#dancestudent!jimin | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kookiecrumb · 3 years ago

Text

icymi :)

pjm|| Track 5

wc: 6.4K

summary: Graduating from the dance program reveals the daunting reality that you're growing up fast. Leave it to Park Jimin to remind you that you won't have to face it alone.

tags: soulmate!au, oneshot, dancestudent!jimin x fem!dancestudent!y/n, fluff, smut, slight angst, friends(?) to lovers, y/n is mean and a little thick-headed, crack towards the end

warnings: existentialism, explicit language, sMUT (18+)~ (pretty switchy), oral (m&f receiving), begging, brief nippleplay, butt-touchin'!, penetration, safe sex

a/n: Dear Korea anon, here you go. For you :)

You knew the subject of soulmates would come up someday between you and your mom. It'd be weird for her not to ask.

"It's...I mean, I don't know who's going to be mine. You think he already knows me?" You take a break from cutting your fruit and turn your head up toward her.

"Probably not. In three days, you'll find out," she says, tapping her pen against her notepad. "If he's ugly, at least you've got your career going for you."

You don't appreciate the joke.

Some people believe the Ancient Greek theory about soulmates, about how when humans were made, they were made in pairs and the gods feared them. Others believe the theory that God created an androgynous soul that He then split into two, Adam, and Eve.

Either way, every one, since the beginning of human history, had a biological soulmate to whom they belong to. It helped some, hurt others. Personally, you enjoyed the thought of someone meant for you in this way. It comforted you that no matter how difficult life got, you would eventually have someone to count on.

"I don't know about that, ma. The spring recital is coming up and I heard that they're picking soloists this week," you gently pour your freshly-halved strawberries into a small bowl. "I don't know if I'm gonna do it this year."

She shrugs. "Up to you. You're just about graduated from that class. You should be thinking about auditions." Shit. Auditions. Truth be told, you hadn't even picked out a single one of your songs. It wasn't because you were indecisive.

Once you've picked out that song, it would mean the end of your time at that school. You'd have to accept the looming reality of getting older.

That's deep. You just wanted to eat your fruit and now you're having an existential crisis over the kitchen counter. I mean, it's a transitional stage of life. No matter what, the only way to go is forward.

Satisfied with your thought, you pop a berry into your mouth hole and crash on the couch. Before long, you're passed out in your clothes taking the most transcendental nap ever.

It isn't long before you stretch awake, and it's dark outside. Shadows wash the living room, painting it a calm blue. Taking your backpack in your hand, you ascend from the couch and shuffle towards the stairs.

When the house is empty like this, you're reminded of how a home is made from those who thrive within it. Now, it is a shell. Your work as a performer was to introduce life into these spaces. Maybe that could be something you tell the choreographer tomorrow.

Step by step, you disappear up the stairs. You'll stress about the details tomorrow.

Is it weird that you love stretches? While you stretch, you like to imagine you are an instrument getting in tune within a symphony. Every one of your teammates has a unique sound, and when you all play in harmony, it creates a display anyone would marvel at. The catch is you guys have to actually practice the routine first.

You flip open the cap to your water bottle and take a big gulp before rising to your feet from butterfly position.

"Y/N. Y/N, look," the petite girl who stretches behind you calls. "You've got mail." She says with a smile, referring to a small note on the inside of your forearm.

"Hm…?" You examine them, finding a tiny inscription upon your skin in a red glitter pen.

I've been thinking about what to say to you. I could never settle on just one thing. - Your one and only.

"That's so vague," you breathe. You can't write back just yet, seeing that you haven't turned 20 yet. Still, the choice of pen intrigued you. Did he think he was some kind of magician? Did he not have a black ink pen? Who knows.

At the front of the studio, the instructor raises their voice and begins instruction. Your attention is transferred onto her, disregarding everything else for the time being. You'll anticipate more messages later.

While munching on your sub, you look to see that the note on your forearm has faded quite a bit, as if your soulmate had washed his hands. At least he's hygienic. His handwriting is neat and bubbly. It wasn't dragged or rushed. From what you know about graphology, this means that your soulmate is punctual, organized, and kind-hearted.

He's yet to mention his name. That's pretty common these days. He probably wants to get to know you a little better through writing to you until a certain date, typically a milestone or anniversary.

The students surrounding you begin to pack their things and prepare for their next period class, so you finish up whatever you had left and throw away your scraps before walking to science.

Why your counselor decided to put you in AP Physics senior year, you have no idea. The concepts were easy to understand, though, so you generally did well if the material was explained somewhat comprehensively by the teacher.

Reaching down into your bag, you realize that your entire pencil case was missing. With a groan, you recall leaving it on top of your dresser. You can't get up while the teacher's talking, that's rude.

"Hey. Hey!" Jimin whispers. He slides a pencil onto your desk. It's a long, yellow, Dixon Ticonderoga pencil with a pristine pink eraser. Of course it is.

He's perfect, always greeting people with a brilliant smile, usually at a charity or community service event. You have to acknowledge that he's hardworking. In fact, he's ranked first in the entire school, but it was a little too much in your opinion. You wonder if he has any hobbies.

Well, you know for a fact he does, he's in the same contemporary dance program as you are. Even his hobbies are perfect. It didn't feel genuine though. It's as if Park Jimin is using his academics to cope with something traumatic. You don't want to get in his way, but life will shove him in your way anyways.

The fates are spiteful.

"Uh, thanks." You grip the pencil and begin writing down the notes.

"Oh, you can just take a picture of mine," he passes over his notebook. Miraculously, he's already copied down the board and is busying himself with a worksheet from another class.

"Thanks…" you say, soberly. You snap the picture and hand the book back. You don't bother to actually look at the notes. You're sure that you won't even look at them later. So what's the point of having them? It's self-assurance.

"Of course," he sings. "Y/N, can I ask you something?" He inquires. That's new.

"Sure, what is it?" You sort through the papers in your binder, looking for your formula sheet.

"When's your birthday?" He pouts, holding his head in his hand.

"Wednesday, why?"

"And you're like, going to write to your soulmate then, right?"

"Mhm. Why?"

"Do you think you have any sort of idea as to who they are?" Now you're annoyed. Would it be far too much to ask to have Park Jimin mind his own business about who the literal love of your life will be?

You close your eyes and take a deep breath in. "No. I don't, but I'll find out then."

Jimin's mouth forms a silent "o." He grants you peace, returning to his quiet studies.

Afterschool rehearsal has been extended today, to allow time for those who want to audition for a solo to practice. It's pouring out.

Some students are discussing routines quietly in small groups. Others are scattered across the floor doing their own thing. Against the backdrop of tepid rain, the figures appear as graceful silhouettes which move like flames, shaded by the studio walls that shelter them.

You add your bag to the pile.

Leaning on his hands, observing the rain quietly, Jimin mouths a sweet melody. He nods his head, leaning back on his palms. You ponder his current contemplation. His thoughtful expression transforms as he smirks back at you.

Your eyes widen. How embarrassing.

"Y/N, have you decided on whether or not you're going to audition?" You were so caught up embarrassing yourself, you hadn't noticed the instructor was making rounds.

"Uhm, no. I haven't decided yet, Ms.Loom," you say, regretfully.

"And you, Jimin? Have you decided?" She points her pencil towards the young man.

Jimin shook his head. "Not yet, Ms.Loom. Sorry," he tsked.

Ms.Loom grasps her clipboard, marking on it before moving on to the next group.

You're finally home after a long day, and you wish you didn't have to hear another person talk for the rest of your life.

Throwing your hoodie off, you undo your bra and groan into the pillow, collapsing onto your bed. "Fuckkkk," you whine.

You turn to lay on your back, your fingers tracing your intermammary cleft, below your chest. You feel something slightly rough that disconcerts you. Frightened, you sit up and look at your fingers. Red glitter pen.

Using your phone as a mirror, you take a picture of what's written.

I'd kiss you here.

Smug.

Stripping off your shorts to shower, you spot another on the inside of your thigh.

Here too.

The audacity of this guy. With a coy smile, you get in the shower and attempt to get the glitter out.

You understand why he went with a glitter pen. Even after showering-- suds and everything-- you continue to find glitter on your body.

It's like a silent claim. That every time you catch the glimmer of red against your skin, you're reminded of who your soul belongs with. He's indubitably clever. It enthralls you greatly, wondering what other sexy ideas he has in that beautiful mind of his.

The next morning, you're walking past the arts building on your way to French when you spot something new posted on the bulletin board from the dance department. It reads: "Spring Recital Solo and Ensemble sign-ups." You weren't aware there was a sign up sheet!

Snapping open your silver sharpie, you go down the line to find a space to write your name, only to find it has already been written on there…next to Park Jimin's name, as a duet, in Ms.Loom's handwriting.

You snap the cap back on your marker and make a mental note to see her during lunch. She must be nutty or something.

It's not like Jimin outskilled you when it came to dance. You've dedicated years of your life to the perfection of the techniques you use, and got into the most prestigious dance program in the province. You've won countless awards, performing at endless events, invited to endless more. Performing at the school Spring Recital next to Park Jimin would be a formality, but you can't help but question if the duet is necessary.

Ms.Loom quietly organizes her papers at her desk while you talk. "Oh, no he requested it," she says, nonchalantly. "He told me he talked to you about it."

"Well, that talk never happened," you explain, hugging your duffel bag in your lap.

"Hm. I've already printed out all of the pamphlets," she sighs. "Are you totally against the idea of working together? I happen to think you'd make quite the power couple."

You aren't totally against the idea. It was just a little rude of him to sign you guys up without even asking you first. Is he that confident that you'd say yes? "I mean, no. I just wish he would have asked first."

Ms.Loom shrugs. "We have another long rehearsal tomorrow, talk to him about it then."

Actually, you have quite the history with Jimin. When you've got the same drive for success in the world of dance, you end up spending a lot of time next to each other because you're always signing up for the same competitions and contests.

You first started to recognize him at a workshop in your third year of middle school. He took off his glasses when he danced, but even without them you could tell he was an uber nerd.

He could move, though.

Jimin moved like water running over stones in a busy brook. He felt the moment, and used his body to express feelings you couldn't define, but you felt too, as you watched him.

"How do you dance like that?" You asked as he grabbed his water bottle from the edge of the stage.

"Huh?" He panted. He plucked out his earpiece, asking you to repeat the question he hadn't heard.

"How do you dance like that, so well?" You repeated.

He shrugged, and after struggling with the question for a bit, said: "It's like the only way I can properly, like, express myself."

It is.

Jimin completes his assignments as instructed, writes his essays according to the rubric, including a rough draft, but music and dancing is his refuge from the anxiety of such a rigorous academic schedule.

His soulmate must be just like him, you think. His soulmate must be someone so perfect, just like him. She must be just as sweet, just as smart, just as talented as him. She must be organized and artistic and kind, bubbly and bright…Someone you'd only ever be in your dreams.

You rise from your bed and sit, waiting for your thoughts to compose. With a sniff, you toss yourself out of bed and put on your clothes as if it were just another day. Your mother is still asleep, so you try not to wake her as you snatch the keys from their holder.

You only have to drive a few minutes before parking, grabbing your bag from the back, walking through the studio doors, and flicking on the lights.

A breath of fresh air fills your lungs as you take in the emptiness of the liminal space before you. Without much thought, you put your things down and get in position to perform one of your favorite routines from last year's competition.

You imagine the music, come up on the upbeat, and begin your dance.

You recall the day you felt that worry disappear from your mind. You're brought back to the moment. Releasing the tensions of the passing year, you celebrate your life through your dance.

It is finally time for you to begin the rest of your life. You will meet the love of your life today. Just as you did with the anxiety you felt that day on stage, you step forward into the sun's morning light and accept the gift that today brings you.

Assuming your final position, you let go of your breath and rise to your feet to collect your things. The sweet scent of citrus undefined by fresh linen lingers in the studio. You hear a sigh.

"I'm sorry," Jimin nods. "Were you upset about it? Me signing us up as a duet?"

Turning your head up, you're greeted by him, wearing a simple button down with a delicate chain. His cuffs are undone, and hands sink into his pockets, visibly fidgeting. His eyes rise to meet yours.

"I really am. I thought you wouldn't mind." He pauses. Realizing you were staring, you shake your head.

"I don't mind, Jimin. We've danced together a lot."

He arises from his leaning position and shrugs. "Good, that you wouldn't mind." His lips part slightly, his eyes falling upon your face and softening. "You're twenty today, you haven't written."

How could he know that? Your heart jumps. He couldn't have known that yet, right?

"Your arms are bare," he gestures. Oh.

"Haven't had the chance," you pout. You're terribly unprepared as to what to say. Between your studies and dance, you just hadn't composed a proper introduction.

"Really? Well, that's okay," he says, a pang of disappointment in his voice.

You cock an eyebrow. There he goes again, so concerned about this soulmate shit. Jimin's birthday has already passed, like a month ago. From what you can tell, he hasn't mentioned anything about it to anyone, once.

"And yours? Your arms are bare. Have you talked to yours?" You point to his wrists. He takes them out of his pocket.

Snap.

Something like a pen hits the ground.

The both of you hold eye contact. Your cheeks get hot. Something of your deepest instinct tells you not to look down. He challenges that by switching between looking at you and the pen.

"Could you get that for me, Y/N?" He points to it.

You can't believe this guy. What a tease. He's going to make it so obvious that you can't avoid it ever again.

"How did you know? When did you know?"

"How did I know the girl with her arms covered in red glitter coming out of the girl's dressing rooms who I've known for fifteen years was my soulmate?" The question did sound ridiculous when he worded it like that. He didn't have to embarrass you, though.

He bends to pick up the pen and hands it to you. Sure enough, it's a shimmery red glitter pen with a cotton tip. You pop open the tip and stain your own hand with the ink. You watch, stupefied as the mark emerges in the exact spot as yours.

"But we're totally platonic," he says, quickly. "You and I just don't have that vibe, right?"

You're taken aback. "Wait, why are you switching up?" This was the same dude who wrote sweet nothings on your body just two days ago.

He purses his lips. "I don't know, are you ready for that kind of thing?"

He's kind of right. If you rushed a relationship like that, it could just blow up in both of your faces. But that wasn't supposed to happen in soulmate relationships. You knew soulmates who met and got married on the spot.

You hadn't asked yourself if you were ready for something like that yet. You probably aren't. "Just don't dismiss it like that." You say with half-confidence.

"When you've been dismissing me this entire time?" He replies with lowered eyes.

"Well, now it's different, isn't it? You and I are fated." You can imagine why he'd be hurt. You haven't exactly been the kindest towards him, but those feelings came mostly out of envy.

He sucks his teeth. "Sure," he says, after some contemplation. "I'm just surpris--"

Ms.Loom stumbles in the door, cradling a stack of binders. Jimin flashes you a look and moves to help her.

"You are BOTH early, that is against school policy…" she huffs as Jimin takes a few notebooks off her hands. "But! I'll let it slide since you're seniors."

"Happy birthday, Y/N!" She speed-walks past you with Jimin trailing her. He rolls his eyes into a smile.

You walk to the door to let the others inside the studio. The bell rings sharply, causing you to cringe. Fuck, that was so loud.

Afterschool, you glance down to your arm during stretches. A note written in Jimin's handwriting, in a blue glitter pen materializes. What, did he have a set or something? It reads:

Date at Carbonara's later, I reserved a table. I'll pick you up at 7?

You perk your head up and meet Jimin's gaze. "Yeah," you mouth. He smiles back, and your heart flutters a little. What the fuck.

Jimin doesn't even try to hide his cheeky smirk as he switches legs. You were looking at him with the cutest puppy eyes just now.

Ms.Loom steps up on her stool and yells, "Okay everyone! Break out into either your small groups or find somewhere to practice your routines for auditions which are this Friday, people. Alright, let's go, let's get this done!" The room scrambles and reassembles in their corresponding groups.

Jimin gestures outside. He wants to visit the studio the theatre kids use. You're not surprised he knows the spot. It's abandoned today. They only use it every other day.

It might be even bigger than the actual dance studio. You figure it's because it's made for bigger productions and dance numbers.

"Why didn't you go into theater?" You ask, setting up the stereo. Jimin makes his way to the center of the room and hums.

"I don't know. Acting isn't me. I perform to let out my real feelings, not hide them." Deep. He's just as cryptic as you are.

"Ah!" You find the plug and place the CD into the compartment, sliding it in. You push play on the first track. You allow a second of it to play before you pause it. "Okay. That works."

You're crouched down, figuring out how to get the two of you where you need to be for Friday night while he's standing there watching. Shit. Upon realizing this, Jimin comes over to see if you need his help.

"I got it! It's track five. Wait," you insist as Jimin crawls on his knees towards you.

"Track five, so…" He trails. "You mean that song?" His eyes widen.

"Hm." You confirm, repeatedly pressing the skip button.

"Y/N, isn't that the one you said you absolutely wouldn't do with me?" He asks.

"People can't change their minds?"

"Only if you want to," he pouts. Come on." He rises to his feet and grips your hand to pull you up.

It's jazz, smooth and sexy, a definite predecessor to the rhythm and blues which dominate modern sex playlists. He knows what this requires of him. He knows the routine from start to finish, and as soon as he steps into position, you see it. He's excited. You hover over his body, in the starting position.

"You can lean on me, if that's comfortable. I don't think Loom's checking groups today," he says in a hushed tone. You readjust yourself, pressing into him slightly.

When the music starts, the two of you glide across the floor in tight harmony, in close, corresponding movement. He loosens his usual meticulous form and embraces you, guiding you with a delicate hand.

"Back," he hums, and you reply by placing your hand over his. His chest expands beneath you, his breath short. A rush of pure adrenaline hits, spurred by his lips hovering on your neck.

The final chord of the song has long been played. You can almost feel the grin on his face. "You didn't miss a beat." He's pleasantly surprised.

You leave his arms and stand before him. That summer you spent at that workshop with him, you'd dream of being held like that. Your eyes would travel across the room, where you found Jimin carefully studying the couple demonstrating the dance, mesmerized by their intimacy. "I liked the song, it's pretty," you say.

"It suits you, then," he teases. You stifle a laugh, shaking your head.

"It does! I swear, it suits us." He rephrases, persistently.

"So now there's an us?" You come close, grasp the collar of his blazer.

"Maybe," he smiles.

"You look all put together but your opinions are like changing seasons," you purr. "Care to pick a side, master of none?"

"Already have, and it's by yours," He replies as the space between the both of you narrows.

His sweetness surrounds you, the softness of his lips causing your spiraling thoughts to subside as he sweeps you into a soft and slow kiss. You're delicate to him. He sighs, collapsing the kiss.

"I, uhm, fuck," he stammers. "I don't think that was part of the dance, Y/N."

"No shit," you laugh. "It's nice though," you peck his pillowy lips. His cheeks glow, his thumb caressing your back timidly.

A light drizzle commences outside, flecks of water cling to the window of the studio, creating the perfect barrier between you and outside. You hesitate before kissing him again, with a dash of excitement. He's taken by surprise, eventually returning your enthusiasm in a heated embrace.

Packing up your toiletry bag, you check yourself in the mirror once more, fixing your hair before leaving the dressing room.

Jimin's having a casual conversation with another classmate, so you give him a smile before heading out and heading home.

You have a date at seven.

Fuck, you have an actual date at seven. On your birthday, with your soulmate. Should you get dolled up? It's an Italian place! Of course you should, but what kind of dolled up?

Questions flood your mind as you shuffle your closet, looking for options. You should have something short and sweet somewhere, but floral would be so out of season.

You settle on something solid-colored with minimal jewelry. You want to keep his focus, even if you're sure you don't even have to try.

Jimin's probably in front of a mirror with his tie undone, making faces at himself while fixing his hair. You take your eyeliner and begin drawing on your hand.

Jimin…

I'm nervous.

With shaving cream all over his face, Jimin puts the bottle down and glances down at his hand. "Hm," he grunts.

What for? We have reservations.

He's completely missing the point.

No, what if I wear the wrong thing?

Jimin thinks for a moment before scribbling back:

You’d really be beautiful in whatever. You're very pretty, Y/N.

And he means it. You know he does, he wouldn't say so otherwise.

It was always in the back of your mind that Park Jimin had rich parents. He wasn't a trust fund baby, but his folks had some money put away. They were conservative with it.

It's how his parents could afford to send him to an arts school. It's how he's getting his tuition paid in full after next semester. In fact, you know plenty of nice girls who counted down the days to their twentieth with their eyes on Jimin's wrists to see if they would be the recipient of the generous gifts his mother is known for giving out to her daughter-in-laws.

You didn't know how to feel about it. On one hand, you knew that money wasn't everything, but it was nice to have. So when Jimin rides in with his black Mercedes, you crack a smile because of course he does.

Oh, it's romantic! The restaurant is built in the old Italian style with high-hanging sparkling chandeliers to match the sparkling wine that passes in the black and white waiters' silver platters with the tables dressed in white cloth and artisan paintings adorning the walls.

You're on his sturdy arm as he greets the hostess, admiring how he cleaned up since this morning. He put in the effort, and you can tell by how he wants to look good for you.

"Right, Y/N?" He says. Suddenly eyes are on you, and you weren't paying attention.

"Hm?"

"Rooftop is fine, right? If it gets cold I'll give you my jacket," he insists.

"Yeah, rooftop is fine. It's a beautiful night out." And it is. The celestial bodies that ornament the night sky in its unrivaled beauty have found their match in your pearlescent eyes.

So while the wine from his glass taints his lips and his sobriety, he silently dreams of you on his tongue, and while his fingers trace your delicate knuckles he reminisces about the days not yet spent with you.

The conversation is dazzling, topics spanning from familiar to futuristic. Your shared aspirations ignites a fervid discussion of your goals and then you understand.

You understand the determination that he held dear in his heart and where his spirit lies. He's genuine, more genuine than any guy you've ever met. You go through the metanoia of learning that you are close to him through your passion, not only for dance but for life.

You pause, shaking your head. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I've never been an Italian kind of person," you confess.

"Really? Then why are we here?" Jimin laughs, relieved. To be fair, all this formality wasn't his thing either. While he enjoyed the elegance of having a first date at an Italian restaurant, it was Wednesday, and anywhere with you sounded nice.

"I don't know. Do you want to just cancel the order, head somewhere else?" You never saw him put on a smile so fast.

"Yeah, I do."

While you're in the car, a small kareoke session ensues. The radio station is playing all the old ballads your moms would hum on their way home from work. You know a few of them, so you sing along with him. The sweet sound of your soprano voice, floating above his note takes him by surprise.

"Why didn't you sing before?" He says, at a stoplight.

"Just...never had the chance to until now." Talent shows that you participated in only allowed one submission per person.

"Sing more often," he coaxes.

Soon, you're seated outside of a convenience store, hunched over a simple plastic bowl of ramen, but you couldn't be happier. It's cold, spring in Korea is always a chilly, but your heart burns with the newfound love you share with the guy sitting across from you, slurping his noodles messily. Somehow it's still perfect.

When he looks at you, he sees his world. You can tell the way his eyes gleam, his heart melts.

"Are you cold?" He gestures with his chopsticks, munching softly.

You are, in fact, not cold. "No, but I kinda do want your jacket now."

The scrape of his aluminum chair is heard as he makes his way over to you to cover you in his coat. You stand as he adjusts it on your shoulders and buttons it from the waist up.

"There, perfect." He sighs, stepping back to look at you. "It's a little too big, but it's nice."

You tuck your hands into the pockets, immediately coming into contact with a small, textured box. "What is this?"

Your fingers pull out a jewelry box, small and white with a ribbon poking out from one of the edges. Jimin asks for the box, wanting to open it for you.

It's a sweetheart necklace, a simple golden heart with his first initial engraved on the back, so that it touches your skin. "Ah, isn't it too much, Jimin? For our first date?"

"Well, maybe…" He clasps the chain around your neck with careful fingers. "But why wait?"

And when his fingers intertwine with yours as you walk up to his apartment, you couldn't imagine a better place to be but next to him.

It boggled your mind. You were so mad at yourself. You should have known, you should have said something. You were so blinded by the notion that this man was supposed to be your competition that you completely ruled out the possibility that he could be your other half.

Now the shadows of the night wash his room like it did the previous nights, but there is no coldness, there's warmth.

There's warmth in his touch, in his words, in his careful hold of your torso.

His bed smells like him, like a valley of flowers blooming in the blush of spring, undertones by something subtly masculine, almost whispering seduction.

"Why don't you let me take my time with you?" He places his thumb along your jaw, his eyes peering down at your dazed visage.

"Why don't you let me fuck you like you want?"

Your hands wander to his back, your thumbs dipping into his dimples of Venus, gripping him tighter. His ass is perfect.

You kiss his Adonis belt, marking every inch of his skin with that gorgeous red color, which matures into a wine purple. Humming, you wander further, following the slope of his sex line to arrive at the edge of his shorts.

With every kiss you pepper against his skin, a small moan replies. He's responsive to every touch, offering himself to your command. His hands find purchase in your hair, carding between your strands loosely.

"Fuck," he whines. Your eyes flutter to meet his face, flush and aching for the friction that your tight little throat can give his pretty cock. You tug down his useless piece of clothing and attach your hot mouth to the tip of his length. His lips part into a gasp.

You grin. He sounds like a dream, you bet you could summon the most desperate sounds from the depths of his need by spreading your tongue flat on his girth and licking all the way up to his throbbing tip. His grip tightens, a guttural groan ripping from his throat. You swipe up the underside and experimentally kiss the tip. "You're going to tell me what you need," you demand.

"Shit," he breaks out into a smile. He didn't know he needed this. Something clicks in his mind, though. It's your birthday.

You lock eyes as he maneuvers your body so that your heat meets his face, nestled between your precious thighs.

You need his hot tongue inside of you, you need to feel him kiss and suck at your swollen clit and intoxicate him with how fucking good you taste. "Fuck, please," you cry. "Please please please please."

"Begging, are we," he breathes so, so close to your dripping little pussy. His thumb tangles itself in the seam of your panties. The cloth clings to your heat, smothered in arousal.

"Yes~" you mewl. Fuck, you've dreamed of how his lips would feel playing with your pussy, how his tongue would flick at your clit while your fingers carded through his jet black hair. He smirks against your folds. "Fuck me, please" you beg, like a good girl.

"That's right, pretty."

He buries himself between your folds, licking a fat stripe along the seam of your pussy while his nose teases your bud. You gasp at the sensation, your hands balling the sheets into weak fists as he settles on your clitoris, sucking it experimentally. He hums, gratified with your subtle reaction.

He teases your entrance with his digits, coated in your thick arousal. He shallowly thrusts them inside, keeping a languorous pace. Maybe it's the wine, maybe it's the air, but watching you tense and writhe while his fingers work your tight cunt for the preparation of his cock made him forget words.

He dives in, his tongue replacing his fingers, discovering the source of your delicacy. "Mmh~" you sigh, your heart beating ten times faster. You clench, the feeling of utter pleasure building in the pit of your stomach.

"Jimin if you don't stop I'm gonna cum," you whine, feeling your cheeks get hot. You feel his lips contort into a flirty grin as he vigorously thrusts his muscle inside of you, adding his thumb to spur on your orgasm. It washes over you in waves, every vein on your body flooded with his generous pleasure.

His lips leave your core, his head nestled between your thighs.

"If you open up that drawer specifically, there are condoms," he gestures, sitting on his knees and giving you a view. His thighs look like they'd be so good to ride.

Taking note of your observation, Jimin smirks. "What, are you looking at my thighs?" He's flushed.

"Yeah, they're good. They're girthy," you rasp, sitting up and retrieving a tiny foil package from his drawer.

"Girthy?" He squints.

"Mm…" you hum. You take the lubed condom and roll it onto his length, resting your head on his shoulder. "Like this cock…"

A bubble of laughter vibrates through his body. "Yeah?"

"Yes, Jimin," your lips hover over his as he slips his hands around your waist, your legs draping around his hips loosely. He presses a chaste kiss to them, taking a handful of your ass and squeezing it.

He kisses you again, longer, harder, before lining you up with his cock.

He plunges into your cunt effortlessly, a string of cuss words leaving his lips as he spreads your thighs with his careful hand. You whine in pleasure, tensing from his impressive girth.

"I know, babyyy…I know..." he breathes, kneading you fevrously. "Relax for me, my love."

His lips flutter upon your neck as you guide his hands down to your folds. He takes initiative and languidly stimulates your clit with his pollex. Your moan turns into a sigh as you sink onto his fat cock, gasping when it touches your cervix.

And he doesn't even have to say that you're his. Your body knows it, and it's always known it. The way you danced together, you've been fucking him the whole night. You've been dancing the whole night.

The crescendo of your moans triggers a rougher pace from him. His fingers tweak your nubs at the swell of your breast, eliciting a lewd squeal. "Fuck~!"

He rests his eyes where you're connected, his shallow breath accentuating his heaving chest. He slurs his gaze up to meet your desperate state. He looks like an angel but he fucks like the devil.

The warning signs hit you; you're scratching his back, gripping him close as he drones on, prompting you to cream around his cock and you reply, with a drunken, "yeeesss…"

You flutter around him, every sensation elevates as your orgasm hits. You suck his bottom lip needily. With a few broken thrusts, his white hot cum spills into the condom, overstimulating your recovering cunt.

"Mmn~!" You whine, pouting.

He leans back on his palms, examining you, all fucked out. "They were right. The people who made this soulmate stuff?"

"I don't know if it's the Ancient Greeks...or the Christians, or whoever," he pants.

You quietly lay on his chest, listening to the thrumming of his heart under you.

"I don't know about the timings of these things and it's probably early to say this but I've never been so sure about it," he says in a calm voice, rubbing your back soothingly.

"That we're meant to be together?" You ask intrepidly as your hands wander his body.

"Hmmm…" he breathes, "Mhm." The tips of his fingers massage your scalp. You close your eyes softly, as if you haven't a care in the world.

"We still need to clean," he says, feeling a little sticky.

"Bath?" You poke your head up. He nods, stifling a smile. You're just too cute, he never sees this side of you. You probably were never comfortable enough to let it show.

You don't want to get up, your bones are weak and weary. Mr.Enegizer bunny over here, though, he looks like he could go another round.

Not even a minute later, he's carrying you like a sack of potatoes to the tub butt-naked. You squish his little buttcheeks on the way.

"Haha why?" He shakes his head, giggling.

"Squish~" you say.

"Squish," he echoes in defeat.

tags: @koolvrr @peachyagustd @destructiveasparagus @debicaptain-saturn look at dis besties!

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