#jimin upgrade

[4jnismo]

[230523] — 🐥 upgrade: Jimin at Incheon Airport departing to the London for an overseas schedule!

HAVE A SAFE FLIGHT JIMIN! 💗

[venompinks]

AE-AESPA ✷ WHIPLASH UNIVERSE

[alphabetboyluvr]

throttle - jjk | seven

one/ two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - oof. goes without saying, it's angsty, graphic depictions of violence, physical and verbal fight between jk + joon, they are VILE to one another, drug usage (mostly snorting coke), alcohol, clubbing, taking things too far, insinuations of dangerous driving, illegal boxing rings, blood, one mention of the dark knight, one harvey dent quote, disgustingly sweet daydreams from jk, lewd references to sex, political dynamics, no smut, important plot points

PLEASE take note of the warnings. The fight is nasty, and both jk + nj use the women one another care about as weapons. Both men take things too far in a bid to make the other angry. The women -the oc and nj's sis- are objectified, degraded, spoken about sexually and yeah, just really unpleasant. These characters are career criminals. They are NOT nice people. Please consider your own limits before reading - I've actually edited this to make it a little more palatable and it's still not very nice.

word count - 13.5k

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

Metal clatters against the concrete floor of Kang's boxing club as soon as Jungkook opens his locker.

He's yanked it open with such ferocity that one of the bolts has fallen to the floor. Just a small one; a washer that helps to keep a hinge in place, but an inconvenience nonetheless. He stops. Sighs. Looks down at it for a moment, tells it to stop being a little bitch, and then rummages around in his locker for the black jumper he left in there a week prior.

His t-shirt drags against his skin as he sheds himself of it, still damp. The fabric slaps against the floor, echoing his mistakes around him, reverbing in the empty room. They bounce from wall to wall. Taunting him. 

If he picks his shirt up off the floor, there'll be a stain of red on the ground.  

Jimin's locker, once pristine, crumples beneath Jungkook's fist, overwhelmed by an unavoidable truth: 

Jeon Jungkook destroys. 

His touch impacts. Makes impressions. Leaves marks. There's no straightening out the door, he thinks. It'll always be rumpled by the indent of his knuckles. Disfigured. Broken.

Jungkook has been a hurricane for as long as he can remember; a facilitator of misfortune for those around him. He engulfs the best of people and spits them out again when they're at their worst.

If he really wants to, he can pinpoint the exact date and time he transcended from human to meteorological system. He's been upgraded recently - was once a tropical storm, is now a typhoon. 

Destruction is just who he is. More fool him for thinking that clouds could break, and sun could shine. 

Perhaps it's why things always worked so well between you both when the skies were dark, nightfall hiding who he was from plain sight. Any unpleasantries could be chalked up to bad dreams.

He rids himself of the clothes dampened by the commitment he made to you, a little red stain drying around the nape of his neck.

Despite his best attempts to lock it in, there's still dye leaking from strands of his hair, only serving to further remind him that you were never meant to be permanent.

You'll wash away with the spring rains that are set to fall in the coming months, and all he'll be able to do is watch as you drain into the gutter with the rest of his best-laid plans.

For a moment, he considers running. Wind cracks the back door open, light from a streetlamp pooling in. Dust dances in the orange beam, free and unrestricted by the confines of life. It's a freedom he'll never know, not really. He has choices he can make. Liberties he can take. He isn't really as trapped as he thinks he is - but the mind is a heavy prison for those who have shackled themselves to a predestined fate that doesn't exist.

It's not like he doesn't know this. He's aware that the only thing in the world that's stopping him is himself - but his feet are bolted to the floor with screws branded with the names of the people he loves: his mother, his father, one for each of the boys.

They're wound tight, twisted through his flesh and bones. He's tied to Daegu by everything he loves, and the promises he made to ensure that he'll never forget them.

But there's a missing screw, and it's threaded right through his heart. There's a name on it he wishes he'd never learnt, messy, and carved out in a hurry because he didn't have the time to properly process the way he felt until it was too late.

It pinches as he moves, scrapes against his spinal column, etches the letters into his bone.

You might not be permanent, but the mark you leave is as indelible as the ink on his skin.

He laughs when he thinks of you. Laughs in a way that isn't really a laugh. It's full of scorn, and loathing, and longing. The kind of laugh that settles in his stomach like acid that will surely burn away at his soft tissue. He'll disintegrate from the inside out before he ever has the chance to make amends.

Jungkook is pulled, all rather abruptly, from his thoughts when the entryway door slams open. His heart lifts in his chest, that damn nail scraping away at even more of his bone as it does so, body temperature rising and falling all within the same second.

"Here he is," Jimin greets him like a long lost friend. He only saw him, what? Five? Six days ago, maybe? "Where the hell have you been? And Christ, the hell happened to your hair?"

"Home," he says, eyes vacant, no trace of a lie. Of course, it isn't a lie - but it is a half-truth. He ignores the question about his hair. "Went to check on dad."

"How is he?"

"Same old," Jungkook shrugs, not needing to explain the situation. Jimin grew up with Jungkook. Knows the intricacies of his family history. He doesn't pry, and is rewarded with unfiltered access to the most private details of Jungkook's personal life.

Well, almost unfiltered.

Jimin doesn't know about you. He guesses. Notices. Clocks the way that Jungkook sometimes smells far sweeter, far more feminine, after a night of unexplained absence from the boxing club. Watches the way Jungkook keeps his phone on silent, but presses the lock screen far more frequently than usual to check for new messages. Can tell whenever there is a message waiting, because of the way Jungkook's cheeks twitch, a smile tugging on the corners of his lips, of which he refuses to let form.

It's adolescent, how Jungkook thinks he's able to hide his affections.

Jimin might not know for sure that it's you, but he knows his best friend well enough to know that it's someone. There's been no mention of a girl, not since Namjoon forced him into the ring after he found out about Naejeon, so he figures that it must be someone new.

Someone worth keeping secret.

Someone a lot like you.

When he looks over towards his locker, a deep-rooted sigh escapes his lips. "Really? Couldn't have fucked up your own?"

"Accident," Jungkook lies. "I'll swap our doors over."

Jungkook is good at solving problems, but is so quick - so logical - he doesn't often consider that perhaps the problem isn't the issue; it's the circumstances that led to the problem which need fixing instead.

"'S'fine," Jimin shrugs, as he opens it up with a creak and tosses his bag inside it. Not much care is given, because he's already dressed and ready to go. Always early, always punctual, he follows the orders given to him with very few questions asked. "How are you feeling?"

Pretty fucking awful.

"Yeah, fine," Jungkook dismisses, but is painfully aware of how short he's being. He doesn't wanna talk, doesn't wanna give Jimin any ammunition to weaponize against him (not that he would), but knows he's being too aloof. Jimin will start asking questions. "Just wanna get it over and done with, yanno?"

Jimin laughs. "Why such a hurry? Not like it's an in and out job. May as well take our time with it."

Jungkook doesn't reply as he pulls the hoodie over his head, and waltzes up to one of the tattered punching bags.

He begins to bounce on his feet, hands unbound as they tap against the leather. "Just don't understand Jin. Why'd he decide now or never? Couldn't we have time to prep?"

"Beats me," Jimin shrugs, back resting against the cool metal of the lockers. "But we've been prepping for months, Kookie. Been ready since the start of the year, it's months since we said we were gonna do this. Think he's just fed up of waiting."

The younger of the pair grunts a reply as his knuckles slap against the weighted bag.

"Aren't you?" Jimin adds on. "Aren't you tired of waiting, too? Always having to go to that damn gas station. Bet you'll be thankful when this is all over."

He knows he won't be. Knows that Jungkook goes to the gas station far more often than he lets on - has trailed him a couple of times just to confirm. 

It hasn't gone unnoticed by Jungkook, mind you. He's never confronted Jimin about it, but it is why he's started parking a little further away from the gas station. Jimin's caught on about that, too.

"Mhmm," Jungkook grunts, not paying any attention to his friend, squaring up to the bag once more.

"Save your energy. Might need it later."

"Better fuckin' not," Jungkook husks beneath his breath as his fist begins to tap against the bag, the sound of flesh against leather saturating the air. Jimin doesn't hear him as he whispers, "listen to me, C. Please just fucking listen."

It's useless. No amount of manifestation on his part will ever make a difference to the choices you make. You're a woman of your own convictions; a bull trapped in a ring who doesn't take too kindly to that stupid fucking red flag. Especially not when Jungkook's been so careless, waving it around, taunting you, encouraging you.

This mess is one of his own making - and he knows this.

He tried to clean it up.

He really did.

But now your bathroom tiles are stained in red dye, and as hard as he may try, his attempts to clean will be as fruitless as that robotic arm that keeps leaking hydraulic fluid no matter how many times it tries to scoop it up. 

You had watched a video about it with him in the sanctuary of his bed, deceptively chilly sunlight peeking through ashy clouds, the musk of his early morning embrace keeping you glued to his side. 'Can't help myself' the installation is called, and Jungkook thinks of it now as the rear door of the club opens up.

The rest of the boys file in, Namjoon first and then Jin a few moments later. The air is heavy around them, yet none of them seem to give a fuck. Jungkook thinks they're treating this like a fucking jolly. Why don't they care about what they're about to do? Aren't they worried about what could go wrong?

The answers are no, and not really - the same answers he'd have given a few months ago, too.

He started this all with nothing to lose, everything to gain.

Kinda feels like you handed him an Uno reverse card the moment he stepped foot in that bloody gas station.

"Two cars," Jin begins to instruct as they gather around on the old beat-up sofas in the corner of the room. He's sat on an old oil drum, taking command of the situation like it's what he was born to do. "Kook, you drive the main car, Jimin be ready in back up." 

They both nod, Jimin's eyes on their leader, Jungkook's on the floor. His bottom lip is clamped beneath his teeth, which are softly nibbling away like some sort of coping mechanism.

No one notices his state of distress. You would have done, he thinks - but you're not here. 

And Jungkook really hopes it stays that way.

There's stoicism in how he stands; a single strand of seaweed still yet to be plucked by the Haenyeo women of Jeju. Wonders if they'll come back for him. Knows they won't. Knows it's too late. He'll be subject to a life of solitude; swaying to a soundtrack that emits at 52 hertz.

So enthralled with his woe is me parade, Jungkook doesn't realise that Jin watches him with intent. He notices that there's something off about his gaze, how he's refusing to meet anyone's eyes. 

Jungkook's always been a bit of a liar, always been fairly good at it too, but he's never been without his tells; his eyes.

Always his eyes.

Windows to the soul, some say. It scares him. Doesn't let anyone look in them for too long, for fear of them finding out there's something sinister hidden behind them.

"Kang wants this done asap. Elections are coming up and if we don't strike now, it'll be too late," Jin begins to explain, hoping it will stem the questions that he knows Jimin is dying to ask. "We need to get the mayor distracted, off his game. Have him fretting over his family, not thinking about the polls, but equally not able to share his troubles with the public. The mayor will want the situation resolved quickly, which means we can probably put our demand up, ask for a higher price - and all the while, it will give Kang an advantage in the polls."

Jungkook rolls his eyes so hard he can almost hear them turn. He really does hate politics. 

"How much are we talking?" Namjoon asks, because the money is all he's really here for. Doesn't like the mayor, doesn't care for politics, doesn't really care for anything. Just money. "For the girl? Was 150mil, wasn't it? 150 million won?"

"Was," Jin nods. "Kang reckons we can go for 180, easy. Maybe even 200."

"180, five-way split," Namjoon begins to muse. "That's, what? 36mil each?"

And it's stupid, because the money used to excite Jungkook. Oh, if only you'd have heard the conversations they've had about what they'd spend it on, how they could blow it all in a single weekend. Yet despite the higher margin, the bigger gain, Jungkook scoffs.

"36 mil. We're doing this shit for 36 fucking mil. You know how long we're risking behind bars for this if it goes tits up? How long they put you away for for abduction? Blackmail? All for the sake of 36 fucking million."

It's on par with what he should be earning annually. Before he met you, before any of this, it's what would have been on his end of year tax return, or near enough. So much has been lost to you; time, energy, brain capacity. Finances are the least of his worries these days.

If he'd have just worked a little bit harder, put in some more hours, he could have kept on top of the repayments he's been making to the loan sharks who circle in the shallow waters of Busan, just waiting to sink their teeth into his father. He could have been back home, been present. Stopped all of this mess, all of this nonsense. He wouldn't know you. Wouldn't feel like his ribs are splintering whenever he thinks of you. In fact, he never would think of you.

Can't imagine it, now. His brain is a spongy mess of badly sung 80's songs and crying cat memes. Corrupted by you; preserved in such a way by his own desire to keep you around. He surrounds the memories of you in salt to keep the demons away, despite the fact it dries out the very essence of him. His brain will shrivel and rot, and all that will be left is you.

"It's not gonna go tits up, though, is it, Kook?" Namjoon pushes back almost immediately.

"It's not," Jin answers for him. "We get in, get the girl, get out. That's the hard part. Everything else is easy."

Jungkook's jaw is tense as he looks at Jin - and then he's looking away again. 

"Look, Kook, if you're not up to this, then  say so - but you're the one who came to us hell bent on taking her father down. You're the one who came up with this whole plan, you're the fucking mastermind - but we've got Kang on our backs now and we have to deliver. Either you're in," Jin shrugs. "Or you're out. Your choice."

"I'm in," Jungkook almost spits in retaliation. "I'm fucking in."

"Good. So go start the car. We're running late."

He pauses. Bites down on his lip, and nods. Does as he's told because it's the only way he can leave the room without raising suspicions. 

He doesn't breathe again until he's in his car.

His engine hums as it basks in midnight lunar light, predatory in the way his headlights stalk out the shadows. He turns them off, thinks he won't need them. The roads are quiet. If he gets pulled over, he'll feign naivety. 'Oh, sorry officer. I'll turn them on.' He doesn't wanna be seen. Doesn't want to announce the way he's coming into your neighbourhood. Doesn't want you looking for him like a lighthouse. Wants you to crash. It'll be easier, that way.

꾹: i can explain everything. just trust me.

꾹: go to yoongis. i need you safe.

꾹: give me a little time. i'll tell you everything, c. please just go to yoongis and let me know you're okay xx

His messages drop in your chat feed. They never deliver.

He's joined in the car by Jin, and then it's go time.

The drive is silent, and Jungkook sort of just blanks it out. Doesn't remember how he got from A to B, but before he knows it, he's on your street. Outside your apartment block. Wishing for a sinkhole to open up and swallow his beloved car, with him still inside it.

He's been told to sit, wait. Cut the radio, keep the engine going. Jin and Namjoon are doing their job. Breaking and entering; stealing the only thing of any value in your shoebox apartment. 

The idea of you looking at them, brows contorted, heart nice and bloody on your sleeve, plays on loop in his head. He wonders if you'll comply. Know you'll most likely fight.

Jungkook sits and stews in hushed cacoethes. He desires only you; the most forbidden of all the fruits. There's an ache in his chest, and a heat pricking at his skin. Poison, he thinks. That damn fruit. Damn you.

He needs to see you. Needs to know you're okay. Needs you in his passenger seat as you escape the city, forget it all, leave it all behind.

Ashtray mind and tobacco-stained eyes; there's nothing in his heart but the residue of things that will kill him. His lungs are all covered in the tar of you, too. Not like they matter. He left them with yours. Hasn't been able to breathe since he left your apartment, he doesn't think.

The road ahead is clear. 

Dark and wide, it's lit only by street lamps, and the occasional neon light, that will no doubt lead late-night revellers to karaoke rooms. They're all basement level; a passage to the underworld of sin that swells beneath the belly of the metropolis. Impiety laces the streets of a city marred by cult churches, no closer to God than the shit beneath their shoes. 

He doesn't believe in God, and certainly doesn't believe in the burning red crosses that sit atop the cult houses. They defile Buk-gu in debauchery; at home with the heathens, obscuring the ordinary. 

He does, however, consider asking for forgiveness; repenting his sins. He'd be suited to a confessional; the glare of impure light pouring through the slats, disfiguring the face you've grown to adore, like the shadows of a prison grate. 

He hates this place.

Hates why he's here, hates why he's stayed, and - funnily enough - hates that there's no longer any reason for him to stay. Not once his business is done.

He wonders if this could have played out differently. Maybe if he'd have been honest with you from the start, it wouldn't have come to this. You could have played along, maybe. Did what was asked of you willingly.

The door opens with a rough crack, far too much force being put on its old hinges. "Woah, woah- careful," he shrieks, drawn away from thoughts of you for a split second.

That is, until, he sees the look on Jin's face.

It's unfamiliar. Teeth bared. Snarling, almost. Eyes hard, jaw tense. 

Oh, fuck.

"Drive," Jin hisses. "Fucking drive."

But he doesn't.

And he won't. 

Not until he knows you're okay.

"The girl?"

"Don't act fucking dumb, Jungkook," Jin spits as he slams the door shut, imprisoning them both.

"I don't know wha-"

"Driv-"

"Where's the girl?" Jungkook snarls right back.

"Not fuckin' there!"

This is bad, he thinks. Real fucking bad.

But then he's overwhelmed with how fucking good it feels. You weren't there. You listened to him. You trusted him. He could laugh. Could cry. Might do both.

Not yet, though. He's still wearing his lies well. They sit atop the crown of his skull with pride. Liar of the year, 2022. Jeon Jungkook.

"Why isn't she there, huh?" Jin barks, spit gathering in the corners of his mouth. And then he's shouting. Shouting so loud that the whole fucking neighbourhood will wake up. "Again? Every fucking time Jungkook, she's just never where you say she will be. But you know what is where she should be? Huh? A bathroom stained in red fucking hair dye. Flannel shirts we both know damn well belong to you. Tell me, Kook, why didn't you want us to do it tonight, huh? Scared we'd catch you two at it?"

"You've lost your fucking mind, Jin. I don't know the ins and outs of her life."

"Oh, but on the contrary," Jin scathes as he slaps a receipt on the dash. It's branded. Jungkook thought he'd left it in the restaurant; that little pizza place in Busan. Hadn't realised you squirrelled away momentoes like that. Is still learning about you, apparently.

It's Jungkook's card number along the bottom of it. Jin won't know that. 

But he's got eyes. Can read. Your handwriting adorns the top corner, right above the date and location. Jungkook feels sick.

Dinner with JK <3

"No?" Jin presses. "So you don't know who JK is? Don't know why the fuck she was in Busan when you were? Don't know why she's drawing fucking hearts next to his initials, huh? Somethings not adding up, JK."

"I've never been good at maths," Jungkook retorts, tone flat.

"You ain't no good at lying, either," Jin growls, crumpling the receipt and throwing it at Jungkook. It hits his chest, right where his heart used to be. Sinking back into the passenger seat, Jin curses. Shakes his head. Sighs. 

"Just fucking drive, Jungkook. Just fuckin' drive."

────────────

Daegu tarmac is always a little harder in the winter. Jungkook prefers it, for there's less pull against his wheels as he hurtles down the streets.

He's vaguely aware of the fact he needs to check the wear on the inner treads of his tyres. They're pulling even less than usual, and he knows that he needs to adjust the tracking, but it's been the last thing on his mind lately.

Jin instructs him in the direction of the boxing club, and Jungkook almost refuses. Almost takes a left by the bridge to bomb up towards Palgongsan. He wants to see the city. Escape it. Look down on it; on you. Keep watch. Keep you safe.

It's an impossible task though, so he does as he's told - and quickly, too. He runs not one, but two reds. The streets are clear, marred by darkness of a midnight sky, so he's not concerned about getting caught - and if anything, it would probably do him a favour.

A night behind bars would be preferable to a night in the ring with Namjoon.

He's childish, and a grade-A dick when he wants to be, but Jungkook's no stranger to the way it feels when Namjoon's knuckles kiss his cheek.

A fight has been brewing ever since the last, Namjoon displeased with how Jin intervened, but Jungkook has fucked it now.

Even Jin is pissed at him - and rightly so. He's done exactly what he's been accused of.

He's betrayed them.

Been disloyal. Abused their trust.

Done things he said he never would.

"We in this?"

"In this shit for life."

Seems stupid now when Jungkook replays the memories back. He never should have promised the rest of his life. It was never feasible. He, himself, had seen how quickly life could change within the blink of an eye; but more importantly, how the change could be so slow, so gradual that he didn't even notice until it was too late.

It had happened with his mother; her illness slowly but surely taking hold until she was a shadow of herself. It had happened with his ex; her withdrawal from him so incremental that he didn't even notice the evenings she spent with Taehyung instead of him.

More recently, it's happened with you.

He should have known better. Hell, he did know better. Knew what would happen if he let himself get a little bit too comfortable.

There was a reason why he's been single for so long; why he never lets anyone get too close.

See, Jeon Jungkook is just as romantic as he always has been.

His heart has been broken, and misery has ravaged his veins, but he still believes that there's a life out there for him that doesn't involve any of those things. He believes that he could have a happy ending.

And it's foolish.

Foolish because nobody gets one of those. Foolish because people like him certainly don't.

Foolish because only fools fall - and lord knows he's been in the gutter ever since he met you.

It wasn't one of those first-sights, heart-palpitations, heavy-breathing types of situation, but it was something more than nothing - and when you're so used to drought, even the slightest spark can light the brightest fires. You had surged through him like a wild blaze, burning deep red, akin to the dye that stains his hair.

And now his bones are charred; irrevocably scarred by a girl who only ever sought to heal him.

So yeah, maybe he was a fool, but so were you for ever thinking he could be healed in the first fuckin' place.

Jungkook barely has the chance to shut his car off before Jin barks at him to get inside. Says that he's fucking lucky Joon didn't catch up with them.

He scoffs a laugh. "I'm lucky? I'm lucky? Joon's fucking lucky I haven't sparked him out before now. He's been on his high horse for far too fucking long."

"Yeah, and not without reason, Kook. The fuck have you been playing at, huh?" Jin asks, with genuine bewilderment, once they're inside Old Man Kang's boxing club. The air is cold, but the tension between the two men, who were once more like brothers, is even more so.

If Jungkook were to answer honestly, he'd say he doesn't know. Would probably cry a little bit, too. Maybe a lot. He's not really sure at this point.

He's not sure of anything. Not sure about his loyalties, about his motives. Not even how he feels about you.

The only thing Jungkook is sure of, is that Namjoon is going to be gunning for blood the second he storms through the door, and that he'd really rather not be here when it happens.

"I can fix this. Let me go and look for her, alrigh-"

"No."

"If anyone is gonna fin-"

"You've done enough, Kook."

"Jin, please-"

"Enough."

"But I-"

"You've done enough," he repeats firmly now, his eyes unable to grace Jungkook with mercy. He can't fucking look at him. Not after everything; not after all of it. They'd planned this together. Been in this shit together. A team. They had always had the same goals, the same motivations, and Jungkook had just thrown it all to the wayside.

He's never cared much for 'bros before hoes,' or any of that bullshit, but Jin thought there was an understanding between them. A common goal. Common ground.

Thought their friendship went beyond business.

He's known the kid for years. Watched him grow. Practically raised him after his dad couldn't afford to feed them anymore, his mother's life savings spaffed at the bookies every Sunday, then every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday... He'd been Jungkook's parent when the poor kid may as well have lost both.

And this is how he repays him?

Jungkook tenses his jaw. Presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek. Nods. Curses as he lashes out at the pole marking the corner of the boxing ring. Yells a little as his bare fist cracks against the padded wood.

Jin just walks to the sofas in the corner of the room. Sinks into one of them, defeated. There's no point in arguing, not right now. Not while his head is all fucked up and his vision is marred by a shade of red that matches Jungkook's hair.

The steel of the fire exit door screeches as it scrapes against the pavement, too heavy for the hinges it's on. An easy fix which none of them have gotten round to doing yet. Too busy. Minds have been elsewhere - but Namjoon's mind is only on one thing as he hurtles toward Jungkook.

"You mother fucker," Namjoon spits, his fists rough as they grab onto the neckline of Jungkook's shirt. The friction burns a little, but nothing really hurts Jungkook. Not when it already feels like his heart has been cut straight from his chest with a craft knife.

He wants to hurt, though. Wants physical pain to match his mental torment.

"Joon," Jimin calls from the entryway, trying to draw him back, but it's futile. Bad blood needs to be drained in order to keep a body healthy, after all - and this band of brothers is dying. They need something - anything - to replenish their health.

It's a shame that Jungkook's on a suicide mission, really.

"Nah," Jungkook smirks, but his eyes are void of any humour. In fact, he's deadly serious as he says, "it was your sister I fucked, remember?"

He's barely finished mocking his former friend before a fist meets his face. The crack of Namjoon's knuckles against his skin echoes into the room, reverberating from wall to wall, like a chilling laugh sounding from the shadows.

"Is that all you've got?" Jungkook laughs, despite the fact a small red bead is forming on his bottom lip. It swells and drips, like the scarlet water that ran from his hair earlier that afternoon. He knows he shouldn't keep going, but he doesn't really care. Namjoon has a short fuse, and Jungkook feels like blowing up. "Even Naejeon liked it rougher than that."

For all his stupidity, the boy's got a sharp tongue about him. Knows just the right thing to say to get what he wants - this time, it's another punch to his face. His cheek. Gonna bruise like a fuckin' bitch.

Namjoon still has a grip on his collar and pushes him now, until his legs are pressed against the base of the ring, back against the ropes.

"Say another fucking word about my sister and I'll rip your fucking tongue out."

Jungkook laughs. Namjoon just makes it so fucking easy.

"Don't be like that, Joonie," he coos, the smile on his face borderline psychotic. "Naejeon reckons it's the only thing that ever made her cum."

When Namjoon punches him this time, he doesn't give Jungkook the chance to interrupt with any more quick remarks about his little sister. He was pissed at Jungkook for shagging her, pissed at Jungkook for ghosting her, but everything Jungkook's done since then only serves to make it so much worse.

"You," he spits, only pausing his words to land another punch against Jungkook's cheek. "Stupid" - another punch - "fucking" - again - "twat."

He grabs Jungkook's collar with both of his hands now, forcing him to stand up straight, face pink from Namjoon's knuckles smearing his blood all over it.

"You couldn't keep your dick in your pants, could you? First my fucking sister and then that fucking whore? Her of all people?"

Jungkook is laughing again. Sniffs back the blood dripping from his nose. Jin is sitting with his head in his hands, pretending like it isn't happening. Jimin can't take his eyes off it. It's like a car crash; a head-on collision between two boy racers, who always take it too fucking far.

"I can give you a comparison if you like?"

"Kookie-" Jimin tries to interject, but is silenced by Namjoon who snaps his head around to look at the most innocent of the bunch.

"Nah," Namjoon laughs. "Let him talk. Let him spew his bullshit."

And then he faces Jungkook again. Gets closer. Gets real close. Close enough that Jungkook can smell the cigarette he smoked half an hour ago.

His breath is hot against Jungkook's skin. Intrusive. Unwelcome.

Namjoon knows this. Knows that Jungkook hates people breathing on him. Hates it so much that Namjoon used to sneak up on him and breathe on his neck, specifically to get a reaction out of him. Used to find it funny.

He doesn't know that Jungkook never hated your soft sighs against his skin. Not against the crook of his neck during early morning embraces, not into his lips when the build of your climax got so intense that you couldn't focus on kissing him anymore. He doesn't know that Jungkook would do anything to hear the way you breathe as you sleep right about now; shallow and a little stuttered. His favourite sound. His very own metronome.

Namjoon doesn't know you were different. Wouldn't really matter even if he did know. Wouldn't change a single damn thing about the betrayal he feels. In his eyes, it's just one thing after a-fucking-nother with Jungkook. Kid's a liability.

"How long you been fucking her, huh?" Namjoon speaks quietly, breath warm against Jungkook's ear. It's hushed enough that none of the others can hear. Probably for the best. "How long have you been sinking your cock into your mother's corpse?"

"My mother's corpse?" Jungkook almost chokes, legitimately in a state of shock over what's just left Namjoon's mouth. It's probably worse than the stench of his ashtray breath.

"What?" He laughs. It's bitter. "Her daddy's the reason your mum's dead, isn't she? She's the reason. So you're fucking your dead mum by proxy, aren't you? There'd be no corpse if it wasn't for her."

It's good. Jungkook's gotta hand it to him. It's pretty fucking savage. He's not sure of the legitimacy of such a claim, not sure it makes any fucking sense, but the shock value? Yeah, Namjoon has him stumped.

Part of him knows he shouldn't bite. Part of him knows that Namjoon is only after a fight.

In fact, all of him knows this - but Namjoon's breath is all clammy on his cheek, and it makes his skin crawl in a way that rivals nails on a blackboard.

He doesn't wanna react. Doesn't wanna lash out. Doesn't wanna make this a fair fight, but he can't fucking help it as his head lunges forward, smashing against Namjoon's nose with a crack.

"Kook," Jimin tries again, sterner this time, but Jin shakes his head and tells him, 'let the kids have their squabble.'

"This has nothing to do with my mother," Jungkook spits as he stands up straighter now, taller.

"Oh, but on the contrary," Namjoon says, his posture slightly cowered from the impact of Jungkook's skull cracking against his own. He's feeling for blood with the back of his hand, eyes narrow. "It has everything to do with your mother. She's the reason you're here. She's the reason you wanted to take that bitch out in the first fuckin' place."

The worst part is he's right. Jungkook knows he's right.

"So?" He says before he spits, crimson phlegm hitting the concrete floor with a slap, red with blood from the inside of his cheek. "So what? So what if I fucked her?"

Namjoon's not even really concerned about the fact Jungkook's been fucking you.

If Jungkook had fucked you and not let it sway his judgement, Namjoon probably would have congratulated him for getting his dick wet and the job done well. Issue is, Jungkook started fucking with you with heart and thinking with his dick.

"Coulda fucked any whore in the city. I know you know where to find them."

"True. Did find your sister, didn't I?"

It's not Jungkook's finest hour. It's not been his finest few months, if he's being realistic - except for the fact it has been. The time he's spent with you, at least.

The training sessions he'd cram between leaving you in his bed and heading to work were always his best.

The days at work when he knew he'd be heading to your gas station afterwards were always his most productive. His area manager had been eyeing him up for a fucking promotion. His good, honest work is better because of you.

He doesn't understand why, he doesn't understand how - he just knows if he hadn't constantly had this huge guilt weighing down on him constantly, that maybe he'd have known what happiness felt like again.

He hates the circumstances that lead him to you. Hates the reality of your relationship. Hates that he's pretty sure you don't even have one, now.

But he loves that he met you. Loves that he got to experience you. Loves that you gave him hope where he'd only ever seen hardship.

It's useless now, of course. Down the fucking drain. Should have trained to be a plumber instead, he thinks. Maybe he'd have been able to salvage things.

He's an electrician though, and all he's done is keep you in the dark, until he blinded you with a spotlight. He's short-circuted everything now. Fried the motherboard. Destroyed everything you once were together. He knows there's no salvaging it.

But he's also questioning if there was ever anything there to begin with. Questions whether or not you really liked him, or just the way you perceived him - but it was no different from any normal scenario. No one shows their bad cards first. You're drawn in by the best, and learn to adore the worst, too.

For a long time, you thought that his worst card was the fact he used a 2-in-1 shampoo and shower gel. Used to tease him about it.

And now he's thinking of the way you laugh and he wants to fucking cry.

Joon can see it. See the shift behind Jungkook's eyes. Thinks he's won. Pushes Jungkook away from him. Spits on the ground. Walks away.

"You're pathetic, Jeon. Good for nothing waste of fuckin' sperm. Thank fuck you ghosted Naejeon. Thank fuck. Could think of nothing worse than sharing a bloodline with a coward like you."

Jimin breathes for the first time in what feels like hours, hoping that this is it. It's done now. Jin remains as he was, but reclines into the sofa as Namjoon saunters to meet him. He throws himself down into a chair and sighs.

"What now, boss?"

Good fucking question, Jin thinks. The plan is fucked. Jungkook knows there's no way it can be rectified. You know too much now. Know what to expect, even if not when to expect it. You don't know his motives, you just know they're not as pure as you once thought. Know that it's safer to hate him.

He wonders if you already do.

He turns to face the ring; holds on to the ropes, lets his body lean forward, heaving a little. All of this feels like a nightmare. The kind that loop, and replay again and again until insanity is the only logical explanation.

But maybe he is insane.

Insane for thinking that this could ever work. Insane for thinking that maybe he'd be able to mastermind a plan in which everyone got a happy ending. Insane for letting you into his home, insane for letting you into his sheets, insane for letting you into a part of his brain reserved for memories of his family before it all went wrong.

You're there now, though. It's permanent. The way you make him feel is something he'll never be able to shake, and he knows damn well that he's ruined for the rest of his life.

"Without the girl, we have nothing," Jin sighs. "The girl was our meal ticket. We needed her to get the Mayor's attention. Need her to make this whole thing work. Without her, there's no leverage. Nothing to work with."

"Hear that, Kook? We've got nothing," Namjoon taunts. "A little bit of sour pussy worth it, huh? Maybe I should just fuck her. See what all the hype is about. See if it's worth it. How'd she like it, huh? She like it rough?"

"Can the pair of you just stop?" Jimin snaps now. "You're like a pair of twelve-year-olds."

Namjoon ignores him. Sinks further into the tattered leather chair. Crosses his legs, and hooks an ankle upon his knee. Smirks.

"Bet she's a dumb slut with a rack like that," he says instead. "Her titwanks must be pretty fucking good, right?"

He knows - much to Jungkook's dismay - that Jungkook is a tittie guy. They've had enough conversations about it. Vulgar shit. Objectifying. Laddish banter, that was really just juvenile shit they both knew better than to say.

"That's what got you, isn't it, Kook?" Namjoon laughs. "Her tits? Your mommy issues are showing."

Jungkook's blood is burning as red as his hair, but he tries not to let it show.

"Not really," Jungkook lies, and they all fuckin' know it. "Her tits were good, but I can live without them. I mean, Naejeon's flat as a fuckin' pancake - and I fucked her for long enough, didn't I? Might see if she's free later, actually."

It's like they're playing a game of table football, each one of them trying to get one up on the other. It's Namjoon's turn, now.

"You never answered, Kook. How does she like it? Is she the kind of bitch that likes it rough? Likes it when you make them cry? She'd be good at that, I reckon. Crying. How long do you think it would take to get her crying?"

The thought of it makes Jungkook sick. Makes him want to cry. He's still leaning against the ropes, but it's mainly to stop him from falling down. His head feels like it's gonna fucking cave in.

"I dunno man," Jungkook shrugs, but he's a little breathless. Knows he sounds weak. Knows he has to go extra hard with the next insult flung Namjoon's way. "Given how tight your sister was, how much I had to stretch her little pussy out-"

"Shut the fuck up."

"I'm guessing that size runs in the family - so I don't imagine you've got much to make CC cry with, to be honest."

He says it before he realises - but the rest of them do. Notice it immediately.

"Sorry, who?"

"The fuck did you just call her?"

There's silence. Jungkook doesn't speak. Not till the question is repeated, this time by their leader. Jin's voice is stern as he asks, "What did you call her, Jungkook?"

"Nothin'. Doesn't matter. Just a dumb fuckin' nickname."

"A nickname?"

"Yeah, a dumb one. What does it matter?"

"How deep does it run?" Jin asks, genuinely concerned for Jungkook. This is so much worse than just hooking up. "This little affair you've been having? How fuckin' deep does it go?"

"Doesn't. Doesn't run deep, doesn't run anywhere. It's nothing," he spits. "She's nothing."

Saying it out loud makes him feel like a piece of shit.

You're everything.

"I'm sure she finds the lying all very endearing, Kook, but cut it out," Jin scolds him. "We're in this together. Just be fuckin' honest with us. We know you told her to run. You chose her over us. The least you can do is tell us how invested you are. How invested she was. Let us know what we're dealing with, here."

"Can't invest in something that you know will never give you a return," Jungkook says as if that makes a difference. He always knew the pair of you were doomed.

"She's not a financial investment," Jin debates. "And yeah, you can."

"But she is a financial investment."

"Joon. Not now."

"Well, I mean, she was," Namjoon adds a little mindlessly. "She isn't now. Golden balls has screwed it all up for us."

"I haven't."

Namjoon laughs. Looks at Jungkook as if he knows every fib he's ever told. Perceptive and well aware of Jungkook's tendency to tell white lies, there's no fooling him.

"You've been shafting the plans for months," Namjoon says with certainty. "The first raid? Tell me that you didn't have anything to do with it."

But he can't. And he doesn't want to lie anymore, so he remains silent.

"See, I told you," Namjoon nearly fucking yells. He'd gotten into much trouble for picking a fight with Jungkook after the raid, only to go and be proven right. "I fucking told you. You all told me I was overreacting but I fucking knew it."

His rant is ignored as the rest of them process what's been divulged by Jungkook.

"Ever since then?" Jimin asks quietly. His tenderness is noticed. Appreciated.

And so Jungkook nods. "Didn't know her back then. Not really. I just... I was getting cold feet. I'd never really understood that there was another human on the other end of the plan, yanno? I didn't want us to do something we couldn't take back. She could have been useful to us."

"Not sure Jungkook's personal cum-dump would have been useful to 'us' as a collective - unless you were planning on sharing?"

"Namjoon, will you ever just shut the fuck up?"

Jungkook ignores it. He knows Namjoon is just trying to get a rise out of him at this point. His face is aching enough now. They've had their fun.

None of them feel aggression towards him anymore. Not really.

They're scared, more than anything, knowing they have Kang to answer to if they don't deliver on their promise, and none of them enjoy the prospect of that too much.

"Things spiralled. I didn't mean for them to-"

"Ah, but you never do, do you?" Namjoon interrupts, but again, Jungkook ignores it.

"She wasn't there on the night of the raid, 'cause I was standing her up on a date downtown. Thought I'd try and figure some other plan out, but when I saw her next I panicked. Was trying to keep her on side."

He's downplaying it, granted. They're all vaguely aware they aren't getting the whole truth, but a half-truth is better than none at all.

"We ended up going out a week or so later. Both drank a little too much and - well, I mean, I don't need to teach you about the birds and the bees, do I? Pretty sure you know how the rest of it goes." There's a murmur amongst the boys, collectively agreeing not to ask more. "Things got out of hand. I panicked. I didn't know what to do."

"It's not an excuse," Jin says. "No fucking excuse at all, Kook. Your panic has fucked us all over. I hope you know how to fix this fuckin' mess, 'cause Kang is gonna have our balls for breakfast if we don't deliver. We signed a contract."

"Not exactly legally binding, is it?"

"Since when has anything Kang's ever done been in keeping with the law?" Jin asks, but the question is rhetorical. They all know the answer.

The cash counting machines in the back office, and the hostess noraebangs are a dead giveaway. Old Man Kang is bad news. Such bad news that Jin even fears having this discussion in the boxing club... just in case.

"Go home. I don't wanna talk about it anymore. Don't even wanna look at any of you, right now," Jin almost laughs, but they know he isn't actually joking. He's deadly serious. "We'll meet at mine tomorrow. I don't want Kang getting wind of this. Kook, clean up your blood, then get gone. Jimin, clear away the chair for the girl. Won't be needing it now. Joon, just get gone. I'll see you tomorrow. 9 am sharp. We'll figure it out."

He looks at Jungkook, and shakes his head. What a fucking mess that boy has made.

"We'll figure it out," he repeats, before adding, "together."

They all do as they're told. Jungkook is the last to leave, his hands a little stained in his own blood by the time he's done. He ignores the tightness of the skin on his palms as he drives, heading in the direction of home.

Jungkook's apartment is cold. He'd left the bathroom door open before leaving for Busan, and winter wind howls into the apartment as soon as he steps foot through the door. He doesn't close it. Just heads into his bedroom-turned-living area, flicks on the ondol and falls face-first into his bed.

He regrets it as soon as he picks up the scent of you on his sheets. You've not slept in them for the best part of a week, and yet you're still there. It's too late to put a washload on - his neighbour will bang on the ceiling with the handle of her broom again like she did the last time you'd had morning sex - but he can't stay like this. Can't stay suffocated by you.

He sits up. Sniff back a sob, and kicks off his shoes. "Stupid fucking prick," he laments, then catches sight of himself in his mirror. Sees his hair. It fucking stings. So fucking red. Looks like a fresh wound. He supposes it is; the remnants of his heart that were torn from his chest the second your eyes turned hard.

It had been dark in your room, but he could see the lights of your kitchen reflect with more variance as water began to grace your lashline. He'd made you cry and he couldn't even so much as give you a fucking hug to make it any better.

There's no enthusiasm in his steps as he skulks toward his bathroom. Doesn't bother stripping his clothes off. Just flicks the light on, twists the tap and sits on the floor as the shower chokes into action. The water is freezing as he sits, legs pulled up to his chest, arms hugging around his knees.

Slowly but surely it warms up, even if his heart doesn't. He doesn't even know what his aim is. Perhaps he's trying to recreate the last place he felt happiness - back in your shower, with you - or maybe he's hoping the water will wash away the remnants of you from his hair.

He's a warning light; a red flag that screams 'stay away.' He wishes he could. Would rather be with anyone but himself right now.

But there's a comfort to be found in the fact that he knows you're a walking red flag, too.

Eventually, he stands. Discards his clothes - he'll sort them in the morning - and rinses his hair through. His shampoo bubbles up all pretty and pink, but it isn't enough to reverse what he's done. Your relationship has stained him for all to see.

He deliberately avoids looking in the toothbrush holder. Doesn't want to see your one. Instead, he looks in the mirror as he reaches for his brush - it's thicker than yours, battery-powered, so it's easy to distinguish from touch alone.

It's as he's rummaging around that he notices an inconsistency in his steamed-up mirror.

It's in the bottom left-hand corner, discreet and hidden unless you know where to find it: a thin outline in the shape of a heart.

Jungkook didn't put it there, and there's only one girl who he's ever let stay long enough for a shower to be needed.

He has to grip the basin of his sink to stop himself from keeling over. Thinks he'll be sick. Actually gags a little. Never been so close to it without actually following through.

It's hard to tell what's making him feel this way. The guilt? The hurt? He's not sure. All he knows is that he can't fucking breathe properly. His shower is still pounding down on his spine as he hunches over, painful as the water slaps against his skin. He doesn't realise, but it's tender because your scratch marks are still running down it.

You're in his skin. In his head, his hair, his bed. You're still here, and he can't fucking shake you. You're haunting him. Taunting him.

Except for the fact you're really not. You're doing the opposite. You've gone ghost, yes, but entirely in the opposite direction. Radio silence.

He tries sending a message through to your chat feed, but it remains undelivered. He calls - this number is unavailable - and he calls - this number is unavailable - and he calls and calls and calls - this number in una- this number is- this nu- until he gets so frustrated he throws his phone across the room. Hears a crack. Knows he's fucked his screen. Just another thing to hate himself for.

He considers going to Yoongi's. Gets dressed, puts a coat on. His hair is still damp. He doesn't care. Gets in his car. Drives in fucking laps around the city. Thinks he sees you twice - doesn't see you a single time.

And he won't.

Jeon Jungkook had the luxury of finding you once. You're never gonna give him that again.

See when you left your apartment that evening, you did it on your terms. You packed your bag with the essentials: documents - some forged, some not -, money, and the hard drive that has everything your father wouldn't want in the hands of the wrong people. Up until now, you've been the wrong hands - but it seems like there are far filthier hands in search of it now.

You upturned a few items, made your life look as simple as you could; just a regular girl who had fallen for a no-good piece of shit. You pinned up a few photos. Scribbled some dumb nostalgic shit on a receipt.

And as you sit in the waiting room of the first terminal of Daegu Airport, you smile.

You imagine all the ways that little note could fuck him up. Wonder if they'll notice the shirts of his you left out, but neglect to think about the one you're still wearing. The blue one. Your favourite. Smells like him.

There's no time to dwell on it, mind you. A bell chimes. It's not the one in your stomach - you may as well have swallowed cement with how still it is, now. The bell echoes, and then a voice sounds. "This is the boarding call for flight 711 to Jeju. Please have your passport and boarding pass ready for inspection at gate 3. Flight 711 for Jeju, at gate 3. Thank you."

You sigh. Pretend like you can't smell the scent of his aftershave as you hook your bag over your shoulder, and head in the direction of gate 3. Doesn't really matter where you're going. All that matters is that you are going - and that Jungkook will have no fucking clue where to find you.

And yet part of you hopes he'll show up. Beg you not to board that flight. Tell you he's sorry, and that it's all a huge misunderstanding. Will buy a ticket, fly with you. Stay with you. Make things right on an island that's done no harm to either one of you. Not like the city you're leaving behind.

It's a hope you hold onto, even as you board. Even as the cabin crew begin safety demonstrations. Even as you begin to hurtle down the runway.

Jungkook's not a mind reader though, and so he sits, body all hunched up and crooked by your apartment door, waiting for you to come home. He's aware it's a little creepy. Knows you won't be happy to see him - but he doesn't want to fucking stalk you. He just wants to know you're safe. Wants this nightmare to be over.

He's woken the next morning, back in agony from his position, by the ajumma who lives across the hallway. He asks if she's seen you. She tells him it's none of his business, and to get gone.

Good old Eunhee. You've always liked her. She's always hated your boyfriends. It's a win-win.

Jungkook leaves his number with Eunhee, but she bins it as soon as she's inside her apartment. She knows if you want to call Jungkook, you will. She's old enough to know what men are like. Wise enough to know he's probably been up to no good. The ones who grovel always have been.

He walks home, just so he has an excuse to walk back to your area later to pick up his car. Forgets he's supposed to be at Jin's for 9 until Namjoon drives past him.

He expects Namjoon to hurtle off, but to his surprise, he pulls over. Tells Jungkook to get in. Doesn't speak to him the entire way there, but still gets him there ahead of schedule.

There are three cars outside Jin's apartment by the time they arrive. Jin's sleek Merc, Jimin's red Mx5, and a car that Jungkook hadn't expected to see: a Rolls Royce. Blacked out. De-badged. Discreet, but screaming importance. The plates are illegal. Decoys. The kinda shit used by criminals - which is fitting, Jungkook supposes.

"Shitting hell," Namjoon hisses beneath his breath as he pulls his keys from the ignition. "Looks like we've got a date with the Devil himself."

Jungkook laughs. "Don't think the Devil wears Cuban heels."

Namjoon smiles, too. Knows smiling won't be an option once they're inside Jin's apartment.

"C'mon," he says as he encourages Jungkook out of the car. Neither of them really wants to go, but both know their arrival will have been noted. Any slackness will have to be accounted for. Better men have lost fingers for less than tardiness. It's not worth the aggro. "Time to go face the wrath of Old Man Kang."

────────────

When Jin arrives at the boxing club that evening, Jungkook's skin is already glistening beneath the frosty glow of exposed lightbulbs. They're LED, providing no warmth to the shell of a room he's in - but Jungkook's been going at it for so long - been going at it so hard - that steam wafts from his body.

There's something stern in the way Jin is looking at him, as if he's willing for him to slow down.

Jungkook doesn't even so much as look in Jin's direction. His gaze is wasted, much like all of Jungkook's efforts of the past few months.

If he's being honest, Jin is surprised to see him at the club. He hadn't expected to see the kid for at least a day or two after Jungkook had stormed out of his place earlier that morning.

With a face of thunder, jaw tense, his jugular vein throbbing beneath his honey skin, he'd been royally pissed.

Credit where it was due, Jungkook had just about managed to hold it together for long enough to see Old Man Kang out the door - but only just.

He'd sat as quiet as a broken record player in Jin's apartment, leg jittering, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip. Had barely even looked at their boss. Didn't want to. Didn't trust his misplaced anger.

See, Jungkook has a thing for shifting blame; everything is always someone else's fault. Him losing you? Well, it couldn't possibly be his fault. Had to be Kang's. After all, he was the one who'd sent Jungkook on the first stakeout of GS25.

Maybe not the second one, though. That was all Jungkook's doing. As was the third, and the fourth, and - well, I mean, Kang certainly hadn't told Jungkook to ask you out on a date, the silly cunt. Definitely never told him to put his cock in you, either.

He'd got himself into this mess all by himself.

Didn't like that admission, though, so he stayed silently furious with Kang instead.

Which worked out in his favour, actually. Being preemptively pissed at the stupid old fucker meant that Jungkook's visible annoyance was minimal as Kang dropped a fucking bomb on them at Jin's dinner table.

"Forget about the girl for now. There's too much heat around her. That coworker of hers... he knows too much. You let him know too much. The second she's gone, he'll be pointing fingers - and if they land on you? They'll land on the boxing club too, and whose name is printed above the door? Mine. Too much risk."

Kang had been oblivious to the glances being thrown Jungkook's way - but of course he had been.

Again, Kang had nothing to do with Jungkook's quite frankly ridiculous choices. There really was no one to blame but himself.

And that's the worst part of it all: Jungkook knows this.

It doesn't stop the anger from fermenting in his chest though, so fucking torn apart by the fact that if everyone had just listened to him, just given him a little more time, he could have fixed things.

If Jin hadn't been so headstrong - had just given Jungkook one more fucking day - then he could have kept you. Maybe not forever, but for a little bit longer.

And there he goes again, shifting the blame.

The reality of it being his own mistake, his own failures, is too much for him to come to terms with. He'll deal with eventually, but for now, he needs to forget it all. Forget you exist. Forget the look in your eyes when you realised he'd been playing you like a fucking fiddle. Forget the anger that came when you snapped the strings before he could.

He thinks he's only ever felt sorrow once in his life, and it was what dragged him all the way to Daegu in the first place.

He's not sure that he would classify the way he feels right now as sorrow.

It's too strong of a word to associate with such a silly circumstance.

His heart isn't broken. He wasn't in love with you, for christ's sake. Was just fucking you a little too well. Forgot himself in the moments that he found solace in you; forgot who he was, what he was supposed to do.

This is all on him.

And that's what upsets him so much. He's usually good at this.

If his tryst with Namjoon's little sister had taught him anything, it was that it's easy to not care. It's easy to fuck around with the same person for an extended period of time and not catch feelings. Easy, peasy, lemon squeezy.

Was as easy as learning ABC's - except when it came to you, Jungkook found himself stumbling, mixing all the letters together, getting things all jumbled up. He was putting letters in the wrong order, but kept 'U' and 'I' side by side - 'cause even though he knows it's wrong, he likes the way it looks. Likes them together.

"Slow down, Kook." Jin's voice is stern as it bellows across the hollow room. "You'll tear something."

Beneath his breath, Jungkook mutters. "Good. Hope I fuckin' do."

"Heard that."

"Don't give a fuck."

He continues to spar against himself, the only enemy his own mind. There was no winning in this match, much like there was no winning in the life he'd chosen to live over the past couple of months.

"She's just a girl, Kook. There'll be others."

The statement hangs in the air like a rancid stench; foul and lingering for far too long.

Jungkook stops bouncing. Slumps his shoulders. Lets his gloved hands hang gamely by his hips. His laboured breaths fill the silence, but he wishes they wouldn't. Thinks it would preferable if he wasn't breathing altogether.

"I know that," he eventually says, rolling his head to his left shoulder and then his right. He bounces again. Taps his glove against the punching bag once, twice, then hits it with far more aggression than is really necessary. "Don't give a fuck about that. Don't give a fuck about her."

Jin wishes he wouldn't lie. There's no need to. The way Jungkook feels about you is stained into his fucking hair. It's not like it's black, or blue, or anything that could be explained away: it's fucking red.

Red like the blood that keeps him alive, and red like the heart that pumps a little faster whenever you're close by.

Red like the stop signs he charges through whenever he's in a rush to get to you, and red like the car you love to hate.

Red like your cheeks when you've had too much to drink, and red like the wires he'd cut on the night he raided the gas station, to stop the silent alarm from tripping.

Red like the sauce of the dakgalbi he'd shared with you on the first night you'd slept together, and red like his ears when his brother had asked if he was seeing someone new during the trip to Busan.

"You seem... I don't know.  You seem a lot like the Jungkook we used to know. Jungkook before everything happened. It's nice. That's all."

He's covered in red, head to toe and - because he doesn't like to ever blame himself - it's all because of you.

It's funny, 'cause reds always been your least favourite colour.

You like green best. Wear black like it's a religion. Always thought that if Jungkook was a colour, he'd be dark brown.

The colour of his eyes, americanos on ice - whisky, too. The indulgence of a chocolate cake, the stability of a thick bonsai trunk. The fur of the dog you'd petted together on Dadaepo beach, and the box of dye you're eyeing up in an Olive Young on an island you didn't know.

And more importantly, an island that doesn't know you.

You put the box back in place, and reach for black instead. The last thing you need is to be reminded of him every single time you look in the mirror.

He doesn't know this, though.

Whenever he thinks of you in the months that follows your departure from Daegu - which is pretty fucking often - he remembers it as it was.

He has intrusive thoughts of your hair, how pretty and red it was, and how he'd never had the chance to live out that little fantasy with you; the one where you'd walk down the street, hand in hand, and people would know.

"Cute."

"Their hair! They must be so in love."

"I wish my boyfriend would do stuff like that with me."

And, in Jungkook's delusions, you'd laugh about it, for you still wouldn't actually be a couple. You'd revel in the fact other people assumed you were, though. There'd be no reason for your lack of commitment; just the excitement of the unknown. The thrill of the chase.

One day though, inevitably, he thought commitment would come.

It'd be in your shared loft apartment, a dog sleeping at the foot of your bed, your initial tattooed on his ring finger after a bet gone wrong. He still wouldn't have asked you to be his girlfriend, but he'd press a kiss against your hair and say 'we should get married.'

You'd be in a courthouse by the end of the week, him in a blazer that didn't really fit him anymore, you in a dress picked up from a vintage store downtown. You'd look beautiful in white, he's sure, but when he pictures it, you're in champagne. Rings are foregone - he imagines there'd be a wait on your smoky quartz stone, due to the short notice of your nuptials - but Hairbo rings would be used in their place.

They'd be worn for the entire drive back to the hotel - the one in Busan where he'd decided that you were 'it' for him - and then he'd eat them off as some haphazard form of foreplay.

Not that he's given it much thought.

Barely even gave thoughts of you the time of day after you left.

He doesn't notice when two days ticks into two weeks.

Doesn't think much of it when two weeks becomes two months.

He'll admit that he thinks about you briefly when your father wins the election.

It's only 'cause Kang makes a big fucking fuss about how it's all Jungkook's fault, and that if he'd have 'just done that one fucking job', then maybe Kang would have won it.

In fact, he's sure he would have won it.

He tells Jungkook that next the time he wants to fuck around with a target - 'cause everyone knows, by that point, what Jungkook had gotten up to in the dark with you (thanks a fuckin' lot, Namjoon) - then he could consider himself a target, too.

He's lucky Kang likes him. Or not so much likes him, but recognises his potential.

Has him in the ring most Thursday nights, fighting scrawny fuckers from the neighbouring clubs, fat cats placing bets on them for sport. He's become quite the fighter. Doesn't see fuck all of the bets placed on him. Gets a 5% cut if he's lucky.

But it's that or face the wrath of Kang, and he knows which he'd rather.

Plus he kind of enjoys it. Likes to fight without consequence. Hasn't been fucking without consequence as of late, so it's a good way to rid himself of his frustrations.

Jimin tries to get him back out there, but every club night turns into Jungkook getting off his tits on god knows what was sold to him in the bathroom. Normally coke. He thinks it's pretty harmless. Just a little buzz. Something to get his heart beating in the same way that you used to.

Because Jin was right. You're just a girl. There'll be others. But while there isn't, he'll get his fix in other ways.

"Slow down," his friends would tell him on the nights he got coked up a little too fast, the house key around his neck dusted in white powder.

"Slow down," his friends would tell him when he was training too hard with fractured knuckles.

"Slow down," Jin would tell Jungkook when he's in the passenger seat, but Jungkook doesn't listen, too busy running reds.

Everyone wants him to slow down, but he doesn't understand it.

Slow down? Spend more time withering away? Spend more time thinking about you?

Slow down? Take longer to get over the fact that he's never gonna get the chance to apologise, never gonna get closure?

Why would the people who care about Jungkook wish that upon him?

And so he speeds up. The coke becomes a cocktail of whatever gets him fucked up fastest. He spends every spare moment training. Jin stops hitching rides from him, 'cause he fears Jungkook is becoming too reckless.

They're all concerned.

It's been months, now.

His hair has grown out and is back to its natural shade. He's filling in his tattoos, numbing his skin, covering the art he once loved. Gets a DUI, and only gets off because the superintendent is a spectator of Jungkook's fights; just another one of Kang's Pawns.

See, Jungkook's fights aren't exactly legal. The money made from them definitely isn't legal.

It's then that he realises he's a part of it now; part of the corruption. The same system that killed his mother, the same evil that he'd wanted to destroy from the inside out.

He thinks about Harvey Dent, and the way you could quote the Dark Knight word for word if you really wanted to. It was something he'd learnt about you by accident.

The film had been playing on his television- the Netflix accompaniment to your 'chill' - and you'd stopped midway through a fucking blowjob to do a god awful impression.

'You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.'

At the time, he'd laughed; pulled you in for a dozen kisses and told you never to do the Harvey Dent voice while holding his cock again. That, and also that from now on, movies were strictly off the table whenever the pair of you hung out - only for him to snuggle up with you the next night, watching the Dark Knight Rises because you'd been too sleepy after work to do anything but nap.

The quote haunts him now.

He knows he's lived too long.

It's a Sunday - three months after you'd left - when he finds himself thinking about you again. Your father is launching a new campaign. Some bullshit about healthy family activities. Is opening more parks. A grand opening is being televised.

He doesn't watch it, 'cause why the fuck would he? Avoids that fucker like the plague. Has no idea how your father helped create someone so fucking perfect.

Then again, he supposed it does make sense. Your dad had ruined his life, and you'd ruined his ability to live one without you. Maybe the apple didn't fall too far from the tree.

Jimin is the first to enter the club that night. Keeps a safe distance from Jungkook. Doesn't think he's coked up, but hasn't been happy with him as of late. Is withholding his friendship until the stupid kid gets a fucking grip.

Tonight is different, though.

"Hey," he hums, slinking down into the sofa beside Jungkook. "How you doing, man?"

Jungkook shrugs. "Same old, same old. You?"

His question is met with a near identical answer. Jimin glances towards Jungkook as he sniffs, rubbing the tip of his nose.

"Clean," Jungkook tells him. It's been about a week since he last did gear. Didn't like the way it was fucking with his head. Was trying to cut back. "Just habit."

It's an answer Jimin accepts but doesn't necessarily believe.

Not after the broadcast today.

"You watch it?" He asks, nervous of Jungkook's reaction. The TV is playing on mute in the corner, and Jimin can't take his eyes off it.

"Nope."

Jungkook doesn't even need to ask what he's on about, for he knows. Of course he knows - just like Jimin should know that there'd be no way in hell he'd have been watching. His answer is met with a nod. Jimin nibbles on his bottom lip. Can't look at his friend.

"Kook, there's somethin-"

The sound of the side door opening interrupts Jimin, screeching against the floor because none of them had fixed the hinges yet. It's Namjoon, out of breath and a little flustered. Jin follows in behind him, completely stoic.

"Did he see? Did he fucking see?" He's looking at Jimin, but he's asking about Jungkook.

"See what?" Jungkook asks right back, not enjoying the wild beast look in Namjoon's eyes.

"Oh, Jesus."

"Joon," Jimin warns him, knowing that this was not the kind of thing Jungkook needed to hear so abruptly. It needed Jin's touch. Someone calm, someone able to manage a situation without freaking the fuck out like Namjoon was.

"You know and you haven't told him?!"

"Told me what?" Jungkook asks, knowing that whatever it is can't be good. News delivered like this could never be good.

Jimin glances over to Jin for a little guidance, who simply nods towards the TV in return. "Unmute it."

Jungkook's eyes fall on the screen, where a news reporter is talking about the new campaign with such little enthusiasm it's a wonder it ever got aired.

"Don't wanna see it," Jungkook says, despite the fact his heart is fucking racing. Forget the molly, forget the coke, forget the adrenaline that comes in the form of victories in a boxing ring - the anticipation of you outranks all of those. Has his heart resting in his throat. Threatens to choke him. "If she's there, I don't wanna know."

Oh, but it's a lie. Such a big fat glorious lie. His eyes have never been wider, the flickering screen reflecting in them as he watches some journalist try and set the scene. He doesn't recognise the place. Somewhere downtown according to the location stamp, but he can't place it. Can't get in his car and drive there just in case the campaign is still running.

In the top corner, the time reads 2:43PM. It's now gone 9. This was filmed hours and hours ago. Whatever his friends need him to see is long gone.

The camera cuts to your father. Jungkook's blood seems to rise in temperature. There's a ringing in his ears. Your father is spewing some bullshit about the importance of an active family.

Jungkook thinks that must be nice; having a family you can be active with. Shame the prick on the television screen had torn his family apart.

And then he's talking about his own family. His daughters. Plural. About how lucky he is to have them both. How grateful is he to have parented such intelligent, beautiful young women.

The camera pans.

He sees your sister. It's to be expected. She's always there.

But then the camera pans again.

And it's you.

It's fucking you.

3 months gone and then you're back, back in Daegu, back by your fucking father's side - and Jungkook is seeing red again.

Or he's just seeing you. Either or.

He'd somehow forgotten the effect you have on him.

Jungkook stands. Walks away. Paces a little. Takes deep breaths.

And then he crouches. Rests his head in his hands, wants to scream but is entirely silent.

Joon is the first to speak. "Thought you said she didn't agree with her Daddy's politics?"

Jungkook muffles a response. "She told me she didn't."

"Well, she was fuckin' lying."

He didn't think you were. You'd been riding his cock down a Daegu back alley at the time. Would have been pretty hard to lie, he thinks. Too much else going on. He doesn't tell Namjoon this, though. Doesn't want to speak about fucking you. Doesn't want to think about it either, but the mind is a cruel mistress.

"Does it really matter?" Jimin interrupts, knowing how the pair of them like to gun for one another in moments of heightened tension. Now was no time to be fighting. Not when Jungkook would already be fighting against the demons he's been running from ever since you left. "She's back, and she's untouchable."

It's smart. Oh, it's so fucking smart. Jungkook begins to laugh at how much of a clever little fucker you are.

"That's exactly why she's done it," he says. He'd be proud of you, if the circumstances were different, he thinks. "We can't fucking touch her. None of us. Not even me. Especially not me, actually. She isn't letting herself be vulnerable to us. She's protected by a public persona she didn't have before. Smart bitch." He pauses. Lets himself laugh. "Smart fuckin' bitch."

There's a smile as he says it. A little bit of awe, too. Far more sadness, though.

"Smart fuckin' boy."

The voice that echoes into the room has Jungkook frozen. He doesn't react. Thinks it's in his head. Thinks he really has been taking too much gear lately.

But then hears it again, and fucking hell, it hurts.

"What a pair we could have made."

And then there's the click of heels across the concrete floor. Jungkook can't bring himself to look in the direction of the noise - not that he really has a choice as you walk straight past his pathetically crouched body.

He's not the man he once was, you think. Shame.

His eyes are level with your hand, though, where a ring glistens underneath the cold lights of the club as you walk on by.

It's on the same finger he's been keeping spare in his imagination for months. The one reserved for Haribo rings.

You take a seat. Cross your legs. Smile at the dumbstruck faces of the stupid mother fuckers in front of you.

You had expected this reaction from one of them, but it's kind of satisfying to have them all choked out.

"Sorry I'm late, boys," you smile, all pristine and pure. None of them really understand what the fuck is happening. "I hear you were looking for me? Well, consider me found. Let's get down to business, shall we?"

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

[jiminsass-istant]

TW: jicooking (fanfic)

Context: The jikook show is going to ruin me for any other show ever. I just know it. Imagine AYS is over and you go over to netflix and it's all meh, no jimin, no jk, no giggles. Then you go over to appletv, same. Then you go to hulu, same shxt. Nothing will ever come close. I'm already sick and wrecked and ruined.

____________________________________________________________

It's the year 2045. I'm on my 118th watch of AYS. I have already watched it at 0.25x, 0.5x, 0.75x , rewinded, with zero volume, on Dolby speakers, streamed it in my present car and old car, in my tablet, office PC and smart TV.

I count the hairs on JK's arm, I can still count all 5813 of them. I have taken 648934984 screenshots of Jimin's bare legs. I take 1 more, just in case. I pause every time they "i am you, you are me". I wipe the single tear off my eye and continue. But this time, I notice something I have never noticed before. The whole tumblr community has churned and squeezed the 8 episodes and 3 behind the scenes every day, annually, monthly and biweekly, every tkker has been trolled, every anti has either moved on or is in an institution. But this.. this is new. I see it in the 7th episode. Did I tell you I'm on my 118th watch? I see the toothbrushes have been exchanged. What? They have exchanged toothbrushes. They don't care. They are gross. They are in love. Their dentist hates them. Wait. I gotta tell somebody...Does the jikook tag still exist on tumblr? Does tumblr still exist? Nevermind. I go to Xpro (twitter pro). I finally bought the premium. So now, it allows me to like stuff while keeping them private. Even I can't see my likes. But I do get a personal message from Elon's AI persona every month which is a review of my liked posts and how I can upgrade my Xpro xperience. The real Elon is de@d. He was ki!!ed by an Xpro bluetick bot account.

I need to let somebody know. I need to share my discovery with old buddies. Suddenly, I see a "JIKOOK LIVE TOGETHER" trending with 1566 posts. Pretty low, but it's there. A single person has hijacked the tag to mention S.Korea's govt. I come across a blurry video. A face with half moon eyes, biggest smile, waving from a big goth mansion's balcony. He is looking at the camera, he doesn't care. They are gross. A taller man appears behind him. He starts feeding him what looks like a large pancake. They are gross. Suddenly, I don't care anymore.

I don't care about the toothbrushes they shared 23 years ago.

I log off the internet to get a smoke. They are gross. I don't care about anything anymore. I'm sure of that. I'm sure now.

[bestaez]

Strangers (Birthday Drabble)

Series Masterlist

pairing: ot7 x reader

genre: yandere, horror/thriller

word count: 3k

warnings: unreliable narrator, depressive thoughts, mature themes, obsessive/possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, stalking, non-consensual touching.

summary: It’s been a few months since that fateful night where everything changed. You have been doing your best to heal and get acclimated to your new life at Eden Residence but when a surprise date arrives, you find yourself reevaluating your situation. Moving to the big city certainly wasn’t what you had pictured it to be.

The days you spent at Eden Residence had all blurred together and you weren’t even sure how much time had passed. You knew it had probably been months at this point, but after enough time went by you didn’t care to keep track. The calendar the boys had hung up on the wall had been stuck on September since you moved into your new room.

After that fateful night, the boys had moved you down to the basement. Their reasoning was it was big and safe enough while you were recovering from your injury but you knew they just preferred it because of its advanced door locks. Plus, you didn’t think you’d be able to make it up the stairs that led to the exit of the building. It was the perfect spot to hide you in.

Maybe it was just your trauma response to it all but you had to admit - this room was an upgrade from your last. You were honestly surprised it was part of the same building, they had clearly spent a lot of time renovating it. It had much more space and the boys had decorated as best they could to keep you comfortable. There was a decent-sized bed as well as a couch, table, and TV. The connected bathroom was tiny but it had its own shower which was all you cared about. You were even impressed to see a small kitchenette off to the side equipped with a sink, minifridge and microwave. You didn’t have to use it too often, as most of the time food would be brought down to you or on occasion they would bring you upstairs to eat with the whole group in the kitchen.

“YN~,” A voice sang, breaking you away from your thoughts as the door opened. You were still in bed, not caring to get up just yet. Namjoon, Jungkook, and Jimin all filed into the room as if they owned the place - which technically, they did. “Are you awake, sleeping beauty?”

Your silence and blank stare was all that met them, causing a few chuckles as they were quite used to your negative attitude especially in the mornings. Today, however, they seemed more adamant about getting your attention. Jungkook jumped onto the bed next to you, causing the mattress to bounce under you as you grunted in discomfort. For the most part, they seemed to respect your personal space but there were a few that still fought for your affection.

“Do you know what today is?” Namjoon asked, distracting you from the younger male who was currently throwing his arms around your figure from over the covers and snuggling close. You eyed the taller male from where he stood by the small table helping Jimin unload a bag of breakfast items.

“Should I?”

“Yes!” Jungkook laughed into your neck, causing the surrounding skin to heat and your heart to pick up a bit. You had, for the most part, gotten used to all the forced proximity but you couldn’t help your body’s natural reactions sometimes. 

You glanced at Jungkook then back at the other two who were watching you with small smiles before giving them a shrug, not particularly feeling up for a guessing game.

“It’s your birthday!”

You blinked slowly, your mind taking a minute to process that revelation. It felt like a weird dream. How could it be your birthday already?

Before moving here, you had pictured what your first birthday would be like. Back then you were sure you would make lots of friends and that you would be thriving in your adult life in the city. Maybe Jihoon would have taken you out to a fancy restaurant or drinks with friends. Maybe you and Nayeon could have taken a relaxing beach trip. Was it silly that you still kind of wanted that?

Of course, you had never told the boys when your birthday was - or at least, you didn’t recall doing so. But you wouldn’t put it past them to figure that kind of information out. They probably saw it on your ID card or something, which you hadn’t seen since you had been moved to your new room. All of your personal items including your cell phone and laptop had been kept from you and you didn’t know if you would ever get them back. You wondered if your mother had called and you were scared to ask. For all you knew, you were dead to the world.

Jungkook quickly pulled you up and out of bed, walking you towards the en suite bathroom to get ready. Your ankle was still healing from the incident, which explained the small cast you had now adorned. In the beginning, the healing process had been rough. Your brain needed time to process everything that had occurred, so most of that period had been spent in-and-out of consciousness. The boys did their best to aid you through it, from what you could remember anyway - and the irony of the situation wasn’t lost on you at all. They were the ones who put you in this situation and there they were nursing you back to health.

Once you were finally more cognizant and ready to move again, they had awarded you with a pair of crutches to help with walking. A move that they soon after regretted once you started using the metal contraptions on them to keep them out of your personal space. You can still picture the shocked look on Hoseok’s face after he went to give you a hug and you whacked him in the arm with one of the poles. Your beloved crutches were soon confiscated and never returned, which honestly sucked but you still thought it was worth it. And now you didn’t even need them as you could put more pressure on that foot - while still treading lightly.

In your shocked state, you numbly went through the motions of waking up for the day. When you were more alert and refreshed-feeling, you came back out to see the table had been set with lots of tasty looking dishes. Your stomach suddenly felt so empty at the sight of it all and you cursed it for betraying you. It had been a battle getting yourself to eat in the first few weeks here, as you didn’t want to accept any food they had given you in a way of defiance. They had threatened force-feeding a few times but thankfully it didn’t get that far. Eventually, you decided it would be better to just keep your strength rather than to wither away.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Namjoon smiled, holding a hand out for you as he was the closest one to you. You ignored it and took a few steps forward, eyes trained on the table. He took it in stride and hovered next to you, smiling at you brightly as his hand shifted to rest on your lower back.

Once you were all seated, the boys took their time loading up your plate with different pastries and breakfast bites. You recognized the packaging from a cafe near your old job that you had stopped at a few times in your first few weeks here. Holding back an eye roll at the reminder that they were following you back then, you reached for a cheese danish and dug in.

The day had been filled with all your favorite activities. Well, their favorite activities to do with you. After breakfast, Jungkook brought you up to his room to play video games. Despite your lack of experience, you had to admit you were doing a little better at gaming. But you still weren’t on Jungkook’s level and that was clear in the way he seemed to go a little easy on you. Soon enough, Seokjin joined in and took the controller from you - claiming that he would help you beat Jungkook. 

Eventually, Jimin came to the rescue and invited you to come do some painting in his room. It was a random and somewhat strange activity to do with him but you found it almost relaxing. He didn’t bother you too much with conversation, instead playing some calming music as you both worked on different canvases.

But, of course, your peaceful bubble had to burst when Taehyung barged in and insisted that it was his turn. His idea of fun was to watch a movie with you back in your room as you had the most comfortable bed and a big TV. You couldn’t argue with him and figured you could probably sneak a nap in there. Yoongi was already in the room when you both arrived, plating some snacks to share. You nibbled while Taehyung searched for a movie to watch, insisting on a rom-com despite your and Yoongi’s protests.

Dozing off at some point in the movie, you awoke to the feeling of someone shaking you awake. Your eyes peeled open to see Hoseok grinning at you.

“Hey, Birthday Girl,” He crooned, smoothing your mussed-up hair back from your face.

“What time is it?” You groaned, pulling away and stretching your muscles with a pop. Taehyung and Yoongi were nowhere to be found, and you wondered at what point they had left. 

“Almost dinner time,” he answered, watching you with an adoring look in his eyes. “Wanna come help?”

Knowing it was more of a rhetorical question, you nodded and sat up. He held a hand out for you to take and led you up the stairs. But, instead of taking you to the kitchen like you had assumed, he continued in the direction of upstairs. Your heart stuttered at the thought of going back up there. You hadn’t been there since...

“What’s wrong?” Hoseok asked when he felt the pull from your sudden stop, his eyebrows furrowing as he took in your fearful expression.

“I- I thought, the kitchen… um-“ You swallowed nervously, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“Don’t you want to go upstairs?” He argued, the confusion on his face unwavering. You shook your head quickly, a shaky glance at the ominous dark hallway before you. Hoseok noticed this, taking in your glassy eyes before it suddenly dawned on him.

“Oh. You’re scared?” You met his eyes again, feeling unsure if you should confirm his thoughts in fear he might react harshly. “It’s okay. We won’t go in there again, I promise.”

You must not have looked convinced, because he swallowed and looked around for a bit before continuing, “It was supposed to be a surprise but I’ll just tell you. We’re having your birthday dinner on the rooftop!”

You raised your eyebrows at this, definitely not expecting that. You hadn’t been up on the roof since before everything hit the fan. To be honest, you hadn’t even thought about it in a while but you had to say you were surprised they were allowing you to go up there. It’s not like you could run away from there but there was still the risk of you being outside. Who knows what you would encounter?

“You’ll have to act like you didn’t see any of this coming.” Hoseok warns, pulling you in close again as he resumes his ascent up the stairs. Just as you’re facing the door that leads to the rooftop, he turns back and levels you with a look. “Behave.”

Before you could respond, he’s yanking the door open and pulling you out with him. What you see shocks you even more. The rooftop is decked out with beautiful decorations - purple metallic tablecloth with matching streamers and balloons. There’s little fairy lights strewn on the walls and a make-shift sign that says, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, YN!”

Your eyes flutter quickly as you take it all in, whisking away the stray tears that snuck out against your wishes. You didn’t mean to get emotional but you just couldn’t believe the lengths they had gone to make your day special. It wasn’t a good birthday by any means - you were being held captive here for goodness’s sake. But something about the way they took care of you, way more than the two people you were closest to had in the past few months had. It was hitting you hard that the only people that would do this for you were a bunch of love-crazed psychopaths.

Namjoon met you by the door and guided you over to the table, seating you where the younger boys were just finishing setting up. Jimin ruffled your hair as you sat down and Jungkook snuck a hug in from behind. You barely even reacted, too busy taking it all in and used to their antics by now.

The dinner was delicious as usual, with plenty of all your favorite meats and side dishes. You would never admit it out loud, but your roommates were great cooks. Well, most of them anyway. Namjoon seemed to be banned from the kitchen while Taehyung and Jungkook tried their absolute best to not be burdened with the task of cooking. 

After the meal, the dishes were cleared away to make room for presents. You couldn’t hold in your surprise at seeing the wide array of boxes and bags, not expecting to see such a display. Judging by their excited faces, they clearly had been looking forward to spoiling you. You didn’t really know how to feel, never really being a fan of receiving gifts anyway. And now they were coming from your former-roommates-turned-captors? It was definitely an uncomfortable position.

The first bag was from Seokjin filled with clothes and you were impressed to find they actually fit your style, a mix of comfort and casual chic. The next few were a number of books from Namjoon, who was clearly trying to contain his excitement over sharing them with you. Jimin gave you some adult coloring books with an assortment of fancy-looking color pencils. Jungkook’s video game gift was actually quite useful as its main theme was fitness which he claimed would help give you a little physical therapy. Taehyung’s bag was a mix of all your favorite snacks and sweets. Hoseok gave you an ipod, which he had already loaded a vast library onto as well as a few of his own songs. You couldn’t help but feel a little touched by Yoongi’s gift, a leather-bound journal and set of pens. 

The next box you found no one claimed, which only raised your suspicions as they all looked on curiously. Opening the lid slowly, you blinked in shock upon seeing the expensive-looking lace purple material laying on tissue paper. You immediately closed the box with a gasp, not allowing any of the boys to see its contents beforehand in hopes of preventing any further embarrassment. But, of course, they wouldn’t let it go - not if your dramatic reaction and red face said anything.

The box was quickly grasped by some of the older boys, whose confused frowns quickly morphed into a mix of understanding, amusement, and irritation. Yoongi shared a knowing look with Jimin that made the younger start to snicker, before quickly being silenced by Namjoon’s glare.

“One more gift! This one’s my favorite,” Taehyung exclaimed excitedly, bouncing slightly as he watched Jungkook pull out a small white box and place it in front of you. This one looked normal enough like perhaps jewelry or something. Holding in your sigh, you quickly opened it to see a shimmering gold bracelet laying there neatly. Your mouth parted and closed a few times, feeling struck dumb by what you saw.

This was Nayeon’s bracelet.

“Here, let me help you.” Yoongi offered when you had stared at it in silence for too long, plucking it out of the box and pulling your hand closer to give him better access.

A shiver ran down your back as he clasped the gold bracelet around your wrist, the cold metal giving your skin a shock. You could only gaze at it solemnly, finding it strange to see it on your arm instead of Nayeon’s. This was one of her favorite pieces - she had worn it as long as you had known her.

“It looks much prettier on you, darling.” Your eyes flicked up to meet Namjoon’s, his plump lips stretching into a smile that made your heart pound louder in your chest.

You didn’t know how to respond, lips pressed shut as your gaze fell back on the affronting jewelry. You almost thought you could get away with your silence until a finger tilted your head back up, thumb pressing into your chin forcefully.

“What do you say?” The dark look in Hoseok’s eyes was enough to make you shiver again, not liking the emptiness you saw in them.

“Thank you.” Your voice was wobbly but you hoped it would be enough to appease him and judging by the way their faces lit up, you believed it did. 

You weren’t expecting them to suddenly bombard you with affection, kisses pressed to your cheeks and forehead as well as one to your lips that Taehyung snuck in. You blinked in surprise, feeling your cheeks heat up as Seokjin smacked the younger male’s head for being sneaky.

This whole day had been a whirlwind. You still couldn’t believe you were spending your birthday like this. And now looking down at your new gift, you felt such a heaviness in your heart. Before you could stop it, your eyes were welling up with emotions you couldn’t quite process. You tried to blink them away but it seems they didn’t go unnoticed.

“Oh, sweetheart. I know.” Seokjin pulled you in for a hug, his strong arm rubbing your back soothingly as if he wasn’t one of the causes for your pain.

“We love you, YN. Happy Birthday.”

A/N: hello!!!! i know it’s been a little while but i wanted to give you guys a little surprise drabble

also shoutout to the readers who helped give me inspo for this drabble! you all sent me such great ideas and i hope it came out how you pictured :)

taglist: @min-mingii @micheleinumaki @potaetopic @namjinieesope @mageprincess7​ @minshookie29 @outro-kook @nikipedia07 @axniyx @kittykatfey @peaceout97 @kurodach @bex-tk1 @sa7kou @purpuravm @doublebunv @amylouisecullen @rossemayme @unsureofwhathappens @sleepy-time-dreamy @anushaackerman @shyloh-the-cornsnake  @toughbook @urbanbts @carpioassists @millenniumspec @maliyachan @lovely247 @croctears @uarmyhore @shadoweepingscream @inlovewithallmusic​ @jcrml @xmochiloverx​ @whipwhoops

[cubemanmileys]

I upgraded like crazy jimin you are welcome

[colormepurplex2]

Flowers of Fate | Honey Bells & Rosemary

↳ UnseeliePrince!Yoongi x Human!f.Reader (ft. x UnseelieGuard!Jungkook x SeeliePrince!Jimin x WoodNymph!Namjoon) ⤜ Strangers to Bonded Mates ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 9,928 ⚠️ Adult humor, crass language, talk of adult activities, drinking, mild angst/talk of the loss of a loved one, kidnapping Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to series masterlist

Flying is weird. The sudden up and down, the pressure, and the constant hum of the big engines all put you a little on edge. Long flights are even worse. You’re pretty sure that’s where the adage about cabin fever came from, not middle-of-nowhere isolation, but being stuck in the cabin of an airplane for an extended period of time 40,000ft up somewhere over a vast ocean. It elicits a physical response in you that nearly has you itching to get rid of the tingle beneath your skin. Luckily, Monica made you upgrade to first-class seats, and the flight attendant has kept your wine glass never less than half-full.

Monica stretches beside you, her spiky black hair rumpled from sleep. “How much longer?” she mumbles, squinting in your direction.

You click the flight logs on the screen before you—less than an hour remains. The overhead speaker announces the approach as if the captain is privy to Mo’s inquiry. The voice drones on, rattling off local weather conditions and instructions to return seats and serving trays to their original positions. You don’t have to do much, not having done anything other than listen to music and sip wine the entire flight.

“That answer your question?” you ask, flicking your eyes to her before focusing back on the little plane slowly moving across the screen toward Edinburgh. The last time you visited Scotland, you flew into Glasgow, but all airports seem to be the same to you either way.

A soft grunt comes from her before she straightens up the things around her seat. The complimentary pillow, slippers, and blanket are quickly tucked away into her backpack. “I’ll be keeping these,” she sing-songs softly to herself.

Monica has been your best friend since you were a pre-teen. She’s eccentric, loud, and a bit more chaotic than you can stomach at times, but she’s also consistent in her love and support of you, which is more than you can say for anyone else in your life right now. She’s the only one to consider entertaining your last-minute wish to fly to Scotland in search of…something.

You’re not even sure what, really. You just know you’re looking for a way to feel closer to your late grandpa. It’s almost one year since his passing, and he was the foundation of everything that brought you joy in life. You grew up on his stories, his deep baritone reciting old Scottish ballads and fairytales alike. He encouraged your imagination and filled your head with all sorts of fanciful and magical things.

When you tried to explain it to Monica, she simply smiled, shrugged, and asked when you wanted to leave. That was a week ago. If someone had told you a year ago you’d be flying to Scotland on a whim for no real apparent reason other than a gut feeling, you’d probably have laughed. But, no one’s laughing now, especially not you, as the plane begins its descent and you catch your first glimpse of the rolling greenery out the window.

“The rental car should be ready,” you tell Monica after making it through customs. “We stay the night here in Edinburgh and then travel down to Selkirk tomorrow.”

“You’re talking to me as if you haven’t already gone over this a dozen times already,” Monica sighs, hitching her backpack higher onto her shoulder. “Honestly, babe, take a breath and relax, please. You’re going to give me premature grey hair before this trip is over.”

You can’t help but smile and suppress a chuckle at that. She’s always on your case about being such a ‘by the book’-er as she calls it. You can’t help that it gives you anxiety when things don’t go according to plan or if there’s no plan to begin with. The fact this trip was so last minute doesn’t help the nervous feeling in your belly one bit.

“You’re right. Sorry, I just don’t want anything to go wrong while we’re here.” One of your shoulders lifts in a half-shrug because it’s the best excuse you can come up with, and it definitely has plenty of merit to it, you think.

Monica claps a hand on your shoulder and knocks her head affectionately against yours. Her long dangling earrings tickle against your cheek as she jiggles you lightly. “What could go wrong?”

The smile you plaster on seems to do the trick, and she releases you and skips ahead toward the rental counter. What could go wrong? Plenty. Plenty, but you’re determined to do as Mo suggested and try to relax a little. If your grandpa knew you were worrying so much, he’d laugh and tell you to take a whiff of whiskey and ‘keep yer heid’. That thought does bring a genuine smile to your face.

The key for the rental is already nestled in Monica’s hand by the time you make it to the rental desk. “You want to drive?” you ask, raising a skeptical eyebrow. Monica is many things, but a confident driver isn’t one of them.

She snorts prettily—or as prettily as someone can snort. Monica really is a precious gem, regardless of what she does. Her pixie-cut black hair compliments the dark emerald color of her eyes, framed with equally dark lashes. She’s petite but makes up for her more diminutive stature with a fiery attitude. “Hell no. I was just holding them for you. Here.” She grabs your hand and presses the key into it. “If you get me to the hotel soon, I’ll even give you a nice tip, chauffeur.”

You laugh, shaking your head at her antics. She always was good at making you feel lighter. “Yes, ma’am,” you respond in your best impression of a humbled servant, bowing slightly at the waist and gesturing wide with your free hand.

“Come then, darling, get a move on.” She claps her hands together and prances off toward the exit and the car corral for the rental office.

Spring is in full force, filling the air with a pleasant bouquet of earthy fragrances. It’s warm enough to be comfortable outside with just a light jacket during the day, making packing easy for you, at least. Monica was hoping for sweltering weather fit for a bikini, but she begrudgingly packed jeans and thin, long sleeves instead.

The drive to the hotel isn’t long. It’s just enough time to enjoy the cozy qualities of Edinburgh proper. It’s a bustling city sprawl with an old-world feel you’d never find somewhere like Los Angeles or Chicago. The architecture is breathtaking like you’ve somehow traveled back in time while keeping all the modern amenities of the 21st century. The streets are awash in a fresh sheen of rainwater, the sky overhead darkening with the promise to deposit more soon. For now, though, there is only a slight haze of mist clinging to the horizon.

Parking in a small lot, you follow Monica out of the car but pause and take a moment to admire the beautiful garden lining the front and the side of the hotel. Bright tulips and daffodils sprout in contrast to the brilliant greens and browns of the shrubbery and ivy climbing the side of the building.

The thick, wooden doors of the entrance are studded and banded with iron straps and clavos. Monica shoulders open one of the large doors, and the hinges creak slightly with age. A smiling young man with unruly blond hair and blue eyes behind a set of thin-framed glasses greets you both as you walk in.

The check-in process is easy, with no hassle. “Thank you,” you say to the front desk clerk when he hands you two keys to your shared room.

The room has a beautiful view of a back garden with flowering cherry blossom trees. The pink blooms look fuschia-colored in the waning daylight as the sun begins to sink below the horizon.

“It’s beautiful,” Monica comments from beside you. Her warm breath fogs over the window, and she laughs, tracing a heart with yours and her initials in it. She snaps a quick picture to upload later before playfully musing, “Maybe by the end of this trip, I can replace your initials with those of a kilt-clad hunk, huh?”

You roll your eyes, shoving her shoulder playfully. “And leave the poor guy here with his heart in a million pieces? Typical Monica Jeffers, heartbreaker extraordinaire.”

She dramatically clutches at her chest. “You wound me. I only break the hearts of weak men. It’s not my fault if they can’t handle me. If they break that easily, then they obviously weren’t worth it to begin with and I’m better off.”

“Need I remind you of Melvin?” you ask. She grimaces. “Kit?” Another sour face. “Patricia?”

“Okay, okay!” She throws up a hand, stopping you from going further. “To be fair, Patricia was a bitch, and she’s the one that broke my heart.”

“Only after she found out you were sleeping with her twin brother,” you mutter under your breath.

“We weren’t exclusive!” Monica squawks, waving a finger in the air. “She very specifically told me it was okay to see other people. Granted, she might have mentioned that her brother was off-limits, but I’m still a bit hazy on that detail and not sure she actually ever said that. But, I digress. You’ve seen Patrick; I would have been a complete idiot not to accept his advances.” She sighs dreamily. “He was so pretty. Even prettier than Patricia, but don’t tell her I said that.” She gives you a pointed look.

“Mo, you know she blocked me right after she blocked you. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

Monica pouts. “I know. Fuck. I really did mess that one up, didn’t I? You think she’ll ever unblock me—want to talk to me again one day?”

You should have known bringing up Patricia might put Monica in a bit of a mood. “Maybe,” you offer, not sure what else to say on the matter. The fallout between Monica and Patricia wasn’t pretty. It’s also reasonably fresh, just a few weeks old at this point. It was one of the factors Monica had listed out on her pros list when you had asked her why she said yes to coming with you—time away from Patricia, so she can hopefully simmer down.

“Oh well, I’m here now, ready to find me a nice burly, bearded man or a— what do they call them? Oh, right, a bonnie lass.” She waggles her eyebrows at you and shimmies her shoulders.

“You’re impossible,” you laugh, thankful the mood is becoming lighter. “Come on. We should get changed and head down for dinner. There is a meal included in our voucher for tonight and breakfast in the morning before we head out.”

The rest of the afternoon and evening flow by in a smooth current of delicious food and Monica’s ever-incessant prowling for eye candy and selfies. You laugh more than you have in a long time. It feels good. By the time you’re rolling out of bed the following day, you’re in a fantastic mood.

“Stop humming,” Monica grumbles before sipping her coffee. “You’re entirely too cheerful for this early in the morning. I’m pretty sure I have permanent jet lag.”

“It’s because you slept on the plane and didn’t sleep last night,” you comment, suppressing a teasing smile. “That’s rule number one for flip-flopping your schedule when you fly like that. It helps avoid the topsy-turvy, icky feeling.” It’s something your grandpa brought up often when he talked about going back to visit Scotland.

“You can’t expect someone to not sleep on a plane when they fly as far as we have and then turn around and actually sleep the whole night when their body insists it’s daytime. That’s absurd.” Monica pinches the bridge of her nose between two fingers and then scrubs her hand over her eyes. “Just wake me when we get there.” She slumps a little in the seat, pulling her slouchy beanie down over her eyes and wrapping her arms around her middle. A few moments later, you hear the telltale soft huffs of deep, peaceful breathing.

The Scottish countryside passes in a beautiful smear of greens mixed with vibrant pinks and yellows. You follow the road along beside stretching farms and fields of grazing sheep and goats. The drive is quiet, filled with just Monica’s mumbled sleepy sounds and the soft music you have playing through the car's Bluetooth.

Tomorrow is the big Beltane celebration at the Bowhill House outside Selkirk. You can’t help the smile that curls your lips when you think about it. That’s where the fabled plains and forest of Carterhaugh are, the same ones from the ballad of Tamlane your grandpa used to recite—your favorite one.

There is a fluttery feeling that you can feel on a soul-deep level, something that tells you this is precisely where you’re supposed to be. A part of you likes to think it’s your grandpa giving you a slight nudge of reassurance. As much as it hurts for him not to be here, you know he’d want this for you even without him along for the adventure.

Research online shows that the Bowhill estate is nestled along the sprawl of forest, and the plain—now turned fields—sit to the south. The festivities will extend all throughout the estate. Giving you plenty of opportunity to explore both the fields and the forest if you so desire, which you very much do.

In Selkirk, there is a small shop that your grandpa often mentioned when talking about his time in Scotland. You tried to look it up and make sure it was still operational. But the only thing you could find was a blurb about it in a travel blog from almost a decade ago. The shop, An Bhláth, from what you could discern, is a small apothecary-like establishment where you and Monica should be able to get proper adornments for the celebrations. That’s one thing that��s very important about Beltane, making sure you’re appropriately protected or blessed with herbs and charms. Another thing your grandpa spoke at length about.

Beltane celebrates the peak of spring and the coming of summer. It’s a time for beseeching fertility in both human and earthen aspects. People rejoice over growth and progression, prosperity and bounty. It’s also a time when the magical veil between worlds disappears—allowing magick to saturate the earth and fae beings to walk among mortals; or so the stories say.

Most of your grandpa’s stories and ballads revolved around fae folk and the times when the veil would drop to allow them to dance among the circle's stones, cavort with mortals, and indulge in their often trickster ways. Whereas these tales may have started as a means to scare people into avoiding mysterious things, it only fuels your desire to get that much closer to Carterhaugh and its supposed enchanted forest.

As a little girl, nothing interested you more than trying to catch a peek into the mystical world of faeries. You would leave out sprinkles of sugar and pretty sequins in hopes of luring a Sprite or a house Brownie to sit on your windowsill. Despite your need for organization and penchant for logical reasoning, there’s just something about the whimsy of your grandpa’s stories that had always managed to break through your astute exterior and release the fanciful curiosity that’s still inside from when you were a girl.

It’s just over an hour later that you see Selkirk rise up along the horizon. Brick and stone-faced buildings line the streets, and the slow bustle of pedestrian traffic flows on the sidewalks and side streets. Swaths of colorful flowers gather along windows and down grassy furrowways between buildings and roads—streamers of flag pennants in blues, greens, and purples crisscross doorways and arched entryways. The festive Beltane decorations extend everywhere you look.

The Inn you booked is small and quaint, having an authentic old-world feel with its cobbled front and wooden shutters. There is a giant, burnished brass knocker in the shape of a trinity knot in the middle of the door and wide-plated straps banding over the top and bottom of the distressed wood.

“We’re here,” you say to Monica, pulling into one of the small parking places in front of the Inn.

She tugs her cap up and peers out the window, squinting against the bleary light that penetrates the cloud cover in the sky. “Are you sure you didn’t drive us to some sort of Renaissance fair? It’s like something out of a Tolkien book.”

You laugh. “You’ve read Tolkien?”

Monica gives you a mildly withering look, her brows drawing low over her eyes. “Of course I haven’t. But, I’ve heard you talk about it enough that I might as well have read them by proxy.”

“Right.” You shake your head. “Sure. That’s exactly how that works. Come on, let’s get checked in.”

Most of the bags in the trunk are Monica’s. You’re sure she packed half of her closet. Her need to have the perfect outfit ready trumps sensibility sometimes. If there’s nothing else you’ve come to expect from Monica, it’s her posting outfits of the day on her Instagram every morning without fail.

“Do you think they have baggage services? Like a bellboy or something?” she asks, grunting as she lugs her third bag out of the trunk.

“No, but you have me,” you chide before grabbing the handle on one of her larger bags. You shoulder your own backpack and drop the strap of your small duffle over your other shoulder. “You packed enough to clothe the whole city of Selkirk.”

Monica barks a laugh. “You say that until I need to find the right dress to impress the hunky Scot with a quarter-popping ass in that bakery over there.”

You glance over your shoulder at her. She’s stopped mid-tug on her bags, eyes fixed off to the left. You let your eyes follow hers until you see the aforementioned ‘hunky Scot’. There is a small bakery beside the Inn, and a large man with thick arms, a trimmed beard, and a black apron tied around his waist busies himself with cleaning the glass front of the display case that you can barely see around his bulk. You catch his side profile as he moves, the wiry hair of his beard catching the overhead light highlights the gold and red tones that match the wavy ones on his head.

“Five minutes,” you say, turning back toward the Inn.

“Five minutes?” Monica parrots distractedly.

“How long it’ll take you to break his heart.”

Monica sighs behind you because she knows it’s true. “Is that a no?” she asks hesitantly.

You twist the knob on the door to the Inn and push it open. “Of course it’s not a no, Mo. You’re free to do as you please. I want you to enjoy yourself while we’re here. Even if it means breaking a few hearts.”

She gives you a large grin and makes an adorable squeaking sound of happiness. “Perfect! I know just the outfit. Hurry, I don’t want to miss him. I wonder if he owns the shop,” she babbles the entire time you check in at the front desk. The sweet, older lady—Lorna, according to her brass-colored name tag—at the counter smiles politely at Monica and even offers her the gentleman’s name, Malcolm, confirming he owns the bakery, too.

Monica is excitedly beside herself as you make it to your shared room. She immediately begins to rifle through her bags to collect the pieces for the perfect outfit once you’re inside.

“Can you bring me back a pastry or muffin?” you prompt, slowly unpacking your own bags.

“What? Oh, yeah. Of course! As long as Malcolm—” she does a dramatic swoon when she says his name “—doesn’t ask me to go home with him.” Her back snaps ramrod straight, and her shoulders creep up in a hunch. She slowly turns to look at you, raising an eyebrow. “Would that be okay…if he did ask?”

You hadn’t thought about the possibility; that Monica might find someone to spend a night with or that you’d be separated at any point during your trip. But you realize that’s a definite possibility now, and as you have already stated, you don’t want to hold her back from having fun.

“Yeah,” you agree with a nod. “I think that’s okay. As long as you let me know and send me his address or a photo of his house and car or something like that, y’know?”

“Girl code!” Monica proclaims loudly. “I swear!”

Malcolm does, indeed, invite Monica back to his place. You receive a text message from her a few hours after she leaves for the bakery dressed in a sexy-but-not-too-sexy plaid print skirt and white blouse paired with nude pumps and a knee-length, clay-colored cashmere cardigan. The text also states that Malcolm promises to provide pastries for breakfast in the morning and a carafe of his unique herbal tea blend.

You’re happy for Monica and content to enjoy your quiet night in. The soft babble of a brook can be heard just outside, through the open window of your room. It’s peaceful. You spend several hours just sitting by the open window, imagining the festivities to come. It’s a magical moment all its own, just you and the small window view to the world beyond that grows slowly darker as the sun sinks in the sky. You’re so at peace when you finally settle down to sleep. The nerves and anxiousness you thought you’d feel the night before Beltane are nonexistent. You sleep amazingly.

🌸🌸🌸

The sun has barely crested over the horizon when you make it downstairs to the lobby of the Inn. Monica texted this morning to let you know that she was going in with Malcolm to open his bakery first thing in the morning and that warm, fresh pastries and tea would be waiting for you.

The plan is to have breakfast and then head to try and find An Bhláth. Lorna is still sitting behind the front desk as you cross the lobby. She waves and bids you a bright and fruitful Beltane. The bakery is brightly lit, and you can see Monica sitting at a small cafe table chatting away with Malcolm, who has his elbows resting over the counter, sparkling eyes locked on your best friend.

You chose a comfortable pair of jeans cuffed above brown ankle boots and a loose-fitting emerald-colored knit blouse as your attire for the day; still undecided if you’ll change before the festivities begin. Though, you’re leaning more toward spending more time enjoying the rich culture around you than worrying about your outfit. You hope Monica holds the same sentiment after she’s had a chance to change out of last night's outfit, at least.

A tiny bell tinkles overhead when you push open the door to the bakery. It smells like warm bread and sweet treats with an undercurrent of earthy, spiced tea inside. Your stomach gives an appreciative rumble when your eyes land on the spread of fluffy and glazed pastries in the display case.

Monica jumps up from her seat and throws her arms around your neck. “Oh my, holy shit, I think Malcolm is the man of my dreams,” she whispers fiercely into your ear before releasing you and promptly introducing you.

“Chuffed tae meet ye,” Malcolm offers in a thick Scottish brogue, a broad smile on his face. He clears his throat, enunciating his following words carefully while giving Monica a wink. “Mo has told me all about you.” His eyes flick between you and her. “Wis that guid?”

She taps her hand on the counter before him and snorts a laugh. “That was perfect! Mal’s been working on his American accent. It’s pretty good right?” Her eyes go soft when she looks at him. “I like the way you talk either way. But, your natural accent was something extra special last night when you—“

“Whoa, I don’t need to know about how his accent sounded last night,” you laugh, waving a hand in the air toward her. “I was promised pastries and tea. That seems like a safer conversation to have.”

Malcolm guffaws, his broad shoulders shaking and straining the fabric of his white dress shirt. You can see the leather belt fastening his purple and green tartan patterned kilt around his waist just above the counter. Your first glimpse at classic Scottish celebratory wear. “Ye’r right. Ye can have anythin’ ‘ere.” He gestures to the glass display case. “Cuppa is over there,” he adds, nodding toward a steaming silver carafe on the other side of the pastry case.

Monica excuses herself to run back to your shared room at the Inn to change and get ready for the day. Malcolm presses a loud kiss on her cheek as he opens the door for her. She blushes and hurries out of sight. A few people walk by, waving to Malcolm. One elderly lady peeks her head in and asks about Malcolm’s shop hours today. You’re surprised to find out he’s not open, not really, at least, he clarifies when the lady throws a look in your direction. She mumbles something about needing fresh bread for her Beltane supper before letting the door fall closed again.

“Sorry to have caused any issues with your shop. I had no idea you weren’t opening today. Monica made it sound like you were going to be,” you try to explain, dusting flaky pastry from your fingers onto a napkin.

“Dinna fash yer heid aboot it,” he replies as he busies himself behind the counter. “I was coming in for personal reasons, gathering some supplies for the festival at Bowhill House tonight.” How he effortlessly flows between his natural Scottish and his practiced American makes you smile.

“Your American is really quite good,” you comment before latching on to the last thing he said. “Bowhill House? You’re catering for them?”

“Thank you. My dream is to be a voice actor. The shop is my ma’s wish, not mine,” he explains, maintaining the accent perfectly. “I am. Well, I am one of the caterers. Rhubarb crumble and bannock are my specialties.” He lofts a tray up from behind the pastry case. It’s filled with small bite-sized tarts with bright red centers. “Though, the bannock, I will be making over an open fire once I get to Bowhill.”

Bannock is right near the top of your list of things to try while you’re here. The fact that Malcolm will be making traditional bannock over an open fire makes you beyond happy. You can’t wait to try it, and you tell him as much as you finish off your pastry and spiced tea.

Monica reappears a few minutes later, dressed to the nines. She’s wearing a beautiful moss green-colored bodycon dress and black tights. A light jacket sits on her shoulders, and she has a crossbody clutch nestled under her arm.

You thank Malcolm for breakfast, and Monica ensures him you both will be finding him at Bowhill to try his bannock. She whispers something in his ear that makes you think she’s promised to try more than just his bannock later.

“He’s cute,” you comment, walking arm in arm with Monica along the sidewalk leading toward the address Malcolm gave you for An Bhláth. You were overjoyed to find out the place actually still exists, and the owner, Aoibheann, is the same one your grandpa spoke of when talking about the small herb and spice shop. He called it an alchemy parlor. But from what Malcolm told you, Aoibheann sells dried teas, flowers, and other small trinkets like crystals. She’s famous for her May Day flower crowns, though, which is what you intend to go for.

“He’s perfect,” she sighs. “Too perfect. I don’t think I’m going to see him again.”

“Mo,” you stop short, tugging her to a stop beside you. “What the hell?”

She purses her lips, avoiding your gaze. “Don’t give me that look. I don’t want to get attached. It’s for the better.”

“I don’t think you should hold yourself back if it feels right. Love—” she makes a face when you say that word “—doesn’t have a strict formula to follow. It’s always changing. It can vary, and what it means to people can be different. If you like Malcolm, enjoy it, embrace it, and don’t run from happiness, even if it’s only fleeting. Trust me, doing that will never get you anywhere.”

Monica squeezes your arm with hers. “I know,” she says softly. You know she’s thinking about your terrible lack of romantic life. You can’t help that no one ever seems to understand you.

“Just don’t close yourself off, is all I’m saying. You’ll see Malcolm again tonight, stuff your mouth with his bannock, and if nothing else happens, then that’s how it is.”

She laughs, the sound trailing off as you both continue walking. The small tea and spice shop comes into view a little while later. The sign for An Bhláth hangs by chains from an iron post above the door. The wood is weathered and dark with age, but the letters look freshly painted in pretty pastel pinks and yellows.

The door creaks and rattles softly as you push it open. Inside the shop is all manner of canisters and clear jars containing what looks like dried flowers, tea, and spices. An earthy and subtly peppery fragrance fills the air, accompanied by a pleasant warmth that has Monica shucking off her jacket and draping it over her arm.

“We’re nae meant to be gone to the fountain for another hour, Jasper. Come back in a bawherr,” a rattling voice comes from an open doorway that you assume leads to the back of the shop. The accent is subtle, but there is a roughness that belies age.

“Sorry,” you call out, “not Jasper. We’re here in hopes of making some Beltane flower crowns for tonight. I was told An Bhláth is the best place for that.”

“Och!” There is a loud thump from the back, and then a short, grey-haired woman ambles from the back, leaning heavily on a wooden cane. “Pardon me. I thought ye were my boy stopping to pester me some more. Goddess above knows I dinnae get around as easily as I once dae. Boy needs to learn some patience.” She stops on the other side of the front counter, finally bringing her gaze up to meet yours. Despite the wrinkles and apparent age her body holds, her eyes are a bright and clear sky blue. “Flower crowns for Beltane, hm? Ye came to the right place. I’m Aoibheann, more than happy to help ye lassies.”

You smile back at Monica, who is hunched down near a cabinet of little glass bottles. “Are these real?” she asks, fingering a pale green bottle the size of her thumb.

Aoibheann chuckles. “As real as ye want them to be, lass. Magick dinnae work the same for a’body.”

Monica snorts, and you can practically hear her eye roll. “Magic. Right.” She straightens up and steps away from the cabinet. “Flower crowns. Do you have any pink roses? They compliment my complexion the best.”

The old lady harrumphs softly. “Ye dinnae want pink roses. Nae unless yer okay wi’ bein’ scooped up by the green folk. Na, ye’ll be wanting these,” she says with a crooked smile, hooking her cane on the lip of the counter and stooping down. Aoibheann hefts a tattered box up onto the counter. You can see sprigs of green and colorful blooms of orange and purple flowers peeking out of the top.

“Green folk?” Monica asks. “You mean like fairies and stuff?”

“Dinnae look so skeptical,” Aoibheann chides gently. “If ye’r attending Beltane, ye’ll be wanting some protection. Ye ken nae believe in magick, but they surely dae.”

You wrap a hand around one of Monica’s, squeezing it. She glances at you, and her face immediately smoothes out from the scowl that is bunching her features. “For me?” you ask her softly, nodding your head toward the box on the counter and Aoibheann waiting patiently with her hands braced to either side of it.

You know Monica is a skeptic, and you don’t blame her at all. But that feeling is back, the one that niggles in the pit of your belly that says this is the right thing to do. The crowns aren’t even made, and you already feel closer, just looking at these bundles of flowers, to your grandpa than you have in the last year.

“I did say I was up for anything,” she finally relents, squeezing your hand in return. “Let’s make these crowns, but there better be some sort of pink flower in there.”

That makes Aoibheann chuckle again. “Dinnae fash, lassie,” she says, digging a hand into the box and producing two stems of clustered pink flowers. One is long and bell-shaped, and the other has more petite pink-to-white gradient petals. “Foxglove and verbena are essentials.”

“Oh, how pretty!” Monica’s mood instantly brightens. She swoops forward and begins to help Aoibheann pick out flowers, herbs, and stems of greenery from the box.

Weaving the flower crowns is fun. Aoibheann ushered you and Monica to a table nestled in a small alcove near the back of the shop. She set to explaining the different plants and herbs in the box and which ones were best to use. The two ash wood circlet bases she pulled from another box are soon covered in tufts of rosemary, blossoms of foxglove, verbena, daisies, and clover. You sit back and admire your work as Monica gushes over how the bright greens and pretty pastel pinks compliment her outfit and complexion. 

“There is one other flower that is very important, perhaps the most important o’ them all. Tis the honey bell, ‘n it wards off any ‘n all fae. As long as yer circle o’honey bell remains unbroken, no fae will be able tae charm ye or touch ye,” Aoibheann explains with a quiet yet stern tone. “Promise me, lassies. Ye will nae break yer circles.” She places a hand on one of yours and Monica’s, eyes flicking between the two of you until you both nod in understanding. “Good, let’s get them added.”

Aoibheann ambles over to a cabinet, reaching up to the highest shelf and dragging down a metal box. It’s aged and dark from layers of patina. It makes a hollow thunking noise when Aoibheann sets it on the table between you and Monica. She closes her eyes momentarily, her lips moving with silent words. There is a soft click, and then the lid pops open.

“They’re pretty,” Monica remarks, taking in the bright yellow flowers inside. “They survive being inside this metal box?”

“Iron,” Aoibheann says, tapping the side of the box. “Protects them as they will protect ye.” With slow and precise instructions from Aoibheann, you and Monica weave a perfect ring of the small, yellow, bell-shaped flowers into your Beltane crowns. “Perfect,” the old woman confirms with a smile once you’re done. “Best be off with ye now. Jasper should be back by soon, and we’ll be heading on to Bowhill. Ye lassies enjoy yerselves. Goddess willing, we’ll see each other while enjoying her eternal flame tonight.”

Thanking Aoibheann again, you and Monica pay for the crowns and make your way back onto the street with them safely tucked away in a silk pouch Aoibheann insisted that you have. You pull the long bag strap over your head, letting it hang down toward your opposite hip.

“We’re driving to Bowhill, right?” Monica asks.

She gives you a fearful look that makes you laugh. “Of course, we’re driving. It’s at least an hour's walk from the Inn. I wouldn’t put you through that.” You herd her down the street for a late, light lunch. “I want to get there early so we can watch some of the preparations, though.”

🌸🌸🌸

Just a few hours later, you find yourself with your jaw hanging open as you stare out the window, crawling along at a snail's pace down the winding drive that leads to the Bowhill House.

“Oh, Mo, it’s more than I could have ever imagined. Are you seeing this?”

Monica suppresses a laugh. “Nah, my eyes are closed,” she teases. “Of course I see this. It’s…a lot.”

That is an understatement. It’s far more than a lot. The car creeps down the drive, and on either side, there are hundreds—perhaps thousands—of white awnings and bustling people. The stalls of food and wares extend further than you can see from your seat in the car.

Garlands of flowers and silken streams are strung from every pole and stand, painting the entire scene in swaths of every color imaginable. You can see people laughing and dancing between moments of preparation work. The faint bellow of a bagpipe mixed with the whine of an accordion and the peel of a flute can be heard coming from somewhere out in the mix of festivities.

A man in a black livery directs traffic at the end of the drive. He ushers you into a spot before continuing to point the cars that followed behind you to others.

“I can’t believe we’re actually here,” you say before opening the door and climbing out of the rental. Monica slides out on the other side, and her door clicking shut pulls your attention from the large, sprawling manor to your friend. “It’s even more beautiful than the pictures I saw online.”

“It really is something,” she agrees. Her eyes drift from yours to the estate behind you. It’s something right out of a Regency novel. The brick-facing and stone crenellations are dark compared to the cream-colored window accents and front arches. You feel like you’re transported back in time and are about to be welcomed by some handsome Scottish man of an elite peerage.

Monica comes around the side of the car and slips her arm into yours. “Let’s go have some fun!” She begins to pull you toward the festivities being set up on the front lawn, but you pull her up short.

“Wait, our crowns. We can’t forget them.” You pull your arm from hers and turn back to the car. In the backseat, you grab the silk bag and gently remove the flowered crowns from the inside. Dropping the bag back on the seat, you turn and push the door closed with your hip. “Here,” you say, holding out Monica's to her.

“Right. Our protection pieces,” she murmurs, giving you a placating smile. “At least they’re cute.” You each help one another secure the crowns on your heads. Thankfully, Monica packed a small stash of bobby pins for this trip. “Smile!” Monica procures her phone and lofts it up to snap a photo of you two with your crowns on. “Hashtag flower power!” She immediately uploads the photo to Instagram. If she is willing to indulge your whims with Beltane, you can at least return the same sentiment with her need to document said whims in her own fashion.

Ironically enough, one of the first people you encounter is Malcolm. He’s hauling an armload of wood toward one of the roaring fire pits.

“Lookin’ bonnie,” he calls, flashing Monica a mischievous smile and wink. “Bannock should be ready within the hour.”

There is a clear rosiness coloring Monica’s cheeks as she giggles and waves at him in passing. “If you want to know what it looks like, I’ll tell you,” she offers in a low whisper to you. Her emerald eyes twinkle with mischief as she bites her bottom lip.

“Yeah, no, I’ll pass on that information.” You can’t help but laugh. The tension you hadn’t realized you were holding in begins to bleed away. It’s going to be a perfect night. You can feel it.

Over the next few hours, you somehow end up dancing around a Maypole—much to your own surprise as you protested profusely at first—and have now acquired a braided sash of purple and white silk. Monica lets you take the lead as you both traipse through the fanfare. She may have been a bit reluctant or skeptical initially, but she quickly and easily falls into the joyous atmosphere just as much as you do.

There are several dozen Beltane bonfires littered throughout the grounds. Grizzled older men and wizened older women recite ballads and poems while flocks of children dance around and perform small acts to go with the stories. Groups of teenagers egg each other on, daring each other to jump over the bonfires as is the ancient tradition.

Somewhere between a dance around a Maypole and helping a gaggle of women hand out May baskets and small bottles of Beltane dew to the elderly vendors, Monica disappears in search of Malcolm and a drink.

The celebration is everything you imagined and more. Your grandpa’s stories have come to life all around you, and it’s an exhilarating experience. You’re not sure the last time you smiled and laughed so much your cheeks ached.

Finally, you’re able to break away from the dancing. Your stomach rumbles, and you decide to find Monica and then some food. You follow the smell of grilled meats and baked bread until you come to the roasting pits. Along the way, you hand off your lace and silk sash to a roses-cheeked little girl with honey bell and foxglove flowers braided into her hair. She stares up at you in awe before scampering off and squealing with glee.

Continuing on, you’re starting to regret letting Monica go off on her own in such a large and unknown area. A few minutes later, though, relief floods you as you spot Monica perched comfortably in Malcolm’s lap beside a bonfire. Her cheek rests against his chest, and red splotches are scattered over her neck, a telltale sign she’s been drinking.

“Babe!” Monica lurches up from Malcolm’s lap, startling him, as she reaches for you. “I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you! Oh gosh, where have you been?” She throws an arm around your shoulders and sags against you. The distinct smell of wine wafts from her parted lips.

“Find some good wine, Mo?”

Malcolm stands up and tries to help you with Monica, but your friend grumbles and swats his hands away. “Not now, Mal, we’ll fuck later. Sheesh. It’s like he’s in love with me or something. Oh damn. Do you love me, Malcolm?”

His eyebrows shoot up, and he gives you a bewildered look. “Okay, let’s get you some water and sit you down somewhere.”

“She would nae take water from me earlier. Maybe ye can get her to drink some.” Malcolm sighs before turning to dig through an ice chest near his setup. “I offered her food, but she dinnae want to eat without ye, and we could nae find ye. She assured me ye’d come to find us eventually.”

That definitely sounds like Monica. You shuffle over to the seat Malcolm was in earlier with Monica in his lap. “Down we go. Gentle. There, much better.” Monica pouts up at you from where she’s slumped over in the lawn chair.

“I’m hungry,” she slurs.

“Malcolm, do you mind watching her for a little bit while I grab some food for us?” you ask as he comes back over with a bottle of water.

“Of course, dinnae fash. I’ll do anything ye need me to.” 

“Mo, I’m going to go get some food. Let Malcolm give you some water, please.” You crouch down next to the lawn chair to look Monica in the eyes. They’re glazed over, and a soft smile curls her lips.

“Malcolm. Do you mean the hot one with the big dick? He can give me whatever he wants,” she sighs dreamily. “You should have seen him last night, babe. It was—”

“Hold that thought,” you cut her off with a finger to her lips. “I’ll be right back, and then you can tell me all about it.” Or not. Hopefully, she’ll be sobering up a bit after you get some water and food into her. “I’ll be right back,” you tell Malcolm. He crouches down on Monica’s other side and tries to get her attention.

As you stand up to head toward where you can see the meat grills a few stalls down, Monica throws up a hand and tries to pull you back down to her. “Wait!” Her hand whacks you in the ear, and her fingers tangle in your hair. “Ack! Oh no, I’m stuck!” she yells, yanking her hand from your hair in a shower of purple and pink flower petals.

“Oh, jeez, Mo.” You step away from her and pat at your hair, feeling for the crown on your head. It still feels intact, but the sprinkling of flower petals on the ground makes you frown. “Just keep your hands here,” you grab them both and put them in her lap. “I’ll be right back.” Malcolm gives you an apologetic look as you take another step. You give him a subtle shake of your chin to let him know it’s not his fault. Monica is her own person, and sometimes that person likes to drink a bottle or two of wine even though she knows she shouldn’t.

Before she can grab at you again, you move further away and watch as Malcolm brings up a large hand and cups Monica’s cheek. She sways in the chair and giggles at him. You hear his deep voice speaking softly and sweetly as he assures her you’ll be back and encourages her to drink water. You sigh and shake your head, surprised when a few yellow flower petals slip from your hair and land on your shoulders. Brushing them away, you continue toward the grill pit.

The smell of smoked and seasoned grilled meats fills your lungs and makes your mouth water. The minor incident and Monica’s drunkenness quickly fade as you survey the plethora of food. There is a servicing table to one side, covered in a bounty of cutlery, plates, and napkins.

You approach the table and reach for a plate. Your hand bumps into another one going for the same plate. “Oh, wow, sorry!” a bright, pleasant voice says beside you.

Jerking your hand back to your chest at the oddly cold touch, you startle. Wide eyes flick up, and you can’t help but gape a little. The man standing beside you is devastatingly handsome. Perfectly styled black hair frames his smooth forehead and slightly covers his ears. Large, brown eyes with a beautiful circle of green through the irises meet yours above a charmingly boyish smile and blushed cheeks.

“Wow. No. I mean. I’m the sorry one. I obviously wasn’t paying attention to my actions or surroundings.” You take a step away from the serving table and point with your hand not still pressed to your chest at the stack of plates. “Please, you first.”

Those unique, marbled eyes survey you. They slowly drift from your face down to your chest before trailing all the way down to the brown boots on your feet. “You can get in a lot of trouble by not paying attention to your surroundings.” He says it so matter-of-factly that you’re not sure if he’s just teasing or being serious.

In the silence following his statement, you let your own eyes flick over him. He’s wearing a matching shirt, trousers, and jacket. All such a pure white that they stand out even in the dim light from the grills and twinkle lights strung up over the tables. His coat is light and transparent, with ribbons of white lace and silk fluttering around the hem. A crescent-shaped silver necklace sits in the hollow of his throat. The delicate pendant shakes as he begins to laugh.

“What?” you question, thinking maybe you missed him saying something more.

“You’re cute,” he says. “What’s your name?”

The abrupt question furrows your brow, but you still find your mouth opening to answer him. Though, instead of your name, you offer, “That’s a dangerous question to ask at Beltane. Don’t you know the stories?”

“It’s only dangerous if you think I’m a faerie.” He raises a skeptical brow, his lips pulling into that charming smile again. “How about this? I’m JK. There. Now you have nothing to fear since you have my name.”

“JK.” You hum, mulling it over and letting the name roll off your tongue. “Sorry, JK, I still don’t think I should give you my name.”

“I’ll just call you Beautiful, then.” He props a hip against the table's edge, and his eyes snap up to the top of your head. “That’s a nice flower crown, Beautiful. Did you make it yourself?” He reaches forward and brushes a finger through your hair before you can step back. More flower petals cascade down. “Looks like you had an accident. Some of your flowers have come loose. Are those foxglove and rosemary? Interesting choices.”

“Oh,” you raise a hand and pat at the crown, stepping further away from the stranger. As you feel around the circle, you’re distinctly aware of large swaths of missing petals and greenery. A chill slithers down your spine, and goosebumps pop up along your arms. “Damn. I-uh, I should go fix it. Thank you.”

Looking around at your surroundings, you can’t help but notice the person nearest to you, aside from the man still leaning against the table, is now several stalls away. The grill pits are still blazing, but all the people who were tending the meat skewers are now eerily absent.

“I would say I’m sorry about this. But, I can’t lie.” The low-spoken words from the handsome stranger register a moment before you feel his grip on your arm. Your startled scream gets caught behind his other hand, clamping over your mouth.

Your feet kick in the air as the man hauls you away from the serving table and into the shadows beyond the light of the festivities. The thundering of your heartbeat pounds away in your ears as your breathing becomes erratic and tears escape the corners of your eyes. This isn’t how tonight was supposed to go. Panic turns everything hazy, muffling all sounds and sensations. You’re aware of the terrain changing and trees engulfing you from all sides, but nothing registers until you’re unceremoniously shoved forward.

A ring of purple and pink flowers is the last thing you see before you’re tumbling headlong into a small, clear pond. Water shoots up your nose and fills your mouth as you plummet like a rock, not stopping until your hands come into contact with the muddy bottom. It’s disorienting, having dropped in head first. You flail for a moment, trying to right yourself. Finally, getting your feet in the right direction, you kick off from the bottom and use wide sweeping motions with your arms to propel yourself to the surface.

You break with a strangled garble, coughing the cold water from your lungs. “Fucking hell!” you scream, looking around frantically, trying to find the nearest edge to swim to. Paddling over to a small outcropping, you latch onto the rock and try pulling yourself from the water. Just as you get one knee up on the rock, a hand grips your arm and hauls you clear from the water.

“Now, I am sorry for that. I was aiming for the thatch of clover, not the loch. Good to see you can swim, though,” JK says as if he hasn’t just kidnapped you away from the Beltane celebration and thrown you into a pond.

“Don’t touch me,” you snarl and jerk free from his hold on your arms. “You need to take me back to Bowhill House immediately, or I swear I’ll scream!”

“Screaming probably isn’t the best idea, not unless you want to alert the kelpies that live in that cave over there,” he says, nodding to a small opening in the rock face on the other side of the pond.

You scoff. “Kelpies. Right. Okay, fairy boy, I’ve had enough games for the night. Please, just point me in the right direction to make it back to Bowhill House, and I promise I won’t alert the authorities or anything.”

“No can do, Beautiful. At least, not for another six moons. The doorway was weak enough when we came through. There’s no way you’d make it back all in one piece with dawn so close now.” JK turns and begins down a small dirt path leading away from the pond. “Best you just come with me for now.”

A frown turns your lips down over your teeth that you’re now clenching to keep from chattering. You’re soaked, and a chill slowly seeps beneath your wet clothes. “I most certainly will not be going anywhere with you. Are you fucking insane?! You threw me into a pond!”

Those brown and green eyes meet yours over his shoulder. He shrugs. “It’s a loch. But, suit yourself, then. The kelpie that inhabits that cave should be coming out in three…two….”

Before he says one, you hear a mournful whinny from behind you. A wet gurgle and a plop follow, and then the sound of something scrabbling against the rock. You look back at the water and see two long, slender arms protruding from the mouth of the cave. Water sleuths along the arms, dripping from pale white equine-looking hooves. Letting loose a scream, you scramble away from the water’s edge and bump solidly into JK’s body. “Holy shit!”

He chuckles low in your ear, “…one. Never been a fan of kelpies, but they do good to keep unwanted visitors out of our loch. Now, if you stop panicking, we really should leave before he fully emerges. The last thing I want to do tonight is cut his head off.”

You’re still trembling and trying to wrap your head around what you saw as you allow JK to usher you down the dirt path. Knee-high grass sways gently to either side of the trail. Right now, he seems like the lesser of two evils. But that could be simply because he at least looks normal enough. The thing that was crawling out of the cave, however…you shudder with the mental image.

“What was that?”

“Do you have water in your ears? I’m pretty sure I said it was a kelpie at least three times.”

You don’t care for the attitude coming from this man. “Is this part of some fucked up Beltane tradition around here? It’s really not nice to scare people like this. You’ve had your laughs and your fun. Now, I just want to return to Bowhill House, find my friend, and leave.”

“I guess you need to hear many things more than once. We can’t go back through the gateway until what you might know as Samhain. Which is roughly six moons from now.”

“Six moons? Is that some sort of riddle? Look, this is cool and all, but I insist you let me go. Point me in the right direction, and I’ll make it back myself.”

The laugh that comes from JK has what little color remains in your face draining away. JK flexes his fingers around your arm, adjusting his grip as he continues to haul you down the path. “Look around you, Beautiful. Use that pretty brain of yours to do some deductive reasoning. You’re not in Selkirk anymore. You’re certainly not in Scotland anymore. You’re not even in your own realm, for that matter.”

You wet your suddenly dry lips, trying to work moisture back into your mouth to tell him he’s wrong. There’s no mistaking the differences around you, though. The moon and stars overhead look the same at first glance, but the longer you look, the more apparent it becomes that the stars are all slightly dimmer, and the moon has a bluish-grey ring around it. Odd sounds chirp from the darkness, unlike anything you’ve ever heard before, even in Scotland. The grass surrounding you seems to move on its own, despite there being no wind you can feel. The long wheat and moss-colored stalks move as if to avoid being brushed against by you or JK.

Shoving the thought of what he just said away–you simply don’t have the energy to think about deciphering his bullshit right now–you focus on getting answers that might be less cryptic. A large copse of trees looms ahead. “Are we going in there?” you whisper. Hugging your arms around yourself as best you can, you try to keep from shivering outright. The wet sweater and jeans you have on cling to you, sapping whatever warmth you have left.

“We are,” JK confirms just before pulling you past the first towering tree. The atmosphere under the boughs drastically differs from the grassland where the loch was. Humidity and warmth immediately creep in, making you feel even more sluggish as you drip beside JK.

Roots seem to reach up to snag at your feet, the dirt path wholly lost under the crisscross pattern of twining wood. “Can you slow down?” you huff. The ground is so uneven it’s hard to keep your balance. JK doesn’t seem to have an issue, stepping lightly from root to root without so much as a wobble.

“Nope.” The word is accompanied by JK pivoting and sweeping down. His shoulder notches against your stomach, and the next thing you know, your world tilts wildly as he flips you over his shoulder.

The squeak of protest that leaves you is embarrassingly loud and piercing in your own ears. “Put me down!” You beat your fists against his back and flail as much as possible. In your valiant effort to dislodge yourself from over his shoulder, you manage to knock free the remnants of your flower crown. “Oh, no!” You try to grab for the falling circle, but it tumbles between the dark roots and disappears; so much for its supposed protective powers.

You’re so busy ranting and cursing at JK that you miss the roots being replaced with lush grass and tiny purple flowers but promptly cut off your latest tirade of profanities when he starts up a wooden set of steps leading to a porch.

“Open the door,” he calls out as he stomps up the last few steps. You try to swivel around on his shoulder to get a better look at your surroundings. It doesn’t help that it’s nearly pitch black outside, the only light coming from the smattering of stars barely penetrating the overhead foliage.

A blast of warm air hits the backs of your thighs as you hear hinges creaking as a door opens. “What the hell?” a deep yet soft voice asks.

“More like who the hell?” comes another voice from further away. “Who do you have there, Jun—“ The voice cuts off as you feel the man carrying you throw up a hand. You presume to keep whoever was speaking from saying his actual name. You file that away for later…Ju-something. “This, my dear Yoons,” he emphasizes the name, “is a human that I’ve named Beautiful.” He grips your hips and pulls you off his shoulder, dropping you in a wet heap at the feet of a beautiful man with silver hair, brilliant green eyes, protruding canines, and pointed ears. “She’s going to be your mate.”

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to series masterlist  

◅ Back to Main Master List   ©️ 2023-05-06 ColorMePurplex2

[jikookuntold]

Anti No.1: "Oh! he only saw JK at his Wlive, they haven't meet in months"

Wrong. This answer to that question doesn't make sense. The translation tweets without a clip might imply that he was answering the comment about meeting JK, but in the video you can clearly see he is ignoring the comment and changing the topic. Btw what he said barely even imply that he was watching JK's Wlive. He only mentioned a recent fun fact about JK and moved on.

Anti No.2: "oh! he changed the topic because he didn't want to admit he doesn't get the chance to see JK"

Well, at least this one has better comprehensive abilities but still wrong. If you assume Jimin is the type to brag about being with JK, your information hasn't been updated.

Jimin never lies. He could simply say "yes I have met him", but we know it would be a bit of an understatement. I don't think I have mentioned this before in this blog, but it's clear that at some point around the middle of 2021 Jimin stopped bragging about being with JK all the time, and people started to think they are drifting apart while evidence was showing otherwise, which means he turned into a very private person (he has always been private but at that point he upgraded to Private_Jimin_2.0 lol)

The other members mention each other's names, and talk about spending time together with no hesitation. Jimin also mentions all the members, but doesn't give any answer to the questions related to JK. This fact only shows how private he is when it comes to his life, because JK is a part of that private life.

[deijiyong]

Chapter Ten: Pre-Spring Semester

Navigation Previous semester | Story Masterlist | Next chapter Chapter word count 2,858 words. Chapter warnings/tags winter break is over, it seems now that joon has a need for yoongi, shield jk makes a reappearance, jimin has feelings 🤢, taemin has a highkey jealous boyfie

<Babe Squad> Gyeom: I still cannot believe we won that match Bam: It’s only because Jungkook carried you through the whole thing 🙄 Gyeom: That’s not fair! Gyeom: I tried! Bam: Just because you try, it doesn’t mean you’ll succeed Bam: I think Shih Tzu or someone said that JK: Shih Tzu is a dog breed, isn’t it? JK: Did you two finish packing? JK: I’m hoping that my new dorm mate(s) are chill Gyeom: I didn’t even think about that 😰 Gyeom: What if we’re not rooming together, Bam? Bam: I’ll be able to sleep better JK: I wonder if I’ll still be in Itaewon Gyeom: You slept just fine! Gyeom: Stop being mean! Bam: I’m packed, Gguk. Bam: Are you sure you don’t want to ride with us back to campus? JK: Yeah, Yoongi already said he’d be by later to kidnap me JK: Apparently he pulled a short straw and became an RA this year Gyeom: Why is he dragging you along with him? Gyeom: Isn’t it too early for normal students to return? JK: 🤷‍♂️

Yoongi lets out a low whistle as Jungkook approaches his car. There’s been a few changes since the last time the older boy had seen him. For one, Jungkook’s hair was a lot longer than when he had left campus and his clothes seemed to have upgraded a bit as well. Yoongi could spot a few name brand items from a glance, but that was nothing compared to the smile on Jungkook’s face.  He seemed happier than the last time Yoongi had seen him.

When Jungkook loads into his car, Yoongi gives him a slow lopsided smile, “Did something good happen? Did you get laid?”

“What?” Wide eyes turn on Yoongi.

There’s his Jungkook. 

Jungkook tosses back his long locks from his face and adjusts himself in Yoongi’s leather seats, “We both know that’s not true.”

“Still pining after Jimin, I see.”

Jungkook steals Yoongi’s black beanie and covers his head with it, “Come on, Yoongs, we talked about this. I’m over it.”

Yoongi glances at him two times as he drives towards the highway, “We’ll see.”

Campus is just as Jungkook remembers it. The tree lined walkways, students walking around and professors ignoring their existence until they had no choice. Jungkook sees I Building in the distance and feels a pang in his heart. Maybe he wouldn’t see that person after all. When Yoongi parks, it’s as close to D Building as he can get. Jungkook stares up at the building and it’s rusting letter D, “Daegu?”

“That’s right,” Yoongi yawns as he climbs out of his car. He’s barely moving as he heads for the trunk of his car. It was cold, his nose was already starting to run, and the odd weather was making him think of things he’d rather not. Yoongi sniffs, as he opens the trunk and there’s a loud thunk. He looks at his trunk then his car. Just by the passenger door, Yoongi sees Taehyung being held up purely by Jungkook as the RA wiggles around in his arms.

“I missed you so much, JK!” Taehyung has shouted it at the top of his lungs as he flails in Jungkook’s hold. If one were to see it, they would think Taehyung was the returning freshman and not Jungkook. Yoongi shook his head, Taehyung was always like this after he got attached to someone so it was a canon event that he couldn’t interrupt.

Jungkook lowers the RA back to the ground. Truth be told, he also missed the eccentric RA and his wild clothing choices. Today was no different. Jungkook took in the gold shorts and black hoodie as he looked over his friend; it was never a dull fashion day for Taehyung. “Are you cold?”

Taehyung looks down at his bare legs then back at Jungkook and shrugs, “Not really.”

“I’m not nursing you then,” a soft, airy voice penetrates Jungkook’s once good day. “You need to learn to take better care of yourself.”

There the handsome ghost stood, slinky black dance pants and an oversized black shirt. He’s got a beautiful smile on his face, that turns and looks up at the person Jungkook didn’t even realize was standing next to him. It’s a guy of similar height to Jimin, with light brown hair and plump lips. He’s laughing at something Jimin whispers between them and Jungkook doesn’t even realize that Yoongi has been calling him for a while now. He only turns when Jimin looks at him and snaps him out of his mind, “Huh?”

Yoongi holds out Jungkook’s duffle bag to him, “I’m not your momma. Carry your own shit.”

Jungkook feels red creep up his neck as he grabs for the bag Yoongi was holding out towards him. He could see the way Yoongi watched him, knowing he now understood what Yoongi mentioned earlier. He pressed a hand to his cheek as if realizing, belatedly, Yoongi had slapped him earlier. Jungkook’s heart squeezed and he heaved a sigh alongside his duffle he threw over his shoulder, “Lead the way, Yoongs.”

“Where are you going?” Jimin’s voice stops him.

“Staying with Yoongi until I get my room assignment.” Jungkook didn’t know why he was explaining this to Jimin, it was clear that Jimin had been just fine without him over the break. “Did I need permission, RA?”

Jimin’s face twists into a frown, but he doesn’t respond. 

Jungkook’s eyes fall to Jimin’s new belt, the boy smiling despite how he had responded to Jimin. He wondered what the mystery guy’s major was, but that would imply he cared- which he doesn’t. Whoever Jimin wants hanging all over him wasn’t Jungkook’s business. 

Jungkook grabs Yoongi around the shoulders and turns them toward D building, “Lets go settle in.”

Yoongi tosses a hacky sac at Jungkook when they’ve finally put all of Yoongi’s things away in the room. “I meant to tell you, JK. I just didn’t know how to start. Taehyung and Jimin didn’t hang out much over the holidays and when Jimin resurfaced he had that guy with him.”

Jungkook rolls the hacky sac between his hands as he thinks over what Yoongi had told him. Jimin and Taehyung didn’t hang out much over the break. So they all found out around the same time that Jimin was hanging out with that new guy. “He seems nice,” Jungkook offers before he tosses the hackey sac back towards Yoongi.

“Yeah, a real saint,” Yoongi comments as he rolls his eyes. “I’m sure Jimin prays to him every night.”

Jungkook starts coughing violently as he beats his fist against his chest. He might have been very sheltered due to how his parents raised him, but he wasn’t so out of the loop that he didn’t know what Yoongi was implying.

Yoongi’s phone ringing had the newly made RA glancing down where the device rested against his thigh. “Ew,” he mumbles before picking up the device and replying to whatever had been sent. 

Jungkook pulls out his own phone and stares at the black screen before tapping the screen. There’s at least five messages from Taehyung asking him to visit and about ten spread between Yugyeom and BamBam. BamBam had made it to Yugyeom’s place it seemed. 

“Joon is coming over,” Yoongi announces.

Jungkook’s eyes roll up to stare at his friend, “S-should I leave?” A snort comes from Yoongi as he stares at Jungkook, “No, I need a witness in case he’s coming to murder me.”

That was probably more likely, Jungkook agreed. Namjoon, as Jungkook later became aware, was a very indie kind of guy. He wore a mullet and baggy clothes with thick plastic frames. Namjoon was very good looking, unfortunately, as Jungkook had time to inspect him before he realized who Namjoon was.

A knock on the door has Yoongi standing to open it. This Namjoon had shaved his head, which didn’t break Jungkook’s thoughts on how handsome he was. He wore a beanie in dark gray that covered most of his shaved head. His eyes were still shielded behind a pair of black frames and his clothes were still the baggy look Jungkook had come to recognize as Yoongi’s Namjoon. 

“What? Are you babysitting?” Namjoon questions aloud while staring Jungkook down.

“Always the first to arrive and the last to leave,” Jungkook grins. “I also leave them satisfied,” he adds on while winking at the tall RA. 

Yoongi doesn’t comment, Jungkook knows his friend, he’s doing his best not to double over laughing. He stares directly ahead at Namjoon as he knows he will not make it if he sees Jungkook’s goofy smile. “What did you need?”

“It’s about our joint project this year.”

Yoongi leans against the door frame and crosses his arms over his chest, “We talked about this, Joon. I’m doing the project solo. I already got permission from the professor.”

“Yoongs, come on, think about,” Namjoon’s eyes suddenly find Jungkook and the Freshman raises a brow in question. “Can we talk about this privately?”

Jungkook stands and moves to lean just next to Yoongi, “Or you could say it here. You interrupted us, not the other way around.”

Jungkook can feel Yoongi relax next to him. If it had been him that Namjoon was trying to corner, Jungkook isn’t sure he would’ve been able to stay strong either. Even now, looking at Namjoon was filling Jungkook’s stomach with small cocoons. If he didn’t know how Namjoon had treated Yoongi, he probably would be filled with butterflies.

Namjoon directs his gaze to Yoongi, “Tell your child to back out of adult conversation.”

Yoongi scoffs, “Who exactly is the adult?” Yoongi’s hand loosely motions between himself and Namjoon, “Me? You weren’t very adult when I asked you about what happened. You were also rather irrational when I flirted with you at the party.”

“That’s between us,” Namjoon grinds out, jaw ticking in anger. 

“No, sweetie, what was between us was a horrible kiss and the best handjob of your life. So spare me. Jungkook stays.”

Jungkook’s eyes have gotten so wide, he’s sure he looks like a deer. He’s having to bite his lips to keep himself from laughing as Namjoon throws a whatever Yoongi’s way and grumbles as he walks away. When Yoongi closes the door, Jungkook high-five’s him, “That was amazing!”

Yoongi grins, his pink gums popping out, “It felt good.”

Jimin is sitting on the edge of his bed. He had opted out of being an RA this year, but somehow still managed to become one when the person they picked had backed out at the last minute. Which had Jimin here, early, realizing he hadn’t forgotten one thing about Jungkook over winter break. 

“He’s cute,” the boy across from him hums. “I see why you like him.”

That one sentence had Jimin realizing just how much he had talked about Jungkook to Taemin, his partner for his Junior year dance project. Jimin hides his face behind his knee of the leg he had propped up on the bed, “Is it that obvious?”

“Not to him,” Taemin laughs, “He seemed to think something else.” 

Jimin watches Taemin as he dusts off his outfit. From where he sat, there was no way that someone could misconstrue Taemin’s presence in his life currently. Jimin wishes he was cold-hearted enough to try and convince Taemin to help him get over Jungkook, but Taemin had his own problems. It was more than once that Taemin’s boyfriend would stop by to make sure that nothing was happening between the two dance majors. 

A tinkling tone that Jimin had come to recognize as Taemin’s boyfriend calling cuts through the silence and Jimin just waves Taemin off before he can excuse himself. As he looked around the room, it was a bit depressing. Taehyung had taken over Hobi’s RA position, so Jimin was going to run Itaewon alone. Jimin had never had full command of a dorm, so he felt a bit overwhelmed.

Jimin’s door opens and it’s Taemin poking his head inside, “Minho’s here. I’ll text you later to set up a rehearsal schedule.”

“Bye,” Jimin smiles and waves.

Once he’s alone again, Jimin stares around his empty room. He already missed Taehyung’s art on the walls and funky clothes busting out of his closet. Jimin missed his best friend.

<Losers Anonymous> Jimin: Can we hang out? I miss you Tae: Oh,,, Tae: I was actually going to meet up with JK Tae: I didn’t bother him over the break Tae: So I was trying to catch up with him Tae: Why don’t you come with me? Jimin: He doesn’t want to see me, Tae Jimin: He probably hung out with that tall film major all winter break Tae: Yugyeom? I doubt it Jimin: I’m going to unpack Jimin: See you for dinner? Tae: We have that welcoming party… Jimin: I’ll see you there

Jungkook hadn’t hung out with that kid over winter break? Jimin chews on his thumb as he thinks about it. He had just assumed that Jungkook and his friend would get close since Jimin had blown him off at the end of the semester. Jimin stares down at this thread with Jungkook on his phone. Should he write him? Would Jungkook even answer his messages if he did? Jimin tosses himself back on his bed with a sigh. Was this how the spring semester was going to go?

Music is blasting from four prominent loud speakers at every corner of the lawn as a handful of new and returning resident advisors enter the space. Jungkook sighs as he was the outcast at this party. The tag-along, as Yoongi didn’t want to be alone, which Jungkook now knew the reason why. Namjoon must have been hounding Yoongi to work together over the break, but Yoongi was blowing him off. He looks down into the contents of the solo cup that Yoongi had handed him before he got swept away by another RA and could instantly recognize the concoction as the green liquid death that Yoongi had been drinking the first night he met him. 

Jungkook is lifting the cup to his lips when a voice stops him.

“It’s poison,” the airy voice of the guy who ghosted him last year comes forward followed by the ghost himself. Jungkook was always in awe every time Jimin was around. He’s tucked away in black skinny jeans and a somewhat buttoned silk shirt with his hair looking windswept as he approaches. “Yoongi is a mutant, so I don’t recommend trying jungle juice.”

Jungkook offers a smile, but lowers the cup back down anyway. A question burns in Jungkook’s mind as he stares at the beautiful RA, eyes now sporting blue contacts instead of his ethereal gray last year, but he keeps his mouth shut.

“How was winter break?” Jimin tries to open a conversation. “Taehyung said he didn’t have much time to text anyone, and neither did I. I guess that makes us pretty bad RAs, doesn’t it?”

Jungkook half-shrugs as he whips his long fringe out of his eyes, “If that’s what you want to use as the deciding factor, then sure.”

Jimin’s pretty lips poke out into a frown, “I was busy, JK.”

Jungkook merely stares at the RA for a moment, before his eyes drift off around the get-together. He couldn’t understand why Jimin was so concerned with ignoring him over the winter break when in the last month of the last semester he did the exact same thing. Jungkook was getting used to Jimin ignoring him. Even if his heart was still pounding in his ears just from how close Itaewon’s RA was to him now. His mind reminds him how it felt to kiss Jimin, even if he wasn’t sure of what to do in those moments- Jimin’s lips had haunted his dreams well into mid-December.

“JK!” The voice that gave Jungkook instant relief yells almost right next to him. “There’s someone I want you to meet! Oh-“ Taehyung lowers his excitement when he realizes Jimin is there. “Jimin, I didn’t even see you. Can I steal JK for a moment?”

Jimin is staring holes into Jungkook, but Jungkook is looking at Taehyung as he spouts something about some game the RAs play every year to break the ice. The person who leads that game is probably the person Taehyung is talking about. “Sure,” Jimin offers with a weak smile. “I need to go talk to someone else, as well.”

Jimin doesn’t wait for any response and wanders off, Jungkook’s eyes following the boy for only a moment before he gets pulled into Taehyung’s story again as they walk to where Taehyung wants them to go. Even if Jungkook tries to give Tae his full attention, his mind wanders back to Jimin. How he looked in the usual get-up that would have had old Jungkook falling all over himself just to talk to the RA. Jimin just had to make eye contact with Jungkook to make him feel like a blubbering mess. Yoongi was right, he was not over Jimin.

©️Deijiyong, 2024.

[4jnismo]

[230125] — 🐥 upgrade: 'VIBE (feat. Jimin)'

1. "VIBE" feat Jimin debuts at #2 on this week’s Digital Song Sales chart. It's the second biggest sales week of 2023.

2. "VIBE" feat Jimin debuts at #76 on this week's Billboard Hot 100.

3. "VIBE" feat Jimin debuts at #1 on this week Billboard World Digital Song Sales Chart. earned 4.2 million streams and 20,000 units sold in the US for the week ending January 19!

CONGRATULATIONS JIMIN!

[btsqualityy]

okay my last one 😭 jimin and noah spoiling mama park and syd for national women’s day 🤭

"I can't believe the two of you did all of this for us," you gushed as you looked around the living room from your spot on the couch. For national women's day, Jimin had woken you and Sydney up early to a room full of balloons and presents to celebrate both you and Syd.

"We had to," Jimin smiled, tightening his arm around your waist. "You do so much for me and the kids, I wanted to spoil you."

"Well, you definitely did that," you grinned, looking down at your upgraded wedding band that sat on your fourth finger. For your major gift, Jimin had given you a brand new wedding bad, filled with diamonds.

"I'm just happy you're happy," Jimin murmured as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head. "And I had to teach Mini Me how to appreciate the women in his life." You both looked down at the floor then, where Noah was sitting in front of Sydney.

"Open please, oppa," Sydney requested as she handed a piece of chocolate off to her brother.

"Ok," Noah said, ripping the wrapper off before holding it up to Sydney's mouth. "Let oppa do it. You don't want chocolate on your shirt."

"I'm so happy you're the influence for him," you told Jimijn as you looked back at him. "Noah is already so sweet and considerate, and he's like that because he sees you being that way to us all the time."

"You make me wanna be the best version of myself I can be," Jimin told you. "I love you."

"I love you," you whispered before leaning over and kissing him passionately.

[sizzlingpatrolfox]

i still remember after letter hidden track secret was open, there were some pjms who felt relief as it wasn't on streaming platform and actually neglected the song until jimin's letter video released on festa just because jk has some secs bg vocals lol those same pjms today speaking "oh we give money to whatever he does" hypocrisy lol and im not against to the show but what i don't understand is they are behaving as if you said boycott his solo thing, that heavy reaction isn't necessary imo.

I didn't see pjms "ignoring" letter just because of his barely there background vocals, so I don't vouch for what you just said. PJMs were literally the only solos streaming friends and who. Jimin's music has always been rightfully supported, even if it involved other members. As long as they liked the songs, ofc. I personally LOOOVE friends, I made a post about like two months ago. I have "who" added to some of my like crazy playlists.

LITERALLY pjms are holding their breath everytime there's the smallest chance he might show up for Jungkook or show support for him, but they got mad because I said "don't click on Jungkook content"????

Maybe I should've phrased my post differently or something, I wasn't really thinking how it came across because I honest to God had assumed pjms wouldn't be watching a JIKOOK TRAVEL VLOG 😭

And you know what... some pjms don't even hate Jungkook like that so they tolerate him in content. I DONT. I really don't tolerate him anymore, so I don't care to watch him on screen. I don't cry and throw up everytime he shows up, but if I can avoid him, I will. I don't search for his stuff.

Majority of pjms even like him at times, and they only get angry when he gets privileges that Jimin didn't get, or when he gets more streams. Then Jimin gets more records or awards or nominations and suddenly they don't hate Jungkook anymore. Then Jungkook gets --- you know how it goes. Some pjms are truly spineless in that sense.

Some jikookers are like that, too. They like Jimin the most when they perceive him as inferior than Jungkook. The times Jimin is clearly superior to him, they quickly look for something to downgrade him again or upgrade Jungkook.

I've blocked a lot of people like that. Jikookers mostly, but some were pjms too. People who liked and interacted with my posts when they were angry at Jungkook but then something ship related would happen, and I'd see them liking and reblogging jikook as if they hadn't been liking my not-so-nice posts about Jungkook the day before.

Maybe it's just me that I've honestly always been a very well emotionally balanced person, but I really don't like that kind of people 😭 pick a fucking side. When I don't like someone, I just don't like them. It takes years for me to change my mind about someone -whether it's a positive change or a negative one, it really takes a lot of time for me. I didn't just wake up one day and decided I didn't like Jungkook anymore, the change in my feelings about him is a process that's been going on for more than a year. You can't like someone when you're in a good mood and hate their guts the day you wake up on the wrong side of the bed.

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

Well, I guess Run BTS episodes finally came to an end. I have to admit, I was surprised this last one was funny because the previous episode made me click on fast forward, but I guess Jimin deciding to be the entertainer worked and the fact that it was pretty chaotic. It's the combination of some slapstick and gag comedy.

Also, that ass was the star of the match and he gave Baby J energy.

The special edition Run was a hit and miss and unfortunately mostly a miss. Especially how they made it too obvious that a big part of its purpose was advertising. I can look over that if the episodes are actually good, except they failed more than once, in comparison to what Run BTS used to be. Perhaps a real break is needed and if they ever come back to do this type of show, they can upgrade it.

[hwatron]

~𝑳𝒚𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚, 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔~

✰𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒋𝒊𝒏✰ 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ✰ 𝑨𝑶3 ✰

𝑹𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 ~ 18+

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ~ 3,310

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚

Seokjin took a moment to absorb the atmosphere, feeling the beat of his heart rising in his ears as he looked out at the crowd.

"Let's do this," he said, his voice cutting through the tension. The first chords echoed through the venue, signaling the beginning of their set. The crowd, initially chatting and laughing, gradually hushed as the music enveloped them. Seokjin picked at the strings of his guitar slung around his torso, leaning to speak into the mic.

"My name is Jin and we're Echlipse, please enjoy the show!"

~ Lyricist Jin and artist Namjoon who thinks he has found god himself in this shitty bar tonight.

𝑷 1 ~ 𝑻𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒆𝒅 ~

The small radio in the corner of the room softly played as bodies shuffled around each other in the small space trying to pull on a pair of too-tight jeans or tapping a midnight shade to their lids. Wide shoulders hunched over the tiny table shoved in the corner of the heavily mildewy-scented glorified coat closet the bar called a dressing room, the main vocalist pulled his eye bags down with a gentle touch to line his bottom waterline with his black pencil eyeliner.

The less glamorous setup would have disappointed other artists, yet the group was grateful even to have the chance to perform.  After the pencil had served its purpose it was dropped back into the pale pink makeup bag it called home. Knobby fingers rummaged around in the bag to retrieve the finishing touch, plush pink lips being layered with a swipe of strawberry chapstick.

The cracked mirror leaning against the white cement brick wall reflected his face to him, locking eyes with the version of himself he longed to encapsulate Seokjin sighed softly, he could see the passion hiding behind his dark brown eyes or perhaps that was just the eyeliner. A wide-eyed Jungkook broke his concentration by shuffling up behind him and resting his chin on his shoulder with a quirk of his pierced lips, piercings of which Seokjin had begrudgingly accepted how they decorated his brother's face.

"Feeling nervous? This is the first time they're paying us to perform!" Seokjin lovingly knocked his head against Jungkooks as he locked eyes with his little brother in the mirror.

"When have I ever been nervous Kookie...Come on you know me better than that." Jin turned to shoot the boy a cheeky grin, nudging him lightly in the side. 

Jungkook chuckled, playfully shoving Seokjin's arm away. "I guess you're right. You've been doing this long enough to make it look effortless." 

A loud shocked laugh snapped out of Seokjin's lips as his eyes widened "I'd hardly call my years singing for Hoseok and I's shitty garage band makes me an expert in performing!" Jungkook smirked, his playful expression morphing into a mischievous grin. "Well, you've come a long way from the garage! Now we've upgraded to glorified coat closets, and need I remind you again...we are getting paid!" 

Seokjin chuckled softly, shaking his head lightly at the eighteen-year-old with a fond smile before getting distracted by the glimpse of Jimin hopping around on one leg trying to pull on a pair of too-tight leather pants. "Jimin, are you sure those pants aren't a size too small?" he teased, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Jimin shot him a playful glare, ignoring the giggles from his bandmates as he attempted to wrestle the pants into submission. "It's the style Jin! I know they fit it's just the leather isn't cooperating!" Jimin cried out with a whine as his battle continued, finding a spot against the wall to lean which gave him enough leverage to finally pop the garment on.

"Just make sure you're fully dressed once we get on stage, yeah Jiminie?" Hoseok piped up from the floor where he was tying up his beat-up red Converse.

Jimin rolled his eyes as he buttoned and zipped the pants "Are you still wearing those ratty things?".

Hoseok gasped at the question, picking up the shoe he'd yet to slip on and slapping it against Jimin's leg, "These shoes are lucky, you brat!"

"They're practically falling apart Hobi! there's probably a hole in the heels!" Jimin slapped away the attack, shuffling away from Hoseok to hide against Jin's un-jungkook-occupied shoulder.

The bickering pulled a laugh out of Jungkook who'd begun tapping his fingers against Seokjin's arms as if he were his drum set out of boredom. Seokjin smiled fondly at his bandmates, gently patting Jimin's hand clinging to his bare bicep while he allowed Jungkook to use him for entertainment. "It's no use, Hobi's probably going to be buried in those shoes. You'll have to literally pry them from his cold dead hands."  Jimin huffed, pressing his cheek against Seokjin's shoulder with a pout, "Everyone's gonna think we're a broke-ass band because of our shitty outfits." 

"Shitty?!? I'll have you know this black tank top cost me five dollars." Jin pulled at the fabric for emphasis, a pleased grin spreading on his face. "Didn't it come in a pack of ten?" Jungkook mumbled softly over his brother's shoulder. 

"fashionable and affordable." Seokjin hummed happily. 

"I'll have you know I have a carefully curated aesthetic, of which these shoes are a main attribute!" Hoseok chimed back in while waving his busted ink-covered shoe around.

"You'll have to update your 'aesthetic' eventually." Jimin pulled away from the safety of the two Kims and shuffled closer to Hoseok once more to pull his boots on. Hoseok dramatically clutched his heart, feigning offense. "You guys just don't understand the sentimental value. These shoes have been with me through thick and thin, and I won't abandon them now."

"Honestly, Hobi, if those shoes could talk, they'd probably beg for retirement!" Jimin cried out all while Seokjin stood to collect the last few things they'd need for their performance.

Hoseok raised an eyebrow, a theatrical expression of disbelief on his face. "Retirement? These shoes are timeless classics, Jiminie. They're practically legendary in the world of fashion!"

Jungkook, still drumming his fingers on Seokjin's arms, chimed in with a grin, "Legendary for smelling like old socks, maybe."

"Alright, Alright that's enough. It's almost our set time." Seokjin clapped his hands together to gather the attention of the group, motioning for them to pile over into a group huddle. "We've been working for this for a long time...I'm so proud of all of you so let's give it our all but just remember to have fun guys, alright?".

They truly had been working for this small first step for a while. The journey to this point had been a culmination of years of dedication and passion. Seokjin's love for music had evolved from a small hobby into late-night sessions, teaching himself the guitar.

Every hard-earned penny from chores and birthdays had been pooled to acquire his cherished pearl-white electric guitar, a faithful companion still in use today. Days and nights were spent pouring raw emotions and thoughts onto paper, crafting them into songs that would become the heartbeat of their performance. while he began his musical journey alone. Seokjin's dedication had inspired his younger brother, who, with unwavering determination, sought to tread the same path. Jungkook stood by Seokjin's side much to the disapproval of their parents who saw the hobby as a waste of time that had already distracted their oldest son enough from his intended future of inheriting the family company.

After Jungkook came Hoseok, Seokjin's main confidant and only friend through high school. The trio spent hours practicing in Hoseok's garage next to his dad's rusted-out 88' impala. With the final addition of Jimin through Hoseok's dance troop in college the group had been complete and now had blended their love of music and their friendship through hard work to finally land a gig after exclusively playing for free at any stage that would have them. As he finished his reminiscing Seokjin turned his attention back to his friends who had been by his side to support his art. 

"They're gonna love us." Jungkook piped up proudly, looking between the three men with a toothy grin, earning a nod of agreement from both Jimin and Hoseok. Seokjin beamed at the group, breaking away from the huddle with a nod of his own. Stepping around their various bags and thrown around clothes he pushed the door of the room open, holding the door for the boys as they shuffled out.

The stage manager looked up from his clipboard as the group approached, his eyes narrowing in an assessing gaze. The group moved down the hall to the employee's only door where the small bar's stage manager was standing with a clipboard in his hands. He glanced over their eclectic outfits and well-worn instruments, seemingly unimpressed.

"You guys are up next. It's a packed house tonight, so make it good," he barked, gesturing towards the small lifted stage in the corner of the college bar. The group exchanged quick nods and a collective deep breath before following the stage manager.

The band was led down another hall that led to the stage, the manager checking off a few things while each boy stepped onstage where their instruments awaited them. Seokjin fet at east on the dimly lit stage, bathed in hues of red and blue from the strategically placed spotlights, stepping over the various wires on the ground he found his spot at the mic stand front and center.    

Seokjin took a moment to absorb the atmosphere, feeling the beat of his heart rising in his ears as he looked out at the crowd of rowdy college kids littering the dance floor in front of the stage as well as the many stools at the bar. The other band members fidgeted with their instruments, adjusting straps and tuning strings. They were ready for this, ready to showcase the culmination of their passion and hard work. 

Seokjin took a deep breath, the electrified air of the stage filling his lungs. He could feel the hum of the instruments and the distant chatter of the crowd. The room seemed to pulse with anticipation. Seokjin looked back at his bandmates, a reassuring smile on his face.

"Let's do this," he said, his voice cutting through the tension. The first chords echoed through the venue, signaling the beginning of their set. The crowd, initially chatting and laughing, gradually hushed as the music enveloped them. Seokjin picked at the strings of his guitar slung around his torso, leaning to speak into the mic. 

"My name is Jin and we're Echlipse, please enjoy the show!"

The first notes resonated through the venue, filling the room with the raw energy of their music. Seokjin's voice soared above the instruments, pouring out lyrics that echoed the emotions etched into the songs. The drunken crowd responded with enthusiasm, people dragging their friends out to the stage floor to dance and twirl around as Seokjin's silver voice filtered through the air.

Jungkook's drumming reverberated through the venue, driving the rhythm forward, while Hoseok's bass added a pulsating heartbeat to the performance. Jimin's fingers flew across the keyboard in front of him, the rings on his fingers glinting in the stage light. The initial hush of the crowd gave way to an energetic wave of movement and sound. College kids, caught in the infectious beats, surrendered to the music. The dance floor became a lively sea of bodies swaying and jumping to the rhythm.

Seokjin's guitar playing became an extension of his emotions, each strum conveying a piece of the passion and dedication that had brought them to this stage. His voice resonated with clarity, reaching every corner of the venue, as he sang lyrics that spoke of life's highs and lows. Seokjin poured his very soul into each lyric he wrote, stripping himself bare on the page as he used the stage as his outlet. Staring out at the crowd with stars in his eyes Seokjin threw himself into the music, the feelings of eyes burning into him as he dominated their attention filled him with euphoria, pointing out at the crowd with a stunning smile gracing his lips. 

The crowd was enraptured by the man and his stage presence. That much was obvious. Two figures at the back of the bar, leaning against the counter with drinks in hand had been chatting quietly with one another before the taller of the two had his attention torn away by the man on stage. Namjoon had an appreciation for many things in this life. He found beauty in the mundane, finding muse at every turn.

Yet this was different.

As Namjoon watched Seokjin and Echlipse perform, he felt a connection to the raw emotion pouring out from the stage, something he felt he could relate to in his poetry. The music resonated with him, and he found himself captivated by Seokjin's presence. The way Seokjin bared his soul on stage sent shivers down Namjoon's skin, the look of pure ecstasy the man had as he performed was breathtaking.

As the final song played Seokjin's silver voice cut through the air one last time, carrying with it a resonance that struck a chord within Namjoon. Namjoon's eyes were fixed on Seokjin, observing the way he commanded the stage with both grace and intensity.

The guitarist's fingers danced across the strings, and his voice echoed with a profound sincerity, a shared human experience conveyed through Seokjin's heartfelt delivery. As Seokjin pointed out to the crowd with a radiant smile, Namjoon couldn't help but feel a surge of inspiration. It wasn't just about the music; it was about the connection forged between the artist and the audience. Seokjin could create an intimate atmosphere in a crowded room, inviting everyone to share in the emotional journey of the songs.

When Echlipse's set reached its climax, and Seokjin took his final bow, the room erupted in applause. Namjoon joined in, clapping enthusiastically, his eyes still fixed on the stage. There was a newfound appreciation in his gaze, a recognition of the power of artistic expression that transcended mediums.

The applause echoed through the venue, and Seokjin's bandmates joined him in taking their bows, acknowledging the appreciation of the audience. The room buzzed with energy, the aftermath of a performance that had left an indelible mark on the crowd.

Seokjin, still caught in the euphoria of the moment, exchanged proud and exhilarated glances with Jungkook, Hoseok, and Jimin. Seokjin, breathless but exhilarated, took a moment to soak in the scene. Stepping forward to the mic one last time, Seokjin addressed the crowd, "Thank you all so much for being an amazing audience tonight! We're Echlipse, and we hope you enjoyed the show as much as we did performing for you. Goodnight!"

As the band shuffled off stage Namjoon was left staring at the gaping hole Jin's absence left. Yoongi reached out to gently nudge the man's shoulder with a knowing smirk. "You look like you've seen god himself Joon."

"I think I just might've... there's no other way a man like that could exist." Namjoon mumbled with a baffled expression, turning his attention back to Yoongi as the man broke out in a laugh. 

"You're hopeless, I've never seen you so awestruck over a pretty face." Yoongi hummed while taking a sip from his drink, glancing out at the slowly dispering crowd. Namjoon ran a hand through his hair, still somewhat in awe. "It's just... I've never seen someone perform like that. It's like he poured his entire soul into those songs." 

"Well maybe if you hang around long enough you can try and talk with him." Yoongi once again supportively patted his friend on the shoulder. Namjoon turned to Yoongi with wide eyes "What would I even say?!?! Yes, hello, my name is Kim Namjoon and your music has awakened something within me?! No way!"  Yoongi's laughter filled the air as Namjoon rambled on, his eyes wide with disbelief and excitement. "Calm down, Joon. You don't have to propose on the spot. Just start with a compliment, maybe mention how the performance moved you. Artists appreciate that kind of feedback."

Namjoon nodded, still processing the whirlwind of emotions. "Yeah, you're right...God, I need another drink." Namjoon whined softly as he turned back to face the counter. Yoongi chuckled, signaling the bartender for another round

As the night wore on, the atmosphere in the bar shifted from the energetic buzz of the performance to a more relaxed vibe. Yoongi nudged Namjoon, pointing subtly toward the exit where the members of Echlipse were making their way through the crowd. Seokjin, now off the stage, seemed more approachable, surrounded by the familiar faces of Jungkook, Hoseok, and Jimin. The group loudly bounced off one another with their after-stage adrenaline. Hoseok ushered the group over to the bar with a bright smile, perching on a stool as Jin called over the bartender. 

"Two shots for me and him," The man spoke while gesturing between himself and Hoseok before pointing at Jimin and Jungkook, "And waters for those two." The bartender nodded in acknowledgment and quickly prepared the shots and water. Seokjin raised his glass, offering a toast to the success of the night "To a great first official gig! You guys were amazing!" The vocalist chirped happily as they clinked glasses together before throwing back the shots. 

Namjoon, observing from a distance, felt a mix of admiration and excitement. He took another sip of his drink, gathering the courage to approach the group. Yoongi, sensing Namjoon's intention, gave him an encouraging nod.

Namjoon ran a hand through his hair in a quick attempt to compose himself before making his way over to the band, his cheeks tinged with a rosy hue. As he neared, he cleared his throat and addressed Seokjin with a nervous grin, "Y-you're captivating—no, I mean, your lyrics are captivating. I'm genuinely moved by the vulnerability shown in your work." 

Seokjin, initially surprised by the sudden approach, smiled warmly at Namjoon's earnest words. The other members looked at each other with knowing glances as they watched everything unfold. 

"Thank you so much," Seokjin replied, his voice carrying a genuine appreciation. "I'm glad you felt a connection with our music. It means a lot to hear that someone appreciates the soul of the song." Namjoon nodded softly partly in agreement and partly in awe of Seokjin. He composed himself once more as his cheeks darkened "I do a lot of writing myself...I was hoping maybe I'd be able to pick your brain for a bit on your process. Over a coffee maybe?"

Seokjin's eyes lit up with genuine interest, appreciating Namjoon's sincerity. "I'd love to," he replied, a warm smile playing on his lips. "I love talking about the creative process. Coffee sounds perfect." After an awkward fumbling of exchanging phones and numbers, Namjoon scurried back to Yoongi with a bright grin all while Seokjin turned back to the smirks of his bandmates who quickly began teasing the eldest. 

Jungkook playfully nudged Seokjin, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, well, looks like someone's got an admirer."

Hoseok joined in, grinning, "Go Jin! Can't believe we do one real show and you've got hunky nerds coming out of the woodwork to get your number." Seokjin rolled his eyes at their teasing but couldn't hide the pleased smile that lingered. "It's not like that. We're just going to grab coffee and talk about music and writing."

Jimin chimed in, "Sure, sure, just coffee. We've all seen this one before, It's the classic 'coffee date turned epic romance' plot."

Seokjin laughed his squeaky laugh, brushing off their playful banter. "You guys watch too much TV. It'll be nice to talk to someone who isn't one of you brats." Seokjin couldn't help but smile at the warm feeling blooming in his chest as he looked to his band, his family, even as they teased him. 

Amidst the playful banter, the night rolled on, the bar gradually emptying as patrons headed home. The group decided to call it a night, promising each other to celebrate properly the next day with a group dinner at Seokjin and Jungkook's apartment. Seokjin watched Jimin and Hoseok climb into Hoseok's rust bucket of a truck that hauled their instruments. He turned back to Jungkook once the boy hailed a cab, sliding into the back seat with the increasingly sleepy boy, allowing him to lean against his side for the drive even if it meant drool on his shoulder.

[roo-bastmoon]

Premium Spotify Snafu

If you were like me and planning on making several premium Spotify accounts today but you have ever had a free trial before, you cannot get any more free trials on Spotify with the same email, address, OR credit card.

You can try to start from scratch with a new credit card, email address, and billing address, as if you were a new human being, over and over... or you can bite the bullet and choose this great a work-around, but it involves a discounted payment plan:

So for me, I signed up for a free trial for VIBE when it dropped. Which means my address and my credit card are blocked from any more free trials. I went to login under my different fandom emails, but Spotify understood they were linked to the same info and would not let me get premium no matter what. I'm at work today and I do not have time to go out and fiddle with gift cards or use friends' and family members' addresses to create a bunch of identities.

So what to do?

I signed up for a Premium Family Plan.

This allows me to pay $16 total each month with my main credit card to own 6 individual, independent Spotify premium accounts--and all 6 of these profiles individually count separately for Billboard streaming, provided I stream properly.

That's less than $3 for premium accounts with streams that count three times as high as free streams. Worth it, for me, because I know I can cancel this plan in any given month. Since I am not locked in for a year, I likely will cancel after Suga's tour unless another member needs me to be at peak.

I genuinely like this family plan option, because it means I can quickly and easily shuffle through my premium accounts so I can hit those 20 streams and then move on to the next account, for maximum charting.

The only thing is that if you upgrade your free trial today to a Family Plan, Spotify will give you a link to invite other members of your "household." You then need to email yourself that link to 5 other fandom emails.

You gotta log into each email, follow the link you just emailed yourself, and sign in to your different corresponding Spotify accounts, save your password, and set yourself up. As you accept your emailed invitation, it will ask you for the EXACT ADDRESS from your main owner account, so write that down before you dig into your various inboxes.

As you log in to all 6 of your Family Plan accounts and start setting things up, be sure to follow BTS, each of the members (especially Jimin today), and I highly recommend you also follow JRJ-OT7 for the best chartable playlists for BTS that I've ever seen.

Let her do the hard work for you, making playlists using exact calculations for filler songs, timing, and charting impact. Go ahead and like some of her playlists so you have something in your library before FACE drops and be on the lookout for her FACE-specific stuff when it drops.

If you have questions feel free to ask in the comments--I'm working today and may not be able to get to you as quickly as another fan can.

PLEASE SHARE THIS SO MORE PEOPLE UNDERSTAND THEY NEED TO TAKE TIME TODAY TO SET UP PREMIUM ACCOUNTS CAREFULLY.

If you have a better alternative or more info for folks who cannot afford a subscription, please PLEASE share your knowledge and thank you!

Love, Roo

[llitchilitchi]

Copacetic AU fashion ideas: Collars are a must. Maybe different ones to coordinate with outfits, OR one thick, heavy-duty one with a metal plate bolted to the leather with his name delicately engraved on it, like he's a pet just like Fran. Bare feet, at all times. Hair immaculately brushed and styled (c!Sam maybe likes brushing it and adding different clips and baubles and braids to it from day to day, and he likes it longer. Both because it frames Dream's features well and it's easier to manhandle him around by if he misbehaves.) Clothing, I keep picturing simple, elegant outfits, monochrome colored, usually white, but I can see black, too, with gauzy, semi-transparent layers. Like so:

https://sketcholivia.tumblr.com/post/658791797156446208/thats-not-how-you-play-a-violin-some-doodles#notes

https://www.deviantart.com/shaerahaek/art/Mafia-Boss-Jimin-fashion-749861962

https://www.deviantart.com/shaerahaek/art/Park-Jimin-755888239

https://www.deviantart.com/shaerahaek/art/Headhunter-AU-Character-Design-White-765517299

https://www.deviantart.com/shaerahaek/art/Model-Jimin-768108634

https://www.deviantart.com/shaerahaek/art/Trafalgar-Law-885208275

ohh those are all so so pretty, the vibe of those would actually work so well

here are the links for everyone so you don't have to copypaste

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

love how many of them were of jimin, anonnie, I forgot how much love people give to his fashion. maybe I could look through wings concept photos for a bit of inspiration as well?

I love your ideas for this. the use of white especially, something about dream being dressed all pretty in clean white cotton after the grime of the cell... pristine and pure and beautiful yet robbed of his identity when he is not allowed to wear any colour at all. would look particularly striking especially if we imagine his hair being white because of the revive book experiments

I've also been thinking about the collar for a while, since it got brought up last night, and I've been Really considering an electric collar for him as well. maybe if he misbehaves again, Sammy will have to upgrade to something of that sort.

(there is also the possibility of dream wearing the collar at all times and Sam takes it only when he's upset with him. dream doesn't handle it well.)