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lichtweh · 6 years

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coexist (with me) yoonkook / teen & up / 3.3k // for acire ♥

prompt: E. “Reading from an ancient book, never a good idea.” 2. “This is all your fault.” 6. “I beg to differ.”

(yoonkook, the occult and an honest mistake)

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the end of the incantation leaves him quietly: tingling on his lips like the touch of something other, a kiss, feather-light, pulling the last syllable from his mouth gently. he inhales deeply, lightness spreading in him, no feelings in his body, no motion to the air.

it’s not air that makes the candle lights flicker, fight to stay burning, before they’re all put out.

the smoke dances, life to its movement, collects in the middle of the circle, growing and growing in front of him. there’s so much smoke, black, thick, spreading; it rises up to the ceiling and reaches out to every wall, engulfs all of the small attic in its darkness.

terror—terror envelops him, from his toes up his legs and into his throat, he can’t breathe, the fog like concrete around him. he gasps for air, but all his lungs fill with is heaviness, pressing down on his midst. the rush of blood roars in his ears, fear digs into his spine, and his fingers clench above his heart helplessly, vision black.

he shouldn’t have done this. he’ll die.

something brushes his cheek—gentle, the ghost of a touch, and everything goes calm and quiet.

he opens his eyes with a gasp, clear air flooding him.

red eyes meet his.

jungkook can’t move with the shock, staring up at the figure in front of him. black hair, perfect pale skin, small nose and pouty lips; dressed all in black, intimidating, gorgeous.

it makes sense he would look ethereal.

it doesn’t make sense for the spell to have worked at all, but it did. jungkook clutches the book in his arms.

his breath and words are caught in his throat, frozen beneath the other’s inhuman eyes. the figure blinks and they turn black, unassuming behind messy, long bangs. jungkook wills his body to move again, tries to find his voice.

“hi,” he croaks.

the man quirks his lips, an expression so familiar and human. but he’s not.

“hello.”

his voice is deep and raspy; it shoots through jungkook, hot and urgent. he’s—unfairly attractive, inhumanly so, draws jungkook’s attention like he’s never seen beauty before in his life.

jungkook doesn’t know how to go about this, what the etiquette says: if there’s an order of things to communicate and note down, if the creature has done this thousands of times and jungkook is the first not to know what he’s doing. he gapes up at the being in front of him, tries to swallow his nerves down.

“you’re... a spirit.”

“you could say that,” the spirit drawls.

jungkook straightens deliberately, but his fingers still curl in the edges of the book, needing reassurance.

“will you answer my request?”

the spirit doesn’t avert his gaze once, keeps jungkook pinned under it. it’s unsettling—abnormal. otherworldly.

“your first time?”

discomfort grows in jungkook’s stomach, all of him open and vulnerable in front of this existence.

“y-yes.”

he hums, low, reverberating; jungkook feels it in his bones.

“don’t be afraid. i can be gentle.”

dread—it might be dread coiling around his insides, fluttering around his ribs.

“gentle...?”

“i’m yoongi. what’s your name, human?”

“jungkook.”

“jungkook. it’s okay. i’ll be careful with you.”

“careful...?”

his mind can’t make sense of it.

the entity—spirit—yoongi. yoongi takes a step forward, and jungkook leans back.

“careful with what? shouldn’t you—i called you to—aren’t you here to help me?”

yoongi crouches at the edge of the invisible circle, balancing on the balls of his feet, elbows on his spread knees. he rests his chin on a palm, long fingers curling against his cheek elegantly. his fingernails are black.

“to help you, yes.”

his smirk is electrifying; positively dangerous.

“i—” the words get stuck in his throat, shame squeezing it closed. it hurts a little to force them out.

maybe shame in the face of an unearthly being is misplaced here, but jungkook feels his muscles tense against his will. even if the being doesn’t judge him, dutifully soothes his pain and disappears—jungkook has to live with the wound. has to live with the knowledge. he’s been fine all this time, for years and years, mostly on his own in this hollow house. he’s been fine. but his parents haven’t returned in months again, he doesn’t know where they are.

“i wanted some company.”

yoongi doesn’t blink, piercing gaze boring into jungkook’s core.

“company, yes. i can provide that.”

the tone of his voice, the glint in his eyes, the smirk pulling at his tempting mouth. it adds up to—something, but not what jungkook expected. alluring, mesmerizing, he’s heard of sirens before.

“what exactly… are you?”

yoongi raises an eyebrow.

“shouldn’t you know? we’re called incubi.”

“inc—what?”

“incubus. a sex demon.”

“a—what?”

yoongi stares at him, not moving a muscle.

“that’s what i was called for. sex.”

embarrassment shoots through jungkook, sharp and hot. he gapes, momentarily forgotten how to form words.

“no… no, that’s not—aren’t you here to,” he swallows hard, mouth dry, thought after thought escaping him, “offer your services?”

“sexual services, yes.”

“no,” jungkook mumbles, again and again, “no no no, i didn’t want that. it said—”

he stares at the open book in his lap, faded drawings on torn pages he can barely read. he’d found it at the bottom of a cardboard box, much older between children’s books and magazines from the last decade. servant, spirit, he understood that much. or not enough.

“ah,” yoongi drawls, “not enough training but already reading from an ancient book, never a good idea.”

“i didn’t—i didn’t think it would work.”

“why wouldn’t it, aren’t you a witch?”

jungkook meets yoongi’s eyes, black—demonic. a demon. an—incubus. yoongi glances up, and jungkook touches a hand to his red hair.

“witch… what? no.”

yoongi looks him up and down, frowning at the book in his lap.

“well, you couldn’t have done that without magic in your blood. you can’t summon demons on accident.”

jungkook summoned a demon on accident and has no idea what to do.

“magic in my blood…?”

his parents are upper middle class workers too busy abroad to have a family, his elder brother is a resigned model student in some university out of town. jungkook is a let-down.

jungkook blinks at yoongi, yoongi blinks back. then he tears his unnerving gaze away, looking around the cramped attic for the first time. he squints at an old flat-screen tv and playstation in the corner.

“what year is this?”

“2019?”

yoongi sits down with a heavy thud. “oh man.”

jungkook finally lets go of the spellbook and shoves it to the side, furrowing his brows. “why? how old are you?”

“i’m not old, okay,” he points a finger at him, “it’s just… been a while.”

“and ‘a while’ means…?”

“so, the sex.” yoongi’s eyes glint in annoyance. “let’s get to it.”

“no!”

“what?”

jungkook stares at the demon, cross-legged in front of him, mirroring his pose, like they’re two friends having a friendly chat about something—well, less bizarre.

“i don’t want to have sex with you.”

yoongi tilts his head, a twitch to his lips, brows raised. “you don’t?”

jungkook feels warmth rush to his cheeks. he clears his throat.

“i don’t.”

“human,” the demon sighs. “the incubus summoned is determined by the heart of the spellcaster. it is in your blood, and in mine.”

jungkook listens, waiting for it to make some sense. yoongi’s mouth stretches in a slow, smug grin.

“your magic called for me, so i had to answer.”

jungkook chews on his bottom lip, wanting to say something against it, but he doesn’t know what. he really doesn’t know what exactly any of this means.

yoongi’s grin is wolfish, scary, but so gorgeous, still. “your body definitely wants to have sex with me.”

“well i don’t. that’s not—” jungkook shifts back, the demon still contained inside the incantation circle. “i didn’t call you for that, i’m sorry, so you can go home.”

yoongi’s tone is flat. “i can’t just go home.”

“what do you mean, you can’t?”

“you called for me and i answered. we made a deal.”

jungkook doesn’t want to hear the rest of the explanation, sense of foreboding thumping loudly in his chest. yoongi only shrugs, a hand in his hair, messing it up almost artfully.

“i give you an orgasm, you give me your semen,” he wiggles his fingers, “then i go home. that’s the deal.”

“my—what—no,” jungkook squeaks, drawing his arms up in defense, warm everywhere, up to the tips of his ears. “why—no.”

“human.” yoongi’s low growl commands attention, amicable front gone in a split-second. “i can’t leave until the trade is completed. i am bound to you by the contract.”

he leans forward, one hand on the floor.

“i fulfill your needs, take a bit of life force—you won’t even notice it, i promise—and we’re free, you never see me again. simple.”

yoongi’s gaze is searing, felt all the way inside jungkook’s chest, so much so that he draws back even further. “but—”

yoongi shuffles forward on his knees, between the line of candles, and even further. he crosses the boundary without effort, as if it wasn’t there at all.

“how—you’re not supposed to—”

“the mood lighting is cute, but that’s all it is. even with your powers.”

the demon crawls towards jungkook, and jungkook retreats back, holding himself up on trembling arms. yoongi’s smirk runs down his spine, bursts white-hot in his gut.

“why do you deny it? i am everything you’re attracted to.”

yoongi inches closer, closer, to kneel between jungkook’s legs. his eyes glimmer with trouble, his mouth curves with fake promises. jungkook leans as far back as his arms can hold him, heartbeat pounding in his ears.

yoongi curves his body over his, breath teasing on jungkook’s skin. his lips look soft, full, deliciously pretty—jungkook inhales, stuttery, weak.

yoongi’s smell has his arms almost give out. it’s pleasant but intense, the sweetest blend of flowers and citrus and musk. jungkook inclines his head on instinct, craving more of it as it makes his head spin.

yoongi smiles so beautifully, knowing, leaning close. jungkook forces himself to turn his nose away, so instead he bares his neck, tingling all over his skin, anticipating. yoongi chuckles, close, so close, breath like sparks down his neck.

a demon. a demon is at his neck.

before yoongi can touch him, jungkook jerks away, losing his balance. he falls on his back, pain immediate, scrunching his eyes shut.

he braces himself, tense, but nothing happens.

when a quiet chuckle sounds above him, jungkook blinks up at the ceiling.

yoongi’s head pops into view, leaned over him, sharp demon eyes in amused curves.

“you’re cute.” he touches a bony finger to the tip of jungkook’s nose, pressing down once. his smile loses its edge, stretching all wide until his teeth show, then his gums, then his eyes disappear into crescents. no human has looked at jungkook this way.

“i can’t actually touch you without your consent, you know. master.”

jungkook shoves him to the ground, hard, cheeks burning.

“come on. jungkook.”

“i’m studying.”

“so keep doing it. how about my fingers in you?”

“no, no fin—no.”

“okay, fine, i could jerk you off?”

“yoongi—”

“more of a blowjob guy? i’m efficient at that.”

“wh—okay, you know what, no, you—leave, get out.”

“and where am i supposed to go?”

yoongi, unexpectedly, turns whiny when he doesn’t get his way.

it’s been hours.

jungkook tried making him do housework: finish chores, dust off the attic, mop the floors, do the laundry and the dishes, too. yoongi complained all the while, this is not fulfilling your needs, and why is the house so big, but did it all easily. with his magic demon powers or whatever. he didn’t lift a finger, anyway. he hasn’t disappeared, either.

yoongi sighs, long and heavy, frustration audible in it.

“jungkook, seriously though. i’m dying.”

jungkook’s neck cracks from how fast he snaps his head towards his unwilling companion. yoongi’s face is impassive.

“i can feel my powers decreasing as we speak. i am withering.”

jungkook should have considered that. yoongi is a demon—this is not his realm. he was called here by a spell. it makes sense that there is a penalty or cost to his stay. but—

“i will die. i will crumble to pieces if i can’t stick it in. or you stick it—”

“oh my god okay stop, please stop talking—”

“jungkook, please—”

“i can’t!”

his voice comes out much louder than intended, an uncomfortable feeling nagging at him, an itch he can’t locate.

“i can’t, okay? i just—we don’t even know each other, and i want my sexual partner to be someone i can trust, you know, someone that—”

“jungkook. jungkook, sweetie, i’m not human, i’ll just vanish into thin air after and—”

“that’s the problem.”

sure, it was stupid. to let weakness grip him so tight and painful he would even dare hope magic was real and he could just summon a friendly servant spirit to keep him company and help him pretend he isn’t—so terribly fucking lonely all the time.

he should’ve known even magic wouldn’t help with that.

jungkook stares down at his notes until they blur.

“jungkook. come on, jungkook.”

it’s been another hour. it was peaceful, though; jungkook pretended to be alone, as he always is, and yoongi kept his quiet and distance. until now.

“look—” yoongi sighs. “i get that you want… feelings, or whatever, and i’m not the… answer for that. that’s valid, i’m not telling you how to live your incredibly short mortal life.”

jungkook turns his head towards the demon slowly, mouth in a line.

yoongi looks tired, hair mussed, a hand fiddling with it.

“but i just can’t leave your side until the contract is fulfilled. i am not able to.”

jungkook regards him from head to toe, which is not a lot of distance to cover: he’s sat on the floor in front of the couch, legs drawn up to his chest, head hung. jungkook was busy feeling very sorry for himself, but it’s true that both of them are stuck with each other.

“what happens if you… if the contract isn’t fulfilled?”

“i die.”

yoongi crosses his arms on top of his knees and lays his head down on them. there’s no edge to his tone.

for a second, jungkook sees himself reaching out, his hand gently touching yoongi’s inky hair. he curls his fingers in the hem of his shirt instead, bottom lip between his teeth, guilt swelling in his chest. it was his mistake.

“can’t you just,” he clenches and unclenches his fists uselessly. “i don’t know—touch me and suck some life force out of me? use your powers for it?”

“suck… i’m not a vampire. and not a magician, jungkook. i need to—”

“can’t you at least treat me to dinner first? or is that not part of ‘fulfilling my needs’ either?” jungkook throws his hands in the air.

he’s half joking, but it’s quiet for so long that jungkook’s face turns warm all over, body tense.

yoongi’s face is stuck in a grimace.

“you want me to… court you? but that’s not—”

“court—why not? don’t i know best what i need from you?”

yoongi only stares back, mouth in a pout. “you do, but…”

jungkook has no idea how to save himself from this, except maybe embarrass himself more. if it’s about needs—what he really needs, from someone other than himself—

“a… hug, then?” the truth comes out weak, stumbling, never had to learn how to walk, “a hug would be… nice.”

yoongi visibly shivers. he presses his back against the couch, away from jungkook.

“what? sex is okay but a hug is too much?”

“no, just—” yoongi furrows his brows, eyes averted, drawing his shoulders up. “even if it counted, i don’t—”

jungkook has no idea what this form of his is; how much of it is real, how it is sustained, how his appearance was chosen. this, though, is a reaction that’s familiar: yoongi’s human-like body has his ears go red.

excitement flutters in jungkook’s chest.

“i want to cuddle. that’s what i really want.” it’s a bit embarrassing to say, and maybe silly, but that’s a low cost everything considered. yoongi shrinks in on himself, eyes glued to the carpet.

“i don’t think—” he raises a hand to his face, rubbing at his nose. “isn’t there something else i could do?”

the demon glares at jungkook through his bangs, curled into a ball, color on his cheeks both irrational and—cute, somehow. jungkook’s face is probably mirroring it, but it’s worth it.

“hold my hand, too,” he adds out of spite.

“this is terrible and i am dying.”

“you’re not. yet.”

“i am uncomfortable. i want this to end.”

“can you please be quiet?”

“please release me.”

jungkook huffs, yoongi’s voice small and muffled behind him. he tightens his grip on yoongi’s hand instead, arm around his waist, burrows further into the embrace and body against him. it’s warm; the physical touch, his back, his chest and cheeks.

“i’m trying to save your life.”

his voice wavers on the excuse, on the absurdity of the situation. yoongi goans into his neck.

“this is all your fault to begin with.”

“isn’t this kinda nice?”

their legs are tangled under a blanket, soft mattress beneath them. jungkook had taken the incubus to his bed.

“i beg to differ.”

yoongi hasn’t stopped moping since.

“this is ruining my enjoyment of it,” jungkook lies, gaze fixed on his nightstand. his phone might be in its depths.

yoongi growls, a sad and disgruntled little noise, pressing his nose to jungkook’s hair. he nuzzles his nape, his neck, inhaling deeply. it causes ripples on jungkook’s skin, heat rising beneath it.

yoongi’s lips are soft, warm, their movement distracting.

“how long do we have to keep doing this?”

“do you want to be stuck here forever?”

“it’s okay, i’ll just die.”

jungkook shoves his shoulder into his chest, hard.

in all honesty, there’s no telling if this actually works. jungkook can’t imagine what this contract between them looks like, what it says in the fine print. if pleasure that is not sexual still counts, so long as it is pleasure. it’s not sex he’s craving with all of his being.

if it doesn’t work, though—

“how much… how much time do you have? do you know?”

yoongi’s arms are solid, warm to the touch, human by all means perceivable. he breathes and has blood in his veins and a heartbeat gently tapping against jungkook’s back. everything to make jungkook believe and pretend.

“i mean, it’s… a vague feeling, but, calculated in your time…” yoongi inhales deeply, chest pressing against jungkook, his voice a low murmur. “a year?”

“a—what?”

jungkook goes rigid, straining to listen.

“what?”

“year? an entire year?”

his voice rises, goes high-pitched and disbelieving.

yoongi leans back a little, words slurred like through a pout.

“yeah? i’m fairly powerful, not to brag but—”

“a year—i thought you were dying—” jungkook pushes away from yoongi, his whole face hot, embarrassment pounding against his ribs. “okay, get off of me right this instant—”

“hey, i am dying,” yoongi tightens his hold around him, jungkook wriggling between his arms, “wait—”

jungkook grabs at the edge of the bed, trying to free himself from the embrace. yoongi’s all but clinging to his body now, draped over his back.

“wait, jungkook, it didn’t work yet—”

it’s so absurd that jungkook snorts, first, and then a giggle makes it out, and then another. yoongi’s whining against his shoulder blade, and jungkook hides his flush and smile behind a hand.

“we can’t give up now, you need to release me from this hell—”

yoongi tries to pull him back against his chest while jungkook burrows his face into a pillow, anticipation and hope in his veins. a whole year.

“you have enough time to treat me to dinner, then.”

#yoonkook #sugakookie #gakook #sukook #슙국 #*writing #prompts

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lichtweh · 6 years

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sunshine yoonkook / gen / 3.8k // for drea ♥

prompt: A. “Ow! What was that for?! 8. “Its not like you gave me a choice.”

(yoonkook, geckos and coincidences)

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“oh, go back!”

“no, his eyes are—”

“no, the one before that—this one. this one’s cute.”

“ohh. that’s a trustworthy face.”

yoongi has to squint at the phone screen thrust dangerously close to his face, leaning back from the approximately 78th picture of some reptile he’s been made to look at only today. which should be annoying, because he never asked for even one of them, but he’s used to these happenings by now. this particular creature, like all the ones before it, is lanky with big round eyes and a wide mouth that sort of looks like a derpy smile from the front. he looks up at taehyung opposite him, a wide derpy smile on his face. yoongi shrugs.

“trustworthy. why not.”

the first hour, jimin was still trying to argue that pets aren’t allowed in the dorms and they know nothing of lizards or how to take care of any living organism for that matter. taehyung pointed out they were doing well enough in taking care of yoongi, and yoongi grumbled his disagreement into his americano, face behind a hand, but nobody listened. they’ve been immersed in browsing pictures of their soon-to-be new family member since.

yoongi doesn’t bother to ask why it can’t just be a hamster—the expected might just be too boring for them. it wouldn’t quite be them, either.

he lets his head rest on his palm again, the slightest quirk to his mouth, ready to drift off until the next time his valuable opinion is needed.

admittedly, he doesn’t mind it. he’s thankful, even, no matter how ridiculous their topics of conversation can get. it’s a welcome distraction and fun and although he rarely says it in words, the way they carry on despite his eye-rolls and sighs tells him they know as much.

he sent jimin a text at three a.m. the previous night, asking if he thought yoongi could make a career as a cashier in a convenience store when he can’t even say one sentence right, and he doesn’t know what grammar is, and he doesn’t even like people all that much but he needs some career perspective and money and he likes night shifts and maybe he’s really a gremlin deep inside and gremlins can’t produce music so it only makes sense that he’s failing everything and namjoon is disappointed in him.

it made sense at three a.m.

jimin almost broke down his door with taehyung in tow before noon, bodily dragging him out of his cave to save his life and sanity. yoongi barely complained.

now they’re sat in yoongi’s favorite café on campus, and he didn’t think himself one of these people to sit in a café or coffee shop for hours to relax or even work, but—it’s cozy here, light earthy colors, low mid-tempo beats, soft cushions. seokjin had told him about it more than a month ago, mindful of his taste. it became one of the few comfort zones he has outside of his dorm room and the one studio that isn’t his, necessarily, but it’s the same one he goes to every time.

they’re all the way in a corner without windows, yoongi guarded by a wall at his back and side, and jimin and taehyung’s lizard discourse in front of him. it’s pleasant.

then the boy walks in. the boy.

the most beautiful boy yoongi has ever seen.

the bell chimes with yet another customer coming in, yoongi only half paying attention, lazy eyes slow around the scenery. but then he sees who it is, straightening in his seat, because in through the door comes—an angel. the angel. a boy sculpted by god himself, perfect skin, sun-kissed honey-glow, terribly sweet. probably. it looks like it. shiny soft hair, hazelnut, yoongi wants to touch it. just to know what heaven feels like beneath his fingers, once. his eyes are so big, glancing around as he steps up to the line in front of the counter. he checks the menu above it, gaze drawn to the snacks in the glass display. his eyes seem to glitter somehow.

he’s a student, too—young, ripped jeans, earrings, a worn backpack slung over one shoulder. also, they’re on campus right now. in yoongi’s new favorite café. it’s the only place he ever sees the boy.

it’s not why it’s his favorite, but both facts happen to be true at the same time.

the pretty boy turns his head in their direction and yoongi stares down at his americano, his hand around the cup, the bracelet on his wrist. silver, big chain links, it’s his favorite one. hoseok gifted it to him last year. taehyung and jimin are still huddled together, whispering. yoongi glances back up.

the gorgeous boy advances towards the counter. unsurprisingly, his profile is as aesthetically pleasing to look at as ever. he has a pronounced nose, and yoongi is mostly ambivalent about noses, most of the time, but it’s a good nose. a pretty one. the curve of his lips is pretty, too, his jaw sharp. his neck—

“hyung.”

a foot digs into his ankle and yoongi kicks his own out on reflex, hitting a target. jimin groans, eyeing him sharply.

“so what do you think, hyung?”

“about what?”

the boy’s wearing a giant yellow sweater today; it engulfs his entire form, falling all the way down to mid-thigh, making him look small and cute. soft. yoongi’s never seen a boy this soft.

he inhales deeply, curling both hands around his knees to alleviate the urge to squeeze.

a fake cough distracts him.

jimin’s looking at taehyung. taehyung turns to look at yoongi.

“what?”

“nothing, hyung.”

jimin’s mouth and eyes start to curl in a way that sends shivers down yoongi’s spine, fox-like and nothing but trouble. yoongi shrugs a shoulder, deflecting with raised hands.

“i’m still not into reptile talks, you can handle your family issues yourselves. fight it out in the parking lot, i don’t care.”

with two judgemental gazes on him, yoongi keeps his own low. he snatches his phone up to scroll through his five notifications, all from namjoon, in varying degrees of panic over the right choice of backing track for their assignment due next week. yoongi should answer, but his brain still feels like shapeless goo wobbling around in his skull pointlessly. jello. his brain is jello. that’s why he’s here, with jimin and taehyung and their gecko dilemma, because he’s heard tiny cute animals have healing effects. he’s waiting for it to kick in.

in his peripheral, the sun-yellow sweater makes it to the counter. the boy’s mouth moves slowly, attention still drawn to the sweets. he caves more often than not, but his determination is worth pointing out regardless. he’s athletic enough that some snacks shouldn’t matter, skinny jeans having brought yoongi to the brink of death by choking on a coffee before, but he’s conflicted anyway. maybe it’s a sporty-person thing, like diets, or attempting to live healthily; yoongi wouldn’t know about that. the employee isn’t done typing in the order when the boy says something else, then bows a little and steps aside to wait.

he always waits by the register, and yoongi’s never been close enough to catch his name.

it’s not like yoongi’s here all the time—it is his favorite place to go to outside his own spaces, but he only comes here once a week week. maybe twice, he isn’t counting. he may drop by every other day for a coffee to go, which doesn’t count.

it’s the only place he ever spots the boy. it’s been a few weeks.

yoongi can’t hear his name when he hurries to take his order this time, either. a barista slides over a small plate with a slice of cake on it, and the boy grabs for it immediately, hands emerging from the depths of the sweater. he takes his drink a beat later, almost an afterthought. the corners of yoongi’s mouth twitch.

he straightens to full height to look around for a place to sit. it’s crowded at this time of day, people pouring in for lunch break before afternoon classes, almost all seats taken by students chatting or working or procrastinating on work by chatting with their friends instead. it’s what yoongi’s doing. yoongi tries to lower his gaze.

taehyung says, way too loud:

“over here!”

yoongi snaps his eyes up—taehyung is turned around in his seat, hand raised, motioning at the boy. the boy is now looking towards them. panic bursts in yoongi’s stomach, rushes up his throat and through his veins and he instinctively kicks taehyung in the shin.

“ow—what was that for?!” taehyung lowers his hand, damage already done.

“what are you doing,” yoongi hisses back, taking note of the splash of yellow moving towards their corner.

“it’s not like you gave me a choice.” taehyung shrugs, no remorse in his eyes.

jimin, on the other hand, glares at yoongi, gently rubbing at taehyung’s knee. “this is a chance. take it, old man.” that’s not even where yoongi hit him. maybe he should’ve aimed for jimin instead.

the boy comes up to their table, steps slow. he looks between them, question obvious, and jimin smiles at him, expression bright in a split-second. yoongi continues to glare at taehyung.

“it’s pretty full right now, so we thought you could sit with us if you wanted to.”

“oh,” the boy says.

oh.

what a pretty voice. airy, light, yoongi feels a breeze around his head. he stops glaring at taehyung.

taehyung, who is opposite him, jimin glued to his side. sitting with them means—

“yeah, i—that’d be great, thank you.”

the syllables come out flowing, gentle, like a cozy yellow sweater—followed by a bow of his head, soft strands bouncing along with it.

yoongi feels warm already.

he shifts to his left, further into the corner, to offer more space. when the boy catches his eyes, he adds an affirmative nod. it’s not that yoongi doesn’t want him here; it’s that yoongi would prefer not to spontaneously combust into flames of gay panic. not in public.

“i’m jimin.”

“i’m taehyung.”

jimin smiles readily, comfortable even with strangers. taehyung mirrors him, a hand raised in a tiny wave, as the unknown beautiful boy sits down.

his voice is honey-gold, clear, glittering right next to yoongi. “ah, hi. i’m jungkook.”

jungkook.

taehyung and jimin throw yoongi a look, and yoongi scratches at the back of his head, meeting the other’s eyes only briefly.

“yoongi,” he murmurs.

jungkook. he can feel jungkook’s body at his side, in the warmth and slight movement against their shared seat and it’s a bit distracting. he frowns down at his cup. there’s barely anything left, so he nibbles at the straw to not have to talk.

taehyung leans halfway across the table, back arched and arms flat on the surface, elbows to palms.

“do you like geckos?”

jungkook says he does—although even yoongi might say that out of politeness and obligation in return for a seat—and so he gets a quick rundown of their so far favorite candidates, pictures held to his face as he sips on his drink. it’s light brown, lots of milk, probably sugary. sweet. it’s fitting. he nods and hums at appropriate times, echoes in question at breaks in their storytelling. he sounds earnest.

jimin and taehyung strike up conversations easily—include jungkook easily, no hesitance, all open gestures and genuine smiles. they don’t need to ask questions: they offer up little bits of themselves and invite anyone willing to join. it’s how they got to yoongi, too—and he still sticks around.

there’s a wish to say something, to engage, too, pressing into his lungs. but he can’t bring order to the disarray in his head, what to say, how to start, would jungkook care? what relevant information could yoongi even contribute to their talk? he doesn’t know anything about geckos, he’s never had a pet.

yoongi listens to them, usually comfortable as an observer, eyes dropped to his phone. he drags his finger down the screen again, lets go, watches a tiny line go around in circles. nothing new since a minute ago.

jungkook only touches his cake after his coffee is empty, careful tiny bites he takes his time to savor.

“is cheesecake your favorite?”

jungkook hums in affirmation around a bite.

“i think the strawberry shortcake here is the best,” jimin muses.

“i still think you don’t know what a strawberry shortcake is supposed to taste like. the IT’s café has the better one.”

“how many times—”

then taehyung yelps, jimin’s body flung against his, squishing him against the wall. he tells jimin to stop, but he starts laughing, and jimin’s shape only melts into his further. yoongi doesn’t check how many heads are turned their way; he watches the loading circle go round and round.

“uhm, you—” jungkook angles his body towards yoongi, and he has to speak up a bit, laughter tinkling around them, “what course are you in?”

his voice comes out in careful tiny pieces, one after the other, sweet and lightweight. it’s nice.

yoongi lets his gaze drift over, but it gets stuck on jungkook’s cheek. there’s a small scar there.

“uh, music.” he clears his throat. “composition.”

“oh,” jungkook breathes. “me too.”

yoongi snaps his eyes up. jungkook’s are already on him, wide.

“i mean—” the boy tenses, leaning back a little. “not composition, i’m in the vocal department, but—i just, i love music,” he murmurs into his chest, “is what i mean.”

“oh.”

yoongi chews on his words, nothing valuable assembling right in his mind. oh, he’s so endearing in person. oh, he loves music, too. oh, he must sound breathtaking when he sings.

taehyung’s foot nudges his. yoongi blinks to attention.

“oh, huh. i’ve never seen you in the music halls before.”

“you speed-walk to class and back and never pay attention to other people, so i’m not sure that statement is worth anything, to be honest.”

yoongi kicks at jimin’s legs, but jimin dodges it. he’s half on top of taehyung, head on his shoulder. not to tickle him anymore, but now just because.

there’s a soft snort to yoongi’s right. something does a little jump in his chest.

yoongi looks over and jungkook turns his head the other way, subtle flush to his cheeks. pretty.

“ah, well. it’s true, i guess,” yoongi shifts in his seat, twirls his straw between his thumb and pointer.

jungkook shakes his head.

“ah, it’s okay, we probably don’t have the same classes, so.” he shrugs. “freshman, here.”

yoongi regards him closely, tension visible in the line of his back.

“senior,” he offers as response.

jungkook keeps averting his gaze, but his eyes are bright and attentive nonetheless; he’s probably a good observer. he listens well, too. yoongi feels comfortable with this, even though he’s a complete stranger. an unfairly attractive one at that.

“so you can make music? yourself?”

jungkook speaks with awe, eyes glinting. there’s a loud thud inside yoongi’s ribcage.

“uhm, yeah. i can. i compose and produce, mostly for classes right now and a lot is classical but—i also make stuff for myself, on the side, so…”

yoongi touches a hand to his ear, thumbing at the silver hoop in his lobe. talking about his music feels both necessary and embarrassing at the same time. he wants it to be out there, in the world, someday, in some form. but it’s also the most private part of him that exists, put into notes and beats and given a name and saved on a hard drive. someone can click on it, and there it will be: a part of yoongi, in melodies and lyrics, playing from a speaker. yoongi draws his arms closer.

“oh, that’s so cool.”

jungkook all but whispers, eyes so round. yoongi catches his gaze, and then doesn’t know what to do when he gets stuck there. his eyes are pretty. chestnut. he means it.

“ah, it—” yoongi shrugs, drawing a blank. jungkook hurries on.

“i mean, i have no idea how to do that, really, that’s so cool. i’ve tried, but it was so bad.”

now jungkook is running a hand through his hair, tugging the strands behind his ear.

“all i can do is sing, but lots of people can, and—” his shoulders are drawn up, tight, “ah, composing must be such hard work.”

“singing is hard work, too,” yoongi furrows his brows. “you have to practice it too, just like composition. like any other craft. not everyone can sing well or pursue it.”

jungkook has his bottom lip between his teeth, looking up from beneath his lashes. his mouth moves silently around thought after thought, until one makes it out.

“thank you,” he exhales. yoongi isn’t sure what for.

jungkook looks up at him earnestly, and yoongi averts his gaze. he swallows hard.

taehyung brings a hand down in front of them with a loud smack.

“so!”

jimin has his chin propped up on his palm, lips curved in a way that makes vague dread climb up yoongi’s spine. jungkook blinks at taehyung.

“we have to go now, but we were wondering—”

yoongi straightens at that, ignoring the pang of disappointment low in his gut. he looks at taehyung, but taehyung subtly gestures for him to stay put.

“if you’d maybe like to hang out sometime,” jimin finishes, smile genuine for jungkook.

“oh,” jungkook’s fingers curl in his sleeves. “oh, yeah, sure.”

“hey,” something doesn’t sit right with yoongi here. these two are straightforward and sociable, to a point where someone like himself has trouble to not be overwhelmed by it. if jungkook is anything close to the impression yoongi has of him, this is moving a little fast. a little too intentional. “he doesn’t even know you, can you come off any stronger?”

“so he can get to know us!”

“who ever said he wants to?”

“he wants to, doesn’t he?”

“how can you—”

“ah, it’s—it’s okay!” jungkook raises his hands. his gaze flicker between them, voice thin. “i still don’t have many friends here yet, so—yeah. yeah, why not?”

his smile is lopsided, a hand back in his hair.

“cool,” jimin beams, eyes crinkling. he looks childlike and innocent like this—a very misleading effect, yoongi learned.

“let’s exchange numbers.”

jungkook has a bit of a flush to his cheeks, but he nods. he pulls his phone from his pocket, and yoongi can only watch in both excitement and dread. he knows jimin and taehyung. there will be more to this at some point.

jimin adds, “ah but—”

or right now.

“we don’t have our phones with us, so could you just give your number to yoongi?”

yoongi blinks. 78 gecko pictures, within only two hours. he pointedly directs his gaze to where he assumes taehyung’s jeans pocket is.

“the batteries just died. both. a real shame,” jimin rushes.

they’re out of the seats in a second, removing their legs from kicking distance just in time. they dare to throw this at him so offhandedly, no hint of regret or shame. yoongi stares at them until his eyes sting. jimin flashes a brilliant smile.

“uh.” jungkook mumbles, and yoongi doesn’t want to look.

“ignore them,” he grimaces, “you don’t have to.”

“ah, uhm—” jungkook’s eyes dart between the three of them. “okay.”

because it isn’t bad enough yet, jimin and taehyung just stand there, waiting to see it unfold in all the ugly details. jungkook throws a few awkward glances yoongi’s way, and—yoongi actually has to take part in this now. he unlocks his phone with stiff fingers and opens a new contact form, then slides it over the table, careful and slow. there are two pairs of eyes on them. jungkook’s a bit pink around the nose.

he has pretty, slender fingers, silver rings on both hands. he holds yoongi’s phone with care, thumbing in his number before giving it back. yoongi stares at it. jungkook.

taehyung claps his hands.

“great! thank you so much.”

“we’ll be going now.”

“have fun you two.”

taehyung grins wide, and yoongi doesn’t care to find out what kind of expression jimin has on his traitor face. yoongi’s sort of curiously grateful, sort of about to excuse himself and run. jimin and taehyung are sort of dead to him right now.

for an hour or two, at least.

they wave enthusiastically and all but flee outside. taehyung pulls out his phone as they exit the door.

yoongi slumps in his seat with a groan.

“sorry about them,” he starts, pinching the bridge of his nose. “i can delete your number, don’t worry about it.”

“ah,” jungkook’s voice is soft, gentle. he’s a soft, gentle boy. he doesn’t deserve to be pushed into anything like this.

“no, i—” there’s shuffling, and yoongi cracks an eye open to jungkook fidgeting in his seat, hands hidden in his sleeves. he stares at the table. “it’s okay.”

truthfully, it’s hard to ignore: the chaos and pounding behind his ribs. yoongi swallows around the lump in his throat.

“yeah?”

his voice comes out raspy, strangely weak.

jungkook takes a careful look at him, from his eyes down his face, over his slumped shoulders and the leather jacket and black ripped jeans. then he stares at his plate as if it wasn’t empty, but there’s a slow quirk to his lips.

“yeah.”

warmth bursts in his middle, sudden but gentle, calms the nervous flutter down to a pleasant buzz. yoongi licks his lips and straightens up with a hum.

“so…”

he spent an embarrassing amount of time admiring this boy from afar, never taking a single step towards him. he didn’t intend to, not keen on leaving his comfort zone when he doesn’t have to, on putting himself out there for a stranger to say yes or no. maybe if it was coincidence—if coincidence put them together, he would say something.

jimin and taehyung are coincidence, in his life and in general, so it counts.

maybe seokjin, too.

yoongi gently nudges jungkook’s arm with his own to catch his gaze. it– he—is sort of breathtaking, up close. yoongi nods at the empty plate.

“another cheesecake?”

“oh, you don’t have to,” he starts, eyes going round, but yoongi raises a hand to stop him.

“as an apology… because that was mortifying. let me get you another.” yoongi rubs at his nose, face warm.

he tried not to sound too eager, but he clearly sounds too eager. jungkook bites down on a grin.

“and you can tell me more about that singing thing. if you want to.”

jungkook’s smile is a flower here: it grows from an unassuming curve, slowly, surely; stretches out bigger and fuller and blossoms so beautifully, he’s beautiful—cheeks bunched up, eyes in crescents, sparkling so bright.

“yeah, i’d like that a lot.”

#yoonkook #sugakookie #gakook #슙국 #*writing #/ hello n goodbye!!!!#prompts

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