THIS IS THE BEST VALENTINEs DAY PRESENT AHHHHH

THIS IS THE BEST VALENTINE’s DAY PRESENT AHHHHH

SUGA | Agust D TOUR

公演に関する詳細は後日お知らせいたします。

ぜひご期待ください！

HE IS A DREAM COME TRUE (cr.)

THE DYOONVA

oh my LORDY I AM STILL PROCESSING

wow this read like an entire series i am constantly impressed by the writing genius that is m 😫

1. “sinning through the act of worship.”

*cough cough* WHAT

2. “You bloom for him, pretty and pliant”

BESTIE i am on the FLOOR with this imagery every single word is perfection

3. “he can’t stop thinking that your body is art, a relief sculpture of curves against soft white bedding, a carved out and fucked out beauty.”

see above bc holy moly i am breathless!!!! the descriptive imagery has me by the throat i simply adore how much attention is given to the atmosphere and moments like this

4. “He’s all determination when he wants to be, synapses hard as steel, can shove down desire and self-hatred and something too desperate to quite be love until it goes still again and he can put the smile back on.”

😩😩😩 HOBIIIIII

i simply can’t get over this fic it’s elegant and an incredible mix of angst and beauty. i feel like he’s walking through a museum and can’t touch the art that is the reader (absolutely gut wrenching)

5. “to muffle the animal sound of shame and need, a force of habit”

ajkxsbjiwksn 😫 he deserves the world

6. “Guilt is a bitter chaser to pleasure”

THIS LINE FUCKS SO HARD oh my GOSH i feel like someone reached into my soul and ripped something out thank YOU VERY MUCH

7. “His chest constricts in the way that’s become so familiar it’s almost soothing”

this line reminds me so much of the vine imagery in nabiolive’s (excellent) dollhouse series and lemme just say

FUCK

(that is all.)

haha i kid i kid but truly the idea of finding comfort in chronic pain is a heavy one. i hope that he gets to breathe deeply in the future (mayyyybe with the reader’s help 👀)

last thoughts: i cannot believe this is only 1k. i was absolutely hooked from the first line through to the end— this fic is incredible.

self control (explicit)

genre: my first foray into angst !!!! with a side of smut~

pairing: hoseok x reader (imagined)

summary: you'll never know the way hoseok really feels about you.

word count: 1k

contains: explicit sexual content ~ member POV, unrequited love, masturbation, imagined: [infidelity, cunnilingus, sex, choking, & dumbification if you squint], hobi is rly hard on himself :'( also a small allusion at the end to rituals around cleanliness or obsessive-compulsive tendencies

A/N: please don't ask me what inspired this because i haven't a clue my friends 💀 just deep in my cancer season/yearning feels over here I GUESS. but i let myself write a little differently to fit The Vibe and i think i like how it turned out~

i like don't even want to post this considering i just dropped so much on you (and i said i was on a break but shhhh the muse came for me), buuuuuut doing it anyway ack!!! ENJOY!!

this is also on AO3!

~*~

Hoseok makes himself sick when he’s like this.

His hyungs warned him that this would hurt. He didn’t realize they’d meant it so literally. It physically hurts, a thumbprint-shaped bruise blossoming inside his chest, molded that way because he keeps fucking pressing on it, putting an ache in himself for no good reason, thinking of you, like this, like now.

He sees himself down on his knees in front of you, where he belongs, sinning through the act of worship. Begging some god he doesn’t believe in to forgive him, because he sure as hell isn’t forgiving himself, not when he isn’t even sorry.

So fucking insane, to be on the verge of tears and somehow stupidly horny at the same time. Make that make sense.

A hotel room on a high floor, a king-sized bed, egyptian cotton. Only the best for you, fuck a pricetag. The irony of infidelity framed in double-pane windows, city lights blinking impartially as he unzips your dress, says a prayer into your mouth, don’t have to tell anybody, just us, just tonight.

The way you want it, too. You bloom for him, pretty and pliant. At least that’s his hope.

He turns listlessly, his bed– his real bed in his new, too-big house, where every room throws an echo because he doesn’t have enough furniture to fucking fill it– suddenly hot, legs a frustrated tangle in the blankets, dick stirring to attention between them. He doesn’t want to be here (he doesn’t want to be anywhere, really, blipping out of existence for the night would be ideal), so he closes his eyes, lets himself sink back into it.

Just a little longer, then he’ll be good.

Your hair fans out on the pillow beneath you, makeup a mess but you’re smiling anyway, breathless and raw and so real inside this fantasy. Reaching for him, fuck-me eyes, come on, insatiable, give it to me, need you nownownow.

He fucks you down into the plush hotel mattress, and he can’t stop thinking that your body is art, a relief sculpture of curves against soft white bedding, a carved out and fucked out beauty. His, tonight. It’s enough. More than.

The sheets are damp at the place where your bodies meet, arousal and sweat and saliva from nearly an hour spent between your legs (he loves the way they shake when you’re close) because he’s learned that once he gets you started, you don’t stop coming.

He strokes deep because he loves the way you whimper with each pass, the way you squeeze tight enough to tear a growl from the back of his throat, he’s fucking feral with it now. Braces himself on one hand while the other holds your throat but applies no pressure; he knows better than that, can’t have you going home marked up.

Hoseok is good for you, leaves no trace behind that won’t wash off in the shower. He has excellent self control.

Excellent enough that he should’ve ripped himself out of this dream already. He’s never let things go this far before, in his mind. He’s all determination when he wants to be, synapses hard as steel, can shove down desire and self-hatred and something too desperate to quite be love until it goes still again and he can put the smile back on.

But tonight feels different. It’s like he wants the pain, would elect to be gutted and splayed down the middle if only for proof that his heart remains there in his chest, beating quiet consistency.

Yes, like before, even now.

Just the same, even now.

Always, probably.

He’s hard, has been hard. Sticky sweet kisses of precum press over the inside of his briefs, then into the hollow of his stomach when he flips his length up, as if that might help.

He doesn’t want to touch himself. It’s another line he’s yet to cross, the last thing he has to cling to when he needs to believe that he isn’t depraved, disgusting, for harboring all of this inside himself, carrying this pathetic torch for far too long.

But the thought of rutting into you, the little gasps you make, eyelashes fluttering and pussy quivering as he works yet another one out of you… Shit. It’s too much. When you tip up to find his lips with yours, whining nonsensically into his mouth– fucked too dumb to make any sense, he thinks he might not ever let you leave this room.

And that snaps his last thread of restraint.

Hoseok only needs to thrust up into his fist three times before his climax hits, painting over his stomach, chest, hand, sheets, fuck. He bites down so hard on his other palm that he threatens to break skin, all to muffle the animal sound of shame and need, a force of habit– he lives alone now, the walls of his empty house don’t give a fuck.

He comes like a virgin, he thinks to himself, critiquing a performance the second he steps off the stage as is his way. The thought that finally sent him over the edge was PG-13 at best: his tongue in the heat of your mouth.

He really does think he could get over all this if you kissed him, just once.

Embarrassing.

Guilt is a bitter chaser to pleasure, downed before bliss even shows up, if there was any. He’s a mess: emotionally, literally– cum all over himself, the bedsheets too. Creepy, dirty, wrong.

His chest constricts in the way that’s become so familiar it’s almost soothing, makes no fucking sense yet somehow it does. A self-invented problem he knows how to solve, a specific set of steps begging completion in perfect order.

Scalding-hot shower. Exfoliate. Lotion. Cleanser, toner, serum; wait for it to sink in. Sheets in the wash. Detergent, fabric softener. Vacuums the floor while he’s at it. New sheets on the bed, hospital corners tucked sharp, pillows fluffed, immaculate. Back to the bathroom, moisturizer that he adds two drops of rose-hip oil to and mixes against the back of his hand, sleeping pack to lock it in.

He swears he’s got new lines along the corners of his mouth, feels stupid that he’s ruining his skin with smiles that aren’t even real.

He can exhale, then, still with a tight grip on the edge of the sink. Once it’s all done, every trace of indiscretion cleaned up and put away, and he’s good again. At least until the next time his self control slips.

help my heart is BURSTING ohhhhh

i thought i could handle those two prompts together and oh BOY was i wrong 🥹😭😂 (in the absolute best way i love this so much) this is oh so sweet and soft and lovely and !!!!!

the silence after HAD ME BY THE THROAT THOUGH i’ll tell you oh i was like oh no oh no oh no oh no it’s out there and what if he just smooshes her heart into the floor what will we all do then i simply don’t know

but then he didn’t and iiiiiiiiiiii 😭

this was so excellent my heart is so full 🥰🥰

i am also in love with my best friend and will also never tell them BUT i will live vicariously through this reader because wow 💖✨🥰

hello hello!!!!! ooooh for the 1k drabble requests: would love to see our lovely jimin, #12 and #70, and fluff, smut, or whatever you’re feeling!!!

i may or may not (absolutely did) have based this off real life experience. except instead of a sad and miserable ending, i made it happy. thank you for requesting this! I hope you enjoy. 💜 again, unedited

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pjm x reader | just some cute fluff and a dash of angst | 1,003 words | pg15 | Honey blonde Jimin, some kissy kissy, I lived out the first half of this.

You shouldn’t be here. You should have gotten a rideshare home or taken the bus. You should not have gotten in Jimin’s car. You should not have let him drive you home where you both are now sitting in his car in front of. 

And you should not be even considering saying what you want to say, what you’ve been wanting to say for a long time.

You’ve had a crush on your best friend since high school. But of course, you never said anything. You’d rather live in a world where the fear of rejection is greater than the fear of watching him be with someone else. 

And boy, did you. You watched him fall in love many times, and watched the heartbreak that resulted after as well. He rushed to you after every single one, though. And that alone was enough to get you by. 

But you went out with a group of friends tonight. Where he was constantly next to you, touching you, smiling at you with that beautiful smile that makes his eyes essentially disappear. And you had too much to drink. So you ended up in the bathroom with your friend, resting your head on her shoulder while crying about how much it hurts that you can’t tell him about your feelings. 

The problem is, however, your friend is an enabler. And drunkenly advised you to just tell him. 

The worst he can say is no. 

She repeated that godforsaken phrase many times until you finally decided you’d do it…another day. 

But he noticed how drunk you were and insisted on giving you a ride home. And you idiotically agreed, thinking this was a great opportunity. Maybe he’ll return your feelings and kiss you and you’ll live happily ever after. 

The drive home was quiet. You let the window down to allow the cool wind to help you sober up just enough to realize how stupid this plan was as he parked in front of your apartment. 

“Need help getting to your apartment?” His voice was sweet, genuinely concerned about your safety. 

You love him. 

Again, you stupidly agree to the help, wanting just a bit more time with him. He jumps out of the car, running around to your side to open the door and help you out. You’re sober enough to walk on your own, but he still holds onto you, his hand safely on your waist, the other holding your purse and heels. 

When you finally approach your door, he lets you dig in your purse for your keys, sticking them in but leaving them hanging as you replay your friend’s stupid advice. 

The worst he can say is no.

“Hey, Jimin?” You question, looking down at his feet. 

“Hmm?” 

“I… I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified…? Is…is that okay?” 

Nothing. 

Silence. 

Never ending silence. 

Turns out there is something worse than him saying no. That would be literally not speaking. 

After what feels like eons of silence, you can feel the tears building behind your eyes. So you take the key out of the lock, open your door, and grab the purse and heels out of his hand. 

“Okay. Message received. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Pretend this never happened. Thanks for the ride home, I can cover the gas if needed. Goodnight.” You rush through your words, not allowing yourself to look up at the man who just fully rejected you without saying a word. You rush into your apartment, slamming the door closed and locking it, resting your forehead against the door and sighing. 

You hear his feet walk away from your door and sink down against the wall trying not to scream as the tears finally fall. You stay there, curled up on the floor, regretting every decision you’ve ever made for about fifteen minutes when there’s three hard knocks on your door. 

“Y/n, open the door, please.” Jimin’s voice strains as he knocks again. You slowly get up, wipe the tears off your face with the sleeve of your jacket, and open the door. 

“Please, don’t come back to make fun of me. I regret saying anything at all earlier and I jus—” 

“Can I kiss you?” The words quickly stumble out of his mouth, his eyes wide. 

“Can you…what?” 

“Kiss you. Can I kiss you?” He steps closer, hands cradling your face, “please?”

You’re in too much a state of shock, so you slightly nod, and suddenly his lips are on yours. One hand leaves your face to hold your waist and the other slides to the back of your neck, keeping you close. 

It’s fucking magic kissing him. His full lips on yours, moving perfectly in sync with you as his tongue teases the seam of your lips, begging for entry. And just who are you to deny that? 

His tongue slides past your lips and you feel weak, your fingers tangling in his beautiful honey blonde hair. You tug his hair a little harder than intended, resulting in him groaning as he pulls away, resting his head on your shoulder. 

It’s silent again, except for you both panting, until he finally speaks again. 

“I have been wanting to do that for years.” He finally says with a faint chuckle.

What?

“Oh?” Is the only response you can come up with, hands sliding down to his forearms. He lifts his head from your shoulder to look at you with a smile. 

“Y/n, I know I’m in love with you and I’ve only been terrified of you rejecting me.” He places a soft kiss on your nose, grinning at your smile, “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. It was just sudden and a shock and I didn’t know if you were still drunk and I jus—”

“Do you wanna come inside and kiss me again?” You say, a little louder than intended, but with no shame. 

“Very much so, please.” He grabs your face again, guiding you back into your apartment. 

Bts subtitles that sounds/ looks fake but aren't p.t. 6