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yeojaa · 4 years

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TO THE MOON AND BACK - ft. ???

You feel winded and you're not sure why. Like you'd been walking on cloud nine and were now falling through the atmosphere, plummeting toward the ground at incredible speeds. When you speak, it doesn't really sound like you. "Yes." Because he was exactly right - you were a hopeless romantic. Always had been. It was hard not to be when your parents were childhood sweethearts and love was the thing you'd been chasing your whole life.

alt summary. You use your one brain cell for love. It doesn’t always end well.

pairing. who knows, honestly. the obvious ones are kim taehyung and jeon jungkook, though.

tags. blind date, strangers, strangers to friends, strangers to lovers, getting to know each other, alternate universe, alternate universe - modern setting, romantic comedy, fluff, slow burn, smut, pining, unrequited love.

rating. ... 18+?

word count. ~6100

chapter 7.

“I think you’ve killed me.” You can barely croak the words, as if your vocal chords have been stripped bare, singed by the all-encompassing fire that is Taehyung. You feel desiccated, a fallen city after a war, and your vision swims with saltwater you hadn’t noticed.

The bane of your existence - in all his ethereal, other-worldly beauty - has glued himself against you, fitted himself into your side like you’re two halves of a whole. Laughter tinkles, raw sugar cane, and settles like confectionery delight into the crook of your neck. He noses there, languid and satisfied for the time being. “Are you saying you’re in heaven?” The baritone richness of his voice simmers something in the pit of your stomach, makes you somehow ache with want despite yourself.

You almost snort, cut through that pride as easily as he’s stripped you of yours, but the sound is halfhearted. It exhales in a breathy chuckle, all rounded edges. “No, I’m calling you the devil.”

If he minds, Taehyung doesn’t show it, instead pressing himself closer to you. He’s got an arm wedged between your side and his body - it must be uncomfortable - and the other hooked possessively over your stomach, fingers splayed across your bare hip. It’s decidedly relaxed, nonchalant even, considering what’s just transpired.

“Will you be my Persephone, then?” You don’t think you can melt any further into your sheets and yet somehow, you do. His words are so good, so cloying in their affection, that you wish you could disappear into the sound.

“Maybe if you ask nicely,” you hum in response, not even bothering to pry open your heavy-lidded eyes. You don’t need to see him to know he’s staring at you - can practically feel his gaze boring into your skull. They’re like heat-seeking missiles burning into your skin, tracking the scarlet that blooms beneath their intensity. The pretty column of your throat, the swell of the apple’s of your cheeks, the edges of your temples where sweat-streaked strands stick.

“I am asking you nicely.” There’s a pout you hear more than see and you crane a single eye open - god, it’s so much effort - and meet his gaze. He’s close, cheek propped up by his elbow. You can see the small blemish forming at the height of his cheekbone, the freckles on his nose. The thin line of his mouth now, so different from the rectangular box of his grin.

You want to roll, meet him wholly and cradle that needlessly handsome face in your hands. You want to sweep back his hair and press tender kisses to his brow, smooth the intensity that settles there like a paperweight.

Instead, you laugh. You’re too tired, still drifting down from your high. You just needed a few more minutes.

“What’s so funny?” Candour fits his question like a beloved glove, colouring his tone an imploring shade of lily white. He has no patience. He wants an answer - demands it by his seeking tongue, pink swiping thoughtfully over his bottom lip.

“What’re you asking, Kim Taehyung?” You murmur, sweet as sin and perhaps a little teasing. Whether it’s your earlier conversation emboldening you or the afterglow of your orgasm stealing your sensibilities, you’re not sure. You just know you like this - this back and forth with him. It’s lighthearted and fun and feels very much like you - if not a little softer, with more give for his sake.

“Will you be with me?” It comes without hesitation.

“We’re together right now, silly.” You’ve found your way to face him, elbow caught beneath your body so you can see him head on. His long, capable fingers fall restlessly across the small of your back. They trace shapes you can't follow, tap a melody you can't hear.

He frowns, deeply. He’s here, heart in his hands, and you’re making fun of him. He knows it’s all in jest but he can’t help the twinge in his chest. You see it reflected in the tightening of his pupils, the shape of his perfect mouth ticking imperceptibly lower.

The thing behind your ribs gives a corresponding thump, as if in response.

“I’m kidding.” Relenting to him is easy - too easy. It comes like breathing, slipping past your teeth and tongue like a rabbit in the wild, and disappears into the thicket of his smile. He’s so handsome when he smiles. “Yes, I’ll be your hostage bride.” The hand on your back splays, tension released with the words. “I’ll be anything you want me to be.”

Your Greek god is beaming, like you’ve truly brought spring early. His nose brushes yours, followed by his lips in easy, lazy drags. “Just be mine.”

“Yours,” you repeat thoughtfully, tasting it on your tongue and turning it over and over. You like the way it sounds, full of promise and sunny days. Taehyung must agree, because he’s dragging you closer - if that’s even impossible. You squeal when your legs glide through sodden sheets, the mess of your making cold against your skin.

“All mine,” he answers in kind as his foot knocks against yours. He hooks your ankles together and pulls you both deliberately through the offending swath of fabric.

“Tae, stop!” You can hardly get the words out, your knees rising instinctively to combat the discomfort. He stops you with a firm squeeze to your hip and a pronounced roll of his own.

With his impressive - and still clothed length - pressing between you, the full extent of your earlier activities paint themselves in technicolor, searing the memories into the back of your lids and the flat of your belly.

“What if I don’t want to?” Looking at you like that, he’s truly the devil in disguise, Satan risen from the pits below to drag you to hell.

You’re so hot, burning from the inside out, that you think you must already be there.

“Then don’t.” It’s coy, shamelessly flirtatious with your newfound power. One that stems from your confidence in him and in you - together. It's a sensation you're not quite used to but it settles heavy in your veins like bedrock, making you drunk off the feeling.

You stare at each other for what feels like an eternity - far too long and yet not nearly long enough - before the cord snaps, his or your patience breaks, and you're upon each other. This time, it's not sweet ramblings deposited in sweeter kisses; it's tongue and teeth, clashing and seeking purchase everywhere they can. His tongue swipes hungrily across your gums and you greedily suck in the offending organ, eager for the taste of him.

It's impossible to tell where he ends and you begin, your breath coming in one and making you dizzy.

"I've been waiting for this for so long," he pants once you've broken, gasping for air like fish out of water. His lips are a pretty cherry red, love-bitten and enticing. They're a stark contrast to the absolute darkness of his eyes that, as you meet him once again, disappear behind lowered lids.

"You've only known me for three weeks, Tae." Mocking but the best kind, drenched in hazy sunshine and April showers. It soaks your words, grants them passage from your gnashing teeth as you press kisses along his jaw. He's so perfect you could cry, painted in broad beautiful strokes that tense and undulate beneath your touch. You want more - need more - grazing your canines down the line of his neck, nibbling oh-so gently at the joint of his shoulder. Where his prominent collarbone protrudes, you swath your tongue, lost in the intoxicating salty-sweet flavour of his skin.

The answer he gives is halfhearted and distracted. "But I've been waiting for you my whole life."

You pause then, if only for a beat. You can practically hear his heart thumping in his chest, a staccato rhythm that gives him away like the smell of fresh blood on prey. You sink your teeth into him - literally and figuratively - as you burrow into the warmth of his neck.

He might just be good with his words. No, you know he is.

Still, you let yourself tumble headlong into the storm. You think you might regret it - at some point, eventually, for whatever reason, when you see the destruction he's left behind - but for now, it's everything you could've ever asked for.

"Okay, Casanova," you murmur, tonguing over the red that sprouts, soothing the ache. You like the way he shimmies under you, Adam's apple bobbing in tandem with his laboured breathing. It makes you delirious with the need to draw out more of those soft moans, have him writhing beneath you like a man lost at sea.

You slip from the cage of his arms, tracing your hands and mouth and nose over the inexplicably soft cotton of his shirt. You follow the same path he had, roles reversed with ease as you glide your fingers beneath the hem of the offending garment. The waist of his slacks sit low on his hips, askew despite his carefully done belt, and you trace your tongue across the band. He's burning beneath you, an inferno that laps against your senses.

You inhale sharply, happily, like a satisfied dog, and press your cheek to the curve of his hip, nose hot against the cold metal of his buckle. You stay like that for a while, one hand tracing lazily over the softness of his stomach, the other palming over his covered thigh. Like he'd done to you, you dutifully ignore the hard cock that pokes your chin, hidden beneath layers of clothing you seem to be in no hurry to remove.

"Jiyeon-ah."

Your name falls and fills the silence, full of want and hunger and anticipation. Your stomach flips in response. "Yes, Tae?"

"Don’t tease me." Your gaze sprints up to meet his.

From this angle, he's heartbreaking, chest rising and falling like each breath is a labourious task. His lip is worried with perpetual motion, crimson as the mark that mars the unholy column of his neck. He isn't even looking at you, instead lost behind the darkness of his lids.

"Look at me." It's less of a request and more of a demand. You want him to watch. He does, too, by the snapping open of his eyes.

You move like you've got years ahead of you, sinking between his legs with your elbows holding you up. Taehyung groans at the sight and the way your cleavage disappears into your white sheets. Your legs sway behind your head, dainty ankles weaving figure eights in a way that makes him want to pin them over his shoulders.

You undo his belt with careful motions, removing the supple leather from each loop before tossing it aside with a clink. You return to the simple closure holding him in and study it like you're about to write an exam, thumbing over the button with repetitive motions. It doesn't help that you drag the palm of your hand along his length with each pass, moulding the shape of your grip to his length beneath.

At a particularly harsh glide, he bucks beneath you and you look at him like a deer caught in headlights. "What was that?"

His only response is a barely formed grunt and a look that sears your insides.

"Are you hurting, Tae? Should I take care of you?" You're not even speaking to him anymore, instead focused on threading the button through the hole and releasing him. You're nearly drooling when you peel back the first layer of cloth, revealing black boxer-briefs that hug his slender legs.

Without warning, you've pulled both his pants and briefs down, allowing the bands to settle mid-way down his thighs.

Never in your wildest dreams would you have dreamt up this masterpiece.

"It's so nice," you say, as if in awe. You observe it from all angles, the way it stands proud to attention, a slightly darker shade than the rest of his skin. The head leaks pre-cum and it's the prettiest violet hue. You take an experimental taste, then another, circling him with kitten licks that feel too tender, too light. It's all you give, hands soothing circles over his hips and across his leanly muscled quads.

How he manages to speak, you're not sure. He sounds like he's parched, depth of his voice dragged impossibly deeper by need. "You're killing me."

If you were a crueller woman, you'd tut and say something about how he'd done the same. (He hadn't.)

But because you're a kind and benevolent ruler, you take him in one luxurious descent. He's long and thick - not enough to make your jaw ache but enough to make you work for it - and he slots past your molars with ease, pressing into the tunnel of your throat. You hum something that could be construed as amused, the sound vibrating through you and into him, thumb pressed between your fingers to mitigate the desire to gag when he reflexively jerks beneath you.

You gulp, accommodating the stretch and depth he takes, and he moves once more, an involuntary roll of his hips that has you rising halfway - gasping for air - before you take him fully again. Your pace is slow, torturous even, as you bob up and down, never allowing him to fully escape you. With him filling your mouth, his soft grunts and groans fill your ears, a siren song that compels you to continue.

Fingers dig into the jut of his hip as you settle around him, nose pressed to the well-groomed patch of hair at the base, swallowing thickly. You do this over and over, a constricting vice around his most sensitive part, and you dimly acknowledge the feel of his fingers laced through your hair.

He doesn't pull, merely settles them along your scalp, pads pressing into the tender spots at the base of your neck and around your ears. You know what he wants, can feel it in your bones.

"Can I?" The benevolence of his question makes you want to cry happy tears though, in a moment, you'll be doing so for other reasons. You lift off, dragging the flat of your tongue along the underside of his spit-soaked cock, following the vein that runs like a treasure trail. You remove your mouth with a lecherous pop, ignoring the way your drool drips from the corner of your mouth and hangs, connecting to the tip like some lewd web.

Your tongue sweeps from your mouth, follows the glistening string, and swirls heavy across his tip. You tongue the slit and he groans, hands falling to his sides, a doll whose strings have been cut by your shamelessness. "Remember what I said? Don't stop."

Then you're pressing the most chaste peck to his stomach, where a little beauty mark lies. It's so unbelievably innocent, he almost debates drawing you up for a kiss before it's too late.

You're back upon him before he can, though, wrapping your lips around his head. He tastes so good - like your favourite flavour of lollipop - and you hollow your cheeks around him, laving your tongue as you go. You hear a particularly loud moan above you and something that sounds like tease but you're not sure, as you're sinking further down and the feel of him is all you can concentrate on.

Once you've descended the entirety of his length, his tip slotted heavily in the back of your throat, you relax. In the same instance, his grip tightens - never enough to hurt, or pull, but enough to leniently guide - and he begins to roll his hips into you.

Even the way he fucks your face is sweet. He does it with languid thrusts, ones that draw his cock through the perfect cavern of your mouth and the slowly back into the constricting heat of your throat. He seems deeply focused on each and every glide, the way you take him so well and without complaint. "You're so perfect." The sigh is a praise that has you humming with pride and him, stuttering with the feeling. "So perfect, so good. And you're all mine."

Your think your heart might fly out of your chest, somehow slip past the delirious fullness blocking your airways.

You drop your hand from his hip, gently palming his balls as he continues to snap into your mouth. He's never violent, never too much, but you want more - want to feel him coming undone. "Harder, Tae." You say on his withdrawal, though the sound gets lost in the spit that slips down your chin.

You know he's heard you when you feel his legs shift. He's opening up further - at least, as far as he can go, with his clothes still hooked around his legs. You can't help but giggle, temporarily forgetting about your request as you slip down the bed, dragging the garments with you. They hit the ground at the same time your knees do and you beckon him closer with a coquettish tilt of your head.

He slides to join you, only stopping when his feet find solid ground on either side of you. His cock stands, glossy and angry, mere inches from your face, and you can’t stop yourself licking it in one fluid motion, swirling the pre-cum over your tongue when you release him.

"Shuffle back, jagi." As if to drive his request home, he nudges your knee. You do as you're told, grateful for the soft rug beneath you.

Once you're as far as he'd like you, Taehyung stands, single hand threading into the downy strands at your temple, sweeping past your ear to neatly tuck them. Your heart and core ache in tandem; he beams at the pretty pink that smooths over your cheeks.

"You're so beautiful," he coos, a man after your own lovesick, lust-filled heart. "Open up."

He doesn't have to ask twice - in fact, he didn't even have to ask once - as you lay your mouth open, tongue lolling out to gratefully accepting him. He's hot when he slides in, pushing past your carefully sheathed teeth and bottoming out with a hoarse groan. The weight of him rests there experimentally, taking in this new angle and the way you look up at him, patient.

Without warning, he withdraws and snaps back, an appreciative sound dancing into the silence when you spasm around his length. The way he assaults the back of your throat, his hands somehow still endlessly gentle in the velvet of your hair, has tears swimming in your eyes and you're loving every minute of it. You gasp with each retraction and drool unabashedly when he pistons forward, swiping over his vulnerable head with every thrust.

You're making the most sinful noises, like you're lost in nirvana and drinking the nectar of the gods. It's the hottest thing he's ever heard and he tells you as much, nearly choking when you moan obscenely. It shoots heat straight from his balls and directly into his heart.

"Tell me where you want it." What a gentleman.

You can't help but smile around him, finger rising to tap gently against your cheek. You're looking up at him with those eyes shiny with tears and he's grateful for you, for the salacious need you stir up in him and soothe with just a look. He feels like he could burst - with words of affirmation, with affectionate kisses, with his overwhelming adoration for you - but he thinks he'll do this, first.

His thrusts are erratic. You can feel the strain in his legs, the way the muscles in his thighs quiver beneath your heated palms, and you manoeuvre a hand to his base, drawing it up his length as you pull off of him. You open wide, practically marked x, and look up, cute as ever.

The head of his cock doesn't quite leave your warmth, instead sweetly caressed by your tongue, and he moans obscenely as he fills your mouth with rope after rope until it's dribbling out the side of your lips. The taste is a little bitter but you take your time to run your coated tongue over your lips and his spent cock, diligently cleaning him like a kitten lapping milk. He shakes with over sensitivity and you keen, eyes bright as he steps back and all but collapses back onto your bed.

"You okay, Tae?" You purr, leaning back on your haunches to inspect the exhausted man.

"Never better."

Friday comes quickly. throwing you for a loop when Taehyung bounces into your field of view with a heart-wrenching smile and disposable coffee cup in hand.

"I thought you were busy tonight." By the little dent between your brows, you'd been sure of it. You'd begrudged whatever responsibilities he had all week, drawn to childish resentment by the fact you wouldn't get to start your weekend off together.

You were so whipped.

Your boyfriend - god, what a word - shakes his head, amusement oozing out of his every pore as he drags you to him for a kiss. First order of business complete. "I said we're busy tonight. Hobi's girlfriend is throwing a party and she's invited all of us." The way he says it, like he's repeated it ten hundred times, makes you regard him with suspicion. You definitely would've remembered that, because it would mean meeting the people closest to him - properly this time - and hoping to god you didn't mess up.

You'd have spent your days anxiety-ridden if you'd known. You hated intruding on things.

"I'm sure I told you," he states, confidently. Your uncertainty waivers, caught in the spread of his smile and torn to shreds by his blinding teeth. You say nothing, nodding thoughtfully. Maybe he had. He could've told you the world was ending and you wouldn't have noticed, caught up in the constellations of his freckles and the shape of his mouth.

"What time is it?" You finally ask after taking a careful sip of your beverage. Perk of being in a relationship? Coffee deliveries after class.

"It starts at nine, but I figured we could go over now. They're doing a kind of potluck thing beforehand."

Now, you really wish he'd mentioned this sooner. "But we have no food," you deadpan.

Ever the ineffable, Taehyung laughs, guiding your hand into his. "We can pick up something on the way over. The guys all really like sweets, so we can grab a cake or whatever." He seems thoughtful for a moment. "Yeah, let's get a strawberry cake. I've been craving one."

You can't help the look you shoot his way, quiet endearment and mirth. "Shouldn't you get something everyone likes?"

"I'm already bringing myself," he boasts and you're lost in giggles, rolling your eyes so hard you think you might strain them. "But everyone likes strawberries. I know they do." You suppose he's right. After all, he's been friends with these men for the last decade.

"Whatever you say, Kim Taehyung." You catch him staring at you from your periphery. You smile into the compostable lid of your coffee and don't meet his gaze, instead allowing him to guide you to where his car waits. Neither of you say anything as you climb into the spacious sedan, his hand immediately finding yours over the console.

"They'll love you, you know." How he knows the exact things to say, you're not sure. "Anyway, you already know most of my friends and Jin-hyung's probably the least intimidating out of all of us."

You conjure to your mind the broad-shouldered one you've seen in photos. From Taehyung's stories, you had nothing to worry about. And he was right - you did sort of already know his friends. "Okay, I believe you." You meet his imploring gaze, taken aback by the tenderness there, and squeeze his hand affectionately. "Let's do this."

It's less of a house and more of an imposing architectural dream, all hard lines and glass. It rises above the homes beside it, somehow dimming the glory of the other, equally grand estates. You're gaping like a fish as you stare up at the structure and only falter when Taehyung is pulling you forward and up the front steps.

"I guess she's rich or something." Or something, yeah. A snort escapes your lips before you can stop it. He says it so casually, like it's nothing. You remember the way you'd met him, draped in luxury brands and effortlessly charming. He was probably used to this. "She's really nice, though. Her name's Gahyeon." There's a pause and the thoughtful expression on his face has you relenting, gobsmacked expression shifting into something sweet and tender. "I think." You can't even fault his poor memory when he's this cute.

The door swings open with a flick of his wrist and you're stepping over the threshold with all the hesitancy of a burglar. You don't belong in a place like this and that's glaringly obvious as you kick off your Dr. Martens with all the care in the world. The interior is gorgeous, an open concept layout that draws your stare to every corner.

You'd never considered going into design but this place strikes all the right chords. There's a sunken living space and Jindřich Halabala chairs framing it, curved around the far wall of floor-to-ceiling glass. Further in, past the floating steps, you glimpse a custom-built kitchen equipped with sleek black cabinetry and a carved marble island. Incredible artwork litters the walls, hangs like centre pieces in the plush space. You're green with envy, taking it all in.

"Come on," Taehyung's already five steps ahead of you by the time you've tucked your boots neatly aside, and you scamper to catch up with him. You're almost too busy looking around to notice he's stopped, arms spread in greeting.

You nearly bowl him over, barely avoiding the wide expanse of his back by sidestepping at the last minute. "We're here!"

"You're on time, too!" The auburn-haired man you'd met at breakfast is speaking from where he stands on the other side of an impressively carved wooden table. Beside him is a striking woman that's all legs - his partner, you guess by the way he holds her around the waist. He waves at you like you're an old friend. "Nice to see you again, Jiyeon. This is my girlfriend. This is her house."

The way they smile in tandem is like being bathed in sunlight, warming you from the inside out.

"I'm Shin Gahyeon." She mimics Hoseok's gesture and speaks in soft, dulcet tones. You're immediately taken with her and the way she looks up at her boyfriend, like he's her rock and she's about to be swept out sea. It's incredibly at odds with her appearance, all perfectly coiffed, perfectly blonde - how did she get that shade? - hair and doll-like eyes. The way he returns her stare is nothing less than enamoured, fondness presented in spades. "It's nice to meet you," she finishes, sweet as honey.

Your own hand rises and your grin comes easily. It's impossible to hold anything but happiness for these two. "Nice to meet you, too. I'm Cho Jiyeon." You let your gaze wander now, unable to withhold the awe that colours your words. "Your home is so beautiful. Was that a Shin Kwangho piece at the front?"

Gone is the nervous girl you'd just met, replaced now by someone who brims with knowledge and excitement. She's bouncing from foot to foot, suddenly giddy. "Yes! We're actually related, but that's not why it's in here. Isn't he so talented?" The way she speaks, spills over with unbridled passion, is so refreshing you can't help but feed off of it.

"He really is. I've got a small print of another piece in my room." The two of you are infectious and the men at your sides are defenceless to the energy that bubbles between you.

A hand passes, fits itself soft at your side. You turn, just barely, to acknowledge your boyfriend who's looking at you with stars in his eyes. "I told you," he parrots, smug as ever. You can't even bring yourself to be annoyed by the self-satisfied smile on his face, instead offering a brilliant, excited one of your own.

"Yeah, yeah," you relent, moving to take your seats as the other couple does the same. You're smack in the middle of the table with one chair to your left. You'd have taken that spot instead, but you have a sneaking suspicion this is Taehyung's way of integrating you into the group.

As much as you begrudge him for it, you appreciate the thought.

It's only when he's about to settle fully into his seat that realization hits you. "You forgot the cake!"

You can practically hear the expletive before it leaves his mouth and he's bounding up and jogging back the way you'd came. You dimly note his greeting of someone before he's out of ear shot.

"You're on time!" Hoseok again, seemingly endlessly proud of his usually tardy friend.

Fingertips brush the back of your chair, ghosts feather-light across your shoulder. "Hi, hyung. Hi Gahyeon noona." A pause, because you haven't turned to face him, even as he slips into the chair to your left. When you finally do, acknowledging him with a grin so bright it could rival the sun's, he returns it easily. "Hi, Jiyeon-ah."

"Hi, Kookie." The nickname offers itself up before you can stop it.

His smile freezes and you notice the almost imperceptible tick of his jaw. You're not sure what your own expression is, but you're sure it's something horrified, like you've just let a secret slip. Hoseok's gaze bounces between the two of you, trying to make sense of the sudden tension that pervades the room.

"I mean, hi. Hi, Jungkook." You're rambling, unable to stop the word vomit that comes of its own will. "It's been a while, right? Three weeks or something? Nice to see you again. How is everything?" Why you hadn't just stopped at hello, you're not sure. You want to sew your lips shut and swallow the needle, maybe let it catch on the way down your oesophagus as a reminder of your idiocy.

"Yeah, it has," Jungkook finally manages after perhaps a beat too long.

Across from you, Gahyeon and Hoseok share a look but say nothing. What could they say, anyway?

"Hyuuuuung!"

Jimin has all but bounced into the room like an overexcited puppy, Taehyung at his heels. They're both carrying cake boxes - one strawberry, one chocolate - and you heave a sigh of relief. You swear you hear the sound echoed by the man beside you.

"Look who I found," the taller of the two drawls, sliding his box across the table and nudging his partner-in-crime to do the same. Gahyeon scoops them both up and disappears into the fridge, Hoseok trailing closely behind.

"Hiiii, Jiyeonie." You're engulfed in warmth and the familiar, citrus-y smell you've come to associate with the dancer. He holds you recklessly close, locking his arms around your shoulders and burying his face into the crook of your neck. His hair - softer blonde now, almost a beige - tickles your ear and you return the greeting against his temple.

"Hi to you too, Jiminie."

"Ya - get off of her." It's Yoongi's voice filtering in before his body does, materializing over the line of of your captor's shoulder. His hair is stark black and he's wearing trendy browline glasses - the same ones you've only ever seen in the studio. The producer sinks into his seat diagonal to you and offers a nod in place of a hello. It's a lot for him, so you take it wordlessly.

"I was just saying hi." Still, Jimin extracts himself from around you, reaching a hand to ruffle Jungkook's downy strands. You're used to it, so you don't mind. He and Taehyung came as a package deal and you'd grown accustomed to his affections.

You weren't sure how he did it - doled his love out so easily.

He's moving back to sit beside his roommate, when another voice meets your ears. It's unfamiliar and all heads turn, snap towards the broad-shouldered figure that steps into the room. He's got pillowy lips and fluffy dark hair. You recognize him immediately.

"Am I the last one here?"

"No, that's Joon." Yoongi again, before he snatches a skewer from the serving plates presented on the table and devours the meat there in two quick mouthfuls.

"Then he'll do the dishes," Jin says, solemnly. He's passing his hello's to everyone and moving as he does, intent on taking the seat across from Jungkook, when he notices you. All at once, his trajectory changes and he's in front of you, taking your much smaller hand in his own. Over his shoulder, you notice your boyfriend roll his eyes and mouth something at you. "You must be the infamous Cho Jiyeon. I've heard lots about you." Words are punctuated by a press of his supple lips to your hand. He looks at you expectantly, like he's expecting to find roses blooming over your skin.

But you'd been warned about him, so you meet his gaze boldly. Neither of you flinch.

"And you must be Kim Seokjin. You do look like a llama."

The speed with which he yanks his hand away could be put into the record books, his fingers flying to his heart in indignation. He's scoffing loudly - more loudly than everyone else is laughing - and his eyes are dancing with unadulterated glee. "How dare you! We've just met!" But he still can't hold back the grin that spills forth, colouring his handsome face. It softens just a touch as he steps back, seeking out his seat once again. "It's lovely to meet you."

"All right!" A clap brings everyone's attention back to Hoseok, who stands shoulder to shoulder with his beloved. They're so cute, mirroring each other's stances and facial tics subconsciously. "We're going to start eating so we can be wrapped up by the time the rest of Gahyeon's friends show up."

Beside him, she nods enthusiastically, ever the gracious hostess.

"Jin-hyung, can you make a plate for Joon, in case he's really late?" The newest arrival nods easily.

"Okay, then, everyone eat well." No one needs to be told twice, though you're all polite enough to wait until the hosts slide into their chairs.

Beside you, Taehyung is digging into the japchae and passing items to Jimin. Yoongi is deeply preoccupied by the lamb skewers, eating them as quickly as he picks them up. He only slows to shovel small spoonfuls of rice into his mouth. Hoseok is snapping up banchan for Gahyeon and she's doing the same for him, the two of them giggling like schoolchildren as they race to fill the other's bowl first. Jin, as designated plate-maker, is taking enough for both he and Namjoon, carefully arranging the food to maximize the amount that fits on the latecomer's plate.

"Would you like some samgyupsal?" Jungkook asks, though he already knows the answer. It's your favourite meal in the world - second only to popcorn covered in too much better and salt - and he's indulged in it a hundred times with you.

"Oh, please." You mumble, grateful and a little shy when he drops some into your bowl.

He does it again with the bulgogi and then the tteokbokki, asking each time.

"Don't forget about your own bowl," you chide. He doesn't mind, adorable front teeth making a charming appearance as he gestures toward his own plate that sits overflowing. You'd forgotten how much he eats.

When he speaks, it's from his chest, with the confidence of man. "I never forget about food."

You laugh freely, the sound like tinkling bells, and you regard him with a look that neither of you can pinpoint. It's parts of tenderness and endearment, wrapped in something else. He forgets, for a brief moment, you're here with someone else. You think you do, too, until a familiar weight alights itself on your knee.

Like you've been burned, you jerk your head around to face Taehyung, who's munching away at a rib. "Eat, jagi," he reminds you between bites, staring imploringly at the untouched bowl of rice and plate of goodies. Then he's back to tuning into Jimin's story, nodding emphatically and echoing disbelief at all the right times.

There's silence beside you and you don't dare look at him, instead digging into your food with vigour.

notes. I JUST WROTE SO MUCH AND THEN LOST IT ALL. I'M DEEPLY UPSET. i'm sorry if the last third sucked due to my rewriting. sob.

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yoontothemoon · 5 years

Text

monday blues

pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader (gender neutral). words: 2095. genre: little angst, some romance, slice of life, smut. warnings: allusion of isolationism, anxiety, cursing, sir kink, unprotected sex (please be responsible), creampie. summary: this was literally a prompt of “shut up“ & “well why don’t you come over here and make me“. that is all. yoon notes: i can never write anything short. if you haven’t noticed by now i really try to write more... relationship based things and more slice of life. honestly, i’m not allowed to write about couches ever again. // seriously, you could probably just drop a prompt into my ask box and i will end up writing a novel. i still don't know what i'm doing. ☽ probably best viewed on desktop.

there were days where you were, decidedly, not in the mood. they were the days that you couldn’t yet bring yourself you do anything. it wasn’t that you were prone to isolating yourself from the world, it was more the little things that set you off. it could have been the weather or the way you got out of bed.

you supposed you were a little sensitive to the fact, happier to just curl up and seethe in your irrational—or perfectly rational—troubles. sometimes you just wanted to avoid your world of troubles, distancing yourself from everyone. rationally, you knew it wasn’t the answer and that it was probably bad for you but sometimes you brain wasn’t rational. sometimes it liked to irritate you until you hit your breaking point.

it had been a quiet day for you, taking to your perch on the couch. it was one of your cat days—one where you would perch in one spot near the window, basking. you liked how the sun warmed your back like a gentle hug. it was about all of the physically affection you could afford, considering how you had bothered to get dressed and crawl off of the bed you had hold yourself up in.

you busied yourself, taking to reading that one book that had been rotting on your desk for the last month. it kept you distracted and that was what you wanted for the most part, not wanting to talk or interact if you could help it.

you tried your best to calm down over the course of the day but you still felt it linger, spiking when you heard the cluster of voices break through the door. your eyes never met the bluster, though they dispersed quite suddenly until it stilled. you were sure that they had hurried off into their respective rooms to grab whatever they needed before leaving again.

it wasn’t until you felt a dip at the other end of the couch did your glance flick up see wonwoo. it was just for a moment before you looked back down at the book, unable to keep eye contact with him for very long.

wonwoo had never really been the chatty type—never truly one to talk about his day or disturb you when your anger seemed to roll off you in waves. but he questioned it, pushing at your boundaries until you snapped. it wasn’t a pleasant experience—for either party—considering his collected mannerisms but he pushed—

—and you snapped.

you snapped because you had been accustom to the quiet of the dorm when you stayed. you snapped because it was reflex, the pent up reaction you had all day.

“shut up,” the words rolled off your tongue so easily, though you winced at yourself. you didn’t mean to sound so harsh, sinking further into your corner of the couch—pulling the throw pillows over you to cover your shame. you couldn’t imagine directing your anger at other people. it wasn’t like you had meant to, of course. just that he had pushed you passed the edge.

wonwoo never tried to cheer you up in your stupor, he just tried to act normally and ignore your foul mood if ever the case. he had just chattered on about his day and whatever game he had been playing lately—how he had been a little tired and how the others were going to g out for drinks.

in the morning, there had been no hope for either of you. you had been like this since you barely made it out of bed. it was then that he knew it was going to be one of those days. he admitted that it was rough on him too, but he didn’t want to exacerbate the problem.

he looked at you, casually gauging your change in demeanor before responding.

“well why don’t you come over here and make me?” had your mood leaked and permeated into the air? he had barked back with the same tone, though you weren’t sure if he had been mocking you or not. reasonably, you wouldn’t have put it passed him. he wasn’t completely trying to provoke you, you thought.

you straightened, carefully setting down your book before attempting to look at him. “really?” you sounded, though you were truly unsure of what to think at that moment—tongue poking at your molars in thought. he just bluffed at you, right? it was a bluff?

“because—“ you stop, because you didn’t want to fight. you didn’t want to make a show of it, to protest just to escalate for nothing. it was hard not to think yourself better than that, so you stop—reevaluate and listen.

you hesitated, shifting over to his side of the couch. you wondered if he would push you off him, but you crawl onto his lap anyway, straddling him. there was a silence between the two of you, however brief, as if you were waiting for the other shoe to drop. “really woo?” you question again, brushing your lips against his.

it was tiring to act as if there was a stinging field around you—where no one could cross the bounds and soothe your aching soul. like there was no warmth in the world that could stop your shivering. but there was wonwoo—with you through thick and thin.

nothing about your relationship was perfect, but you tried that was all that you could ever ask for. it was because the both of you had allotted each other time. there was a myth about relationships and that if you just worked hard enough at them, they would sort themselves out—but that was never the case. the two of you would talk and listen regardless of the mood you were in.

“fuck yes,“ he finally responded after a momentary pause, as if he was weighting the options; as if he had options. you melted into him at the response, not exactly what you wanted but you were capable of more than one emotion most days. he treated you normally, despite yourself, and you were thankful of the fact when you were so up in your own head.

you pressed kisses against his lips, slow at first as if you were testing the waters. you realize that it wasn’t anger that plagued you most of the day, it was that nagging feeling of anxiety and the way that you picked at your skin short of bleeding.

it was like a light had gone off in your mind, one that comforted you in a sense. even more so when you felt the slight shift against your lips. wonwoo had broken from his rather intimidating demeanor and smiled against your lips. you couldn’t help but smile back, then kiss him again. your mouth opened, welcoming him to poke and prod as he pleased. it was the permission he needed from you, casually tracing the vertebrae down your back.

it was a comforting gesture, one that made you shiver though it kept you ever present and in the moment. you didn’t drift though wonwoo started to set the pace, nipping at any shred of dominance you might have.

he nodded, his nose brushed against yours while his hand slid to your ass. he shifted awkwardly to accommodate for your weight, he pushed off the couch with a practiced ease—rolling on the balls of his feet.

the two of you traveled down the hall in a mess of a starved open mouthed kisses, teeth latched against exposed skin and fingers pressed deep into skin blooming beautiful bruises into pliant skin. you were sure if you hadn’t hit an abandon chair in the hall you may not have stopped to laugh quietly—feeling the warmth return to your world.

it was a wonder as to how a bit of laughter could change you, the smaller interactions bringing spots of sun into your otherwise dreary day.

he fumbled—like he hadn’t done this a hundred times before. you fumbled, pressing wet kisses on newly exposed skin. he smelt of clean linens and sea salt, or maybe it was the bed, as you sunk further into the sheets. it lingered, touching both his skin and yours as you kissed fervently barely breaking to breathe, as you shuffled out of restrictive clothing.

you felt him, hard between your legs and a whimper left your throat finally pulling away. a quiet plea leaves your lips in the form of sir which quickly sends him over the edge. it was rarely a word you used in jest, not one that you uttered unless you were serious. it was something that you had discussed once—how one word could send him over, changing him entirely.

his eyes darkened when he bent his head down, and for a moment all you can see is hair. now bare in your regards, his lips found new skin to explore—kissing gently, eliciting a chorus of sound from you, one louder than the next. helplessly you tried to find friction, though by this time he had found a steady grip on your hips. “patience,” he chided, free hand stroking your cheek.

you felt the dull throb start to rise until you could hear your heartbeat in your ear but wonwoo barely took notice as his bruised and swollen lips brushed against skin. your breath hitched, annoyed at the patterned he traced, circling downward.

the next sound he pulls from you, almost too high pitch and needy. you felt him smirk against your skin, whispering a quiet fuck in his wake as he dropped eagerly between your legs.

you pant his name when his tongue slid against you, holding your hips down as your back arched. he never failed to make you feel something, however clumsy he might have been or how nervous you might have acted, it wasn’t disappointing.

wonwoo was quiet, but never disappointing.

when he slipped away, you groan. you hated the way he teased, always pulling away short of something—always hovering with the illusion of waning control. “come here, angel.” a pet name that you came to enjoy because it was wonwoo and not because it was the name. you were sure if it had been anyone else you would have scrunched your nose considering you heard it more condescending if anything.

angel, you hummed at the word as you crawled into his lap. your eyes barely left his cock, watching it bob.

when he eased you down on his length, you gasped. he stretched you, letting out a soft hiss as you dug your nails into his shoulders.

it was a slow build between sloppy kisses and slapping skin. it was between the slow roll of hips and lips between teeth—quiet fucks and hitch breathes.

you felt the flutter in your chest when you hit your high, cries of pleasure seemed to bounce off the walls of the room as he thrust into you harder—a mixture of begging of sirs and his name dripping from your lips.

he wasn’t far behind, flipping the both of you, as he brought you closer, anchoring you to him as he fell to pieces. it wasn’t the first time, not the last and yet in the foggy haze you thought back to it.

the first time you had been together, it was fluke. you thought it was a fluke because that was what you told yourself. you had reduced yourself to a one-night stand. neither of you had known each other that long but he had told you something that made you want so much to believe in him.

it didn’t come easy, at first but your relationship was built on one phrase: “i’ve never wanted to know someone so badly”. it was the one thing that made you stomach churn and your heart swell. everything told you that you shouldn’t have enjoyed hearing it so much but somehow, you felt the same way.

you still felt the same way, dreamily smiling at him when he lazily pulled out of you. it was quiet at first, watching the mess pool and seep out of you. you could see the flicker of pride on his face as blown out pupils slowly started to dilate back as he relaxed. back then, you knew you’d never stop looking at him.

he looked back at you with a quiet, “what?” crossing his lips as he flopped next to you.

you laughed responding with a, “how was your day?” it was about all you could ask trying not to think about the fact that seungcheol was going to kill you both for ruining his bed.

#a: yoontothemoon #m: wonwoo #lil moon thoughts #seventeen imagines #seventeen reactions #seventeen scenarios #seventeen smut #svt wonwoo #svt smut #seventeen fanfic #seventeen drabbles #i really hate the fact that i like using the couch scenario so much it was an accident #wonwoo smut

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