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alexlwrites · 9 days

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From my notes app: we can't be friends

This is heavily inspired by Ariana Grande's new music video so please go watch it. Anyway happy birthday yoongles sometimes i wish i could forget you so i could stop comparing normal men to you. All the love, my dude.

On the corner of a surgery room, a few doctors studied your box of belongings: a guitar pick, a half-empty bottle of perfume, scraps of paper and a white t-shirt. They lined up years and years of memory and scanned each of them, the room fading in front of you as each object went under the red light.

It didn’t take long for the first memory to appear, bright and shiny as the day you lived it: White cotton sheets covering your body, his beating heart all you could hear as you rested your head on his chest, long flushed fingers intertwined with yours. The whole world was encapsulated in that room and nothing else mattered as you and Yoongi breathed each other in a moment of quiet suspension, avoiding even blinking as to not miss a single moment of peace, mapping the shapes and planes of his face and swearing to never forget it.

Ultimately, that was the problem.

Lights flicked and suddenly you were in his studio as he bashfully showed you some unfinished tracked, callused fingers picking at his guitar strings as you held your breath until the melody finished. You clapped enthusiastically, stealing an embarrassed smile from your boyfriend. Even now, that song haunted you in dreams and followed you around your apartment. Every so often you’d catch yourself humming it and crumble to the ground as your weaponized amygdala worked against you, notes turning into a silent cry of pain.

The doctors moved into the scraps of paper, straightening them out. The surgery room faded once more as you were transported into another memory, brief recollections of all the moments he left behind notes with scribbled thoughts he could never say out loud, didn’t know how to, but still wanted you to know: how much he loved you, dimension and intensity, and how he carried your memory into every song he wrote and performed. Those papers carried the only evidence of all the music he made for you and for you only. The world could listen to them all, but never claim it.

“Please” you sobbed, shaking as the doctors rushed to restrain you “please let me keep that one. Just that one. He made it for me, I can’t forget it, please, please.”

But as you begged to keep that one moment in your heart, the machine moved on, projecting the one thing that drove you into this office and got you signing those documents. The reason why you need surgery and he didn’t - after all, he had no problem forgetting you.

“Maybe we can still be friends” he had said, as if that was all you were before. As if everything you lived together could be erased to the point where you could sit by each other and feel no urge to hold his hand. As if your existence in his life could be reduced to something else, washed out. As if one day he could wake up and be clean of you.

He could, you came to find out. The problem was you couldn’t.

“Please” you begged, but by then you didn’t even know what you were begging for. That was just all you knew how to do these past months - begging him to stay, then begging for the radio to stop playing him, begging the TV to stop showing him, begging every corner of your life to stop being so thoroughly stained by his presence in it.

Begging to forget. Begging to remember. Begging to forget again when your heart shatters and pierces you from the inside out. You couldn’t handle it anymore, being the sole vessel of all these memories, carrier of a whole universe of moments only you seemed to care about. You couldn’t take it anymore, so please, please…

The lights flicker. One of the doctors hands you a guitar pick but you don’t play, so you’re not sure what they want you to do with that. Then he gives you a little pile of scribbled paper, but the words don’t make much sense to you. You crumble them and shove them in your back pocket, where they will be destroyed by the machine once you do your laundry.

In the hospital reception, there’s an idol on the TV. He plays a song about his first love and you listen to it for a couple seconds before leaving. Every so often, you catch yourself humming the melody and smiling.

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alexlwrites · 10 days

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Hear me out: stardew valley au where namjoon is harvey and you fuck in his office

Youre welcome

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alexlwrites · 11 days

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me and my undying urge to be someone’s favorite

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alexlwrites · 12 days

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*screaming in draco malfoy language* you wait until my namjoon hears about this!!!

𝑩𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝑯𝒐𝒎𝒆

✿𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: OT7xReader

✿ 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: The one where, after living abroad for years, you move back to Korea and your old high school friend Namjoon offers you his place to stay while you get settled, casually forgetting to mention that: a) he still had a massive crush on you. b) he lived with six other guys.

✿ 𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔: Romance, Humor, Fluff, College AU, angst if you squint.

°•. ✿ .•°

𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐫 𝐀𝐎𝟑 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐤𝐨-𝐟𝐢

°•. ✿ .•°

Part 12 - What?

(<<< part 11)

Jin is sick.

Full on sick, bed-ridden, will-written (he left everything to his family dog, hoping to install chaos even in his after life), shivering in his near death state.

To sum up his pitiful state, Jin had the flu.

As the eldest, he was always thrown into the role of caregiver and he truly didn’t mind. Jin thrived knowing that his friends were well-fed and taken care of and the apartament wasn’t a pit of despair, dirty laundry, testosterone and food poisoning. Taking care of others filled him with prime and a beaming sense of purpose. He liked his loved ones happy and, furthermore, he liked being the one to provide said happiness, whether for his amazing cooking abilities or gentle, refined comedy.

But now, nearing the end of his life by the hands of a sneeze that just wouldn’t snooze, he regretted spoiling his dongsaengs rotten, because none of them had a single clue on how to help him or, at the very least, not worsen his state.

Namjoon’s voice echoed from the kitchen, a place he had been previously banned from, but brought back to in those desperate times “How much sugar do I put in this?”.

Nevermind. Jin wasn’t that desperate.

“None!” he coughed , feeling his soul leaving through his mouth as he hacked his lungs out “It’s a soup, you tall noodly buffoon.”

“What’s going on?”

Jin turned his red, teary, tortured eyes towards the door, where you stood with your backpack, taking off your shoes.

Namjoon scurried from the kitchen, seemingly untormented by the cloud of smoke left behind him and the alarming wheezing sound that foreshadowed nothing good.

“Y/N!” he called sweetly and leaned in to kiss your cheek, a brazilian habit he picked up from you, but funnily enough only seemed to use with you “Jin is being mean to me!”

Ugh. As if Seokjin wasn’t sick enough, he was then forced to watch his back-stabbing, sugar and baking powder wielding, Big Bird of a friend drape himself over your much smaller and much less Sesame Street looking body.

Jin wasn’t in his clearest state of mind, so he didn’t stop to ponder on the implications of the ache in his chest and the twisting sensation in his stomach at the sight, chalking it off as one of the symptoms of his imminent doom and not at all a sign for something much bigger and catastrophic.

“Why are you being mean, Jinnie?” you asked as you removed the koala-like grip Namjoon had on you and put away your stuff.

“He’s trying to poison me” he croaked from his pitiful burrow in the L shaped couch “Putting sugar in the soup.”

“Joonie, please we have talked about this. More than once.” Jin couldn’t help but purr with satisfaction as you chastised his lanky friend. Finally, he thought, sweet vindication “Don’t worry, Jin, I’ll get you something to eat.”

Those last few words sounded as if they were whispered from a thousand miles away, barely background noise as Seokjin once more slipped in and out of consciousness.

When he woke up again, there was a cold towel against his forehead and a pleasant smell filled his senses. You stood by his side, holding a bowl of something that smelled absolutely divine and Jin had a short, intrusive thought that this is what heaven looked like.

“Good to see you awake.” you said as his eyes blinked open “Sit up, I made you soup. Sugarless. You should get something to eat.”

Jin stretched his tired body, feeling the dull ache in his muscles complain about the movement. HIs fever seemed to have gotten better, but there was still some uncomfortableness left by his sweaty, snotty state.

Even so, he betted he still looked great. Sexy even, in a plague-esque, victorian child sort of way, like Timothee Chalamet. Hotter, both in looks and temperature, than most men in his life.

“Where’s everyone?” he asked, noticing the empty and unusually silent and peaceful apartament.

“They left a while ago. Joonie had classes.”

“Ungrateful bastards” he mumbled “I could’ve died since then!”

“From the flue?”

“From resentment!”

You laughed, placing the porcelain bowl carefully in his hands “Trust me, you don’t want any of them taking care of you.”

“Maybe Yoongi.”

“Yeah” you agreed “Maybe Yoongi.”

He ate in silence for a while, watching you make yourself busy around the room, unpacking your school bag and fixing yourself something to eat. “How are you feeling now?” you asked after sometime in quietude.

He coughed, folding over himself as his whole chest heaved in a violent fit. “Better”

Your arched a doubtful brow “You sure?”

Jin raised two thumbs, smile looking like a grimace.

“Yeah, very convincing except for the snot and smoker’s cough you have” you said, pushing him to lie back on the couch, hands on his burning chest “Stay down, soldier, I’ll take care of you.”

Those words sparked something in Jin’s chest, a sudden rush of fondness and affection that heated his cheeks even more. He had proudly and happily taken the role of caretaker in their friend group and never resented, but there was no denying the warmth that sentence brought him.

Your relationship with him had always been casual, at best, just exchanging crossed jokes and puns that made no one else laugh but the two of you. And although he liked to joke about your position as his future wife, there hadn’t been many attempts from either parties to deepen your friendship. You were just… Comfortable, Jin guessed. There was no strain to keep a conversation going, no awkward stepping around each other like there usually was in the beginning stages of getting to know someone.

Maybe it was your similarities that made you so at ease around each other, Jin pondered, weirdly contemplative in his pile of sickness by the couch. You were both the funniest people alive, great cooks, caring and exceedingly beautiful indivi-

Woah, he paused. When did he start thinking you were beautiful - exceedingly so? You were cute, sure, but beautiful? His eyes followed you across the room as you cleaned up the slight mess scattered around the space, accessing your features: lit up eyes, easy smile, soft looking hair and skin that begged for him to reach out and touch…

Jin halted his dangerous line of thinking. Was this a side effect of the flu or an epiphany? Was the pounding of his heart just a sign of the decomposing of his body or just the feeling of unbound gratefulness at being taken care of? Or was it just…

You.

***

You.

Jungkook thought about your existence within his life half wistfully and half infuriated. You were simultaneously the reason why he had a hard time leaving his room after waking up and paradoxically the current only reason he did. There was nothing new about early mornings with his hyungs hogging the coffee and sleeping on top of the dinner table, but seeing you by the kitchen sink or holding stupid Yoongi’s stupid hands always kickstarted his heart, even if painfully so. He had been living with you for quite a few weeks now and his body and soul had yet to get accustomed to your presence in his routine - still, you were everywhere, from your perfume invading his senses to his Marvels movies he could never watch the same way now that he knew how it felt to see them with your arms around him.

Jungkook had to act. Not only because he couldn’t hold his feelings inside his surprisingly muscular chest, but also due to the movement he could see happening around the house hold. From Namjoon clinging onto you like a disease, to Hoseok’s threats and Yoongi’s silent plottings, Jungkook knew if he didn’t do something, someone else would.

And he was nothing if not a sore fucking loser.

So Jungkook got to planning, cataloging everything he knew about you and your routine to come up with the perfect moment to ask you out. He had not gotten as far as considering what he would do if you said yes (start dancing? Yell? Fireworks? Punch Namjoon in celebration? Who fucking knew) but in order to not panic he had to take everything one step at a time and hope for the best, even if his previous relationship histories pointed in a different direction.

On the day he chose as The Perfect Day™, no one was supposed to be home, out having classes, at work or spreading havoc somewhere around campus ( mainly Taehyung and Jimin). No one, except you, enjoying one of your rare days off.

He had armed himself with an arsenal of your favorite things, from pastries to flowers, one more tube of lipgloss to add to your insurmountable collection and crocheted trinkets he tried to make himself but turned out looking like unidentifiable blobs (he hoped he could charm you with his attempt, at least). He practiced his speech until the words left his mouth automatically, leaving no room for mistakes or blabbing.

And he hoped, God did he hope, that you would give him the time of your day and spare him of the misery of having you so close and not being able to touch.

But things started going south as soon as he reached the first step of the stairs up to their apartament and ran face first into Hoseok, carrying a bouquet of roses and a bag from the same bakery Jungkook had just visited.

They stared at each other in dumbfounded silence for a few seconds, seeing but not processing each other’s presence and what it meant until Hoseok said “What are you doing?”.

Jungkook spluttered indignantly, “What are you doing?”

“I’m doing what I said I was going to do!”

“So am I!”

A second passed and no one moved. One second later, Jungkook bolted up the stairs, followed by his cursing hyung as he hoped that his toned thighs would give him an advantage in the race for your heart.

“I should be the one to ask her out!” Hoseok yelled from five steps behind “I’ve known her the longest!”

“And did nothing!” the maknae replied, starting to break a sweat “It’s my turn! You lost, old man!”

“Old man? I’m only a couple years older than you! I’m Y/N’s age! Are you calling her old?”

That made Jungkook trip up a step, slowing down his ascent “No! At least I can call her noona! What can you call her, huh?”

“I don’t know what I’m calling her, but I know what I’m calling you when I’m throwing you down the stairs: an ambulance!”

“Better make sure they know how to fix your broken heart when she says yes to me!”

“And if she says no?”

***

And if she says no?

Rejection was never something Jin gave much thought about and he wasn’t about to start now.

It was less about the belief that no one could reject him (although the concept did seem foreign to most) and more about rejecting the idea of missing opportunities due to fear of rejection. He could move on from being denied something, but never from regretting not taking chances.

And maybe this was a chance worth taking. Maybe, he thought while still observing you from his death bed (the couch), he could allow a joke to grow into something bigger and get to know you a little better. You didn’t have to start dating and then get married right away, but he saw potential in your congruent personalities.

And what more could he ask from a woman besides a sense of humor and the ability to feed him without poisoning him? The universe had already handed you to him in a platter.

“Y/N” he called softly.

You raised your head from across the room and smiled softly, further finalizing his decision with the way your eyes lit up “Yes?”

“Go out with me.”

Your eyes widened in shock “What?”

“What?”

They turned their heads to the door, where Jungkook was pressed against it with eyes as big as saucers, holding it close with his weight before it burst open to a panting Hoseok and, in the back, an appalled Yoongi stepping out from the elevator.

“WHAT?”

°•. ✿ .•°

𝐌𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧! 𝐂𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐞��𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝

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#bts fanfic #bts x reader #alexltalks #bts #jungkook x reader #min yoongi #jungkook #jung hoseok #kim taehyung #bts scenarios

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alexlwrites · 13 days

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Thank you so much for saying that! I always sort of feel like i'm not that great at describing each member gradually falling in love so this comment was a boost of confidence!

Thank you for reading!!