i.
jimin and lisa and vignettes:
lust is saturday night.
love is sunday morning. m-rated.
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━ ❝ PARK
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━ ❝ LALISA
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jimin doesn't really notice her until he hears it: that laugh.
the one that's settled into the confines of an organ that's been incapable of feeling for all the years his toyed and danced his way through drinks and one-night-stands with those sorority girls in the come-fuck-me mini skirts and the blue eyeshadow.
the laugh he has subconsciously buried away, hidden somewhere he can't seem to place-in his marrow, or the streams of his blood. but his heart, for sure. the wretched thing; the bringer of pain and ecstasy and everything in between.
she'd know a lot about it.
he watches her laugh, basking in the familiar sweetness.
it's something he hasn't heard in years. she flirts away with the too-old bartender, (she had always liked her men older, didn't she?-with those daddy issues and that condescending demeanor making her seem much older than she really is)
twirling a strand of hair the color of the upper atmosphere at sunrise, slipping around her near-translucent neck and batting away her eyelashes. he knows those tricks a little too well from distant memories.
he downs his hennessy and get another round. he has nowhere to go, anyways. the bartender slips her his number with a wink, and there goes her laugh again-all pretty and coy and very, very lalisa manoban.
she fiddles with the straw of her cocktail, swishing the vibrantly coloured liquid and jimin watches her. (and he is completely oblivious to how absurdly creepy he's being because he's a bit shocked, a tad amused, and just a little captivated).
he kind of wants her to turn, to flicker her eyes up to his so he could see that little vixen smirk and watch as she hops off the barstool in cavalier elegance to make her way over to him like he is her first priority.
jimin never admits it, but he'd be lying if he claimed he didn't like the attention way back when. he'd also being lying if he claimed that it suddenly became hard to gulp when he meet those large outrageous irises.
she might have grown up; surely looks like it. sharper face, stronger jaw, still the same magnetizing eyes.
although, lisa doesn't know him beyond a face, a smiling and charming veneer. a smile like a beacon, bright and beautiful and absolutely clear in the dead of the night. there is little doubt that if she saw him in a crowd, or caught him in the corner of her eye, there would be that pretty, pretty smile on his face, lingering too long for it not to fade.
she reacts differently than expected, throwing a lock of her hair behind an exposed shoulder and turning away to engage in conversation with some passerby-after that infamous smile, of course.
she wants him to be the first one to make the move, to the turn the tables, take the wheel. she's testing him, jimin's aware, and this game goes on. she side-eyes him, and he throws her a smile, sometimes a nod of the head or a raise of the brow.
this goes on until she only has a quarter of her drink left and he decides to suck it up and approach her. she's clearly not one for losing.
jimin take a seat to her left, and that tangy, addictive voice makes him feel things he shouldn't. he blames the alcohol.
"well, looky who we have here," lisa grins. her lips are coloured wine. he makes sure his eyes don't linger on them for too long-he can't give her the satisfaction.
actually, maybe. just for a second.
(her lips are nice.
always have been)
"how are you?" he implores with his boyish charm-something that might have had her at her knees in her younger years. "would never expect to see you here, especially at this hour."
outskirts of hongdae didn't really seem like her thing. he would have never pegged her to drink cocktails by herself at two am either. she's wonderful like that. a burnt out rebel, wasting away until the world will end.
"i'm the same, really," the manoban sips.
"still gorgeous," he says. it's a statement. that's all. a fact, he could argue, if jimin really wanted to.
her eyes flare, but her cheeks don't burn.
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jimin fucks her with the lights on because she's eager and he is him.
she had initiated it. and there's something wrong, he knows it. but she wants him, she whispers harshly between her teeth before she uses them to bite his mouth. she wants him she wants him she wants him. but she doesn't, and he knows it.
but he lets her undo his belt and he lets her wrestle her tongue and he lets her do what she pleases.
her grip tightens on him, and jimin can't stop saying her name. it's like rope, a noose around his neck, a noose on a hot air balloon, she only has to say his name, and she cuts every balloons and lets them fly into the sky, higher and higher and-
"fuck."
and when she screams jungkook's name during her climax, he lets her fall into his chest, feeling the way her body falls and rises. he tangles his fingers in her hair and doesn't say a word.
he doesn't feel betrayal, or anything of the sort because in a way, they'd both been using each other.
he doesn't know when she starts crying, but he run's fingers up and down her spine until she falls asleep.
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the sunshine boy and the sunlight girl, chaeyoung and jungkook are getting married, you hear, two days later.
(two days late-)
he is in the wedding, of course. he is the bride's brother, for christ's sake.
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jimin doesn't know what went on between them. it's not his business.
even when lisa calls him up at eleven p.m. for a pair of lips and a drink or two, he doesn't ask. it's really not his concern.
she's just one face that meets him in the eye; and maybe this is it, the reason they're still dancing, the world is still revolving in deadbeat cycles, (but time has chosen to stand still if only, if only for them to be star-crossed lovers for this decadent second and then never again).
but he fucks her good and he fucks her fast, the way she likes it. he helps her forget the pain, the loneliness, even if only for a little while.
while she is demure in the presence of others, dolled up in pouted lips and a flush of red; she is different here. come dimmed lights and a curtain call of the fallen sun, and she is confident and bold and brash, waist undulating against his.
he doesn't know which version of this woman is best.
jimin's got a weakness for her, he really does. he will never admit it, though.
(that will fuck him up, big time)
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they both keep it a secret.
it's an unspoken understanding because really-he was fucking the bride's (his sister) maid of honor (best friend). it had been a bad idea from the start, but he'd been broken and she'd been desperate and bad things always felt everything but bad.
they're neon light bulbs, belching out electricity with monosyllabic remarks, and easygoing entanglements.
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lisa is quite the actor, he observes, when she makes her speech at the rehearsal wedding. she plays the part, is the part. she'd do everything, anything, for chaeyoung's happiness, even if it requires breaking her own heart.
jimin watches her congratulate the pair with a winning smile, being sure to never meet the jeon's gaze as she raises her glass of champagne. jimin doesn't miss it: his look.
it's something of sacrifice, of hurt, maybe longing, jimin think's. regardless, the two don't say a word to each other. he could wonder why, but he already knows.
when jungkook stands up, the handsome lad he is, to say a toast to his beloved fiancé, jimin watches her disappear in the midst of the crowd. everyone's eyes are on the pinkette, though, so no one notices.
(but him)
he doesn't follow her, though.
(because that's what secret lovers would do or what a boy with feelings for a heartbroken girl would do or what a man would do for the the woman he's been rendezvous-ing with and that is much too obvious)
during the part where the couple dances, taking the floor, the spotlight, the attention, lisa slips into the seat beside yours.
she has another glass of the sparkling drink held between manicured fingers. she doesn't say a word as her eyes are glazed on her best friends, gliding away on the dance floor.
"they're beautiful," lisa finally admits.
"so are you," jimin says, because sometimes she forgets and all he wants to do is remind her.
she doesn't spare him a glance, allowing the couple's reflection to dance along the muddy honey of her orbs,
"it's not about me."
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faded tendrils of her hair sway behind her and he doesn't know it, but she's gritting her teeth with every tear that makes its way down her jaw.
she doesn't scream the jeon's name the night after the wedding.
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in the aftermath of it all, she sits in his flannel and makes art on jimin's one-body bed. she had gotten paint on his sheets, but he doesn't say anything.
"i know you wanna ask me about it," she murmurs, continuing to flick her brush along the canvas resting crookedly on a towel.
(if he'd have known this was to have happened, he would have at least laid out some velvet blankets to make his bed look somewhat presentable-but she hadn't cared and in the end it really didn't even matter).
"i do," he replies-his voice is restrained and raw, but buzzing with the need of know.
she purses her lips and brushes a wavy strand that had fallen from her bun behind an ear. "shoot."
"how long have you loved him for?"
and it's in the way that she hesitates, lost in that fragile, delicate state of mind, when you know that it's been a much longer time than expected.
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" don't think of me too often,"
she says once, aloud. one too many times, in his head.
she pats him on the chest, sighs with a smile he will remember all too well. it's something he'll keep in his mind when he's had one too many drinks and too much weight of a heartbreak and he's fucking the wrong girl the night he lets the right one leave.
"don't flatter yourself," he scowls, words biting but his gaze flickering elsewhere. "my life doesn't revolve around you."
and it slips. smirk intact. purely accidental. lisa almost regrets it. (she doesn't.) "liar."
he retorts back, to wipe that smug expression off that porcelain face. "you're sorely mistaken," for he is park jimin, and he retaliates instantaneously, and she is lisa, one whom had always been right.
moments pass in silence. neither of them have the heart to move.
he wants to shift the gears: to ask why, why does it have to be this way why can't they be together because they can they can they can do this they can make this work they can happen they were meant to be-
but because he is jimin and she is lalisa, he remains silent. she nods at his minimal, petty aggravation. almost smiling, but not really. not at all.
and he wants to touch her, to raise her chin up, to stroke her cheek, to hold her face. he won't, though.
and it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts-
i love you.
he'd love to say it: those four words. he'd savour its taste on his mouth, and on her face, spiteful, malicious.
her face would turn that exact shade of red that suited her so prettily, before being replaced by a hollow white. jimin barely has to think about it, she'd flinch and mutter something like: don't be stupid, you don't mean that.
he should forget it.
forget the sweetness of his name coming from the pretty pink lips she'd kept biting between sighs of ecstasy. (but their kisses are always dead on arrival, a ghost floating between them).
" get it together, park."
(he's getting a bit bitter every caress.)
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jimin knows something's changed, when he wakes up and she's gone.
lisa had never left first in the mornings, (not with him, never with him) especially since she had learned that he is not one to leave the bed cold. something's shifted between them, a dynamic that he's never been aware of, not consciously, until today.
they had fallen asleep together, though. this, he remembers; along with the shadows casting along her sleeping face, her light breaths warm against the neck she had sunk her teeth in.
in a bittersweet sarcastic thought, he assumes it's better than biting into false hope. he remembers the feel of her body against his-how fitting it had all been.
her delicate, long (talented, very talented) fingers resting on his sun kissed shoulders and his arms are snaked around the waist he's bruised with his mouth. it's nothing, though.
he fists his hand into the pillow and throws it against the wall meters away from him. (he's park jimin, once the captain of the baseball team-his throws are hard, fast, fiery in his grip).
jimin rests his head along the wall behind his bed and thinks of the way her nails had scratched love into his skin.
and he sighs.
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the blue.
it is tentative and unsure, sending smatterings of electricity dancing across her skin as her eyes shut. his chest is pressed against hers, heartbeat on heartbeat, his hands spreading on the small of her back before they move up to her shoulders.
a hand is draped across his shoulder, wrist curling into his collarbone, and his hands are at home just above her waist and holding hers. his nose traces the apple of her cheek.
in the background a turtle-necked housewife is demonstrating the use of an avocado blender- the home shopping channel. her legs are restless, tangled with his and under his thin sheets.
it's four months later and the gushing talk of the wedding has come to stilling halt. yet lisa is in his living room. he doesn't understand why, can't, because wasn't his best-of-use date already exceeded? wasn't she done with him? but he's never trully understood her.
( his body is immersed in an ocean of hope, so deep it hurts.)
his mind falls as he feels her heart beating, reverberating against her chest which is bare and smooth and pressed against his, with her baby hairs tickling his nose.
this is it; the torturous interval of opportunity. so he parts his lips to speak:
"i know you're probably never going to forget jungkook," he admits when he releases her,
"and i know it's too soon, it's disrespectful. to you-even though you've never cared about being disrespectful-and to him-though he doesn't deserve anything more; but lisa...," he swallows, trying to get her lungs to work. breathed in, breathes out, and tells himself that his chest will loosen, given enough time to replace the stolen air.
"...i would like to try."
and lisa realizes he has placed something in her clasp: a pair of star-shaped earrings, silver and lined with small diamonds that glittered under the light, "if you say yes, if you want this, too-i would like to try."
their eyes never leave one another, so he cannot help noticing hers are wider than usual like an awareness. they half-fly apart as she sits. he sees the starry night and he seeks her out, reaching back.
and she grabs his neck when they come together again and he can suddenly breathe her in the ebbing silence like he never has before, can see the break in her armor as their desperate battle ends just as capriciously as it began - her eyes flutter and he can see the individual lashes as she smiles.
" don't wet the bed park. we'll see."
this is how he falls asleep-smiling, in between light breaths and somewhere in the middle of inhaling her scent of spring mint and spreadeagled limbs.
it's an indefinite answer. ambiguous, vague and teasing. very like her but atleast it's not a no.
it's not a no.
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rifts of sunlight peer into his room through the cracked blinds of his windows and lines of exposed warmth paint parts of his revealed skin. he's covered by the same slim blanket he usually sleeps with and the sun is burning, but he still feels a lack of heat.
this is the part where he wakes up alone.
it's his heart's turn to take a fall, feeling as if it had plummeted into his stomach. it would've been okay really, he would've accepted it as the norm really, but not after last night. especially after that.
jimin cusses and curses and punches the blasé duvet, an angry vacant imprint smudged into it, because he's been so pathetic. he thinks about how he'd worn his heart out on his sleeve for her and after minutes of self pity, he remembers opposing perspectives of love.
hers being nonexistent; bruised and battered and torn apart and hurthurtconstantlyhurt due to broken parents and a broken life.
he doesn't get up, not in the minutes to come. he wants to forget the vision of her on top of him-of him being physically and emotionally stripped bare by her.
he mopes for a bit longer, before realizing how damned depressing he was being and had finally decided to sit up.
jimin searches his room for his boxers and having put them on, he notices a familiar lace bra hooked on his doorknob.
(he remembers throwing it somewhere behind him before she had pulled him on top of her when she'd fallen onto his bed) pivoting on his heel, he finds her previous apparel around his floor-her denim jacket sprawled on his desk and her skirt on his windowsill.
(how had that even gotten there?)
-and the rhythm beneath his ribs quickens, sky-like eyes brightening, and mood lightening. he breathes a sigh of glassy relief and steps out of his room and down his corridor to follow a heavenly aroma he hadn't been expecting.
and then he sees her, at his stove making a second batch of chocolate chip pancakes in his league of legends t-shirt that hangs along the upper of her thighs and he thinks that the sight is even better than her lust-driven persona in the night.
there's eggs on the counter and two bowls of freshly cut bananas accompanying their plates of pancakes and she's nibbling a piece of bacon when she looks up and pushes a hot, blonde mess of waves.
(sex hair, she'll call it later, after looking at herself in the mirror before another round in hot water and steam-and afterward, she'll let herself use the l-word-like- and his knees will buckle and his eyes will gleam) behind her ear.
(she is lalisa manoban and she is beautifulbeautifulbeautiful).
her gaze is a solar implosion and her voice is strawberry sweet, "morning, handsome."
she's wearing the earring's.
....
A/N - okay i had this idea for a while
and lismin just really fit into the plot,
they're so cuteee.
(plus i know no one requested this but ya'll i had to.)
anyway i hope you enjoyed!