“Have you ever thought it might be a good idea to maybe. . .” He pauses to bite his lip and look up at the wall, meeting my eyes and smirking teasingly after a few seconds. “I don’t know. . . Just take a chance and, maybe. . .” I fight a grin by biting my lip. “Trust me on this? Just this once?”
I blink at him slowly, then tilt my head to the left, smiling softly. “Stop teasing. You’re aware that we’re about to be killed, Wyatt, aren’t you?” I ask him in a whisper as my ears catch the sounds of yelling as loud footsteps come closer and closer to us.
He snickers, then slowly reaches for my hand, lacing his fingers with mine before leaning toward me and bringing his lips to my ear. “Indeed I am, Perez. That’s why you need to trust me.”
A shiver of fear trickles down my spine, but I squeeze my fingers against his. “Fine,” I mumble, cutting my eyes toward the door that leads onto the roof we stand on.
“Ready?” he asks me gently, taking my other hand and slowly tugging me along with him to the edge of the roof.
“Let’s get this over with,” I say, stepping up on the very end of the roof, looking down at the traffic over eight-hundred feet below. He smiles, but it’s laced with fear, now.
“Just close your eyes,” he tells me gently, his arms wrapping around me. “Trust me.”
“With my life,” I almost grumble, squeezing my eyes shut as I hear the door to the roof burst open, followed by loud yells in Russian.
A small second goes by, and then he’s stepping closer to the ledge after whispering something in my ear.
“Don’t let go of me.”
That’s the last thing I hear before I kick my feet off of the roof with him and feel his arms become almost unbearably tight around me, feel the wind sting my face. We don’t scream, don’t make a single sound, but I can still hear his heart racing faster than the bullets in the guns he would have shot the men chasing us earlier if they didn’t outnumber us. We go down, down, down, faster and faster the lower we get.
We don’t hit the ground.
Good, because I definitely would have kicked his ass if we did.
The characters and overall scene are mine. Seriously. I just wrote this out because I wanted to; don’t be an asshole and steal it, for the love of the world. Thanks.
Skeletons in your closet unfortunately not getting posted on time, I haven’t been home all weekend and haven’t had a chance to finish it up, I’ll try my best to get it up for tomorrow! if not it will DEFINITELY be up Tuesday!
I asked who wanted me to continue my 3 year old John/Dave fic Setting the Tides and quite a few wanted me to do so! So along with my Undertale fic I’ll be continuing that.
I’ll have to reread up on John and Dave’s character because I feel like I’ve lost my ability to write them. But I’m super excited to continue, I have part of the next chapter typed out already :”)
*coughs unattractively* Idek. I’m bored. Mild warning for tongue kiss but eh. Optional bias.
(Yo, @lolbtsaus / @sleepytaebear, @jeo-n, I wrote a thing finally)
Word Count: 1,320
Songs that fit the mood of this one, in this specific order (But you don’t have to listen to it this way if you don’t wanna idk):
1. Ice Cream Cake by Red Velvet
2. Um, Oh, Ah, Yeh by Mamamoo
3. Playback by Playback
4. Like Ooh Ahh by Twice
5. Her by Block-B
6. Crash by B.A.P
7. Party by Girls’ Generation
8. Hot Pink by EXID
9. Sunset Glow by Big Bang
10. Q & A by S. Coups, Vernon, Woozi, and Ailee
11. Lion Heart by Girls’ Generation
12. Girl Crush by Mamamoo
13. Playboy by EXO
14. Rain by BTS
Yeah, I know it’s a lot, but I demand you do it, it sounds good okay bye.
Oooh! Look at the love! I made a playlist!
Fireworks exploded on your tongue in a range of colors and flavors: tangy orange-sherbet, sweet strawberry that stained pink, and the bright-blue raspberry, all swirled together in a waffle ice cream cone that dripped a little bit of the treat onto your fingers. You gave a little whine of surprise at the sudden dampness on your hand, but you quickly licked your fingers before the ice cream could fall onto your clothes, glancing out of the window of the ice cream shop at the shining sun, the colorful umbrellas that shaded the tables that were located outdoors, and the rainbow of the colors of the buildings, clothes of people walking on the sidewalk, and even of some dogs.
You were patiently waiting for a certain figure to finally appear on the street in all of his stunning glory, wearing whatever he had arrived from the airport in, and flashing you that grin that he knew you loved.
You saw no such thing, even though you had been promised by him that he would be here an hour ago to share a nice ice cream date with you. Maybe it was silly to bring your hopes up; after all, he was busy, and probably had to head to a studio to record or something, maybe to practice a dance, even if he had just finished his tour and shouldn’t have had anything to do, unless he was surprising you with something.
Which he probably wasn’t; you couldn’t imagine how exhausted he was after his flight, and you felt a swell of guilt. You should have been happy that he was actually willing to come here with you, when in reality, sleep was the only thing on his mind. You would make sure to allow him to have the longest nap ever once you got home.
You continued licking your ice cream halfheartedly, not noticing that the door to the shop had rung behind you, signaling that someone had entered. When you felt arms wrap around your shoulders and a sweet kiss on your cheek, you jumped slightly and turned your head to see the your boyfriend biting his lip.
“Hey, babe,” he said softly, kissing you before you could greet him.
When he released you, you immediately giggled and jumped into his arms, holding onto his neck as if your life depended on it while he lifted you up effortlessly and dug his face into your hair.
“I thought you’d gone home,” you told him honestly, nearly spooking when you realized that your ice cream was beginning to fall off its cone.
He laughed jollily before giving you another kiss, hugging you again. “Of course not; I wanted to see my lovely girlfriend before that.” Even though his tone was genuine, you could see dark circles under his eyes.
You sighed sadly, rubbing his cheeks and making it obvious of your worrying.
“Hey,” he said, taking your hand and squeezing it before taking it off his face. “Don’t worry about me.”
“But you look so—”
“I’ll sleep when we get home. I’m fine.” He nuzzled his nose against yours and sat down across from where you were nestled before he entered the shop. After you joined him and continued licking your ice cream, you began to ask him questions regarding the tour, how the other members were, how the countries were, the crazy fangirls that probably tried to jump him. He chuckled softly at the last comment, then shrugged and went on to tell about how the others were exhausted like him, but that they all enjoyed the places they visited, especially the variety of food and the people who came to their shows and cheered with all their hearts. After saying this, he squeezed your hand and said that he was, however, glad to be home after a great tour, and you knew there was an implied, “I’m glad to be with you again,” as well.
You smiled softly, feeling a swell of happiness in your chest as you continued eating your sweet treat. You were just finishing up when you noticed your boyfriend eyeing you oddly.
After blinking, you asked, “Is something wrong?”
“I wanted a taste,” he whined.
“Oh.” You looked down at your now empty cone and slumped your shoulders. “Sorry.”
He pouted, looking away from you. “I’ll just get my own,” he said before standing up and entering the line for ice cream, leaving you alone.
“Hey!” you whimpered, frowning at him. “Don’t be like that.”
He just shrugged playfully and responded with an, “I’m hungry,” though you could see an evil glint in his eyes that made you suspect him of planning something in that pretty head of his. Something that would probably fun, but also bad for your health.
Like the junky ice cream you’d just eaten.
He was swinging your hand in his as you two walked along the road, him munching on the ice cream he bought with you feeling a skip in your step beside him. So far, your previous suspicions had been false; he hadn’t been anything but innocent and so full of life since you’d left the ice cream shop, that it’d seemed like his dark circles had almost disappeared.
“So, babe,” he said before nomming on his ice cream, “How’s work? Sorry, I never asked you.”
“Oh,” you sounded, nodding. “It was good. Nothing new, though, so there’s no need to apologize.”
“Ah,” he responded, also nodding his head.
You hadn’t realized you were staring at his chocolate-stained lips until he noticed your gaze. He shrugged, however, and took the last lick of his ice cream before tossing the cone into a passerby trash can in complete deliberateness. You gaped in disbelief. You were almost considering whining about wanting a taste, like he had earlier, but he was pushing you into an ally and against the brick wall less than a second later.
You gasped, your heart speeding up a little bit.
“Did you want to try some?” he whispered, a smirk forming on his still-stained lips as he leaned close to you, teasing you by bringing his mouth just a little bit close to yours.
After a few seconds of just staring at him in slight disbelief, you nodded shakily, immediately relishing in the passionate kiss he placed on your lips as he pushed you harder against the wall. He licked your lips, and it only took you a split second to grant him access to your mouth and tongue.
You could taste the chocolate on him as his tongue slithered with yours and made you shiver. His hands ran up and down your arms, his eyes closed and his actions proof that he didn’t care whether or not people would begin to stare at you two making out in an ally. His kisses were desperate and passionate, soft groans enacting from his lips as you two kept touching each other.
When you finally stopped, you were both panting from lack of oxygen, and both of your cheeks were flaring a cherry-red.
“What was that for?” you asked between pants.
Your boyfriend smirked playfully and shrugged. “I just felt like it.”
You gaped at him and blinked. “Don’t do that!” you shrieked when the shock finally wore off and gave you enough strength to slap his arm.
“Why not? You totally loved it,” he teased, closing his eyes in a mocking way and pitching his voice as he moaned, “Ohh, ohh, yes, keep doing that, oh my God!”
You rolled your eyes and stepped out of the ally, your cheeks still burning. “I did not say that,” you said firmly, crossing your arms.
Your boyfriend smirked and put his arm around your shoulder, leaning toward your ear to whisper, “Yeah, but you will be later.”
You slapped his arm again, but he still managed to kiss your neck before you did this.
Once again, you MUST listen to Converse High to understand this post. Press that link, and once you have educated yourself with listened to Yoongi’s relatable part in the song, come back here and giggle at this post with me. jeo-n Gabby, I’m rewriting the thing! :D The other one looks like crap to me, now, so yeah, it must be done. Okay, writing is mine; I literally don’t have any idea what really happened when Yoongi wrote this song okay? Okay. Writing time. Slight NSFW-ness, but really, not really. DUN DUN-DUN DUN, DUN-DUN, DUN-DUN.
The door flew open and slammed against the wall from being pushed with the weight of two human beings that were practically attached to each other. Yoongi, the male of this duo, was gripping the female by the hair and growling into her mouth as their tongues mingled with each other. Her hands, tiny, soft, seemingly-innocent hands, moved from his face to his shoulders, so she could shove off the annoying jacket he wore and feel his chest through his thin shirt.
Yoongi groaned at the feel of her touch, but stopped when he felt his phone vibrating in the pocket of his jeans. It was probably Taehyung or Namjoon or someone, asking when the hell Yoongi was going to be home. Sighing, the man took his phone out of his pocket, without separating his mouth from the girl’s, and threw the disgusting nuisance across the room, where it crashed against the wall and fell to a million pieces on the floor.
The girl was panting when Yoongi let go of her mouth, but it only increased when his skilled hands reached into her shirt and unbuckled her bra, then rubbed her bare back. He sat on the sofa in her living room; he knew this place almost as well as his lucky pen, even with his eyes closed.
His lips touched her neck, and she gripped his hair, so hard,Yoongi felt a bit of pain tingle up his spine.
“Wait, Yoongi,” she said in a sigh. Yoongi looked up at her and met her now-opened eyes.
“My shoes,” she told him. “Get my shoes.”
Yoongi smirked, then slithered his hands down her legs, earning a pleasured sigh.
But he stopped when he felt the symbol at her heel.
His momentarily-closed eyes flew open and shot to the stupid star that looked back at him.
A curse escaped his lips.
Determine not to let a pair of stupid shoes get in his way, and refusing to undo the laces, Yoongi attempted to yank the shoes off with the thoughts, Hana, dul, seht.
Nothing.
Yoongi huffed angrily.
He counted again, and tugged, but, again, nothing.
He did this at least twenty times with no success.
Yoongi shook his head, rolled his eyes, and stood up after setting the girl on the couch. “I’m leaving,” he said, just like that.
The girl, confused, hurt, and definitely pissed, cried, “WHAT?! WHY?!”
“Your shoes,” Yoongi explained with his usual, angry, very ironic shrug that said, “I don’t give a shit about anything.”
“But--” she stammered.
Yoongi picked up his phone and its broken pieces from the floor, then walked toward the door. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, looking back at the girl who gaped at him from the couch. “Where Vans or something like that.”
“YOONGI!” she screamed just as the door closed. “GET BACK HERE!”
Fire was burning in his heart when Yoongi was back at the dorm. His eyebrows were permanently pulled together, his feet dragged on the floor, and to top it off, he was sopping wet because it was raining outside.
A very excited Namjoon suddenly showed up, and, without acknowledging his older member’s state, asked, “Hey, Yoongi! I made a song! Can you help me with it?”
Yoongi glared at the tall man next to him, then snatched the paper from his hands. “What’s it about?” he asked, but his eyes widened when he saw the title.
“Converse,” Namjoon said proudly. “I’m forcing my ideal type on people. Great, right?”
Yoongi scowled, sprawled some lines on the paper, then sulked away with a, “Yeah, totally, it’s great.”
Namjoon looked at the paper to see what Yoongi wrote, then yelled, “What the hell is this, you asshole?! You ruined it!”
Yoongi stopped, turned back to look at Namjoon, then shrugged. “You asked for my help, and I gave it to you. Besides, if anything, I made that song better.”
“Oh, sure you did!” Namjoon snapped. “Get back here and change it!”
“Like hell I am,” Yoongi growled.
“Like hell you will!”
“And who’s going to make me, huh?! You?!”
“Yeah, I am!”
“You don’t know the first thing about making me do anything!”
“You’re just pissed because I wrote a song that’s better than yours!”
“What?!”
“I said it!”
“Please! You wouldn’t know song-writing if it slapped you in the face, Godzilla!”
“Shut up!”
“No!”
It continued, but paused abruptly when Namjoon suddenly yelled, “I can rap faster than you, dumbass!”
Yoongi blinked, shocked, with his mouth hanging open. Then he quickly recomposed himself and leaned close to Namjoon. “Oh yeah? You want to play that game, son?”
“You know I do.”
There was a long, tense pause, then they were rapping incomprehensible words loudly and cat-fighting.
The three maknaes, who were playing a game in the other room, peeked out and gawked at the two older rappers.
“Should we stop them?” Taehyung asked, frowning.
“Please!” Jungkook scoffed. “I don’t want to get between that! Besides,” he added when he saw Yoongi and Namjoon start hitting each other with pillows, “This is just getting good!”
Jimin sighed, pinched the seventeen year-old’s ear (Earning an alarmed yelp), then told Taehyung, “Jin and Hoseok will be here soon. I don’t think we need to worry about it.”
“Oh, okay,” Taehyung said, nodding. The three went back into the room to continue their game.
Fifteen minutes later, Hoseok and Jin came home to find the rappers still fighting, and feathers all over the living room.
“I WAS LITERALLY GONE FOR THIRTY MINUTES!” Jin yelled, pulling Yoongi and Namjoon apart. “I SHOULDN’T BE COMING HOME TO THIS SHIT!”
The gentle laugh rang as it left Jin’s mouth and was echoed by the other members, who stood behind him with their toes digging into the scratchy sand of the beach. They were all so happy, dancing in circles and telling each other jokes and acting like everything was alright. Jin snapped picture of everyone with his pink Polaroid camera, a grin plastered on his face and refusing to get off.
He kept waiting for the pictures to develop, but kept finding himself disappointed; nothing came out of the camera. Jin frowned, wondering if it was broken, but forgot about his problem when they left the beach and went to put some gas into their truck.
When they got their, Namjoon began to pump gas into the truck, then, while he was waiting, gently took the Polaroid picture from Jin’s hands. “Let me take a picture of you guys,” he said, motioning for Yoongi, who was in the passenger seat, to move closer. “One, two,” he counted, then snapped the picture on “three.” He took the photo that popped out (Jin thought it was odd that the camera worked for Namjoon and not him), which hadn’t developed yet, and gave it to Jin.
Jin frowned again at the empty, white paper, then shrugged sadly and put it in the glove box of the truck.
A few hours later, they were back at the beach. Jin stayed in the car while the others left to go run around. He smiled into the horizon, a peaceful feeling rushing through his veins as he realized, he couldn’t be happier than he was right now.
Then he suddenly remembered the photo in the glove box. It was probably developed by now. Still smiling, Jin took the photo out and squinted at it.
But a heaviness formed in his heart when he saw that Yoongi wasn’t there, smiling next to him in the photo; it was just Jin, making a peace sign with nobody.
They were all gone; it was just him. They weren’t really here, he was imagining it.
Jin tried to gulp down the huge lump in his throat but it was choking him and made him unable to breath.
The images from earlier that day flashed in his mind: them playing a form of golf they made up, the beach, the gas station, Taehyung on a mattress; it was all spinning around so fast it became blurry. Jin felt his head whirl and whirl and whirl and--
Something freezing cold hit him in the face and forced a gasp out of his mouth. He coughed, his face dripping wet with water, and his knees bent on his bed. Even after he got all the water that was in his mouth on the floor, he gasped and shook his head, droplets raining down from his hair.
“Thank God that worked,” somebody growled next to him. It sounded so much like. . .
“Yoongi?” Jin said softly, turning his head to the left and seeing the younger, white-haired man.
“Damn right it’s me,” the rapper said, panting. “What were you dreaming that had you screaming like a fucking maniac?! You’re lucky the others didn’t wake up or I’d’ve killed you rather than splash a bucket of water on you.”
Before he could even finish, Jin was up and squeezing the man close to him. “Oh, my God, I thought you were dead,” he whispered, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I thought you all were dead.”
Yoongi, petrified with shock for a moment, slowly hugged his older member back and said, “We’re not that easy to get rid of. You’re an idiot for even thinking we were.”
Lame title. I’m making this for my baby ( min-yawngi ) because she’s sad and said she wanted this in a post soooo… HAPPINESS-GIVING WRITER-FRIEND MODE ON! (WTF Leena stop) I’m on moble RN, so, it’ll be pretty short I’m sorry don’t kill me I have too little to live for.
———————————————–
The sun was a gentle orange, and was painting the skies and the clouds in the same hue in that strange way it does sometimes. It drifted through the window, and touched Yoongi’s cheeks as he sat on the dining table. Seokjin was in the kitchen, making them both some iced tea. The other members were out, courtesy of Namjoon and Hoseok, so the two older ones could have a few hours of peace.
Today was a rough day in particular.
“Can we give them up for adoption NOW?” Yoongi asked exasperatedly when Jin sat at the dining table with him.
Jin narrowed his eyes at him, tempted to just take the pitcher of tea to his room and drink it all by himself. “No,” he sighed, though he had to admit that sometimes he seriously considered shipping the maknae line off somewhere. “We just have to…” He gripped his glass cup of tea tightly. “Endure for a little.”
“I’ve endured long enough. Come on. I’m sure there are a dozen A.R.M.Ys who’d love to keep all of them. And you and I could do stuff on our own. We could be” –He paused to aim his arms at nowhere in particular– “YoonJin!”
“I like SeokGi better,” Jin whined.
“Ugh,” Yoongi groaned. “So like you.”
“Shut up.”
“You shut up.”
“No.”
There was a long pause, then Yoongi couldn’t take it anymore and said, “Seriously though, I found some really great orphanages–”
“Don’t.”
“But–”
“No.”
“How about a boar–”
Jin stood up, took the pitcher and his cup, and stalked to his bedroom. “Tell me when the old Yoongi’s back, ‘kay? You know, that one that I complained to, not the one that complained to ME!” he yelled through the closed door.
I was inspired by Yoongi’s part again in Move. So yeah. Young Yoongi. Sadness and ish.
min-yawngi (So you can read it if you want)
I have no idea what really happened to Yoongi’s mom; this is all simply what I imagined happened. Calm yo’ tits.
————————————————
It was a normal Saturday, in five year-old Yoongi Min’s normal house, and he was wearing a normal long-sleeved shirt (Because it was cold outside) and playing with his normal assorted-color Legos. This activity was actually his second choice; the first was bothering his old cat, Smokey, but that failed –And gave him three scratches.
He ran crying to Mr. Min, his father, and after a few exhausted sighs and “Yoongi, can’t you see I’m busy?” he left his and Mrs. Min’s bedroom to get their son a Band-Aid. He gave Yoongi a big one (So it’d cover all his scratches) with cartoon cars on it. Then Yoongi ran back to the living room to find something else to do (That didn’t involve Smokey).
He pulled his Lego bag from the shelf, then opened it and started building randomly-colored towers and house. He sat there for a long time; a few hours, so he didn’t notice that Mr. Min had answered the door for somebody.
Yoongi kept building, and finally came up with a tower taller than him. With a giddy grin, he lifted the tower up, and scampered to the kitchen, where he last saw his father, so he could show him his masterpiece.
“Daddy!” the little boy called. “Daddy! Daddy, Daddy, DADDY!”
He got no answer. He set his tower on the counter and opened up the fridge, to see if his father was maybe hiding in there. He only saw some leftovers and vegetables.
Frowning, his heaved the fridge back closed and checked the cabinets and drawers. Nothing.
Yoongi sighed, then remembered the second-to-last place he saw his dad: The bedroom.
He could show his mom the tower, too.
“Mommy! Daddy!” he yelled as he raced down the hallway. He opened the door, but stopped when he saw a man he didn’t know standing in front of his parents’ bed; the man was dressed in a labcoat, and had a stethoscope around his neck.
Yoongi dropped the tower when he saw the huge machine in his mother’s chest. It fell the way a vase does most of the time: into a billion pieces and because fear possessed the heart of the person holding it.
“Mommy… ?” he said slowly.
His mother was motionless. Asleep. Yoongi knew because her chest rose and fell gently.
“Yoongi,” his father whispered. “Come. Let’s talk in the other room. Okay?”
Yoongi nodded and followed to the living room, his head empty from all thoughts. He’d have to pick up the mess of Legos later, but Mr. Min wasn’t going to make him right now.
They sat on the sofa. Yoongi’s feet couldn’t touch the floor like his father’s, but he didn’t make a comment like he usually would.
“Son,” Mr. Min began, looking at Yoongi. “Your mother has a heart condition.” He added, “That’s why she had that machine in her chest,” when Yoongi frowned at him. Mr. Min took his son’s hands in his. “Yoongi. We’re going to move soon, because your mom needs to be close to the hospital. I was going to tell you earlier, but her doctor came, and I forgot. We’ll probably be leaving by next month.”
———–
With a flutter of his dark eyelashes, Yoongi was awake and staring out the window toward the moon.
“Don’t tell me you’re awake, too,” somebody sighed, and Yoongi realized that Seokjin was sitting on the chair right by the glass window. “Go to sleep,” he told the younger man.
Yoongi rolled his eyes, but smiled. “I feel a song coming on.”
“Not again,” Jin groaned. “No. No late-night song writing. Go. To sleep.”
Yoongi ignored and got up to get his notebook and lucky pen.
He finished what he came up with and showed it to Namjoon and Hoseok that morning. A few months later, it was in their newest album.
