HOMIE? THE WAY IT GRIPPED ME RIGHT FROM THE START TILL THE END??

HOMIE? THE WAY IT GRIPPED ME RIGHT FROM THE START TILL THE END?? 🥵🔥

fr tho like holyfuck im speechless and damn this might be short but i think its the fastest i read i swear like in one breathing ✋

there's something in your writing where i feel like im being carried by the gust of wind homie (idk if it makes sense) AND PLS THIS MOODBOARD'S SO SEXY AIQOEHWBWIHDHD

with him. (m) | hyung line

title: with him. (m) pairing: hyung line x reader(f) genre/rating: 18+ ; smut word count: 1.2k summary: in which you remember all the ones before him. warnings: language, house party, penetration, oral, breast play, sl*t/wh*re nicknames notes: this is just a quickie for the wonderful hyung line enthusiast @joheunsaram​ !! i don’t know what came over me bc this just.. produced itself, so happy birthday LOL i hope you like it! if you don’t, you can crumple it, chuck it in the bin, and pretend this never happened sdjklfsd. also, all pics other than the boys can be found on my aesthetic blog @brandisher​ 🤎

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With Hoseok, it started as a blur and ended as a blur. 

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will be spamming today since that stupid queue didn't work 🤡

HANGON I've read A LOT of fics but somehow my queues ain't working 😭

OKAY im SOLD, this fic made me less bitter 🤣. Brb gotta watch the movie after 😌. Teresa’s amazing writing wooing me again 🥺. This lowkey hits home omf i might actually start writing fics with happy endings now XD. I WANT A MAN LIKE THIS JIMIN PLS 😭✋

running through the night; pjm

➳ pairing: ballet instructor!jimin x art teacher!reader

➳ genre: fake dating AU, fwb AU, smut, fluff, angst

➳ wc: 15.3k

➳ synopsis: you were never meant to stumble into bed with your best friend, kim taehyung, nor were you supposed to fall in love with him. perhaps promises were made to be broken because he, too, swore that he’d be gentle with your heart. now, with the other half of the bed cold and empty, you enlist an old flame by the name of park jimin to keep you cozy throughout the festive season. after all, nothing burns brighter than jealousy.

➳ warnings: explicit language, pining, strained parent relationships, alcohol consumption, fingering, breast play, choking, mirror sex, praise kink, penetration, heavy petting

➳ a/n: this is my contribution to the christmas in july collab - a hoeliday well spent hosted by @kookdiaries​ (thank you soo much for the banner, val), @xiaokoo​, and @kithtaehyung​ !! this fic is based on the hallmark film the mistletoe promise (2016). my apologies, i know i’m late :( thank you for your patience !! enjoyy !

All your life, you have found that there is beauty in chaos. It has its way of following you around, constantly looming over your shoulder ー dark and overcast, but bittersweet. Inevitably so, it’s the crushing weight of all the terrible decisions you love to make. 

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BRO WHY TF DID I READ THIS AFTER WAKING UP LIKE IT BE TOO MUCH 🥵🤚. i've always had a thing for banters and i really like this, kinda want to see more of them (i think its my first time reading a Hobi pwp?)

All the things I hate about you

↠ PAIRING: JHS x reader (f)

↠ WORDS: 1.6K

↠ GENRE: smut, office AU, E2L

↠ RATING: explicit (18+)

↠ SYNOPSIS: There are a lot of things you hate about Hoseok, but he’s determined to change that.

↠ WARNINGS: pwp, sex in a public work bathroom, Hoseok has platinum hair (yes that should come with a warning), oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), dirty talk, snarky banter during sex, they’re bad at feelings

↠ A/N: This is a drabble for the BTS Summer Bingo Event @bangtanwritingbingo with the prompt ‘Jung Hoseok’. A big shoutout to my fellow Hobi’s Hoes: the lovely Hope @hobi-gif for challenging me and beta reading this piece, and Ana @xjoonchildx for always being such a wonderful supporter. Love you ladies, this one’s for you!

© hauntedlilies Do not repost, translate or use my stories without my permission.

It’s there, somewhere at the back of your mind—fuzzy, out-of-focus, the letters bleeding out like ink on paper: a list of all the things you hate about Jung Hoseok.

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Tis been a while since I read step sibling fics since they're rare these days than years prior so thanks for writing this!

It's the angst, the yearning and all that shit that destroys me and you did very well in showing those 🙌👏

Glad Jimin finally manned (?) up cuz I felt bad for OC back then 😭

ps. im not sure if you've read them already but i can rec you a Tae and then a JK one 👀

firelight

🔸 synopsis: there’s history between yn and jimin. some good, some (okay, a lot) bad. the only problem is, there should never have been any ‘history’ to begin with. not when they’re supposed to be family.

🔸 genre: fluff, angst, explicit, forbidden love au

🔸 warnings: cursing, cheating, pseudo-incest (they’re step-siblings), you’re meant to hate the main characters fyi

🔸 word count: 4.8k

🔸 author’s note: writing this pushed me out of my comfort zone, but i’m glad i did it. please let me know what you think of this. i’m genuinely losing my desire to share fics on here lol. happy reading~!! :]

. . .

His eyes are aflame.

The depth of their throttling anger follows you as you make your way up the footpath. You allow your legs to lead the way as the adjoining muscles used to do nearly twice everyday in your earlier youth. Coming home from college or after a run, the soles of your feet knew the rubble and the dirt of this footpath better than you knew some of the people you call best friends. It must be a product of memory, you suppose.

You keep your head down as much as you are able on the walk up while the man next to you buzzes with unadulterated excitement even though he drove for three and a half hours and you slept like the dead next to him in the passenger seat. You wonder if there is any drool on the corner of you mouth and quickly bring your hand up to wipe it.

The mistake costs you a second glance at the man who has yet to tear his eyes off of you. You feel like a spectacle—a doll inside a toy store. You know he wants to tear into you like one. Perhaps rip you apart, limb by limb, for mistakes of years past.

“Jimin, help your sister carry her bags.”

It’s an ugly word, and you desire nothing more than to shove it into your mouth and grind it with your teeth until there is nothing left. He looks like he wants to do the same. Maybe even drag it out from under your tongue, like he did with the other words you hated. The words they used for the two of you.

Family.

Siblings.

Bonds.

A familiar ache grows in the pit of your stomach as Jimin does what he is told by his mother and steps forward to reach for your overnight bag. When his fingers graze your shoulder, you shiver despite the summer heat. And he locks eyes with you. Again. And again they are lit by a fire whose name appears to rhyme with your own and standing there, in this moment, all you want to ask is: do you remember when we were happy together?

“It’s alright. I’ve got it.”

The man beside you is the one who speaks, not the one whose voice you crave. This man is taller than you, taller than him, but his aura is soft, and warm, and kind. And you’re supposed to be in love with him.

Jimin is gruff. A little harder around the edges than he used to be because he doesn’t let go. No—he holds on tighter, and he uses the word you both hate to do it.

“My sister is home. I can do this for her.”

He doesn’t say it the way his mother did. That would be too close to acceptance. He says it with greater sarcasm. Something only a fair amount of detail would be able to discern. He says it like it’s not a word, but a challenge. And he is a willing competitor.

Logan sets his eyes on you. There are no flames, only mild curiousity. A smile rolls onto his dry lips. “Your brother must have missed you a lot, babe. You must be happy to see him again.”

Summers in Old Porte are sweltering. They are hot and they remind you of why living in a city further up north is better than down south. But for a morsel of time, a glitch in the system of life, the air around you changes. It turns cold, and bitter. Biting, as if Jimin himself stole the reigns from Mother Nature to do it.

Because if Park Jimin hates the word ‘sister,’ he hates ‘brother’ even more.

“I’m not your fucking—“ his forehead falls to the dip between your neck and shoulder where your scent still lingers, untainted by him. He sees to it that that changes. His powerful thrusts makes your back bend, makes you claw at the bedsheets you wish were his hands instead. “—brother. Fuck!”

“Jimin…”

A haughty chuckle whizzes past his lips as he regains composure. Sweat lines his hairline and all he can think is: she has the best pussy I’ve ever fucked.

The sensation of him spilling into you is welcomed with a moan you deliriously let out, momentarily forgetting what this is, and where you are. That there are greater consequences to this than if he were anyone else.

There may be no blood shared between you, but there are parents who would prefer not to know what their dear children do together and to each other after midnight.

Jimin’s smile is tight. He could set the world on fire with it. Your inner world is certainly alight. So much so that it makes you reach out for your boyfriend’s arm.

“He’s my step-brother,” you remind him softly, careful not to meet Jimin’s eyes. “His mother and my father are married.”

A dip in Logan’s smile tells you that he does not appreciate the inkling of knowledge you just bestowed him with. Again. He doesn’t want to call you out for the way you insert the word ‘step’ because to him, family is family. If you lived together as such, it only makes sense that you address one another as such.

“Right. You’ve said that before. My bad.”

And Jimin wants to kill him. Right here, right now. Rip his head off his shoulders and watch it roll down the footpath. Crush his fingers for the way they dare to touch you. Bash his eyes in for the way they look at what is rightfully his.

But he chooses to take a different route and thinks about the curves of your body that he touched first. The skin he kissed first. The moans he heard first and swallowed first and pulled out of you first. He thinks about how this bastard will never know what you looked like the first time you came on his cock. The way your eyes rolled back, the way you looked like every sin he never regretted to commit.

Jimin’s mother ushers you all in then, flapping her arms like street police. Logan goes first and greets her, earning himself a smile and a hug you know to be characteristic of the older woman. Jimin hangs back, walks alongside you like a bodyguard or a lover, letting his fingers brush yours just so it will tick you off.

You try not to pay any mind to it. It has been three years since you last saw him. Three years of distance and zero contact. You blocked his name and number on everything, telling yourself it was the right thing to do.

So… now what? Now what do you do?

Logan is standing by the banister when you walk in, after greeting your step-mother, and asking about your father who is fast asleep after taking his medication. Though tears spring to your eyes at the mention, you hold them at bay. You did not come here to cry. That is not what this trip is about. It would be unfair to make this about you when it isn’t.

“I set up the guest room for Logan,” your step-mother kindly announces. “And YN, your old room is just as you left it. Why don’t you both wash up and meet down here in 30 minutes for dinner?”

Logan takes offence to this set-up the moment you show him to the guest room.

“I’m your boyfriend,” he whines, almost pathetically. You remind yourself that you’re supposed to love this about him, too. “Why does she want us in separate rooms?”

You level your shoulders and reply, “She’s traditional. Always has been. It’s not a big deal. We can spend a few nights in separate rooms, can’t we?”

“But then how will we…”

Have sex? Touch each other? Make me regret starting a relationship with you?

A hand reaches out to fluff the top of his head and he keens for it. “It’s just a few nights, Logan. We can make it.”

He hums, content. “Right. It’s just a few nights.”

Logan decides to shower the day off in the en-suite, so you leave him to it and then head for your old bedroom.

Stepping inside, you notice that everything is pretty much the same since you left for university. The books, the posters, the concert ticket collage, the desk, and even the white sheets you laid out last. The only thing which is different is the presence of a flower pot. Blush pink tulips sit prettily oh your bedside table, and when you touch their surface, it dawns on you that only one person in this house could have bought them.

The only person whom you have ever received flowers from in your whole life.

He walks in through the open door only a second later, and on his face is an expression which should terrify you but doesn’t. Should make you take a few steps back but doesn’t. Should not make your heart ache but does.

“He’s not really your type,” Jimin says, cocking an eyebrow.

You know his comment is not to be humorous but a chuckle escapes you anyway. You’re still staring at the tulips when you answer, “Didn’t know I had a type.”

“Does he even fuck you right?”

A small gasp, one that you try to hide with big eyes and faux astonishment. You forgot how blunt he is, always saying and asking the things no one else has the courage to.

“He fucks me just fine.”

Jimin is less than a metre from you now, having taken big steps to be close to you again. You can smell his perfume and the way he wears a button down like a suit. He is regal and tantalizing and beautiful. And he was yours once, even if he only acknowledged it in the darkness.

“You really let him touch you?”

His question makes you laugh. A real laugh because, it’s the audacity of him to be so bold. “Do you want me to ask about all the women in your bed? I’ll bet the list is longer than your—“

A knock at the door. Jimin doesn’t turn to face it but you do. You have to. Logan is standing there in track pants and an old AC/DC t-shirt. His curious eyes fall on Jimin’s turned back and the lack of distance between two people who are supposed to be siblings.

“I was just…” he speaks slowly, still trying to process something he can’t name. “I didn’t want to shower so I just changed. Is that cool?”

Under his breath, Jimin releases a chuckle which is all too similar to the one you didn’t hold back with him. His eyes are piercing when you glance his way, and you can see the fire in them again. A fire he still hasn’t put out.

“That’s fine. Why don’t you head down and get something to eat? I still want to shower and wash up.”

Logan hesitates in the entryway, a foot away from putting his foot through the door. He has a few questions he wants to ask you and almost all of them are about the man who is supposed to be your brother but who looks at you with the eyes of a lover. Logan wants to tell you to be careful, that he is a man who can see in another man’s eyes something you wouldn’t be able to. But he’s quiet. Silent. He can’t say anything, and he doesn’t know why this is and he leaves before he has to fully commit to thinking about it.

Jimin is quiet, too, as you gather up your things and head for the bathroom next door. He stays standing in your room, watching your back and your legs and the way your long, wavy hair swims through the air, moving to an earthy tune of its own making. There was always something about the way you moved that left Jimin breathless. Even long before you came into his life as a sister and not the girlfriend of a friend he envied in high school.

And maybe Jimin is an asshole for going after women he can’t have and maybe you are a minx for leaving the bathroom door unlocked because the moment the shower turns on, Jimin quietly slips through the crack and steps inside.

The bathroom is not yet foggy and he can see the teasing curve of your naked back as lukewarm water cascades down tanned and freckled skin. His manhood stresses the material of his slacks, and maybe if this were a video online he would be reaching for it, and wanting to relieve it, but this isn’t a raunchy video of a woman he doesn’t know. This is you and you are a category of pornography of your own. And for his eyes only.

His hands are shaky as they touch the shower handle, but not shaky enough to forgo the job. He’s aching for you, and has been for the last few years. Damn you for making him wait. Damn you for leaving him. And fuck… damn him for letting you get away.

He doesn’t know which part of you to touch first, not with the way you slowly turn around and face him. He tries to keep his eyes on you but your breasts are distracting him. He needs somewhere to put his hands.

“I thought I locked the door,” you lie, so salaciously that maybe, if he was a stupid bastard, he’d believe it. But longer than he’s known your body, he’s known you and he knows how to bend and twist your words to make the other person feel damaged. He knows you are a sniper with language. He craves it, too, when he’s fucking you so good that you forget how to speak.

“The lock’s broken,” he says in return, not half a good liar as you but he tries. “I made sure of it.”

His voice is low, almost criminal with the way it turns you on. Gets you wet. Makes you regret letting yourself be touched by a man who wasn’t him after all. Because you were wrong—your boyfriend doesn’t fuck you right, and after the nights he comes, and you fake another orgasm, the real one arrives under the bedsheets with your fingers on your clit and another man on your mind.

“Maybe you should go fix it.”

Jimin smirks. Leans in a bit, does that thing with his eyes where they grow hooded and dark and they’re still on fire—you can even see the specks of light now. “Maybe after I fuck you, I will.”

You arch your back to reach for the shampoo bottle on the top shelf of the caddy, feeling his eyes on your meaty curve just the way you wanted. You remember, with little shyness, how he would pass his tongue over the hot skin with a sweetness as good as chocolate. Made himself eat some, too, off the dimples on your back and the dips of your spine.

“Who says you can fuck me?”

His thick, strong hands find purchase of your hips and steer you to his cock you pretended wasn’t even there. Tried to pretend he wasn’t naked with you in a shower not built for two, and smaller now than when you both were teenagers.

Over the curve of your ear, he whispers, “Your body.”

You hum, playing with him. Enjoying what it does to the both of you. “My body doesn’t make decisions for me. I make decisions for me.”

“Do you, now?”

One push back against his manhood, and he groans out. Another push and his hands tighten on your hips, bruising. He doesn’t know how to take from you without giving you a piece of himself. He has never been very good at only taking. Though, he wishes he was. Maybe then it would hurt less to see you with another man. A man who isn’t him.

“I can’t believe you still have the hots for me,” you snicker. You make it sound like a joke, but on the inside, in the place where he can’t see or hear or understand, you’re breaking. “I thought it was just a kink thing when I lived here, you know? Fuck the girl you can’t have and all that.”

His eyes narrow, forehead pinched. He feels something ugly simmer in his belly. Are you making fun of him? Do you not care for him at all? The way he cares for you? “You are not just some kink to me, YN.”

Hearing your name drip from his lips makes your head burn. And face. And burn again. It makes you wonder how just a voice can get you so wet, so ready to be fucked, when even the naked body of your boyfriend couldn’t.

“Then—“ you twirl around, letting the shampoo bottle fall to the ground with a thud. His eyes are penetrating, angry—gorgeous. He looks like the manifestation of every dream you have had since fifteen. “What am I, Jimin?”

“Everything.”

And then, he’s kissing you.

Kisses you like a sin whose consequences do not fear him. His mouth is ferocious, and it is hungry, and his tongue is hot and wet and heavy as it invades your mouth. You try to keep up with him, try to meet the strength of his mouth as he explores yours, but he won’t give you a chance. Not when his left hand pushes your thighs apart and his finger touches the river along your folds.

He smiles against your mouth as you take over the kiss and sweetly whispers, “I thought about you every day.”

Then why didn’t you come find me? Write to me? Call me? Why did you let me go when all I wanted to do was stay?

“You missed my pussy that much?”

He stops. Tries to reroute what’s happening here. You’re asking him an important question, though it’s lewd. He doesn’t want to mess up. Doesn’t want to ruin this moment by saying the wrong thing, but all that comes out is, “I missed every part of you.”

“Including my pussy.”

He doesn’t know what to say at all. Doesn’t know how to respond in a way that will show you exactly how much he missed you. How much he hated the distance between you built by circumstance.

The warmth of his palm clouds the side of your cheek as he brings you in for another kiss. Soft, luscious lips push against your own in a kiss no other man could ever compare to.

Barely breathing, you find his neck and wring your arms around it, reaching to kiss him and bring him closer. It has been so long since you have had him like this, touching him and feeling his skin. He’s just how you remember him and somehow, so different. Like he’s grown and filled into the spaces of his body that were still growing back when your parents thought you two hated each other.

It was a ruse back then and it was exhausting to keep up. Snapping at him at dinner when all you wanted to do was kiss him. Purposely stealing his shirts just to keep him closer. Acting like he wasn’t touching you on the sofa with his mother singing to herself in the kitchen. Telling your father you were in love but couldn’t admit it to the man of your affections.

“Lean back,” he breathes, pressing one or two more syrupy kisses along your jaw. “Spread your legs, baby.”

A smile tugs at your lips. He’s the only one who’s ever called you that. Logan was never allowed, though he tried. Maybe you let another man touch you, but you would never let him love you.

Not when Jimin existed.

“Okay.”

His eyes are still alight with fire, but it’s happier now. Brighter now. Calmer. Like he can steer this ship in any direction he chooses. Like he’s not lost at sea anymore. Doesn’t have to swim through any more oceans to find you.

Pulling one leg up and over his shoulder, Jimin leans in to take a nipple into his mouth. Just like his kisses, his mouth on your chest as it swirls and licks and makes love to your body is breathtaking and you have to use all your strength to keep pressed up against the shower wall. You don’t want a mini slip up to ruin the moment. You have waited too long for this.

At one particular swipe of his tongue and then the pressure of his teeth tugging on the darkened nipple, your groan out, “Ah… fuck, Jiminie.”

He grins, and kisses your nipple twice before reaching over for the other one. Doing so drags more, harder moans from between your lips, and Jimin, before you can truly moan, leans forward to kiss you so the sound has nowhere to go but down his throat.

Then, his hoarse voice asks, “Are you wet enough?”

“I don’t know,” you murmur, chest rising and falling to the beat of an invisible drum. “Why don’t you check?”

A smirk. Dirtier than the last, more certain than the last. A smirk to send your heart galloping. “After the way we kissed, I know you are.”

You don’t know what to say that because it’s true. You can feel exactly how wet you are—how wet he made you by his lips and his words and just him alone. You’re more than ready for him to dive into your heat. To give you the fucking your deserve.

Grasping his hair, you tug him closer and he smiles, kissing you one last time before setting his cock against your mound. He’s so hard that all you want is for him to get inside you. Right now. No more waiting. You have done so much of that in three years.

With one hand under your thigh, he pulls you closer and drives himself inside.

“Fuck—Jimin!”

He groans, and drops his forehead over yours. His eyes are shut as he takes in the feel of you around him again. Shit, he’s missed this. Missed you and every fucking part of you like a man parched. You feel like heaven and the purest temptation and he can’t get enough of you.

You’re not fairing quite well yourself. His cock nestles itself so perfectly inside your womanhood, like it was made for this bed. Made for your body. Made for you. He’s not even fully in yet and it’s killing you to have to wait for your body to adjust. You just want fo feel him. Be surrounded in his essence. Be as close to him as humanly possible. Time alone and time apart has made you desperate. Or maybe, it’s just the raw desperation you feel for him no matter the weather.

“So f-fucking tight,” he groans, clenched teeth and strained jaw. He wants so much more of you. Call him ungrateful. Call him a madman. Call him whatever the hell you want. He’s crazy and in love and he can’t tell you anything, but he can fuck you. He can do that and he can do it well. “You missed this, didn’t you, baby?”

“Missed—missed having you fuck me?”

He sinks deeper. Pulls another moan from between your lips. “Missed me.”

“No.”

He chuckles, breathy and sexy. His head shakes a bit, like he can’t believe that he tried to tell himself that you’d be different now. He loves that you’re just the same. “Can you feel how much I missed you?”

There is no good explanation for why you allow your emotions to move in tandem with your actions, but when tears spring to your eyes, you can’t help but press your palm over his heart and whisper, “I wanted you to miss me with this.”

He stops. Pauses, really, and takes in the tears on your cheeks that have nothing to do with how well he’s fucking you and everything to do with the mistakes of his past. When you asked him to tell the parents the truth, and he backed away out of fear of retribution. When he chose losing you over losing his relationship with his mother. When he messed up so badly that it almost killed him.

“Baby,” he whispers, and tries to bring your leg back down but you stop him with a tight grip on his shoulder. He’s surprised, and you are, too. Where do you both go from here?

“Don’t stop,” you tell him. “You feel so good inside me, Jimin. I need this so much.”

Every muscle in his back tenses as he takes you in. He wants to talk about this, tell you how sorry he is, ask you to come home to him, but you look so desperate and you feel so perfect and you’re telling him you need him. He’s a man, after all. A man who’s in love with you.

Air rushes into his lungs as he places one hand on the shower wall next to your body and grips your thighs again. When he pushes in this time, it’s with flawless conviction.

He pounds into you, steady and gorgeous. His cock pistons inside making your body shake, your breasts bouncing from the harsh movements. It doesn’t even occur to you that you are not alone.

Not until Jimin whispers, “I’m almost there, baby,” and you bring him in for a kiss.

“Come inside me.”

“Are you… are you sure?”

Nodding, you murmur, “Yes,” then, “Yes!” as he thrusts one last time before spilling white over your walls.

His forehead falls on your shoulder and he can’t keep holding you up anymore, but you don’t care. Having him close like this is better than any dream.

Your fingers are sifting through wet, and sweaty locks, when a familiar knock raps against the door. You and Jimin share a worrying look before you answer, “Yeah…?”

“YN, are you okay? You’ve been in there for a while.”

“Um… yes. I’m… fine. Just…” Jimin cuddles himself close between your breasts, making it hard to discern his mother’s voice outside the door. “I’ll be out in a bit.”

“Alright, well…” his mother seems to take a step back. “I didn’t want to tell you this until you got out but… Logan left. A few minutes ago, actually. Said his mother wasn’t feeling well. I just wanted to let you know.”

Jimin moves out of your way as your eyes widen and you reach out for the phone you placed on the ground next to the shower.

There is one text message lighting up my screen.

Logan: I don’t want to talk. Don’t message me. You and your brother can go fuck yourselves. Or each other, since you have no problem doing that while his mother and your boyfriend are in the house. Fuck you, YN. I can’t believe I thought you were something special.

“He’s wrong.” Jimin brings your chin up to face him. He’s smiling, but it looks forced. “You are special, baby. You’re special to me.”

You’re crying again as you whisper, “If I was, I wouldn’t have just cheated on my boyfriend who genuinely loved me with a man who never did—“

Jimin twists his arms around your waist in seconds, bringing you in for a searing kiss you were not expecting. His hands are firm and secure as they hold you against his body and as his lips devour your words and your insecurity about what you mean to him.

“I love you,” he whispers when you both come up for air. His eyes are shining as your confused ones take him in, and he delicately pushes a lock of hair behind your ear. “Back then, and when you were gone, and even now. I love you, YN, and I’m not afraid to be with you. Not anymore.”

“Jimin…”

He kisses you again. “Let’s tell them. Tonight. Or tomorrow. Whenever you want. I want you, YN. I never want to lose you again. I know…” his heart pains with the memory. “I know what it’s like to live without you and I don’t want to go through that again. Please… forgive me.”

Fresh tears bloom and fall and you tell him, “I just wanted you to fight for me.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers, taking you into his arms. He’s so warm and so perfect that you can feel your confidence in staying angry with him melting away. “I missed you, I promise. I don’t want anyone but you.”

“Our family… they’ll hate us for this. Everyone will judge us.”

He sighs, understanding you. But he knows he can’t let you go either. Not again. “They’ll just have to find a way to get over it because I’m not getting over you.”

Then he is kissing you again, and his tongue is wicked on your skin, like sin embodied. And you cannot help but think, even in the midst of your touches and moans, that this is who you both are. From the moment you met to now: you are sinners.

And love is nothing but a spiralling chaos of surrender.