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jae-bummer · 7 months

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Crimes Against Punctuality

Request: Hi! I'm in loooooove with your writing and I saw that you have your request open soooooo can I ask for “Going out to dinner with your bias group and it is growing increasingly obvious that someone at the table has a crush. “ with Suga 😍💕 pls😭🫶

Prompt:

16) Going out to dinner with your bias group and it is growing increasingly obvious that someone at the table has a crush.

Pairing: BTS Suga x Reader

Genre: Fluff

If there was one constant in your world, it was this: when it came to dinner with your friends, you were never late.

Had you often arrived after nearly everyone else? Yes. Did that include technically running at least thirty minutes late on more than one occasion? Also, yes.

But out of the eight of you, there was always someone who was later, therefore absolving you of your offenses.

Sprinting toward the restaurant, you quietly cursed to yourself. Even though they got more than enough crap for it normally, you hoped that tonight, Jimin or Jungkook were running late. If they were already there when you walked through the door, you wouldn't hear the end of it. You needed one of them (or both, you weren't picky) to be the martyr just this once.

Taking the steps two at a time toward the front door of the establishment, you groaned as you flopped against the glass. Pushing at what was an evident pull, you took a step backwards before advancing again.

"It'll be fine," you muttered to yourself. "They get so wrapped up in each other, they won't even notice I'm missing."

Coming to a halt in front of the hostess stand, you opened your mouth, only to be silenced by screams coming from the back of the room.

"I'm guessing you're with them?" the hostess asked, lifting a brow.

Looking over her shoulder, you could clearly see where all seven men had already been seated, and were now zeroing in on you.

"I guess," you agreed, slumping your posture as you walked slowly toward them.

"Y/N!" "You're late." "Did you know you're late?!" "Jimin got here fifteen minutes ago and you couldn't even-" "I took two showers today and still-"

"I ordered you a lemonade."

Looking up as you slid onto the bench seat next to Yoongi, you let out a short chuckle. "Wouldn't have been my first choice."

"I know," he smirked. " It's punishment for your crimes against punctuality."

"How mildly inconvenient," you sighed, picking up your menu. "How is everyone?"

"Starving." "Withering away to nothing." "I have this suspicious mole on my elbow, can anyone-"

"Not all at once," you laughed. Side eying the man next to you, you elbowed him in the side. "What about you?"

"What about me?" he asked calmly, looking to his menu as well.

"How are you?" you repeated.

"Peachy," he grumbled, now glancing your way. "How are you?"

"Tired," you nodded. "Things are just a lot, but you know that all too well."

"What had you late this time?" he questioned, looking away quickly again.

You narrowed your eyes. Sure, Yoongi was odd in a generic way, but something else was going on with him tonight. His vibe was heavier somehow, more guarded.

"Work was a disaster," you explained. "Have you had the bibimbap here before?"

"Namjoon said you had a date."

Choking on what could only be air, you whipped your attention back toward him. "What?"

"With that new guy at your office." He refused to look at you now, but you noticed the tips of his ears were burning a bright crimson.

"Min Yoongi," you gasped. "I never took you for a gossip."

"It's hardly gossip if you told Namjoon," he muttered, flipping the menu over.

Setting your glare on Namjoon, you cleared your throat. Like prey that had been spotted by its predator, he slowly turned toward you with wide eyes. "Can I help you?"

"Who told you I had a date with my coworker?" you asked innocently. "Because I surely did not."

Swallowing loudly, a timid smile crossed his face. "Hobi?"

"Hoseok?" you hummed, swiveling your head to the newest rumor mill.

"I just, when I-" he began to stutter, looking at the members around him for help. "We got lunch the other day and you took a really long time "finishing up" with him!"

Your draw dropped. "What did you think finishing up meant, Hobi?!"

"I mean...I know what it means to Tae-"

"Hey," Taehyung's deep voice hissed. "Leave me out of this."

"Why does it matter anyway!" Hoseok shouted in his Hoseok way. "It's not like you have to answer to any of us!"

Lifting a brow, you turned back to Yoongi. He blinked back at you, his expression remaining blank. "Is the sun in your eyes? I feel like the sun is in my eyes."

You tilted your head, completely at a loss. Out of the seven men sitting around you, Yoongi had always been a bit of enigma. You liked him just as well as you liked your other friends, but it seemed like he was always just slightly withdrawn with you. He was brilliant, sarcastic, and easily one of your favorite people to talk to, but just when you thought you had overcome a barrier with him, he retreated again.

Tonight was even worse than normal.

"Jin, switch seats with me," Yoongi croaked, backing out of the bench seating. Trapped between you and Tae, there was no other way to escape.

Jin looked up with lifted brows, his cheeks packed with what appeared to be kimchi. "Me?"

"Yes, you," Yoongi confirmed, lingering awkwardly behind you now. "The sun is in my eyes over here. You're taller so it won't bother you."

Furrowing your brows, you realized that Jin was in the furthest seat away from you. A sour feeling swept through your stomach as you looked toward the window across from your table instead. "I'm sure they'll close the blinds if we ask-"

"I'll switch with you," Jungkook said cheerfully, sliding off of the bench and circling the table. He had been seated directly across from you.

"No, no, no," Yoongi said quickly. "The sun will bother you just as much."

"Jin isn't that much taller-"

"Listen to your hyung!" Yoongi groaned. "Jin-"

"I'm not moving," the other boy said stiffly, crunching on his food.

Yoongi inhaled deeply before looking up to Jungkook. "Fine," he said quietly, trying to save face. "I hope you like not being able to see."

"It's really no problem," Jungkook giggled, making his way toward you again. Shouldering himself in, he plopped down onto the bench with a content sigh. "So tell me about this date, Y/N."

"There was no date!" you huffed. "Hobi is just dramatic."

"Shocker," you could hear Jimin chuckle from the opposite side of Taehyung.

Directing your attention back to Yoongi as he settled in across from you, you couldn't help but lean forward. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Why?" Yoongi countered, not bothering to give you a real answer.

"You're acting really weird," you said quietly, trying to keep the exchange to yourselves as the other members fell back into a normal cadence of conversation.

"Surely I don't know what you mean," he sniffed, still refusing to look directly at you. It was hard not to notice that the blush that had previously painted his ears was now clouding across his face.

"Are you mad at me?" you tried again. "For making a big deal about the date comment?"

"I don't care who you date, Y/N."

"I didn't say you did, I just-"

Springing up from his chair, the table grew quiet as Yoongi hovered in place. "I, uh, I need to use the restroom."

Turning on his heel, instead of heading to where the actual bathrooms were, he exited onto the back patio of the restaurant.

"Did anyone ask?" Hobi marveled, glancing around the table.

"Joon," you sighed, setting your elbows on the table so you could drop your chin into your palm. "What is going on?"

"What do you mean?" Oh, so now it was his turn to be evasive.

"Don't act like you don't know everything," you muttered. "Now why is Yoongi acting like I have a disease?"

Glancing from one end of the table to the other to confirm that Yoongi was indeed not there, Namjoon whispered. "Have you considered that maybe, he brought up the "date" for a reason?"

"Yes," you nodded. "Because you all are worse than a group of middle aged women when it comes to circulating rumors."

"Well...yes," he said slowly. "But are there any other reasons you can think of?"

You hadn't really wanted to examine his question too closely because you knew what result it would yield. "You don't mean..."

Shrugging, he took a sip of his drink. "Just a thought."

Yoongi could not be jealous. You had assumed that he was just a peace with dying alone because there was never a partner to be seen. Of course, he could have been careful about his privacy, but you knew one of the guys would have found out and spilled the beans. He had no interest in dating, so why would that change for you? Could you have been that wrong?

You supposed it was time to find out.

"I guess I have to use the "bathroom" too," you grumbled, pulling yourself to your feet.

"Are we in an airport?" Jin complained. "We do not need to know about these departures."

Rolling your eyes, you slinked off to the door leading to the seating area in the back of the establishment. Peering out of the glass paned door, you saw Yoongi leaning on the edge of a picnic table, his back facing you and face tilted toward the sky.

Making sure you pulled instead of pushing the door this time, you shuffled out of the building. Uncertain of what to do, you decided to take a seat on the picnic tabletop next to him. After a few minutes of silence, he cleared his throat.

"I'm an idiot."

"Sure," you nodded. "But is there a specific reason?"

"Nope," he sighed. "Just a self-assessment."

"Yoongi," you said, exasperated. Simply saying his name was enough to have him finally look toward you.

"You figured it out, right?" he asked, lifting his brows.

"After talking to Namjoon, yeah," you admitted. "I think I may have known before that though."

The two of you lapsed into silence again. This was all new territory with Yoongi. You knew him better than a lot of people but were still missing out on so much. He kept impenetrable walls around himself, but did this mean that he was finally giving you a key?

Holding your breath, you looked down to find Yoongi's hand leaned on the table between the two of you. You began to move your own fingers slowly toward his, not stopping until they had become intertwined.

There was another moment of silence as you allowed yourself to decompress. You had done it, and he hadn't pulled away. Baby steps were still steps.

Yoongi let out a deep sigh. Closing his eyes, the corner of his lips hitched up ever so slightly. "It feels like a relief."

"What does?"

"You finding me," he said quietly.

The moment was so fragile, you were scared that breathing wrong would cause it to break. "You didn't get very far."

"No," he chuckled. "Not out here."

"Oh," you chirped, suddenly getting his meaning. "I - I don't know if I've found you yet, Yoongi. I need you to help me...if you want to."

"I want to," he said without missing a beat. "I'm not the most open person, Y/N. I can't be like Hobi or Tae. I can't just broadcast my emotions and every thought that crosses my mind."

"You can't?" you asked sarcastically. "And here I thought it was your heart stitched on your sleeve!"

This caused him to smile again. "I know I can be cold and closed off, but I don't want to be that way with you. Not anymore."

"What changed?"

Maybe it was the wrong thing to say. You fell into silence yet again but after a moment, realized that it just meant Yoongi was carefully choosing his words. "Me, I think."

"How so?"

"I never wanted to be with anyone," Yoongi said quietly, confirming your earlier thoughts. "It's just easier being alone...but then, you showed up with Jimin one night. I was hesitant to even make friends because it's a lot of upkeep, you know? Being social and caring about another person is such an investment and it can be so painful...but then I got to know you. It was almost as if I felt my heart change in real time."

"Because of our friendship?"

"Because of you," he corrected. "And against my better judgement, I dared to hope that we could be something if you decided to take a chance on me."

"Well, it sounds like you took one on me," you hummed. "It seems only fair that I do the same."

This time when Yoongi turned to look at you, he really looked at you. "Do you mean that?"

"Very much so," you grinned. "Be careful about letting me in, Yoongi. I may never want to leave."

"What if I don't want you to?"

His words were a whisper, and his eyes were looking so intently into yours. You felt like you would melt on the spot.

"Then I won't."

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irish-belle · 8 months

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Hello and welcome to todays episode of “Quick Filling Dinners!” With a bonus crossover with “Eco Baking”

Todays dinner took very little time to whip up and was really filling. If you’re tired of spaghetti and meat sauce as your go to “kid friendly pasta”, this may be the dish for you: Pesto Shells with chicken, rashers, and peas! (Leftovers pictured)

First I cooked up a package of rashers (bacon), half went into a bowl for beer bread, half went onto a covered plate for dinner. Then I threw on the chicken (thin cut breast, garlic and herb marinade, part of a 3 for €10 deal!) and boiled the water for the pasta (I used a package of shells tonight, store brand that I think at €1.29?). Turned on the oven to preheat, and quick like a bunny whipped up the beer bread*. Then I put the beer bread and my garlic bread (store bought today) in the oven to bake. Finished cooking the chicken and pasta (adding frozen peas to the pasta about halfway through), let the chicken rest, stirred pesto into the peas and pasta, cut up the meat, stirred that into the pasta too and served! The beer bread finished about 10 mins after that. We’re a family of six, my husband is a carpenter and an athlete and I’m still breastfeeding the youngest babe, so when I say this fed a family of six with left overs, you should be good to go. I don’t have any teenagers yet though as a disclaimer!

All in all I think I spent thirty minutes making this, with lunch ready to go for tomorrow. It’s balanced, it’s yummy, and for me it was fairly inexpensive.

By cooking the rashers all in one go and turning on the oven for both breads, I saved energy and made my cooking time as efficient as I could. Which with four smallies is key! The bread will be for mine and the kiddos breakfast tomorrow (most likely with eggs and some fruit!) and to go in my husbands lunch tomorrow for his morning tea.

*Beer Bread: 2.5 cups flour, 1 tbsp baking soda, 2 tbsp sugar, 1 tsp salt, grated cheddar cheese and chopped rashers (measure with your heart), and about 12 oz of beer (just enough to get a sticky dough). Top with thinnn slices of butter and bake about 30 minutes.

#adventures in baking #recipe #dinner #dinner ideas #real homemaking #reality isn’t always as aesthetic as we hope for…#I’ll try to take prettier pictures next time!#homemaker #homemaking #cooking #baking #i live in a fairytale

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helliontherapscallion · 3 years

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(Y/n) and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week: Thursday (Part 2)

Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday (Part 1) Friday Saturday Sunday

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: panic attacks, swearing, puking, concussions, mentions of injuries/bullying, homophobia

Word count: 5,138

After school, you were sitting on the couch as you furiously typed on your keyboard at an extremely fast pace. You were on a roll with these essays, they were probably going to be finished by the time you had to go back to the school to get on the bus with the team. You figured that you could even finish Annie’s essay and get started on Sammy’s US history presentation on the sociopolitical climate of the United States in the mid twentieth century to today. However, instead of covering a variety of topics like the rubric requested you to do, you were only going to talk about the significant events that happened to the LGBT+ community starting with Stonewall and going to Obergefell v. Hodges. You were also going to go in depth about how even if there are more opportunities available and more laws set in place to protect for LGBT+ people in the present then there were in past, members of the LGBT+ community still suffer heavy discrimination in the workplace and in the public. With receipts of course, the assignment required a minimum of three pictures per slide, and the group chat was a perfect source.

After that was done, you would email Sammy’s teacher (you had her last year for US history and you knew that she had a son in the grade below you currently transitioning from female to male) that you were the one that did her project and send screenshots of Sammy calling you slurs. Luckily for you, you had receipts of her being transphobic in the past that you could also send. Everything was effortlessly falling into place for you today.

As you were typing, the front door swung open and two overly excited fifth graders ran into the house and up the stairs. A tired Schlatt followed them. “I will never know how the hell Phil keeps up with them.”

“I dunno, maybe because he’s already raised three kids before.”

You watched as your uncle jumped and whipped his head over towards you, his hand clutching his chest. He lightly glared at you, “christ kid don’t do that, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

You smirked at him before turning back to your laptop to continue typing the essay. You were almost done with the conclusion paragraph on Annie’s essay and you wanted to get to Sammy’s presentation as fast as possible. As you were typing, you felt a warm air fan across your neck and your uncle’s voice right next to your ear, “whatcha typin?”

You lept off the couch and almost fell into the coffee table before steadying yourself and deadpanning at Schlatt. “I was typing an essay before you interrupted me.”

He snorted, “it looked like you were on a roll, just thought I’d see what my beloved niece was writing. Can I read it?”

Your eyes lit up as an excited grin split your cheeks, “yeah, but lemme catch you up real quick. Adrian, Sammy, and Annie got mad at me a few days ago and wanted me to do some homework for them as a sort of payment. But after they pulled that little stunt in the lunchroom yesterday, they decided to be little bitches to me and call me slurs. So naturally, I decided to change the essay prompt into an in depth analysis about discrimination LGBT people face from their peers on the daily. My english teacher’s really against homophobia and the project’s worth twenty five percent of our overall grade, so it’s perfect.”

While you were rambling on and on about your detailed plot for revenge, Schlatt couldn’t help but be proud of the person you’d become. A major part of him was impressed that you came up with a detailed plan so quickly, that meant that his cunning nature was rubbing off on you and that made him ecstatic. Sure you mentioning not being straight was new to him, but he was prepared to accept you for whatever you identified as. He didn’t care how people identified, he just cared if they were good people. And his niece was one of the best kids he knew. He’d let your slip up slide for now until you felt comfortable enough to properly come out to him.

“That an amazing plan, fuckin brilliant. Though, you could do more.”

That piqued your interest, “I’m listening.”

“Do you have any blackmail?”

Your eyes glinted with sudden understanding, “why yes I do, uncle dearest. I just so happen to have thousands of texts from them talking shit about each other and basically the entire school. And them being incredibly racist. They would be destroyed if that came out.”

“Two things. One, never call me that again. Two, perfect. Keep it as leverage if they try to do something. You don’t pull out all the good cards in the first round, you wait for the right moment to strike so you can win. You need to constantly defend yourself against other players and anticipate their every move. If you leak everything right now, you won’t have anything to use against them if they have something up their sleeve you didn’t know about. Patience is key in things like this.”

You absorbed every single word that came out of his mouth like it was the holy gospel. Although he was your uncle and you loved him with all your heart, but he was a sly bastard when he wanted to be. He knew his way around fighting and manipulating people just right, so you were incredibly happy that you were on his good side and he absolutely adored you. Though questionable and morally gray, he was giving you advice because he cared about you and you’d be an idiot to not heed his advice.

“That’s genius, Uncle Schlatt. What would I do without you?”

“You’d get along just fine without me, you would’ve gotten there eventually. You’re smart. I’m just givin you a little push in the right direction.”

“I honestly would’ve never thought about waiting, I was so dead set on getting revenge that I would’ve just leaked everything all at once. I want them to feel how I felt when they were around me. I-” you paused. Would this make you the same as them? You’d be screwing up all their grades, Adrian’s job, and Sammy’s athletic career. You came to the chilling realization that you’d be the same as them. You’d be as manipulative as they were. “...Uncle Schlatt, would that make me the same as them?”

“Fuck no! You’re always gonna be better than them no matter what. When they’re at their best, you’re always gonna be a whole lot better than them. They deserve what’s happening to them, it sounds like they put you through so much shit the past few years. I actually think you could do a whole lot worse to them if you’re willing to put more work in, but it’s your plan and if you think that what you’re doing is too much,” he darkly chuckled, “you wouldn’t like my idea.”

“You’re right, they deserve everything I have planned for them. God, I don’t know what I was thinking, ‘would that make me the same as them,’” you mocked what you said earlier, “what a load of shit. Anyways, thanks Uncle Schlatt. I’m gonna get back to writing this. They’re due tomorrow and I wanna finish as much as I can before I have to go.”

“Alright, whaddya want for dinner? Phil’s gonna be like thirty minutes late from work so I’m cookin tonight.”

Oh no. No, no, no, no. That man can barley cook boxed mac n cheese, let alone anything else. He’d burn down the house if you left him alone in the kitchen with the stove. “On second thought, why don’t I help you with dinner? We can make some chicken alfredo.”

“Awe, you’d rather hang out with me than finish your homework? Ya really do love me. C’mon let’s start.”

The process of making dinner was… interesting. Multiple times, Schlatt almost spilled boiling water on himself and he even managed to burn the pasta while it was in the water. How he even managed to do that you’d never find out, you had your back turned cutting up vegetables and herbs at the time. That was when you subtly started to take over in the kitchen, giving him smaller tasks while you handled everything else. You felt bad for Tubbo, his father can’t cook for shit.

By time you finished, about an hour passed and Philza had come home and changed out of his work clothes. The two adults sat at the table discussing something that you didn’t pay attention to while your brothers and cousin were in the living room waiting for you to finish dinner. Finally, you set the table and it was time to eat.

Because you couldn’t have many fatty foods before any matches or practices, you had made a separate plate for yourself that only had plain pasta, chicken, and broccoli. You were surprised with how well it turned out, you were following an iffy recipe you found on the first link Google brought up.

After dinner, you went upstairs to put your uniform on and pack a little bag full of things you might need: a small blanket, some snacks, a water bottle, and a portable charger. Oh, and fuzzy socks and a pair of crocs. You could never go wrong with fuzzy socks and crocs. Feeling a vibration in your pocket, you pulled out your phone.

Hales : )

(Y/n), I’m omw to your house

Gonna give you a ride to the school

(Y/n)

Hales you don’t have to give me a ride, I can drive

Hales : )

Don’t care

Omw, be there in like 7 mins

You swiped out of yours and her conversation and opened up the family group chat

(Y/n)

I don’t need a ride to the school, Haley’s giving me one

She’s gonna give me a ride home too

Dadza

Alright, thank her for me

Tell her I said good luck too!

Uncle Schlatty Patty

Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do

Dadza

(Y/n), do everything he wouldn’t do

Uncle Schlatty Patty

Fuck you I’m a good influence

Dadza

You’re really not

Wilby

^^^^

Technology Sword

Uncle Schlatty Patty

Fuck all of you

You heard Haley’s car pull into the driveway and dashed out of your room with your bag. Just as you put your hand on the doorknob, a hand stopped you.

“Coat.”

You grumbled as you reached past Philza to grab your coat. After you slipped it on, you were pulled into a hug. “You’re gonna do great out there. I know you’re gonna win this, we’ll be watching in the stands.”

“Damn right she’s gonna do good, she’s my niece after all.”

Schlatt pulled you away from your father’s hug and tried to ruffle your hair before you swatted away his hand, “don’t. You have no idea how long it took me to get a perfect ponytail. I have an ungodly amount of hairspray and bobby pins in my hair right now.”

“Fine. You’re gonna kick their asses tonight.”

Tommy and Tubbo pushed past Schlatt and both tackled you into a hug making you stumble slightly back.

“Kick their asses good (y/n)!” Tommy cheered, making you crack up before one stern glance from Philza completely stopped you. “Tommy, don’t say that. (Y/n), not funny.”

“Alright, Haley’s waiting for me. I gotta go, love you guys!” As you turned to walk through the door, you could hear your family following you and shouting “good luck”. You felt heat creep up on your cheeks as Haley rolled down her window and wove at your family with the biggest grin on her face.

“Thank you! We’re gonna take home the gold for sure!”

You hopped in her car as she rolled up the window and chuckled. “I love your family, they’re always so full of energy. It’s refreshing to see compared to how boring my family is.”

You glanced at your entire family gathered on the front porch. Tommy and Tubbo were practically vibrating with excitement, Wilbur and Techno calmly smiled and wove at you, Philza was grinning widely at you as you saw his mouth forming words that you couldn’t hear or read, and Schlatt was grinning cheekily at you. You raised your hand to wave at them as they vanished from view when Haley pulled out of your driveway. You smiled softly, “I love em too.”

The car ride was relatively quick with the same soft indie pop music floating from the speakers and an easy going conversation with Haley about the match tonight. You both thought that you could beat the other team if everyone focused 100% and played exactly like you guys did in practices. If everyone did that, you would be unstoppable.

Luckily for you and Haley, you were the first ones in line to board the bus so you two got the back seat with Zara and Jazzy sitting across from you guys. The hour long bus ride passed quickly and lively with you four passing around your phone and playing some mad libs, you were sure that by the end of the last game you four were laughing and crying. Sometime in the middle of the trip, you noticed that Haley would start to lean on your shoulder and continuously glance at you as she laughed. You desperately wanted to believe that it was because she liked you, but she was straight and she was your best friend. She was probably trying to make sure you were having a good time.

When the team had gotten to the opposing school and left the locker room to stretch in the gym, you could hear your family start to scream your and Haley’s names from the front row next to you, Tommy and Tubbo being the loudest amongst them with Philza trying to get them to quiet down so you could focus. You felt your cheeks heat up as you smiled at them and Haley wove enthusiastically back at them. Zara was laughing at you two. Stretching went by in a flash and before you knew it, you were on the court facing the opposing team.

The first match was won by the opposing team by five points. The second match stretched on and on until it was won by your team narrowly by two points. The team was going to have to shape up in the third match if you guys wanted a chance at winning, the opposing team was good. Before the third match started, Coach Williams called for a time out so you guys could talk about strategy. Before Haley could go back onto the court, you pulled her aside.

“Hales, we need to do what we practiced. The other team won’t be expecting it at all, I’ve been setting you up this entire game. They’re never going to expect you setting me up for a spike.”

“When are we going to do it though? We need a better plan.”

“I’m sure the opportunity will come and both of us will recognize it. We just can’t do it too early in the game though, that’ll ruin their surprise.”

“(Y/n), I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“When do I not Hales? We gotta get gold this year.”

The third round went by with both teams constantly swapping places until you both were tied fifteen to fifteen. You saw the ball flying towards Haley, giving her the perfect opportunity to set you up for a spike. “HALEY NOW!”

You watched as her face hardened in determination as she pretended like she was going to spike it by jumping high in the air and stretching her arms back, making the opposing front row players all gather in front of her. Much to their surprise, she launched it towards you as you leaped up and went for the kill. The stinging of the ball hit by your wrist and the smack sound the ball made when it slammed onto the open gym floor was something you’d never forget as the crowd around you went wild over the unexpected play. You could hear the high pitched screaming of Tommy and Tubbo over everybody else. Glancing at them over your shoulder, you saw them jumping up and down on the gym floor and looking at you with awe filled eyes and gaping mouths. The rest of your family looked at you with similar expressions, their cheers echoing in your mind. Winking at them, you turned back to your team and went straight to Haley. Clapping a hand on her shoulder, you pulled her into a quick hug, yelling over the raving of the crowd. “HALEY WE NAILED THAT!”

“HOLY SHIT I DID NOT THINK THAT WAS ACTUALLY GONNA WORK!”

“You have such little faith in your setter! You wound me Hales.”

“Well, I would have more faith in you if you weren’t chaotic on the court, sweetheart.”

You felt yourself surge in happiness at the nickname, but you couldn’t afford to focus too much on it. Your team only needed one more point to win best in the state and go to nationals. It would be the first time in your team’s history if you reached national level, and you’d be damned if you were the one to screw it up for them.

The last rotation went on for a while, each team fighting tooth and nail for the state championship title with clashing determination. You tried your best to block every hit and try to set Haley up for a spike, and you were successful for the most part, only missing a few blocks. You saw the setter adjacent to you set the spiker up for a spike and jumped up in time to try to block it, your arms stretched upwards and your palms out. Only, the ball didn’t hit your hands. It collided painfully with your nose, ricocheted off your face with a thwack and sailed over to the other side of the court. Your head whipped back as your body followed suit and flew backwards onto the floor. Without giving you any time to react, your head bounced back and cracked against the polished hardwood floor of the gym. Everything went black.

“...(y……”

“..(y/n)......”

“(Y/n).”

You faintly heard someone calling someone’s name over the continuous ringing noise. Was it your name? It felt right, so it had to be your name. You peeled your eyes open to see a blurry figure hovering over you. It was swirled with tans, browns, and backs. After a while of the figure repeating your name, it slowly became more recognizable, albeit appearing twice in your vision. It took you a while to figure out who this was before your muddled brain recognized Haley.

“Hales! There’s two o’ya. Twice as beautiful babe…” You slurred out as you attempted to smile at her.

“Oh thank god, PLEASE WE NEED A DOCTOR SHE HIT HER HEAD!” Her usually angelic voice gritted against your brain like sandpaper making you cringe as pain exploded in your head.

“God babe you’re so loud, why’s so bright? I-wha's goin on?” You blearily tried to move your head to look around only to be stopped by a pair of large hands on each side of your head gently holding it in place. You moved your laggy eyes around to look at the figure. He was a blonde man with blue eyes and a hint of stubble on his chin. His eyebrows were knitted together and he looked… he looked… your brain worked to figure out why he looked how he looked. Who was he?

“Please don’t move hun.” His muffled voice was baritone. You squinted at him trying to figure out who this man was.

“Who th f-fuck… why?”

“I’m your dad hun. Do-do you not recognize me?” You made a noise in the back of your throat as your stuffy brain finally put a name to the face.

“Dad- wha’s goin on? I’on feel so good…”

“Shh, I know, I know. Just stop moving and talking. Everything’s fine. I’m here. You’re okay.”

“Mmk… Dad, where are we? I’ont know- you’re so quiet.”

“Stop moving so much. You’re on the floor in a gym. You just won your team the state championship. Now stop talking please.”

Huh. So that’s why everybody seemed to appear from above you. You strained your eyes to look around you, but you could only see your dad’s face hovering above you. “Shit I- who’s aroun’ me? Where’s Hales?”

“I’m right here sweetheart. I got the doctor, Mr. Minecraft.”

Your dad’s face moved away from your vision so fast that it made your head spin and your stomach twist. Another face appeared above you that you once again didn’t recognize.

“I’m Doctor Martin, can you tell me your first and last name?”

“Uh, (y/n) Minecraft?”

“Good, what month are we in right now?”

“Nov-November?”

“Close, it’s late October. Can you tell me who this,” he pointed to your dad, “is?”

“S’my dad Phillip.”

“That’s your dad Philza.”

The questioning stopped as he suddenly shined a blinding light into your sensitive eyes. You hissed as you tried to move your head away from the offending light only to be held in place by your dad’s hands. Your head spun as you moved too quickly and a wave of nausea hit you, making you groan and move your arm to cover your eyes. Your hand was stopped by something warm and soft wrapping around it and holding it tightly. Everything was so overwhelmingly and painfully bright and loud. You wanted to make it stop.

“Mr. Minecraft, your daughter appears to have a concussion. I don’t have the tools on hand to determine the severity of it, but it’s worrying that her pupils are asymmetrical, she’s delirious, and has slight memory loss. I understand you live about an hour away from here, and it’s alright for you to take her to a hospital closer to your house. Make sure you keep her alert.”

Your delirious mind only registered about half of what came out of the doctor’s mouth. You mumbled gibberish as you once again opened your eyes to look around. You were only briefly able to crane your neck to the left. Several figures large and small were standing behind your dad. Your family, your mind supplemented. Slowly, your mind was starting to recognize your surroundings even if there was currently double of everything and everything was blurry.

“I’m going to help you stand up. Do ya think you can do that?”

“Yeah Dad.” You lifted your upper body off from the ground with a gentle hand on your back helping you sit up. Fighting the wave of nausea that slapped you in the face, you reached up to rub at your eyes. A hand once again stopped you. You peeked your eyelids open and lightly glared at whomever stopped you. “Hales you’re lucky you’re so cute I woulda slapped you. I like holdin but you’re bein annoying. Stop.” You attempted to make your voice sound firm, but the words that came out of your mouth were slightly slurred.

She was silent as she helped her dad haul you to your feet. Once on your feet, you saw the room spin and felt yourself start to sway slightly. An arm wrapped itself around your shoulders and pulled you close to them so that your weight was supported. They were a little taller than you were making it easy to lean on them.

“...Can you walk?” A deep, monotone voice rumbled the chest of the person you were leaning against.

“Mhm. ‘M not weak.” Though your limbs felt like they were made of molasses, you placed one foot in front of the other slowly. The person moved alongside you, “you’re doing so good, keep going.” That sparked familiarity in you as you stopped in your tracks and tried to look up at the person you were leaning against making the person tighten their arm around your shoulders when you almost fell over.

“Tech?”

“Yeah, it’s Technoblade. Just focus on walking. You’re almost out of the gym.”

When you realized that you were out of the gym, you sighed in relief. It was so much quieter and darker. Though it was still relatively bright, it was better than the gym.

“S’better.”

“When we get her to the car we can give her some sunglasses or something if it’s still too bright for her.”

“Wilbs-”

“Focus on walking.”

You huffed in irritation, “don’ tell me what to do bitch.”

You felt Techno’s body jolt slightly as he chuckled, making your head throb at the sudden movement. “Just walk.”

When you walked outside, you shivered as you felt the cool air nip at your exposed skin. Right, you were in your volleyball uniform. “I’ll go pull the car around, you guys stay with her.”

You saw a tall brunet start to walk away from you. Uncle Splat? Uncle Schmat? Whatever his name was, you were sure he was your uncle. You tried to snuggle closer to Techno, craving warmth but never being satisfied. Where was your uncle?

After a while, you saw a car moving towards you and blinding light pointed right at you making you cringe away and groan. Techno started to slowly walk towards the car. “C’mon (y/n), you’re almost there. When you’re in the car you can relax.”

“Tommy, Tubbo, and Techno, you’re in the back row. Schlatt can drive and Wil, you’re taking the passenger seat. I’ll stay with her in the middle row so she can have some room to lay down.” Tommy and Tubbo were with you? Why weren’t they talking, they usually were very vocal.

“Tom, Tubbs didja like the game?”

They didn’t say anything as they climbed into the car. Did they not hear you?

“They’re just… tired (y/n).” Your dad’s voice reassured you as he took Techno’s place holding you up.

“I wanna nap. ‘M so tired.”

“You can’t sleep yet. We gotta get you to a doctor first.”

“Mm. Makes sense.”

“Let’s get you in the car hun.”

As he helped you climb into the car, you felt an overwhelming wave of nausea wash over you making you lose your balance and almost faceplant into the cloth seats. You felt yourself being gently, yet urgently taken out of the car and led to grass as you felt your esophagus shorten. Something burning made its way up your throat and spewed into the grass. You felt someone rubbing your back as you puked up your dinner.

When you were done, you reached up with a shaking hand to wipe your mouth. “You feelin better? Think you can get back into the car or do you need to sit down for a bit?”

“Car.”

After some difficulty, you were successfully in the middle row of the car laying down with your head on Philza’s lap. Soon enough, your shoes were taken off and a blanket was draped over you.

“(Y/n), what do you remember?”

You scrunched up your face as you squinted at Philza’s face. “I remember playing volleyball with Hales. She’s so pretty, she’s straight though. I remember the other team hitting the ball, me jumping, then nothin. Wha’ happened?”

You watched as Philza winced, “well, you got everything right so far. You got hit in the face with the ball so you fell and hit your head on the floor. You were passed out for a minute before you woke up. It was a pretty nasty fall, we’re going to the hospital now. How’re ya feelin?”

“Head hurts, ‘m seein two of everything, an I can’t think.”

“Do you know what a concussion is?” You nodded in his lap slightly, “you probably have one.”

After a while of talking, you were slowly starting to come to your senses and your speech was clearing up, but your head was still too stuffy to think about what you were saying before you said it. You didn’t have a filter.

“Do you wanna tell us about your week so far? Do you remember most of it?”

“Mhm, it was shit. On Monday I had a panic attack and Adrian, Sammy, and Annie were being bitches to me all day. They fucked up my back. On Tuesday, they got mad at me for ditching them and they had me do their homework, had another panic attack, and Haley told me that someone took pictures of our boobs ‘n stuff and they were gonna leak it to the school if Haley didn’t stop hanging out with me. Haley and I almost kissed, but she’s straight. Pulled an all nighter and Wednesday I accidentally came out to Tech and Wil and had another panic attack. Annie, Adrian, and Sammy took more pictures of me through my window, Annie outed me to the entire school and slapped me. Another panic attack, skipped the last two classes and felt like shit the entire practice. Today Adrian and Sammy told me to kill myself and I had another panic attack. ’S about it.”

As you were going through your week, the hand that was previously gently stroking your hair had frozen as the car was enveloped in a tense silence. Luckily, Tommy and Tubbo were passed out in the back seat so they didn’t hear how bad your week was. Everyone awake knew that you had a few bad days this week, but they didn’t know the full extent of it. You watched as Philza’s expression had turned downright murderous, but you didn’t really care. You were busy talking about your week.

For the rest of the car ride, Philza asked you simple questions like what your favorite color was, your favorite animal, basically your favorite everything. Eventually, the car pulled into the hospital parking lot and Philza helped you get out of the car. “Schlatt, can you take the boys home so they can get some rest? I’ll stay with her.”

“Yeah, I’m on it. Don’t cause too much trouble (y/n), we all know you can raise hell.” He watched you for a reaction, but when you didn’t react, he coughed. “Well, I’ll see ya later kid. Good luck.”

The car drove off leaving you and Philza at the front of the emergency room building. “It’s gonna be a long night (y/n).”

“I gotta finish Annie’s essay and Sammy’s presentation though.”

“No you don’t, I’ll email your teachers.”

You two checked in with the front desk before moving to sit on the uncomfortable chairs. It was going to be a long night. You were so tired.

General taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@jabby16

Series taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@immadatmostthings @thaticecreambish @hee-hee-haw @dearnataliealoveletter @wasteofspacze @dcml04 @bbigbbrainn @dirtydiavolo @vanhakirja @rinzyx05 @misselsbells06 @ialexabsuniverse @im-a-depressed-gay @energy-drinkk @mothra-main @i-need-hugs @dragons-lurk-here @katj733 @m4r-s @vievi @dykeragee @waterstrawberry @aplaintart @kakamiissad @myunfinishedsymphony @nagitokinnieissad @autumnpleaves @justanothergirlwithdemons @zachariethememerie @moon-asia @m0on-blue @strawberrysodababy @akikko-yataro @haikkeiji @shiningsunrises @cinnamonmochi @queen-turtle-boiii @imanewsoul @sparkling-gayyyy @angelicaschuyler-church @vixenfoxpup @ella-ivanov @shio-yuki @mosstea-png @ijustshatbricks @sugarandspicebutnonice @coolayee @haikkeiji @sadassflatass

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thebonecarver · 2 years

Text

Dont Leave Me (But you're already gone) Chapter 3

ANOTHER CHAPTER GUYSSSS AM I GETTING BETTER AT UPDATING?? I HOPE SO-

Book: Red White and Royal Blue

Ship: Alex and Henry

TW: Eating Issues, Fainting, Angst

Chapter 3: Exercise is overrated.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Henry groaned, light blaring through his eyelids. He finally opened his eyes and turned the alarm on his phone off, a picture of a beautiful lake as his background. His heart twisted painfully every time he looked at it. It was the lake at The Lakehouse, the last place Henry and him had been together. The last time he'd been happy. Until he got scared and fled. But before he left he took a picture of the lake, a reminder of what they had. Of what Henry ruined. It's for the better, he thought, He is better off without me. He left for a reason. For him. For Alex.

"Look whos up." Henry whipped his head to see Adam looking at him, a smile and a cup of tea in his hands.

Peppermint tea. Eugh.

He longed for Earl Grey, but Adam was allergic to it, so when they moved in together he had been forced to let go of it. He longed for a cup now, but Peppermint tea was the only tea Adam wasn't allergic to, and the only one he allowed in his house. Coincidentally it was Henry's least favourtite tea. It was so…boring. But it was all that was available, so he drank.

Henry forced a smile and took the cup, sipping the peppermint tea, practically shoving it down his throat.

Adam smiled, sitting gingerly on the bed with a straight back. He was the son of some Duke…Henry couldn't remember the name though. They were both royal, and that was basically the only thing they had in common.

"How long have you been up?" Henry asked. Adam was always a morning person. Henry was a insomniac, so sleep always evaded him. He hadn't slept well since…well it was a long time ago.

1 year and 3 days to be exact.

"Since 6, its 8 am now. Did you get any sleep?" Adam asked, as if the dark circles under Henry's eyes didn't exist. Henry had to hold back a snort.

"Plenty," He lied smoothly, if he told Adam the truth he would get angry and tell Henry how ungrateful he was for getting no sleep, not being happy. He wanted to ignore that. This version of Adam was better, and as they say, you get what you deserve.

"Great! I think we should go on a 30 min run before I have to go to work. How does that sound?"

Oh god please not another run I cannot take this-

"Sure. Let me just get changed." Henry wondered if there was a balcony near. To jump off of.

Henry got changed as slowly as he could, hoping that Adam would go without him. If he just stayed in for a little longer-

"Henry! Come on we have to go!" Adam yelled, and Henry had to fight a sigh. He washed his face and came out to see Adam smiling that oh-so innocent smile. It looked better on Alex if he was honest.

*~*

Henry, for some odd reason, wasn't dying.

He had been doing these runs for a while, but he always made sure to stop when he reached his limit. He usually lost it at about the end of the thirty minutes which was good. He just wanted to soak into a nice bath. Warm baths usually helped him, especially when he came out to the public. It had been something he never planned to do, but after leaving Alex and immediately regretting it, he just wanted to stop hiding every single part of himself. To be free. He had to hide the hurt he felt from the break-up from basically everyone except Bea and Pez. He loved them to the ends of the earth. He couldn't hide who he was no longer.

Alex had come out a month later. He had told everyone when he made his speech for Texas for the election night, his alight with passion. That same spark that Henry loved, he had the privilege of seeing.

He really, really, really needed to stop thinking about Alex; he was with Adam now. He was happy. Well, not exactly happy, but not completely sad. It was better than nothin-

"Hey Henry, you up for a longer route?" Adam asked, his voice clear and smooth like he wasn't running faster than the flash. Henry's body was starting to tire out, and he hadn't eaten anything for breakfast. He should stop.

"I-er, no, sorry. I'm feeling a bit tired; I think staying on our usual route should be fine." Henry replied in pants, barely forming words.

"Come on! Don't be a baby. You have to push yourself." Adam replied, nagging Henry.

"I'm not a baby. I'm simply listening to my body." Henry replied, gritting his teeth. Why was Adam pushing it?

"You can do at least one more kilometre." Adam's voice was losing its cheery light.

"I think my body can speak for itself, and I'm tired. You can do some more if you like."

Apparently, Adam wanted to be the equivalent of a spoiled toddler, and he kept on pushing.

"Come onn. You ate that cake a few days ago, and you need to lose some weight."

I've already lost plenty of weight, he wanted to say, but Henry bit his tongue. He did not want to make a scene where the paparazzi could see. No matter what, he was always hiding. He was so tired of it sometimes. And he didn't think Adam would let this go.

"Fine." Henry sighed, and Adams face lit up, and they continued on a longer path.

As they continued down the long path, Henry's sight began to falter, the world becoming a haze for a few seconds. He tried to slow down his pace, but Adam screamed at him to go faster like he was some American football coach. He wanted so badly to stop, his thighs burning, but if he did, arguments would arise, and Henry was too tired for that.

Slowly though, his vision began to haze again and then go black.

*~*

Alex was walking back to his brownstone; it was around 11 pm. He had just finished a study session with some friends in his classes, and exams had just passed, so this session was more of a hang-out. Exam season was the worst for Alex since he always got sucked into the work and studying and forgot to actually take care of himself. Henry helped with that but…Henry was gone.

Even though it had been a year, well, a year and three days, to be exact, Alex's heart still ached. He was getting better, but there was still a hole in his heart. One that only Henry could fill. But soon, the sorrow would become a bubbling anger. Anger was better. Henry was a coward for leaving him, for just leaving him with a fucking note. It was a-

As he was walking up the steps to his brownstone, his phone pinged, and after he got inside and locked the door, he went to check. It was a message from June.

Bug: Have you checked CNN? Are you ok??

Huh?

Alex went to turn on the TV, a puzzled look on his face. He clicked through the channels until he got to CNN, and then he felt his heart drop once he read the headline.

BREAKING NEWS: HRH PRINCE HENRY INJURED AND IN UK HOSPITAL FOR TIME BEING

*~*

Taglist: @thenightgodess-feyrearcheron

@that-sociopathic-hufflepuff

@emikadreams

@highladysith

@cardansfae

@aelin-bitch-queen

@live-the-fangirl-life

@story-scribbler

@themoonthestarsthesuriel

@burdened-by-eternity

@stay-because-now-you-have-a-home

@xunxunny

@braveprincesslucinda

#rwrb fanfic #rwrb fanart #fanfic #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #angst #fluff #angst with a happy ending #mine #my writing

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alpacaparkaseok · 3 years

Text

Mine

4. Making friends 101

Genre: Yoongi x OC

Warnings: none

Word Count: 3.4k

“Have you decided what you’re going to wear to this thing?”

I nearly jump out of my skin as a wild Sebastian wanders into my room. I’m still a little on edge from the stalker a few days ago.

“What thing?” I ask, folding my clothes as I repack my suitcase. We’ll be heading out tomorrow morning bright and early for Hong Kong. It’s quite the trip from Paris, and I wish that we could have scheduled things out a bit better. We’ll be in Asia for the next three weeks before having to turn around and come back to Europe.

From there, we’ll finally head back to the states for the final stages of promotions and the premier. Nobody was too happy about the revised schedule, but neither did they dare pass up extra promotions in Asia thanks to a certain K-pop group.

“You know...this festival we’re invited to.” Sebastian makes himself comfortable on my bed, smirking at my agonizingly organized suitcase. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”

As if I could forget about that. “It’s my most reliable source of anxiety, what would I do without it?” I chuckle sarcastically as I struggle with a thick sweater that refuses to lay flat.

The film festival has been on my mind quite a lot since I first found out that we were invited to it. While now I know what really happened; that it was Kim Seokjin that invited me and not Min Yoongi, I still can’t help but feel a pang of fear every time it’s brought up.

Really, the topic of what I’m going to wear to what may be the most awkward meeting of my entire life is at the bottom of my long list of worries.

“I’ve been thinking about what I’m going to wear.”

I raise my eyebrows at my friend. This is the most he’s hung around me for the past week, and I welcome the promise of banter. Heaven knows I could let off a little steam.

“Oh? Do tell.”

Sebastian stretches like a cat on the bed and I giggle at the sight. His eyes light up when he looks at me, imagining what else he could do to make me laugh.

“Here’s what I’m thinking. People over there are...stylish. Like, they wear edgy cool clothes all the time. So I’ve got to represent, you know? I’m thinking of raiding Saint Laurent or something in preparation for this festival. It sounds like it’s a pretty big deal over there. There’s bound to be lot’s of people.”

It’s not very often Sebastian gets super into fashion, but when he does, it’s a guaranteed laugh for everyone involved.

“Saint Laurent? That’s your whole paycheck, buddy.”

“Hey! Don’t ‘buddy’ me, you little weirdo. If you’re nice to me maybe I’ll take you along.”

I roll my eyes at his offer, however tempting. “No thanks. I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard, you know? Everyone is already expecting me to be tripping over my feet the second he walks in-”

“He? C’mon, Car. He’s not Voldemort, you can use his name.”

I flush when I realize that I’ve been purposefully avoiding speaking about Yoongi directly.

“Whatever. What I’m saying is that it’s already awkward enough. I don’t want to show up looking like a girl getting ready to go to her first prom.”

“Nonsense,” Sebastian hands me another sweater when I reach for it. “More like your second prom.”

He’s met with a sweater to the face.

“Shut up, you’re not even helping me with anything. Why are you in here?”

Sebastian makes a show of folding my sweater. “I’m in here to make sure you’re getting ready to leave tomorrow and that you aren’t passed out on the floor from anxiety or something.”

I wince from the unspoken words. Like before.

“Yeah, I’m ready. And I’m fine.”

He doesn’t look all that convinced, but lets it slide for now. “You know, things are only going to get more intense in Hong Kong. The closer we get to Seoul, the more intense things will become.”

“Not. Helping.”

🌙

I wish Sebastian didn’t have to be right all the time.

The second we get off the plane, it’s a madhouse. Like a literal madhouse. People are shoving, cameras flashing, and the questions are being yelled right into my ears. They’re mainly in English, a few in Cantonese, but there are quite a few in Korean as well. It’s easy enough for me to drown out the latter language, but the ones in English do their job well enough.

“Cara! Cara! Have you been in contact with Suga?”

“Are the two of you attending the festival together? What are you going to wear?”

“Just give us a smile, Cara! Cara!”

We don’t have a lot of security, only about three guys. Soon enough they’re surrounding me, and I am being moved along within a sea of black clothing and mumbled orders. I’m just able to crane my neck to see Sebastian pushing through the mess of reporters, tugging Rhea along behind him. She catches my eye contact and waves me forward.

I fight against the pang of guilt that hits me as I realize that this is all because of me. Never did I think that things would get this bad. I never thought that I would have to be surrounded on all sides by bodyguards.

By the time we’re shoved into the car waiting for us outside, I’m out of breath and so is everyone else.

Sebastian and Rhea share my car with me. I’m not sure whether I should try to sleep or apologize or resign-

“Cara?” Rhea’s hand grips mine as she gives me a reassuring squeeze. “You ok?”

I give her a shaky nod. “Y-yeah. I think I’m fine. We’re just going to the hotel, right?” I give out a sigh of relief when she confirms. Good. I could use a bed right around now. Especially because we spent a good chunk of our flight going over the promo schedule for Hong Kong and it looks like it’ll be pretty much nonstop starting tomorrow morning.

I hate to ask, but I also know that if there’s another stalker waiting for me in my rooms I won’t be able to sleep at all, no matter how tired I feel.

“Could we...check my room-”

“Already on it,” Rhea says with a sympathetic smile. “I sent a couple of people ahead of us to check all the rooms out. They should be done before we even get there, no worries.”

I relax a little, thanking her for her foresight. We fall into a groggy silence after a bit, the car ride from the airport to the hotel being about thirty minutes. Hong Kong is small, but it’s packed. With it comes traffic and bright shiny buildings that I can’t help but gawk at.

For living in the big city of Seoul for two years, I can’t help but be amazed at big cities like Hong Kong. They never get old.

I’m so distracted by those shiny buildings that I almost don’t notice my phone lighting up with an incoming call. Its vibrations finally pull me from my daze, and I smile as Bong-cha’s photo smiles up at me.

I took the photo for her on her first day of school after she changed programs. She’s grinning like an idiot in front of an intimidating building, holding up a big thumbs-up. Bong-cha has always hated the photo. She says she looks like a kindergartener on her first day of class. I agree, which is why it’s my contact photo for her. Purely just to piss her off.

“Wow the love of my life is calling me again? You must really miss me.”

Bong-cha’s laugh is either a beat too late or a touch too loud, but I notice it immediately. The knots in my stomach that were just beginning to untie themselves suddenly tighten up again.

“Yah, have you landed?”

Oh, right. I was supposed to text her when I landed. “Umm...yes. A little while ago. We’re in the car now.”

“I knew you’d forget to text me. You always do.”

“Hey, that’s not true! And you can’t blame me this time. The airport was a mess. I hardly had enough time to whip my phone out and text you when people were trying to claw their way down my throat.”

Again, she’s a second late in responding. “It was really bad, then? I was worried about that. You have bodyguards, right?”

“Yeah, we do. Just three, though. I felt bad, I had to ditch the rest of the crew to walk between the bodyguards. Everyone else had to fend for themselves.”

Now it’s silent for more than a few seconds, but something that sounds like hushed voices breaks it.

“That sounds hor-”

“Bong-cha, what’s going on over there? Are you at work or something?”

It’s as though I break some sort of spell, because suddenly a laugh tears through the silence, but I know it doesn’t belong to my friend.

Last I checked she doesn’t sound like a windshield-wiper when she laughs.

There’s something about it that has me furrowing my brows in a mixture of confusion and anger. Rhea and Sebastian share a look, not entirely sure what’s going on in my conversation but understanding my expression.

Bong-cha is in the middle of trying to explain. “Well, yeah, I’m at work. We got to talking about you traveling today and the boys wanted me to call you and check in on you and-”

“Am I on speaker phone?” Again, silence. I’m getting real sick of the silence. “Kim Bong-cha, I swear if you put me on speaker without even telling me, I’m going to catch the next flight to Seoul and-”

“Aaand there’s the Cara I know and love!” Bong-cha interrupts, confirming my fears. I’m definitely on speakerphone. “Please, we both know you’re too busy with work to come over here, even if it’s for a good cause like the one I’m sure you were about to explain. Also, the boys say hi.”

The boys. She says it so casually, as if we all went to high school together and are just checking in with each other to see how life has been.

“The boys? Like, all the boys? Also, you only called me because they told you to, and not because you were genuinely concerned for me? I see how it is, Bong-cha. That’s low.”

Before my friend can defend herself I hear a voice that sounds too much like a certain Kim Seokjin.

“You’re right, she is funny!”

I snort, fighting the blush on my cheeks. Am I really on the phone with BTS? What world is this?

“Is that Seokjin?” Even just saying his name makes me feel like a giddy middle schooler.

“Yeah,” Bong-cha responds.

“Well, you’d better watch out Seokjin. Once I’m done beating Bong-cha I’m coming after you.”

“M-me?” Jin has the sensibility to sound a little scared. “Why me?”

A dry laugh sounds, but I can’t tell who it belongs to. Few others have such a distinguishable laugh as Kim Seokjin.

“Bong-cha told me that it was you who started this whole mess with the film festival! Do you know how much anxiety you’ve caused me?!” My anger from this entire mess infuses me with more boldness than I could have mustered in this situation otherwise.

There’s some scuffling noises on the other side of the line, followed by a few grunts. Jin shouts in disdain.

“Yah! I was just trying to help! You’ll be thanking me!” A door slams, blocking out any further shouts from the man. I can’t hide the grin that splits across my face as I imagine what must be going on over there.

“Ok, he’s gone. I’ve banned them all from this room for the duration of this call.” Bong-cha reassures me. “I don’t have a lot of time, but I was calling to ask you something, actually. Don’t feel any pressure, but I think it may help relieve some stress on both sides-”

“What are you getting at, Bong-cha?”

She takes a deep breath. “Is it alright if I give Yoongi your number?”

My jaw falls open. I’m about to freak out when I realize that there’s a small chance that somebody may still overhear me on the phone. Barely composing myself, I respond to my friend, ignoring the obvious shake in my voice.

“Does he actually want it? Because it sounds like all of this has been thrown on him as much as it has me.”

“Er...yeah. He wants it. He was trying to ask about you today, but in that way where he doesn’t want it to look like he’s asking about you, you know? So I finally told him that he should just get your number so he quits bothering me about it. It’s been like this all week. So I figured I’d just give it to him, if you’re alright with it?”

In most situations, I know what to say. I’m usually pretty good at coming up with something to say in order to keep the conversation flowing. Maybe when Graham Norton dropped the bomb on me about Yoongi, I wasn’t the best at it but I at least inserted little comments here or there.

Now, I’m not really sure what to say anymore. It seems that the second I begin to relax and feel like I’m finally getting a handle on this, something happens.

It’s that same fear that I’ve had since I was a child kicking back in. It seems silly, in a time like this. I’m a completely different person since then, in a completely different environment. And yet, that fear that I’ve carried with me all my life comes bubbling back up to the surface.

“Bong-cha…” I struggle to keep a neutral expression as I’m aware that I’m not alone in the car. “I’m not very good at making friends.”

Any other person would be quick to jump in and reassure me. Any other friend would race to recall experiences that would prove my claim wrong.

I guess that’s why Bong-cha is my best friend. She doesn’t do any of those things, instead quietly listening and thinking before she responds.

“You know, Cara…” she begins in a sincere tone. “Maybe that’s not the point. Maybe you’re not meant to be amazing at making friends. But you’re really good at letting people be friends with you. Which, honestly, is a talent. A weird, obscure one, but a talent nonetheless.”

What’s meant to be a laugh comes out more as a sigh of relief. Bong-cha always knows what to say.

“I’m going to do some research on that talent, because I’ve never heard of it before.”

“So...are you alright if I give it to him? I think he wants to just apologize to you more than anything. I swear he won’t be weird with it.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek, mulling it over. Honestly, at this point, what do I have to lose?

“Yeah, go ahead.”

🌙

I’ve barely lugged my suitcase inside and collapsed on the bed when the first text comes through. I immediately jump up, senses on high alert. It would be a lie if I said that I haven’t been on edge just waiting for my phone to ding ever since I got off the phone with Bong-cha. Bracing myself for the bite of disappointment when it’s the “Young Rising” group chat, my heart nearly stops when I see it’s an unknown number.

UNK: Is this Cara?

UNK: This is Bong-cha’s friend, she gave me your number.

“Ah, he’s smart,” I note as I realize he didn’t give me his name just in case he mixed up the numbers. I quickly save his number in my phone, the action making me feel a little strange.

ME: Yes, this is Cara.

I overthink the four-letter message for way too long before I press send. I sound cold, but I don’t know what else to say. It doesn’t take long for three dots to appear on the screen.

“Oh, no. He’s typing. What do I do if he’s typing?”

I’m ashamed to admit that I consider chucking my phone out the window for more than thirty seconds. Only the ping of my phone stops me in my train of thought.

MYG: Have you made it safely to your hotel?

I blink at his message. The fact that I really don’t know this man at all is hitting me like a ton of bricks. He seems kind though...from the twenty or so words he’s typed. That’s all you need to judge someone’s character, right?

ME: Just made it, actually.

Pausing, I quickly type out a message before he can respond.

ME: No need to worry

Well, if this isn’t the most dry conversation the earth has ever witnessed. I cringe when I see the three dots pop up again. He’s probably thinking the same thing and is looking for a quick way to end this entire conversation.

MYG: Good, although I think I may need to worry. It sounds like the airport was out of hand today.

ME: ...were you eavesdropping on my conversation with Bong-cha?

MYG: Speaker phone doesn’t count as eavesdropping.

ME: It does if the person doesn’t know she’s on speaker!

I have to wait nearly five minutes before he responds again, and the tell-tale ping of my phone has me rushing over to where I left my phone on my nightstand, leaving my toothbrush on the bathroom counter.

MYG: I’ve thought about it, and I think I need to apologize for eavesdropping on your conversation with Bong-cha earlier today.

ME: That was easy.

MYG: I think I’ve made things difficult enough for you, don’t you think?

Huffing out a laugh, I nod in agreement.

ME: You have.

When more than ten minutes pass without a reply, I convince myself to take a shower. Then I persuade myself to stand in the shower for more than three minutes, even though I’m itching to see if he’s replied yet.

Fifteen minutes later there’s still no reply. Cozying under the covers I stare at my phone, answering a text from Bong-cha asking if Yoongi has texted me yet.

Even though I’m a fan of the band, I can’t say that I’ve ever really gone out of my way to learn a lot about them. Beyond the music, I know very little.

At least, that’s the excuse I give myself as I watch video after video about Suga: the biggest baddest soft boy in the universe.

It’s nearly two in the morning before I force myself to put my phone down and get some rest. The thought that maybe my text came off more harsh than I intended it to has crossed my mind several times, but it’s too late now to try to take it back.

It’s nearly four in the morning when the sound of my phone vibrating drags me out of my slumber. Groggily, I reach for my phone, hissing as I hit my elbow on the nightstand.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I groan, squinting at my phone. “I swear, if it’s Bong-cha at this time of night…”

MYG: I’m sorry.

MYG: I’m trying to fix this, thank you for being so kind and patient. Things will get better.

MYG: You don’t have to come to the festival, just so you know. Let me know, and we can cover for you somehow. Make up an excuse. Don’t feel like you have to come, or even speak to me. I’ll understand.

MYG: Sorry for texting so late! I just realized what time it is. Go to sleep. Sorry if I woke you up.

MYG: Sorry.

I’m caught between feeling choked up about the apology and trying to even wrap my mind around the fact that Min Yoongi is up in the middle of the night typing out an apology text to some girl he’s never met.

“Who even are you? Who does this?”

Hardly trusting myself to write back a proper reply, I squint into the screen as I hesitantly type letter by letter. Writing in Korean at four in the morning is not one of my strong points.

ME: I think I’m more exhausted by the amount of times you just said sorry than with what time it is. Go to sleep, Yoongi.

It takes all of thirty seconds for a reply to come through.

MYG: 😅 I guess good morning, Cara.

ME: Good morning, Yoongi.

I fall asleep watching the three dots on my phone appear and disappear as Min Yoongi ponders what next to say in this unlikely forming friendship.

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fullsunhyuckie · 4 years

Text

our story, right now

pairing: model!doyoung x stylist!reader

synopsis: in which doyoung could never keep his stylist around for long but maybe, with you, it will be possible.

genre: fluffy angst (if that makes sense)

word count: 5,726

a/n: i enjoyed writing this a lot and i hope you’ll enjoy reading it too! oh and fyi, doyoung is my favourite member to write about.

in life, you’re bound to meet people and it’s always for a reason. sometimes you meet people at the right place and the right time. sometimes you meet them at the wrong place, but the right time. and sometimes you meet them at the wrong place and the wrong time. nonetheless, they serve an impact or two in your life.

you really don’t know how you landed this job. one day you were a chemical engineering degree holder and the next you were a stylist at a famous modelling agency. it all didn’t add up, but somehow it worked. you were offered this job by a close friend of yours, johnny, after hearing your tireless complaints on the lack of demand for female workers in your field. to help you out, he decided to apply a job for you that is way out of your league. now, that’ll shut you up.

so here you were standing at the entrance of the modelling agency, shaking with fear that they’ll doubt your capabilities, which of course you lack thereof. but like all the exams you had to ace in university, you looked at this as just another one of them. so you entered with your head held high, confident that you'll get through it. this is going to be easy, you thought to yourself.

maybe you should’ve done a thorough research about the company and its background because when you entered, the interior of the building really astounded you. the design was exquisite, very reflective of its well-known reputation. you were directed to the CEO’s room for further instructions. you were starstruck by all the ravishing faces of the models that decorated the entire walkway towards your destination. there was no doubt you were feeling anxious.

“good morning, y/n! it’s such a pleasure to meet you. i’m glad that we can employ you on such short notice. you were recommended to me by my son’s friend so i trust your skills. we can introduce you to our model immediately!” the chairman, Mr Lee, spoke as soon as he entered.

you gave him a tight smile as soon as he said ‘trust your skills’, instantly hoping the ground would swallow you whole. you nodded and replied with a soft thank you.

as if on cue, a tall, dark haired man entered the room. he was lean and very attractive, so attractive that you almost forgot you were here for work. he fits into all the stereotypes of a model; tall, skinny and handsome, coupled with a cold exterior.

“this is doyoung. he’s our up and coming model. his previous stylist recently quit,,but that's okay since we have you now. i hope you are able to work well with him for the next couple of weeks. for now, you can get acquainted to his style. off you two go!” Mr Lee ended with a chirp.

you politely bowed and made your way out the door, scurrying behind doyoung. you followed behind him as the man himself walked alongside his manager. you shuffled you feet, wondering where he’s going to go. he stopped abruptly, causing you to bump into him. you were no longer facing his back when he swiveled his body, making you come face to face with his chest.

“just to inform you, i like things done in a certain way, in a professional manner. for today, my shoot requires a natural makeup look so make sure it looks natural." he turned away, but looked at you from the corner of his eye. "and don’t walk so close to me.”

psh what a diva he is. you just nodded as a form of acknowledgement and proceeded to doll him up. you tried your best to look confident, but truth be told, you don’t know what goes where. but lucky for you, doyoung said natural look, so you assumed that it just meant powder, some light eye-shadow and lip balm.

so you went with just that. thank god doyoung fell asleep throughout the process and his manager was too focused on his phone. as if all odds were in your favour, nobody was able to catch you struggling. you patted him, signalling that you were done and he started his shoot. looking at the outcome, you were immensely proud of yourself.

after about 40 mins, doyoung came back, in need of a touch up. you internally panic because, ??? do i just add on what i put previously. on the outside, you tried to remain composed and proceeded to add the powder and a tad bit of blush. after you were done, doyoung looked into the mirror and back at you a few times, suspiciously, before making his way out the door.

his next look was a biker concept. with your lack of awareness on colour contrasts, you somehow managed to pick the ugliest shade of pink with a white biker jacket. when you proudly showed doyoung, he gave you a stink eye and you responded that you were just kidding. you then picked out the most basic white t shirt with a black biker jacket. you search for a disapproving look, only to realise it was an okay option. when doyoung saw the way you acted, he had serious doubts about you but he chose to trust Mr Lee.

after you were done getting him ready, you watched him from afar. when you saw how he would strike poses, you thought wow he is talented. modelling came so naturally to him. if you had half the good looks this man had, you're sure you are able to have anything in life. doyoung really appeared to be a perfect man, of course apart from his cold personality.

that night, you went home with a goal to learn a little about fashion. all your life you’d been book smart so you were unsure how to go about learning something hands-on. eventually, you decided to get a guide on fashion from the bookstore and religiously read it. to be honest, fashion for someone like you was tough. most days you went out with a hoodie and either skinny jeans or straight cut jeans. you didn’t want to admit it but maybe you should’ve spoken less about wanting a job.

you return the next day at the same time, only to realise doyoung wasn’t around. you believed it was the perfect time to read your fashion guide. you whipped out the book along with some highlighters, just like how you used to do it it university, to mark out important fashion advice. you tried to memorise them by repeating it out loud, not noticing doyoung standing behind you.

“y/n? isn't that an odd way to learn about fashion?” you heard his voice .

“oh hahaha. well, i mean i’m so lucky to have you to experiment fashion on so i need to brush up my theory." you hurriedly replied and tried to change the subject. "anyways, good morning doyoung!” you continued, all flustered.

he nodded slightly and proceeded to sit in front of you. you tossed your book aside and turned towards him. you were shocked to be greeted by such an attractive face right in front of yours. you cleared your throat, trying to ignore the blaring awkwardness. he seemed to notice how flustered you were and it boosted his ego, internally smiling at your reaction.

for today's concept, he had to look like an artist. the outfit and light makeup was relatively easy. but of course he had to make you life harder. he suggested that you put a beret on him. not only do you not know how to put on a beret, but you don't even know what it is in the first place.

you discreetly tried to google what it was and fortunately, you were able to find a black beret in the room. after about thirty seconds of contemplating how to put it on him, you decided, to hell with this, and just shoved the hat onto his head. he was taken aback and abruptly moved backwards, giving you a, what the hell?!, look.

"oh, i apologise. this is how i work. i just put things on and then i’ll adjust it to your liking afterwards. so tell me, do you like this style?" you awaited his reply. "well, i guess you don't like it, huh?"

"you guess?” he scoffed. “whatever, i'll just put it on myself. you know, you're really weird." doyoung said as he furrowed his eyebrows.

after he left, you started to panic. you were sure he found out you were a fraud. you called the only person who knew about this, johnny. when he answered you were relieved because at least you could calm yourself down with someone. he tried to assure you that you were going to be fine but you knew that as each day passes, he'll be more suspicious of you and will eventually find out.

"johnny, it's just a matter of time before he's going to realise i'm a fraud. he's not that stupid, you know. he's been giving me weird looks. i'm sure he's got an idea that i know nothing about fashion." you whined to johnny.

then you heard someone tapping their foot behind you. you seriously have got to stop turning your back towards the door. you were praying it is not who you think it will be. but at this point, anyone who found out about you is going to cost you a hell lot.

after telling Johnny that you had to go, you hung up and slowly turned around. there he was, standing there with his cold expression and giving you his familiar disapproving look. you acted innocent and asked him what he was doing here.

"i needed to touch up my make up but,,,i guess i can't have someone unskilled to do so, am i right?" he answered in disbelief. "oh god, i can't believe Mr Lee would employ someone unprofessional. i need to inform him about this and have you leave immediately."

the moment you heard that, you ran to him and held his arm before he could turn around. he looked down at your pleading look, full of confusion.

“fine i don’t know anything about fashion and i know this is wrong but please let me keep this job for a while longer. i really need the money. i promise i’ll learn about fashion along the way and do my best even if i’m lacking. please, doyoung...” you pleaded, on the verge of tears.

if doyoung was a little bit meaner, he would’ve left you right there and went straight to Mr Lee’s office. to be very honest, he wanted to do just that. but at that moment, he didn’t know how but his heart soften for a bit. he didn’t felt the burning urge to go by the rules for once. maybe it was your doe eyes or how tight you held on to him but he could tell you were genuine.

he lightly brushed your hold away and looked at you straight in the eye, with a much softer gaze but still full of tension.

“fine. you get to keep this job but you leave by the time you can afford not having a job. until then, i will expect perfect work from you.” he instructed.

for the first time in a while you felt extreme joy rush through your body. there were no words to describe your gratefulness so instead you let your body show it. both your hand shot up and you embraced him. although he didn’t respond, you can feel him tense up in your hands. and despite the lack of response, you could hear how nervous he was when you pressed your ear against his chest. even if doyoung tried to explain your impact on him, he couldn’t.

everyday, you would learn something new at work. like last week, you learnt how to put on wax for doyoung, though he scolded you for not knowing the difference between pomade and wax. you also learnt that some brands of lip tints can be used for blush, that one came as a shock. now that you could openly study fashion, it was way easier. you didn’t have to live a double life, pretending you know a thing or two about it.

today, you were tasked to add glitter on doyoung’s under-eye. they told you to put on adhesive before applying the glitter but all you could think was why would someone want to put such strong glue on another’s face???

later you found out, a less intense adhesive could be used for face. to your pleasure, you found one on the make up table and instructed the man himself to sit before you.

“it’s just glue and glitter. glue and glitter. there’s literally no way you can mess that up.”

"don't worry about it, trust me on this."

"i wish i could say i do."

but, to nobody’s surprise, you did mess up. somehow the cap of the glue was stuck and you had to yank it open. you successfully pulled open the cap but before you knew it your fist landed on doyoung face. it was a light punch but you panicked.

however, seeing his widened eyes and lips apart you couldn’t help but laugh. you knew you shouldn’t but it was a funny sight. his expression turned from one of anger to amusement. at the back of your head you were still aware he was mad so you decided to crack a joke.

“i was just wondering why they needed to put glitter on a face that’s already shining so brightly." you laughed. "that must be why the accident happened. well, i’m so sorry about that, doyoung!"

you were surprised to see him give you an impressed smirk. doyoung had to acknowledge that it was a good attempt to make him laugh. if he had much less ego, he would’ve. but for now a smirk would do.

once you were done with the glitter, you couldn’t help but stare at doyoung. it was crazy how you could be surprised by him every day. he was like an enigma of attractiveness. everyday you figure out something new and interesting about him. you could look at him all day.

he was able to tell that you were staring so he cleared his throat since he was unable to move out of his seat if you didn’t move. you almost fell off your chair when you realised he caught you staring.

he softly chuckled and was just about to leave before he turned around to tell you, “uhh good job by the way,,,i really like today’s look.”

that was it. that was all it took to make you feel like a champ. being complimented by doyoung is probably a close second to your life’s biggest accomplishment, after graduating. you gave him wink and mouthed a thank you before he proceeded for his shoot while you picked his next fit. it was going to be a good day.

it was crazy that a man’s hair can be styled in so many ways. who knew that such short hair could actually be made more interesting? you hated that you couldn’t test it out on anyone since doyoung only wanted you to give him hairstyles that you have mastered in. what an insane man he is.

during lunch, you sat beside doyoung and his manager. of course he didn’t invite you to sit there but you chose to. he was the only person you knew well in the company, apart from his manager and Mr Lee. the modelling field is a scary one, you were afraid to make friends. so as doyoung was busy eating and discussing his schedule with his manager, you were by his side reading a magazine about mens’ hairstyle. you tried to be as quiet as possible but your aggressive page turning caught doyoung’s attention.

“if you wanted me to talk to you, you can just say it. you don’t have to make a scene here.”

“oh no no. i’m just stressed. i didn’t mean to be loud.” he cocked his eyebrow at you.

“i just didn’t know that there’re so many hairstyles for men. i can’t keep doing the same one for you. plus you want me to perfect the hairstyles before trying it on you but i don’t know who to try it on.” you whined, subtly implying for him to give you a break.

he only gave you a big sigh and continued talking to his manager.

what you didn’t realise was that doyoung kept stealing glances at you as he continued his conversation. he was really impressed by your determination. no other stylist has gone out of their way to fit his style.

after lunch, you had an hour and a half before doyoung’s next schedule. you settled for the dressing room to watch hairstyle tutorials. about 10 mins into the video, you heard a thump on the seat in front of you. there doyoung was, in all of his glory, barefaced with hair in a mess.

“hurry up. you have the next hour and 15 mins to use my hair. better use it wisely.” he explained and ready to surrender his face and hair into your hands.

his contrasting fierce expression over such a sweet move made you even more confused as to what he wanted out of this. when you were about to move away, doyoung decided to encourage you to experiment on him. he sighed as he took your hands in his and placed it on his head.

“it’s okay. i trust you.”

as weeks go by, you start to believe doyoung is warming up to you. getting a reaction from him takes at least ten tries before you receive a one second reaction.

the other day, you were trying to put on make up as a means to try out new looks on yourself. you never noticed that all this while doyoung was looking at you. being fully aware of how dumb you looked trying to curl your eyelashes, you would expect a reaction from doyoung when you saw him.

but one of pure genuine entertainment was not what you expected. he gave you a gummy smile, followed by a deep laughter which was a sound so foreign to you.

as a joke, with a hint of honesty, you wanted to capture this historic moment. you whipped out your phone to get a picture but as soon as you did that, he was back to his expressionless self. this man is really one of a kind.

a few weeks after that incident, you had a schedule with him for the last shoot of his magazine feature. it was an outdoor shoot so you had to deal with him in a tiny makeshift dressing room.

you were trying to put on his eye makeup but it was so hard to manoeuvre in the tiny space. every time you moved, you would hit something or someone. although in terms of styling doyoung you were doing a brilliant job, you created a huge commotion as you were continuously hitting people and knocking things over.

eventually, doyoung got so annoyed at your clumsiness that he felt the need to open his eyes and glare at you. you were waiting for him to nag or snap at you, causing you to flinch slightly.

but instead, you felt someone’s touch on your waist as they began wrapping their arms around it. you opened your eyes and were pleasantly surprised to see it was him. and then suddenly he pulled you onto his lap, making you sit sideways while facing him. it was awkward but sitting on his lap felt right, like the missing piece to a perfect image of the both of you.

as if the action didn’t affect him, doyoung shut his eyes once again and waited for you to continue putting on makeup for him.

"aren't you going to continue?" and so you did just that, all flustered.

he began asking you casual questions, making you wonder if you were really talking to doyoung. it was as if he genuinely wanted to talk to you.

“have you eaten? the caterer today prepared a pretty good spread of food.” he asked, while shaking his leg up and down to get your attention.

you answered despite the irregularity in his personality. with every other question he asked, you started to grow more and more comfortable on his lap. so comfortable that you didn’t even notice that he still had his arms wrapped around you.

you’ve been working with doyoung for a few months now. largely, he had been preparing for a major magazine feature. on the night of the magazine issue release, there was a party organised to celebrate the success. he told his manager that he wanted you there with him so that he could have someone to touch up his make up on short notice. in reality, he really just wanted you to be there with him as his plus one.

when you asked him why you had to be the plus one when he can just find anyone else to be there with him. he told you, “no reasons needed.”

picking a dress for yourself seemed to be the hardest part of working with doyoung. not only do you not wear dresses, but you can’t even imagine yourself in one. as a last resort, you remembered the dress your mom advised you to wear for prom, which you decided wasn’t worth going. since this is probably the closest thing to prom that you’ll ever set foot to, you decided to wear that.

it was a simple silver, body hugging asymmetrical dress which shines when the light hits at the right spot. you felt that the body fitting dress was too conspicuous, so you threw a cardigan over it, a huge fashion faux pas.

doyoung offered to pick you up but you didn’t want to get the wrong idea. you would love to spend every living moment with him but if he didn’t think the same you didn’t want to waste time thinking so. you decided to meet him outside the venue instead.

when he saw you approach him, he was appalled by your fashion choice, the cardigan specifically. but as you came closer to him and he had a better view of how you looked, he could only think that you were the most beautiful person he ever laid his eyes on.

doyoung gave you a small smile to greet you and you returned a genuine one back to him. you gestured to make your way into the venue but he stops you. he unbuttons your cardigan and takes it off of you. he throws the cardigan in the backseat of his car and turned to look at you.

“as much as i want to be the only one who is able to admire you, i cannot deprive the world of looking at someone as mesmerizing as you.”

he then took your arm and walked in as you tried to ignore the intense beating of your heart. the both of you took a seat at the designated table and doyoung sat with you for a while. he noticed that you weren't really interested in the event. you even got out a book and were so invested in it that you didn't notice doyoung walking away. when you looked up from your book, you saw doyoung surrounded by a sea of female models, all almost too gorgeous to be human. this was why you couldn't bear having too high of an expectation despite doyoung's little attempts to flirt with you.

to doyoung, it didn't matter that he was around so many beautiful faces because all his attention was on you. even when they tried to subtly flirt with him, he found himself taking quick glances at you every ten seconds to make sure you were comfortable. he was amused that someone could be so focused on a chemistry book when they're surrounded by a plethora of material goods to indulge in. he knew that that's what really interest you, so watching you from afar was enough for him.

but that was until he saw jung jaehyun, another up and coming model, trying to approach you. you were too busy flipping through the book that you never noticed how many people tried to speak to you. when doyoung caught jaehyun's stride towards you from his peripheral view, he cut the conversation he had with a fellow colleague and practically dashed across the event hall, only slowing down 5 steps away from your table.

fortunately, he arrived at the table before jaehyun could and he rested his arm on the backseat of your chair as he took a seat. he turned to look at jaehyun and gestured him to back off.

"oh, hi. do you need me to powder your face? i don't think i brought the brand of your choice though." you spoke when you felt his warm presence beside you.

"you always assume i only ever talk to you when i want my hair or make up done."

"um...because that's what i'm here for. anyway, you should continue talking to them. they seem like they're anticipating for your return." you pouted and pointed towards the direction he was from. true enough they had their gaze on doyoung, the ladies waving when doyoung turned towards them. you swear you saw doyoung cringe at the sight of them.

"why should i talk to a bunch of pretty faces when i can sit here and talk to a pretty face with brains? that's a bonus."

"you're so cheesy, god. but if you want to sit here, i gotta admit i do get boring."

"well, i'll just be bored then."

for the remainder of the night he never left your sight and continued talking to you. not even the chemistry book could garner half the attention you have on doyoung. even when the music was drowning out your conversation, doyoung leaned in closer to listen to everything you wanted to say. he even made the both of you leave the event early just so he could talk to you comfortably at the 24 hr ice cream cafe near the venue.

it wasn't hard to admit that at this moment you've grown so fond of him. you were beginning to think it was a borderline crush. he always made you feel heard despite the minimal reactions. he never fails to ensure that you were the priority through his small gestures, like filling your empty cup first before his. he really made you believe that chivalry isn't dead. it's really all the tiny details you noticed about him that makes you like him, a lot.

"the engineering field takes in only a small percentage of females. it's disappointing to think that i could be working my ass off and i'm discredited because of my gender. i really want to pursue higher education just to brush my success in their faces."

"then why don't you do so? you're insanely hardworking, you're gonna achieve anything you set your mind on."

"i need the funds, doyoung. that's why i really needed this job. you don't know how much it meant to me when you didn't tell on me. just a few more months and i can make my dreams come true." you ended with a reassuring smile.

at that exact moment, doyoung reached an epiphany. he liked you too, a lot. your confidence, determination, kindness and not to mention, killer looks. you've got it all. he'd do anything to have you but he shouldn't. he doesn't want to hinder you from achieving your dreams.

doyoung then told you more about him so that you could know him better but in reality he did so to try and dismiss any form of emotion he felt for you, the attempt was futile.

at about 3am, the two of you decided to call it a day. he drove you home and even in the car he didn't turn on the radio so that he could fully enjoy being in the same space as you. he told you once that the car radio was there to tune out the awkwardness he feels whenever he has to drive people home. so knowing that he's comfortable being present in silence with you, flattered you.

he dropped you off at your door when you reached your apartment. he passed you your purse and wished you a goodnight before turning around to leave.

"y/n!" you turned when he called your name. his back still towards you. " you looked gorgeous tonight by the way. see you tomorrow!"

as weeks went by, you realised that you truly enjoyed going to work more and more because you got to see doyoung. you also felt that being in the fashion field really broadens your perspective, which was another reason to enjoy work. today was a day just like any other, but maybe you’re a tad bit more excited because you’d get to see doyoung.

when you entered the dressing room, doyoung’s manager informed you that Mr Lee wanted to see you. although it seemed odd, you obliged. as you entered Mr Lee’s room, the man himself was already looking back at you, giving you a wide smile. he greets you and asks you if you’re doing fine.

“y/n, to have you in our company is really such a blessing. you’re always so happy coming to work and it bounces off to others. it’s amazing to see-“

“oh no. i’m getting fired,aren’t i? did i do something wrong?”

“no you didn’t, y/n. but i’m going to have to fire you. it’s been so great having you here, truly. you might want to talk to doyoung after this.”

you were slightly pissed at doyoung. you thought that after the two of you had your late night chat he would’ve understood that you needed this job badly. you quickly bowed to Mr Lee and was about to storm out of the room when he stopped you from leaving and passes you an envelope, "as a form of gratitude from us.” you couldn’t help but smile at the gesture. you were sure going to miss working here.

you left the room in search for doyoung and there he was in the dressing room, shining brighter than the stars on a clear, dark night. you stood in front of him and huffed, so ready to question his decisions. just as you were about to open your mouth, he shined you his gummy smile. as if in an instant, all the rage and anger in the world had been lifted momentarily. there was no way you could be mad at him.

“why did you have to tell him? i thought you understood your plight.”

“i do, which was exactly why i did it. by now you know i’m not the type of person who can convey their emotions well. but this is how i prove to you that i care. you have big dreams, y/n. go chase it.”

“but i want to stay here and be with you. i’ve grown so accustomed to seeing you every day. i don’t want to not do that anymore.”

“i want you to stay too but i don’t want to be the reason you’re tied to a job that won’t unleash your true capabilities. you’re way better than this job, y/n, and you know that.”

the faith he had in you was enough to have you melt into his arms. you held him close, never wanting to let him go. if there was a way to have have both him and your dreams at the same time, you’d seize it but that’s impossible and you knew that.

“you’re being dramatic, y/n. we'll see each other when you come back, right?”

you frowned, causing doyoung to laugh. he used his thumb to caress your furrowed brows so that you’d relax. you immediately soften into his touch.

“am i supposed to use this to fund for uni then? this is a huge sum, doyoung.” you referred to the envelope Mr Lee gave you.

“well that’s how much working for me earns you. i mean i was a pain in the ass.” you laughed heartily at him, secretly hoping it wouldn’t be the last time.

"i like you, doyoung. i like you a lot."

"i do too. more than you know." he pulled you closer. "anyways, do you know that you're probably the stylist that lasted the longest?" you could only laugh heartily.

a few weeks later, when doyoung sent you off at the airport, you could see the regret in his eyes, having to send you off. but you knew he did this because he cared for you.

hoping it wouldn’t be the last time you see him he told you, “you got this, my baby engineer. i’ll see you soon.”

he gave you a small kiss on your forehead and watched you turn around to leave. he saw you walking away and disappearing into a tiny speck. but somehow, despite saying goodbye, there was a sense of comfort in this farewell.

that’s why sometimes in life, you meet people and it’s always for a reason. sometimes you meet them at the right place and the right time. and sometimes you meet them at the wrong place and the wrong time. and for you, that’s doyoung, the right guy who you met at the wrong place and the wrong time.

fin.

bonus scene:

in case you cannot handle them not being together at the end haha

approx. 8 months later...

you were clearing up your room that was flooded with research papers. it filled up your study table, your bed, the floor. if it could fill up your ceiling, it would too. you suddenly heard your doorbell ringing.

you rushed to your door and opened it only to see a huge flower hamper. big enough to hide someone in it. and true enough there was someone behind it.

“hello, my baby engineer. i know i’m supposed to wait till after you graduate before i can take you on a date but i can't really help and wonder what it would be like if we do? are you up for it?”

#nct scenarios #nct au #nct imagine #doyoung #doyoung scenarios #doyoung fluff #doyoung angst #nct fluff #nct angst #nct #nct 127 #please give this lots of love and enjoy!!#thank you loves

166 notes · View notes

bubmyg · 5 years

Text

an out of bounds umbrella - myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre/warnings: college!au, basketball player!au, (light) enemies to lovers, the real enemy is taehyung, fluff; yoongi’s birthday fic!

word count: 10,296

summary: you’re apologetic about almost blinding your university’s star point guard with the broken tip of your umbrella until you share a class with him and find out he’s a three star recruit but a four star dick or min yoongi doesn’t find your high school musical puns amusing.

a/n: merry birthday to the light of my life :-(

You pressed buttered pieces of popcorn into gently chewing cheeks, squinted eyes trained on the television screen. Blurs of red and white streaked across brown panel flooring, squeaking shoes and dull roars from the crowd picking up on the mics as the two announcers rambled on about something you weren’t conscious of.

The color of the sweatshirt draped across your torso matched the jerseys of the opposing team, just as the embroidered logos stitched on the corners mirrored that of the website pulled up on your idle laptop on your desk. Going to a university with a nationally ranked basketball team gave some sense of pride, even if you hadn’t adamantly followed the team’s progress otherwise. So said the email pulled up on your laptop, one from a class you hadn’t yet, one from a professor you hadn’t met yet, insisting that you could have the first day of class off if and only if your university won the game currently transpiring before your eyes.

You weren’t watching for that reason, but to not have to wake up for the first day of a new semester gave a new sense to the grit on your teeth as the gap in the score dwindled in the favor of you having to set an alarm on a Monday.

It was a ten point game with ten minutes left in the game, something you noted when you were out of popcorn on your plate and had to dive for the bag on your desk in the short media timeout. It was a seven point game by the time you’d settled back into the stiff cushions of your couch, announcers adamant about the player profile stretched across the screen while play still happened in the background.

You recognized the plush lips stretched into a smile on the head shot simply because your roommate freshman year had made out with Park Jimin for five minutes at a frat party and hadn’t let you forget it. His dark hair was swept across smiling eyes, teeth wide and smile crooked as his stats proved the analysis that his three point percentage helped the team prevail from behind more often than not.

The graphic faded as Jimin regained possession off a steal on defense, burnt orange streaking through the middle of the court as the ball was passed and landed in the hands of the first one back in transition. He laid the ball in for an easy layup.

Five point game.

“Park certainly is an asset to the glue that holds this team together, however—” The announcer spoke as another graphic, smaller this time, adjusted to the corner, “—we have to talk about the one who got him the ball on that last three. Or who beat everyone back on defense after that steal.”

“Or who may certainly be in serious talks for player of the year.”

Going to a university with a ranked basketball generally meant that you were aware of the team’s top ranked recruit, top scorer, the one who drew handfuls of pro-scouts into the stands every home game. He was elusive on campus, presence at parties a myth without any proof, attendance in class mandatory but quiet, walks to class huddled between various members of his teammates.

Maybe you found the aura he gave off attractive, that he wasn’t incredible or loved by people his own age who he didn’t even know.

Or maybe it was just because Min Yoongi was really fucking pretty.

When you were done gaping at the pretty shape of his eyes or the lazy upturn to one corner of his mouth that didn’t quite show his teeth but dimpled his cheeks nonetheless, there was a live shot of his expression as he jogged to the huddle for a timeout. Bleached hair stuck in individual pleats to his forehead, gums on display as he pumped his fist and got intercepted by the round of individuals around the bench, dragging him into the open seat with high fives and claps on the back.

Yoongi had hit a pull up three. Two point game. Five minutes to go.

Your popcorn was cold and forgotten by the time the final buzzer sounded, the ten point swing now in the favor of you not having your first class in the morning, another win and the umpteenth in a row for your university's team, another thirty point game to bring Yoongi’s average scoring up to a national high. He was quiet now in the handshake line, lips tight, eyes down turned as the camera followed the team along while the announcers bid their goodbyes.

A notification emitted from your laptop, another email with the tagline thanks number fourteen and the contents assuring you that you wouldn’t be having class until Wednesday.

You switched off your television as those in the next sporting program on the channel began to chatter about the infamous number fourteen. Unpopped kernels ricocheted through your trash can as you binned your cold snack, sighing at the half opened email on your screen.

You sighed, “Thanks, Min Yoongi.”

The second day of the semester was dulled by a mid winter day warm enough to elicit a torrential downpour of cold rain. And if there was something that never changed with the whether or the term, it was the wind tunnel created through the middle of various academic buildings, whipping ice into your cheeks and blowing the sleeves of your jacket out from the sanction of your gloves. You’d left early, mostly to assure you found the classroom, not be late on the first day of a class.

But mostly to not be picked up Mary Poppins style by the cheap umbrella clutched blindly in aching knuckles.

You could hear the thin metal pieces groaning each time you changed direction, barely glancing into crosswalks for cars or buses or that singular brave soul who would try their bike. The place where they connected in the middle was pressed against the layers of hoods and hats on the top of your head, as close to the ground as you could manage while still protecting your laptop keys from freezing to a standstill. You swayed with each gush of the wind and your boots anchored you in place the best they could while still moving forward as you observed two dark blobs moving in the opposite direction from you in the distance.

Preparation began fully when you could hear them noisily chatting over the wind. You rooted the umbrella in place with two hands, slower steps stalling as close as you could get to the edge of the sidewalk without dipping into the slush mess of snow and mud, raising your head just enough to assess your distance from the two approaching individuals.

One scrambled out of the way as he seemed to register you in the same moment, but the timing was not in favor of the next lift of your foot off the ground as you were stumbling a half step in their direction.

You hadn’t looked enough to notice the two individuals were without, protection limited to black hoodies cinched underneath their chins, but you expected your umbrella to clash into one of theirs. Instead, you narrowly avoided driving the rounded edge of cheap metal into the nearest boy’s eye socket as he locked up at the last second to let out a grunt of annoyance.

Blonde hair draped out over dark eyes with the startled jerk of his head and suddenly you were seven more layers of horrified as you leaned as far as you could in the opposite direction.

“Oh, Yoongi, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

His voice was gruff as he quipped curtly, “Control your umbrella, maybe?”

You stood rooted in a shallow puddle of mud, creaking umbrella clutched in loosened palms as his gaze turned from yours, hands shoving deeper into his pockets as a kicking step carried him away from you. The proceeding gust of wind was the only thing to derive your attention, grip quickly clamping back down on the object in hand as you swallowed thickly in watching their backs saunter away.

The other one’s hood had fallen off now and you wished the puddle below you would gape into a black hole and swallow you whole when Park Jimin smacked his friend’s chest before beaming at you over his shoulder.

“I like your umbrella, babe!”

Your tongue was dry from the ajar hang of your mouth in driving winds, muffling your responding thanks! as much as the leftover horror still clinging to your numb veins did.

The umbrella was crumpled and shoved into the bag of your backpack when you settled into your second class of the day, phone pressed against your ear as your irritated glare seemed to keep your back corner of the lecture hall clear.

“Imagine that news headline,” Jeongguk was chattering through the speaker, “Local dumbass on college campus blinds star point guard with a shitty umbrella. Team never wins a game again. Student body rallies to burn down apartment building of the attacker.”

“Can I stay with you when they do?” Your cold glare met the far wall as you dipped a hand into your sopping wet backpack, drawing out a notebook and a pen and you wished the wall were Jeongguk’s stupid smiling face so you could jab your pen between the gap in his bunny teeth.

“Absolutely.”

“I hate you.”

“Noted for whether I put you on the couch or make Taehyung share his bed with you,” You heard him cackle and it lessened the automatic grimace that graced your features. “Seriously though. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It’s not, I’m just an idiot.”

Jeongguk hesitated and you wanted to punch him through the line, “Maybe. Is this your last class today? I have to remember your new schedule so I can know when to be a pain in the ass but like, respectfully.”

“Yes, Guk.”

“Do you want me to bring you soup later?”

Your grateful answer stalled on your tongue and you nearly swallowed the muscle when a stupidly familiar blob of drenched black fabric plopped down in the seat three down from you. You turned with a cocked eyebrow, the tiniest voice in your head that wasn’t Jeongguk’s rambling for you to answer him telling you that the odds were ridiculous and this was a class for your major and why would Min Yoongi be in a literature class?

Min Yoongi was definitely in the literature class and he was definitely sitting three seats down from you and he was definitely staring at you with one eyebrow cocked and an annoyed round to the black of his eyes.

“Does your silence mean yes but you want me to bring the soup but with, like, crackers or something?”

“Yes, Guk, soup sounds good. I’ll, uh, see you later, profjustwalkedinbye!”

You heard him snort and with another fleeting glance you found that he was no longer staring at you but instead picking at loose skin around his fingernails. You took the discovery with a sigh of relief and the freedom to do the same to your own battered nails.

He was two seats closer when the professor had halfheartedly split the room in discussion groups with a waving flick of her wrist in general corners. The individuals who were presumably meant to speak with the two of you had joined the group a layer below in the lecture hall, leaving the awkward silence that went with you fingering at the pages on your notebook while Yoongi pretended to read the passage projected on the board.

“Did you...do this reading?”

You startled at the rasp of Yoongi’s voice addressing you and when you looked up your irritation grew tenfold because now you didn’t want to admit that he was super fucking pretty. Delicate eyelashes blinked at you, not amused by the frantic fish of your mouth as you snapped harsher than you meant to.

“Of course I did,” You swallowed, shoulders sinking, “Did you?”

There was something infuriating about his next, almost rhetorical inquiry, purely because the lack of anything cocky encompassing his entire being. There wasn’t a smug smirk plastered to his lips, no knowing smile, no wink to precede the words. Just a lazy cock of his chin as he squished his cheek into curled knuckles complete with pursed pink lips.

“Do you know who I am?”

If the easy lack of care that encompassed his entire being intrigued you before it made you grind your teeth into jagged edges now, especially with the connotation of his question no matter how simply he asked it.

So you contrasted his expression, a sweet smile meeting your teeth as you still cold cheeks screamed from the movement, “No? Should I?”

Something sparkled in the corner of Yoongi’s right eye when it crinkled ever so slightly, lips twitched as he straightened, dragging the hand on his cheek down to rest around the back of his neck as his eyes diverted to the board.

“Well, I’m Yoongi. And no, I didn’t do the reading. Little busy this last weekend.”

“Well, it was essentially about how—”

He held up his hand, “Why don’t you just answer her questions when she calls on our group, then?”

Yoongi didn’t wait for your answer as he was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “Yeah,” You muttered dryly, “I can do that.”

“Perfect,” The back of his head hit the plastic of the chair and he craned his neck to squint at you, bleached locks tumbling away from dark eyebrows to expose the wrinkles rippling across his forehead, “What was your name again?”

You murmured it and he hummed, eyes falling shut as his fingers ran across his face.

“Wake me up when she starts discussion.”

You rounded a tour group exiting the basement of the student union without considering the eye roll the guide shot at the back of your head, swinging onto the staircase to the second floor and taking the arching marble two at a time. Your wet backpack felt three times heavier on your shoulders as your wet boots squeaked around the corner of the second story, retching open the tiny blue door hidden at the apex of the last stair of the main hallway.

The stairs were narrower leading up the chute to the virtually nonexistent third story of the union, wooden and cracked and creaking with each step but you took them two at a time as well, not stopping to stroke your fingers over the random pieces of artwork hung to the walls as you normally would. The room was dark when you reached the hilt, not that you expected otherwise, and you stumbled into the space with a stupidly exaggerated sigh of relief.

For once, the ache in your joints from the cold and the wet welcomed the strange heat that constantly infiltrated the spacious room at the top of the union, the south ballroom as it was advertised to clubs looking to rent space on the university website. It was spacious, the wooden floors scuffed and dotted in various streaks of grey and white paint, a lifted platform at the front of the room with stacks of grey chairs pressed against the wall, windows facing the street lining the walls but the cobwebs so bad it wasn’t worth it to try to see out of the frosted glass, a singular piano at the head of room that you were sure hadn’t been played in years.

You stumbled on your favorite study spot on accident years ago and were thankful for the refuge that only a handful of students knew the whereabouts to every day, even when it was only the second day of the semester and you didn’t have highlighted notes to spread out the length of the room while pacing in front of the corresponding flashcards.

You discarded all your wet articles of clothing in a pile in the corner, your backpack, socks, shoes, jacket, top layer of shirt, leaving you in slightly damp jeans and a t-shirt as you hobbled across the uneven floor to the raised platform. Your ass hit the surface first, then your shoulders, sprawling openly across the floor as you welcomed the sound of muted traffic as the only thing your ringing ears could hear.

Until your phone went off in your bag, muffled by the layers of clothing piled on top of it and the thin sheen of ice still clinging to the pores.

“Are you upstairs?” Jeongguk whined pitifully, “I’ve burnt my hand twice of your fucking soup and want it gone.”

You sighed.

“Yeah.”

“Stop being all sulky, it’s day two—” There was some rustling and then he was grunting, “—why are you pretending that we didn’t know all student athletes are assholes.”

“You’re a student athlete.”

He was whining again, “Yes, but the swim team is different.”

“Beg to differ, Tae’s an ass.”

“He’s an ass to you because he thinks you’re hot and I said no.”

“He’s an ass even if you would have said yes.”

“He’s a lovable ass.”

You parted your mouth to contradict when the rickety old doorknob was jiggling in it’s much too big hole, stalling your heart in your throat. You were stood, barefoot and drenched in the corner of the room with your clothes spread everywhere. Not a good look for an unsuspecting freshman who’d accidentally stumbled upon the room in search of the office who handled lost or stolen student ID’s.

“Hey, are you here?”

“No, I’m like two blocks away,” Jeongguk paused for the wind, “Why are we whispering?”

The door jiggled again, cracked barely a sliver, and then shut all the same. The echo of retreating footsteps echoed your breathing as you sighed, shaking your head even though Jeongguk couldn’t see you and he was prodding again with an expectant noise in his throat.

“No reason, thought somebody was coming up the stairs,” You slumped into a nearby chair, “Hurry up.”

“So we aren’t whispering?—”

It was two weeks later and the sun was out enough for you not to have to zip your winter jacket to your chin when Yoongi’s quiet confession and page full of notes almost made you think he wasn’t an asshole.

“I, uhm,” His chair rolled closer despite the apprehensive narrow of your eyes at the side of his head, “did the reading.”

“Good. That is, generally, the only thing you’re required to do in a literature class.”

He blinked, “It was...good.”

You blinked back, “You found Freud good?”

“Truthfully? No. Not at all. I hated every bit of it,” Yoongi’s notebook hit the desk with a dull thud, the metal spiral unraveled at the end and catching in the strings of his hoodie, “but I did read it. Aren’t you happy?”

“Why should I be happy that you actually did the assignment?”

“Because I can talk in class today—”

“—just because you can doesn’t mean you will—”

“—and because I was busy last night.” Yoongi flattened his palm over his notes, “Did you watch the game last night?”

“Just because you’ve suddenly developed this brooding hatred for Min Yoongi doesn’t mean you aren’t required to go to the games with me anymore,” Jeongguk’s weighed slumped against the door audibly and you groaned in response.

“I’m the only one of us that has tickets—” You tucked your pillow tighter to your face, “—you’re required to go with me.”

“Get up or we’re not going to get our seats.”

He let out a noise of surprise when you tossed your pillow at your door. “Are you wearing that stupid quarter-zip that’s a size too small for you?”

“Open the door and find out.”

“That’s a yes.”

“Open. The door.”

You rolled out of your duvet, flicking the lock on your door. Jeongguk nearly crashed the pointed edge against your nose as he shuffled through the threshold of the doorway. A quirked eyebrow rose higher into fluffy bangs as his gaze drug upward from your socked feet to your glaring eyes.

“Thought you only wore those socks to games,” He gestured vaguely, “and that ring. Move your hoodie, do you have your lucky sports bra on—”

“Jeongguk.”

He was knuckle deep in the shoulder of the heavy fabric, fingers plucking at the thick strap for good measure as he feigned, “What?”

“Get your hand out of my shirt and let’s go.”

The tall man groaned as he trailed you down the stairs of your building, longer legs taking them two at a time with incessant fingers prodding at your shoulder blades, “Eager to see your boyfriend in his element?”

You didn’t hold the door for Jeongguk as you took a running step forward out onto the sidewalk, “That shirt doesn’t make you look like you hit your bench max this week just because it’s tight.”

He caught up to you, shoving his fingers in the back pocket of your jeans, “And Yoongi won’t be able to see your ass in these from the court.”

“I didn’t wear them because of that—”

“He’s looking at you.”

“Jeongguk there’s two thousand people in this general direction. He’s not looking at me.”

“He’s definitely looking at you,” Jeongguk snorted when you lifted his arm to hide behind it, “He just smiled. I’ve never seen Min Yoongi smile during a basketball game.”

“They’re up by thirty. He thinks I don’t know who he is.”

“...and he’s still looking at you. Especially now that you’re attempting to hide. Secrets up I think.”

“Is it too late to move to the top section?”

“We’re not moving. This is our spot.”

“Bring Taehyung next time and I’ll move up to the top. Perfect plan.”

“Not to interrupt your existential crisis but Park Jimin is definitely waving at you.”

You whipped your head around at that, nearly bashing your nose off of Jeongguk’s flexed bicep as you immediately found the fluffy haired guard cackling in your general direction. If you weren’t paranoid, you wouldn’t have noticed him nudge the bleached haired one you were refusing to acknowledge and mouth that one?

They both waved this time and your muscle twitched to return the favor for whatever impulsive reason until bile burned up the back of your throat at the sight of nearly everyone around you waving as well. The pair seemed satisfied with themselves, having found whoever their target was as they exchanged a few nudged elbows to their stomachs.

You resisted the urge to flash your middle finger at Yoongi even though he was most certainly not looking at you when he cast another fleeting glance over his shoulder.

The back of your neck burned but you deadpanned, “What game?”

Each corner of Yoongi’s lips made the shape of a capital I and he nodded, throat visibly jumping as he dragged his notebook closer to his nose. “So Freud and why he’s not, in fact, good—”

You acquired Min Yoongi’s number a month and a half into the semester when group projects were a flippant announcement at the end of class and he’d shoved the device into your palms without asking what he wanted.

“I have to keep my grades up for my, uhm…” He trailed off and his hand was on the back of his neck again while you regarded him with thumbs stalled on the keyboard of the glass screen, “...my scholarship. So, I’d like to do well on this. You know?”

You began to type them, nodding, “I also would like to do well.”

“Good,” Yoongi accepted the phone back, tapping around on the screen as your own buzzed in your back pocket, “Then we’re on the same team.”

You waited until three days later in the middle of an away game that was illuminated on your television, finishing half your bowl of popcorn and texting him a question on his limited work on the shared powerpoint. It sent as he drained a three pointer and you couldn’t help but groan.

They won and he responded almost an hour after you’d crawled into bed, a smiling emoji punctuating the roll of your eyes as you shoved your phone under your pillow, completely unsuspecting of the four extra slides he finished on the plane ride back to campus.

“Why are you calling me?” You squinted out the glass of one of the windows in your study room, cobwebs swept aside from the room’s yearly cleaning and enough for you to see blurred blobs crossing the sidewalks below.

“Because I don’t know how to explain this to you over text,” Yoongi mumbled on the other end, “There’s only so many emojis I can use to describe Shakespeare and my lack knowledge with anything technical.”

“There is a keyboard besides the emoji keyboard.”

“Exactly a thing helpless me would not know. Can you not be insufferable for two seconds?”

“Only if you never call me again.”

“Sounds like a fair trade,” Yoongi quipped dryly. “Get on the powerpoint, I think I accidentally deleted all our sources.”

“You did what—”

He sent you a picture of sprinkle covered donut after hanging up and brought it to you in a crumpled napkin the next morning.

You were tripping up the narrow stairway to the room the next time that you called him and he answered with the same petty sarcasm, “I thought the deal was no more phone calls.”

“I said for you not to call me,” You huffed, pausing in the middle of a bowed piece of wood, “This is different.”

“Right,” A melodious noise echoed on the other end of the line and Yoongi grunted, “Well then, get on with it. What do you need?”

“I need you to check my work on the analysis portion—” Another noise and you frowned as it seemed to echo with the next timid step you took in ascend, “—see if you agree.”

One more noise. A ding but softer. It got louder when you took three steps higher and you pulled your phone off your ear to squint at it. His voice was softer as he was unaware that you were frowning at the bottom of your phone, “You care if I agree with you or not?”

“Not really, I just need to say you looked it over in case you decide to complain to the prof or something,” You held a steady hand on the doorknob to the room as you delicately cradled your phone to your face, “Do you hear a weird dinging noise? It kind of sounds like a—”

“Piano?—” The noise came again and you jumped when it was louder than it had been any of the previous times, “—yes, I hear it.”

“Then why…” You pushed open the door only for the sound to curl fully into your ears, tinkled and coming all from a few keys pushed close together as feathered by a veiny hand not holding onto a phone.

“...why the fuck are you in here?”

His phone slapping off the keys didn’t provide near the beautiful sound that previously had been coming from the careful touch of seasoned fingers and you winced as it came dully in one ear and directly in the other that still held your phone. You scrambled to hang it up while Yoongi scrambled for his to scoop it off the floor.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize only you could use this room,” Yoongi’s retort was spoken as he was bent like a pretzel underneath the creaking stool he was perched delicately upon, managing to pluck his phone between his thumb and second knuckle on his index finger.

“This is my room,” You tried dumbly, still halfway in the door with the loose knob bobbing in your grasp.

“Do you have it reserved?” He’d straightened now, black eyes challenging you.

“...no.”

“Were you here first?”

You grit your teeth at the childish question.

“No.”

“Good, then it’s our room,” Yoongi pushed himself away from the piano, stalking to his backpack that was slumped in the corner. Your corner. “We can work on this project together instead of exchanging awkward phone calls and texts.”

The door shut but you continued to stare at him as he settled onto the floor, pulling his laptop from a pouch in his backpack.

“So you don’t carry a basketball around like Chad Danforth?”

Yoongi cocked an eyebrow in the exact moment that you panicked of the words that just left your lips. He said it slowly but it sounded like he’d been thrown through a chipmunk generator, “What do you mean?”

“It’s just—” You gestured so wildly with your hands, your backpack slid off one shoulder and you stumbled, “—he claims he doesn’t dance and then can dance. You give off the impression that all you do is sleep but you can play piano. Same concept.”

Or that you play basketball and share the same number with the infamous Troy Bolton.

“When you have to explain the joke, it’s not funny anymore,” Yoongi singsonged and the deep gravel in his tone made you shiver and contemplate the idea of jumping his stupid heart shaped mouth if he could fucking sing too. He hid under his bangs as he added, “The second movie is best one of the franchise, though.”

The implication that he knew enough about the movies to even argue that point didn’t register as you deadpanned, “Respectfully disagree. First one is the best.”

Yoongi sighed and the trace of a smile slipping to your lips was unconscious.

“I’m not arguing with you about High School Musical when you’re supposed to be helping my dumbass understand Macbeth, get over here.”

“What’s the point in this competition if we just end up sharing the space every time anyway?” You heaved into your phone receiver, skipping individual blocks of concrete lining the sidewalks in route to the union. Your backpack flapped on your shoulders where you’d failed to zip it in the rush out of your last class of the day and the notifications on your phone were all from a Jeongguk you were ignoring.

“Principal of the matter,” Yoongi was equally out of breath, “or, if you’d ever beat me, I’m under no impression that you wouldn’t kick me out. You should be grateful I always get there first and let you stay.”

“You don’t always get there first.”

“I’ll let you think that. Anyway, I propped the door open. Follow the smell of the breadsticks I bought us.”

“I don’t want any of your fucking breadsticks.”

“Good.”

Good news, you have the room to yourself today. I have things to do.

Translation: There’s a game today.

Don’t threaten me with a good time, Min Yoongi.

Translation: I miss you.

“Can you stop doing that?”

You popped an earbud out, even if you’d had your music paused for well over fifteen minutes, nothing but an absent doodle on the margins of your notes as you’d listened intently to the gentle sounds of the old piano filling the room as played by Yoongi’s crooked fingers. It was the nodding off of your cheek against the chair you leaned against from your position on the floor that erased the sleep clinging to your digits as you grit your teeth and reprimanded the only other individual in the room.

He turned with a single raised eyebrow, soft caramel eyes widened in surprise. Quickly did they flatten into something of mischief after drawing in the sight of your swollen eyes and slightly frumpled hair.

“What?” Yoongi teased, poking a succession of keys with a lopsided grin, “Playing you a nice lullaby?”

“Seriously, Yoongi,” Your voice came out harsher than intended and you winced when the playful smile erased from his lips, “I have to get this done.”

There was a pause in between his shrug and his low, “You can always go home.”

He was silent as you shoved papers into the smallest pouch on your backpack, uncaring that you’d just folded half your notes in route to jam your notebook in with your laptop. You barely got your jacket over your shoulders, backpack dangling from the crook of your elbow as irritated steps worked to carry you toward the door.

Your bag tumbled to the floor, jacket covering it when gentle fingers pried their way into one of your curled fists, tugging just enough to stall your pointed advances.

“I’m sorry,” There was a sincere shine in the gentle blink of Yoongi’s eyes up at you, one that mirrored the squeeze around your palm, “I’ll stop. Stay.”

“I just have a lot to do.”

Another squeeze. A trace of his thumb over the back of your knuckles. “I know.”

“Sorry.”

You stepped away from him but he didn’t let go of your hand, carefully drawing his gaze over your features until you averted your eyes to the side, trying to pull your hand against your chest. He let go of you, only to softly inquire, “Do you need help studying?”

“Do you know anything about statistics?”

Yoongi quirked an eyebrow, taking a step forward to your step back to your previous position.

“I can learn.”

There were eight, neat little crescent shapes carved into Jeongguk’s forearm by the time the clock clicked over to zero, effectively sucking the life from the thousands of individuals seated around you. Your grip loosened on him only when someone trying to retreat down the staircase to your right bumped against your shoulder, drawing your blank eyes to squint in confirmation at the scoreboard.

Jeongguk didn’t move because you didn’t, your gaze sweeping over the heads of still seated fans to the members of the opposing team to finally assess the frustration written over Yoongi’s features. He ducked out of the handshake line as the last of the opposing team members clasped him on the back, evading the hand of Jimin that reached out from him as he bent over the bench to retrieve a towel. The white was draped across his head, ends pulled underneath his chin with white knuckles as quick steps carried him toward the locker room.

“Hey,” Jeongguk jiggled his arm still loosely clasped in your fingers, trading it to drape across your shoulders as he playfully nudged your hip, “Can’t always win them all.”

You nodded slowly, eyeing the two point difference on the scoreboard with a sour taste in your mouth. “The close ones are the ones that hurt the most.”

“Right, just like when I was three points off a C on that bio test you helped me study for—”

“Guk.”

“Sorry,” He grinned sheepishly. He used his grip on your shoulders to steer you out around the dwindling mass of students, “Next game, right?”

The lid of the piano was closed but Yoongi sat at the bench nonetheless, his notebook propped awkwardly against the curve in the wood with the plastic end of his pen clenched between his front teeth. He’d spoken nearly three words to you, about the same amount that was written across the top of his notebook in giant bold letters, ones he kept filling in over and over again. It was the class name and the date, scribbled in permanence in between shuddered sighs and the push of his fingers through his hair.

You watched him warily, you own progress on work going slowly as two sides of your conscious fighting for the correct approach to the situation. Acknowledge you knew of the loss and try to comfort him that way (hey, are you okay after missing those couple of free throws at the end of the game and turning it over with fifteen seconds left? Just curious.), or simply ask the question you already knew the answer to (Clearly you aren’t, but are you okay?).

He beat you to either, the smack of his notebook against the floor entirely louder than the tremble in his timbre, “Hey, uh…”

The jerk of your chin toward Yoongi’s voice startled him and he swallowed in between his words, “Uh, do you have a lot to do?”

“Nothing too important,” You lied of the essay you needed to finish outlining. The blank word document on your laptop mocked you from it’s place behind you, “What’s up?”

He nodded toward the instrument he was perched at, “Do you care if I play a little bit? It won’t be too long I just need to—”

“Go for it,” Your smile was tight lipped only to threaten it from breaking into either sympathy or pure endearment, “I’ll try not to fall asleep.”

Yoongi’s fingers had only feathered over a few collection of notes before something harsh was ringing through the room as he settled his palm down over the keys, turning again to you. “I know a way to keep you awake while I play,” He tried bluntly and you cocked an eyebrow at the gentle pink brushing up the back of his neck.

“What’s that? Play me the entire High School Musical soundtrack? I had you as Chad, not Kelsey but now I’m intrigued—”

He ignored you with fully pink cheeks, dragging his stature across the creaking old bench to pat the space next to him, “Come sit with me.”

“I—”

“Only if you want to,” He touched the back of his next with fingers crooked at the very tip, rambling more so to the uneven floorboards than to the amused smile on your face, “Might keep you awake if you’re closer to the source of the sound. Or I can just pinch you when you start to—”

“Hush, you have to give me a second to get up,” You abandoned your post on the floor without a second thought, uncaring that you probably just lost your last good pen to one of said, uneven floorboards.

There was a touch of Yoongi’s gums in your peripheral as you settled rigidly next to him, watching as he laid dainty wrists to the keys while glancing at you, “I take requests only if they’re not High School Musical related.”

You rolled your eyes, folding your hands in between the awkward cross of your thighs, “Just play something.”

You were awarded the forward face of his unabashed beam at that, one that ducked away from you in flushed embarrassment, mumbling in an attempt to close the spread of his lips up into the apples of his cheeks.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The I’ll be late text appeared in your palm as you’d opened your text thread with Yoongi to tease of his competitive spirit dwindling. It hadn’t, he was fresh off a game where he’d scored thirty points and grabbed ten rebounds in a demolishing comeback win that kept him out of class for travel but assured he’d be back the next day for his presence to annoy you while studying.

You opted for a thumbs up in response rather than your normal snarky response, dropping the device into your pocket with a sigh. The novel you were to be reading looking ten times less appealing without the calm of Yoongi’s presence just a glance through strands of your hair away. You rolled the tattered spine over in your fingers, drawing gentle fingers down the glossy cover as unconscious steps carried you away from your usual corner near the risen platform toward the piano bench. The curl of your toes into one of the legs was more violent than your ears were prepared for and your backside hit the unforgiving wood, hard, from the start of your heart in your ears.

A page in and the aura the piano suggested was doing you no good, especially not when you checked your phone and lacked an update of how late late would be. You dogeared the page to reread when you weren’t unconsciously on edge, sliding the book across the floor until it came to a sad rest a few feet before your bag.

Your fingers instead found themselves pulling up on the tattered wood of the piano, revealing the dull ivory that you were clueless to other than the comfort that the sounds, or the potential of someone playing the sounds (or, quite frankly, the comfort that someone you knew who could play), brought. One poke to a key and you winced, the sound dull to the jabbing thump of your rigid finger. Another, softer, and you relaxed as you began to poke around at the keys closest to you as if you were hunting for letters on a keyboard in pitch darkness.

“Why is it me playing for you?” You startled a crescendo of keys with the flat of your palm but the smirking figure shuffling through the door showed no other emotion than joy, “You should clearly be playing for me.”

You recovered after a handful of stuttered syllables that resembled nothing of what you wanted to say, “Well I figured if you could play, it couldn’t be that hard but I was, uh, wrong.”

“Want me to teach you?”

Yoongi towered over you, white fringe stuck in blinking eyelashes, smashed down by the black hood cinched around puffed cheeks, but nothing was teasing about the purse of his lips as they paused in wait for your response, one hand supporting the lean of his stature against the side of the piano.

“I, uh, actually probably need to get to my reading,” You tripped in slow motion off the bench, “maybe some other time—”

You barely registered the pressure of his fingers around your wrist as he tugged you back, taking your place on the edge of the seat while dragging your hip to knock against his in the same movement. He apologized only with a quirk of his lips into a soft smile, fingers trailing over the underside of your wrists to situate your hands against the piano keys.

“Just a quick lesson,” Yoongi’s voice brushed your ear as he leaned across you to press one of your fingers down against the key it held.

You were deaf to any of his instructions, feeling only the heat of calloused fingertips guiding your movements while listening only to the rasp in his murmur rather than the teaching his words held.

“We don’t play like you type,” He told you after a moment, and it was when he’d risen to move behind you that you thought you were going to, literally, pass out into his chest. He paid no mind to your panic, nudging your hands aside to place his where yours had once been, “I can’t concentrate sometimes with you hacking away over there.”

“Shut up,” The words felt dry on your tongue and you were lucky anything came out at all.

You could hear the smile in Yoongi’s voice as his chin leaned over your shoulder, “Put your hands on top of mine.”

Min Yoongi’s hands were massive, swallowing the small surface area they rested against, pale and freckled with prominent veins crossing through red knuckles, a few rings wrapped around bony digits, nails cut neat but fingers around them worn raw from picking and chewing, ones that you would beg to have cradled around your own or hollowed between your cheeks.

Either one would suffice.

You hesitated at the clamminess you felt pulling off the material of your pants but he hummed in encouragement from behind you, wiggling his fingers. You were delicate in the way you rested your hands over his, as if the feather light touch could mask the sheen of sweat and their constant shake.

“Like this,” Yoongi was explaining, fluidly, drawing seasoned fingers across the keys, indirectly helping you to play something so complex you could only dream of ever learning. You were entirely more attuned to the flex of his appendages underneath your own than the sound they made at the tips, flooding his voice as though your ears were underwater and he were at the surface.

He slipped his hands away from yours, still leaning over you as he affirmed in a breath, “Better?”

You craned your neck to look at him, lips parted to respond but you nearly swallowed your tongue at his proximity. Long eyelashes brushed against his cheeks, minuscule twitch of his chin following the stare of your eyes into deep brown irises. Petaled lips rolled when his tongue traced from the inside of his cheek to run the length of his bottom lip, soft fringe brushing against your forehead as he leaned a fraction of a space closer.

“Yeah,” You managed to offer at a whisper, molars catching the inside of your cheek as your eyes darted to the plush of his parted lips, “I think I’ve got it now.”

Yoongi’s lips were soft like the cup of his hands around your face, testing the waters of your mouth as his scrunched nose bumped against your cheek. He met the sharp breath you sucked in when you didn’t pull away, settling into the repeated brush of his mouth against yours, kisses tender and sweet like the swipe of his thumbs against your cheekbones.

You held onto his wrists when he pulled away, pressing his forehead to yours to regard you with darkened pupils.

His voice wavered between a thick whisper and an airy inquiry, “Did you ever get a less shitty umbrella?”

Seven shades of horror encompassed you again like they had that day but he held you in place when you tried to jerk away, pressing another chaste kiss to the startled part of your mouth.

“You, what—”

“First of all, you’re a terrible liar,” His lips pressed to your cheek, “secondly, I see you at games. You stick out when with that tall prick from the swim team—”

“His roommate on the swim team is a prick, not him—”

Yoongi muffled your groan of protest with a reprimanding kiss, leaving one on the tip of your nose for good measure, “You called me by my name when you ran into me.”

“I had on three different hoods and was sopping fucking wet.”

“Would it be cheesy of me to say I’d never forget a face as beautiful as yours?”

Your cheeks heated underneath Yoongi’s grasp even as you glared, “Yeah, it would.”

He hummed, one hand leaving your face to pass bent knuckles underneath your eye, “You are, though. Beautiful.”

You went to protest and Yoongi pinched your cheek this time in reprimand, “—and you treat me like a normal college student who likes the shitty breadsticks at the dining hall and doesn’t understand Shakespeare without the Internet.”

“No one calls me out on my bullshit except coach. Sometimes. You do though, and you’re unapologetic about doing it. But you also don’t treat me like some dumbass athlete, even though you knew. You don’t treat me like a dumbass in general.”

“Because you aren’t.”

He thumbed at the seam of your lips, gaze wandering from the place where he plucked at the wet of your bottom lip to somewhere behind you. “I really like you…” His throat bobbed, “...even if you think I’m a little bit of an ass.”

“You can be,” You reciprocated again and you pressed your thumbs into the pulse on the underside of his wrists, “but I like it. I like you.”

Yoongi’s nose wrinkled and something like doubt flashed in his gaze as it dropped to your lap this time, grip on your cheeks loosening, “Yeah?”

You kissed him this time, trying desperately to assure him that, yeah, even if the tiniest part of you resented the rest of you for it. His grip tightened again on your cheeks, holding you in place for two, three, five prolonged presses of your mouth before he was breathing nearly out of context, “Are you coming to the game tomorrow?”

“Yes, Jeongguk and I have—”

“Will you stay after?” The words jumbled together but you didn’t have a chance to assure him with another nip to his bottom lip as he added, “We can go get pizza or something. I don’t know if my roommate will be home but my room is pretty comfy…”

You quirked an eyebrow and Yoongi’s entire features were shaded the prettiest hue of pink, the only exceptions the freckles dotted around his cheeks and nose, “We really can just hang out, unless you want to come up here and sit on the cold floor—”

“Yoongi.”

He stopped rambling and peered at you under lidded eyes.

You kissed his cheek, lips lingering as you agreed, “That sounds perfect.”

“He’s looking at you again.”

Jeongguk spoke without looking at you, nudging you first. When there wasn’t an immediate, snarky reply, he was tucking his chin to his shoulder, eyes still stuck to the happenings on the screen.

“I know.”

“Hey, did you hear me, he’s—” Jeongguk’s sharp gaze sliced into your cheek then to your hand that was lifted and twisting back and forth at the wrist, “—wait, you what?”

There was a fond smile pasted to your lips, one so tight it hurt your cheeks like the ache in your wrist from how enthusiastically you waved to the court. You’d clearly caught Yoongi’s attention, a lopsided smirk indenting into his cheeks as he shook his head, fringe falling over his eyes as his chin dropped to the stitching across his chest. An itching heat burned up the back of your spine, one that you couldn’t and didn’t want to squirm away from until a hand wrapped around your elbow and tugged.

You jerked your attention away at the third, painful, tug on your arm. Jeongguk was looking at you like you’d sprouted a new appendage from the apex of your throat, pupils twisting down the length of your features and back up as though he’d find that third hand growing on your forehead instead.

“What do you mean you know?”

“He was looking over here because I waved at him,” You blanched, twisting your chin in faux questioning, “He’s my friend?”

“Oh.” Jeongguk blinked, “So you’re finally accepting it.”

“What?”

“Nothing. He’s waving back,” He used his grip on your arm to angle your shoulders back toward the court and sure enough, Min Yoongi was flushed the same bright shade of pink that wasn’t from the thirty minutes of game play he’d endured. His hand rose gradually, flicking once just above his shoulder as he cocked an eyebrow at you.

Your mouth went dry and you were thankful for Jeongguk’s grip on you when Yoongi winked, bottom lip escaping from his teeth as he turned and jogged in the direction of his teammates.

An elbow on your opposite jabbed against your side and a voice an octave deeper than your giggling best friend mused, “Friend, huh?”

“Yes,” Jeongguk’s grip dropped to your wrist, as if to keep you from swinging at Taehyung as you turned toward him. “He asked me to come.”

Taehyung snorted, arms folded tightly to his chest, one thick eyebrow raising, “Yeah? You would have came anyway, he knows that right?”

“Will you switch me seats?” You beamed sweetly at the boy on your left, jerking your wrist from his grasp in the same movement.

“Absolutely not,” Jeongguk answered with an equally shitty grin, leaning closer to you, “You’re the one that asked Tae to come.”

“You’re stuck with me for another seventy seconds, sweetheart,” said swimmer sang, nudging your side again.

A minute ten. Just say a minute ten.

“Do you want to head out early?” Jeongguk nodded toward the scoreboard, another blowout score with some ridiculous stats by the part of a player who wore the number fourteen, “Try to beat the traffic?”

“Why don’t you two go ahead and go find the car and then—” You stroked a ticklish finger under Jeongguk’s chin and he retracted in on himself, “—you can come pick me up.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you owe me for making me stand next to Taehyung all game.”

“He’s not that bad.”

Another nudge to your far side, “Still here. And I know you love me.”

Jeongguk blinked at the unwavering annoyance in your glaring eyes, nodding once, twice, before frantic jerks of his chin followed the clamber of his lanky stature from the bleacher seats. “C’mon, Tae, let’s go.”

The sounds of music had filled the arena by the time their backs disappeared down the staircase, the melody of victory as the times weaved through formality handshakes. You clapped along with the remaining crowd that weren’t trying to escape after Taehyung and Jeongguk, numb feet rooted to concrete, tongue dry as it stuck to the roof of your mouth. The tingling prick in your hands fumbled your phone from your back pocket and your conscience blanked on the contents of the email notification and the celebration emojis Taehyung had texted you.

You only moved when the last of the students were five stairs down from you, taking each individual step at a pause of thirty seconds or more. You fumbled your phone again, ignoring Jeongguk’s found the car, Tae is driving so we’ll be there….at some point to switch to Yoongi’s text thread.

You nearly face planted the last three stairs in the rush to exit out of his messages when the rise of typing bubbles appeared.

Give me ten minutes. I’ll meet you out in the hallway.

You recovered your steps in favor of rolling your eyes at the basketball emoticon Yoongi sent next, followed by a thumbs up.

Hallway was a broad statement and your nerves were timing the ten minutes to the millisecond, shoes scuffing your way about cleaners and those left scraping up forgotten nacho cheese in the concession stands and alumni donors with grey hair and sweater vests milling in front of exit signs while brake lights and the glow from campus fuzzed through glazed glass behind their statures.

It was five minutes into your adventure when you found tile becoming hardwood and you were on the outer edge of the floor, various assistants and managers and fans still milling about as the sound echoing off the polished wood became barely a fraction of what it had been amist another win. There was a wide opening just underneath the goal closest to you, the hallway to the locker room, one that a uniformed officer faithfully guarded with a shoulder against the concrete and his nose scrunched at his phone.

Your joints were two conscious steps into scurrying back off the floor when the loud sound of shoes slapping against the floor directly preceded the call of your name and the jerk of the officer’s attention.

Park Jimin was draped in light grey on light grey, a black duffle bag tucked under his arm, dark hair wet and dripping and pasted to his smiling cheeks as the shine of his crescent eyes slowly grew closer.

Park Jimin was calling your name and running at you.

And waving at you too, technically.

His footsteps went from slapping advances to gliding precision, stopping in front of you with a delighted giggle.

“Hi!” Jimin’s voice was higher than you remembered from his half attempt at amending his friend’s actions months ago, but endearing nonetheless as his eyes crinkled around the edges and he chirped, “You’re meeting Yoongi after, right?”

You wet your lips, cheeks hot, “I-I, yeah, yeah I think so.”

The man in front of you giggled again and then there was a gentle hand clasped around yours, gleefully dragging you toward the tunnel he’d game from, “I know so. C’mon, I’ll take you back.”

“I can really wait out here—”

The officer barely looked up as Jimin bounced past and he winked at you over his shoulder, “It’ll be fine, babe, trust me.”

He led you around a confusing maze of hallways, all decorated in jerseys of past players and painted numbers of current players, colored in the hues of the university and screaming more school spirit than you cared to have until you graduated. He dropped your hand in the middle of a long hallway, grey carpet wiry below your shoes, the cinder block walls on either side of you painted an obnoxious color that dizzied your nerves into another unintentional spiral.

“Here good?” Jimin barely paused a beat for an answer before nodding, “He should be out any second.”

You nodded, shoulder blades hitting the slick paint of the wall with a genuine but tight smile, “Thank you, Jimin.”

“Of course!” He heaved his bag under his arm, shooting you another charming smile complete with disappearing brown irises, “Have fun!”

You’d lost track of your timer on account of Park Jimin but you assumed it was somewhere near five minutes over. A man passed by, black polo tucked into beige dress pants with a laminated badge clipped to his belt, one who barely passed a glance in your direction. Another, one around your age but sporting the same uniform dragging a cart of dirtied white towels behind him. You relaxed with each individual that offered you a familiar smile but tensed with each person that wasn’t Yoongi.

You checked your phone three times. Nothing new until the fourth time when Jeongguk called you. You sent it to voicemail and lied about finding someone that was in one of your classes that was going to take you home.

But I may need you later.

You smiled at Jeongguk’s eye roll emoji and you could hear the textual version of his always here.

Taehyung says he is too.

At ten minutes you were lost in a turnoff from the hall Jimin had left you in, intentions faltering from finding Yoongi to bite the cocky smirk from his features to slap it away, thoughts swirling from anxious excitement to jump to the first horrible conclusion. That he hadn’t wanted to meet you, that he’d recruited Jimin in on his plan, that he was standing you up and would effectively get you dragged out and banned from any further athletic event from wandering around in unauthorized territory, that he didn’t actually like you at all really, that he was still the same asshole you’d vehemently harbored a distaste for.

The maze had deposited you back out to the tunnel of the court, one that was nearly void of leftover individuals now, just a student manager and the child of an assistant coach dribbling a tattered basketball off their tiny feet. You set your shoulders, willing to walk the miles off campus in the rain to your apartment to spare some of your pride.

Your surroundings whirled when you took a step forward only to be shuffled backward by an arm looping around your waist. A tiny mewl of protest died in your throat when your hips were twisted around to meet the soft pair of brown eyes that had been imprinted to the back of your eyelids for longer than you cared to admit to yourself let alone out loud.

“Hey,” Yoongi’s thumb brushed your hip and he tilted his head, “Jimin told me he left you back by the locker room but then I couldn’t find you…”

“I went looking for you after twenty minutes. You told me ten.”

“You were timing me?”

“I didn’t think you were coming.”

“I thought you left.”

He laughed first, second arm joining the one snug at the high rise of your waist to draw you against his chest. You laughed too, cheek settled against his shoulder.

“We’ll figure it out,” Yoongi mumbled, lips at your forehead.

You sighed and it was an unconscious brush of your lips against his neck that prompted a purposeful press of your mouth, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” He drew back from you and you reveled in the blush pink that dusted his cheeks from the promise of your lips against his neck. “Did you enjoy the game?”

Your inhale was audible, mostly due to the endearing puff of his cheeks that you wanted to prod at, nose wrinkling enough to make the freckle dotted on the side prominent enough to round your lips over, soft coffee eyes defined on the edges of their gentle unwavering, bleached white drying on the ends in silky pleats begging for the thread of your fingers, petaled mouth a pretty heart that your lips tingled to meet.

“You played well…”

Yoongi hummed, following the drop of your gaze from his lips back to his eyes. The arms on your waist bracketed you to the far wall, the tip of his nose twisting against yours when he his chin twitched to the side, “Yeah?”

Your grip rounded the veins that crossed up the bend of his elbow, anchoring yourself by touching him. “Always.”

His thumbs nudged upward on the hem of your hoodie, nose slotting against your cheek as he peered at the bare skin under calloused fingertips, “I’ll find you something of mine to wear next game. If you want—” His lips touched the corner of your mouth, “—...my good luck charm.”

“You lost with me present though.”

The softness of brewed caramel hardened a bit, bottom lip nudging your cupid’s bow when Yoongi’s gaze shot up, jaw clenching when he rasped, “Watch it, angel.”

You dragged blunt fingernails up his biceps, “Too soon?”

Yoongi shut you up with his tongue between the seam of your lips, hands rounding the curve of your waist so that your hoodie pooled around his wrists, rings cool against your skin as opposed to freshly showered flesh of his palms.

“Ready to go?” He taunted after his teeth had snagged at your bottom lip and nipped at the corner of your jaw.

“I heard it’s raining...”

Yoongi left where he’d been painting a mark on the column of your throat, lips brushing your ear.

“Happen to have an umbrella handy?”

#min yoongi #bts #bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts imagine #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts x reader #yoongi scenario #min yoongi scenario #yoongi imagine #min yoongi imagine #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #i hope u like it bc im really happy with this :-(

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otonymous · 5 years

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Served (MLQC Victor) - Chapter 4: Lady In Red

Description: Victor whips it out…(exactly what remains to be seen) Warnings: N/A Word Count: 1722 words (~9 mins of “will they or won’t they?!”) AO3: read here Author’s Notes: If you’re still reading, thanks for sticking around for this crazy ride! Hope you all enjoy this chapter 😊

Jump to other chapters: Chapter 1| Chapter 2| Chapter 3| Chapter 5

All characters & Mr Love: Queen’s Choice owned by Elex

You: Sorry again about tonight. I had no idea we’d be interrupted twice.

Victor: Thrice.

You: Oh right, the delivery man.

Victor: You’re quite popular.

You: Come on, the delivery guy doesn’t count!

Victor: No, but the sender of the package does. How do you know Kiro?

You: That’s...a long story. Why, are you a fan? Want me to get you an autograph?

Victor: What makes you think I don’t already have one?

You: Never mind then. By the way, tonight’s dinner doesn’t count. Let me take you out for a proper meal, one that isn’t burnt beyond recognition. I’ll treat you to whatever you want!

Victor: ...

After a solid two minutes, the ellipses were finally replaced by words.

Victor: Friday after work. I’ll pick you up at your office.

You: Ok! See you then.

Just when you begin to worry about whether or not your account balance can contend with Victor’s upscale tastes, a notification sounds on your phone.

Victor: Don’t be late. Victor: And keep Thursday evening free.

You: Why Thursday evening?

Victor: Just do it.

You: But what are we doing?

Victor: Must you ask so many questions?

You: Must you be so secretive?

God. Victor will be Victor. Rolling your eyes, you relent, thumbs flying across the onscreen keyboard:

You: Fine. Will there be anything else, Your Royal Highness?

Suddenly, your phone rings — “Victor Li, LFG CEO” displayed on the screen.

“Hel—“

“Don’t get cheeky.”

The line cuts before you have a chance to respond. Even still, you swear you sensed a smile in the deep bass of his voice.

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Carpets so plush you felt the give in the textile as you walked. The sweet, subtle scent of fresh jasmine in the air. Soft light inviting as it glanced off buttery leather ottomans, highlighting luxe fabrics and elegant hues hung with care on racks like so many pieces of art.

Your palms had started to sweat as soon as you stepped foot in that designer boutique. Surely Victor knows your company isn’t doing THAT well!

“Victor, why are we here?” Speaking in a hushed tone, you glance up at him, telling yourself the flutter in your stomach was due to the impending damage to your credit card and not how handsome this dictator looked in profile.

But before he can respond, a saleslady rushes over, smiling from ear to ear. “Hello Mr Li! We’ve been expecting you. The dresses have been set aside as you’ve requested, if you and the lady would please follow me. May I get you anything to drink?”

As soon as you enter a dressing room the size of your apartment, you are greeted by your bewildered expression reflecting off a wall of mirrors. And to the side, a rack of dresses — all of impeccable taste, all carrying price tags with an impossible number of zeroes.

Waiting till the saleslady was out of ear shot, you hiss from behind the door as you pull your blouse over your head. “Seriously Victor, what’s going on? Why am I trying on dresses I could never afford in this lifetime? Wait…don’t tell me…of course! It all makes sense now!”

Seated in a velvet settee on the other side of the door, Victor takes a sip of his espresso, the corners of his lips tugging up into an amused smile. “What makes sense?”

Adjusting the straps of a silk dress onto your shoulders, you reach for the zipper on the side as you say,

“You know, I’ll be your model for tonight. But I warn you, I don’t exactly have Chik’s physique, so the next time you want to buy a girl a dress, you ought to bring her here yourself. All the same, I can’t say I don’t understand you wanting to give your girlfriend a surprise.”

Smile transforms into a frown as espresso flows down the wrong tube, Victor coughing so violently you open the door just wide enough to poke your head out to ensure the man was still alive.

“How can anyone be so thick in the head?” His eyes flash with annoyance.

“What, am I wrong? The tabloids had pictures of the two of you together at the Loveland City Film Festival—”

“Which was sponsored in large part by LFG. As CEO, of course I had to make an appearance on opening night.”

“But what about all the gossip sites saying you took her to Saint-Tropez for a romantic getaway a few months ago?”

“And you believe that garbage?”

“I…I suppose not. So…if not Chik, then…”

Suddenly nervous to see the expectation in his gaze as it searched your own, you retreat back into the dressing room, voice trailing off as you lean against the door.

A revelation had floated in the depths of your subconscious for a while since you’ve known Victor, surfacing periodically with every instance of hard-won praise, every disguised gesture of kindness…every moment when your heart ached to find him studying you with the softest eyes when he thought you were unaware.

But he was Victor Li, the man with the most financial clout in Loveland City. The prodigy of the business world who built an entire empire with his own two hands, all before the age of thirty. Tall, dark and handsome, Victor was considered a highly coveted prize by young and beautiful socialites and celebrities the world over.

He was also the man who held the fate of your company in his grasp.

The idea of you and Victor together was just too unbelievable, and you suddenly felt uncomfortable under the spotlight of his attention, wishing the man had lectured you instead.

For you were used to his sass and sarcasm. What you hadn’t anticipated was…his affection.

To your relief, Victor doesn’t press the issue, waiting patiently as you parade in and out of the dressing room until you emerge in elegant crimson. And it isn’t until you catch his reflection in the mirror — staring intently at the curve of your exposed back — that your cheeks warm to match the shade draped across your body.

Victor swallows, throat bobbing as he nods at you. Then, summoning the saleslady with the slight raise of one hand, he says without ever taking his eyes off you, “We’ll take this one.”

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The drive to your apartment was silent but lacked the usual ease you felt with Victor in his car. The dress he bought for you — cooly whipping out his black card without even so much as glancing at the price tag — sat heavy on your lap, weighed down by the implications of the evening’s events.

In accepting his gift, you couldn’t help but think you were crossing the line from something that was purely professional into…what? Just what was it that Victor wanted from you? It was difficult to know, because the man was hardly forthcoming with his thoughts when it extended to anything beyond matters of business.

But then again, what of your desires?

You snuck a glance at him. Features looking like they were chiseled from stone, Victor’s eyes were trained on the road, large hands soft as they rested on the steering wheel. And as his chest rose and fell slowly beneath his seat belt, the rhythm of your own breath unconsciously matched his, that is, until the gentle flex of his forearms — visible with the sleeves of his dress shirt folded up neatly to the elbows — made it race once more.

You knew what you wanted. You just knew better than to ask for the impossible to happen.

“Goodnight, Victor. Thanks for the lift.”

“Wait.” He lays his hand on top of yours, the electricity of his touch rendering you still in the midst of unbuckling your seat belt. Your breath catches in your throat.

Then slowly…slowly…the features of his face draw close, notes of cedar wood and pine warmed by the heat of his body to drift in enveloping currents until all you could focus on was the impossible length of his eyelashes — how had you not noticed them before?

Just when the proximity makes you think to close your eyes, Victor reaches behind you to retrieve an elegantly wrapped gift box from the back seat.

“Wait until you’re home to open it.” Breath brushing against the shell of your ear, you fight to suppress a shiver of pleasure, biting down hard on the inside of your cheek.

Then, over as soon as it began, Victor drew away, the air around you suddenly cooler for want of his warm body.

“Also…you looked stunning. Ahem. In that dress.”

Hand paused on the car door, you were rendered speechless for the second time that night. Glancing at Victor, you were relieved to see him staring straight ahead; it embarrassed you to know that one little comment could bring so much heat to your face.

“Thank you…Victor.”

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Victor’s voice stayed with you long after his car pulled away into the night. Still you stood, hands splayed against your apartment window as you willed your heart to calm.

For there on your coffee table, lying amidst mounds of tissue paper and an open gift box, were a gorgeous pair of red-soled stilettos and fine stockings. But what touched you most were ink and paper, Victor’s thoughts conveyed in fine cursive:

“Shoes and stockings to replace the broken and torn. I had meant to give them to you as thanks for dinner that night but, as you know full well, was denied the opportunity. Please accept the dress as an apology for the tardiness of my token of appreciation.”

Then, almost as an afterthought, the final line:

“Wear all three to dinner on Friday.”

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Thank you so much for reading! Check out more of my work here! 📚

#mlqc #mr love queen's choice #love and producer #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc fanfic #mlqc fic #mlqc smut #fanfiction #my writing #elex

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johnny-and-dora · 4 years

Text

we can stay here (and laugh away the fear)

93. “i believe in you” requested by no-one i just really wanted to do this one in which amy's confidence takes a knock and jake whips out the official jake peralta fiancé experience guide to help her out. (pre 5x15)

read on ao3 -

Something is bothering Amy.

Jake goes over the facts one more time in his head, sneaking a furtive glance at his fiancée over the top of his computer screen – his first clue was when she came out of Holt’s office twenty minutes ago with a slight slump in her shoulders, a blatant violation of the “Posture” section of her mentorship binder.

She’s taking twice as long as usual to do her paperwork and it doesn’t even look like she’s enjoying it. Her brows are furrowed and her lips pursed in this totally adorable yet slightly worrying way and she’s tapping absentmindedly on her desk in thirty-second increments, meaning she’s desperate for a shame cigarette. Conclusive evidence that something is stressing her out.

(The thing that’s stressing her out might be him seeing as he’s been bragging about a major drug bust he just pulled off for most of the morning; but he also brought her coffee and did the dishes last night and laundry mountain is now more of a laundry molehill, so he’s pretty sure he’s in the clear.)

They don’t call him Jacob Sherlock Peralta for nothing (no-one calls him that, but he’s still confident it’ll catch on eventually). And though he can’t figure out what it is just yet, he’s determined to solve the case of why the love of his life can’t even enjoy her paperwork.

To: Amy Santiago, 12:23 u ok? need a break???

He tries to act as nonchalant as possible but can’t bring himself to miss the tiny smile that flickers on her face upon seeing the text. He pretends to be absorbed in the criminal database he’s scouring while he waits for his phone to buzz.

From: Amy Santiago, 12:24 I’m fine.

He shoots her an overdramatic disbelieving look over his monitor and she rolls her eyes.

From: Amy Santiago, 12:24 Okay, maybe not totally fine. Can we talk? x

To: Amy Santiago, 12:25 meet me in evidence lockup 5 mins x

She’s there when he quietly closes the door behind him a few minutes later; it causes such a strong swell of deja vu, memories of so, a lot of change around here and more recently Jake Peralta, I will marry you that it almost overwhelms him. So he does what he always does.

“Thought I might find you in here.” He jokes – she laughs a little but her body language is so tightly wound that he moves almost on pure instinct to give her a hug. The way the tension instantly disappears from her frame as she buries her face in his shirt tells him he must be doing something right.

“You okay?” He says softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead; she looks up at him, hands still snaked neatly around his waist, and he’d let all the criminals in holding walk free if it would make her feel better.

(Not that it would – he’s never been that good with metaphors, but the sentiment remains.)

“Fine. Really, I just…I needed this.”

“You sure?” He asks, and he can tell when he only gets a sigh in response that he’s going to have to break out the Official Jake Peralta Fiancé Experience Guide to Comforting Amy Santiago, The Greatest Woman In The Universe. (The title still needs some work.)

“It’s just…the results of the sergeant’s exam come out this week. Holt just told me.”

“Oh.” He says, trying to connect the dots. “That’s a good thing, though, right? You’ve been waiting for ages - and you totally aced that test, Ames.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” She shakes her head, biting her lip. “I just can’t help thinking – what if I don’t get it?” He prepares a reprisal of the speech he made that day on the roof, but she continues. “And what if I do, and I can’t handle it? What if it’s way too much work or my squad doesn’t respect me or I get transferred or…“ It’s a spiral, he realises – a knock to her confidence that breaks his heart a little.

Fortunately, it’s also something he knows exactly how to handle, and it involves one of his top five favourite activities.

“Have I ever told you,” Jake says as he takes her hands in his, “that you are perfect?”

Amy predictably rolls her eyes at his blatant cheesiness, but the hint of a smile that appears on her face is more than enough fuel for him to keep going.

“Well, you are. Perfect! Perfecter than perfect.”

“It’s more perfect, babe.” She says, and a million years ago in 2013 he’s wearing ill-fitting sandals and Captain Holt is disappointed in him and Jake just wants to find a way to rip through the very fabric of space and time, grab his past self by the shoulders and tell him that using correct grammar is going to get him some of the best sex in his life in the future so he better start learning now.

(And also, as an afterthought, that everything is going to be okay.)

“Actually, no.” He grins, shit-eating Peralta special. “Because in the language that I just made up, perfecter is actually more perfect that more perfect. Perfecter than perfect is a special term invented for the light of my life, the most amazing woman in the history of the universe, Amy Santiago.”

She prods him lightly in the shoulder, now completely failing to tamper down a warm smile. “Dork.”

“Queen of the cosmos. The one true love of my life. Divine goddess of wisdom and beauty.” He punctuates every new fancy title he gives her with a kiss – one to her neck, one to her jaw, one to her cheek, and gains a great sense of satisfaction from the way she melts into him, humming in content.

He initially thinks he’s won this round, but she still looks way too stressed out, exercising a relatively new nervous habit that makes his heart stutter – twisting the engagement ring on her finger.

“You don’t believe me.” He pouts and she sighs, briefly retreating someplace he can’t follow her. When she finally returns his gaze she’s all dark doe eyes and he’s sure there’s space somewhere in his Addams Family themed wedding vow rap for one more promise; a commitment to convincing her she’s more than enough for the rest of his life.

“Nobody’s perfect, Jake.”

“Yeah, no doy. That’s why you’re perfecter than perfect, obviously.”

“I just…I worry, you know? I feel like I need to prove myself.”

“I know. But Ames, you have proven yourself a billion trillion times over. I told you when I proposed, you’re the best detective I know…and there’s no-one else that deserves this more and no-one else that is going to be a better sergeant than you are.”

“Thank you for being perfect.”

“I am flawless, yes.” He grins, but it soon turns into something softer. “I believe in you 100%, okay, babe? You’re going to be an amazing leader.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too. I also feel like the word perfect is beginning to lose all meaning.”

“Oh, there’s a name for that!” She pauses, lost in thought, and sometimes he wishes you could take package holidays in other people’s brains just because he’d love to walk among the endless bookshelves of infinite knowledge in hers, and sometimes he just gets lost in endless endearment for how much of a nerd his fiancée is. This time is definitely the latter.

She snaps her fingers after a moment, eyes bright – “Semantic satiation!”

“That’s so hot.” He smirks, and he’s only half joking. They share a chaste, probably work-appropriate kiss – Jake’s tempted to deepen it, but also not totally convinced that the ghost of Dozerman isn’t frowning down upon them right now so decides to keep it PG. It doesn’t matter anyway – they’re soon rudely interrupted by a loud rap on the door which makes them both jump apart.

“You two horndogs finished being gross in there? I need a case file.”

They both answer with similar cries of indignation and disgust, which just elicits a sharp laugh from Rosa.

“Whatever. Just tell me when you’re done.” She walks away, and Jake laughs at the shade of red Amy has turned, earning him a well-deserved punch in the shoulder.

“So, you wanna get lunch? I happen to know a polish place recommended by a pretty dope soon-to-be sergeant.” Her face lights up and in just a few short months they’re going to be married and Jake has never been more excited for the rest of his life to start.

“Sounds perfect.”

#b99 #b99 fic #peraltiago #jake x amy #my writing #it's been years and i still don't know how to spell sergeant #enjoy the last of these 'i love you' prompts (for now)!#sometimes we all just need a bit of vicarious comforting from our favourite fictional character #<3 #shut up sian

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krreader · 5 years

Text

BTS scenario → telling you they don’t want the child you’re expecting - the aftermath.

pairing: bts x reader fandom: bts warnings: language genre: angst ; fluff previous: x

a/n: there it is bb, I hope you like it!!!

kim seokjin

You and him haven't had a proper conversation for about a month now, the fight in which he had told you he wished you weren't pregnant still lingering in the air.

Jin had apologized for it, had bought you presents, had cooked meals for you, but nothing that usually did the trick, worked. So he soon realized that what you wanted was space.

And that's what he gave you.

Until..-

“Jagi?”

Jin woke up, brushing the sleep out of his eyes when he felt you cuddle against his back.

“I miss you,” you whispered.

He immediately turned around and blinked at you through the darkness, then he let out a heavy sigh and reached out to touch your cheek, “I miss you too, Jagi. And I'm so sorry for what I said.”

“I know,” you were done being upset over this.

Your child would arrive soon and you wanted you and your husband to look forward to it together.

“I promise I'll never say anything like that again.. especially because it's not even true,” his hand wandered to your belly, a big smile now on his face, “I can't wait to meet our baby, Jagi. I swear.”

“I know,” you said again, a smile as bright as his forming on your face.

min yoongi

“Wait.. February?” Yoongi's eyes widened as he saw the schedule for their tour, “You said we'd be done by then..”

“We added a few more due to high demand,” Bang PD replied, leaning back in his chair, “Why? What's in February?”

Yoongi knew he lost the right to care the moment he walked out of the apartment and left you behind. He knew that he had made a mistake only a week later, but it was already too late. You ignored his calls, texts and never opened the door when he tried to see you.

Now it's been more than two months and he knew you had meant what you had said.

“(Y/N).. is due in February.”

The room immediately went silent, all of them knowing what had happened between you and him at this point.

“She left, Yoongi. She said she didn't want to see you anymore. So you being gone during that time is probably best for you anyways.. it'll get your mind off things.”

“But what if she needs me? What if I'm not there then?”

“Listen,” Bang leaned forward, an understanding look on his face, “I'll let her know, okay? I'll tell her that you'll be gone and I'll give her numbers she can call in case of an emergency, so that whatever she needs, she can get. Deal?”

It wasn't what he wanted, but it was better than nothing.

What surprised him, however, was that about a month before you were due, he got a text saying: “You think you could come over for an hour or so? Would like to talk again..”

You were as stubborn as him, but you didn't want to bring a baby into this world without at least talking to the father again properly.

Whatever would happen between you and Yoongi, you wanted to be on speaking terms again.

For the sake of the kid..

jung hoseok

“Please, I just need to know that she's safe,” Hoseok begged your best friend to give him an answer, to know that you were okay.

“She's alright,” she said through the phone, closing the door behind her, “Well, I mean not alright, but she's.. safe.”

Hoseok let out a breath he had been holding and nodded. This was good.. at least you were okay.. in a way..

“And.. how is she?”

“Heartbroken. Lonely. Scared,” he heard her sigh deeply, before lowering her voice, “I don't claim to know what it's like to be an idol and what you go through on the daily, but come on, Hoseok. She's the mother of your unborn child, you need to get your priorities straight..”

“Fuck, I know that! But she doesn't respond to my calls and..- please, just tell her I need her to come home. Tell her I'll pick her up tomorrow, whatever is best. I just need her to come back.”

It wasn't as easy as that for you, because what you wanted and needed at the moment was space, as much as that hurt you simultaneously.

So you waited another month before you came back and you made it clear that Hoseok knew this was his last and only chance.

If he fucked up again, you were gone for good.

kim namjoon

“Listen, you need to get rid of this stuff, it's been three years,” Yoongi sighed heavily as he stood in the nursery that Namjoon had once set up for his child, “She's too old for all of this anyways, even if (Y/N) does come back at one point.”

“She won't come back,” Namjoon said with remorse in his voice, “She told me she wouldn't and she won't. I know her too well for that, she's too stubborn. And why should she? I was the one that told her I didn't want the baby..”

“But you didn't mean it.”

“Doesn't matter now..”

Yoongi and everyone else around Namjoon knew that it wasn't getting easier. He missed you. He missed his daughter that he has never even met.. and he would continue to do so for the rest of his life.

And because Namjoon felt like all hope was lost, it was Yoongi that ended up visiting you a couple weeks later.

“He needs you, (Y/N),” he said honestly, looking at the three year old girl drawing on the floor next to him, “He needs her.”

“He made his choice. And I made mine,” you replied, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“I know you too well, sweetheart. There is a reason everyone always said you and I are like twins,” he reached over the table to hold your hand, looking directly into your eyes, “Call him. Meet up with him and at least let him meet the girl.. he regrets it every single day of his life and if he could turn back time, he would. And I know you regret it all too, you wish you would have handled it differently as well. So please, for the love of god, you both need to get your heads out of your asses and finally put this bullshit aside.”

Your daughter's head whipped, looking at Yoongi with a frown, “That was a bad word!”

“Well, if you're lucky,” he knelt down next to her and ruffled her hair, watching you get up and walk over to your phone a moment later, “You'll meet your five uncles very soon who will teach you a lot more of those words.”

park jimin

Your relationship wasn't the same anymore.. not since he told you he didn't want to be the father of your baby.

It was as if you were keeping your distance now, afraid that he would say another thing like that which would only result in your heart breaking all over again.

It was only when your water broke that it seemed to suddenly change again.

You were freaking out, mainly because Jimin wasn't here but at an award show.

You had called his manager and hoped he would pass it on, but fully expected to be alone during the birth of your son.

Not the case.

“Am I too late?!” he burst through the door only thirty minutes later, with you not even having began pushing.

“You came,” you said with a relieved, but exhausted smile.

“Of course I came!” your husband took off his jacket and sat down on the bed with you, one of his hands cupping your cheek before leaning down to kiss your forehead, “This is our son, (Y/N). Our baby boy. And I wouldn't miss this for the world.”

Funny how he had been so unsure about everything, but the second he heard you were in labor, everything changed.

The only thing on his mind now was you and his son.

You two were the only people that mattered.

kim taehyung

You had gone shopping this morning, Taehyung already having left for work when you had woken up.

You had wanted to make yourself a bite to eat and then maybe clean the apartment a bit, but what you arrived to was an already cleaned flat and a grinning husband?

“What is this?”

“I cleaned.”

“I can see that,” you furrowed your eyebrows, “But why?”

“Because I had to,” he grabbed the grocery bags out of your hand and then pulled you into the direction of the room you had intended to be the nursery.

“What did you do?”

“I made my choice,” Tae said with a happy smile, pushing down the handle and revealing a furnished nursery that he must have finished while you were out, “And I can't wait to meet our daughter, (Y/N).”

You took a hesitant step into the room, looking around a bit, before turning your head to smile at Taehyung, a small tear escaping your eye because of how happy you were.

“I’m glad..”

jeon jeongguk

“What if I'll drop her?” he whispered, both of you lying on your sides in the middle of the night and telling each other what you were most afraid of after that massive fight of yours a couple of hours ago.

“I'll catch her,” you replied, “What if I don't feed her enough?”

“I'll remind you.”

It was probably stupid, but it helped you. To know that you had the other one to support you while you were both so fucking anxious.

You wanted this baby, but at the same time it was like you weren't ready..

..but then again, who really was?

“Do you really think we can do this?”

“As long as we're together,” you reached out to touch his cheek, your fingertips brushing over the soft skin, “We can do anything.. even raise a baby.”

#bts imagine #bts reactions #bts x reader #bts #bangtan #bangtan reaction #bangtan boys #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop reactions #bangtan sonyeondan #reader #bangtan x reader #bangtan boys x reader #requests

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pinesprings · 4 years

Text

Aetea: Chapter 2

(Just give me a reason, why is it so hard to find one)

Chapter One

Summary: The can of worms is open but it's not the only thing that is. Hearts get poured out somewhere amidst the action and the aftermath

Notes: It's finally here! Took longer than I expected. This is twice as long as the 1st chapter due to.. personal reasons. Im treating you fluff today uwu. I certainly do hope it's better than my anxiety is telling me it is. Anyway, enjoy!

Warnings: child abuse, blood and violence, head injury, injuries, panic attacks I guess. In one word, angst.

Reading Time: 28 mins (3.5k words)

Or read here on ao3

***

It wasn't supposed to go this way. No, no. It was supposed to be fine.

This did not qualify as fine.

But like lives are not supposed to sail in the storm and the storm is not supposed to help death outrun their years by sinking them beneath the waves and foam, things don't always go as planned.

JJ's body wasn't supposed to look so broken and Kiara's hands weren't supposed to have blood on them. No, her fingers shouldn't have been dyed in this dark crimson of sin.

The remainder of tears stored in her decided to leave her eyes and dance with the blood in her hands, dance with the sin, try to wash it away.

She let out the weakest mumble of despair as realization had hit her. She might have killed someone. She might have-

Her eyes moved frantically between the two bodies slumped over each other, as full of life as all those inanimate objects littering the ground. They were both too still. She gasped at the sight, panic overwhelming her and her senses dimmed by the thought that plagued her brain.

That she had no damn idea what to do.

Kiara kneeled down and gathered all her strength to move the weight of the monster off of her friend. She gritted her teeth in a feckless attempt to free the blonde boy from being crushed by the man.

Even unconscious, he was still causing him pain.

She cursed under her breath before pushing again with all her might and managing first to shove the man to the side, then to get ahold of the boy, pulling him on top of the mess of tangled limbs.

"JJ! JJ can you hear me?" she practically yelled at his bruised face, her voice cracking under the pressure. Not getting an answer, she swallowed the throbbing pain wanting to escape her throat and tried to put some kind of order in her pounding head.

Heartbeat. She had to check his heartbeat.

She wiped her palms on her thighs to rid them of the sweat. A pointless action, since the fluid kept escaping through her pores, itching her skin as it fell down in thick droplets.

Taking a deep breath, Kiara placed her fingers on his neck and by the time thirty seconds had passed and she could calculate the rythm of his pulse, she was ready to faint.

It was fast, but steady.

A breath that she wasn't able to let out before evaded her lips, along with a relieved chuckle. His heart sounded just like any heart should. Still, his breathing was ragged. She figured it was because of the state of his ribs and nose. His entire body was covered in scrapes and the various bruises had already started dyeing purple patches of skin.

She was dreadfully sure she had heard something break, perhaps right before she had…

Right before she had potentially murdered someone in cold blood.

Oh god.

Sweat started showering her again, an insufferable heat urging her to try -and fail- to catch her breath. Drowning in vague but persistent ramblings racing through her brain, Kie felt like she could throw up any minute.

Should she call 911?

Should she check if the monster is still alive?

She should call.

But first check.

But what if..

…what if he's dead?

For a solid minute the single thing she felt capable of doing was pacing back and forth while frantically pulling at her hair, as if she was plucking the weed from the field of her mind, so that she could plant a sensible contemplation.

Resisting the ever growing urge to vomit she crouched next to the unconscious body of the man, reluctantly raising her hand above his nose. In a swift flare of his nostrils warm air blew against her palm.

A sniffle escaped her as she withdrew her hand from the repulsive face.

She sat down, her head facing her bent knees. Another one. A tear followed.

Slowly tears were falling like currents destined to ford countries and forests of her cheeks to end up in the sea of her lap. She let each and every muscle in her body relax and fall down, mirroring that one wall that falls and lets the enemy breach.

Surrendered to the sensation of emerging from the moonlit waves and breathing in the midnight breeze.

Rich, chestnut waves a crown on her head as it arose to face the ceiling, or perhaps what laid beyond, and while the tears were still fresh carving their path down her skin, she started laughing.

Laughing so loud it almost sounded hysterical. Nothing made sense anymore so why should that matter?

"I'm not a bloody murderer" she announced in between laughs, the knot in her stomach starting to dissolve just an inch. Taking a deep, shuddering breath she whipped her phone out from the back pocket of her shorts and dialed those three numbers every soul knows by heart.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"I--"

Kiara suddenly froze. She turned to look at JJ's broken form with guilt in her eyes. That was it. Questions would be asked and the answers required would simply birth more problems. The wolves had chased them and they had run, but now they had come all the way to the start of the cliff.

They would have to learn how climb down the rocks. To survive.

"Miss?"

Her attention shifted back to the ongoing call as she took a deep breath before spitting out those next sentences that would save her JJ, but could perhaps doom him.

"Two people are injured. Badly" she declared with an unnaturally casual tone. She flinched at how cruel and unfeeling she sounded after having been drained of the pearly tears. Numb, she ventured. Yeah, that should be the word.

After having shared their location and been told that a bus would probably arrive there in less than fifteen minutes, Kiara sat down on the edge of the couch with her gaze fixed on JJ's closed shut eyes. She pictured those wonderful blue eyes, captivating depths of the ocean, waves inviting, that could devour you in a heartbeat, bringing you down beneath the horizon, the warm rays bathing your salty skin in the sunlight like a faraway promise of safety. Like home.

She always felt secure with JJ. When she could smell his scent of carefree summer and admire his loose strands of hair flowing with the gentle wind like golden sand reshaping the desert hills, she felt untouchable. Clear dominance over her self, only she could dictate her destiny, in spite of any concept of fate. Ironically enough, it was not her will that demanded she quenched her thirst in the radiant oasis that were his eyes, amidst the fervor of his blazing smile.

I'm getting carried away, she reminded herself and dismissed the thoughts with a shake of her head.

She decided it would be best if she didn't attempt to wake him up. It would serve no purpose other than she'd have an easier time waiting, the knot in her stomach would have begun to untangle.

Her fingers absentmindedly toyed with her bracelets while her concerned glare lingered on JJ's limp form. Instinctively, her grip tightened on the bright colored beads when her eyes met with the purple patches of skin. They looked like a spiraling vortex, bizarre black holes embroidered on his soft epidermis.

Kiara was exhausted of witnessing the manifestation of his father's corruption on his body. She yearned to feel him in the safety of her lap, her breath caressing his ear with soft whispers of comfort. And when his wounds would heal she wished they never reappeared, no secret pain staining his teasing smirk after he had found yet another way to mess with her.

The ambulances arrived shortly indeed. Father and son were loaded inside the vehicles while paramedics tended to the most urgent wounds. Kiara played along the lines of being too shaken up to provide any answer to questions, which wasn't that far from reality. She reached her parents' car, loyally waiting parked a few feet away from the house and turned on the engine.

Following closely behind the vehicles as they rode to the hospital she utilized the few minutes to try and conjure a scenario that would explain what happened as painlessly as possible, but the thoughts kept slipping through her mind. Her grip was tight on the stirring wheel, the knuckles on her clammy hands assuming an almost deathly tint.

He's going to be alright, that was all she kept repeating in her brain like a poem.

Maybe if she said it enough she would believe it.

***

"Hey.. hey, you're awake"

JJ's eyelids drowsily fluttered open only to wince at the immense brightness his pupils were greeted with. He begrudgingly welcomed the cold, emotionless white light while his eyes adjusted to the silhouette looming over him only a breath's distance away.

Kie, he figured, if the soft voice and lovely smile were anything to go by.

JJ sighed in relief at the familiar presence lending her warmth to his waking body, estranged by his surroundings. Or perhaps that's what he would have done, had the air not caught on his chest and diminished into a spark of flame that burnt more and more as it licked his bones and climbed up his ribcage. The pain elicited a faint wheezing sound from his lips, the later which parted with a difficulty that could only indicate they had been sealed together only for a significant amount of time. He didn't release the breath before the inferno flaring inside his chest dissolved into a dull fit of throbs.

"What's wrong? JJ! Are you alright?" she whispered-shouted somewhat frantically, the undercurrent of panic mildly enhancing her as usual gentle voice.

JJ simply nodded, his teeth still grinding to help deal with the pain born from what he assumed was a broken rib.

A quick -although dizzy- glance around the room was enough to confirm that he was in fact in a hospital room, and soon the pale mechanical beeping of a machine perched behind Kiara shifted into his focus, enhancing the whole 'hospital aesthetic'.

" 'ey Kie…" JJ barely rasped out. His throat felt as dry as a sun-cooked raisin- a weird metaphor but it was the one that dared materialize into a thought. Nevertheless, his words were accompanied by a sleepy smile.

"miss m?"

A genuinely joyous grin was plastered on her features as soon as his breath tinged his vocal cords to produce the melody of speech. The exhale of air that left her body was long, perhaps releasing two breaths caught at once.

The skin around his nose was itching him but his limbs felt way too heavy to lift, so he let them stay warmly tucked beside his torso. The pleasant heat and smell of the freshly washed sheets spread across his body made it even harder to wish to move.

Kiara's face lit up with realization as her brain processed the way his voice was hoarse and rough, deducing that JJ's throat was most likely in need of hydration after that many hours of being asleep.

"Do you want anything? Water?" she offered, already pouring some of the transparent liquid in a spare cup from the stack on the bedside table. The sound was almost soothing but JJ willed himself awake. Making a huge effort to regain motion in his arm to press the button that tilted the bed so that he was no longer lying down, his fingers found his nose to scratch away the itch, only to be met with the rough feel of a cast.

Kiara practically shoved the cup into his hands.

"Here. Drink" she ordered and he complied, gulping down the liquid greedily. The pain awakened in almost every part of his body but he ignored it, instead reveling in the pleasant velvety coolness of the water.

"How are you feeling?" Kie asked him as she plucked the halfway empty cup from his fingers and placed it next to the telephone on the bed stand. Looking at her a bit better he could make out dark circles underneath her eyes. She looked overall tired and pale.

"Just peachy" he yawned. "What happened?"

"After…?"

"You know" he sighed bitterly

"He- You.. almost woke up a couple of times. Like, your eyes stirred a couple times, you probably don't remember. The doctors said you were lucky because you had no brain damage, but you still-"

JJ shook his head.

"I meant, how come he stopped using me as a piñata"

Kiara stopped and stared at him for a second -perhaps hurt by the choice of words- before her shoulders drooped and she leaned into the chair.

"I… I smashed a vase over his head"

"You did what?" JJ asked while a sly grin grew on his face. He chuckled incredulously, which he immediately regretted when the searing white pain rumbled in his chest.

"He's still alive" she said with pursed lips, almost as if she considered the outcome unfortunate.

He searched her eyes for as long as it took him to sober up again and for the severity of the situation to sink in again.

"Here?" he mumbled, dark shadows making his eyes misty.

Kiara simply nodded solemnly. Her brows remained firmly in a deep frown as they fell in a brief moment of uncomfortable hush. The thoughts neither of them was brave enough to voice were sure to invade every cell of his mind as he gazed groggily up at the IV leading nutrients and all that medical mumbo jumbo he didn't know to the catheter penetrating his forearm.

Just as he was about to ask for more details two swift knocks prompted both their heads to turn to the door. The ivory painted wood was shunted aside to reveal a woman dressed in the pearl white robe of a doctor over scrubs.

"Good morning mister Maybank."

JJ flinched at the name.

"I'm dr. Garcia, you're my patient for today" she said primly, uncrossing her arms from the chart balanced against her chest. "I see you've woken up! Don't worry, I'm just going to check a few things and change your casts"

"Whatever you need do, doc" he said with shallow fervor.

By the time traces of sweet cologne were all left in the room from dr. Garcia, any tension in the atmosphere between them had dissipated. JJ's thoughts were less blurry, his mind perhaps had awaken, but with it arose freshly painful memories and the loose ends they brought.

The previous evening kept repeating and playing in his brain much alike scratched vinyl, stuck to the same part of a song, condemned never to leave the nicked words behind. As his senses felt the terror all over only without the rage to numb the pain, his ears remembered a sound he wouldn't think he could forget, even for that short amount of time.

A million faces changed on his skin as he pondered and gathered the courage to bring the issue up, afraid phrasing would take the dream away and crush it like a flimsy piece of foil. The accelerated beeping of the machine mirroring the crazy thumping of his heart against his ribcage only betrayed him further.

"Hey, Princess?" he said cautiously, but to his ears it sounded like a desperate whimper. He gulped and plastered his best nonchalant expression on his features before resuming. "Do you remember when I decked him in the face, what you told me. Did you mean it?"

Even JJ himself could realise how pathetic of an attempt at his voice not shaking that was. The lump in his throat made it immensely more difficult to speak, combined with the throbbing pain in his chest that visited at every passage of air through him.

"What I said- Oh. "

She fixed her gaze on the ground, smiling sheepishly. Before she hid her face out of JJ's eyesight he managed to catch a glimpse of her furiously blushing cheeks. He didn't know what to make of it.

"Did you mean it?"

Kiara looked at him, fidgeting restlessly. She hugged her torso, brushing her blouse soothingly with her fingers. Whether she picked up at the way the machine beeped almost as persistently as a heart attack, she didn't show it.

One brief intake of breath that could have lasted for a decade. To say JJ had been hanging from her lips would be an understatement.

One inhale, and then the answer.

"Yes"

The blonde gawked at her, stunned.

"I meant it"

JJ shook his head, leering back a little.

"But what about Pope? I thought.."

The girl waved her hand dismissively.

"There's nothing between me and Pope. If anything we're more of siblings. I had this discussion with him too, I just" she paused, "I hadn't found an opportunity to tell you -well, until now"

She peered at him expectantly but JJ was malfunctioning.

She bit her lower lip.

"You know, after the entire gold fiasco.. John B's disa-.."

Her voice broke at the mention of their friend. The heel of her palm shot up to wipe at the welled up corner of her eye. "I needed.. something- someone to hold on to. Like an anchor"

"But I guess deep down even before then, I knew. I wanted you to be my anchor." she paused, smiling bitterly.

"I've known for a while. I like you, and a lot"

JJ was glitching like his cousin Kyle's relic of a laptop, perfectly mimicking a deer caught in front of headlights. His mouth opened and closed right back as he fumbled for words. He could practically sense a blush creeping in and painting all over his cheeks and underneath the cast.

Kiara giggled timidly, burying her face in her palms.

"You know what just forget it"

"-But I've made so many moves!" JJ finally blurted out, tone almost accusatory.

"What?"

Kiara sat back straight and stared at him, only traces of shame remaining in her eyes, for it gave way to bafflement.

"You always rejected me, so I accepted that nothing between us would ever happen" he frowned.

"JJ." she grinned as she caught on with his claims, "Joking about my ass doesn't count as a move"

"I-" he tried, looking mock-offended "It's a lovely ass!"

Kiara laughed and JJ loved it, cherished the sound melodious and calming like the gurgling of refreshing spring water.

His own burbling laughter blended with hers in perfect sync, in spite of his ribs protesting in ache.

"Seriously, I did. Numerous times" he mumbled somberly.

"Yeah, yeah, you sure did" she teased, raising her eyebrows smugly. "…so?"

"So.. you like me a lot, huh?" JJ teased loftily, gifting her a lopsided grin. His chest burned like a wildfire, and this time it wasn't due to the hurt.

The taunt earned him a scoff.

"Yeah?" Kie raised an eyebrow mischievously.

"Well I like you a lot too" he said simply. His smirk melted into a sincere smile filled with love and uncertainty.

He felt bare, naked.

Aflutter, the boy apprehensively regarded the girl, what now his heart was exposed and offered as a promise he was afraid would be refused to be made.

The girl looked at him almost fondly as he struggled not to cower in the comfort of the sheets. The heat almost felt unbearable all of a sudden and the skin beneath the gauze and casts felt damp and itchy.

"You sure I'm not dead?" he gulped, "Cause this feels a lot like-"

Whatever muffled words followed were drowned out as Kiara cautiously leaned in and planted her salty lips on his, tucking her loose strands of hair behind one ear. JJ simply stared with his not swollen eye open wide at the soft lips encompassing his skin in their warmth, before he gave in to the kiss.

-Heaven

It was tender, fragile, an intimate moment as they shared their love, in whatever form they knew love to be. Gently, carefully, like being afraid that the full strength of their passion would shatter the other with as much ease as a fire would crumple the edges of love poem-filled paper.

She took the offering.

Suddenly the two were one and a whole, like the notes of a harpism finding their place in the melody, only to be sung and forever treasured in the minty aftertaste of raindrops on twilit grass. Their flesh demanded to be melt in the heat of one another, and then the beads to be intertwined as they bloomed into smoldering flames.

Kiara pulled back but the memory of her taste was imprinted on JJ's lips, leaving him breathless.

"I love you"

They could be eachother's reason.

"Love you too, idiot"

For as long as it made sense.

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