my-best-friend-is-beautiful

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It’s been 2 years since that night you slept over. 2 years since you nervously kissed me for the first time and 2 years since you asked me to be yours. Chelsea, I can’t thank you enough for these past 2 years because not only have I found the love of my life - I’ve also found my best friend. Happy 2 years, my beautiful girlfriend ❤️  X

  • me to my best friend: you're really cool and beautiful and like, basically you're this super amazing person and i'm just blessed to be aware of your existence
  • me, still to my best friend: also you're a fucking nerd

anonymous asked:

When I saw Taehyung cry, I remember Taehyung part in Spring Day 'You know it all, You’re my best friend' with his beautiful voice.. The feellssssss

And this time he said “After 6 years, you are now my dearest friend”

Originally posted by just-keyboard-smash

He also added “I’m sorry I am always on the receiving end … you care about me, and have me in your thoughts. You work hard for me and understand… Love you

Originally posted by bombom-doce

*cries in Vmin* 

When I Met A Girl

***I wrote this for my English assignment and yeah… Enjoy****

When I was seven I met a girl who made me giggle. My first
day at school and she walked up to me, her hands filled with sand, “Here, have
this, you’re my new friend.” I took it gratefully, stunned by this tiny girl
with glasses too big for her face. I carried it around with me until I was told
off; sand wasn’t allowed in the classrooms. We’d sit together and laugh and cut
out tiny pictures of animals we would tape to our tables. She’d tell me stories
of older siblings and slide her glasses up her nose right before they’d fall off
her face. I’d sit there and eat my lunch, chiming in every now and again to
tell her about my funny memories, which always resulted in her laughing so much
she began to snort.  But summer was the
best, because the sun seemed to focus on her, making her blonde hair light up
and set her apart from our other classmates, always making me smile. She’d buy
red icy-poles from the canteen and would later hold my hand with her sticky
sugar coated ones during play time. It seemed as if nothing could compare to
her gapped tooth smile and messy hair.   I remember thinking of our days as being the
best thing in the universe, having endless fun and never growing tired of silly
jokes or colouring in.

When I was ten I met a girl who made me smile. We’d sit in
her room with Avril Lavigne playing on her TV and her parents arguing from the
kitchen. I’d bring over my mum’s lipsticks and eye shadows and we’d give each
other colourful makeovers to help pass the time. She’d welcome me into her pink
room and her freckled cheeks would glow underneath our messily made blanket fort,
then we’d sing along to the music, our hands together as we danced across the
room. She embodied happiness and wore yellow flowers behind her ears, sometimes
woven into her two long braids. I remember movie nights with her feeling like
they could last forever, the morning never seeming to come as we lay in bed and
laughed at our own jokes, staying up past midnight and sneaking into the
kitchen to steal ice cream and cookies for snacks. These nights were magical
and held a kind of sacredness, nothing bad could enter our forts, nor could
parents or siblings. She gave me confidence, energy and ice cream.

When I was thirteen I met a girl who made me laugh. This
girl was fearless, she approached me with certainty and demanded that I be her
friend. She’d text me at four in the morning and we’d talk for hours on end.
This girl was my best friend, this girl was beautiful and she knew it.  She’d take me by my hand and we’d run home
from school, collapsing on her bed, laughing, as we shook off our school bags.
She’d sit me down and open up to me about the things that erased the confidence
from her eyes, she told me about her mum and car crashes and things that made
her cry. I’d hug her and tell her it would be okay, because I felt as though I
needed to protect this girl, and I wanted to make her feel secure. We would
climb trees on her uncle’s farm and she would laugh when she had to help me up
to the highest branch, before kissing me and smiling the biggest smile I had
ever seen. I’d laugh nervously, my brain buzzing and my cheeks flushed, then
she’d kiss me again and we would just sit there, staring at the sunset. “Don’t
tell my dad.” She’d always say as we climbed down. For the longest time I
didn’t know if she meant don’t tell him that we’d climbed the tree or that we’d
kissed, I figured it out the next summer when her uncle came down to the back of
the farm to call us up for lunch and found us kissing. I was sent home and when
school started she wasn’t there. My teachers told me she was sent away to live
with her aunt in New South Wales.

When I was sixteen I met a girl who made me cry. This girl
was filled with shards of glass and storms. She was a hurricane that would
bring me along and then drop me to the ground when she was done. This girl
wasn’t kind or good for me, but she was captivating, she made me feel special
and loved and important. She’d pick me up in her old, beaten car and pause to
tie her long golden hair out of her face as she told me of the night’s plans.
When I was with her there were colours, there were lights and there were fields
of experiences and firsts and the little things that mattered. She’d put her
arm around me and promise me that tonight was going to be the best night ever, and
then we’d dance for hours on end, to music neither of us had ever heard. Whenever
we went out she’d be surrounded with crowds of older boys and pretty girls, but
she always managed to look down at me with her big green eyes that told me none
of them mattered, that nothing else mattered, because we were together and the
night was young and we had a car that could take us anywhere. But this girl was
poisonous. When we were alone she’d yell and scream and push me around. She’d
fill my ears with stinging words and leave me crying on her door step at the
end of each night when she was done with me. And for whatever reason, the next
day I’d come back, and we’d go out, and she’d love me, until we went back to
her house and she’d blame me for the car breaking down, or my parents finding
out we were drinking, or for her forgetting her keys. She’d blame me and I’d be
sent away shaken and scared, but I still came back.

When I was nineteen I met a girl who made me dance. I
complimented her on the scarf she wore to class every day, she had smiled and
whispered, “My dad bought it for me from Spain,” then she looked at me properly
and leaned in closer, “You have very pretty eyes.” I blushed and thanked her,
she smirked and resumed paying attention to the lecture. This girl was amazing;
she was charismatic and could charm anyone. She knew every student and every professor.
She was smart, creative and emotional in all the right ways. She was all things
bright and all things extroverted.  This
girl was warm and this girl was lovely. She wore flowing dresses and took me to
sophisticated parties where we would stand in the corner and laugh at every one’s
ridiculous outfits, we’d get tipsy on champagne and spend the rest of the
evening in dingy cafes in the city that smelt like old smoke and pancakes. My
year with her was the best year of my life. Her dad would buy plane tickets to
fly us out to Spain to stay with him. We’d spend hundreds of dollars on
expensive Spanish food and waste hours watching street performers, dancing, and
just being in each other’s arms. She was the first girl I had fallen in love with,
and every moment with her was special, was magical, and was perfect. The night
before she left to move to Spain permanently we laid together in her bed and
cried. Eventually we stopped and I laid beside her, playing with her long red
hair as she rested her head against my shoulder, “This won’t be the end, long
distance works for a lot of people,” we’d tell each other. When she left, we
lasted for two months before we mutually agreed it wasn’t working, it took me five
months to properly recover. She was my first love.

When I was twenty-three I met a girl who made me jealous.
This girl could never love me back, this girl was the one that got away. I fell
for her despite myself. I really couldn’t help it, everything about her made me
smile; the way she covered her mouth when she laughed, how she did her makeup,
the way she cut her hair, the skirts she wore that would billow around her
every time she spun around, which was often. This girl was kind to me and took
care of me, she was my friend and was there for me when I needed her. We moved
in together and it felt like torture, I wanted so much more than what we had,
but I couldn’t have it, so I had to remain content with our current friendship,
with inside jokes and crying on each other’s shoulders. For then, it was
enough, but I couldn’t help pining. She eventually met a man, and for months I
was taken over with jealousy, why did he achieve what I could not? Soon she
moved out and moved in with him, they became engaged and I was forced to let go
of my feelings. Yet we still remain friends, and we have dinners together and
laugh about my younger self and her love stricken feelings.

When I was twenty-seven I met a girl that made me sparkle.
This girl, she was The One. She’s the girl that made time stop, that froze
everything around us every time we kissed. The girl that made my stomach fill
with butterflies and my head fill with romances. This girl was every definition
of perfect. I could stare for hours and hours and hours at this girl and her
beautiful blue eyes, at her constellations of freckles that littered her back,
I could stare and he stained lips and her short wavy hair, I could stare at
this girls tanned legs and I could listen to her angelic voice until the day I
die. I fell in love with all these, all of the beautiful perfect pieces of her.
I fell in love with her flaws also; the stretch marks pulled across her hips,
the small mole on her jaw, the scar in between her eyebrows from when she was a
child, the regretted star tattoo on her finger. Everything about her enraptured
me, she was perfect to me, and I too her. She’d surprise me in the mornings
with sweet coffee and a sweeter smile. This girl would take me on adventures I
will never forget.  She made me feel like
a million stars, she made me sparkle, she helped me love everything, she helped
me follow my passions and to realise what love felt like. This girl was lovely.

LOL my bestfriend always makes the smoking videos hype Happy earth day everyone 🌏🌳🌿✨

Quit Beating Me Up!

Request: Hi! Can I request a Peter Parker imagine with the prompts “Stay Awake” and “Quit beating me up?” (I know those two imply that it will end sad, but can you make it not sad but instead just fluffy?) Thank you so much!!!!!!!! I love your writing!

Summary: Peter’s jet lag from flying home from Germany is keeping him up, and ultimately you too. 

Originally posted by smilexcaptainx

Nothing beats the comfort of your own bed, especially after a long, exhausting day on your feet which you just had. As soon as your head hit the pillow, you couldn’t keep your eyes open any longer, even when you heard your window open and shut. 

Peter, having just returned home from Germany, and giddy with excitement and anticipation to tell you about his over seas mission, just couldn’t wait till morning to see you. So here he was standing over your sleeping figure, facing away from him, nearly jumping up and down, trying to figure out a way to wake you up that wouldn’t get him punched in the face.

You could hear what was happening in your bedroom, but only thought of it as a dream in your drowsy daze. You felt a cold hand clutch your shoulder gently, “Y/n, Y/n wake up,” you groaned in response, “Please. C’mon I have so much to tell youuu,” 

Hearing Peter’s voice pulled you out of your slumber. Agitated now that you know Peter’s in your room, you swatted the hand away, and pulled the covers over your head, curling into a ball.

Keep reading

Burning Like Liquor

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Reader

Genre: Smut, slow burn(?)

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: cheating (not involving Seokjin), sexual content

Summary: You don’t know why it is you find yourself in front of the rich, arrogant, Kim Seokjin’s penthouse after discovering your boyfriend with your best friend. You wonder why you chose to come to him, of all people, wonder why it’s him that you feel can be your only distraction, wonder why you seem convinced that he is the answer to the equation you’ve never been able to solve. 

Kim Seokjin wonders why it’s you that ignites a raging inferno under his skin when he usually feels nothing at all.

A woman’s bra thrown haphazardly on the floor. That’s the first thing you see when you step into your boyfriend’s apartment. A little further down the dimly lit hall, a pair of pink stilettos that don’t belong to you, a pair of hastily removed black pants, an undone tie, and a deep scarlet dress that’s torn down the front. Two unfinished glasses of wine sit alone on the coffee table. One has the imprint of bright red lipstick smeared along the rim, marring the otherwise perfect chrome surface. It glows crimson in the pale light of the apartment, a scarlet letter. You’re not exactly sure how to categorize how you feel as your heart plummets like a stone in your chest, not sure how to describe the bitter cold that threads its way through your body, every nerve crystallizing into ice until even your fingertips are numb. The room drifts out of focus and you’re seeing double—two pairs of those offending pink heels, two black ties, two sets of those infuriating half-filled wine glasses—and it isn’t until you blink a stinging, humiliating teardrop out of your eye that you realize you’re crying. The entire world slams back into crystalline focus.

You’re numb as you walk down the hallway to the bedroom, movements mechanical and dissociated. The pathway is decorated with hastily abandoned articles of clothing. You aren’t stupid, by any means, fully aware of the scene that’ll undoubtedly greet you, but some perverse, insidious desire for confirmation prickles under your skin. You had noticed how his schedule had gradually become busier and busier, noticed how his responses to your messages became slower and slower, noticed how even when he was right next to you, he felt miles away. So you can’t describe your emotions as surprised when you step into the doorway and see the silhouette of a naked woman in his bathroom and see him in the middle of the room, only a towel wrapped around his waist. He freezes completely when he sees you. But your eyes aren’t on him. Instead, they’re drawn to the oh-so-familiar back of the woman in the bathroom. You can’t help but think about a nearly identical scene two years ago, flashing in your mind’s eye, as the exact same wave of dread drops over your shoulders. It feels like a funeral shroud.

“(Y/N),” he breathes, and she whirls in surprise.

Your best friend’s eyes land directly on yours.

Not again. It feels as if you’ve been kicked in the stomach, all the air in your lungs escaping your throat in a twisted little sound of pain and betrayal you barely recognize. You feel your heart shatter in your chest. The pain is raw and blinding and it tears through your entire body, unforgiving and without mercy. It’s both scalding and freezing at the same time.

She can’t bring herself to look away from your eyes. Even she can’t find any words, tongue stumbling over an empty explanation, and your boyfriend moves to shield her from your view, protecting her even now. Blood roars in your ears as you turn away, a flood of emotions slamming into you all at once, too quickly for you to process. This time you recognize the burn of tears in your eyes. Each one sears a burning path down your cheek as you stumble aimlessly out of the apartment building and hail a cab.

#

You don’t know why you end up in front of Kim Seokjin’s penthouse. You feel empty now, utterly hollow. It seems as if you had already cried out every drop of sadness in the fifteen minute drive, your eyes dry and throat hoarse. You slam your fist on the door twice and cross your arms impatiently, still unable to process the raging chaos of thoughts racing through your mind.

You hear movement inside and a muffled sigh. A glass clinks against a table top. “Jungkook, I told you—” The door opens and Seokjin’s tall frame appears, bronzed hair tousled. A wry grin spreads across his face and he cocks his head as he takes in your disheveled appearance in a slow, sweeping gaze. “You’re not Jungkook,” he says, intelligently. “What a lovely—”

You push past him, thoughts still thundering in your ears. You wonder why you chose to come to him, of all people, wonder why it’s him that you feel can be your only distraction, wonder why it’s him that can make you feel anything at all.

“Yes, come on in. Make yourself at home,” he calls after you sarcastically, scoffing in disbelief as he watches you collapse onto his couch.

“You have alcohol, don’t you?” Your hands come up to cover your face as your head falls back against the cushion. You want to forget more than anything right now. You want to experience everything from the detached, muted haze of alcohol.

You hear him close the door. “Why?” he asks, voice lilting. “Did you finally come to terms with the harsh reality of your dear, cheating boyfriend?”

Your eyes snap open and heat rushes to your face. He returns your glare evenly, head cocked to the side. “What, you didn’t think everyone already knew?” He lets out a biting laugh, but there’s nothing humorous about it. “That’s why you’re here now, isn’t it? To drink yourself into a stupor so you can forget all your problems?”

His words sting, cutting deeper into your already battered heart. “Why else would I ever come to you?” you shoot back acrimoniously.

The smile on his face stiffens, his eyes locking with yours momentarily. After a beat of silence he turns, pulling open a cabinet behind him and placing two crystal glasses on the marble countertop. “What do you feel like?”

“Anything other than wine.” You want to wash the lump in your throat down with the burning fire of alcohol. “The stronger the better.”

Seokjin nods in assent, selecting a short, dark bottle filled with a golden fluid.

When he hands you your drink, he brushes unnecessarily close to you, choosing to walk behind the couch so that he can press the drink into your hand by leaning in so close you can feel his hot breath fanning over your neck. You don’t really mind. The warmth he emits is comforting, and it disappears all too quickly when he steps around the corner of the couch to sink into the leather beside you. “To forgetting everything,” he says drily, raising his glass. His arm nudges yours to indicate for you to do the same.

You grimace in response but clink your glass to his anyway, just to humor him. “To forgetting,” you echo, and bring the liquor to your lips, taking a giant gulp.

It burns like fire going down your throat. You cough and splutter as you struggle to swallow, throat flaming and eyes stinging. The alcohol sears a blazing path down your body as it slides down your chest to your stomach.

“Careful,” Seokjin warns wryly, taking an equally large swallow without flinching. “You’ll only be able to drink like that after many of these nights.”

You ignore his warning and knock back your head with another large draught, grimacing as you swallow. It slides down smoothly this time. The warmth pools in your chest and blooms in a white hot heat that curls slowly outwards and causes your blood to rise to your cheeks, tinting them a bright crimson. Yet you feel a perverse sense of satisfaction at the pain, a bitter smile curling your wetted lips. “Isn’t it funny?” you say into the bottom of your glass, eyes glazed and distant as you watch the golden ichor-like fluid swirl hypnotizingly slowly in your hands. You ask no one in particular—it’s an empty question asked only by those who don’t want answers. Seokjin listens anyway. “I’m not even surprised. You’d think that I would be satisfied now, finally knowing the truth I had suspected all along.” Your eyes burn along with the liquor in your chest. Seokjin doesn’t say anything, only sips on his drink in silence as he watches you from the corner of his eye. You let out another bitter laugh. “You’d think I could feel liberated now, knowing the truth.”

Seokjin scoffs into his glass. “Now, (Y/N), you know better than that, don’t you? That’s never how it works. You should know better.”

Blood boils in your veins.  You want to push him, to force something genuine out him. You want to see something real from the unfeeling Kim Seokjin. You’re destruction in the form of harsh, caustic words, and you want Kim Seokjin to come tumbling down with you. “It was Eunwoo,” you snap suddenly, focusing your blazing glare on him as you say her name so you can watch his reaction. You want to see the pain on his face. You want someone else to experience the same betrayal and anger, the same pure, raw pain. You want to feel something, and there was no one better than Seokjin for that. You don’t want to be alone in someone else’s company. Not now.

He freezes, his glass half tipped back, the drink just barely grazing his lips.

“The girl he’s been fucking behind my back. It’s Eunwoo.” A cruel smile twists the edge of your lips. “You like her, don’t you? I’ve seen you watching her when she’s with me.”

You watch with twisted satisfaction as his eyes darken and knuckles whiten around his glass, still frozen mid-sip.

“My best friend, Eunwoo. Eunwoo, beautiful and intelligent.” Acid in your lungs and saccharine poison drips in your words. “Eunwoo, who all the men fall for. Eunwoo, who has drawn in every man I’ve ever fallen for.” You spit her name like a curse. You don’t know if the burning in your chest is from the liquor anymore. “Eunwoo, who has fucked not one, but two of my boyfriends behind my back.” A sliver of the betrayal you feel slips into your voice treacherously, contorting your words so they fall out with a broken inflection. “Why do you like her?”

“What do you mean?” He lowers his drink from his lips, eyes still storming. Good.

“Eunwoo. Why do you like her?”

He turns his head away from you with a sigh. “I can’t answer that.”

It infuriates you. “Why?” you press, unable to stop yourself from self-destruction. “Are you in love with her?” Your eyes are probing, listening intently with a shameless, desperate curiosity for his answer. You anticipate his yes, his dry confirmation in that viscous, smooth voice of his. Yes, he loves Jung Eunwoo. He’ll say it with pain in his dark eyes, you’re sure. But despite yourself, even as you wait expectantly for his yes, your ears desperately listen for his no. No, Kim Seokjin does not love Jung Eunwoo. No, Jung Eunwoo’s presence in the wistful corners of his guarded thoughts does not mean more to him than your presence here, right next to him. No, what Kim Seokjin feels for Jung Eunwoo does not take precedence over what he feels right now. No, you are not alone in someone else’s company. You can’t bear that anymore.

Seokjin laughs, but the sound is harsh and wrong. “Did you love your boyfriend?”

“Yes,” you say decisively, relishing in the way his eyes flick over to you immediately, eyes dark and intense, knowing he wasn’t expecting an answer. “I did.” Perhaps it’s the alcohol coursing through your veins, or maybe it’s Seokjin’s piercing, heavy gaze, but your tongue is loose tonight and you crave his rapt, burning attention.

“Why?” His eyes have darkened several shades. They pin you and you feel as if they are slowly peeling back the layers you have buried yourself under, exposing you, making you naked under his gaze.

“He cared,” you say finally, after a few moments of dead silence.

Seokjin lets out a harsh breath of disbelief. “That’s it?” He snaps his fingers and widens his eyes as if he’s had an epiphany, pointing at you with his index finger. “So the mailman—you’ll love him too? And Park Jimin, your friend? Ah, and who else, your boss? That’s all it takes for you to love someone? He just has to care?”

You ignore his sarcasm and wrap your hands around the glass in your lap, thoughts far away. Your finger runs absently around the rim, wetting in the condensation. “No,” you say, so quietly it’s almost inaudible. “He cared about me. Like I mattered.” That bitter, sad smile returns to your lips once more. “I wanted to matter to him.”

Seokjin swallows his anger as he watches you, your gaze distant as your fingers slowly slacken around the glass placed so precariously in your lap, the liquid sloshing dangerously.

He leans forward and catches the drink in your hands just as it begins to slip from your grasp. His skin burns hot against yours as his hand wraps around your fingers to cup the glass, his much larger hand easily dominating yours. Your body tenses at the contact. The glass is cold against your palms, but his hands are blazing, the heat pulsating from him igniting you. It’s as if time has stopped completely. Your breath stills completely in your throat, and it seems as if Seokjin’s has too, because he stares down at your small hands in his, unable to move. You watch the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows, his eyes trained on the light twitch of your fingers as the pad of his thumb sweeps the delicate skin of your hand. The stroke is so light and tentative you barely feel it, but it still sends shivers down your spine.  

“Am I really so dumb to want that?” you breathe, cutting into the silence.

You immediately regret asking. He seems to come back down to reality, pulling his hand away from yours hastily as he straightens. That hand that grasped yours curls into a fist in his lap. Instantly, your hands feel cold again, the ember that he had ignited in you flickering away to ash. You crave his warmth, his touch. You crave the feeling of those burning fingers ghosting your cold skin again.

“No,” he manages, his voice thick and low.

“How do you know?” you press. You don’t know what it is you’re expecting to hear. An admission? A confession? But curiosity boils in your veins nevertheless.

His jaw clenches tightly. He turns to face you, eyes dark and smoldering as he holds your probing gaze. The grayed ember reignites in the pit of your stomach as you look at him, his tousled bronze hair glinting in the light, the top button of his shirt undone and just barely exposing his chest. He watches your eyes travel down to his ruby lips, full and soft, and you can’t seem to pull your eyes away, drawn like a bee to honey, utterly enraptured. His face is less than a foot from yours. Sweet breath mixes with yours. Cologne fills your senses. He draws in closer—there are less than six inches between his mouth and yours. “It was never Eunwoo,” he murmurs, his full lips curving around each word.

It’s only four words, but they carry a thousand meanings. Time seem to slow to a crawl around you. It’s a simple elementary equation. Kim Seokjin is to either Jung Eunwoo or you. If the answer is not Jung Eunwoo, to whom is Kim Seokjin? Yet your mind can’t seem to wrap around the solution.

But you can understand the searing heat of Seokjin’s skin on yours. You can understand the throbbing desire that tears at you from within, craving for the heat of his gaze on you, his lips on your throat. You can understand that it is only Kim Seokjin that can ignite you from within and leave burning trails of fire every where he touches. You can understand the dull ache of pure, unadulterated need to feel that fire again.

Kim Seokjin is to you as you are to Kim Seokjin.

You set your glass down on the coffee table in front of you, slowly, without taking your eyes off of him. “Are you going to do anything about it?” It’s a challenge weakly guised under the pretense of an innocent question.

Kim Seokjin has never been one to back away from a challenge. A flood emotions flash in his eyes as you lean closer. “I won’t hold ba—”

You don’t wait for him to finish, closing the distance and finally, finally, crushing your lips against his. He abandons the glass in his hand, dropping it onto the wool carpet and ignoring the telltale slosh as it spills into multi thousand dollar fibres, undoubtedly staining. He couldn’t care less. The hand immediately comes to rest on the outside of your thigh, applying delicious pressure. You can’t help but notice that the curve of his hand fits you perfectly. You shift, moving your body so that you’re straddling him, your knees on either side of his spread legs. He tugs you closer, the hand once holding his glass slipping under your shirt and pulling your hips flush against his. It’s still cold, damp from the condensation left on his hand, and you shudder at the feeling. You fist your hands in the fabric covering his chest. You can feel his heartbeat through the thin fabric of his shirt, thrumming under your fingertips as he deepens the kiss, his fingers dancing along the sides of your waist under your shirt.

You can taste the liquor on his lips, on his tongue, burning and sweet. Kim Seokjin kindles a fire in you that burns brighter than the alcohol.

You are the one to break the kiss, lips swollen and bitten. Everywhere he touched blazes. Heat blooms in your chest again, stronger than even the liquor in your veins. The memory of your boyfriend’s betrayal is far in the distance, already nearly forgotten, and all you can think is Seokjin, Seokjin, Seokjin, as you latch your lips onto his defined jawline, the sweet taste of his skin mingling with the salty thin sheen of sweat. He groans as your lips travel lower, along the column of his neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. His eyes flutter closed and his head falls back against the couch as you drag your teeth across his skin slowly, teasingly. You unbutton his shirt hastily as he reaches behind you to unzip your dress. His touch ignites a raging inferno as his warm hands push the fabric off of your shoulders and you tip your head with a breathy gasp of yes, Seokjin and he nearly loses himself, right then and there. Your head tips back to expose the creamy, smooth skin of your throat, lips parted. His hot mouth finds purchase in the newly exposed juncture of your neck and collarbone, lightly biting into that sensitive spot that makes goosebumps erupt along the surface and chills run down your spine, your fingernails digging into his shoulders.

He shrugs his shirt off of his shoulders as you fumble with his belt impatiently. He chuckles, a low rumble that you feel against your skin, at your impatience, one eyebrow cocked before gently pushing you off of him so he can do it himself to remove his pants and briefs together. Your skin feels unnaturally cold without him pressing against you. You impatiently shrug off the rest of your clothing and throw it unceremoniously onto the floor. Just as he begins to stand, you push him back down onto the couch, your palms flattening against his toned chest. His eyes sparkle with amusement as he looks up at you, legs spread. He’s bigger than you expected, much bigger than your boyfriend had been. For a second, you worry that you won’t be able to take all of him in. But the need for Seokjin burning hot, so hot, in the pit of your stomach far outshines the slight prickle of worry.

You straddle him carefully, hands gripping tightly onto his shoulders and fingernails digging into the warm skin. Just as you begin to position yourself on top of him, his hands come up to grip your hips, preventing you from moving. You look at his hands in surprise and desperation, unable to move against his firm hold. His jaw is tight from restraint. The muscle in his jaw twitches slightly when you whine, but he keeps his grip steady. His eyes are warm when you meet them, the pad of his thumb rubbing slow circles against the sensitive spot on your hip that sends a flash of warmth straight down between your thighs, where a dull ache burns.

One of his hands comes up to gently brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Are you sure you want this?” His voice is strained from the effort, and he honestly doesn’t know what he’ll do if you say no.

“Please, Seokjin,” you whimper, and he relents, groaning your name under his breath.

You sink onto him slowly, reveling in the pleasure of feeling him stretch you so widely, fill you so deeply, and a gasp of pleasure escapes your lips as he bottoms out completely, rubbing your walls in all the right ways.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “You’re so fucking tight.” His fingers grip your hips so tightly you’re sure he’ll leave bruises, knowing you need time to adjust.

Your head falls to the crook of his neck, teeth grazing his sensitive throat. “Fuck me, Seokjin,” you breathe. He shudders underneath you, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest. His hands burn against your skin as he lifts your hips, guiding you up and down, setting a smooth rhythm.

Your head falls back in pleasure as his hips roll against yours, hitting deep in you. Small gasps fall from your mouth at the pace he pushes into you, your eyes rolling back in euphoric pleasure as pressure builds from that dull ache at your core. Seokjin’s mouth is at your throat. His full, soft lips suck and nip at the sensitive exposed skin, down from your jaw, along your throat, ghosting the tops of your collarbones, heightening every sensation.

You roll your hips to meet his, clumsily at first, but the pleasure increases tenfold as he hits an entirely new spot deep in you and you let out a loud, heady moan, fingernails dragging down his chest as your other hand buries and twists in his silky hair, pulling slightly. He groans at your movements. “Does that feel good?” he manages, thick through his teeth. You can only let out a sharp cry of pleasure as he drives into you with a sudden quick snap of his hips. His grip tightens on your waist as he does it again, impaling you on him the same time he thrusts upwards, slamming into you. “Does it?”

“Y-yes,” you slur, head tipped back as he fastens his hungry lips on your jaw. “G-god you feel so fucking good, Seokjin.”

He hums against you in satisfaction at your answer, rutting into you faster, nipping and sucking every square inch of exposed skin he can reach. You can feel your orgasm building again. It tightens in your stomach and you rock your hips against his faster to convey your urgency.

Seokjin watches you through hooded lids, reveling in the way you’ve become so absolutely wrecked for him, your glistening lips parted in silent cries of ecstasy, your hair messy, eyes clenched shut as you mewl his name, begging for him to go faster, harder. “You’re so beautiful,” he says as he acquiesces and pounds faster, gritting his teeth when he feels your fingers tighten in his hair.

“Almost,” you pant shallowly, vision blurring as he continuously hits deep into you.

“Come for me, (Y/N),” he groans into your throat. “Now.”

You unravel with a sharp cry, your entire body tensing as you reach your release. Pleasure overtakes your body in waves as your nails drag down Seokjin’s shoulders. You can feel yourself tightening around him, desperately trying to milk out his orgasm, but he doesn’t relent, continuing to rut into you as you descend slowly from your high.

He stands, still buried in you, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his slim waist and your lips find his, hair falling forward like a curtain around your faces. There is only Seokjin.

Suddenly, you’re pressed back against a cool plaster wall. The cold instantly seeps into your bare skin, and you yelp in surprise against his lips.

Seokjin smirks and he starts his hips again, rolling against you. One of your arms snakes around his neck, pulling him closer as your other hand tangles in his already mussed hair as he fucks you against the wall. He doesn’t go easy this time around, now trying to achieve his own high.

His hips slam against you relentlessly, forcing your back to rub against the wall with each deep thrust, adding an edge of pain to the pleasure that again tightens in your stomach.

“Seokjin,” you gasp as he hits that spot with a particularly hard thrust, your fingers tugging senselessly at his hair. You’re already on the precipice of your next orgasm, teetering dangerously on the edge as he fucks into you. You dig your heels into the small of his back, forcing him impossibly deeper, and your back arches in white pleasure.

Ff-fuck,” he stutters, his rhythm faltering. You can feel him swell inside you, filling you even more. “Say it again.” His teeth drag along the delicate skin of your shoulder. “My name.”

You smile, though he can’t see it. “Seokjin,” you sigh breathlessly, your lips pressed against the soft shell of his ear, your sharp nails raking down his back.

He tenses, body drawing completely taught, muscles flexing. Seokjin comes violently and messily, you learn. His body shakes as he releases, filling you with rope after rope as he rides out his orgasm, your name falling from his lips like a mantra.

You come undone once again at the feeling of him losing himself in you, your name on his lips, his hips stuttering. Your vision whitens as your fingernails dig so deeply into his back the skin breaks. Good. You want to mark him as yours. You want him to remember you. You want him to remember the burn of your bodies moving in perfect unison. Your lewd moan of release is muffled in his neck as he stills.

You feel his heartbeat thrumming against you, sticky skin pressed flush against sticky skin. You can feel is racing pulse under your swollen lips.

The room is silent except for the sounds of your combined heavy pants. Neither of you move as heartbeats slow and chests still.

You don’t want to move away, you think, even as you unhook your legs from around his back, even as you flatten your palms against his chest and apply gentle pressure. Your legs are unsteady but your push him anyway. Seokjin pulls out and steps away, catching you just as you lose balance.

You don’t complain when he lifts you and carries you back to his bedroom, setting you gently on the plush bed. He takes a few seconds to pick up the clothes you left on the ground in the living room, shrugging his wrinkled shirt back onto his shoulders as he hands them to you.

“Thanks,” you say intelligently. You don’t know what else to say. There are a thousand questions at the tip of your tongue, a thousand thoughts crowding your mind, a thousand emotions coiled in the pit of your stomach.

A small smile teases his lips as he watches you. “I’ll wait for you.”

A/N: J e s u s ok please forgive me for this

~Requests are currently open~

previous works:

Always (M) - Kim Taehyung [BTS]

Neither Innocent Nor Guilty (M) - Shin Hoseok [Monsta X]

For Sixpenceee-Glitch in the Matrix (personal)

My Best Friend Never Existed

Her name was Alex. And I swear to god she was real. She was my best friend in the 1st grade. Most people shake me off when I tell them that I knew her when I was just six or seven, because it’s hard to remember things at that age. True, I may not remember a lot of things from my first grade adventures, but I sure remember her. She was my best friend. She was beautiful (as beautiful as a 1st grader can be, at least). I remember her short blonde hair, her hazel-green eyes, and the red hoodie that she wore almost daily. She was fun, mischievous, and sad. There were problems at home, especially with her dad. She lived with her mom, as her parents were divorced. Now that I’m older, I think that her dad abused them. She was usually upset about her dad waiting outside on the lawn in the mornings to apologize and her mom arguing with him until he left. We would play adventure games on the swings and watch over the playground from the top of the highest slides. I spent every second with her. We sat together at lunch and in class and we read next to each other during reading time. I never went to her house in fear that her father would show up, but I distinctly remember her spending the night at my house. We would make blanket forts and spy on my older sister to hear the latest 5th grader gossip. We spent most weekends together. She came to my seventh birthday too. I remember making her invitation special, just for her, with stickers and special notes on the inside. I know she was there. She destroyed the pinata with a few swings and everyone else was upset with her because she ruined their turn. We grabbed all of the candy our shirts could carry and ran away from the birthday crowd into the “Girl’s Club,” a wooden shed that my dad had put carpet into so that we could have a special place. I remember when she fell off the monkey bars and broke her arm. My dad was on the playground visiting and helped her to the nurse’s office. Her cast was pink. I signed it. Then, one day, when we were waiting to be picked up after school, she seemed upset when her car pulled up. She said that it was her dad picking her up. We said our goodbyes and gave best friend hugs and then she got into the car.


That was the last day I ever saw her. I never questioned whether she was real or not until a few years ago. My aunt is a teacher at my old elementary school and sometimes she has get togethers with other teachers, both retired and currently employed. One day I ran into my 1st grade teacher at one of these get togethers and started to talk about how crazy I was in the 1st grade. When I mentioned Alex, my teacher’s face turned blank. She had no idea who I was talking about. I reminded her that we spent every second together—practically inseparable. But she still hadn’t a clue. She told me that I spent most of my time talking to students around the class and spent most of my recesses inside to read—I never really hung out with just one person, apparently. I mentioned the monkey bars incident. What’s scary is, and everyone agrees with this, I was the one who fell off the monkey bars and I have no recollection of this. I decided to ignore her cluelessness, as she was growing old and had probably lost some memory. Still, I was a little put off by her inability to remember Alex, so I decided to ask some friends that I went to elementary school with. No one knew who she was or remembered her ever being my friend or even going to our school. I tried to recall as many things about her physical appearance that I could, but every person I spoke with denied her presence at our school, including other teachers. This is where things turned strange. I decided to check in the yearbook, so that I could show everyone her picture and jog their memories. I remember picture day; we traded lip gloss tubes. As much as I looked, she was not in the yearbook. I looked through every page, at every photo, and every caption in hopes of finding her picture, her name, anything. She wasn’t there anywhere. I resulted in asking my parents if they remembered my friend Alex in the 1st grade. They told me that I didn’t have any friends named Alex. I had a few imaginary friends, but I’m positive that she was real. Imaginary friends don’t break pinatas. They don’t break arms and have casts that your classmates signed. They don’t trade lip gloss with you. She was real. She was real… I looked through our VCR tapes for a video of my 1st grade birthday party, but the film was ruined. The hard drive that carried the photos from that party was dropped and destroyed a few months before my search for my old friend. It’s like she never existed.

My best friend never existed.

Winslow

A Winn/Cat Friendship Fic by Bridgette Irish. (with a little side of Supercat)

Full text under the cut.  Or read it here on AO3

Summary:   Amidst all the turmoil they have been through and witnessed while trying to keep Kara safe and sane, Winn and Cat find in each other an unusual but enduring friendship. A series of scenes showing the progression of this friendship.

A big thanks to @reginalovesemma for the edits!  And for coming along with me for this little Brotp.

Enjoy!


He was playing Minecraft and fighting back tears when the heavy-bottomed tumbler thumped on his desktop and the shapely figure of his boss planted itself against the front, next to his chair.  It was exactly where Kara had stood, just minutes before, and told him she didn’t want things to change between them.  She’d broken his heart with tears in her eyes and while he tried so hard not to be angry, it had proven an impossible feat.

He knew he wasn’t supposed to be mad.  He knew he was supposed to be supportive and accept the friendship being offered.  He knew, ultimately, her happiness was the most important thing, but the evil thought that kept running through his mind was… what about my happiness?

He followed the line of Cat’s hip where it leaned against his desk and met her eyes before his own could get too caught up lingering in places that could get him fired… or killed.  For a split second his fear overwhelmed his sadness and he stuttered.  “H-Hi, Miss Grant.  Did you need something?  Something techy?”  He rolled his eyes internally at his idiocy and picked up a Superman stress ball to give his hands something to do.

Keep reading

You are my best friend;
You make me want to write poetry about everything beautiful,
But also everything dark and devoid of what most call ‘beautiful’
You don’t only make me want to write about sunshine and flowers;
You touch even the darkest part of my soul
You are my confidante, my inspiration, my motivation.
I can rant to you about shitty coffee
And two seconds later be ranting about how heavy my heart feels-
How hopeless a person I can be,
How desperately dark things seem.
I can kiss you on the forehead, tell you you’re beautiful,
Then instantly joke about breaking up till one of us caves.
I can be completely raw with you;
Touch my jagged skin darling
And if you cut yourself on my sharp edges
I’ll kiss you,
But I won’t tell you this will be easy
I’ll tell you it will be worth it.
You are my best friend
When you look at me,
I can feel you starting at my soul
Not who I am on the outside
I can send you my ugliest pictures
And we can laugh for hours about how disgusting I can make myself in .01 seconds.
I love that;
I’m never scared to be myself with you.
I won’t hide pieces of me,
I’ll hand them to you,
I’ll even wrap the horrible parts of me up in majestic wrapping paper as a joke;
I’ll give you the good parts and the bad-
I just want to experience everything with you.
When you miss somebody the way I miss you,
It’s not that bullshit type of romance;
It’s missing my best friend
Waking up every day feeling like you’re away from the one person who gets you,
You get me
Through the dinosaur noises, the earth worm faces, the no makeup, my lazy days, the tears, and everything else that I’d be scared to show you;
If you were only my girl
But you’re so much more than that
I miss you every day because you’re my best friend
Not because you’re beautiful (which you are)
Not because I crave you physically (which I do)
Not because I want to take you on dates and be cute (which I love)
But I miss you endlessly because you’re my favorite person to laugh with,
You’re my favorite person to have meaningless small talk with
You tell me bad jokes, and I tell you worse ones
You say you hate me, well I hate you more.
That’s what I call a best friend,
And somehow I’m also lucky enough to call you my girlfriend.
—  Every day life with you is so damn easy
I Can't Stand It (Miniminter)

I Can’t Stand It 
 Miniminter x reader 
Angst 
Requested! Yes! This was requested by one of my best friends @princessac. Thanks for requesting beauty, I’m sorry it took so long! 

 The gaze she held could probably scare anyone that it attached to. Anyone could feel the burning orbs literally creating holes of fire in their bodies, but it seemed as though the tall blonde her gaze was trained on, didn’t even notice.

 Y/N stood off to the side, a glass of alcohol in her hand. There was a feeling bubbling up inside her, but Y/N didn’t know what it was. It wasn’t exactly anger, but it definitely wasn’t sadness. The feeling was almost a ,not so happy, medium. 

 "You’re not slick you know that?“ A voice sounded from besides Y/N, startling her so much that she almost spilled her drink. There stood beside her was a small Indian man who was the same height as her. Y/N grumbled to herself, gulping down the drink in her hand.

 "Shut up” Y/N retorted, clearly irritated for being called out on her, realistically, creepy antics. Vik giggled a bit, and joined her in her drinking, trying to keep his mouth shut. But he could see the look in her eyes. She was desperately in-love with Simon, that it pissed Vik off. Because Simon loved her equally as much, but the two were completely and utterly oblivious. 

 However, the situation the two were in was more complicated than anyone had originally thought. Simon and Y/N had known each other for years, growing up together with just a house between them. They were inseparable, two peas in a pod. Where ever one went, the other was close behind if not already beside. 

 But that changed. 

Surprise surprise right? 

They gained feelings for each other and well shit happened. They dated on and off for about a year, until Y/N called it off when she caught Simon cheating on her. 

 That was five years ago. 

 And she missed him more than anything. But none of the guys knew that, they just assumed that Y/N met Simon when she met everyone else. Of course both of them were caught off guard, they hadn’t seen each other for years, but they played it off well. 

 "Y/N, he’s staring" Vik murmured, swirling the drink in his hands. Y/N snapped out of her daze, her gaze focusing in on the glaring blonde from the dance floor. But the smirk that grew on his face was sickening to Y/N, the future sight she was about to face would make her feel worse than she already did. 

 Simon smirked, evilly almost, and grabbed the girl he was dancing with by the hips and pressing his lips to hers. Y/N felt her whole world crash around her, a loud clanging was muffled by the ringing in her ears, her hand now empty.

 "Y/N" Vik screeched, bending down to pick up the broken glass. Y/N followed suit, tears welling up in her eyes. 

 "I’m so sorry" The woman whimpered, feeling overwhelmed but numb at the same time. A new hand was shoved into her view. 

 "It’s fine little lady, don’t worry about it" the voice was soft, comforting, but nothing could drag Y/N out of the pit she was in. She shakily responded with a quiet ok, lifting herself up off of the ground. When she glanced back at the dance floor, the blonde was gone, but the girl he was with wasn’t. She was still dancing on the floor, but now with her friends.

 Y/N glanced around for awhile, tears threatening to fall from her eyes. But she flinched around when a large hand landed on her shoulder.

 "Hey hey. It’s just me" Simon chuckled from behind her, his tone mocking. Y/N huffed, not turning to meet his knowing gaze and shrugging his hand off of her shoulder. Simons smirk fell when the woman scooted away from him, his arm reaching out to grab her wrist. 

 "Can we talk?“ The seriousness in his question, and his expression caught Y/N completely off guard. But she stood her ground. She knew what talking meant. 

 "No” Her original, fiery gaze took place on her face, making Simon cross his arms over his chest. That gaze never worked on him. 

 "Y/N you know that little look of yours never worked on me" Simon patronized her, making her more angry by the minute. 

 "Fuck off Minter" Y/N spat, storming away from him. She bursts through the doors of the club, ignoring the calls from the others. The cold air practically slapped her in the face, but a hand pulled her back and up against the wall.

 "What the hell is your problem?!“ Y/N screeched at the blonde that was currently pinning her against the brick. The cold blue eyes that were boring into hers would make anyone shudder, but that was the thing with these two. They were immune to one another, but equally as addicted.

 "I could ask you the same thing. Every chance you get, you burn that stupid little gaze of yours into my fucking body.” The blonde huffed, calmer than she was by two whole levels. Y/N glanced away from him, uncomfortable with how close Simon was. But Simon placed a palm to her cheek, turning her eyes towards his.

 "Don’t you look away from me and try to act innocent" Simon hissed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His fingers twitched against the skin of her cheek, his thumb caressing it lightly. Y/N melted into him, not being able to fully resist the drug she had been addicted to. But Y/N was still angry and upset.

 "Stop it" She breathed, smacking his hand away, a tear falling from her eye. Simon stepped back a step, even if it physically pained him.

 "I can’t do it anymore Simon. I can’t sit around and see you with someone else every time we go out.“ Y/N seethed, screaming through her tears. She ranted and raved, punching against his chest. Yeah, it hurt him, but Simon took it. She needed to let everything go. 

 Soon, the rage was gone, and the tears were the only thing flowing freely. Y/Ns back hit the wall, sliding down it. She tucked her head into her knees, whimpering and sobbing. Simons heart nearly broke at the sight, but she needed to get out of here now. 

So, he did the only thing he could, call an uber and take her home. He did everything a good boyfriend would do, wash her nearly emotionless body, put her in comfortable clothes, feed and hydrate her, and went to put her to bed. 

He respected her in every way, never stared for too long while she wasn’t dressed, and kept his hands to himself. But when she asked him to stay after tucking her in, he was more than eager to. 

 "I’m sorry for being jealous” Y/N murmured into the silence, her cheek moving against his chest, his thumb caressing her bicep. 

 "Go to sleep love, We’ll talk about it in the morning"

ASTRO reaction to you showing your natural hair

A/N: I do apologize for the wait, I am on a con crunch at the moment. I hope you enjoyed this. I don’t like getting requests out so late and i’m sorry. But, thank you for being patient with me, I will get the request out as soon as I can. <3


Rocky:

You want a personally hype man? You got it. When you came out of the restroom he took one look at you and was utterly shocked. He would tell you all night how great you looked and he wouldn’t hesitate to show off his pretty friend to everyone there.

 “Yeah, that’s her natural hair. It’s amazing right??”

Originally posted by sanwoo

JinJin:

He would be all smiles. The smile on his face would never disappear. He was so happy that you let go of the insecurity even for the night. He would be leaving hints for you to keep it natural everyday

“Isn’t way too much work to straighten it though?”

Originally posted by wonwoosvt

Eunwoo:

He would have known about the insecurity, you didn’t even tell him he just figured it out on his own. But when you let your hair go naturally he would tell you he was proud that you let that you let it go for a while.

“That’s amazing, I knew you could do it.”

Originally posted by astroyals

Moonbin:

Binnie would be a combo of Jinjin and Eunwoo. His smile wouldn’t fade due to how happy and proud he is. When he first saw your natural hair he wouldn’t have any words he just smiled at you.

“I knew my best friend was beautiful but damn.”

Originally posted by heybinnie


Myungjun:

Personal hype man #2. He screamed when he saw your natural hair, startling you at first but when he kept playing with it you knew he loved it. He would show you off to everyone and make sure they knew it was your natural hair.

“This is natural???” *screams in happiness*

Originally posted by jinjin

Sanha:

This baby would be so cute. Once he saw your hair he would kind of just freeze. He loved it. He would want to play with it all night. He would compliment you while playing with your hair non stop.

“I can’t believe you hid this from me. It’s so amazing. You hair is so beautiful, you should keep it natural all the time.”

Originally posted by astrodaily