawn it, and will continue to, weekly, in detail, from multiple anglesââ
âYou are absolutely overthinking this,â Yoongi laughs into his glass of wine, downing the rest before he continues. âJust get on the fucking train and say hi like a normal, well-adjusted human. This is my advice to you.â
You sigh as you shove a roasted potato in your mouth. âAt least youâre a good cook.â
âIâm a great cook,â Yoongi corrects you as he gets to his feet. âNow help me with these dishes.â
~*~
Yoongiâs advice continues to echo in your brain as you lapse back into something like normalcy for the rest of the week.
When the day of your studio class rolls around again, you find yourself hustling not to miss the train, having hit snooze on your alarm a few too many times that morning. You fly down the subway steps just as the 6 is pulling into the station, and you try to ignore the way your pulse is already quickening, telling yourself itâs just from rushing and nothing else.
Pulling the strap of your bag up on your shoulder, you make it to the platform just as the train doors slide open, and your heart instantly leaps into your throat. There he is, leaning against a pole, overwhelmingly beautiful as ever. Park Jimin.
Heâs scrolling through something on his phone and hasnât yet looked up to notice you, and you find yourself frozen in place, jostled angrily by commuters exiting and boarding the train on either side of you.
Panic floods your veins. Thereâs no time to talk yourself off the ledge, no time to remember Yoongiâs words of wisdom, no time to do anything but make a snap decision. So you do the only thing that feels right: you turn around and sprint back up the stairs and out of the subway station.
The sidewalk is equally bustling, and you try to dodge people while you think through what to do despite the way your head is spinning. You were already going to be cutting it close for time today, and you donât exactly have the disposable income for a taxi or an Uber. As you try to settle your racing thoughts, your eyes alight on a rack of Citibikes.
Fuck it. You donât have a better option. Securing your bag on your back, you quickly scan the code to unlock the bike, then shove your phone in your pocket and swing your leg over the seat.
Youâve never biked in Manhattan traffic before, but it canât be that difficult, you tell yourself. Definitely easier than sharing a subway car with Park Jimin.
Thankfully the street youâre on has a defined bike path, and you do your best to follow the flow of traffic, squeezing your hand brakes to slow to a stop when you hit a red light. Itâs been years since youâve ridden a bike that wasnât stationary, but it comes back to you relatively easily, likeâ well, riding a bike.
When you hit a long stretch of green lights, you do your best to pick up speed, trying to make up for lost time. An approaching red light threatens to slow you down again, and you breathe a sigh of relief as it flips to green at the last possible second.
Just as your front tire rolls into the intersection, a deafening car horn nearly gives you a heart attack. You instinctively slam your grip tight around your brakes, and your bike screeches to a halt so fast youâre almost flung over the handlebars. A taxi just barely veers around you as it plows down the intersecting avenue, and you gasp for air, adrenaline coursing through your system.
Holy shit.
You drop one foot to the ground for leverage as you try to get your pulse back under controlâ youâre pretty sure you just saw your life flash before your eyes. Reality feels a million miles away, but youâre vaguely aware of someone shouting after the car as it speeds down the street.
âFucking asshole!â
It takes a few seconds for you to realize that itâs a familiar voice, and when you do, you whip around as best you can with a bike between your legs.
âYoongi?!â
âOh my god,â Yoongi groans, knuckles blanching as he presses down on his own brakes. âWhat the fuck are you doing?â
You squint, taking in the helmet strapped over his wavy dark hair and the insulated bag tucked into the basket on the front of his bike. âSince when do you deliver food?â
He grimaces, speaking up to be heard over the noise of traffic. âI just do it to make extra money when my hours suck.â
âWhat about the coffee shop?â
He shakes his head. âThey only have me opening Mondays and Wednesdays right now.â
âWhat about the bar?â
âThatâs just weekends, reliably. Sometimes extra evenings, but only if someone calls out.â
âWhat about theââ
âChrist, woman!â Yoongi cuts you off with a growl. âThe foodâs gonna get cold if I have to sit here and run through my entire rĂ©sumĂ© with you! Are you alright? Why arenât you taking the subway?â
âBecause!â you snap back. âThere is a man on that train whose dick Iâve seen and I⊠I donât know how to handle it! Okay?!â Though you donât intend to raise your voice, it comes out loud enough that a group of high school kids on their phones exchange stifled giggles as they fast-walk around you.
âWell you need to be fucking careful,â Yoongi chides. âBiking in the city is not for the faint of heart. And if Iâm not allowed to give in to my suicidal ideation, youâre not allowed to crack your head open on the pavement all because youâre trying to avoid a penis.â
âFine,â you spit back through gritted teeth. âNow if youâll excuse me, I need to get to class.â You push off the asphalt, legs still shaking a little with excess nerves as you re-find your balance and make your way cautiously through the intersection.
The rush of wind in your ears isnât quite loud enough to drown out Yoongi calling after you as you bike away. âItâs only weird if you make it weird!â
When you somehow make it to Astor Place in one piece, you dock your bike and quickly sprint to the building, well aware that youâre already late. Itâs only once you push the studio door open that you realize how truly frazzled and out of breath you are, and though you keep your gaze fixed on the floor, you can feel every pair of eyes in the room on you. You hold a hand up in an apologetic wave and hurry to find your seat.
Trying to collect yourself, you begin to unpack your materials as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the class. You nearly jump out of your skin when you hear Kim Taehyungâs voice beside you.
âYouâre sweaty. Why are you so sweaty?â
Heâs got an eyebrow cocked when you look over, and you give him the most powerful death glare you can muster, enough that it must actually scare him. âShutting up now,â Taehyung murmurs, voice shaking slightly as he returns to his own sketches, and you huff an exhale as you attempt to catch up to the rest of the group.
Class passes surprisingly quickly once you manage to get your breath back, much in the same way it did the week prior: you do your best to compartmentalize the body in front of you from the human person you have a giant, embarrassing crush on. It goes decently well in the moments where Jimin is frozen in a fixed pose, just lines and curves and light and shadow for you to emulate. During the breaks when he comes alive again, you hide out behind your easel, trying to ignore Taehyungâs inane bullshit and wishing you could disappear entirely.
The second your professor dismisses everyone for the day, you stuff your things back into your bag, hoping to once again speed-walk out of the room.
But despite your better judgment, you canât help yourself this time. As you get to your feet, you glance up to watch Jimin pull his dressing gown back on, only to realize his eyes are already on you.
Youâre distinctly aware of how much of a mess you must look from biking over, and the fact that you almost assuredly smudged charcoal on your face when you reached up absentmindedly to scratch an itch mid-sketch.
Jiminâs plush lips turn up in the smallest of smiles, and the bottom drops out of your stomach.
With a hard swallow, you avert your gaze from his, sling your bag over your shoulder, and quickly make your escape through the studio door. You can feel your pulse pounding in your throat even after heâs out of your sight, and your hands shake like a leaf all the way to your next class.
~*~
That night, sleep evades you until the early hours of the morning, and it feels like youâve only just begun to doze off when the harsh noise of your alarm pulls you up from dreaming. You roll over in bed and glare accusingly at your phone, then shut it off, promptly letting the waves drag you under once more, seminar be damned.
Itâs nearly noon when you finally make it out of bed and stumble into the living room in your sweats. Namjoon is curled up in his reading chair, a feat for someone of his size, surrounded as always by his massive stack of ever-changing âto readâ books. He glances up from the one thatâs open on his lap, clearly surprised to see you.
âNo class?â Namjoonâs voice is rough-edged, like heâs only just woken up himself.
âSkipped,â you grunt. His eyes track you as you cross the room and collapse face-first onto the couch.
âIs this about the penis?â
The cushion muffles your groan. âNot you too.â
You hear the distinct fluttering sound of Namjoon closing his book and shifting in his seat to give you his undivided attention. âSeems like you want to talk about it.â
You turn your head to the side to take in your roommate. âMaybe. Are you gonna give me the same stupid advice your boyfriend did?â
He smiles softly, one dimple flexing at the corner of his mouth. âI can try to be gentler.â
You huff as you flip onto your side, pressing your palms together and slipping them under your cheek. âSounds like youâve got the details already, so please. Enlighten me. Tell me how Iâm supposed to handle seeing this guy naked once a week in the name of art.â
âDidnât William Blake say âArt can never exist without naked beauty displayedâ?â Namjoon poses it like a serious question, brow creased as if in contemplation, and you roll your eyes.
âI donât know, Joon, did he? I said enlighten me, not write me a thesis.â You reach up to grab a couch pillow and fling it in his direction, missing by several inches. âDid Blake have anything in there on dealing with a naked crush and trying not to make it weird as fuck?â
âWell, does he seem weirded out by it?â Namjoon counters, patient as ever.
âI donât know.â You shrug unsurely as you play back your last interaction with Jimin. âHe smiled at me yesterday, at the end of class.â
Namjoon steeples his fingers together, leaning forward slightly in his chair, interest clearly piqued. âOkay, and what did you do?â
You squeeze your eyes shut. âI⊠threw all my shit in my bag and ran out of the room.â When you crack an eye open again, you can see Namjoon trying and failing to keep the smug smile off his face, his dimples giving him away.
âMaybe you could try smiling back next time?â he gently suggests.
You sigh, because you know heâs right. âYou make it sound so easy. Whatâs next? Youâre going to tell me to talk to him?â
He laughs a little. âIâd quote another poet, but I fear you might launch more projectiles at me.â
You narrow your eyes at him. âLetâs hear it, nerd.â
Namjoon clears his throat for dramatic effect before launching into a recitation. ââItâs cool, not tryna put a rush on you / I had to let you know, that I got a crush on you.ââ
Thereâs a wide grin on his face as you sit all the way up. âDid you just quote Biggie Smalls at me?â
âHey, I appreciate all forms of poetry.â
You feign annoyance, but you canât quite hide the smile beneath it, and you get to your feet as Namjoon continues to mumble a verse of Crush on You under his breath. âWhatever. I need to do laundry.â
âOhââ Namjoon pauses to interrupt himself. âLuckyâs closed, by the way.â
Already halfway out of the living room, you whip around again at the mention of the laundromat youâve been exclusive with for the last few years. âWhat?â
He nods solemnly. âMe and Yoongi found out the hard way last week. Theyâre putting in an Equinox.â
Your face twists in disgust. âA stupid bougie gym?! Youâve got to be kidding me. Where am I supposed to wash my fucking clothes?â
âWe found a place a few blocks up. Quick Clean, or something like that.â Namjoon shifts to dig his phone out of his pocket. âIâll send you the address. Itâs not bad, just a little more expensive.â
âThis is such bullshit,â you groan as you stomp back into your bedroom, the day already off to a terrible start.
In a gentrification-induced rage, you angrily shove the contents of your overflowing laundry hamper into the giant yellow IKEA bag hung up in your closet, just barely managing to fit it all. Glancing at the mirror on the back of the door, you briefly consider changing out of your sweats, or at the very least doing something with your hair, but you shrug it offâ itâs not like youâre trying to impress anyone at the damn laundromat.
You grab your headphones off your desk and sling them around your neck, double-check that your sketchbook is still tucked into your bag, then lug everything out to the front hallway. You pull your slides off the shoe rack and slip your socked feet into them.
âBye, nerd!â you call over your shoulder to Namjoon before the front door slams shut behind you.
By the time you make it to the weird new laundromat, youâre sweaty and pissed off. You knew the walk to Luckyâs by heart, but you had to do this one while looking down at your phone GPS and trying not to get hit by a car. Not an easy feat while carrying every article of clothing you own over one shoulder.
You miss the way the nice old man who owned Luckyâs would greet you warmly and sneak you a cup of coffee from his pot in the back, the way his cat would roll over on the front counter for belly rubs, the way there was always a deeply entertaining telenovela playing on the ancient tiny TV.
The stupid Quick Clean has none of these things, just a shitty pile of magazines in the seating area and weirdly sticky floors. You slam into the front door a little harder than is necessary to push it open, the bell tinkling violently overhead as you enter. The only compliment you can give the place is that itâs relatively dead, save for a couple people on their phones or half-asleep in chairs as they wait on their stuff, and two guys in the corner loading armfuls of wet clothes into a pair of dryers.
You grab a machine a respectful distance away from them and swing the door open when a laugh thatâs nearly musical gives you pause. Unable to shake a sense of familiarity, you glance over at your neighbors again, just in time to see one of them reach up to run a hand through his honey blonde hair.
Your IKEA bag hits the sticky floor with an audible thud as panic kickstarts your heart.
This isnât fucking happening. Of all the laundromats in New York City, you did not just manage to stumble into the one currently being used by Park Jimin.
But even before you can catch a glimpse of his profile, youâre already certain it canât be anyone else. Youâve spent too much time familiarizing yourself with the slope of his neck, the definition of his forearms, his dainty hands. Thereâs no mistaking them, adorned today with several silver rings that catch the dim fluorescent light as he grabs more of his clothes from the washer.
The desperate need to turn around and run rises up in your chest, just as before, but this time you steel yourself. You canât keep running away foreverâ particularly not when you pulled on your last clean pair of underwear this morning.
A rush of heat floods your face at the thought of the many pairs of underwear in your bag that will soon be sent spinning around this washing machine, where Jimin could easily see, but then it occurs to you that you have seen his penis. Maybe the trade-off will put you on slightly more equal footing.
But you really donât need to be thinking about Park Jiminâs penis in this laundromat right now.
Shaking your head slightly to try and banish the thought, you set about your laundry routine, trying not to drop any unmentionables on the floor when you dump the contents of your tote into the washer. You dig quarters out of your bag and slot them into the machine, then press the button to start the cycle.
With a final exhale to steady yourself, you turn to look over your shoulder again, only to find Jimin leaning up against the empty dryer next to his, unabashedly watching you with a small smile on his face.
It occurs to you now that you couldnât have put less effort into your appearance if you tried, and youâre suddenly hyper-aware of every random stain on your sweatpants and your extremely fashionable socks and slides combination. Jiminâs just in a white t-shirt and a pair of distressed jeans today, but literally everything looks fresh off the runway on him. You suppress the urge to walk out the door and go lay down in traffic, and instead take Namjoonâs advice: you smile back and even lift your hand in a shy wave.
You drop into an empty chair across from your machine and watch as Jimin starts to cross the room to join you, his eyes never leaving yours. Before he can make it, you suddenly become aware of someone else sliding into the seat beside you.
âYou didnât tell me she was cute, Jimin-ah!â
Eyes wide, you turn to see Jiminâs friend sprawled out next to you, one arm draped lazily over the back of your chair. His wavy dark hair peeks out from under a lime green beanie, and heâs swimming in an oversized long sleeve tucked into baggy pants, cinched tight at the waist with a Gucci belt.
âJung Hoseok,â he gives you a nod. âFriends call me Hobi. You can call me whatever you like.â The way his wide smile pulls his mouth heart-shaped makes you giggle a little, slightly dazed by whatever the fuck is happening right now.
You hear Jimin sigh as he takes the open seat on your other side. âPlease ignore Hoseokâs tendency to come on way too strong. If it makes you feel any better, heâs as gay as they come.â
Hoseok flicks his wrist just so. âGuilty as charged.â
âOh, itâs okay,â you say with a shrug, your gaze flitting from Jimin to Hoseok and back again. âI have two gay roommates, so.â
Hoseok hums, clearly interested. âGay together or gay separately?â
âGay together.â
He narrows his eyes. âOpen to a third?â
You canât help but laugh at the unexpected question. âUh, Iâd have to ask.â
He looks like heâs going to say more, but Jimin interjects. âHoseokâ can we get a minute?â
Hoseokâs lips pull together, fish-like, and he nods as he gets to his feet. âSay no more. Iâll just, uhâŠâ He fumbles, looking around for something to do, then crosses the room to take the open seat next to the sad pile of magazines. ââŠdo a little light reading.â He picks up one at the top of the stack, holding it up for you both to witness. âOh look, the queen died!â
You bite down on your bottom lip to suppress another laugh, but Jiminâs face is surprisingly serious when you look back at him. âI just want to say one thing,â he murmurs, voice low, âand then Iâll leave you alone.â
Nerves settle in the pit of your stomach like a heavy weight. âJimin,â you start, and when he opens his mouth to keep talking, you blurt out the first thing you can think of.
âIâm sorry,â you say in unison, and thereâs a beat where you both blink, equally taken aback by the otherâs apology. Itâs quiet apart from the rumble of the laundry machines and the distinct sound of Hoseok smacking the magazine over his mouth, clearly more invested in your plot line.
You break the silence first. âWait, why are you sorry?â
Jiminâs eyes drop down to the floor, one black boot toeing nervously at the tile. âI figured you were upset with me because I didnât warn you.â
Your eyes widen in surprise when you play your initial conversation back. âOh my godâ when I said graduate studio art, you⊠you knew.â
He nods, somewhat remorseful. âI was kind of hoping that maybe it would be a different class, but. Yeah. I figured. Iâm really sorry, I shouldâveââ
âNo, no,â you interrupt. âI get it. Iâm not mad, obviously I didnât even put it together until right now.â You pause for a second and canât help but smile a little. âAnd, I mean, how do you just casually work that into your first conversation with someone? âGreat talking to you, ready to see my dick in five minutes?ââ
Jiminâs head tips back when he laughs, his cheeks flushing a faint shade of pink. âRight.â
You can feel your own face grow hot as you realize what youâve just said. âGod, sorry, I didnât mean toâ clearly I donât know how to handle this. Thatâs why I wanted to apologize, for avoiding you and being weird.â You twist your hands uncomfortably in your lap. âIâve just never been in this situation before, and I wasnât sure if youâd still want to talk given⊠theâŠâ Every cell in your body screams at you not to say the word âdickâ again. âYeah. I thought it might be easier to keep my distance. Keep it separate.â
Jiminâs eyes drift back up to find yours, and his casual beauty is so stunning, itâs enough to knock the air out of your lungs. He shrugs softly. âI mean, maybe it would be. But I donât want to.â
âGreat,â you manage a laugh, still breathless. âBecause I nearly died on a Citibike the day I didnât take the subway.â
He laughs, too. âNot gonna lie, I missed seeing you on the train.â Youâre not expecting it when he extends a hand out. âFriends?â
You realize belatedly that heâs offering a handshake, and you gently take his hand in yours. His skin is soft and warm, a contrast to the cool metal of his rings that press into your palm as he squeezes.
âFriends,â you echo with a smile, squeezing back.
Thereâs a sudden thump and a cackle as Hoseok falls out of his chair with a peal of laughter. âYou are so fucking weird, Jimin-ah!â he gasps from his spot on the floor. âWho shakes hands?!â
The two of them keep you more than entertained until the buzzers on their dryers sound a second apart from each other. You learn that Hoseok and Jimin are roommates, that they met as dance majors in their undergrad program, and that Hoseok now works as an adjunct instructor and freelance choreographer.
âBecause some of us decided we wanted to actually make money instead of digging ourselves further into debt,â he explains with a sly grin and smack delivered to the back of Jiminâs head.
You watch as they meticulously fold, Hoseok regularly leaning over to redo Jiminâs work and chide him about wrinkles, and then they stack the clean laundry back into their bags and head for the exit.
âBye, new friend!â Hoseok calls as he maneuvers the door open with his foot, and Jimin pauses at the threshold, the bell overhead tinkling gently.
âSo⊠guess Iâll see you on the train?â he asks, like heâs still a little unsure, and your heartbeat flutters.
âGuess so.â
âCool.â He gives you one last soft smile before he disappears after Hoseok. The bell sounds again when the door shuts behind him, as if to snap you back to reality.
The floating feeling in your stomach doesnât quite dissipate even long after Jimin has left the laundromat. While you wait on your clothes, you flip to a blank page in your sketchbook and start on something new: the outline of a hand extended in mid-air, rings glinting like an offered promise.
~*~
The next week, Jimin is waiting for you on your morning subway ride, the dance bag that he usually keeps tucked between his legs set on the bench next to him. When he sees you step through the train doors at 51st, you watch him reach over to swing the bag down to its rightful place on the floor, freeing up the space. An open invitation.
You canât help but feel a little shy as you sink down next to him and murmur your thanks. Thereâs something about being this close to him that just makes your mind go blank, puts you at a loss for words entirely.
To your surprise, he doesnât try to strike up conversation either. Instead he plucks one fancy bluetooth earbud out of his ear, gives it a diplomatic swipe across the fabric of his joggers, then holds it up, pinched between his fingers in front of you.
Another invitation, you realize dumbly.
The corner of your mouth turns up as you pluck the bud out of his hand and press it into your own ear. The music that must have paused itself upon the earbudâs removal resumes, and your smile grows when Jimin quickly unlocks his phone to restart the song from the beginning.
An acoustic guitar and a light, pretty voice fill your ear, underscored by a gentle yet driving beat, not unlike the rumble of the train beneath your feet. Itâs like the rest of the world fades away to nothing as you stare down at his sneakers next to your shoes, hyper-aware of the mere inch or two of space between you in this moment.
As if to prove your point, the train comes to a sharp stop, enough to make you slide a little on the bench and then youâre suddenly not just close but touching, all the way down, an unbroken line from shoulder to hip to knee.
When you look over in surprise, Jimin is already looking back at you. You swear you can feel warmth radiating out from him at every point where your bodies press together.
After another dazed moment, you come to your senses enough to scoot over, breaking the contact with an embarrassed laugh as you feel your face grow hot.
Your gaze drifts back down to the floor, only to snap up again at another brush of contact, this one not initiated by you or by the motion of the train. Instead, you realize Jimin has spread his legs an inch wider to purposefully touch his knee to yours again and leave it there. You blink softly as you look over at him, but heâs staring firmly out the window of the subway car now, smiling with just his eyes.
For the rest of the ride, you think of little else but Jiminâs knee pressed against yours and the pretty pink flush in his cheeks.
You stay in comfortable silence, music floating in your ears as you exit the train at Astor Place together, until you reach the studio, where you finally return the borrowed earbud. He smiles as he tucks them both back into the case, then pushes open the door and gestures for you to enter first.
Jimin shoots you a final look before your paths diverge, and you sink into your seat with a small, dreamy sigh. Your bliss is short-lived when you hear Taehyungâs voice over your shoulder.
âThat was fast.â
You whip around to shoot him a look. âWhat was fast?â
He makes a face, like itâs obvious. âYouâre already banging the model and itâs been, what, two weeks?â
Taehyungâs just close enough that you can lean forward and smack him on the arm, and he hisses in a way that has to be an exaggeration. Thankfully he seems to take the hint, and manages to actually keep his mouth shut as the professor commands everyoneâs attention at the center of the room.
When Jimin emerges in the usual black satin, you try to keep your composure, but you canât ignore the chill that dots up your spine when he lets the fabric fall to the floor.
Nevertheless, you sink into the routine of class, the thrill of Jiminâs naked body now equal parts familiar and exhilarating. The only difference is that today, when youâre dismissed, you make no effort to quickly pack up. You instead purposefully take your time, adding a few extra details to your last sketch before you finally start putting things away. Your gaze flickers up distractedly to see Jimin pulling his dressing gown back over his body as he moves to close the distance between you.
âHi,â he says simply when he reaches your easel, and you smile.
âHi.â
âSorry, is, uhâ is it okay that I talk to you, when Iâmââ He gestures vaguely to his lower half with one hand, using the other to keep himself covered.
You swallow hard at the thin layer of fabric and everything you know lies beneath it. âYeah, itâs okay,â you say, hating how breathless you sound.
âWhen are you done with classes today?â
It takes an extra second for you to remember your own schedule. âUh, six.â
Jimin fidgets with the satin material in his hands, clearly a little uncomfortable. Or maybe nervous. âWould you⊠want to get dinner after? With me?â
Your stomach flutters as you nod. âYeah, yes. Iâd like that.â
~*~
When you emerge from your last class, you find Jimin waiting for you on Astor Place, and youâre not expecting it when he greets you with a single question: âDo you like sushi?â You answer affirmatively, and he nods over his shoulder. âThen letâs walk this way.â
You end up tucked into two seats at a place youâve never been to before, where rolls and other plates of food zip past you on a steadily moving conveyor belt. Jimin shows you how to pop the plates out from their protective domes, and you gather a small feast of options on the table between you to share.
âSo,â you start with a nervous smile, chopsticks hovering in midair. âCan I ask the obvious question?â
He quirks an eyebrow, intrigued. âWhatâs that?â
âWhat made you decide to nude model?â The words alone send fresh waves of heat and nerves through you, sparkling in your chest. âOr have you done it before?â
âI havenât,â Jimin confirms with a shake of his head, then he pops a piece of sushi in his mouth as if to buy himself time. He chews, bringing a hand up as he speaks with his mouth still half-full. âDo you want the real answer?â
You nod, and his adamâs apple jerks as he swallows. Thereâs a look on his face like he isnât quite sure what to say, and then he exhales a weighty sigh. âIâve struggled with my body for a really long time. Especially in undergrad.â
Your eyes widen slightlyâ you werenât expecting such a serious response.
âDance doesnât typically have the best culture for that to begin with,â he continues, âand Iâd spend literally all day staring at myself in a mirror, so I would just⊠pick myself apart. Always convinced I wasnât good enough, that I needed to lose more weight, always.â
The thought of it makes your heart ache, but you let him talk.
âIâm through the worst of it now, so please donât feel like you need to be worried. But I have some friends whoâve done this kind of thing before and it seemed like, I donât know, a good challenge?â His brow creases, contemplative. âI really love art, so I thought maybe if I did it, I might be able to see my body in a new way, through the eyes of other people. Of artists.â He pauses, then nods, like heâs said his piece.
It takes you a second to respond. âThatâs⊠beautiful, Jimin.â
He looks down, clearly a little uncomfortable. âSorry if that was too heavy.â
âI can take it,â you say softly, and itâs enough to make him glance back up in surprise. âThank you for telling me.â
A faint color floods his face. âThanks for listening.â
You eat in a silence thatâs oddly comfortable, and when you both reach for the same piece of sushi and end up knocking chopsticks together, he lets you have it, picking up the thread of conversation again as he smiles. âWhat got you into art?â
You make a face, chased by an unsure shrug. âIs it bad if I say itâs the only thing I feel like Iâm good at?â
Jimin laughs a little. âI donât know that I believe you.â
âI mean,â you lean back in your seat. âMaybe not the only thing, but Iâve just never been able to see myself doing anything else. Iâm not cut out for the corporate life, as much as my parents wish I was. Artâs always been the thing that I go to in my free time. When Iâm feeling so much that itâs overwhelming, or so numb that itâs like I canât feel anything, the act of creating something just⊠brings me back to center again.â You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. âItâs an outlet, I guess.â
âWell, if it helps, youâre very good at it.â
âThanks,â you say with a small smile. âBut itâs not even about being good, at least not to me. Maybe it sounds weird, but I donât really have any interest in being the best. Itâs art, so itâs all subjective anyway. I just wanna make stuff.â
Jimin smirks as he adds another empty plate to the growing stack in front of you, tongue poking briefly at the inside of his cheek before he speaks. âI could stand to be more like you.â
âYour turn,â you shoot back. âWhy dance?â
At this, he actually brings a hand up to cover his face, and his voice is muffled under his palm when he responds. âI can tell you exactly why, but itâs embarrassing.â
You shift a little in your chair to get a better look at him. âDonât be embarrassed! Itâs not like Iââ you cut yourself off before you can very obviously finish the sentence with âhavenât seen your dickâ, and you shove a piece of sushi in your mouth to shut yourself up, so fast you nearly choke.
Jimin laughs loudly into his hands, and then youâre laughing too, dropping your head down on the table to try and chew your food without asphyxiating.
âOkay, okay,â he gasps when he can finally manage to take a breath in. âIâll tell you.â
He sets his chopsticks down, overly serious. âWhen I was little, I was obsessed with Titanic. Specifically the scene where they dance together, and Rose rises up on her toes in front of everyone.â There are practically stars in his eyes as he recounts the moment, and you canât bear to cut him off. âI just thought she was so beautiful, and I wanted to be like that. Almost broke my toes trying to go en pointe barefoot like an idiot.â
Youâre silent for a moment, and thereâs a flicker of panic in Jiminâs face, like heâs worried he overshared. âI have to be honest,â you say softly. âIâve never seen Titanic.â
His eyes nearly pop out of his head. âWhat?!â
Already expecting the reaction, you grimace and nod. âI know, I know. Everyone gets mad at me for it. Go ahead.â
Jiminâs eyes flit from your face to the remaining piece of sushi on the plate between you, then back again. âI mean, we can go solve this problem right now, if you want.â He pauses, then admits with a giggle, âI have it on DVD.â
You shrug, trying to act casual despite the way your pulse has started to quicken. âThey canceled my morning seminar for tomorrow, so Iâm down.â
He leans forward to steal the last piece of sushi with a smug smile. âThen letâs get out of here.â
Itâs a short train ride back to Jiminâs place, and you make it in the front door just in time to see Hoseok slipping out of what looks to be his bedroom. You barely process him as the same personâ tonight his dark hair is swept off his forehead, and heâs in nice dress pants and a white button-down, unbuttoned just enough to display the delicate spread of his collarbone.
âHi kids!â he calls in greeting, and you wave back as you kick your shoes off.
Hoseok crosses to grab a mirrored pair of aviators and his keys off the table by the front door. âDaddyâs going out. You two have fun, donât do anything I wouldnât do.â He pauses for a moment, like heâs waiting for a joke to land, then cracks a grin. âBy which I obviously mean do whatever the fuck you want.â
As Hoseok pulls the door shut behind him, you follow Jimin into the living room, where you perch nervously on the edge of the couch while he disappears into the kitchen. âDo you like prosecco?â he asks, raising his voice slightly to be heard.
âUh, I think so,â you say unsurely. âI donât think I ever developed enough of a palette to have wine preferences.â
âWhite and sparkling?â
âSounds good,â you respond, and then you hear the distinct noise of a cork popping before he returns with a bottle and two glasses in hand. He sets everything on the coffee table as he takes a seat next to you, then leans forward to fill both glasses nearly to the brim.
Jiminâs face flushes when you giggle softly at the pour. âSorryâ I like to drink. You donât have to finish it all.â You shrug and take a healthy pull from your glass. Itâs crisp and light, with little bubbles that fizz and pop all the way down.Â
âHoseok calls me a lush,â he admits with a shy laugh as he picks up his own drink and turns to face you, sitting back against the arm of the couch. You shift to mirror him, curling your socked feet up under you. He takes a sip, then seems to think better of it, leaning forward to set his glass down on the table again. âI did want to tell you something. A couple of things, I guess.â
The sentence makes your stomach twist, and you try your best to ignore it. âWhatâs up?â
Jiminâs lips press together for a moment, as if heâs trying to figure out how to word whatever heâs about to say. âIâm not, like, trying to be presumptuous by telling you this but I justâ I donât want it to go unsaid and then come up later and be a whole big thing, so. I just want you to know that Hoseok is my ex.â
Your eyes widen in surprise. Youâre not sure what you were expecting, but certainly not that.
âWe dated freshman year of undergrad, for⊠maybe three months? It was the kind of thing where I knew I was bi in high school but was too scared to act on it, so when I moved to New York I just, like, dated the first gay person I met? Which was probably a little shitty of me. We quickly realized we work much better as friends, and it was a very mutual thing. No hard feelings.â
You nod slowly, trying to keep up. âAnd youâve lived together since then?â
âNo, no,â Jimin replies quickly, and he nearly grimaces as he continues. âAt the end of last semester, I, uh⊠I got out of a pretty bad long-term relationship.â The way he says it makes your heart sink a little. âAnd she and I lived together, so Hoseok was extremely gracious and offered to take me in.â
He reaches for his glass of wine again, then pauses with it halfway to his mouth. âIdeally the number of exes Iâd be living with would be zero, but. You know. This is definitely the better option, at least until I can figure out what comes next.â
A pause settles between you while he takes a long drink and you try to process all this new information. âIâm sorry about the breakup,â you say softly, and he shakes his head as he swallows.
âDonât be. It was a very good thing. Long overdue.â
âWell,â you correct yourself, the corners of your mouth pulling up. âThen Iâm sorry that it took so long.â
At this, he smiles back. âMe fuckinâ too.â
After one more sip, Jimin sets his wine back down on the coffee table, then rolls off the couchâ surprisingly gracefulâ to retrieve Titanic from the small collection of movies lined up on the shelf beneath the TV.
âReady?â
âThis better have a happy ending,â you murmur over the edge of your wine glass. Jimin laughs so hard he nearly tips over.
He settles next to you again as the movie starts, painted pretty in the blue glow of the TV, and you try your best to watch the movie, but itâs hard to keep your eyes off him. Partway through you notice him grab a pillow off the back of the couch and hug both of his arms around it, curling up small.
Cute, you canât help but think to yourself, and you can feel heat settle in your face as you try to refocus on the story.
When you reach the dancing scene Jimin sits up a little, lips parting slightly, that same starry look in his eyes as when he explained it initially. The mental image of a younger version of him equally enraptured by the moment nearly makes your chest cave in.
The movie goes on, and youâre draining the last of your second glass of wine when out of the corner of your eye, you see Jiminâs eyes go wide. Jack and Rose are closely examining a rare diamond necklace, and you donât understand what he could be reacting to until Kate Winslet delivers her next line.
âJack, I want you to draw me like one of your French girls.â
Your eyes go just as wide as Jiminâs, and you let out a laugh of disbelief thatâs nearly a scream. âOh my fucking god, Park Jimin! You did this on purpose!â
âI swear, I didnât! I didnât even think about that part until right now!â He shakes his head desperately as he gasps for air, and he doubles over with his own laughter, rolling right off the couch, arms still clutched tightly around his pillow.
âI literally cannot believe this.â You dissolve into giggles as you sink to your knees on the floor beside him, close to tears.
It takes time for you both to recover, but Jimin eventually manages to pull himself back up to sitting, shoulders still shaking slightly with laughter. He lets the pillow drop to the floor and presses both of his palms down into it as he leans towards you. âBut hey, maybe thatâs why I like you.â
Heâs so magnetic, so beautiful, you canât help but lean in, too. âYou like me?â
Thereâs a warm glow of color in his cheeks, and youâre not sure if you can blame it entirely on the wine. âI do.â
Your lingering smile slowly starts to soften, and now your heart feels like it might pound out of your chest. âSo what, youâre Rose and Iâm Jack?â
His gaze drops to your mouth, his voice barely more than a whisper as he murmurs, âUh-huhâ. Imaginary violins swell in your head as you surge forward to close the distance and press your lips to his.
Jiminâs lips are soft and warm, and your head spins as you sit up on your knees and lean into the kiss. While his mouth moves gently against yours, his palms press to the small of your back, and the heat of his hands radiates through the thin fabric of your shirt. You wrap your arms over his shoulders, partially for balance and partially in an attempt to pull him closer to you.
He tilts his head, and you whimper against him when you feel his tongue trace delicately over your bottom lip. He returns a breathy noise back as he licks slowly into your mouth, like heâs taking his time, like heâs not in any rush.
Even though you can feel your arousal starting to build, heavy in your gut and slick between your thighs, you realize: you want him to take his time with you.
Youâre surprised at the loss when he suddenly leans back, just enough to break the kiss, still keeping you held close. âIs it, umââ he clears his throat, then tries again. âI donât⊠want to go any further. Than this. At least not tonight. Is that okay?â
Your eyes search his, and youâre a little breathless when you manage to get the words out. âYeah. Yeah, of course. Iâm good with that. With whatever you want.â
âOkay.â You exhale a laugh when he reaches over to find the remote on the coffee table and pause the movie. âI want to keep kissing you, if thatâs alright.â
âYes, please,â you murmur against his lips.
Jimin shifts a little, and you follow his lead, letting him tip you backwards onto the floor, your arms still looped around his neck, one hand now tangling in his honey blonde hair. He drops a forearm down to the carpet beside you, his other hand coming to rest at the curve of your waist, knees bracketing your hips as he covers your body with his.
He alternates between sucking on your lower lip and gentle passes of his tongue into your mouth, the hand on your waist tracing a lazy path down to your hip and back up again. Something pulled tight inside you starts to slowly unwind, blooming open as you sink into the rhythm, into him.
Itâs been such a long time since youâve just kissed someone like this, without it feeling like part of a race to get naked. And youâve never been kissed like this in your lifeâ so soft, so attentive. Itâs enough to make you dizzy, even with your back pressed flat to the floor.
You lose track of how much time passes as you trade open-mouthed kisses on Jiminâs living room carpet, until he finally pulls away again. Still in a daze, you shift the hand in his hair to gently cup his face, not quite able to believe that heâs really real.
âGod,â Jimin breathes, laughing quietly to himself. âI really like you.â
You smile as you blink up at him. âI like you too, Jimin.âÂ
Rolling over, he drops down onto the floor next to you with a blissed-out sigh. He stretches his arms overhead, spine arching like a cat, then lifts up again to glance back at you. âDo you want more wine? âCause weâre only like halfway done. This movie is stupid long.â
âI could go for more,â you answer with a shrug, still smiling.
In one swift move, Jimin flips his legs over his head and effortlessly somersaults up to standing, and your eyes go wide. âHow do you fucking do that?!â
âIâm a trained professional!â he calls over his shoulder as he sashays into the kitchen. You giggle a little. âI would break every bone in my body.â
Heâs humming prettily to himself, and you hear the sound of the fridge opening and closing, followed by the pop of another bottle being uncorked. You pull yourself back onto the couch as he rejoins you and pours fresh wine into both glasses, and a sudden curiosity urges you to ask a question. âIs Titanic your favorite movie?â
Jimin shakes his head, but says nothing, and the strange hesitant expression that flashes over his face just makes you that much more intrigued.
âLetâs hear it.â
His eyes flit over to you, then back to the wine glasses. âYouâll laugh.â
âI wonât!â you exclaim, lifting a hand when he scrunches up his nose, doubtful. âPromise.â
With a reluctant sigh, Jimin sets the bottle back down on the table, staring straight ahead as he admits, âItâs The Notebook.â
You press your lips together, trying desperately to keep your mouth in a straight line. At least you manage not to laugh. âIâ wow. Really?â
He nods like the reaction is expected, picking up his wine glass and settling back against the couch cushions. âI donât know, thereâs just something about it. Itâs comforting, to me.â
âYouâre such a romantic,â you murmur, gently nudging his thigh with your foot until you coax a smile out of him.
âYou know what?â Jiminâs voice is thoughtful now, more self-assured. âI am.â He takes a sip of his drink before he continues. âFor a long time I didnât want to be. Or thought that I couldnât be. I used to always try to be so. I donât know. Masculine, I guess. I think some of it had to do with denying my sexuality, but even once I got around to accepting that, there was still this part of me that would just never allow myself to be⊠soft.â
His gaze drops down to the wine in his glass, and you sit up, tucking your legs underneath you to scoot closer to him until youâre side by side. âI like you soft,â you say simply, and he looks over at you, still smiling.
âIf we watch The Notebook I will cry.â
âThatâs okay.â You lean into him to seek a kiss, made sweet from the wine. He hums a little against your lips before you pull back. âSame time next week?â
~*~
Just like that, you fall into a regular routine with Jimin: sharing his headphones on the morning train, sketching out the shape of his body in studio, then picking up takeout and wine to bring back to his place and split over a movie. As predicted, The Notebook does make him cry, and when you show him Kimi no Na wa the week after, hot tears stream down your face at the final scene, the way they always do.
He takes your head in his hands as the credits roll, his thumbs swiping at errant tears on your cheeks. You chase a sniffle with an embarrassed laugh. âOkay. Weâre even now.â
On your fourth movie night, partway into Moulin Rouge, something emboldens you when you see Jimin reach for his usual couch pillow. You lean over and gently pry it out of his grip, then shift to tuck yourself into his side and curl your legs up in his lap instead.
âBetter?â
âMm-hmmâ, he murmurs as he ducks down to nuzzle against your cheek. âYouâre warm.â
These nights end the same way each time: you ride the train home with a wine-soaked buzz in your brain and flushed, kiss-bitten lips, your fingertips brushing over your own mouth at the memory of his.
Once a week quickly turns into more. The two of you coordinate laundromat afternoons where you listen to music together as you wait for your clothes. You usually end up drawing to pass the time, and sometimes Jimin dozes off, head tipping over onto your shoulder so gently that you canât help but smile down at your sketchbook.
At his request, you help him dye his hair pink in his tiny apartment bathroom, and it somehow suits him just as well as honey blonde. You both get dizzy from laughter and cleaning product fumes as you desperately try to scrub the bubblegum stains out of the tile before Hoseok comes home.
When you finally introduce Jimin to your roommates, the four of you crammed all-too formally around the kitchen table over Yoongiâs cooking, the interaction feels like a cross between a job interview and a prom date meeting your parents. You choke on a piece of chicken that you nearly inhale when Namjoon offhandedly refers to Jimin as Subway Boy, and Yoongi smiles wide enough to show his gums as he gladly recounts your months-long crush in great detail while you bury your burning face in your arms.
But Jimin takes it in stride, laughs into your mouth as he kisses you over the sink while the two of you wash the dishes.
âSubway Boy, huh?â
âI will drown you,â you murmur as you pull away, brandishing the spray hose like a threat.
Itâs easy and slow. This blossoming something, a nameless but undeniable spark, the calm comfort of Jiminâs arms wrapped around your waist, his fingers intertwined with yours, his head dropped down on your shoulder.
~*~
You dig your phone out of your pocket as you shoulder open the door to the dance building, pulling up the text from Jimin to double-check his practice room number. A train delay made you slightly later than your agreed-upon time, but you know the takeout bag of Indian food dangling over your wrist will easily earn you his forgiveness.
It doesnât surprise you that heâs the only one left in the room when you find it, nor that heâs still reviewing the choreography with an expression of severe focus. You hover in the doorway, waiting for him to look up, but heâs entirely concentrated on his own reflection in the mirror.
His movements alternate between delicate and powerful, explosive and restrained, and you have to hold in an outright gasp when he launches his body into an aerial and lands it effortlessly. But then his feet falter in a split second of hesitation, and you can see his expression tighten, clearly frustrated.
âFuck,â he mutters to himself as he rubs a hand over his face, and he doesnât even try to keep going with the rest of the dance. You take the opportunity to step a few more paces into the room, and his eyes jump to you in the mirror.
âHi,â you say softly, suddenly a little nervous to be intruding on the moment. The corner of Jiminâs mouth turns up, but his eyes seem far away, and you can tell heâs still raging at himself in his mind.
âHi, sorry,â he sighs. âI justâ canât get this. Itâs like my body isnât doing what I tell it to.â
âYou need food.â You try to say it gently as you cross the room, holding up the smiley-face adorned plastic takeout bag. âAnd perhaps the enigmatic charm of Rachel McAdams.â
This seems to shake him out of his thoughts, at least a little. âI do like her.â He steps close enough to slip his arms around your waist and pull your body flush against his. Sweat glistens on his collarbone in the dim practice room lighting. âBut I like you more.â
You roll your eyes as you playfully smack a hand against his solid chest. âStop lying.â
ââM not,â he insists as he presses a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. âRachel McAdams has never once brought me masala dosa.â You giggle despite yourself, and when his lips drop down to your neck, itâs enough to make your breath hitch.
A spark ignites in your chest that doesnât go out, not on the subway ride back to your apartment, not through dinner and a movie, and certainly not once youâre most of the way through the second bottle of wine. As the credits start to roll, you waste no time, turning in Jiminâs lap so you can properly straddle him and take his face in your hands.
You trade decadent, easy kisses, and Jiminâs hands settle at the small of your back, his thumbs massaging gentle circles into your hips. A shiver rolls up your spine when he shifts a little and you realize you can feel a growing bulge through the fabric of his joggers, pressed firm against your thigh. He breathes a soft sound into your mouth as his tongue slides over yours, and youâre so overwhelmed, you barely register the sound of keys in the lock or the front door opening.
Itâs Jimin who reacts first, turning his head to break the kiss as his cheeks flood with color, and you glance over your shoulder just in time to see Yoongi storm past, heading for his room. He lifts a hand up to his face to shield you from view as he goes.
âDonât stop on my account!â Yoongiâs voice is dripping with derision. âBy all means, continue fucking on our shared furniture!â
âWeâre fully clothed, asshole!â you snap in response as Yoongi slams the bedroom door behind him, hard enough that it rattles in the frame.
When you look back down at Jimin, his face is twisted in an expression you take to be embarrassment. You drop your head down on his shoulder with a frustrated groan, the moment successfully killed.
âDo youâŠâ you pause, turning your head to the side but continuing to ask your question into the fabric of his shirt. âWe could go to my room, for more privacy, if you want?â
He hums his agreement, and when you peel yourself off the couch and head for your room, he follows. You spin back around to face him in the doorway, so fast he nearly knocks into you.
You brace your hands on the doorframe as you survey him. âWe really donât have to⊠do anything, if you donât want to. We can just talk.â
Jimin nods, and you step aside to let him enter first, pulling the door closed behind you as you follow. He takes a few tentative steps into the room, and you walk past him to drop down onto the floor next to your bed, then pat the carpet to encourage him to join. Thereâs a flash of something over his face, and then he sinks down beside you. Itâs only now that you realize how quiet heâs gotten.
âWhat is it?â you ask, suddenly a little nervous.
He stares down at the soles of his feet, pressed into each other, his knees tipped open like butterfly wings. âDoes it make you feel bad? That weâre notââ
âNo,â you answer immediately, and the honesty of it resonates in your chest.
âI know weâve been hanging out for a while,â he continues, voice low. âAnd I do want to, you know. Hook up.â
âJimin,â you lean forward to place both of your hands over one of his, settled atop his knee. âYou donât have to explain anything to me. When you want to, I want to. But I like everything weâve been doing, too. Itâs not like weâre not⊠intimate.â
His gaze flits up from the floor to meet yours. âI donât want you to think that I donât want you.â
You close your fingers around his hand, pulling it off his leg and up to your face so you can brush your lips over his palm.
âI donât think that at all,â you murmur against his skin. âPromise.â
Thereâs a hint of a smile in his eyes when you look back up at him. âOkay. Sorry, I know itâs stupid. Like why do I need reassurance from you when Iâm the one being difficult?â
You press your cheek into the warmth of his hand, toying lazily with the rings on his fingers. âWhy are you so convinced that youâre difficult?â
Jimin huffs a small sigh. âThis conversation has not gone this well in the past.â His eyes drop to the floor again, and after a momentâs pause, he keeps talking.
âMy ex and I struggled a lot withâŠâ he shakes his head, as if heâs trying not to say âeverythingâ. âSex. With me wanting it, with us having enough of it. I think it gave me a complex. I could be physically, you know, ready, but then as soon as sheâd touch me Iâd get in my head about everything and freak out and immediately want to stop.â He pauses, worrying at his bottom lip.
You pull his hand into your lap, your fingers delicately tracing over his in an attempt to provide some comfort. He shrugs when he starts to speak again. âAnd then, I donât know, I guess she was just trying to share her side, but... she would make me feel so bad about it sometimes. Because I was genuinely trying so hard but it was like I was never good enough.â Another pause, and this time he sniffs a little. When his eyes roll up to stare at the ceiling, you can see heâs holding back tears. âIt felt like she didnât want me anymore, not if there wasnât sex. So I left.â
âJimin,â you breathe, and he flashes you a small grimace, clearly embarrassed by his own dramatics. With a grunt of effort, he turns sideways and flops backwards onto the floor of your room, and you scoot closer to him, your hand still playing with his.
His gaze roams over the ceiling as he sighs. âI donât want you to think I was this perfect person and she was some awful bitch. She loved me a lot, and Iâm sure she was struggling with not feeling wanted either, in her own way.â
Your voice is soft when you interject. âTwo people can just be⊠incompatible. It doesnât mean either of them is a bad person, or that itâs anyoneâs fault. Sometimes things just donât work, no matter how hard you try.â
Jiminâs mouth pulls up on one side as he shakes his head, eyes squinting. âHow did you get to be so smart?â
You canât help but laugh a little, lacing your fingers together with his in your lap. âYears of making terrible decisions.â You give his hand a gentle squeeze before you ask a question. âDid you struggle with this before, or just with her?â
His mouth twists slightly, unsure. âYes and no? Both? My desire has always⊠fluctuated, I guess. Been a little shy.â A smile spreads over his face, and he hums a note. âLike, you know how people say love at first sight isnât a thing? That itâs just lust?â You nod, prompting him to continue. âI think, at least for me, itâs the opposite. I can fall for somebody, and fall hard, like that.â He snaps loudly with his free hand. âBut lust⊠I donât know, it takes longer. Itâs like a slow burn thing.â
You nod again, processing his words for a moment before you respond. âWell, Iâm in no rush.â
Jimin sits up, voice thoughtful as he untangles his hand from yours, and itâs clear heâs getting more comfortable opening up to you. âRight after the breakup, I did a lot of research. I found this term, demisexual, that felt pretty accurate.â He shrugs. âBut I donât know. I mostly just think that... I am who I am. And the people who get it will get it. Like you.â
Before you can even speak, he sweeps an arm under your calves to drag you into his lap in one swift move, and you squeak a little in surprise as your world tilts.
âDemisexual. I like it,â you giggle as he guides your legs to wrap around his middle. His hands slide up your thighs, grabbing at your hips to tug you closer so he can trail kisses along your neck.
âBiromantic demisexual, technically,â he murmurs, head tipping up to find your mouth again.
You drape your arms over his shoulders and hum against his lips as he kisses you. âIt suits you.â
Another soft noise escapes you when Jimin manages to maneuver to standing with you still in his arms. You tighten your grip on his shoulders and your legs around his waist, and his hands shift down to your ass to firmly hold you up. You squeeze your eyes shut automatically in fear of being dropped, then flutter them open again when you feel your back press into the soft cushion of your bedspread.
Jimin is hovering over you, forearms dropped down to the bed on either side of you. His eyes search yours for a moment, and then he leans in to kiss you again, so fiercely this time that it leaves you breathless. You canât help but whimper as his tongue slips into your mouth.
When he finally pulls away, he presses his forehead to your collarbone with a groan. âItâs late,â he murmurs, breath ghosting over your neck. âI should go.â
You nod responsibly, despite how desperately you want him to stay.
You walk him out, and his sweet parting kiss leaves your heart hammering in your chest, enough that you slump against the frame with a sigh once you shut the door, your knees suddenly weak.
Light on your feet, you follow the faint noise of the TV to find Yoongi in the living room with Planet Earth on at a barely audible volume. He glances at you, his mouth a flat line, then reaches for the remote to turn the sound up a few notches. You drop down on the couch next to him, and itâs silent for a moment, save for the calm narration and the crinkling plastic of him tearing open a bag of Turtle Chips.
âHowâd it go?â he finally asks, voice monotone.
âItâs good,â you answer softly. âWeâre good.â You fold your legs up under yourself and sneak a look at Yoongi out of the corner of your eye. Youâre still a little pissed, but you also want advice. Damn him for knowing everything.
âHave you heard the term âdemisexualâ before?â
Yoongi nods, still chewing as he replies. âYeah. Like asexual spectrum, right?â
You shrug. âI guess. Itâs new to me.â
He shoves a few more chips in his mouth before he continues. âIs that what your Subway Boy is?â
âI think so, yeah.â
Thereâs a long pause while you watch penguins march across the screen, and you think that might be the end of it. Then Yoongi clears his throat. âYou know, Iâm somewhere in there too. Not completely asexual, but definitely not⊠not.â
Your eyes widen. âReally?â
Yoongi snorts. âDonât act so shocked. These walls arenât that thick.â
âIs Joon?â
He smirks, like youâve just told a joke. âDecidedly not.â
âOh.â You blink, trying to process. âHow do you deal with it?â
Yoongi makes a face, like heâs never thought about it before. âWe just communicate, I guess. Be respectful even when we donât necessarily understand. And, like, Namjoon watches porn, and surprisingly reads quite a bit of eroticaââ
âOkay, okay,â you cut him off. âI donât need all the details.â
He huffs a dry laugh at your discomfort. âItâs not always easy, sometimes itâs frustrating for both of us. But we make it work. We love each other.â
You chew a little at the inside of your cheek, and then you canât hold in the question any longer. âIs it weird that the idea doesnât bother me? Jimin said it was a huge issue with his ex. Like, does that make me on the⊠spectrum?â
Yoongi shrugs. âI mean, you might be? But not necessarily? I donât know, sex matters different amounts to everyone. Some people donât mind not having it that often. You donât have to put a label on it unless you want to, you know?â
âYeah, makes sense.â You nod slowly as you digest the idea. âThanks, Yoongi. I appreciate the education.â
His only answer at first is a noncommittal hum, and then he points a finger at the few inches of wine in the bottle you left sitting on the coffee table. âGonna finish that?â
âItâs all yours,â you say. âConsider it atonement for going to first base on the couch.â
Yoongi grabs the bottle by the neck and immediately drains it. âApology accepted,â he grunts as he sets it back down. âAnd Iâm sorry I snapped at you.â He extends his bag of chips in your direction and you happily reach in for the biggest handful you can manage.
~*~
During your next movie night, Jimin canât keep his hands to himself.
They pet up your thighs, your legs draped over his, then slide up to your hips, fingertips tracing patterns over the waistband of your leggings and toying at the hem of your shirt.
His mouth has a similar problem: he leans in to press kisses along the line of your jaw, then down the slope of your neck, sucking delicately at the spot that makes your nipples tighten and sends a shiver through you.
âYouâre missing the movie,â you remark, raking a hand through his peachy-pink hair, shadowed at the roots where his natural color has started to grow in. Heâs typically good about keeping himself restrained until the credits roll, but youâre barely halfway through Pride & Prejudice, havenât even cracked a second bottle yet.
âFuck the movie,â he growls against your skin, and you bite back a whimper when his teeth scrape over your neck. You canât ignore the way your core is starting to ache from his insistent mouth.
His lips find yours again, and you giggle softly into him. âYouâre in a mood.â
âJust been thinking about you,â he murmurs between kisses. It surprises you a little when he suddenly pulls back so he can look you in the eyes. âShould weâ do you want to go to my room?â
The air hangs still and heavy between you, and you worry at your bottom lip for a moment. âAre you sure?â When he nods, dark brown eyes blinking up at you, your mouth turns up at the corner. âIâd rather we not traumatize any more roommates if we can help it.â
You lean over to pause the movie before sliding off his lap and getting to your feet, and then you reach your hands out for his and pull him up next to you. âCome on.â
Jiminâs bedroom is so perfectly him that it relaxes you, feather-soft comfort every time you step inside. His bed isnât made, because it never is, the thick white duvet pushed down on one side where he stumbled out from beneath it this morning. He keeps it dark, blackout curtains drawn to support his night owl lifestyle, and the room is bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights heâs strung up along the ceiling. A myriad of posters and art prints and polaroids are taped to the walls, some beautiful, others sentimentalâ he even managed to coax you into tearing a few of his favorites out of your sketchbook. You still donât think theyâre anything special, but nevertheless, it makes your heart squeeze in your chest to see them on display with everything else. Like they belong here in this room, like you do too.
The door clicks as it shuts behind him, and then his mouth is on yours again, kissing you dizzy while he backs you up until your knees hit the edge of the bed. He guides you to lay down, and his hand slips beneath you to drag you up the bed with him as he crawls over you.
His hands come up to tug at your shirt. âCan I take this off?â he breathes.
You nod, staring up at him and not quite able to believe any of this is real. âYou can do anything you want to me.â With a smile, he lifts the hem of your shirt, and you sit up a little so he can pull it the rest of the way off.
âGod, youâre beautiful,â Jimin murmurs against your skin as he kisses down your neck, over your collarbones, then down between the valley of your breasts. His hands slip down to palm at your tits, squeezing gently, and he mouths at the stiff peaks of your nipples over the thin fabric of your bralette. You untangle briefly, only for as long as it takes to get the lacy thing off of you entirely and tossed over the edge of the bed.
You shiver a little as the air hits your bare skin, and then the warmth of his body covers you again, and he ducks down to close his mouth over your nipple and suck. The plush softness of his lips and the firm suction combined are enough to make your eyes roll back, and your spine arches up beneath him when he drags his tongue in a circle over the sensitive bud.
âShit,â you groan. Your hands fist in the fabric of his shirt, and it feels like your only tether to reality.
Itâs easy to believe itâs the waiting, the anticipation of this moment, that makes every little touch light you up like a live wire now. But something tells you it will always feel like this.
While his lips shift to your other breast, one hand slides down to cup your clothed pussy, rubbing gentle friction into your center. You circle your hips to press yourself against the flat of his palm, sighing at the brush of indirect contact and the heat that thrums through you from the pressure on your clit.
You feel Jiminâs weight shift on the mattress as he kneels next to you, and his lips find yours again at the same time his hand slips into your leggings, two fingers tracing the seam of your panties to make you whine softly. If he couldnât tell before, he must be able to now: how wet you are, enough to drench the lacy fabric so it clings to your cunt, dripping arousal to show how badly you want him.
Heâs surprisingly forceful when he tugs the damp fabric to the side, but so gentle again as he slips one finger and then a second into your tight heat. Your mouth drops open as he curls them up to rub at your g-spot, stroking into you over and over while your cunt squeezes tight around him.
Your head drops back on the pillow and you groan. âOh, fuck, Jimin.â
You can hear how soaked your pussy is as he pumps into you, and the wet squelch of his fingers working inside you would make you shy if it didnât feel so overwhelmingly perfect. The pleasure edges your breathing with soft sounds, and Jimin swallows them when he kisses you again.
He shifts slightly for a better angle and then you feel the heel of his palm grind down against your clit. Itâs enough to make your hips buck up under him with every press of his hand, his insistent touch shooting sparks of arousal through you.
Itâs been so long since anyone has touched you, and youâve wanted this with him so badly for so long, but even still, it surprises you how quickly he can bring you to the edge.
âJimin,â you break the kiss to gasp against his mouth, unable to believe how close you already are. Close enough that all you can do is cling, to any part of him you can reach: his hair, his shoulders, the fabric of his shirt. âJimin, Jimin, fuck.â
âLook so fuckinâ good like this,â he groans, and he says the next part softer, like itâs just for him. âMy girl looks so pretty on my fingers.â
The pace of his movements doesnât falter, nor does the heavy weight of his palm as he ducks down to capture your nipple in his mouth again. Your pussy pulses around him, sucking him in to the last knuckle with each thrust of his hand, and your nails dig desperately into his forearm as you feel your orgasm crest.
His teeth graze lightly over the tight bud of your breast, and itâs enough. With a final whine, the arousal thatâs been coiling inside you snaps, and your back arches up off the bed as you come hard on his fingers.
Jiminâs fingers keep stroking you through it, the flat of his palm rubbing rough circles against your clit again and again and again and it feels like you might never stop coming. You moan as it rolls over you, wave after wave, until his touch is so overwhelming that you have to pull your trembling thighs together, and he finally relents.
Spent, your body sinks heavy into the bed, and you canât help the dazed giggle that flutters out as afterglow starts to bloom behind your ribs.
Jimin hovers over you, dropped down onto his forearms, full lips pressing indiscriminately to your flushed skin, all over. You snake a hand through his hair to pull his mouth up to yours, and he kisses you slow and deep.
When you break apart, you tip your forehead to his. âCan I touch you?â you ask, still a little breathless.
âPlease,â he murmurs, lips brushing against yours again before he pulls away with a small, embarrassed smile. âMy pants hurt.â
You sit up on your knees and he does too, and you bite down on your lip as you reach for the hem of his shirt. He helps you pull it over his head, and then there he is, beautiful as ever. Familiar, yet somehow all new.
Jimin shivers and whines when your hands run across the bare skin of his chest, teasing over his soft brown nipples before starting to trace a path down to his stomach. You lean in to kiss him, and he outright groans into your mouth when your fingertips tease along the band of his boxers that peeks out over his jeans. You gently bring your palms to his hips to guide him, and heâs pliant for you, shifting backwards at your suggestion until heâs seated, leaned back against the headboard.
Your hands shake slightly as you unbutton and push down his jeans, and you hear him exhale a ragged sigh of relief. Heâs so hard, you can understand why the tight denim must have been painful: his dick is still straining even now, a thick outline pressed into the fabric of his underwear, and thereâs a dark patch that clings to his tip where heâs started to leak precum.
You tug his boxers down with enough force that his length smacks heavy against his stomach, and he makes a strangled noise in response, eyes squeezing shut. His hips jerk violently beneath you, and your jaw goes slack as you watch his cock twitch, and keep twitching, until a steady pool of milky gloss has leaked out over his stomach.
âShit,â Jimin hisses as he comes practically untouched, and he gasps for air to try to speak. âFuck fuck fuckâ âmsorry, thought I couldââ
You can see him starting to spiral, can feel the panic starting to heat up inside his body, so you take his face in both of your hands. âJimin.â
âThis has never happened beforeâ fuck, I donâtâ this is soââ
âJimin.â When you say his name again, firmer this time, he goes quiet, his eyes still shut tight. âLook at me,â you murmur, and he does, lashes slow-blinking open. âItâs okay. Okay?â Your gaze searches his, trying to convince him. âI like everything about you. Everything you do. Youâre perfect.â
Clearly trying to steady his breathing, his chest shudders with effort, and you gently circle your thumb at the hinge of his jaw. He makes a soft noise as his eyelids drop shut again, his cheek pressing into your hand, letting you carry a little bit more of his weight.
Itâs quiet for a moment, and his voice is unsure when he speaks. âThereâs tissues⊠in theââ
âCan I take care of it?â you interrupt to ask, your voice low. His eyes blink open again to look at you, and a dark glint flickers there as the unsaid meaning of your question washes over him.
âY-yeah.â
You take your time moving down the bed to settle between Jiminâs thighs, and you stare up at him, waiting for any indication that he wants you to stop or doesnât feel comfortable. But he just swallows hard, his adamâs apple jerking in his throat, and nods.
Leaning down, you drag your tongue in steady, long strokes over the flat plane of his stomach to lick the mess up.
As you get the last of it, youâre surprised to feel his hand cup the back of your head. You donât resist when he pulls you up for a kiss, then licks into your mouth to taste himself, the salt and slick of his cum sliding between your tongues.
When you break apart to swallow, Jiminâs voice is a whisper. âThat okay?â
You nod, unable to bite back your smile. âYouâre⊠really fucking hot.â
He smirks as he finds your lips again. âSo are you.â The next kiss is sweeter, and then he pulls back. âIf you want, we can keepâ or I can go downâ I donât wantââ He canât finish any of his half-started thoughts, and you smile, lovingly running your palms over his thighs, back and forth.Â
You want him so badly, more than anything, but you try to breathe through it. You can see the wheels spinning in his head, that self-critical flash in his eyes, the same furrow in his brow that creases when he gets frustrated with himself.
âIâm not saying no because I donât want you,â you preface. âBut I just donât want you to feel stressed or get in your head about it. I want it to feel good, and Iâm in no rush. Next time, okay?âÂ
His lips are still a little pouted, but he nods, and you lean in to sling your arms around his neck. âCâmere.â
You tug him down to the mattress, and your half-naked bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, hands tracing gentle patterns over bare skin as you kiss.
When you eventually end up with your cheek pressed to his chest, you listen to the sound of his heartbeat settling, his breathing evening out. You speak softly in the quiet of his room. âMy roommateâs doing an exhibition on Friday. Will you come with me? Iâve been promised there will be free booze.â
Jimin tightens his grip on your waist, his voice slurring like heâs half-asleep. âMmm, my favorite person and my favorite thing.â Thereâs a pause, and he sighs. âThat sounded bad. Promise I'm not an alcoholic.â
âI know,â you laugh, dragging your lips over his collarbone, then grunting a little noise of frustration as reality starts to set in. âI have class early tomorrow. I should go before I fall asleep here.â
He whines his disapproval, but when you glance up you can see the fight going out of him, his eyelids starting to flutter closed. You lean up for one, two, three more kisses before you force yourself out of bed to find your bra and your shirt. âIâll see you Friday?â
âMmkay.â He inhales deep, like heâs coming up for air. âText me when you make it home safe?â
âI will,â you promise, and you do.
~*~
Namjoonâs exhibition is laughably fancy for what really just ends up being a room full of gay, overdressed art students. The ridiculous finger foods disappear in minutesâ all the broke grad school kids came hungryâ but you and Jimin gladly hover around the table of champagne flutes instead, giggles sparkling between you like the bubbles that fizz in your glasses.
Youâve been trying to drag him away to actually take in the art, but he keeps necking his drinks. âYouâre supposed to sip it, you demon!â you chide with a laugh as he does it again, picking up a fresh glass and throwing all of it back in one gulp.
He smirks slightly as he shakes his head. âItâs more fun this way. Try it.â
You roll your eyes, hiding the grin that threatens to stretch over your face in the rim of your drink before following suit. Heâs not wrong: a rush of warmth creeps up your neck as you swallow, the world softening around you, and itâs made sweeter by the kiss Jimin leans in for. When he pulls back you can see his face is flushing, too.
âCome on, Mr. Park,â you murmur, your free hand intertwining with his as you set the empty glass down and retrieve another. âTake me on a tour.â
Jimin grabs another flute too and then youâre off, and he actually manages to drink this one slowly as you weave through the gallery, the click of your footsteps underscoring the gentle classical music that floats through the speakers. You lean into Jimin in comfortable silence as you take in each art piece, sipping delicately at your champagne, occasionally hooking your chin over his shoulder just for the thrill of being close to him.
âThese are all beautiful,â he hums appreciatively as you stand in front of a wide, impressionist landscape, swirls of color that shift into shapes when you step far enough away, but dissolve into unidentifiable blobs of thick-textured paint up close. âNamjoon did a really good job curating.â
âMm-hmm,â you nod, but your eyes are on Jimin and everything else pales in comparison. Heâs dressed up for the occasion, tight black jeans and a white button-down with a leather jacket thrown on over top. His hair is styled, pretty pink strands pushed back off his forehead, and his asymmetrical silver earrings glimmer in the low lighting. The result is so stunning youâve had a hard time focusing on anything but him tonight.
A thought thatâs been running through your mind all evening resurfaces again as you swallow the last of your glass of champagne.
âThey should put you in a gallery.â You didnât necessarily plan to say the thought out loud, but say it you do. Jimin quirks an eyebrow and you decide to double down. âBut not here. Somewhere better.â
âThe Met?â he guesses, teasing.
âThe Louvre,â you counter, and he outright laughs, his head tipping back.
âThe Louvre?!â
âYou heard me,â you giggle, your body pressed against his side. âYouâre art.â
Releasing your hand, he wraps his free arm around you to pull you into his chest, the smile still lingering over his face. âAnd you,â he murmurs, âare drunk.â
âDoesnât mean I donât mean it.â Your voice is muffled slightly as you speak into his collarbone.
You tilt your head up for a kiss, and it seems to surprise both of you how quickly the atmosphere changes. It might be the more-than-several glasses of champagne to blame, or the fact that youâve found yourselves in a corner, hidden away from the rest of the exhibitionâs patrons, but the soft spark that ignites between you quickly grows into a licking flame at the touch of your lips. Itâs heat-blush passion as your mouths move against each other, and youâre trying to keep quiet despite the weight of it, heavy in your core, this shared, unspoken need.
âJimin,â you breathe into him, overwhelmed by all that he is.
He shifts, nosing at your jawline as he speaks into your ear. âDo you want to go somewhere?â
The suggestion makes you a little unsteady on your feet, your high heels threatening to topple over, and he catches you with a hand to your waist when you falter. âLike, somewhere here?â
âToo far to go all the way home,â he purrs, the hand on your body squeezing gently. âAnd you look too good.â
Your head swims as he kisses you again, and he pries the empty glass out of your hand, setting it down on the nearest table with his. A hand returns to the small of your back, then slips lower, cupping your ass through the fabric of your black dress. His mouth paints a smile over yours, and you grab his wrist. âFollow me.â
Stumbling your way through the gallery, trading laughs under your breath like confidants and kisses when no one is looking, you lead him back to the coat check closet at the front, thankfully left vacant by whichever freshman had been roped in to the thankless job. With a final glance over your shoulder to make sure youâre unseen, you push the door open and tug Jimin inside after you.
As soon as the coat check door closes again, he has you pressed against it, his tongue slipping hungrily into your mouth. His hands skirt up the curve of your hips as he slots a thigh between your legs, firmly pushing up the hem of your dress to grind into your clothed center.
You both freeze where you are at the sound of a moan, one that very distinctly does not come from either of you.
Jimin tries and fails to suppress a nervous laugh. Unable to make out anything in the dark, you reach your hand out, smacking aimlessly at the wall next to you until you find a lightswitch and flip it on.
âWhat the fuââ The man who made the noise in question flings a hand over his face at the sudden intrusive wash of fluorescents, but youâd know him from his voice alone. Kim Taehyung still has one hand gripped tight to the metal bar of a coat rack, back arched and legs spread for whoever his latest victim is, with his pants and boxers shoved down to his ankles.
Before your alcohol-soaked brain can put together a smug comment about how Taehyung needs to get his ass eaten at home like a normal human, Jiminâs voice surprises you.
âHobi?â
You clap a hand over your mouth as you realize the man on his knees, pulling his tongue off Taehyungâs rim with a look of utter confusion, is none other than Jung Hoseok. His eyes are wide as dinner plates as his head snaps up to take the two of you in.
âJimin?!â
âOh my god.â You start to laugh so hard your knees buckle, and Jimin has to wrap his arms around you to keep you upright. âHow the fuck did you two even meet?!â
âDo we really need to have this discussion now?!â Taehyung growls, and it only makes you laugh harder.
âCome on, come onââ Jimin is collapsing into giggles himself as he fumbles for the handle behind you. He simultaneously attempts to pull you off the door so he can swing it open. âLetâs leave them to it.â
You smack the lights off again as you make your escape, Jiminâs grip still hugging tight around your waist as you laugh until your lungs nearly give out. The lobby is thankfully empty, all the attendees pressed deeper into the gallery, so you loop your arms over his shoulders as you recover and pull his mouth back down to yours, unable to stop yourself.
âLet me take you home,â you manage to say in the space between kisses. Your tongue feels heavy when you speak; his is champagne-sweet. âJoon and Yoongi will be here for a while.â
Jiminâs agreement hums, buzzing on your lips. âWanna take the train?â
Youâre grateful the subway car you stumble into is empty, because the pull of Jiminâs mouth is too magnetic to be ignored. You donât think you could stop kissing him if you tried.
Itâs practically a race back to your apartment once you emerge from the station, partially to get out of the cold night air, though you hardly feel it with Jiminâs jacket slung over your shoulders and your body flushed hot from alcohol and desire. As you climb the four flights to your walk-up, both of you giggling and gripping tight to the banister, the spiral of the stairs sends your world spinning. You feel dizzy-drunk on wine and laughter and lust alike, and maybe something more. Something you donât have words for yet.
It takes you three tries to get your keys in the door, and when you finally manage to get it open, you kick your shoes off and make a beeline for your bedroom, dragging Jimin along after you, hand-in-hand. Thankfully he has the foresight to remember to shut the door behind you, because all you can think about is him: the rich musk of his cologne, the taste of his tongue, the warm blush of his skin under your palms.
The leather jacket hits the floor and you step over it, walking backwards as he licks into your open mouth, shameless.
You nearly fall over when you bump up against the bed and almost lose your balance, and then you reach for the buttons of his shirt at the same time he goes for your dress. The two of you laugh your frustrations against each other as your arms tangle and get in the way.
âYou first!â you insist, and he relents, lets you unbutton the starched white fabric of his button-down so he can shrug out of it. Your fingers move to undo his belt and then he takes over, impressively coordinated enough to be able to kiss you while kicking his jeans the rest of the way off, stripped down now to his black boxer-briefs. He pulls your dress up over your head, and then your barely-clothed bodies press together all the way down, the ache in your core now an undeniable throb.
Jimin takes your face in his hands and kisses you again, and you slip one hand between your hips and his to palm at him, earning an appreciative hiss. You rub at him over the front of his briefs, teasing, then dip your touch beneath his waistband.
His cock hangs heavy between his legs, but heâs not quite hard yet, maybe from the cold, so you take him in your hand and start to pump. For fear of too much dry friction you try to go slow, and he groans into your mouth as you twist your wrist a little to circle your thumb over his frenulum.
He buries his face in your neck, and you can feel the heat of his embarrassment bloom against your skin. âSorryâ gimme a second.â
Tilting your head, you press a kiss to his temple. âDonât apologize. Dâyou wanna try laying down?â
When he nods, you release your grip on him so he can sink down onto the bed, crawling backwards up to the pillows. Knelt down on the mattress, you settle in the space he makes for you, thighs spread and knees tipped open, and you push his briefs down enough to free all of him.
You hook your thumb and index finger under the head of his dick to pull it flush against his stomach, allowing you better access to drag your tongue in little kitten licks up his shaft. Your other hand moves to massage gently at his balls as you take his tip into your mouth and let it bulge against your cheek, let him slip against the soft wall there to make saliva pool on your tongue, sloppy on purpose.
Itâs still not working, not really, and when your gaze flits up to him again, Jiminâs face is pulled into a grimace. Heat rushes up your neck, and you pull your mouth off him and immediately right yourself. You shift backwards a little on your knees as your pulse starts to race. Does he not want this? Did you misread some sign, or push him too far?
Jimin must be able to read the look in your eyes, because he groans as he presses his face into his hands. âItâs not you. Think I drank too much, I donâtâ i-it feels good, Iâit justââ
Youâre not exactly sober yourself. The receding white noise of panic makes it hard to think, hard to know what to say. âI-itâs okay. Itâs okay.â
âI justââ he tries again. âI really want to do this, I donât know whyâ itâs fucking embarrassing.â The blankets muffle the sound as his palms smack flat against the bed on either side of him in clear frustration. You move out from between his legs, still trying to catch up, and a muscle in his jaw jumps as he pulls his boxer-briefs back over himself.
âJimin,â you murmur. The bed creaks when you shift to lay next to him, to tuck into his side, and you reach up to run a hand through his hair, a little sticky with the product holding it in place. An anxious, thrumming quiet settles over both of you as his eyes flutter closed.
The words finally come to you in the silence; you can only hope theyâll reach him. âI had so much fun with you tonight. That doesnât go away.â The crease between his brows softens a little, so you keep talking. âItâs not your only chance, okay? Iâm not leaving. Iâm staying right here.â Your free hand slips into his on the bed next to you. âAnd I want you with me.â
He sniffs a little, so quiet you nearly miss it, then turns in towards you. Your noses bump together and your mouth turns up at the corners as you continue. âItâs late, and I⊠canât promise there isnât more ass-eating waiting for you at home. Do you want to sleep here?â
Jiminâs eyes blink open, glassy, and then he nods.
âCome on,â you say softly, sitting up and tugging on your still-joined hands. âHow about we shower?â
In the bathroom, you run the water scalding hot, and when you both step in you nudge Jimin forward to stand under it first, then press against him from behind. Your hands wrap around his waist to slide over his stomach as you tilt up to reach his ear when you speak. âThis okay?â
He nods, hums a little, and you move your hands up over the whole of his body. Hard lines and soft curves, a work of art you know so well, you can see it when you close your eyes as you map his skin with your fingertips. You nuzzle into the place where his neck and shoulder meet, then press a kiss there. âIâm right here,â you say again, not even sure if he hears you.
But his head turns, and you feel one of his hands slide over yours on his chest. âWill you wash my hair?â he asks softly, and you tip forward to bring your mouth to his, convinced youâd do anything he asked of you.
Itâs intimate, the way you take your time running shampoo and then conditioner through his silky pink strands, dragging your nails over his scalp and applying gentle pressure that makes him sigh prettily in response. Jimin steps further under the showerhead both times to rinse the product out, and if a few tears slip down his cheeks, theyâre lost to the spray of the water where you canât tell the difference.
But he does manage the ghost of a smile when you reach to grab your washcloth and he gets there first. âYour turn.â
Once your body and then his are scrubbed and rinsed clean, you shut the water off and grab thick, fluffy towels that you dry off and wrap up in. In the dim light of your room, you pull on an oversized t-shirt and boyshorts, then dig out a pair of sweatpants from your dresser. Theyâre fairly baggy on you, but they fit Jimin perfectly, and the image of him in something of yours makes your heart squeeze tight in your chest.
You run two glasses under the kitchen tap that you set out to ward off any potential hangovers, and you even manage to find a spare toothbrush for him to use. When he emerges from the bathroom again, still absentmindedly toweling his damp hair, youâre sitting on the bed with your feet tucked under you.
âDo you want to watch something?â you offer gently.
He shakes his head as he stifles a yawn. ââMtired. Think I just wanna sleep.â
You pat the bedspread next to you, an invitation. âThen letâs sleep.â
Under the covers, you curl up together, soft and warm from the shower, scented lavender and mint from your body wash and toothpaste. Jiminâs legs tangle with yours, an arm wrapping over your waist, and you press your cheek against the hard plane of his chest with a small sigh.
You listen as his breathing slows, each inhale a little further apart from the last, to the point where you think heâs fallen asleep. You feel yourself start to follow after him, and the last thing you hear before youâre dragged all the way down is Jimin inhaling deep, then mumbling softly into your hair. âThank you. For everything.â
~*~
Light streams in between the cracks of the window blinds, painting warm shapes over your eyelids that gently wake you. You sigh and stretch as you slowly come all the way up from dreaming, your eyes still heavy-lidded. When you roll over with a soft grunt, you find Jimin fast asleep there, his face smushed into the pillow, one arm slung lazily over you.
The corner of your mouth pulls up, and you have to fight the urge to dot kisses all over his face, deciding to let him sleep instead. It takes some maneuvering, but you manage to roll out from under his arm without waking him and slip quietly out of bed, easing the bedroom door closed behind you.
Itâs early, and the apartment is still, washed in morning gleam and the gentle hum of New York City traffic on the streets outside.
You stumble into the kitchen with a stifled yawn, swinging open the fridge and leaning down to retrieve a pack of bacon and the half-empty carton of eggs. Humming quietly to yourself, you dig a pan out and set it on the stove to heat.
Arms slide around your waist, making you jump a little before you melt back as Jimin nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You can feel his body through your t-shirt, still warm from sleep and bedsheets he mustâve only just crawled out from under.
Not quite graceful, you turn in his arms and loop yours around his neck to seek a kiss. âGood morning,â you murmur, your voice hoarse on your first spoken words of the day. âHow are you feeling?â
Jiminâs mouth is still slurred from waking up when he answers. ââMgood. You look good.â His gaze roams down your body and back up, as if to take in your oversized shirt, your bare legs, your hair still messy from sleep. âSo cute like this.â
You scrunch your nose slightly as you smile up at him. âWant breakfast?â
A heat starts to pool between your legs as his hands slide further down your back. He pushes your shirt up so he can grip your ass, the thin fabric of your underwear the only thing separating his skin from yours.
âIn a bit.â
You canât help but squeak when, in one swift move, he bends his knees and lifts you off the ground. Impulsively, your legs spread to wrap over his hips, thighs squeezing tight to hold on, and your arms cling around his neck as laughter flutters in your chest. Before you can act on the urge to bury your face in his shoulder, his mouth finds yours again, and the way he kisses you, hungry and deep, makes nothing else in the world matter.
He carries you back to bed, nudging open the door he didnât quite close all the way with his shoulder, then using a foot to push it shut again. Your muscles unclench when he sits down with you in his lap, and you unwrap your legs from around him, your knees sinking soft into the bed.
You canât quite shake the thoughts of the night before. âJimin,â you start, âwe donât have to do this if you donâtââ
âWant to,â his voice is low, ragged edges from sleep. âDoing it âcause I want to. I want you. Do you want me?â
You nod, leaning back to look at him, your arms still twined over his neck. âMore than anything.â
Thereâs no rush this time as he shifts backwards up the bed and you crawl over him to settle into his lap again. No tension thatâs been building all night, no alcohol buzzing in your systems, no urgency. Just your bodies, half-dressed in sleep clothes, intertwining like they were made to fit together.
Your kisses are sweet and unhurried as Jiminâs hands slip beneath your oversized t-shirt, delicate fingers tracing up your waist. He cups your breasts in his palms, squeezing gently as he licks into your mouth. When he rolls a nipple between his fingers, your breath hitches, sparks of arousal shooting all the way down to your toes. A weight blossoms in your core as you reach for the hem of your shirt to pull it over your head, and you shiver a little in the morning air.
âBeautiful,â Jimin says quietly, reverently, and you take his face in your hands.
âYou are too,â you murmur, your eyes searching his. âSo beautiful.â Your hands slip down his body as he kisses you again, your fingertips outlining the contours of his chest, gently brushing over his nipples to make him groan into your mouth.
Jiminâs hands come to rest at the curve of your hips as your mouths move together, where he teases his touch under the band of your boyshorts. He pulls back just far enough to ask, âCan I take these off?â and you nod.
You shimmy the thin fabric down your thighs, dropping onto your ass with a laugh so he can tug them the rest of the way off, one ankle at a time. As you sit up on your knees again, his hands come to grip your thighs, and he shifts lower on the bed until heâs laying flat on his back next to you.
âWanna eat you out,â he murmurs softly.
âYeah?â You bite down on a small smile.
He hums. âCan Iâ will you please, uh⊠sit on my face?â
You canât help but giggle. No one has ever asked so politely. âYeah, okay.â
Itâs slow, languid, the way his full lips close delicately around your clit when you settle over him, how he alternates with lazy passes of his tongue, not unlike the way he kisses you. The pleasure pulls your spine arched and your head tips back, palms pressing flat to the bed beneath you.
âJimin,â you gasp, âbaby, feels so fucking good.â
His tongue is heavy as it drags down your folds, thick when he sinks it into your cunt to taste the slick arousal that pours out of you and drips down his chin. Your hips rock into his mouth, his nose inadvertently bumping against your clit as he licks you like he doesnât want to waste a drop. Your walls cling tight, crammed up full of him.
With a slurp and a gasp for breath, he withdraws, his tongue made hot from being buried inside of you, trailing wet warmth as he licks back up your pussy to lap at your clit again. Your arms threaten to give out when he sucks the sensitive bud into his mouth, lips pulsing an insistent rhythm that makes you moan and writhe above him.
âJimin, Jimin.â The pleasure is decadent, thick, wine and honey, made sweeter by the beautiful boy pressed between your thighs. Emotion bubbles up inside of you to twist with your pleasure, and you tighten a hand in his rose-blush hair as you moan again, nearly a sob this time, a dam breaking.
Jimin hums against you, fingertips digging into the soft skin of your thighs, like he can tell youâre at the edge without you having to say a word, and itâs enough to send you tumbling over it.
âOh fuck baby, yes, fuck.â Your toes curl tight over the bedsheets as your pussy flutters, throbs, gushes. Your vision whites out as you come hard enough to make your thighs shake, hard enough that your stomach muscles tremble with the effort of holding you up. Jiminâs mouth works you through it, tongue stroking flat and slow to coax pulse after pulse out of you, until everything melts into shaky aftershocks and your thighs clench around him, over-sensitive.
He pulls back when you start to squirm, lips smacking wetly on a final kiss to your pussy, and heat flushes your face at the sound of it. Your limbs feel heavy as lead as you slip off from on top of him and collapse down onto the mattress with a floaty sigh, your pulse still thudding brightly in your ears.
Youâre only distantly aware of the way the bed shifts as Jimin slides down next to you. You follow his touch on instinct, turning into him when he pulls you close and presses a kiss to your hairline. Heartbeat still slamming in your chest, mind hazy with morning orgasm glow, you hum contentedly as your eyes flutter open to find him palming at a thick bulge tenting hisâ well, your sweatpants.
âLooks like itâs cooperating today.â Jiminâs voice is equal parts relieved and embarrassed.
With a lazy smile, you hook a finger in his waistband, tugging playfully. âWhat do you want to do about it?â
He laughs hoarsely. âI would love to finally fuck you, if youâll have me.â
âI donât want anybody else.â The thought spills out before you can worry if itâs too soon to say it, but he just smiles and leans in to kiss you.
At Jiminâs guidance, you lay back against the pillows, a couple of which he grabs to slot under your hips. âThereâs condoms in the nightstand,â you say softly, and anticipation thrums in your chest, twinning with your still-racing pulse as you watch him retrieve one, then step out of his sweatpants to roll it on.
He climbs back onto the bed to hover over you, and your breaths come shallow into each otherâs mouths. You kiss quietly at the precipice of this moment, like youâre afraid it might not be real, a dream you could wake up from at any second.
âThank you.â Jiminâs low voice sends a ripple through you. âFor waiting for me.â
You press a hand to his cheek, your eyes trying to take all of him in at once. âIt wasnât waiting, Jimin. Really. Iâve loved every second with you. It doesnât matter what weâre doing.â
âIâm so glad I met you,â he murmurs.
The head of his cock teases your entrance, and you spread your thighs wider, pulling your legs up towards your chest. Still sensitive from your first orgasm, you canât bite back the moan that spills out of you as he sinks into your tight heat with a cock thick enough to split you open. âFuck, Jimin.â
Thereâs a pause when heâs pressed all the way in, his body covering yours, your hands clutching at the broad sweep of his back. He exhales a soft, disbelieving laugh as he looks down to see himself buried in you to the hilt. âGod, youâre so tight. Does it hurt?â
You shake your headâ youâre so soaked from his tongue and your arousal that it all just feels like melting, a pulsating heat between your legs. When he presses another kiss to your lips, he circles his hips, and you both groan at the feeling.
Jiminâs hands grip your thighs as he shifts and starts to move, starts fucking into you with long, slow strokes that make your pussy flutter, as if to urge him in deeper.
âItâs good?â he checks in again, voice tight, clearly holding himself back.
âSo good, baby,â you breathe, âplease fuck me.â A smirk flashes over his mouth at your manners, so polite when you ask to take it, and then he snaps his hips into you and you keen. âFuck, please, just like that.â
He does it again and again, hands pressing down on your thighs to keep you folded up under him as he fucks you. The angle is just right for the thick head of his cock to pound into your g-spot with every stroke, and your back arches as your walls grip tight to him.
Jimin echoes your gasps with his own, swearing under his breath as you squeeze around him. Heâs thrusting deep-deep now, and your hips shove up towards him for all of it, your thighs trembling as you take every inch. Youâre dripping down his length every time he pulls back, wet enough to soak the sheets beneath you.
The pleasure, the pressure as he fills you up is so overwhelming that your hands reach, clinging to anything they can find. A pillow, the bedsheets, the flexing muscles in his forearms. Your moans come unabashedly now, underscored by the slap of skin on skin, the thud of the bedframe knocking into the wall. âJimin, Jimin, baby.â
âYeah,â he pants, choked up like heâs close. âLove it when you say my name.â
You sit up a little, folded legs shifting to wrap over his hips, and your hands come to his face to pull his mouth down to yours. His movements stutter as you kiss him breathlessly, and the brush of your tongue over his must be just enough to make him come undone. With a grunt of effort, he thrusts hard into you one final time, and his shoulders shake as he fills up the condom.
You kiss him again and again, your lips pulled into a smile against his as you tangle a hand in his hair, made messy from sleep and sex. Jiminâs body weighs heavy on top of yours as he drops his head to your shoulder, breath coming in short heat-bursts over your collarbone.
âFuck. Been a minute.â He presses a kiss there, another to your neck, a third to your jaw. âDo you want to keep going?â
Your eyes widen at the question. âIâ can you?â
A soft flush paints color in his cheeks, and heâs suddenly a little shy. âYeah, I can. If you want. Or we can stop.â
You wrap your arms over his shoulders, your noses bumping. âI kinda felt like I was getting close again.â
He smiles. âThen let me finish what I started.â Thereâs a bit of shuffling as he moves to the edge of the bed to remove and tie up the used condom, then reaches for the box to retrieve another.
As he tears open the foil and rolls it on, you watch and consider all of him. This body that you know from every angle, that youâve studied like a textbook, that holds the boy who stepped onto the subway and changed your life and made it better. This body, made to be adored, to be respected and cherished and filled up with love. This body, chosen to be shared with you, to be held by you, to be near you.
Thatâs all you want, you realize as he rolls over, brown eyes blinking sweetly at you. This body, and all that it holds: the darkness and the light, the pain and the beauty, the soul that so perfectly fits with yours.
âTurn over for me?â he asks softly. âI want to spoon.â
This round is easier, slower, your bodies molding together, shaky from effort and sensitivity. You twist over your shoulder, tipping your head up for a kiss that turns into a shared gasp as he presses into you again. Your walls are swollen enough to be tender, and the stretch of him, the way he fills you up entirely, makes your eyes roll back.
As he starts to grind his hips into you, his hand snakes down between your thighs before you even have to ask. You hook a leg over his to allow him better access and gasp when his cock slides even deeper into you from the new angle.
âSo good,â you manage as two of his fingers work circles into your clit, matching the same slow-stroke pace. His tongue slips into your mouth, and with his cock rubbing insistently against your front wall, it doesnât take much. Pleasure overwhelms you in a hot rush as he so easily pulls you apart again.
âJimin.â Your voice is nearly a whisper, your walls starting to pulse. Your head tips back against his shoulder as he fucks and rubs you through it, his hums of encouragement buzzing through your body, your hips shuddering. âBaby, oh god.â
Jiminâs strokes start to falter, and then he goes still, your cunt aftershock-fluttering around him as he comes again, groaning your name.
A brush of daylight through the blinds makes your eyes heavy, and they drop closed as you lean into him and breathe through the comedown. You donât know how long you lay there like that until his kisses pull you back earthside, dotting over your forehead, cheeks, nose, jaw. You tilt your head up and he finally finds your lips again.
With a deep grunt of post-sex effort, he rolls over, leaning off the edge of the bed to deal with the second condom. A shiver dots up your spine at the loss of his body next to yours, and you tuck into his side when he lays down again, throwing an arm over his chest to better nuzzle into the crook of his neck. The heat of his palm makes you sigh as his hand rubs gentle circles against your back.
Something cracks open inside of you, warm like his touch, like the sunlight bleeding through the window. You can feel the rapid pace of his heartbeat under your hand, and itâs everything, all of him, that makes the words rise up in your throat, undeniable.
âJimin,â you breathe, âI lââ
A loud bang on your bedroom door makes you flinch, and you roll over with a grimace as Yoongi shouts from the other side. âIf youâre finished, just so you know, you left a fucking pan on the stove. Couldâve burnt the house down while you were in there deflowering each other.â
Your jaw drops open and Jiminâs eyes go wide, and you collapse against each other in a silent rush of laughter. Youâre surprised when Yoongiâs voice comes back, a little softer this time. âAlso I brought some bagels back from work. If you want any, better hurry before Namjoonie eats them all.â
The charged moment has passed, and the words sink back down inside of you. Making a promise to tell him soon, you wrap yourself tighter around Jiminâs side with a smile. âWhat do you think?â
He nods thoughtfully. âIâll never say no to a bagel.â
âCome on then,â you murmur, tilting up for a final hit of affection. The kiss he leaves on your lips makes your heartbeat flutter, like the shudder of a subway car.
POV: That one time Jimin FaceTimed you. đ
Jimin:Â âHi beautiful.. Iâve missed you.â
You: âWe just had dinner half an hour ago babe?? Wait a minute.. Is this still the hunger talking?? Seriously babe! đ Jimin: âYeah, Iâm always hungry for you baby..â
You: đł
Inlove with this series!đ
Stay With Me Series CollectionÂ
exhusband!jungkook, singledad!jungkook, unplanned pregnancy, EX2L, angst, fluff, smut
all chapters and drabbles will be uploaded in chronological order
Keep reading
POV : That one time you and Jimin just donât want to end the call.
Jimin: **just watches you go on with your skin care routine**
You:Â âBaby...?â
Jimin: **in awe of how you look perfect even with bare face** You:Â âBabe??..â
***silence***
You: âChim!!!!!!!â Jimin: âMmm..? You: âGosh! You scared the shit out of me! I thought you fell asleep with your eyes open!â Jimin: âBabe thatâs Taehyung..â Â
(đž photo CTTO)