Hello, can I please request how all the members react to your child walking in in you when your making out or being intimate.🥰
All credits for the gifs go to the original owners/makers.
Genre: Fluff / Crack. Slight smut.
Rating: M
Word Count: 575 - 980
Warnings: Heavy allusions to sex but nothing too graphic!
Kim Seokjin
It is no secret that Seokjin always prefers to perform his culinary magic underneath the rhythmic guidance of whatever cheesy pop song happens to illuminate his beloved sticker-slathered radio. Tonight’s offering? Britney Spears.
As you make your approach from behind, you can hear your husband synchronize the sharp click of his knife tearing through colorful fresh vegetables with the admission that oops, Britney has indeed done it once again, and can’t help but to chuckle.
Your arms enslave his midsection as you press your lips into the smooth strip of velvet skin at the nape of his neck. His hands hesitate for a minute only; just long enough for an enthralled grin to decorate his face.
“Well hello, babe. Fancy seeing you here.”
Seokjin is careful to peel away the latex of his gloves before he turns, cradling both of your cheeks within his palms as he pulls you forward. His lips just barely brush across your own.
“And where is our little lovebug right now?”
You sigh contently, thumbing over the solidity of his abdomen through his flour-speckled shirt.
“She’s currently captivated by the wonderful adventures of Mickey Mouse’s Clubhouse. You know how she gets… she could be watching for hours.”
“Hours, you say?” Seokjin smirks, applying just enough pressure on your bottom lip so that he may autograph a signature heart across your flesh with his tongue. “Well, that gives me just enough time to indulge on a craving I’ve been having…”
Seokjin’s palms are exceptionally warm where they slip across the small of your back, thumbs painting intricate semi-circles over the elastic waistband of your cotton shorts before they delve even lower. He palms across your outer thigh with the same delicacy he would afford kneading an enriched dough.
You can’t help but to release a small, perfectly clipped exhale of pure bliss.
“Aren’t you worried that you will spoil your appetite, Jinnie?”
Seokjin’s digits move rapidly. They slot underneath your thighs in order to aid in twisting your body that bit closer, the tip of his nose skimming across your fluttering pulse point.
“On the contrary. I consider this to be an appetiser; an Amuse-bouche if you will."
Seokjin’s velour lips weave a haphazard pathway down between your collarbones, clinging to a particular cluster of nerves that he is certain will nudge you toward delirium.
"And I happen to find my wife very amuse-ing.”
He lifts your thigh slowly, shifting your leg until it wraps securely around his waist, and begins to lift you up onto the counter-
“Eomma!” Your daughter cries, her voice as syrupy-sweet and innocent as birdsong.
Her little feet pad triumphantly across the kitchen tile, her unicorn slippers squeaking with every fortified step.
“Eomma, you missin’ d'best bits!”
Seokjin is swift to back away from you, dropping your leg as though your flesh had transformed to molten lava and seared his palm. His back hits the edge of the sink with a rather comical thud, ironically synchronized with the orchestral stab of The Backstreet Boys announcing - once again - that they are back.
You have been left rather uncoordinated yourself, heat pouring into your stomach with all of the cloying stickiness of a candy-coated toffee apple.
“Sorry, darling. Eomma will be right there, okay? I was just asking Appa if he needed any help with dinner.”
Your daughter’s eyes are large and round and so similar to her Father’s own that it is almost frightening; they contain an abundance of constellations and more knowledge than should be capable of someone her age.
Her bottom lip protrudes in thought, plump and ever so slightly discolored from slurping on grape juice all afternoon. It only takes a minute before she nods, seemingly satisfied with your excuse.
“Okai, Eomma. But huwwy!”
Taking off in a carefree, infantile sprint, with her slippers squawk-squeaking all the way, you are finally left alone with your husband once again.
“Rain check?” You ask once your heartbeat has settled back into a reasonable rhythm.
Seokjin brushes his thumb underneath your jawline, swiping over the small cluster of ginger-hued freckles which kiss your skin. He tips your face skyward, pressing a smattering of kisses back and forth over your satine cheekbones.
“Rain check. No appetisers tonight, babe.”
A brief flicker of tanzanite temptation illuminates your husband’s vision, one of his hands slipping down to rest almost tauntingly around your throat.
Hello, can I please request how all the members react to your child walking in in you when your making out or being intimate.🥰
All credits for the gifs go to the original owners/makers.
Genre: Fluff / Crack. Slight smut.
Rating: M
Word Count: 575 - 980
Warnings: Heavy allusions to sex but nothing too graphic!
Kim Seokjin
It is no secret that Seokjin always prefers to perform his culinary magic underneath the rhythmic guidance of whatever cheesy pop song happens to illuminate his beloved sticker-slathered radio. Tonight's offering? Britney Spears.
As you make your approach from behind, you can hear your husband synchronize the sharp click of his knife tearing through colorful fresh vegetables with the admission that oops, Britney has indeed done it once again, and can't help but to chuckle.
Your arms enslave his midsection as you press your lips into the smooth strip of velvet skin at the nape of his neck. His hands hesitate for a minute only; just long enough for an enthralled grin to decorate his face.
"Well hello, babe. Fancy seeing you here."
Seokjin is careful to peel away the latex of his gloves before he turns, cradling both of your cheeks within his palms as he pulls you forward. His lips just barely brush across your own.
"And where is our little lovebug right now?"
You sigh contently, thumbing over the solidity of his abdomen through his flour-speckled shirt.
"She's currently captivated by the wonderful adventures of Mickey Mouse's Clubhouse. You know how she gets… she could be watching for hours."
"Hours, you say?" Seokjin smirks, applying just enough pressure on your bottom lip so that he may autograph a signature heart across your flesh with his tongue. "Well, that gives me just enough time to indulge on a craving I've been having…"
Seokjin's palms are exceptionally warm where they slip across the small of your back, thumbs painting intricate semi-circles over the elastic waistband of your cotton shorts before they delve even lower. He palms across your outer thigh with the same delicacy he would afford kneading an enriched dough.
You can't help but to release a small, perfectly clipped exhale of pure bliss.
"Aren't you worried that you will spoil your appetite, Jinnie?"
Seokjin's digits move rapidly. They slot underneath your thighs in order to aid in twisting your body that bit closer, the tip of his nose skimming across your fluttering pulse point.
"On the contrary. I consider this to be an appetiser; an Amuse-bouche if you will."
Seokjin's velour lips weave a haphazard pathway down between your collarbones, clinging to a particular cluster of nerves that he is certain will nudge you toward delirium.
"And I happen to find my wife very amuse-ing."
He lifts your thigh slowly, shifting your leg until it wraps securely around his waist, and begins to lift you up onto the counter-
"Eomma!" Your daughter cries, her voice as syrupy-sweet and innocent as birdsong.
Her little feet pad triumphantly across the kitchen tile, her unicorn slippers squeaking with every fortified step.
"Eomma, you missin' d'best bits!"
Seokjin is swift to back away from you, dropping your leg as though your flesh had transformed to molten lava and seared his palm. His back hits the edge of the sink with a rather comical thud, ironically synchronized with the orchestral stab of The Backstreet Boys announcing - once again - that they are back.
You have been left rather uncoordinated yourself, heat pouring into your stomach with all of the cloying stickiness of a candy-coated toffee apple.
"Sorry, darling. Eomma will be right there, okay? I was just asking Appa if he needed any help with dinner."
Your daughter's eyes are large and round and so similar to her Father's own that it is almost frightening; they contain an abundance of constellations and more knowledge than should be capable of someone her age.
Her bottom lip protrudes in thought, plump and ever so slightly discolored from slurping on grape juice all afternoon. It only takes a minute before she nods, seemingly satisfied with your excuse.
"Okai, Eomma. But huwwy!"
Taking off in a carefree, infantile sprint, with her slippers squawk-squeaking all the way, you are finally left alone with your husband once again.
"Rain check?" You ask once your heartbeat has settled back into a reasonable rhythm.
Seokjin brushes his thumb underneath your jawline, swiping over the small cluster of ginger-hued freckles which kiss your skin. He tips your face skyward, pressing a smattering of kisses back and forth over your satine cheekbones.
"Rain check. No appetisers tonight, babe."
A brief flicker of tanzanite temptation illuminates your husband's vision, one of his hands slipping down to rest almost tauntingly around your throat.
"I'll just have to have you for dessert instead."
Min Yoongi
Min Yoongi has always considered himself to be a being with exceptional hearing. He can detect even the smallest alteration in pitch, can recognise when an arrangement requires more volume or bass or vocal power, and can easily complete a portfolio of compositions in a single afternoon.
And yet, his outstanding hearing is so acute that he almost misses the unmistakable sound of his studio's pass code being punched in.
"Yoongi?" You breathe quietly, treading lightly lest you shatter the creative bubble that your husband is famous for cocooning himself within.
Yoongi pivots slowly in his chair, swivelling around until he can face you fully. Light touches his eyes with the intensity of several beautifully bobbing fireflies.
"What're you doing here, sweetheart?" He chirrups, sparing a brief glance toward his wristwatch. "I thought the kids and I were going to pick you up from work today?"
Yoongi's arms open out toward you, encouraging you to burrow into his lap without much need for communication.
You drape over his thighs as though you were pouring yourself into the very mould of your husband, situating yourself into all of the nooks and crannies you have claimed ownership over since the dawn of your relationship.
"Well, I finished early." You place an abundance of soft, featherweight kisses along the underside of Yoongi's razor-sharp jawline; savouring the fragrant tang of cologne which glistens like diamonds upon his skin. "Which means we just so happen to have some alone time before the twins get dropped off. Just think of the possibilities~"
No more than a moment after your syllables have been fully formulated does Yoongi wrap his opalescent fingertips around the nape of your neck and pull you close.
He kisses you deeply, presses the very tips of his cuspids into your bottom lip and lalves over the succulent indents with the gloss of his tongue until he can feel you shudder against him.
Your hands find their way into his hair with very little navigation. Sighing blissfully, you rake your nails over his scalp as though you were illustrating your initials in vibrant saffron sands; leaving your mark in the form of several exhilarated goosebumps.
"I love you." You whine, tipping your head back just far enough to provide enough room for Yoongi to suck several small candy wrappers into your throat.
"You too, sweetheart."
Yoongi's palms bracket over the swell of your jeans, each digit slipping one by one into the stitching of your back pockets so that he can grab your fleshy behind by the fistful.
He guides you forward, setting a slow but deliberate pace as you work in tandem with each other to feel-
This time, there is no mistaking the distinct sound of Yoongi's pass code being punched in.
You only just manage to pry yourself from your husband's lap by the time that his studio door bursts open.
You hear your twins before you see them; a cornucopia of fluorescent overalls and mismatched trainers and a seemingly unfathomable energy which completely belies their own paternity.
"Eomma!" Your son cries, the latter syllable smothered by the sensation of him excitedly clinging to your calf. "You're here!"
"Yes baby, Eomma is here!"
Beside you, your daughter makes quick work of climbing all over Yoongi's torso. Her hyperactive cackles seem to reverberate throughout the studio walls as she runs her chubby hands all over Yoongi's silver-toned hair; worsening the mess your own digits had made not five minutes before.
"Appa is a lion! Raaaawr! Look Unki NamNam!"
Lifting your son into your arms, you spare a glance over to the man in question and internally curse Namjoon's uncanny ability to destroy even a moment of impromptu passion.
"Sorry I'm early." Namjoon sighs, rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck.
He can't seem to meet your eye.
But as you glance over toward Yoongi, making sure to nod artificially every so often as though to show feigned interest in the tall tales that your twins are spinning, you are met with a pair of dark, bottomless irises which sparkle, bubble and pop with the promise of what's to come as soon as you are protected by the coverage of twilight.
Yoongi definitely doesn't need exceptional hearing to know that your heart is absolutely beating out of your chest.
Jung Hoseok
On days like these it is often hard to determine what has your head spinning faster; the sensation of Hoseok twirling you under his arm or the reverberation of music pulsing like gunpowder throughout your veins.
Realistically, you should have known that your dance rehearsal was in jeopardy the second that Hobi's phone had diverted away from the relay of his own voice and opted instead to play Sistar's Touch My Body; your husband's not-so-hidden vice.
After grinning wildly and gyrating his body back and forth to the swish-swish dance of the song, he had pulled you in close in order to innocently mouth the lyrics against your cheek.
Fortunately, you had always been a stickler for following the rules.
And touching Hobi's body has always been your favourite pastime activity.
Your fingertips had found purchase upon the ridge of his collarbones, thumbs falling into the crease of his deliciously sweaty skin before shifting lower. Your lips had painted his Adam's apple with precision, tasting the sherbet of his aftershave and the natural essence of Hoseok.
Now your lips are plump and swollen from the feverish trap of his uncoordinated kisses.
He has you pinned up against one of the mirrored walls by his pelvis, the tip of his tongue writing soulful soliloquies into your skin until you glow with poorly contained adoration.
"Mm, Hobi. Calm down~" You sigh, arching up into the pressure of Hoseok's teeth as they paint faint crescent-shaped halos in the flesh of your earlobe.
Hoseok shifts his fingertips around your wrists, effectively binding them in a ribbon of calluses and articulation as he traps them up over your head.
"I can't help it, honey. You know what you do to me, don't you?"
"I'd have a guess, but I'd say that the evidence is pretty clear."
Certainly, with how Hoseok presses against you, he leaves very little to the imagination.
"A guess? Well, Maybe I'm not making myself clear enough, then…"
Using his unpreoccupied hand, Hoseok dips the faintest whisper of his fingertips into his mouth in order to get them appropriately wet. He then kicks your ankles apart, situating his thigh in place between your quivering knees.
It does not take a genius to recognize the unbridled gallop of small, toddling feet racing through narrow linoleum hallways. Nor does it require much effort to deduct that those very footsteps and the loud, high-spirited giggles which precede them can only belong to your son.
The studio door swings open with all the momentum of a party popper being pulled taut. Only instead of confetti you are rewarded by the sight of your son's beautifully plump rosy cheeks and his gap-toothed grin.
"Appa~!"
Hoseok turns just in time to drop to his knees and scoop your toddler up into his arms, the tone of his voice shifting from leather and velvet into something bubbling and bright.
"There's my little Hapi!" Hobi coos, nuzzling into your son's soft mousy hair. "Did you have a good day with Uncle Kookie?"
"Uh-huh! Appa, you look so silly! You wearing Eomma's lips!"
Hoseok lifts his thumb to swipe it over his bottom lip, gathering the fluorescent remnants of your transferred lipstick which lingers there.
"Yes I am." Hobi teases. "Do you want some? Mwah~"
It takes half a second before your son shrieks in protest, immediately sprinting away from your husband's chaotic influence. Hoseok chases after him with pursed lips, making outrageously exaggerated smacking noises during his pursuit.
Sighing softly, you lean all of your body weight on the mirror behind you and fan your face with your palm in an attempt to cool your rapidly rising body temperature.
"You're blushing awfully hard." Jeongguk acknowledges as he settles in beside you.
"Dance rehearsals. Worked up quite a sweat."
"Oh, I bet. You want me to keep him out a little later next time?"
Your teeth find purchase on the crease of your bottom lip, a residual sting prickling upon your flesh from how intensely you had been kissed mere minutes before. Your pulse continues to fizzle and pop and jump underneath your skin; a firework ready to burst.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
You watch as Hoseok finally catches up to your squealing son. He lifts him effortlessly, pressing kiss after kiss over his rotund cheeks and your heart absolutely sings. How did you get so lucky?
And yet, as Hobi tucks your child carefully underneath his chin, you don't miss the way that his mouth dances around a simple word inundated with promise.
'Later.'
You can't wait to see what 'choreography' piece Hoseok will teach you next.
Kim Namjoon
There is something to be said about the sweetness of Namjoon's kisses during nightfall, when the moon is pitched high over Seoul's skyline and there is little need for urgency.
Without the influence of convoluted phone calls or frequented business meetings, it is almost as though your husband has been impassioned anew.
His kisses always start off deceptively slow, the petal pink tip of his tongue wicking across your bottom lip like butter gliding over hot toast. He rests his palms against your crimson-hued cheeks, guiding you that bit closer to his body as your bedsheets rustle down around your hips akin to a tambourine being jostled.
"I love you." Namjoon sighs, rotating his body so that you fall to a collapse against his exposed torso.
Your fingertips splay against his flushed skin as though seeking out purchase, eager to aid in the transition of your rolling hips.
"I love you more."
Burning with vibrant adoration, you can feel your stomach positively froth with frenzied butterflies. Your lips lather a steady stream of kisses down between Namjoon's pectoral muscles, pausing just millimeters below his ribcage where you sink your teeth ever so gently into his skin, determined to leave a mark which will last for days to come.
"And now I'm going to prove just how much I-"
The sound of your daughter's shrill, waterlogged sobs as they carry through from her nursery and into your bedroom is stark and corrosive; a bolt of lightning which strikes through your sternum with the intensity of blunt nails on a chalkboard.
As she tumbles into your bedroom, raven hair plastered to her cheeks by way of her seemingly limitless tears, and her tiny hands balled into fists where they cling to her beloved Koya plushie, you are quick to spring from your bed in order to gather her up into your arms.
"Oh sweetheart! What's wrong?"
Burying her reddened nose into your neck, your daughter splutters through her words.
"D'eres a monsta under m'bed! He's big n'mean and.. and scawy!!"
"A monster, huh?"
After some careful readjustments, Namjoon climbs out of bed to join your side. He runs his hands affectionately over your daughter's swollen cheeks, clearing the hair away from her eyes.
"Well, I'd like to have words with this so-called Monster. Let him know that he's messing with The Rap Monster and his beautiful little Princess. We'll see how mean and scary he is then!"
You each take one of your daughter's petite hands, being mindful of Koya’s unshakable presence, and inflate your chests into plates of pseudo armor as you lead her back into her nursery.
It takes less than a minute for Namjoon to scare away the fictional threat, adding just an ounce of parental gravel to his words for extra emphasis.
And it takes even less time for your adorable puffy-eyed princess to convince you to stay in bed with her until she feels safe once again.
With both you and Namjoon planted firmly on either side of your toddler's tiny frame, and the sensation of your fingers combing gently through the small tufts of her hair, she finds sleep easily.
"So…" You whisper, just loud enough for Namjoon to hear over your daughter's infantile snores. "You're a monster, are you?"
Despite the impenetrable darkness of your daughter's room, broken up only by the small heart-shaped night light which twinkles beside her bed, you can clearly see your husband's fiendish smirk.
"Just wait - I'll show you later."
Park Jimin
Two years.
You have been married to Park Jimin for two whole years.
And in that time you have seen him at his best, with a rhinestone microphone held in place between his dainty fingers and a light sheen of sweat glittering against his brow. You have also seen him at his worst, when thick black bags sit underneath his sunken eyes and sleep is a distant memory.
You know your husband inside and out; his flaws (or lack thereof) and his many merits.
Which is why you should have known that his suggestion of an impromptu movie night was nothing more than a ruse to have you exactly where he wanted you; draped across his lap on the couch and purring every time his lips brush against a weak spot on your neck.
"Shh, darling. Not so loud." Jimin teases, already moving to run the tip of his tongue along the underside of your jaw.
Your fingernails dig into Jimin's biceps from how tightly you grasp at him, leaving small moon-shaped welts in your wake which somehow pale in comparison to the roses he is currently embossing into your skin.
"You're a cruel man, Park Jimin."
"So I've been told. C'mere."
Maneuvering his hands underneath the blanket which he had draped over your shoulders in order to preserve your modesty, Jimin clasps at your hips and pulls you that bit closer to him.
"You're so beautiful." He sighs, swiping his thumb over your bejewelled lips.
For a moment he simply stares at you, admiring the cinnamon flush of your cheeks and the way in which you seem to flutter with every poorly managed breath; his influence evident.
Unwilling to lose this unspoken game you are playing, you up the ante by bearing your hips down against Jimin's own and push your fingertips through his bubblegum pink locks until he hums with bliss.
"Now who's the cruel one, darling?"
Before you can answer, the sound of your son's hiccuping whimpers resonates from inside his nearby bedroom.
"Appa! Eomma!"
Throwing the blanket off your shoulders, you are quick to rise from Jimin's lap, not missing the urgent way in which he grabs the fleece in question and places it over the space you had once occupied.
Your son darts into the room with a speed which belies his small stature, falling into your arms with his bottom lip quivering and his paw print pyjamas torn at the knee.
"Hey, easy! What happened?"
Your son rubs furiously at his damp eyes, making small but urgent grabby-hands toward his Father. Jimin reaches over to rub affectionately at tiny knuckles.
"Twipped. Was thirsty and twipped!"
He points adamantly at the small red welt which glows against the pale skin of his knee, his entire body shaking with barely contained sobs.
"Aw, you poor thing." Jimin consoles, his own lower lip protruding in a manner which reflects your toddler's pout exactly. "Eomma, our little Tiny got himself a booboo."
"So I see. You definitely have your Father's clumsiness trait, hm?"
Careful to avoid hurting him, you place a gentle kiss against the affected area.
"There we go. Good as new. Now, let's go get you a bandaid, okay?"
"Iwonman?"
"Of course! An Ironman bandaid for my little superhero."
As you lift your son with the intent of carrying him into the bathroom to patch up his battle scar, he makes a small whining noise and reaches for Jimin once again.
"Appa? You come too?"
You watch as your husband's face somehow darkens in hue. His ears burn scarlet-hot, beads of sweat stippled like pearls across his clavicle. He glances between you, your son, and the blanket currently concealing his hips.
"Uhh-"
"Appa will join us in a minute, baby. He's just gonna clean up first. Right, Appa?"
Jimin nods enthusiastically. "Right! I'll be there in a minute, Tiny. Promise."
Seemingly satisfied with his answer, your son turns to rub his cheek into your chest, already changing the subject to an unusual dream he had earlier in the evening.
Briefly, you can see the relief flash in Jimin's eyes as he collapses back onto the couch. He bites his bottom lip, mouthing a brief word of thanks toward you.
You blow him a kiss in response, not missing the way that Jimin pushes his fingers back through his hair to fix the mess you had made. His eyes briefly sparkle with something oh so familiar; something salacious.
After two years, you can be certain that you know your husband well enough to guarantee that your little game of cat and mouse is far from over.
Kim Taehyung
When Taehyung loses himself to his illustrations he is always completely silent.
His lips form a pursed rosette of pure concentration, brows furrowed low across his forehead, and his pinkie finger develops a small but temporary tick every time he pauses to load his paintbrush with a new pigment.
He is so silent, in fact, that the only sound you can hear on your approach toward his office is that of novelty ice cubes clinking back and forth within the glass of freshly poured lemonade you prepared for him.
Knocking politely on the door to alert him to your presence, you can only watch in awe as Taehyung dabs a bead of sweat from his brow, his fingertips stained shades of periwinkle and amaranth.
He stipples another dollop of paint onto his canvas, brushing back and forth in broad strokes in order to heighten the saturation of a particular petal cluster.
"Hey, you." You hum contentedly, placing the glass of lemonade down on Taehyung's desk. "I thought you could use a drink."
"Thank you, Jagiya. That's very kind of you."
Placing his paintbrush down into a pot of discolored water to soak, Taehyung turns in his chair to face you. He reaches his arms up overhead and stretches until his shoulders give a rather satisfying pop and then reaches out toward you, guiding you into his lap.
His large palms stroke along the individual notches of your spine, touching you with the same care he would afford a piece of fine, antique china. The tip of his nose nestles against yours for a moment, wading back and forth before he uses the cool compress of his thumb to elevate your chin.
"Look at you. So beautiful; my muse."
Your husband's words flutter about inside your abdomen like dispersed dandelion seeds; soft and aerated and tickling you in all the right ways.
He kisses you softly, deeply, the tip of his tongue tracing whimsical patterns across every dip and divot of your lower lip as though he has found his new favourite canvas; a magnum opus all wrapped up in a beautiful wife-shaped bow.
You can feel every single brush and stroke of his tongue as he kisses you, somehow both cool and hot at the same time, until you are absolutely incandescent with hue and color.
Taehyung shifts until you are comfortably straddling both of his hips. His calloused thumbs knead at the nape of your neck until goosebumps sprinkle like powdered sugar upon your skin.
With your husband's outrageously long fingertips combing through your hair, you find yourself clasping onto the crisp collar of his shirt simply to keep yourself afloat.
You trace the blunt curvature of your nail against his pulse point, doodling a small asymmetric heart on his gilded skin which quickly dissipates when his blood begins to flow southward.
"You taste so sweet, Jagi." Taehyung remarks once your mouths finally separate, savouring the numb tingling sensation which busies his tongue.
"Not as sweet as you do, Taehyungie."
You catch your teeth against your husband's earlobe, ever so carefully guiding the steel loop of his piercing into your mouth. Taehyung's torso seems to reverberate when he mewls, his every breath pitched by anticipation as you guide your hands lower and lower and-
Yeontan darts into Taehyung's office with such gleeful acceleration that you almost leap out of your skin.
He yips merrily, a petite ball of downy-soft fur flanked by your shrieking daughter and her tiny outstretched fingertips.
"TanTan!" She squeals, chasing Yeontan with reckless abandon.
Sighing softly, you place a small apologetic kiss to Taehyung’s nose and climb to your feet once more.
"Are you having fun, sweetheart?"
Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Taehyung reach for the lemonade glass. He takes a long, dehydrated drink.
"Uh-huh!"
Your daughter's arms are short and chubby where they wrap around Yeontan's fluffy brown body. She places a comically loud kiss to the top of his head and then bursts into a fit of bright, energetic giggles.
"Eomma!" She wheezes, pointing a finger up at you. "Yous all colow!"
You bring a hand up to your face, frowning when you feel the crackled texture of rapidly drying paint swept over your cheeks and into the roots of your hair; Taehyung's evident touch tinting your skin turquoise.
"Ah, yeah. Eomma was just helping Appa to paint."
"Ooh! Can y'paiwnt me too, Appa?"
You blush sheepishly, watching the way that Taehyung instantly softens when your daughter regards him with a vibrant rosewater smile and hopeful eyes so similar to his own.
"Of course, Cherub. Come here."
Taehyung lifts her up into his arms, helping her get comfortably situated on the ball of his knee. He grabs for one of his many paintbrushes, drying the excess moisture on a paper towel before he dips it onto a dollop of glowing tangerine paint.
He turns toward her, his tongue protruding ever so slightly out of the corner of his lips as he once again falls victim to his own concentration.
He starts by painting an almost perfect circle against her cheek, chasing it with an abundance of soft squiggly wisps until he has created a summer-bright sun on her skin.
And it works, because she positively burns with delight.
"I suppose I better leave you both to it, hm?" You muse, your voice almost lost to Taehyung's amused giggling as your daughter sings his praises.
You carefully usher Yeontan out of the room, a surprisingly easy task as he trots off in search for a place to nap, and just barely catch the scalding hot sear of your husband's eyes meeting your own.
"You'll finish painting me later, won't you?"
Taehyung rests his chin ever so gently against the top of your daughter's head. His lips twitch with poorly contained mirth.
"You can count on it, Jagiya."
Jeon Jeongguk
The sound of deliciously hot water hammering down on cool tile is loud; a brigade of heavy footsteps echoing throughout an otherwise tranquil room.
And yet, it pales in comparison to the vehement growls Jeongguk emits every single time your fingertips brush over his abdomen.
Your digits move as though you have been hypnotised, the pads of your thumbs following a line of apricot-scented suds as they skim down betwixt Jeongguk's hardened muscles.
"Baby, if you keep touching me like that I swear it's game over."
It never fails to astound you just how talented Jeongguk is at kissing - much like everything else.
His lips crash against your own, sticky and warm and deliciously wet from the torrential downpour of a perfectly-angled shower head. Using the prickle of his teeth, he paves a petite pathway into your mouth. His tongue conducts something of a waltz alongside the succulent slip-slide of your own.
When you finally break for air, your lungs tingling with the poetry of a perfectly executed liplock, you can see starstruck galaxies burning just beyond your damp lashes.
Finally, fighting past the lump which has formed in your throat, you will yourself to simply speak.
"And if you keep kissing me like that, I'm going to be forced to pounce on you."
Jeongguk's playful laughter seems to reverberate throughout his sternum, smothered in part by the sensation of his nose ghosting down your stomach as he slowly folds onto his knees.
"Challenge accepted."
Turning his head into the flush of your thighs, Jeongguk peppers kiss after kiss against your water-warmed skin. He starts at the base of your knee and works his way up, pausing only when he feels the tug of your trembling fingers his hair.
He grins, fiendish and dark, and you see stars far brighter than your wedding band shimmering in contrast to his inky-black hair.
"Jeongguk, I-"
"Nnnnyeeeoowww~!"
The noise of your son's small, sputtering lips opening and closing as he makes loud, enigmatic sound effects is unmistakable.
Through the percussion of water droplets you can hear plastic feet pit-patting against the bathroom counter, dashing across your various lotions and potions, and undoubtedly destroying the perfect sanctuary you have spent the entire afternoon crafting.
Jeongguk stares up at you with wide doe eyes, pressing his pointer finger to his lips.
"Appa?"
Internally hissing, Jeongguk pulls the shower curtain back just far enough to poke his head out, hoping that his son's ignorance and naivety is enough to prevent him from questioning why he's situated so low to the ground.
"What's the matter, bud?"
"Can we pway supahewoes?"
Your son shakes a worn Spiderman action figure in Jeongguk's face, his smile full of young bewilderment.
"Uhh.." Jeongguk turns his head to glance up at you.
He absolutely does not miss the way that you smirk, clearly finding humor in your current predicament that Jeongguk himself sorely lacks.
"What about Uncle Yoongi? Can't he play with you?"
"Nuh-uh. He gone nap-nap. N'I can't find Eomma!"
Jeongguk swallows his sigh, briefly thumbing through a rolodex of suitable excuses within his mind. When he comes up short, he gnaws against his bottom lip and opts instead to admit defeat.
"Okay, buddy. Give me five minutes and I'll be right out, okay?"
"Yay!"
From your position pressed flush against the cold shower wall, you can hear your son bounce up and down from excitement. After a brief victory cheer, he quickly darts out of the bathroom and leaves you alone with your partner once more.
"So… Good call on asking Yoongi to babysit for us to give us some alone time, huh?"
Jeongguk rolls his eyes as soon as he springs back up onto his feet.
"Yeah, Yeah. Even a golden maknae is wrong every once in a while."
Brushing his thumb over your fuchsia colored cheekbone, Jeongguk pulls you forward into a sickeningly sweet open-mouthed kiss. His tongue lalves a brief signature against your own; just enough to leave you sizzling all afternoon long.
"We'll pick this back up later, okay?"
You sigh happily, bringing a hand up to stroke across the spun sugar sting of your lips.
Warnings: Brief allusions to sex, but nothing too graphic.
Notes: This oneshot was requested by anonymous. They wanted adorable fluffy Namjoon spending a rare day off with his partner. I hope, wherever you are, that you liked it and I’m sorry for the delay ♥ I’ve had a virus that’s been kicking my ass.
Make your own requests: HERE
As you fold your body up on the axis of your hip, rotating in a clean arc to reach across the mattress toward Namjoon's designated patch, you are fully expecting to feel the cool compress of abandonment rippling along your sheets.
It's always the same, the harsh bite of cold satin which has somehow preserved your boyfriend's silhouette and the residual cling of his cologne; leaving you a little disappointed but nevertheless eager to progress your day until his inevitable return.
Only on this morning it is not a reminiscent frost that you feel, but rather an unmistakable warmth and the soft, shallow breaths which can only belong to one man.
Namjoon wakes you organically, with lips of spun sugar and the barely-there pull of his teeth leaving a curl of calligraphy along the underside of your jaw. He tastes of peppermint and sunrise, pulling you from the remnants of your sleep with a soft exhale of your name.
"Good morning, Princess." He sighs, nuzzling a deliberately soft semi-circle just beneath your ear. "Or should I say 'good afternoon'?'"
The hot midsummer sun bleeds through your aerated curtains like tangerine paint dripping from a saturated canvas. You can hear songbirds twittering enthusiastically just outside your window and the elated laughter of children participating in a rowdy all-bets-off game of kickball in the park across the street.
Everything is go go go. Nonstop motion. Somehow, the world ticks on in spite of your unorthodox absence.
The crab-shaped clock on the wall indicates that you have missed breakfast. You are close to missing lunch, too.
And you couldn't be more delighted.
Because with Namjoon, days off are as rare as a rainstorm in the middle of the Sahara; a much-deserved rejuvenation.
"What time is it?" You whisper, your words coming out all slurred and sleep-blanched.
Namjoon presses a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose. "Well, let's see… I accrued three missed calls and four text messages before finally deciding to just turn off my phone."
"Ah, so the children are missing your effervescent presence then?"
"It would appear so. As long as we can get through the day without Yoongi-hyung committing mass Fratricide, I'll consider it a victory."
You can't help but to giggle at the notion as unprompted visuals of an unamused Yoongi wrestling with a quartet of multicolor leashes, each one connected to the torso of a hyperactive dongsaeng, and Seokjin's disapproving pursed lips, overwhelm your senses.
"And in the meantime? You have a whole twenty-four hours before things return to normal. How do you want to spend it?"
Namjoon answers your question with the brush of his lips against your own. He takes his time claiming your mouth, his lips startlingly hot in contrast to his sweet and minty tongue.
Namjoon's fingers weave slanted tendrils down over the bare flesh of your pelvis as soon as you part, summoning a film of goosebumps to the surface of your sun-soaked skin.
You shudder helplessly as you ride out the residual sensation of such an earth-moving kiss.
"Mmm… Well, I hope you're happy, Mister. That kiss just wasted a good five minutes of free time."
Your boyfriend's teeth pull a fluorescent pinstripe across his bottom lip, seemingly lighting his way as he begins his slow descent down your exposed stomach and between your thighs as they give without much instruction.
"If you call kissing you until you're weak a 'waste of time' then you're really gonna hate this next part, Princess."
The tip of his nose skims past your naval, crafting a pathway for himself in the stipple of airbrushed freckles which blossom on your skin. And yet, you are quick to catch the nape of his neck with your fingers, maintaining a barely-there hold of his hair to prevent him from creeping any lower.
"Hold up there, Handsome. How about we nail two birds with one stone? There's a hot, soapy untimed shower with your name on it. And I'd be more than willing to help you scrub any… hard to reach places~"
Namjoon tilts his head back inside your loose grasp, the pads of your fingertips pushing through his silvery-blonde strands to rest almost tauntingly against his scalp. He purses his lips in thought.
"Well, I'd be a fool to refuse such a titillating offer." He presses a large open-mouthed kiss to the underside of your naval. "And I'm no fool."
You are plucked from the barely-there drape of your duvet before you can reasonably react, Namjoon's arms imprisoning your midsection and hefting you skyward before carrying you into the cool porcelain of your bathroom.
-
The water which had cascaded down from your shower faucet was luxuriously light, a sprinkling of powdered sugar across your sleep-eased muscles. And yet the petting was nothing short of heavy.
Namjoon had taken his time working sweet-smelling suds into your skin until you gleamed with sparkling iridescence; scents of lavender and violet mingling with the sharp musk of your boyfriend's shampoo.
He had kissed you until your lips ached, buttering you up with an overdose of affection even as you stepped out of the shower and into the baked afternoon sunlight.
After a brief rendezvous in your closet, one which had taken longer than necessary to navigate thanks to Namjoon's wandering hands and greedy lips, you both finally settled on outfits which would compliment such a rare day off.
He now sits across from you, grinning from ear to ear as he indulges himself in a
verifiable cloud of scrambled eggs and generously buttered toast; the first home-cooked meal he has had the pleasure of tasting in far too long. Even Seokjin's schedule has become so saturated that he can no longer find the time to finesse his way around their dormitory kitchen.
Who would have thought a group of seven growing boys could survive on a consistent diet of frequented takeaway restaurants and prepackaged vending machine snacks?
He always looks so beautiful like this, dressed in nothing but a pair of faded jeans and a simple t-shirt. His hair, still damp from your shared shower and lacking any product, hangs limply around his handsome face in a fashion not too dissimilar from the signature whistle necklace draped across his chest.
"I swear, babe, this is amazing." Namjoon croons, using a napkin to stipple away the loose crumbs which have gathered in the crevice of his ever-present smile. "What's your secret?"
Pushing your fingertips through the damp sheen of his hair, you take a seat beside him and indulge in a long, contemplative sip of your orange juice.
"A whole lot of love for my boyfriend and an unreasonably long night's sleep."
Namjoon's grin is so vast that his eyes momentarily disappear into little crescents.
"That's fair."
He wraps an arm securely around your shoulders, tucking you into his hip where he feeds you small prisms of toast and watches as the amaranth horizon dances across your cheekbones.
You feel the cold, wet compress of a soft puppy nose brushing against your calf when RapMon darts wildly between your ankles. He yips musically, vibrating with an overdose of unexpected energy as though he himself had also indulged in a deliciously long slumber and was now reaping the rewards of his pent-up energy.
Namjoon can't help but to laugh, the sound reverberating in tandem with the small bell looped onto Moni's technicolored collar.
"I think our Puppy is ready to hit the road. Don't you, Princess?"
"It would certainly appear so."
You watch as Namjoon cross-hatches his thumb across an array of emails on the screen of his business cell phone, organising them into their designated folders, before he opts to switch off the device all together.
Following his lead, you gather up the empty breakfast plates and place them in the sink; deciding rather quickly that all dishwashing tasks are a problem for a future you. You take a bottle of chilled water from the fridge and grab Moni's collapsible bowl as well as his monogrammed leash, clipping it in place upon his collar and earning some gentle puppy-dog kisses in response.
You run your fingers through Moni's soft fur, giving special attention to his pointed ears and muzzle. Placing an affectionate kiss to his snout, you rise to your feet once more and turn towards your boyfriend.
Namjoon rattles his house-keys with a grin.
"Ready to get some sunshine?"
"With you? Always!"
-
The scarlet-hot skyline reflects prettily upon the shimmering silver swingset where you perch, your toes dangling mere millimetres above the dew-slicked grass. Scents of fresh pine and spring flowers permeate the air, as well as the sugary sweetness of cotton candy being spun into cute little beehives by a nearby vendor.
At the centre of the park, a small group of children are having a competition to see who can blow the largest bubble. Like confetti, the air is full of shiny little bubbles as they rise up to the sky. And darting after them with an open mouth and comically wagging tongue is a soap-spritzed Moni.
The children shriek with laughter, running around in circles with Moni bouncing merrily behind them.
Namjoon's fingertips brush over your shoulders as he pushes you gently on the swing. He traces plump cartoon hearts over the nape of your neck, erecting a small film of goosebumps with every stroke.
"It's such a gorgeous day out." He muses, turning his head to place an unexpected kiss against your forehead.
"Yeah, we really lucked out. Summer sunshine allll day."
"I'd take thunderstorms and heavy rain in a heartbeat as long as I get to spend the day with you, baby."
Ever a poet, Namjoon's words leave your insides tingling akin to sticky sherbet and fizzing pop rocks.
"Dork~" You chastise in a soft voice full of mirth.
You can feel his infatuated grin press into the back of your neck, his fingertips twirling around the stray strands of hair which ribbon over your noon-warmed cheeks.
"Only on my days off."
When Namjoon's digits begin to sway across your collarbones, you concertina them gently between your fingertips. You bring his hand to your lips, kissing across his skin with an audible smack. The pad of his thumb skims over your cheekbone as though he were an artist buffing paint across a canvas.
"You're so beautiful, Princess." He muses.
His words take on an illustrative quality; as though he were scribbling his infatuation across clean journal pages. And yet, before you can respond, he's dipping down just out of view to clasp a fistful of lawn.
"What're you doing, Joonie?"
"Just wait and see - It's a surprise."
Behind you, you can feel Namjoon's fingers work with fast needle-sharp precision. The rounded edge of his nail pierces through stem after stem as he braids several dainty daisies together into a makeshift crown.
"Now, what is it that every princess needs, baby?"
"Her Prince Charming? Or Prince Destroys-Everything-He-Touches, whatever works."
"This is true." Wiping away the residual pollen on the leg of his pants, Namjoon takes a step closer toward you. He carefully places the crown on top of your head. "But she also needs her very own tiara!"
Grinning maniacally, you bring a hand up toward your head to stroke over the small stack of downy-soft petals which frame your forehead.
"You're so cute, you know that?" You shriek, gasping when Namjoon presses a stream of rapid open-mouthed kisses against your glowing cheek.
"Yeah, it's a special gift of mine. Come here, gorgeous."
With his hand outstretched in front of you, Namjoon holds his phone poised on both of your grinning faces. He snaps picture after picture, selca after selca, honing in on the kaleidoscopic shimmer of your eyes and the iridescent glow of lip balm which has transferred from your lips onto Namjoon's.
You stay like that for what feels like an eternity; dissolving into a world where your boyfriend's palms leave semi-permanent prints upon your hips from how tightly he embraces you and his laughter resonates deep within the crevices of your soul.
Namjoon's cellphone feels positively heavy with the weight of all the memories you have captured together. From the soft and tender lip-locks, to the poorly performed rendition of Magic Shop, to the footage you filmed of a hyperactive Moni playfully chasing a butterfly through a cluster of dandelions.
You have squeezed an entire month's worth of desperately craved affection into a single afternoon.
-
It is only once the air begins to develop the faintest tickle of frost that you finally decide to depart from the park.
Namjoon's jacket falls around your shoulders like a cloak of denim. His cologne overwhelms your senses, scents of crisp waters and juniper berry, and at your feet walks a very tired but exceptionally happy puppy.
After briefly stopping by your favourite local bookstore to purchase some light reading material, as well as picking up an order of strawberry croissants and freshly brewed coffee from the quaint little patisserie where you and Namjoon had your first date, you finally arrive home.
You unclasp Moni's leash, prompting him to scurry enthusiastically over toward his pet bed for a well-deserved nap, and retreat back to your own bedroom in order to slip out of your dress and into something more comfortable.
Namjoon's old sweatpants drape around your hips like an elasticated hula-hoop, just barely held in place by fraying cord and sheer willpower. The sweater you have liberated from the back of your closet was once a Christmas staple before the gaudy crimson bows fell off, leaving a simple doe in its place. There are pinhole sized holes all over the elbow and sleeve, as well as a fraying hem, and yet you always find your greatest comfort when dressed in those faded and pilling fibres.
Once you have changed into your lounge wear, you return back to your living room to find Namjoon staring purse-lipped at the carpet beneath his toes. He has his business cell phone tucked in against his ear.
"So there's no major emergency then, Guk? Because this is supposed to be my day off."
You can just barely make out the airbrushed whistle of Jeongguk's voice tittering apologetically on the other end of the phone.
"Yes, she's here." Namjoon glances up at you, smiling fondly as you throw yourself down on a nearby couch. "We're about to settle in for the evening actually, so - I… yep, okay. I'll tell her. Mhm. I will. You too, Kookie. Aight, bye."
"That sounded like fun~" You tease, wedging your spine backwards into a mismatched eruption of multicolored pillows. "Are all six members present and accounted for?"
"So far. JK sends his regards."
Rubbing away the small pearls of tension which had accumulated in his temples during the duration of his phone call, Namjoon places his cellphone down on the coffee table. He passes over your coffee order as well as a beautiful ooey-gooey strawberry croissant and folds his large limbs over the criss-cross of your own.
His lips are a scarlet compress of sugar-syrup kisses against your cheek as he presses small puffs of laminated pastry into your open mouth.
"Now, what are we watching, Princess?"
-
It is surprisingly easy to dissolve into a rarely-negotiated routine with your billion dollar boyfriend.
With old Friends reruns playing quietly in the background, interrupted only by the occasional snore from Moni as he navigates his way through a puppy dreamland, and the balanced warmth of Namjoon's large fingertips weaving aimless patterns across your scalp, your afternoon bleeds well into the evening before Namjoon's ravenous stomach alerts you to the passage of time.
Your fingertips have been fragranced by the scent of persistently thumbed pages, and you have just reached the point in your novel where the fair maiden must choose between the handsome but tender farm-hand or the rugged but passionate business executive.
You spare a glance toward your own leading man. With his deep-set dimples and a smile which could thaw the Arctic, you conclude that you have your own fairytale ending right in front of your very eyes.
"Hey, seeing as I'm in such a good mood, why don't we start on dinner? We can attempt that spaghetti recipe again!"
You can't help but to tut at the notion. "You mean the spaghetti recipe which nearly burned our entire kitchen down?"
"That was an accident. It could've happened to anyone!"
"You tried to cook the pasta without any water, Namjoon-ah."
"In my defence, I followed the instructions carefully. 'Cook the noodles in a pan.' I did that."
"Oh, they were cooked alright."
You giggle in response to Namjoon's petulant pout, smothering the blush of his bottom lip in a brief but affectionate kiss.
"How about instead of turning our kitchen into a living charcoal exhibit we order takeout from that Italian place you love?"
Namjoon's stomach rumbles with ravenous hunger as though in response to your proposal and you can't help but to laugh as you reach for the phone, having already committed your boyfriend's usual order to memory.
-
It is less than an hour later, once your stomachs have been sufficiently plied by copious quantities of rich, herby sauces and ribbons of silken (and most definitely not cremated) pasta, that Namjoon is curling back into your hip with a well-worn notebook in hand.
You have both settled on a film for the evening, opting to delve headfirst into the technicolor vibrancy of San Fransokyo with Moni settled comfortably upon your lap and the fuzziest blanket imaginable draped around your shoulders.
Namjoon's breath is deliciously warm where it unfurls across your throat, dripping like molten honey into your collarbones and stippling a light film of goosebumps across your skin. You can't help but to shudder as his lips find your temple, your cheek, flowing freely across the ridge of your jawline until he finally settles against the upturned curl of your lips.
"I love you so much, Princess." He sighs, inundated with adoration for his girl.
"Not as much as I love you."
As the movie plays quietly in the background Namjoon's fingertips are ever-moving. The light scrape of his pen nib darting across clean paper provides a percussive soundtrack to Baymax's bumbling antics, the edge of his palm stained by faded charcoal ink from touching the page before his words have sufficiently dried.
Out of the corner of your eye you can just barely make out the curl of Namjoon's haphazardly jotted Hangul, piecing together the sentences he has written in your honor.
'...Your eyes are a sunrise which blanch my skin and leave me burning all night long.'
'... Your smile, sweeter than candy, paints syrup in my veins with every glance.'
'... When you say you love me I can feel it resonate skin-deep, stacking promises like petals in my ribcage.'
Namjoon's lyrics are picturesque and beautiful. Even without the accompaniment of instruments and production you can practically feel a cococonphy of emotional ARMYs singing along passionately to each word; as though wearing your boyfriend's carefully scribed poetry like a badge of honor.
To be the inspiration behind so many awe-inspiring songs, whose lyrics act like a beacon of hope for many individuals scattered throughout the universe, well… it's quite the undertaking.
Fortunately, Namjoon makes it all worth it. He's handsome and expressive and capable of leading an entire ARMY into a head space of pure gold.
And as he pulls your body a fraction closer to his own, the tip of his nose nestling against your pulse point to emboss an asymmetric heart on your honeydew skin, you realise you couldn't possibly love him any more.
-
As the credits for Big Hero 6 begin to roll across your television screen, stark and loud and full of celebratory fanfare, Namjoon is quick to locate the television remote underneath his saturated notebook pages in order to hit mute.
Beside him your eyelids have fallen to a close, lips parted to release several soft snores which fall in almost perfect tandem with Moni's fitful exhales. Your lashes flutter delicately, poured like strips of raven lace across your cheekbones, and your fingers curl instinctively in your lap as you clutch onto whatever adorable projection your mind has chosen to supply.
Placing his notebook and pen aside, Namjoon is careful to shoo RapMon away from your lap so that he does not disturb you. He half-attempts to fold the blanket which had cocooned your shoulders, opting instead to toss it onto the nearby recliner out of harm's way.
Your body is feather-light when he lifts you into his embrace. He is careful to rest your cheek against his chest, hooking your legs over his forearm to make it easier to transport you to the safe haven of your bed.
After navigating your hallway with a surprising degree of sufficiency, having knocked over little more than a plastic vase containing decorative pebbles and perhaps skewing a photo frame or three, Namjoon carefully places you upon your bed.
Your mattress seems to eagerly welcome the barely-there compress of your body, your satin sheets lapping up against your limbs like terracotta waves frothing upon the shore.
Once he has dimmed the lights, Namjoon places his cellphone down onto his bedside table and connects his charging cable once he is certain that he has reinstated his god-forsaken alarm.
He kicks off his jeans, opting to remain in his t-shirt and boxers for tonight, and carefully removes his whistle necklace so that he can slide comfortably in bed beside you.
Your perfume lingers upon the collar of his shirt, fragrant and floral and enhanced considerably by the catalyst of Seoul's delicious summertime air. And on his lips burns the faintest smother of the strawberry lip balm you so generously applied after your post-dinner teeth cleaning; the very same lip balm that Namjoon had been so eager to kiss off of you.
In your sleep, you turn comfortably onto your side, bowing your spine backwards until you reach the solidity of your boyfriend's elongated torso. Namjoon is quick to bracket his calf around your ankles, pressing a stream of steady kisses down your jugular and over the swell of your clavicle.
"Sweet dreams, my Princess." He sighs softly. Contentedly.
His lashes soon begin to droop as though laden with lead, influenced in no small part by an entire day's worth of carefree relaxation and indulging without consequence.
No meetings.
No leadership.
No band mates.
Just his beautiful dog, his beautiful girlfriend and a beautiful twenty four hours.
We stay up all hours talking about robots
and it’s ironic
Because she’s the only one who’s ever made me feel happy about existing as a human being.
We plot and we contort fresh worlds that only the two of us can understand
Can inhabit
Can love
And I’ve never been very good at being a person
All the messy flesh and blood peculiarities
Always so caught up in trying to create something outside of myself because looking inward hurts, a sort of hurt that lacks an artistic grace or subtlety.
But she looks at all my hurt bits
My messy unfocused ill-programmed humanity
And she’s so beautiful
Beautiful
Like the word hasn’t been overused for concepts too miniscule to matter.
She paints meaning back into it.
I’ve always felt more gear and wire than heart and lung
But she makes me hyper-aware of my own pulse
My own breathlessness
This renegade sense of self that i’ve tried to escape through fantasy and delusion
We fall into mutual daydreams now
Her humanity with mine
I can let myself be organic
Just for a little while
If it means I can share her smile.
Hi!!! Can i request how all the members would react to being confessed to? and then they tease the reader on her feelings and its all fluffy and stuff. Thank you!!
Hi there, thank you for your request!
I just posted it. Sorry for the delay, but I hope you enjoy!
Hi!!! Can i request how all the members would react to being confessed to? and then they tease the reader on her feelings and its all fluffy and stuff. Thank you!!
All credits for the gifs go to the original owners/makers.
Genre: Fluff
Rating: G
Word Count: 350 - 750
Kim Seokjin
Before today, lunchtimes with Seokjin had always been your favorite way of experiencing pure tranquility.
The visuals are simple. Steelwork chopsticks, sizzling grill plates and crimson-colored placemats. And yet, they perfectly encapsulate your own rendition of pure bliss; a little pocketful of sunshine which could effortlessly cut through the congested bullshit of saturated schedules and vigorous timelines like a hot knife gliding through butter.
As efficient as clockwork and as vital as blood flow, you simply wouldn't be able to function without these frequent outings.
Because Kim Seokjin is fundamental to your wellbeing.
He nourishes your poor lovesick soul through a cacophony of questionable puns and jokes which you have heard countless times before. His painfully handsome face, as sharp as immaculately sculpted marble, and his deliciously swollen lips are your oxygen. And the tenderness with which he holds you, as though you were forged from glass and fallen cherry blossoms, is nothing short of heaven.
And yet, you have gambled away the entirety of your nirvana on a single slip of the tongue; confessing your love to him in a single run-along sentence.
Simple. Quick. As nonchalantly as one would roll a die.
"I really love you, Jinnie."
As soon as the words leave your trembling lips, feather-light and perfectly pronounced despite your internal conflict, Seokjin snaps his head upward. His eyes are wide and glossy with infatuation. Still, he continues to chew on his vegetable wrap; noisily swaying his lips back and forth in that adorable camel-like way which always makes your stomach froth in mirth.
It takes a full minute of suspended silence, of Seokjin suddenly shattering that silence by slurping liquid loudly from his straw, before he finally speaks.
"You should see the look on your face right now!" Seokjin cackles, his voice taking on a quality of sponge scraping across glass.
He mimics your expression, teasing you through the extension of his mouth and eyes as wide as flying saucers, before he collapses back into a fit of infectious giggles.
"That's not fair, Jinnie! I just told you that I… I love you, and now you're making fun of me."
You just barely resist the urge to cross your arms over your midsection and extend your bottom lip into a full-blown pout.
"If you don't love me in the same way then that's fine, I understand. But you can't laugh at me for being scared to tell yo-"
Seokjin's hands fall to rest against your cheeks, his palms as warm as honey and as plush as flocked velvet. He dips his thumbs over your cheekbones, polishing away the cherry-red glow of embarrassment which has overwhelmed your skin in order to pull you close.
His breath is syrupy sweet where it unfurls over your distended lips. Incredibly warm. And you find yourself leaning in toward him, hooked every syllable.
"Don't be silly, babe. Of course I love you."
There is no time to vocalize your surprise before Seokjin is closing the space between your mouths, enveloping his plush pout over your shaking cranberry lips to kiss you with a passionate sincerity.
Pure, unadulterated tranquility.
Min Yoongi
There is something about the cool compression of Yoongi's slender palms, hitched up underneath the woven fabric of your oversized sweater and pressed flush against your abdomen, which seems to overwhelm your sentimental heartbeat.
All those feelings you have been harboring for Min Yoongi over the lifetime or so that you have known him seem ready to burst; a vocal anomaly which has all of your pent-up idolization spilling from your lips like birdsong.
"I'm so in love with you."
As soon as the untimely confession has the opportunity to settle around you, Yoongi tilts his head and stares at you. His eyes are effortlessly intimidating, narrowing into feline slits.
You suck in a tepid breath, certain that he must be able to feel your skin prickling with goosebumps when they decoupage your skin like sequins.
His fingers stroke mindless patterns across your ribcage with the same expertise he affords his beloved ivory keys, scratching ever so gently as though performing a melody designed to keep you satiated.
"I know." He says, his voice calm.
And perhaps the untrained ear would be unable to pick up the warmth which encapsulates the words. But you know. You can feel it.
He may not be a man of discernible emotion or enthusiasm. But you know him well enough by now to recognize the miraculous twinkle in his eyes and how his lips seem to flicker around something exhilarating. A promise of something new and exciting to come.
Especially when Yoongi is pressing those very lips against your cheek and kissing in a steady downward stream toward your upturned lips. He settles there, clinging for what feels like an absolute eternity.
His voice is burgundy smoke and heavy rain, richer than the liquid courage which continues to burn vibrantly on the back of your tongue and erupts like poprocks in response to the overwhelmingly potent taste of Min Yoongi.
"You should know by now how I feel about you, sweetheart."
He steels a fingertip underneath your jawline and pulls you in for another earth-shattering kiss, his tongue making its mark on your lower lip.
And finally, after a lifetime, you do know how he feels.
Jung Hoseok
Your eyes feel heavy, misted, as they focus on the captivating visual of Hoseok's handsome face looming ever closer.
His thumb is heavy but warm where it settles comfortably against the centre of your chin, bracketing just underneath your lower lip so that he can coat your pretty pout in a film of kiwi flavoured balm.
With every stroke of the stick gliding back and forth across your saccharine smile, you can feel a previously untold secret being coerced from deep within.
The confession crackles betwixt your ribcage like freshly incinerated firewood, the embers burning as bright as his infamous thousand-watt smile and oh you are glowing.
Because Jung Hoseok leaves you breathless. Guard down, fully exposed.
From his uncanny ability to produce an overture of beautiful - if slightly obscure - noises and sound effects using only his mouth and his incandescent enthusiasm, you are left completely whipped.
Which is why the words come so easily; as effortless as buttering toast on a sunny morning.
"I love you."
Hoseok pauses mid-bleat to gawk at you, his jaw dangling open. He glances back and forth between the fruity lipbalm and your beautiful awestruck features, frantic almost, before he seems to centre himself.
"Hm, you know… if you love me like you say you do, there might be an easier way of applying this lipbalm."
His words are fuzzy where they bounce off your eardrums, like tinsel and candywrappers, settling somewhere in the back of your mind alongside the name of Hobi's favourite cologne and the memory of the first time he called you beautiful.
You can only watch as he coats his dainty heart-shaped smile in smooth balm, accentuating the adorable (and kissable) mole on his upper lip, and leans closer.
His lips brush against yours so delicately that, for a moment, all you can taste is the whisper of candied fruit and the underlying flavour of Hoseok. He tastes like sherbert and sugar, and as your mouths cling to one another, sticky from balm and the faintest promise of tongue, you can feel him chuckle against your grin.
"I love you too, Honey."
Kim Namjoon
"Namjoon-ah? Would you mind helping me with my assignment?"
Namjoon lifts his head slowly when he hears the melodic chirrup of your voice. A curtain of whitewashed blonde falls to rest atop his broad- framed glasses, accenting his beautiful mocha eyes and the illuminated embers which twinkle within them.
"Of course! Bring it over."
Releasing the sigh which you had been harboring inside your chest in a long, drawn-out exhale, you grip at the neon-lined text between your fingertips and obediently approach Namjoon at his desk with faint mouse-like steps.
A white-hot chill radiates down your spine as soon as you take a seat beside him, your calf accidentally brushing against his thigh from proximity alone. Your breath hitches sharply; as though your lungs have been suddenly and inexplicably jostled within your ribcage.
And perhaps, with how violently you shudder in response to fondness of Namjoon's dimpled smile, they have been.
You really are a victim of your own poorly-contained infatuation.
Namjoon carefully pries the falsified 'assignment' from your fingertips, and your insides instantly curdle from anxiety.
His gaze wanders lackadaisically across the italicized passage placed before him. Slow, hyper-focused, and seemingly undeterred by the words which have been highlighted in a garish glow of tangerine orange.
His poker-face is exquisite. Infallible.
And as he raises his pen and traces it all around the circumference of your haphazardly formulated love confession, seemingly correcting your work rather than acknowledging the three words which you had been so desperately trying to confess to him without uttering a single syllable, you feel an anvil drop down deep within the depths of your stomach.
Perhaps this was a dreadful idea.
Namjoon slides your 'assignment' back across the table with little more than a secretive smile, his thumb bouncing loudly up and down upon the mechanism of his pen.
Your throat feels tight, as though your vocal chords have been wrapped in layers and layers of tightly-bound gauze.
Yet, you attempt to steel yourself before the inevitable blow of rejection comes.
Namjoon's penmanship is a crimson flash of calligraphy, drawing you into every illustrative curve and loop-de-loop.
But it is the words themselves which leave you breathless.
'I love you too Princess'
You lift your head in order to expel a gasp of complete and utter astonishment, an inkling of doubt painting across your tongue.
But the uncertainty is washed away immediately by the pressure of Namjoon's soft, velveteen lips brushing intimately against your own.
He kisses you gently, every stroke of his lips loaded with sincere intent as he cradles both of your cheeks within the oversized sanctuary of his palms and beckons you forward into his welcomed embrace where you truly belong.
Park Jimin
Jimin's hand is a swath of airbrushed satin where it wraps in place around your own. His fingertips are slender but warm, kissed by a cool caress of multi-tonal steel from his various rings.
Your criss-crossed palms gain quite the momentum where they swing pendulously between your bodies, acting as a sort of metronome to Jimin's emphatic burts of seemingly directionless speech.
He seems to be more talkative today than usual. Whether he has been stimulated by his successful session at the dance studio or by the natural detoxification of the clean spring air. One thing is absolute - he is far more impassioned than one would expect after an intense dance session.
It's a relief, really.
Your own attempts at reliable conversation have been stifled by a tight twist of apprehension; braiding through your stomach like silver-skinned serpents.
It's a wonder that somehow, thus far, Jimin has maintained a timely ignorance to the feelings of sensationalized love which wick across your skin like braille.
Especially with your resolve rapidly dwindling every day.
You hadn't realized that Jimin had stopped talking until he is right in front of you, his eyes a blistering charcoal and his pigmented lips slanted in worry.
"Are you okay, darling? You've barely said two words today."
His voice is as soft as tissuepaper, dissolving along your insides like snowflakes hitting asphalt, and all at once you are completely overwhelmed.
Helpless; a bottle of champagne which has been jostled so intensely, so violently, that the cork finally pops free and-
You bring your hand to your mouth in an attempt to smother the loose-lipped confessions which try to escape.
Only you are a fraction too late.
"I'm in love with you, Park Jimin."
To your surprise, Jimin looks irritated.
"Seriously?" He huffs, dropping his backpack to the ground with a small grumble of distaste.
You can only watch in flustered silence as he tears the zipper open and plunders inside, searching through the contents until he finally finds what he was looking for.
He stands once again with a gigantic box of chocolates tucked underneath his arm, and a soft teddybear which proudly models a pristine tee with the words 'I love you beary much' emblazoned across its chest.
"I was gonna confess to you tonight. But you beat me to it."
All words fail you as you glance between Jimin's handsome face and the lovestruck tokens he holds within his grasp. Your body feels numb, as though you have been encapsulated in ice for centuries.
And yet, Jimin's luminescent smile is enough to leave you melting.
"You love me?"
"Of course I do. I've been trying to work up the courage to tell you for ages. And then you go and outdo me."
Jimin's thumb walks underneath your jaw, situating comfortably along the seam of your fluttering lips. He plucks your flesh slowly, playing with you as though you were the strings of a precisely tuned harp.
"I'm s-sorry, Minie. I guess I couldn't hold it in any longer."
A wayward thought seems to paint Jimin's gaze in a temporary shade of rouge. He gravitates toward you.
"That's okay. I think you can make it up to me."
Jimin's lips are pillowy-soft where they close against your own, clinging pleasantly. They are as smooth as airbrushed silk and deliciously supple, flavoured by whichever candied balm he has chosen to wear that day.
The kiss is everything you have ever dreamed of, and then some.
Now you are the one who is dancing.
Kim Taehyung
In theory, this had been an excellent idea.
Invite Taehyung over for your weekly movie night. Ply him with freshly-baked cookies and the sweet strawberry-cream macaroons he loves so much. And be right there, tucked into his side underneath a gargantuan woolly blanket, when he finally finishes sipping his tea and can read the hand-written confession printed along the bottom of his mug.
Easy. Simple.
Only you had forgotten how beautiful he looks underneath the technicolor wash of a flickering television screen. With his perfectly imperfect bedhead and his narrow glasses balancing precariously on the tip of his nose and that goddamn gorgeous boxy smile of his.
In practise, this is a very bad idea.
Fortunately, Taehyung has always been a leisurely drinker. One who indulges in the feel of warm porcelain against his palms and the sickeningly sweet tickle of milk-foam against his upper lip.
You can only watch as he takes long, dreamy mouthfuls and purrs at the creamy flavour which bursts across his tastebuds. He sighs in pure bliss, clearly content with both your company and the adorable animated creatures which prance merrily around on the screen.
He epitomizes serenity. Yet you are completely and overwhelmingly frazzled.
Each and every time that Taehyung brings his mug to his lips and takes a long drink, you can feel your insides crackling with kaleidoscopic electricity.
Your nerves are on fire, burning as brightly as raw timber catching on the scrape of your ribcage and igniting through the feed of your oxygen; on the tepid breaths which you have been holding in fear of revealing too much too quickly.
Taehyung giggles jovially at whatever infantile joke falls from the mouth of the gaudy pink dormouse on the screen and drinks another large mouthful of sugared tea.
Your anxiety spikes, and you scramble.
"Taehyungie, do you want a refill?" You try, somehow maintaining a sense of fictitious calm despite how your heartbeat quickens.
At least under the guise of hospitality you can negotiate Taehyung's mug away from him long enough to swap it out with another less-graffitied, less-risque option.
Taehyung glances up at you, licking his lips to rid himself of any stray strawberry crumbs and residual foam, and grins.
"Thank you, Jagiya. That'd be great. Just let me finish up."
Your eyes widen as Taehyung once again brings his mug to his lips and tilts his head back, swallowing the remainder of his lukewarm beverage in a singular ambitious mouthful.
"Wait, I meant-!"
Taehyung smacks his lips together with a satisfied exhale of 'ah!'. He shakes the emptied mug for good measure, determined to eke out every last drop of lovingly prepared tea, when he notices a most peculiar scribble lining the porcelain.
Your heart instantly bottoms out, falling into your stomach with a monumental CLANG.
Mortified, you hide behind your fingertips and pray that Taehyung has somehow fallen victim to an opportunistic bout of illiteracy.
When he turns to look at you, grinning like the cat who got the cream, you realize that your prayers have gone unanswered.
"Oh, so you love me?"
The warm compression of your blanket has officially shifted from a very bad idea into an atrociously bad idea. You feel trapped like this; a rodent who has naively fallen into her predator's cleverly orchestrated path.
"Ha! What? I don't even know what you're - oh did you get that mug? With the writing? Wait, what mug? I don't even know you're talking about. Anyway, you wanted a refill, right?"
Pathetic attempts at vocal misdirection aside, you kick your feet underneath the blanket in an effort to disengage away from Taehyung's dangerous influence.
But his gaze is cinnamon and gunpowder, keeping you tethered to his very existence like a loyal disciple. And you are helpless to repent.
"Jagi. You know I love you too, don't you?"
Goosebumps rise upon your forearms like ribbons of bubblewrap and you shudder, keening into his side to prevent an untimely collapse.
"You… what?"
Taehyung chuckles, leaning down to press an outrageously hot kiss against your open mouth. The pressure is as light as the breath he liberates from your lungs and as saccharine as granulated sugar. But it is the lilt of tongue which proves to be your undoing.
"I love you." He breathes when you finally part.
Maybe this was an excellent idea after all.
Jeon Jeongguk
Truth be told, you knew you would end up here. You always do.
Jeongguk's elbow is a sharp crease where it folds into the flesh of your outer thigh, his tone as biting as the throbbing pressure of your thumb wedged tightly to distended plastic. You can feel your controller purring with life as you set off another chain-reaction, colourful bubbles linking and popping with fast paced synchronicity and Jeongguk all but growls in disbelief as you obfuscate his screen in another traffic jam of impossible spheres.
"No way!" He yells, rolling his body forward to balance on the tips of his knees, as though the change in vantage point will somehow prevent his inevitable slaughter. "Come on!"
You almost feel bad when you angle your pointer over another cluster of technicolor bubbles, popping them one right after the other.
Almost feel bad.
Your chosen character sings your praises loud, cooing a sing-song melody, whilst Jeongguk's avatar chokes underneath another mouthful of saltwater.
And just like that, it's over.
Competitive as he is, Jeongguk all but throws his controller down onto his lap and pouts.
"That was bullshit. You always win when you play as Kurol." He sighs, jaw set in stone.
You glance upon the character in question, watching as the baby announces its victory by grinning around a lollipop.
"Maybe. Why else would I pick them?"
"Okay, but that's technically cheating."
Jeongguk makes no acknowledgement of his own disappointment-drenched merman. He simply slams his thumb down on the controller in order to advance the screen, gritting his teeth when you are afforded the opportunity to input a new high score.
He even has the audacity to whine, his handsome features drawn into a tightly-wound ampersand of insolence.
"I can't believe Marino let me down."
You roll your eyes in response to his immaturity, unable to smother the flames of infatuation which lick between your ribs like party streamers.
He's so cute when he's angry.
Even if he resembles a petulant bunnyrabbit who had prematurely consumed his last carrot before teatime.
You watch as he falls backwards, collapsing into his chair with a deep pout affixed on those beautiful pink lips, and get an idea.
Something which could easily extinguish the vicious hailstorm of his competitive mood, have him simmering into a low, steady boil rather than the poetic harshness of his current bitterness.
Or, potentially, you could be popping open the purposefully placed pin on a grenade and hurling it directly within the heart of your friendship, unable to do much more than watch as the monumental beauty of your once reciprocated devotion explodes all around you.
It's 50/50. Odds and evens. Risk and reward.
But you wouldn't be friends with Jeon Jeongguk if you didn't thrive on a good old fashioned adrenaline rush.
Your fingers move as though on autopilot, darting back and forth across the onscreen keyboard until you reach the right combination of letters.
A vowel. A consonant. Another vowel.
I L U; the meaning is as clear as crystal.
"Kook?"
"Hm?"
"Look at the screen."
He lifts his gaze almost instantly, allured by the uncertain twinkling of your tone and the delicate warmth of your hand as it rests upon his knee like water lilies bobbing across turquoise waters.
He reads the letters once. Twice.
Then he arches his eyebrow, catching in the soft fairytale wisps of his curls.
"You love me?" He asks.
The syllables of his question are a slow staccato, as though he were dipping his toe into unchartered waters. Gauging your reaction.
You gnaw on your bottom lip until your flesh blooms with tooth-shaped hieroglyphics and nod.
Jeongguk moves before you have the opportunity to prepare yourself.
He brushes his fingertips upon your cheek with an unrequited sweetness, infatuated, tracing illustrative semi-circles over piqued bone as though he were dusting imperfections from a finite sculpture. His candycane lips cling to your own, maneuvering his tongue so that he can effectively polish away the small indentations left behind by your teeth.
You vibrate from head to toe, clearly overstimulated. Another powerful chain-reaction ricochets between your ribcage.
Only this time Jeongguk is at the helm.
"You know I love you too, baby." Jeongguk sighs, his words levitating on the tip of your tongue.
andulkaphoto
jacobvanloon
theartofmadeline
jbbartram-illu
janainaart
snowghoul
discoholicmusic
blakekathryn
pixelskylines
