#t:unlisted

[cinnaminsvga]

tlhc!yoongi + 27 + 58 🤪

premise: “Please don't joke about these kind of things.” + "Why is everyone staring at us?" genre: tlhc!yoongi, angst || wc: 1.7K+ a/n: nary you're literally so fucked up for this LMFAOOO i saw this come in my inbox and literally gasped... tlhc!yoongi? in 2022? it's more likely than you think! (and also tlhc!jungkook lovers i am so sorry but also i am not hehehehe)

The sticky summer heat makes wearing a suit twice as hellish than it already is. Yoongi tugs at his collar fruitlessly, hoping for a scant amount of air conditioning to cool his overheated skin. He fidgets in his seat, not going unnoticed by the equally sweaty man beside him.

"Hyung, please stop fidgeting. The ceremony is about to start," Namjoon scolds, but it's hard to take him seriously when there are droplets of sweat running down his brow like a waterfall.

"Tell me again why on earth our friends decided to have their wedding at a fucking beach? During the worst heatwave of the century?" Yoongi hisses, running his damp handkerchief across his face. He is sure that he will look like he'd just taken a dive in the sea, suit and all, once the wedding photos get circulated around.

"Oh, you know how our beloved Taetae is. He's had this entire dream wedding planned since early November, and it's always easy to plan summer weddings when it's cold in the winter," Seokjin muses, pushing his expensive shades up his nose.

Yoongi notes in irritation that his hyung does not have a hair out of place, as per usual. The bastard never seems to look bad, not even under the sweltering heat of the devil's ass beating on their backs.

"Dream wedding or not, this shit sucks ass," Yoongi murmurs, pouting not unlike a child.

"Something tells me our little Yoonie is mad because he doesn't have his emotional support Y/N by his side," Seokjin coos condescendingly, squishing Yoongi's sweaty bread cheeks. "But don't worry, Yoongi-chi. You'll see your beloved Y/N walk down the aisle and you can jack off to the thought of seeing her in your own wedding when you get home tonight—"

Seokjin's words are cut off by a swift punch to the nuts, courtesy of Yoongi. Namjoon, his own beloved husband, does nothing to comfort him. Instead, he points to the doors, where a handsomely sunkissed Taehyung nervously makes his way to the front of the altar. "Look, Taehyung's here!"

Taehyung makes a stop a few aisles behind them, saying hello to a few acquaintances before making his way over to them. "Hey hyungs! Thanks for coming," Taehyung smiles brightly, reaching over to each of them to give them a hug. Despite the uncomfortable sensation of damp cheeks meeting neck, Taehyung is kind enough (or delusional enough) not to mention their haggard appearances.

"Of course, Taehyungie! Wouldn't miss it for the world," Seokjin grins back, slapping him amiably on the back. "I hope you aren't getting cold feet on your big day."

"Of course not! I've been waiting for this day my entire life," Taehyung says, sighing dreamily. "I still remember your wedding like it was yesterday. I was absolutely itching for my own day to come back then, so I almost can't believe it's finally here."

“As happy as I am for you, could you not have chosen a worse place to have a wedding? I mean, come on! I am literally swimming in my own bodily fluids right now,” Yoongi whines, trying but failing to sound like he’s just joking. 

Lucky for him, his entire friend group is used to his little hissy fits. “Oh, don’t worry Yoongi! I’m sorry for taking Y/N away, but I need my best woman only for today. Y/N will be yours again by tomorrow and you’ll forget about being a sad lonely loser!” Taehyung says cheerily. 

While Seokjin and Namjoon laugh in agreement, Yoongi splutters, indignant. “Why does everyone think I am unable to function as a human being unless Y/N is here?”

“Uh, because you don’t?” Namjoon says matter-of-factly. 

Yoongi fumes, but doesn’t retort. Seokjin mimics the sound of a whip with his mouth, prompting another punch to the nuts courtesy of Yoongi.

“Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy the reception later. If you don’t like the food, blame Seokjin since he’s the one who helped choose the menu,” Taehyung says.

“I mostly did it because I refuse to eat McDonalds during a wedding, thank you very much,” Seokjin sniffs.

“What’s wrong with McDonalds? That’s where hubby and I met in the first place,” Taehyung argues, but he knows he’s fighting a losing game.

Seokjin huffs. “Fine, be that way. Just don’t come crying to me when you and your husband get the Mickey D Shitspalooza during your honeymoon.”

“Husband-to-be,” Yoongi corrects, just to be an asshole. When Yoongi apologizes later, he’ll say it was the heat making him an asshole and his friends will call his bullshit.

“Semantics! What’s the difference between 30 minutes and now, anyway?” Taehyung laughs, waving him off. “Anyway! Gotta get into position! I’ll see you guys later!”

The trio bid their good lucks and blessings before settling back into their seats. The buzz from the crowd slowly dies down as people start to get into place. From one of the side doors, Yoongi notices a swish of a pink skirt flutter just out of view.

Call it Y/N-sense or whatever, but Yoongi already knows that it’s you even before your full frazzled form makes an entrance, your perfectly manicured hands gripping the door with urgency. Yoongi immediately notices the furrow in your brow as you quietly beckoned Taehyung to come closer, whispering something into his ear.

“There’s something wrong,” Yoongi mutters, watching the two of you. Seokjin follows his gaze, his own shoulders hunching tensely. 

Taehyung pulls away from you, an uncharacteristic scowl on his face. He shakes his head, pondering for a moment before shrugging his shoulders. His face morphs back into its former sunny self, but Yoongi can see the tinge of anxiety tugging at Taehyung’s lips. 

Yoongi tries to grab your attention, and just like him, you also have a Yoongi-sense coded deep within you. Your eyes meet, and Yoongi can’t help but smile. It takes you a beat longer than usual to smile back, your eyes shifting uneasily towards the main door of the chapel. 

He turns to look, and immediately understands the reason for your anxiety. “Oh,” he mutters lamely, his blood running cold.

Seokjin and Namjoon overhear him and turn to look as well. “Oh dear,” Seokjin gasps a little too loudly.

Yoongi lets out a deep, shuddering breath, the collar of his dress shirt feeling more and more like a noose. 

“What’s the difference between 30 minutes and now?” Yoongi repeats Taehyung’s words, watching as a tall, young man make his way to their aisle of seats. Familiar doe eyes meet his, hesitance pouring out of the boy in waves. He offers up a smile, but Yoongi is too stunned to return one of his own. 

“An ex,” Yoongi answers his own question, coming face to face with Jeon Jungkook.

“Hello, hyungs,” Jungkook greets politely, a tip-lipped smile on his face. “The usher told me that these seats were for close friends?”

There’s another question somewhere in there, Yoongi thinks. Are you a close friend, Jeon Jungkook?

“Of course, Jungkookie. Take the seat beside Yoongi-chi,” Namjoon snaps out of his stupor faster than the rest of them, scooting backward to let Jungkook pass through.

Jungkook nods meekly, fumbling his way until he’s seated arm-to-arm with Yoongi. The four of them sit in awkward silence, which worsens Yoongi’s fidgeting by tenfold. 

Eventually, he breaks. “Well, this is going to be fun, huh?” Yoongi says, laughing awkwardly.

“Hyung, please don’t joke about these kinds of things,” Namjoon says through gritted teeth. 

“I... I don’t intend to make a fuss,” Jungkook murmurs, eyes downcast. From the corner of his eye, Yoongi notes his hunched back, his clasped hands. For a split second, he sees a shy 18-year old freshman from a time since past. 

The chapel is thrumming. Everyone has their eyes and ears on them, and it makes Yoongi want to claw at his skin until his nails meet bone and then some. He goes to stand, but Seokjin is quick enough to pull him down back to his seat. “Don’t even think about it,” Seokjin spit at him, his grip on his arm deathly.

The problem with guilt, Yoongi wants to tell him, is that I’ve never been good at dealing with it.

When he meets eyes with you, you nod in understanding. No one else in this room understands the need to run as much as you did. The muscles in his thighs ache as he restrains himself from bolting out of there as quickly as he can. 

The problem is that he already knew this was bound to happen. Everyone in this chapel knew it was bound to happen, and some of them might have been excited. Nothing flows easier than gossip, and Yoongi knows that better than anyone else. 

What no one knows, however, was that it was his fault that this happened in the first place.

“It’s not your fault,” you remind him. “It seldom is.” Endlessly, you will remind him of this.

But it is, he argues. 

It is his fault that Jeon Jungkook isn’t walking down the aisle, and after all these years, forgiveness still does not come easy to Min Yoongi.

Guilt incarnate speaks before he can do anything. “I... Maybe this wasn’t a good idea,” Jungkook says, already stepping over their feet in his haste to get out

“No, Jungkookie—” Seokjin starts, but his words fall on deaf ears as Jungkook’s feet propel him out of the hall as fast as his long legs can take him. His footsteps sound loud in these hallowed halls, and it feels like they echo for eons inside Yoongi’s head.

From the altar, no one notices the way Taehyung has his arm outstretched, almost like he’s about to run after him. No one except for one pair of eyes, whose heart breaks at the sight. 

“Taehyung,” you whisper, placing a gentle hand on his arm. He lowers it immediately, without a fight. 

He swallows thickly. “I know.” He bows his head sadly.

The chatter returns, louder than ever. The eyes refuse to leave Yoongi and his friends, and eventually, Seokjin gets sick of it. “Why is everyone staring at us, huh? Got something to say?” he snaps angrily.

Ashamed, the guests all turn to the front, the polite silence returning with a vengeance. Yoongi almost wishes the noise had stayed, something to drown out the mess of thoughts running through his head.

“I fucking hate weddings,” Yoongi says to himself, quiet enough that no one will hear. When he closes his eyes, all he feels is the tightness of his collar, the trail of sweat running down his back, and the doe eyes of a boy he used to care about. 

#yoongi scenarios #man does this make sense idk #it is 12 am i have work tomorrow LMAOOOO #get fucking shid on jungkook HAHAHHAHA #textau #t:unlisted #joonary #answered

[cinnaminsvga]

#67 please and thank u kind miss zee <3

premise: “Someone just handed you a cat?” genre: roommate!au, humor || wc: 1K+ a/n: you didn't specify a member, so i hope it's fine that i chose yoongi for this (for reasons i am sure you understand) anyway this is so absurd i hope that's okay <5

The moment you entered your shared apartment with a nervous smile and an armful of blankets that definitely should not have been wriggling as much as it was supposed to, Yoongi knew that he was in for another batshit day. Or you know, just a regular Tuesday night.

"Please tell me that you aren't going to say what I think you're going to say," he starts, rubbing his temples with a weariness that would put war veterans to shame.

You pause, considering. "Well, I could maybe give you $5 if you can guess what I'm going to say."

Yoongi stares at the yellow-striped blanket in your arms which seems to have stopped moving, as if sensing his imposing gaze. "Please tell me that is not the cat from the 5th floor that you think you have a psychic connection with."

"Well, first of all, I don't like what you're implying! I definitely do have a connection with Mr. Sprinkles and we both think you're very rude!" you say, scowling. "And second of all, no, this is not Mr. Sprinkles. I know for a fact that he loves his sweet ol' Kitty Bitties very much and I would never do anything to separate soulmates—"

Yoongi wonders, not for the first time, if he should have read the fine print of your roommate advertisement before he'd unknowingly run headfirst into the worst decision of his life. Every word from your mouth feels like a hammer playing whack-a-mole with his braincells.

"Then tell me why on earth you have a fucking cat wrapped in a blanket burrito?"

"What makes you think it's a cat? What if it was a baby? Didn't think of that, did you?" you retort smugly.

Yoongi gawks at you, the urge to strangle you becoming unbearable. "Why are you saying that as if that's any better?! Do you actually think about what you say before speaking?"

You wave him off, ignoring his question. You brush past him and plopped yourself unceremoniously on the couch. Your rough jostling angers the mysterious bundle of fuzz in your arms, causing it to meow loudly in annoyance.

"Oops, sorry about that," you coo at the blanket, gently petting it as an apology. You turn back to Yoongi, smiling at him guilelessly. "So yeah, you were right, it's a cat. But it's not Mr. Sprinkles, so no $5 for you. I could settle for $2.50 if you're really bummed out about being wrong though. It was a valiant effort."

"Really? That's all you're going to say? You weren't going to run this by me before randomly adopting a cat? What about the roommate agreement?" he splutters, trying to make sense of it all. Which, for the most part, was a lost cause when it came to you.

You tsk, wagging a condescending finger at his face. "Wrong! The roommate agreement only says we need to discuss if one of us adopts a pet."

Yoongi gesticulates wildly to the pile of fur in your arms. "Is? That not? A fucking? Cat?"

You nod sagely, rubbing your chin. "Indeed. I am glad that we are in agreement on this."

Yoongi stares at you, shell-shocked. There have been many things in his short six months of living with you that have left him speechless. There were the alchemy experiments in the bathroom, the short-lived crystal buttplug small business venture, and even the haunted doll collection phase that you went through yet none of them have felt as insane as the conversation the two of you were having right now.

(Okay, that was an exaggeration. Yoongi still has nightmares from waking up at 3 AM with fucking Yo Gabba Gabba staring at him from across his bedroom.)

Noting his 100-yard stare, you decide to graciously offer a better explanation. "You see, I technically didn't break the agreement because I did not adopt this cat."

"What? So you're fostering it or something?" he asks, confused. "Why didn't you just start off with that?!"

"Well, no. I do own this cat," you explain. "Like, I've even named them Yoongi Junior in your honor!"

"What the fuck? You named me after a cat?" he hissed, like a cat. "That's the last straw."

You roll your eyes, tutting in exasperation. "Oh come on! Everyone knows you're a little cat boy. Hell, this cat looks exactly like you!"

There's no way in hell that this cat looks anything like him—

"Oh my god, it fucking looks like me," Yoongi says in awe.

When you unsheathe the cat from its soft blanket, Yoongi is shocked to find a tuxedo cat wearing a tiny black hoodie with the words "Lil Gangsta" written across its back with studs. Atop its head is a small grey beanie, almost identical to the one on top of Yoongi's own head.

"Holy shit," Yoongi mutters, his hand subconsciously going to pet his twin the cat of its own volition. "Holy shit," he repeats.

You smirk, self-satisfied. "I fucking knew you'd like him."

"T-that doesn't mean I'm okay with him staying! You needed to clear this with me before you adopted him! What if I was allergic or something?" Yoongi counters, but the fight in him has already left. The damned cat already has his cold, Grinch heart in a chokehold.

"You can't be allergic to your species, obviously," you scoff. "Besides, I already told you I didn't adopt him! Someone just handed it to me on the streets and no one said anything about getting free cats, right?"

Yoongi stops mid-pet, gaining a soft ireful meow from Yoongi Junior in response. "Wait, did you just say someone just handed you a cat?"

You shrug. "Yeah. What about it? It's pretty neat, huh?"

Yoongi steps away from you and the cat, his common sense returning to him. "Y/N, that's fucking shady as hell. What if this cat is chipped? What if they're tracking it and getting doxxing us as we speak? Holy shit, I knew this was going to be bad. We need to get rid of that cat, now!"

You and the cat pout back at him, hurt brimming in your equally doleful eyes. "Ouch, Yoongi. And here I thought we got something good going on..."

"The only thing 'going' here is that fucking cat," Yoongi humphs, grabbing the cat unceremoniously.

You stand up, chasing after him. "Wait! Where are you going?"

"I am going insane, that's where I'm going," he mutters, before turning back to face you. "Don't worry, Y/N. I'll bring him to the shelter. They'll probably know what to do with him better than we do, anyway."

"But... But..." you start, eyes already beginning to fill up with unshed tears.

Oh shit. Here it comes.

And just like every single time your insanity has caused Yoongi's quality of life to worsen, he finds himself melting under your gaze. Curse the soft piece of bread he calls his heart!

After what feels like an eternity, Yoongi sighs. "Fine. We'll keep him."

You cheer, whopping in celebration.

"But—"

You deflate immediately. "There's always a but and never enough butts..." you whine petulantly.

"But," Yoongi repeats, as if you had never said anything. "We still need to take him to the shelter and report him. If they find that there's nothing sketchy about him, and check if it's clean and healthy and whatever, then maybe..."

"Hell yes! You're the best, Yongo Bongo! I knew I could trust you, my beloved cat boy!" You say, jumping up to envelop him in a hug.

In response, he elbows you in the tit. He says he did it because he had a cat in his arms, but mostly it's because he doesn't do well with physical touch. You know, just cat boy things.

"You owe me, by the way," he grumbles as you both make your way to his car. You skip happily beside him, not missing the way his hands have not stopped caressing Yoongi Junior the whole while.

"Sure, sure. I'll transfer the $2.50 to you as soon as we get back."

"That really wasn't what I meant." He sighs, shaking his head in defeat. In his arms, Yoongi Junior meows happily, his eyes closed in contentment. Yoongi finds himself doing the same.

#yoongi scenarios #did the last sentence mean Yoongi meowed back? who knows LMFAO #anyway this took one fucking hour omg im so bad at writing now HSAJDJKSAJD #not proofread idgaf #t:unlisted #Anonymous #answered

[cinnaminsvga]

#31 with hobi please 💕

premise: "I know it's a bad idea, but I want it so much!" genre: streamer!au, humor, slight angst? || wc: 1.3K a/n: most of my free time is spent watching twitch and yt streamers so i've got 99% sykkuno brainrot so please excuse me as i apply my current hyperfixation into this little drabble. do i think hobertson would be an epic gamer? no. but would he be funny as hell while he tried? hell fucking yeah we love a boy with zero game sense <3

If being a streamer was a disease, then Jung Hoseok would be viral—both in the figurative and literal sense. You liked to joke that he had incurable content brain, wherein every action and decision he has ever made stems from the question: How can I turn this into a Youtube video and monetize the hell out of it?

You admired his insanity, in a way. "Being on the grind" was never a lifestyle you would ever find yourself enjoying, but watching the sheer dedication that your best friend had to his craft was both awe-inspiring and tiring at the same time. You always wondered if that boy only dreamt about video algorithms and viewer retention instead of normal things, like bobberts and coochichies.

[Note: B00bs and pu$$y were censored in order to keep this story from getting fictionally demonetized.]

So when Hoseok barges into your shared kitchen at 7 AM on a Monday with an "epic stream idea," you knew that you were about to hear about his first stupid (and most likely expensive) activity of the week.

“Hobi,” you say, trying to sound as stern as you possibly can. Judging by the way Hoseok immediately smiles wider in response, you have a feeling it’s not working all too well.

“But dudeeeee,” he whines, stretching his words for dramatic effect. He sidles up next to you, rubbing shoulders with you just as you’re about to shove a spoonful of cereal into your mouth. Milk drips onto your shirt, but that’s hardly a concern when Hoseok has apparently made it his mission to side hump your right arm.

“Get the fuck off of me!” you snap, pushing him away. Hoseok laughs in response, ignoring the palpable annoyance pulsing off of you in waves.

“You have to admit though, right? It would be pretty funny to do it,” Hoseok continues as if you hadn’t said anything. He has that special look on his face, where his pupils dilate and his cheeks puff up like a chipmunk—telltale signs pointing to another disastrous visit to the emergency room. 

“Are you seriously asking me if letting your live chat control a muscle stimulator attached to your thighs is a good idea?” 

“Yes!” Hoseok claps his hands gleefully. He runs over to the living room, where his laptop had toppled onto the carpeted floor in his haste to scream his idea at you. He scrolls frantically as he runs back to you, slamming his hip against the kitchen counter in the process. 

“You literally have the pain tolerance of a toddler, and you say you wanna walk on burning coals for entertainment?” You try to speak over the avalanche of expletives rushing out of Hoseok’s mouth, his body hunched over in pain. 

“W-wait...” he moans pathetically, crawling back to you and nudging his laptop onto your lap. “Look...”

Giving him one last disdainful glare, you grab the laptop from him only to find that he’d left it on a website displaying the aforementioned muscle stimulator for sale. The item boasts an impressive 2.5 stars, with reviews ranging from “this son of a bitch numbed my legs and now I can’t walk” to “this little baby is a miracle in the bedroom ❤️” which are two reviews you never want for the same product. 

At your silence, Hoseok looks up at you from the floor with hopeful eyes. “It looks good, right? Plus, it’s on sale for 10% off! This baby is going to get me so many views!”

You stare at him drily. “Hoseok.”

“Okay, I admit that $200 for a weird-looking pain machine is kinda pricey, but since this is going to be a business expense, plus my chat will have to donate a certain amount in order to zap me anyway, so it’ll pay for itself eventually and I can—”

“Hoseok! Are you even fucking hearing yourself?” you spit, swatting him away like a fly. The back of your hand accidentally makes contact with his cheek, and your unintended bitch slap was already enough to make the grown ass man whine in pain. 

“See! You’re going to fucking die on camera and I don’t want to have to deal with it,” you growl, turning back to your sad and soggy bowl of cereal. 

Hoseok props himself on his knees and clasps his hands as if in prayer, except there is no god present in this two bedroom apartment. There is only one other person here, but you might as well be godly with the amount of patience you possess within you.

“Listen, I know it's a bad idea, but I want to do it so much!” Hoseok pleads. He grips your arm, nearly making you knock your entire bowl of cereal off the table. 

“My cereal!” you screech.

“My ad revenue!” Hoseok hollers back, grabbing you by the chin to force your attention on him. “Can you imagine the VOD? It’s for sure getting #1 trending! I can make enough money that I won’t ever have to sellout to weird ballshaving sponsorships ever again!” 

“Hoseok, do you even understand what sort of pain you’ll be in? Some crazy person will donate like $1000 and the thing will permanently damage your nerve endings or some shit. You could seriously hurt yourself!” You huff tiredly, rubbing your temples in a futile to prevent an incoming migraine. 

“A thousand dollars is still a thousand dollars,” Hoseok says, shrugging. “Besides, I’m an entertainer! I was just a step away from selling my body when we were almost homeless, so what’s the difference with selling my body virtually?” He laughs, tilting his head with his familiar

He’s acting like what he said was just another joke, another edgy comment that would have gotten a few laughs from his audience. All it does to you, however, was remember the less than favorable circumstances you both were in a few years ago. You wince—the phantom ache in your spine from sleeping in your car returning with a vengeance.

“Hoseok, the difference is that you don’t have to do it,” you respond plainly. “You’re so talented! You’re funny and entertaining! You make millions of people laugh daily! Isn’t that enough? Do you have to put your body through more pain than is necessary?”

Hoseok laughs awkwardly, threading a hand through his hair. He’s always been bad when it comes to compliments. “Y/N, chill out—”

You sigh tiredly, mustering as much authenticity as you could in your worn eyes. “It’s true though. You could literally do anything and people would still watch you. Hell, I would watch you. I always do, and I love seeing you every day. Isn’t that enough?”

Hoseok sits crosslegged on the floor, twiddling his thumbs. “Uh, well, that was... something,” he squeaks, cheeks blazing. “T..Thank you? I didn’t know you watched me. I thought you would’ve been tired of me since we, well, live together.”

“I just really don’t want anything bad to happen to you,” you confess softly, your words trailing off into silence. You turn to face away from him, unwilling to let him see the flush seeping across your skin. 

There’s a beat of silence, and for a second you think your little outburst might have gotten through his thick skull. When you turn back to look at him, he’s staring at you quizzically as if you’d just grown another head in the past minute. 

“Umm, it wasn’t that serious, Y/N... It probably wouldn’t hurt even that much. The idea isn’t even 100% original... I’ve seen people use it in videos before and I’m sure it won’t be bad. Trust me,” Hoseok finishes with an awkward smile. 

“That’s the thing though... I really don’t trust you,” you sigh, clanking your spoon down into your bowl. Milk splashes on your shirt, but you don’t even care anymore. You scoot your chair back, standing up and walking around Hoseok to head to your bedroom.

Just as you’re about to close the door, Hoseok calls out from the kitchen. “So you’ll let me do it, right?”

Without missing a beat, you yell back, “Not if you still want me to care about you tomorrow!” before slamming the door. 

#hoseok scenarios #spoiler: he still does it LMFAO #this took so LONG and why is it so LONG what is wrong with me #t:unlisted #Anonymous #answered

[cinnaminsvga]

8 n yoongi? 👉🏻👈🏻

premise: “i’m never letting you go.” genre: f2l, roommates!au?? idk you tell me || wc: <1k a/n: this is kinda experimental so idk what the plot is also i’m running on caffeine and i have a midterm in 12 hours let’s get this bread

“The problem with commitment is,” you start.

“The problem with commitment is... What?” Yoongi looks up from his notebook, his skin almost identical to the color of its pages. He’s exhausted, a little hazy around the edges—like he’s been smudged over and over by an artist who can’t seem to get his features right. 

“Like,” you fiddle with your pen, clicking it incessantly to give your hands something to do. Yoongi would usually tell you to stop, but that might be because he’s only about half-human right now. Finals week does wonders to his mental health. “Like, how do you know the other person is down to clown?”

“Simple. You fucking ask,” he says, returning his gaze back to his review notes. He goes cross-eyed for a moment, having to blink numerous times to get them to refocus on reality. He rubs his face tiredly, groaning like a dying man. “Jesus. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“Ditto,” you hum, but your own review material hasn’t been touched in over half an hour. You position your pen above your upper lip, balancing it with an inordinate amount of concentration. 

Like the ass that he is, Yoongi slaps it away immediately, barely batting an eye at your squawks of indignation. “Stop that. We have to study or else we’re both gonna get fucked in the ass by academia, and I don’t know about you, but she’s not a mistress I’m down to fuck with.”

“Do you think if academia was a person, she’d have commitment issues too?” you wonder, abandoning your pen and grabbing one of Yoongi’s spare pencils instead. He almost makes a move to stop you, but thinks better of it when you start biting at the eraser like a 2nd grader. 

“Gross,” he hisses, but there’s a fond look in his eyes that he would never admit to having. “And yes, I think she’d have equally bad commitment issues as you.”

“Who said anything about me?” you huff, pointing the chewed end of your pencil at him. 

Yoongi raises a brow, leaning back in his chair far enough that he almost topples and dies. Luckily, the five shots of espresso in his sleep-deprived body must have been enough to keep his cerebellum slightly functioning. “Babe, between the two of us, you’re clearly the one with the problem.”

“How so?” you glare.

“I literally asked you out twice last year, and each time, you ran away screaming,” he deadpans. “Screaming,” he repeats, with a pout.

“And look where we are now!” you gesticulate wildly, gesturing to your shared studio apartment with the leaky kitchen faucet and the toilet that constantly overflows. “We’re living together! Isn’t that enough? We’re basically married.”

“You literally only stay here because you have no where else to go,” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Hell, you’re so broke that you ate the pickle off of someone’s leftover plate at White Spot.”

“True,” you admit. “Doesn’t mean you should roast me for it.”

“I will roast you for it,” Yoongi continues. “I don’t even know why I keep you around. You’re like a parasite.”

“But that implies that I’m never letting you go if I was,” you say, thoughtful. “Which I can’t promise, because...” you pause, scrunching your nose. “Huh. I don’t actually know why I can’t promise that. Oh shit, you’re right! I do have issues, huh? Why the fuck aren’t we dating?” You laugh, like you’re only just realizing your insanity. “That’s weird as hell! Why the fuck aren’t we dating, Yoongi?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond to that, only looking at you warily with tired, bloodshot eyes. He needs a nap. Perhaps he could slip a melatonin gummy into his mouth when he takes his next swig of whiskey.

“Why am I in love with you. Why.” He doesn’t say it like a question, and he supposes that it really isn’t. There isn’t an answer to most things in life, and Min Yoongi has long since stopped begging the universe for insight. 

You shrug, equally as mystified. “Ditto.”

“Ditto as in, you love me back, or...?” he says it like a joke, as he often does. But there’s a blatant edge of curiosity there, especially from the way he fidgets in his seat.

“Yeah? I don’t think that was ever a question.” You say it so casually that Yoongi almost gets whiplash from it. Either that, or he’s finally dying from brain hemorrhage. This entire conversation is so fucked and he’s starting to feel the effects of his steadily declining brain cell count.

“What?” he asks, dumbfounded. You’ve always been weird, ever since he’s met you. Over time, he’s gotten used to your eccentricities, even growing fond of you because of them. But never in his life could he imagine you saying that, even as a joke. 

“What?” you repeat, raising a brow. “I have commitment issues, sure. But shouldn’t it be clear that I love you?” 

“You love me.” He says it: not a question.

You return his chewed up pencil, placing it back into his Kumamon pencil case. “Sure,” you say. You watch him curiously. “Is that weird?” 

Yoongi stares and he stares and he stares. When his mouth begins to dry from having it agape for too long, he finally closes it. Swallows. Returns to reviewing his dry as hell economics notes. “Nope. Not weird at all,” he says, heart beating out of his chest.

The two of you return to your devices, the leaky faucet from the kitchen dripping with a steady rhythm.

#and then they start 'dating' but all their friends are like ???? #havent yall been married since the 9th grade #and oc is like 'lol what? who tf is this man' and points to yoongi #oc: never seen this man in my life #yoongi: she eats the mold off my bathroom wall. its a symbiotic relationship #t:unlisted #Anonymous #answered

[cinnaminsvga]

71 nd yoong🥺

“You’ve been drinking tonight, haven’t you?”

wc: 1040 genre: fluff, pirate!yoongi ft. first mate!hoseok a/n: a long time ago, i wrote a wip about pirate yoongi and then that wip died and never saw the light of day. i still swear i’m gonna write it someday but until then... lol

“Don’t you think getting shitfaced is the worst solution to getting the balls to confess to her?” Hoseok rounds the corner to find his haggard-looking captain sitting forlornly on the sidewalk, a distressingly empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. Yoongi looks up at him blearily, bloodshot eyes complimenting his white shirt amazingly (though Hoseok has a feeling that it wouldn’t help if he mentioned it, anyway.)

“Fuck off,” Yoongi says in lieu of a greeting. He squints at the two remaining droplets of alcohol left, debates how low his standards are, then decides to fuck it all and try drinking it anyway.

Hoseok cranes his head back to where he came from before turning back to his pathetic childhood friend. “You know that there’s a party back there. With more alcohol,” he points out innocently, but the smile on his face is anything but. 

“You can get me to do anything, Hobi. You could get me to stand stark naked in front of the king and slap my ass to the rhythm of the Death March, but you absolutely cannot convince me to go back into that tavern,” Yoongi grouses, tossing the bottle with a loud crash.

“Not even if they’re serving Seokjin’s famous banana bread inside?” Hoseok asks.

“Not even for fucking banana bread, Hobi.” He sniffles slightly, but if anyone asks, it’s because of the chilly evening air. Fortunately for him, Hoseok never asks invasive questions like that—he already knows the truth.

Hoseok sighs, plopping down beside Yoongi after making sure to avoid the shards of broken glass. The two of them stare quietly at the clear night sky, the brilliant full moon blanketing their sleepy hometown with its light. Asides from the bar, the entire street is dead silent, most of the villagers having head to bed the moment the sun had set. Nothing exciting really happens here, which is why the two of them had chosen to set sail the moment they had turned eighteen.

And yet, the moment their boat departed the harbor, Hoseok had always noticed the way Yoongi’s gaze kept returning to their town, even after it had become nothing more than a speck in the distance. 

Others might have confused it for homesickness, but Hoseok knows it goes by another name. 

“Funny how you haven’t seen Y/N in over three months and yet here you are, hiding away in a ditch like some sort of loser,” Hoseok snorts, barely batting an eye when Yoongi jabs him in the ribs. “You gotta admit that it’s pretty funny, right? You’re the dreaded Min Yoongi of the seven seas! People shiver when they hear your name, and yet you can’t even gather the guts to tell your childhood sweetheart that you love her—”

“I fucking get it, alright? Sheesh,” Yoongi interrupts, slapping a hand over Hoseok’s mouth. The slimy bastard bites his palm without remorse and sticks his tongue out when he’s released. Unremorseful prick. Yoongi should have left him to rot when they got captured by the Parks. 

“C’mon! It’s not that hard! All you gotta do is walk up to her, give her a little kiss here and there, and then say ‘Hey, did you want to make Yoongi Jr.’s with me after this? I can’t wait to see you full of our children—”

Yoongi is sure that Hoseok would have loved to keep going on his imaginative tangent had he not literally drawn his knife out of his boot and pressed it against his best friend’s throat. “Say another word, and I won’t hesitate to cut your tongue.”

Hoseok only smirks cheekily in response. “You wouldn’t dare. You’d get lonely out at sea without anyone to talk to.”

Yoongi pockets the knife, snorting. “I could always get a talking parrot.”

Hoseok laughs, slinging an arm around his shoulder. He wiggles his eyebrows salaciously, and Yoongi makes a mental note to himself to shave them off when Hoseok is asleep. “Oh, hush. You know love me. But of course, not as much as you love Y/N—”

“What’s this about loving me?” 

The familiar voice causes the skittish pirates to jump up in shock—well, more so Hoseok than Yoongi. Yoongi, due to his severe inebriation, had burped from surprise more than anything. But his drunkenness dissipates marginally, if only enough for him to realize how fucked he is. 

“Y/N! I-I thought you were busy serving guests inside,” Hoseok squeaks, staring wide-eyed at you. 

“Seokjin is getting Jungkook to serve tonight so I can catch up with the both of you. Everyone’s gotten to say hello to the two of you and I have yet to get a glimpse of either of you since you arrived!” you exclaim, hurt evident in your expression. “You would think that my two best friends would at least say hi.”

Yoongi stands (read: stumbles) up in a hurry, conspicuously kicking away the shards of broken glass behind him in a futile attempt to hide them from your gaze.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he’d been doing, and the hurt on your face is quickly replaced with one of disappointment. “Really? You’ve been drinking tonight, haven’t you? Holding a little pity party for yourself? I get you love being out a sea, but it wouldn’t hurt to say hello.”

Yoongi is left speechless, for three different reasons:

He’s genuinely still drunk and he knows that whatever he says right now will probably be a mess of slurs and curses, and only Hoseok is able to understand him every time he’s as plastered as he is right now.

He’s guilty because he was holding a pity party for himself, but probably not for reasons you think.

You’re genuinely so beautiful, even more so than when he’d last seen you, and now he’s left tongue-tied like when he was a teenager as he fights to formulate even one sentence to express how much he loves misses you.

So instead of anything remotely intelligent leaving his brain, Yoongi says the following: “’m sorry.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see Hoseok look at him incredulously, almost as if there is a question mark floating above his head. “Dude!”

“Dude,” Yoongi moans, hanging his head in shame.

#btsghostie #t:unlisted #one day.... i'll finish this.... MARK MY WORDS #Anonymous #answered

[cinnaminsvga]

Sorry to hear about your writers block bubs! Can I request #79 with my boy jk? I hope you're well 💜

“I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

wc: 922 genre: angst, merman!jk warnings: some like,,, negative thoughts ig,,, oc is lowkey depressed lol a/n: sorry this is literally like,,, self-indulgent crap lmao,,, this is kind of a vent fic so i’m sorry if it’s not your cup of tea,,, anyway ;-;

When you go visit the beach the next day, he’s already there waiting for you.

His back is turned away, facing the horizon. Even underneath the pier, the sun still manages to bathe him in its warm light; his scales glitter like crystals begging to be touched, his skin is gorgeously tanned—sunkissed. You imagine that everyone he meets must fall in love with him, for even the sun can’t seem to get enough of him.   

He’s achingly beautiful during the morning; you wonder why it was a good idea to ask him to meet you when you already struggle to meet his eyes during the night. 

He hears your footsteps as you approach, turning to you with a large, toothy grin. “Good morning,” he greets. Unlike the other days, he had chosen to drag himself up to the sand today, only leaving his tail submerged in the water. 

He pats the spot beside him. “Do you mind if we stay on the beach instead of the water instead?”

You play with the fraying edges of your swim shirt: a flimsy excuse for a piece of clothing, probably a hand-me-down from one of your older sisters. You would rather jump into the frigid seawater rather than sit beside him where he could see you. You look up at the morning light, wishing more than anything that the pier could somehow grow to shield you from it. 

You make sure to keep some space between you and him. The bubbling sensation rising in your stomach feels like a force trying to keep you close to him, but the fear in your head overpowers it. You keep your head bowed, furtively sneaking glances at his tail, catching glimpses of his coarse hands drawing shapes into the sand. 

“Why aren’t you looking at me?”

Caught. You refuse to move, however. “No reason.”

He huffs out a laugh. “There must be one. I would assume it’s something I did last night, wasn’t it? Was I too rough?”

Your face immediately grows hot at the mention of the night before. You pull your knees up to your chest, burrowing into them like a child might. “N-no. You’re never too rough. It wasn’t because of you.”

There is a pause. You don’t hear anything from Jungkook for so long that you’re afraid he might have left without saying goodbye. But that’s impossible because for one, you’d hear a splash. And two, he always made sure to say goodbye, usually with a promise to see you again the next day. 

That’s how it’s been for a month now. He’s become a fixture in your life, the sole beautiful thing that made your life just a little bit brighter. But with light, there comes the shadows, always lurking and waiting for you to fall.

And fall you did.

A hand on your back—you’ve held his hand so many times now that you could probably draw them with your eyes closed. Even though he lives most of his life in the cold waters, his hands have always been warm.

“You don’t have to hide from me, Y/N. You know that, right?”

You nod, though you don’t know how apparent it is with your head still stuck between your knees. Jungkook chuckles lightly, his hand creeping up to the back of your head before he pulls you towards him. Your eyes are squinted shut, refusing to look at him just yet.

You feel a puff of air across your face. “Boo,” he blows gently on you, and you can imagine his grin when you crinkle your nose. 

“Look at me? Please?” he whispers. You can hear the plea in his voice, and who were you to deny him of anything?

You open your eyes, staring at the beautiful boy in front of you. Your gaze follows the slope of his nose to the curve of his lip to the scar on his cheek. He smiles at you like you’re something to behold. He is awed by you, and you can tell from the way he trails your face the way you do with him. 

You know in your heart that he loves you the way that you do. He sees you past the veil you’ve donned on yourself, past the girl who only knew how to cower and hide. 

It’s a miracle, to be loved by him. But there’s a reason you used to confuse miracles with mirages. 

The same voice that torments you, the same one that sounds uncannily like your mother, it whispers:

You are not enough. You are not enough. Never will be.

You shiver, but it is not from the cold. “We can’t keep doing this. We can’t keep... meeting each other.” We can’t keep loving each other.

Jungkook’s expression drops. “Why?” But you can hear the question he wants to ask: “Why did you change?”

You didn’t change. You’re still the scared girl with too many missing bolts and wires. For him, you’ll never be enough. 

But you can’t say that; those things aren’t meant for daylight conversations. Broken things aren’t meant to be witnessed, so instead you say, “Because your parents would hate me.”

“I don’t care what anyone else thinks.” Jungkook sounds so certain that you’re almost inclined to believe him. Almost.

“But I do. I care,” you say.

“That sounds too much like a goodbye,” he says. His eyes are glassy, like fishbowls glazing over with moisture. His lip trembles.

You don’t allow yourself to break; you have an entire lifetime to grieve, after all. 

#t:unlisted #bro what is this HAHAHHAHA #lcksndkys #answered

[cinnaminsvga]

Holo... Numver 60 with namjoon? Hope your writers block will go away soon! Have a nice day. Bye~~

premise: “you look like you could use a hug.” genre: fluff, canon compliant?? || wc: 1K+ a/n: i told myself i’d never write reader insert canon compliant fics but yenno... might as well try everything once?? idk it’s 4am i haven’t slept in 24 hours rip

Namjoon’s brain feels like it’s going to explode. No, scratch that—the tense is wrong. Namjoon’s brain felt like it already exploded.

His studio looks like a set for a WWII movie. Scraps of paper everywhere— balled up or otherwise, 20% of which were filled with rejected lyrics and 80% of which were finished sudoku puzzles. Take-out boxes, half-empty iced americano cups, his laundry from three days ago when he had showered at the office: he felt like he’s swimming in his own filth and failure.

This is not unexpected: The toil and trouble of pre-comeback season means more hours spent staring at a blank screen than anything remotely enjoyable for Namjoon. The bags under his eyes could very well be designer, and Namjoon contemplates selling them to a crazed hipster fashionista (read: Hoseok) for OOTD inspo, but he wouldn’t even make it two steps out his door without collapsing, so that plan is buried and gone. He could, instead, maybe order more jjajangyeon for a snack. It’ll be his fifth snack within the last six hours, but whatever. That, he supposes, is something he could accomplish at the very least.

This is not expected: It is 4 in the morning, and the last thing he expects is for a knock to come from outside his door. 

It takes too long for Namjoon to respond, mostly because his fatigued brain mistakes the rhythm for one of his samples from two days ago. Also, he’s really lazy right now and he desperately hopes that whoever is behind the door would go away and leave him and his suffering artist self alone. 

“Please don’t come in. I want to die alone, please,” he pleads. “Let me enjoy my lacklustre melodies and limp beats for another hour at least.”

But of course, the universe refuses to listen. Or rather, you refuse to listen.

“Kim Namjoon, this is an intervention,” you greet, the door opening with a bang when you finally manage to pick it open. You brandish your bobby pin with a smirk, much like how a heroine might wield her sword to face a dragon to save her one true love, which in this case was a semi-incoherent boy shaped like a ball of anxiety. 

Namjoon glowers at the pathetic excuse for a lock his studio has, once again wondering why Yoongi-hyung had managed to persuade their manager to install a hi-tech number pad for him. Curse you and your lock-picking skills.

“I’ve come to get your ass to bed! A real bed, by the way. Not this stupid couch you bought for 10 million won from an artisan furniture maker,” you huff. "Girlfriend’s orders!”

“Y/N,” he sighs, slumping onto his desk. He hits his head accidentally, but he’s too fuzzy to even notice the growing lump on his forehead. “I am going to turn into dust soon. There would be nothing left of me to bring to bed. Leave me here to join my deceased creativity.”

“I could always borrow a broom from one of the janitors,” you shrug, skipping over to him. You poke him in the side boob. He wiggles for a moment, but not as much as you had hoped. “Earth to Joonie? You in there bud? Marco?”

He can feel your gaze burn the back of his neck, but his head feels to heavy to move and face you. “Polo,” he manages to mumble back. He can feel himself drooling onto the table, but he can’t bring himself to care. He knows he’s being a giant baby about this, so he might as well act like one. “No, I am not in here. I am everywhere. I feel like Scarlett Johansson in that Lucy movie. Like I’ve unlocked 100% of my brain and I’m traversing through space and time.”

You nudge him gently to his side so that he wouldn’t suffocate himself to death. He takes a deep breath, humming thankfully. “I highly doubt that, because if you did, then you would have finished this album weeks ago.”

“That’s harsh, buddy,” he pouts, glaring at you. Which normally wouldn’t be effective anyway since he’s as intimidating as a newborn panda, but it’s even worse now that he looks the part, too. 

“Buddy? Geez, didn’t know you were getting this bad if I got demoted from girlfriend to buddy,” you snort. You begin plucking off the trash from his desk, whistling both in horror and admiration at the sizeable spill that had somehow solidified into a large hulking mass beside his keyboard. “Joonie, I know you’ve been holed up in here for a minute, but I sincerely hope for my sanity that the white stains are from carbonara sauce and not something else.”

“I honestly don’t know, and I don’t feel like lying if I knew anyway,” he sighs. He begins the torturous motion to straighten his back, his spine popping like an EDM beat. He melts back into his backrest, looking up at you with sad, tired eyes. “Help me?” he whines, lower lip wobbling for extra effect.

You roll your eyes, but the smirk on your face tells him that you’re amused and not actually annoyed. He’s normally not this dramatic, and you both know it. Perhaps he’s been spending too much time with Seokjin lately, or more likely, it’s you who has been spending too much time with his hyung, and indirectly rubbing off on him in the process. 

“Need me to call an ambulance? Get you a wheelchair? Subscribe you to Life Alert?” you ask.

“No, I’m good. Just gimme a moment to... recalibrate,” he says, closing his eyes. Wow, have his eyelids always been this heavy? Maybe he could doze off a little and you wouldn’t notice...

“Namjoon, you’re snoring. Wake up,” you lie, but time doesn’t feel real to Namjoon right now, so he could have fallen asleep for ten days and wouldn’t have known either way. You gently cradle his cheeks, massaging his face into weird positions for your own amusement. Then, “Okay, buddy. I’m gonna lift you now.”

“You can’t,” he mumbles sleepily. You push his cheeks together until he looks like a puffy goldfish. “Yow a toofpick compawed tew me.”

“True,” you hum, but your arms are already wrapping around him. He sags into your touch immediately, only just realizing how much he misses this, misses you. Misses human connection, and not just his hand cranking his junk. He nuzzles into your neck, sighing in relief. 

“This is an excuse to hug me, isn’t it?” he says, but he doesn’t make a move to pull away. Neither do you, queen that you are.

“You just looked like you could use a hug,” you say, rubbing his back. He smiles into your skin, kissing you chastely there. 

“Thank you, my love. I kinda needed that,” he yawns, pulling away far enough to kiss you properly on the lips. “Love you, Y/N.”

“Love you too buddy,” you smile, pinching him lightly on the cheek. “C’mon. Let’s get your tired bones to a bed.”

#and then namjoon sleeps for 24 hours #then they fuck #then he returns to his studio and writes the best album of the century #anyway stream dynamite as a virtual hug for namjoon #t:unlisted #giantmuschroom #answered

[cinnaminsvga]

#11 with jungkook? also i know writer's block sucks so take your time ♡

“How could you ask me that?”

wc: 727 genre: fluff, humor (?), tinder!au a/n: i just always wanted to write jungkook like those annoying stem majors who talk like weirdoes,,, but he’s annoying in that cute nerd way bc he’s just not used to social interactions or whatever. idk, this is just me venting bc some stem majors are hot but theyre also infuriating as hell. 

Your Tinder date arrives the way a storm does: usually announced by the weather reporter, but often taken for granted by the public. Or at least, that’s how it was where you lived—the storm part, that is. Maybe the Tinder date part too.

What you want to say is that your Tinder date is a Category 5 hurricane. Flood warnings would never be enough to describe him, because he was simply uncontrollable. He marched to his own rhythm, and in most circles, that might have been intimidating. But you could tell, the moment he pulled up to you in his beat up Chevrolet with his crazy neon Hawaiian shirt, that he didn’t have a scary bone in his body. He’s a storm with the fierceness of a leaky faucet. He doesn’t pour, he drips—and not even the bougie drip kind of way.

And also, he chews with his mouth open.

“Don’t you think it’s amazing? It’s called Planck’s length. It’s the smallest distance known to mankind. Like, literally nothing—“ a bit of his quinoa escapes his mouth and lands on your arm. You wipe it off as covertly as you can. “—can be smaller than that. How crazy is that?”

“Fascinating,” you muse, as you offer him one of your napkins. His own wad of tissues had flown away some time in the middle of his rant, though he doesn’t seem to mind. You suppose a man like him should have anticipated flyaway napkins when he suggested the two of you have a picnic as a first date, but who are you to presume anything? “Usually, my Tinder dates like to start off with a bad pick-up line, not some random fun fact.”

“Entropy. The randomness that exists in the universe! I’d like to think that same randomness allowed us to meet, don’t you think?” He asks, but he doesn’t expect an answer. He has this far away look in his eyes, the sort that said that he enjoyed living inside his head a lot of the time.

It’s a reality that you doubt you’d ever find yourself privy too, not with men like him: the sort to display their IQ’s on their LinkedIn profiles. You wouldn’t have imagined that this guy would be one of them, though. Hot guys like Jungkook looked more “Davinky” than “Da Vinci,” if you catch my drift. A lesson learned, if anything, that you should never judge a book by its cover. 

However, like all hot men you’ve dated in the past, this one is just as horrendous as the rest. 

“Okay, listen. You’re great and all, but I think I have somewhere to go—” You’re well-versed in pulling out bullshit reasons to leave bad dates out of your ass at this point, so much so that you have no doubt that you could have left before he could even blink. You’re halfway through the motions of stuffing breadsticks and free ketchup packets into your purse when Jungkook speaks again.

“What are you afraid of, Y/N?” Jungkook asks it with such intense ferocity that it freezes you in place.

Intrigued, you straighten your back. You put down the breadsticks and stare at him. “How could you ask me that on a first date?”

Jungkook shrugs, nonchalantly takes a breadstick from your purse and tears half of it off with his teeth. “Because I can?”

Dangerous words. And yet, you feel compelled to answer. “Needles,” you say. You don’t know where your sudden bout of truthfulness has come from. Just take your breadsticks, girl! This guy is a nutcase! You reiterate, “I’m afraid of pointy things.”

“Why?” He stuffs another spoonful of quinoa in his mouth. You don’t think he even finished swallowing his wad of bread. 

You look at him weirdly. “Because it hurts? I don’t know. Why are people afraid of spiders?”

“Poison. Death,” he shrugs, waving his spoon around vaguely. “But needles... They hardly kill, do they?”

“They hurt, though.” You counter, annoyed. 

“Or, rather, are you afraid of what they can do?” He gesticulates with his spoon, much like how a professor might twiddle his laser pointer in front of an unsuspecting student. 

You scoff, brow raised. “Yeah, and they can draw blood. What else do needles do?”

There are bits of cilantro stuck in his teeth when he continues, “Mend.”

You suddenly pretend that you cannot hear. 

#t:unlisted #idk what this is dont ask me #Anonymous #answered

[cinnaminsvga]

49 Yoongi!

“Who hurt you?”

wc: 487 genre: angst, nerd!oc, basketball player!yoongi warnings: bullying mention, physical violence mention a/n: I LOVE BASKETBALL BABY YOONGI,,, okay anyway basic premise is that oc and yoongi are dating but all his bitch ass friends hate oc bc she’s not “like them” or whatever cliche bullshit you can think of,,, so oc has been hiding that she’s being bullied bc she doesn’t want yoongi to worry or whatever. idk. anyway appa yip yip!!

“Y/N? Holy shit—how did this—? Who hurt you?”

It’s the astonishment in his voice that causes your tears to fall. The pain throbbing against your ribcage is nothing in comparison to the mortification of him finding you like this: battered and bruised and just so fucking exhausted.

Yoongi’s shock is a momentary affair; he scrambles to his knees in an instant, hands hovering around you in a panic as he realizes your tears were mixed with pained wheezes for breath. He gently pries your hands away from where they were cradling your chest, his expression carefully neutral when he sees how your shirt had torn away to reveal your baby blue bra. 

Despite everything, your pain-fogged mind still wonders if he likes your choice in lingerie—nevermind the fact that your entire torso was mottled black and blue. You’re so deep inside your own head that it takes a moment for you to realize that he’d been speaking all the while, shaking you by the shoulders to regain your attention.

“Y/N? Can you hear me? Can you get up?” His voice is much more controlled now; his brow furrows in concentration as he maneuvers you to stand. Your legs feel like jelly underneath you, and your vision turns black as you lose consciousness for a moment.

“D-don’t,” you grit your teeth, a sharp stab of pain wracking your body when Yoongi accidentally nudges your side. He curses out an apology, gently shifting your arm around his neck so that your bruise was facing the other way. You take a deep breath, hot shame flooding you when you hear how wounded you sounded. Pathetic. “P-please don’t t-take me to the nurse.”

Yoongi pauses, shooting you with an incredulous look. “Y/N, you’re in no shape to go back to class! Even I’ve never sustained this much injury after a season—h-hey! Please don’t cry, I didn’t mean to—”

But his apologies sound warbled to you. You’re just so sick and tired of playing this game that you’re never going to win, not when the odds are stacked against you. You lost the moment you allowed yourself to fall in love with Yoongi, and the universe paid you back in kind. 

People like you don’t get to love people like Min Yoongi. You’re better off in the shadows, quietly watching but never having. 

With all the energy you have left in your body, you push Yoongi away. You don’t know who is hurting more, you or him. But the worry on his face is almost enough to make you rush back to him, just so you could tell him again and again and again that everything is going to be alright. You’re his strong brainy girlfriend, the one who doesn’t take shit from anyone and can debate a grown man to tears.

Not anymore. 

“It’s you. You’re the one who hurt me,” you say, and it takes everything in you not to take it back.

#rip yoongi HAHHAHAHAH #t:unlisted #Anonymous #answered

[cinnaminsvga]

I wish youd wrote a conceited/prideful Jin where he can get any girl he wants;except for the barista who wont give him discounts because shes immune to goodlucks. Like a romcom fluffy maybe even a little crack?

((”conceited/prideful jin” aka don’t you mean every single jin i’ve ever written thus far? lol literally idk how else to write jin if not like this… anyway here you go lmao))

“You’ve been going to this damned Starbucks for four weeks now, hyung. When are you gonna grow a brain and learn what ‘no’ means?” Jungkook groans, slamming his head onto the small wooden table. 

A woman nearby, who had been avidly writing what she must think is her breakout debut novel, glares angrily at the pair of them. Seokjin spares her a withering glance in response, as if saying if you think this is bad, then you can only imagine what it’s like being related to him. 

“Mother said my baby brain isn’t due to fall out yet until I’m at least 30 years old,” Seokjin replies, taking a sip of his drink. His eyes are trained on something else, however. Or rather, someone.

“This Starbucks isn’t even on the way to the office, dude! There’s a literal Starbucks just outside the main building, so I have no fucking idea why you think going here is a good idea,” Jungkook whines. He slaps Seokjin’s hands off of his ridiculous drink, taking a sip of it before grimacing at the foul concoction in disgust. “Bro. What the hell is this drink?”

“It’s a venti iced skinny hazelnut macchiato with sugar-free syrup, an extra shot, light ice, and no whip on top,” Seokjin says in one short breath, snatching it back from the younger and drinking the remainder of it with relish. He burps quietly, covering his mouth with the finesse of a semi-trained monkey. 

“And you ordered that unironically?”

“Certainly,” Seokjin says, twirling the straw in his cup absentmindedly. He still does not look at Jungkook. “In fact, it’s become my usual drink.”

When Jungkook finally has the mind to follow Seokjin’s line of sight, it takes him a moment to realize what exactly he was looking at. Is it the broken overhead light fixture that has been flickering for the past hour? Or is it the misspelled “hot cockoa with marshmallows” on the menu board? The only other thing he could be staring at is––

“Oh my god. You want to fuck the coffee beans?” Jungkook blanches, staring in horror at the gigantic sack of heavenly scented goods. He knew that Seokjin was sexually deviated, but to this extent…

“No, you fucking idiot. I want to fuck her,” he hisses, pointing discreetly at your haggard form. You appear to be in the middle of dealing with a group of high school kids, all of who were spouting off the most complicated order in history just to piss you off. And it looks like it’s working, too.

“Damn, her? Hyung, I know you’re into the poor damsel in distress thing or whatever because of your Don Quixote complex––”

“I beg your pardon?” Seokjin interjects, offended.

“But that girl looks as red as Jimin’s ass after I’ve pounded it ‘til kingdom come. She’s gonna burst a blood vessel,” he finishes, feeling sorry for you. First you have to deal with idiots all day as a barista, and then you had his brother as a secret admirer? What a sad life you live.

“Ye of little faith. Just watch. She’s gonna make their stupid drink,” Seokjin says confidently. Jungkook gazes at him doubtfully, about to argue that no sane person could remember to add 10 pumps of vanilla after the sixteen other things before that, when he remembers Seokjin’s own ridiculously pompous order as well. He squints at him, suspicious.

“Have you made her do those terribly complicated orders to test her patience, hyung?” 

“I didn’t not not not not not make her do it,” Seokjin says, somber. 

Three double negatives point to: yes.

#LOL idk im sorry #im bad at coffee shop aus bc theyre kinda... Eh #its cute sometimes i guess LOL #ask game #t:unlisted #Anonymous #answered

[cinnaminsvga]

I wish you'd write a fic about jjk and the reader competing who can slurp a bowl of 5 packs of spicy ass ramen faster but jjk being the competitive air head he is takes It way too serious and ends up getting a chunk of noodles in his eye and cries like a bitch because it burns and the reader has to take his whiny ass to the hospital bc he d e m a n d s it cuz he's being a hypochondriac seriously fearing to go blind af lmao

“…”

“Dont,” Jungkook seethes, a towel soaked in milk pressed gingerly against his eye. “Even get started with me right now.”

“I wasn’t even going to say anything.” You whistle, turned away from him to watch the other people in the hospital’s waiting room. There’s a kid with a whole fist jammed up into a kettle, a little girl with her entire leg casted, and a man with what appears to be a bullet wound in his stomach.

“However––”

“I just told you to not get started with me right now,” Jungkook repeats, staring resolutely at the floor. His free hand grasps your knee tightly, causing you to bark out a laugh from the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

“––I really think you’re the pussiest boy out of all the patients here. I mean, that little girl fractured her entire leg and she’s not even crying. You, on the other hand,” you snicker, surreptitiously glancing at the tear tracks on his cheek. Another drop of salty liquid drops from his chin and onto the ever-growing stain on his grey sweatpants. 

“I told you that my eyes are sensitive alright!” he squeaks, the end of his sentence going an octave higher. Next to you, you hear the little girl cough out a laugh, hiding it behind her hand.

“Guk, I already told you that the milk will be good enough to remove the pain. You are not going to become blind,” you say, probably for the thirteenth time in the past hour. It’s not like you’re counting, but if the little boy’s quiet murmur of “thirteen” is of any indication, then perhaps the other inhabitants of the waiting room are doing it for you instead.

“But Y/N, I’m a gamer! My eyes are my everything! What if I miss my shot because of my disability? What will happen to my totally epic gamer moments, then?” He wails in despair, head in hands. The whole shebang.

“Now I don’t even know if you’re trolling me right now. It’s hard to tell,” you hum, patting your stupid friend on the shoulder. “Think about this way! Now you’ll be eligible to park in the disabled spot and we won’t ever need to worry about long lines in Disneyland ever again!”

“And now, my best friend is using me for land development! When does the misery end,” Jungkook cries, thumping his head against the sterile white wall. The resounding hollow thunk proves your theory right: he did drop his brain on the way over. Maybe the doctors here can help with that as well.

“Um, not to be a bother…” The grizzly man with the bullet hole speaks up, his voice more meek than either of you would have anticipated. He coughs, and droplets of blood land starkly against the beige linoleum floor. “But could you shut up? I’m trying to not die here.”

“And you think I’m not?” Jungkook screams, standing up to his full, twunkish height. The shot man recoils, curling into himself in fear.

“I am going blind as we speak, sir! I will not be invalidated by whatever ailment you have!”

“I was shot by the police,” the man intones, but his voice is drowned out by the sheer idiotic energy of the boy beside you.

“Sorry,” you say quickly to the man, pulling your “friend” down back to his seat via painful wedgie. He screams once more, but the yell dies in his throat when you promptly stuff some antiseptic wipes into his open mouth. “Will you please stop being dramatic for two seconds? Please?”

The silence is sweet for two minutes. But then––

“Y/N,” Jungkook says after a while, mouth still muffled by the wipes. You turn to him, brows raised.

“Yes?”

“Ie naeead to takae a bwig shit.” Oh. That’s the ramen coming to visit. You groan into your hands, unwilling to accept this terrible fate. 

#lol idk this was fun #ask game #t:unlisted #x-useobwa-x #answered

[cinnaminsvga]

idk how lame this is but what if JK was a YouTuber and was dared to stay overnight in some scary place and his friend Taehyung kept playing pranks on him and scaring him shitless throughout the night

((i’m gonna make this crack. sorry anon, but if you wanted cute, it’s not gonna happen LMAO))

When Taehyung had offered him a McDonalds coupon to do another one of his harebrained dares, Jungkook had been too quick on the draw. He had never been one to consider the danger of his best friend’s dares, since the allure of a $5 coupon from his favorite fastfood establishment was more than enough to overcome any obstacle that Taehyung might throw at him. 

Jungkook always thought that he was invincible, so it seemed. After all, if Jungkook can eat 10 packets of super spicy ramen AND live to tell the tale (with his asshole still 88% intact), then who could blame him for being overconfident? This dare would be his tenth success in a row, and Jungkook is nothing if not a competitive son of a bitch. Unbeknownst to him, hubris will soon become his unbecoming. 

When Taehyung finishes uttering the rules of this month’s dare, for the first time in Jungkook’s life, he can feel the icy cold hand of fear run down his back. The hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention, almost as if they were hoping to take flight and bring Jungkook far, far away from this damned covenant he had just signed with the devil. 

What sort of madness do you think he might have signed up for, you might be wondering? Well––

“You’re gonna have to stay one night in our old high school, and you’ll have to sleep in the one place that you never stepped foot in your entire life,” Taehyung drawls solemnly, the flashlight underneath his chin flickering like a bad TV horror film. Jungkook gasps, his hand flying to his mouth as tears began to well up in his eyes.

“You can’t be serious…”

“Yes, Jungkook. I’m afraid I am,” Taehyung says, turning the flashlight off. Jungkook screams in anguish.

“NO! Taehyung, I thought you were my best bro! My homie! Homiesexuals for life, bro! You can’t break the code like this,” Jungkook sobs, tears freely flowing now. 

Behind him, snuggled up underneath five blankets and ten textbooks, Kim Namjoon tells them to shut up before throwing one of the hardbound editions right at Jungkook’s head. Rocks-for-brains does not even flinch.

“Will the two of you shut up? When you two shitheads asked for a sleepover, I thought we would actually be sleeping,” Namjoon groans, before slinking back into the safety of his covers. Jungkook wishes he could join him in there (you know, no homo) just so he can escape the oncoming death sentence that Taehyung was about to bring upon him.

“I’m sorry Jungkook, but you already know what I’m going to say. You’ll have to sleep…” Taehyung takes a deep breath, his throat bobbing with the weight of the words he is about to speak. Jungkook doesn’t even remember how to breath when he finally says: “In the library.”

The invincible Jungkook had one fear and one fear alone: books. With how little his brain has become from all his years of snorting dehydrated cheese packets, any place that required him to use his cognitive functions for more than a second is pure torture for him. Taehyung knows this, and thus, he has broken all known laws of their sacred Homie Codie…

“You traitor,” Jungkook sobs, wiping his tears with one of Namjoon’s Calculus scratch sheets. The moment the numbers and knowledge touch his cheek, he hisses in pain, dropping the damned thing like it was on fire. “No! It’s already begun! I’m melting!”

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Taehyung says, head bowed in defeat. “It was the decree of a higher being than myself. I could not defy them.”

((blah blah blah seokjin was the one who forced tae to force jungkook to sleep in the high school bc he was also trapping oc inside there to get them together. two idiots in love… we love a modern romcom in this household lol))

#why did this get long? idk LOL #im so sleepy idk whats going on #ask game #t:unlisted #Anonymous #answered

[cinnaminsvga]

I wish you would write a fic where farmer Tae and the city girl reader switch bodies! (Kind of like kimi no na wa but no one dies lol)

((i changed it to rancher taehyung instead lol i just really love horses sorry))

For all that your city sensibilities were worth, you would think that you’d be better at adapting to largely unfamiliar situations. Learning to project a mask of indifference when something vexes you was one of your finest tricks in the business, since everyone knew that the only way to success was by first lining your path with bullshit and misplaced confidence.

This was what you had thought, given that you never once imagined that you would have to learn how to ride a horse in just five minutes.

“Taehyung! Quickly, you gotta go wrangle the cows back to the barn! I don’t wanna be out ‘til dark trying to find them stuck on a fucking treehouse again,” one of the other ranchers, Jimin, calls out from up ahead. With the ease of an experienced cattle herder, he makes quick work of a dozen of them by shouting in an obscenely loud manner, which spooks them into docility. 

You hardly have the time to hide the fact that you might have just shat your pants when Jimin yells at you to get moving once more. With your heart jumping to your throat, you meekly thump the side of your horse with a boot, urging it to move forward.

Noticing your hesitance, the horse stands resolutely in place, even snorting in what you might describe as an exasperated manner. It’s almost as if its saying it knows you’re not its real owner, what with the awkwardness at which you sit on its back, still unused to the foreign feeling of more, um, material where your thighs met.

“Please, Mister Horse. I’m begging you, just pretend to be doing work and then I can get off your back and we’ll be Gucci,” you plead, bending forward until your eyes met those of your white horse. It blinks lazily back, before roughly nudging you away with its muzzle. You splutter indignantly, pouting at this horse’s rude behavior.

“Why! Who taught you your manners, young man? I’ll have you know that I am the heir of South Korea’s most prominent telecommunications corporation and I will demand the respect I deserve!” you say, haughty. The horse is less than impressed, judging by the way it has begun to graze.

In a fit of annoyance, you bring your hand down harshly on the horse’s backside––hard enough that you could feel your palm radiating heat from the impact. Your hubris is what leads you to your downfall, quite literally.

Just a few feet away, Jimin directs another three cows back to the barn. He turns his head, wondering where on earth his friend might have gone, only to see him (you) galloping wildly to the north. He heaves a sigh, a slow smirk gracing his face as he trots back to the barn at a much more dignified manner. 

“That Taehyung… Always wanting to outspeed me, it seems.” He chuckles. He clambers off his horse, tugging her towards her sleeping quarters for the day. “Well, if Taehyung is so set on beating me, then he can go herd the rest of those cows by himself.”

Had it not been for the fact that Jimin has been deaf from the right ear since birth, maybe he would have heard your screams of terror as you and your horse rode off into the unknown. It is going to be a long day.

#lol i would've written how tae reacts in the city but im too lazy lol #uhh this is kinda interesting?? should i write more for this prompt lol #ask game #t:unlisted #Anonymous #answered

[cinnaminsvga]

i wish u would write a fic where namjoon finds out abt jk’s fan twt

((i’ll do you one better and make a mini sm!au for you lol i’ll post it right after this ask!!))

link here!!

#ask game #t:unlisted #Anonymous #answered

[cinnaminsvga]

#3 I trusted you

best friend au. taehyung. 283 words.

“I trusted you,” you hiss at Taehyung, refusing to look at him. You can practically feel his kicked puppy dog look from a mile away, and you knew you would crumble the second you took a look at his face. 

“Y/N, please! You’re overreacting! I swear that I didn’t mean it,” he whines, shaking your shoulders in an attempt to get you to face at him (which would mean he’d win, and you were determined to make a point.)

“No, Tae. I can forgive you for a lot of the stupid shit that you’ve done over the years, but this… This was the last straw. I’m sorry.” You say, your voice warbling at the end. He gasps, dropping his hands from your shoulders to cradle his (broken) heart.

“You… You don’t mean…” 

“I have to say it. You know I do.” You take a deep breath, and finally look back at him.

“Friendship ended with Taehyung. Now Jungkook is my best friend,” you sob, running away from him and jumping into the arms of an unsuspecting Jungkook.

“What the fuck?” Jungkook says, easily lifting your smaller form with one arm. “Who are you again?”

“No! Y/N, please! I beg you! Forgive me!” Taehyung howls, on his knees in front of the entire student body (who have been watching the debacle with resignation.)

An upperclassman who had been passing by takes a look at the spectacle, and turns to Jimin who appears to be filming the whole thing.

“Is this a performance?” Yoongi the upperclassman asks. Jimin doesn’t take his eyes off his camera when he shakes his head.

“Nah. Taehyung accidentally bought Y/N the wrong ice cream flavor. That’s all.”

“Wack,” Yoongi replies.

#these are getting dumber by the minute HASJDHJASH #ask game #Anonymous #answered #t:unlisted

[cinnaminsvga]

26. How dare (you)

domestic (?) au. seokjin. 290 words.

“Hey, did you hear the news?” Seokjin pipes up from the living room. You peek your head out of the kitchen to see him staring in horror at the television.

“What? Did something happen?” You wipe your hands on the towel, leaving the stew to simmer as you try to catch whatever the news reporter had been saying.

“You just missed it. Apparently, a man named Seokwon broke into Yoongi and Namjoon’s workplace the other day. Stuff got stolen, apparently.” 

“Oh no, are they okay? Did you text them?” You gasp, taking out your phone to check the news yourself. Seokjin takes your hand in his, shaking his head forlornly.

“Don’t. You might not like what you see.” He says grimly. You already feel tears prickling in your eyes.

“Oh my god… Do the others know? What else have they been saying?”

“They say the guy, Seokwon, has been causing these robberies for a couple of weeks. It’s been getting bad.”

“Who is this Seokwon guy? This is the first time I’ve even heard his name…” You ponder, and you miss the terrible grin beginning to form on Seokjin’s face.

“Oh you know… Seokwon? Seokwon deez nutz?”

In the midst of your worry, it takes you a couple of seconds to understand what Seokjin had said. When you finally fix your gaze onto him, his face was turning red with the effort of keeping his laughter at bay.

You punch him straight in the gut. “How fucking dare you scare me like that! I thought something might have happened to our friends!”

“Something did happen to them! They didn’t get to see the massive prank I just did––hey, stop hitting me! You’re gonna bruise my gorgeous bod––STOP I’M SORRY!”

#I LITERALLY CANT STOP LAUGHING #IM HILARIOUS LMSADJSAJDH #THIS IS SO FUCKING FUNNY I HATE MYSELF #ask game #Anonymous #answered #t:unlisted