i understand why south korea is using txts parenting diary as child propaganda as i too would want to get a man pregnant after watching tubatu take care of yoojun
hi my lovlies! It's been a very long time since I updated and will likely continue like this (I'm sorry my angels ☹️) but I wanted to update that I got BTS TICKETS?!!! I actually got them when presale happened but I still haven't processed it....
your boyfriend asks you to pose for his picture, for you to hold the moon between your fingertips. while you stretch, he searches for something in his pocket, something you can’t really see. a surprise.
𝜗ৎ park jimin x female reader 𝜗ৎ established relationship 𝜗ৎ
proposal 𝜗ৎ tearful kisses 𝜗ৎ drabble 𝜗ৎ
jen’s notes ☀︎ wrote this at 3 am last night, desperately trying to escape from all the series and oneshots i’m working on rn. this was written in like two hours, but it’s a daydream of mine, so the idea has been shelved in my mind for a while now. this is just pure flufffffff, written by me for me (and every other jimin girlie out there).
“Stretch your hand out and pinch,” Jimin instructs, his face hidden behind his phone as he positions it just right: You with the moon placed between your fingertips.
You giggle, brushing the hair stuck in your lipgloss away from your face, the strands rebelling in the wind and blowing across your face yet again.
Behind you, there’s the ocean, the stretching horizon, and above lies the sparkling night-sky. You stand on your tippy toes, your bare feet sinking into the sand below while cold waves splash against your calves. In one hand, the one by your side, hangs your heels, the ones you tore off the moment the two of you left dinner.
You’re a bit tipsy, so you wobble ever so lightly as you try doing as you’re told, reaching out for the moon with your thumb and index finger. It’s a task proven to be harder than you thought, and you accidentally snort when tripping over, water splashing up your legs.
“This is impossible when you have no coordination whatsoever,” Jimin groans, letting his phone drop to his side. His eyebrows curl on his forehead, his head tilts to the side, disappointed by your horrible attempt.
You shake your head, trying to pull yourself together, “Nono—get that camera out. I can do this.”
“I don’t want you tripping over and drowning.”
“If I drown in water this shallow, I’d say it’s skill-issue.”
Jimin rolls his eyes, begrudgingly picking his phone back up. The two of you have always been equally bratty, making it hard for you to do anything but bicker. That is of course when he’s not all over you. When everything else seems to fade away, and the only constant is him, his crooked smile, his warm, soft lips against your skin.
You try again, stretching as far as your toes will let you, looking directly at the camera while your fingers reach for the skyline.
“More to your left,” Jimin lets one hand reach his pocket, fumbling with something you can’t quite see as you try your hardest posing for his picture. “Widen your pinch.”
You do exactly as he says, smiling brightly in his direction, waiting for him to capture the moment on film. The wind blows in waves through your soft dress, tiny goosebumps blooming on the exposed skin of your arms and thighs. Your hair gets everywhere, in your eyes and across your shoulders, but it works in terms of giving Jimin’s photo momentum.
Before you, Jimin smiles behind the camera, an expression you can’t really see as he’s halfway hidden. But you can tell he’s giddy, his eyes creasing as he watches you stumble on your arched toes.
“Perfect, now… stay still…”
It’s impossibly hard to not move in your position, but you try, straightening your posture while still pinching the moon… hopefully. You can’t really see if you’re doing it right from where you’re standing, but Jimin seems satisfied, therefore you are.
“Now, look surprised.”
You don’t even question his demand, you just abide, your mouth opening in a gape, your eyes widening. You don’t even still when you see Jimin’s hand retreat from his pocket, something shiny catching in the moonlight perched between his fingers.
He angles his hand, and holds whatever it is that glistens in front of the lens. You stay balanced on your toes, arm stretched out, fingers pinched just so, still reaching for what you think is the moon. From where you stand, all you see is Jimin’s silhouette against the dark, his phone lifted, his other arm raised high.
What you don’t see is how carefully he angles his hand. Lining the glistening silver between your fingers. From the camera’s perspective, it’s perfect: your hand reaching, almost touching.
Behind the phone, Jimin’s breath is shallow. He watches the screen, not you directly, but the image of you: barefoot and glowing before the ocean, the moonlight spilling over your frame.
“Okay,” he whispers. “More surprised.”
You abide, lips curving without effort, eyes bright as you look toward him. The wind lifts your hair at the exact right moment, strands framing your face like something out of a dream. You try ignoring Jimin’s hand, which you believe is covering the lens, but as you look closer… you see a diamond catching in the light.
Click.
“Got it,” he says, voice tight as he lowers the phone quickly, the diamond disappearing inside Jimin’s palm before you can notice anything strange.
You immediately drop your arm, relief flooding your muscles, and before he can even react you’re already splashing your way toward him, water kicking up around your calves.
“Let me see, let me see,” you insist, grabbing for the phone.
“Hey—wait—” he laughs, but you’re faster, fingers closing around it as you nearly slip on wet sand. He steadies you by the waist for half a second, then lets go.
You step back, phone cradled in both hands, screen lighting up your face.
And you go quiet.
The picture pulls you in instantly. There you are: framed against the night sky, balanced on your toes as the ocean curves behind you. And right there, perched just between your fingers, is a ring. A big and shiny diamond ring. Leaves curl delicately along the band, tiny diamonds tucked between them, glistening in the moonlight.
Your eyes water immediately. The girl in the photo stares back at you, blissfully unaware of Jimin’s plan, just a girl reaching out for the waxing crescent.
“Jimin…” you breathe.
As tears start forming in your eyes, you tilt the phone slightly, studying it closer, your thumb brushing the screen. Your heart starts to thud, slow and heavy, each beat sinking deeper into your chest.
Behind you, Jimin says nothing.
You don’t notice the sound of him stepping back, don’t notice the way the sand shifts underneath his loafers. You’re too focused on the image, “Jimin… is it a…?”
There’s no way it is. You’re still staring at the screen when something changes in the air… when the ocean feels quieter somehow, when the wind slows.
“Hey,” Jimin says gently.
You turn, and your breath leaves you all at once.
He’s on his knees in the sand, trousers already darkened where the tide kissed them, one hand holding the ring for real now, not a trick of perspective, not an illusion. Before you, he’s kneeling, looking up at you with earnest eyes and a smile that’s shaking at the edges, offering you everything.
For a second, your brain refuses to catch up.
“Oh my god,” you whisper, voice breaking.
Jimin’s next breath comes out shaky, swallowing hard before his words, “[Y/N]… just let me speak.”
You stand gaping before him, the wind blowing through your hair, your dress, and you’re not sure if you’re shivering because of the cold, or the man before you. And like clockwork, tears start falling from your eyes, covering your cheeks in wet glisten.
It warms you that something similar is happening to Jimin, his eyes watering at the sight of you, framed by the moonlight, looking down at him through clustered, wet eyelashes.
“I love you more than my heart can bear,” he breathes, his words coming out as soft gasps. You wince, as if hearing him saying these words slowly breaks you. He continues nevertheless, fighting his own tears. “I never imagined that I’d be so—”
“Yes, yesyesyes,” you shake your head, you nod, you cry out. The tears are stinging against your skin, and you can’t hold it in anymore.
“Wait—” Jimin laughs breathlessly, panic and joy tangling together in his voice. “No—no, you have to let me—”
But you’re already moving.
You sink down into the sand in front of him, knees pressing into the cold grains without a second thought. Your heels fall forgotten at your side. You’re laughing and crying all at once as you reach for him, hands cupping his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks where tears have already escaped.
He lets out a broken sound, half a laugh, half a sob, still stubborn even now. “I practiced this,” he insists weakly. “I had a whole thing—”
You kiss him.
It’s messy and desperate and entirely unplanned, your lips crashing into his mid-sentence. He makes a startled noise against your mouth, the words dissolving immediately. You feel his smile anyway, feel the way his hands come up to hold your wrists like he’s trying to ground himself.
“I love—” he tries again when you pull back for half a breath. You kiss him again. “—you so much, I just—” Another kiss. He gives up with a laugh that shakes through his chest, resting his forehead against yours, eyes red and shining. “You’re impossible,” he murmurs.
“Just get to the point already,” you whine, pressing one more kiss to the corner of his mouth.
He exhales, preparing to speak, accepting defeat, “Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” you say instantly, without hesitation, so impossibly happy that you can’t even think straight. “Yes, yes, yes, you big idiot.”
He laughs, but that’s about as much of a sound you let him produce, as you lunge forward. Kissing him yet again. It’s desperate and breathless, hands everywhere, the world narrowing down to the two of you kneeling in the sand while the ocean rushes in approval behind you.
Eventually, he pulls back just enough to breathe.
“Your hand,” he whispers. You offer it to him, still shaking. His fingers are trembling as he slides the ring on, silver cold against your skin, leaves curling around your finger. When it settles into place, something in his expression breaks entirely.
“There,” he breathes. “You’re—”
You kiss him again, harder this time, not letting him finish. Jimin lets out a sound halfway between a groan and a sob when your hands slide up his neck, fingers curling into his hair. His lips part, and you take him in deeper, tongues meeting, breath hitching as the kiss turns wetter and more desperate.
His hand slips to the small of your back and presses you in close, until there’s no space between your bodies. His other hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing a tear from your cheek, even as another one falls. He’s crying too, you can taste it in the kiss, feel it in the way his lips shake against yours.
There’s nothing left for the two of you to say. All you know is that you are forever bound to each other, a thought that doesn’t frighten you the slightest. You let his kiss consume you, his soft lips tasting of salt and wine from earlier this evening. And the two of you stay there. Kneeling in the sand, the moon watching over you, spilling light over your bodies with firm approval. This was meant to be… the perfect proposal.
Vendetta /venˈdet.ə/ a prolonged bitter quarrel with or campaign against someone, like Lee Heeseung, ridden in his cigar-burned jacket he would've retched at years ago. Now a distant face scrapping to revive the memory of the vessel he once was at the edge of the bed he shared with you all those nights ago.
╰┈➤MDNI - NSFW content ahead...
…or in simple words… ᴏɴᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ sᴛᴀɴᴅ!ʜᴇᴇsᴇᴜɴɢ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
mentions!! and warnings!! protected p in v, fingering, mentions of inexperienced!hee, smoking, switched dynamics (dom!hee x sub!reader focused), degradation, spit, shotgunning, degrading petnames, dry humping, riding, hee has a vertical labret, palming, reader was mean for the sake of the plot
tyunningism note: Sorry I had to repost !! I was deleting some random posts on my blog and ended up deleting the teaser instead of my rant abt uni 🤧
In and out of jobs, crippling with college debt, and a messy break up with your short-lived (ex)boyfriend — that’s how you’ve been keeping up with the glamourised adult life ever since you turned eighteen. From city to city and friends to strangers, you’ve only just managed to settle down in a small studio apartment based on the outskirts, where the air is lighter as it tickles your skin on late walks home after a shift. With the exception of a new bad habit you’ve picked up aside from falling for men who waste your time: your lips are almost always stuffed with a cigarette between them, and another pack of 20 buried in your pockets to get you through the night.
Some nights you hold back on the head start to your smoking marathon. Other nights you’ve run through the whole pack before the sun even began to set, but you’ll make an urgent stop at the nearest gas station to buy one for the same reason. Since you’re certain he’ll be there again, nameless as he is, with a hood pulled over his head and the silhouette of his nose bridge illuminated by the flame of the lime lighter tucked in his grasp.
You save your cigarettes for him. Sacrifice a couple more minutes of your sleep as they extend into half hours, then full, especially on the days you’re at the unspoken but agreed ‘meeting place’ first right in the dim alleyway.
Over the past few months, you’ve been renting at this cheap-for-nothing address, your back must’ve carved itself into the brick from how often you’re slumped against the graffitied wall. While he burns his mark onto the wall opposite with the embers of his cig that blaze into ash as he squats down to his knees. It’d be a lie to say that you aren’t observing him whenever he shows up in that shared second-home of an alley at 10 on the dot— you catch him sneaking his glances from under the shadow of his hat too. Except you struggle to read his gaze like you have with every other guy who’s captured your free-for-all interest. His eyes hold vindication for a fault you can’t identify along his blurred yet perfectly attractive features; his face is a piece of abstract concealing a sense of familiarity whenever he approaches close. Then he shatters your expectations of false proximity with the most hostile of tones as he asks for your lighter like any other stranger would, more like how an adversary with a stifling grudge would.
There’s a respectable silence that both of you like to soak yourselves in, not including the occasional coughs from a lung beginning to list itself as one of your many issues nor the standard “Do you have a cig?” exchanged now and then. A silence exactly like how it is right now as you shield the flame of your lighter from the gust of wind tunnelling through the alley with your cupped palm. Your brows furrow as you heave out your lament for the miserable life you’re living fueled on a supply of nicotine in the form of a sigh. He’s here again tonight, except without his favourite beanie or the hood of his jacket mulling over his hair which no longer matches the amber butt of his cigarette.
It's the first time you’ve ever approached him with an attempt at small talk during one of your dead quiet smoke sessions together. But the air tonight is different, heavier and cloudier with the remnant of something that’s not the smoke exhaled out of the small gap created between your lips. It’s an intimacy that’s drawn you in ever since he first made himself known as an existence in your large network of people you once knew and are no longer in contact with. An intimacy that reminds you of your earlier years of partying, drinking, getting wasted and high and whatnot that set you on the direct path of burn out—even if you’re sure you’ve never encountered such an attractive appearance like his in this city aside from this alleyway. So you dig deeper. An invitation for him to converse with you as you tilt your head to the side where he’s standing slightly angled, but parallel to you. “What made you ditch the red?”
Your brows perk watching him take another drag of his cigarette, keeping the smoke within his lungs for a few seconds longer before ultimately exhaling out the mist of grey upon turning to meet your curious attention on him.
“Does black ring a bell?” His eyes sharpen themselves into an interrogative slant, the fingers held up to his lips with the cigarette stumped between them dropping down to his legs.
He’s confusing, everything about him is confusing and a puzzle that scrutinises your memory like clock work as your line of sight glazes over his black tresses. The colour, although extremely basic compared to the old cherry-red, is familiar but fragmented to you, as if it contains the vessel of someone you once knew. Except it’s plastered onto the appearance of a stranger who you don’t even know the name of as he waits for your response. “Should it?”
“You tell me.” His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, preparing to take another drag out of the Marlboro between his fingers.
“Don’t know. Half the world has black hair. What makes you so special?”
“—Do you always ask so many questions?” Your question was supposed to end with a gentle laugh, intended to be joking and unserious in the hopes of earning a laugh from the husky depth of his voice too. He cuts you off bluntly, his own question making you question yours as disbelief paints itself over your face susceptible to your emotions.
“Wow, way to introduce yourself as a jackass.” You mumble as you take another hit out of your cigarette, the taste of smoke suddenly turning more unpleasant as your expectations of making an acquaintance around here crumble down to rock bottom.
This time he laughs, cunning as if he’s been plotting on your reaction from the start as he puts out the burned edge by crushing it meaninglessly under the weight of his foot.
“Believe me, I’ve introduced myself before. I’m sure you’d know what a jackass is. Fucking ‘wimps’, and then going around telling her friends Lee Heeseung’s the worst she’s ever had.”
fic taglist is open!!!
perma tag: @lwhyuka @prkhaven @angelhyuka @whoisgami @yvampyr @starsmew @iheartyaemiko @fancypeacepersona @page-isa @kristynaaah @nanilis @lorislane @misssssssdel @petulapetula @twinklingsparkling @filmnings (sorry abt the tags guys I deleted the teaser on accident 💔)
want to join the enha perma tag? Send me a letter/ask or visit the perma tag section on my blog! 🍏
taglist: @heekolazz @ruinxas (sorry to the people I couldn’t remember to add onto the taglist ackk :( )
I hate that this angel felt the need to apologize when he ain’t do nothing wrong in any way, shape, or form !!! His message should’ve been “Fuck y’all stupid ass bitches. Stay out my business, you’re not real fans.” But sadly, they’d harass him even more.
Both of you are 'know-it-all's in your own respective fields to some extent. You spend your Saturdays on calculating molar enthalpies and carrying out titrations, and he spends his staying the night at another girl's apartment— doing well, 'guy stuff'. It's not fun falling into Taehyun's Trinity of Virgins theory, but he's willing to break you out of it for a good cause. ᯓ
╰┈➤MDNI - NSFW content ahead...
…or in simple words… sᴇxᴘᴇʀᴛ!ᴛᴀᴇʜʏᴜɴ x ᴠɪʀɢɪɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
ᝰ.ᐟ teaser wc - 1k
est wc- 12-14k
release date: 10th Oct !!
mentions!! and warnings!! unprotected p in v, prone bone, missionary, hand+boobjob, scratches, corruption kink, dumbification, dirty talk, facials, petnames (angel etc.), masturbation, praise and degrad, dom!tyun, nerd!reader, I never got past gcse chem so there’s probably inaccuracies, pocket pussy and bra stealing mention!!! (no use)
“She told her friends she could barely feel it.” Taehyun scoffs at the recall right as he lightly kicks the older male for not paying attention, attempting to revive the conversation by delving into another ramble about his best friend’s ex you’ve gathered.
“That’s all crap. She’s upset I came on her lash extensions! I don’t need to flash her friend group to prove I don’t have a micro—”
Yeonjun is interrupted by his own yelp in pain, his arms clutching to his stomach in agony before sending an equally harsh kick back to Taehyun.
“Save it for later, she’s here.” You may be oblivious but you’re not downright stupid, and so you’re immediately swinging your head back to questioningly stare at them with the remote pausing the show; blasting on the tv merely for decoration. “What’s wrong with me being here?”
“Just guy talk—”
“Relax dude, it’s only conkers and chemistry in her head.” Yeonjun stifles a laugh watching you bead your eyes at him, having heard the same thing over and over again to the point you’ve given up arguing.
Huffing, you slump and dig your chin into your chest. “Maybe if you tell me I can actually learn.” Your hand reaches over to grab a fistful of chips out of the bag snug in his hands, messily shoving it into your mouth in annoyance. “If I told you what they meant your little pure-white bloomers would go flying.”
“So, did you prone bone her? We were all betting on it as you left.” Taehyun leans in for the remote in your palms, hoping to change the channel which you hand to him without issue.
Yet the switch of the tv channel to some football match doesn’t break your train of thought. “What’s a prone bone?” Curiosity left your unzipped lips like some fool before you could hold it back. And Taehyun wastes no time in directing a quirked brow and scoff in disbelief as he quickly straightens up more enthusiastic than he ever has been since he arrived at the doorstep.
“You don’t know what prone boning someone is?”
“Dude I’m telling you she’s like the ultimate virgin! She’s not going to know any of it!!” The snacking of chips from your roommate’s mouth disorganises your mind even further, too focused on the chewed pieces spitting from his mouth as he speaks to even realise Taehyun was leaning dangerously close over you.
“What about giving head?”
You jolt at the amplified voice inching in from behind, shaking your head no with brows knitted in concentration digging through your memory for some sort of definition.
“—Ever fingered yourself?”
“F-fingered?—” You shake your head once more, holding up your fingers to your face in confusion and looking back up at his stumped expression that Yeonjun doesn’t reciprocate. He’s well versed in what you do and don’t know especially when the noise complaint you filed in was actually him and the girl from his weekend job having rough sex in his room.
“Hey nerd,” Yeonjun chimes in before Taehyun could ask any further questions, his phone camera directed towards your face, “you like doggy don’t ya?”
Your eyes light up from finally being able to understand a full sentence over the last 10 minutes of conversation you couldn’t decipher, eagerly nodding with your head.
“Uh yeah!—who doesn’t? I used to have a Beagle when I was younger I told you about this,”
The smile on your face nervously contorts into confusion upon the combined synchronisation of raucous laughter channelling through both men. A funny enough joke you’ve made and once again don’t get the punchline behind, causing them to slap at their knees with tears brimming in their eyes.
The replay of your confident yeah! plays on loop from his phone, the audio slightly crackling from the numerous times he’s dropped it onto the floor from an ungenerous altitude. “Whaat?! Does my voice sound off today or something?”
After a solid minute or two of crying-laughing and poking fun at none other than you Taehyun finally calms himself down to a state where he can form coherent enough words to answer your question.
“So not only are you a Chem major who drinks apple juice when everyone’s taking shots, but you don’t know anything about sex too? Holy shit…you fit the Trinity of Virgins’ theory exactly—”
“The trinity of what? I-I know what sex is I’m not stupid!”
“Hold on now—” Yeonjun sits up from his slump that’s left an imprint in the back rest, an accusing finger struck towards your face to make a point the entire living room enters silence waiting for, “You thought I was a stem major or something because you mistook my pocket pussy for some sort of model. That’s when it clicked you’ve never been dicked down in your life.”
Mortified at the memory you scramble from your feet to cover Yeonjun’s mouth before he could spill anything about you placing it on his desk like the atomic model on yours, stolen off his bed and displayed next to his keyboard to paint him like a complete incel.
“Why would you even have that in the first place!??” You groan thinking about how you touched the used silicone without thinking, still muffling his mouth with your palm so that Yeonjun has no chance to defend himself. Aside from the male on the opposite end of the couch to do it for him.
“How else is he gonna get off? No one wants to fuck him and his microdick.” Taehyun leaves his spot from the couch just in time to save himself the ear of his friend’s bickering, the vulgar language too much at once for you to process before he’s slipping himself into Yeonjun’s room— usually the indicator he’s staying the night again.
The room enters much needed silence until Yeonjun loads his Netflix account onto the screen, absent-mindedly scrolling down to watch the same episode of Suits for the tenth time while you fiddle with your shirt. “Did I say something to upset him?”
Your roommate slumps back onto the couch, caught in the middle of a yawn as his eyes start to flutter shut with fatigue.
“Nah, I’m pretty sure he just has a thing for virgins.”
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