Park Jimin is a simple man.
You give him Jeon Jungkook?
He will 100% flip his fucking shit and drop whatever the fuck he is doing at the time to make sure he doesn’t miss whatever tweet, instapost, vlive, fucking three second commercial break on whatever YouTube video; so long as Jungkook features in it.
So sue him; Jimin is a fanboy. What can he say?
Here’s a little rundown on the 411.
Who is Jungkook, you ask?
Jeon Jungkook is only The Most Glorious, multi-talented Golden Maknae of the hip hop trio BTS.
He can sing, he can dance, he can rap; triple fucking threat. And he can even fucking edit his own aesthetic ass videos, christened by the name of G.C.F, that are definitely worthy of an Oscar.
Can he get an amen?
RM and J-Hope are also pretty cool too, you know? As the leader and main dancer of the group, respectively, they all play very important roles.
Plus, Jimin has a love-hate relationship with J-Hope’s body rolls, fucking sinful; and he abso-fucking-lutely adores RM’s dimples, precious. And leader raps like a fucking god. The duality in that guy.
You get what he’s saying?
But Jimin? He really only has eyes for one man, and one man alone.
Which is not to say he doesn’t support the rest of BTS; he does!
BTS minus one, is not BTS at all.
Teamwork makes the dream work, and all that.
But yeah. Jungkook? He is Jimin’s Manz™. Nothing can ever come between Jimin and Jeon Jungkook.
So, in conclusion, Jimin really loves BTS; and he really loves Jeon Jungkook.
STREAM EUPHORIA @junglekook9197 May 21
LMAO this thirsty hoe back at it again!!1
Mae loves BTS @maerrymejoon May 21
What a great time to be alive ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
One Kook to Rule them all @jkjk090197 May 21
ID LET HIM CHOKE ME WIT THOSE THIGHS
Jimin scrambles out of the shower, heart beating a mile a minute, as he launches himself at the innocuous iPad lying on the bathroom counter. He swears he heard the V Live notification ring while he had shampoo suds all the way up to his nostrils.
That can only mean one thing. Jimin is literally following only one channel.
Jeon Jungkook is on.
“Ow—fuck,” Jimin stubs his toe on a corner of the elevated tiles separating the shower stall from the remainder of the shared bathroom.
He stops himself from hopping up and down on one foot, knowing it would only end in either of two scenarios: Jimin with a twisted ankle or Jimin with a concussion, neither of which sound very optimal for his chances at survival.
There’s a rather large puddle of water gathering around the bathroom floor, dripping down Jimin’s very wet, very soapy body; but he really doesn’t care.
Lo and behold, there is that telltale notification for someone going live on the V app.
“Jungkook! I’m coming!”
He has half a mind to, maybe, wipe his soaked hands on a towel; but Jimin is a man on a mission. He grabs for the iPad, wet fingers and all, and touches the little notification bar labeled ‘Starting the video! BTS JK: Hi guys, what are you up to?’
The teal screen flashes before him, fingers formed in a ‘V’ front and center. He’s so excited!
Then, the screen changes.
Holy shit! Holy shit!
“Oh my god—yes! Hi! So cute!” Jimin coos, hard, cheeks flushed and body thrumming with anticipation.
What will Jungkook talk about today? Maybe he’ll sing for them? Or maybe he’ll just read the comments and answer questions—kinda like they’re all hanging out?
Jeon Jungkook looks so fucking handsome, sitting in his studio dressed casually in his signature white tee. He’s fresh faced with lightly damp hair just peeking through; and Jimin thinks he physically dies a little because, holy shit, how can one man be so devastatingly gorgeous?
“Ho—shit. Okay, Park Jimin. Chill,” Jimin inhales deeply; then he exhales, palms up and slowly extending forward with his breath. Like he learned in Mediation 101: Mindfulness & Breathing.
Useless for his major, but Jimin is glad for the useful tips.
Alright, Jimin is ready.
Leaning closer, Jimin waits apprehensively for Jungkook to start speaking, mentally continuing with his breathing lessons lest he starts hyperventilating again.
Fuck, Jungkook is so pretty.
But something seems to be off. Jimin frowns, tapping the screen. Is this frozen?
Why isn’t Jungkook moving?
“Huh, this shit better not be broken already,” Jimin mutters, tapping around to see if the other functions are working.
And they are, working. The chat sidebar is whizzing by very quickly, as per usual, and the hearts are streaming upward in one massive blur of color.
Squinting at his iPad, Jimin finally realizes that it’s not his iPad that is looking kind of funny; it’s Jungkook.
The singer is staring oddly into the camera, head tilted to the side with an utterly bewildered expression.
“Um, hello?” Jungkook calls, sounding hesitant, unsure. Is he not seeing the viewer count? Maybe V Live is malfunctioning?
“I wonder what’s wrong with him,” Jimin mumbles, faintly conscious that he’s left the shower curtain wide open. His roommate and suitemates are gonna be pissed; but now is not the time to worry about such trivials. His man is on live!
“Umm,” Jungkook hums, pursing his lips. And Jimin battles the urge to “uwu” out loud. “Nothing is wrong with me,” the singer states, licking his lips. And boy does that do something for Jimin; somewhere deep down below in his nether regions.
“Wha—” Jimin is beyond confused. This is nothing like how Jungkook’s other V Lives typically go. The singer is usually happily chatting with his viewers, or doing something ridiculous to make the fans laugh.
And what a coincidence is that? They must totally be soulmates or something; because they are already communicating telepathically.
Jungkook for sure answered that question appropriately as Jimin had spoken it out loud.
Fuck, haha. Did Jimin just say all that out loud?
“Uh,” Jungkook has an eyebrow quirked, lips curving upwards in a bemused smile. “Huh. This has never happened before.”
“What are you talking about Jeon Jungkook? Make sense, will you?” Jimin pouts, staring raptly at the screen. He has insistent fingers clutching the counter for support, the straight edge digging into his palms.
Jimin did not just risk his neck and jump out of the shower, just for Jungkook to say a few mysterious words and then disappear.
“Hey… um,” the singer tries again, looking suddenly focused, like he’s racking through his brain for the right words. “Look. I think you’re getting water everywhere,” Jungkook waves a hand around, probably somewhere in the vague vicinity of the camera. “It’s like… splashing out of your shower.”
Shit, that reminds him.
Turning around quickly, Jimin makes his way over to the shower, one foot stepping into the stall as he reaches inside to shut the water off—
“Hey, listen,” Jungkook says; and Jimin turns back, water raining down and drenching half of his body, one hand resting on the knob.
“You know, as much as I… appreciate the view… maybe you should, I don’t know, go grab a towel? Naked shower guy?”
“What the fuck?!”
What the actual fucking fuck?
Jimin is definitely flirting with death today; because he nearly breaks his neck again, for the second time, as he darts out of the shower, ducking down and dropping to the floor like he’s at an elementary school earthquake drill.
“Bro, you okay?”
“No I am not! What the actual fuck!” Jimin shrieks, unsure if he’s actually losing his mind because, holy shit, is Jeon Jungkook talking back to him? In the real? “How is this happening?!”
“Why are you yelling?” The singer sounds amused; but Jimin can’t be sure because he’s currently trying to roll himself up into the tiniest ball possible on this disgusting bathroom floor. “I mean, I’m not really sure either.”
“How can I not be yelling?! I’m actually talking to Jeon fucking Jungkook!”
Jimin thinks maybe he actually did slip and fall, breaking his back, leading to his untimely demise. Shit, if this is heaven, Jimin wants a refund. Heaven fucking sucks.
“I mean, yeah. That’s my name,” Jungkook chuckles; and the very sound would otherwise have Jimin squealing on the floor. But this? Nope. Jimin is having a panic attack on the floor.
“How are you so casual about this?!” He’s still screaming, voice going a bit shrill.
“Well, I—shit happens? I guess?”
“Holy shit,” the breath is punched right out of Jimin’s lungs as a thought occurs to him. “Fuck! Does this mean everyone online can see?! Is my dick being broadcast internationally?!”
Oh my god. Jimin is going to have to drop out of university. He’s going to have to move to another city, maybe a whole other continent; change his identity and re-dye his hair back to black.
“Um—probably not,” Jungkook answers slowly. Jimin peeks a little. “At least, I don’t think so? I only see you so…”
Grasping onto the edge of the counter, Jimin peers over the edge, just up to mid-nose. “I can’t believe this…”
“I can’t either,” the singer shrugs, perking up at the sight of Jimin’s hair. “Hey, you’re kinda cute.”
The sound Jimin makes can only be described as inhuman, unintelligible; because he actually does die at that moment. A tingling flush burns behind his cheeks, all the way up to the roots of his already fire engine red hair.
“Holy fuckening—Jeon Jungkook just said I’m cute,” Jimin thinks maybe he sounds like a dying whale, dropping to the floor again, wheezing for breath.
“Look bro, It’s not that deep.”
“You have literally seen my naked penis! It is that deep!” Jimin screeches, internally wondering how his roommate or suitemates haven’t called the police yet because he sounds like he’s being murdered.
“Well, okay. If you put it that way…”
“How are you doing this?!”
“Listen,” Jungkook sounds a little irked now, and Jimin does try to tone it down a notch. But how does one put a lid on a panic attack? “I already said this—I know just as much as you do.”
Exhaling a shaky breath, Jimin crawls over to the towel rack, stretching out an arm to grab his robe. “Oof—" the robe slips over the hook, Jimin falling chest first onto the tiles.
It takes a couple tries to get it right, shoving the wrong arm into the opposite side, then back again. “Damn it.” When Jimin finally manages to put it on correctly, he pops back up and scoots cautiously closer to the iPad, securely tying the terry cloth knot.
“So…” Jimin really doesn’t know what to say. This is… absolutely incredible. Something beyond even his wildest dreams could’ve ever imagined.
This is just so wild. And he’s actually about to say so; because, what is brain-to-mouth filter?
However, Jungkook interjects. “Hey. look,” the singer sucks in his bottom lip, a nervous habit Jimin recognizes. “I gotta go. But,” he hesitates, Jimin leaning closer with what he hopes is an encouraging smile. “I think you’re cute. So, maybe we should exchange numbers.”
Now that, ladies and gentlemen, is a really loud yelp, as Jimin trips and falls back down on the floor.
Jungkook chuckles. “See? Fucking cute.”
“Kim Taehyung you will not believe!”
Jimin rams his body though the door, chest heaving from hauling ass three corridors down to his Certified Best Bro For Life™’s end of the dorm. Maybe he has to shout a couple frazzled apologies as he goes, bumping into dormmates left and right on his mission to tell his epic tale.
But like he just said, he’s a man on a mission.
“Hi Jimin. Nice to see you too. Again,” Minjae greets, not even looking up from his laptop, dripping with sarcastic enthusiasm.
“Hey Jae. Tae!”
As Minjae’s bed placement happens to be right by the door, Jimin launches over it like a professional Olympic sprinter, much to Taehyung’s roommate’s resigned annoyance. “My fucking computer—"
“Tae! Guess what just happened to me?!”
His best friend turns to glance from where he’s currently sprawled out on his own bed, 3DS in hand.
“Um… you finally grew an extra centimeter?” Taehyung cocks a brow, putting the game console down because he already knows; that’s how in sync they are.
“What the fuck,” Jimin mutters. “Rude. No you bitch. I—” he catapults right onto Taehyung’s bed, smooshing his best friend straight into the mattress. “—just had an actual conversation. Actual. Conversation. With. Jeon Jungkook!”
There’s a choking noise, somewhere in the region of Jimin’s left chest. Figuring his best friend could probably do with some air, Jimin shifts a little. Taehyung’s face reappears, slightly purple around the edges.
“What the fuck?! How did you expect me to guess something like that?!”
“I know right?!” Jimin shimmies down a little, curling himself around Taehyung’s lanky form, full body shivering with excitement. “What the fuck?! We even exchanged numbers!”
Minjae sighs, utterly put out. “God, you guys are so loud.”
Jimin pushes up, just enough to shoot the other a glare; but that expression is wiped clean off his face when—
“Um—that’s all fine and dandy—and I am very excited for you?!” Taehyung rolls their bodies around until Jimin is the one on the bed, straddling a breathless Jimin around the waist. “But the real question is—did you also get Min Genius Producer Suga’s phone number too?!”
Man, when did the little shit turn into a ninja?
“Uh… no?” Jimin blinks up at Taehyung, trying not to laugh at the flabbergasted look on his face. What is this guy’s obsession with BigHit Entertainment’s producer? Haha, cannot relate.
“What the fuck! I thought we were best friends?!” Taehyung shrieks, his low register peaking surprisingly high until it cracks. He grabs hold of Jimin’s wrists, bringing them up by his head on the bed. “Platonic soulmates, what?! The level of betrayal! I am disowning you!”
Each word is punctuated by Taehyung bouncing Jimin’s hands off the mattress.
In his peripherals, Jimin spots Minjae plugging in a set of earbuds.
“My bro. Chill,” Jimin attempts to wiggle a leg around his best friend’s torso, so he can kick the taller off. But it doesn’t seem to be working. He’s just too slippery when he’s being so—
“I have been forsaken by my own best friend,” Taehyung rolls right off of Jimin himself, doing a dramatic swoon onto the floor.
There’s a loud thud that echoes with the impact, followed by aggressive pounding from the suite one floor below. “This is the seventh time—” a muffled voice leaks through the ceiling and floor, laced with outrage. “Keep it down up there!”
Jimin giggles, peering over the edge of the mattress. “You’re so dramatic.”
“Oh my god. Says the guy who just burst into my room,” Minjae huffs, looking up from his laptop with a cocked brow. He yanks out the right earbud.
“Our room,” Taehyung cuts in, lifting his chin a little to shoot his roommate a pointed look. “What’s mine is Chim’s, and what’s Chim’s is mine. Remember?”
Minjae scoffs. “Like I said,” he rolls his eyes. “Burst into my room, screaming about how some celebrity gave him the time of day—"
“Excuse me,” Jimin props himself up on his elbows, blowing back the fiery red fringe cascading over his eyes. “He did not just give me his time of day,” he pauses, for dramatic effect. “Jungkook also gave me his number.”
“Aight well,” Minjae hauls himself off his bed, bending down to grab a blue backpack from the floor. “Good for you. I’m out of here,” he stuffs the laptop into his bag and swings it over his shoulders. “It is way too early for this shit.”
“What’s up his ass?” Jimin scrunches his nose in a grimace, the door clicking shut after Taehyung’s sour attitude roommate’s behind.
“Nothing. That’s probably the problem,” his best friend pops back onto the bed, making Jimin bounce a little under his weight.
“So, unimportant things aside,” Taehyung grabs Jimin by the shoulders, shaking him enthusiastically. “How did this even happen? Tell me all about it? Give me all the juice?!”
“Oh—so you will not believe,” Jimin breathes, turning onto his side and making grabby hands which has, over the years, become their unanimous Best Bros For Life code for snuggles. “So I was in the shower, right?”
One Kook to Rule them all @jkjk090197 May 28
SPILL THE TEA WHORE
Genius Producer’s Vvitch @taebae95 May 28
lol get that D minnie~~~~
STREAM EUPHORIA @junglekook9197 May 28
WHAT???!! U CANT JS SLIP THIS TIDBIT AND NOT ELABORATE??!!!
Abyss @trollser69 May 28
This bitch is so extra I swear
It is 2AM and Jimin has been camped out in this tiny stinkin’ cubicle in the 24 Hour Room of the library for the past five hours.
Granted, this most likely wouldn’t be happening if he hadn’t procrastinated all week and started earlier on this darn ten page Art History visual analysis paper on Rembrandt’s Self-Portrait with Two Circles.
But these things cannot be helped.
Jimin has better things to do than actually start term papers on time, like volunteering at the local animal shelter, or hanging out with his best bro and irritating the life out of his roommate, or even watching the entire season of Planet Earth on Netflix.
So here Jimin is, on a Thursday night going into Friday morning; cracked out, annoyed, and hungry as fuck.
And to top it off, Jimin hasn’t showered in nearly a week, since Monday, still wearing the same raggedy hoodie and sweatpants, an unidentified mustard stain on his sleeve.
He even has a pimple on his chin!
Jimin sighs, shoving his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Then he wrinkles his nose in distaste when he’s hit with an awful stench of old newspapers and stale sweat. They really need to air this place out, maybe tidy up a bit, Febreeze it down perhaps.
This would probably be going so much better if he actually paid attention in lecture. What a concept. He’ll have to try it out.
Jimin feels like his eyes are about to desiccate and shrivel into raisins, that’s how long he’s been staring at the stupid painting on his laptop monitor.
The word document page is forlornly blank, type icon flashing in and out of existence on the first line.
He can’t help it that he keeps getting distracted; something smells like death and piss in this room.
Rubbing his eyes tiredly, something starts vibrating in the front pouch of his hoodie; Jimin ignores it. He really has to crank out this paper. After a few seconds, it stops.
Jimin drops his head down on the desk, forehead banging against the wood.
The phone starts vibrating again.
“Fucking shit,” Jimin mutters, digging into his pocket for the cellular device. “Who’s calling at this—what the fuck!”
Jimin almost drops the phone.
It’s Jungkook—fucking Jeon Jungkook is FaceTiming him. Oh my god.
Jimin panics; fuck he looks like absolute garbage. Why? Oh why? Is this godly human being calling him right now?
The girl three cubicles down shoots him a death glare over her wall; and Jimin glares back. Yes—he wins this staring battle of the wills. After about ten seconds, she rolls her eyes, hunching back down.
Okay, here goes.
Clearing his throat, Jimin fixes up the hoodie still pulled over his rat’s nest of a hairdo, hits the answer button, only showing the upper third of his face, down to mid-nose bridge.
“Hey, Jimin!” Jungkook looks as immaculate as he always does; and Jimin has to stop himself from crooning. The singer is in another one of those white t-shirts, from what Jimin can see, a red beanie crammed over his head.
Jungkook looks like he’s in a hallway; all Jimin can decipher are walls in the background.
“Hi, listen. I’m at the library right now,” Jimin whispers, kind of loud. It’s not quiet at all; the girl huffs.
“Oh shit! My bad! Not a good time?”
“No, no! It’s fine—” Jimin covers his mouth with a sweater paw. Glancing back and forth, he spots the exit for the adjoining smoke deck. “—hold on,” he snaps the laptop shut, then rises from his chair.
Slipping out of the 24 Hour Room, Jimin allows his hand to fall, taking safety in the absolute darkness of the night. He feels a little better about showing the rest of his grubby face.
“Okay, all good. What’s up, Jungkook?”
“Nothing. Just wondering what you were up to.”
Jimin scowls, dropping down onto a plastic chair after dusting off the ash. “Have a paper due.”
“Ooh—what’s it about?”
Do they really have to talk about this? Jimin has had enough of Art History for a life time. He’s not even sure why he selected this class.
Oh wait, he does remember.
Jimin will have to remember to give Kim Taehyung a good kick in the rump later—after he digs himself out of this Art History grave he’s being buried alive under.
But Jungkook has just asked a question; so he answers like a decent human being.
“Have to psychoanalyze some bullshit artist from the Stone Ages,” is what his amazing brain comes up with. Fuck Jungkook looks so good laughing. Music to Jimin’s ears.
“Who?” The singer has a fist curled loosely over his mouth as he laughs.
The laughter stops; and the singer shoots Jimin an affronted look. “Seriously? Rembrandt is literally not that old. He’s from the Baroque era—” how the fuck does he know? “—not a caveman, you heathen.”
“How do you know all this?” Jimin demands, shifting the phone back a little higher when his arm slips. “Also, isn’t Baroque mean like… rock or something?”
Jungkook splutter, and Jimin pouts at him.
“I mean—I have an invested interest in the arts?” The singer calms down after a bit. “Do you even pay attention in class?”
“Um… ye—es?” Kick a man while he’s already down, why don’t you?
“Sounds fake,” Jungkook smiles. “But okay. So, which painting?”
Jimin groans, tipping his head over the back of the chair. “Self-Portrait with Two Circles,” he grunts.
Jungkook cocks a brow, judgment clearly visible even through their shitty Wi-Fi connection. “Foreals? That painting is literally iconic?”
“No one asked you,” Jimin sniffs, tilting his chin away in a haughty manner. “Besides,” it lasts for all of a second. He’s back to moping. “I know jack about art. Maybe the guy just really wanted to take a selfie with two circles,” Jimin can hear Jungkook laughing again. God he loves that sound.
“Why do we have to ‘delve into the intricacies,’ quote, quote. It’s not that deep?”
Jimin is pouting, mega hard.
“Listen,” Jungkook’s voice takes on a breathy quality after all that laughing; and it maybe flips a little something in the pit of Jimin’s stomach. “That is the face of a man who had it all. Then he lost all his money, his wives, then later is son. If you look into his eyes,” Jungkook explains, but Jimin can only focus on one thing. His voice. “You can see all of that suffering reflected in the way he painted himself.”
Jimin exhales, plucking out stray lint from the hem of his sweater. He honestly registered none of that, too entranced by the sound of Jungkook’s silky tone.
“How do you even get all that from a picture?” Jimin blinks owlishly. “Literally, my selfies are just look, look at me! I’m smiling! Click.”
“Okay, yeah,” Jungkook sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s like I’m talking to a rock. An uncultured, adorable rock. I’m gonna go now.”
“Rude,” Jimin wills away the burning blush, unused to all the random compliments. “You called me first.”
“Yeah, so I’m un-calling you first. Besides, my break is up. I gotta—”
“Jeon Jungkook! I swear to god if you are on that phone again—”
“Who’s that?” Jimin jerks back, that booming voice ringing loud in the emptiness of the open night.
“No one—” Jungkook is looking over his shoulder.
“I said right now Jungkook! You get off that phone before I take it and throw it into the toilet—”
The singer is moving, image quality shaking a bit, presumably as he starts running.
“—seriously Jeon! You did not just ditch dance practice for twenty minutes—”
Whoever is shouting seems to catch up, Jungkook giggling in the midst of all the rustling and tussling. The phone is jerking out of control.
It’s making Jimin get motion sickness.
Then it stops.
And Jimin is looking into the face of Kim Seokjin, BTS’s handsome manager, who just so happens to have his own fanbase. Wow, he really is good looking. How Manager Jin never debuted as an idol will forever be lost on all those who stan him.
“Hi, whoever you are—”
“I’m Jimin,” he quips.
“Listen, Jimin,” Seokjin says, looking rather put out with Jungkook lingering in the background, smiling hugely. “Please tell Kook to stop being a little shit and listen to his very kind, very understanding, very amazingly annoyed manager—” he tosses a glare over his shoulder. “—when he tells him to do something.”
Jimin purses his lips, holding back a giggle.
“Okay, seriously chill,” Jungkook reaches over his manager’s shoulder. “Give me my phone.”
Jungkook’s face swings back into view. “Guess I really gotta go,” he grins, looking a bit apologetic.
“Fine,” Jimin pouts, not wanting for this to end so soon.
“God you are adorable. Good luck on that paper!”
Jimin’s entire face goes pink.
“Bye Jimin!” Seokjin waves from behind the singer.
“He’s seriously super cute, Jungkook—” Jimin hears the manager say, just as the connection is cut off.
It takes seven more hours of Jimin slaving over the analysis; and he’s finally finished. He knows it’s three-quarter bullshit; but Jimin really just can’t give a shit.
He barely even has his eyes open as he shoves all of his belongings off the desk and into the open backpack, running to the lecture hall to begrudgingly submit the paper.
As soon as he hands in the paper, he turns right the fuck back around, leaving straight back out the door.
“Shit, I think I’m hallucinating,” Jimin moans, cheek pressed against the cool table. “I see circles everywhere. Fucking Rembrandt. How about he meets my fucking shoe—"
Jimin, Taehyung, Minjae, and Taemin, Jimin’s roommate, sit around the secluded corner table closest to the buffet bars, enjoying a nice breakfast.
Or the rest of them are enjoying the delicious meal; Jimin is just trying not to drown in his cereal bowl.
“I can’t believe you put it off ‘til the last minute. Again,” Taemin snorts, cutting into his sizeable stack of buttered toast. “Remember that last essay you busted balls and ass to finish after putting it off for two weeks?”
“Don’t remind me,” Jimin whines, eyes squeezed shut. “You’re an awful roommate. I wanna trade you in for an upgraded model.”
The sound of cutlery and gentle murmur of student chatter eases some of the tension bursting behind Jimin’s eyeballs.
“Aw, it’s okay Chim,” Taehyung’s hand reaches across the table to pet Jimin’s hair soothingly. “At least you’re done.”
Jimin sighs, leaning into the touch. “Yeah. At least I’m done.”
His phone vibrates against the plastic table, a jarring, staccato noise that rattles loudly in his ear. Cracking open an eye, Jimin takes a peek at the caller notification.
Jimin’s back straightens immediately, eyes wide as he snatches the phone back into his hands.
“Hey,” Jungkook’s soft, melodious voice rings loud and clear, only slightly hindered by the static of the connection. “Turn on Inkigayo—should be available for stream right this second.”
“What—why? I’m eating.”
‘No you’re not,’ Taehyung shoots Jimin an inquisitive look, chewing mindfully on a mouthful of rice.
“Just turn it on,” the singer commands, all authoritative and serious; and Jimin’s stomach burns something delicious.
‘Find Inkigayo stream,’ Jimin mouths at his best friend, who does so immediately and slides his own phone over without question.
The hell is that? Wait… is that? Fuck—did Jungkook seriously just—
“What the fu—” Jimin is positively dying.
Sounds are coming out of his mouth that even he can’t decipher.
And Minjae is running a hand down his face, mouth pulled down in a frown.
“—holy fucken, hotdog on a stick—take the wheel!”
A group of freshmen glance over towards their table, a little frightened by the dying whale noises, scurrying off with their trays to the other end of the buffet bar.
“Oh my god—” Jimin thinks maybe this is what euphoria tastes like; he’s in fucking bliss.
“Jimin! Your phone!”
“Dude, you okay?” Jungkook’s voice filters through, tinny and low. Sounding kind of wet.
“You made me drop my phone!”
“In my cereal!” Jimin puts the phone on speaker, desperately attempting to wipe off the milk and bits of cornflakes out of the crevices.
“My phone is drenched in milk!” Fuck, he hopes to the gods he won’t need to get a new phone. Again. His parents will murder him in his sleep over spring break if he does.
“But… do you like it?” Jungkook asks, sounding almost cautious. Like he’s dealing with a tantruming child.
“Bitch did you just—” Jimin finally digs out the last bit of cornflake, patting down the milk splotches with his sleeve. “—copy my hair?!”
There’s a brief, pregnant pause. Then—
“Um… Not really? Inspired would be the better term.”
Jimin is still staring down at Taehyung’s phone, avidly drinking in the sight of Jungkook’s face zoomed in by the camera man.
The singer is an image of Adonis himself, expression smoky and mysterious, all sharp jawline and defined musculature, belting out lyrics while hitting that fucking hip thrust on beat.
And his hair—fuck his hair.
Jimin actually whines out loud. “Fuck, you—”
It’s red. Jeon Jungkook’s hair is fucking cherry red.
And Jimin honestly believes he just stepped through the gates of heaven itself.
“Here we go again,” Minjae sighs, swirling his spoon through his chicken soup.
“So, you like it?” Jungkook repeats; and fuck, yes.
Hell yes, Jimin fucking likes it.
No, he loves it.
However, “It’s cool,” is what exits his mouth. Taehyung cackles.
“I mean, you already are though. So—” Taehyung has that shit-eating grin on his face; and Jimin wants to lean over and smack it right off. But he can’t risk losing his phone to the cereal bowl again. “—who’s the real winner?”
“Fuck off all of you—"
Genius Producer’s Vvitch @taebae95 June 1
lmao min lost his shit it was hilarious
Mae loves BTS @maerrymejoon June 1
FUCK YASS GET IT CHERRY BOI
HopeWorld @jhopemydope June 1
Damn Min is thirsting hella hard
STREAM EUPHORIA @junglekook9197 June 1
Thirsty hoe WBK
MemeKook4President @memelord9791 June 1
We love one man!!!!!11!!!1!
Seagulls are the superior avian species @jeonstreamsow June 1
BITCH HE LITERALLY WEARING A HARNESS AND DAS ALL U GON COMMENT ABOUT
Over the next couple of weeks, Jimin and Jungkook continue to talk, mostly playful arguing and vaguely flirting via call and text.
Now it’s Wednesday morning; and Jimin is sitting in an Intro to Stats lecture, trying hard not to pass the fuck out, when Jungkook texts him again.
And it goes a little something like this:
My Cherry Head [08:21]: Hey what u doin?
Me [08:22]: Nothing much… just lecture. Casually dying of information overload nbd u?
My Cherry Head [08:22]: Same. But for diff reasons.
Me [08:23]: Hm? What ru doin?
My Cherry Head [08:23]: My producer just made me rerecord the same exact line 40 times bc he’s an anal retentive perfectionist asshole.
Me [08:23]: Lol sounds fun. Can’t relate.
Me [08:23]: My bff is kinda lowkey in love with ur producer.
My Cherry Head [08:25]: Is he? I don’t think we can be friends.
Me [08:25]: Lol don’t mind Tae. He is an actual fluffball. He means well.
My Cherry Head [08:28]: Anyone who likes yoongi has to be a secret demon from hell.
Me [08:28]: I mean… I guess that’s also tru too but…
My Cherry Head [08:35]: Hey can I ask u smthg?
Me [08:36]: U already did but yeh shoot.
My Cherry Head [08:36]: Wanna hang out?
Me [08:36]: You askin me out?
My Cherry Head [08:38]: Well if u wanna get technical about it…
Me [08:38]: Netflix and chill?
My Cherry Head [08:39]: How about we js chill first and see where that takes us.
Me [08:40]: Boy u already seent my dick.
My Cherry Head [08:42]: That I have… and it’s a very nice dicc.
Me [08:42]: Thanks I’m flattered
Jimin is actually blushing, from head to fucking foot.
Me [08:42]: But are you even allowed to? Hang out I mean?
My Cherry Head [08:43]: I do what I want. As long as I don’t make a fool of myself in public Seokjin rly doesn’t care what I get up to.
My Cherry Head [08:45]: Also, I have another question
Me [08:46]: Yeah?
My Cherry Head [08:47]: Just wanna verify.
Me [08:48]: O…kay????
My Cherry Head [08:50]: I did some snooping and I think I found yur bff's account who likes Yoongi.
My Cherry Head [08:50]: U said his name is Tae?
My Cherry Head [08:50]: Ru @goldenipslip97?
Me [08:50]: hfalkfhop3pqio3rhfio;
My Cherry Head [08:50]: Lol.
My Cherry Head [08:50]: You drop ur phone in the cereal again?
My Cherry Head [08:56]: Jimin?
Me [08:56]: FUCKING CANCELED LMAO BYE IM GONNA GO THROW MYSELF OFF THE 63 BUILDING.
They discuss and plan for Jungkook to come over to Jimin’s dorm—lord he has to clean—on the following Saturday, since the singer has never actually been to one before; having been an idol trainee at the age of fifteen, Jungkook never had the opportunity to focus on school or shoot for uni.
Friday afternoon, Jimin spends the entire evening tidying—well, he tries to at least.
Jimin pops his head over the edge of his mattress, bed lofted up close to the ceiling, hands grasping the very shallow wooden slots protecting him from certain death.
He has a wad of paper towels clutched in his fist, waging war against the spiderwebs decorating the upper windowsill.
“’Sup my Min bro?” Taemin glances up from his sketchpad, seated by his desk with his feet propped up on the side of his own, not so lofted, bed.
“So… I have a favor to ask,” Jimin blows out a bit of cobweb tickling his nostrils.
“And what favor is that?”
“Would you mind terribly, just maybe—” he hums the words, followed by a wave of the hand for emphasis. “—clearing out of our room, for like—I don’t know—the next 24 hours? Maybe?” Jimin puts on the most enticing pouty face he can muster.
“You sexiling me?”
“I mean—” Jimin scrunches his face, fisting the wooden slats. “Not te—chnically. But… potentially?” He doesn’t really sound too sure of himself.
Taemin squints his eyes, then returns back to his sketch. “Yeah, sure. It’s cool,” Jimin whoops, grateful. “I can go hang out with Jongin for the day.”
“Thanks Min Min!” Jimin rolls onto his back, squealing excitedly as he kicks around. The bed frame shakes under his movements.
“You better get that D though,” Taemin smirks.
Jimin giggles breathlessly. “I’ll try my best.”
Saturday morning, Jimin is a nervous wreck. Fuck. This is not just random guy who’s coming over to his dorm!
This is not some random fuckboy he met on Grindr, coming over for a quick hit-it-and-quit-it.
Or, Jimin hopes for the former bit of that euphemism; just not the latter.
Fuck, Jimin has been (in love) stanning Jeon Jungkook for the past several years since his debut. And this is way beyond any wild imagination Jimin could’ve ever dreamed of.
“Hh—okay Park Jimin,” he exhales deeply, pressing down the nonexistent wrinkles on his shirt, patting every strand of his freshly colored locks into place.
The phone starts vibrating, and Jimin dives for it.
“Hey, I’m here.”
“Coming!” Jimin all but throws himself out the door, stampeding through the halls and tripping down nearly three flights of stairs to get to the main entrance.
Jimin barely looks where he’s going as he skids to a halt, slamming right into the glass door with an ‘oof,’ and pushing the door open all under a single breath.
The guy manning the front desk gives him an odd look, then turns back to his phone after recognizing it’s just Jimin.
And there he is; Jungkook, standing before him in all of his majestic, ridiculously beautiful glory.
“Fuck—you’re really tall up close,” is what Jimin utters, blinking up at Jungkook’s face, the corner of the singer’s lip quirking in amusement.
“Nah, I think you’re just short.”
And fuck all if Jimin doesn’t absolutely melt at the actual sound of his voice; not through the phone, not through a radio, not through a television; but in the real, four dimensional here and now.
“Bitch,” Jimin bites, a little breathy and soft. “Do not disrespect your elders.”
His nerves tingle, hairs standing on end as Jungkook steps closer. Fuck, the singer’s hair has faded into a delicate, peachy pink. And Jimin kind of, maybe, wants to die.
“Lead the way,” Jungkook’s voice is low and smooth, nothing like his singing voice, but everything just like it at the same time. Jimin feels like he’s being thrown in for a loop; this is utterly jarring.
It takes a few seconds for Jimin to recoup, wrangle his thoughts back under control. “Yeah. Okay,” he inhales; and maybe that was not such a good idea because, fuck, he just got a big whiff of Jungkook’s cologne that smells faintly of citrus mixed with cocoa, and a hint of floral notes.
Shit he smells nice.
Turning on his heel, Jimin leads the way back up the stairs, hand trailing along the walls so his knees won’t buckle and have them both tumbling back down the stairs.
He doesn’t need a mega-million lawsuit hanging over his head for damaging one of BigHit’s most prized assets.
Instead, he concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other, vibrating with unrestrained nervousness. He can physically feel the heady heat radiating off of Jungkook half a step behind him.
Jimin’s body jerks when a soft hand presses against the small of his back.
The walk down the halls feels like it takes an eternity, but shorter than the blink of an eye at the same time. Fuck, Jimin thinks, if this is what being with Jungkook is like, it’s really not good for his mental health.
They both step away in tandem when two girls, arms linked, make their way down the hall. Junkook’s hand is still placed on Jimin’s back, warm and firm.
Jimin breathes slowly, leaning heavily against the wall.
Then, they continue onward.
There’s his room.
“So,” Jimin shuffles a little, stalling, as a pushes open the door. “It’s nothing much. Probably not what you’re used to…”
Jungkook scrunches his nose, pursing his lips. “That’s such bullshit and you know it,” he frowns, shepherding Jimin into the room. “Do you even know the kind of conditions we had to live in before we started getting recognized?”
Oh yeah. Jimin forgot about that. The guys of BTS used to all cram into a tiny, one room apartment back when they were just starting out.
He saw it on a variety show once. Or twice. Maybe ten times.
“True, yeah. Sorry,” Jimin mutters, looking down penitently. He kicks at the corner of Taemin’s bed frame.
“Hey,” Jungkook’s finger rests just below Jimin’s chin, gently tilting it back up to meet his gaze. “I really don’t care about how well off you are,” the singer smiles, bending a little at the waist to level their eyes. “Or how nice your place is. This is nice. I like it.”
Jimin can feel the flush spread across his cheeks, a flaming pink, all the way to the tips of his ears, blending in with his roots. “So—” he attempts to change the subject, unable to help the way his body turns in closer, as if subconsciously seeking the singer’s body heat. “What do you wanna do?”
Puffing his cheeks in thought, Jungkook leans back out of Jimin’s circle of air; and Jimin is only mildly disappointed. “I don’t know,” Jungkook scratches behind his ear, humming pensively. “Netflix and chill?”
Jimin can’t help it.
He laughs, utterly smitten by this dork; this giant, amazing, larger than life dork.
Jimin has to remember to thank Taemin again for clearing out of the room.
“I brought doughnuts?” Jungkook lifts a paper bag Jimin hadn’t even noticed.
“Chim Chim! I have news—oh… hello, who dis?”
The door bounces off the wall with the force of Taehyung bursting through, the resounding ‘bang’ making Jimin cringe.
Jungkook cocks a brow, eyeing Taehyung up and down as his best friend does the same, albeit with a knowing, suggestive gleam to his eyes.
Jimin shifts a little, jostling the laptop on his lap. He and Jungkook had just been watching a movie on Taemin’s bed (before Taehyung decided to interrupt), arms and legs pressed up close to each other in the narrow space of the small, twin-sized mattress. “Bitch, you literally know—"
But Taehyung cuts in, stepping fully into the room and easing the door shut. He’s not even looking at Jimin.
“Hello,” his best (questionable) friend smirks, sticking out a hand.
When he realizes he’s holding onto a bag of baby carrots, Taehyung quickly shifts it over to the other hand, and sticks the arm out again. “I am Kim Taehyung. Jimin’s best friend and platonic soulmate,” he places extra emphasis on the ‘soulmate.’ “And whomst may you be?”
“Um,” Jungkook looks to Jimin, then back at Taehyung, accepting the proffered hand hesitantly. “Hey, I’m Jungkook.”
“Nice to meet you, Jungkook,” Taehyung gives the hand a firm, enthusiastic shake.
Mentally screaming, ‘Get the fuck out,’ at his best friend, Jimin gives Taehyung the stink eye. But the little shit doesn’t even care.
“So, Jungkook,” Taehyung steps up close to the bed, arms akimbo as he stares Jungkook down. The bag of carrots hangs from his left hand, looking a bit like Taehyung might chuck it if he feels the need to defend.
Fuck, Jimin needs to get new friends.
“What exactly are your plans for my innocent baby Chim?” Taehyung hums, cocking his head to the side. “Because if you’re trying to stick that dick—”
“Oh my god—Kim Taehy—”
“—in the magic—what the fuck?! Are you watching Howl’s Moving Castle?!” Taehyung screeches, throwing himself over Jungkook’s lap to press his face up close into Jimin’s laptop monitor. “Without me?! How dare you?!”
“Tae! Please, I’ve literally watched it with you over a million times! Can you just—” Jimin has to raise his voice over the sound of his best friend moaning about how he has been forsaken once again.
“—my own platonic soulmate! Why is the entire world against me—”
“Taehyung please! Can you just go?!”
The look Taehyung shoots Jimin is one of full offense, shooting off the bed and placing his hands on his hips.
Jimin feels Jungkook slipping an arm around his shoulder, ears burning when Taehyung’s eyes zero in on the movement. But the shocked gasp Taehyung emits makes it all the more satisfying.
Don’t get Jimin wrong. He adores his Best Bro for Life. But not right now.
“Rude,” the taller pouts, pointing a finger up to Jimin’s nose, bag of carrots hanging from his fisted hand. “I know when I’m not wanted.”
“Tae, please,” Jimin sighs. Jungkook chuckles beside him, leaning away from his huffing and puffing best friend, pressed really up close to Jimin’s side now.
Taehyung sniffs, nose up, as he spins on his heel, whipping open the door.
Jimin purses his lips, wondering if he could’ve been a little more gentle with him; Taehyung is a sensitive soul.
But said best friend halts, body half out, half in the doorway, peering back inside.
“Oh, by the way,” he mouths, shooting Jungkook a look with a mischievous smile. And Jimin is a tiny bit nervous.
“You best annihilate dat ass or I’m coming to whoop yours—”
“Also, I want Min Yoongi’s digits! The fates have brought you to my Chim in order to align my luck stars for me to finally meet dark, delicious, and mysterious so—"
Jimin shuts his laptop, reaching down under Taemin’s bed to pluck up a random shoe, and chucks it at his best friend’s head.
It misses, just by half a second, as Taehyung slams the door closed.
The movie is all but forgotten, Jimin bending over his closed laptop to bury his face in his lap, glowing with embarrassment. “Oh my god—"
“So,” Jungkook says slowly, palm sliding up and down the curve of Jimin’s spine, making him shiver a little. Oh, that feels nice. “That’s the best friend.”
Jimin rises a little, chin and burning cheeks cupped by his hands. “Yup—” Jimin drags out the word, last syllable popping on the “P.”
“Innocent baby Chim, huh?”
There’s a playful look on Jungkook’s face as Jimin angles his chin to the side, shooting the singer a biting glare.
“I will literally kick you out of this room. And I will not hesitate.”
Jimin’s breath kind of catches in his throat when Jungkook slides the laptop out of his hold, placing it off to the side on Taemin’s dresser drawer.
“You sure?” the singer smiles, looming over Jimin until he has the elder lying flat against the mattress, Jungkook’s hands caging in Jimin’s head.
“Uh, yes?” Jimin licks his lips, Jungkook’s eyes following the trail of his tongue. The singer leans in close, breath tickling against Jimin’s cheek.
Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god.
Jungkook dips in, lips hovering just above Jimin’s—Jimin is positively trembling with anticipation.
His eyes narrow in on Jungkook’s mouth, lashes fluttering against the apples of his cheeks as he waits, breath suspended somewhere down in his lungs.
“Still gonna kick me out?” The words are all but spoken directly onto Jimin’s waiting lips, pressed close, but not close enough.
“Ff—no?” Jimin breathes; Jungkook chuckles.
He’s not really sure who moves first; Jimin thinks maybe they move together. But the first wet slide of lips has Jimin’s toes curling in pleasure, reveling in the taste of Jungkook’s strawberry lip balm that mingles on the tip of his tongue.
Everything is happening really fast, but it’s all slowed down at the same time; and Jimin can feel everything, every touch, every sigh, every inch of the singer pressing down against him, skin on skin.
It’s overwhelming, exhilarating, senses pumping into overdrive; Jimin’s head spins.
Jungkook’s tongue traces over the swell of Jimin’s bottom lip, slipping inside and mapping out the contours of the elder’s mouth; and Jimin fists into the singer’s shirt, pulling him in close.
Jimin gasps, tongue curling with Jungkook’s, tasting everything he can possibly get to.
Shit, this is better than any Grindr pounce-and-bounce.
A strong, muscular thigh wedges in between Jimin’s legs, applying an insistent, gratifying pressure that has Jimin whining into Jungkook’s mouth, rutting against the strain; and Jungkook swallows down every moan, every whimper, hands rucking up the hem of the elder’s shirt, all the way up to his armpits.
Jimin only feels minimally at a loss when Jungkook parts from his lips, the sentiment quickly eclipsed as the singer makes his way down the column of Jimin’s neck, nipping, sucking, and kissing, hot and wet against his tender skin.
“Kook—” Jimin gasps, back arching off the mattress when Jungkook’s mouth closes over a nipple, tongue dragging over the hardening bud.
“Fuck—” Jimin brings his knees up, digging the heels of his feet into the mattress as he rocks up into Jungkook’s thigh, grinding against the hard muscles to ease some of the tension in the bulge behind his jeans.
The rumbling sound Jungkook makes has heat traveling straight down to his groin, making his already aching cock impossibly hard. “Fuck—my pants—” Jimin whimpers, chest tingling from Jungkook’s focused attention. God, his chest is so fucking wet, every breath against it has Jimin’s nipple hardening from the cold.
Slipping a hand in between their flushed bodies, Jimin yanks at the zipper of his jeans, wiggling around to shimmy his pants and underwear down to mid-thighs. It’ll have to do for now, as Jungkook lifts himself up just enough to make room for Jimin to do so, also working on his own with hurried hands.
As Jungkook’s cock springs free of his jeans, Jimin’s mouth goes dry at the sheer girth of it. He’s thick. With double “C”. Fuck, how full Jimin would feel with that dick stuffed up his ass, pulsing with come as he thrusts into his tight, wet heat.
Now that, is a concept, ladies and gentlemen.
But, out of nowhere, deep down inside, Jimin comes up with the vague notion that, perhaps there won’t be a next time; maybe this is just a one-time thing.
Jungkook is a busy guy; he’s fucking rich and famous, and probably has way better things to do than stooping down low for the likes of Jimin.
Fuck, who cares. Jimin pushes that thought away, far, far away, in favor of focusing on the here and now. Holy shit, he just really wants to get off.
So, with that goal set in mind, Jimin wraps a hand around Jungkook’s cock, giving the heated length an experimental pump, or two. The touch has the singer groaning into Jimin’s shoulder, sweaty forehead buried into the crook of Jimin’s neck.
“Fuck, your hands are tiny,” Jungkook moans, mouthing wetly at the skin behind Jimin’s ear.
“You can fuck right off with that—"
“Fucking adorable,” Jungkook jerks up into Jimin’s enclosed fist, fingers barely even wrapping around the circumference. The crown nudges up against the elder’s hipbone, smearing pre-come into Jimin’s skin.
Marking Jimin as his; fuck, that’s kinda hot.
“Do you mind—I’m kind of doing all the wo—” Jimin’s words are cut off by a stuttered gasp, Jungkook spitting into his palm; and those sinfully long fingers curl around both his and Jungkook’s dicks, just below Jimin’s own hand.
“—Fucking—yes,” Jimin’s head falls back, digging into the pillow. And Jungkook licks a wet stripe all the way up the line of his neck, lips trailing back down and biting at the juncture as Jimin begins to roll his hips up in earnest.
The other hand, currently otherwise unoccupied, reaches up to tangle into Jungkook’s peachy locks, tugging lightly as he relishes in the wet slide of their cocks, mouth falling open in a long, shaky moan.
“M’gonna—touch your ass,” is all the warning Jimin gets as Jungkook slips the other hand underneath, fingers spread wide and palming hard against the firm but supple flesh. “Shit—knew your ass would feel fucking amazing,” Jungkook grunts, groping and kneading as he thrusts up into their combined hands. “Wanted to touch the moment you flashed that peach all up on my screen.”
“Oh my god—” Jimin groans, flushed and panting. “—that was an accident.”
“Not—fuckin’ complaining,” Jungkook hitches his hips, grinding harder into Jimin’s pelvis.
Shit, it’s not very comfortable, the restricted confines of Taemin’s twin-sized bed. But it only serves to force them closer, Jungkook pummeling Jimin into the mattress with the force of his thrusts.
Jimin is surprised no one has come up to complain yet, with all the noise they are making.
Shit, he really hopes he didn’t just jinx himself; because to fucking hell with anyone who tries to stop him now.
“What the fuck—” Jimin gasps, eyes blazing as Jungkook’s hand leaves his throbbing cock. Holy fucking hell, if this guy does not put his hand back on his dick—
“Lick,” Jungkook commands, bringing his palm up close to Jimin’s mouth.
Shit, that dominating tone.
It’s definitely doing nothing to ease the tightening coils in the pit of Jimin’s belly. His fingers go a little lax in Jungkook’s hair, sliding down to rest on the singer’s shoulder.
Fluttering his lashes down, Jimin licks his lips, then drags his tongue across the head line of Jungkook’s palm obediently, watching as the singer’s pupils dilate even more.
It’s a bit salty, smudges of pre-come smeared into Jungkook’s hand; and Jimin moans at the taste.
He collects some more spit into his mouth, rolling it around his tongue, being relatively quick about it as his aching cock reminds him that there is business to attend to.
Biting down on his lower lip, Jimin licks as much of the wetness as he can onto Jungkook’s palm, a string of spit hanging between his lips and Jungkook’s skin.
The hand is back down on their cocks, Jimin whining in blissful glory; and it’s more wet than before, cocks slipping and sliding deliciously under Jungkook’s tight hold.
Jimin’s arm tosses over Jungkook’s shoulder, other hand traveling over the singer’s hip, moving in to palm over the dip of Jungkook’s waist.
And using that as an anchor, Jimin snaps his hips into Jungkook’s fist, in tandem with Jungkook’s own thrusts.
Jimin is barely cognizant of the fact that, shit, they are currently humping like teenagers on Taemin’s bed. Fuck, he’ll offer to wash the sheets for him, because he’s not about to stop.
But none of that is really important right now, not when Jungkook is coming done before his eyes, sweat sliding down his temples from the exertion, looking even more glorious and heavenly than any fucking choreography Jimin has ever witnessed him perform.
Jungkook probably fucks the way he dances, all sinuous and smooth, then hard and intense; complete concentration, focus, like there’s nothing else in the world aside from him and the dance floor, him and Jimin.
Fuck, what Jimin would give to experience the full package.
“Shit—Min—m’close,” Jungkook groans, pace stuttering as his hips jerk faster.
“Me too,” Jimin is out of breath, arm tightening over Jungkook’s shoulder and clutching hard. “Fucking—”
The cheap wooden bedframe trembles as the singer thrusts down hard, bouncing their joined weights a few centimeters off the mattress with the strength of it.
Jimin’s entire body tenses, Jungkook’s teeth clamping down on the crook of his neck as the singer shoots his load onto the elder’s stomach, jerking himself off through the wave of his orgasm.
The sharp pain adds to the pleasure of Jimin’s own climax, toes curling from the sheer force of it as Jungkook’s hand works him through each wave.
All Jimin can hear is the mingled sounds of their labored pants and the loud ringing in his ears, heart thrumming against his ribcage in a scattered beat.
He faintly takes note that Jungkook has pulled out a corner of Taemin’s bed, wiping up the mess pooled over their stomachs.
Jimin knows he should make some kind of complaint about that, in honor of his roommate; but’s he’s so fucked out and floating in his post-orgasmic bliss, he doesn’t care.
“H—oh shit,” Jimin breathes, letting out a little ‘oomph’ when Jungkook drops his entire weight on top of him.
Arms draped loosely over the top of Jungkook’s waist, Jimin takes a moment to just take it all in.
Wow, so—that just happened.
This is all fucking nice and all, but—
Jimin exhales a long, shuddering breath, absentmindedly tracing his nails over the smooth expanse of Jungkook’s skin.
—fuck, his favorite singer in the entire world just gave him a mutual hand job; and they came together like a pair of horny teenagers.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
Plus his jeans are still halfway down his ass, and it’s getting really fucking uncomfortable.
And Jungkook is just lying on top of him, their bodies slotted perfectly like they were meant to be together—
“I can see you freaking out, you know,” Jungkook moves his head, lips trailing over the curve of Jimin’s cheekbone.
Jimin huffs, hands flat on the dip of Jungkook’s back. “No, I’m not.”
Quirking a brow, Jungkook rolls off of Jimin entirely, the elder missing the weight already, and lies next to him instead, propping himself up on an elbow.
“Why are you panicking?”
“I’m not,” Jimin pouts, staring adamantly up at the ceiling.
“Yes you are,” Jungkook thumbs at the swell of Jimin’s pursed lip, leaning in to peck a kiss. “You’re having a mental breakdown right now. I can hear you thinking a mile a minute.”
Jimin sucks in his lips, turning over onto his side to face Jungkook. “I just—” he pauses, eyes taking in the sight of Jungkook’s beautiful, perfectly sculpted face.
He finds nothing but earnestness there, easing some of the anxiety. “You know—you’re you. And I’m me—”
Jungkook waits, rubbing a soothing palm up and down Jimin’s side as he patiently gives the elder time to voice his thoughts.
“Is this—” Jimin blinks, shoulders hunching in on themselves. “I’ve liked you for so long before you even knew I existed—I—is this a fluke?” Jimin finally spits out the thoughts that have been plaguing him, even as they were rutting against each other.
Jungkook frowns, looking deep in thought.
Jimin doesn’t know if he can handle the rejection.
“I mean…” the singer starts, his hand stilling in the curve of Jimin’s waist; the same way Jimin’s heart stills in his chest.
“So, you’ve liked me for some time. Or you think you did—” Jimin opens his mouth to protest, but Jungkook presses a finger to his lips; it’s his turn to talk.
“—you liked this idea of me—Jeon Jungkook the idol—and now that you have it, this idea of me—would you call it a fluke?”
Jimin blinks, thinking about it for a second.
“Do you like me—because you actually like me? Or because you like the idol?”
It’s true—he has always liked Jungkook the singer, yes.
But after getting to know him more, talking on the phone and texting, and even hanging out a bit; Jimin honestly thinks he would still like him, even if Jungkook was just an ordinary person and they met on campus or in lecture, like normal people do.
“No,” he shakes his head, Jungkook’s answering smile radiant and beautiful. “I like you because you’re a dork, and you honestly make me happy.”
“Then there’s your answer,” the singer looks utterly and heartbreakingly gorgeous, even with his hair a fucking wreck, shirt come-stained, and pants halfway off.
“And for the record, I like you too. If I wasn’t being clear enough.”
Jimin is so fucking happy.
He needs to remember to launder the bedsheets before Taemin comes back from Jongin’s room, maybe get him a tray of muffins as an apology for defiling his bed.
Maybe Jungkook can stick around and help him with the laundry; or just hang out.
Jimin isn’t too picky.
“You know, our asses are still half hanging out,” Jimin comments conversationally, snuggling closer into Jungkook’s chest.
Maybe a napping a bit first couldn’t hurt.
A hand creeps down, squeezing Jimin’s left ass cheek. “I know,” Jungkook presses a soft kiss to his forehead. “To be honest, I’d have your ass hanging out at all times. It’s a fucking gift—”
What has Jimin gotten himself into? This child is going to be worse than Kim Taehyung.
“Oh hey—by the way. Can you please change that icon on your Twitter? I don’t really like my pre-debut pics.”
Jimin groans, rolling away and falling right out of the bed.