Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader (OC: female)

Summary: You and your boyfriend, Jimin, have had a bittersweet winter among fights and misunderstandings. But firm in his resolve to love you, he has come back to you to never leave again. He brings you utopia in stolen glances and cherry kisses.

Genre: Fluff, implications of  

Rating: NC-17

Word Count: 2300

You never knew it would be that worthwhile to push through your hazy vision and dry mouth at five in the morning and find him subconsciously crawled to your side of the bed.

Hogging the bed was something you always found annoying but he turned it into an act of possession, a reminder - with his one leg around your calf and one hand around your waist - that he was holding onto you, keeping your pieces together.

You feel the minutes in the lowly lit room drift into conceptual nothingness, the blue and magenta tendrils in the sky painting his face into what you thought to be a renaissance portrait. He was calm and dreamy, with his pinky finger twitching and mouth curling everytime he dreamt about something happy. 

He looked angelic, arms outstretched across your frame like he is testing his wingspan. 

His lips were soft and warm and pink, slightly parted as he inhaled the cold air. His nose had turned red and his cheeks glazed pastel ruby; he was tucked lazily into your blanket, his own one at his foot- folded and unused.

You thought you should get up, open the windows and let the slightly stifling air in the room escape and sunrays seep between the sheets to warm you.

But then, why would you leave his arms before he could greet you with his adoring, fluttering eyes?

You feel him stir, nuzzle into your neck and grip you tighter, sides of his eyes creasing. Perhaps, he had seen something bad, perhaps his heart somersaulted at something he wasn't supposed to envisage in his imaginary realm. 

You cradle his head on your shoulder, run your fingers through his tousled hair and breathe your admiration against his cheek and into his skin.

'It's alright, I'm here. I'm right here.'

You feel his muscles unwind and lose the tension in them, the heaves of his chest falling back into their slow, delicate pace. You don't know for certain if he's awake or if he heard you but he seemed to acknowledge you, become peaceful at your consolation and your sweet nothings.

You graze your fingers along his nape and simultaneously, feel his lashes tickling against your collarbone. You draw your head back to look at him, find his face swollen into an adorable marshmallow of morning grumpiness.

 'Hey.'

You chuckle when he kisses your cheek, chuckle louder when he kisses the other too because he thinks he shouldn't deprive it of the love either. 

He yawns a little, looks around from between his squinted eyelids. He pulls the blanket down a little when he flips over but when he brings his gaze back he notices you had slipped on his Coldplay tee sometime last night. 

In the aftermath of his sweat and his lust, you felt the memories of his ethereal moans of your name or your skin under his wouldn't keep you satiated. You needed more of him, always. When you wore his tee, it was unwashed and stale: it was wholly Jimin, encased in his scent and his existence.

He straddles you in his embrace so that your waists lock, sinks deep into the pillow and pulls the blanket over your heads again.

'You're wearing my shirt.'

'It smelt like you, kept me warm.'

'Really? What do I smell of?'

'Love and lilies.'

He laughs his clandestine and beautiful laugh that resonates like church bells on a golden afternoon.

Divine. That's what you call him. Eyes half-lidded and expression cloudy, he has shifted into someone you could solely keep to yourself this spring. He has become undefinable and unconditional, he has evolved into something you call mine.

He laces his fingers with yours, thumb grazing over your knuckles. He pulls a frown soon.

'Why are your hands so cold?' 

You know it's your rut, that you cannot fall asleep unless you have your fingers or toes peeping from your blanket but nonetheless, you have always loved tilting him on his edge, never answering what is logical, only answering what makes his tongue lap at his lip and his breath hitch.

'You haven't been holding them.'  

He thought he was dry, left breathless in your beacon smile. Your words were soft, your crinkles digging deep at his fissures. You've never loved them, the crinkles by your smile, that is. You've often termed them as God's failed dimples. But he has loved them with his soul and his heart, his very entirety. To him your crinkles are promptings of heaven, pure and unmistakable, making him bend and smoothen into what your will commands.

You felt his hands pulling you closer, his harmonious mumbles in your praise blending with the caroling songbirds. He stuck your foreheads together and bore deep into your eyes, filling you with the warmth the lonely winter had taken away. His chest rose and fell in harmony, each heartbeat of his was spring, each making you bloom and blossom in its own melody.

'I'm sorry I didn't meet you all winter. I thought that night, when you cried, that I have lost you. My heart told me to stay but I was deaf over my mind's screaming insecurities.'

You take a low, wet inhale, your hair cascading down his chest as he plays with a few strands. You choose not to waste language and syntax in reasoning and context. You dig for the words that belong only to him, words that you have fostered and raised over the years, turning it into a masterpiece, the best paradigm of your possession of him. 

'I love you.'

Jimin stops and breathes, bops you on the nose childishly and whispers against your lip, 'I love you too baby.'

The room reveled in the fluorescence of hawthorns and primrose, and it ached you how majestic he can be when he is both joyous and moping. He has his gaze fixed on you, lips parted and fingers impatient to mold every intricate piece of you in ways that cant be undone. 

'I want to kiss you.'

You dont need to nod, dont need to speak. It was never a request in the first place. It is a reassurance, an affirmation that he isn't just yours and you aren't his; that he is actually tucked beneath your skin, that you are one.

He lowers his head, buoyed by your proximity and your scent. It was too gentle and too beautiful, the way he puckered his lips to press his affection onto you, to tell it apart from a kiss or a dive into a pool of feathers.

He exhales when he sees your lips are parched, feels the need to lap his moist tongue at your bottom lip, tell you he's sorry for not being your sheath in the winter. You feel him graze his hand up the column of your neck, ball your hair into his fists so that your lips could fit better, so that you drink in the sweetness of his cherry chapstick, and an underlying taste that is all Jimin. 

He slips his hand under the shirt you're wearing, palming the skin at your waist and basking in whatever heat you radiated. He smiled when he pulled away, swallowing the glee and contentment that you released into the air in a soft whimper. 

'I want you to be mine.'

You singsong against him, feeling his hands drawing small circles on your stomach to invigorate the butterflies that are already chasing a high.

'I was never not yours.'

You nestle closer to him, joyous at the sound of his heart that is unrestrained and uncaged; thrumming and coexisting with yours, making your love it's existential need.

You loved moments like these, where the silence was comfortable and the air was light. Where you simply let him hold you and hear him breathe, knowing you had everything you need in the world in your arms.

You feel him push the messy tresses of your hair aside with his nose and delve into the crevice where your neck and shoulder join. It begins in soft kisses, implications of tender adoration but you know when his breath comes in all too fast, that he is craving you again. When his hands slide upwards from your stomach and tease the skin right above your rib, you know he is silently resolving to redeem the spring in learning you, moulding himself into you and emptying you to fill you up with himself every second of every day.

You find it sinfully succulent and immaculate, the way he gives away his ardor, lets his teeth bite and mark territory on you and his tongue soothe the proud red-purple marks that you would probably have to hide with scarves and turtlenecks in the entire week that follows. 

He trails his mouth along your neck and takes your lobe between his teeth. He lingers near your lips for a long time, making you hold your breath and count seconds. You drown in him, let the deluge of his love capsize your soul completely. 

But when he kisses you... oh, when he kisses you. 

He makes light in the darkness, he paints rainbows in the greying cityscape. He makes the sunrays shine like a halo above his head and he becomes transcendent in his crave for you.

From florentine lyricism to blunt colloquialism; his name from your mouth seemed to be his favourite poem, your moans in his uncomparable appraise to be his favourite anthology.

You want to worship him as Adonis, etch his name in the marrow of your bones when he diminishes the logic and acumen you have spent years in gathering with a mere twirl of his tongue. He fends off the famine that had thrived over winter when he tastes you like a starved hermit who has found the holy grail, has attained nirvana.

It is the break of dawn now, only a mere hours have gone by when you had last let him take you. But you let him take you again, want him to keep taking you and brew the elixir of lust and want, drink it and hold it in his flesh and blood to never forget what you feel like.

His fingers, tender and hungry in the inception of their need, rest atop your s, knead the hot flesh and make you arch into him. He hisses when he sees you without your bra, his pupils blow black and wide when you whisper you have no underwear on either. 

It is the way he tears off the shirt you've been covering yourself with, finding it offensive and almost provoking, that makes you wilt and give in. He clambers onto his elbows, devotes all of him to you and your soul and your body. 

He teases, and bites, consumes you like a concoction from the cauldron of euphoria.

You want to carve his presence in gold in the sands of time when you see his head between your thighs and his tongue between your dripping folds. He tells you, always, that he admires how you are always so tight and wet to take him and he tells you, how hard and impatient he is to be inside you, hear the vibrato of your es and you into his mattress. 

When he is lusting and sinful, when he is not your lover with the angelic smile but is a devotee of coition and profanity, you find him enticing. He never fails to break you as he tells you how deep he likes to you, how the mere thought of your throbbing around his deprived kept him medial to sane and senile the entire winter. How he wants you to accommodate your small, full lips to his hardened totality, watch you him off from the tip of your fingers and hollow your cheek, just like you hollow his soul.

He tells you again this time, that he wants to take you from behind, splayed across the table, the same one where he had surprised you with a candlelight dinner. He wants to you on the couch too, smell lilacs and when he reads The Daily Mail sipping his cup of coffee. He wants you everywhere, in all ways but this time he takes you between the sheets; shoulders raised in contentment because he knows he will you ravenously enough to make the ebony headboard dent the plaster on the wall.

So you dont hesitate. Becoming a whining and whimpering mess; you give your all to him, take his all inside of you.

With each kiss, you find yourself tangled in his love. With each moan, you find yourself inseparable to the feeling of being his. With each , you find yourself filled with the simplicity and wholeness of him.

When you come, you come undone together. With your nails clawing at his back and his tears of pure, heartfelt adoration glistening on your chest: you tell him you love him and he makes you the start and the end of his world.

When he tells you he will be by your side, he doesn't mean this morning, doesn't mean today or tomorrow. He means always, he means eternity.

And you believe him this time. With his bare skin and his panting chest over yours, you truly believe you have succeeded in reigning over his fears, his insecurities, and his heart.