this is an abandoned blog, these stories won't be added upon
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At the turn of a new leaf, you find yourself dancing along the knifeβs edge. To keep yourself from falling over, you must ask three questions: what do they have, what do they hold dear, and how far will they go to make you stay with them?
β’ type: ot7 x fem! reader (poly)
β’ genre: soulmate! au, supernatural! au, heavy angst, smut
"It's a refurbished student housing," you explain as they trail after you like ducks in a row. Even if they don't understand what you're saying, they seem to be clinging to every word. Wherever you look there's always at least one pair of doe eyes staring expectantly back at you a.k.a. what do you do when you open your doors and find a certain retired boyband for some reason wants to move in
Has no one ever told you not to rifle through old attics? Has no one ever told you that if you find old vintage rings that seem to have a mind of their own, the one thing you should definitely not do is to wear them? Well maybe they have, but it's October 31st and you're in desperate need of good accessories. And as such the next thing you know, there is a man named Yoongi in your bedroom and he insists that you've just married the King of the Otherworld.
β’ type: dark fae! Yoongi x fem! reader, fae king! ? x fem! reader
βBunnies are dangerous,β he had said, voice angelic despite the fact of what he was. It was no lie to say that the Devil was charming. βThey can, after all, travel between worlds.β
β’ type: Jungkook x fem! reader (ot7 x fem! reader)
β’ genre: fantasy! au, vampire! au, angst, smut, pure whimsy
It could be a wolf, you reckoned, but it was too big. It sprang in and out of the treeline, seemingly chasing the train. Though before you could inspect it further, its gaze met yours, peculiarly silver eyes boring into yours, widening for a moment in disbelief, and then it disappeared.
Hoseok knows that the building block for any human behaviour is greed, be it his own or anyone elseβs. blocks build foundations, foundations - plans, plans - the future he wants to see. but ask any strategist and theyβll say that the most dangerous thing is not the failure itself, but a rogue statistical outlier, for it can ruin your plans one after the next and force you to confront the dreadful truth - is this reason or are you just in love?
β’ type: mystic strategist! Hoseok x fem! reader
β’ genre: criminal underworld! au, dystopian future! au, angst, childhood friends to ex friends to petty enemies/lovers
β’ rating: mature (but sfw) β’ part of seven tales collab
drabbles set in the Curious Move-In to Apartment 27
Baby, bang it up inside {Jimin, part I}
But Jimin loves you, even though he thinks you don't
All I gon' get is gon' be yours still {Jimin, part II}
He loves you, you don't question that but you start to think he might not love himself.
Hello, oh, you're looking so fine {Taehyung}
Some people said he became stupid the day he fell in love with you
And I take thee, beloved menace {Namjoon}
"You're a menace," he cries. "A demon! A heretic!"
Do you know how gloves fit each other? {Yoongi}
Behold the dreadful effects of simping, gentlemen
The Closing Shift {Jungkook, part I}
In this small space of three tables, two cake displays, a rug and a counter, you never both strayed far from each other.
Caught in the Rain {Jungkook, part II}
The anger in his face rises exponentially with the blush.
A Great Steal {Jungkook, part III}
"I did it two weeks after I met you."
Twenty Nine on Thirty {Yoongi}
"Happy Birthday, Yoongles."
The Bedfoot {Jimin}
As such, you do not know for certain that what stands before you is an angel. He has neither a harp nor a halo or wings, just an aura of goodness, of being a safe place.
malady, oh, ma lady {ot7}
The ghost of you patiently waiting by their bedsides and not hovering like it usually did
Thank you {Jin}
βYou did so good, Jin,β you muttered, stroking his head as though you were alive.
The Bandaid {Yoongi}
βHey,β he rasps, meeting your gaze. βI missed you.β
Once Upon a Saturday {Jimin}
You knew three things about Park Jimin. In order, he was, despite all, a very kind man. Secondly, he was the devil and thirdly, which Jimin himself insisted to be true, was that he was in love with you.
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As I'm sure some of you have noticed I've been really absent from this blog, so, in order to not drag this half-dead horse any further i've decided to deactivate this blog (in a sense).
I won't delete it, everything will be here if you want to re-read the stories posted so far but I myself won't be logging in anymore. The reasons for doing so are many and simultaneously none at all and, to be honest, there are a lot of other writers who've already said everything I wanted on their own leaving notices. I thought that moving my blog would solve the trick of the lost spark but it hasn't.
However, I haven't yet lost my spark for writing for BTS. Some of you may know that I have another blog @soraviie where I post reactions/scenario type of content. They're not as time consuming as it is writing a full fledged fic so I've decided to keep it going for time being. If you want to contact me you can do so there but this blog will be, for the lack of better word, abandoned...r.i.p.
it's was nice it lasted and I'm still super proud of the works I've posted here, maybe because they largely did what they were supposed to - catered to my own niched interests lmao. I hope that you find your particular brand of fancy in these works as well :D
β about: angst with a side of spice, slight humour idk I just be doing shit
βΒ Β pictures taken from Pinterest
βΒ what y'all think of this one? please let me know
NAMJOON | A greedy, spiteful, spindling arm comes up on your waist, pressing you tightly against its just as equally greedy and spiteful owner's form. While aggravating, the gesture is of no surprise. You don't even jump when the grip begins to press more on your ribs than you'd necessarily like. You drive an elbow into his side, momentarily meeting those narrowed eyes of his.
You're annoying.
I don't like him.
Am I supposed to care that you don't like him?
The argument is held entirely mute. He knows you know and you know he knows though poor Daniel β he's all together clueless.
"Hello, you must be...uh, ____________'s boyfriend? Right?"
Delicately, you snort in your palm, immediately sensing the way Namjoon's muscles tense on the other side of your blouse. The heat of his palm resting on the small of your back is scorching.
And whether it's from that or the minuscule way his jaw clenches, repeatedly coming to a brutal grind to then release only for the motion to repeat in endless circles; whether it was the tightness of the smile β there's a tight tick at the gap in the small space between his mouth curving upwards and his cheek that says he's not actually smiling despite appearing very much so β or whether it was something as simple as the fact that his eyes had been tracking your every minute for a solid piece of ten minutes now that delivers this easy deduction right in your lap.
He's into one of those moods.
There's a distinct coldness in his eye, a sort of a less than impressed expression that anyone, even someone so generally lost as Daniel could pick up on.
"We were just talking about the role of guilt and class consciousness," he trails off, squeaking slightly at the very end. You don't exactly fault him for it. Having a large man towering over you, feasibly blowing smoke out of his nose would put anyone ill at ease. "In....s-sustainability m-m-marketing. Yes."
"Smart, my ______________, right?" Namjoon chuckles to himself lowly. Daniel echoes the laugh, regardless, of how nervous the cadence of his voice is. Once again you don't fault him for it. A stranger would have no trouble believing that Namjoon's laughter is in good faith. He's honed the subtle art of being a fake a little bitch but you who knows better...well, you know better. You know that the kiss your darling β your huffing, festering, seething darling β presses upon your temple is far from good faith. The way his fingers squeeze your grip, all greed and jealousy, is so far from good faith it's downright atheist.
"They a-are," Daniel stammers, gaze flitting between Namjoon and you. Stupidly he's fallen into the trap.
"So you like my ___________?" he wilts underneath the weight of Namjoon's glare. "My ____________?"
Fed up with the nonsense, you push his hand away. His head darts to sit on the floor.
"Just go," you order Daniel and without hesitation, the coward scurries off to the dark dingy corner he came from. So perhaps you also didn't like him, it still wasn't a reason to act like that. And Namjoon knows this because though obstinate, there is a bashful glimmer that prohibits him from looking you in the eye.
"Your ____________?" you scoff. "Presumptious, no?"
"No," he spits. The lights flash overhead, a cacophony of colours that's mirrored in the dark of his stare that's abruptly grows fixated on your face. The room reeks of champagne, stale air and someone's vape smoke and this man stands in front of you β annoying, determined, aggravating and he loves you.
And because you love him just as much you let it slide with the only protest offered being an eye roll.
"You are mine."
YOONGI | "Do you...want to have a drink?"
His entire silhouette is downturned. Had you been an uninvested bystander you'd probably call his pouting expression comical because how does one manage to look that sullen in the middle of his own award ceremony. But alas you're not an uninvested bystander, you're a confused person thrown in the midst of your partner's raging emotions.
He doesn't speak for such a long time you're ready to open your mouth again, certain that he simply didn't hear your offer but then he answers, quiet and lifeless:
"No, thank you."
You observe his hands. His hands that do the speaking when his mouth cannot and unsurprisingly, you find them quite anxious. His nails rip at the bed of his skin, pulling the strips one by one. You cringe at the sight and place your palm upon his however when he fails to move, you pull back. So he doesn't want to talk.
Surreptiously, you scooch away, giving Yoongi his space but like a bullet he darts out his hand to catch you by the elbow, pulling you back down.
A singular "please don't" that dies somewhere in his throat barely manages to reach your ears, nonetheless, you oblige and the tension in his rounded shoulders eases, if a bit.
Safe to say the walk back home was awkward.
"You're..." he speaks so suddenly, you jolt hearing his voice in the otherwise deadly silent staircase. "I thought I was always the first one you sent your lyrics to?"
It's such a weird question that you stop dead in the tracks and half turn to him on the overtly glamorous stairs to his penthouse. You never did like them. And now he's standing here atop of these stairs wearing a multitude expressions that simultaneously reveal everything and nothing. The line of his mouth is set down β grim and annoyed, his eyes are turned at an angle β the one that meant trouble, deep trouble yet the look within them was sad. You'd call it insecure though never aloud knowing he didn't appreciate such a thing.
"You're the first proper person I sent them to."
"Proper," he scoffs. "Is she not proper? Standing on a stage, receiving award for the song with your lyrics."
"She wasn't back then. Back then we were just dreaming idiots while you were already a star," you justify. He doesn't seem to like the explanation.
"Those lyrics meant so much to me, you know," he breaks. Not a lot but just enough, a chink in the otherwise pungent dark. "It was as though you'd pried my ribcage open and prodded at my heart. I've never felt so...bare."
Automatically, you let out "I'm sorry" despite not knowing what you're apologising for. A bad habit he'd previously chided you for. He shakes his head either saying there's no need to say sorry or rejecting it altogether.
"Are you angry with me?"
Yoongi breathes a long, strained sigh, dejectedly shaking his head.
"No...no, it's not you I'm mad at."
"Then who?"
He fails to answer, instead choosing to run up the stairs where you were starting and to your surprise taking your hand into his.
Leading you back home, he asks, all casual:
"You love me...right?"
"Of course, I do!" offended, you retort. "What kind of qu-!"
"Say it out loud."
"What?"
"Say out loud that you love me. That you're mine."
To further feign his relaxed state, he begs for this whilst punching in the code for the doors β each ding of the number dragging on and on in the stilted air of the hallway.
"Please, say it."
You give a small smile and lean into his arm. You finally get it.
"I love you and I'm yours. Don't worry."
Not much is spoken after that.
JIN | "Let's just do it, okay?"
"Huh?!"
His eyes widen, clearly mocking your outrage as lithe hands press the bowl out of your fingers, dragging you by the sleeve out of the country house. The morning is utterly fresh. Birds shriek and lilt their songs, perched just outside the window on the growing orchard, dew still glistens in the green grass and the world is at peace.
Or it was.
Before this demon decided to ruin your life.
As per freaking usual.
"I meant let's get the berries, you pervert," he dares to roll his eyes. You try to break free of his grasp but just like anchors board ships the strength of his clutch is unbreakable.
"It's 7 in the morning, Seokjin!"
"Seokjin," he echoes derisively. "No one calls me Seokjin."
"Lots of people do!"
"Then how about you don't."
"Ok, Mr Kim, whatever you say."
"That's even wor-no, actually on a second thought, I like it."
"Ugh, you're disgusting!" you snap, whilst for reasons unbeknownst to yourself still putting on shoes and a shawl. It's not like he even was your friend. The relationship you two shared in between the confusing circle of relatives, friends and acquaintances was exactly that β confusing. He was a friend of your cousin, somehow, a God's joke if anything, and hence why you found yourself be dragged by him in the rustic country house in the throes of upcoming summer. Funnily enough when he'd been introduced to you, Seokjin was presented as "shy and introverted, wouldn't hurt a fly, wouldn't speak a word". It had turned out to be the furthest thing from the truth. At least when it came to you. It was as though it was his life's mission bestowed from the ancestors to grate every single one of your nerves.
"Disgustingly handsome," he brushes off, unconcerned by your low growls and huffs of protest. Footsteps tremble the old wooden stairs underneath your butt, signaling a possible saviour.
"What are you guys up to so early?" Jae rubs the sleep out of his eyes, coming to stand before you and dropping his drooling head upon your shoulder. You welcome your head with energy never displayed before and Jin's expressions grows frighteningly lax.
"They squeezed this guy's head too hard in the military," you throw a thumb at his bristling figure. "He's lost it."
But Jin doesn't laugh instead his nose scrunches as though he'd smelt something deeply affronting all the while his eyes don't leave Jae. Suddenly he reaches to pry Jae's fingers away from your shoulder, gently albeit firmly guiding you away.
"This one needs some fresh air," he stiffly belts out and before you know it you're both out of the door. The fresh air is indeed nice β it hits you like a pleasant wall and rubbing at your tired eyes, you shuffle in the general direction where there was a splotch of green growth β raspberries, blackberries, gooseberries, though the latter Jin didn't trust at all.
You trudge along in silence, battling the thorny undergrowth along the well-trodden narrow path snaking through the field. However, the closer you get to the berries, the more fuss Jin puts up.
"They'll eat me alive!" he cries out, violently shooing away the black masses of hungry mosquitoes. "I'm too delicious to be out here!"
You perch a hand on your hip, giving him a thoroughly disapproving glare.
"If you were going to complain about coming here, why even bother?"
"Well how else was I supposed to get you all to myself?"
You think that even birds fall quiet hearing that.
"...what?"
"What?"
You both blink at each other.
"You...you want me...all to yourself?"
Jin laughs abruptly, the sound falling strained and nervous and in the soft light of the rising sun, his neck begins to glow bright red.
"Haha what nonsense," he chortles. "I see you're getting delusional, dear."
"What?!"
"WHAT?!"
Like a deer caught in headlights, Jin stands before you, hyperventilating slightly and letting the mosquitos, just as he said, eat him alive.
"Dear?" you arch an eyebrow. "I'm your "dear" now?"
"No. You're a "deer" you misheard."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"You don't make any sense."
"No, you."
"No, you!"
"What are you five years old," you mutter underneath the nose before erupting into a teasing smile, curling a finger around a non-existent strand of hair. "So you want me all to yourself, huh? How flattering."
Jin rolls his eyes, once again swinging his arms around like some crazed caveman.
"We're going home now," he orders gruffly, turning on the heel.
"Jae's at home."
At the mention of your supposedly mutual friend, his expressions grows stormy once more and reaching backwards, he wraps his fingers around your wrist.
"Then we're going somewhere else," through gritted teeth, he pushes out, legs falling and rising, creating an angry stomp to which you titter along with.
"Oooooh, so you can have me all alone?"
He casts you a wicked glance from the corner of the eye, ultimately shrugging at the suggestion.
"Not really, I left the condom at home. But if you feel risky I'm down."
HOSEOK | After the fourth hour of being forced to listen to rock music at ear-splitting volume, Yoongi had enough and with an egregious sigh of displeasure, he rolled out of his studio and went to Hoseok's cave of misery.
Without knocking, he opened the doors, nearly crumbling from the force of the bass.
"DO YOU MIND NOT MAKING EVERYONE DEAF?!"
Very slowly as though pulled from a deep haze, Hoseok turned around, blinked for a while and only then understood the request.
"Sorry," he muttered, turning down the volume.
Yoongi examined him before letting out another sigh.
"If you're that worried about __________'s ex just tell them to dump the stupid reconciliation thing and return home."
"That's not what I do."
"And what do you do, Hoseok? Suffer in silence?"
The lone figure, illuminated only by the cold light of the laptop before him, didn't answer and Yoongi didn't prod any more.
"Just don't end up regretting it."
With those words reverberating through his head, Hoseok found himself running through the downtown streets, in search for even a sliver of you. A strand of hair, the corner of your jacket β anything. When at last he did, he found you happy, in the arms of another.
No.
No, he doesn't think so.
"You're so sweet," you muttered into his neck as he let himself be angry, glaring hatefully at the dark ceiling. The grip he had on both of your hips will undoubtedly leave bruises but selfishly he couldn't bring himself to care. If anything he wanted more. People couldn't be trusted, they would try and with him being away so much...why shouldn't he mark you up all nice and pretty so people who didn't deserve you wouldn't bother you...
He digs his fingers deep into the flesh.
"Wrong thing to say," Hoseok growls. "I'm really pissed off."
"What I mean is you have nothing to worry about," you defend hastily as you cup his face in your palms. Hoseok would like to say he felt so much better, that the little monster clawing on his chest would be satiated with the sacrifice but it was far from so. "I'm yours and only yours."
"Well, obviously I know that. How about we make sure others know that as well?"
JIMIN | The slam of both doors comes at a perfect time, creating a singular, decisive cannon shot of "BANG" and then there was silence. In times like these, you praised your past self in choosing the bathroom adjacent to the bedroom. You doubted you could go out there - in the cold and heartless battlefield.
It was in the middle of the night, in the midst of a restless, frowning sleep that you hear the bedroom doors crack open. The left upper hinge was faulty, it creaked too much every single time. You always promised to take a look at it but in the end you never did.
Cautiously, fearing your wrathful outburst, a hand brushes over the covers and a warm weight evens the other side of the bed. He knows you're awake and he knows you know but still for a moment you still pretend to sleep. An apologetic kiss is pressed against your jaw line; those two hands, now emboldened by your inaction come to rest around your form, wrapping you up like spiders did the witless flies flying into their webs.
"Why are you like this?" you ask him, not daring to give even a single glance backwards. It was always easier to speak if Jimin remained faceless. "Have I ever given you a reason to distrust me? To check me like this?"
"You know it's not yo-"
"Don't tell me "it's not you but me". That's bullshit."
"But it is me," he argues, blowing a harsh exhale of working up anger. It moves your hair and you sink tiredly into the mattress.
Two hands sneak their way underneath the covers, finding the warm flesh and then pressing it closer into him like he wants to mold you into him. Create one creature out of two.
"I'm sorry," you can hear the wistful sadness in his voice. "Do you think I'm crazy."
"No. Not crazy. Just...lonely. Complicated."
"Complicated," Jimin echoes with a faint mutter. "Are we..."complicated"?"
"I don't know what we are."
Silence envelopes the room until at last you gather enough courage to look at him, settling on the other hip. The room is dark so it's hard to see and know for certain but you know it. Like a piece of some inherent knowledge stored in the marrow of your bones, you know the expressions marring his face. Anger β churning and acrid, loneliness β bitter and all enveloping.
Adoration β suffocating and sickening.
Yearning β stinging and all consuming.
Wish for you to live better than this, have better than these meaningless arguments spinning round and round with no reprieve β soft, selfless, devoted.
Jimin was all around a confusing man as if whoever made him didn't know how much to put into him so they poured everything into this one person and so he was everything.
"What am I supposed to do with you?" you sigh, tracing the side of his cheek. Readily he accepts the slight touch, nuzzling into it like a stray cat would after overcoming the initial fright fueled by disappointing past.
"Be gentle with me, please. Be kind."
"You were not kind."
His gaze darts downwards, embroiled in deep shame.
"I don't share. I don't want to share," spitefully, he mumbles, brows knitting in a deep frown. "Why should I? You're mine. Only mine. Like I'm only yours."
"I don't get jealou-"
"But I want you to."
A pause. His fingers come up to lay upon your palm where he intertwines your fingers, perhaps so you couldn't escape. Not that you even considered.
"I want you to be jealous. I want you to be possessive. Just like I am. So I wouldn't feel guilty," he pulls in a shuddering breath, almost chickening out but then saying it after all. "So I would feel wanted."
"Oh, Jimin," you breathe yet another sigh but decide to not argue anymore.
TAEHYUNG | Whilst the legs clamping down on yours and preventing you from making a grandious exit of his apartment, doors slamming shut and everything, are present, a clearly discernible expression on his face is extremely lacking.
With features carved of stone, Taehyung sits on the other couch, pretending you were not even there, save for the occasional muscle flexing in his legs to keep yours locked in between his. For over an hour not a word was spoken, not a glance exchanged. Even Tannie grew fed up with the display and took his nap to the plush bed in the corner.
"This is ridiculous," you scoff, once your tailbone began to feel too numb. "My moving in was supposed to put an end to your...episodes."
He doesn't speak but you could almost swear that the vitriolic way his lips curl, he was mutely mocking your choice of words.
"It's like you're depressed."
"I am depressed," obstinately, he agrees, voice rumbling a low, irritated register.
"What for?"
"Well, I guess I just find it hard to get past the fact that the love of my life, my moon and stars," he accentuates the words with an intention you're too annoyed to grasp. "One who has agreed to be my spouse one day keeps flirting with a man clearly infatuated with them."
"Oh, for the love of god," you cry out, throwing your hands up in the air. "Yes, he has a thing for me but I shut it down. I known him since we were kids!"
"No, please, rub it in some more," theatrically, Taehyung grumbles. "Rub in the fact that we we raised different and that I lost so much time with you for no other reason than our mothers popped us out on two separate geographical locations."
"Did your mother also drop you a lot?" you hiss. "Because there has to be a clinical explanation why you're so...so...!"
"So what?" utterly calm, he cocks an eyebrow at you and you know you had swam into deep, infested waters but still you spit it out.
"So...possessive! I hate you!"
You whip around, arms crossed, determined to sulk for a year if needed.
"Hate me?" Taehyung laughs but there is no mirth to be had or reflected be it his voice, posture or gaze. "As if. You're sitting here in between my legs not forcing me away, not even trying to set yourself free because...you hate me?"
You loathe it when he's baseless and even more when he isn't.
"Would you let me go then?" you spite him but he meets your disdain in equal if not surpassing measure.
"Let you go?" he inclines his head as if the suggestion in itself is ludicrous. "No, I don't think so."
"How dare you?!"
"Perhaps I phrased it the wrong way," firmly, he stares you down. You were fairly sure there were more agreeable cliffs you could rather take on. "I mean it would be entirely pointless for me to let you go or for us to part since we both know you'll come crawling back to me and I'll be doing the same. The end result never changes so why waste our time?"
Ah, yes, the breakup. The one forbidden topic no one ever brought up. The one that whenever just mentioned made Taehyung cry and you grow red with rage. Thus you rage.
"Well do you want to repeat that? Is that what you want by acting like this?!"
But Taehyung doesn't even bat an eye.
"I understand your outrage," he states coldly. "But whatever the reason, you and I will sort out our differences and live happily ever after."
"Is this you sorting things out?!" you let your voice rise into a painful shriek, pointing heatedly at where he'd folded his legs over yours, prohibiting you from simply storming out. After a prolonged stare down, languidly he lets up, putting his hands up in a supposed defeat. Though it sure felt like a bout of attitude.
"There. You're free now. Want to run away?"
"I'm not the one who runs away."
His jaw clenches in a death grip and for a second the pain in his face, makes a person you knew best entirely unrecognizable.
"Okay, you want the truth? You want the hard, honest truth?"
"If you're even capable of that," you sneer.
"The fact is everyone in your life, including your mother has told me, to my face that I'm not worthy of you. That I'll never be right enough for you. That I'm stealing you away from your beautiful, pre-determined path of being with your childhood best friend. Of staying in your home. And seeing how hard you struggle to fit in here, I realize that I'll never be enough. I'll never be able to soothe your aches that I myself caused by bringing you here. So I shout to the world, to them, to myself, to you that you're mine because lately I'm beginning to feel like each passing moment you're slipping through the cracks of my fingers. I'm getting desperate and that's why I'm depressed. Is that so unreasonable?"
By the end of it, his chest is heaving up and down, barely gathering enough breath to power through the breakdown. You wet your dry lips, sinking listlessly into the sofa.
"Why didn't you just tell me?"
He drops his head on the backrest, lips curling downward. He really was depressed.
"Despite how I may feel about them, you still love all of these people. They're your support system, one I cannot replace. I just wanted you to be happy."
You sit on your respective ends, mulling your own thoughts. Still sulking, you touch his pinky, curious if Taehyung will accept the gesture. He doesn't look at you but immediately his own little finger wraps around yours.
JUNGKOOK | "You're a caveman!"
"Whatever."
"A chauvinist!"
"Sure."
You hit him square in the chest. It does fuck all.
"Gym rat," you mumble sullenly, begrudgingly accepting your bitter fate of being used as a pillow. It's not like you had even plans to go anywhere but finding yourself restricted because of this weirdo was completely different than just simply being lazy.
"That's not even an insult."
"I feel like a hero trapped by a creepy villain," you continue to fuss but Jungkook who has all of his limbs wrapped around you like a human cage appears mighty relaxed. His eyes are closed, there's a smirk playing on the ends of his lips, threating to burst at any given moment and at times it even seems he'll fall asleep.
"If that's what you feel."
"Jungkook, you're seconds away from going full Golumn!"
"Was he really that problematic? Or should other people mind their own business more and not interfere into the domestic lives of others? What's mine is mine. I would also hate having you be lugged away to a mountain to defeat some evil edgelord."
You cry out β defeated. With a content sigh, Jungkook can feel your body relax in his hold.
"You're impossible."
"Listen, babe, I told you I'm a lot to handle. I'm not legally liable for the consequences of your own actions."
Breathing right into his Adam's apple you curl your palms, briefly considering into pinching him. Painfully.
"You sly son of a-"
Jungkook presses a palm over your mouth with a throaty laughter.
"Let's get along with your future mother-in-law, why don't we?"
Spitefully, you lick at his palm but the only thing it causes is laughter.
"Good idea," much to your horror, he licks a bold strip along your collarbone. Your palms relax from the sheer shock of his actions as your nose crinkles in disgust at the sudden wetness alongside your flesh.
"Gross."
"Just fluids, babe," he points out and settles deeper into the covers, arms restlessly caging you in. From the very moment he first came home, pushed all his weight on top of you with an incoherent "miss you" they hadn't eased.
Still, you suppose this was some sort of progress from the temper he worked up in the earlier days. Recalling your little storm cloud and how he would thunder when threatened made you almost smile. In retrospect, it was just him being...really in love. The way he explained it, was that at times it simply overwhelmed him β this love he held for you. Hence why despite your grumbling and grousing, both you and him knew you weren't against it. It made you feel...wanted. And though you supposed someday in the future, the matter would have to be looked at by a therapist, currently you decided to sleep. His embrace was so warm after all.
And then in the border between wakefulness and sleep, there comes his soft voice, softly clinging to the background of your mind.
"You know you could kill me and I think I'd still love you," he chuckles lowly to himself, pressing a cheek against the crown of your head all the while softly swaying you both to rest. Unproblematic, gentle rest. "You're a bit terrifying in that way."
"I wouldn't do that," you deny hazily, your mouth falling open against his shirt. You always drool on it and he never complains.
β about: largely angst, some fluff; reader has a crush on but think that it's one-sided β it's not
βΒ Β pictures taken from Pinterest
NAMJOON | The routine itself is quite simple. The rules to be observed are only five β it leaves enough leeway to mold oneself should problematic situations arise.
Rule no. 5: don't accept any gifts.
It's the fact of nature really β humans love gifts. Like corvids, people adored their shiny little trinkets and it is a well-known fact that giving someone something makes them feel special. Adored. But since you couldn't be either of those things, it helped to cut any straying thoughts right in the bud. Hence when he offers to get a cup of coffee from the aggravatingly chique brewery across the street you decline and make a quick stage left.
Which conveniently segways to rule no. 4.
Rule no. 4: no lingering around.
The job is thankful in that way β there's always something to do. Whenever you see his silhouette from the corner of the eye which is not exactly hard β he is big β you flee to safety. If he somehow manages to round the exact same hallway you're in and tosses a hand into the air in lieu of a greeting whilst handing out one of those unfairly charming, dimpled smiles, you follow the rule and as such return a simple nod of recognition, hastily heading the other way.
Should he enter the same room, you're quick to grab anything near and dig deep into a dark corner where inevitably you grow invisible. It's a big company β there's always spaces to hide and you're just another nobody.
Safe to say you never pass him messages or even go near his studio. That can be left to your colleagues who are far more enthusiastic about doing that sort of thing.
Rule no. 3: no conversations.
That is...easy. You think.
"Hi!"
You lifted your head from where your hands were trembling around the paper forms. You regarded him with a blank stare, surprised that not only he'd chosen to talk to you out of all the dozens of people buzzing around the room but also that he was gracious about your lack of friendly disposition.
"Hello," you rasped back, becoming acutely aware of the way everyone is staring.
"You must be new," he remarked, casually plopping down to, for some inexplicable reason, sit next to you, breathing a deep sigh of content. For a second his thigh grazed yours β you shirked away.
"S'pose."
There was a steady pause of silence in which you both just...were.
"You have to write-"
"I know what I have to do."
The finger that previously so helpfully was pointing out at the blank space in the registration form froze mid air. You darted your gaze far away from his unsure, inquisitive stare, tightening your grip around the thin and otherwise helpless paper.
"I'm sorry. What I mean is...I've worked here for three years now β it's just been remote. So I know what to do I'm just..." you laid a palm on your chest β where the bubble was. The bubble that makes it hard to breathe and pressed down on your ribs with such terrible strength your vision grew hazy.
"I think I'm having a panic attack."
Yeah, it was easy to not have a conversation with him afterwards. He must be just as embarrassed as you β what with catching you as you collapsed on the floor just seconds after the first greeting.
Rule no. 2: no touching.
For the most part it's easy to observe. You don't want to be in the same room with him, let alone touch him but sometimes he's just so friendly. If once upon a blue moon you have the misfortune of being stuck with him, you've taken note of how often he reaches to pat you on the back, attempts to carry your things, accidentally bumps into you on those short walks between one location to the next. However, by now you're a professional and you evade all of those damning times of contact with mannered ease.
It is only rule no. 1 that gives you trouble. It's difficult to not think about Kim Namjoon. Not only because his face is splattered across half the world's billboards but because it is Kim Namjoon and oftentimes after long hours of dutifully observing all the other rules, you lay vapidly on the bed and break the one that mattered the most. Too much you think about him and too much time is given to dreams that would never, ever come true.
"Hey, _____________."
You jolt at the sound of another's voice, especially since the room should be empty. As you uncrane your neck from the cramped position by the router on the floor, you find Kim Namjoon poking his somewhat unkempt head through the door. And Kim Namjoon finds himself standing yet again in front of you , breaking all the rules he put between him and the danger that is you. He has no viable reason for asking everyone your whereabouts and then coming here where he confirmed you'd be. There's no merit in him checking the status of HYBE's malfunctioning router but very selfishly he clings even to this most pathetic excuse β if only to take a glimpse at you.
"Hello," diplomatically, you bid back. "The uh...cable is broken."
As a means of an evidence that no one asked for, you wave the plastic around.
"I'll go ask Haejun. She has a shit-ton of spares.''
"We canβ" but before he could even reach out to grab onto you, to make you linger around just a little bit longer for the sake of his horrid selfishness, the doors are already closing behind you.
"βgo together..." Namjoon lets the sentence finish in the dissatisfied silence fallen over the room.
YOONGI | It should be societally acceptable for one, on occasion, to smash their fucking head against the fucking wall. Though you've turned away from him by now, in such as fast motion there's a definite possibility of your spinal disk rupturing, the disgusting act has been caught and observed. He's caught you looking. Leering. He must be repulsed. You put back the money you've been counting for the last five minutes and with a quiet mutter to a coworker excuse yourself to the back-alley.
"Ah, I don't want to be around that gangster," she cries pathetically, spotting the black haired man at the far end of the counter. Whiskey. Top shelf. A double. The first time you glimpsed him sipping 43% proof alcohol with the ease a child would a juice box, you cursed heavens above β men such as that inevitably acted vile afterwards. Cursing, being loud, groping β it'd just be more headache for you but he was surprisingly different. As if having been aware of the ill suspicion you've been harboring, once he was done, the man brought his glass back, bowed politely and quietly rasped a thank you about your hospitality.
To this day you had no idea whether it was meant genuinely or not.
"He's not a gangster," tiredly, you cut back. Even if he was, he was a polite one. "Just pour him his whiskey when he asks and that's it."
Her lips thin from the nerves as she examines him. His hair is longer now but in her eyes it probably doesn't soften the least bit of his features. In the end, she relents and her harpy like fingers let go of your elbow. Pouting, you rub the sore flesh but quickly leave. You think he's still looking at you, no doubt judging you for slobbering.
"What?" you mutter to yourself grumpily, climbing down the poor lit staircase that led to the reeking trash bins outside. "It's not a crime to have a crush on someone."
Ah, you're a pervert, you groan in your mind, kneeling down the wall. One of these days you'll have to scratch your manager's eyes out in order to get a chair.
You fish out the pack of cigarettes from the apron and in the singular beat between one second and the next, someone speaks right next to you:
"Care to share?"
You scream and almost fling yourself into the trash all while the black haired man looks down upon you.
The first drops of rain begin to fall down on your face and you squint on the automated instinct to protect your eyes.
In his hand he's got a cigarette of his own and you scramble to get the lighter working, cringing at the shooting ache as you press it against your rubbed off skin.
"Here," you outstretch the flame towards him. He hums appreciatively and leans down, briefly putting his much larger palms over yours to stabilize the fire. You hiss in pain.
"Sorry. My hands are rough, I know," he grouses and you shake your head mutely. Jesus fucking Christ on a bike. Even just standing next to him knocks the breath out of your lungs.
"No...it's not that. Your hands are nice," your face scrunches up. "I mean they're fine."
He regards you with a slightly lopsided smirk. You cough and take a drag out of the cigarette.
"These things are not good for health, you know," he shuffles a bit, shoes scuffing against the grey pavement below. They're really shiny and now that you could focus on anything besides his cruelly handsome face, you take in the fact the fact that he was actually wearing a suit. Curious.
"You're smoking as well," defensively, you spit back and sagely, he inclines his head.
"I'm trying to quit. Unsuccessfully. Clearly," he snorts to himself, lips widening into arid, mirthless grin. You think your guts just rearranged themselves. What's happening here, currently, was the smell of the trash leaking into the bins, the cool air blowing a trail of goosebumps up your arm. Your legs are aching, somewhere down your spine there is a yet unidentified pain and both of you smell like smoke and still you've never seen a man so beautiful, despite the grody settings.
"Why you're wearing a suit today?" just at the last second you manage to bite your tongue to not call him sir. For all intents and purposes he's still a costumer. Had your manager heard of you smoking by the trash with one of the most high-paying patrons, she'd drown you in the very bin juice but this doesn't feel...forced. He doesn't feel like a customer and you don't feel like just another person in customer service.
"Are you killing someone?" you tease further, testing the edges and luckily he responds in earnest β dropping his head back and howling a mute laughter into the night.
"No, nothing so dramatic," he chuckles. "I had a...corporate event. Of sorts."
"You don't look like an office drone," you drawl, for the first time actually taking him in. That is, without the leering. As a bartender, over a time a certain kind of knowledge builds. You've seen what the poor wear, what the middle class wears and what the rich wear, and this man was certainly well-off. His suit, though nothing extravagant, is well-fitted and the material is expensive. No one of that stature would ever fit inside a cubicle.
"That's cause I'm not. Say, you don't watch a lot of TV, do you?" even in the piss-poor lighting of the foul alleyway, his eyes glimmer with barely hidden amusement. It plays on the corners of his lips as though he was trying his hardest to not smile.
"No, I don't..." you frown. "Why?"
"Nothing," he shrugs. "I actually like it that way."
"Ah, shit," you drag the last smoke from the cigarette before throwing it away. "Sara always said you were into shady shit. Shame she was right."
"Sara...that's the little girl, right? One whose scared of me?"
"Mmm," you hum in agreement.
"That's good."
As your eyebrows knit together in confusion, he also puts out the cigarette with a side of yet another teasing smirk. By this point, you were growing accustomed to it. Seeing it, however, not be unfazed by it.
"I much more like you. Well," he claps his hands together, the sound falling a bit too loud in the otherwise quiet back alley. "I've got to get going. Will you be working tomorrow?"
"Uh...yeah," dumbly, you respond and the nameless man looks mighty pleased.
"Good. See ya."
He turns to walk away, leaving you alone and befuddled by the backdoor only to lean back as though he suddenly remembered something.
"These are bad for you," his hand snatches the pack of cigarettes shamelessly out of your grasp and only then he deems it fit to make an exit.
JIN | "Look, the love of your life is walking over!"
"Shut the fuck up."
It's 8:30 in the morning and the sun is already scorching. You've gotten off an eight hours flight and somehow you're still hangover. To be less verbose β you're not putting up with any bullshit. And your friend cooing in the ear the second they saw Seokjin climbing out is very much the situation you're far too grumpy to tolerate.
"I'm heading to the forest," you toss over your shoulder, making a hasty beeline to the other part of the shore where the dunes laid quiet and unperturbed. The second you're in their embrace, the tension leaves your body.
By now everyone and their mother knew of the gargantuan and utterly mortifying crush you had on Seokjin. To this day they continued to humor it in the same way they did when you were younger.
"Ahh, look, Jinnie, little ___________ has a crush on you! They even made a card!"
And because you were fourteen and it was a time of great hormones, and you'd still rather kill yourself than ever reveal to older Kim Seokjin outright that you liked him, to everyone's shock, Jin's in particular, you ate the paper card in front of him, growling in between the stiff, glittery bites that obviously you meant a different Seokjin. Seokjin who obviously went to your school even though no one could ever verify his presence.
It's been years and by now you're well out of middle-school but the pathetic squeezing of your heart whenever you saw him, whenever you found yourself in the center of his focus has not yielded. How many years will this continue to drag on? Will he need to be married for this to relent?! With kids?! Dead?!?
With a pitiful groan, you let your forehead hit the dry bark of the nearby tree.
"Ah, fuck."
"Always such a potty mouth."
Anyone else might have taken a glimpse at Jin and pronounced that there was some truth to children's stories where selfless, glamorous princes rode about. While Jin is decidedly not a horse (he could barely even walk as the sand proved to be quite an obstacle), he does look like a prince β carrying a blanket and a small, mysterious bag.
"You get so cold quickly," he half-heartedly scolds, tossing the blanket your way. "Why even come here?"
"You get cold as well," irately, you point out, tugging the fleece around your bare shoulders. Only then you did notice that you were actually freezing.
"I came prepared," carelessly, Jin replies, yanking from some invisible space yet another blanket. "I might be devastatingly handsome but I'm not a bimbo."
"Shame. I happen to like bimbos."
At this point you're just saying shit.
Jin blinks and then with the sincerity of a well-seasoned actor, regards you with a confused stare, face mere millimetres away from yours.
"What do you call a fish wearing a bowtie?"
Nervously, your eyes flit all around his face as you inadvertently swallow from the abrupt proximity.
"I don't know," breathlessly, you answer. "What?"
"Sofishticated!"
Well, good news was that if he kept going like this, your pervading illness will be cured.
"Sofishticated! Get it, because it's like sophisticated..."
You leave him standing there, shouting across the dunes.
"Hey, Ji-Yeong told Cindy to tell Eun-Sook to tell Riri-"
Over the loud roar of the working stove, you attempt to clean your eyes free from the onion and give your friend a good yell.
"GET TO THE POINT!"
"JIN IS LOOKING FOR YOU! HE WANTS TO TALK TO YOU!"
And because you're a brave, self-sufficient person of 21st century you pretend not to hear and whenever you see a glimpse of shoulders too broad to be on anyone else but him, you run and hide.
You know exactly what he wants to talk about and thus you'd rather, much rather, with a smile on your face in fact, chew your fucking toe off. Because as stupid as you were now, you were infinitely more stupid last summer. The summer during which you got so plastered on tequila the night ended with you confusing very much real, warm-blooded sentient Jin for a cutout. A cutout which you clung onto like a mad person and proceeded to reveal that innermost layer of your heart and how much it was devoted to one very annoying millennial.
It took a lot of pasta and drinking to have the confidence to leave your home once the initial stage of wanting to rot into the sofa ebbed away. You weren't necessarily keen on repeating that week thus the running away. But you also think Jin has caught onto the games and is growing increasingly frustrated with them.
Jin wants to see you, Jin is asking for you, Jin is stopping by and so on and on and on. By now his name doesn't even sound like a word. Even so you keep the charades going, praying for the first time in your life that you could go back to work.
The time is a bit over one in the night. For the most part everyone is sleeping which leaves the back garden of the house you rented near the beach quiet and docile. From here you can hear the waves crashing and for now it's enough to create a piece of your paradise.
"Didn't I tell you that you get too cold easily?"
Cold shivers run up your spine and you quickly swallow, whipping around. The expression on Jin's face is less than impressed.
"Well, hence, I'll be going," you gift a fake smile but quickly stop when you hear what you've never ever heard before.
Jin being angry.
"Stay where you are."
He's not by any means shouting, not even raising his voice in the slightest but the tone leaves not a single space for discussion to take place.
"Sit down."
You do and sternly he watches you do so, eyebrows coming together to create a deep frown. You search for any sign of this being a prank or another one of his jokes but you don't find any. Just him standing and being fed up.
"Now, let us have that talk about last summer."
HOSEOK | It doesn't matter if both of you were adults. He was still your student and you were still his teacher. It didn't matter whether he insisted on you or not, you still should have said no and referred Hoseok back to Marina. She was a better English tutor anyhow even if he very much disagreed.
"Mr Jung, please understand, I am quitting. How can I continue to teach you if I'm not even a teacher?"
His knuckles were white around the edge of the table to which he clung to as you leisurely piled your things into boxes. The two years where were good, just not good enough to stay.
"Marina is horrible," he complains the sound falling a bit muffled through the mask but it's quality of desperation is not reduced. "Please, you can't just leave! Not with all of the progress we've made!"
A bit of clunky choice of phrasing if you had to say because what progress did you make? Was it the progress of being indifferent, to growing shy around him, to dreaming about him in the middle of all the lonely nights only to then choke on all those fantasies? Because if it was that progress, it would do you some good to leave. Would do you both some good.
"_______________, please, make an exception?" he pleaded, eyes sparkling and you had felt your resolve breaking even then. "For me? Your favourite Hobi?"
With your walls falling apart, you hadn't even noticed how casually he'd referred to you.
"Stop bouncing your knee," Marina growls underneath the nose as she sips on the coffee. Her exam materials are displayed haphazardly on the table before her, littered with large crumbs of her banana and hazelnut croissant.
"I can't help it," you retort just as morose, nervously eyeing the clock pinned to the wall.
12:01 β he should be done by now.
"You're so in love with him," Marina rolled her eyes, striking a bold red line across one student's essay. 4/100. Rough.
"It's my job as a teacher to make sure he passes his tests," you brittle venomously. "If I don't-"
Before you could so much as finish your sentence, a pair of judgmental eyes sit transfixed upon your face in a heated glare.
"You're not a teacher anymore. You quit and tutor him entirely unofficially," Marina interrupts curtly. "So the excuse of it being that is redundant if anything."
Just then your phone dings with an unread message causing both of your eyes to fall on top of it.
"Your prince Charming is calling," she states coldly. "Go ahead and pick up."
You don't think you'll ever hang out with Marina after this.
Hoseok π sent you a message.
The heart he'd added himself, chiding you one night for assigning such a cold contact info.
Hoseok π: I PASSED! I KNOW IT! I'VE NEVER FELT SO CONFIDENT! π»πγ(οΌβοΌ)γ
me: I told you you could do it and you didn't believe in yourself ( οΏ£οΌΎοΏ£)
Hoseok π: hahaha yes o great teacher you've always been so supportive! thank you! ( β₯βΏβ₯)
Then after a moment comes the last message.
Hoseok π: thank you, __________________.
As your phone grows dark, you see your own reflection β the giddy smile, the lovesick eyes. The pathetic, eager nature that is you around Hoseok. For a second you let yourself be and let your hand press the phone to your chest as if the meaningless emojis and hearts actually signified anything other than the cursory respect he had for you as his tutor. Then you gather yourself.
If Hoseok will pass his test, he'll be technically viewed as fluent and as such you will be of no use anymore.
You wipe the grin of your face, slip the phone in your pocket and walk back home, pretending that none of this is hurting you.
JIMIN | "Stay still," you scold him, immediately receiving a pout in return.
"I am staying still!" he whines.
Though you roll your eyes, you don't argue anymore and continue to measure his neck. If he wanted to layer his necklaces, you'll have no choice but to measure every chain's length to its absolute minimum. If they overlayed too much it'd just be a mess and Jimin deserved nothing but the best.
"Now, remember, this is the bag for my jewelry," you remind him sternly, waving the grey pouch just before escorting him to the door. The night is deep. Ever since you wound up having Park Jimin as a regular client your sleep schedule has been wrecked. Thinking about the wording, you cringe, cutting a finger against one of the waywardly left awls on the table. Had your old teacher saw the mess on your workstation, the old crow would probably smack you across the face.
Hissing at the sharp prick, you cradled the hand with a juicy curse on the tongue. Jimin, who'd previously been seconds away from falling asleep (which has happened. Safe to say, having an idol drooling on your couch was awkward, just not as awkward as the morning that followed), yanks his head towards you with laser like focus.
"Show me," he insists, expectantly holding out his palm so that it can join yours. You regard it with a passive stare before taking a step back.
"It's just a cut on a finger," you brush him off, coughing from the abruptly stifled atmosphere gripping your lived-in studio. Jimin appears to be quite displeased. One of the simultaneous advantages and disadvantages of being so close to your models for such an extended time was that by the end of it you knew all of their micro-expressions like the back of your hand. From the tightened way his jaw sat to the coldness in his gaze β he was angry. Jimin was a bit like an April day in that way β always surprising you. Was it good or bad, you did not quite know.
"Here, take this," you outstretched the pouch, sucking a bit on the pricked finger. His eyes seemed to linger there before he averts his gaze, taking the bag with his jewelry.
"You look beautiful in them."
Was it a low blow? Perhaps. But it felt somewhat uneasy, problematic even to let him leave your studio in a huff. With the oncoming release of his album he was already stretched taut. You were half surprised he hadn't yet hit a complete mental breakdown by now. Just following his schedule as a jeweller made your hairs grow grey. Still, as expected the compliment mellows the bout of his sudden attitude.
"Eyyy," he complains, tad cautiously. You weren't after all friends, however, the borders of the proper behaviour became blurred the second he showed up on your doorstep outside both of his company's knowledge or permission. As far as you understood it, he actually sponsored your work out of his own pocket. You could recall that night in fine detail β having a national treasure known as Park Jimin sipping a tea out of cracked cup and asking you to create pieces for him. How he'd came to know of you, he did not reveal and after a while you ceased asking.
"You always do this," he continues, rousing you out of deep though.
"Do what?" innocently, you blink up at him. "I've committed no wrongdoing."
"You always compliment me," he pouts, scuffing the sole of his slipper against the floor. They were in the shape of large fluffy cows. You'd offered him a change but since this pair was given to him on that first meeting, he insisted he'd grown fond of them.
"You know how much I like compliments..."
That you did. Once in a while you let them slip a bit too liberally which is something you'd sincerely need to work on. Having a crush on Park Jimin, unrequited one at that, would anyhow lead to nothing. It was simply futile.
"I can't ever stay mad at you."
"Sorry, for being too charming," you flip a strand of non-existent hair over your shoulder prompting a peel of loud, disbalanced laughter. "Now, this is the bag for my jewelry. Don't mix them up with the one you're supposed to wear for Tiffany which by the way..." you narrow your eyes at him. "Traitor."
Still laughing he pats down your head, eyes crinkling in that expression of pure happiness that you adored to see so much.
"Babyyyy, don't be mad. You're still my favourite one."
Had you not been so irrevocably and disgustingly fond of this man you would have kicked him for making your heart feel like this.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," you groused, taking his hand away from your head. "Now go. Good night."
"Can't I crash here?" he pleads, shifting eagerly on the spot. "It's so late at night..."
"And whose fault is that?" you arch an eyebrow pushing at Jimin's back to get him out of your doorstep. "Rich man goes home and sleeps in his rich man bed."
Sensing an easy target in your words, Jimin gleans over his shoulder, his broad smirk proudly on display.
"Does rich man have to be alone?"
"Bye!"
You watched him secretly behind the broken, off white blinds of your kitchen window. The alleyways in this part of the town are narrow, only barely could Jimin's car make way. It's no surprise that no matter what time it is, it attracts the curious glances of your neighbours. The old man at unit 4b across the road was also looking in β the shitty blue tinted light of his crap ass apartment makes his silhouette glaringly apparent in the window. You scowl at him and for a good measure throw up a bird before accompanying Jimin with your eyes. Happily he gets into the car and drives back home where he'll be safe. Now you can rest easy. Somewhat.
"Good night, Jimin," you whisper into the darkness where the only other company you had was the ever-present droning of your old fridge.
TAEHYUNG | Leaning against your hand and watching him speak you think of everything and simultaneously of nothing at all. Though it was not a crime to fall in love with your friend, it very much felt that way sometimes. Times like these when you fantasized how would it feel to hold his hand or to hug him. Not that you didn't know how that felt like. If he could, Taehyung would crawl and make a home in your ribs but he didn't understand. He didn't understand the...spectrum of love you harboured for him. From where he looked onto it the hues were all blue whilst you were far too red.
Red, as you discovered, was not that good of a colour.
"________________? You're not even listening to me, are you?"
Blinking owlishly, you stirred in the seat. The screaming ache in your muscles offers proof to how long you'd been staring at him. Pathetic. You shift your eyes away from the mix of frustration and worry in the browns of his eyes and instead let it sit where's it safe β on the impersonal linoleum cover of the cheap dumpling bistro.
"I was listening," you mumble hazily. "You were...taking Yeontan...for a grooming session, no?"
He sighs.
"Actually I said Jungkook was bitching in my voice mails about having to get a haircut. Are they the same for you?"
You think about it.
"I plead the fifth?"
In spite of it only prompting a thoroughly sassy eye roll from the nominee of 2022 MAMA song of the year, he doesn't much complain, though stuffing his face full of noodles, he does ask. You would rather he didn't.
"What's wrong with you lately? You've been...spaced out."
To feign ease you don't dream of having, you snort.
"Look whose talking."
"Exactly," smartly, he agrees still chewing somewhat aggressively. "If I notice, you know it's bad."
Averting your gaze away once more, you shrug.
"It's nothing serious."
"You sure? 'Cause I was thinking maybe you felt...lonely?"
The so-thin-it's-almost-transparent menu in between your fingers freeze as your heart drops down into your stomach.
"What makes you say that?" lightly, presumably lightly, you wonder.
"Dunno," he shrugs, swallowing a bite so large you can see it travelling down his throat. How he had not yet choked was beyond any science. "It's just you've got no pets, no friends beside me and your place is always quiet so it's safe to say you're absolutely dry in the dating apartment."
Your lips purse in an expression of such pure, unfiltered annoyance that for once it doesn't go above his head. Awkwardly, he coughs, shrinking smaller underneath the gaze of your fury.
"Thank you Taehyung," dryly, you praise him. "That's just what I needed."
"Sorry."
Were you lonely? Probably. Who are you kidding? Naturally.
Exhaling into the black winter air, you watch as the miniature clouds colour white before melting into the night. Did you love Taehyung because you were simply...lonely? Could be. Over the years he was the only one who stayed by your side. Even when you did the most to make him leave, so you wouldn't taint him with your...broken-ness, all too obstinately he'd weathered the storms out. He'd not leave you, that was the end of it. Such he promised and such was the promise he kept, no matter what life or yourself threw at him.
As the gust of biting wind rips through the street, you pitifully tremble in its hold. Shit, why was it always so cold.
"Ah, fuck, my ass is going to freeze off," Taehyung curses, coming to stand beside you just outside of restaurant. He still has a soy sauce in the corner of his lip and without much thinking you wipe it off.
You're both grasping for words.
"My hand is cold," he suddenly complains, swinging on the back of his heels.
"Should have brought gloves then," you retort grumpily. "I certainly don't need you to spend all my hand creams. Again."
He pretends to not see the acussal in your glower.
"I have an idea. Friends help each other out, don't they?"
Suddenly, you find yourself not liking the happy turn of his cheek. That smile paired with that particular glint in his eye always meant trouble. And before you know it, his hand is clasped around yours, the heat of it shooting straight down your entire arm.
"There," happily he chirps, dragging your loudly protesting self down the street. "Now I'm warm and you're not lonely. I see this as an absolute win."
JUNGKOOK | Sure, it was hard to be rendered blind in the middle of a busy street as the sky was dumping down rain with terrible vengeance but you'd still wager a guess it felt better to run head first into a pole than seeing...him.
The light of the billboard pours brightly onto the dark, grey streets below whilst the faceless masses rush to their homes, you included. He stands there, being beautiful, being enticing like a whole dream and mocks you. You can't have him and that's fine but why should you also have the sour memory of his existence be rubbed into the wound.
Droplets of rain steadily fall upon your face though you don't even notice them. Not until you've had your fill of Jungkook.
You hope he's happy somewhere in Seoul.
Coming back home, you set the soaked bags of groceries onto the table, monotonously going through the motions of the day. Many, hell, everyone, would probably say that taking a month off work just to come back home and live an utterly boring life was not the way to go but would they also sympathize with growing depressed about the unrequited love you had for someone who was so far out of the reach, you'd officially have to graduate space flight program in order to ever reach the star that was Jungkook?
No, you don't think so.
Laundry, cooking, laundry, watching TV, laundry. It doesn't offer much reprieve from thoughts about Jeon Jungkook but at least you don't have to look at him and be pathetic. And sure you're miserable but at least somewhat of your dignity is preserved. Even if it's the tiniest, barely existent sliver a man has ever seen.
You don't regret never approaching him. He never went out of his way to say hi, he never so much as glimpsed in your general direction if you were loitering around the room. You remember how hard it was to breathe when the time came to adjust his mic on his chest and you also remember how he'd just sat there, disinterestedly scrolling through his phone. On those rare times you noticed him watching you, there was always a distant gleam in his gaze. He was probably just zoning out and you happened to be there. On those even rarer times that you helped him, he always appeared so unperturbed. He was polite but that was it. Just a polite thank you and long, stretching moments of quiet, that was the only real memory you had of him.
In the end, the whole thing was quite embarrassing and so despite it being abrupt, it felt right to hand in your resignation. He didn't need yet another sick fucker drooling over him....neither did you want to be that person. So why not quit. Why not?
By the time it's evening, you're beyond bored. No TV shows interest you, no movies catch your attention, the span of your focus is too short to read a book and you're too tired to go for a walk. Surely it wouldn't hurt...
When your old computer turns on, it makes itself known. Unlike the sleek, polished versions of HYBE, the surface is so hot it could boil an egg and the sound that comes out of this pre-historic artefact could easily pass off as a roar of a plane. It takes about half an hour for the email to load, so much so that when you come back with a cup of tea, the screen is still suspiciously unresponsive.
Seeing 99+ unanswered messages did not surprise you, what did surprise you was the pile of messages, unanimously sent from one address.
The skin on your palms grow wet and you can hardly hear the rain splashing against the window with how hard your heart is beating. Shakily you press to open the email, hardly having the courage to read the words. You've no idea why the subject is named such a way but you're partially sure that somewhere along the way, he's going to call out your affection. How misplaced it is and how much he's disgusted by it. You'd understand if he did.
Even if...even if the year we spent together meant nothing to you, that the kindness you extended towards me, that the help you sent my way unknowingly pulling me from a pit of unescapable darkness is nothing but an empty void no more deserving of your attention than the dirt on the side of the road, I beg of you to be gracious once more. Just write to me. Just one letter is all I ask for. No matter what you have to say, should it be something as little as one singular "bye",please, write to me. I'll keep you in my thoughts, forever most likely as you've made your home in them.
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β about: largely angst, some fluff; reader has a crush on but think that it's one-sided β it's not
βΒ Β pictures taken from Pinterest
NAMJOON | The routine itself is quite simple. The rules to be observed are only five β it leaves enough leeway to mold oneself should problematic situations arise.
Rule no. 5: don't accept any gifts.
It's the fact of nature really β humans love gifts. Like corvids, people adored their shiny little trinkets and it is a well-known fact that giving someone something makes them feel special. Adored. But since you couldn't be either of those things, it helped to cut any straying thoughts right in the bud. Hence when he offers to get a cup of coffee from the aggravatingly chique brewery across the street you decline and make a quick stage left.
Which conveniently segways to rule no. 4.
Rule no. 4: no lingering around.
The job is thankful in that way β there's always something to do. Whenever you see his silhouette from the corner of the eye which is not exactly hard β he is big β you flee to safety. If he somehow manages to round the exact same hallway you're in and tosses a hand into the air in lieu of a greeting whilst handing out one of those unfairly charming, dimpled smiles, you follow the rule and as such return a simple nod of recognition, hastily heading the other way.
Should he enter the same room, you're quick to grab anything near and dig deep into a dark corner where inevitably you grow invisible. It's a big company β there's always spaces to hide and you're just another nobody.
Safe to say you never pass him messages or even go near his studio. That can be left to your colleagues who are far more enthusiastic about doing that sort of thing.
Rule no. 3: no conversations.
That is...easy. You think.
"Hi!"
You lifted your head from where your hands were trembling around the paper forms. You regarded him with a blank stare, surprised that not only he'd chosen to talk to you out of all the dozens of people buzzing around the room but also that he was gracious about your lack of friendly disposition.
"Hello," you rasped back, becoming acutely aware of the way everyone is staring.
"You must be new," he remarked, casually plopping down to, for some inexplicable reason, sit next to you, breathing a deep sigh of content. For a second his thigh grazed yours β you shirked away.
"S'pose."
There was a steady pause of silence in which you both just...were.
"You have to write-"
"I know what I have to do."
The finger that previously so helpfully was pointing out at the blank space in the registration form froze mid air. You darted your gaze far away from his unsure, inquisitive stare, tightening your grip around the thin and otherwise helpless paper.
"I'm sorry. What I mean is...I've worked here for three years now β it's just been remote. So I know what to do I'm just..." you laid a palm on your chest β where the bubble was. The bubble that makes it hard to breathe and pressed down on your ribs with such terrible strength your vision grew hazy.
"I think I'm having a panic attack."
Yeah, it was easy to not have a conversation with him afterwards. He must be just as embarrassed as you β what with catching you as you collapsed on the floor just seconds after the first greeting.
Rule no. 2: no touching.
For the most part it's easy to observe. You don't want to be in the same room with him, let alone touch him but sometimes he's just so friendly. If once upon a blue moon you have the misfortune of being stuck with him, you've taken note of how often he reaches to pat you on the back, attempts to carry your things, accidentally bumps into you on those short walks between one location to the next. However, by now you're a professional and you evade all of those damning times of contact with mannered ease.
It is only rule no. 1 that gives you trouble. It's difficult to not think about Kim Namjoon. Not only because his face is splattered across half the world's billboards but because it is Kim Namjoon and oftentimes after long hours of dutifully observing all the other rules, you lay vapidly on the bed and break the one that mattered the most. Too much you think about him and too much time is given to dreams that would never, ever come true.
"Hey, _____________."
You jolt at the sound of another's voice, especially since the room should be empty. As you uncrane your neck from the cramped position by the router on the floor, you find Kim Namjoon poking his somewhat unkempt head through the door. And Kim Namjoon finds himself standing yet again in front of you , breaking all the rules he put between him and the danger that is you. He has no viable reason for asking everyone your whereabouts and then coming here where he confirmed you'd be. There's no merit in him checking the status of HYBE's malfunctioning router but very selfishly he clings even to this most pathetic excuse β if only to take a glimpse at you.
"Hello," diplomatically, you bid back. "The uh...cable is broken."
As a means of an evidence that no one asked for, you wave the plastic around.
"I'll go ask Haejun. She has a shit-ton of spares.''
"We canβ" but before he could even reach out to grab onto you, to make you linger around just a little bit longer for the sake of his horrid selfishness, the doors are already closing behind you.
"βgo together..." Namjoon lets the sentence finish in the dissatisfied silence fallen over the room.
YOONGI | It should be societally acceptable for one, on occasion, to smash their fucking head against the fucking wall. Though you've turned away from him by now, in such as fast motion there's a definite possibility of your spinal disk rupturing, the disgusting act has been caught and observed. He's caught you looking. Leering. He must be repulsed. You put back the money you've been counting for the last five minutes and with a quiet mutter to a coworker excuse yourself to the back-alley.
"Ah, I don't want to be around that gangster," she cries pathetically, spotting the black haired man at the far end of the counter. Whiskey. Top shelf. A double. The first time you glimpsed him sipping 43% proof alcohol with the ease a child would a juice box, you cursed heavens above β men such as that inevitably acted vile afterwards. Cursing, being loud, groping β it'd just be more headache for you but he was surprisingly different. As if having been aware of the ill suspicion you've been harboring, once he was done, the man brought his glass back, bowed politely and quietly rasped a thank you about your hospitality.
To this day you had no idea whether it was meant genuinely or not.
"He's not a gangster," tiredly, you cut back. Even if he was, he was a polite one. "Just pour him his whiskey when he asks and that's it."
Her lips thin from the nerves as she examines him. His hair is longer now but in her eyes it probably doesn't soften the least bit of his features. In the end, she relents and her harpy like fingers let go of your elbow. Pouting, you rub the sore flesh but quickly leave. You think he's still looking at you, no doubt judging you for slobbering.
"What?" you mutter to yourself grumpily, climbing down the poor lit staircase that led to the reeking trash bins outside. "It's not a crime to have a crush on someone."
Ah, you're a pervert, you groan in your mind, kneeling down the wall. One of these days you'll have to scratch your manager's eyes out in order to get a chair.
You fish out the pack of cigarettes from the apron and in the singular beat between one second and the next, someone speaks right next to you:
"Care to share?"
You scream and almost fling yourself into the trash all while the black haired man looks down upon you.
The first drops of rain begin to fall down on your face and you squint on the automated instinct to protect your eyes.
In his hand he's got a cigarette of his own and you scramble to get the lighter working, cringing at the shooting ache as you press it against your rubbed off skin.
"Here," you outstretch the flame towards him. He hums appreciatively and leans down, briefly putting his much larger palms over yours to stabilize the fire. You hiss in pain.
"Sorry. My hands are rough, I know," he grouses and you shake your head mutely. Jesus fucking Christ on a bike. Even just standing next to him knocks the breath out of your lungs.
"No...it's not that. Your hands are nice," your face scrunches up. "I mean they're fine."
He regards you with a slightly lopsided smirk. You cough and take a drag out of the cigarette.
"These things are not good for health, you know," he shuffles a bit, shoes scuffing against the grey pavement below. They're really shiny and now that you could focus on anything besides his cruelly handsome face, you take in the fact the fact that he was actually wearing a suit. Curious.
"You're smoking as well," defensively, you spit back and sagely, he inclines his head.
"I'm trying to quit. Unsuccessfully. Clearly," he snorts to himself, lips widening into arid, mirthless grin. You think your guts just rearranged themselves. What's happening here, currently, was the smell of the trash leaking into the bins, the cool air blowing a trail of goosebumps up your arm. Your legs are aching, somewhere down your spine there is a yet unidentified pain and both of you smell like smoke and still you've never seen a man so beautiful, despite the grody settings.
"Why you're wearing a suit today?" just at the last second you manage to bite your tongue to not call him sir. For all intents and purposes he's still a costumer. Had your manager heard of you smoking by the trash with one of the most high-paying patrons, she'd drown you in the very bin juice but this doesn't feel...forced. He doesn't feel like a customer and you don't feel like just another person in customer service.
"Are you killing someone?" you tease further, testing the edges and luckily he responds in earnest β dropping his head back and howling a mute laughter into the night.
"No, nothing so dramatic," he chuckles. "I had a...corporate event. Of sorts."
"You don't look like an office drone," you drawl, for the first time actually taking him in. That is, without the leering. As a bartender, over a time a certain kind of knowledge builds. You've seen what the poor wear, what the middle class wears and what the rich wear, and this man was certainly well-off. His suit, though nothing extravagant, is well-fitted and the material is expensive. No one of that stature would ever fit inside a cubicle.
"That's cause I'm not. Say, you don't watch a lot of TV, do you?" even in the piss-poor lighting of the foul alleyway, his eyes glimmer with barely hidden amusement. It plays on the corners of his lips as though he was trying his hardest to not smile.
"No, I don't..." you frown. "Why?"
"Nothing," he shrugs. "I actually like it that way."
"Ah, shit," you drag the last smoke from the cigarette before throwing it away. "Sara always said you were into shady shit. Shame she was right."
"Sara...that's the little girl, right? One whose scared of me?"
"Mmm," you hum in agreement.
"That's good."
As your eyebrows knit together in confusion, he also puts out the cigarette with a side of yet another teasing smirk. By this point, you were growing accustomed to it. Seeing it, however, not be unfazed by it.
"I much more like you. Well," he claps his hands together, the sound falling a bit too loud in the otherwise quiet back alley. "I've got to get going. Will you be working tomorrow?"
"Uh...yeah," dumbly, you respond and the nameless man looks mighty pleased.
"Good. See ya."
He turns to walk away, leaving you alone and befuddled by the backdoor only to lean back as though he suddenly remembered something.
"These are bad for you," his hand snatches the pack of cigarettes shamelessly out of your grasp and only then he deems it fit to make an exit.
JIN | "Look, the love of your life is walking over!"
"Shut the fuck up."
It's 8:30 in the morning and the sun is already scorching. You've gotten off an eight hours flight and somehow you're still hangover. To be less verbose β you're not putting up with any bullshit. And your friend cooing in the ear the second they saw Seokjin climbing out is very much the situation you're far too grumpy to tolerate.
"I'm heading to the forest," you toss over your shoulder, making a hasty beeline to the other part of the shore where the dunes laid quiet and unperturbed. The second you're in their embrace, the tension leaves your body.
By now everyone and their mother knew of the gargantuan and utterly mortifying crush you had on Seokjin. To this day they continued to humor it in the same way they did when you were younger.
"Ahh, look, Jinnie, little ___________ has a crush on you! They even made a card!"
And because you were fourteen and it was a time of great hormones, and you'd still rather kill yourself than ever reveal to older Kim Seokjin outright that you liked him, to everyone's shock, Jin's in particular, you ate the paper card in front of him, growling in between the stiff, glittery bites that obviously you meant a different Seokjin. Seokjin who obviously went to your school even though no one could ever verify his presence.
It's been years and by now you're well out of middle-school but the pathetic squeezing of your heart whenever you saw him, whenever you found yourself in the center of his focus has not yielded. How many years will this continue to drag on? Will he need to be married for this to relent?! With kids?! Dead?!?
With a pitiful groan, you let your forehead hit the dry bark of the nearby tree.
"Ah, fuck."
"Always such a potty mouth."
Anyone else might have taken a glimpse at Jin and pronounced that there was some truth to children's stories where selfless, glamorous princes rode about. While Jin is decidedly not a horse (he could barely even walk as the sand proved to be quite an obstacle), he does look like a prince β carrying a blanket and a small, mysterious bag.
"You get so cold quickly," he half-heartedly scolds, tossing the blanket your way. "Why even come here?"
"You get cold as well," irately, you point out, tugging the fleece around your bare shoulders. Only then you did notice that you were actually freezing.
"I came prepared," carelessly, Jin replies, yanking from some invisible space yet another blanket. "I might be devastatingly handsome but I'm not a bimbo."
"Shame. I happen to like bimbos."
At this point you're just saying shit.
Jin blinks and then with the sincerity of a well-seasoned actor, regards you with a confused stare, face mere millimetres away from yours.
"What do you call a fish wearing a bowtie?"
Nervously, your eyes flit all around his face as you inadvertently swallow from the abrupt proximity.
"I don't know," breathlessly, you answer. "What?"
"Sofishticated!"
Well, good news was that if he kept going like this, your pervading illness will be cured.
"Sofishticated! Get it, because it's like sophisticated..."
You leave him standing there, shouting across the dunes.
"Hey, Ji-Yeong told Cindy to tell Eun-Sook to tell Riri-"
Over the loud roar of the working stove, you attempt to clean your eyes free from the onion and give your friend a good yell.
"GET TO THE POINT!"
"JIN IS LOOKING FOR YOU! HE WANTS TO TALK TO YOU!"
And because you're a brave, self-sufficient person of 21st century you pretend not to hear and whenever you see a glimpse of shoulders too broad to be on anyone else but him, you run and hide.
You know exactly what he wants to talk about and thus you'd rather, much rather, with a smile on your face in fact, chew your fucking toe off. Because as stupid as you were now, you were infinitely more stupid last summer. The summer during which you got so plastered on tequila the night ended with you confusing very much real, warm-blooded sentient Jin for a cutout. A cutout which you clung onto like a mad person and proceeded to reveal that innermost layer of your heart and how much it was devoted to one very annoying millennial.
It took a lot of pasta and drinking to have the confidence to leave your home once the initial stage of wanting to rot into the sofa ebbed away. You weren't necessarily keen on repeating that week thus the running away. But you also think Jin has caught onto the games and is growing increasingly frustrated with them.
Jin wants to see you, Jin is asking for you, Jin is stopping by and so on and on and on. By now his name doesn't even sound like a word. Even so you keep the charades going, praying for the first time in your life that you could go back to work.
The time is a bit over one in the night. For the most part everyone is sleeping which leaves the back garden of the house you rented near the beach quiet and docile. From here you can hear the waves crashing and for now it's enough to create a piece of your paradise.
"Didn't I tell you that you get too cold easily?"
Cold shivers run up your spine and you quickly swallow, whipping around. The expression on Jin's face is less than impressed.
"Well, hence, I'll be going," you gift a fake smile but quickly stop when you hear what you've never ever heard before.
Jin being angry.
"Stay where you are."
He's not by any means shouting, not even raising his voice in the slightest but the tone leaves not a single space for discussion to take place.
"Sit down."
You do and sternly he watches you do so, eyebrows coming together to create a deep frown. You search for any sign of this being a prank or another one of his jokes but you don't find any. Just him standing and being fed up.
"Now, let us have that talk about last summer."
HOSEOK | It doesn't matter if both of you were adults. He was still your student and you were still his teacher. It didn't matter whether he insisted on you or not, you still should have said no and referred Hoseok back to Marina. She was a better English tutor anyhow even if he very much disagreed.
"Mr Jung, please understand, I am quitting. How can I continue to teach you if I'm not even a teacher?"
His knuckles were white around the edge of the table to which he clung to as you leisurely piled your things into boxes. The two years where were good, just not good enough to stay.
"Marina is horrible," he complains the sound falling a bit muffled through the mask but it's quality of desperation is not reduced. "Please, you can't just leave! Not with all of the progress we've made!"
A bit of clunky choice of phrasing if you had to say because what progress did you make? Was it the progress of being indifferent, to growing shy around him, to dreaming about him in the middle of all the lonely nights only to then choke on all those fantasies? Because if it was that progress, it would do you some good to leave. Would do you both some good.
"_______________, please, make an exception?" he pleaded, eyes sparkling and you had felt your resolve breaking even then. "For me? Your favourite Hobi?"
With your walls falling apart, you hadn't even noticed how casually he'd referred to you.
"Stop bouncing your knee," Marina growls underneath the nose as she sips on the coffee. Her exam materials are displayed haphazardly on the table before her, littered with large crumbs of her banana and hazelnut croissant.
"I can't help it," you retort just as morose, nervously eyeing the clock pinned to the wall.
12:01 β he should be done by now.
"You're so in love with him," Marina rolled her eyes, striking a bold red line across one student's essay. 4/100. Rough.
"It's my job as a teacher to make sure he passes his tests," you brittle venomously. "If I don't-"
Before you could so much as finish your sentence, a pair of judgmental eyes sit transfixed upon your face in a heated glare.
"You're not a teacher anymore. You quit and tutor him entirely unofficially," Marina interrupts curtly. "So the excuse of it being that is redundant if anything."
Just then your phone dings with an unread message causing both of your eyes to fall on top of it.
"Your prince Charming is calling," she states coldly. "Go ahead and pick up."
You don't think you'll ever hang out with Marina after this.
Hoseok π sent you a message.
The heart he'd added himself, chiding you one night for assigning such a cold contact info.
Hoseok π: I PASSED! I KNOW IT! I'VE NEVER FELT SO CONFIDENT! π»πγ(οΌβοΌ)γ
me: I told you you could do it and you didn't believe in yourself ( οΏ£οΌΎοΏ£)
Hoseok π: hahaha yes o great teacher you've always been so supportive! thank you! ( β₯βΏβ₯)
Then after a moment comes the last message.
Hoseok π: thank you, __________________.
As your phone grows dark, you see your own reflection β the giddy smile, the lovesick eyes. The pathetic, eager nature that is you around Hoseok. For a second you let yourself be and let your hand press the phone to your chest as if the meaningless emojis and hearts actually signified anything other than the cursory respect he had for you as his tutor. Then you gather yourself.
If Hoseok will pass his test, he'll be technically viewed as fluent and as such you will be of no use anymore.
You wipe the grin of your face, slip the phone in your pocket and walk back home, pretending that none of this is hurting you.
JIMIN | "Stay still," you scold him, immediately receiving a pout in return.
"I am staying still!" he whines.
Though you roll your eyes, you don't argue anymore and continue to measure his neck. If he wanted to layer his necklaces, you'll have no choice but to measure every chain's length to its absolute minimum. If they overlayed too much it'd just be a mess and Jimin deserved nothing but the best.
"Now, remember, this is the bag for my jewelry," you remind him sternly, waving the grey pouch just before escorting him to the door. The night is deep. Ever since you wound up having Park Jimin as a regular client your sleep schedule has been wrecked. Thinking about the wording, you cringe, cutting a finger against one of the waywardly left awls on the table. Had your old teacher saw the mess on your workstation, the old crow would probably smack you across the face.
Hissing at the sharp prick, you cradled the hand with a juicy curse on the tongue. Jimin, who'd previously been seconds away from falling asleep (which has happened. Safe to say, having an idol drooling on your couch was awkward, just not as awkward as the morning that followed), yanks his head towards you with laser like focus.
"Show me," he insists, expectantly holding out his palm so that it can join yours. You regard it with a passive stare before taking a step back.
"It's just a cut on a finger," you brush him off, coughing from the abruptly stifled atmosphere gripping your lived-in studio. Jimin appears to be quite displeased. One of the simultaneous advantages and disadvantages of being so close to your models for such an extended time was that by the end of it you knew all of their micro-expressions like the back of your hand. From the tightened way his jaw sat to the coldness in his gaze β he was angry. Jimin was a bit like an April day in that way β always surprising you. Was it good or bad, you did not quite know.
"Here, take this," you outstretched the pouch, sucking a bit on the pricked finger. His eyes seemed to linger there before he averts his gaze, taking the bag with his jewelry.
"You look beautiful in them."
Was it a low blow? Perhaps. But it felt somewhat uneasy, problematic even to let him leave your studio in a huff. With the oncoming release of his album he was already stretched taut. You were half surprised he hadn't yet hit a complete mental breakdown by now. Just following his schedule as a jeweller made your hairs grow grey. Still, as expected the compliment mellows the bout of his sudden attitude.
"Eyyy," he complains, tad cautiously. You weren't after all friends, however, the borders of the proper behaviour became blurred the second he showed up on your doorstep outside both of his company's knowledge or permission. As far as you understood it, he actually sponsored your work out of his own pocket. You could recall that night in fine detail β having a national treasure known as Park Jimin sipping a tea out of cracked cup and asking you to create pieces for him. How he'd came to know of you, he did not reveal and after a while you ceased asking.
"You always do this," he continues, rousing you out of deep though.
"Do what?" innocently, you blink up at him. "I've committed no wrongdoing."
"You always compliment me," he pouts, scuffing the sole of his slipper against the floor. They were in the shape of large fluffy cows. You'd offered him a change but since this pair was given to him on that first meeting, he insisted he'd grown fond of them.
"You know how much I like compliments..."
That you did. Once in a while you let them slip a bit too liberally which is something you'd sincerely need to work on. Having a crush on Park Jimin, unrequited one at that, would anyhow lead to nothing. It was simply futile.
"I can't ever stay mad at you."
"Sorry, for being too charming," you flip a strand of non-existent hair over your shoulder prompting a peel of loud, disbalanced laughter. "Now, this is the bag for my jewelry. Don't mix them up with the one you're supposed to wear for Tiffany which by the way..." you narrow your eyes at him. "Traitor."
Still laughing he pats down your head, eyes crinkling in that expression of pure happiness that you adored to see so much.
"Babyyyy, don't be mad. You're still my favourite one."
Had you not been so irrevocably and disgustingly fond of this man you would have kicked him for making your heart feel like this.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," you groused, taking his hand away from your head. "Now go. Good night."
"Can't I crash here?" he pleads, shifting eagerly on the spot. "It's so late at night..."
"And whose fault is that?" you arch an eyebrow pushing at Jimin's back to get him out of your doorstep. "Rich man goes home and sleeps in his rich man bed."
Sensing an easy target in your words, Jimin gleans over his shoulder, his broad smirk proudly on display.
"Does rich man have to be alone?"
"Bye!"
You watched him secretly behind the broken, off white blinds of your kitchen window. The alleyways in this part of the town are narrow, only barely could Jimin's car make way. It's no surprise that no matter what time it is, it attracts the curious glances of your neighbours. The old man at unit 4b across the road was also looking in β the shitty blue tinted light of his crap ass apartment makes his silhouette glaringly apparent in the window. You scowl at him and for a good measure throw up a bird before accompanying Jimin with your eyes. Happily he gets into the car and drives back home where he'll be safe. Now you can rest easy. Somewhat.
"Good night, Jimin," you whisper into the darkness where the only other company you had was the ever-present droning of your old fridge.
TAEHYUNG | Leaning against your hand and watching him speak you think of everything and simultaneously of nothing at all. Though it was not a crime to fall in love with your friend, it very much felt that way sometimes. Times like these when you fantasized how would it feel to hold his hand or to hug him. Not that you didn't know how that felt like. If he could, Taehyung would crawl and make a home in your ribs but he didn't understand. He didn't understand the...spectrum of love you harboured for him. From where he looked onto it the hues were all blue whilst you were far too red.
Red, as you discovered, was not that good of a colour.
"________________? You're not even listening to me, are you?"
Blinking owlishly, you stirred in the seat. The screaming ache in your muscles offers proof to how long you'd been staring at him. Pathetic. You shift your eyes away from the mix of frustration and worry in the browns of his eyes and instead let it sit where's it safe β on the impersonal linoleum cover of the cheap dumpling bistro.
"I was listening," you mumble hazily. "You were...taking Yeontan...for a grooming session, no?"
He sighs.
"Actually I said Jungkook was bitching in my voice mails about having to get a haircut. Are they the same for you?"
You think about it.
"I plead the fifth?"
In spite of it only prompting a thoroughly sassy eye roll from the nominee of 2022 MAMA song of the year, he doesn't much complain, though stuffing his face full of noodles, he does ask. You would rather he didn't.
"What's wrong with you lately? You've been...spaced out."
To feign ease you don't dream of having, you snort.
"Look whose talking."
"Exactly," smartly, he agrees still chewing somewhat aggressively. "If I notice, you know it's bad."
Averting your gaze away once more, you shrug.
"It's nothing serious."
"You sure? 'Cause I was thinking maybe you felt...lonely?"
The so-thin-it's-almost-transparent menu in between your fingers freeze as your heart drops down into your stomach.
"What makes you say that?" lightly, presumably lightly, you wonder.
"Dunno," he shrugs, swallowing a bite so large you can see it travelling down his throat. How he had not yet choked was beyond any science. "It's just you've got no pets, no friends beside me and your place is always quiet so it's safe to say you're absolutely dry in the dating apartment."
Your lips purse in an expression of such pure, unfiltered annoyance that for once it doesn't go above his head. Awkwardly, he coughs, shrinking smaller underneath the gaze of your fury.
"Thank you Taehyung," dryly, you praise him. "That's just what I needed."
"Sorry."
Were you lonely? Probably. Who are you kidding? Naturally.
Exhaling into the black winter air, you watch as the miniature clouds colour white before melting into the night. Did you love Taehyung because you were simply...lonely? Could be. Over the years he was the only one who stayed by your side. Even when you did the most to make him leave, so you wouldn't taint him with your...broken-ness, all too obstinately he'd weathered the storms out. He'd not leave you, that was the end of it. Such he promised and such was the promise he kept, no matter what life or yourself threw at him.
As the gust of biting wind rips through the street, you pitifully tremble in its hold. Shit, why was it always so cold.
"Ah, fuck, my ass is going to freeze off," Taehyung curses, coming to stand beside you just outside of restaurant. He still has a soy sauce in the corner of his lip and without much thinking you wipe it off.
You're both grasping for words.
"My hand is cold," he suddenly complains, swinging on the back of his heels.
"Should have brought gloves then," you retort grumpily. "I certainly don't need you to spend all my hand creams. Again."
He pretends to not see the acussal in your glower.
"I have an idea. Friends help each other out, don't they?"
Suddenly, you find yourself not liking the happy turn of his cheek. That smile paired with that particular glint in his eye always meant trouble. And before you know it, his hand is clasped around yours, the heat of it shooting straight down your entire arm.
"There," happily he chirps, dragging your loudly protesting self down the street. "Now I'm warm and you're not lonely. I see this as an absolute win."
JUNGKOOK | Sure, it was hard to be rendered blind in the middle of a busy street as the sky was dumping down rain with terrible vengeance but you'd still wager a guess it felt better to run head first into a pole than seeing...him.
The light of the billboard pours brightly onto the dark, grey streets below whilst the faceless masses rush to their homes, you included. He stands there, being beautiful, being enticing like a whole dream and mocks you. You can't have him and that's fine but why should you also have the sour memory of his existence be rubbed into the wound.
Droplets of rain steadily fall upon your face though you don't even notice them. Not until you've had your fill of Jungkook.
You hope he's happy somewhere in Seoul.
Coming back home, you set the soaked bags of groceries onto the table, monotonously going through the motions of the day. Many, hell, everyone, would probably say that taking a month off work just to come back home and live an utterly boring life was not the way to go but would they also sympathize with growing depressed about the unrequited love you had for someone who was so far out of the reach, you'd officially have to graduate space flight program in order to ever reach the star that was Jungkook?
No, you don't think so.
Laundry, cooking, laundry, watching TV, laundry. It doesn't offer much reprieve from thoughts about Jeon Jungkook but at least you don't have to look at him and be pathetic. And sure you're miserable but at least somewhat of your dignity is preserved. Even if it's the tiniest, barely existent sliver a man has ever seen.
You don't regret never approaching him. He never went out of his way to say hi, he never so much as glimpsed in your general direction if you were loitering around the room. You remember how hard it was to breathe when the time came to adjust his mic on his chest and you also remember how he'd just sat there, disinterestedly scrolling through his phone. On those rare times you noticed him watching you, there was always a distant gleam in his gaze. He was probably just zoning out and you happened to be there. On those even rarer times that you helped him, he always appeared so unperturbed. He was polite but that was it. Just a polite thank you and long, stretching moments of quiet, that was the only real memory you had of him.
In the end, the whole thing was quite embarrassing and so despite it being abrupt, it felt right to hand in your resignation. He didn't need yet another sick fucker drooling over him....neither did you want to be that person. So why not quit. Why not?
By the time it's evening, you're beyond bored. No TV shows interest you, no movies catch your attention, the span of your focus is too short to read a book and you're too tired to go for a walk. Surely it wouldn't hurt...
When your old computer turns on, it makes itself known. Unlike the sleek, polished versions of HYBE, the surface is so hot it could boil an egg and the sound that comes out of this pre-historic artefact could easily pass off as a roar of a plane. It takes about half an hour for the email to load, so much so that when you come back with a cup of tea, the screen is still suspiciously unresponsive.
Seeing 99+ unanswered messages did not surprise you, what did surprise you was the pile of messages, unanimously sent from one address.
The skin on your palms grow wet and you can hardly hear the rain splashing against the window with how hard your heart is beating. Shakily you press to open the email, hardly having the courage to read the words. You've no idea why the subject is named such a way but you're partially sure that somewhere along the way, he's going to call out your affection. How misplaced it is and how much he's disgusted by it. You'd understand if he did.
Even if...even if the year we spent together meant nothing to you, that the kindness you extended towards me, that the help you sent my way unknowingly pulling me from a pit of unescapable darkness is nothing but an empty void no more deserving of your attention than the dirt on the side of the road, I beg of you to be gracious once more. Just write to me. Just one letter is all I ask for. No matter what you have to say, should it be something as little as one singular "bye",please, write to me. I'll keep you in my thoughts, forever most likely as you've made your home in them.
β about: angst with a side of spice, slight humour idk I just be doing shit
βΒ Β pictures taken from Pinterest
βΒ what y'all think of this one? please let me know
NAMJOON | A greedy, spiteful, spindling arm comes up on your waist, pressing you tightly against its just as equally greedy and spiteful owner's form. While aggravating, the gesture is of no surprise. You don't even jump when the grip begins to press more on your ribs than you'd necessarily like. You drive an elbow into his side, momentarily meeting those narrowed eyes of his.
You're annoying.
I don't like him.
Am I supposed to care that you don't like him?
The argument is held entirely mute. He knows you know and you know he knows though poor Daniel β he's all together clueless.
"Hello, you must be...uh, ____________'s boyfriend? Right?"
Delicately, you snort in your palm, immediately sensing the way Namjoon's muscles tense on the other side of your blouse. The heat of his palm resting on the small of your back is scorching.
And whether it's from that or the minuscule way his jaw clenches, repeatedly coming to a brutal grind to then release only for the motion to repeat in endless circles; whether it was the tightness of the smile β there's a tight tick at the gap in the small space between his mouth curving upwards and his cheek that says he's not actually smiling despite appearing very much so β or whether it was something as simple as the fact that his eyes had been tracking your every minute for a solid piece of ten minutes now that delivers this easy deduction right in your lap.
He's into one of those moods.
There's a distinct coldness in his eye, a sort of a less than impressed expression that anyone, even someone so generally lost as Daniel could pick up on.
"We were just talking about the role of guilt and class consciousness," he trails off, squeaking slightly at the very end. You don't exactly fault him for it. Having a large man towering over you, feasibly blowing smoke out of his nose would put anyone ill at ease. "In....s-sustainability m-m-marketing. Yes."
"Smart, my ______________, right?" Namjoon chuckles to himself lowly. Daniel echoes the laugh, regardless, of how nervous the cadence of his voice is. Once again you don't fault him for it. A stranger would have no trouble believing that Namjoon's laughter is in good faith. He's honed the subtle art of being a fake a little bitch but you who knows better...well, you know better. You know that the kiss your darling β your huffing, festering, seething darling β presses upon your temple is far from good faith. The way his fingers squeeze your grip, all greed and jealousy, is so far from good faith it's downright atheist.
"They a-are," Daniel stammers, gaze flitting between Namjoon and you. Stupidly he's fallen into the trap.
"So you like my ___________?" he wilts underneath the weight of Namjoon's glare. "My ____________?"
Fed up with the nonsense, you push his hand away. His head darts to sit on the floor.
"Just go," you order Daniel and without hesitation, the coward scurries off to the dark dingy corner he came from. So perhaps you also didn't like him, it still wasn't a reason to act like that. And Namjoon knows this because though obstinate, there is a bashful glimmer that prohibits him from looking you in the eye.
"Your ____________?" you scoff. "Presumptious, no?"
"No," he spits. The lights flash overhead, a cacophony of colours that's mirrored in the dark of his stare that's abruptly grows fixated on your face. The room reeks of champagne, stale air and someone's vape smoke and this man stands in front of you β annoying, determined, aggravating and he loves you.
And because you love him just as much you let it slide with the only protest offered being an eye roll.
"You are mine."
YOONGI | "Do you...want to have a drink?"
His entire silhouette is downturned. Had you been an uninvested bystander you'd probably call his pouting expression comical because how does one manage to look that sullen in the middle of his own award ceremony. But alas you're not an uninvested bystander, you're a confused person thrown in the midst of your partner's raging emotions.
He doesn't speak for such a long time you're ready to open your mouth again, certain that he simply didn't hear your offer but then he answers, quiet and lifeless:
"No, thank you."
You observe his hands. His hands that do the speaking when his mouth cannot and unsurprisingly, you find them quite anxious. His nails rip at the bed of his skin, pulling the strips one by one. You cringe at the sight and place your palm upon his however when he fails to move, you pull back. So he doesn't want to talk.
Surreptiously, you scooch away, giving Yoongi his space but like a bullet he darts out his hand to catch you by the elbow, pulling you back down.
A singular "please don't" that dies somewhere in his throat barely manages to reach your ears, nonetheless, you oblige and the tension in his rounded shoulders eases, if a bit.
Safe to say the walk back home was awkward.
"You're..." he speaks so suddenly, you jolt hearing his voice in the otherwise deadly silent staircase. "I thought I was always the first one you sent your lyrics to?"
It's such a weird question that you stop dead in the tracks and half turn to him on the overtly glamorous stairs to his penthouse. You never did like them. And now he's standing here atop of these stairs wearing a multitude expressions that simultaneously reveal everything and nothing. The line of his mouth is set down β grim and annoyed, his eyes are turned at an angle β the one that meant trouble, deep trouble yet the look within them was sad. You'd call it insecure though never aloud knowing he didn't appreciate such a thing.
"You're the first proper person I sent them to."
"Proper," he scoffs. "Is she not proper? Standing on a stage, receiving award for the song with your lyrics."
"She wasn't back then. Back then we were just dreaming idiots while you were already a star," you justify. He doesn't seem to like the explanation.
"Those lyrics meant so much to me, you know," he breaks. Not a lot but just enough, a chink in the otherwise pungent dark. "It was as though you'd pried my ribcage open and prodded at my heart. I've never felt so...bare."
Automatically, you let out "I'm sorry" despite not knowing what you're apologising for. A bad habit he'd previously chided you for. He shakes his head either saying there's no need to say sorry or rejecting it altogether.
"Are you angry with me?"
Yoongi breathes a long, strained sigh, dejectedly shaking his head.
"No...no, it's not you I'm mad at."
"Then who?"
He fails to answer, instead choosing to run up the stairs where you were starting and to your surprise taking your hand into his.
Leading you back home, he asks, all casual:
"You love me...right?"
"Of course, I do!" offended, you retort. "What kind of qu-!"
"Say it out loud."
"What?"
"Say out loud that you love me. That you're mine."
To further feign his relaxed state, he begs for this whilst punching in the code for the doors β each ding of the number dragging on and on in the stilted air of the hallway.
"Please, say it."
You give a small smile and lean into his arm. You finally get it.
"I love you and I'm yours. Don't worry."
Not much is spoken after that.
JIN | "Let's just do it, okay?"
"Huh?!"
His eyes widen, clearly mocking your outrage as lithe hands press the bowl out of your fingers, dragging you by the sleeve out of the country house. The morning is utterly fresh. Birds shriek and lilt their songs, perched just outside the window on the growing orchard, dew still glistens in the green grass and the world is at peace.
Or it was.
Before this demon decided to ruin your life.
As per freaking usual.
"I meant let's get the berries, you pervert," he dares to roll his eyes. You try to break free of his grasp but just like anchors board ships the strength of his clutch is unbreakable.
"It's 7 in the morning, Seokjin!"
"Seokjin," he echoes derisively. "No one calls me Seokjin."
"Lots of people do!"
"Then how about you don't."
"Ok, Mr Kim, whatever you say."
"That's even wor-no, actually on a second thought, I like it."
"Ugh, you're disgusting!" you snap, whilst for reasons unbeknownst to yourself still putting on shoes and a shawl. It's not like he even was your friend. The relationship you two shared in between the confusing circle of relatives, friends and acquaintances was exactly that β confusing. He was a friend of your cousin, somehow, a God's joke if anything, and hence why you found yourself be dragged by him in the rustic country house in the throes of upcoming summer. Funnily enough when he'd been introduced to you, Seokjin was presented as "shy and introverted, wouldn't hurt a fly, wouldn't speak a word". It had turned out to be the furthest thing from the truth. At least when it came to you. It was as though it was his life's mission bestowed from the ancestors to grate every single one of your nerves.
"Disgustingly handsome," he brushes off, unconcerned by your low growls and huffs of protest. Footsteps tremble the old wooden stairs underneath your butt, signaling a possible saviour.
"What are you guys up to so early?" Jae rubs the sleep out of his eyes, coming to stand before you and dropping his drooling head upon your shoulder. You welcome your head with energy never displayed before and Jin's expressions grows frighteningly lax.
"They squeezed this guy's head too hard in the military," you throw a thumb at his bristling figure. "He's lost it."
But Jin doesn't laugh instead his nose scrunches as though he'd smelt something deeply affronting all the while his eyes don't leave Jae. Suddenly he reaches to pry Jae's fingers away from your shoulder, gently albeit firmly guiding you away.
"This one needs some fresh air," he stiffly belts out and before you know it you're both out of the door. The fresh air is indeed nice β it hits you like a pleasant wall and rubbing at your tired eyes, you shuffle in the general direction where there was a splotch of green growth β raspberries, blackberries, gooseberries, though the latter Jin didn't trust at all.
You trudge along in silence, battling the thorny undergrowth along the well-trodden narrow path snaking through the field. However, the closer you get to the berries, the more fuss Jin puts up.
"They'll eat me alive!" he cries out, violently shooing away the black masses of hungry mosquitoes. "I'm too delicious to be out here!"
You perch a hand on your hip, giving him a thoroughly disapproving glare.
"If you were going to complain about coming here, why even bother?"
"Well how else was I supposed to get you all to myself?"
You think that even birds fall quiet hearing that.
"...what?"
"What?"
You both blink at each other.
"You...you want me...all to yourself?"
Jin laughs abruptly, the sound falling strained and nervous and in the soft light of the rising sun, his neck begins to glow bright red.
"Haha what nonsense," he chortles. "I see you're getting delusional, dear."
"What?!"
"WHAT?!"
Like a deer caught in headlights, Jin stands before you, hyperventilating slightly and letting the mosquitos, just as he said, eat him alive.
"Dear?" you arch an eyebrow. "I'm your "dear" now?"
"No. You're a "deer" you misheard."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"You don't make any sense."
"No, you."
"No, you!"
"What are you five years old," you mutter underneath the nose before erupting into a teasing smile, curling a finger around a non-existent strand of hair. "So you want me all to yourself, huh? How flattering."
Jin rolls his eyes, once again swinging his arms around like some crazed caveman.
"We're going home now," he orders gruffly, turning on the heel.
"Jae's at home."
At the mention of your supposedly mutual friend, his expressions grows stormy once more and reaching backwards, he wraps his fingers around your wrist.
"Then we're going somewhere else," through gritted teeth, he pushes out, legs falling and rising, creating an angry stomp to which you titter along with.
"Oooooh, so you can have me all alone?"
He casts you a wicked glance from the corner of the eye, ultimately shrugging at the suggestion.
"Not really, I left the condom at home. But if you feel risky I'm down."
HOSEOK | After the fourth hour of being forced to listen to rock music at ear-splitting volume, Yoongi had enough and with an egregious sigh of displeasure, he rolled out of his studio and went to Hoseok's cave of misery.
Without knocking, he opened the doors, nearly crumbling from the force of the bass.
"DO YOU MIND NOT MAKING EVERYONE DEAF?!"
Very slowly as though pulled from a deep haze, Hoseok turned around, blinked for a while and only then understood the request.
"Sorry," he muttered, turning down the volume.
Yoongi examined him before letting out another sigh.
"If you're that worried about __________'s ex just tell them to dump the stupid reconciliation thing and return home."
"That's not what I do."
"And what do you do, Hoseok? Suffer in silence?"
The lone figure, illuminated only by the cold light of the laptop before him, didn't answer and Yoongi didn't prod any more.
"Just don't end up regretting it."
With those words reverberating through his head, Hoseok found himself running through the downtown streets, in search for even a sliver of you. A strand of hair, the corner of your jacket β anything. When at last he did, he found you happy, in the arms of another.
No.
No, he doesn't think so.
"You're so sweet," you muttered into his neck as he let himself be angry, glaring hatefully at the dark ceiling. The grip he had on both of your hips will undoubtedly leave bruises but selfishly he couldn't bring himself to care. If anything he wanted more. People couldn't be trusted, they would try and with him being away so much...why shouldn't he mark you up all nice and pretty so people who didn't deserve you wouldn't bother you...
He digs his fingers deep into the flesh.
"Wrong thing to say," Hoseok growls. "I'm really pissed off."
"What I mean is you have nothing to worry about," you defend hastily as you cup his face in your palms. Hoseok would like to say he felt so much better, that the little monster clawing on his chest would be satiated with the sacrifice but it was far from so. "I'm yours and only yours."
"Well, obviously I know that. How about we make sure others know that as well?"
JIMIN | The slam of both doors comes at a perfect time, creating a singular, decisive cannon shot of "BANG" and then there was silence. In times like these, you praised your past self in choosing the bathroom adjacent to the bedroom. You doubted you could go out there - in the cold and heartless battlefield.
It was in the middle of the night, in the midst of a restless, frowning sleep that you hear the bedroom doors crack open. The left upper hinge was faulty, it creaked too much every single time. You always promised to take a look at it but in the end you never did.
Cautiously, fearing your wrathful outburst, a hand brushes over the covers and a warm weight evens the other side of the bed. He knows you're awake and he knows you know but still for a moment you still pretend to sleep. An apologetic kiss is pressed against your jaw line; those two hands, now emboldened by your inaction come to rest around your form, wrapping you up like spiders did the witless flies flying into their webs.
"Why are you like this?" you ask him, not daring to give even a single glance backwards. It was always easier to speak if Jimin remained faceless. "Have I ever given you a reason to distrust me? To check me like this?"
"You know it's not yo-"
"Don't tell me "it's not you but me". That's bullshit."
"But it is me," he argues, blowing a harsh exhale of working up anger. It moves your hair and you sink tiredly into the mattress.
Two hands sneak their way underneath the covers, finding the warm flesh and then pressing it closer into him like he wants to mold you into him. Create one creature out of two.
"I'm sorry," you can hear the wistful sadness in his voice. "Do you think I'm crazy."
"No. Not crazy. Just...lonely. Complicated."
"Complicated," Jimin echoes with a faint mutter. "Are we..."complicated"?"
"I don't know what we are."
Silence envelopes the room until at last you gather enough courage to look at him, settling on the other hip. The room is dark so it's hard to see and know for certain but you know it. Like a piece of some inherent knowledge stored in the marrow of your bones, you know the expressions marring his face. Anger β churning and acrid, loneliness β bitter and all enveloping.
Adoration β suffocating and sickening.
Yearning β stinging and all consuming.
Wish for you to live better than this, have better than these meaningless arguments spinning round and round with no reprieve β soft, selfless, devoted.
Jimin was all around a confusing man as if whoever made him didn't know how much to put into him so they poured everything into this one person and so he was everything.
"What am I supposed to do with you?" you sigh, tracing the side of his cheek. Readily he accepts the slight touch, nuzzling into it like a stray cat would after overcoming the initial fright fueled by disappointing past.
"Be gentle with me, please. Be kind."
"You were not kind."
His gaze darts downwards, embroiled in deep shame.
"I don't share. I don't want to share," spitefully, he mumbles, brows knitting in a deep frown. "Why should I? You're mine. Only mine. Like I'm only yours."
"I don't get jealou-"
"But I want you to."
A pause. His fingers come up to lay upon your palm where he intertwines your fingers, perhaps so you couldn't escape. Not that you even considered.
"I want you to be jealous. I want you to be possessive. Just like I am. So I wouldn't feel guilty," he pulls in a shuddering breath, almost chickening out but then saying it after all. "So I would feel wanted."
"Oh, Jimin," you breathe yet another sigh but decide to not argue anymore.
TAEHYUNG | Whilst the legs clamping down on yours and preventing you from making a grandious exit of his apartment, doors slamming shut and everything, are present, a clearly discernible expression on his face is extremely lacking.
With features carved of stone, Taehyung sits on the other couch, pretending you were not even there, save for the occasional muscle flexing in his legs to keep yours locked in between his. For over an hour not a word was spoken, not a glance exchanged. Even Tannie grew fed up with the display and took his nap to the plush bed in the corner.
"This is ridiculous," you scoff, once your tailbone began to feel too numb. "My moving in was supposed to put an end to your...episodes."
He doesn't speak but you could almost swear that the vitriolic way his lips curl, he was mutely mocking your choice of words.
"It's like you're depressed."
"I am depressed," obstinately, he agrees, voice rumbling a low, irritated register.
"What for?"
"Well, I guess I just find it hard to get past the fact that the love of my life, my moon and stars," he accentuates the words with an intention you're too annoyed to grasp. "One who has agreed to be my spouse one day keeps flirting with a man clearly infatuated with them."
"Oh, for the love of god," you cry out, throwing your hands up in the air. "Yes, he has a thing for me but I shut it down. I known him since we were kids!"
"No, please, rub it in some more," theatrically, Taehyung grumbles. "Rub in the fact that we we raised different and that I lost so much time with you for no other reason than our mothers popped us out on two separate geographical locations."
"Did your mother also drop you a lot?" you hiss. "Because there has to be a clinical explanation why you're so...so...!"
"So what?" utterly calm, he cocks an eyebrow at you and you know you had swam into deep, infested waters but still you spit it out.
"So...possessive! I hate you!"
You whip around, arms crossed, determined to sulk for a year if needed.
"Hate me?" Taehyung laughs but there is no mirth to be had or reflected be it his voice, posture or gaze. "As if. You're sitting here in between my legs not forcing me away, not even trying to set yourself free because...you hate me?"
You loathe it when he's baseless and even more when he isn't.
"Would you let me go then?" you spite him but he meets your disdain in equal if not surpassing measure.
"Let you go?" he inclines his head as if the suggestion in itself is ludicrous. "No, I don't think so."
"How dare you?!"
"Perhaps I phrased it the wrong way," firmly, he stares you down. You were fairly sure there were more agreeable cliffs you could rather take on. "I mean it would be entirely pointless for me to let you go or for us to part since we both know you'll come crawling back to me and I'll be doing the same. The end result never changes so why waste our time?"
Ah, yes, the breakup. The one forbidden topic no one ever brought up. The one that whenever just mentioned made Taehyung cry and you grow red with rage. Thus you rage.
"Well do you want to repeat that? Is that what you want by acting like this?!"
But Taehyung doesn't even bat an eye.
"I understand your outrage," he states coldly. "But whatever the reason, you and I will sort out our differences and live happily ever after."
"Is this you sorting things out?!" you let your voice rise into a painful shriek, pointing heatedly at where he'd folded his legs over yours, prohibiting you from simply storming out. After a prolonged stare down, languidly he lets up, putting his hands up in a supposed defeat. Though it sure felt like a bout of attitude.
"There. You're free now. Want to run away?"
"I'm not the one who runs away."
His jaw clenches in a death grip and for a second the pain in his face, makes a person you knew best entirely unrecognizable.
"Okay, you want the truth? You want the hard, honest truth?"
"If you're even capable of that," you sneer.
"The fact is everyone in your life, including your mother has told me, to my face that I'm not worthy of you. That I'll never be right enough for you. That I'm stealing you away from your beautiful, pre-determined path of being with your childhood best friend. Of staying in your home. And seeing how hard you struggle to fit in here, I realize that I'll never be enough. I'll never be able to soothe your aches that I myself caused by bringing you here. So I shout to the world, to them, to myself, to you that you're mine because lately I'm beginning to feel like each passing moment you're slipping through the cracks of my fingers. I'm getting desperate and that's why I'm depressed. Is that so unreasonable?"
By the end of it, his chest is heaving up and down, barely gathering enough breath to power through the breakdown. You wet your dry lips, sinking listlessly into the sofa.
"Why didn't you just tell me?"
He drops his head on the backrest, lips curling downward. He really was depressed.
"Despite how I may feel about them, you still love all of these people. They're your support system, one I cannot replace. I just wanted you to be happy."
You sit on your respective ends, mulling your own thoughts. Still sulking, you touch his pinky, curious if Taehyung will accept the gesture. He doesn't look at you but immediately his own little finger wraps around yours.
JUNGKOOK | "You're a caveman!"
"Whatever."
"A chauvinist!"
"Sure."
You hit him square in the chest. It does fuck all.
"Gym rat," you mumble sullenly, begrudgingly accepting your bitter fate of being used as a pillow. It's not like you had even plans to go anywhere but finding yourself restricted because of this weirdo was completely different than just simply being lazy.
"That's not even an insult."
"I feel like a hero trapped by a creepy villain," you continue to fuss but Jungkook who has all of his limbs wrapped around you like a human cage appears mighty relaxed. His eyes are closed, there's a smirk playing on the ends of his lips, threating to burst at any given moment and at times it even seems he'll fall asleep.
"If that's what you feel."
"Jungkook, you're seconds away from going full Golumn!"
"Was he really that problematic? Or should other people mind their own business more and not interfere into the domestic lives of others? What's mine is mine. I would also hate having you be lugged away to a mountain to defeat some evil edgelord."
You cry out β defeated. With a content sigh, Jungkook can feel your body relax in his hold.
"You're impossible."
"Listen, babe, I told you I'm a lot to handle. I'm not legally liable for the consequences of your own actions."
Breathing right into his Adam's apple you curl your palms, briefly considering into pinching him. Painfully.
"You sly son of a-"
Jungkook presses a palm over your mouth with a throaty laughter.
"Let's get along with your future mother-in-law, why don't we?"
Spitefully, you lick at his palm but the only thing it causes is laughter.
"Good idea," much to your horror, he licks a bold strip along your collarbone. Your palms relax from the sheer shock of his actions as your nose crinkles in disgust at the sudden wetness alongside your flesh.
"Gross."
"Just fluids, babe," he points out and settles deeper into the covers, arms restlessly caging you in. From the very moment he first came home, pushed all his weight on top of you with an incoherent "miss you" they hadn't eased.
Still, you suppose this was some sort of progress from the temper he worked up in the earlier days. Recalling your little storm cloud and how he would thunder when threatened made you almost smile. In retrospect, it was just him being...really in love. The way he explained it, was that at times it simply overwhelmed him β this love he held for you. Hence why despite your grumbling and grousing, both you and him knew you weren't against it. It made you feel...wanted. And though you supposed someday in the future, the matter would have to be looked at by a therapist, currently you decided to sleep. His embrace was so warm after all.
And then in the border between wakefulness and sleep, there comes his soft voice, softly clinging to the background of your mind.
"You know you could kill me and I think I'd still love you," he chuckles lowly to himself, pressing a cheek against the crown of your head all the while softly swaying you both to rest. Unproblematic, gentle rest. "You're a bit terrifying in that way."
"I wouldn't do that," you deny hazily, your mouth falling open against his shirt. You always drool on it and he never complains.
Already from a distance, Jimin's eyes can be seen glinting deviously the second you take a step out of the car. You whip around, ready to push the vehicle back to the city should it be needed, but your friends grips your shoulders violently spinning you around.
With a huge angelic grin that doesn't match the predatory look in the eye, Jimin walks down the mountain path you promised to hike together. Well, your friend promised, when exactly and in which format had you agreed to do so was still debatable.
See more than anything in the world Park Jimin liked to fluster people, that much is known and more than anything in the world, you were famous from being a motherfucking tsundere. And in the same way a cat sensed someone was allergic and proceeded to jump in their lap, Park Jimin was all over you the second he caught your presence.
"Please, I cannot stand this dude!" you whisper frantically, looking for any means of escape. "Please, let me die! I'd rather die right now!
"Oh, please," your friend rolls her eyes. "Just hop on that dic-"
"You're talking about me, ladies?"
You force your eyes shut, pretending you were somewhere, anywhere else. Maldives! Maldives seems like a good option. Oh for the love of God, how can you feel his stare even with closed eyes?!
The pressure on your elbow eases but it's instantly replaced by a warm breath ghosting across your nose.
"Bro, your breath smells," you hiss, trying to preserve whatever dignity was left.
"Of mint," Jimin smiles, leaning back and giving a flirtatious wink.
"Sure, keep telling yourself that," you grumble, despairingly watching as your friend disappeared with Namjoon already in far distance. Just you and this demon.
Oh, wonderful.
"You like my hair?" he asks, trailing by your side with enviable ease. Soon you'll be gasping for breath. And yeah not entirely because of the mountain. "I dyed it brown."
"I didn't notice."
"Well shouldn't we look at each other?" he leans down into your line of vision with an obnoxious smirk. Your fist tightens by your side.
"You're so shameless!"
"Hmm, is that why you like me so much?"
You aim your fist at his shoulder but he manages to evade it at the very last second.
"Alright, alright, I will let you be," he laughs, putting up his hands in a half-assed defense. "But one day, you'll be mine. Just see."
send in a picture of the boys and I'll write a scenario
With a towel wrapped loosely around your body, you paddle quietly in the background, listening with one ear to Jungkook's quiet strumming. Evenings like this were your favourite. Existing comfortably in your little home, ready to rest for the upcoming weekend. As you walk past him, he lifts up his head, giving a quick smile, before leaning down to the guitar once again. Sheets of notes were splayed before him and ever so often a groan left his mouth whenever he failed to capture the correct tone.
"Bam, come here boy!" you call out, quietly rattling the bowl of food, hearing hastened scraps of nails rushing forth.
"Don't overfeed him!" Jungkook calls out from the living room.
"I won't, it's just a little snack!" you defend, absolutely lying through the teeth. Fishing out the leftover bowl of pork cutlets Jungkook's mom had cooked, you beckon Bam, holding one out. You swear that dog could be a person. He even takes a fleeting glimpse backwards, knowing full well that Jungkook didn't allow him to eat human food but still the temptation is too much, and inevitably his wet nose meets your hand.
"This will be our little secret, okay?" you whisper, conspiratorial, patting his head.
"Are you giving him secret treats again?"
"Of course not, babe! I wouldn't go against your dedicated training!"
"Yeah, yeah," he drawls, clearly not believing.
After three of four more pork cutlets, the ramen is ready and you waddle back to the sofa, two bowls in hand.
"Dry your hair before you go to sleep," Jungkook notes absent-mindedly, still strumming away. "It's unhealthy otherwise."
"I will, I will," you shoo away his nagging. "Let's eat."
"Okay, but will you listen to this song afterwards? I think I finally got it," with a wrinkled frown, Jungkook finishes the final notes.
"Sure," you shrug. "Where else would I go?"
send in a picture of the boys and I'll write a scenario
You nod awkwardly as Yoongi rushes into his bedroom to find a fitting jacket. Who could have known that the evening promised to be as absolutely chilling for already two weeks now, would be cold? One of life's great mysteries...
Standing in his house as relaxed as a wooden plank would be, your gaze strays across the furniture, gauging what kind of man Min Yoongi is. It's nice, you reckon. The decor is tasteful, nothing too extravagant, despite the fact that he without a doubt had the means. You understood that perfectly the second his car rolled up into apartment driveway your legs trembled to even step upon.
"aH shit!" comes a garbled scream and anxiously, you peek at the open doors where Yoongi disappeared into.
"You good?" you call out shrilly, hearing more cursewords float around.
"Yeah, just tripped on one of Holly's many, many toys."
Yes, you did notice them laying around. The brown dog sleeping soundly on the couch seemed somewhat disinterested in them and you wondered for whose sake they were even bought - Holly's or his owner's.
As you look around, your eyes stumble upon a few pictures adorning a faux fireplace. Your particular attention is grabbed by this old polaroid. There's a man next to him, one you don't recognize but whose face you see in other photos, a good friend of his most likely but that is not what intrigues you so. Min Yoongi was just so...
...cute!
Unwittingly, you smile back at him in the picture, wanting to selfishly covet it to yourself but you do not dare to touch anything in his house. Not even one of Min Holly's toys.
"I'm ready," Yoongi comes back, tad flustered, wrapping the jacket tightly around his shoulders.
"You're very cute, you know that, The cutest, in fact," you compliment him, pointing at the polaroid.
"Shut up."
The blush on his face is enormous.
send in a picture of the boys and Iβll write a scenario
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Hi i love your work! can i request a scenario for a jealous jimin. Thank you! You can hurt me with the angst and melt me with the fluff, i donβt mind. Thank you!
yessss.....give me jealous Jimin! tis bit angsty lol
You do not know who was the fool that coined the phrase of "green-eyed monster". The ones that bored into you, apathetically watching the drunken, shameful stumble from the front of the club to the car were not green, not even the brown you adored so much. Black. Pitch black. Hateful.
Sliding into the car you're greeted by stifled silence. You put on a seatbelt, shrinking further into the seat as the driver takes off back home. Jimin was always so colourful, so bright, like a whole specter of rainbow, so it was no surprise his jealousy complex had its starkly different hues.
One of mad, rough sex was deep burgundy; yellow for the little envies that could be soothed by a simple, innocent kiss, playful ire more than anything; cool purple was for making you jealous in return, toxic, something that you hated and he vowed to never do again after that first and last time but this one, this one was by far the worst.
Black. The absence of light and colour. Where he didn't touch you, didn't even acknowledge your existence. Should he do so much as look at you, his gaze would be filled with vile disgust - you were sure of it.
You did this to spite him, really but what they said was true what goes around, comes around. Being with Jimin was not easy. How could it possibly be? He was perfect. Everyone wanted him. He was...he was. And you were not. His jealousy was a mixed hotbed of all you wanted and everything you feared. He was jealous, he loved you. He was jealous, he was angry at you. He loathed you.
"I don't hate you. Are you stupid?"
The light snarl in his tone cuts through the choked up atmosphere with one violent stroke. It seemed that he wanted to project an air of impassiveness, like he couldn't possibly care less but the tension in his shoulders says otherwise.
"Don't call me stupid," you slur, focusing all your attention on the loose skin next to your nails. You rip it, claw away a part of your dirty flesh. It provides cool, washing relief. Though his face is turned to the window, glaring blindly into the night, jaw working in a tight clench, Jimin's hands come to rest on top of yours, halting the anxious movement. He hated when you did that.
"Sorry," he mumbles but the second that innate gentleness threatens to take over, his face falls blank once more. "Do you love me?"
"Of course, I do!" you turn to him, squirming anxiously in the seat. Had you been sober, you'd not been this upset but truly you can't stand him being angry with you.
"How much?"
"With my whole heart!"
His stare caresses your face, slowly dripping up and down as if in deep thought.
"Are you sure?" he hums, lips curling into growl. "'Cause I'm not all that certain."
"Let me make it up to you," you clutch at his hand with fraught desperation. Even he seems to be taken aback by such an outburst. You were not known for egregious displays of emotion.
"You think riding me whilst drunk is going to do the trick?" he scoffs, venom pouring out of every twisted expression and lilt of voice. "Something so cheap will substitute as apology?"
You dart your head down, ready to cry. The alcohol was really getting to you. Tomorrow you'll be ashamed for not being more independent, more self-sufficient and prideful. You know that and Jimin knows that and even though he was a possessive little fuck, ultimately he was kind.
Two fingers lift your chin upwards, forcing your eyes to settle on his face.
"Promise, you're mine and I'm yours," he demands sternly. "Promise you won't ever, ever do this shit again. _______________ promise me now or I'll," his breath stutters and he falls silent, glancing away. "Like I could ever leave you," he mutters bitterly.
"I promise," you fervently nod along with your words, almost breaking the seat belt from its place. "I promise!"
He sighs, the whole sum of his anger leaving all at once until there's nothing but a tired body and mind left behind.
"Let's get you cleaned up at home, alright," he mumbles heavily, wiping away a tear you did not notice slid down. "You're a mess."
send in a picture of the boys and Iβll write a scenario
In hindsight, the words said in casual, in a random hallway between things done and to be done, ring back in your head with newfound graveness.
"Jimin needs a lot of love and attention," Namjoon spoke over the rim of his steaming coffee cup. Though his tone remained neutral, never wavering from the friendly if a tad distant sounding politeness, the way that his eyes slanted, boring into your face with utmost dedication, it was not difficult to see that he meant every word that was said. "So keep that in mind. Be gentle with him."
"Or else" had not been spoken but you received it, regardless. Why it was now of all the times that the memory came swimming back you did not know but it was here and you tried your best to be gentle.
"Why do you think I love you the least?" you inquire curiously as Jimin sulks, heavily inebriated, on the chair.
"You avoid me," he pouts. "You never want to go with me anywhere."
That was less to do with him and more to you not wanting to get the brunt of recognition.
"You always leave, you never text," he continues, often slurring the words in a singular note of whining disatisfaction.
"Unlike you, I am actually shy," you point out, taking the Bluetooth speaker out of his twirling hands. Now with having nothing to do, they settle in his lap - motionless.
"You talk to Jungkook all the time," he accuses. His breath reeks of whiskey and you shudder, tugging him upwards. You did not need to repeat the last year's incident. It was not easy to lug a sleeping, grown man into his bed.
"About work," you correct. "You're the only one I talk to about private matters."
He leans into your frame, barely avoiding crashing into the overpriced console of the luxury hotel. You thank the Heavens for such a luck. Jimin hums contently and noses at your neck much to your sheer horror. Every single nerve strain in your muscles freezes and then jolts back to life with painful stab of electricity.
"So do you like me?" he presses and you sigh, finally settling him down onto the bed, pushing back the frizzled hair away from your face. His eyes are wide and pleading, completely broken down by the fall of his protective walls. His might be in a way thinner than yours, nonetheless, they were there. But for some reason he had chosen to trust you, to discard them all the same and be just...him.
You couldn't even tell to whom the action was scarier - Jimin or yourself.
"I do," at last you give in. There was a chance he would not recall this tomorrow, however, it had long been overdue that you admitted these simple facts of life and as such you'll just have to accept the consequences of this admission.
"How much?" he tugs at the bottom of your shirt - insistent.
"Very, very much."
As he lays down on the bed, snores rising just a few minutes after, he looks happy.
send in a picture of the boys and Iβll write a scenario
Btw. It's so creative to write scenario over the picture only π₯°
yess Jimin, thank you for bringing this angel forth I love him so much T-T and thank you for the compliment :D
Shaking the sand out of the towel, you glimpse towards the rocks where Jimin had been standing just moments ago, though when you do, you find a camera pointed right at your face and a certain little devil giggling to himself as you draw an unimpressed grimace.
He looks down on the picture, laughing heartily at the way you frown at him. It was no secret that he lived to wind you up. Your annoyance was his euphoria and your meager attempts at punishing him was his wish come true.
"You think you're so clever," you waddle gracelessly forth, the overstuffed beach bag throwing you quite off the balance. "I bring you to my favourite spot and you trick me like this. Could have taken a picture of the sea or something. Make a good aesthetic lockscreen."
"And what's wrong with this one," he whines, showing you the phone, earnestly ignoring the irritated groan that leaves your lips. "Why is my baby always so grumpy?"
He leans in to kiss you though it lands wetly on your cheek as you turn away.
"Because you keep getting on my nerves," you grumble quietly but you knew he knew you knew - you were irrevocably head over heels about this angel-devil man and you will let him keep getting away with annoying you because seeing him happy made you happy.
Though also quite annoyed.
"And yet you love me so," he smiles giddily, taking the bag out of your hands as you made your way towards the beach house. "Also bold of you to assume I won't set this as my lockscreen."
"Jimin, I swear to God-!"
send in a picture of the boys and Iβll write a scenario
could this draft be an angst to fluff, like angst with a happy ending? thank you ππ½
The doors of the car slam shut behind as you stomp towards the grocery store, warily avoiding the vehicles slowly rolling out of the parking spot. It was cold and you thoroughly regretted not taking Hoseok's hoodie that was usually resting somewhere in the backseat but spitefully you refused to turn back. Firstly, they were matching. Secondly, both had been worn by Hoseok and usually bore his scent and thirdly, right now you couldn't stand even seeing him.
Tried as you might, no calming breaths could abate the anger stretching your muscles to the point of pain. Maybe you should even take a bus home...or go crash at your friend's home...
A sudden weight settles upon your shoulder, starling you silly but as you look to the side, you find that it's Hoseok, stomping just as sullenly towards the grocery store.
"I don't want it," you curtly clutch the beige hoodie.
"It's cold," he argues stiffly.
"I'm a grown person, I can make my choices!"
"I know you can! This is not-" he raises his voice out of sheer frustration before stopping and folding in on himself as lifelessly as a marionette would when abandoned by their owner. "I don't want to fight."
"They why did you yell at me?" you wonder aloud, trying to not choke on the tears. He knew you hated to be yelled at but worst of all, he promised you that he wouldn't and yet he did, just five minutes ago in that very dumb car.
"I don't know," he breathed, hands coming up to rub his face tiredly. "I am just scared for you. Always am."
"That's no reason to scream," you grumble and he nods in agreement.
"I know. I'm sorry. Truly. But it is cold so, please, wear the hoodie."
You do so and both of you come to a still point in this teeming slab of cement underneath the rapidly darkening sky.
"What do we need from the grocery store?" he inquires lamely.
"I don't even fucking now," you shrug. "Forgot."
"Then maybe we can head home?" hopefully, Hoseok suggests and you agree, ready to sink into deep, deep slumber where all your worries will be washed like wet cloth does a hand full of grime.
"Yeah, let's go home," you agree. He gives a small smile towards the ground and while not entirely okay, you find some weight on your shoulders slip away into the night.
send in a picture of the boys and Iβll write a scenario
I wrote it with the mind that reader is non-english foreigner but interpret it how you want it :)
As the sudden breeze of the cold evening air rushed through the slowly withering leaves along the mound path, you tightened your jacket, clutching Jungkook's in your hands. He'd shucked it off some thirty minutes ago and refused to put it on - interfered with his arm movements, he said. You didn't nag him anymore, merely traipsed alongside the scenic route, sunken in between thinking your own things and observing him fondly from the distance. He was so mesmerized by the surroundings that to you had been daily occurrence that inadvertently it sparked a new interest in yourself.
Yes, bringing him home had been a good idea, though all parties, you, Jungkook and your parents were scared shitless as it all unfolded.
A few cocker spaniels rushed past the narrow path. They sniffed at Jungkook's shins, excitedly bouncing as he greeted them shyly.
"Good evening," their owner, an elderly lady, came up behind, her walking stick slightly sinking into the dampening brown ground. "Beautiful sunset, isn't it?"
"Yeah," you agree conversationally, forcing a polite smile upon your lips. "Bit chilly, though."
Bit chilly, you scoff to yourself, how original.
"You must be taking some very beautiful pictures."
From the corner of the eye, you can see how quickly Jungkook freezes. The camera sits frozen in his hands as his gaze jumps nervously between the old lady and yourself.
"Y-yeah," he stammers, eyes settling upon your face. You nod encouragingly. "It's...so pretty."
Once the lady and her two dogs disappear around the winding forest path, he sighs, the cold gold of a dusking sight, illuminating the worried frown between his eyebrows.
"I'll never learn your language," he laments pitifully. "It's as though my brain just...disappears."
"Nonsense," you retort, putting the jacket over his shoulders as yet another unforgiving gust rattles the greenery all around. "All you need is a bit more confidence in yourself. Can I see the pictures?"
He stretched the camera towards you, watching enraptured as you analyzed each one.
"You have such a talent, Koo," you praise. "They're so beautiful."
"Yeah, they are," he agrees gently.
He did not even glance at the pictures.
send in a picture of the boys and Iβll write a scenario
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You can feel his stare digging at the back of your nape even across the whole distance of the packed room. You're not going to look at him. You're not going to look at him. You're not going to look at...
You glimpse at him for one fleeting second at where he sits, softly smiling.
Fuck, you looked.
He knows. Everything from the gleam in his eye, to the slight, almost imperceptible way his lip curls upwards. He knows you think he's hot.
Well as his partner it's safe to say that of course you think he's hot but it's just that he gets so cocky that had he not been Min Yoongi, you would have flung him into the upper atmosphere.
Shooing away the inquisitive hands of the hard-working staff, he lowers his gaze and fingers to the phone and not a second after, your own dings with an unread message.
loverboy: You doing okay over there? ;)
me: remind me why do i have to freeze my ass here watching you play pretend being a cowboy on our anniversary?
loverboy: because you're obsessed with me lol
me: please, don't try to be hip. it's unsettling
loverboy: you're into older men then? ;))
me: yeah :'(
He smirks down at the screen, raising his head to meet your gaze, eyes hooded with an unfairly attractive mixture of ego and...well, some PG-rated thoughts. Something about it makes you want to...
...ruin it.
me: men such as Lee Dong Wook
me: who wears an actual historically accurate clothing
me: :D
loverboy: oh just you wait till we get home -_-
me: oh, i'm so scared ;)
send in a picture of the boys and I'll write a scenario
strap ya selves I've had this idea in the back of my mind for a very looooong time so you've unleashed a flood (edit: or a creek more like)
It was as if no time had passed at all. The way your parents dutifully doted on the boy, well, a man now, brought you uncannily back to eight years ago when he became the center of your home.
Yeah...yeah. You had been jealous. Imagine waking up one day to a strange boy wandering the halls of your home and then having to listen day after day -
"Make Seokjin feel welcome!"
"He's so alone, invite him along with you!"
"Don't abandon him, ______________. Imagine how you would feel like in his place!"
What about me, you had thought angrily, glaring at Seokjin at the other side of the kitchen corner. He'd met your gaze and flinched, trying to appear as small as possible underneath your explosive wrath. Does anyone care about what I feel?
But watching from the sidelines as he awkwardly pats your mother back, returning her heartwarming hug, you don't feel jealous. Well, just a bit, though entirely for different reasons.
You don't think you could ever hug him like that. Certainly not after all these years during which the frail bridge of latent friendship had undoubtedly rusted away.
It goes exactly as planned. Jin brings certain souvenirs and foods from Korea, even gifting a thank you card from his own parents, expressing gratitude about having such a nurturing host family. Your parents go nuclear, squealing and fussing. For two weeks now they both put their backs and hearts into making the celebratory dinner. The appetizing smell was wafting throughout the whole house and surely could be sensed down the street. They rush into kitchen to prepare which leaves you and Jin standing quietly in the entry hall.
"Hello," he greets you stiffly. "How have you been?"
You think back on the heartbreaks and laughter, desperation and joy, and boredom, years of growing up that seem to slip by ever faster each moment.
"Fine," you shrug. "You?"
He thinks for a second, plush lips growing thin.
"Okay. Bored. Was missing...this place."
You hum, taken aback a bit. You truly had not ventured that he liked to stay here at all; certainly you had not made it the easiest in the beginning. Recalling all the moments you locked him out of the bathroom or staunchly ignored him, made you cringe. Despite your numerous apologies and his assurances that it was okay, the guilt still gnawed at the ends of your soul.
"How is...Katie?" he asks gently and you laugh.
"You know I haven't spoken her since we threw her shit into the river."
He joins your smile, though quite more bashful, scratching at the back of his neck.
"Well, I left...so I think, I mean, thought, you'd...you know."
"What? Get back together with those skanks? Nah, never."
For all your faults, that at least was something you felt good about. Namely, crunching Katie McMillan's nose and tossing her school bag into the dirty river on the lower parts of the town. Once you found out it was actually her, your supposed good friend, who bullied Jin into depression, the choice between your friend group and Seokjin was easy. In, fact you wouldn't call it a choice at all. Afterwards, you could honestly say that you'd enjoy Seokjin's company. Being outcasts at school who lived together meant that in those nine months you were practically attached to the hip and, yes, perhaps you began to harbor some semblance of a pathetic crush towards him but the guilt and the shame never let up and to this day, you found it difficult to look at him.
Hence why the lack of hugging.
"I'm sor-"
"Don't say it," Jin interrupts. "Stop apologizing. It's fine."
You purse your lips but ultimately shut up.
You sit mutely by the table as your parents hound Jin for answers. From the way his flight was to who cut his hair - they want to know all and so do you, despite not voicing it. You sit and listen, eagerly catching the dealings of his life. He works at a private clinic, the same as his father had. He lives in Seoul and has seven close friends. He's an uncle now, he shows a picture of the little rascal and he's single. That last part he can barely stutter without his ears becoming beet root red meanwhile your mother tosses one of her annoying, pointed glances. All in all, he's leading a good life and you're glad.
Leaning back into the damp garden chair whilst the neighborhood sleeps, you're unwittingly forced to examine your life. Is it going good? You don't know. But how could you if you do not know where it should go or even where you want it to go?
A beer bottle floats in the line of your vision and raising your eyes, you find Jin standing on the patio, tightening a jacket around his broad shoulders. How could they possibly have gotten any wider?
"Stealing from Dad's stash again?" you inquire light-heartedly, accepting his quasi gift. One upon a time you got into quite the trouble for emptying the secret alcohol cupbord.
"For the sake of old times," he laughs, joining to sit by you.
"This is for you," he adds after a pregnant moment of silence, fishing from the depths of his jacket a small box. Your eyes widen at the sight of it and after wiping your hands into the pants, partially fearing you could destroy the gift with your oily grippers, you take it out of his hands. The bracelet is thin but shining, even in the muted light of the darkened back-garden where the only light was provided by the yellow street lamp hanging above the hedge. You're fairly sure it was made of diamonds. There is a sense of luxury about it that you've not seen in real life.
"I-I cannot accept this," you gasp, trying to push it back. "Why would you even-?!"
"Because I wanted to," he sternly cuts down your belligerent expression of humility, forcing you to keep onto the gift and struggle with decisions of how to best word the bottomless gratitude you felt.
"I see you're still a coconut head," you mumble, immediately regretting ever opening your mouth. Jin rolls his eyes, suppressing the smile tugging at his lips.
"You can never just say "thank you", can you?" he chuckles dryly, taking a sip of his beer.
"Yeah, I'm horrible."
"No, you're not," he argues softly. "I did loathe your ass in the beginning but...it was a difficult situation."
"Thanks, dude," you snort, twirling the box in your hands thus failing to spot the way his eyes worriedly linger on your form.
"But we got closer together and I...I began liking you."
You don't move and Jin can feel the shirt stick to his back - he's sweating that much.
"Like a girl."
You blink repeatedly, staring intently somewhere in the grass. The lack of reply goes on for so long, Jin has the time to drain his beer bottle to gather the courage that by now has been all but depleted.
"Like a...girl?" you echo, turning to slowly face him. "Like as in...like like?"
"Yeah."
You swallow. That pathetic crush of yours is rearing its head with the conviction of a tornado.
"When I said I miss this place," he drawls off shyly, ears turning undoubtedly red. "What I actually meant is that I really, really missed you."
You listen to the soft sway of the wind, thoughts empty, mind empty.
"Thank you."
Jin drops onto his back, laughing.
send in a picture of the boys and Iβll write a scenario
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