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8starflower · 2 years

Text

happy death day

summary: on the eve of your 22nd birthday, you find yourself stuck in a beautiful mountain villa with all of your past and current lovers — thanks to your best friend haechan. what could possibly go wrong?

tw: death, murder, stabbing, suicide, substance use, trauma, guns

wc: 8.3k

[you have to listen to this playlist while reading]

y/n hated surprises. a lot. but she adored her best friend even more.

here she was, unwillingly stuck packing for a birthday weekend she’d never forget. according to haechan, at least. he was clearly excited for what he had planned so she didn’t have it in her heart to tell him she really didn’t want to do anything special this year.

“you get to spend your birthday at a beautiful mountain villa and i have to stay here?! why don’t you just run me over with a car. it’ll hurt less.”

y/n scoffs at her roommate’s theatrics. “trust me, maria, i’d love for you to be in my place. haechan won’t even tell me who’s going. you really can’t come?”

maria shoves another chocolate kiss in her mouth. “i can’t, doc. i’m stuck preparing for the move to australia,” she says, getting up to throw the now empty bag of her favorite treats. “hey, you lose. i did finish the whole pack in one sitting.”

doc. y/n was now officially a doctor. it still felt surreal to her. everything was finally slowly falling into place – she had just passed the boards, she was finally in a relationship that allowed her to grow, and she was making that ca$h money flow. all at the age of 21 22.

“well, between that and your unhealthy obsession with fresh red pods, i’d say you’re well on your way to being my first patient.”

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haechan had asked y/n to meet him at the airport. she had learned to stop prying him for more information on the trip because he was annoyingly committed to keeping everything about this birthday trip secret.

and y/n knew, more than anyone, that when haechan set his mind on something, it would be impossible to stop him.

“will patty be there?”

“no.”

“why not?”

“why don’t you ask her?”

“will hao be there?”

“he’s your boyfriend.” emphasis placed on your.

“so will he be there?”

“why don’t you ask him?”

a sigh leaves y/n’s lips at haechan’s clipped responses. “for all i know, you’ve invited everyone i don’t want there.” a mere chuckle leaves her best friend’s lips and y/n finds herself calling her friend patty for a better conversation than the one she was having now.

“birthday girl!” patty exclaims. “birthday doctor!”

“please tell me you’re on your way to a mountain villa for a few days to celebrate my birthday.”

patty gasps on the other end of the line. “well, now i wish i was! haechan didn’t say anything about a villa. but unfortunately, no, i am not. i’m stuck looking for a job. please promise we’ll celebrate when you get back, though.”

at this point, no one y/n knew or at least wanted to see was going to this birthday surprise. she glances at haechan, who is calmly scrolling through his instagram feed beside her. “yeah, let’s celebrate when i get back. i really,” she pauses to make her voice louder. “really would love to tell you more about the trip but i know absolutely nothing.” her best friend simply rolls his eyes.

“don’t worry, i’m sure it’ll be fun! i have to go now, but make sure to check the back pocket of your bag. i had maria slip something in for me. bottoms up.”

the phone call shortly ends and y/n reaches into her bag to wrap her hand around a steel can. finally, a smile forms on her face.

patty had gifted her a can of chiang beer.

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“what the fuck.”

“don’t be rude.”

“no, haechan. what the fuck.”

there were a million things y/n could’ve expected to see upon arriving at the villa, but nothing prepared her for this. standing before her were five faces she never would have wanted to see together in a single place. ever. yet here they all were, awkwardly standing around a poorly-decorated table wearing birthday cone hats. “surprise!” they had all screamed when she entered the room.

there was minghao – her current boyfriend, the one that challenged her to be a better person. he brought a sense of tranquility in the craziness of y/n’s life. in her fast-paced life, he was the one that helped slow things down.

there was yuta – her last lover. their love was passionate but extremely toxic. with him, there was no rest. there were only extremes. the highs were high and the lows were low. he had opened her eyes to how much good and bad life actually had to offer. but he wasn’t right for her. she wasn’t right for him. they simply weren’t right for each other. she had desperately wanted things to work out but some things just weren’t meant to be. it still hurt thinking of the love that should have been.

there was chanyeol – her first love. the one that joined the army and broke her heart. she had given so much of herself to him but he wasn’t willing to give as much of himself back. endless fight after fight, she couldn’t take it anymore. he had ruined her perception of love being worth fighting for.

and there was jackson – her childhood friend. the one that left her without warning. their friendship had been short lived because he had moved away, but it still meant a lot to her. she had him to thank for her abandonment issues.

“i’m sorry. i don’t really understand what’s going on here. what the fuck.”

different expressions shown on different faces. some excited, some nervous, and some clearly regretting they had come. she could relate most to the last category.

haechan nervously chuckles from beside her. “give us a moment. let me just talk to her.”

“haechan, what the fuck. i don’t know what sick joke you have going on here but this is actually sadistic. am i getting punk’d? is that what this is?” y/n says, the moment she is brought into the living room. haechan had a twisted sense of humor – that was what made the both of them get along so well – but this was too much, even for him.

“look, y/n. i just feel like now that you’re turning 22, it would be great to catch up with all of the people that have made a significant impact in your life. it would give both you and everyone else here closure. think of it as turning over a new leaf, if you will.”

“THEN WHERE ARE THE WOMEN?” y/n scream-yells.

haechan pauses to think. “hm. i didn’t think of that. my bad.”

she sees red. this is why she hated surprises. she didn’t care if the villa was everything she dreamt of. she wanted to get out immediately.

“y/n?” a voice comes from behind her. minghao. perhaps the only one she was glad to see.

“did you know about this?” y/n asks him, praying to a higher power that he wasn’t an accomplice to this. minghao makes his way over to the two of them and grabs her hand. “i actually thought it was a great idea. don’t you want to give it a try? just for dinner? if it’s that bad, then haechan agreed we could leave and call the whole thing off.”

she looks between the two men. one nodding reassuringly at her and the other simply smiling. she wishes she could wipe the smile off of his face. her best friend truly was something else.

“well, the food better be amazing and there better be a lot of alcohol here.”

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dinner wasn’t as bad as she expected. the awkwardness was inevitable, but the food was divine and haechan was doing a great job at leading the conversation. he could breathe now that he had successfully made it past the only roadblock he perceived he had coming into this surprise: y/n wanting to leave even after he explained why he brought everyone here.

y/n was the most important person in haechan’s life. growing up, she was the only one that was always on his side and understood him. he knew he was more than capable of fucking up at times, but she always tolerated him and his silly antics. this was definitely a little over the top, but what could he say? y/n was entering a new chapter of her life and he wanted to prove to her that the best way to move forward was to make peace with the past. just like he had said earlier, it was like turning over a new leaf.

“jackson, it’s nice seeing you here. feels like the last time i saw you was right before you ghosted me.”

the man chokes on his food. “uh, it’s nice seeing you too, y/n.” he sets his fork down and looks around the table. “i didn’t think i was going to do this with everyone around, but now is as good a time as ever.”

y/n regrets it. she immediately hates bringing the past up. she knew, of all people here, jackson was the one who never got shy about anything. though she had to admit that the years away had done him good. he looked good. the once loud and immature boy she knew was now someone that exuded confidence and composure.

“i think you deserve an apology for that. i didn’t really know then how to deal with leaving and what it really meant, but that isn’t an excuse for how i acted. i know i can’t do much now but i’m sorry for not saying goodbye. you deserved more than that. I hope you could forgive me.”

silence envelopes the room for a moment but then y/n starts laughing. “you were always so serious. it’s fine, jack, we were young.” jackson starts laughing too and the atmosphere in the room has shifted. conversation and drinks flow easier. y/n doesn’t feel as on edge anymore.

“and remember that time you introduced wari to me? i’ve never been the same since.” y/n giggles, glancing at yuta from across the table. he was never the most outgoing person and they had more arguments than agreements, but it was a time in her life that excited her to no end. she loved how much yuta respected her but she hated how unsure she felt during their relationship. yuta simply smiles and raises his glass to her in response.

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“alright, everyone. it’s almost midnight. let me just go prepare the cake.”

minghao gets up to prepare the cake and haechan offers to help him. y/n can’t help but be grateful that the two of them got along as well as they did. maybe this trip wouldn’t be as bad as it seemed.

a couple of minutes later, the lights shut off and a singular candle lights up the room.

“happy birthday to you,” haechan sings from where the light switch is as minghao walks toward her. “happy birthday to you.” the others join in unison. “happy birthday, dear y/n.” minghao sets the cake down in front of her. “happy birthday to you.”

y/n blows out the candle just as lightning strikes and for a second, the room is enveloped in darkness. “haechan, the lights.” sounds of a light switch flickering on and off multiple times are heard then a string of curses come out of haechan’s mouth. “guys, i think the power’s out.”

several groans can be heard from around the room but jackson stands up. “have no fear, i always pack an emergency light. you guys just keep drinking and i’ll go grab it.” he moves swiftly from the table, eager to make sure the mood doesn’t die along with the power. it was the least he could do to make sure y/n’s birthday wouldn’t be ruined. he nearly crashes into haechan when he bumps into the wall on his way out of the dining area and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the alcohol in his system or the lack of visibility, but everyone laughs at his antics and that was good enough for him to keep going.

and true enough, the night continues on as if the lights never went out.

“and you! you completely deserted me when you went to the military. i thought soldiers weren’t supposed to desert their posts?!”

minghao could tell y/n was one-too-many drinks in. chanyeol sighs as he begins to profusely apologize. maybe they were all one-too-many drinks in. “look, y/n. i have no words. you know what? i’m glad it happened though. because this guy,” chanyeol slurs and reaches over to clasp his hand on minghao’s shoulder. “this guy treats you way better than i ever could.”

“박수!” haechan exclaims, getting everyone to clap for chanyeol. the latter bows in response, waving a hand in the air.

“however, on that note, i am going to sleep. i guess i’m not as strong a drinker as i used to be.” chanyeol says, stifling a yawn. jackson and yuta agree. soon enough, everyone is saying good night.

y/n goes to sleep with a smile on her face. perhaps this would be a birthday to remember.

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a blood curdling scream. that is what everyone in the house wakes up to.

y/n had gotten up early to start her birthday with a morning jog. walking through the hallway, she couldn’t help but notice one of the room’s doors left ajar.

as she enters the room, she immediately notices something is off. it’s ice cold and there’s an eerie silence in the room. the bed looks as if it had been stripped clean, with pillows and blankets messily sprawled all over the floor. she notices a body beside the bed. she takes a few steps forward towards the motionless figure on the floor. as she moves closer, her heart starts racing. he was still in the same clothes as the night before, except now they were stained with red. y/n’s breath catches in her throat as she notices a knife protruding from his chest and the surrounding pool of blood. it was jackson.

she could feel the blood drain from her face and her hands begin to shake. shock. horror. disbelief. fear. she didn’t know what to do. she didn’t know how to move. all she could do was stare at the lifeless body before her and before she knew it, she was screaming.

y/n doesn’t know how long she was standing there. it felt like hours. her brain was in overdrive, trying to process what was happening. she could hear the sound of hurried footsteps approaching but she didn’t turn around. she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the knife.

haechan cannot believe his eyes. “what the fuck happened here?”

just like y/n, he can’t tear his eyes away from the body in front of them. with how things ended the night before, he definitely hadn’t expected his day to start like this. he can feel y/n start to hyperventilate from beside him.

y/n turns to him, panic written all over her face. “who would do this? who would be capable of this? haechan, what do we do?!” her eyes are wild – she’s looking everywhere but at him. the other people in the house have not woken up yet. or they have yet to get to the scene.

“y/n, look at me,” haechan says as he grabs both of her shoulders. “i need you to calm down. i need you to breathe. we don’t know who did this or why they would do this, but we have to focus on what we do know.” y/n is hysterical at this point. she’s somewhere in between sobbing and laughing at the insanity of the situation.

“and what the fuck do we know, haechan? jackson’s dead! that’s all we know,” y/n whispers in frustration. “he’s dead and we don’t know anything else.”

haechan anxiously runs a hand through his hair. “what i do know is we,” he gestures in between the both of them. “can’t trust anyone right now. you need to be wary of everyone. for all we know, someone here is a murderer.”

y/n can’t process all of this. a murderer in the villa? why would anyone here want to kill jackson? was it possible one of them had come here with a hidden agenda? “but haechan, who would want to kill jackson? if i’m being honest, i’m the one with most reason to want to kill him. and i know i didn’t do it!”

“yeah, you aren’t really selling yourself that well here,” haechan snorts. at least y/n still had the ability to be funny at times like these. “but i believe you didn’t do it. you didn’t even know he would be here. do you think there’s anyone else here that might have something against him? or do you think he could’ve done this to himself?”

the last question haechan asked was something y/n knew could not be true. from the angle of the knife sticking out of jackson’s chest and the signs of struggle in the room, this couldn’t have been self-inflicted. “no. i don’t think he did this to himself. i probably did mention jackson and i’s falling out to the other three at one point in our relationships, but i can’t think of a reason anyone would want to do this.”

she feels sick to her stomach realizing what this all meant. she doesn’t want to admit it, but haechan verbalizes it for her.

“well, now we know that there’s a murderer in this house.”

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gathering everyone in the living room was not an easy thing to do. y/n, still visibly shocked from everything that had just happened, could not move from the couch that haechan had left her on. she was trying to gather her thoughts on how to break the news to everyone.

haechan, on the other hand, had to be strong for y/n. the situation was just as unprecedented for him as it was for her – it wasn’t like he was used to dealing with potential murderers everyday. it was him getting everyone to come to the common area.

minghao had heard a scream in the morning, but he had chosen not to come out of his room. he had assumed y/n had seen a bug of some sort and from the urgency of footsteps from another room rushing towards the sound, he also figured haechan had gotten up to go help her. minghao had always known haechan had a soft spot for y/n. in fact, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that his girlfriend’s best friend was in love with her. that much he knew. that much both comforted and bothered him, knowing that someone else had y/n’s best interests at heart too.

what no one prepared for was the grave atmosphere that filled the room once the news was broken. the tension was almost suffocating, everyone dissociating and processing the gravity of the situation. chanyeol, specifically, found it hard to think straight. he wanted nothing more than to get out of the villa, internally cursing at himself for even having come at the first place. he had seen his fair share of death during his time at the military but it never got easier. he knew nothing good would come out of this.

“i think we can establish his time of death to be between 2am and 3am, based on what i’ve gathered from the state of his body.” y/n says after a long time, trying to pull herself together and think rationally. “we definitely do need to report this, so i think it’s best if we all stay together for now and look around for clues.”

chanyeol scoffs at the idea. “you want to stay together and look for clues? is this some kind of game to you, y/n? do you think this is a murder mystery party you see in the movies where we need to find clues? no. this is real life. someone got fucking stabbed. i don’t know about everyone else, but i just want to get the hell out of this place. i suggest we all should.”

“i think it’s a smart idea,” yuta pitches in from the corner of the room. he had been dead silent for a while, just observing everyone in the room. one of these people did it. one of these people killed jackson. “i don’t want to point any fingers but jackson was clearly killed. by someone in this room. one of you did this and there are five of us here. we should look around. it’s the least we can do to bring justice to jackson.”

yuta was someone who noticed the smallest of details, which probably explained why he was so convinced they would be able to find who did it. his money was currently on chanyeol, who seemed restless and shifty. but he couldn’t accuse him. not yet, at least.

“one of us?” haechan snaps. “you’re acting like you aren’t a part of this. for all we know, you killed him! i’m sure the rest of the group would like to hear all about your time in juvie. you nearly killed someone!”

yuta smirked at the story haechan had brought up. he had been in charge of hazing for his fraternity one year. it wasn’t his fault the weak kid couldn’t take a few punches. it wasn’t his fault he ended up in juvie because the kid was a fucking snitch. maybe the kid should’ve died. he found it hilarious that haechan wanted to use that as an excuse to accuse him.

“you guys are fucking crazy. i’m leaving.” chanyeol says, getting up.

“you can’t, actually. you’re currently a suspect to this crime, along with the rest of us.” minghao retorts.

“then we should all leave. am i the only one thinking clearly here?! one of you killed someone last night and everyone else is okay with being in the same place as a murderer?!”

y/n couldn’t think straight. not with everyone else beginning to argue around her. yuta and chanyeol were currently going at it, neither willing to back down from the point they were trying to make. minghao was currently sitting beside her, staring off into space. it puzzled her how calm he could be at a time like this. haechan was trying to mediate the two arguing.

“look, chanyeol, i think all of us would rather be anywhere than here. but like minghao said, even if we wanted to leave, we’re all prime suspects. and if no one is going to own up to it, we might as well make ourselves useful and try to find out what the fuck happened.”

chanyeol’s breathing is heavy and he’s clearly trying to compartmentalize the anger building up inside of him. y/n knew that he had anger issues. she sometimes got chills thinking about how intense he could be when he was blinded by rage. “fine. have it your way. i need some space. i’ll go get some flashlights so you all can go and think of your next brilliant idea.” he storms out of the room, presumably to go do what he announced he was going to.

“i wonder why he’s so angry,” minghao quips. “we’re all just as shaken. he’s acting like he expected this to happen.”

the underlying message of minghao’s words settle around the room.

“you think he did it?” yuta asks, studying y/n’s boyfriend.

minghao simply shrugs. “i’m not saying anything, it just feels like all he wants to do is escape. i don’t think i trust him enough to let him go off on his own.”

with minghao unwilling to leave y/n’s side and yuta’s passiveness, haechan takes it upon himself to volunteer to survey the house with chanyeol. he was just as afraid as y/n was, but he could probably take chanyeol on more than her if things went south. better him than her, he thought.

and so the search ensued. chanyeol and haechan had agreed to look inside the rooms together while the other three would look around the outside of the villa for any possible cases of break-ins. y/n was secretly hoping someone else had broken into the house instead of assuming someone in the group had done it. she still refused to believe that it was one of them.

“so tell me more about this chanyeol guy.”

y/n glances at yuta walking beside her. he’d always been someone that thrived in unusual situations. he always said it made life more interesting, which is why he gave medicine a try for a while. that was how y/n had met him – med school. until he felt it wasn’t for him. “well, the guy’s a hothead. we fought a lot when we were together, but he’s not that bad when you get past it. he was actually really nice,” minghao grabs a hold of y/n’s hand as she speaks.

“but?” yuta eggs on.

“–but he’s crazy. he acts before he thinks. last i heard of him before yesterday was that he was put in the special task forces in the army because he had a real talent for knocking people out. he was a natural at it, apparently.”

the three continue to converse in hushed tones, walking around the villa to look for possible entry points. the topic focused mainly on chanyeol and the general consensus of the three started leaning toward the possibility that it was him that had committed the crime. it was he and jackson that did turn in earliest the night before.

minghao had decided to head back to the villa to use the bathroom ahead of the two. he figured y/n and yuta wouldn’t mind since they were busy discussing what they could’ve done to help jackson if someone had found him earlier. talk of medicine and saving lives was never minghao’s cup of tea and the other two didn’t seem interested in his input on the matter anyway.

after an unproductive search for evidence, y/n and yuta decide to return back inside. as they near the front door, a loud crash from inside followed by muffled screams stop them in their tracks. they are suddenly frozen in place. yuta stares at the door. he takes off before y/n can – believing that his intuition was right. if he couldn’t save jackson, he could save haechan. he enters the living room, coming to an immediate halt. footsteps stop right behind him.

chanyeol. splayed out on the floor with a clear stab wound, blood rushing out of his neck. too much blood. even with his limited knowledge in anatomy, he knew, without coming too close, that chanyeol was gone.

“haechan!” y/n screams, rushing forward to his side. yuta realizes now that haechan has badly been wounded too. his white t-shirt now a disturbing shade of red. y/n shrugs off her coat, wrapping it tightly around haechan’s waist – a makeshift tourniquet to stop the bleeding.

the younger man is clearly delirious and he is so close to the point of passing out. “y/n,” he struggles to get out. “i couldn’t… i couldn’t save him. he…” haechan glances behind her to see minghao watching with wide eyes. “i’m sorry.”

the three of them quickly bring haechan to his room. y/n turns to yuta as he checks on haechan’s state.

“both of you, stay here. yuta, watch him. i packed NSAIDs – these will knock him out but they’re good enough to reduce the pain and prevent blood clots.” it was times like these y/n was thankful she was a doctor. but it felt disgusting knowing her first patient would be her best friend.

it was time to make the call. y/n knew yuta had enough knowledge to help administer haechan’s medicine so she watched him as she focused her attention on the phone call she was making.

“detective lee speaking.”

“officer, i’d like to report a crime.”

“get in line, sister.”

y/n suddenly snaps out of her trance. she has to check the number she’s dialed to make sure she’s called the right place. “i’m sorry?” “i bet you are.” “look, i want to report two cases of murder. i don’t know what to do.”

the voice on the other end of the line pauses. “murder?”

“yes,” y/n states. “detective, my friends and i have just experienced two murders and one of our friends are badly injured. i’m a doctor. it’s difficult for us to get help because we’re stuck at mclaren mountain villas and there’s currently a storm.”

it had been a slow day for detective lee. no calls had come her way, if one didn’t count the two prank calls she received. one had been from someone apparently named hoshi, clearly a fake name, claiming he had been mauled by a tiger. the other from someone called dino, reporting stolen concert tickets to a ne-yo show. she had exactly ten minutes before her shift ended.

“and you’re sure these are all murders?” detective lee clarifies, beginning to trigger a code red throughout the precinct.

y/n was starting to feel impatient. “i know what i saw, detective. can you get help sent out here or what?”

“okay. i need you to stay calm and i need everyone in the house, including you, locked in your own respective rooms until our people get to you. aside from this line, do you have any other possible forms of communication with those in the house in case something else happens?”

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y/n hated everything about turning 22. here she was, stuck barricaded in a really nice fucking room in this stupid fucking villa, feeling helpless as ever. after detective lee had asked her to recount the entire story of what had happened, it became a waiting game. she couldn’t check on haechan (although she was confident the meds would do their job), she didn’t know who to trust anymore, and all she wanted to do was cry. regardless of whether or not she was on good terms with the people in the villa, she still cared deeply for each of them. she never stopped. it wasn’t easy thinking about how their lives were all in danger. and on top of all this, the detective had also said to keep communication to a minimum. she was alone.

the intercom rings. y/n is frozen, willing the phone to shut up. she didn’t want to hear any more news or developments. she didn’t want anything else to happen. she just wanted to disappear.

“y/n?” minghao’s voice comes from the other end of the line.

“what is it? why are you calling?” she was on edge. she didn’t know what to expect.

this was minghao’s line of thinking after putting all he knew together. jackson and chanyeol were dead. haechan was severely injured. y/n couldn’t have done it. so that left yuta. or a rogue murderer still hiding somewhere in this huge villa. the latter seemed highly unlikely and he didn’t like the way yuta had been manipulating the conversation with y/n earlier when they went searching. he didn’t like the way y/n didn’t care much if he went to use the bathroom while she continued to speak to yuta about their theories. he didn’t like the way yuta seemed to have all of the answers. he didn’t like the way y/n had more to talk about with yuta on things like these. he didn’t like the way he felt when yuta was around y/n in general.

“i need you to listen and hear me out. since i know you didn’t do it, it’s just yuta left. i’m freaking out here and i think we need to take care of him before he can hurt any more people.”

y/n couldn’t believe her ears. what was minghao even insinuating? that yuta was the murderer? “hao, can you hear yourself? are you fucking kidding me? yuta’s literally been helping out this whole time.”

minghao’s eyes shut at y/n’s clear disdain for his idea. all he ever wanted to do was keep her safe. “i’m looking out for you. for me. for us. we’re in a house with a murderer and you don’t think that’s even slightly concerning?”

“no, hao, i just think-” y/n is cut off.

“what? are you still, like, in love with him or something? of course, your thrill-seeking lover can never do anything wrong. he’s so brave, after all. running straight into the crime scene so conveniently to be a hero.”

“what the fuck is wrong with you, minghao? you know what, fuck off. i can’t believe you’re even talking about this right now. i’ll see you in the morning.”

a million thoughts already running through her head and a thousand more make their way in after that concerning call. how could minghao even say that? how could he just blame someone so easily? how could he bring up something as stupid as feelings at a time like this?

she doesn’t want to consider the thought, but was it possible that hao was behind all of this? he had convinced her to stay when she wanted to leave, quickly pinned the blame on chanyeol when they had gathered in the living room, entered the villa ahead of her and yuta before they found chanyeol, and now he was pushing yuta into a corner. but no. it can’t be. minghao was a lot of things, but he wasn’t violent. he would never choose to harm anyone intentionally. it was against the essence of who he was an individual.

what he was, however, was unyielding. when minghao believed in something, he believed in it wholeheartedly. so if he believed that the person behind all of this was yuta, then he had good reason to do so. if it really was yuta… y/n shuddered at the thought. she knew how bad his temper could get and how crafty he could be. he often lied to her during their relationship, finding a way out of anything that could make him look bad. he knew how to get himself out of trouble. he knew how to save himself.

time passes by ever so slowly and y/n feels like she’s going crazy the longer she’s sat staring at the wall. until she hears the sound of glass breaking. all she can think now is: she’s next. she is going to die on her 22nd birthday without ever having have lived the life she so hardly worked for. she begins to laugh as she accepts her fate. life really was so funny. and the joke was about to be over for her …

… well, she could at least grab life by the balls before it grabbed her. if she was going to die, she would at least try to make sure haechan had a better chance at survival. that was the way it always was with the two of them – they would take bullets for each other. that was their thing.

with this newfound confidence (or enormous amount of stupidity, she couldn’t tell yet), she makes her way to the door to check on haechan. the police were sure taking their sweet time. she knew she couldn’t rely on that damn detective lee.

“minghao, what the FUCK.”

standing in front of her door with his hand lifted to presumably knock is minghao. “i heard something from the second floor – it sounded like it came from yuta’s room. i wanted to make sure you were okay,” he sheepishly says. “should we go check on it together? i was going to do it on my own but i didn’t feel comfortable leaving you alone here.”

y/n narrows her eyes at minghao, questioning his intentions for the first time. “why’d you think it came from yuta’s room?”

an exasperated sigh leaves minghao’s lips. “look, can we please forget about what happened a while ago? i just want to make sure everything is okay at this point.” and so they leave together, going up the staircase in silence. once they reach the landing, y/n stops in her tracks.

“i’m going to go check on haechan if he’s okay. you can go check on yuta.” minghao wordlessly nods and makes his way down the hallway to where yuta’s room is.

y/n reaches haechan’s door, pausing before entering. all she’s hoping for is to see him still passed out in bed, unbeknownst to the shitshow that is currently unraveling around them.

on the other hand, minghao prepares to enter yuta’s room, fully expecting to fight the man himself. he knew enough self-defense to last him a couple of rounds, but if this man was capable of taking out two and a half men, even he knew he’d have to be lucky.

y/n lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding in when she sees nothing has changed inside haechan’s room. there, haechan was, still stuck in bed and clearly disheveled. a groan leaves his lips as the door shuts. “y/n?” he asks, glancing at the figure he was all too familiar with.

“it’s just me,” y/n whispers. “are you okay?”

haechan weakly nods back. “i’m fine, but i woke up to a huge crash. it sounded like glass breaking. is everything all good?”

“hao went to go check on yuta, but i wanted to make sure you were okay first.”

haechan’s heart starts beating quicker. in the midst of how shitty he overall felt, she still managed to put him first. it hurt him to say, but he had no other choice. whoever and whatever she found wouldn’t hurt her. “i don’t want to put you in any more danger, but i’m okay here. don’t worry. i think you should go check on the other two. if one of them is the murderer, then the other one is clearly in danger.”

that was haechan as y/n knew him to be. he always put others before himself. y/n quickly nods, moving towards the door. “i’ll be back,” she says. “whatever happens, i’ll be back.”

y/n makes her way down the hallway, everything eerily silent. no sound comes from any of the other rooms. if she was walking straight into a death trap, she wouldn’t know. but she didn’t care at this point. she just wanted the whole nightmare over with. she walks into yuta’s room silently.

there, in front of her, was a man standing over a body, holding a bloody knife. he looked crazed and agitated, and clearly someone had been hurt. she knew she had to act fast, but she also knew she couldn’t do it alone.

the man with the knife paced back and forth, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. he seemed to be in a trance, unsure of what had just transpired. she knew she couldn’t confront him, so she stayed by the entrance, silently dialing for help once more.

y/n felt crazy for noticing it at the moment, but the knife in his hand was clearly a work of art. it had an intricate design made of unique swirls and patterns on its handle. it was clear that every detail had been carefully considered, from the tiniest lines to the grander shapes.

it was the voice on the other end of the line that made her presence known.

“detective lee speaking.”

y/n froze in her tracks as wild eyes met hers. “y/n, it’s not what you think.” footsteps slowly step towards her as she slowly backs out into the hallway, the phone call now long forgotten.

“please,” y/n begs as she steps closer to safety. “stay away from me, minghao.”

it’s pure adrenaline taking over at this point. y/n rushes straight back into haechan’s room, slamming the door shut. locking it to make sure he wouldn’t be able to get in. how could this be? how could he do this? minghao wasn’t supposed to be the bad guy – he was supposed to be her endgame. but her eyes could not deceive her. it was clearly him standing over yuta’s lifeless body with a knife in hand. the same knife that probably stabbed jackson, chanyeol, and haechan.

“y/n! open the fucking door! get out of there right now!” what feels like endless pounding on the door continues as y/n tries to help haechan out of his bed. she’s screaming back at minghao, telling him to fuck off but it doesn’t matter. the banging won’t stop. all y/n knew was that she and haechan had to make it out alive. and by her estimations, a fall from the window in his room would only injure them. it would, at the least, buy them more time to potentially escape.

and just as she manages to guide haechan closer to the window, the door breaks open.

minghao had been trying so hard to break the door down. he had tried the doorknob, but it was clearly locked. he could hear muffled screams from behind the door, but he knew he had to act fast. he quickly rushes downstairs and grabs the gun he brought with him at all times, running back up the stairs to get to y/n. without hesitation, he backs up and takes a few steps forward, putting his shoulder into the door. he could feel the wood start to give, but it wasn’t enough. he steps back and puts all of his weight behind it, giving it a go once more.

with a loud crack, the door splintered and swung open. he rushed inside, heart pounding, and found y/n standing with haechan by an open window, tears streaming down her face. “minghao, you don’t have to do this. this isn’t you. please.” she begs as minghao raises his hand to point the gun at the two.

“y/n, stand back. i have to do this.”

she wasn’t going to make it out alive. she was going to die right here and now. as she hears the gun’s safety lock released, she shuts her eyes and steps in front of haechan. she was actually about to take a bullet for him – how dramatic.

but then it happens all at once. one moment, y/n is preparing herself for death. the next, a stray bullet has been fired and minghao is on the ground. a scuffle ensues and y/n can’t seem to open her eyes. she doesn’t know if she’s been hit. she doesn’t know if haechan’s been hit. but all she knows is haechan is gripping her hand for dear life and she’s gripping back twice as hard.

“you have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions. if you give up the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

it was like seeing the light for the first time. or, that was how y/n imagined it felt at least. the shiny name plate and badge on the officer’s left chest being the only thing y/n could make out in the midst of all the chaos.

DETECTIVE SAMANTHA LEE

“y/n, are you okay? this is detective lee. thank you for your help. we will take it from here. my fellow officer will guide you and your friend to safety. you’re safe now. everything will be okay.”

words and apologies tumble out of minghao’s mouth as y/n and haechan are assisted by another officer out of the room. his desperate pleas of innocence falling on deaf ears.

“you don’t understand, y/n! please believe me! it wasn’t me!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

it had been two weeks since the incident and life still hasn’t been the same since.

y/n makes her way up to haechan’s apartment, where she has been going every other day since the accident. could she even call it that when minghao clearly had it all planned down to the wire?

minghao had gotten justice served to him. he was sentenced to life without parole and he would be rotting in jail until death caught up to him. but it still didn’t feel like it was enough. it felt like something was missing. the innocent lives lost because these people were willing to make amends with y/n made her sick to her stomach. those lives were lost because of her. she couldn’t do anything to bring them back.

“i still don’t understand how he could do this, haechan. how could he just go and kill so many people who were really important to me? why would he want to kill you – or maybe even me too – with a gun when he stabbed the others? it just doesn’t make sense.”

haechan sighs from his perch on his bed. it had been two weeks and they were still talking about the same thing. he was still recovering from his wounds from the accident. turns out, he was really close to actually dying too. “i know, y/n. it’s terrible and minghao was crazy… but when i think about it, he was kind of right in the sense that they really weren’t good for you. maybe it’s best that they’re out of your life.”

y/n frowns from the side of haechan’s bed. murder was never acceptable, no matter the reason. there were things she couldn’t see eye to eye with haechan on, but this concerned her. “i think the meds are getting to your head. even if they weren’t good for me, i would have never wanted for what happened to them to occur. they had their own lives too.”

“yeah, that makes sense,” haechan nods. “i’m feeling kind of parched. would you be okay with making us some tea?”

y/n makes her way into the kitchen, ready to make tea. her last conversation with haechan playing back over and over in her mind. how could haechan seem okay with all that happened? how could he possibly humanize minghao’s actions?

she reaches up to open a cupboard to find the tea haechan usually stashes aside. wrong one. she moves to open the one right next to it, when she freezes in place. turning her attention back to the cupboard she initially opened, her eyes fixate on a beautiful set of kitchen utensils.

clearly a work of art. with intricate swirls and patterns on each handle. only a knife missing.

“you shouldn’t have opened that cupboard.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[epilogue] the letter

tyra,

i know you’ll never be able to understand why i did what i did, but i hope you know that i have always done everything for you. from the moment you came into my life, i knew you were special. you were so smart and so beautiful with a little darkness that made you less like a storybook and a bit more real. but more than that, you were always so kind. maybe a little too kind. people took advantage of your kindness, tyra, and you were too naive to see that. but i wasn’t. jackson abandoned you and never even gave you a second thought until i brought up your party. you forgave him so easily for all the hurt he caused you and i couldn’t stand for that, so i killed him. he moved away and left you all alone, so it was only fitting that he died alone. i knew that everyone would be a suspect in his murder and that would pose a problem. fortunately for me, chanyeol was an idiot and a hothead. i couldn't fathom what you ever saw in him, but it made pinning the blame on him all too easy after his little temper tantrum. i knew that killing him would be a challenge – what he lacked in brains, he made up for in strength. but i put myself in harm’s way for you, tyra. knowing that he would be out of your life forever gave me the push i needed to kill him. it took a lot out of me, mentally and physically, but it gave me the cover i needed to kill yuta. he was poison for you and i knew he had to go. i broke into his room through the window, killed him, and left the same way i came. it almost killed me, but i knew that you would be a better person without him and i would risk my life ten times over if it was for you. after all, we would take a bullet for each other. and so after that, all i had to do was wait for minghao to discover the body and for the police to find him. minghao was a nice guy, but he was jealous and insecure. he wasn’t good enough for you. if he really did love you, then he would have had the courage to do what i did. i know that you saw the murders as acts of violence, but really it was proof of my love for you. i thought that with time, you would heal and we could finally start our life together just as i always dreamed, but you couldn’t let them go. you questioned me and doubted me after everything i did for you. i realized that it was too late for you and for us - we had to start over. killing you was the hardest thing i've ever had to do, but i know that we’ll find each other in the next life. your death, and mine, are my final acts of love and the price i am willing to pay to be with you forever.

yours and ONLY yours,

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arapydea · 3 months

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Helllooooo! Just gonna talk about my experience with Streaming till now! Because why not!

So I started streaming around the start of April this year because it turns out I actually can?

I was kinda convinced that with the little Laptop I have here it would be almost impossible and I am like the furthers away possible from the router in this apartment so that was another worry. And yet. It works…for the most part…but what more can I ask for?

I only have occasional connection issues and otherwise it works fine so I’ll take that anyday over it not working at all.

Anyway so the 2 big things that I wanted to be able to do were Games Streams (which works as I already record my gameplay) and Art Streams (which is were the problems started). Because I could not for the life of me figure out how I can connect my tablet to my laptop in a way where I can record what is happening on the tablet for months. Until I decided I would check once more for a way and I found one that (again, works for the most part) in under 10 minutes...yeah... But it works! I can record my art! I can stream my art!

Anyway I started on March 30th with just a test stream to see if it works. It did! Yay!

I did a few more test streams just to see that it actually works consistenly after which I put a scheduel in place I felt I could stick to. Which is Tuesday & Saturday from 11am to 1pm (CEST) with occasional Thursday afternoon streams. I get if that is an odd time it's just what works best for me at the moment.

But streaming has been very fun! Being able to talk for 2 hours straight has been very nice somehow (well more for my soul than for my throat).

What I did learn thorugh the Art Streams is that I cannot start a piece and partially do it on stream and partially off stream, my brain can't work with that. However a Meme Ara takes around 90 minutes to do while streaming and that fit very nicely with my streaming times & you can never have enough Meme Aras.

But I also learned rather quickly and rather involuntarily that my Streaming limit is at 2 Hours & 30 minutes. I did a stream recently that accidentally went on for 3 hours and 30 minutes and...ah...that wasn't good for me...we did get further in the game though.

You also have to keep an eye on soo much stuff all the time? I have to remember to check the Chat regularly for any activity, Twitches acitivity feed itself, the Bitrate/Internet connection, the Feed from the Game/Tablet & doing all that while conituing to actually do stuff. I am getting used to it but it's taking tiimmeee.

Either way, it's going great! I can mostly stick to my scheudel, I get stuff done, I have fun and that is basically all that counts. I also get to use my PNGModel more which just make it easier to use over time. And having made scenes & screens for the stream has also been fun (even if almost everything is currently only temporary)

Prepping the VODs has also been interesting, especially in Thumbnail Terms. I'm also learning lots there.

Another thing I did just for fun is that I recommend a Song every week through "Aras Song Of The Week!" which is more like "Aras Song of Last Week" but it still works. I have a Playlist for those!

There are also some things I would like to try out in the future, like handcam streams & building some fictional Kpop groups on Stream (I know, that came out of nowhere didn't it?).

And thats where my thoughts about all that end. Well well.

Let's finish this of with a little hold up of my stats

Since the 30th of March 2024 I have (as of the June 21st 2024): - Streamed on a total of 22 days - Streamed 46 hours & 35 Minutes - got 15 Followers

Either way Here is the VOD channel and I Stream Here on Twitch!

#pngtuber #envtuber #gervtuber #indie vtuber #vtuber #vtuber uprising #vtubers on tumblr #streaming #twitch #small streamer #streamer #twitch stream #twitch streamer #english vtuber #from experience #arapydea posted that

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cultleaderyoongi · 2 years

Text

Opposites Attract – pt.1 | myg

☆ pairing: Yoongi x f. reader, (Namjoon x f. reader)

☆ genre: s2f2l, hints of e2f2l at first if you squint (one-sided sentiment though), love triangle • angst, fluff, eventual smut

☆ word count: 12.7k

☆ warnings: bro-code violations (it's up for debate if reader is fair game); mature language; mentions of alcohol; virgin shaming to some extent; the word wh*re being mentioned

☆ synopsis: You're Namjoon's girl – kind of. So why does Yoongi, who has never been too fond of people in the first place, get that weird feeling in the pit of his stomach around you? And most importantly, why can't he seem to stop himself from falling for you when you're supposed to be off-limits anyway?

☆ navigation: pt.1 | pt.2

☆ a/n: Hi there! I'm back after an almost 6-month hiatus, and this was supposed to be out for Yoongi's birthday, but I guess this is my gift to you in celebration of my birthday now as well lol though also a week too late to that lmao And since it's gotten kinda long, I spontaneously decided to divide it into two parts which also gives me more time to finish up the last few lines oops As always, I hope you enjoy reading. If you do – thank you! Lmk how you like it, I love feedback ♡

(P.S. special shout-out to whoever can guess which album they're talking about in the record shop scene!)

(also P.S. I'm part of a fun, little Discord server created by the dearest @kooala where we share our favorite fics, simp over our biases, etc. and we'd love for it to grow. If you're looking for a cool place to connect with people and discuss anything K-pop, feel free to join here ♡)

☆ taglist: @bangtansjonas

There aren't a lot of things in the world that catch Yoongi's attention. He's most interested in music, creating his own little world as the beat becomes one with that of his heart. Basketball is another interest of his, the satisfying swish of the rubber globe falling through the hoop like music to his ears.

One thing is for sure though, and that is people aren't at the top of his list – meeting new people, that is. There's only a handful of people he actively cares about in his own aloof kind of way. Human interaction isn't his forté, so he's more than thankful that the people he does hold dear to his heart understand his weird antics. He would have a hard time admitting it, but losing even one of them would tear him apart. Breaking his hand-signed vinyl copy of Kendrick Lamar's DAMN. in half would hurt less, he concludes.

Having his set group of friends also means that the idea of adding another person fills him with frustration. For as long as he can remember, it has always been him, Namjoon, Hoseok, and Seokjin. No one else but him and his three best friends since childhood days. He convinces himself it's already too late to add another person into the mix anyway, almost two decades of friendship making it impossible for anyone to feel remotely comfortable among the four of them. But not everyone shares the same belief from the looks of it.

"I hope that's okay," Namjoon probes, hands buried in the front pockets of his chino pants as he leans against the red-brick façade of the faculty building behind him.

"More than fine by me," Hoseok drawls while running a hand through his chestnut hair. "Maybe you should worry about Grumpy Cat over here." His lips pull into a half-smirk.

At the mention of the all-too-familiar nickname, Yoongi peels his gaze from the concrete steps he's sitting on, turning towards his friends. "Why? Think I'm gonna rip someone's head off with my sharp fangs?"

"The risk is minimal, but never zero," Seokjin states in amusement, the hand curled around his iced coffee lifting into the air in emphasis.

The eldest's comment draws a scoff out of the man in question. Yoongi has grown used to the light punches at his reserved persona and granted, he would feel weird if the teasing stopped at some point. No matter how old the jokes have gotten.

"What am I? The mom in the group that tells you no all the time and grounds you for no good reason?" he grumbles, fixing the snapback covering his platinum-blond tresses.

"No," Hoseok retorts, "you're more like the uncle with the shotgun that everyone's secretly afraid of."

The group exchanges words in agreement leaving Yoongi with nothing but an annoyed glare. As the commotion dies down, he sighs in defeat. "It's fine or whatever. You already invited them anyway."

Namjoon nods, his face lighting up ever so slightly. "Okay, cool. You won't even notice she's there."

"She? You invited a girl?" Yoongi exclaims in confusion, loud enough to catch the attention of other students lingering around.

"Ah, Yoongi... You weren't paying attention again, were you?" Seokjin playfully nudges his friend in the elbow with the tip of his suede shoe. "Namjoon invited this girl to hang out tonight because he has a thing for her but is too afraid to ask her out on a proper date."

"Hey! That's not what it is," Namjoon grumbles, adjusting the black-rimmed glasses sliding down the slope of his nose.

"But you think she's hot?" Hoseok probes with a raised eyebrow.

The youngest barely responds, a breathy chuckle and a hand scratching at the nape of his neck enough of an indicator.

"That answers that."

Yoongi absentmindedly toys with a pebble, creating white marks as he scrapes it across the concrete surface. Who in the world invites a random girl to hang out with a bunch of strange dudes? he thinks to himself, the scratches becoming harsher until there's nothing but wild scribbles.

"Can you stop fussing around already?"

Namjoon mumbles out a quick apology to Hoseok beside him, immediately halting the shaky movement of his leg.

It hasn't even been five minutes since the quartet arrived at the movie theater, awaiting the arrival of the youngest's secret date.

"It's not a date," he fends when Seokjin teases him again, a hand running through his short – notably freshly cut – hair. "She's a friend, and I invited her out because– Oh! She's here." As he practically jumps up from his seat on the black leather couch, Namjoon storms towards the entrance.

"Not a date my ass," Hoseok comments, earning an affirmative chuckle from the eldest.

With the rest of the group rising from their seats, Yoongi reluctantly follows lead, hands immediately finding harbor in the pockets of his jeans.

"Oh, she's pretty," Seokjin muses to which Hoseok hums out in confirmation.

As Yoongi's focus finally shifts from the dark blue carpeted floor to his friend and the stranger standing next to him, he raises a brow. Yeah, she's pretty, he thinks to himself. At first glance. Yoongi isn't one to be easily swayed by looks though, so he mindlessly trails behind the other two.

"Guys," Namjoon turns towards the others, "this is _____. _____, these are my friends."

You beam a friendly smile at Seokjin who is the first one to extend his hand out to you, shaking it lightly before letting you move on to Hoseok.

Yoongi is slightly taken aback when your eyes land on him, nothing but warmth emitting from them. Usually, no one ever even dares any attempts at approaching his cold exterior. When he gives you his name, he swears your grin grows impossibly wider. Who in the world has the energy to be this friendly?

"Alright," Hoseok starts, "why don't you guys"–he nods towards you and Namjoon–"go get some snacks while we buy the tickets?"

The group separates as suggested with you and Namjoon heading towards the snack bar while Yoongi follows Hoseok and Seokjin to the ticket booth. Stealing a glance at his friend, he silently scoffs at the sight. You're deep in conversation, head lolling back in laughter at something Namjoon says. He finds your reaction so over the top. Sure, Namjoon can crack some jokes from time to time, but it almost looks like you're losing it. It's such a weird sight, and your clashing outfits underline that. You stand out in your yellow, ruffled top and cherry-red Vans against the beige and white hues of Namjoon's ensemble, the same shade of red showing up on your nail beds and the tint on your lips. This is definitely a date, he concludes. And now we have to play wingman. Great.

When the group gathers again to exchange tickets and snacks, Yoongi slightly flinches in surprise as someone thrusts a bag of popcorn in his face.

"Another salty popcorn enthusiast, I heard?" You smile up at him, the telltale rustling noise of popped kernels sounding as you lightly shake the bag.

Taking it with hesitant hands, Yoongi manages to muster up a nod, murmuring out a quick Thank you.

"Salty popcorn is barbaric," Hoseok's voice blares, breaking the unknown tension. "All it does is make you thirsty."

"Oh, allow me to prove you wrong," you counter with a wicked grin, eliciting a laugh from the man.

Throughout your discussion on why salty popcorn is superior, Yoongi doesn't realize he's been behind you this entire time until the five of you are looking for your respective seats in your assigned row. Now he has no other choice but to sit in the middle with you to his right. Fantastic.

Once the movie commences, the entire room falls silent lest the occasional rustling and crunching noises surrounding Yoongi. Absentmindedly taking a big gulp from his blueberry slushy, he proceeds to put it into the cup holder compartment of his chair when suddenly his hand comes into contact with another one.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!"

As he retracts his hand in a flash, he turns his head towards the source of the voice, the outlines of your facial features becoming visible via the blue flashes reflecting off of the screen. "Ah, you're fine," he manages out, the hold on his plastic cup tightening.

His focus is back on the opening sequence when someone invades his space once again.

"Do you want some?"

With furrowed brows, Yoongi's vision steers to the side, your hand holding a package of strawberry flavored Pockys coming into sight. "Uh..." Hesitantly, his eyes flicker from your hand to your face, then back to your hand. "Y-yeah, sure." He takes two of the chocolate sticks, mumbling out a stunned Thank you while he munches on them.

It's an unusual scene – not once has Yoongi come across someone this unhinged and outgoing without inhibition towards him as a stranger with what people call a resting bitch face. Usually, people don't even dare an attempt at building some sort of a connection with him. This leaves him wondering about you: are you always like this or is this all an act in order to stay in Namjoon's good books?

The setting sun outside serves enough light to guide the group through town, yet not enough to cause any discomfort after having spent the last two hours in complete darkness. Namjoon with his sensitive eyes in particular is thankful for that.

"Anybody else hungry?" Seokjin inquires, craning his neck as he takes a look at everyone individually.

"How can you be hungry again?" Hoseok blurts. "You had part of my half of the popcorn after annihilating yours – and then an entire pack of...what was it? Skittles? M&Ms?"

"Both," Seokjin announces proudly. "These were to tend to my sweet tooth though. Now it's time to satiate my savory needs."

Hoseok rolls his eyes at the eldest's response. "Can you believe this guy?" He turns to the rest before a sigh passes his lips. "Alright, I could go for something."

As everyone else hums out affirmative answers, the group settles on their go-to diner for classic burgers and fries.

"So, _____," Hoseok starts, a hefty sandwich haphazardly lodged in between his hands, "how come you know this guy over here?" With a tilt of his head, he gestures towards Namjoon.

You hum as you take a bite of your portion of fries. "Oh, we have the same major. We're also tutoring a class together this semester."

"Someone who matches his intellect, I see," Hoseok answers, a hint of a smirk hidden behind the large patty.

You don't get a chance to chime in when Seokjin continues, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

How subtle. It comes like second nature to Yoongi, a roll of his eyes a common reaction in a situation like this. It's when your eyes meet for a second, the corners of your lips curling upwards in an amused manner that he realizes his rather obvious slip-up.

"No," you chuckle with a shake of your head.

"Girlfriend?" the eldest follows up shortly, several expressions going around the table ranging from awkward laughter to annoyed sighs, the latter most notably sounding from Namjoon and Yoongi.

"Also no," you simply reply.

Seokjin shrugs his shoulders. "Can't hurt to ask."

"Why? Are you interested?"

Yoongi can't help but cackle at how the words leave your lips in such a deadpan yet entertained way, and for a second he's worried the others notice his change in demeanor. Your counter has the eldest choking on his drink though as he erupts into his characteristic windshield-wiper laugh, catching everyone's attention as Seokjin furiously wipes the bottom of his chin covered in soda.

"What happened to the standard ice breakers like What do you like to do in your free time or What's your take on mint chocolate ice cream?" you probe further, lips curling around the straw of your drink.

"Mint choco? Not a fan," Hoseok retorts, his face contorting into a disgusted grimace.

"Also hate it," Seokjin chimes in now with Namjoon following suit, the youngest going as far as mimicking puking noises.

As Yoongi makes no move of joining in on the conversation, you carry on, "Am I the odd one out here again? Guys, this could determine the future of our entire friendship if there's ever gonna be one."

The group erupts into laughter at that until Yoongi decides to come to the rescue. "I like it," he mumbles out nonchalantly with his arms crossed in front of him on the table.

"Thank you!" You turn to him, eyes sparkling in surprise at his sudden contribution. "At least someone with taste."

For the rest of the night, Yoongi can't help but steal glances at you and his best friend across the table, studying your interactions. They look cute together, he thinks to himself. As far as I can tell. And from what he can see it's easy for you to engage in conversation with the other guys as well, effortlessly exchanging quips and revealing facts about yourself. Yet, Yoongi can't seem to figure you out. Namjoon invited you out to hang out with his friends. Of course, you're going to be nice to everyone including him. Nothing to worry about, and as far as he's concerned if you happen to fake it he doesn't care. He never cared.

When you catch sight of him inspecting you, your lips curl into a small smile causing him to avert his eyes as fast as humanly possible. Awkward.

After everyone finishes their meal, you step back outside to say your goodbyes, the cold breeze of the night air brushing past.

"You sure you don't want me to walk you home?" Namjoon inquires, his stare set on you.

"Nah, it's fine," you decline, shaking your head as a shiver runs through you. "My friends are around in the area. They said they can pick me up."

He solemnly nods at your words, pulling you into a half-hug before stepping aside.

"It was really nice meeting you, _____. And hopefully, we'll get to see you again soon," Seokjin notes.

You send the eldest a pleasant smile, waving him off before doing the same to the other two.

When your eyes land on Yoongi, the man in question musters up a meek smirk and when you practically outshine him with a bright beam, he catches himself almost cursing. How are you so fucking friendly?

"So," Namjoon turns to the group once your silhouette disappears into the backseat of a black car pulling up at the curb, uncertainty clear in his features, "what do you think?"

"I like her," Hoseok is the first one to answer.

"Yeah, me too," Seokjin joins in.

It's quiet for an instance before everyone's eyes turn to Yoongi in anticipation.

"What?" the man grumbles, hands burying into his front pockets. "You need my blessing or something? She's alright, I guess."

Hoseok huffs, patting the youngest on the shoulder. "That's the most you're gonna get."

The mellow sounds of some lo-fi hip-hop song paint the perfect atmosphere while Yoongi scours around the store. It's like a safe haven for him, a place where he can replenish his power after a straining week of classes and assignments, unbothered and undisturbed. With swift fingers, he browses through the plethora of record sleeves in search for –

"Oh, hey!"

A somewhat familiar but also not-so-familiar voice startles him. Lifting his eyes from the rows of vinyls before him, you come into sight, cheeks risen into globes as you send him a bright smile. "H-hi," he croaks out, slightly confused. For some reason, the record shop is the spot he least expects to run into you. He's not sure why, but you don't strike him as a person to enjoy these things – though he knows little to nothing about you.

"Any good finds?" you inquire, head tilted to the side as you roam through the selection on your side.

"Uh..." he trails, "yeah, actually." Eyeing you for an instance, he ponders whether to elaborate or not. But why would you ask if you weren't interested? "I was looking for"–pulling out the record in question, he holds it up for you to see–"this one."

"Oh my God!" you exclaim as your eyes land on the colorful cover, splotches of pink and orange mingling with blue and purple hues. "It's such a good album. I waited ten years for this, but it's so worth it."

Stunned, Yoongi sends you a look he's sure he's never given anyone before. "You know it?"

"Yeah," you answer nonchalantly, "track number seven and eight are my favorites. Oh, and also–"

Yoongi flinches slightly when you lean forward until he catches onto your action, flipping the record around to let you check the tracklist on the back of the sleeve.

"–track number four. I'm a sucker for movie sound clips." You beam him a bright smile before continuing, "I'm a fan of Act I and II especially, and the features are expertly chosen." Retreating to your initial position, you finish, "Overall, one hour of excellence I can only recommend."

Yoongi regards you as if you just found the solution for world peace. He didn't expect you to be so enthusiastic about music – let alone hip-hop. You don't strike him as a person to enjoy this type of genre, but who is he to judge a book by its cover? "More of a reason to check it out then," he finally replies with a light chuckle after listening to your rambles. When you grant him another smile of yours just to return to your own business, he continues, "What have you got there?" A little small talk shouldn't hurt, right? After all, you're being exceptionally nice to him, so he should reciprocate.

Your eyes dart down to the vinyls lodged in between your folded arm. "Oh, just a random mix. Some rock, some pop, some R&B." Pulling your shoulders up into a shrug, you finish, "All kinds of things."

He nods in understanding. It's such a superficial thought, but he never imagined you to be so enthusiastic and versatile with your music taste. Not that he ever wondered in the first place, but he knows essentially nothing about you. Hearing about your interest in music piques his interest in you in turn though – on a friendly level, of course.

It comes naturally, falling into conversation about your favorite artists and albums, giving each other recommendations, and it's not long before you step out of the store together after paying for your purchases.

"Which way are you going?" you ask with a hand shielding your eyes from the midday sun, the light adorning your face in a yellow glow.

Yoongi hums out in thought. "I gotta stop by Namjoon's and Hoseok's, so this way." With an outstretched thumb, he points to his right.

"Oh, okay," you answer, cracking a small smile. "Is it fine if I walk with you part of the way? I'm supposed to meet up with Namjoon for a project tomorrow, and I need some books from the library."

"Uh..." The male studies your features, your eyes set on him expectantly, lips slightly pursed yet not losing their curved shape. Despite your outgoing and to him somewhat outlandish nature, you seem to make sure not to overstep any boundaries. He grows fond of the thought, letting out a light chuckle at that. "Yeah, sure."

Throughout the entire way to the library, the two of you converse mostly about music. Yoongi is specifically interested in the fact that you own vinyls as well.

"My brother got me into them," you explain, fingers carding through some strands of your hair being swayed by the breeze. "He has this huge collection he's been accumulating since he was like sixteen."

He listens attentively to your words, soaking them up like a sponge. It doesn't dawn on him at first, but there isn't a single moment of silence – and he doesn't hate it. Usually, it takes him a great amount of effort to stay energized during social interaction, to not feel like he's either faking or half-assing it, or even the need to take flight. As soon as you arrive at the library though, he figures the contrary is the case here, a huge power drain suddenly coursing through every crevice of Yoongi's body.

"I guess I'll see you around?" You turn to him, hand curled around the iron door handle of the entrance.

Yoongi nods leisurely, a small smile forming on his face.

You mirror his mimic though tenfold in vivacity, offering him a wave of your hand in addition. "Tell them hi for me."

Lifting his own hand into the air, he answers, "I will."

And with that, you're gone and an indescribable feeling follows Yoongi to his friends he can't seem to shake off.

"Dude, that was whack!" Hoseok's shrill voice blares across the court, harvesting the attention of several onlookers.

"Yeah, okay. I know," Namjoon fends, watching the basketball bounce off the backboard onto the ground. "Everyone and their dog knows. Fuck!"

The group grows silent as they watch the youngest strut over to the bleachers, rummaging in his backpack.

Seokjin scoops up the ball from the gravel, shuffling over to the remaining boys gathered in the middle of the court. "What's up with him?"

Hoseok sends the eldest a simple shrug of his shoulders.

"What's up with you?" Seokjin shouts across the place but receives no response from Namjoon as he plops down on the bench, swallowing his water in big gulps.

"Okay, water break," Hoseok huffs out, trudging over to his friend followed by Yoongi and Seokjin.

As they reach Namjoon, said man simply shoves his water bottle back into his backpack before springing back into a standing position.

"So, are you gonna tell us what your problem is?" Seokjin tries again, locking eyes with the taller man.

Namjoon sighs in defeat, running a hand through his sweaty strands. "I'm a little on edge, I guess."

"You don't say," the eldest retorts, taking a swig of his water bottle. "But what's the reason?"

It's quiet for an instance before Namjoon continues, "I'm not sure how to go about things with _____."

"What do you mean?" Hoseok takes over this time, drying off the droplets of sweat on his forehead with a towel.

"We've been meeting up here and there. Sometimes for school, sometimes to hang out. But..." He stalls, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"It's not going anywhere?"

The youngest nods, his jaw set and tongue pushed into the inside of his cheek.

Yoongi zones out halfway through the conversation. Over the course of time, get-togethers with you and either Namjoon or the whole group have become a frequent occurrence. Whether that be in between classes to have lunch or hang out later that day for a drink or two – Namjoon has been making an effort of incorporating you into the clique. And from the looks of it, you and the guys are getting along well.

In addition to that, Yoongi ran into you at the record shop again once or twice. He wouldn't necessarily deem it a notable fact as you parted ways to go on with your days every time, but the moments spent in there remain valuable nonetheless as both of you walked out with new discoveries each visit.

"Have you made any moves on her?" Seokjin questions now, leaning back onto the row of benches behind him.

The man in question tilts his head to the side. "Not per se, but I give her signals."

"What kinda signals?"

This entire time Yoongi remains silent, watching the scene unfold in front of him like an outsider. It's somewhat of a familiar sight, a memory of Namjoon trying to confess to his high school crush coming to the forefront of Yoongi's mind. The boys practically had to push the poor guy into her arms before he could chicken out for the umpteenth time. And though the course of their relationship neared its end sooner or later, Namjoon has at least gained the experience instead of giving in to his doubts. What a shitshow that was, Yoongi thinks to himself.

"I compliment her whenever she's wearing something nice or did her hair and make-up differently, and I bring her coffee and snacks." Namjoon's voice pulls Yoongi out of his daydream.

Hoseok musters his friend with furrowed brows. "You're doing the bare minimum, man."

Seokjin agrees with the former, adding, "You could spare all the second-guessing and straight-up tell her."

At that, Namjoon exhales loudly through his nose. "But she's not showing any signs, you know? At first she did, but now not so much."

Yoongi can see the disappointment in his friend's eyes, and if he could help him he would. But the others are only right – Namjoon has to stop playing around and come clean about his feelings. Yoongi knows he would if he were in Namjoon's shoes. Even with the nearly non-existent experience and abysmal enthusiasm for romantic relationships he has.

"We're not sixteen, seventeen anymore," the eldest blurts out. "If you wanna get the girl, you gotta tell her."

"I know, I know. But..." Namjoon trails, his hooded eyes darting towards the distance. "I dunno. It's obvious something's off. Maybe I came on too strong? Just gimme some time to figure it out, and – oh shit! She's coming."

All heads follow Namjoon's line of sight, a familiar figure coming into vision.

"Hey!" You greet them with a wave of your hand and your signature bright smile. "Heard you guys were here, so I thought I'd come with refreshments." As you pull out a cup carrier from behind your back, the boys let out sounds of surprise. You hand out the drinks to each individually. "I hope I did okay. I got the usual for Joonie,–"

The man in question accepts the beverage from you, a wide grin splayed across his face at the gesture – and most likely the nickname as well – as if the conversation from mere minutes ago is already forgotten.

"–watermelon for Hoseok, pink lemonade for Seokjin, and–"

As your hand curls around the last cup, Yoongi blinks up at you with wondrous eyes.

"–I remember you mentioned Iced Americanos once, so here you go."

Yoongi's lips part, closing and opening again before he mutters out a small Thank you. His hands shake slightly as he takes the cold drink from you. He remembers pointing out his go-to order about a week ago when you joined the clique for a quick coffee break after morning class. You wore your hair up in a bun, minimal make-up yet your face looked as bright as ever, and an oversized–

Hold up. Why does he remember all of this and why does it matter? What the fuck? Yoongi mentally slaps himself on the back of the head.

"So, who's winning?" You plop down onto the bench in between Yoongi and Seokjin, the former going rigid when your arm shortly comes into contact with his.

Everyone's eyes go around the group before landing on Namjoon.

"Last time I checked, we were on a losing streak," he sighs, nodding towards himself and Hoseok.

The remaining boys raise their eyebrows in confusion, not expecting the youngest to paint himself in a bad light in front of his crush.

"I'm the problem though," his teammate follows up quickly, defusing the situation. "I pull him down like a rock. Today's just not my day."

Your lips pull into a pout before curling upwards again, giving him an understanding nod.

"But hey," Hoseok continues, snapping his fingers as if he came up with the perfect idea, "how about you two play together? I could use a break, to be honest."

You lean in further at the proposition, your elbows propped up on your knees with a mischievous smile creeping up on your face. "I'll tell you what – you two go 1v1 and I'll play with whoever wins against these two." With outstretched thumbs, you point to Yoongi on your left and Seokjin on your right.

Hoseok's eyes widen ever so slightly and his lips curl into the shape of a circle.

"Please? I just wanna see you play, Joonie," you add with a slight lilt to your voice, gaze lingering on the tall man.

Yoongi almost spits out his drink, splurting a little as he sucks the caffeinated liquid through the straw. That's not showing any signs? My ass.

"Okay then," Namjoon states cooly though a hint of a smile can be spotted on his features. Retrieving the abandoned ball from the floor, he tosses it into Hoseok's hands. "First one to score ten points."

The two exchange looks with each other before jumping into action, jogging back to the court.

"Oh, thank God," Seokjin sighs loudly from beside you, head slumping sideways onto his shoulder. "I needed to catch a breath. My legs are killing me." He stretches out his limbs as a means of demonstrating his fatigue.

"How can you be tired? I did almost all the work, old man," Yoongi suddenly chimes in, a hint of annoyance yet amusement laced in his tone.

"Yah! I'm only three months older than you," the older male retorts, hoisting himself into an upright position. "I'm exhausted because you're hopping around the place like a rabbit on steroids. You always play like your life depends on it." Seokjin lets out several other humorous remarks that have Yoongi chuckling when a muffled vibrating sound interrupts him. Reaching into one of the pockets of his backpack, he pulls out his phone. "I gotta answer that real fast. It's my mom."

"Tell her I said hi," the blonde comments nonchalantly, adjusting the headband holding back his bangs.

Seokjin gives him a confirming nod before standing up with a groan, finger hovering above the screen ready to accept the call.

It's silent for a few seconds once Seokjin disappears down the line when suddenly a low cackle leaves you.

"What?" Yoongi asks, eyes shifting from Namjoon dribbling past Hoseok and landing a lay-up to you.

You shake your head slowly. "Your friendship dynamic is kinda weird but cute."

"Cute?" he blurts out in disbelief, repeating the word in his thoughts like an echo. Cute... Not in a million years would Yoongi have thought anything remotely in regards to him could be described as cute. "Care to elaborate?"

A shrug of your shoulders serves as part of your answer. "I dunno. I just find it interesting how different you are around each other, but all fuse so well." You rest your head in the palm of your hand. "You and Seokjin, for example, are the bickering type yet you treat each other with so much respect."

Yoongi laughs at your analysis. "Yeah, I guess so."

"It's kinda endearing to see," you add with a small smile.

He reciprocates it with an equally shy smirk. Wow. No one has ever made the effort to look beyond his quote-unquote stone-cold persona. People usually write him off as rude and aloof, and most of the time it doesn't bother him – but hearing someone point out the opposite fuels him with pride.

"Hoseok matches your coolness, but he's more of a happy-go-lucky type compared to you which is a good balance."

Yoongi just smiles to himself at this point, listening to your ramblings. Cool. You called him cool.

"And then you and Namjoon–"

He clears his throat, unsure of what to expect next.

"–are more on the same wavelength intellectually. Like you talk about this and that on an equal level, but he looks up to you like an older brother."

The man regards you with utmost attention, rendered speechless. He's unsure what it is about you as he would usually brush it off, pass the words off as bullshit, but looking into your eyes he can see the honesty, the truth behind them. A mix of emotions comes crashing in like a storm, settling in the core of his stomach, nestling there and leaving him nauseous. What is this feeling?

Before Yoongi can make sense of things, you speak up again. "I can't give you a full breakdown of our friendship yet."

His eyes widen as he lets your words sink in. "Our f-friendship?"

"Yeah." You lean back on the bench behind you. "I'd like to think we're friends." When he doesn't answer, you probe further, "Don't you?"

It doesn't go unnoticed, the barely significant change in volume and pitch of your voice, and it has Yoongi in silent panic. "Yeah n-no, of course we're friends," he stammers, his hand shooting up to brush through some damp strands of his hair.

At that, your signature smile returns, serving as a stark opponent to the orange light of the late afternoon sun. "Okay," you simply reply, licking your lips as you drop your gaze to a patch of grass on the ground. Yoongi does the same when your voice grabs his attention again. "How'd you like that Bryson Tiller I recommended, by the way?"

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he muses, "It was really good. R&B isn't usually on my radar, but I really liked it."

You beam him a grin that grows wider by the second. "For real?"

Yoongi hums out in confirmation, accompanied by a nod of his head. "I can see why he's one of your favorites."

It's apparent you're trying to form words to speak when a loud roar sounds from across the place, followed by Namjoon sprinting towards the two of you. Hoseok trudges behind him defeatedly, seemingly out of breath.

"I did it," Namjoon announces proudly, pectorals on full display through his sweat-soaked shirt.

You spring up from your seat, cheering and clapping for the male before you engulf him in a tight hug.

The sensation in the pit of Yoongi's stomach intensifies, growing into unbearable stages when he watches Namjoon wrap his strong arms around you. This is unfamiliar territory for him, the force of this inidentifiable feeling brewing inside of him, the unexplicable longing for an answer to something he has never experienced before. Is it possible that he's... No, he can't be. This can't be, Yoongi tells himself. No.

Then he realizes that he hasn't spared one single glance at the game – and neither have you.

"Why the fuck would you do that?" Seokjin utters, his torso pressing further into the backrest of the sofa with each passing second, tightly clutching a pillow in comfort. "Don't look back! Run for your fucking life!"

Everyone's attention is on the lead actress of the movie, her struggle to escape the creature chasing her leaving the group on the edge of their seats.

For tonight, the boys decided on drinks and movies at Yoongi's and Seokjin's place, and despite a democratic vote against a horror movie, you managed to convince the opposition – most notably Seokjin and Hoseok – otherwise.

In his peripheral view, Yoongi can spot the latter grabbing onto his hair in tension the longer the chase continues, mouth falling agape when the main character barely dodges falling into the hands of death.

"_____, why would you make us watch this?" Hoseok whimpers, leaning closer to Seokjin beside him, the elder clawing onto the other as they both cower in fear.

With a lifted pointer finger to your lips, you signal him to shut up when suddenly a loud screech sounds from the speakers, causing you and everyone else to flinch.

Yoongi's hands clench around the armrests of his recliner in shock, a low chuckle leaving his lips once the aftereffect of the jumpscare subsides. When he turns his head to the side though, his expression falls just as fast as it came.

Your hands are clutched around Namjoon's biceps, your forehead resting on his shoulder before you look back up, sharing a laugh with the man seemingly embarrassed at the frightening scene.

Throughout the remainder of the movie, Yoongi's mind wanders elsewhere, the horrifying acts happening on screen serving as mere background noise for his thoughts. Why does he feel so hollow witnessing you together with his friend? He shouldn't care about any sort of physical touch between the two of you. He should be cheering for him now that he's becoming closer with his crush instead. So why is Yoongi internally conjuring up an image where he's the one sitting beside you in Namjoon's place? Why does he wish it was him that you're looking at so sweetly with that sparkle in your eyes? Why– No, stop, he mentally slaps himself. Stop it – now.

The ending credits roll when Seokjin springs up from his seat, a slight wobble apparent in his legs. "That was...something. I'm gonna need another beer. Anyone else?"

Hoseok is the first to give an affirmative answer, followed by you and Namjoon which forces Yoongi to opt for one as well.

"Let's watch something more lighthearted next?" Hoseok pleads as he scrolls through the plethora of movies, and once everyone is equipped with another cold beer, you agree on a comedic drama this time.

Yoongi has a gradually harder time trying to ignore the soft whispers and the glances stolen at each other, so he accepts sleep with open arms once he senses his eyelids growing heavy – the last thing he sees being your eyes facing him.

About an hour passes when Yoongi wakes up from the flickering lights of the TV screen as it shows recommendations after being inactive for so long.

Rubbing his eyes, he looks around the room. Everyone is dead asleep with Seokjin having settled for a makeshift bed on the floor, leaving an entire couch spare for Hoseok. Namjoon occupies one half of the other couch, legs resting on the coffee table – and then there's you next to him, hugging a pillow almost as big as your body in your curled-up state. Yoongi can make out the folded fashion of your legs covered under the throw blanket. You can't possibly be comfortable in this position, he concludes, but yet you look so peaceful, so tranquil – so beautiful.

He barely registers your eyelids fluttering open, deep in thought yet no thoughts at all, so he finds himself flinching once your focus sets on him.

Confusion seeps through every crevice of his being when all you do is stare at him, eyelids still heavy from sleep, wispy eyelashes brushing your skin with every blink. Yoongi should feel uncomfortable locking eyes with you so intently, so intensely, but all he feels is a meaning behind it.

Neither of you break eye contact, the tension growing palpable in the silence of this room, only the ticking of the clock on the wall and the light breathing of your sleeping friends to be heard. It's like only you and him matter at this moment, and when your lips curl into a small smile, he reciprocates the same, watching your eyelids fall shut again.

Yoongi wakes up once more to the now black mirror of the TV screen an hour later – and a light fabric draped atop of him. Running his fingers across the knitted pattern, he realizes it's the blanket you were wrapped up in from before. As his head whips around to the spot to his right, you're nowhere to be seen.

She might've gone to the bathroom, he tells himself, running a hand through his tousled hair. As his throat feels somewhat dry, he rises from his seat in the recliner, trudging over to the kitchen to find the lights on.

You're sitting facing the door, so when Yoongi enters, you're quick to greet him, surprise evident in your features. "Oh, hey."

"Hey," he replies, voice still thick from slumber. "You're up?"

"Mhm," you mumble. "Couldn't fall back asleep."

With shaky hands, he pours himself some water before settling down onto the chair adjacent to you. It's quiet for a while – not the same kind of quiet as back in the living room though. This time, the buzzing sound from the ceiling light and the droplets of water from the tap render Yoongi queasy, the scene transpiring just an hour ago playing on a loop in the forefront of his mind. To break some of the tension, he says the first best thing he can think of at the moment. "Thanks, by the way." When you look at him in confusion, he clarifies, "For the blanket."

"Oh." A light chuckle escapes your lips. "Yeah, I figured you might need it." Fiddling with the cup you're cradling in your hands, you continue, "I don't get why you always walk around in short sleeves."

Yoongi lets out a low hum. "It's not like I'm immune to the cold, but I'm less prone to it."

"Really?" you question him with interest. "I feel like I'm freezing all the time. Here, look."

"Ah–" Yoongi winces in surprise when one of your hands curls around his, the surface of your palm frigid against his skin. Like hypnotized, his eyes are fixated on your fingers laying loosely atop of his, the delicate flesh of your digits brushing against his calloused ones, your meticulously manicured nails a shocking juxtaposition to the rough edges of his. He's taking in the soft pink of your nail polish, a similar shade to the tint on your lips and a stark contrast to the prominent purple veins raking across his knuckles like vines.

Despite the clear collision of different worlds, all Yoongi can think about is how this looks right and how this feels right. Your hand might be freezing cold, yet he's fighting the urge to intertwine fingers with you until the temperature of your limb matches his – but then he remembers who you are. "Yeah..." Slowly retracting his hand from yours, Yoongi's vision steers to a cracked tile on the floor, the memory of a clumsy Namjoon in drunken stupor coming to the forefront of his mind. "You're really cold," he murmurs.

As if some sort of spell was lifted, you empty the remnants of your water in one go before slowly rising from your seat. "I should probably get going."

"W-what?" Yoongi stammers with a slight delay, processing your words. "It's like"–he squints at the clock on the wall–"two in the morning."

"Yeah, well..." Placing your used cup in the sink, you turn back around to face him. "I have some things to do tomorrow, so I should probably get some good rest in my own bed instead of breaking my neck sleeping on your couch." You finish your explanation with a hint of a smile.

Yoongi watches you with caution, searching for any sign that might give away your innermost thoughts. He doesn't remember you talking about any plans earlier today. "Let me walk you home then."

"Oh no, it's fine. You don't have to." Vigorously waving your hands in front of you, you politely deny his proposal. Why are you so adamant about it?

"I think I do." He's unsure where his assertiveness is coming from, but the thought of you returning home in the dark all alone renders him with discomfort.

"Really, it's not the first time. I'll be fine."

The male scoffs at that. Even more of a reason now, he thinks to himself. Who in their right mind ever made you walk home by yourself? "I don't think so."

"It's really not that far and I have–"

"_____, I'm not letting you walk home alone at this hour. Over my dead body." Pushing his tongue into his cheek, Yoongi declares, "It's either that or I'm waking up one of the guys to take you instead."

When you look up at him with wide eyes, he's concerned he might have overstepped a boundary – but he's merely being sensible. What if something happened to you? The thought alone sends shivers down his spine. He would never be able to forgive himself.

Your small voice softly rings in his ears, barely noticeable but enough for him to be able to finally breathe again. "Okay."

The walk to your apartment is dead-silent most of the way except for when you mumble out directions. Once you arrive at your apartment complex, you send him a small smile, thanking him before turning on your heel without wasting another breath.

"_____!" Yoongi calls after you.

You halt in your steps, facing him again.

"Did I do something wrong?" He knows he didn't, but something must have happened that caused your change in attitude. There's no way you can be angry with him for wanting you to arrive home safe and sound.

When you walk back towards him, a weak smirk stretches across your face before you shake your head. "It's nothing," you reassure him. "It's not you."

The space in between his eyebrows furrows at your words. What do you mean by that? He's trying to study your face under the dim streetlight though all he can see is the faint outlines of your features.

"Thank you for walking me home."

The action catches Yoongi off-guard, but when you wrap your arms around his waist, cheek coming to a rest on his collarbone, he acts as if on autopilot, leisurely draping his limbs across your back. Man, despite you laying it down on him so strongly that you're cold all the time the hug feels pretty damn warm and cozy. He can sense your heartbeat through the layers of fabric, the swell of your breasts pressed against his chest –

Oh God.

Unfurling his arms, he releases you from his hold, stumbling a step backward before things can escalate any further. He's not supposed to have these thoughts – not about you.

You take the hint, your own limbs dropping to your sides as you send him one last look, the corners of your lips tugging upwards ever so slightly. And then you turn on your heel, leaving for good.

He waits until you've entered your apartment, a light igniting on the fifth floor an indicator that you have, but even then he can't seem to set foot until several minutes have passed.

It's still pitch-dark inside when Yoongi returns, the slivers of moonlight shining through the windows serving as his sole guide. Silently hanging his set of keys onto the keychain holder, he shuffles his way back into the living room.

In the meantime, Seokjin must have moved to his bedroom as no traces of him or the pillows and blankets on the floor are to be seen. He usually does that when the boys are over and they end up falling asleep with not enough space for everyone.

Steering his gaze to the left, he witnesses Namjoon's tall stature splayed out on the now entirely vacant couch, back turned towards him.

Realizing there's no need for him to retreat to the recliner, Yoongi stealthily moves past the sleeping bodies of his friends in search of his bedroom.

"Thank you, hyung," the deep timbre of Namjoon's voice suddenly sounds, just above a whisper but enough to startle him.

"What for?" he inquires, confused at his friend's words and the fact that he's still awake.

"For taking care of _____."

Clubs aren't Yoongi's terrain. He avoids them like a disease, the sole thought of being surrounded by sweaty strangers grinding on each other to shitty, repetitive music so loud it almost bursts your eardrums forcing him to gag. Yet here he is, sulky though dressed to impress – in his eyes – as he patiently waits for the rest of the group to finish up. He's well aware that he could have declined, but at the same time he didn't want to. She's gonna be there.

It's minutes later when the front door finally opens, revealing Hoseok first, followed closely by Namjoon – and then there's you.

This has to be some sort of fever dream. He's at high risk of being caught, but Yoongi can't take his eyes off of you. Your pearl-white dress paired with the matching heels sends his head reeling, the hemline of your skirt stopping about mid-thigh causing a blush to creep up on his cheeks. But he can't lose his cool in front of everyone. That would be stupid and weird – and not to mention outright treacherous.

"Ready to go?" Seokjin questions, clutching his car keys as the designated driver of the night.

Everyone quickly assembles at the front door except for Yoongi who takes a second to gather his thoughts.

"Are you coming?"

Yoongi lifts his head at the inquiry. When he realizes it's you who posed the question with your frame turned towards him, his heart starts pounding in his chest like a pump gun. If only you understood the insinuation behind those words... "Y-yeah, sure," he chokes out before clambering off the couch, and so the group steps outside to Seokjin's car.

"Hyung." Hoseok puts a hand on Yoongi's shoulder. "We already pre-gamed a little. You gotta sit in the back, or I get car sick."

Yoongi peers behind Hoseok's form, eyes landing on you. They're gonna make you sit in the middle because Namjoon would block the view through the rear window. He's fucked.

Without posing any further questions, he climbs into the right backseat. When you settle down next to him not even a second after, it's like all signs of lifeform leave him – his breathing becomes shallow, his heartbeat flatlines. Not even a single muscle moves.

Your bare thigh comes into contact with his when you squirm around in search of the buckle. "Oops, sorry." A small smile flashes across your face when you notice. "I think it's on your side."

Yoongi tries his hardest to avoid eye contact with you. He wouldn't survive it in this close proximity. "A-ah, yeah..." he mumbles, maneuvering his legs closer to the door, giving you enough space to fumble.

The entire ride to the club he remains silent, his racing thoughts drowning out the chatter in the background. He's so unbelievably fucked.

The majority of the time Yoongi spends at the bar, downing beer after beer to wash away the chaos inside his mind – though what he deemed his remedy at first turns out to be his poison instead. After the third beer, it's impossible to ignore the way your hair sways along with your movements, how well your snug dress hugs your silhouette, and how smooth your bare arms and legs look.

"Alright," you pipe over the loud music after swallowing your shot of tequila, "I'll be back on the dancefloor again." Sliding down the bar stool, you shoot a look at the boys, both Hoseok and Namjoon tagging along with you.

Seokjin sends an affirmative nod your way before turning back to the bartender, engaging in their current conversation.

Even among the crowd it's easy to spot you, the satin fabric of your garment causing you to stand out like a sore thumb. In Yoongi's eyes you easily lighten up this sleazy place though, this pit of hell where everyone devours each other with indecent looks. You're like an angel among demons, wearing that sweet smile of yours like a halo, glowing with understanding and genuine interest – only it isn't directed at him but Namjoon in this scenario instead.

He watches your face turn into something darker though when his friend leans in closer towards you, whispering something in your ear.

Oh... Fuck.

He can't do this right now. Not now, not like this.

Without giving it much thought, Yoongi gets up from his seat. "I'm gonna step out for a second," he informs Seokjin before trudging towards the backdoor.

Once he sets foot onto the asphalt of the back alley and the door shuts behind him with a loud thud, an exasperated sigh escapes him. The air is cold and crisp with a hint of humidity from a prior rain shower. "Fuck..." The curse comes out audibly this time. Walking around in circles, his hands come up multiple times to run through his tousled locks. Why does he feel so strongly about this situation? You're just a girl, some random girl, that one of his closest friends since childhood happens to have a crush on. Yeah, you're kind and you're smart, beautiful and funny... But why does all of that matter to him? Why does it bother him so much seeing you with him that his insides churn at the sole thought of it?

He fell for you. He actually fell for you.

The realization has Yoongi forcing out a laugh in disbelief.

"There you are."

A familiar voice brings him back from his manic trip.

"I found you."

Looking over to the side, he almost regrets his decision. Even underneath the dim streetlights and the red hue of the neon sign plastered on the concrete wall you look stunning. Pull your fucking shit together, he tells himself. So he musters up the faintest of smiles at the source of the voice.

Your heels click on the asphalt as you make your way over to him, the surface still wet from the rain as it emits a splashing sound with each step. When you lean next to him against the wall, you let out a soft whine along with a chuckle before retracting from the surface in lightning speed. "Ah, it's cold."

Yoongi can't help but react with a soft chortle. "And wet," he adds, shrugging off his leather jacket in an attempt to throw it over your shoulders though you don't comply.

"Oh no," you fend. "I'll just go back inside where it's warm. I only wanted to cool off for a bit."

For some reason, your words render him even more eager in his proposition. "Don't be ridiculous. Put it on, please."

"Really, I came out for a breather, and that's what I got. Besides," you gesture towards him, "you're wearing short sleeves again–"

"And you're practically half-naked, so don't try to argue with me." It takes him a second to register what came out of his mouth, so when you look up at him with a dumbfounded expression, he immediately backtracks from his statement. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I'm just–"

"You're just trying to be nice. I know," you finish for him.

Even though he would usually word it this way, there's more to it that he refrains from revealing. The alcohol coursing through his veins serves as a strong opponent though, clouding his senses.

With outstretched arms and pouty lips, you let him drape the heavy clothing over your torso, carefully looping your limbs through the sleeves. The sight of you standing there like a sulky child has him suppressing laughter.

"What?" You eye him, a glint evident in your glare before it softens again.

A small smile stretches across the man's lips, hinting at a confusing blend of endearment and disappointment. "Nothing," he simply states. He's in it – deep in it – with no way out. God, he wants to tell you that you're the most beautiful thing he's ever laid eyes on even though it would be wrong to admit.

"Can I ask you a question?" you finally break the palpable silence.

He gulps, unsure of your possible inquiry, but ultimately nods his head yes.

"It's two questions actually." Licking your lips, you shift your focus to a nearby puddle, the reflection of the light coming from the neon sign gifting it with more depth than it probably possesses. "Does Namjoon happen to have a crush on me?"

You come in straight with the facts, so Yoongi is taken aback, confused over how to go about it. "Uh..." he stammers, hand shooting up to scratch at the nape of his neck.

There are so many possible outcomes to this conversation. If he tells you the truth, things end right here, right now. Do not pass Go, do not collect 200 dollars. Does he think Namjoon should've confessed a long time ago? Yes, absolutely. Does he have it in his heart to shorten the process and do it himself instead? Absolutely not. First of all, it's Namjoon's wish to keep it a secret until he musters up enough courage to do so (which Yoongi can only so much as scoff at but still respect), and second and most important of all, there's this lingering fear of you reciprocating his friend's feelings – which isn't too far off of reality from the looks of it.

Realizing he hasn't given you a proper reply yet, Yoongi continues, "Well–"

"So it's true then." You cross your arms in front of your chest, your eyes finding his again boring into them with intent.

"I didn't say that," Yoongi counters, his glare holding yours in an attempt to ignore that glimpse of your cleavage framed by his jacket. It's not an easy feat as your folded arms give it an extra push, the pendant of your necklace sitting neatly atop of it.

"Yoongi, it's not like any of you are exactly subtle about it."

The words leave your lips in such a deadpan way, that trace of indifference within your answer shocking Yoongi as if you don't share the same sentiment. "Then why do you ask if you're so sure about it?" he fends in retaliation, finding no energy in himself to fight against your rebuttal. There's no reason to backtrack now. "Why do you ask me and not Namjoon?"

"I guess I..." The space in between your eyebrows creases. "I don't wanna have to break his heart."

Now it's Yoongi's turn to look at you in confusion. "W-what do you mean?"

He doesn't miss the way you roll your bottom lip in between your teeth, your eyes once dead set on him now avoiding the intensity of his. "Don't get me wrong. I like Namjoon, I really do – just not in that way."

For a second the world seems to stand still, your words slowly sinking into Yoongi's mind. He had it all wrong this entire time since you were dead convincing. Were you just playing some sick, twisted mind game all along?

You continue, "He's a great guy and everything, and I'm probably stupid for not seeing something that could potentially be there. But it's not him I'm interested in." Running a hand through your hair, you let out a loud huff. "I know I'm gonna have to tell him eventually. The thought already stresses me out."

"Namjoon appreciates honesty. Just right out tell him how you feel," Yoongi explains calmly despite the chaos raging inside of him. Honesty. His and Namjoon's friendship has never been of the complicated type, built on nothing but trust. Now he's committing the biggest crime in their twenty years of brotherhood, his eyes lingering on the sparkly sheen of your lips for a second too long wondering what they would taste like contradicting every principle he's trying to uphold. But wait – what do you mean it's not him I'm interested in?

"Yeah, you're right." Your words pull him out of his trance. "I'll talk to him as soon as I can."

Yoongi mirrors that weak smirk spreading across your face. "What's the other question?"

"Huh?"

"You said you had two questions," he recalls.

"Oh, yeah..."

It's quiet for an instance as he watches you deep in thought, struggling with whatever occupies your mind before you shake your head.

"Nevermind."

"Come on." His brows furrow at your curt reply. "Tell me."

"No, it's stupid," you counter, an embarrassed expression taking over your features.

"Nothing you say could ever be stupid." He doesn't think twice about the words leaving his lips, ignoring this weird mixture of regret and shame surging through him. "You brought it up, so just–"

"Do you have a crush on me, too?" you blurt out, eyes set on Yoongi's like your life depends on it.

It's almost as if all sense of being leaves him, his limbs growing rigid and his breath being knocked out of his lungs. How the fuck is he going to go about this? "What?" he merely responds, still in shock.

You blink up at him a couple of times, lips trembling as if you're about to elaborate – though you retract instead. "Forget it." Still facing him, you take a step backward before turning on your heel.

It can't be more than a split second, but within that time frame a million thoughts cross through Yoongi's mind. You have to suspect him for you to ask this question in the first place which poses several questions: how obvious has he been this entire time and why would you want to know the answer? Is it to ridicule him? Is it something entirely else? Whatever the answer may be, Yoongi needs to know – no matter the cost. "Don't," he croaks out, almost unconvincing in the way his voice wavers. "Don't go."

You watch him with wistful eyes as you turn around again, arms still crossed in front of your chest.

"What would you do if I said yes?" Usually, he would set the record straight right away, but this is unlike any other situation Yoongi has ever experienced before. Your presence alone renders him insecure yet the alcohol coursing through his veins causes him to come up with somewhat courageous statements like these.

Taking another step closer towards him, you lean against the wall beside you, one leg leisurely resting in front of the other. "I guess you're gonna find out."

With an incredulous chuckle, he mirrors your movements though his hands bury into the pockets of his jeans instead. You're not even two feet apart from each other, enough for him to feel the heat radiating off of your body. "What makes you so sure about that?"

Despite the shake of your head, the man can still make out the smirk stretching across your face. "Two things: one, you're stalling. If you wanted to say no, you already would've said so. And two," you lick your lips before drawing them into a thin line, "simple intuition."

"Intuition?" he repeats.

"Mhm," you hum out. "Maybe."

Another chortle escapes him. How has this turned into a cat and mouse game? And who is who?

"Or maybe you're just insanely obvious," you fend, a mischievous grin finding its way onto your features.

"Me?" He scoffs. "Obvious?"

A sole nod of your head seals your answer, and maybe his mind is playing tricks on him, but Yoongi swears he can sense some sort of chemistry brewing in between the both of you. But then again, why would you show any signs of interest in him? He's him and you're...you. Perfect, stellar _____ whom his best friend is pining for. He's stuck between a rock and a hard place, unable to deny his feelings yet the idea of Namjoon's heart being crushed comes to the forefront of his mind. Although the sheer thought of losing you tears him apart equally as bad as hypothetically losing his closest companion since childhood.

In hindsight, he wonders if things would've turned out different, if things could've been avoided, had Namjoon confessed to you and had you reciprocated. Yoongi wouldn't have developed feelings for you – at least he believes so. Now he's so deep in shit he doesn't see any way out of it without someone getting the short end of the stick. Either way someone's going to get hurt, and he decides it rather be him instead.

"Cat got your tongue?"

Yoongi comes back to life at the sound of your voice, the soft lilt alluding to your ignorance.

"Would it make things easier for you if–"

His brows furrow in surprise when you step closer to him, so close that you're almost chest to chest.

"–I said I liked you back?"

Did he hear you right? Did you just imply that you– There's no way. This can't be real. "What kinda sick joke is this?" The words leave his lips without much thought.

Now it's your turn to look at him in confusion, eyebrows creased with a deep-set frown. "What?"

Huffing out in frustration, Yoongi declares more deadpan than he prefers, "You're right – I like you, _____. And you say you like me, but..." He stalls, the residue of alcohol complicating the process of keeping his emotions in check. He can't have an outburst happen in front of you. The situation is already complicated enough as is. "Why do you act like that around Namjoon? I don't understand."

You look like you're about to reply with the way your bottom lip quivers, a hint of tears forming in the corners of your eyes, but a rusty creak along with a loud slam of metal and an all-too-familiar deep voice have you both turning your heads towards the door.

Shit.

"Namjoon," you two mumble in unison before rushing back inside.

Yoongi can already hear the commotion when you enter the hallway connecting the back entrance with the main room.

"Dude, calm down. What's going on?" Hoseok holds the younger man by the arm to stop him from storming past the crowd.

Namjoon looks back at the two of you. His nostrils are flared and his jaw set – Yoongi is scared he might pounce on him any second.

When his friend finally releases himself from Hoseok's hold and stalks over to you, he instinctively pulls you behind him. He knows Namjoon would never hurt anybody, but the thought of you being in this mess in your vulnerable state sends him into protector mode.

"I should've known," he starts. "It was crystal clear this entire time, but I didn't wanna accept it. Well," running a hand through his dirty blonde strands, he continues, "now I have proof."

"Joon, let me explain." Yoongi tries to defuse the situation. "It's not–"

"It's not what it looks like? Is that what you're trying to say?" Letting out a scoff, his stare shoots even more daggers at the shorter male now. "So I didn't see you confessing your feelings to the girl I like just seconds ago? This was all in my imagination then?"

Yoongi's mouth turns dry, a lump forming in his throat. "Joon, just hear me out–"

"Oh, I think I've heard more than enough." Clasping his head in his hands, he continues, "I didn't think you would stab me in the fucking back like that."

"Namjoon!" It's Hoseok's voice now calling the male's name in warning.

Another curse escapes him before he leans in closer towards you.

He might be mistaken, but Yoongi's hand suddenly feels heavier, another set of fingers weaving their way through his in search of comfort.

"Good luck with the virgin," Namjoon snarls, his eyes traveling from you to the male beside you.

"Kim Namjoon!" Seokjin steps in this time, fury evident in his face before said man can make his way to the exit, leaving everyone in shock.

Yoongi's ears fall deaf after that, a pit opening in the depths of his stomach, every fiber of his being becoming numb. He's neither particularly ashamed nor proud of this fact, but the way the words came out of Namjoon's mouth has him almost toppling over in disbelief.

He doesn't understand what's happening around him, but when what he believes to be your head drops onto his shoulder, he comes back to his senses. The contact is fleeting though as you detangle yourself from his grip.

"I'm sorry," you murmur, and without taking a look back, you disappear within the crowd, someone calling your name over and over again without an answer.

It's then that Yoongi realizes he and Seokjin are the only ones left.

"Stay here," the elder signalizes him, following your trail through the club.

Fuck. Fuck! How could things have gotten so uncontrollably out of hand? There's an uncomfortable tightness forming in Yoongi's chest, wrapping around him like a rope. Is this going to be the end of his and Namjoon's two-decade-old friendship? Is he going to lose one of his closest confidants because of a girl? The thought leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. You're not just some random girl – you're far more than that. He despises himself for even thinking of diminishing your worth, his heart clenching in disgust, yet there's no way this can be the end of things. He should've never fallen for you.

Your mind must be racing as well though, Yoongi concludes. You basically confirmed that you have feelings for him as well – if what you said was the truth because, after all, you have been heavily flirting with Namjoon in front of Yoongi. If so, how are they going to hold up after this mess? And – the idea has him swallowing down hard – are you turned off by the fact that he's a virgin?

His priorities are all over the place right now. Is he going to have to make a choice between you and his friend? Or are you both going to abandon him maybe? Fuck...

"Yoongi!" The familiar sound of Seokjin's voice appears at the perfect time, catching him before he can fall deeper into despair. "Let's go home."

"What about _____?" he inquires, not realizing your name slipping off his tongue first instead of Namjoon's.

"She's in the car," the elder explains. "Hoseok and Namjoon are taking an Uber home."

There's nothing much Yoongi can offer besides a solemn nod before following Seokjin outside to the parking lot.

The dusty green of his roommate's old Honda Civic comes into view, and for a second Yoongi considers taking the seat next to you when he catches a glimpse of you through the window, head hung low and hair falling in front of your face. The sight has him opting for the passenger seat instead.

Most of the car ride remains calm, not even the radio playing any sort of music. An incoming call from Hoseok informs everyone that he and Namjoon arrived at home safely and that the man – though still somewhat in distress – will be alright and won't do anything stupid in his drunken state. Yoongi is more than thankful for the eldest's sobriety and clear mind in this situation though it only does so much easing the nervous shaking of his leg and the incessant picking of his cuticles.

It's not long before you arrive at your apartment complex, once the car comes to a halt your fragile voice filling the silence. "Thanks for the ride. Goodnight." And without sparing one single glance, you climb out of the vehicle, shutting the door with a loud thud.

Silence settles again, no one daring to speak until Seokjin moves to ignite the engine again. It comes to life with a spluttering roar when suddenly the door to the passenger seat opens.

"Yoongi!" Seokjin calls out for the younger male only to be answered by the door slamming shut again.

You're already rummaging around for your house keys when his voice stops you in your tracks.

"_____, wait." He breathes out, a cloud of mist forming in the air. It's only then that he realizes how cold it has actually become – and that he's still without his jacket.

You slowly turn around, your arms wrapped around you for comfort.

The look you send Yoongi hits him straight in the chest. It's dim under the light of the entrance to your apartment complex, yet he can spot the streaks of runny mascara around your eyes. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice small and unsure.

Your arms fall to your sides lethargically. It's quiet for a long time before you speak up. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I'm sorry, I messed everything up."

Yoongi vehemently shakes his head at your apology. "You have nothing to apologize for. It's not your fault."

At that, you mimic his gesture, a small whimper resonating from you as fresh tears start to form again. "Earlier, you asked me why I act that way when I'm with Namjoon..." You stall, visibly swallowing down a lump in your throat. "At first it was because I wanted to give it a serious shot. I could tell he liked me, and I was actually considering it. But my heart just wasn't in the right place."

The first tears trickle down your cheeks. "So I thought if I ended things early I wouldn't have a reason to stick around anymore."

The space in between Yoongi's brows furrows at your explanation, but he lets you continue without interjecting.

"I was scared I wasn't gonna be able to be around you anymore, so instead I led Namjoon on and then this whole mess happened." In between heavy sniffles, the tears flow uncontrollably now.

Never in his life has Yoongi been so dumbfounded, so struck to silence by a hurtful truth. Words don't even come close to describing what he's experiencing in this moment, a mixture of frustration and disappointment concentrated in the core of his body, but something tugs on his heartstrings at the sight of you. Your presence comes across as frail, that damn black leather jacket almost swallowing you up entirely, engulfing you in darkness. It's kind of ironic, this comparison of images: Yoongi in his initial head-to-toe black attire if it wasn't for the white, slim-fit t-shirt on his torso, and you in your skimpy, white dress as your centerpiece though it's now being dominated by that foreign black piece of clothing. It's as if you traded pieces of each other, innocence and corruption cohabitating within the two of you – no one entirely good, no one entirely evil.

"God, I feel like such a whore!" you suddenly exclaim, your whines becoming louder. Burying your face in your hands, you cry with reckless abandon.

Yoongi is stunned at your response – and heartbroken that you would call yourself names like that. It wasn't an ideal approach, but at the end of the day everyone had their wrong-doings. He should've never given in to your advances, and Namjoon should've confessed to you.

It takes you a while to regain composure, and Yoongi feels compelled to console you though he refrains from it when you strut over to him, shrugging off the jacket in the process. "I'm not sure what kinda outcome I was expecting, but I didn't think it would tear you two apart like this." A huge question mark appears in Yoongi's head when you elaborate, your fist thrusting the heavy leather towards him which he takes with a slight delay. "I don't wanna take part in this if it means your friendship's on the line."

His soul leaves him in an instant, that unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach tightening, tenfold in severity now. The worst-case scenario has come to life – he lost his best friend and he lost you.

"I'm so sorry," you murmur for the umpteenth time this night, and with that you turn around, unlocking the front door and leaving Yoongi alone in the dark as it clicks shut behind you.

Seconds upon seconds pass by as Yoongi tries to come to terms with what happened, a lightheaded sensation creeping up on him, causing him to collapse at the knees. Now he's in a crouched position on the concrete platform, dismissing the freezing cold nipping at his exposed skin. His elbows come to a rest on his bent joints, his hands clasping around his head as if to shield himself from the outside world. Fuck... Fuck! There's no way things are going to go back to the way they were. Everything's fucked.

"Hey, man." Yoongi discerns Seokjin's voice beside him. "Come on, let's get you home."

The elder hoists him up by the shoulders, retrieving the leather garment that lifelessly lies on the ground to throw it over his shivering form.

"Hyung..." Yoongi mumbles out. "I fucked up."

753 notes · View notes

foreverindreamlandd · 3 years

Text

In the Embers ~ 6

Pairing: Firefighter!Bucky x F!Plus Size!Adopted Rogers!Reader

WC: 4.9k

Summary: After returning home from a failed career as an artist in LA, you are reunited with the boy next door who has always owned a piece of your heart, and there's no running from each other this time.

Chapter Note: *hides behind Big Oaky*

Chapter Warnings: Brock being an asshole, John being an asshole, underage drinking, very very very brief mention of nsfw content.

Series Masterlist / Series Playlist

EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD (pt. 1)

“Let’s hear it for Barnes and Little Rogers!”

The entire crowd erupted with belligerent cheers as you and Bucky stood awkwardly in the basement of the Barnes household, Bucky turning to give you a small sheepish grin. You shrugged with your own smile as you knocked back whatever battery acid drink John had made you.

When Steve and Sam came up with the idea of doing a joint party for the two of you - your high school graduation party and a farewell to Bucky before he left for the army - you protested, never liking the idea of being the center of attention, even though you knew most of the attendees would be there for their favorite town bartender and former high school quarterback.

But Bucky nudged your side with his elbow, cutting off your rant about how you didn’t need a big party, just your friends and family.

“Come on, Oak,” he urged, “You only graduate high school once. Besides, I’m sure we can have it at my place and the moms can hang out next door. If anything happens or you don’t want to be there anymore you can just walk twenty feet and be home.”

You couldn’t argue with that logic. Besides, John had been begging for you to go to more parties ever since he came back from his first year of college, whining about how boring this summer was going to be compared to life at school. Long distance (which wasn’t really that far but John made it seem like it was almost impossible to see each other during the year) had been tough for the two of you, and you wanted to make sure he was happy to be home so that he wouldn’t leave and never come back.

Of course he was stoked about the party, and now he was absolutely shitfaced, never staying more than 10 feet away from the makeshift bar on one of the folding tables.

“Baby,” he cooed, wrapping his arms around you from behind, “Why don’t we go into one of the rooms and have some fun?” His words were slurring and you fought back a gag at his breath.

You had already consumed a couple of John’s dangerous drinks, but your fuzzy brain found the strength to pull away. “John, no. There’s so many people here. Can’t we just hang out and spend time with our friends?” You cocked your head over to Sarah.

He groaned, taking a giant swig of his drink and pulling his arms away. “You’re no fun,” he muttered, punching you in the gut with his biting words. “Why won’t you just let me love you, baby?”

Your eyes narrowed as you crossed your arms. “I’m sorry, you’re saying I don’t let you love me because I don’t want to sneak into some dark room during a party while you can barely stand?”

He scoffed, shaking his head and stumbling away. “Whatever.”

Ignoring the pit in your stomach, you decided to head over to Sarah, wrapping an arm around your best friend’s waist and leaning your head on her shoulder.

“I love you,” you mumbled.

She giggled. “I love you, too. How you feelin, babe?”

Your laugh came out as more of a groan. “Boys are dumb.”

“A-freaking-MEN to that, girl. I still say you should give women a try. Not that they’re necessarily less dramatic. Wait, what did John do?”

You sighed. “Nothing. Had too much to drink, I guess. I just get nervous seeing him like this and thinking about how he acts at school when I’m not around.”

She hmphed, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “I still think you should dump his ass. You don’t need to be worrying about him while at RISD. Hell no.”

You felt a knot forming in your stomach as you fought back your initial response.

How can I let go of someone when they might be the only person to ever want me?

Instead, you stood straight, kissing your best friend on the cheek. “Thanks for looking out, but I’m sure he’s fine. It’s John, and we’ve been together almost two years. Brown is right next to RISD so I’m sure we’ll see so much more of each other once we’re in the same city.”

Sarah tsked, giving you one last squeeze before you walked to the bar to refill your drink. This time, you made sure there was more orange juice than vodka. Just as you started pouring, some guy stumbled backwards and into you, causing orange juice to spill all over your shirt.

“Shit,” you muttered, shuffling through the crowd to get to the bathroom. At this point, your fuzzy brain had finally got the best of you and you hadn’t thought to knock on the door before opening it.

Where you found John sitting on the toilet with his pants down, mouth locked onto the neck of Dot as she straddled him.

NOW

Bucky was storming over toward the car before you had a chance to hang up and pull into the driveway.

Brock had noticed the big hulking man barrelling over in his direction and jumped out of the vehicle you basically paid for before Bucky could raise a fist to the glass window.

“Woah woah woah, what’s your problem buddy?”

“My problem?” Bucky didn’t stop until he stood towering over Brock, keeping your ex’s back pressed against the car. Brock’s eyes were wide with fear. “My problem is that you got out of your car instead of staying inside and driving as far away from here as fucking possible.”

“I’m sorry, but what business is it that I’m here? Is this your house?”

The moment you walked up to them, everything turned to chaos, the three of you trying to talk over one another.

“Brock-” you started.

“Y/n, baby, there you are-”

“What are you doing here-”

“Don’t you fucking dare talk to her-” Bucky shoved Brock against the car when he tried to take a step toward you.

“And who the hell are you to decide who gets to talk to her-”

“Bucky, please, it’s okay I got this-”

Brock went quiet, eyes narrowing at the mention of Bucky’s name as he stared at the giant man who had placed himself in between you and your ex, one hand slightly extended in your direction in a protective gesture.

Then, Brock started laughing, and Bucky took a step back closer to you.

“I’ll be damned,” Brock sneered, shaking his head. “Bucky. I thought you looked familiar. Now it all makes sense. You seem to be everywhere.”

“Brock,” you stepped forward past Bucky, “Just stop. What do you want?”

“Look, can we talk?” He looked past your shoulder, scowling. “Alone.”

You turned to Bucky, catching that his eyes were locked in a lethal gaze with Brock’s. “Bucky,” your words broke his spell and he looked at you, face softening, “You got the spare key right?” He nodded, jaw clenching. Your voice lowered so only he could hear you as you continued, “Please just go into the house and I’ll talk to Brock. It’ll be fine. He’s not going to hurt me. Anything weird happens, I’ll run inside and get you.”

Bucky’s teeth bit down on the inside of his cheek as he debated whether to fight against your wishes or follow along with them. You knew doing the latter would go against everything he stood for, to not protect you if he thought you were in danger. He had been doing that your whole life. Well, most of it.

Still, he trusted you, and that was what finally made him choose the latter. He gave Brock one last death glare, then turned his focus back to you. A large, calloused hand rested on the sleeve of your jacket with a gentle squeeze, and then he was walking toward the front door of your house.

You wished more than anything that Brock weren’t her; that you could follow Bucky into your home and spend the rest of the night watching a movie or forcing him to show you how to make his delicious apple pie while drinking some of the leftover scotch Nat and Steve brought to last Sunday dinner.

You wished that life had gone differently, that things with the boy next door hadn’t ended right when they started, that the two of you hadn’t abandoned whatever spark you found and gone down separate paths. That you hadn’t allowed your desperation to let you follow Brock, let him use you and break you and take you from everything you loved.

But this was where life had taken you. On your own, left with the messes that you had played a large part in creating. Bucky was the protective brother figure as he always had been, and Brock was the thorn in your side that you were determined to rip out no matter the cost.

“Alright,” you said as you turned back to your ex, “Now can you please tell me what you’re doing here?”

With his threat finally gone, Brock’s face switched from annoyance to his best pouty face, the one he used whenever he wanted to soften you up. He ran his fingers through his short black hair before placing both of them into his pockets, his head cocked to the side, and he gave you his most (what used to be) charming side smile.

“Baby, I miss you. I made a huge mistake with that girl. I don’t know what came over me. Must have been all the stress I was under with work, and I felt like you didn’t want me anymore. I love you so much baby, and I want to spend the rest of my life telling you that.”

Nausea flooded into your stomach, all blood leaving your face at the unexpected proclamation. You shook your head. “What…where is this coming from-”

“You know how I get when I’m stressed out. I get all manic and crazy, do the worst shit imaginable because I can’t think straight! I promise I’ll try to be better. I’m working on getting back on my shit and being the best guy for my babygirl.”

The nickname, which used to give you butterflies, now made you cringe. “Brock, you can’t just come here and expect me to pack up my life and leave because you want me to. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m here, and I have a life and a job here. It might not be the glitz and glam of LA but at least I’m happy for the first time in years.”

Saying it out loud for the first time, knowing that what you said was completely and utterly true, caused you to breathe out a small laugh at the revelation.

Meanwhile, Brock just scoffed. “What, living with your mom in this dump of a town? In this house? Baby, if we sold a few more of your paintings we could buy ourselves a mansion five times the size of this! Sales haven’t been great with the stuff you left me, but we can try again and get ourselves in better shape in no time. Just gotta get your creative brain back into shape and all of our problems will be solved!”

Ah, and there it was.

“You’re not here for me, are you Brock?”

His head shifted side to side in confusion. “What does that mean? Of course I’m here for you bab-”

“Stop calling me baby,” you snapped, arm folding over your chest. “This isn’t about us, this is about you. You need me for money.”

“What the hell? How could you say that-”

“So what, you’re mad because you can’t sell any of the art you stole from me-”

“I never stole it if it was legally mine-”

“-and now you’re stuck and need me to get to work so I can keep your cash flow coming.” Your chuckle was filled with bitterness. “You really never did care about me, did you? You only cared about what I could do for you. That ends. Now. I’m finally at a point in my life for the first time in so long that I feel fucking loved and supported, and there is no way in hell I’m giving that up for you.”

Brock stared at you, jaw locked in anger, the rest of his body shuffling around in manic movements. “Is this about that guy?”

You frowned. “What guy?”

His arm lifted in a gesture toward the house. “Mr. Wannabe Tough Guy Deadbeat?”

Your fists clenched. “Bucky is anything but a deadbeat,” you seethed. “He’s a better man than you could ever hope to be.”

His brows raised, and he let out a long whistle. “Damn, you got it bad for this guy, don’t you?”

Embarrassment coursed through your body and you dropped your gaze to the ground. Brock chuckled.

“You think that he is gonna go for a girl like you? Get a grip, Y/n. Some loser in the suburbs who crashed and burned when she tried to make it big? Without your art, you’re nothing.”

Tears stung your eyes at the words that had been soft whispers in the back of your mind ever since you moved home. Hell, even long before then. It was easy to shove those voices down and ignore them, but hearing them out loud, even from a low life like Brock, it felt like it was the final validation they needed to totally consume you, and you were brought back to feeling like that scared, vulnerable girl in her 20s, fresh out of college and desperate to be wanted by someone.

No. You weren’t going to let the voices win this time. You weren’t that girl.

Not anymore.

“Go away Brock.” Your voice was quiet, a bit wavering, but strong. “I’m not leaving with you, so just go.”

He let out a long, annoyed breath, rolling his eyes and shaking his head as he silently walked back to the Tesla you paid for, leaving you standing in the middle of your front yard, empty and numb.

“Whatever,” he muttered, “You’ll be begging for me to take you back soon enough.”

Instead of going inside, where Bucky was probably waiting anxiously, you walked to Big Oaky, sitting down in your favorite spot and leaning your back against the trunk. It was a cool November evening, and your denim jacket wasn’t thick enough to keep you warm, but you found the sting of the chill comforting as you stared up at the stars.

“Oak.”

You looked down at Bucky, now standing over you, responding to his concerned expression with a half-hearted smile.

“Hey, Buck.”

His eyes scanned your face, desperate to get a read on how you were feeling. “Are you okay?”

You rolled your eyes and gave him a small shrug. “Been better, I guess. Sorry you had to see that.”

He shook his head, jaw working. “Don’t be sorry. That piece of shit had no right coming here.” He pointed to the spot next to you and you nodded, giving him permission to sit by your side. You pressed your arm against his warm flannel. “What did he want?”

“Oh you know,” you said, picking at the loose frays on the sleeve of your jacket, “Just wanted me to move back to LA and make more art for him so he didn’t run out of money.”

Bucky stilled by your side. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

“No you will not,” you gently shoved him with the right side of your body. “I can’t let you go to jail and deprive myself of your sweet rolls.” Bucky raised his brow at you and you felt heat rise to your face, and not one that you welcomed to fight the cold. “I did not mean it like that.”

He let out a grumbly laugh. “Alright then, I won’t kill him. I’ll just kick his ass.”

“You have to stop trying to kick the ass of everyone who hurts me, Bucky.”

He looked over to meet your eye, and though the light had faded from the sky, the blue of his irises shone brightly enough to pierce yours.

“I know. It’s just, if I could do anything to keep you from being hurt, I would do it, Oak.”

“Not worth it.”

A younger, more closed-off voice belonging to the man at your side smothered any butterflies you might have felt from his statement, leaving you speechless, too conflicted to respond.

Instead, you turned your gaze back to the stars, and Bucky did the same. The two of you sat there in silence for a few minutes, until the cold betrayed you and caused you to let out a small shiver.

Bucky groaned out a small laugh, moving to stand up. “Sorry Oak, but I can’t have you freezing to death.” He extended his left hand and you grabbed it as you stood. This time, unlike your reunion a few weeks ago, you made sure not to trip on any roots, and you remained planted on your own two feet.

He walked you to your front door, hand no longer holding yours but still close enough that you could grab it if you needed to.

“Do you want me to stay over? I can sleep on the couch if you’re nervous about him coming back.”

You shook your head. “That’s okay, Buck. I don’t think he’ll be back.”

“Okay, but remember I’m next door. If anything happens, if you need me, just give me a call and I’ll be here.”

As if I could ever forget that you’re right next door.

You smiled. “Thanks, Buck. For everything. I know the night turned to shit, but I had a really great day. I didn’t realize I had ‘slide down a fire pole’ on my bucket list, but now I will happily cross it off.”

He chuckled. “You were awesome today. We should really think about getting you on the team.”

“Hey, maybe if the bartending thing doesn’t work out…”

The two of you laughed softly until it dissipated into silence, your eyes locking on each other.

Bucky bobbed his head down. “Goodnight, Oak.”

“Goodnight, Bucky.”

He turned to make his way toward his house as soon as you were inside. Two minutes later, your phone buzzed.

Bucky: Remember, I’m here if you need me.

You sighed, shaking your head as your brain debated whether to smile or frown at the message.

Would he really be there?

The first night after seeing Brock, you had hardly gotten any sleep.

It was easy to act tough and confident in front of Bucky, but as soon as you were by yourself in an empty house you grew more anxious. Could you really be sure that your manic ex wasn’t going to show up in the middle of the night?

Any sound - whether it was a loud gust of wind or a branch hitting your window - made you jumpy.

Still, night passed into day, and nothing had happened.

Bucky texted you first thing the next morning to make sure you were okay, which you assured him you were. You spent the morning doing more depressing apartment hunting before getting to work. Though you had been saving almost every penny you earned, it still wasn’t enough to be able to afford even the shitty studio apartments in town.

Today’s shift was with Sarah, who spent the majority of the time conveying how Carol couldn’t stop singing your praises for doing such a great job with Wanda at the Fall Festival.

“I never knew you were so good with kids! I mean, obviously Cass and AJ love you, but all of the kiddos who stopped by said you were so much fun to hang out with. If you’re around next year, you should definitely do it again.”

You smiled, jostling the shaker around to mix a martini for a customer. “You know, I just might. Seeing that my art career is probably over and I’ll most likely be working for you forever just so I can save up to finally move out of my mom’s home. You’ll never be able to get rid of me.”

She cocked her head down and gave you a look. “Y/n, babe, come on. You and I both know that this isn’t all there is for you. Don’t get me wrong, I think you working here has been really good for you, and not just because you get to see me all the time.” You both laughed. “But that doesn’t mean that you’re stuck here. If you love this job, you can have it forever. If you’re itching for something else, though, don’t hold yourself back from it.”

You clenched your jaw to keep yourself from crying, pulling out a glass and pouring the mixture from the shaker in, stopping it just before it reached the rim. “It’s just, art was my thing. It was what I used to do to help myself feel better and escape from all my problems, but then somewhere along the way it got distorted to make it feel like the only way I could be worthy of anything was through my art. I didn’t deserve anyone’s respect or attention if I didn’t have something to give to them. Without my art, I was nothing.” You winced as you repeated Brock’s words from last night. “And living like that for so many years, it’s a hard mentality to let go of.”

You grabbed an olive with a skewer and placed it in the glass, handing it over to the woman who ordered it. When you returned, Sarah’s mouth was set in a thin line.

“I’m gonna kill that Brock guy.”

The sudden laugh that came from you made Sarah’s brows furrow in confusion.

“Sorry. It’s just, you’re not the first person to say that to me in the last 24 hours.”

She frowned. “Who else said it?”

Your smile dropped, and you turned your focus on collecting dishes as you muttered, “Bucky.”

“Who?” Sarah asked loudly.

“Bucky,” you responded with the same volume, then felt a rush of heat rise to your face in embarrassment, scrubbing a non-existent stain on the glass in your hands.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Sarah cross her arms.

“Bucky threatened to kill Brock?”

“Well, not to his face. He had already left at that point-”

“Hold up,” you looked at Sarah as she shook her face in surprise and confusion, “When the hell was Brock here?”

You grimaced, picking up another ‘dirty’ glass, then proceeded to tell her about last night.

By the time you were done, your anxious cleaning had made the whole area within five feet of you spotless.

Sarah pursed her lips, her nose flared with rage. “That’s it, I’m calling Bucky and the two of us are hauling ass to LA and killing this man.”

“Save me a seat!” Dum Dum called from the end of the bar. You turned your head to glare at him.

“No, no one is killing him. I don’t want to make this a bigger deal. Brock is gone, I’m fine, nobody needs to worry about it.”

Sarah sighed, nodding in acceptance and resting a hand on your arm. “Regardless, I’m glad you’re okay, and I’m glad Bucky was there.”

You smiled. “Me, too.”

Her hand squeezed your arm. “He’s been around a lot, I’ve noticed.”

Your eyes widened, more heat rising in your cheeks. You tried to laugh it off. “He’s my neighbor, Sarah. And Steve’s best friend. He’s family.”

Her head cocked down once again - man she was good at giving that ‘I know everything’ look - eyes boring into you.

“Girl. He comes to the bar all the time, only when he knows you’re working, and when he’s not your phone is constantly buzzing because he’s texting you. And I don’t know if you even noticed but I was there at the firehouse yesterday. I could see the drop of drool ready to fall from your mouth and I saw the way his whole face freaking lit up when he saw you.”

You shook your head. “Sarah, it’s nothing-”

“It’s not nothing, Y/n! It’s just what I said in high school. The pining between you two is once again absolutely ridiculous and undeniable.”

The shots of tequila you were pouring were looking more and more tempting. Maybe the group who ordered them wouldn’t notice if one was missing…“I know that’s what you said back then. And for a second, I agreed. But you were there. You know what happened.”

“Things change, though! You were both kids. Maybe this time it’s different-”

The bottle of tequila slammed on the bar, almost hard enough to break the bottle. “Stop.” Your voice was harsher than you intended but you couldn’t seem to will yourself to settle down. “I love you, but you have to stop. I can’t let myself think like that. I can’t….I can’t go through that again.”

Flashes of the aftermath of that summer entered your brain. You curled up in a ball in your bed. Crying yourself to sleep every night that first year of college. Not eating. Looking in the mirror and hating what you saw more than ever before, thinking you were unlovable. It took so long to get over Bucky, to move on from the dream that suddenly became a total nightmare.

Now, with your heart pounding and your face flushing, you realized that you were too close to going back to those days where you still felt a sense of hope that Bucky might have felt the same.

He didn’t. Sure, he loved you. But it wasn’t the same way you loved him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, looking at Sarah. “I shouldn’t have freaked.”

Your best friend gave you a small smile, then wrapped her arms around you for a side hug. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

You rested your head on her shoulder. “Love you.”

She leaned her cheek on the crown of your head. “Love you.”

The next week was thankfully a lot less emotionally taxing and things went back to normal. You went on with work, did a little bit of painting here and there, took care of the house, and spent Sunday dinner with Steve, Nat and Bucky. Your mom wouldn’t be home for a few more days, and everyone was feeling too lazy to cook anything, so you settled with ordering pizza.

You had asked Bucky not to say anything to Steve and Nat about Brock, not wanting to turn the situation into a bigger deal seeing that Brock had gotten the message and left you alone. All you wanted was to forget about it and move on.

Bucky agreed to your request, but you could sense that he was still on edge. He texted you daily to make sure you were okay, and stopped by the bar whenever you were working to check in. At Sunday dinner, he rarely strayed more than a couple of feet away from your side.

It was…a lot. Overwhelming to say the least, but you couldn’t deny that a part of you loved it. It was so easy to deny your growing feelings to Sarah and to say you were certain that Bucky felt nothing for you. But then he would do things like this, be so caring and protective, give you these looks that put knots in your stomach, all of it making your brain too fuzzy for reason to take hold.

Still, you knew that you would have to tell him to cool it. You were getting dangerously close to a point of no return, and if your heart broke again, you didn’t think you’d be able to put the pieces back together no matter how hard you tried.

Hopefully when you found a place to yourself, when you weren’t always so close to him, things would get easier.

Hopefully.

You were working at the bar, wiping things down and getting ready to close in a few minutes.

Dum Dum grabbed his jacket, dropping his payment on the bar. “Have a good night, Y/n.”

You looked over your shoulder and smiled, lifting your chin up in goodbye. “You too, Dum Dum! We on for our gin rummy tournament tomorrow?”

He grinned. “I’ll bring my best set of cards.”

You called out as he opened the door to the exit, “And I’ll keep them for myself when I win!”

His chuckle echoed in the empty space, and you watched him walk to his car through the windows while walking to the door and locking it.

As soon as the time on your phone hit 1am, you began your nighttime routine of putting on your favorite broody music, moving to the closet and grabbing the broom, sweeping and swaying along with the music, living your best protagonist life.

CRASH

You whipped your head to one of the windows, and the softball-sized hole in it.

Then you whipped your head to the bar, where a glowing red object had smashed into the bottles of liquor.

Not glowing, ignited. A ball of fire, surrounded by flammable liquid spilled all over the wooden surface.

And then the bar burst into flames.

Next Part

End banner by the amazing @simmerandcry

No pressure at all, but if you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me through my kofi account!

Tags: @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @eclipses-and-moondust @itsdawnashlie @peaches1958 @blackwidownat2814 @barnesafterglow @sweetascanbee @commonintrest @simmerandcry @sweetdreamsbuck @angelloflust @buckys-bitchhh @writing-for-marvel @treatbuckywkisses @fandoms-writings @multi-fandom-s @w0nderw0mansw0rld @nessie2183 @lonely-dead-poets @ginger-swag-rapunzel @swolo-ben4 @marvelbabes24 @toothhurtyam @mazzelloswannabegirl @thecrandle @lilachoneylikelavender @natyvwe @borkkybarnes @aynanasstuff @emmabarnes @aworldwideapart @thornsandvultres @ju5tyna20 @that-girl-named-alex @iwishicanbeagoodpianist @meisspookycrayon @i-might-haveaproblem @real-jane @amazingangelaaa @mymindslabyrinth @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @idgafiamallthefandoms @sightiff @watarmelon212 @multidreamerlovers @enchantedbarnes @fictional-l0v3r @emi11ie @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @sunshinexhotchner @messers-moony-lupin

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #modern!bucky au #firefighter!bucky #plus size!reader #f!reader #adopted rogers!reader #modern au #in the embers #ite #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky x fem!reader

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manicpixiess · 3 years

Text

Okay but earth science is such an inherently romantic subject?? We have been sleeping on its dark academia potential, and I’m procrastinating reading a paper on upper ocean mixing (it’s fun! I do not know why I procrastinate doing fun things!) so it’s Time To Romanticise Earth Sci (speaking of literally romanticising earth sci, if anyone could tell me where I might find the movie Ammonite online, I would be forever indebted to you)

~ rocky shores and the pursuit of fossils at sunset; for a moment, time blurs, and old, gone things become more than just memories (what more than being remembered by the earth, though?); ancient trails forged by creatures long-dead that lead you deeper into untouched forests, where the trees wear their history on their bark, like badges or scars; the hallowed silence of sleeping bones in a museum

~complex modelling software and sheet after sheet of data collected painstakingly over decades come together, whispering of howling storms and withering droughts and change bearing down, still, you are triumphant, because it feels like you share a language with the seas and the skies, a language of numbers and time with which they tell you beautiful and terrible things

~ stories buried in ice cores and deep sea sediments, in smooth river rocks and the curve of a mountain just so, there are stories everywhere, and together they unfold a tale so grand in scale that fitting it within your skull sometimes feels impossible; how could you, after all? It is a story spanning millions of years, of oceans as deep as mountains are high and all that came before them, of whole continents that split apart and found one another all over again, of life, and all it did-

~ entire playlists dedicated to whalesong echoing through the sea, you think that if you listen to it often enough, you just might understand what they’re saying; leatherbound journals filled with blurry photographs of mushrooms and insects, and all the interesting habits of theirs you’ve observed; thick, dusty volumes with whimsical diagrams of birds and tides and everything in between, walls papered with old botanical posters and photo-prints of erupting volcanoes

~ fitted corduroys and loose shirts, bulky jackets with many pockets for collecting curious things, green tea left to cool on all available surfaces, waking up early to watch the sunrise and sleeping late anyway

~ witnessing the world’s (and particularly the government’s) response to climate change and wanton environmental destruction has filled you with a desperation that makes you throw yourself heedlessly into your research, it leaves you exhausted and sometimes hopeless, but this is how you would have the earth remember you, as someone who gave more than they took

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ange1s · 3 years

Text

cherry emoji - mark lee

synopsis: in which mark asks to see your boobs, and the idea you had of your relationship is thrown up in the air.

wc: 3.6k

genre: this is so fluffy it hurts, some angst but nothing crazy

tw: suggestive themes (boobs), swearing

playlist: pluto projector by rex orange county, ivy by frank ocean, tapestry by bruno major

a/n: guess whos back ,, back again ,,, ange1s back ,,, tell a friend,,,, also this is unedited so i'm sorry if theres a mistake :')

my anon asks are open !! feel free to ask me anything or request something <3

“i have a weird question.” mark says timidly. you’re sat on the floor, your back against his bed playing a rhythm game on your phone. he is sat at his desk, parallel to his bed, but with the rolling chair swivelled around to face you straight ahead. you don’t look up.

“hmm.” you hum, focused on the game.

mark swallows. “can i see your boobs?”

you drop your phone into your lap, forgetting about the game. you look up at him, straight into his eyes, and you giggle.

“wait, what?”

mark avoids your eyes almost fearfully, as if you were a detective questioning him for a crime. “can i see your boobs?” softer, this time.

you let out a shallow laugh. “don’t you watch porn? there are boobs there.”

mark blushes. “no! i mean, yes i do, but not real boobs.”

you cross your arms under your boobs on purpose, just to push them up a little higher to drive him nuts. mark sits back in his chair in frustration.

“so you think women aren’t real? that all boobs in porn are fake? jeez mark i thought you cared about women-“

“no! that’s not what i meant!” he says, exasperated. he continues to avoid eye contact with you. “of course i don’t think-“

you laugh again, keeling over. “relax mark, i know you don’t think all women are plastic.”

“look, there’s nothing wrong with being plastic, women can do whatever they-“ mark speaks quickly and nervously as if he were on trial.

“shut up minhyung,” you cut him off with a softer, more serious tone. “why do you want to see my boobs? you’re famous and cute. you could instantly find boobs wherever you go.”

he chuckles. “the word boob is so funny.”

“not the point, minhyung!”

he leans back over, the embarrassment slowly washing away. “stop calling me minhyung!”

“never, minhyung!” you retort without even thinking. you stand up to sit on his bed, now at eye level with him. “now, explain.”

“i… i dunno. i’ve just never seen boobs before. like, in person.”

you look directly at him, brain not even thinking anymore. words just fly out of your mouth with ease. “were you breastfed?”

“y/n!” he exclaims out of frustration. the embarrassment fizzles back in. he throws his head to the back of his chair and covers his eyes with his palm dramatically. he runs his hand down his face, tugging on the soft skin as it travels down. as his hand makes it back down to his lap, you giggle a little louder. “my mom’s boobs don’t fucking count. god, you made me think of my mom’s boobs. what the fuck?”

“sorry,” you manage in between giggles. “sorry, this is so funny.”

“this is impossible. i knew i shouldn’t have asked you.” mark pulls himself out of the chair and heads for the door, but you’re just as fast as him.

“now wait…” you grab his wrist to keep him from leaving. a wave of guilt washes over you. “i was just kidding.”

“were you? you didn’t sound like you were.” he says, his face still turned away from yours.

he sounds strangely hurt. “mark, are you okay?”

mark turns to face you and he looks defeated. he slumps down on the floor next to you, his knees up near his chest and his head in his hands.

“mark…”

“they were making fun of me.”

“who?”

“my friends! they were making fun of me. god, i sound like such an idiot now, whining about my friends like this, oh my god. i sound like a child.”

you rest your elbow on his shoulder giving your hand access to run through his soft, black hair. “you don’t sound like a child. you’re allowed to get upset.”

you take note at how the air shifted in the room. how quickly you focused and listened. you’re only like this around mark. with him, conversations can shift in an instant to anything. you understand each other on a deep, personal level. it’s something you don’t think you’ll ever have with another person for your entire life. maybe your soulmate. honestly? you can only dream to have this sort of connection with your soulmate, a connection so alive and so full of trust. is it even possible to have this with someone else? the fact that mark can make you think about how much he trusts you during a conversation about boobs is something only mark can make you feel. no one else. just him.

has it always been just him?

“it’s so stupid though. one minute lucas is bugging me about the fact that i’m a virgin and i’ve never seen boobs before and the next minute i’m on the floor of my bedroom with you, still not having seen any boobs mind you, nearly crying. damn. this is the lowest point i will ever reach.”

you push his hands away from his face and place your hands on his cheeks instead. “mark, please don’t cry. i hate it when you cry.”

the last time you saw mark cry was a month ago after watching a disney movie. seeing him cry just makes you cry, and since you were already crying, you just cried harder. seeing you cry makes him cry too, so he cried harder as well. the two of you just cried together until your heads hurt, to which you both took tylenols and tried to dance it off.

“i’m pathetic. insecure and pathetic.”

this is when you realize that there is more depth to his feelings than you thought.

“look, mark, i’ll show you my boobs. i trust you. i’m honestly surprised you haven’t seen them accidentally yet since i’ve known you for so long.” you chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. didn‘t work. “but i get the feeling that there’s more to this then just boobs.”

mark never really vented to you like this before. despite how close you are, he still kept things from you growing up, as a teenage boy does. you never took offense to this, as you kept plenty from him too. he never quite talked about his insecurities, his fears. he didn’t want to burden you with them. mark, so sweet and thoughtful. maybe too much for his own good. he needs to learn to share things.

he's starting to, though.

it takes him a while to speak, avoiding your eyes entirely. he speaks lowly, as if he was scared to tell the world what he was about to say.

“it’s just… everything about this sucks. everything. i’m kinda scared to tell you things, which can make us drift apart because we lose trust. then again, if i do tell you things, i’m scared it’ll freak you out and i’ll lose you. those are both bad endings. then, i’m scared to put myself out into the world. like, lucas is telling me to just find someone. go out, ask for a number, have a good time, live like someone in their 20s should be living. i can’t really do it though. every time i try, i choke. lucas once tried to set me up, you remember that, right?”

“yeah, that was the girl who stood you up.”

“yeah. it’s awful. every time i try it fails. i’ve been trying to get to the bottom of why it fails every single time but i just couldn’t. but then, i realized.” he shifts and faces you causing your hands to fall off his face and into your lap. “when i came home after being stood up, i wasn’t sad. i forgot the moment i left the restaurant. i texted lucas that the date didn’t happen and just shut my phone off and went to your place. i wasn’t sad because i knew i had you. i knew that you were going to make me feel better and that made it all go away.” he pauses. “you know? sometimes i get worried that i put too much on you. you’re my happiness, my relaxation, my joy. i worry sometimes that you’ll suffocate because i take so much from being with you. i keep this in the back of my head all the time because i just don’t want you to go. ever.”

holy shit.

“mark…”

“let me finish. i talked about this with lucas, and he told me that i can let myself be selfish sometimes. he said that i can want this that… that i can want you. i can think about you and how you make me happy and i can want that happiness yesterday, today, and tomorrow, and the day after. shit, i care about you more than anything. my heart swells and my stomach gets all these annoying little butterflies when i think of you. it’s fucking crazy. and now, today, here i am. you know, lucas, jaemin and i were talking about girls and boobs and fuck i don’t know, jaemin said that i just had to get that intimacy with someone. and it just fucking clicked. the only person i want to be intimate with is you and i’m thinking now that maybe i was stupid for asking to see your boobs. which is so stupid, i could’ve just asked to kiss you or share a bed with you or i don’t know. i’m really sorry if that was gross of me. i just wasn’t thinking. it’s so damn hard to think straight when it comes to you. i just really want to be closer to you, however that might be.”

your heart races at a speed that doctors would deem impossible. you don’t know what to think or where to look. you feel like you’re going to explode. though, if you explode, he’ll probably explode too. that wouldn’t be good.

mark looks down. he fills with regret. he doesn’t think he should've said that. maybe you'll hate him now. maybe you’ve never felt this way about him before.

you inhale slowly, trying to convince your lungs that breathing is normal and not something that can just stop when hearing speeches like this.

what is the proper thing to say? mark i love you? but do you love him? everything is so confusing right now. of course you love him, but you never considered love in this way. can i kiss you? too forward? but he wants intimacy, and you want it too. i feel the same way? boring. you can do better. mark, and his way with words. so beautiful. how do you compete? mark, you’re beautiful. mark is so beautiful. you try so hard to compose the words. maybe too hard. maybe it’s okay to go with option 3.

now, they just flow out. “mark… i think i feel the same way you do. i don’t know it’s just- i’ve always felt some sort of way toward you. something is so special about you. i spent years trying to decipher it, thinking it was just something platonic or brotherly or i dunno. i just never considered… this. i don’t even know what to call this. but it feels right. you’ve always felt right.”

he has. and he always will. he looks at you so lovingly, his enamoured gaze stuck on you. you can’t look up at him, but he watches you.

you continue. “fuck, i don’t know what to say. i’m so… god.” you run your fingers through your hair, as if to comb your brain in search for the right words. “i think you’re so beautiful. everything about you. and i’m so fucking grateful to have someone as amazing as you in my life. i don’t know what i did to deserve someone like you, and i feel like i really don’t deserve you. but it feels right. to be with you. to be alone with you. it’s just right.”

you let a little tear trickle down your cheek. you know if you look up at him, you’ll probably cry harder. you know this well, yet you look up.

“i don’t know what i did to deserve you either.” mark sighs. it’s his turn to wipe your tears now.

“so… what is this? what… are we?” you ask, melting into his hand, which somehow feels softer on your face.

“i don’t know. we can be whatever you want us to be.”

you playfully punch his shoulder, his hands sliding off your cheeks. “come on, you know i hate it when you say that.”

he gets defensive. “and you know i hate it when you hit me! you have a strong hand, yanno? shit!”

you laugh at him, clearing the last unwanted tear off your cheek with the pad of your thumb. “what can i say? gained strength from all those pillow fights over the years.”

“yeah, pillow fights i won.”

“shut up! you know i won the one at jeno’s party!”

mark laughs aloud. your favourite sound. “yeah, because everyone was drunk and you were still on your second drink. it was a very unevenly matched fight!”

“i still won!” you cross your arms and sit up straight as if you assert dominance over the conversation. who are you kidding? it’s all a joke anyways.

you crack after a moment and both of you erupt in a fit of giggles. his head falls into the crook of your neck, and it feels right. it’s almost as if your skin buzzed. you don’t know why, he’s done this many times before. but now, it’s different. the air has shifted again, so quickly. only with mark.

when he comes off of your neck, you stand up. you walk up to the door of his room, and lock it.

“y/n, what-“

you sit on his bed. “can’t have someone walk in while you’re ogling at my boobs, right? i know you and you’d never be able to live that down.”

mark is quick to stand up in defence. “what? no, we don’t have to do that anymore. i said my piece and im over the boob thing and-“

“shut up mark. you know you want to. and i kinda wanna show you too.”

he sits down on the bed across from you without another word but before either of you can move, he speaks again. “wait, kinda? please don’t feel obligated. only do this if you’re-“

“minhyung, please! i want to, ok? i really appreciate how you’re taking care of me but it’s fine. i trust you, and you trust me, right?”

he swallows hard. “right.”

“okay, perfect.” you pull your shirt off over your head, leaving you in your bra. if this was with any other boy, you’d be self conscious about literally everything: the bra you chose, the shape of your body, the hair in the places you let grow out. with mark, none of it matters now. he’s seen you in bathing suits before, this isn’t much different. and knowing how much he cares for you anyways, you know his head is clouded with praise and nothing less. his brain is working so fast right now, he probably won’t even register any imperfections.

“can i take your bra off?” mark sputters out as if he were holding onto the words for hours. “or wait, fuck-“

“yes, you can.”

he is almost shocked at your answer, and it shows. mark’s hands move slowly, his skin slightly cold as he grazes your skin. he leans in unbelievably close to wrap his arms around you to reach your back. he feels your breath on his chin, and your beautiful eyes look so sweet as you look up at him. when he finds the clasp, he kisses your nose as he pulls away, your bra coming back with him. you straighten your arms so the straps fall right off, showing your boobs.

mark is shocked. flabbergasted, even. his jaw almost drops in a shameless, teenaged boy way.

“dang. they’re so cute.”

you scoff. “cute? first boobs of your life and all you have to say is cute?”

“well what else can i say? i am not very well versed in the vast vocabulary that exists to describe your boobs.” he chuckles. “jeez, why is the word boob so fucking funny?”

you can’t help but smile timidly alongside him. that is what mark does, he makes you feel safe no matter what the situation. mark is always worried about you, worried if you are feeling comfortable and if you are okay with what is going on. he never wants things to be tense when you are around, because he hates to see you upset.

right now, you are the opposite of upset.

“y/n,” he brings your attention back to him. you hum in response. “can i touch?”

you freeze for a moment, and nod timidly. mark scoots a little bit closer, and reaches out with his right hand to gently cup your left breast. his hand is warm, and your skin needs a second to adjust to his temperature. he squeezes the flesh in the absolute slightest way, and quickly brings his hand back. he laughs almost exasperated.

“oh my god, it’s squishy? boobs are squishy?! why did that never register in my head?” he laughs loudly, as if he had just discovered something monumental.

“you’re just finding out now? oh my god mark, that’s common knowledge!”

mark looks down, his cheeks red from laughing. “dang, i’m so touch starved that i never knew until now that boobs are squishy. insanity.”

“the more you bring it up, the sadder it gets.” you reply.

he looks up at you with scrunched eyebrows. “don’t be mean. can i touch again?”

“yes, you can.”

mark cups your left boob with his right hand again, this time running his thumb softly over the supple skin. he doesn’t know what his limits are yet. can he go further? can he touch other parts of your boobs? can he touch other parts of your body? he is scared of going too fast and scaring you. mark is doing his very best today to be as careful as possible, as this is probably, remarkably, the best day of his life so far.

he pushes his index finger into your boob gently to poke it, and you laugh softly. at this point, you are just looking down at mark’s hand on your body. honestly, the fact that he isn’t doing anything is almost relaxing.

you look at how slowly his finger moves, like your skin is made up of the most delicate material in the world. he holds you with such care, such control. it is a feeling you want to feel again, and again, and again.

mark inhales slowly. he wants to go further. he wants more. he doesn’t know how you feel yet, but he will wait for you every step of the way.

but just as he opens his mouth, he hears a thud on his door. “mark hyung, we’re home! is y/n here? come eat with us!”

you both jump, as jaemin’s loud voice destroys the entire atmosphere. mark turns a cute shade of pink almost immediately, and takes his hand off of your skin. you are surprised at first, but lose all tension as you watch mark’s reaction. the poor boy is so embarrassed, but even more upset at how shortly your time was cut off. you laugh as he grabs your bra and tries to put it back on you. unfortunately, he cannot figure out how to close the back shut.

“i’m here! we’ll be there in a sec.” you shout, sparing mark from saying something stupid. you clip your bra straps together, and pull your shirt back on.

mark looks upset. “i’m so sorry they cut us off. they were supposed to be out all day, fuck. i’m sorry-”

“mark, baby, it’s okay. you didn’t know. besides, this isn’t ending here.”

mark looks up at you. “baby?”

“oh gosh, i don’t know where that came from. i’m sorry.”

“no no, its cute. i like it. baby. it just…”

“makes sense?”

he nods. “yeah. this makes sense. it really does.”

mark’s heart pounds in his chest as he takes your hands in his. today, they feel softer, warmer. he inhales sharply once again, hoping this time jaemin doesn’t break his door down, or something of the sort.

his thumb does the thing again, rubbing your skin gently. “y/n, i don’t want to be friends anymore. i think we are more than friends.”

you smile. “i do too. this makes sense.”

mark feels like he is going to explode. that would be bad though, because if he exploded, you would too. that wouldn’t be good for anyone.

“so i guess you’re my girlfriend now.”

you giggle softly. “that sounds so much better than best friend.”

“dang, it kinda does, doesn’t it?”

you let go of his hands and climb off his bed. he follows instantly after you do. right before you go to unlock the door, mark takes your hand once again, and turns you to face him.

you heart races as you lock eyes with him. you cannot believe everything that happened today. how your best friend, who you’d known for your whole life, confessed everything he felt for you, and poked your boobs mere minutes after. and that’s okay, because that’s mark. your mark.

“do we have to go down? i really want to see your boobs again.”

you lean over and place a kiss on his cheek, which causes him to lose his train of thought completely. “you’ll see them again soon, i promise. but if we don’t go down, jaemin will come upstairs and try opening your door. you know him, he’ll freak out when he sees that it’s locked. we’d get found out before we even have a chance to start.”

mark sighs. “fine. no more boobs today. guess i’ll just have to suffer without your boobs in my hands. shit, how am i going to survive?”

you unlock the door, and twist the handle. “well baby, i guess you’ll have to figure it out.”

#neowritingsnet #nct fluff #nct mark #mark lee #nct 127 fluff #nct dream fluff #nct dream imagines #nct 127 imagines #nct angst #nct 127 angst #nct dream angst #i love mark lee #mark imagines #mark lee loml

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noir0neko · 4 years

Text

satan on the strip | m

“But parties of two are my favorite.”

rating: very mature

paring: jungkook x reader

includes: lots of sexual tension, also sex, praise!kink, pet names, magic, drinking, other nefarious behavior, a lot of sexual thoughts, maybe some biting and maybe some air play and begging and cursing and just,,, it’s mature content folks, proceed with caution

word count: 3.5k

a/n: Hi!!! It has been a hOT minute since I was here. I was just toasting some bagels this morning when this idea popped into my head and I knew I had to write it. Shoutout to bagels for giving me inspo, even though bagels are not in this fic in any way. If you would like to read along to what I was listening to when I wrote, here is the little playlist: “Miracle” by CHVRCHES. “Love on the Brain” by Rihanna, “Hypnotic” by Zella Day and “Locked Out of Heaven” by Bruno Mars. ENJOY! I am super happy to post something again!

“Come on!” Your friends try to flag you over to the dance floor from your very comfortable seat at the bar. You hold up your drink as an excuse and take a sip, letting the bitter liquid burn a path down your throat. They scoff and give you a dirty look, but continue dancing, throwing themselves around wildly to the music.

It’s the night of one of your best friend’s bachelorette parties, and of course, she wanted to have it in Las Vegas. And also of course, your ex boyfriend is the best man for her soon to be husband. And triple of course, they decided to crash the bachelorette party and you have now been watching another random girl grind on your ex for the past twenty minutes.

You take another drink, sighing heavily before turning back around to the bar.

“Long night already?” A voice says from behind you, deep and low.

You swing your head to the side, getting an eyeful of the very tall and very handsome man who has taken a seat at the bar. His hair is dark and straight, waving lightly over his forehead. His skin is pale, clear, and smooth, with eyes so bottomless and deep they almost look black. He is wearing a gray v-neck shirt with dark wash jeans that have rips in the knees, exposing more of his pale skin and you can’t help but notice he has bright red shoes on.

“I guess,” You shrug, taking another sip of your drink and moving it to the other side of your body. Just to be safe.

“I’ll take that it's going to be an even longer one, if your friends are all of the bachelorette girls.” He smiles with his straight teeth and full mouth. “Unless you just wanted to match with a bunch of random strangers for no reason.”

You sigh again, fingering the stupid sparkly sash around your dress with an absent finger. Your friends had insisted on wearing little black dresses and pairing them with ridiculously bright and glittering sashes that say different things. Luckily, yours is one of the more tame sayings, with “Wild Princess” printed on it in big cursive letters. You feel anything but wild. All you want to do is leave and crawl into bed with a book and sleep. Or maybe cry and try not to replay the image of your ex dancing with another girl and not giving a damn about you over and over again.

“I wish I was randomly matching,” You take another drink. “Sometimes a party of one is better than anything else.”

The mysterious stranger gives you a mischievous smile. “Parties of one are great. But parties of two are my favorite. Anything above that is just a crowd.”

You laugh despite myself, nodding along in agreement. Deciding to not sit and wallow all night, you place your hand in the space between you and introduce yourself. He takes your hand and electric currents run up your arms, pushing a shiver down your spine.

“I’m Jungkook.” He says, smiling again.

With his arm out, you can see the beginning of a tattoo curling around his bicep and under the sleeve of his shirt. Your eyes follow it, trying to decipher its long, coiling shape before he pulls back. His eyes seem alive and glowing, their almond shape crinkling in the corners as he looks at you.

You clear your throat. “What brings you here?”

“Oh you know,” he says vaguely, gesturing for the bartender. “Work.”

“This hardly seems like work,” you quirk an eyebrow.

“Semantics,” Jungkook chuckles. “I am in the entertainment business.”

He orders his drink, a clean bourbon, and then turns back to you, a secretive smile on his face. It’s like he can sense what you are going to say before it comes out of your mouth. “Movies?” You can totally imagine him in an action film.

He shakes his head.

“Television?” You guess.

He shakes his head again, thanking the bartender as he slides a drink along the counter.

“Music?” You try again.

“You’re getting warmer,” he leans in closer and you can smell the alcohol and musky scent of him. It’s almost more intoxicating than your drink. “Magic.”

“Magic?” You repeat, stupefied.

“Yes,” he sits back and your head clears. “Magic.”

“Like rabbits out of hats and throwing knives at spinning people?”

He seems to think for a second, as if actually considering your joke as a statement. “A bit more sophisticated than that, but yes. That’s the idea.”

You narrow your eyes at him, turning to face your body towards his. “Show me.”

“I don’t think you’re ready for the kind of magic I have, Princess.” He says slyly, eyes dipping to your sash again. You scoff, taking the sash off and placing it on the bar. His grin grows and he leans back into you.

You swear you can feel electricity sizzling in the space between you two, desperate to follow the high he’s bringing. “Show me,” you say again, a challenge in your voice.

“Alright,” his voice is so low you don’t know how you can hear him over the deafening music and yelling, but it’s as if there is no one else but you and him. “All of your friends are now wishing that they were in your place, when they were making fun of you for sitting here before. You wish you didn’t have to be here, but you are a supportive friend and know how much it would hurt if you left early. Your boyfriend over there is thinking about punching me and wants to know who I am and why you stopped being jealous to pay attention to me.”

You blanch, trying to discreetly look to the side to see the dance floor. You can see all of your friends out there, stealing glances your way in between steps and body rolls. You can see two of them giggling and whispering, wagging their eyebrows at you as they catch your glance. Then you see your ex, no longer with the woman from before, but making his way over from across the floor, his jaw set and eyes blazing.

His angry face.

Your stomach flips, but there is some smug satisfaction in his reaction as you turn back to Jungkook. He seems completely unaffected by your oncoming ex, but is staring directly at you. You think his eyes could burn you from the inside out if you let them.

“What do you want to do?” He asks, his word ricocheting deep inside of you.

“I want to leave,” you say, the words leaving your mouth before your brain can catch up. “Can we go?”

“Of course we can, Princess.” Jungkook smiles, standing up and offering you his arm.

You gather your things and join him, careful to not meet any of your friend’s eyes as you let Jungkook walk you towards the door. Hadn’t they been pushing you to hook up all weekend? Hadn’t they been throwing you at guys and giving guys your number since the party started? And even more because of the presence of your ex?

The thought of him makes you grin and you look back to find him staring after you, clenching and unclenching his fists in agitation. Your smile widens and you can’t help but wave at him as you leave. Fuck him.

You see your friends waving and jumping up and down excitedly, practically bouncing with happiness at the new development in your boring life. Jungkook’s arm is warm and hard around yours, static and heat pooling in the best parts of you. Close up, you can see the black lines and dots of his tattoo, but still can’t make out what it is. Your brain begins to question what you’re doing. This man is a complete stranger. And you’re in Las Vegas walking out of a bar with him. Every single horror film and terrible thing to happen to a woman always starts out this way. You start to rethink your choice, opening your mouth to tell him you’re going back.

“Spend an hour with me,” Jungkook says, snagging your attention and the words from your lips. The night air is hot still, the street loud and bustling with people walking to and fro.

“What?” You furrow your eyebrows.

“One hour,” he repeats. “Spend one hour with me. If you want to go back after that, I’ll bring you.”

“One hour?” You sound like a broken record.

One hour. What can happen in one hour in one of the most crowded places in the United States? You both can just walk around, maybe get some food. One hour only has sixty minutes, after all and on the strip, that time would go by impossibly fast. Not to mention, the last thing you realistically want to do is walk the strip alone or go back into the bar without Jungkook and with your tail between your legs. You know your ex would have a field day and your friends would be so pitiful. Maybe it is about time to get wild.

“One hour.” You say definitively. A statement this time.

Jungkook leans in and you smell him again, musky and hot. “Then, I am determined to make it the best hour of your life.”

His words bring fierce shivers down your spine. What have you gotten yourself into?

Before you know it, your predictions seem to come true. A half hour passes without notice as you and Jungkook walk in and out of hotels, restaurants and bars. Jungkook asks you about your life, your hobbies, and does little magic tricks for you along the way. Pulling pennies from behind your ears and predicting cards before the dealer draws them. You’re laughing and smiling and living and noticing how beautiful he is when he smiles. How dark his eyes are and how you want to stare into them forever. How perfectly his eyebrows frame his face and how his cheekbones and jaw make him seem carved out of marble.

“Have you ever thought about playing?” You ask him after you exit Caesar’s Palace. He had correctly guessed every single card before it was shown on the table and helped one of the players win big. Although it has to be well after 2 in the morning, the night is bustling and alive. Dancers are on the sidewalks in big feathers and bikini costumes, people dressed as Disney characters and superheroes are posing for pictures, and tourists are drinking and laughing and mingling with one another.

“No,” Jungkook laughs, secrets in the sound. “I don’t need money.”

“Doesn’t everyone need money?”

Jungkook looks at you, tilting his head to the side. “There are things money can’t buy.”

“Like what?” You ask.

“Purity,” Jungkook responds. And the answer is so weird you stop walking.

“Purity?” You put your hands on your hips, half mocking him. “Like chastity?”

Jungkook moves close to you, looking down at you with those deep and confusing eyes. Your lips are part of their own volition. You want to kiss him. You want to do a lot more than kiss him.

“Not chastity,” Jungkook looks wistful. Almost sad. “Heaven. The purity of it. When you fall, you can’t buy your way back in.”

Heaven. You think to yourself, looking at this man who seems to be a fallen angel himself. Beautiful and dark and full of magic, real or not, that pulls something buried deep inside of you and brings it to the surface. You hate how sad he looks, how regretful and reproachful. You want to ease his pain, you want to give him a slice of Heaven, a slice of the world, to see him smile and his eyes crinkle again.

And hell, if you don’t want to give yourself a piece of Heaven, of him, as well.

Without thinking, you pull him into an alley between hotels. The night is hot and starless, the smell of sweat and alcohol and lowered inhibitions in the air. You don’t feel fully in control of your body, letting instinct guide you and Jungkook into the dark narrow street.

“Time is almost up,” Jungkook reminds you.

You growl in response, not even sure you know how to make such a sound. Not sure where this all consuming emotion has come from. “I don’t care.”

Reaching out for him, you slam your bodies together and crash your lips onto his. You fit together perfectly, like two pieces of a long lost puzzle you didn't even know you’d been trying to solve. You push Jungkook’s hair back, catching a glimpse of small stud earrings in his ear. The jewelry is extremely sexy and you feel even more eager than you did before to feel him.

Taking more control, Jungkook pushes you back until you hit one of the walls. You can hear the laughter and sounds of people around you on either side of the alley, walking up and down the strip and drinking. It would be so easy for someone to look in and see you both, obviously involved in much more than an innocent kiss.

He touches you and you feel like you might break a part into a million little pieces. His touch is shocking, little fires trailing behind his fingers as they roam down the bare skin of your arms. Your back arches into the stone behind your head, a moan ripping from your throat when his fingers graze the skin of your neck. Jungkook is watching you with a feral gaze, licking his lips before leaning in to run his lips and teeth over your throat. You grip the front of his shirt, desperate to feel more. To feel everything.

Jungkook crowds you closer to the wall, aligning his body to press against yours. You can feel the rises and plains of his muscle and frame through your thin dress. Your breasts peak with anticipation, a tingling sensation building low in your stomach. Jungkook hooks his hands around your thighs, the feeling of his bare skin on yours eliciting a string of curse words from your mouth. You’re ready to beg him to touch you where you need it.

Luckily you don’t have to.

Once he has you firmly against the wall, with your legs hooked around his midsection, he curves his arm around your leg and lets his fingers graze you. There is nothing blocking his touch and the contact and slickness of you seems to shock him.

“No underwear?” He nearly growls.

“It’s a matching thing,” you all but pant.

“It’s a naughty thing, Princess.” Jungkook responds, pressing his thumb directly into you. “How could I not tell before?”

You ignore his statement, aware that you’re unable to question anything he does right now. His thumb begins to move and you moan, burying your head in the crook of his neck to muffle the sound. Jungkook’s other hand weaves through your hair, pulling you back against the wall so the sounds you emit echo against the narrow alley walls.

“I want to hear you,” he commands.

“But the people,” you begin to protest, knowing that even you don’t care.

“They can’t hear or see us,” he responds, a grin carving a wicked look to his features. “Like I told you: magic.”

Without warning, Jungkook slides two fingers into you, dragging the longest and deepest sound from your throat. Your hips are trying to move, begging for more friction, but he won’t give it to you. He has his body flush against yours on the wall. In complete control. You fucking love it.

His hair curls with sweat, the strands sticking to his forehead. The moisture seems to make him sparkle and glow. Like an angel on Earth. Maybe a fallen angel. He curls his fingers and strokes you, your walls clenching around his fingers with delicious pleasure.

“Shit,” he curses, sliding his fingers out. “I need to be in you. Now.”

You whine in agreement, the intensity in his words making your toes curl. Jungkook reaches in between your bodies to undo his belt, long and nimble fingers making quick work on the clasp. You want him to do wicked and horrible things with those fingers, and that belt. You want him to tie you down and make you beg for every lick of pleasure he could give you. Wild desperation begins to build in you. You could cum just from watching him. Just from seeing that pink tongue of his lick across his lips.

“Jungkook,” you groan, watching him pull his cock out.

The rational part of your brain is aware that you are both in public, with hundreds of people walking by the alley every minute. The rational part of you is aware that you can get arrested for this. That this is dangerous and irresponsible on so many levels. But the louder and reckless part of you never wants this to end. The irrational part of your brain believes him, trusts him, and trusts his magic. No one has noticed yet. Maybe luck. Maybe magic. You don’t care.

And then he is poised at your entrance and pushing into you in one, long, thrust. Your moans are incessant, no breath between the sounds. You can feel him at the back of you, you can feel him everywhere, filling you up and intoxicating you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he is groaning, deep and dark and raw.

He moves again, in and out, following an untraceable rhythm that is setting you on fire. You have never felt this alive before, this electrified, everything is you is singing with approval and building with pleasure. You didn’t know sex before this, you didn’t know how good it could feel before this. How can you ever be with anyone besides him now?

He’s going to fuck you and leave you fucked for the rest of your life.

Jungkook claims you in a kiss, his tongue roaming your mouth. He swallows your moans and sounds with shivers. Your hands reach under his shirt and travel along the rigid muscle of his stomach and shoulders. His body seems to come alive beneath the touch, skin rippling and muscle contracting.

You can feel his large intake of breath along your lips. You don’t think you’ve heard him sigh until now, or breathe at all for that matter. It’s like he has never taken air into his lungs before you touched him. And now you can’t stop. Your fingers are everywhere as he continues to fuck you. Wild. This is wild.

“Don’t stop,” you beg, breaking the contact of the kiss for breath.

Jungkook’s eyes are touching you as they roam around your face, down your neck and collarbones, over your breasts and stomach, until they settle on the point where your bodies are joined. His skin is slick with sweat. His eyes are burning with passion. The muscles of his back and taut, signaling he feels as close as you do to release.

He reaches between you and begins to rub your clit in small circles. That’s it. You’re gone. You’ve sunk so deep, you know there’s no coming back. You splinter and break a part around him, milking his cock with tight spasms until you feel him cum, as well. You cum for what feels like forever, moaning and writhing and shaking at his touch.

Jungkook’s teeth are grazing at your throat and he bites gently. You think you’re going to cum again, moaning and arching up to give him more access. He’s still in you, despite the cum you feel dripping around him and coating your thighs. Jungkook’s lips curve up and he pushes his teeth deeper into the base of your throat. You feel a sharp sting and then warm, hot blood is dripping down your collarbones and between your breasts. Jungkook lets out a gasp as your blood fills his mouth, swallowing the thick liquid like he’s a man dying of thirst. His eyes are glowing, his skin is glowing, and you swear the tattoo on his arm stretches itself out, like it's waking up after a long sleep.

“You,” he says, capturing you in a long searing kiss. You can taste your own blood. You can taste your own desire, still throbbing deep and low after he’s satisfied you. “You are my princess.”

And then, just as quickly as you were there, you’re gone. Swallowed up by a black so endless and so deep you’re not sure you’ll ever resurface. Like realizing you’ve sunk too far in the deep end of the pool and wondering if you’ll make it out. Like falling asleep and hoping you don’t wake up. And consciously, dangerously, eerily, like the color of his eyes.

You’ve met Satan on the strip.

And your hour is now eternity.

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~Admin Eggplant

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