#the sundress sm*t

[rae-gar-targaryen]

look it's what he deserves. what Cielo deserves. and what deserve. really.

looking forward to it my little genius 🤗💛

Is it semi public? Maybe.

Is it after they recently got married so they're obsessed with each other? Absolutely.

Am I going to hell? Assuredly.

Will it be good? Time will tell.

#the sundress sm*t #fanboy x cielo asks #fanboy x reader #lovely thea tag

[kithtaehyung]

busted (3tan) (m) | myg

title: busted  pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) , jungkook x reader(f) series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: when things go a bit south at your house party, decisions between you and yoongi have to be made. note: well. here we are, y’all. it’s been quite a long time, but we are back to regularly scheduled programming :’)) thank you to everyone that has supported and encouraged me throughout this whole process – and series, for that matter. i couldn’t have done this without y’all and the next part is already in the works. also i cried a lot writing this lol have fun! note 2: happy birthday, hedgehog! and to colourless and nicki and whoever else had birthdays recently, consider this my gift to y’all! warnings: language, the amount of content itself fck i’m so sorry, parties, alcohol consumption, tense situations, shoving, abandonment mentions (parental), obligatory yoongi on the phone, ch*king, head/hair pulling, reader has a pain kink and it shows oops, angst, overthinking :((, penetrative s*x, chains but come on now, protective s*x, cowgirl, or*l (m/f rec), edg*ng a ha ha, thro*tf*cking, kissing :’))), kissing D:, did i say angst?, bro😵‍💫, but also bro😭, jungkook gets a warning too, yoongi’s jeans are as ripped as he is heyo, hitting from the b b back, yoongi king of consent sheesh, multiple org*sms, spitting lmfao, sl*t/wh*re mentions, yoongi jfc lol, the aftercare y’all i–😭, the ending🧍  drop date: june 9th, 2023, 7:17pm est  word count: 18.8k gdi

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Here goes nothing and everything.

It was fifteen years ago when you first met Jungkook. When the sidewalks in your neighborhood were fewer and the occupancy in your house was higher. 

A tiny boy, he was immediately ready to stay by your side, despite the limited amount of time he got to hang around before his parents corralled his energy back inside their car. 

Later on, he would tell you that had something to do with them not wanting him influenced by your brother and his group. But you didn’t know that at the time. 

Ever since the two of you met, you became the best of friends. And as you grew older, it was only natural that feelings bloomed with everything else. 

In the midst of an ever changing garden, you found something that never wavered, vibrant in color and immovable at its root. 

Which was strange. You’d never compared people to flora before him. 

But, because of Jungkook, you couldn’t help but see everyone as such—lilies, buttercups, the ones that trap to survive. 

And he was the prettiest, strongest flower of them all.

There was rain. There were storms. But with them came hope, and a pair of cheap rings that the two of you bought nestled nicely in boxes, waiting to be unearthed when you were ready.

However. 

What also came was a lesson. One that you would learn again when two of every seat remained unused in your household. 

A lesson that people are more like seasons than flowers.

They change with or without you. 

And they pass by.

“We can go somewhere quieter if you want,” Jungkook offers. And you know he’s going to suggest your room before he even utters the words.

But of course he adds a small, “If I’m allowed in there anymore.”

When he laughs, your smile is as slow as your head shake, a few memories of old tasting bittersweet on your tongue. “We can.”

“Okay.”

When you make your way to your room, you hear the thumps of music and rhythms of conversation—both casual and loud—echoing throughout the house. Some people are sharing laughs, others are scooting just a bit closer, and a lucky one is cackling before demanding that everyone hand over their money. 

All of them oblivious to the fact that you’re about to rip off a piece of your heart.

Well. That may not be the case. But based on the conversation that you had with Jungkook before your interview, this wasn’t going to be an easy one in the slightest—not for him, nor for you.

But if he’s gonna keep pushing forward, this is a stop you need to put up regardless.

During a party isn’t what you had in mind, though. Much less one in your own house.

You don’t know if anyone sees you open your door for Jungkook to pass through, or if they notice the slump of your mood, but you figure no one will care anyways. 

Until you see someone out of the corner of your peripheral.

And the skip of your heart tells you who it is.

Occupying one of the hallways a ways away, you can tell he’s very aware of you despite being in the middle of a chatty group.

But what’s on his mind? Is he worried? Is he gonna ask what this is about?

Damn it. You’re just gonna have to tell him later. You can’t exactly do anything now. 

A voice peeps from behind your tense shoulders,

“You okay?”

Fuck. 

Turning, you nod to the boy in your room before shutting your door, giving one more look to the man whose last text you couldn’t read.

And the way he stares makes you wanna bolt from everyone entirely.

When your door clicks shut, you slowly swivel, only the bass of your brother’s music pushing the walls in closer. 

Jungkook’s doing exactly what you knew he’d do, wandering around your room and either leaning in to observe, or lightly touching things that he remembers. 

The soft puff of a laugh snaps you into focus. “I can’t believe you still have all his medals up.”

Ah. He even remembers the way you have all your brother’s trophies and achievements displayed—all because you liked seeing them shine, and he didn’t want them in his room.

Sweeping your gaze along two of your walls, you let out a tiny sound of amusement while agreeing, “I can. Too lazy to take them down.” 

“I can do it,” he immediately responds. “If you need me to.”

If it had been five years ago, you would’ve been enamored that he even offered.

But five years ago is when he shattered any hopes you had for the two of you, so you turn him down yet again. “It’s okay.” 

“You sure?”

“We’re here to talk, not decorate, Jungkook.”

He stares before nodding in dejection, eyes finding something other than you. “It’s still weird to hear you say my name.”

It’s weird to say it. 

But you can’t let him know you agree, so the sound you make is half-cautious and weakly lighthearted. “You think so?”

“Ah, yeah.” He flashes a smile that still squeezes air from your lungs. “I’d gotten too used to all the names you had for me.”

“Oh, god.”

“But I guess someone else gets to hear them now.”

Goddamn it. He’s not gonna give up, just like he said right before your interview. 

“Who are you seeing?” 

“Kook…” 

“I wanna know.” 

“Why?”

He walks over to your nightstand, picking up a picture of you and your friends from years back. 

And your heart pangs at how big his back has become. 

Without turning, Jungkook lifts his head to stare at your ceiling. And if he’s wondering whether the glow stars he stuck all over it are still there or not, you don’t know if you’d admit that you never took them down. 

“So that I’d know if I still have a chance.” 

“You already had yours,” you whisper. “Remember?”

And when you look up, he’s already staring at you with regret. 

Memories start to come back, but you shove them away with force, trying to empty your sinking boat with a teaspoon. 

Every time he had walked back from school with you, every time he would make you laugh when you felt alone, every time he stayed at your place when your brother had to be out—all of them competed with each other to punch you in the gut and push you to your knees. 

“I do,” is all he says before softly placing the frame on your bed. “I fucked that up, didn’t I.” 

The times he said he’d be there when you needed him, the times he said it was gonna be okay when you struggled with your seemingly deepest darkest secrets. 

All the times you knew you’d have a long future with him. 

“You did.”

Everything leading up to the time he said you should break up before you left for university.

Right before you were going to tell him you loved him.

Your heart hasn’t beat in awhile, but you don’t notice until Jungkook starts walking towards your planted feet. Was he really so far away? How did he cover the distance between so fast?

With a sigh occupying your chest, you muse that he looks so different, but also not different at all. 

And just like the time you saw him downtown, your brain doesn’t know how to separate the Jungkook you knew from the one you see in front of you. 

Because they are still the same.

You don’t budge as he stands resolute, inches away but encasing you in his familiar presence. When his hand comes up to your face, he almost touches—but the slight hesitation has you holding your breath before he surrenders his hand at his side. 

“I was an idiot,” he admits, throat seemingly small and making yours the same size. “I never should’ve… I can’t believe I…” 

You watch as he flips his head up, and you hate how you know exactly what he’s trying to hide. 

But your soul still remembers the wound it was dealt. So while you don’t want him feeling this way, you’re perfectly okay to fight back. 

He doesn’t get to cry when he’s the reason for all those tears. 

“And yet you did,” you remind him, proud of how stable your voice leaves lips that used to seek his. “And you left me so fucking confused.” 

“I know.”

“Do you really?” 

He flickers regretful eyes your way, giving you all the room to talk. 

And you’re going to.

“Do you actually know, Kook? How fucked up that made me feel right before going where I knew nobody. No one.” 

His nostrils flare while eyebrows flinch. 

You expel a tough breath, everything that happened before bubbling up to the surface. The nights you spent wondering what happened, the days you spent feeling unwanted, the times you felt so fucking alone.

“Is it true that you even loved me?”

“Yes,” he finally shatters, face contorting and eyes welling at their rims. “Of course I did.” 

Did.

“I still do.”

Liar.

“I thought I was the only one.” You search his eyes, hating how you would comfort him in an instant if this were any other circumstance. Hating, hating, loathing that this is how you find out your love wasn’t unrequited. “Why did you push me away?” 

“I didn’t—I didn’t mean to…” He turns, unable to handle the loud silence streaming from your bones. Voice shaken, he flounders, “I don’t know. I’ve—” 

When he pauses, it’s to keep his lips from shaking. You just know it. 

“I’ve regretted it every day since.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“I have!”

“Really. So all those texts you never sent were full of regret, too, huh?” 

“No, I—”

“All those calls you never made.” 

“I wanted to call!”

“You wanted nothing to do with me!”

“No! That’s not true—”

“Liar!”

He digs palms into the soaking divots of his face, tense at all angles and making you so, so angry that this is what the both of you have come to. 

“I’m not lying!”

“You are!”

You thought it would feel better seeing him cry. 

But it’s not, it’s not, it’s not. You hate this. 

Because Jungkook made sure your tears were short-lived. Made sure to chase them away every single time—

There’s a rapid twist of your locked doorknob before you hear a shout,

“What the hell’s going on in there!”

Shit, your brother. Were you both yelling? 

…Were you both that loud?

“We’re fine!” you shout back, embarrassed that your fight somehow managed to outperform the aux. “It’s okay.”

“Open the door.”

“No.”

“You better be serious—”

“Promise!” You look toward the shouts. “We’re okay.” 

“…Okay.”

And then it’s completely silent.

But you know he hasn’t left. 

Fuck, he can’t hear the rest of this. He shouldn’t have heard any of it in the first place, and you can feel the heat of his questions coming later tonight. 

Which, you are fine answering when it’s just the two of you. But you cannot have anyone hovering right now so you go to open the door and tell him off, 

“Dude, I said I’m—”

Oh, fuck.

Yoongi’s right there with him.

And your heart fucking lurches.

Fuck fuck fuck they both see your tears and you’re getting moved aside before you know it now there’s—

“The fuck are you doing making them cry?”

“Wait, it’s not like th—”

“You come into our house after years—”

“Stop!”

“And pull some shit like this?”

Alarmed, you squeeze yourself between him and a very wide-eyed Jungkook, having to wrestle an angry wrist off a captured bicep. “Seriously, relax!”

You and your brother have a thousand differences. 

But one thing you two have in common? 

He’s just as stubborn as you are. 

A strong swipe moves you back so fast that your feet can’t keep up, and you find yourself stumbling until firm hands and familiar cologne keep you upright, voices springing up all at once.

“I’m not—”

“Hey—!”

“The fuck—”

“What’s wrong with you?” you question, commanding attention and snagging both your brother’s and Jungkook’s stares.

Barely even caring if they see where you are and who’s holding you. 

Because this is all stupid. It’s not fucking high school and you aren’t some kid that needs their useless, shitty, good-for-nothing parents to stand up for them. 

Resisting Yoongi’s grip until he lets go, you stalk up to rip your brother’s hand off your ex’s arm, voice darkened and sharp, “Get out.”

Breath hard, the reply you get is directed more at Jungkook than your own pinched brows, 

“Why should I.”

“Cus it’s fine,” you shoot out, sparing a glance at Yoongi and regretting it immediately. 

Because he’s not looking at you. He probably wasn’t ever looking at you.

No. Based on that look alone, he’s been eyeing Jungkook with an energy that sends chills straight through your veins.

It’s so unmoving, so infernal that your throat dries, forcing you to swallow before laying more reassurance on three pairs of tense shoulders. “It’s alright, okay? We’re just talking.”

“…So it’s like that?”

Jungkook immediately replies to your sibling with a monotone, “Of course it is.”

To which he moves forward again before you stop him with a hand and a shout, 

“The fuck it isn’t—” 

“It is! Fucking hell, dude...” 

You force an exhale, hating how your room is overflowing while you’re still drowning in the conversation prior. 

Because now one talk is gonna sprout into three, and you already dread what each one is going to look like when it develops. 

You hope Jungkook understands that you’re done. 

You hope your brother understands that you’re tired. 

And, above all the others, you hope to any high power out there that Yoongi understands that you are anything but finished. 

When the tension doesn’t budge, you sigh and shift your weight.

“Look. We’re just talking. But I need to speak to him alone.” You breathe with finality, eyeing your sibling and his ride or die—hating and loving how ready they are to do whatever they need to, together.

But they don’t have to do anything. 

Except let you do this yourself. 

“Please.” 

After a moment, they both look over your shoulder before your brother watches your face again. 

But Yoongi seems to have finally caught Jungkook’s attention, because his eyes haven’t broken their lock until you say something,

“Trust me.”

Two weighty seconds pass before both men nod. And they leave without a word, emotions toppling on each other as soon as your door shuts. 

When you walk up to lock it shut, you stare at the knob in silence. 

While that was massively uncalled for, it could’ve gone much worse. You can already think of over a hundred outcomes, because that’s a look you’ve seen on your brother many times. 

However. That’s not what has you lost in thought.

What keeps you frozen is the fact that you have never seen Yoongi like that.

It almost scared you, but somehow comforts you all the same. You can still feel the way he subtly squeezed you in assurance, pressing you into him when you really didn’t fall that far. There’s a jittering in your chest that hasn’t simmered, and it makes you feel like you’re halfway floating back to where Jungkook stands.

But you’re promptly grounded when you rejoin him, voice soft when you ask if he’s okay. 

“He hasn’t changed,” is all he whispers. 

And you look at the door with a sigh of disappointment. “He has a little. Still uptight as ever, but. At least I can leave the house.” 

“Yoongi was a surprise.”

Oxygen abandons your lungs before you quickly catch yourself. “They’re best friends.”

Jungkook glares at the floor in thought before exhaling, and his silence seems charged. Almost off.

“Right.”

…Well, what the hell is that supposed to mean?

Is it because he saw when Yoongi caught you? Or the fact that he showed up at all? 

“Hey,” you whisper, hoping to rope him away from whatever scary things he could be pondering. When he flicks his attention to you, it takes a lot to not flinch at his watery eyes. “Ignore them. We aren’t finished here.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and your conversation jumps right back to where it was. “For everything.” 

“I know.” You close your eyes before sadness lowers your gaze. “But it’s gonna hurt for awhile.” 

Even if you get this closure, it can’t cover all the years he made you doubt yourself. Made you feel like everything you went through was a lie and that love was something you just didn’t deserve. Confidence vaporized as a result, leaving nothing but issues and manufactured intimacy for years. 

Maybe that’s why everyone said you were a bad lay before. Because you actually were. 

Through your thick haze, you hear a faint, broken, 

“You loved me?”

“I…” Don’t say it. Don’t tell him. “I still do.”

“What?”

Fuck. 

It’s true. While he broke your heart first, he still cared for it more than anyone else after him had—until recently. The only grief he gave you was the breakup, which was why it threw you for an absolute loop. 

As you grew up, though, you started to rationalize that the split was a good decision. He was moving, and you were leaving for college. How would you both have fared with the long distance? It probably would have ended one way or the other anyways. 

So while the resentment burned your heart, it didn’t quite rid you of affection. What you feel as a result is similar to before, but so very, very different. Subdued. Faded. Like jeans you wore constantly but haven’t touched in years. 

In all honesty, what broke you the hardest was losing a dear friend. 

“I do,” you finally admit, not looking at him because of your next words, “But not the way you want me to.” 

Jungkook doesn’t respond, letting the outside world bleed into the room like a bitter interlude.

When he still makes no sound, you lift weary eyes to check on him.

And your chest constricts at the way he looks utterly and totally lost. 

When you call his name, his gaze doesn’t leave the floor. When you whisper it again, the tear that falls makes you weak. “Kook, what’s wrong?”

He finally looks up, and you feel your eyes quickly reflect his. “I was so stupid,” he sniffles, wiping his nose. “I really didn’t know. Honestly, I knew that was impossible.” 

For some reason, this makes you chuckle, and a new mood starts to paint the walls. “Why?”

“Because you were so cool.” His smile hasn’t changed. And that’s what cuts the deepest. “And I was just there because I always was.” 

“What?” You start to join him in bittersweet recollection, albeit from a different perspective. When you reach forward to point at his necklace—because you will not touch the ring—you softly laugh. “Then what were these for, silly?” 

When he sighs, you can feel the cracks in his curve. “I’ve been told that I’m clueless.” 

“You are,” you say with a sagging grin. “Extremely.” 

He laughs again. So do you. 

And the both of you break all at once. 

He’s crushing you in a hug and you’re crying into his clothes, hands gripping at his jacket and shoulder feeling the weight of his world. 

While he repeats that he’s sorry, you choke out that you are, too. When he says it was never your fault, you cry even harder. 

You fucking hate this. Now that you know the truth, it hurts that much worse. You hate, hate, hate that this is what everything came to. Everything that you both went through, destroyed by one mistake at the bitter end. 

But you need to move on. You need to sacrifice the past for the future. 

“I still love you,” he whispers, and you tense when he tightens his arms. “And I’m still sorry.”

“You idiot,” you cry into his chest, and you hear him hold back a sob before burying his head again.

And the two of you stay like that. One last embrace that you both needed.

Reminiscing over everything that doesn’t matter anymore.

When you both calm, you feel like it’s been hours. 

But you move to step away first, confused at the way he doesn’t let you leave. 

What’s he doing? Why is his mouth hovering over yours? You need to move. You need to move away. 

But all you can do is plead, “I can’t.”

Still, Jungkook moves in. 

Leaning to kiss just next to your lips instead.

What once would have lit your soul on fire now feels like a tempered flame, the smallest light of a candle before it burns out. And you’re grateful that he respects you enough to not push in a time of weakness. 

You move away again, and he lets you go this time. But not without last words, “Promise me this person is alright.”

“I promise.” 

“Only alright? I have a chance then.”

“Kook.” When you give him an empty glare, dying stars still linger in his eyes. “Friends?”

His lips give away his breaking heart before he nods. “I’m not leaving you again.”

Swallowing, you spread a thankful smile. “You better not,” you sniffle. “I need to decorate.” 

He huffs, giving you one more teary stare. “If they ever hurt you, let me know.” 

“I’ll be okay.” 

After a noncommittal nod, he stands until you politely tell him you need a minute. When he leaves, you wait until the door shuts before wiping nothing from your cheek.

Wondering why this closure doesn’t make you feel better in the slightest.

You don’t know how long it’s been. Time doesn’t exactly flow when you’re caught between the past and the present. 

But when you open your door, Dom is watching you with pure, unadulterated focus.

And your face scrunches in pain before she ushers you back inside.

She doesn’t say anything as you sit on your bed, offering her shoulder even though she doesn’t prefer physical contact.

While you’re grateful—so, so thankful for her presence—intermittent sniffles are the only sound you’re capable of. 

Until you stabilize and come up for air, fishing words from your river of grief, “Remember what I told you. When he broke up with me.”

Anger simmers in her reply as her shoulder moves under your chin. You assume by the movements that she’s typing something on her phone—or prepping for revenge, either one of the two. “I do.”

“He said he still loves me.”

Your first thought is proven correct as a device plops onto your comforter. “Bullshit.”

“Dom…”

“What? Like he loved you then, too?” She scoffs. “You were the one that loved him and he cut you out. He needs to get over that.”

“He said it was a mistake.” 

“It sure as fuck was.” 

“I dunno. Something just doesn’t sit right.” You swipe at your nose. “He looked so.. I just…” 

“Uh uh. It’s too fresh.” She gently lifts your heavy cloud off her person, firm fingers squeezing out rain. “You gotta get out of your own damn head right now.” 

“I know.”

“Now.”

You break into another sob, hiccuping before nodding. “It just sucks, Dom. I d—”

“Look, I get that. But everything you’re thinking about already happened. It’s done.” A glance is thrown behind her back before she swivels around. “Focus on what you have now.” 

In your moments of weakness, you ask the dumbest things, 

“What do I have now.”

As always, Dominique is quick and to the point. “A man that’s waiting outside your door.”

Huh?

Your eyes flash up to hers as she stands. “Wait, what?”

What did she say? What does she mean? How does she know that what’s going on— 

“One minute,” she warns, far away and not to you. “Then you’re on your own.”

“K.”

Wait, what.

You don’t even realize you’re vacating your bed as you see him walk in, nodding back at Dom closing the door before regarding your wreck of a face. 

His name is molasses on your tongue.

What is he doing? Isn’t the party still on? Why is he walking closer? 

He’s not supposed to be in here he can’t be here and you’re telling him that but he pulls you in so tight that the rest of your tears rain down in sheets. 

“Fuck,” is all you can manage now, and he crushes you in even harder, as if he wants you pressed against all of him forever like a keepsake leaf on a journal page.

Your voice writes words into his clothes, silence his only reply but the only one you need. 

Even if you only get a minute, this is enough. It’s enough, not enough, enough.

When he holds you at arm’s length, his question comes out a bit fast-paced, “What happened?” 

Damn it. As much as you should probably tell him, you use precious seconds to pause, not really knowing if you want to or not. 

“Don’t sweat it,” he quickly understands, kissing your forehead just as chaste. When he moves again, you catch the tension in his shoulders, notice the ruffles in his hair. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yes. No.” Fuck, he kinda looks as rattled as you feel. What is happening right now? “I just, umm. I need a minute.”

“You don’t have to go back out there, you know.”

“But you do,” you counter. “And I just wanna see you.” 

Finally, Yoongi stops, and his whole upper body relaxes at once. A beautiful sound to your ears, amusement huffs out his nose before he mutters, “You can’t keep saying shit like that.” 

“But it’s true.” 

His chuckle is light, and mischievous eyes find the ground before they lift to yours,

“Makes me wanna take you home.” 

Well. You swiftly realize why he doesn’t want you to keep saying certain things. The zing of emotion through your body was definitely uncalled for. 

Any other day, you would want this type of conversation to keep going. And maybe you’d be a little coy about it. 

But right now, all you are is tired, and your barriers are crumbled enough for a truth to escape. 

Resigned, you step closer to wrap his waist in your arms, not caring if he can feel the rapid beats of your heart. “I want you to do that,” you admit, breath warming your face on his already warmer shirt. “All the time.” 

“Take you home?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

Yoongi runs fingers along your arm. “You know I’d do it if I could, doll.” 

If you were someone else. If you didn’t have to hide. 

If you didn’t have to wait. 

At least you don’t have to wait for much longer. Definitely can’t say anything to your brother tonight, but you and Yoongi agreed on after this party. So things will be better from here on out. 

But why does he seem so—

You’re spooked by a warning knock on your door, and you flicker eyes to see his filled with something you don’t like. 

And the air suddenly shifts to something alarming.

“Listen.”

“Hmm?”

“I know we said we’d say something.”

Oh. You shake your head, already on the same page and liking how in sync you are. “There’s no way. At least, not tonight. Jungkook—”

“It may need to be a bit longer than that.”

Huh.

What does he mean by—

“So you probably won’t see me for awhile.”

You freeze. 

So does time. 

A minute is no longer enough.

“Yoongi, please—”

“Can you do that?”

Your heart slams against your ribcage, banging and banging and screaming that what he’s asking is not possible.

Because he isn’t asking what you want to do. He isn’t even asking how long you can wait. 

There’s a reason why he’s risking all sorts of shit to say this in person. Why he seems so restless. 

And you’re already missing him so hard it hurts.

Truthfully? You can’t do this. Not now. Not when your heart is bleeding out on your own bedroom floor. There isn’t even enough time to process Jungkook’s talk and now you need to deal with this?

“Babe?”

But despite what you feel, even if your throat is seizing and your chest is caving in, your answer will be what he needs. 

Because seeing Yoongi look like this—torn and frayed at the edges—renders you powerless and protective all at once. For fuck’s sake, he looks slightly panicked and this is the second new side of him you’ve seen tonight.

And yet he found a way to be with you one last time. 

Sacrificing seconds just to say goodbye. 

So you give up something, too. Your wants and needs because you don’t think you can do this, but it seems way too important to him to not try. 

You get it. That whole confrontation probably snapped all sense back into him. He doesn’t want to hurt his best friend. Or disrupt his work environment. Or both. Whatever whatever whatever. You should’ve seen this coming.

If distance is what he wants, you’ll give it. Instant karma because you just told someone else to give you some, too.

Of course you lose someone as soon as you gain back another.

“Doll, let me know because—”

“Anything,” you rush out, and yearning taints your voice on the descent. “I’ll do it.”

He pans from one eye to the other, and you weakly reveal a crack in your resolve,

“Anything for you.”

That answer was a lot more than what you meant to say. And the next look he gives rips you into shreds. Shreds of the bigger truth you just told him with moments left of his time.

“For us,” he corrects, swooping in to give you one more soul-shattering kiss.

And with that, he pulls away, turning to retreat into the real world that proves absurdly cruel. 

You don’t know when you’ll get to be alone with him again. It could be a day. Or months. Or even longer.

But watching him go, you know you can get through this. You know you can do it. 

Because this is nothing new. Just another person leaving. You’ve gone through it before and you’ll go through it again and this time will be different, right? Right? He’ll come back. Of course he will. 

And yet there’s still a part of you that questions.

If people are like seasons… 

Which one will Yoongi be?

Fuck.

Your body is moving before the rest of you does, and you propel forward to tug him in, flooding his lips with saltwater and longing and a deluge of reluctant trust. 

And he responds in an instant, swallowing you in an embrace you’ll cherish forever and willingly giving in to your desperate tugs on his jacket.

“Yoongi, I—”

You hear another insistent knock before he slings you into the nearest wall, and he grips the back of your head so hard you sob into his mouth. 

“I know.”

His name rattles around your mouth.

“It’ll be okay.”

You wanna believe him.

“Okay?”

But you only nod, eyes filled with oceans but gaze unwavering. Because you need to see him. Because you need to see him. 

“Fuck.” 

He smashes his lips on yours once more, capturing every soft plea for him to stay and holding you so tightly that your heart splinters. And while you know this is his way of telling you everything will be okay, you have a sinking suspicion that he is fighting to believe it himself.

It’s not fair.

None of this is fucking fair. 

If he was anyone else, if you were anyone else, if your brother wasn’t the way he was, if Jungkook wasn’t in the position he’s in now. 

It was just nights ago that you cradled all his moonlight in your palms.

And now you’ll be farther apart than stars. 

Yoongi finally pulls away right as Dom opens the door, and a myriad of emotions slosh into your brain when his eyes never leave you. 

“I got us,” he vows, finger on your chin the sole thing keeping you afloat, and you suspend in disbelief that someone you know is witnessing his lips press your forehead in real time and no explosions or helicopters are crashing onto the scene.

Just a panicked “Hurry up, for god’s sake!” to indicate your friend is not amused or phased.

Yoongi finally steps away, slowly backing up before slipping out, and the door closes with only you inside—hand clawing deep into your chest. 

Because you know him well enough.

He was committing your every feature to memory. 

And the desperation in his reddened eyes hunches you forward in pain.

The rest of the party goes on. Music booms, people laugh, conversations sparkle.

And you hear them all through your door.

Unmoved from the spot everyone left you in.

Idiot🙄 [1:34am]: Hey

Idiot🙄 [1:34am]: You up or nah?

You [1:40am]: yeah

Idiot🙄 [1:40am]: Help me clean up

You scoff at your phone, letting it fall from your hand before resting tired eyes between your knees. 

When it buzzes again, you reluctantly read it with vision unreflecting.

Idiot🙄 [1:42am]: Left food for you, too

That you will leave your room for. You may have just cried out your weight in tears alone.

You🙄 [1:46am]: ok

Idiot🙄 [1:46am]: 👍

Cleaning is a quiet event, with you both doing the chores you’ve defaulted to over the years. While he clears the floors and deals with the trash, you steadily get through the dishes, scrubbing them as well as you can before placing them in the washer to dry.

A plate. A bowl after that. 

Two whisky glasses even though there were plenty of solo cups to use.

You needed this. Needed a way of going through the motions and letting your brain fly on autopilot. If you sniffle, the water drowns it out, and only the dishes get to see any lingering tears.

And unluckily for you, there are plenty of both.

“Hey.”

You hum.

“Do I need to beat his ass?”

Well, that didn’t take long. 

Frustration tears its way up your throat on all fours, “I should kick yours for what you did back there.”

“And I’d deserve it.” 

You pause.

“But I still wanna know.” 

Sighing, you shake your head, knowing that neither of you are angry enough to fight anyways. “No, okay? I was serious. We talked.” 

“I know you talked but he still hurt you.”

Your lip stings under your teeth.

“And I can’t just let that go.”

When he stops, you place another dish on its rack. “Let’s just finish and I’ll tell you everything in a sec.” 

He sets down the last of his trash before retiring in the living room, the thump of weary weight squeezing a sigh out of the couch.

And you eventually join him, water cutting off with a squeak before you shuck off your gloves. 

As you walk through the cleaned-enough rooms, you keep hearing afterimages of conversations, wondering how many revolved around your shouting match with Jungkook, or how many speculated who Yoongi is or isn’t seeing. 

All these pretend scenarios mock you from all sides. 

But the conversation you’re about to have with your brother is gonna be real. And a long time coming, quite frankly. 

You take a breath before crossing into a space that’s seen and heard many things. While you take residence in your regular spot on the sofa, your brother doesn’t deter his gaze from a television that’s not on.

But as soon as you blurt out your confession, he slowly closes his eyes. 

“He broke up with me. Before I left for school.” 

“...Why didn’t you tell me.”

Brows scrunched, you waste no time in pinning him with your response, “Did you see yourself back there? Imagine if you found out back then.”

Silence. 

“Besides,” you continue, deflating back into the cushions, “He was moving, remember? And you had enough going on. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I always worry.” 

“It’s whatever at this point. I didn’t even know he was back until Yoo—you told me.”

Shit, that was close. 

“I shouldn’t have made it a surprise.” 

“Not your fault. What’s done is done.” When you observe the blank screen, you can see your brother aim a look your way. “Just made the whole uni thing miserable at first.” 

And the years after, too, but he doesn’t need the same details that Yoongi got. 

He sighs, hand scratching the side of his head before free-falling. When it’s quiet, you think he’s preparing for war. Prepping a vow to go after Jungkook and dealing with a problem that’s not yours anymore. 

But he doesn’t do that. What he says catches you completely off guard.

An apology.

“I’m sorry I’m always gone. Or not really here when I’m back.” 

Where did that come from? Are you already done with a talk you dreaded for years? 

This can’t be it. 

Blinking, your mouth slowly opens before you respond as level as possible. “It’s okay. I can pretty much fend for myself at this point.” 

“I know. But I’ll try to be better.” 

He’s gonna what? “Why?”

“Cus I feel… Uhh.” He moves his lips around in thought, as if the next sentence takes strategy to arrange. “I feel like we don’t really talk anymore.” 

“…Oh.”

You’re thoroughly thrown. Because who the hell is this person you’re talking to right now? What’s up with him? He doesn’t need to try anything better except calm the fuck down sometimes. And let you be an adult.

And frankly, you feel like you talk a normal amount anyway. At least, you didn’t think anything was off about it. 

What the hell happened after he left your room?

Suddenly, you see him laugh at the ground before asking it a question. “Remember when we’d go get our own food?” 

Alright, he’s definitely drunk or a clone. 

But you’ll take it. This switch in what you expected this conversation to be is a welcome one, and you softly entertain memories that aren’t supposed to be this funny. “Yeah. We’d get told to come back with our parents.” 

“Until they realized we kept going alone.” 

A memory makes you smirk. “You even tried dressing like a grown up.” 

He chuckles again, elbows resting on his knees as he watches your coffee table. “I really thought I did it, too.” 

“You did.” Thinking about all the shit you both went through, it’s truly a wonder how you’re both still here. Living and existing and doing big things. 

A rueful chuckle leaves your lips, floating to the floor. “We’re fucked up, huh.” 

“Very,” he agrees. “But who isn’t.” 

True. “It could be worse, I think.” 

“How?” 

You play with some of the frays on your sofa, wondering when this piece of furniture started to resemble thin lines of too-soft polyester at its edges. 

Did it start to give up around the same time your parents did? Or had their patience worn thin way before the threads on this cushion began to fade? 

Whichever truth remains, at least it’s still here—witnessing all the struggles and triumphs, the highs and lows, and all the times the two of you had sat in puffy-eyed silence. 

Together. 

“They could’ve left us somewhere else.” 

“Ah,” he nods, slowly shaking his head and twisting the watch on his wrist. “Nah.” 

Silent, your eyes find his side profile in due time. “No?”

And his glare burns the path ahead. Just like it always has. “I wouldn’t have let them.” 

“Oh, really.”

“I got them to leave us all this, didn’t I?”

Wait, he did what now?

…You didn’t know that. 

“Hold on,” you breathe slow. “That’s what happened?”

“We had a deal.” He sighs before leaning all the way back, hands joined at the knuckles on his stomach. “If I graduated with full marks and, uhh. Got a starting salary high enough, they’d pay for your tuition.”

The pause he makes weighs a ton. 

“And leave this to us when you came back.” 

So… He… 

Holy shit. 

You were just fucking relieved you didn’t have to pay any loans. For once, you thought your parents really had your best interests in mind and did something out of kindness before peacing the fuck out. 

But it’s all because your brother negotiated and pulled off the near impossible? 

…Is he paying loans? 

“I didn’t know any of that,” you whisper, finding yourself on the verge of tears again.

He simply shrugs, looking down at his cherished piece that he rarely takes off. “You didn’t need to. You were just a kid.”

“So were you.”

Your brother purses his lips, and you wonder what words he could be holding back. What thoughts he has that he won’t say out loud. If any of them are things he wants to say but can’t. 

“It’s whatever.”

He had to grow up fast so that you didn’t have to. 

And you don’t have the heart to tell him that university fast tracked that anyways. 

So, while grateful as hell and knowing you’ll be thinking about this conversation for years, you switch the subject. You’re already overwhelmed as is. 

And you suddenly understand what Yoongi might be struggling with, too. 

Because if he did all this for you, what lengths has he gone for his best friend? 

Shoving that thought into a far corner of your brain, you rest your head to mirror your sibling, letting your tears slide back to where they came from. “I, umm. Was wondering why they left us the house. But I figured they just didn’t wanna pay for it.” 

“It was already paid off,” he explains, seemingly just as happy to talk about something else. “Don’t ask me how I know this, but it’s how I was able to negotiate in the first place. They had four other properties, and a condo on some island.” 

“What.”

“That’s why they were rarely here. Work trips, my ass.” He scoffs before bouncing a leg. “And they had us in this place.” 

“I like it here, though.”

“I do, too, but…” You hear a shuffle of his feet before he stops. “I just. I dunno, it’s just us here. It feels...” 

“Empty?” 

“Maybe. More like something’s missing? I dunno, that’s probably lame.” 

You inhale before assuring him. “It’s not.” 

And with that, you’re both left to stare at the same ceiling, conversation stewing and simmering around the whole room.

Usually, this is when you leave. Because you don’t wanna talk about shit like this, or you simply feel like doing anything else. 

But tonight, you want to stay. You didn’t know these things about your brother and what he did, and it’s making you realize a lot of things. 

And regret others. 

A question rolls off your tongue before you can overthink it, “Do you ever wonder what we did wrong?” 

“All the time.” 

“When I think about it, I always end up thinking the same thing.” 

“Hmm.” 

You tilt your head his way. “We weren’t the adults. But neither were they.” 

And you both huff in tandem after he grins. “Damn.” 

You don’t know how the two of you got here. But it was much better than talking about anything else, and you silently thank him for not making you more miserable than you already were. 

Truthfully, you feel a little better instead.

He just needs to know for sure that you really are past the whole situation. Mostly. A healthy amount, at least. 

So you tell him. “I mean it, thou—”

“I’m sorry.”

“Huh?” You look over to see regret fill his side of the couch.

“For what I did. I was outta line.”

“Oh.” You swallow, surprisingly emotional that he’s even owning up to it. You know it only happened because he was being protective, but hearing this from him is huge. That had to be hard. “Thank you.”

“I just.. I love you, okay?” He turns to look at the ceiling again, and you quickly have to do the same because you know how that was even tougher to say. “You and my brothers.. You’re all I’ve got.” 

Liquid emotion runs down your cheek, never having been told that more than once in a single day.

It’s a shame how foreign it sounds when you say it back. 

But that doesn’t make it any less true.

“Love you, too.”

An hour later, you find yourself in bed, clutching your phone while a single question loops through your brain.  

…Calling should be okay, right?

Even if you can’t see him, or really be in the same room, this should be okay. At least, in the dead of night when even birds are asleep. When no one is awake to judge you both for lying to the people you... 

Your chest squeezes when you press down on your decision, the talk with your brother repeating in your ears.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

It’s ringing.

Still ringing.

…And you feel your chest cave when you hear it go to voicemail.

Fuck. 

Maybe he’s sleeping already. Unforeseen circumstances like emotional turmoil tend to slow down your getting ready for bed process, so it took a lot longer than usual. Maybe he isn’t actively avoiding your calls and is just face down in a pillow you miss using.

And maybe you need to get used to this god-awful feeling as quickly as you can. 

This hollow, aching, painful feeli—

Yoongi: Incoming Call

Your chest booms when you see his name, and you try your absolute hardest to answer normally even though instant tears blur the screen.

“H—”

“Sorry, I was showering, fuck.”

His breath sounds so rushed, and you immediately wonder what he looks like if he didn’t take that long to answer. Imagining him in only a towel or less, you let out a pained chuckle before whispering, “You okay?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?”

Of course that’s his answer. “I’m not. Just wondering if you were.”

“Why would I be if you aren’t? Ow.”

Body alert, you only focus on that last syllable. “Wait, are you hurt?”

You hear a low grunt before he responds. 

“Just hit my fucking knee getting out.” 

Ouch. How the hell did he do that? “I’m sorry. You got ice, though, right?” 

“It’s not that bad. Just stings.” 

“Okay.”  

There’s some crunching sounds before you hear footsteps and hisses, and a thump before other noise crackles through. 

“Spoke to Kook.” 

Shit.

“And the guys.”

Oh. About work. “What’s up?”

“We’re gonna be busy as shit for the next month or two, so.. Guess that came at a good time.” 

Ah. No finish line in sight.

But he didn’t hide that information from you, so you appreciate the honesty. Better than him leaving you in complete darkness.

“Yeah, do your thing,” you support. “I need to prep for this interview anyway. And figure shit out if I end up getting the job.” 

“When you get it.”

You exhale, shy. “When I get it, yeah.”

“Where is it again? That blue building, yeah?”

“Mmhmm. But where I’ll be is like, third floor.”

“See? Claiming shit already.”

You realize right as he says it, but you meant something completely different. Your laugh is soft. “I meant for the interview.” 

“Mm. Well lemme know where you post up after they hire you.”

“Yoongi.”

“Fine.”

“Did you, umm. Did you and Kook talk about anything else?”

“Just work stuff.”

“Okay.” Your eyes lower. If he’s telling you everything, you gotta reciprocate. 

Even the stuff you don’t wanna mention. “He tried to kiss me.”

“What.”

Swallowing at his tone, you whisper, “I told him I couldn’t.” 

“…I see.”

Fuck. He does not sound okay with that in the slightest. Disappointed with yourself, you apologize, “I’m sorry.”

“Huh? Don’t be.”

“You sound mad.”

There’s another moment of silence, and you don’t think you breathe until he responds,

“Not at you, doll.”

Well, shit. You don’t wanna cause any friction between them, especially after the energy Jungkook gave off earlier. It’s still bugging you to hell. “Nothing happened, baby. But he felt really off after y’all left, so.. I dunno. Be careful.”

“I will. But that means I can’t talk when he’s around.”

You bury your head, watching the hours that you get with Yoongi dwindle away. Knowing Jungkook, he’s gonna immerse himself in whatever keeps him distracted. So he will most likely be at the studio just as much. “At least you were there today,” you whisper. 

“Mm.”

“Honestly, I didn’t expect that.” 

There’s a breath on the line, and you can tell he’s hesitant just by the way he moves his phone. So when he finally speaks, your jaw goes slack.

“I was there first, doll.” 

He what?

“Wait… You were?” 

He was at your door first? He has to know how that looked, right? Your brother clearly saw him if he was the one to shout, and yet there was no mention of it when the two of you spoke. 

Maybe that’s part of why Yoongi decided what he did. A decision to help you came with consequences he knew were coming. But he did it anyway. 

Your breath is suddenly short. And your head is starting to spin with information overload.

“The plan was to only check for a sec, but he had the same idea. Showed up right behind me.” 

“So… You both heard—”

“Nothing until the yelling.” 

They were there the whole time. Both of them. Yoongi first? Your brother joining him? 

Nope. This is too much. All of this is way too much for one night and your head is bursting at the seams. 

Just another reason why this separation could be a good thing. Other than the fact that Jungkook seems weird and you can’t see Yoongi at all and him and your brother really are more than friends and you wedged yourself right in between everybody—

Information. Realizations. Guilt. You’re spiraling. 

Run.

“I’m, umm. I’m gonna get off now.” 

“You okay?”

Say yes. Say anything but “No. I’m… I don’t know, I really don’t know—This is a lot and—”

“Wait—” 

“I get it and I’ll stay away for as long as you want—”

“Babe, talk to—”

“Bye, Yoongi.”

And you immediately hang up before your dam floods.

He doesn’t need to hear your grief over the past, your regrets of the present, your fear of the future. He doesn’t need to know how pained you really feel dealing with everything at once. How harsh his departure is because this is when you need him most. 

Yoongi: Missed Call

All he needs to know is that you’ll do this for him. Because he would do the same for you. 

And he’s done enough for everyone other than himself. 

But goddamn if this doesn’t hurt like nothing else you’ve experienced before. 

And you’ve been through hell.

Yoongi: Missed Call (2)

Why is he calling? Won’t this just make it harder?

Why does he keep trying if you need to stay away?

Yoongi: Incoming Call

With a heart so busted you don’t know where all the pieces are, you finally reach up to acknowledge his effort. 

And his greeting sends a pang through your chest.

“Knew you’d answer on the first try.” 

Sniffling, you say his name so, so softly.  

“You didn’t let me say bye.”

When you don’t respond, he trudges on.

“So now, you get to hear the longest good night ever.”

Huh? 

“And no hanging up this time.”

What the heck does he… mean… 

As soon as you hear the light strums of a guitar, your heart shows signs of life. And you let everything out while he gathers the scattered shards with every chord. Every note. 

Every second he doesn’t say goodbye.

A river flows into your pillow until it runs dry, and the Moon outside your blinds casts a silver blanket over your defeated shoulders.

And it’s only when you and your phone are dead to the world that the Sun steps in to peel it off with calm palms.

For the first time in a long time, you plan a sleepover at Taehyung’s. 

And after getting a rundown of what happened, he completely agrees that you both need it.

It’s been a minute since you slept over there, and rolling onto his driveway makes you remember the first time it happened. 

Your brother was outright flabbergasted you even asked. 

But after some arguments from you and very clear energy from Tae, your brother waved you off and just demanded no funny shit better happen. 

And you’ve spent so many nights over there since then that Taehyung’s one of the people he calls if he’s looking for you. 

Being reminded of something else interesting, you think back to the first time you went to Yoongi’s, spending enough time there that he ended up on the list of people to call about your whereabouts. 

As hot as he was picking up with a cheeky arm around you, it was surprising he was on that list in the first place. 

Well, maybe not. They’re best friends. But why would he—

“You just gonna waste gas in my driveway or what?” 

Snapping your head up, you see Taehyung looking bored, hands on his hips and wearing the most comfortable clothes you’ve ever seen. 

Your glare in return is empty when you finally get out, circling around to grab your stuff and take-out from the passenger seat. 

“You’re lucky I like you,” you joke as he goes to grab the food. Locking your car, you follow his grumbles into the house with a laugh, feeling a little okay already.

“How’s Jimin?”

“Still complicated, but that’s not what we’re here to discuss.”

You sigh before you poke your noodles, knowing you have quite the catch-up to get through. If only your attempt at procrastination worked.

“Eat,” Taehyung orders before taking a hearty slurp of his meal. “I don’t care if you’re sad, this wasn’t cheap.” 

“Excuse you.” He’s lucky you resist the urge to fling saucy food all over his shorts. “Also, I paid for it, the hell?” 

When your friend blows air through his nose, you scoff before silently doing as he says, pouting at the beginning credits onscreen.

“How long has it been?”

Ah. That’s a good start. 

As you peer down at your food, emotion and appetite abandon your palate,

“A month.”

“...Damn.” 

Taehyung already knows all about what happened. But even if he didn’t, you think he would’ve caught on to your increasingly depressing song choices. And the way you barely watched Yoongi during the last intramural game. 

“How’s the new job, though? Good distraction?” 

That you can talk about for hours. “Thank fuck it is.” 

“That’s good, at least.”

As your meal progresses, you continue to catch him up on everything, including the way night calls are the only thing keeping your hopes afloat. 

Because Yoongi was right. Ever since the party, weekdays have been radio silent, and you soon got accustomed to looking forward to his late texts saying he’s home.

And you’ve been okay with that. Landing the job and getting swamped with training has kept you busy, and your friends have been a wonderful salve for persisting wounds.

It just stings when you know the studio is close by. Because even though Yoongi extended invitations before, you avoid that area like the plague.

“But enough about me,” you huff. “Still complicated with him, huh.” 

If Taehyung knows you’re too sad to keep talking, he doesn’t show it. His response simply comes after a few chews. “Yeah. But”—he swallows—“Not in a way I’m mad about.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Taehyung settles back into the sofa right as a ball of fluff hops on, and you watch the movie roll by while he gently orders him to get down. “He’s not as flaky. We just haven’t really labeled anything yet.” 

That’s surprising to hear. Tae doesn’t strike you as the labeling type at all, so your question is genuine, “Do you need one?” 

A huff is what you get in return, and you can hear the smile in his tone. “He seems to want one more than me. Which is why I don’t get the hesitation.” 

“Mm.” 

That makes more sense. Knowing what you know about Jimin, you aren’t shocked he would be conflicted about something he really wants. 

Why he’s skirting around the point is the question. It’s clear to you that they would be so cute together. And sickly annoying in public. 

“Maybe that’s a good sign,” you blurt, roping your friend’s gaze and attention. Spotlight on you instead of the characters bustling about his television, you smile. “It’s like he’s scared because he cares about your feelings.” 

Not unlike what’s happening between another pair of friends you know.

Taehyung blinks, and you’ve always liked the way curiosity widens his eyes. 

But he’s so quiet that you shift. “What?” 

He keeps staring before biting an incoming smile. Before you can question him again, something brightens his expression. “You’ve changed, you know that?” 

Huh. “Me? How?” 

Your friend just grins before resting his head on the top of his cushion. “I’ve always known you were amazing. But now you look like you know that, too.” 

All thoughts fizzle out before your jaw dips. When you try to present arguments, none materialize, and Taehyung laughs at the way you physically buffer. 

“Not even denying it. I like this.” 

“Shut up,” you finally pout, embarrassed and shy when he laughs again. 

The rest of the film continues with nothing else but your commentary, and Taehyung clicks out of the queue screen before another one can start. 

“Break? Or what do you feel like?” 

You feel Yeontan’s fluff at your feet. “We can keep going.” 

“Mmk.” 

Both of you contemplate which one to pick when you feel your phone vibrate a ton. And when you see the notification, your heart leaps before crashing back down to the ground.

Yoongi [5:02pm]: Just got booked for another week

Yoongi [5:03pm]: Can’t talk now but

Yoongi [5:03pm]: Letting you know

Right.

You slowly let your hand drop with a sigh, and you can feel Taehyung’s pitied stare without moving.

“I know,” you whisper. “I shouldn’t be upset.” 

“You can definitely be upset.” 

You lift weary eyes to see that your assumption was very wrong. There’s no pity evident at all. 

Only warmth. And understanding. 

“Cus knowing him? He’s probably more frustrated than you are.” 

There’s a pinch in your chest, a sharp one that cuts your breath for a small second in time. 

Him? Being more upset than you?

You only thought about that possibility once, but you quickly dismissed it. There’s no way. 

But hearing Tae say it from a guy’s perspective—and someone that knows how Yoongi can be—gives you pause. 

It just didn’t make sense before because he sounds fine when you call, and he doesn’t really talk much about his own shit unless you ask. Which is strange considering he was fine doing so after your huge breakthrough at his place. Granted, it was mostly about good things.

Does he only hold back when it’s about stuff that stresses him out? That’s not ideal. You’ve told him before to tell you what’s bothering him, so if he’s still hesitant to let you in…

Taehyung’s honeyed voice brings you into the present, 

“What are you gonna say?” 

Blinking, you push your lips together in thought before looking at your phone again. 

If Yoongi really is more upset than you are, then you should tell him something that you would wanna hear from him. Even if you aren’t feeling so hot. 

You [5:07pm]: how’s ur back feel from carrying everyone so hard🥴 

You [5:07pm]: jk its ok<3 you’re getting recognized and it’s about time 

When you send those, something strange happens to your shoulders. 

They’re lighter. 

How is that possible? You’re still sad. 

But your mind seems to clear some junk out, instead feeling a little okay about the whole thing. 

Hopefully Yoongi receives them well. If he doesn’t, you’ll figure something else out. 

Yoongi [5:09pm]: Lmaoo I’m saying. They better run me my check and cover my hospital bills.

You laugh with teary eyes, soul feeling like it’ll live despite plans being pushed back again. 

The lingering sadness remains, but it’s dwindled for now. An afterthought to the slight happiness you feel from lifting him up instead of dragging him down.

Another message slides into the thread before you click your phone shut, so when Tae gets more food, you catch what it says. 

Yoongi [5:11pm]: Fuck I miss you

And your heart beats extra loud, mouth slightly curved and wobbly because you agree but it’s okay, okay, okay. You can both do this. 

You [5:12pm]: i miss you too.. but focus now and tell me all about it later

Of course you want to cry. Of course you want to curl up into a ball and sob. 

Yoongi [5:15pm]: Thanks doll

But just like there’s strength in being strong, there’s just as much strength in being gentle. 

Because as upset as you feel, it’s better if you don’t show it. While you aren’t completely resolute, you push forward in silence. Even if you can’t see the finish line.

The lingering feeling of anxiousness remains; the what-if’s batter your mind from the inside. But you choose to stay optimistic for him, and even you have to admit that’s admirable.

But the yearning still packs a fucking punch.

Your shoulders must be slumping to hell because you feel a warm presence settle against you, slinging an arm around and holding you close. 

The only sound you make is a quick sniffle, but you don’t move as Taehyung reads the thread on your phone. 

“You see what I see, right,” is all he whispers. 

And when you slightly shrug, he leans his head against yours. 

“You will.” 

Nodding, you feel more tears follow the paths of their predecessors, and you don’t move to wipe them away. “You’re a good person, Tae.” 

His chuckle sounds like a hearth, and you welcome Yeontan’s sniffs on your legs.

“Jimin’s lucky you’re even giving him a chance.” 

“Ah.” After squeezing your bicep, your friend reaches down to pick up his baby. “He’s lucky I gave him more than one.” 

“Oh? The luckiest then.” 

“You can do this,” he murmurs. “He’ll be ready before you know it.” 

With heavy eyes, you glance down at your still unfinished food. 

“Maybe you’re right.” 

One week turns into three. 

Then two more pass.

And Taehyung might be less correct than you thought. 

“Fuck,” you groan, clutching under your stomach. “Sorry, I’m a mess.”

“It’s okay.”

“At least you don’t have to see me this gross.”

“So?”

“You better stop.” Another eruption of pain shoots through your lower body, and you exhale into your pillow. “This is only making it worse.”

“You got a heating pad?”

A what? How does he know about— 

Oh. Right. 

…You probably shouldn’t tread waters you don’t know the depths of. 

“Yeah. But it’s too far and I’m lazy.”

He laughs in pity but doesn’t show any in his words,

“Go get it, doll.”

Because being reminded of his last relationship also makes you wonder why it ended. And wonder if that also has anything to do with his decision. 

Now hurt in multiple ways, you childishly retort, “You get it.”

“I would if I was there. But I’m not, so you’re gonna.”

“Fine.” You huff into your pillowcase, knowing you’re gonna get up because his perfect mix of support and command is annoyingly attractive. “How much longer?”

Yoongi’s too quiet for your tastes. 

“I’ll figure it out tomorrow.” 

Eyes closed, you’re silent for eons. 

“Okay.”

To your confusion, you get a food delivery at your office the next day. 

Inspecting the contents of the bag, you’re cautious until you notice a takeout box of mandu under some sweets and a few all too familiar fruits.

And at the note inside, you promptly proceed to the least used bathroom to compose yourself.

Soon.

Soon and Almost are somewhat similar.

Both can give people a bit of hope. 

But they can also be the most dangerous words to play with.

Because soon is hilariously arbitrary, and you almost believed it meant something good. 

“Going to Yoongi’s.”

“K.”

“You wanna go? He’s having a few people over.”

You bite down so hard your jaw hurts. “Nah, I already have plans tonight.”

“K. Have fun!”

When the door closes, you keep your eyes on the television.

Arms falling at your side because you know you aren’t going anywhere. 

On a random Tuesday, you finally get a package you’ve been waiting on for what seems like months, and you rush to your room to check if it’s exactly what you wanted.

When it looks so beautiful, and feels smooth to the touch, you clutch the material in sorrow.

It’s perfect.

And completely useless for the time being.

Calls have been the one thing getting you by.

But over time, even those have virtually stopped.

It can’t be helped. He’s working far too late into the night for you to stay awake, and is passed out by the time you need to wake up. 

Spending time with friends helps distract from the drift, especially when one of them keeps snapping you into the present, but they’re getting busy, too. 

However. Despite all the obstacles, you keep waiting. A season has passed, yet you stay grounded. 

Hoping, wishing, choosing to believe that Yoongi’s not gonna do the same.

You accidentally spill your drink.

And you sob. 

One chilly night, you take more of Taehyung’s advice, going to Jimin’s determined to have a good time. 

But despite the manufactured confidence you had while getting dressed up and the way you were totally fine walking in and conversing with people and the admittedly perfect vibes of the party…

There’s a hole in your chest that won’t decrease in size. 

No matter what you feed it—food, drinks, the compliments of others—it refuses to budge, and this emptiness holds weight. Heavy. Melancholic.

Painful.

As you suddenly find yourself on Jimin’s windy balcony, one with a slightly different view than the one you’ll remain on forever, dull eyes lower to your solo. 

If you forget this one on the railing, too…

Will he finally show up to hand it back? 

A sharp ache spreads as the hole expands, new tears too powerful to ignore. You know your vision swims, but you don’t move to stay afloat at all. 

Three months. 

Ninety days.

Eight million seconds. 

It only took sixty for you to miss him. And it only took sixty-one for you to feel something else. 

How many more will you end up counting? How long until you get to count down instead of up? 

You keep asking yourself that. When you know for damn sure that you don’t want to know the answer. 

A breeze wraps around your limbs as you sip, the chill cutting through your dress and making you teeter in your heels. 

Because it seems like Yoongi doesn’t know, either. 

To the point where it’s starting to scare you. 

Has he been perfect otherwise? Sickeningly. 

But something in you keeps wondering why the wait keeps extending, anxious that he could be flat out stalling. 

Prematurely saddened by the possibility that he’s reconsidering entirely.

It makes sense. At least, more sense than him actually wanting something with you. Maybe this time apart has given him the clarity to realize how rose-tinted this whole situation has been. How unrealistic and laughable.

But that night in his kitchen… 

It’s getting harder and harder to stay positive.

On the verge of defeat, you hold out your phone, clicking around until your finger hovers over a certain Call button.

You can’t.

He’s working. Someone could see your name, if he has it saved as normal as you have his.

Your finger moves a bit closer.

What the fuck are you doing? Stop. Don’t screw up everything you’ve had to endure with one impulsive decision.

But your mind is fucking bad tonight and you have no clue why.

When the screen lights up with the call screen anyway, ice water rushes through because you totally didn’t mean to call and you need to end it now. 

Hold on, it’s an incoming call?

Oh fuck, it’s an incoming call.

Your throat sears as your eyes shut tight. 

How the fuck did he know? How the fuck does he always know? 

Tears burning, you try your hardest to calm the hell down before you answer, wondering why he dubs you his good luck charm when he puts guardian angels to shame.

You can’t even say hello.

“Hey.”

Fuck. Get it together. Gentle, silent, strong. 

“Hello?”

But you can’t. Not this time. Just hearing his voice for the first time in weeks has you crumbling, and that damn hole in your chest is unquenchable. 

As soon as your greeting is nothing but a weak sniffle, his change in tone seizes your soul and squeezes.

Because it plummets.

“Where are you.”

There’s quick shuffling and a door opening.

“What’s wrong.” 

Damn it there’s keys jangling and you can’t help but sob even harder knowing exactly what he’s doing. 

Goddamn it, Min Yoongi. He doesn’t have to go home just because you’re what, sad? Pathetic.

You feel way too many things for this man and it fucking sucks that eight million seconds have gone by after you finally acknowledged them.

However many you get with him now, whenever that may be, you’re not taking a single one for granted. 

“Babe, tell me. Now.” 

“Jimin’s. Outside,” you choke out, sniffling and wiping both cheeks. “But nothing happened, Yoongi, I just—It just—” 

“Gimme twenty. Can you do that?” 

Lowering your head and expectations, you huff in sad amusement. 

Of course you can. Twenty minutes is nothing to you now. You can wait until he’s free. “Guess so.” 

“K. Go back inside and grab a bag.” 

Huh? Knitted brows get aimed at your cup as you question him.

“Chips, doll. Jimin has some in the pantry.” 

That doesn’t answer anything, so you remain thoroughly confused. “I’ll be okay,” you respond after a moment, simply assuming he wants you to replenish sodium. “I’m not hungry.”  

“I am.”

You freeze.

So does time.

And the next three seconds are enough.

“But you better bring the good shit or I’m not letting you in the car.”

After camping in the only unoccupied bathroom, you finally get a text that he’s somewhere around the corner. 

And your chest has never felt lighter.

Texting Tae, you let him know that you’re leaving and that you don’t apologize to Jimin for raiding his kitchen. When he responds, that’s when you slip out, your departure a mess of crinkling and racing heartbeats. 

If anyone sees you walking out with chips, you pay them no mind. Because you only care what one person thinks.

And seven minutes later, when you see him doubling over at the bazillion noisy bags in your arms, you laugh along at the absurdity of it all.

It’s almost enough to distract you from what he’s wearing. 

But to your credit, you don’t exactly see the damn rips in his jeans until he opens a back door for you to throw your haul in.

As if the black top wasn’t already disrespectful enough. His hair has even gotten longer, and you really, really like the new length.

“Fucking hustler.”

No second is wasted as you grab his shirt, positively melting at the way he doesn’t resist or shy away at all. 

In fact, he does the exact opposite, crushing you against his warm car so fast he has to brace himself. You welcome the way air leaves your lungs, because you’re giving it all to him with each pass of his lips over yours. 

Both of you know you’re outside, in public, somewhere you can be seen. But, mirroring the last time you kissed under a starry sky, neither of you act like you give a shit.

Just like that, everything that has haunted you fades. The worries, the fears, the doubts. It doesn’t matter how many days have passed, because it feels like he never left. 

And you suddenly know Yoongi is summer.

Endless. 

“Get in,” he rasps through a smirk. “Thief.” 

With a grin spread so wide your cheeks hurt, you respond right as your foreheads meet,

“Anything for you.”

With nothing but the road ahead and him beside you, everything is right with the world.

“You still have to gimme chips.” 

Maybe not quite everything.

Smile ruining your attempted pout, you reach behind your seat to pick a random bag, settling on the easiest one to grab. “You really made me get these just for you, huh? Are you eating?”

“Yes, my love. And I never said that.”

Well. That first sentence will never, ever, ever be unpacked.

As you shakily open the bag, you hope his music hides your shiver, “Such a smartass.”

“You’re the smartass.”

“Don’t act like you aren’t smart, too,” you laugh, tugging down your dress because he has his car pretty cold tonight. “I know you are.” 

When Yoongi reaches to grab some crisps, his blatant stare on your thighs makes you squirm. “Why?” 

“I just… You read.” 

To your chagrin, he laughs in surprise, forcing you to look out the window. 

Which makes you miss the way he turns down the fans. “I’m smart cus I read? How do you even know?”

“You have books under your coffee table,” you answer without doubt as he digs for more chips. “And you don’t have decor just to have it, so…”

He cocks a brow before focusing on the road, licking his fingers and giving you grief. “I moved those, by the way.”

“Em”—you cough—“Embarrassed?”

“Proactive.”

“Huh? For what?”

He can barely contain his spreading curve. “The next time you decide to fuck up my place.” 

Your heartbeat skips as you gawk, and the current song is overshadowed by your playful shouts and tickle attempts. “Oh, bullshit!”

“You soaked—aish—my whole apartment!”

“That was you!”

“No?”

“Yes? I was nice and only got your head wet!”

Yoongi glances at you then, head tilted up in cockiness and wide smirk slicing through your every thought.

And you glitch when you realize why.

Settling back into your seat with arms guarding your shyness, you sniff upward. “Ugh. Whatever… I’m right.” 

He chuckles a bit before making a turn, and the scenery starts getting familiar.

Way too familiar.

Wait, he’s taking you back to your house?

No no no. Why is he taking you there? 

You got into his car fully prepared to go back to his place, consequences and shit be damned. Everything else be damned. One night is all you want right now, and there’s no way you aren’t going without a fight.

All sense of the current mood dissipates when you grip his forearm. “Not there.” 

He flicks his gaze, rolling to a stop at an intersection that’s frighteningly close. And his expression falls when he shifts into park with a sigh. “Babe… We can’t.” 

“I don’t care.”

“I was only gonna bring you back.”

“Baby, please.”

“He’s home—”

“Do you still miss me?” 

He freezes. 

Which gives you a chance. 

Eyes glossy, you use all the seconds you have to say everything you’ve kept to yourself.

Almost everything.

“Because I get it if you don’t. I do. But I really… I really fucking miss you. And not just because of, whatever. But I consider you a friend and fun as hell to be around, and I haven’t”—you inhale, hating how it shakes—“I haven’t been this happy in weeks. And we aren’t even doing anything.” 

Yoongi is completely silent. But that’s okay because you aren’t done. 

“I know you said I wouldn’t see you. But after getting to know you? The real you? …That sucks.” You can’t look at him when his hand slips from the wheel. “I’m not gonna make you change anything, just. Telling you what’s on my mind. Like you said. I’m gonna do that a lot more now.”

He doesn’t say a word as a tear cuts one of your cheeks, and you’re brave enough to look his way again. “But it’s been three months, Yoongi,” you whisper. “Is that still not enough for you?”

Time ticks as you hold your breath, oxygen depleting and lungs nearing collapse as you watch his eyes close. 

You laid everything out on the table. Your words, your thoughts, your pain.

Whatever he decides, though? You’ll respect it. You said what you wanted to say and you won’t take any of it back. If he wants to prolong this, you won’t stop him. If he doesn’t want this anymore… the home in your heart will need repairs, but you’ll live. Somewhat. You don’t know how but somehow. People are like seasons. You’re used to it.

Yoongi’s still way too quiet. 

So, giving up and getting the point, you reach up to open your door.

“Stop.” 

You do. 

And the way he flexes his jaw shoots magma through your veins before he wrenches the car into drive. 

The universe spins as you burst into Yoongi’s apartment, running, bumping, slamming into furniture until you get thrown against his bedroom door. 

Welcoming the pain, you devour his scorching lips, fingers digging into his hair with a desperation that frightens you. All you feel is him him him, barely recalling the manic drive over and the way he all but busted into his own place. 

If there were any lingering doubts to your question, they’re left out in the chill, not allowed to witness the way he hitches your leg up before pinning you firm with his pelvis.

“Shouldn’t be fucking doing this—” 

You moan at the way his jeans feel on your skin, shivers running rampant when you more than feel his hardness poke through. “Please,” you pant, sticking to your word and ready to tell him what you want. 

“Please what.” 

Everything you want. 

Tugging his head back, your admissions rub right against his mouth, “Choke me. Use me. I don’t care, do it all.”

“Huh?”

A breath whooshes out when he yanks you forward with a growl, and you cannot seem to stop, “Don’t be nice. Spit in my mouth. Make me beg like a fucking slut, I need it.”

All the other times, you’ve seen Yoongi break in different ways. 

But this is the first time you’ve felt him legitimately snap. 

“The fuck.”

Lightning strikes the dark as he slams you backward, teeth clinking against yours when he smothers you with saliva and lust. When he shoves his door open, you stumble back, more unholy plans in mind than he imagines. 

You don’t know what’s coming over you. 

Even as you force him sideways to shove into his rolling chair, the piercing look he gives is no match for your inner storm.

“Babe—”

Impatient, you drop to your knees, the pain nothing to you as your fingers twitch over his zipper. As you tug his pants down with force, Yoongi’s outright shock is another first for you.

“Are you su—”

“Let me do this,” you plead upward, and you feel highly motivated when he doesn’t do a thing except let out a low, gritty hum. 

Grabbing at his cock, you already moan at the way it feels in your palm…

Softly, oh so softly, a large hand closes over yours, and you hear your name in a whisper, haze temporarily receding. 

What’s wrong? Does he want you to stop?

When you ask without a word, Yoongi leans forward to capture your lips, and this gives you a warm sort of deja vu. “You drank tonight, yeah?” 

“Yeah…?” Oh. He totally tasted alcohol. And your frantic behavior. He thinks—Oh. 

Understanding what he’s getting at, you reach up and caress his cheek. “I’m not drunk, baby,” you chuckle. “I just missed you.” 

Again, he looks at your eyes, one after the other. When you say it once more for good measure, he kisses you in acceptance. 

“So are you gonna fuck my throat or nah?”

He falls back with a groan, raking his hair and legs spread wide. “What are you doing to me.”

“This.”

Without prompt, you dive head first, leaning forward to take his tip and swirl your tongue all around. Commanding his every drop of attention, you don’t let up as you tug your dress downward, breasts spilling out before you stand just enough to claim his lips. 

He takes full advantage with a devilish curve, smacking your tits before ordering, “Get the fuck back down there.”

And you obey with a proud smirk of your own, hoping he’s liking this new side of you, too. 

Back between his knees, you worship his length in earnest, swallowing him again and again and lathering him in saliva so your hands slide easily on him, too. When you feel his veins rub both your palms, you hear a symphony of lustful baritones.

“Holy fuck.” 

You quickly discover you can’t get enough. Lapping, sucking, sheathing your head on his cock so far your brain smushes upward. He feels so familiar at this point that you realize you missed him even here, knocking the back of your throat and burdening your tongue with heavenly, sinful weight. 

And you feel more familiar palms grip your head, eyes opening to see him staring down with reverence and something you can’t quite decipher. 

“So fucking filthy...” 

You chuckle, the rumble making him hiss and throw his head back against his chair. 

“Don’t do that.” 

You gladly disobey, laughing even harder around him before releasing with an expert pop to suck on his balls. 

“Fuck!”

There’s a slight squeak before he grips you again, and you can tell he’s slipping by the way his moans devolve into breathy, short hisses. 

Breaking, he pushes your head into his sack before slapping your cheek with his cock, and you hum as it slips back inside your grin. 

Yes yes yes. You want him to enjoy this just as much as you do, steal this time together and run with it, need him to hang on the brink of mania where you currently reside. Because even though he’s saying things, you can’t hear them over the wholly impure sounds slopping out of your esophagus. 

“Fucking hell, baby,” he praises, thrusting up slow as you keep him slathered. “Missed that fuckin’ mouth.”

You finally come up for air, gulping in air and letting him see you in all your panting glory. When you lock eyes, his lidded gaze is loaded, aimed only at your taunting stare.

Drool coats you in globs. Your chest, the floor, hanging from your lips as you stroke him with wet fingers before swallowing another time. 

And you think you can do this until your jaw falls off.

But suddenly you’re hoisted upward before being thrown onto soft sheets, legs roughly shifted to one side as you paint the dark with your hoarse giggles. Before you know it, his lips attack your chest, and he’s setting butterflies wild as you arch in record time. 

“Take this off,” he growls, tugging at your dress with sweaty fingers that you want lodged in multiple places. “No more hiding.” 

You mewl, undressing as fast as you’re able, tearing the garment off and flinging it away. But your heels are still on, and whether he’s just as deft at removing those, too, you’ll need to hit pause. “What about my—”

“Don’t,” he grits with brows pinched, and his next vow is absolute, pure sin,

“I’m fucking you with them on.” 

“Oh, fuck.” Your whine is high as you throw your head back, the next groan guttural as you feel a hand smack the side of your ass with force. Your jaw comes loose, soreness shooting through its curve as your legs are erotically parted to give Yoongi a view of everything. 

You know your panties are soaked. 

You know he’s gonna wreck your shit. 

But seeing him eye the whole mess on display before lifting his hungry gaze your way? You’re damn sure you aren’t gonna survive the night. 

Perfect. 

“Please fuck me, baby,” you let out with a tone so soft that you think he doesn’t hear you. 

He does. “I’m gonna do a lot more than that, doll.” 

You tilt your head, confused and wondering what he means. 

But he ignores your wordless question, sliding fingers along your ankle before holding your leg to kiss that same spot. 

The action alone is enough to rewire your brain, but it’s the way he looks so confident, so unbothered, so determined that has your insides churning with want. 

He plants lips there again before shifting his hand down to your calf, yanking your leg back wide and pulling a tiny help out of your throat. When he shifts to grip your other leg, he growls under his breath, 

“So fucking perfect.” 

“No, you,” you counter with a pout, and flinch what the fuck his slap to your cunt felt good. “Hey!”

“None of that,” Yoongi orders with finality. “Not after all that shit you said at the door.” 

“I dunno what happened there,” you admit, inevitably shy under his commanding presence. Your cheeks sizzle before your teeth grip your lip, temporarily brought back to normalcy at his confession,

“Almost made me come.” 

“Be for real.” 

“Damn serious.” 

The cheshire cat would be jealous of your grin. “Then I should keep going?”

“Uh huh.” He cups your whole cunt, and the possessive nature it exudes pushes a whine against your teeth. “Tell me.” 

“Fuck me like you missed me.” 

A groan rips through his room before he swoops down, lips bruising yours on the landing before he shoves his mouth against your neck. 

Tingles erupt over your skin as he laps at your throat, so hard that your entire upper body slides across his rumpled sheets. When you feel his cock rub across your thong and his jeans grazing your skin, his name flies out of your chest. Moans, sighs, everything in between. 

“Careful,” he warns low before another toe-curling lick. “You won’t leave if I did that.”

“I don’t want to,” you grit in return, reaching to sink claws in his hair and tug. “Wanna stay.”

Strong arms wrap around you before you feel him spread liquid fire up your shoulder, and he reaches to nip at your ear before deft fingers flick a nipple. 

His voice rasps against your cheek, but the words sound reluctant to even leave. “You shouldn’t even be here, babe.”

Fuck. You know that’s true but your heart is rattling like a monster starved. 

“Just tonight,” you plead your case. Because you don’t want to be shooed away before it’s over, but if this is all you get, he needs to do something now. “But if you really don’t want this then please kick me out before—”

“Fuck that.” After greedily tweaking your other nipple, he rolls his body against yours, making you fiend for the weighty cock wedged against you with only thin material between. “Fuck all of that.” 

He rushes upward before nudging your leg over with a strong hand, and you fixate on the way his chains hit his chest. Just like always. “Don’t move.”

You don’t even get to breathe twice as he drops from sight, and you yelp to his roof as soon as you feel teeth nick your inner thigh. At your flinch, you feel him grip your leg with force, ordering you even harsher,

“I said. Don’t move.” 

“But—Yoongi!” 

You don’t notice him yank your underwear sideways before flattening a hot tongue against your folds, sucking so good you have to back away from the stimulation. Immediately, both your legs are seized before he tugs you back to him. 

“Uh uh.”

And he keeps your legs apart before diving deep, and you’ve never devolved into a quivering mess so fast in your goddamn life. The way he licks, sucks, kisses just where you need—everything sends thunder through your chest, lightning across your cunt, rain into your eyes. 

You can do nothing but squirm, squeals and whines and high moans leaving arrowheads in his ceiling. 

Holy fuck, did you sound this loud when you worshipped him? Even now, spread wide and willing to give Yoongi the world, you find a moment to be embarrassed in the best way.

If the neighbors hear, you don’t care. They’re gonna know how well he’s feasting on you, how gorgeously corrupt you feel. How you’re his and his alone and ready to scream it to the rooftops. 

When you feel a finger alongside his tongue, the sound you make borders on inhuman. You think it’s his name, but even you aren’t quite sure. 

All you know is that you’re close. Your thighs are burning and your fingers swipe at his locks but he refuses to let you go. “Yoongi—I’m—”

Suddenly.

He stops. 

And every nice thing you have to say to him falls to the wayside. “No no no! Please, fuck—”

The light tap to your cunt makes you quiver, and your chest heaves when he chuckles without pity,

“What’d you say?” 

“Plea—Baby!” 

“Huh?” 

Every fucking time you speak, he taps again. And every time he gets you close, he edges with aggravating control. Again. And again. 

And again.

You exist between reality and fiction, somehow seeing yourself unwinding, winding, spiraling out of control. Words start to form abstract blobs of syllables, your mouth hanging open as he peppers lazy, unbothered kisses on your thighs.  

In your foggy vision, you think you see him stand. And you’re pretty sure he grabs his cock before he’s rubbing his thick head between your folds oh fuck—

“This is what you wanted, huh.” 

Your breath hitches with a whine as you nod.

“You gonna be a good little slut?” 

Oh, you’re gonna be whatever he fucking wants. So you nod again, not without a smile lopsided. 

“Then fucking beg.” 

He smacks his cockhead against your cunt, springing your back in an arch and tugging strings of incoherent speech from your depths. You make hard lines of his sheets as you grip them in both palms, and you don’t wanna know what you’re saying because the way Yoongi’s staring with a smirk has you blacking the fuck out. 

To the point where you’re nothing but a quivering, shaking, restless mess on his bed.

You somehow closed your eyes at some point, because they fly open when you feel his lips on yours, and you tug at his stupidly attractive shirt that he didn’t bother to pull off. “Please,” you whisper, brain floating oceans away. “I need you.”

“Need you, too.” 

He breaks away to grab a condom, and this is when you realize how intertwined you feel because even this distance is too much to bear. You’re spilling nonsense and breathing harsh and you attribute that to the sole fact that you crave release. It’s aching. Consuming. 

Yoongi’s already naked and prepped by the time he positions himself between your sore legs, and you give in without resistance again when he descends on your lips. 

When you whisper his name, he kisses it away, and you briefly wonder why his hands shake running up your sides. 

Finally, finally, finally, he gives exactly what you want, the initial connection stretching you sore because it’s been way too long. And you feel emotional when you don’t even doubt it’s been too long for him, too. 

Because his eyes speak volumes. 

They hold onto your every move, watch your every reaction, hesitate when you blow out air accommodating his size. 

But you lock yours with him when you relax, weakly grasping his jewelry before sliding fingers up his shoulders. When you nod, he pushes in further, both of you sighing in tandem. 

And as soon as you whisper you’re ready, all niceties fly out the window. 

You’re thrusted up his bed with a determined stroke before he sets a pace, and your head kicks back as soon as a hand captures your neck. 

“Look at me,” he commands, and he gives you a light pat on the cheek before squeezing your jaw. “Open up.”

When you do, spit flings from his mouth into yours, and you already sprint to the edge feeling the weight of your heels and the strength of his body. “Fuck!”

You get pat again—rougher this time—before Yoongi goes to choke you a second time. “What do you say?”

“Me?” you pant, tearing the first thought from your throat when he grits it again. “Thank—” 

Fuck, his dick is hitting every spot you need it to. It takes you a second to repeat your garbled guess in full, knowing it’s something you would’ve said anyway. “Thank you.”

“Now swallow.” 

As soon as he shoves inside, your obedience is your undoing. The skies open to welcome you as your body locks, thighs squeezing his taut sides as he moans through your release. Waves tug you unbelievably far, and you almost lose yourself in the swell before you crash onto shore again.

“Such a whore for me,” Yoongi praises, kicking you back to the very first night and making you melt. When you peel eyelids open, you notice his smile matches yours, and the shared, cherished memory smoothens your gravelly laugh.

“Love when you do that,” you admit, shaking your head at your own strange preferences. “Don’t know why.” 

“Me neither.” He spears you again with a cheeky lip bite. “But it’s so fucking hot.” 

Your grin can’t be contained, and this is where you wanna be. Right here. Nowhere else in the fucking universe. 

“I’m ready,” you pant, and he gives you a brief look of affection—which you shatter with force. “Fuck the shit out of me.” 

Yoongi twitches madly inside your core as he expels a pained, breathy laugh. “Goddamn, this isn’t good for me.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” He doesn’t waste a second gathering your calves while you ponder what he says. “Hold these pretty legs up for me. There you go.”

When you find the easiest way to do so, you marvel at how shaky and slippery your thighs are, wondering if the rest of you is faring any better. 

It’s not. 

But you can’t dwell on that now because Yoongi is holding on like he’ll lose you, resuming a delicious pace and smacking your hips into his with the most indecent sounds. 

Your whines soon join in, and his hums of satisfaction fuel your ever going flame. Heaven and earth could move and you would remain here, suspended in time as he fills you perfectly with every fast stroke. 

“Feel so good—”

When he leaves your cunt, you mewl before he grunts, “Fucking—Get up.” 

What is he— 

You’re hoisted upward so quickly that you see starlight, not even registering the clanks and shifts of items before he’s spinning to pin you down on a solid surface. Your heels find purchase on the floor but your knees prove unbelievably weak.

What’s—

Oh fuck, are you on his desk?

Your hands retreat until they find an edge to grab, and you moan outright when you feel his fingers slide up your cunt, shoving your thong farther over one side of your ass. 

“Yoongi—”

You feel full in an instant, jaw going slack as he shoves you backwards on his cock, praises washing down your back as he pushes down any arches you instinctively make. 

“Uh uh. Stay like that.” 

“I wanna—” Your words are cut off with a whine as you feel a sting on your ass. “Fuck!”

“There you go.” 

The rock of the desk is so strong that every bang against the wall booms loud, equipment sliding back and forth and making you briefly worry if anything will fall.

But this is the most turned on you’ve ever, ever felt, and you have no fucking clue why.

You wonder if he feels the same right before his dark laugh consumes you.

“Goddamn.” 

Your hands are grabbed before he shoves you forward, letting more of your body lie on the surface so that he can pin sweaty arms at your back. 

Oh, fuck!

Your moans glide across wood as he doesn’t let up, and you don’t even want to know how much drool will exist on his desk when you’re done. Maybe you’ll never be done. Maybe he really will keep you here forever, and you’ll soak his whole—

“Come here.” 

He gathers your wrists in one large palm before reaching to grip your chest, hauling you up and securing you against his body by the throat. 

And you think your soul just left your earthly vessel. 

Pressing you further into him, he grits in your ear, 

“Never fucking kicking you out.” His tight stroke launches you across space. “Don’t even think about saying that again.” 

When did you— You said— Why don’t you remember—

You go limp when he shoves into you again, but your heels wobble and you focus damn hard on staying upright. 

But Yoongi doesn’t give a shit. “You hear me?” When you let out a breathy confirmation, he still isn’t satisfied. A hand pats your cheek before he asks again, “Say it louder.” 

“Yes!”

“Good.”

He drops all talk, pistoning in from behind while you take it and take it and love it. Mercifully, he lets your sore arms go to pin you down again, gritted words and curses dancing with your high-pitched sighs. 

Fuck, his strokes are so deep that you see into the next universe, and you don’t think your mouth has been shut ever since you made contact with his desk. 

Maybe he was more frustrated than you were. He’s using you as stress relief like you intended, and his roughness is a fantastic surprise. 

It’s just what you need. Which kicks you into a whole other level of want and the beast inside you transforms yet again. 

When Yoongi yanks himself out, you’re quick to spin and shove him backward. As he flops onto the bed, he laughs like sin incarnate when you pounce, his hot hands grabbing at your hips and encouraging your behavior in the nastiest way.

“Let’s go then, pretty bitch.”

“You already fucking know.”

“Show me what I’ve been missing.”

“Don’t fall in love.” 

When you sink onto him, Yoongi’s already groaning. But when you start to swivel at a pace that will render you sore, he begins to lose it. 

“Fuck.”

His head kicks back, eyes shut and brows pinched to hell. After holding your waist, he has to slap his sheets to squeeze even tighter, chest marred with red under pretty silver. 

You make sure every rotation is full, slowly rocking with each circle you make and gritting teeth at how fucking big he is.

Soon, his hisses devolve into groans, and he snaps his head back up to slap your breasts—one after the other before gripping your hips so hard you welcome the pain. 

“Fuck, I missed this pussy,” he confesses with husk, and you whine in response as you lower yourself to kiss him deep. 

“It missed you, too.”

Coming back up, you dig one of your hands in his mattress while bracing on him with the other, and you close your eyes in bliss as you arch your tits toward his hungry lips. 

Just like you want, he chuckles in satisfaction as he suckles, lolling his tongue all around before giving your nipple  a hard suck. His noises remind you of lollipops, and you briefly think of a few fun things you could do with those for next time.

But a hand juts up to seize the back of your neck, forcing you to arch in place as he starts thrusting hard. 

“Yoongi!”

“Uh huh.”  

Before you can talk again, his other hand joins in to choke you just enough, and you find yourself teetering on a precipice. Holy fuck, holy fuck, you’re close again.

“You gonna come?”

A frantic nod.

“Then come.” 

As soon as you hear the words, you do exactly that, windpipe released just as you pulse around him incredibly hard. The waves prove tsunamis, and you dangle from their crests before plummeting and tumbling below. Your moan extends as he thrusts erratically through your quivers, encouraging you and digging rough fingers into your hips. 

“Again.” 

Somehow, that’s enough to make your body obey, and you cry out as you flutter around his trembling cock, hearing him talk you through it but not quite understanding what he’s saying. 

Maybe you also choose not to listen because of what you think you hear, and you don’t want to be haunted if you realize later on what you thought you heard wasn’t true. 

The world rotates up as Yoongi sits up, and you sling arms around him as he leans back on his hands. Your breath hitches at the new angle he’s filling you at, and your eyes swirl when he coolly, confidently commands, 

“Again.” 

You can’t you can’t you can’t but you can. Holy fuck apparently you can, and this time, it consumes you so hard your eyes roll back enough to see the past. Past you, insecure and meek and scared to say what they want. 

Oh, if they could witness you now. 

You shudder impossibly hard around him, coated with his deep chuckles and dashing, ego-ridden grin. It’s all you see before you slump against his chest, heartbeat pounding against yours when you can’t feel any bone in your body.

One breath.

Two breaths.

Two hearts.

One night is enough.

“So fucking perfect.”

“For you,” you wisp out, lost in galaxies. “Only you.” 

He can only kiss the side of your head in response, gently lowering you both onto spent cotton and helping you straighten out your muscle-locked legs. When he asks if you’re okay, you can only nod, and he plants another kiss on your temple before sliding off his protection. 

Both of you take time to calm down, breaths heavy from what felt like a marathon. But a much better marathon than the one you’ve had to endure over the last three months. 

When you lie against his chest, you silently thank him for giving you tonight. It’s the riskiest thing you’ve ever done with him, but you won’t worry about it. Not right now. Not when you feel more at home here than your own house. 

Your brother is right. Something is definitely missing over there. 

It’s when your pants have relaxed into soft breaths that you nudge your head against Yoongi’s chest, eyes shut in peace as he lazily draws circles on your back. 

And the first words he says in minutes inject sparkles into your eyes,

“I need to re-up this damn cat’s food.” 

Oh, shit!

Your outright squeal is surely coming out too loud but you don’t care. Don’t care don’t care don’t care not when Yoongi just gave away so many different things. 

This man leaned right into the whole thing.

“I knew it!” You proclaim in triumph, smacking his thigh while hearing a very elongated ‘shut up’ at your side. “Tried to hide it from me all these months? Somebody’s getting soft.”

“First off.”

“Uh huh.”

God. If only you both could go on one of those late night shopping trips he talked about before. Maybe you could’ve gotten plenty of things. Like some little cat toys, or extra storage cabinets for your clothes. 

Yeah. Stuff like that. 

“I’m her favorite.” 

Your scoff is immediate as you hoist yourself up, leaning on your hand and regretting the burn in your arm. “Only because you gatekeeped her.”

A soft disagreement precedes a more prominent, “Won’t even matter.”

Yoongi looks so at peace when you stare, and your voice calms to match as it floats down, “You took care of her.”

When he only smiles, you decide that this is how you want him to be all the time. Content and outright glowing, fireflies dancing in his eyes. 

Does he feel at home, too? 

“She was gonna be your surprise,” he finally murmurs. “For getting the gig.”

Heart and tear ducts full, you lower yourself to tenderly press lips to his. And, since it seems to work for you, his forehead is what you decide to kiss next. 

Then you pull away.

Wondering why he’s not smiling anymore. 

“Come here.”

You blink, lying back down to snuggle against his side. When his arm wraps around your shoulder, it's only then that you’re aware you still have shoes on. A clean person, you hope Yoongi doesn’t mind them touching his sheets. 

But maybe it’s a tad too late for that concern. 

“How are you gonna get home?”

Oh, right. You use his chest to scratch an itch in your nose before responding, “I’ll call a ride in the morning. He’ll be out cold until noon at the earliest.” 

“K.” 

“Did I keep you from anything?”

A puff flies out his nostrils. “Kinda late for that, huh.” 

“True,” you sigh, berating yourself for thinking a lot of things too late. “Sorry.”  

“But no, we were finishing up when I called.” 

“Okay… Did I scare you?” You lift your eyes then, because you need to know for sure. 

When he levels a look, you curse at his quiet confirmation. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” 

“S’ok.” 

“I just… It hurt tonight.” Emotion washes over your face before you bury it. “Really hurt.” 

After a light squeeze, Yoongi gently rolls you over, resting his head exactly where your hand clutches your chest. When you move your fingers, he kisses that same spot, and your heart stops. “How about now.” 

Feeling the deepest pain you’ve ever felt in your life, you cradle his head with a whisper, 

“Maybe try that one more time.”

And he does, not looking at your tears as he sits up to peer down the bed. 

When he scoots down to the edge, your breath catches as he holds a heel in sure hands, his back beautiful even with the scars. While he works through leather straps, he starts to speak, 

“I always do, babe.” 

Blinking, you ask what he means as he slips your shoe off with ease.

“Miss you.”

As he tenderly holds the other, you gulp in oxygen to quell the sear around your eyes. “I just… Wasn’t sure,” you admit, voice wavering. 

His hair falls forward when he sighs, and his palms feel way too relaxing to just be taking your heels off. Even now, it feels like he’s revering you. And you truly don’t know how you deserve any of this. 

“That’s my fault.” 

Throat small, you’re swift to reassure him. “No, no. I need to just suck it up. I’m sorry.” 

After freeing your other foot, he rubs it without prompt, and you don’t know how to deal with someone giving you this level of care. 

“Just a little bit longer, doll,” he says, and you admire his profile when he turns. “I’m sorry.” 

“You gave me tonight.” 

When he swallows, you reassure him with all the support you can give, 

“A little longer is nothing.” 

A moment passes by before he finally moves, and you catch a hint of a smile right before he faces his disheveled to hell desk again. 

Deciding that conversation has concluded, you crack the atmosphere with a joke, “You liked whatever happened over there, huh.”

Immediately, Yoongi’s shoulders bob with a laugh before he admits, “Fucking you on my desk? I’ve wanted to do that for months.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He leans forward. “There’s a lot of shit I’ve wanted us to do for months.” 

Us.

Thoroughly giddy and full of life again, you egg him on. “Oh? Like what?”

Finally, he looks over his shoulder with a grin, and you scoff in frustration at his answer,

“What’s the fun in telling you?”

“Ass!”

While you’re getting ready to shower, he leans against the doorframe of his bathroom.

“We have a game next week.” 

As you fetch a towel from his cabinet, you clarify, “The championship, right?”

“Mmhmm.” 

“I’ll be there,” you confirm, walking away to slip the thick cloth over its rack. “I can’t believe it’s still going.” 

“Same. But there’ve been a lot of delays, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” Your hand feels out the water, satisfied with its temperature. “I meant your win streak but whatever.” 

And you squeal when he rushes forward, shutting the glass with a wobbly thud before he can get to you. When you stick out a childish tongue, you laugh under the spray, curve slowly, curiously, softly fading when he simply keeps staring.

What’s he doing?

You don’t move as he slowly slides the entrance open again, and you don’t dare breathe as he leans inside to kiss your wet lips.

When you tenderly take one of his wrists and pull, he obliges without hesitation, and you take another shower with the man that sets fireworks off in your soul. 

An hour later, filled with food and laughter—and slight disappointment when you couldn’t find your surprise near his door—you occupy his bed with full bellies and fresh minds. 

As he lies on your chest, you think this is better, because it gives you time to think about things. And tell him about others. 

You finally tell him what all happened with Jungkook, to which he listens without a single word. When you can’t seem to shut up about your job, he doesn’t stop you, and you adore the way he cuddles you under faint moonlight cutting through his window. 

“Oh, wait,” you stop, feeling like you’ve talked his head off by now. “What did you call about?”

“Huh? Tonight?” 

“Yeah.” 

“We finally have a confirmed date. For that album,” Yoongi rumbles against the shirt he let you borrow. “I was gonna invite you to the release party.”

Whoa, what the fuck? “Me?”

He chuckles soft, and you wonder if he can guess how shocked you look. “Yes, you. All of y’all.” 

At least it’s everyone. But at the same time, you still hesitate. “That won’t be weird?” 

“Nah. You can bring anyone you want, so. I was assuming you’d bring your friends.” 

“Ah, I see.”

You didn’t mean to sound disappointed. You truly aren’t. But Yoongi pushes up to comfort you anyway, planting kisses along your skin, your neck, and finally your lips. 

“It won’t be the only one,” he promises. “We got time.”

“Duh,” you giggle. “And I’ll be at all of them. Whether you like it or not.” 

Yoongi regards you before laying his weight back on your chest. And you find it strange how familiar his body already feels. How you’re already attuned to every way his legs fit against your own, or how you would know it’s him solely based on how his chest molds with yours. 

You start mindlessly caressing his hair, fingers weaving through a dark sea of strands before smoothing over its surface. 

And you start to hum.

It’s not really any song, just notes you start stringing together at random. You build up before you dip back down, staying in a comfortable middle range and dancing between similar tones. 

You stop from time to time, trying to figure out what would sound best next and changing up the cadence. Always coming back to a central theme because it’s what you deem best.

And you’re so comfortable that you completely forgot he’s lying right under your chin.

“Shit, was I too loud?”

He just shakes his head, arm pressing a bit more into your side. 

“Not at all.” 

So you keep going, humming more familiar tunes and phrases, softly giggling when Yoongi huffs at the way you drum on his head. 

And that’s how the night goes on, with you at peace and him in your embrace.

Never noticing how the shirt you're wearing collects rain.

When dawn breaks, you part with one final, heavenly kiss. 

Yoongi watches until you get in the ride he politely called for you, and you spend the whole drive with eyes filled with light. 

You can do this. Just a little longer, he said.

For him, you can do anything. 

But when you get home, your brother occupies the foyer as soon as you open the front door.

And you feel the world shatter and crash at your feet.

“I think,” he states, “There’s something you wanna tell me.”  

—

—

—

tbc. :) 

—

a ha ha... what do we think/like! | wanna support with a 🍊?

A/N: i’m so swirly-eyed that i don’t even know what to say here other than i’m sorry for throwing that ending at y’all! busted pt. 2 is gonna be its own huge part at this point so i had no choice but to end it here (originally it was gonna end before they went back to yoongi’s but i love y’all too much dlkfjdsklf)  A/N 2: gonna say this again: enormous thank you to everyone supporting this whole journey, whether that’s liking/commenting/reblogging/messaging, recommending this series to people, telling me how it makes you feel or what it means to you, or even wanting a physical copy of the series like😭 that’s surreal to me and makes me wanna keep working harder.  A/N 3: as far as feedback, i would absolutely love any type y’all wanna give. this chapter took all of my brainpower and the next one is gonna take just as much haahahahdksfks so any encouragement would be wonderful!  ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ three tangerines masterlist ⇥ masterlist 

#and the wait is finally over sheeeesh! #bts #bts fic #bts imagines #bts reactions #yoongi fic #yoongi x you #btshoneyhive #bangtanarmynet #bts smut #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #bts fanfic #*latest #*ryenfictalk #ryenwrites #3tan10 #i hope y'all are ok with how much is in here hahahah #yoongi

[leviiackrman]

OC Appearance Survey;

I was tagged by the wonderful @thomrainer to answer this for some babies, thank you sm m’love!

Tagging: @indorilnerevarine @dihardys @florbelles @risingsh0t @queennymeria @arklay @confidentandgood @fenharel @denerims @chuckhansen @liurnia @sstewyhosseini @hoesephseed @simonxriley @unholymilf @kingsroad @solasan @marivenah @multiverse-of-themind @roofgeese @laszlokreizler @shellibisshe @jackiesarch @helblazer @jennystahl + @stormveils

BODY

Long legs. Short legs. Average legs. Slender thighs. Thick thighs. Muscular thighs. Skinny arms. Soft arms. Muscular arms. Lean arms. Toned stomach. Flat stomach. Flabby Stomach. Soft stomach. Six-pack. Beer belly. Lean frame. Beefy/muscular frame. Voluptuous frame. Petite frame. Lanky frame. Short nails. Long nails. Manicured nails. Dirty nails. Small breast. Average breast. Big breast. Flat ass. Toned ass. Bubble butt. Small waist. Thick waist. Narrow hips. Average hips. Wide hips. Big feet. Average feet. Small feet. Soft feet. Slender feet. Calloused hands. Soft hands. Big hands. Average hands. Small hands. Long fingers. Short fingers. Average fingers. Narrow shoulders. Broad shoulders. Average shoulders. Underweight. Average weight. Overweight.

HEIGHT

Shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180 cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2m. Taller than 2 m.

SKIN

Pale. Rosy. Olive. Dark. Tanned. Blotchy. Smooth. Acne. Dry. Greasy. Freckled. Scars. Birthmarks.

EYES

Small. Large. Average. Grey. Brown. Blue. Violet. Green. Gold. Hazel. Doe-eyed. Close-set. Wide-set. Deep-set. Narrow. Monolid. Heavy eyelids. Upturned. Downturned.

HAIR

Thin. Thick. Fine. Normal. Greasy. Dry. Soft. Shiny. Curly. Frizzy. Wild. Unruly. Straight. Smooth. Wavy. Floppy. Cropped. Pixie-cut. Afro. Jaw length. Shoulder length. Back length. Waist length. Past hip-length. Buzz cut. Under cut. Shaved. Bald. Weave. Hair extensions. Mohawk. Dreadlocks. Box braids. Faux locs. Mullet. White. Platinum blonde. Golden blonde. Dirty blonde. Blonde. Ombre. Light brown. Mouse brown. Chestnut brown. Golden brown. Chocolate brown. Dark brown. Jet black. Ginger. Red. Auburn. Blue. Dyed. Thin eyebrows. Average eyebrows. Thick eyebrows. Plucked eyebrows.

TATTOOS/ PIERCINGS

Full sleeve. Thigh tattoo. Neck tattoo. Chest tattoo. Back tattoo. Shoulder blade tattoo. One tattoo. Face tattoo. A few here and there. Multiple. No tattoo. Monroe piercing. Nose piercing. Septum. Nipple piercing(s). Genital piercing(s). Industrial piercings. Earlobe piercings. Prince Albert piercing. Eyebrow piercing(s). Tongue piercing(s). Lip piercing(s). Top of the ear. Tragus piercing. Angel bites. Labret. Stretches out ears. Navel piercing. Inverse navel piercing. Cheek piercing(s). Smiley. Nape piercing(s). No piercings.

COSMETICS

Eyeliner. Light eyeliner. Heavy eyeliner. Cat eyes. Mascara. Fake eyelashes. Matte lipstick. Regular lipstick. Lipgloss. Lip balm. Red lips. Pink lips. Dark lips. Bronzer. Highlighter. Eyeshadow. Neutral eyeshadow. Smoky eyes. Colorful eyeshadow. Blush. Lipliner. Light contouring. Heavy contouring. Powder. Matte foundation. Shiny foundation. Concealer. BB cream/tinted moisturizer. Wears make-up regularly. Wears it from time to time. Rarely wears make-up.

SCENT

Floral. Herbal. Earthy. Fruity. Fresh. Perfumes. Aftershave. Cocoa. Moisturizer. Shampoo. Cigarettes. Leather. Sweat. Food. Incense. Marijuana. Cologne. Whiskey. Wine. Fried food. Blood. Fire. Metal. Rain.

CLOTHES

Jeans. Tight pants. Overknee socks. Tights. Leggings. Yoga pants. Pencil skirt. Tight skirt. Loose skirt. Tight/Form-fitting dress. Cardigans. Tunic. Blouse. Button up shirt. Band-T-shirt. Sports-T-shirt. Sweatpants. Tanktop. Cut off t-shirt. Designer. High street. Leather jacket. Thrift. Lingerie. Long skirt. Miniskirt. Maxidress. Sundress. Tie. Tuxedo. Cocktail dress. Highslit dress/skirt. T-shirt. Loose clothing. Tight clothing. Jean shorts. Sweater. Sweater vest. Waistcoat. Khaki pants. Suit. Hoodie. Harem pants. Basketball shorts. Boxers/Boxer-Briefs. Thong. Hotpants. Hipster panties. Bra. Sportsbra. Crop top. Corset. Ballerina skirt. Leotard. Polka dot. Stripes. Glitter. Cotton. Linen. Silk. Lace. Leather. Velvet. Patterns. Florals. Neon colors. Pastels. Light colors. White. Black. Dark colors. Fur/Fauxfur. Revealing clothing. Heavy armor. Medium armor. Light Armor.

SHOES

Sneakers. Slip-ons. Flats. Slippers. Sandals. High heels. Kitten heels. Ankle boots. Combat boots. Knee-high. Platforms. Stripper heels. Bare feet. Loafers. Oxfords. Gladiator shoes

BODY

Long legs. Short legs. Average legs. Slender thighs. Thick thighs. Muscular thighs. Skinny arms. Soft arms. Muscular arms. Lean arms. Toned stomach. Flat stomach. Flabby Stomach. Soft stomach. Six-pack. Beer belly. Lean frame. Beefy/muscular frame. Voluptuous frame. Petite frame. Lanky frame. Short nails. Long nails. Manicured nails. Dirty nails. Small breast. Average breast. Big breast. Flat ass. Toned ass. Bubble butt. Small waist. Thick waist. Narrow hips. Average hips. Wide hips. Big feet. Average feet. Small feet. Soft feet. Slender feet. Calloused hands. Soft hands. Big hands. Average hands. Small hands. Long fingers. Short fingers. Average fingers. Narrow shoulders. Broad shoulders. Average shoulders. Underweight. Average weight. Overweight.

HEIGHT

Shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm (167cm). 171 cm to 180 cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2m. Taller than 2 m.

SKIN

Pale. Rosy. Olive. Dark. Tanned. Blotchy. Smooth. Acne. Dry. Greasy. Freckled. Scars. Birthmarks.

EYES

Small. Large. Average. Grey. Brown. Blue. Violet. Green. Gold. Hazel. Doe-eyed. Close-set. Wide-set. Deep-set. Narrow. Monolid. Heavy eyelids. Upturned. Downturned.

HAIR

Thin. Thick. Fine. Normal. Greasy. Dry. Soft. Shiny. Curly. Frizzy. Wild. Unruly. Straight. Smooth. Wavy. Floppy. Cropped. Pixie-cut. Afro. Jaw length. Shoulder length. Back length. Waist length. Past hip-length. Buzz cut. Under cut. (Side) Shaved. Bald. Weave. Hair extensions. Mohawk. Dreadlocks. Box braids. Faux locs. Mullet. White. Platinum blonde. Golden blonde. Dirty blonde. Blonde. Ombre. Light brown. Mouse brown. Chestnut brown. Golden brown. Chocolate brown. Dark brown. Jet black. Ginger. Red. Auburn. Blue. Dyed. Thin eyebrows. Average eyebrows. Thick eyebrows. Plucked eyebrows.

TATTOOS/ PIERCINGS

Full sleeve. Thigh tattoo. Neck tattoo. Chest tattoo. Back tattoo. Shoulder blade tattoo. One tattoo. Face tattoo. A few here and there. Multiple. No tattoo. Monroe piercing. Nose piercing. Septum. Nipple piercing(s). Genital piercing(s). Industrial piercings. Earlobe piercings. Prince Albert piercing. Eyebrow piercing(s). Tongue piercing(s). Lip piercing(s). Top of the ear. Tragus piercing. Angel bites. Labret. Stretches out ears. Navel piercing. Inverse navel piercing. Cheek piercing(s). Smiley. Nape piercing(s). No piercings.

COSMETICS

Eyeliner. Light eyeliner. Heavy eyeliner. Cat eyes. Mascara. Fake eyelashes. Matte lipstick. Regular lipstick. Lipgloss. Lip balm. Red lips. Pink lips. Dark lips. Bronzer. Highlighter. Eyeshadow. Neutral eyeshadow. Smoky eyes. Colorful eyeshadow. Blush. Lipliner. Light contouring. Heavy contouring. Powder. Matte foundation. Shiny foundation. Concealer. BB cream/tinted moisturizer. Wears make-up regularly. Wears it from time to time. Rarely wears make-up.

SCENT

Floral. Herbal. Earthy. Fruity. Fresh. Perfumes. Aftershave. Cocoa. Moisturizer. Shampoo. Cigarettes. Leather. Sweat. Food. Incense. Marijuana. Cologne. Whiskey. Wine. Fried food. Blood. Fire. Metal. Rain.

CLOTHES

Jeans. Tight pants. Overknee socks. Tights. Leggings. Yoga pants. Pencil skirt. Tight skirt. Loose skirt. Tight/Form-fitting dress. Cardigans. Tunic. Blouse. Button up shirt. Band-T-shirt. Sports-T-shirt. Sweatpants. Tanktop. Cut off t-shirt. Designer. High street. Leather jacket. Thrift. Lingerie. Long skirt. Miniskirt. Maxidress. Sundress. Tie. Tuxedo. Cocktail dress. Highslit dress/skirt. T-shirt. Loose clothing. Tight clothing. Jean shorts. Sweater. Sweater vest. Waistcoat. Khaki pants. Suit. Hoodie. Harem pants. Basketball shorts. Boxers/Boxer-Briefs. Thong. Hotpants. Hipster panties. Bra. Sportsbra. Crop top. Corset. Ballerina skirt. Leotard. Polka dot. Stripes. Glitter. Cotton. Linen. Silk. Lace. Leather. Velvet. Patterns. Florals. Neon colors. Pastels. Light colors. White. Black. Dark colors. Fur/Fauxfur. Revealing clothing. Heavy armor. Medium armor. Light Armor.

SHOES

Sneakers. Slip-ons. Flats. Slippers. Sandals. High heels. Kitten heels. Ankle boots. Combat boots. Knee-high. Platforms. Stripper heels. Bare feet. Loafers. Oxfords. Gladiator shoes

BODY

Long legs. Short legs. Average legs. Slender thighs. Thick thighs. Muscular thighs. Skinny arms. Soft arms. Muscular arms. Lean arms. Toned stomach. Flat stomach. Flabby Stomach. Soft stomach. Six-pack. Beer belly. Lean frame. Beefy/muscular frame. Voluptuous frame. Petite frame. Lanky frame. Short nails. Long nails. Manicured nails. Dirty nails. Small breast. Average breast. Big breast. Flat ass. Toned ass. Bubble butt. Small waist. Thick waist. Narrow hips. Average hips. Wide hips. Big feet. Average feet. Small feet. Soft feet. Slender feet. Calloused hands. Soft hands. Big hands. Average hands. Small hands. Long fingers. Short fingers. Average fingers. Narrow shoulders. Broad shoulders. Average shoulders. Underweight. Average weight. Overweight.

HEIGHT

Shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm (168cm). 171 cm to 180 cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2m. Taller than 2 m.

SKIN

Pale. Rosy. Olive. Dark. Tanned. Blotchy. Smooth. Acne. Dry. Greasy. Freckled. Scars. Birthmarks.

EYES

Small. Large. Average. Grey. Brown. Blue. Violet. Green. Gold. Hazel. Doe-eyed. Close-set. Wide-set. Deep-set. Narrow. Monolid. Heavy eyelids. Upturned. Downturned.

HAIR

Thin. Thick. Fine. Normal. Greasy. Dry. Soft. Shiny. Curly. Frizzy. Wild. Unruly. Straight. Smooth. Wavy. Floppy. Cropped. Pixie-cut. Afro. Jaw length. Shoulder length. Back length. Waist length. Past hip-length. Buzz cut. Under cut. Shaved. Bald. Weave. Hair extensions. Mohawk. Dreadlocks. Box braids. Faux locs. Mullet. White. Platinum blonde. Golden blonde. Dirty blonde. Blonde. Ombre. Light brown. Mouse brown. Chestnut brown. Golden brown. Chocolate brown. Dark brown. Jet black. Ginger. Red. Auburn. Blue. Dyed. Thin eyebrows. Average eyebrows. Thick eyebrows. Plucked eyebrows.

TATTOOS/ PIERCINGS

Full sleeve. Thigh tattoo. Neck tattoo. Chest tattoo. Back tattoo. Shoulder blade tattoo. One tattoo. Face tattoo. A few here and there. Multiple. No tattoo. Monroe piercing. Nose piercing. Septum. Nipple piercing(s). Genital piercing(s). Industrial piercings. Earlobe piercings. Prince Albert piercing. Eyebrow piercing(s). Tongue piercing(s). Lip piercing(s). Top of the ear. Tragus piercing. Angel bites. Labret. Stretches out ears. Navel piercing. Inverse navel piercing. Cheek piercing(s). Smiley. Nape piercing(s). No piercings.

COSMETICS

Eyeliner. Light eyeliner. Heavy eyeliner. Cat eyes. Mascara. Fake eyelashes. Matte lipstick. Regular lipstick. Lipgloss. Lip balm. Red lips. Pink lips. Dark lips. Bronzer. Highlighter. Eyeshadow. Neutral eyeshadow. Smoky eyes. Colorful eyeshadow. Blush. Lipliner. Light contouring. Heavy contouring. Powder. Matte foundation. Shiny foundation. Concealer. BB cream/tinted moisturizer. Wears make-up regularly. Wears it from time to time. Rarely wears make-up.

SCENT

Floral. Herbal. Earthy. Fruity. Fresh. Perfumes. Aftershave. Cocoa. Moisturizer. Shampoo. Cigarettes. Leather. Sweat. Food. Incense. Marijuana. Cologne. Whiskey. Wine. Fried food. Blood. Fire. Metal. Rain.

CLOTHES

Jeans. Tight pants. Overknee socks. Tights. Leggings. Yoga pants. Pencil skirt. Tight skirt. Loose skirt. Tight/Form-fitting dress. Cardigans. Tunic. Blouse. Button up shirt. Band-T-shirt. Sports-T-shirt. Sweatpants. Tanktop. Cut off t-shirt. Designer. High street. Leather jacket. Thrift. Lingerie. Long skirt. Miniskirt. Maxidress. Sundress. Tie. Tuxedo. Cocktail dress. Highslit dress/skirt. T-shirt. Loose clothing. Tight clothing. Jean shorts. Sweater. Sweater vest. Waistcoat. Khaki pants. Suit. Hoodie. Harem pants. Basketball shorts. Boxers/Boxer-Briefs. Thong. Hotpants. Hipster panties. Bra. Sportsbra. Crop top. Corset. Ballerina skirt. Leotard. Polka dot. Stripes. Glitter. Cotton. Linen. Silk. Lace. Leather. Velvet. Patterns. Florals. Neon colors. Pastels. Light colors. White. Black. Dark colors. Fur/Fauxfur. Revealing clothing. Heavy armor. Medium armor. Light Armor.

SHOES

Sneakers. Slip-ons. Flats. Slippers. Sandals. High heels. Kitten heels. Ankle boots. Combat boots. Knee-high. Platforms. Stripper heels. Bare feet. Loafers. Oxfords. Gladiator shoes

#tagged* #thomrainer #thank you so much my darling!! #oc: margot durand #oc: bubbles finley #oc: asami enatsu #these kinda things are SO fun! #so naturally I chose some kids with v different vibes #y’all know Rin off by heart now so no need to include her (currently anyway tehe)

[youngblood-182]

Hi, I was just wondering if I could get a Naruto match up? I loved the ones you’ve written so far. My name is Annie. I’m 22 years old and I’m a 5’0 Latina with hip length curly dark brown hair. I guess I have more of an hourglass figure? I’m a little small in the chest and waist, but my thighs and butt are bigger lol. I also have brown eyes and I have tanned skin. I do workout at least 4 times a week because I’m trying to get to my body goals. Pronouns are she/her and I prefer men. I haven’t started college, so I’ve just been working for three years. I play bass guitar, love to write, cook, and experiment with makeup looks. My music taste is a ride 😂 I’m a metal head (like I really love Black Sabbath), I also love 90’s rap, A$AP Rocky, Aaliyah, Nirvana, and Hollywood Undead. I tend to be shy when you first meet me, but once I open up and become comfortable, I’m a mix between bubbly and laid back. I just have a really hard time talking to the person I’m interested in and I blush easily around them. I do have a shorter fuse and I keep it in check lol, and I can also be the mom friend when needed. I’m always there for my friends and will help in any way I can. For dates, I’d love spending time together with that person so if I cooked for that person and then went for a walk after, I’d be content. I would also love to go with them to run errands if they wanted lol I just like spending time with them. I also forgot to mention I plan to go to college soon to possibly be a dietitian or a nutritionist. Traveling is another thing I like to do as well and I’m a bit of a neat freak. I think my personality type is INFJ-T. Sorry for writing so much, I didn’t realize how much I wrote 😂 @mintspice

GIRL I SHIP YOU WITH HIDAN

-please go read my random hidan headcanons bc this man lives rent free in my brain

-I feel like you two would meet at some record shop, Hidan may be kind of a himbo & an asshole to most people. He had dragged Deidara with him to shop when Deidara spotted you, thought you were cute and tried to flirt with you but you were more interested in the man next to him.

-I literally could see you just freezing up and instantly blushing while it takes Hidan a solid minute to figure out you thought he was attractive. Man’s immediately asked you out once he figured it out.

-He would love if you cooked for him, in my head I don’t think Hidan would be the best cook but he surely would enjoy watching you cook and then would probably point out the most random things during your walk with him (he has adhd LMAO)

-I feel like after a while Hidan would become attuned to your emotions and if he felt your fuse starting to burn he would immediately do whatever he could to help support you. You need a punching bag? Yeah he’s got you.

-he loves to listen to you play your bass guitar, it’s very soothing for him. 🥹

-I feel like he would cuss at everyone else but with YOU he’d keep it to a minimum. He’s too scared to lose you by being an idiot 🥹

-overall 10/10 I ship this ok

SONGS

Sundress - A$AP Rocky

Lounge Act - Nirvana (I love them SM and I haven’t listened to them since high school UGH LOVE THIS)

Hypnotize - The Notorious B.I.G.

i wanna be your girlfriend - girl in red

#submission #hidan x reader #hidan headcanon #naruto matchup #skys ship event

[ficsnroses]

—“𝑾𝒆 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏, 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒓𝒖𝒎 𝒐𝒏 𝒂 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒆”.

—𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝑾𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓—

prompt: you are a sin, carefully crafted by no hands other than his.

summary: john uses you. what started as a simple agreement, however, has blossomed into something a little more...on both ends.

warnings: sugar daddy au. sm*t. consensual sex. oral sex (male and female receiving). slight angst. cigarette smoking. x f! reader. 6.4k words.

notes: hi everyone! this is obviously quite different than stuff I usually write. please go easy on me, I'm only testing the waters here asdfghjkl this could turn into a universe of its own with more chapters/drabbles if I get more inspiration or ideas. this fic was written as a sort of introduction to this world. please lemme know what you think!

title creds: honestly all my titles are some form of a hozier lyric at this point lol

Ten, perhaps eleven.

That must have been it, precisely so. The age he’d stopped looking under his bed for monsters. He’d gathered a rather bitter truth by then.

They don’t just hide under your bed.

New York City is beautiful this time of year. He still sees your sundress behind closed eyelids.

Summer state of mind, dewy skin. Thin camisole straps, sweetheart neckline, silky fabric kissing you in all the right places. Alluring around your waist;

like a lover it had clung to you. Traced each delicate part of you, just as his hands did.

Outside, a subtle gray pours. He looks more dishevelled than usual, stiff shoulders only accentuated by the pirouette of cold air through his home. The day had melted into one rhythmic beat of blue.

A feeling that had become far too familiar as of late.

He’d come to realize that, too.

It lives inside him.

Just like the monster. This gray follows him. It lives in him, too.

The stress ball had left the grip of his fingers for perhaps the millionth time today. Sailing easily through the air before gravity would sink its jaws in, immediately dragging it down.

     Funny that.

     Everything that goes up must come back down.

A cup of day old coffee soaks up the sounds. To the wooden coffee table it sits, listening. Observing, watching a man one, perhaps two decades your senior slowly deteriorate to the mere thought of you.

John Wick is a man of focus. Commitment, sheer fucking will.

A life free of suffering. Promises are more often than not conditional— another bitter truth he’d realized at a hardly ripened age. Battered bones and lonesome evenings. It used to provide some semblance, a ray of hope to remember that sins are often no work of conscious choice.

Choice is riddled with careful calculation, thought, voluntariness.

This, however, was choice.

You were a choice. A choice he made, he wanted.

This was a sin carefully crafted by no hands others than his.

You, with your beautiful soul and gorgeous smile. Your soft pink lips that sinned for him, your easy voice and gentle touch.

Perhaps he’d tainted you. Ruined you with his expert touch. Stripped you of that gentle innocence. Made you sin in the dark. Sin, with him.

     Funny that, he thinks.

     Only an angel like you would kiss the damned.

How could he have let it get this way. Only a fool, an imbecile would let it get this far. An imbecile, who had let the beating hunk of flesh on the left of his chest remember each and every thing about you. The smell of your hair, the lone glimmer that erupts in your chuckle. There is a simmering sort of rage that washes through his veins, the ball now held in a white knuckle grip. John’s expression flickers, the blue light of his phone screen illuminating just to the right of him, rested to the crème sofa shallow.

Your name has begun to send a gold rush to flow inside him.

     “Do you need me tonight?”

It is becoming more and more difficult.

Everything that goes up must come down.

It was only a matter of time now.

You remember everything.

The first night John had used you.

You thought you were bound to be a no one. A ghost—a decoration on his arm. A shadow, merely. A vessel with no purpose other than this man’s pleasure.

He’d always made you more, nonetheless.

You feel his skin warm under your touch, arm curled around his bicep as you wade your way through the crowd alongside him. The speakeasy is packed, and you note the way you’re being watched by elites in the crowd over the sound of blaring music.

The lounge is top tier, an array of high profile individuals dwelling the space. You’d heard whispers of The Continental hotel before, but to attend a social event within its corridors?

That was the first time you’d realized just how highly regarded Mr. Wick truly had been.

Dim club light danced over his features, a crystal glass of amber bourbon in one hand, the delicate curve of your back under the other. He’d held you loosely all evening, close by the waist, stocky thumb brushing over your exposed skin revealed by a black fitted dress.

He’d been watching you all evening.

Even if your arm never left his, even if you were entirely, only, unconditionally his for everyone to see. The pads of his fingers are sunk into your waist as you stand alongside him—not enough to be hurt, but enough to feel held.

Led. Desired.

John’s expression was blank, closed off yet still laced with that unnerving glimmer of interest that he usually hid so very well. Clad in all black, blazer crisp and his hair slicked back neatly. John looked rather more like a sinful, dark promise than a man.

A promise of ruin.

“She’s beautiful, John.”

It’s a funny thing. You hadn’t been able to shake the thought all evening, to say the least.

John Wick is nothing short of a delicacy. Titan shoulders, rippling biceps. They bulge each time he lifts his arm to take his drink. A voice that tides easily, smooth yet gravelly all at once. Something about the way that his hair flows lovingly in dark brown hues makes your pulse threaten to race.

Some of his acquaintances regard him by his full name.

Jonathan.

Jonathan. It suits him.

John looks good on him.

Surely a man such as him would have no trouble. What fool could pass on him? You wonder how many women have crumbled under this very gaze he channels into you tonight.  

You’d never guess John to be the type to partake in this…exchange of service, if you will.

He is your provider, your employer, even. John is the first and only man you’ve offered your service to. And he is far from the type of man you had expected to want you.

The evening melts into a rhythmic pulse. Strangers, unfamiliar bodies. Many of whom seem conceited, influential, significant. Neon lights dance over the scene, and you can’t help but feel immensely out of place.

“Lets go.” John breathes hotly into your ear, barely above a whisper, his arm around your waist tightening in its hold. The sudden shift is prominent, intimidating, even. The heated look in his eyes almost constitutes the physical weight of want.

The music becomes nothing more than a pulse.

And your thoughts become nothing more than a beat along with it.

It wasn’t long before your hand melts held within John’s unyielding grip, and his focus is little diverted as he leads you out of the club.

And the drive home is one that makes you swallow with anticipation. A hushed breath slips past your lips as you sit in the passenger seat of Mr. Wick’s Mustang 69’. His expression remains a mirror of the one earlier, blank, closed off, unnerving glimmer. Only the delicate brown of his eyes looked almost black now, shadows of his side profile making him appear more than just dangerous.

Something less, yet at the same time more human all at once. A raw, daunting thing.

His dark eyes stay fixed on the road ahead, speeding through the charcoal night streets of New York City under blue midnight. You sneak a few glances his way; his jaw tense and gaze set, and it had been tough to ignore the shiver of delight at the ravenous look he gave you.

Capable hands. Strong, thick, callous yet soft all at once. It leaves a fire in its wake. It ignites you to the bone. The feeling of his fingers brushing the inside of your thigh, sampling, savouring your skin.

That night was the first time John made you his. And that night you learned a much familiar truth. One that brings you a simmering comfort now.

You could never be scared of John. He will never hurt you.

Petrifying to others, but never to you.

He fucked you in his house that night.

Missionary.

In the darkness of the midnight light, no one to see, no one to hear except you and him.

Hot and heavy. Big, warm and beautiful. His larger frame on top, fingertips digging into the feminine swell of your bare hips as he pounds into you roughly, hastily, harshly.

Your fingernails dig into him, too. Red marks and pulsing skin. Your legs aching from spreading for him, your pussy sore, throbbing from his repeated assault. You remember wincing from the sheer girth of his cock, mewling, desperately clinging to his nude form above you.

You lay there underneath him. Devouring the love he gives. Urging him to go faster, yearning for him to fuck you selfishly until each part of you ached in his name. Quiet and tender grunts leave his throat, melting into your skin. Hardened nipples and plump breasts press to his chest, your modesty bouncing to the steady pace he’d conjured up. Your legs had snaked around his waist under the sheets in order to feel him deeper, gentle sighs and stifling gasps only encouraging him to corrupt you further.

He doesn’t touch you like anyone you’ve ever had before. John is different, he is a fire that seeps. He caresses, claims, and devours you with a startling sum of intensity.

It baffles you, how he says so little yet so much all at once. He’d hardly uttered two sentences to you the entire evening, yet the mark he leaves on you is colossal.

The bedframe creaked all night.

The thrusting seemed to never stop.

You thought he might just break you.

The salty smell of his skin, the sweet smell of your nectar dripping onto the sheets, soaking the insides of your thighs.

He sampled you as if a fine wine, buried between your legs, his mouth greedy on each inch of your skin. His swollen manhood slaps against your core repeatedly, the sound of skin slapping skin protruding in the quiet room air. Moonlight dances over his features, and your whines are reduced to hitched cries when you feel that slight curve of his cock brushing the deepest pits of you— so much do you’d swore you felt him in your stomach.

He came inside you that night. Just where he likes it.

Mr. Wick always finishes inside you.

And through the feeling of his skin sticking to yours and his shuddering breath felt between the valley of your breasts, you crumble to the way his heavy cum seeps out of you, onto his silk bedsheets. The rise and fall of his chest is steady, and his arms look unfairly toned, large with bulged veins as they are placed on either side of you. His eyes gloss over your breasts, curved perfectly to his liking, admiring the way your skin is flushed with a dew under cutting moonlight.

Patient eyes and silent strength. Mr. Wick has always been a man of few words. It intrigues you, how focused and smooth his speech is.

There is nothing patronizing to be found in his smooth gaze.

You’d heard him mumble into your skin. A prayer, possibly a damnation. Or perhaps both.

It wasn’t long before your eyes connect with his deeper ones, panting breaths gentle as they melt together after the deed. You don’t say a word either. You simply regard, admire the delicate dips and slopes of his face.

The sharpness of his jaw, the curve of his collarbone. The laugh lines that pepper to the corners of his eyes, the way his beard is perfectly aligned, making him appear unfairly handsome.

He stares, too. Hot, wet breath burning against the hallow of your throat. His lips ghost over your pulse, and you can’t help but recite a simple prayer in your satiated, sex satisfied & disgruntled head.

Write stories on my skin.

Make me sin.

“Don’t stop…” was your quiet, breathless whisper into the sturdy swell of his bare shoulder, his lips pressing gentle, purple bruises into your modesty. “Please don’t stop touching me…”

You are his doll. A vessel, a hallow shell reserved for nothing at all,

but this mans pleasure.

You’d never been one to splurge on yourself. Spending ungodly amounts of money on materialistic things was never something you’d been fond of. More often than not, you were able to simply make ends meet and live comfortably. Spending thousands of dollars on designer clothes and bags just seemed rather…silly.

Perhaps you’ve been held of that simple joy.

Perhaps the universe has held you of many things, though.

John Wick is a man of finery.

Certainly, he never holds back when it comes to you.

Posh chocolates, fine cut jewelry, lavish bouquets. Lingerie.

You remember that lilac summer sunset so very well. The smell of summer peaches in the air. That night was the first time you’d worn lingerie for John. Lingerie that he had delivered to your home.

And it was certainly not the last.

You’d felt a nameless emotion bubble in the pit of your stomach that evening, standing at John’s doorstep. John had been fucking you as often as he pleased that entire week. Sex with him had become almost routine, not that you had much to complain about, anyway.

John is not your boyfriend. He is no significant other. He is simply the man who pays your bills, helps you when you need it most.

Yet still, a glimmer of longing pierces through your heart.

You do not love John.

Nonetheless, what you do together is oh so proximate. Intimate. The thought of him is unforgiving.

Sometimes, you think he is a saint with the lips of a sinner.

Sometimes, he touches you so dishonourably, you swear he is the devil himself.  

Sometimes, you’ll find him buried between your thighs, lapping long, slow strokes over the sweet nectar that drips your petals.

Slow, appreciative hums.

He claims and devours your body, but he gives his to you, too.

You’ll find yourself ruining in the sounds. Revelling, dissolving. Your hands tousled in his hair, legs on his shoulders, his lips on your cunt.

Those sweet, holy sounds. Hot breath, wet pleasure. Quiet kisses and quivering slurps.

The burn has become achingly familiar; the burn his manly stubble leaves through wet, buttery kisses along your drenched pussy. With his mouth over the pearl of your clit, he slowly sucks his poison into you. His tongue is a little piece of paradise, warm, wet, made to love you. and you whisper then and there, to the heavens up above.

You’d suffer hell. if he’d be there, too.

You think you’ve heard it before. An old maxim, folklore. Each lover leaves a mark on your skin. A part of you has already begun to be written in his name.

That part of you that whispers his name in your dreams. Withers just a little when his lips touch yours.

Its tough to hold back. To not feel him when you’ve spent countless nights with his manhood curled between your legs.

You find him on the balcony of his master bed room. There was a familiar, certain heat and yearn as your eyes traced the powerful dips of his back, the sturdy line of his shoulders, his messy hair falling into place like ripples.

You watched him with the same hunger he often watched you. A cigarette hung limply between his lips, a cloud of gusting smoke pirouetting away with the gentle summer evening breeze.

There is a certain softness to him that you’ve never seen before, yet also such a haunting allure. Something sensual, something seductive. As if a fine bourbon; Mr. Wick’s physique demands appreciation, before it is time to drink.

Firm biceps, defined torso. Powerful slopes and peaks, muscles that swell, constrained by the seams of a light shirt.

He is charming.

Aged like a fine scotch. A calamity of hunger, brazen and all things shameless.

But not without stealth. Silent like deep water.

He wears this dread, this darkness like some men wear a crisp black suit. There is something about him so very heavy and dark, waiting to plunge like rain.

You drown willingly.

And it felt like heaven, to let hell wrap his fingers around your throat and consume you.

You don’t know what John does, how he affords the very luxuries that adorn on your skin.

Whatever line of work he may be in.

A man of scarce words. You fear it is something wicked. Something dangerous, something that holds the potential to take him away from you.

You try to ignore that part of you, that little something in your chest that coils in unease to the very thought of it. Part of you is no longer sure if you want to push the thought away or lean into it— pursue a connection with John in which he may confide in you, should he need. You hate the thought just as much as you secretly crave it; crave to know just who Mr. Wick really is.

What he is truly capable of.

It doesn’t take long for you to make yourself known.

You know better than to sneak up on a man you know so little of.

There might have been a certain heat and longing as your eyes trace the slumped shape of his titan shoulders and messy mocha hair. John’s lean figure turns slightly, gaze intent on you as you take measured steps towards him, lips tugging into a smile and an extra little sway to your hips.

His tongue rolls the cigarette between his teeth before sipping a small drag, and tugging it from between his lips. “Hi.” he speaks simply, golden sun highlighting the pasty pale of his skin, and the few tan freckles that barely leave the ghost of a pepper along his nose.

He thinks you look beautiful today.

He always thinks you do, nevertheless.

He was silent for a long minute as he watched you amble toward him, placing the cigarette back between his parted lips, not breaking your gaze. It is not long before you are in his space, and your lips ghost over the sharpness of his jaw as you tiptoed to reach him, admiring the way he curls a lazy arm around your waist. With a light shift, you tuck yourself into him—his stocky palm coming to rest on your hip firmly, your back pressed to his chest as you both peer into the New York City skyline distance.

A rosy blush peppers to your cheeks recalling the way he had just looked at you, eyes flashing upon you with a smouldering, heart-stopping sort of thirst. “I didn’t know you smoke?” was your quiet question, and you feel the deep vibration of his baritone against your back, surging through you like fire surges gasoline.

Part of you had missed him, truly, despite having just been between his sheets a day prior; and you weren’t shy in showing him when your hand reaches behind yourself to tangle, raking through his messy long tresses.

“Sometimes.” was his deep, brassy return that melts against the shell of your ear. You allow a simple hum, both your eyes locked out into the distance city skyline. New York is beautiful this time of day; the city sunset bleeds a delicate orange.

The quiet intensity of his breath is oh so electrifying, the way you feel each pulse against your back as he holds you loosely by one arm. Makes the blood in your ears roar.

It’s not long before you take his hand, slowly tracing it under the flimsy material of your shirt, guiding it to brush over the skimpy material of your lacy black lingerie, offering him a suggestive look as you tilt your head back. You feel his fingers brush over the curve of your modesty, leaving that familiar fire in their wake.

John arches an eyebrow, and takes a slow drag of his cigarette. “For me?” he murmurs tightly, eyes narrowing with a small grin, and you feel your nipples harden under his expert touch. You only peer at him over the hike of his shoulder, a knowing little smile on your lips as you take his hand in yours, leading him inside the master bedroom.

You mumble a hot moan into his ear as you push him onto the bed, lips seductively nibbling his earlobe for a brief moment before you pull back. Leaning forward, you ghost your lips over his before laying a lingering kiss against the corner of his mouth, gaze locked to his as the words he allows send a shiver erupting down to the very marrow of you.

“Take your clothes off for me.”

Sauntering back, a sly smirk dawns on your features, glossy orbs never leaving his as you follow his demand.

Pleasing Mr. Wick has easily become your favourite thing to do.

John is looking at you as if you are his next meal; predatory, consuming. Driven by something far more than just simple, sultry lust.

A low, pleased sigh spills from his lips as his hand trails to his swollen bulge, pulling himself out of the dark blue jean seams. To the sight of you stripping, he strokes his cock slow, appreciatively, dragging his bottom lip between the clasp of his teeth.

It doesn’t surprise John when you take your time. Hands moving slow, seductive in their endeavour over your skin.

little did he know, your face betrays your own eagerness for him.

Your lips are longing, and your body seems to gravitate towards him with little effort. You can’t wait to let him touch you, hold you, so he can kiss you painfully slow like he does all too well.

“That’s it, just like that.” He soothes, breathless, thumb swirling the head of his thick cock, and you can hear the subtle smile in his hushed voice. “Just look at you…” You only grin, a seductive sound melting from deep within your throat; an unholy, warm kind of sound that makes John’s cock throb to the sight of you.

He sounds like he’s talking through gravel; tone low and suave.  His hand strokes his member with startling ease, and you wonder how often he’d done this to himself. How often he’d needed release with no one to help…

With a gentle sway of your evocative hips, John groans impatiently at how slow your fingers dance over your delicate regions—exactly where he was dying to touch you. Gently, with your fingertips agonizingly deliberate and precise, you undo the buttons of your chiffon camisole, never breaking eye contact with his darker orbs. He admires the way your hair falls delicately along the contours of your visage— the way the fragile textile cascades off the swell of your voluptuous breasts when you peel the thin straps from your shoulders. The top falls to the crème carpet floor, pooling at your feet and John sighs to the sight of your cleavage on tormenting display for him, a lace embroidered lingerie bra adorned to your chest. Its raunchy, its sexy, and its sheer.

Low cut. Sinful. Black as the night, and the way your nipples are seen through the filmy seams causes his hand to tighten around his cock in anticipation of what you could do to him.

Its not long before your fingers begin their endeavour on the zipper of your jeans, gently peeling the material down as if unwrapping the most delicate of presents. His lips curl into an amused smile when you dip the fabric, allowing it to reveal the lacy black G-string underneath. Flawlessly delectable, a captivating goddess in your own right. He is simply drunk on you, completely your prisoner.

You destroy him with nothing but a bite of your lip, and your penetrating gaze on him.

His eyes devour you.

There is something about the way this exchange has worked out. John and you. What you do together.

A harmony of cold and warm. Of light and dark.

There is something so mysterious about him, so quiet, so discreet. As if something lurks in the shadows and could swallow you whole if it wanted to. But there is something about you, too.

Something soft, something dreamlike.

And this, this is dangerous. You are dangerous.

You make him want to sin.

The very deed he has ran from his entire life. The very corrupt feat his hands have far too much experience playing. The sin that has followed him his entire life is one that sends shivers bone deep through all men who hear of his name. A sin that was taught to him. A sin that ensured his survival.

You, however. You are a sin like no other.

You are a choice. A conscious, carefully calculated choice.

You are something beautiful, something to be enjoyed.

This is intimate, immoral, even, and the air between you is practically always suffocating. Something wild burns between you both.

It is not long before you peel off your jeans completely, skin a dewy glow as you stand there in front of him. Adorned in a vulgar set of pristine lace, black stockings upheld by a sultry garter belt embellished on your smooth thighs. Your hair is a silky flood, and the way your breasts are pursed together oh so tight entices something inside him. He stares into you with lips parted and eyes half lidded. He looks at you as if you are the only thing worth looking at in the entire world.

“Beautiful…so fucking beautiful…” was his low, throaty return. John’s erection is growing intimidatingly large, awakened by the sight of your body on full display for him. “You make me happy, babygirl.”

You mirror a fucking sex siren.

It is not long before you amble closer to him, a mere few inches away when your fingers barely ghost the curve of his cock, legs spreading to take place in the firm of his lap. Your pussy is dangerously close to his manhood, and the mere feel of your peachy ass touching his skin elicits a deep grunt of pleasure off his lips. It is not long before his stocky digits are planted to your behind, fingertips sinking in as his arms curl around you.

The way he is looking at you. That simple, primitive stare. He is like a shard of glass that is scratching from deep inside your chest.

It is intimidating almost, to feel so desired. So needed by someone in a single moment.

“Say you’re mine.”

Your hands ghost his chest as his fingertips dig into you.

“Only yours. I belong to you.”

It is not long before you take his cock in your softer grip, offering gentle, measly tugs to the sensitive skin as you work him tender. Your lips move slow, hot mouth ghosting over the dips and curves of his lips, before your forehead rests to his warmer one. Your teeth scrape against his pulse possessively, and desire burns through your body as you greedily explore his rosy skin, gasping in appreciation as his hands map each inch of your breasts, your hips and your ass so very needily.

It’s a quiet, almost breathless sound. So discreet, so filthy. “How do you want me?”

He simply brushes his thumb along your bottom lip, eyes intent on the bow. On your tight, wet, beautifully warm mouth.

And you, waste no time.

You trail wet, lazy kisses down his neck, down his chest as your gentle fingers work the buttons of his white t-shirt. Nails tracing down gently, you feel lean muscles ripple under your touch, and his dangerously erect cock hot to the tip, pressing against your skin.

You end the night with his cock shoved down your throat, and the taste of him on your tongue. Your hands on his thighs, his tangled in your hair.

And, his hot, glossy cum dripping down your lips.

Sometimes you dreamed of eyes so rich you’d drown in them.

John gives you a room in his home. One where you can stay if he wants you to. He values your privacy and allows you to breathe on your own, collect yourself and replenish if needed.

Of course, not before he has his way with you,

however he pleases.

From shower sex to mirror sex, on the marble kitchen countertop too. Light bondage and rough— Mr. Wick is a man of many surprises.

Some nights, he asks you to sleep in his bed. With him.

And you find it tough in yourself to lie. Perhaps on those nights, you feel most safe.

Most safe— with your head on his chest as he holds you loosely, or with his arm hung on your waist, where you can feel just about every pulse of breath that rings through him. Most safe, with his breath on your neck and the feeling of him on your skin.

Some nights, you’ll wake in the middle of the dark to the sound of his lips on your neck, and his heavy hand dangerously close to the most intimate parts of you.

A slow kiss against your nude spine, another to the nape of your neck.

When Mr. Wick wants you, it is hard for him to resist.

Some nights, he asks you to sleep alongside him in a thin lacy thong. Nothing but a thin, lacy thong. Some nights, you find his eyes drag slowly over your still, naked body, just barely covered by the fine mulberry silk of his sheets.

You know exactly what he wants. What he needs.

A beautiful, wicked thing. He could ruin you, and perhaps he’d love to watch you ruin.

You’ll slowly roll over on top of him, dewy thighs straddling his, gentle in your movement when you quietly slip him in with a steady, lazy roll of your hips on his cock. You bounce for him, nude tits on full display under the cutting moonlight, and his hands roaming delicately over them as silent, low grunts fall off his lips.

You dip, leaning down with your arms curling around his neck and your modesty pressed to his chest, riding him still, and find his sturdy arms wrap around you, rested to the small of your back where they roam.

John kisses your neck leisurely, breathing hot, quiet moans of pleasure into the shell of your ear and your nails sink into the rosy flesh of his shoulders, steadying yourself with shallow sighs of his name.

John. John. John—

You cling to him in the dark morning air, no longer sure where he ends and you begin.

And learn he is a man easy to please.

One that admires lazy love just as much as a rough, heavy fuck that makes you plead.

Some nights, John sleeps through entirely.

And you however, stay awake.

Staring out the window, with the feel of his hand under your thin cotton shirt, rested just below the curve of your breasts. Sans bra is how he likes it.

Sometimes, you’ll slip your hand under the flimsy material, too, to rest over his. And you’ve come to realize an unswerving truth. The beats of his breath sync with yours when you do so.

You’ve realized a bitter truth, too.

Deflection is easier than admitting how nice, how sheltered it feels to have him hold you like this on quiet nights.

He is alone.

And in many ways, perhaps you, are too.

You’ve never trembled in the presence of a wolf.

It’s a funny thing. That human bodies are oh so simple. So unassuming, that you’d never guessed you’d been sharing a bed with the worlds finest assassin.

So simple, that perhaps the very angel of death himself hadn’t known.

You are slowly becoming the very breath in his lungs.

Sometimes he dreams of eyes so beautiful, he drowns in them.

And maybe he is afraid they will become love.

If they aren’t already.

He woke up in an empty bed that day, yet not without the thought of you imprinted on his mind.

The way you brush along his skin with your fingers so gentle, it almost resembles love. The way your arms lock around him as if shackles when you offer yourself to him, clinging to his skin as you do what lovers do. How you trace lazy patterns on his skin, how you gravitate towards him even when not willingly so.

It is only then that he accepts the lone, painfully singular truth.

He will never be free.

Of sin, of vice. Of you.

It is true. Bitterly, entirely, lamentably.

Only an angel like you would kiss the damned. And the damned are greedy. Always wanting, always longing for more, more and more of what cannot be theirs.

The stress ball leaves his grip for perhaps the millionth time that day. Sat alone within the deep folds of his home, a depth so lonesome, as he has come to realize. There is no colour here, no vibrant laughs. No story to be told over a white picket fence, no promise of a presence that has become achingly familiar.

((her))..((her))..((her))..

He feels a nameless emotion brew in the deepest pits of him, something he cannot quite explain because it does not make sense to him, either.

The air around him seems to thrum with anger. Cutting and vicious, a coil of dearth.

He sits there silently; he holds that fire in his veins. And he realizes another, painfully palpable truth. He is missing you. More and more by the seconds you are departed, more and more by the unwillingness he feels to be without you.

What a fool. An imbecilic, a fool.  It is becoming more and more difficult to be without you.

He delves the seams of his pocket, fishing for what he already knew was his metal slate lighter. And not without it, a lone cigarette to tug between his lips. A muffled curse echoes through the air when he clicks the lighter a few times, with little success in igniting the bud. The cold air of the dimly hit room seems to stop him, and the lighter refuses to light up.

It is not long before both are discarded with an irritated fling.

Both fall with unwitting ease.

Funny, that. Everything that goes up  m u s t  come down.

It was only a matter of time now.

What a fool. An imbecile, a clown. He realizes another bitter truth for the second time in his life. One that cuts through him like a blade, a dagger that no other than himself had carefully been constructing. Roars in his ears like a hot rush of blood. A tale as old as time, and just like that, the world goes silent.

It is so startling, that for a second he only seems to gape at the white walls numbly.

You are the cure. The lone thing that fixed every ache inside him.

A fool. An imbecile. He cannot let this happen. He cannot. A fool. The very shadow of death himself cannot fall in love with you.  

You, with your beautiful smile and gentle hands. Your kind heart that sooths him, despite his greatest attempts to smother it. Your body that is slowly beginning to feel like home, your unyielding embrace that shelters that bitter cold inside him.

It is a funny thing, human bodies.

Always longing, always chasing. They run toward pleasure, away from pain.

Sex is precisely just that; sex. Meaningless, raw, soul emptying sex. Heavy, naked need that wrecks that little longing inside, that little part that wishes for the simplest of human needs.

Compensation for, awarding him your body was supposed to keep it safe. Create a distance, keep you from burning between the havoc that is him. He is an open flame. Leaves only pain and destruction in his wake. Burns, devours, wraths.

Needs.

A bitter truth, indeed.

John Wick needs. And maybe mindless, casual sex was not that fundamental thing.

And maybe that makes him a fool, too. To know it is sin that he wishes to leave. Sin, that he has longed for no part of. He created this interchange with you. Created this sin with you to give him relief. To soothe that fire inside him, that burn he carries in his veins.

He created this world with you. And he could destroy it, too.

But he doesn’t know if he can.

It is becoming more and more difficult. He is fire, and you are gasoline.

You will never be free.

The Reaper himself has begun to creep his way into your heart. and you, have begun to grow over his like moss on stone, too.

It was only a matter of time now.

All that goes up must come down.

Taglist posted in reblogs, ask to be added or removed!

#john wick x reader #keanu reeves x reader #john wick imagine #john wick x you #john wick fanfic #keanu reeves fanfic #john wick fanfiction

[auroralightsthesky]

Hii!

I absolutely love your writing, I was wondering if I could request number 1 or number 37 off your Sm*t prompt list?

With either Talbert Or Grant?

Please and thank you! 😊

Oh honey it's no problem at all, believe me I'm happy to oblige anytime and as a bonus I'll do both with Grant.

Pairings: Grant x Fem-reader, mentioned OC pairings

Hawaii, 1951

You and Grant couldn't have been happier to be in Hawaii while the rest of Easy had begun to make the journey out for the annual reunion. You both had come a long way from your home in Tennessee, across the Midwest and from San Francisco to the port of Honolulu in the span of two weeks, the exhausting journey finally ending in paradise.

"Man I hope Tipper and his girl know we're coming," Grant said to you as you walked arm in arm down the gangplank of the ship along with the other passengers. "I'd hate to get here and have them find out they missed us by a few days."

"Oh Chuck I'm sure they'll remember," you replied. "Tipper has the memory of a bull elephant, he'd never forget."

Chuck had to laugh even though it was true. The man had a photographic memory that had bailed them out of a bad situation numerous times than he or you cared to remember.

He couldn't take his eyes off of you as you both walked away from the shipyards to find a taxi. You looked absolutely gorgeous in your peach colored sundress and black high heels your (y/hc) pulled back behind your head and the skirts of your dress blowing in the breeze.

"Have I ever told you how gorgeous you look in that dress?" Grant said.

"And have I ever told you how handsome you look in your dress uniform?" you asked him.

A smile of pride crossed his face as he led you to the cab and you placed your suitcases in the trunk. In no time at all, you left the dockyards behind and headed off to the hotel.

*********

The place was even better than you had imagined, an incredible view of the ocean, the gardens in the courtyard and the smell of the ocean that wafted into the airy room from the shore. You couldn't have asked for better.

"Oh Chuck this is perfect!!" You blurted out as you threw your arms around his neck.

"Perfect place for my perfect girl," Chuck replied, his arms coiling around your waist as he kissed you full on the lips.

You both got settled before kicking off your shoes in the corner and flopping onto the bed, the both of you exhausted from the journey and glad to be able to rest for once. Your fingers fiddled with the buttons on his coat as his hand moved over yours with his fingertips brushing against your knuckles.

"What kind of trouble are you getting yourself into now?" he asked, his voice teasing.

"No trouble at all hon," you replied coyly.

"Well then get on over here," he said.

You moved closer to him, the both of you gently kissing each other as he pulled you against him. Yours and his hands roamed all over each other, yours carefully undoing the buttons on the front of his dress jacket while his played with the straps of your dress. You helped him off with it, his hand pushing it off the side of the bed as you kissed each other passionately.

"So," you said with the same teasing tone he had used before. "Are you gonna lay there all day or are you gonna get on top of me."

You felt him smile before you rolled over onto your back with Grant on top of you, your legs around his waist and your bare feet brushing against his legs. Your hands clumsily undid the khaki colored tie around his neck and when it was loosed and pushed aside you started on his shirt. You felt his fingers fiddling with the back of your dress and one by one, slowly but surely one article of clothing after another was gone.

You reveled in the skin to skin contact and the warmth that surrounded you. Only once had you ever felt this warm, on a night in Bastogne when it was so cold that you held a shivering, teeth chattering Grant close to you by the fire to keep him from freezing. But now it was different. No war, no death, no destruction, just the two of you caught up in a beautiful moment.

The two of you explored each other to the fullest, shuddering as you kissed each other. You felt your whole being melting into him, giving to Grant what you had wanted to give for so long. All that wanting, longing and desire had at last come full circle as he whispered and murmured your name.

It was a tidal wave of gasping breaths, whispered names and hushed curses before you and Grant both felt a violent jolt coming from one another and when it was over, you lay against each other, your hand in his with your fingers laced together.

"Best first night in Hawaii?" he asked as he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"I couldn't have asked for better," you replied, nuzzling the curve of his neck.

You both fell asleep that night, peaceful and content and happy to be in paradise with the man you could call yours.

#band of brothers #chuck grant #grant x reader #hbo war #hbo war imagines

[serpentinesarang]

NCT 127 reacting to you dressing up for a lowkey date

A/N: Gender-neutral reader. (Also, I apologize if these gifs are potato quality >.<)

Taeil

Taeil has been patiently lounging in the living room waiting for you to emerge from the bathroom. He’d told you yesterday he wanted to take you to a pumpkin patch today and carve designs together once you got home. No other plans or pitstops; just a scenic drive to the countyside in the increasingly chilly fall weather.

They’re taking a long time getting ready, wow... Taeil thinks, twiddling his thumbs together.

Not two minutes later, you finally unlock the bathroom door and saunter to the living room to stand in front of Taeil. You’re a knockout in a khaki trench coat, black turtleneck, and tight leather pants tucked into a pair of Doc Martens. You even smell fantastic.

Taeil’s spine snaps upright as his eyes drink you in. “I can’t believe you’re mine. Come here and let me kiss you,” he says with a warm smile, raising his arms.

Taeyong

Taeyong pulls his car up to your apartment building and weaves through the underground garage, parking in front of the main elevator he knows you always dance out of. He’s stupid-excited to take you to see the newest Marvel film and hold your hand the whole time, but he’s more so satisfied with himself for buying out every other open seat during your showing so it would feel like you two were at home.

Taeyong turns down his playlist and full on cranes his neck to watch you step out of the elevator, and damn are you a snack. Wearing a dark red bomber jacket, striped top, and black cargo pants with moto booties, Taeyong wants nothing more than to park in a garage space and take you back upstairs to cuddle.

He involuntarily lets out a content sigh before you yank open the passenger door and slide in. 

“Hi, cutie!” you greet him brightly.

Taeyong immediately leans forward and presses his lips to yours then whispers almost into your mouth, “I’m gonna kiss you the entire movie, baby.”

Johnny

You hear a thunderous knock on your apartment door, and you don’t have to glance at your phone or watch to know who it is. It’s Johnny baby <3

He’d texted you an hour ago saying you two were going on an impromptu walk along the beautiful Han River because the sun is actually out today with minimal clouds. Really, he just wanted to escape the SM building and see you.

Once you swing your door open, Johnny nearly blows his eyes out of his sockets looking at you. You’re wearing a cute denim jacket over a low, scoopneck-style top that hugged your waist, along with black, ripped skinny jeans, and Vans. It’s just the right vibe for Johnny, and your legs have him wishing they were wrapped around his head instead.

“Goddamn,” he says in a hoarse voice, eyeing you coyly. “We’ll have to come back here after our walk...”

Yuta

It’s Thursday evening, and Yuta called you 30 minutes ago asking if you were nearby to grab some hot tea. Your board meeting had run super late, and you’d barely finished wolfing down a cheap salad when Yuta rang. This was just the pick-me-up you needed after such a long day, and you could handle the 15-minute walk to his favorite tea parlor. 

You breeze through the shop door and scan the tables for your adorable man, finding him hunched in a corner by the window. He’s engrossed in something on his phone and doesn’t see you at all until your shadow looms over him.

He snaps his head up to see you wearing a slim, navy blazer, crisp white shirt underneath, and matching wide-leg slacks that made you look professional and bad-ass at the same time. Yuta wasn’t used to seeing you in your work clothes because he always came home rather late at night. 

His posture springs back with excitement, and his eyes glitter in sheer amazement at the sight of his dressed-up partner. “Look at you, baby! Sexy enough to slurp.”

Doyoung

(This is a different kind of ‘dressed up’ lmaooo)

At long last, it’s Friday night, and just about time for Doyoung to come home with a big pizza. Friday is always Netflix night with your boyfriend, and after the stressful day you had at school, you desperately wanted to burrow into his arms and forget it all. With the TV all cued up and cans of soda sitting on the coffee table, you’re perched on the couch in nothing but Doyoung’s favorite white t-shirt, your underwear nowhere to be found.

You hear a key jiggling in the lock, and Doyoung carefully swings the door open while balancing the Domino’s box in his other hand. He tosses his keys on the small shelf across the coat closet and yeets his shoes off before finally looking at you. 

You’re feeling a lil’ spicy tonight, so you undo your cross-legged position and stretch one leg off to the side of the couch, providing a tantalizing view for your frozen boyfriend. You smirk and beckon him with your pointer finger.

“Bon appetit to me,” he murmurs.

Jaehyun

Sunday afternoon, and Jaehyun’s knocked out on your bed, curled up like a little kitten. You’d disappeared an hour ago to grab groceries for tonight’s homecooked meal you told him this morning that you’d prepare, but you didn’t tell him the part about you being the appetizer.

Once you get home and dump the grocery bags on the kitchen counter (thankfully nothing needing refrigeration), you tip-toe to the bedroom, and just as you expected, Jaehyun was still napping. You sighed to yourself, remembering how hard he’s been working to memorize his upcoming drama show’s lines. A lot was riding on this for him, and he took his TV appearances seriously.

You lean down to your man’s face and gently stroke his cheek to wake him. He comes to and wastes no time beaming a tired smile your way. 

“That was fast,” he whispers before chuckling. “Is dinner ready?”

The moment he watches you step back and untie your long trench coat to reveal absolutely nothing on your body, as you’d specifically planned, Jaehyun shoots off the bed and seizes you in his muscular arms.

“I’m definitely fine with this main course,” he says as he wraps a hand behind your neck and kisses you passionately.

Jungwoo

“Hey sweetheart, I hope work wasn’t too bad. Can we play FIFA tonight??” Jungwoo’s text reads. 

You smile and snort through your nose. Damn that cutie, always wanting to stay in together. You can’t say no to your boyfriend though because he’s always so good to you, and you’d had a good shift at work today. You heart-react to his text before unlocking the door to your shared apartment. It’s a good thing you’d decided this morning to go all-out for your work outfit.

You throw your bag to the floor and shimmy out of your shoes, making your way to the living room where you know Jungwoo is patiently playing that silly go-kart game on his phone.

You clear your throat to get his attention, and he stares at your burgundy dress shirt tucked into your best pair of tight cigarette pants, the Gucci belt at your hips completing the glamorous boss babe look.

Jungwoo tosses his phone against a pillow to the side and says, “Well don’t just stand there; come cuddle me!”

Mark

Your sweet boyfriend, going crazy in one of SM’s studios all by himself, had asked you to swing by. He needed some inspiration for the newest 127 song’s rap verse, and he was too shy to admit you’ve always been his muse.

An SM employee had graciously guided you to the particular music studio Mark was hiding in, on the opposite end of the dance studios. Too much stomping and distraction.

You enter the studio nervously, not sure who else would be in here. Luckily, it’s just your cutie lying on the carpet with a legal pad of paper splayed across his chest. He cranes his neck upward to look at you, decked in a white, crochet turtleneck, black overalls, and Chucks.

“BAY-beee...” Mark coos as he sits up and throws the paper pad on top of the nearby table. “Whatchu lookin’ so damn precious for?”

Haechan

(*Feminine-presenting reader)

You had just gotten off work and were eagerly speed-walking the few blocks’ distance to the SM dorms. Haechan had invited you over to show you the new piano melody he came up with last night, but you were fairly certain he was using this excuse to be touchy-feely with you after not being able to text him back all day. 

SM security was always an ordeal to get through to ward off sasaengs, but one of the guards was beginning to recognize you, so thankfully it’s not as long a check-in process as usual.

By the time you get off the elevator and ring the boys’ doorbell, you’re feeling extra giddy and ready to throw your arms around your boyfriend. Haechan opens the door with a smile, but it fades when he notices the red sundress and nude kitten heels you’re wearing. 

In a hushed voice, he leans forward and says, “Good, you’re as excited to get bent over the piano as I am to do it to you.”

#nct 127 #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 fiction #ncitizen #nct taeil #nct taeyong #taeyong #nct johnny #nct yuta #yuta nakamoto #nct doyoung #nct jaehyun #jung jaehyun #nct jungwoo #nct mark #mark lee #nct haechan #lee donghyuck #donghyuck #nct reactions #nct reacts #nct 127 reactions #nct 127 reacts #nct 127 scenarios #nct scenarios #nct imagines

[etoilelafleur]

Aesthetics Tag

Rules: Bold all the aesthetics you relate to

Tagged by @norchloe​ (THANK YOU SM CANDACE 💕)

side a - the city

glittering lights, yawning skyscrapers, broken glass shards, street gangs, hip hop music, late night strolls, blinking stars, sleek cars, flickering neon signs, glittery earrings, small tattoos, empty subways, dark eyeshadow, snapping cameras, cozy apartments, fried churros, silver necklaces, dyed hair, ripped jeans, bright lipstick, dazzling smiles.

side b - the book nerd

large glasses, steaming hot chocolate, thick books, lofi music, hot pastries, soft smiles, large sweaters, quiet libraries, small flowers, melting candles, sweetened coffee, messy hair buns, soft pillows, fairy lights, vanilla scents

side c - the stereotypical girl

soft pinks, mini skirts, crop tops, romantic fantasies, love songs, strawberry milkshakes, lipgloss, high ponytails, candy hearts, nail polish, starbucks coffee, clear skies, hoop earrings, excited ramblings, stuttering heartbeats, rose bouquets, soft blushes

side d - the stereotypical boy

arcade games, graphic t-shirts, baseball caps, chocolate milkshakes, messy rooms, acoustic guitars, chocolate chip cookies, multi-colored bruises, rap music, nightly escapades, stolen glances, pencil-drumming, chocolate milk boxes, low hums

side e - the nature hippie

mini plants, cloud-watching, star gazing, damp forests, sandy beaches, ocean waves, wildflowers, hiking, iced lemon tea, gardening, hippie music, buttered toast, birds chirping, multi-coloured leaves, evening sunlight, fruit cups, sundresses

side f - the rebel

cherry lollipops, devil hand signs, grape flavoured bubble gum, rock music, killer boots, dark make-up, horror movies, denim jackets, switchblades, handguns, stargazing on rooftops, glowing cigarettes, large headphones, skull rings, converse shoes, graffiti murals, glowing moonlight, rose thorns, fishnet stockings

side g - the winter

busy cafes, oversized hoodies, drizzling rain, small snowflakes, marshmallows in hot chocolate, loose hair, sad music, reading a book, blanket forts, frozen lakes, crackling fireplaces, old movies

side h - the summer

tank tops, lemonade, sunny days, dripping popsicles, short haircuts, tinted sunglasses, cotton candy, amusement parks, traveling, blasting music on the car radio, wagging dog tails, large sunflowers, snow cones

side i - the autumn

pumpkin lattes, warm bakeries, warm colours, hair braids, soft sweaters, colourful leaves, purring cats, dark chocolate bars, romance movies, soft music, zentangling, vintage cameras

side j - the spring

floral scents, peach tea, mint shampoo, tinkling laughter, video cassettes, colourful paintings, excited smiles, lollipop sticks, blooming flowers, melting snow, action movies, singing in the shower

I’ll tag @violentmouths, @wandering-witch-boy, @cherryrune, @portmanteu

#tag games #THANK YOU AGAIN #YOU DONT GOTTA DO THIS JUST LOOKING FOR PPL TO TAG

[fillianore-moved]

aesthetics tag

@jrrtolkiens thank you sm for tagging me! and sorry it took me like ages ajksdhsdhj <3  

rules: bold all the aesthetics that you relate to

side a - the city

glittering lights, yawning skyscrapers, broken glass shards, street gangs, hip hop music, late night strolls, blinking stars, sleek cars, flickering neon signs, glittery earrings, small tattoos, empty subways, dark eyeshadow, snapping cameras, cozy apartments, fried churros, silver necklaces, dyed hair, ripped jeans, bright lipstick, dazzling smiles

side b - the book nerd

large glasses, steaming hot chocolate, thick books, lofi music, hot pastries, soft smiles, large sweaters, quiet libraries, small flowers, melting candles, sweetened coffee, messy hair buns, soft pillows, fairy lights, vanilla scents

side c - the stereotypical girl

soft pinks, mini skirts, crop tops, romantic fantasies, love songs, strawberry milkshakes, lipgloss, high ponytails, candy hearts, nail polish, starbucks coffee, clear skies, hoop earrings, excited ramblings, stuttering heartbeats, rose bouquets, soft blushes

side d - the stereotypical boy

arcade games, graphic t-shirts, baseball caps, chocolate milkshakes, messy rooms, acoustic guitars, chocolate chip cookies, multi-colored bruises, rap music, nightly escapades, stolen glances, pencil-drumming, chocolate milk boxes, low hums

side e - the nature hippie

mini plants, cloud-watching, star gazing, damp forests, sandy beaches, ocean waves, wildflowers, hiking, iced lemon tea, gardening, hippie music, buttered toast, birds chirping, multi-coloured leaves, evening sunlight, fruit cups, sundresses

side f - the rebel

cherry lollipops, devil hand signs, grape flavoured bubble gum, rock music, killer boots, dark make-up, horror movies, denim jackets, switchblades, handguns, stargazing on rooftops, glowing cigarettes, large headphones, skull rings, converse shoes, graffiti murals, glowing moonlight, rose thorns, fishnet stockings

side g - the winter

busy cafes, oversized hoodies, drizzling rain, small snowflakes, marshmallows in hot chocolate, loose hair, sad music, reading a book, blanket forts, frozen lakes, crackling fireplaces, old movies

side h - the summer

tank tops, lemonade, sunny days, dripping popsicles, short haircuts, tinted sunglasses, cotton candy, amusement parks, traveling, blasting music on the car radio, wagging dog tails, large sunflowers, snow cones

side i - the autumn

pumpkin lattes, warm bakeries, warm colours, hair braids, soft sweaters, colourful leaves, purring cats, dark chocolate bars, romance movies, soft music, zentangling, vintage cameras

side j - the spring

floral scents, peach tea, mint shampoo, tinkling laughter, video cassettes, colourful paintings, excited smiles, lollipop sticks, blooming flowers, melting snow, action movies, singing in the shower

tagging @we-are-decorating, @messangel, @nancywhleeler, @elvntari, @elfrootelf, @baudilaire! (and anyone else who wants to obviously, so please tag me if you do!)

#thank you again for tagging me this was so much fun! <3 #tagged #about me

[badger-s-moved]

Aesthetic Sides Tag Game

rules: bold all the aesthetics that you relate to

side a - the city

glittering lights, yawning skyscrapers, broken glass shards, street gangs, hip hop music, late night strolls, blinking stars, sleek cars, flickering neon signs, glittery earrings, small tattoos, empty subways, dark eyeshadow, snapping cameras, cozy apartments, fried churros, silver necklaces, dyed hair, ripped jeans, bright lipstick, dazzling smiles

side b - the book nerd

large glasses, steaming hot chocolate, thick books, lofi music, hot pastries, soft smiles, large sweaters, quiet libraries, small flowers, melting candles, sweetened coffee, messy hair buns, soft pillows, fairy lights, vanilla scents

side c - the stereotypical girl

soft pinks, mini skirts, crop tops, romantic fantasies, love songs, strawberry milkshakes, lipgloss, high ponytails, candy hearts, nail polish, starbucks coffee, clear skies, hoop earrings, excited ramblings, stuttering heartbeats, rose bouquets, soft blushes

side d - the stereotypical boy

arcade games, graphic t-shirts, baseball caps, chocolate milkshakes, messy rooms, acoustic guitars, chocolate chip cookies, multi-colored bruises, rap music, nightly escapades, stolen glances, pencil-drumming, chocolate milk boxes, low hums

side e - the nature hippie

mini plants, cloud-watching, star gazing, damp forests, sandy beaches, ocean waves, wildflowers, hiking, iced lemon tea, gardening, hippie music, buttered toast, birds chirping, multi-colored leaves, evening sunlight, fruit cups, sundresses

side f - the rebel

cherry lollipops, devil hand signs, grape flavored bubble gum, rock music, killer boots, dark make-up, horror movies, denim jackets, switchblades, handguns, stargazing on rooftops, glowing cigarettes,large headphones, skull rings, converse shoes, graffiti murals, glowing moonlight, rose thorns, fishnet stockings

side g - the winter

busy cafes, oversized hoodies, drizzling rain, small snowflakes, marshmallows in hot chocolate, loose hair, sad music, reading a book, blanket forts, frozen lakes, crackling fireplaces, old movies

side h - the summer

tank tops, lemonade, sunny days, dripping popsicles, short haircuts, tinted sunglasses, cotton candy, amusement parks, traveling, blasting music on the car radio, wagging dog tails, large sunflowers, snow cones

side i - the autumn

pumpkin lattes, warm bakeries, warm colors, hair braids, soft sweaters, colorful leaves, purring cats, dark chocolate bars, romance movies, soft music, zentangling, vintage cameras

side j - the spring

floral scents, peach tea, mint shampoo, tinkling laughter, video cassettes, colorful paintings, excited smiles, lollipop sticks, blooming flowers, melting snow, action movies, singing in the shower

side k - 💌 haojuns’ aesthetic 💌

antiquated eloquence, antiques, muted conversations, converse shoes, chunky heels, old music, swing dancing, forgotten books, unsolicited nostalgia, decadent room decor, victorian architecture, historical clothing, the thrill of adventure, 1920′s archaeology, old gods, time immemorial, messy rooms, knick knacks kept to preserve a memory, remembering promises made long ago, daydreaming

i was tagged by @jisunday !!! thank you sm i love you to death!!!

i tag: @seobff @bfjeno @cosmicxwoobear @yourdailydoseofnct and anyone else who’d like to do this~

#of course no one's obligated to do this #i just thought it was cute

[yoonohnct]

It Must Be Fate: Part 2

Johnny x Reader

Wordcount: 3,274 (that’s a long-ass ride, I apologize)

Contains: Fluff, suggestive content

Part 1 Part 3

Requested by johnnysmamacita:

If you do have time can you write It must be fate part two?

Johnny 1:46 p.m.:  Perfect, see you then!  I can’t wait.

Y/N 1:46 p.m.: Me either :)  I can’t believe I finally get to see you again.

Johnny 1:48 p.m.: I know right?  I can’t wait to mock you in person again.

Y/N 1:49 p.m.: Ya know, on second thought, I’d like to cancel our date.

Johnny 1:50 p.m.: Don’t even try (y/n).  Be there, or be square.

Y/N 1:54 p.m.: Nobody wants to be a square.

Johnny 1:54 p.m.:  Then I’ll see you tomorrow loser.

It had been three weeks since you had found yourself lost in Seoul, only to be rescued by Johnny from NCT.  But with Johnny busy preparing for NCT's comeback, and you busy with teaching English, meeting up had been practically impossible.  The two of you hadn’t seen each other since that night, but you both spent every possible moment you had texting and calling.

Communicating with Johnny was easy.  Neither one of you ever felt like you were reaching for things to talk about and the conversation just flowed.  Talking to Johnny was comfortable, but both of you wanted more than just conversation.  You wanted to spend time with each other, to see where things could go…

***

“Here’s your table.”

The waiter gestured for the two of you to sit down.  Johnny had brought you to one of his favourite restaurants for dinner.  He said it was the perfect second date for the two of you.  You both loved food more than just about anything else, and you would finally be able to see each other again.

Johnny pulled your chair out for you to sit on.

“Thanks,” you smiled at Johnny, thankful there was no practical joking where he pulled the chair out from under you.  He smiled back and sat down across from you.  

The two of you silently stared at each other for a few moments.  It seemed surreal to be with each other again.  The past few weeks had seemed to go by so slowly that it felt as though your first meeting with Johnny was just a distant memory.  At times, you even felt like you had just dreamed the entire thing up, your texts with Johnny being the only proof that you had really met.

“You look absolutely beautiful tonight (y/n).  Even more beautiful than I remembered.”

“Oh, starting with the cheesy lines already are we?“  You mocked, knowing he was slightly playing with you.

“Well, you’re here tonight so they obviously worked the last time we met.  I figured I’d try them out again,” Johnny cockily raised one eyebrow at you.

Hearing him call you beautiful made you feel a bit giddy.  It would be a lie to say you hadn’t put a bit of thought into your outfit, wearing a cute floral sundress and white converse, not wanting to be too dressy.  And not that you’d feed his ego and tell him, but he looked amazing too.  He wore dark denim skinny jeans, and a loose white t-shirt, paired with black vans.  It was simple, but his build and confidence could make anything look like it was straight from a runway.

“Thank you for the compliment.  But what if I told you they didn’t work on me?” You challenged, not wanting to let him win.

 "I’d tell you that it's not too late to run,“ Johnny said, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.  He knew you wanted to be there just as badly as he did.

"I’ll give you a bit more time before I decide if I’m sneaking out of the bathroom window later on,” you played along.

The two of you ordered and chat while you waited for your food.  You got to ask Johnny all about NCT’s comeback - not that he gave you any spoilers no matter how much you begged - and he asked you about teaching.  It was nice getting to talk about your lives face-to-face, rather than through your phones.

The food arrived, and you managed to make it through the meal without too many insults being thrown into the conversation.  Johnny did a great job picking the restaurant because the food was not only amazing, it was quiet and you could be together openly, despite him being an idol.  Time went by quickly, and before you knew it, the two of you were finished your meals and ready to leave.  Johnny paid for the meal - despite you offering to split the bill - and you both stood up to leave the restaurant.

“What should we do now?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Do you want to see the SM building?  I can show you the practice room that all the idols use,” Johnny offered.

“Are you sure it’s okay?  I mean, would I even be allowed in the building?”

“Don’t worry about it (y/n).  That’s just one of the many perks of dating THE Johnny Seo,” he winked at you.

You rolled your eyes and began to walk away.  Johnny quickly caught up to you and, side-by-side, the two of you headed for the nearest subway station. 

Along the way, you noticed Johnny reach into his jacket pocket and pull out the face mask he wore when you had first met.

“Why are you putting on a face mask?” you questioned as he put the mask on.  You didn’t want to say it, but it would just hide his face and, to be honest, you loved looking at him.

“Wearing it makes it harder for fans and reporters to recognize me.  And if it’s harder for people to recognize me, it’s easier for me to do this and not have it turn into a big scandal,” he explained.

“Do wha-"  Your words were cut off abruptly as you looked down in surprise, seeing your hand in Johnny’s.  Sure, you were completely comfortable around Johnny, but there was something about the sudden skin-ship that made your heart beat a little bit faster than usual.

"NCT is getting bigger these days, which means we’re getting recognized more.  I want us to be able to go on normal dates, sit and talk in public, hold hands… And if that means I have to disguise myself a bit to do it, then I will,"  Johnny concluded his speech.

You didn’t want to know how red your cheeks had become hearing his words.  You quickly smiled up at him, and turned your head away.  The last thing you wanted was for Mr. Cocky to know that his cheesiness had gotten to you, even though you knew he was being sincere.  Facing straight ahead, the two of you silently made your way, hand-in-hand, to the subway station.

A few stops later, it was time to get off and begin walking to the SM building.  Johnny insisted you stop at the café that he had taken you too the night you first met.  Dragging you by the hand he was still holding, he tried to persuade you by saying it was cute to go back to the place where you had what he dubbed your "first date."  You were pretty sure he just wanted some of his favourite coconut cake.

After getting dessert to go, you headed over to SM.  The outside of the building was just as you had remembered it from a few weeks ago.  It was tall and made of entirely reflective glass.  And luckily, there wasn’t a swarm of fans outside.  The inside of the building was less extravagant than you were expecting.  It was beautifully furnished, but reminded you of any other nice office building you had been in.  Despite this, you felt slightly out of place knowing how many top idols practiced there.  Johnny had said it was unlikely you’d see any idols though, because most of them would either be back at their dorms or out for dinner.

That didn’t take anything away from the tour though.  Johnny was so enthusiastic acting as your tour guide.  He showed you everything little thing he could think of, from the board rooms to the snacks they kept in the kitchen.  Even though nothing in particular was that exciting, you loved having Johnny show you where he worked and what he did behind the scenes of NCT.  SM was where he practiced and worked hard at what he loved most - music.  You knew his work was important to him, so it meant a lot that he would be willing to show you where he spent most of his time.

"And for the star of the show,"  Johnny said as you reached the last room he wanted to show you.  He opened the door and gestured for you to go inside.

You obliged stepping into the room.  At first, it took you a moment to realize where you were.  You had only ever seen it from one angle in so many idols’ dance practice videos.  But you soon came to realize you were standing in the famous SM practice room that Johnny had said he would show you.

"We can sit and have dessert over there,"  Johnny pointed at a black leather couch that sat adjacent to the mirrors.

You both made your way over to the couch.  Taking out dessert and handing you your slice of cake, Johnny began to excitedly tell you about all the spots in the room that the members had fallen during practice, where he stood the first time he got yelled at as a trainee, where him and Mark had first met, and so many more little moments that had happened there.

"Sorry if I’m boring you.  There’s just so much that’s happened here and I finally have someone to share it all with.”

“Actually Johnny, for once you aren’t boring me,"  you said sticking your tongue out at him.  "I really loved seeing the building, and hearing about all the things that have happened here, good and bad.”

The two of you finished your cake.  Johnny got up to put on some music by an American band you’d never heard of, and returned to the couch, sitting closer to you than before.  There was a comfortable silence between you, as you both enjoyed the moment, Johnny bobbing his head to the music.  You weren’t really phased by idols, even the ones you were a fan of, but you had to admit you were lucky to be on a date with THE Johnny Seo, as he would say.

“Why are you smiling like an idiot?"  Johnny chuckled.

"I know we tease each other a lot, but I am really happy that we’re together right now,” you shyly admitted.

“I’m really happy too.  And, actually, I owe you something tonight.”

“You do?"  You asked, your expression puzzled.

The next thing you knew, Johnny was gently taking your hands in his and placing them in his lap.  He shifted his body slightly to face your more, and began to slowly lean in towards you.  He had kinda sorta mentioned that he might kiss you on your second date…

You felt yourself slightly lean towards Johnny, until your lips gently met.  His lips were perfect - soft and plump, just how you would imagine they feel.  The kiss only lasted a few seconds before he slightly pulled back to look at you.  You were a bit disappointed at how short it was.  His eyes grew slightly more serious as he looked back and forth between your eyes, trying to read how you felt.  To make it easier for him, you squeezed his hands, and smiled with reassurance.  He smiled back at you, and leaned in for another kiss.  Thank god.  So much more passion could be felt in the kiss.  He was more forceful than before, but you could tell he was still being cautious.  Wanting to reassure him further, you removed your hands from his and put your arms around his neck to pull him closer.  He responded by placing one of his hands on your waist and the other at the nape of your neck with his fingers entwined in your hair.  Johnny gently tugged on your hair, eliciting a small moan from your lips.

You weren’t usually like this.  Even with your last boyfriend, it had taking months of dating before the two of you had your first kiss.  And yet, here you were.  Only your second time seeing Johnny and you were kissing.  The two of you just had the right chemistry.  It didn’t matter how long you had known each other.  You couldn’t deny that something about being with Johnny just felt so right.  And kissing him felt so good.  But something was coming over you, and you needed more than just a few chaste kisses.  You leaned back, pulling him on top of you in the process.  You could feel his lips turn up into a smirk, clearly impressed by your bold move.

He maneuvered the two of you so you were now on top of him, one of your hands now moving to tangle your fingers in his hair, both of his hands moving to grip your waist.  Your legs were initially between his, and when you moved to straddle his hips, it was his turn to let a moan escape.  He slid one of his hands up from your hip to your waist, pushing your shirt up in the process, wanting to feel your skin. You could feel your desire to be with Johnny grow, but you knew it was too soon.  Plus, what if someone walked into the practice room?  You pulled back from the kiss slightly, but when you looked into Johnny’s eyes and saw lust, lust that was for you, you couldn’t help yourself but to kiss him again.  This time more slowly and softly, still knowing that it was time to come back to reality.

"Wow,” Johnny whispered when you finally broke the kiss again and clambered off of him.

“You could say that again,” you smiled.

“Wow,” he repeated.  You lightly punched his arm as you both giggled at how lame his jokes were.

He put his arm around you and pulled you close enough to lean your head on his shoulder.

“I’m glad I finally got that kiss,” you looked up at him.

“I am too.  But I’m sorry if I got carried away (y/n),” he said.

“You didn’t!  We were just making up for all the kissing we missed out on over the last few weeks apart,” you giggled at your own cheesiness. “To be honest Johnny, I didn’t want to stop.  But I’m not ready for anything more yet.  Plus someone could come in, and you have to wake up early for practice tomorrow so…” you tried to reason, more with yourself than Johnny.

“(Y/n), I would never want you to do something you’re uncomfortable with.  I’m glad you stopped me if you weren’t ready.  And yea, you’re right.  The practice room maybe isn’t the safest, or most romantic place either,” he laughed.  “And I know it’s getting late too, but I don’t want to say goodbye yet,” he said, looking down at his lap.

“I don’t either…  Maybe you could walk me home?  We wouldn’t want me getting lost again, right?”

“True, you can’t be trusted out there without your trusty GPS, Johnny,” Johnny said as he ruffled your hair.

“I’ll have you know I’ve managed just fine without you the last few weeks.”

 ***

“I guess we’re here,” Johnny said as he leaned against your doorway.  You were having major déjà vu, remembering a scene just like this the first night he brought you home.

“You’re not gonna ask me for a pen again are you?  I’d rather you defacing my skin not become a tradition," you scowled at him.

”(Y/n), I would only deface your skin if you asked me too,“ he winked.

"You’re disgusting,” you said as you mimed throwing up.

Johnny leaned in and placed a quick peck on your lips. “Maybe, but you like it.”

“Seriously leave.  I’ve had enough of you for one night,” you said as you placed your hands on his shoulders and tried to push him away from your apartment, causing him to walk backwards.

“Fine, I’ll leave, but remember to text me, okay?  The comeback is next week and I’m not sure when we can see each other again.”

You stopped pushing him, having had completely forgotten that his might be the last time you would see each other for a while. You removed your hands from his shoulders, wrapped your arms around his waist, and squeezed him into a tight hug.

“I hope it isn’t too long before I see you again Johnny,” you said, burying your face in his chest.  The two of you were usually snarky, but in that moment, it felt right to let emotion take over.

“Me too.  I promise I’ll try to see you soon,"  Johnny said, hugging you back and placing a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

You said your goodbyes, and you watched as he made his way to the elevator before you returned to your apartment.

You were just about to start changing into sweats when you heard a frantic knocking at your door.

Rushing to see who it was, you found yourself face to face with Johnny. 

“How come you came back?” you asked completely puzzled.

“I wanted to ask you something earlier, but I chickened out.  I know I’ll regret it if I leave for promotions and don’t tell you how I feel, so here it goes.  I know that we’ve only known each other for a few weeks but I’m so into you that I think about you constantly.  I hate not being able to see you all the time.  And with how busy my schedule is going to get, I don’t want us to waste time,” Johnny rambled, barely stopping to breathe. This was so different than the calm, collected Johnny you were so used to.

“What do you mean Johnny?” you asked, gently rubbing his bicep in an attempt to calm him down. 

“This is crazy (y/n), and I know our relationship is moving really fast, but will you be my girlfriend?  I want to know that we’re together, even when we’re apart.  I’d hate to be out promoting, knowing we aren’t official.”

You couldn’t believe this.  Johnny was right, you had only known each other a few weeks, and things were moving quickly.  But you also knew that you loved spending time with Johnny, and that the thought of not seeing him for several weeks again was your own personal version of hell.  There was no questioning what Johnny wanted, and you were sure that you wanted the same.

“Johnny, of course ill be your girlfriend.  We haven’t known each other for long, but I already know that there’s no one I’d rather be with,” you beamed up at him.

“It’s times like this that I’m glad I’m irresistible,” he said smiling before leaning down to give you a kiss.

“Oh my god, I’m already regretting this.  Is it too late to change my mind?” you said as he began to walk to the elevator again.

“Nope, too bad!  No backsies!  THE Johnny Seo is yours now, and (y/n) is mine!” He said in a slightly raised voice from down the hall, waving goodbye one last time.

You waved back at him.  The truth was you didn’t regret a thing when it came to Johnny.  You wanted every bit of a relationship with, and couldn’t be happier to be his girlfriend.

Thank you for reading~~  If you enjoyed it please like and reblog!  I feel like this isn’t as good as the first part but I tried lmao.  Also I know I posted the first part months ago, but wrote that only a few weeks has passed, so let’s just pretend please haha.  Let me know what you guys thought!  I’m thinking writing another part?  So if you guys have anything you’d like to see happen, shoot me a message or leave something in my ask.

#nct #nct 127 #johnny #youngho #johnny seo #seo youngho #imagines #scenarios #johnny imagines #johnny scenarios #nct imagines #nct scenarios #fluff #johnny fluff #nct fluff #yoonohnct