#and i was going through my little notebook where i write down my favorite poems

[anthropoetics]

Raymond Carver, “Hummingbird,” from All of Us: The Collected Poems

[caputvulpinum]

What would you say is your favorite piece of ‘bad’ poetry? Like, obviously everyone has a different definition of bad, but what poem do you look at, think ‘this just isn’t that great but I love it anyway despite that’ and then come back to every time?

In the first poetry workshop I ever took my professor said we could write about anything we wanted except for two things: our grandparents and our dogs. She said she had never read a good poem about a dog. I could only remember ever reading one poem about a dog before that point—a poem by Pablo Neruda, from which I only remembered the lines “We walked together on the shores of the sea/ In the lonely winter of Isla Negra.” Four years later I wrote a poem about how when I was a little girl I secretly baptized my dog in the bathtub because I was afraid she wouldn’t get into heaven. “Is this a good poem?” I wondered. The second poetry workshop, our professor made us put a bird in each one of our poems. I thought this was unbelievably stupid. This professor also hated when we wrote about hearts, she said no poet had ever written a good poem in which they mentioned a heart. I started collecting poems about hearts, first to spite her, but then because it became a habit I couldn’t break. The workshop after that, our professor would tell us the same story over and over about how his son had died during a blizzard. He would cry in front of us. He never told us we couldn’t write about anything, but I wrote a lot of poems about snow. At the end of the year he called me into his office and said, “looking at you, one wouldn’t think you’d be a very good writer” and I could feel all the pity inside of me curdling like milk. The fourth poetry workshop I ever took my professor made it clear that poets should not try to engage with popular culture. I noticed that the only poets he assigned were men. I wrote a poem about that scene in Grease 2 where a boy takes his girlfriend to a fallout shelter and tries to get her to have sex with him by tricking her into believing that nuclear war had begun. It was the first poem I ever published. The fifth poetry workshop I ever took our professor railed against the word blood. She thought that no poem should ever have the word “blood” in it, they were bloody enough already. She returned a draft of my poem with the word blood crossed out so hard the paper had torn. When I started teaching poetry workshops I promised myself I would never give my students any rules about what could or couldn’t be in their poems. They all wrote about basketball. I used to tally these poems when I’d go through the stack I had collected at the end of each class. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 poems about basketball. This was Indiana. Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore. I told the class, “for the next assignment no one can write about basketball, please for the love of god choose another topic. Challenge yourselves.” Next time I collected their poems there was one student who had turned in another poem about basketball. I don’t know if he had been absent on the day I told them to choose another topic or if he had just done it to spite me. It’s the only student poem I can still really remember. At the time I wrote down the last lines of that poem in a notebook. “He threw the basketball and it came towards me like the sun”

From a since-deactivated tumblr blog.

[aiizenn]

jjk college majors pt. I

geto: ࿐ creative writing

── geto has a way with words. he expresses himself so much through writing. geto’s the quiet one out of the duo. with every extrovert friend there’s an introvert. give him a pen and paper or a laptop and he’ll stay alone for hours. his go-to place is the small antique café hidden between clock selling buildings—cozy and quiet. perfect for him. although he’s doesn’t talk much in class, he’s the professor's favorite. always leaving them in awe with every report/paper. geto would write you adorable poems every month. for valentine’s or your birthday he’d write you a letter in the most romantic way. using old looking paper, with cursive writing. it'd start with, "my angel" or "my dove". did i mention he has a talent for drawing? in the corner of the letters he’d always draw small doodles. or maybe add little stickers he thought were cute and you’d love them. "are those my initials on the wax seal?" "mhmm, customized for you and for you only, pretty angel." "i love it, thank you suguru."

sukuna: ࿐ history

── sukuna would definitely fit within the history major. he enjoys learning about how the world came to be. the causes behind events and how some are being repeated. sukuna would leave everybody astonished as he answered and elaborated to every question in class discussions. to him history is not just a major but a tool. it can be used as guidance on conflicts that are going on about in present times, he likes to connect events and ramble about them. you’ll be in the library together studying and he takes out a book called “history in quotations” and talk about how important figures within different time periods are alike yet so different. “doll, did you know that sojourner truth and harriet tubman met in the summer of 1864?” he enthusiastically whispers. “imagine two of the most impactful women in history within the same room?. . .powerful.” after finishing he’d realize and apologize for rambling for the umpth time. you’d give him a kiss on the cheek “it’s okay, i like it. it’s something your passionate about. plus it’s cute ‘cause your eyes twinkle.”

choso: ࿐ art

── choso is very much on the edgy side. like geto he’s quite but expressive. . .through art. to specify—sculpting. choso is big on marble sculpturing. he finds it so fascinating being able to make something out of a ‘rock’. he’ll spend time in the library reading books on sculpture; wanting to get better at it. choso looks at classical art pieces like ‘david’ by michelangelo or ‘undine rising from the waters’ by chauncey and takes inspiration. he’ll have a small notebook with him and sketch down his ideas or thoughts at any moment. in the process of learning, his first “real” sculpture was you. he had taken a picture of you when you guys were on a date, catching you at one of your most beautiful moments. he’d spent hours in the workshop trying to perfectionate the model. after weeks working on it, he finished. choso covered your eyes as he took you to the workshop. “where are we?” “you'll see, ready…1…2…3” your eyes open and are met with a very breathtaking statue of yourself. you were flabbergasted. “it’s me!” you exclaimed, looking at him. “you know what the topic was?. . .one’s most ethereal view.”

@aiizenn ₓ˚. ୨ৎ

[quaissants]

WRITERS’ TAG GAME !

i don’t think i’ve ever done this before so thank you bubba @stealanity 💕

recommend 5 or more of your own works that you would rec to someone asking what they should read first & explain a little bit about the work. these can be the most popular, the ones you think are underrated, or your own favorites! then tag five other writers!

tagging @dearhee @end-hyphen @sunlightwoo @sunflwryu @thelargefrye for this !

also! two things: i’m adding works that i’ve written on my precious main because those are still so precious to me. also, most of what i’ve written throughout my two years are drabbles so i’m gonna go ahead and pick more than five:

take me home … kim hongjoong

this one took me a few months to figure out.. i remember getting it as a request, and i just had no idea what to do with it. but then i thought of deja vu joong, specifically the rain part and i went that’s it! and the rest is history

a poem called you … jeong yunho

writing a hotel del luna au fic is something that was on my writer’s bucket list. which is why when i planned the purpose series, i knew. tbh i think it only took me 2-3 nights to complete this one? and while it’s not as popular as the others on this list, i do adore it

in a world of their own … lee heeseung

my second work on kurosism 🥺 again, wasn’t very popular (still isn’t which is sad) but i love the domesticity of this drabble. unless i am being completely dumb, this was the product of reading 23/11 several times until i pretty much can recall the events of the story

002 … park sunghoon

from second on my previous to second on my current, this one is just. okay this was another spiral after i was roaming facebook and found this sound from friends. i don’t even know why i love it so much? i just really do, especially the last line

hyacinths … jung jaehyun

hands down the most underrated drabble of mine. this one was sorta poetic, something that could be a distant relative to lang leav’s poetry. the first line had been sitting in my notebook for over a few months so to make something from it just made me feel so good

the last word … tbz

…where do i even begin with this one. first off, i wanna say sorry to this series for discontinuing it )): i swear i loved making the three episodes, especially eric’s, but it’s hard to write something so long when the fandom you’re writing it for is slowly diminishing (i do plan on bringing it back though, but for another fandom..)

pretty in pink … choi chanhee

what’s this? a fluffy drabble from mona? what a rarity (NOT!) i actually do have several fluff drabbles but this one is my favorite from all of them because it’s the short but sweet, beautiful, tickle the stomach in your butterflies kind of read. to no one’s surprise, this was a spiral after seeing a certain pic of chanhee’s 😊😊

best friend … ji changmin

okay i am very sure that this is one of my most rec’ed and i do understand why. perhaps it’s the relatability of this one that makes it hurt even more.. even though i haven’t been in this situation before- honestly i’m not even sure how i managed to write this one but hey, it’s a good read if you wanna get your heart broken some more

safe and sound … choi yeonjun

alice in borderland x kpop idols? yes. my mind really is a weird place, and something that backs up my belief is that after watching the second? episode of aib, i began having thoughts. actually, i am pretty sure i wrote an idea for a prequel to this so who knows, maybe i’ll do it…

binibini | choi yeonjun

isayaw mo akooo ahem this one was dedicated to matty so 🤭 it’s probably one of my shortest works to date, but it still does pack a punch. for extra pain, i suggest you listen to this before or after reading it

paalam … txt

the thing is, headcanons are something i’ve only done once before (and even then, the format was different) so i was really not sure how this was gonna go. but given what i was going through during this time, writing this piece became sort of a catharsis for me. and while i have yet to fully let go so i can heal, at least there’s a work out there where my muses get that

[1yuuki3]

Everything happens for a reason

Genre: Strangers to lovers, Fluff, Angst, YoongixReader

TW: Angst? Mention of the word fuck?

A/N: This chapter contains both Y/N and Yoongi's POV and I incorporated a few poems as well.. As always all works are a work of fiction and was made through the delirium induced brain of mine. Thank you for reading :) Also cross-posted in wattpad,

Wc: 1863 words

Synopsis: You were never one to believe in fate, You're life was made up of plans and bullet points , Organized to the very end. Until fate played a cruel joke and left your life in shambles. Nursing a broken heart in Spain, will this make you change your view on love and fate?.

It feels good to be back, you thought. Back where? Back to the place where your heart was broken? Or back to the place that you're familiar.

You moved back to your family home to the joy of your father. Being the only child it both brings both joy and pain seeing you home.

How was the trip to Spain? Your father asked breaking your reverie.

"It was fun" You said and how's the business trip?

You try to divert the conversation knowing where this would lead to.

"Y/N" your father gently said. "I saw James the other day and he wants to talk to you".

"Talk? what the hell for dad? To explain why he fucked his best friend while planning to marry me? Pain still visible in your voice. You know it won't be an overnight healing, It will take time and time is something you wish could go faster to ease this pain.

You escaped to your room, knowing that talking to your dad in your current state would be pointless.

You know your dad loves you, but he has some archaic ideas that should be left in a coffin somewhere in a dark forest in Transylvania.

Trying to calm down your emotions, you glanced down on a picture of you and Yoongi from that magical night in Spain.

Feeling a surge of inspiration, you sat down and write. Drowning the pain in words.

You promised me forever, but I guess I wasn't enough,

I saw you dancing with someone else.

And in that moment, I saw the smile that used to be mine.

I left with a broken heart, confused and angry.

Questions clouded my mind, was I never enough?

Why must you break my like that.

Eyes blurry with tears, I stumbled in my misery.

Broken hearts amidst broken bottles.

Will I ever be happy again?

And in my pain, I saw the stars for the first time.

A magical moment in a sea of uncertainty.

Someone asked me if I believe in fate, and I didn't know what to say.

Maybe, when the pain is gone, I can answer that question.

If our paths crossed again, maybe just maybe I'll believe in fate like you.

You were so focused in what you were writing that you didn't hear your best friend enter your room, until your nose was assaulted by the smell of your favorite coffee.

"Caramel Macchiatto for my favorite girl" Aya sing-songed.

You can't help but smile with her antics. In all the uncertainties that recently happened in your life, Your best friend remains the only constant.

You and Aya have been friends since you were in diapers. Your parents and hers being college buddies and business partners and it was natural for you guys to be friends.

"Earth to Y/N, hello?" Aya said successfully bringing you back from your reveries.

"You were saying something?" You asked her.

Aya dramatically rolled her eyes, making you laugh. Laughter you thought, this feels nice.

"As I was saying, Did you fuck the first cute boy you saw in Spain?"

You choked on your coffee with her question, making her laugh that cute little oinky laugh of her.

"First of all,Thank you for the coffee and second I did not" You replied.

"biiiisssshhh, you did meet a cute guy, spill the deets or I swear I'll die" She replied.

You told her everything that happened while you were in Spain. But you left out Yoongi's name and the picture hidden in your notebook.

"You did what?and you didn't even ask for his phone number? Disappointment is visible in her voice.

"Nope, I didn't want to ruin the moment and besides what's the point? You answered as truthfully as possible.

But the truth was you were scared. Scared that the connection between you was real, Scared that it wasn't just because of one drunken night in Spain.

Being with Yoongi that night, was like threading in unknown waters, scary yet exciting. But you weren't ready yet. So you hold on to his belief that fate really existed.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yoongi's POV:

Time flies when you're doing what you love. But time can't erase the memories that's etched in your brain. The bucket hat being a constant reminder for Yoongi. And the picture of you that he has in his studio.

He knew that there was a something between the two of you. But he knows it wasn't the right time yet.

Those who don't know him will think of him as someone cold and calculating, But for those who knows the real him knows how he believes that everything happens for a reason and that reason is fate or kismet.

Engrossed in his reveries of that night, the lyrics flow like broken memories long gone.

Fate was something I truly believed in,

As our paths crossed that summer night.

Like puzzles pieces that suddenly fit,

Faded memories trying to surface.

Pain was clearly etched in your eyes,

But yet you smile like everything was ok.

I wanted to wrap you in my arms,

And mend all the little pieces back.

But I was a coward, I was scared that I wouldn't be enough.

How can you be enough, for someone as unattainable as the star.

So I just let you go, I let my fears get the best of me.

Here I am, hoping and praying that fate would allow our paths to cross again.

Lost in thoughts and staring at your picture was how Jin saw Yoongi when he entered the studio.

"Yoongi-ah" he said as he lightly tapped the young man's shoulder.

"Hyung, I didn't hear you come in" Yoongi replied.

"You were so lost in your thoughts that's why" Jin answered as he noticed Yoongi placing the picture back in it's place.

"It's been 3 months since you met her and you haven't even tried to reach out?" The eldest gently asked.

Yoongi sighed deeply before answering

"I tried, I looked up her social media accounts, but every time I try to write something, I get scared"

"She really has that effect on you?The genius Min finally lost for words" Jin Jokingly said.

"I guess she does hyung" Yoongi answered.

"Well, I just came here to remind you, That we'll have a meeting later with Bang Pd and this new producer that we'd be working with" Jin said with a smile.

Producer?I haven't heard we were in negotiations with a new company producer" Yoongi replied curiously.

"Yeah,me too, from what I heard, this producer has been scouted by the other companies and they were all declined, All I know is this producer is talented"

Jin answered, before leaving Yoongi to his own thoughts.

Yoongi usually hates attending company meetings, because they were boring and he'd rather be in his study creating music or sleeping.

But this new producer piqued his interest, and maybe at the back of his mind he's hoping that it's you and that fate finally listened to his plea.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Y/N tell me again,why you chose this company? When other big companies offered you so much?" Your best friend asked you while on facetime.

She's currently away in Paris for a modelling gig. Something she worked hard for and finally seeing the fruits of her hard work.

You also ask yourself that question, but you can't come up with a concrete answer, It's as if your gut is telling you that this is the right decision.

You were never one to listen to instincts and base everything on logic. And look where that got you. Trying to stop yourself from going down that road.

 You simply said to Aya " They gave me creative freedom, and for once a company saw me not as the daughter of the CEO of Luna Corporations"

All your life you were expected by everyone to follow the footsteps of your parents as the only heir to the company.

But your parents instilled in you that it's ok not to follow everyone's expectations but pave your own way with the things that makes you happy.

You still study how the company runs but you were given freedom to pursue your own path. That's why you double majored in Business and Music production in College. It was hard but was worth it, because here you are doing what you love.

"Did he try to contact you again?" Aya asked

"Nope, after that incident in the cafe, he won't try" You answered.

Three days ago, while you were out for a well deserved coffee run in your favorite cafe after a very intense negotiation with BH Entertainment.

The universe decided to play a joke on you and stumbled upon your cheating ex. You weren't expecting him there, But I guess the universe was bored and wanted some drama.

All you wanted was to enjoy a good cup of coffee, was that even a hard request?.

"Y/N can we talk?I know you've blocked my number,please?" James your ex asked

"What do we need to talk about?" You calmly asked but anger is boiling inside of you.

"I know I fucked up" He started "I know what I did was wrong and I've hurt you, and if it will take me forever to earn your forgiveness, I'll wait" giving you his best puppy-eye impression.

His antics would have worked on the old Y/N, the one who was head over heels in love, but not anymore that Y/N is dead. She died the night she saw you in bed with someone else.

I just stared at him, not giving him any answer. And at the corner of my eye, I saw the waiter coming with my drink.

I silently sent an apologetic look to the poor waiter for what I was about to do. And in a well timed move, I stretched my leg causing the waiter to trip and and the hot coffee spilled all over my ex.

Not a single sound was heard in the cafe as the scene unfolded like a movie.

As the helpless waiter was mouthing apologies to your ex. You just smiled amused with the scene in front of you.

"Forgiveness is something you'll never get from me. Not now, not ever" You calmly replied as you walk away from the cafe.

Walking away from the pain, Walking away from the past. Towards a future full of uncertainty. Towards a new chapter of my life.

I didn't notice I was holding your breath until I was a few blocks away from the cafe. As fresh tears fall from my eyes.

For the first time since it happened I fully allowed myself to grieve. As i've walked aimlessly trying to clear my head. I saw a park bench and decided to write.

 saw you again today, A first in what seems like forever.

I thought I was still in love with you, but all I really felt was pain.

Was I really blind for loving you too much?

Or were we really doomed from the start?

Seeing you again was cathartic.

It made me realize I can live without you.

That life would go on without you.

This is my finally goodbye.

This is the last time,I'll write about you, About us.

As I finally walk away from you and the pain.

I'll wave at you with my middle finger held high.

[hiswordsarekisses]

This is my favorite post and favorite song in the whole world… my favorite line is: “You can offer her anything but her affections are all for Him only.” Not many people comprehend that God has taken your heart over in this way, and if they don’t they never will until He has them that securely… it is unbelievable to many.

“This song was inspired by a

specific piece of writing- an essay

written in the 1700s called-

“Apostrophe to Sarah Pierrepont.”

Jonathan Edwards wrote it in

admiration of his fiancé's

relationship with God and it was

found written on the cover of his

college Greek notebook. His mind

wandered while he had much

studying to do. I like this about him,

but mostly, I'm intrigued by what he

witnessed between Sarah and the

Great Being she loved so."

The actual poem that Sherri

Youngward wrote the song about is

here, then her lyrics follow..

"They say there is a young lady in New Haven who is beloved of that almighty Being, who made and rules the world, and that there are certain seasons in which this great Being, in some way or other invisible, comes to her and fills her mind with exceeding sweet delight, and that she hardly cares for anything, except to meditate on him--that she expects after a while to be received up where he is, to be raised up out of the world and caught up into heaven; being assured that he loves her too well to let her remain at a distance from him always. There she is to dwell with him, and to be ravished with his love and delight forever. Therefore, if you present all the world before her, with the richest of its treasures, she disregards it and cares not for it, and is unmindful of any pain or affliction. She has a strange sweetness in her mind, and singular purity in her affections; is most just and conscientious in all her actions; and you could not persuade her to do anything wrong or sinful, if you would give her all the world, lest she should offend this great Being. She is of a wonderful sweetness, calmness and universal benevolence of mind; especially after those seasons in which this great God has manifested himself to her mind. She will sometimes go about from place to place, singing sweetly; and seems to be always full of joy and pleasure; and no one knows for what. She loves to be alone, and to wander in the fields and on the mountains, and seems to have someone invisible always conversing with her."

They say she is loved by the greatest of all

Who have walked in the world

He lives far away, still she spends all her days

Content with only His words

She often walks alone, but never is she lonely

You can offer her anything

Her affections are all for Him only

She looks to the sky

As if He is coming down through the clouds up above

Though no one has seen Him you cannot deny

She is drenched with His love

She often walks alone, but never is she lonely

You can offer her anything

Her affections are all for Him only

All the day long she sings sweetly

She says He speaks to her mind

She’s only rich with affliction

Yet a bitter word you won’t find

She lives with assurance

He loves her too deeply

To let such distance remain

She’s brimming with longing

For Him to come calling

And sweep her away

(Reminds me a little of the amplified (through word study) version of Song of Solomon 5:1 - “I HAVE come into my garden, my sister, my [promised] bride; I have gathered my myrrh with my balsam and spice [from your sweet words I have gathered the richest perfumes and spices]. I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey; I have drunk my wine with my milk. Eat, O friends [feast on, O revelers of the palace; you can never make my lover disloyal to me]! Drink, yes, drink abundantly of love, O precious one [for now I know you are mine, irrevocably mine! With his confident words still thrilling her heart, through the lattice she saw her shepherd turn away and disappear into the night].💜💜💜

This is my whole heart.

[marc-spectorr]

So I want too talk about Stevens book shelves and him with books in general. I know at least half of those books are about Egyptology and the other half are french poems. I also imagine a 3rd of them are about gold fish because I feel like Steven is the kind of person who researches things before he dose them. So I know he dose his best to try and take care of the Gus's. (There will be more about the fish later.)

In the first episode I think there is a clip of Steven going through a Egyptian mythology book and highlighting things. I don't doubt he writes notes in the margins like the dad did in journey of the center of the earth. I like to think he sticky tabs things too especially things that amuse him. He probably goes through stationary very fast.

His bookshelves are chaotic. Not to mention all of the books stacked on his desk. I can imagine trying to organize his bookshelves with him and he gets fussy by the end of it because he knew where all of his books where in his little stacks everywhere. But, If you tried to find anything it would probably take all night. That would probably lead to your first couple fight tbh.

He also probably has notebooks filled with all the info on god's and goddesses, and I can see him making his own hieroglyph codex ect. He's a really good note taker.

Long story short if you let that man wonder into a bookstore he would have credit card debt in a millisecond.

(I'm putting my fish nerd Glasses on. -i really want a tank of cherry barbs and peacock gudgeons but, I digress- If I remember right goldfish need to be in really big tanks so they grow and move around freely. -in my head there like the midsize version of koi fish- Gold fish get really big I think some can get to be at least 10 inches or more. I'm just really happy to see the gold fish in a nice big tank instead of a bowl. Or some small bullshit tank from Petco/PetSmart. Don't get me started on Betta fish or hermet crab housing it's horrible honestly. I've wanted a fish tank for a while can you tell lol 🤣. )

Anyway I know you're filling down and if I could hug you through the screen I would. I hope my ramblings made you smile today 😊 take it easy Callie 🧡

hiya hi sails! it's always lovely hearing from you :))

there's something sooo cozy about steven's flat despite how chaotic it looks with all his books lying around (and this is coming from me, a neat freak haha). but going back to what you said, i'm pretty sure he writes little annotations on the side/post-it notes. imagine finding his favorite poetry book and reading the lines that he highlighted bc they remind him of you. also, idk why, but i'd find great pleasure in organizing those books in a more orderly way lmaoaoa. it'll be his own library in the comfort of his home 🥺

hehe i agree, steven def did his research before getting gus 😌. i'm still soft thinking about how gus 2.0 has a friend with him in the tank. hopefully there'll be a third one once steven and marc are cool with jake sksksk (but i'm forever picturing him adopting a cat, and at first, the other two are worried that their fish might get eaten or something but turns out the sweet kitty is alright just watching them swim around in the tank)

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Sovereign Talks (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil Genre: Bit of angst sandwiched between two pieces of fluff Rating: T for language Notes: Another partially/selectively mute reader story! Again, this is somewhat self indulgent, essentially being a self-insert story with edits to make it better for a wider audience. PS Daniela says some stuff that's kinda insulting, though it's out of misunderstanding rather than poor intentions, and she tries to make up for it. Also, some of the descriptions of the reader's muteness might not make sense to everyone, as I'm essentially describing how it feels for me, personally. Summary: Daniela's favorite servant is sweet, charming, eager to please, all the things she wants from a romantic partner. But there's one detail she's never quite understood. An argument, a discussion, an inevitability.

Try as you might, it was nigh impossible to please your employer. No matter what you did, there was always something wrong, and Daniela Dimitrescu was more than pleased to point it out to you. At least her intentions weren’t severe. It didn’t really bother her if you missed a spot while dusting, or if you accidentally stumbled upon a ‘private’ conversation. What mattered to her, at the end of the day, was having material to tease you with, or ‘bargain’ with. She’d approach you slowly, musing out loud about your chores. Then she’d point out a flaw, smirking ever so slightly, before placing a finger beneath your chin. You’d make awkward eye contact, desperate to get out of the situation.

And then she’d tell you exactly what she wanted from you.

Most days it was simple enough. Or at least it had been at the start, when she first sought you out. ‘Carry these books for me’, she’d say, beckoning you to follow her. ‘Make a copy of this poem so I can return the book to Duke’, she’d command. Every single time you were powerless to refuse. Hell, you couldn’t even say anything if you wanted to. So you did as she asked. In time, you came to realize the truth behind her actions, the center of her motivations: She wanted to spend time with you.

You had been baffled, at first, to connect the dots in such a way. But Daniela made no attempt to hide her feelings, letting her touches linger on your skin, smiling without any cruelty when you were near. Once, she had even covered for you after you broke a vase. When you had tried to protest, hands waving, mouth refusing to speak, she had shrugged you off with a simple ‘you are worth the price’. Ever since then, the two of you had been rather close. Sure, she had never officially asked you on a date, but she had held your hand while the two of you read. And she had held you, swaying back and forth, as music played in a distant room. Then there were the times she caught you in the corridor, pressing you against the wall for a quick kiss… or a long one, that is. Certainly that meant something? Otherwise you’d look quite silly, blushing as hard as you tended to.

Eventually your concerns subsided considerably. It took a long, difficult conversation, however, and an argument you’d never forget…

-----------------------------------

“Have you read Crier’s War yet?” Daniela asked, looking at you over her own book. The two of you were in her personal study, near the library, lounging in peaceful quiet. Well, it had been quiet. At her question you glance up, ensuring you made eye contact before shaking your head no. “I think you’d like it. Impossible love between two people from vastly different cultures, who start out opposed… sounds familiar, hmm?” This time you nod, laughing a little under your breath. Then you’re returning to your novel, oblivious to the way your partner is watching you, her eyes narrowed. When she catches your attention once more, it’s with a question you had hoped she would never ask. “Why don’t you talk?”

Trying to hide your discomfort, you practically bury your nose in your book, refusing to look up at Daniela. In response she grabs your notepad, slowly sliding it closer to you. For every second of silence she moves it another centimeter. With a slight groan you give in, snatching it from her hands, but sending her a glare as you do. Quickly you grab your pen and scrawl her a note. Not an answer, rather a question of your own.

“Why does it matter?” Clearly that wasn’t what she was looking for, as she leans back and gives a groan of her own.

“Seriously? I’m just curious. You can laugh, groan, make other, nice little noises… I just want to know how you work,” Daniela explained, frowning all the while. Admittedly, you understand where she’s coming from. But that didn’t mean that you were terribly comfortable with this conversation. In fact, it’s a subject you’ve been dreading ever since the two of you started ‘dating’. How exactly were you supposed to explain your condition? Especially without being able to talk directly through it?

“It’s complicated,” you write, angling the paper so Daniela can read it from her side of the table. But she only spares it a quick glance, before staring hard at you again. “Fine, babe. My mouth feels like static. My tongue is heavy, and trying to talk is like walking when both your legs are asleep. There’s never not a lump in my throat.” Now she’s reading attentively, frown vanishing, replaced by a confused expression. Shifting awkwardly, you internally pray that she doesn’t have any follow up questions. Alas, there are no gods on your side this day.

“Did something happen? Or were you… born like this?” Daniela asked, watching you closely. Frustrated, you give her a pleading look, hoping that she’d get the message and back off. Instead she doubles down. “We could arrange for a doctor to come out here, if that’s what you need. All you have to do is tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t expect you to understand. It’s a multifaceted issue, and-” you have to turn the page to continue writing at this point- “a very personal one. But if you must know, it has to do with my anxiety.” There’s a pause, and for a few seconds you think the conversation is over. The relief that floods your chest only lasts a single moment. Then you’re face to face with Daniela, who’s leaning across the table, eyeing you with an expression you can’t make sense of. Now your heart is racing, leaving you trembling.

“So… it’s not a matter of whether or not you can talk at all? It’s a choice?” Daniela questioned, sounding aggravated. Instantly you’re shaking your head, scowling at her interpretation of your words. “What, you’re saying you can’t even relax enough to talk around me? Your fucking girlfriend?” This was exactly the sort of thing you had been worried about. How could you expect Daniela to understand the way your mind locked your jaw in place? How could she ever realize how terrifying the whole castle was?

“Calm down and let me elaborate, please,” you write, as fast as you can. But Daniela yanks your notebook away from you, tossing it to the side. All you can do is stare at her in shock. This was more than just a misunderstanding, this was her actively sabotaging your only reliable method of communication.

“You want me to calm down? Can’t you see why I’m upset? I just found out my partner isn’t comfortable around me. We could have been talking all this goddamn time! Why haven’t you told me this before? Why haven’t we worked on this?” Daniela was practically yelling now, and both of you had risen to your feet. You’ve backed away a meter or so, only for her to close the space between you, one hand cupping your cheek. No matter how hard you try, you can’t bring yourself to look her in her eyes. “C’mon, please,” she whispered, voice barely audible. Tears are starting to cloud your vision. “Say something. Anything.”

Wordlessly, you pull yourself from her grasp, too overwhelmed to do anything other than let your feet carry you out of the room. Half to your relief, half to your misery, Daniela doesn’t lift a finger to stop you.

-----------------------------------

Two weeks. That’s how long it had been since you ‘talked’ to Daniela. Ever since, she had been avoiding you, and you her. Hell, for three days you struggled more than usual to communicate with anyone because you hadn’t dared to go back for your notebook. In the end someone had found you a new one. It didn’t quite feel the same though, considering your normal one had been a gift… a gift from the very person who had taken it away from you. For two weeks it had felt like every single thing was another reminder of your loneliness. You wanted desperately to fix your situation, but had no clue where to even begin. Until an irritated Cassandra hatched a devious plan, that is.

You weren’t privy to the specific details of her scheme, and could only guess as to her motivations (presumably being annoyed by Daniela’s sulking). All you really knew was that one moment you were following the middle child, supposedly to assist her with organizing something, and the next you were being shoved in an unfamiliar room. Inside, Bela was trying to stall Daniela, making up a ridiculous excuse for her to be there. As soon as you entered, the eldest daughter made a beeline (flyline?) towards the exit. Before either you or your girlfriend could process what was happening, the door had been shut and locked, trapping the two of you within.

“What the fuck?” Daniela asked, temporarily ignoring you in favor of pounding on the door. It didn’t budge, unsurprisingly, but someone outside did yell in response. Not that you could make out what the muffled voice was saying. “Ugh, I swear I am going to kill them for this.” Unable to get out, she finally turns to look at you. In an instant the anger drains from her face, replaced with a bittersweet smile. There’s enough tension in the room to weigh the corners of your lips down. It’s getting harder to breathe, and you can’t quite look Daniela in the eyes. “Hey. Hey, c’mon, if they’re going to be assholes, we might as well make the most of it, right?” She asked, voice a million times softer than you would have expected, considering your previous conversation. With that she moves to sit down, gesturing for you to join her.

“Mmm?” You ‘say’, really just making a confused humming sound. For once, you do want to talk. More than any other time you’ve wanted to. But your tongue was caught in the bear trap your teeth represented, preventing almost any sound from escaping. Still, this is a side of Daniela that you do not often see, with how prideful she tended to be. All it takes to get you to move is for her to pat the spot next to her. Then you’re shifting, blushing hard as you lower yourself onto the couch. Not quite ready to meet her gaze, you stare at your thumbs, twiddling them like an anxious child.

“Bela seems to think that I’ve made a fool of myself in front of you,” Daniela mused, more to herself than to you. One of her hands slides towards you, however, eagerly intertwining her fingers with your own. After two whole weeks of isolation… it’s an amazing feeling. “I said something stupid. It’s been driving me mad, and I have no clue what to do about it. Fuck-” she flinches as she speaks, eyes clamping shut- “I just want to fix this. I want you to feel good around me. I want you to feel the same way I do. More than anything, I want to be your safe haven.”

Your eyes meet, finally, as warmth floods your chest. Words fail you, as they are wont to do, so you leave them behind. Instead you reach for your stars- the body of your girlfriend, pulling yourself into her arms. Even as tears drip down your cheeks, you are smiling softly, overwhelmed by the embrace. Soon enough you can feel Daniela rubbing soft circles into your back with her fingers. She presses a gentle kiss to the side of your head, enjoying the hug too much to pull back even the slightest bit.

“Is there anything I can do? Anything to make you more comfortable?” She asked, for a moment not even realizing the difficulty you would have with responding. Finally connecting the dots, she changes the position of her arms, ensuring that you could stay in her lap while still being able to gesture with your hands. Instead of replying, your first concern is to gently cup your girlfriend’s cheek. Then you place a kiss on her forehead. “You’re my everything, you know that, right?” Daniela whispered, sounding almost in awe. Suddenly you’re possessed by a rush of courage, clearly bolstered by her affection, and you move without thinking. You lean back in for another kiss, hand moving to the back of her head for stability.

Both of you are smiling now, even as your kiss gets more intense, the two of you pressing against each other as best as you can. One of Daniela’s hands runs itself through your hair, before taking it in a loose grip. All you can think about is how right this feels. Your heart is racing, especially as your girlfriend switches to an open mouth kiss, letting her tongue slide across your lips. It catches you off guard, and you need to pull back to catch the breath she had so eagerly stolen. Even then you swear you can feel her pulse pounding just as hard as yours is.

“Sorry, I got a little carried away,” Daniela murmured, embarrassed, worried that you had stopped for a very different reason. In response you shake your head a little, then practically smother her face in tiny kisses. She’s giggling at that, grinning, all of her anxiety fading away. Most of yours does too. Everything feels perfect. So much so, in fact, that you feel something you haven’t felt in almost an entire year: The loosening of your jaw muscles. Clarity unstiffens your tongue, making age-old static clear up. Can I…? You wonder, wanting so desperately to use this opportunity as best as you can. After all, who knew when you’d ever be this comfortable within the castle again. Hell, the thought alone makes you more nervous, and you struggle to think of something, anything, to say.

“L-l… Love,” you stuttered, barely getting the syllable out, mouth feeling incredibly dry, mind racing, hating how it sounds because holy shit you haven’t talked in a year and was Daniela going to hate your voice and forget all about what you were saying and ruin the moment or worse was she going to hate you or thoughts thoughts pounding in your head like a hurricane, because because because-......................... Anxiety, above all else, was an asshole. One that had prevented you from hundreds of conversations, and limited a thousand more. Now, moments after finally speaking, your mind is on the brink of a tear-worthy breakdown. But you’ve said your piece, and by God has it been received.

“Yes, absolutely, fuck baby, I love you so much!” Daniela cried, equally overwhelmed, for a far different reason. She’s holding you as close as she can, burying her face in your neck. Likewise you rest yourself against her, letting your eyes drift shut, happy beyond description. There were still things you had to talk about, yes, and you would once more have to rely on your trusty notebook. Daniela had a lot to learn, to understand, but this was a start. More than that, it was the first step after the mending of a broken bone. Everything to come would be far, far easier, a labor of love done fearlessly.

-----------------------------------

“Should we open the door now? Or at least unlock it?... How long does it take two idiots to stop being mad at each other?” Cassandra asked, leaning against the hallway wall. Meanwhile Bela had her ear to the door, straining to hear what was going on within. Sure, she had gone along with her younger sister’s plan, but she hadn’t been entirely convinced that it wouldn’t end in disaster. Then again, so far so good. No yelling, no (loud) crying, just some quiet words from Daniela. Maybe they’re working things out, Bela thought, starting to smile. And then she heard something she’d never forget…

“Yes, absolutely, fuck baby, I love you so much!”

“We are not opening that door,” Bela replied, suddenly, her ears burning red. She didn’t know how things had gone from so quiet to so potentially dirty in such a short amount of time, and she did not care. Without even a hint of an explanation, she turned to leave, desperate to get certain mental images out of her head...

[fireflyinsummer]

An Amalgamation Waltz 1839. |01|

> pairing: min yoongi x reader

> genre: FallenAngel!AU

> words: 23k

> warnings: hints of smut (heavy make out), a scene of harassment (nothing explicit), violence. possible heresy. forgive me. a third party’s unrequited feelings for OC. don’t know if i did this right, it’s 3 am right now.

> summary: When it comes to the both of you, a lifetime is not enough. And when it comes to you, there’s really no lines he wouldn’t be willing to cross. Even on the brink of a war that could destroy the world as we know it, you’re everything.

  “ (...) ‘Would you be able to love someone as tainted as him?’ he asked wistfully.

  You lifted your upper body, compelling him to a sitting position as well.

   ‘I’ve never had to,’ you pecked his lips chastely, even though he still kept his eyes trained on the grass underneath you.”

a/n: my love for Paradise Lost gave birth to this. i really like this one :) gonna be posting the second (and last) part soon! no need to say that PL was just an inspiration, this isn’t exactly based on the poem. 

                                               “(…) Here at least

We shall be free, the almighty hath not built

Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:

Here we may reign secure, and in my choice

To reign is worth ambition though in hell:

Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven.”

     The sudden thud on the wooden surface of the table made you jolt and close the book, heart rate increasing considerably.

  “Y/N.” His voice was deep, dragging your name through his teeth to evince his annoyance. The bustling café was already at its peak hours and you didn’t even notice the time as it passed you by.

  “Yes, Taehyung?” You ogled your grumpy friend, his noisy arrival being due to the study material he tossed in front of you.

  “You said you’d help me with English lit. I was waiting for you at the library for about an hour and your phone is off.” As you remembered why you were even in the café in the first place, you threw him a guilty look. He pouted. “Hey, what does that Milton guy have that I don’t? And the fancy words don’t count.” You giggled.

  “John Milton has nothing on you, Tae. He’d probably need my help to get through this semester as well.” The joke seemed to almost let you in his good graces again, but you knew he still needed the bribery. “I’ll buy you your favorite if you forgive me.” You could tell he was fighting back a smile upon hearing your offer, his mood suddenly uplifted.

  “Okay. But don’t think I’ll let you off the hook that easily.”

  “I wouldn’t dare. Wait here.” You went to the balcony to pay the check and get his frappuccino to go. Taehyung was a sweet guy who liked sweet things, and that also applied to his coffee. His sweet tooth earned him a nickname from you – Marzipan. Waiting for the bartender to finish your order, you looked over where your best friend was digging through your copy of Paradise Lost without much enthusiasm.

   You had moved in next door to his house about fifteen years ago, and you two instantly initiated a solid friendship. As much as you could say about three-year-olds. Despite him being one of your favorite people in the whole world, the both of you were into totally different things. He went to parties, you enjoyed some lone quality time. He played all sorts of sports, you preferred to stick to your writing and, sometimes, the piano. You were still working on the latter. But even though you seemed to be totally opposites, he still got you like no one else could. He was the person you told all your secrets to, not that you had that many anyway, and you liked to think – no, you were sure of it – he felt the same way about you.

  “Here’s your overly-sweet drink, Marzipan. I don’t even know if you can still call it coffee,” you scowled.

  “Don’t diss my frappuccino, it’s the sole reason of my forgiveness.”

  “Yeah, right. So, you wanna get going? I’m sure you have a lot of thoughts on that book already.”

  “It was very average so far, if I do say so myself. I don’t know why you like it so much,” he teased you.

  “Well, that’s what the private lessons are for. So I can teach you good taste.” You pushed the door open and immediately shivered as you felt a cold gush of air. It was snowing.

  “Here, take my coat. Why don’t you ever wear decent clothes in the winter? I swear to God, I don’t know how you never caught something serious, like pneumonia or whatever,” he scolded.

  “You don’t have to. We’re near home anyway,” you tried to reassure him, but he was, as usual, outwardly ignoring it. “Really, Tae, it’s no big deal. Let’s go.” He was ready to fight you on this one, but you were already walking away. He took a few hurried steps to catch up.

  After a ten-minute walk, daylight was almost completely gone, lit lampposts following its wake. You both hit the front door rug with your feet several times before getting inside, your mom was a bit freaky when it came to cleaning.

  “Mom, Tae’s here!” You shouted from the living room, guessing she was in the kitchen. “We’re going upstairs for a bit! School work!”

  “Okay, honey! Tell him that dinner will be ready soon!” She responded.

  “I love you, Ms. D’Angelis!” He shot back. Yes, you had an italian background. When she heard his voice, she made sure to come out and greet him.

  “Love you, too, honey”, she pecked his forehead and he beamed. They liked each other way too much for their own good. “And you,” she pointed in your direction, “give mamma a kiss.”

  You sighed before attending to her request. It was in your best interest not to fight it. “Okay, enough of this. We’ll be upstairs if you need us.”

  “Have fun, kids.” You sure would. Taehyung might beg to differ.

  The rest of the night was somewhat peaceful. You had helped Taehyung as much as you could before your mother called you out to eat, claiming that you shouldn’t starve the boy and then make him eat a cold meal. He couldn’t agree fast enough. For the most part, that was your life. Uncomplicated and comfortable, which was plenty for an eighteen year old. When you went to bed after practicing the piano for a little while, you were completely unaware of the pair of pitch black eyes that observed you through the window. But he was fully aware of you.

  ||\\

                                                                    [Fear of the Water, by SYML]

  You knew it was a dream. From the moment your brain processed the heavenly sight that unrevealed before your eyes, you knew. It was breaking dawn, the soft orange light kissing the ocean like a long lost lover. You were at the end of a cliff, but couldn’t find it in yourself to be afraid. You looked down at the waves that broke into the rocks almost violently, the salty breeze somewhat comforting. You loved the sea.

  Taking a few deep breaths, you barely noticed the crack. The sound came from somewhere behind you, but you didn’t want to look away from the view, neither did you want to wake up. When you heard it again, you recognized footsteps. You turned around lazily, curious as to whom it would be the visitor of your reverie. When you fixed your eyes on him, though, you stopped breathing for a moment and your heart surely skipped a beat. He was a stranger in a number of ways, for he was seemed truly unworldly. Maybe ethereal was the word you were looking for. His violet eyes were scrutinizing you from head to toe. Beautiful. His hair was dark as it fell like a silky curtain on his forehead. Not a single flaw on his skin or his body, but none of that was as breathtaking as what lied on his back. Great, large white wings, so beautifully outstretched that you felt unworthy of looking at them.

  You opened your mouth a few times, but nothing would come out. Probably for the best, you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of what was probably your mind’s greatest creation. How you could come up with him was beyond you. You wanted to ask his name before it all ended and you had to go back to real life, back to average. You wanted to touch his face, his wings, see for yourself if they felt as they looked. You wished you never woke up. As he took a step closer, you took your own back, startled at the sudden movement. Before you realized your mistake, it was too late. You had lost your balance. You knew it would be over soon. Taking one last look at the stranger, you saw as he stretched one arm to reach you, but to no avail. Too soon, the wind was ricocheting your skin and you were falling.

  You woke up with a loud gasp as you searched for air, finding it oddly rarefied. When you registered the annoyingly high pitch of your alarm, you whined. Real life was the last thing you wanted to face right now, but if you told your mother that you’d stay in bed daydreaming about a figment of your imagination, she would personally retrieve you from the bed and toss you into the shower. Made sense.

  Getting ready as quickly as you could manage, you felt excited for no obvious reason. Maybe it was the afterglow of the dream, but now you were eager to get out of the house, as if you wanted to find him. Which was insane, because you knew he did not exist. Come to think about him now, it was getting harder by the minute to remember his face. You panicked.

  Running towards your desk and grabbing a pencil and your notebook, you tried to recreate him on paper, which was a lost battle from the start. Even if you were some doodling genius – you were definitely not – you would never be able to do him justice. You doubted anyone who had ever stepped on this planet, past or present, ever would. It was not the kind of beauty that could be explained or demonstrated, but rather felt. He wasn’t just inhumanely pretty, wings and all. There was something about him that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. It may sound cheesy and totally deranged, but you felt whole in those few shared moments, like you knew him your entire life. Your mind didn’t recognize him, but your body did.

  Groaning at the piece of paper and throwing the pencil at your baby-blue wall in annoyance, you gave up. It was pointless, his features were already escaping your mind. You didn’t know why you were so hung up on a dream, honestly. Seeing that you were a little riled up, you decided to let it go and just finish getting ready for class. You could see through the window that Taehyung was already waiting for you.  

    ||\\

 “So, how did it go?”

  He pouted before answering. “It went alright.” Lies, he was a big fat liar.

  “C’mon, Marzipan, be honest with me for a second.”

  The nickname finally broke him down. “Fine, I hated it. I remember you telling me about every important detail of the subject yesterday, but I couldn’t put it on paper. Plus, why the fuck does he have to elaborate the questions so much? Most of the time I didn’t even understand what was being asked. Literature sucks,” he whined indignantly. You could tell it was taking a toll on him.

  “Don’t worry too much about it, okay? I will help you. We’ll both graduate this year, yeah?” you reached his hand on a reassuring squeeze.

  “If you say so.”

  “I do.”

  “Then sure. But you have to take me seriously, Y/N,” he warned you. “No more losing track of time in coffee shops.”

  “Hey, I bought you a frappuccino, that incident should be six feet under by now,” you accused and he mumbled a grumpy response.

  The both of you spent half of the morning taking the lit test. You thought you did fine, though the questions really were a little bit tricky. Walking side by side with Taehyung, you didn’t notice him at first. But once you realized there were no seats available right next to each other, your eyes eventually landed on his.

  “We can’t sit together through this class, we’re too late,” Tae grumbled, trying to get your attention back to himself, but to no avail. “Y/N? Hey!” He flicked your forehead and you yelped.

  “Did you just… flick me?” you seethed.

  “I wouldn’t have had to if you weren’t lusting over the new guy. Who is he, by the way?” If you acknowledged the hint of jealously in his tone, you didn’t show it.

  “I was not lusting over anybody,” you huffed.

  “If you say so.”

  “Stop saying that.”

  “Grumpy. Is it because I caught you?” You just snarled and took a seat at the front row, while he chuckled and chose the one in the back.

  To be honest, you were lusting a little. Those eyes seemed oddly familiar, though you couldn’t quite put a finger on why. The rest of the day passed by smoothly; you were able to sit with Taehyung for the remaining classes you had together and even helped him a bit with some homework. After a while, your new classmate was nowhere near your mind, despite that funny feeling you got every time you looked at him. Maybe it was because he was stunningly handsome. Who knows? You never cared much about those things, but you were only human.

  On your way home with Taehyung, you felt eyes burning on your back. You turned around and found him staring, expression unfathomable. He wore a black lather jacket, jeans and a black shirt, his dark hair beautifully disheveled. He gave you a wanton grin and you scoffed. Well, you knew his type, and it unnerved you to death.

  Preppy playboy. Nothing more, nothing less.

  He cut off the eye contact abruptly, heading towards a grey motorcycle. No shit, huh? You almost laughed at the predictability. You weren’t exactly into bikes, but that looked expensive. And it suited him perfectly.

  “Holy-… do you see that? That’s a Triumph fucking Rocket,” Taehyung gasped, shaking your elbow lightly. “A 2500cc engine capacity Triumph Rocket. Man, his parents must be loaded. That’s not a high schooler’s bike,” he said, almost dreamy. Yeah, you saw that coming from a mile away.

  “You talking about the new guy?” You asked nonchalantly, turning your head as you resumed walking.  

  “Don’t even try to pretend you weren’t ogling just now,” he accused.

  “You’re obsessed with our new-found bad boy. Maybe you should date him, Tae,” a snicker left your lips at his appalled expression.

  “Shut up,” he pushed your shoulder. “I’m just curious.”

  “As in bi-curious?”

  “Okay, that’s it, I’m leaving you behind,” he grumbled as he fastened his pace. You chuckled, trying to catch up with his long legs.

  When you arrived home, you noticed an attempt of a drawing on top of your bed. It looked like a poorly doodled angel. First things first: though it definitely looked like something made by your hands, you didn’t have any recollection of it, let alone of leaving it on display like that. You looked around, searching for something, but nothing else seemed out of place. Trying to shrug the uneasiness off, you picked some clothes off the wardrobe and went for a warm bath.

    ||\\

  It was a Saturday afternoon, so you planned to do the usual: hit the library and grab some coffee on your way home. Taehyung had promised to watch a movie with you this weekend, but a surprise party to one of his friends came up. He’d invited you to tag along, more out of habit than anything else. Your answer was always the same when he asked you to spend time with his peers; you weren’t even remotely fond of them. They had maybe one functioning braincell and a whole lot of conceit. Not your crowd at all.

  “Mom, I’m leaving. Do you need me to get you anything?” You said, already on your way to the front door.

  She was sprawled on the couch, gazing attentively at the TV.  “No, honey, thank you. Are you going out with Tae?”

  “Nope, something came up, we rescheduled. I won’t be long.”

  “Okay, then. Be careful!”

  “Will do!”, you shouted from the outside.

  It was closing time when the sweet old lady had to gently kick you out. You weren’t surprised when you found out your phone was dead; you probably had a billion calls from your mother and, if she was desperate enough, maybe even Taehyung. Letting out a sigh, you grabbed your stuff quickly and waved goodbye to the librarian as you made your way out the door, grumbling to yourself about not being able to pick up some coffee now.

  The air was hazy and cold, you couldn’t see more than ten feet ahead, and the streets were oddly empty. You tightened your coat around your body and quickened your pace, not willing to spend more time outside than you needed to. Seeing that all the stores were closed, you realized that Martha (the librarian) probably let you outstay your welcome a little bit. You cursed at the freezing night and your cheap coat. Taehyung was right, you should buy warmer clothes.

  Lost in thoughts, you were stupid enough to miss the drunken noises coming from the end of the street. There was a group of three men coming your way and they all seemed to have ingested an unhealthy amount of booze, laughing loudly and pushing each other playfully. You felt cold sweat fall down your spine but just tried to ignore it, hoping that you’d be able to pass them by without being noticed.

  “Y/N?” His voice was dragged, and he was tumbling around the words. It was only then you realized they were from your school, the boy in the middle being Jimmy, Taehyung’s drink buddy.

  “Hi”, you tried to stay as far away as possible, but the one with the fashionably boring rectangular glasses didn’t let you, hooking his arm around your neck. He reeked of cigarettes and whiskey.

  “C’monnn-“ he hiccupped, “don’t you wanna par-tay with-“ another one, “-us?”

  You repressed the urge to gag as your pulse quickened.

  “Not really. I have to go,” you almost managed to untangle his disgusting arm from you, but he kept it in place, holding you tighter. “Let go of me.”

  You were annoyed. And scared to death, to be honest. These boys didn’t exactly live by a moral code, and the four of you were alone in the middle of nowhere. You didn’t trust them.

  “Aww, don’t be shy, princess. You’re always so… boring. Makes me curious about what you’ve got going on under all… that.” The last one, Ian, made his way towards you, snickering menacingly. He wasn’t as drunk as the other two, and if you could give a hunch, you’d say he knew exactly was he was doing. That scared you even more. Feeling the brick-wall hit your back, you realized you were cornered, a curse escaping your dry lips.

  “Look, I really have to g-“ he cut you off by pressing his body into yours, making you lose your breath for all the wrong reasons. “What the fuck, man?! Let go of me!” You were visibly growing desperate as you tried to punch his face and his chest, but that only earned you a chuckle from him as he held both your wrists with one hand.

  “Feisty. I like it.” You almost puked right then and there, the bile stuck in your throat making you scowl. He let his filthy fingers slide down your sides, until he could grope your ass.

  Your stomach sank, heart drumming against your ribcage as you held back a whimper.

Okay, think.

  Taehyung had taught you the basics about self defense a thousand moons ago. And yet, you realize that it was nothing like the real thing. You balled your clammy fingers tightly, knuckles white as you scanned every corner of your brain to try and find a way out.

  “Tae will kill you if you touch me,” your voice trembled. You couldn’t help it.

  He laughed whole-heartedly. As if the mere thought was actually funny to him.

  “He wouldn’t dare, sweetheart. Besides, I think he actually wouldn’t mind sharing his bitch with us for the night,” he stated. “He’s not using it anyways,” he punctuated with a roll of his hips and, this time, as you felt the pathetic bulge inside his pants, you couldn’t hold back a tiny sob. Because fuck, this was it. There was no way you could take down three grown men on your own.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The voice was low and steady. It made your skin crawl. You snapped your head and looked at the dark haired man standing behind the boys. Ian lazily turned around, still keeping your wrists wrapped tight in his hand.

  “None of your business, newbie. Now get out of my sight before I lose my patience.”

  When he chuckled, it was different from Ian’s. It was darker, rougher, and concealed a vicious ferocity that you knew was there. You knew because, as he disregarded your aggressor and looked you in the eyes, you almost feared for them.

  “Ian, dude, let it go.” Jimmy instantly sobered up and tried to avoid any confrontation. To think he spent time with your best friend but would let Ian harass you without saying a word was disgusting. “Come on, your old man will kill you if you get in trouble again.” So that was his main concern. Still looking out for his shitty, abusive friend. Men’s sorority really is misogyny.

  “You should listen to your friend. Believe me, you won’t survive me when I get my hands on you,” he stated matter-of-factly. You felt the sincerity in your bones. And so did Ian and his stupid cavalry. “Leave.”

  Ian sighed, but relented. You felt a hot wave of relief as he disconnected his body from yours, leaning on the wall for balance as your legs wabbled.

  “You better watch out,” he spits.

  “Y/N, I... I’m really sorry,” Jimmy said as he scooped his friends and dragged them away from you. “You too, Min. He’s just drunk. We would’ve stopped him if it got too far.”

  He’s lying. You can tell.

  “Get the fuck out of my sight,” he growls, his composure faltering for a minute. As they stray out of view, he turns his gaze to you.

  “Care to tell me what the hell are you doing walking alone in the middle of the night?”

  He’s angry.

  You scoffed, adjusting your coat around your shoulders and straightening your back.

  “Thank you for the help, but I’m too old for a babysitter,” you say. “Besides, I don’t even know you.”

  He looks at you and, as if trying to regain some sense and control a fit of rage, he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose before exhaling a long puff of air.

  “Alright. My name is Yoongi,” he takes you by surprise as he snatches your wrist in an iron grip, “And I'm fucking walking you home.”

  As he drags you across the street, you want to yell at him. You want to tell him to fuck off, you preppy bastard. But you don’t.

  Because the truth is, you’re so fucking grateful. God knows what would’ve happened if it wasn’t for him. As he calms down, he drops your hand and slows his pace, allowing you to catch up without having to make an effort. You want to talk, but you choose to stay quiet.

   Now that you weren’t so skittish anymore, it finally dawned you how the snow was beautifully spread throughout the streets, the trees, the buildings. Everything that was cool, cold, blue, held some fascination to you. Summer was never really your season – it had always been winter. To be able to curl up on your couch with a warm blanket and a hot cup of coffee, it was heavenly. You always thought that, if you could see the world through a color palette, it would be in different shades of blue.

  The snow was not the only thing that you were entranced by, though. Yoongi was, from what you saw so far, much like winter to you. Harsh when needed, cool, but also peaceful and comforting. He didn’t urge you to talk about the incident; he didn’t urge you to talk at all. His mannerisms caught your attention from time to time – how he constantly ran his long fingers through his hair, how his eyes seemed to flutter shut lazily a few times in a row, or how he carried himself so elegantly that it almost made you jealous. He looked terribly familiar, too.

  “Why are you staring?” His bluntness caught you off guard, but still couldn’t disturb the peacefulness of the moment.

  “Just curious.” It was true. “Apart from the motorcycle and the superhero complex, I don’t know much about you.”

  “Well, there’s not much to know.”

  You hummed in response. “What are you doing here, then?” You ask, and his feet come to a halt.    

  “What is this, an interrogation?”

  You scoff, and you both start walking again. “Just trying to make conversation. Besides, I’m actually curious,” you ponder. “People don’t move into this town very often,” you kick the snow under your feet. He sighs.

  “I’m here with my… brother,” he hesitated before continuing, “he’s my guardian, sort of. We used to move a lot. Work thing.” He couldn’t hold back a grimace, but it disappeared in a second. You wanted to ask about his parents, but felt like you’d be crossing a line, so you kept your curiosity to yourself. “Now you tell me,” he said.

  “Tell you what?”

  “About yourself. Your family. Whatever you want to.”

  “Um, let me see. I live with my mom. We moved from Italy when I was about three years old. My dad… my dad stayed.” You didn’t want to get into it, and he immediately noticed, just nodding for you to continue. “She’s been taking care of me by herself since then.”

  He hummed in understanding, sparing you a few glances that you couldn’t quite decipher.

  Before you knew, your house was already in sight. You wished you lived farther, just so you could keep that strange interaction on for a little longer.

  “Well, this is me,” you announced. Lying about your address had crossed your mind somewhere along the way.

  “Sorry if I was a jerk,” he surprised you by saying. You mouth opens and closes a few times before you say anything.

  “It’s okay, I guess. I was pretty riled up, too.”

  He nodded. “See you Monday, then?” His voice was deep and silky.

  “Yeah. Hey, I… I’m glad you showed up when you did.”

  “I am, too,” there was a dark undertone in his voice. “Good night, Y/N,” he surprised you by leading his right hand to the top of your head and lightly messing your hair before walking away. You stood still for a minute, until your mother opened the door.

  “Y/N?! Darling, why did you take so long? I was so worried!”

  “Um… Sorry, mom. I ran into a friend and my phone was off.”

  “Well, you should’ve at least borrowed your friend’s phone to let me know, things aren’t like they used to be around these parts anymore, it’s getting pretty danger-“

   She kept talking as she let you in, but you couldn’t concentrate. That night, you dreamt of him.

   ||\\                            

 “(…) Farewell happy fields

Where joy for ever dwells: hail horrors, hail

Infernal world, and thou profoundest hell

Receive thy new possessor: one who brings

A mind not to be changed by place or time.

The mind is its own place, and in itself

Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.”

     You didn’t think of yourself as an early riser, but when Monday morning came, you woke up before the alarm – and seemed almost delighted to do so. To be honest, you really tried to ignore the eagerness to see him again, but to no avail. The day before was thoroughly torturous, flashes of the short period of time you spent together coming back to haunt you now and then. At some point, you were so annoyed that you just lied on the bed and attempted to blast your eardrums off by listening to some crappy rock band at full volume. It didn’t work, obviously, and now you probably had hearing damage. The cons and cons of obsession.

  At this exact moment, for the first time in your entire friendship, you were banging on Taehyung’s door first. Because you just couldn’t wait a minute longer.

  “Damn it, woman, was is it with you today?” The sound of his voice was muffled. That, or you were going deaf, there was no way to tell for sure.

  “You’re going to make us late, Marzipan!” At that, he opened his bedroom door slightly, just enough so you could peek at his disheveled hair and sleepy face.

  “It’s dick o’clock in the morning, we have at least forty minutes until we leave,” his voice was rugged and he had an aggrieved look plastered on his pouty face.

  “I brought you coffee,” you smiled at him while raising the thermal cup.

  “Stop the madness and go wait for me downstairs, Gilmore girl,” he grunted. “Dad probably misses you, the poor old man. Keep him company, will ya?”

  “Don’t be silly, Mrs. Kim need his sleep in the morning.”

  “Then shut up and don’t wake him,” he grunted, closing the door shut, but it took him just a second to reopen it. “Wait, if dad’s asleep, how did you get in?”

  “I, uh… Might or might not know that you keep a spare key inside the porcelain elf’s hat,” your lips tugged upwards sheepishly.

  “Of course you do, you little imp. I’ll be down in a sec,” he grumbled and shut the door again.

  Taehyung had asked you a couple of times why you were so anxious to get to school that morning, but you just brushed it off with an excuse that you knew he wouldn’t buy. There were several reasons as to why you wanted to keep things to yourself for now. Mainly, it was because you were afraid that he’d be furious enough to break Ian’s face in front of everybody once you told him the whole story. Not that you felt any sympathy, but rather that you didn’t want Tae to get in trouble. You’d tell him as soon as you could, though. You didn’t care for the idea of him being friends – or whatever they were – with Jimmy.

  As soon as you stepped into school ground, you discreetly searched for his motorcycle in the parking lot. It wasn’t there. You tried not to let the disappointment show on your face, but you couldn’t help it. He didn’t come today. Who cares? As much as you wanted to force some sense into your stubborn brain, you were still hoping he’d show up, even if you didn’t talk to each other. You just wanted to see him, is all. Great time to start acting like a stupid teenager, Y/N. Kudos.

  You were in the middle of a pretty heated argument with yourself as you entered the classroom. Taehyung picked a desk in the middle, as he usually did when the both of you were able to sit next to each other. You were almost putting your stuff down at his side when something caught your attention. There. You felt a girlish jolt of excitement when you saw Yoongi sitting at the last row. His silky black hair was damped, probably from the shower, and he was wearing a black, long sleeved shirt, v cut. You were about to divert your eyes, but then he stared right at your face and calmy removed his bag from the chair next to his. He smirked, as if defying you to take a seat. Annoying little piece of-

  “Tae, do you mind if I sit somewhere else today?”

  “What?” He looked at you, confused. “Where do you want us to…” Your eyes flashed to the end of the room and he followed your gaze. “What? Why would you-”

  “Do you mind?”

  “Uh… No?”

  “Okay, great. See you soon.” You knew Taehyung was confused, so you should probably be thinking of what to tell him when this class was over. But for now, you just carried yourself to the empty spot in the back. Yoongi was looking at you with an amused expression, hiding his little smile behind his intertwined hands. You wanted to wash that smug off his face so bad. You took a seat and his scent assaulted you, warm and musky. Almost irresistible. You saw Taehyung from across the room gazing at the both of you with an inscrutable countenance.

  “Is your boyfriend mad that you sat with me today?” He audaciously asked.

  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “I see. Must be hard, then,” he looked almost sympathetic.

  “What?” Your face contorted into confusion.

  “Nevermind. Tell me how was your Sunday,” he said while opening his notebook and doodling something you couldn’t decipher yet.

  “So we’re friends now?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Shouldn’t you ask me first?” You lifted your brow.

  “You’re bossy today.”

  You were about to give him a proper answer when the teacher barged in, almost breathless. As the class began, focusing on Hess’s Law was your main priority, it really was. But you couldn’t help the tingle crawling up your skin every time he unintentionally bumped his arm into yours, because he was still drawing, keeping his head down since Mrs. Edwards started talking. Still, you couldn’t move. No. Focus. You held onto the edge of your desk with one hand, knuckles white, as you kept the other taking notes on the subject.

  “Relax,” he softly whispered, not taking his eyes away from his notebook. You immediately loosened the tight grip of your left hand.

  “I’m relaxed,” you lied, imitating his tone. He chuckled, lifting his head to show you the most beautiful gummy smile. God, why was he so distractingly handsome? His soft, pale skin, his cat-like eyes. His hands, Lord, you wouldn’t even dwell on his hands. Everything about him was appealing, alluring. His voice, his smell, his gaze. He was devilish.  

  All of a sudden, he ripped off the page he was working on. You tried not to get even more distracted, keeping your eyes on the board, until he touched your arm with his hand. You tensed. “Here, keep this if you want to,” he said, passing the folded paper to you. Curiosity washed over your face and you were about to unfold it, but he stopped you. “I don’t think you should open it now.”

  “Why? Is it, like, an erotic sketch?” You could tell you broke his demeanor a little, he seemed both shocked and amused.

  “I wonder if that kind of thought crosses your brain very often. You’re filthy, Y/N,” he smirked. You almost choked at his tone and his words. He was teasing you, and you refused to go down without a fight.

  “Well, I don’t exactly know you, do I? You could be a perv.” He bit back a chuckle.

  “I’m an honorable man. You’ll see.”

  “Will I, now?”

  “Yes. We’re friends now, aren’t we?”

  “You haven’t convinced me yet.”

  “Challenge accepted.” The two of you stared at each other for a few seconds, then the bell rang. He grabbed his stuff and got up, then tilted his head and asked, “Do you want a ride… friend?”

  “I thought you didn’t ride here today.” Confusion stained his expression before he realized the meaning behind your words. You could see the enlightenment in his face and suddenly banging your head on a wall wasn’t all too bad. He was too cocky for his own good, and now you’ve just made it worse. Way to go.

  “I parked on a different spot,” he responded.

  “Yeah, sure. Uh, anyways… Thanks for the offer, but I’m going home with Tae.”

  “Suit yourself.” Before walking away, he turned around and said, “I’ll save you a seat tomorrow, Y/N.” Before you could elaborate an answer, he was already out the door, and Taehyung was in front of you with that ‘what-the-actual-fuck’ face he made every time he was caught off guard.

  “I’ll explain on the way home,” you sighed.

        ||\\

  You were both in the safety of your bedroom when you told Taehyung everything. From how Ian tried to do God knows what with you, to why he wasn’t able to. Pure luck. It was pure luck that Yoongi happened to be passing by, and it was pure luck that he’d bothered to check what was going on. You told him Jimmy was there. You saw the guilt and rage clawing their way to his chest, and there it was; the reason you were wary to tell him in the first place. Taehyung was explosive, a force of nature when he let himself indulge.

  “I’ll kill him. Why did you hide that from me?” Even though he was trying his best to hold back, you could still tell how furious he truly was. “Answer me, Y/N, I’m not fucking around here,” he didn’t mean for it to sound like a scold, but it still did.

  “I knew you’d be mad,” you retorted.

  “Of course I’d be fucking mad. I don’t think you understand just how mad I am.”

  “I know. Tae, really, nothing serious happened. It’s not worthy getting yourself in trouble for it.”

  “How can you even say that?” he barked.

  “Promise me you’ll let it go,” you asked softly.

  He looked like he’d just heard the worst profanity fall from your lips. “I don-“

  “Promise, Tae,” you were using your serious voice now, the one you used to tell him that no, it was not okay for him to mess with your books back when you were kids. You took it to the heart too often. He stared at you for a moment or two before sighing.

  “Okay,” he grudgingly said. “If that’s what you want.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you,” he said after a moment.

  “It’s not your fault. Really, it’s not.”

  “I know. I’m just… sorry,” he let his head rest on your lap. You hummed and stroke his hair for a while. These little moments of utter understanding and peace was one of the reasons he was your best friend. The person you could rely on, always. And he could always rely on you, too.

||\\

   A few weeks passed you by in the blink of an eye. After the infamous events of that night, you and Yoongi grew closer each day. Not that it was always easy, he was infuriating at times; you had to be sharp to keep up with the incessant bickering. But, for what it’s worth, you were able to gather that he was much more than just a little shit, even though he tried to deny it. 

   And you suppose that’s one of the reasons to why your stomach flutters and your heart skips a couple of beats when he gets too close. 

   Probably a month too late, you come across that piece of paper Yoongi had mysteriously given you the first morning you sat together.  You took it in your hands with a gasp and carefully unfolded it, taking a sharp intake of breath at the drawing. It was a pair of eyes – your eyes, perfectly detailed by strong, yet delicate, traces. It was beautiful and left no room for doubts as to whose they were. The cocky bastard was actually pretty talented, you had to give him that. Before you had much time to think about it, your phone rang. You hesitated a moment before picking up, the number was unknown.

  “Hello?”

  “Did you like it?” The voice on the other line was coarse and drawn, and you recognized it immediately.

  “How did you get my number?” You asked while laying yourself on the bed, staring at the ceiling. 

   He had become a constant whenever you were at school or at the library. Nothing beyond that. The call was a pleasent surprise.

  “I have my ways. Will you answer at least one of my questions anytime soon?” There was a hint of a boyish amusement in his tone, and that instantly made you lighter. You liked him better in a good mood.

  “You don’t answer any of mine, so why should I bother?” You shrugged, even though he couldn’t see you.

  “That’s hardly fair. What do you want to know, George?”

  You scoffed at the nickname. “First things first. I want to know how you got my number.”

  “It’s not so hard to get privileged information on the students’ personal data if you’re charming enough. Ms. Parker has a soft spot for me.” Of course. You should’ve seen it coming.

  “You’re shameless,” you scolded half-heartedly, taking a plushie in your hands and squeezing it.

  “It’s one of my many qualities. So, can you answer me now?”

  “Hmm… I might’ve liked it,” you stated, referring to the book he’d recommended. “But you’re already a pretty conceited man, so I should probably spare you the details.”

  He was silent for a while, and you almost mention the drawing you found in your backpack. But then, he’s talking again. “So you think I’m pretty, huh?”

 “Are you… Have you-“ you stammered in astonishment and he chuckled. “Do you actually select the words you want to hear?” you asked and he hummed.

  “Where are you?”

  “Home,” you answered without much thought.

  “I’ll pick you up in ten. Be ready.”

  “Wait, what?” You jolted out of the bed, dropping the plushie on the floor. “You can’t just… decide that. What if I’m busy?”

  “You’re not.”

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  “But you do,” He sounded almost confused. And he was right, you did want to. Somewhere deep inside your brain there was a voice saying that you should’ve objected at least a little bit more. But, against your better judgement, you kept quiet, and soon enough your silence gave you away. “I’m hanging up now. See you soon, George.” You meant to talk back to him, but he’d already ended the call. That, arrogant, insolent, contemptuous jer-

  Before finishing that thought, you remembered you didn’t have much time. So you took a five minute shower, put on a little mascara and went out of the bathroom to find something to wear. There wasn’t enough time to go wild, so you just went for your favorite pair of mom jeans and tucked a burgundy sweater in. After brushing your hair and your teeth, you were ready.

  As soon as you were done, you heard a horn and rushed to the window. There he was, in all his glory, hips resting against his stupidly cool Triumph Rocket. Black boots, black jeans, black long-neck shirt and his usual leather jacket. Wonder what his favorite color might be, you scoffed. He shot you a smirk that made you hold your breath for a moment. It now occurred to you that you had no idea as to where he was taking you. Also, was it a date? A friend thing? Shit. You should’ve said no. You sighed. It was too late now.

  Before running downstairs, you sprayed a little bit of perfume on the nape of your neck and your wrists. Chloé, your signature scent.

  “I’m going out for a bit.”

  She was sitting by the window with a hot beverage on her hands and a book on her lap. Like mother, like daughter.

  “Last time you said that…”

  “I know,” you cut her off gently. “But I have class tomorrow. I promise I won’t be long.”

  “Is your phone charged, young lady?”

  “Yep, it is.”

  “Then call me if anything happens, alright?”

  “Sure thing. Bye, mom,” you gave her a brief peck on the forehead and rushed out the door.

  He was waiting for you at the porch, even more breathtaking now that you could see him up close. His musky scent was stronger and his pale skin was glowing. He was drinking you in with mysteriously piercing eyes.

  “Come,” he said, taking you by the hand.

  “Where are we going anyway?” you asked. As the both of you approached his motorcycle, you were trying your best not to trip.

  “You’ll see.” He took a helmet off a compartment that you didn’t know to exist and cupped your face to hold you still before he put it on you.

  “Is this like a Hitchcock movie? Will you take me just far enough so I can meet my fate by the end of the night?” A hint of dread crossed his features, but he composed himself soon enough.

  “Do you believe in fate, Y/N?” He asked, fixing the straps under your chin, his fingers setting your skin aflame.

  “I don’t know,” you couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, but his countenance urged you to provide a proper answer. “Faith is just not my strong suit, I guess,” you mumbled.

  Yoongi pondered about what you said for a moment. “Hold that thought, yeah?” Then he climbed the vehicle. “Hop on,” he started the engine. You were now too aware of the fact that you had never ‘hopped on’ one of those. “Don’t worry, I’m a really good driver,” he tugged his lips upwards.

  “I just… I’ve never done this.”

  “What, ride a motorcycle?” He asked and you nodded. “Trust me. I wouldn’t let anything happen,” he reassured you.

  I know. So you climbed the damn thing and held tight onto his waist, almost comforted by his warmth. He felt the sensitive skin on his back crawl at the contact. Especially between his shoulder blades.

||\\

     You spent the entire ride with your eyes closed. If you had any doubt that Yoongi was a mad man, those god-knows-how-many minutes on the back of his motorcycle had erased them completely. He was going fast. You could feel the wind ricocheting your face relentlessly, and every time he had to make a turn, your stomach fluttered. Sometimes, he turned his head just a little bit, as if checking if you were at least breathing, but you would grit your teeth and snap at him to look ahead, tightening your grip. You could feel him chuckle, his whole upper body being assaulted by small tremors.

  But when you finally arrived at your destination, it was all worth it.

  “Do you like it?” Expectation washed all over his ethereal features.

  “Do I… like it? It’s amazing,” your eyes sparkled with wonder and astonishment at the sight of the ocean. You were at a relatively high spot, like a small cliff, and you could smell the delicious salty breeze that you adored so much. But what truly amazed you, what really took your breath away, was the electric blue lights sparkling all over the wave crests. “Bioluminescence! How did you find this place? Can we go down?” You asked with the biggest smile, a childish excitement seeping through your tone. He giggled, the most magnificent, angelic sound you had ever heard.

  “I’d rather if we didn’t. I don’t want you to meet your fate at those slippery rocks, it wouldn’t be very Hitchcock-y,” he joked. You felt a bit disappointed but chose to let it go. The night, the sea, the sky; it was all too beautiful for you to allow yourself to be petty.

  He took a few steps ahead and sat closer to the edge, wind whisking his hair and making his catlike eyes narrow. You followed suit, sitting in lotus by his side. You both took a minute to appreciate the sight, falling into a comfortable silence, that was soon broken by his husky voice.

  “I come here a lot when I need to remind myself of who I am. Of where I’m from,” he said, still looking at the waters below, eyebrows furrowed. “I never thought of bringing anyone else here before.”

  “So why did you?” Your voice was small, whispered.

  “I don’t know. I guess…” he stopped for a moment. “I possibly just wanted to make sure you were okay. And I don’t know any place else that feels more like home to me. Perhaps I also wanted to share it with you.” Then he turned his gaze to you, eyes reflecting the moonlight. He was divine, bewitching. Especially now, when he seemed to be opening up to you for the first time. You felt your heartbeat speed up at his confession.

  “Thank you,” you said softly, diverting your gaze to the waves. “I can understand why you’re so fond of this place. It’s blissful, feels like heaven.”

   He humms, fixing his gaze on the crashing waves above you.

  “Y/N.” He was surveying your face now, as if trying to read you. Expectant. 

  “Yes?”

  “Do you believe in heaven?” His voice is a whisper and, for a moment, you wonder if you’d heard him correctly. 

  That was probably the last question you’d expected from him, it took you completely by surprise. You inhaled deeply, searching for the right words, but ended up blurting what first came to mind.

  “For all I know, heaven is here. Hell, too. I want to be better, yes, for the people I love. I want to be better for whoever needs me to be, because I know how tough this can get. If there’s an afterlife… at least I’ll know that I tried to be good for the right reasons. So yeah, let’s say I don’t dwell on it. Whatever happens, happens.”

   By the time you finished talking, there was something sparkling deep inside his onyx eyes that you couldn’t recognize.

  “That’s sort of refreshing,” and there it was again. The sheepish gummy smile you adored so much, so utterly genuine and divine you thought you’d die.

  “What about you?”

  “Yes. Heaven, Hell, the whole ordeal. Except for God.”

  “But… How would it be possible for all those things to exist without God?”

  “That is not what I said,” he let out a humorless little chuckle. “Let it suffice that God is… I believe, much too real. Just not how humankind paint him to be. I believe God exists; I just don’t believe in him. Not anymore.” His tone was raw and melancholic. You ached with the need to console him, because he seemed adrift; and that bothered you more than it should.

  Without realizing, your face had gotten closer to his, and suddenly he was all over the place. All you could see, smell, hear, it was all him. He must have known, because then he traced your features lightly with his long, graceful fingers. You thought that was it. That was heaven.  

  You closed your eyes so you could savor every second of it, heartbeat going wild and butterflies assaulting your stomach. He lifted his other hand, and now he was cupping your face gingerly, like you were made of glass. Every touch ignited something foreign and glorious inside of you.

  He shifted, moving closer, and his scent hit you, unyielding, but you didn’t dare to open your eyes. When his lips finally brushed against yours, it was enough to set something off, and your hands made their way to his neck on their own as you let out a shaky breath. You pressed yourself harder and sucked on his bottom lip, before caressing it with the tip of your tongue, earning a groan from him.

   Well, shit.

  He took the hair in the nape your neck in a dainty – yet firm – fistful, asking permission with his tongue to deepen the kiss. There was no denying him, you could never. His taste, God, you could spend eternity tasting every single bit of him. When he licked past your teeth, you moaned, and it was so utterly pleasing, sinful, that he felt compelled to go harder, mercilessly swirling his tongue inside your mouth. There was no room to breathe, the neediness for one another unbending.

  You don’t know how much time you spent in that haze of mind-numbing desire, but neither of you dared to stop. Until your phone rang.

  You jerked away, pupils blown wide from the intensity of the moment, skin flushed. You were both panting, eyes trained on each other, searching, scrutinizing, waiting for a reaction. His reddened, glistening lips were parted slightly and he seemed displeased to cut the moment short. Even so, he managed to talk.

  “You should probably get that,” he gusted, trying to catch his breath.  You couldn’t find it in yourself to do anything but nod.

  You took the device out of your back pocket and checked the ID caller, brows furrowing. He mirrored your expression.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s a girl from school. We have history class together. That’s… odd,” you said. You and Sarah have never had a real conversation, one that didn’t involve Napoleon or Julien Sorel. You just had her number saved because of a paper you had to do together a while ago. “Hello?”

  “Y/N? Thank God,” she sounded truly relieved. “Look, I’m sorry to bother you but… We’re at the school’s gym and-“ she let out a loud gasp, and only then you noticed the noise in the background, an uproar of voices and… Did you did hear a punch?

  “Sarah? What is it?”

  “Tae’s here. Y/N, you should come…”

  Your blood ran cold.

  “What? Is he okay? Sarah, tell me what’s going on. Now,” you blurted, already standing, missing the way Yoongi’s face contorted in confusion and concern.

  “We tried to stop them, we really did, I-“

  “Sarah,” you grunted.

  “Okay, yeah. Him and Ian are at each other’s throats right now, it’s pretty bad. Y/N, I don’t think it’ll be long before someone calls the cops. I just thought I’d let you know, ‘cause-“

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” you cut her off, and then hang up.

  You were a lot of things at that moment, but mostly worried and angry. You had told him not to, you had told him to let it go, and he went behind your back. You heart rate was through the roof, adrenaline rushing through your veins. But this time, it wasn’t out of passion.

  “Y/N,” Yoongi had a wary look on his face. “Tell me.”

  “Can you take me back? Tae’s in trouble.”

  ||\\

  He hadn’t meant to. He really hadn’t meant to break his promise, but he knew it was bound to be broken the minute he made it. The idea of someone else touching you was torturous enough, but to think of them doing it without your consent actually drove him crazy with rage. Those unbidden images of you scared, asking that piece of shit to stop, only for him to hold you tighter, closer, wrapping his filthy hands around you… it wouldn’t stop coming to him, even though he’d tried his hardest to restrain them. It had haunted him ever since you told him. He felt sick. He hated himself for not being there for you, with you. Like the disgraceful best friend he was, he’d canceled movie night to get wasted. Ugly feelings, even the ones he didn’t care to admit, pierced their sharp claws at his chest. Guilt, exasperation, jealously.

  He’d tried to suppress the bitterness from watching you with the new guy, he tried to be just glad that he was there and hold out against it, because if he wasn’t… The point is: he really tried. But the way you looked at him made Taehyung’s stomach sink. He’d never seen it before, and he craved it like a man in the desert did a single drop of water. He wanted to be on the receiving end of that gaze more than anything.

  He’d go mad if he stayed inside, so he went out for a jog. Your mother had told him you weren’t home, and he figured you’d be at the coffee shop near school. What a big surprise it was when he found Ian next to a blue SUV that was parked near the gymnasium. He choked out a chuckle; it was just too tempting. Rage boiled trough his veins, and at that moment he knew he couldn’t hold back. He couldn’t not break that scumbag in half, even if that meant he’d be going against your wishes.

  So he did. Every punch, given or taken, satisfied him little by little. Because he also deserved to be punished, he thought.

 ||\\

    “What was that shit that you pulled? After I explicitly told you to stay out of it! Why now?”

  Taehyung had a bloody nose, a deep cut just above his eyebrow and some pretty ugly purple spots all over his upper body, staining his previously pristine skin. When you and Yoongi had arrived at school, you discovered he’d been taken. By a police officer, nonetheless.

  You’d been so mad. But now that he was in front of you, all screwed up in torn clothes, the speech you had prepared escaped your mind. You just couldn’t understand his impulsiveness, and the fact that he was in a tiny, smelly cell because of you was infuriating.

  “We both knew it was bound to happen eventually, so I figured rather sooner than later,” he answered nonchalantly.

  “Taehyung,” you said through gritted teeth

  “What, Y/N?!” He snapped. “You wanted me to let him get away with it?”

  “Yes! Yes, I literally told you that that’s what I wanted!”

  “Well, too bad,” he darkly said. He knew he was in the wrong here. But he was just too riled up to think straight.

  “Okay,” you said, taking a sharp intake of breath while running your fingers through your hair, “Okay, let’s be practical about this. Your dad is coming, right? We can talk about it at home.”

  “Fine,” he said, avoiding your eyes.

  “Fine,” you, too, knew how to be petty. “I’ve got to go outside for a minute. Behave,” your gaze flashed to an officer for a second, but quickly made its way back to Taehyung. When you realized he wouldn’t give you an answer, you just sighed and carried yourself out the door.

  As soon as you stepped out of the threshold, you saw Yoongi leaning on his motorcycle, arms crossed and head hanging from his shoulders. You didn’t know what tonight had meant. You wanted to at least try to figure out if he felt the same as you did, but you had bigger problems. And to be honest, you’d rather sleep on it. It was all too intense and hazy.

  “Hey,” you said, walking slowly towards him. He lifted his head and offered a tiny smile.

  “Your boyfriend really hates my guts, doesn’t he?”

  “He’s not-“ you cut yourself off when you realized he was just messing with you again. Of course he is, he stuck his tongue down your throat just an hour ago. “Anyways. I guess Tae will be out in a couple of hours, but I have to stay here and wait for Mr. Kim. Thank you for… tonight.”

  He nodded. “No problem, George. I’ll call y-“

  Suddenly, his eyebrows knitted together and his whole body tensed as he straightened himself. If you ever told anyone about this, you’d probably be admitted in a mental facility. But you swore that, for an instant, his eyes changed colors, going from pitch black to a deep violet. It happened in a heartbeat, and then he wasn’t looking at you anymore, but at something past your shoulder. You felt a chill run down your spine as you turned around to see what caught his attention.

  A tall, broad-shouldered man was walking towards you. As his lean figure got closer, the tension grew almost palpable, and you could see from afar he had a small smile plastered on his plump lips. But it wasn’t comforting at all. Instead, it was vile, almost sadistic. Your head snapped to Yoongi again, and you saw how he didn’t move a muscle, fists closed tight and jaw clenched. That made you panic a little.

  “Yoongi, what-“

  “Y/N, go inside,” his voice was hoarse and restrained, like he hadn’t talked in weeks.

  No, you wanted to say. That man, whoever he was, screamed bad news. He walked like a predator, and you felt like his prey. Though your self-preservation instincts were going wild with every step he took, something stronger made you want to stay. You knew he wasn’t here for you, but for him. And that sparked a need to protect him that you didn’t know to exist, nor where it came from. However, you just kept quiet and waited for the man to catch up, not missing the murderous aura emitted from Yoongi.

  At last, he stood in front of you, reddish hair and twisted smirk still on his face. You could see him clearly now, and he was beautiful. The kind of beauty you’ve only seen once.

  “Has anyone actually pressed charges this time, little brother?” His voice was deceivingly soft.

   Brother?

  “How did you find me?” Yoongi asked with an icy voice that almost made you shudder.

  “Is that how you greet your elders? Father would not be pleased.”

  “Well, you’re one to talk, aren’t you?”

  “People are still hung up on that, I see,” the man chuckled. “Yoongi-ah,” he said, his feet taking him closer at a slower pace. Yoongi kept his ground, knuckles white from his balled-up fists, while you instinctively took a step back. That’s when they both seemed to acknowledge your presence. Yoongi’s eyes bulged slightly, his pale skin becoming ever paler, while the other wore an unreadable expression on his face.

  “I told you to go inside,” he almost growled, taking your wrist in an iron grip and pulling you to stand behind his back. You didn’t understand. You didn’t understand any of it. Why did he seem so threatened by his own blood? The man was scary, sure, but was he actually dangerous? Your head was spinning, so you held onto his jacket to keep yourself vertical.

  “Were you not planning on introducing me to your friend, baby brother? That’s just rude, you know how much I love meeting new people.”

  “I’d advise you to be careful now, Jin.” The threat in Yoongi’s low voice was noticeable even to you, but Jin didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, he relished on it. His little brother didn’t get all protective over just anyone, and the fact that he didn’t want the eldest to know about you pointed straight to a weak spot. One which he intended to take full advantage of.

  “Easy, Prince, no need to get riled up,” Jin chuckled again, lifting both hands in a sign of peace. “What do you take me for?”

  “Neither of us can deny your nature, can we, brother? It’s the reason why we’re here in the first place.”

  “It’s true. Have you told her your name yet? Since you appear very comfortable sharing such details in front of her.”

  “What are you doing here? I thought I had made myself clear the last time we saw each other,” Yoongi changed the subject, hoping you wouldn’t pay much attention to his question.

  Jin’s face turned serious for the first time before he spoke. “They approached me, Yoongi-ah. It would seem that they need their Flam-“

  “Quit it!” Yonngi growled. “Hold your tongue, I don’t want to hear any of it. You need to go.”

  “Not until I have delivered my message.” The well-proportioned man stood his ground.

  Yoongi took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He could not have this kind of conversation in front of you – in front of anyone, for that matter. Jin was breaking the rules; an old habit of his. “Then I need you to wait for me at home. I suppose you already know where I live, don’t you? I’ll meet you there soon.”

  “Alright then. Y/N, it was splendid meeting you. I do hope I get to see you again soon.”

  Yoongi scowled as he watched Jin turn on his heels and disappear in the night. For all he knew, Jin would never get this close to you ever again. He was caught off guard today. He then turned around, black orbs scrutinizing you for a reaction.    

  There were many things going through your mind at that exact moment. Too many questions, he could tell. You looked at him in a grimace of confusion and horror.

  “How did he know my name?” That was the first thing that popped into your mind. You hadn’t said your name, neither did Yoongi. “And who’s ‘they’? And did he really just call you prince? Is that a pet name or something?” You blurted out, sensing you wouldn’t have too much time to elaborate the questions the way you wanted to.

  He looked into your eyes, face contorted in what you could only describe as a desperate hesitation, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a fine line. He was pondering his options. You knew that because, when he made up his mind, you could clearly see the taint of resolution.

  “I can’t answer your questions,” he muttered.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m really sorry, Y/N. Please, just forget about this. All of it.”

  “What are you talking about?” you were on the brink of losing it at this point. First Taehyung, and now this. He wasn’t making any sense. But his eyes spoke to you in ways he couldn’t. Only then, you understood. “No,” you said with a resolution of your own. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Listen, it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me right away, whatever it is, just don-“

  “Y/N.”

  “Yes?!”

  “Close your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  “Listen to me just this once,” he groaned, stepping into your personal space. He twisted your hair in one hand, holding your face securely to his. When he rested his forehead on yours, your eyes gave into his wishes, closing on their own. “I’ll be gone for a little while, George,” your breath hitched, but you didn’t interrupt him. He gave you a light peck on the mouth, lips soft and moist, breath hot on your face. “I have to settle some things straight. Be good for me while I’m gone, yeah? Don’t do anything stupid,” he frowned.

  “Will you come back?” your voice almost cracked, ‘cause you weren’t so sure of his answer. You felt foolish. You’ve only known him for a short period of time, after all. But the intensity of your feelings, though you couldn’t discern them clearly yet, scared you.

  This felt horribly like goodbye – it was, at least for now – and you hated it.

  “Do you want me to?”

  “Yes,” you answered straight away.

  “Alright,” he nodded. “Then I will.”

  You didn’t dare open your eyes when he stepped away from you after one last chaste peck on your lips, nor when you heard him start the engine of his Triumph. But when you felt a warm hand on your shoulder, you jolted slightly and your eyes fluttered open.  

  “Let’s get you inside, kid” Mr. Kim said softly, brushing away a lonesome tear from your cheek. “Then you can help me scold my boy for making us come all the way to the police station on a school day, how does that sound?” he tried to uplift your spirit, and you offered him a half-hearted smile.

   ||\\

                                                       “Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell;

And in the lowest deep a lower deep

Still threatening to devour me opens wide,

To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.

Oh then at last relent: is there no place

Left for repentance, none for pardon left?”

     It’d been four weeks since the last time you saw him. A whole month since he’d disappeared completely. At first, you waited anxiously for him to reappear out of nowhere. For him to just slide into the classroom, like he’d done the first time. But as time passed by and the third week came, you grew worried. He didn’t get specific about how much time it would take for him to do whatever it was, but you imagined it would be one, maybe two weeks. But now, a month later, you were beginning to wonder if he’d even come back at all. If something had happened, if he was okay…

  No. He promised.

  You’d rather not dwell on the possibility of something going wrong – hell, you didn’t even know what he was doing or what was that strange conversation he had with his deviant brother in front of the police station. You had a few theories, though. Not that you’d ever utter them out loud.

  Number one: mafia. Maybe not The Godfather sort of thing, since that seemed pretty outdated, but rather… Scarface, perhaps? So you had come up with the idea of Jin being a druglord; nothing more, nothing less. It made sense, to be honest.

  Number two: well, number two wasn’t exactly clear on your mind, but had something to do with super rich parents and an insane heritage. He could be the prince of an empire, right? You didn’t know anything about his family, except that his brother was blood-curdling.

  You just wished to keep your head in the right place until he explained the situation to you. If he explained, that is. Sighing, you tried to contain your derailed thoughts and get back to the real world, where Taehyung needed you to pay attention to Mamma Mia! for the nth time.

  “Alright, that’s it. You didn’t even sing along during S.O.S and that’s where I draw the line,” he said, taking the remote from your hand and pausing the movie. It was a cozy night and you were both plopped on the couch wearing socks and sweatpants.

  “When have I ever sang along during S.O.S, Tae?”

  “I remember it vividly, we were eleven. But that’s not the point,” he retorted. You bit your lip and kept your eyes trained on the frozen screen of the TV, already sensing where this was going. “You’ve been like this for a while now.”

  “Like what?” you pushed, trying to feign innocence. You were not in the mood for this right now. You just wanted to stare unseeingly at the TV and have some private time with your own thoughts until the movie was over.

  He sighed. “Look, I can only guess what’s going on,” he scowled, but tried to compose his features into a serene mask before speaking again. “But I need you to not be in your own head for a minute.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. I want to help,” he said, taking your hand in his. The touch was warm and familiar.

  “I know, Marzipan,” another sigh. You took your hand from his carefully and got up. “I’m going to the store, you want something?”

  “What, now? Y/N-“

  “I just-, I need coffee and snacks if we’re pulling this off. If you want me to keep my eyes opened during Moulin Rouge, that is,” you pointed out matter-of-factly

  Taehyung shifted in his seat, face contorted in confusion, wariness and a hint of hurt. “Do you want me to go with you? It’s late.”

  “No, it’s fine. You can stay and plan ahead, I’m sure we’re not stopping at the next one.”

  He watched you silently while you fumbled for your keys. When you found them, he muttered: “Don’t be too long.”

  “I won’t.”

  As soon as you crossed the threshold, the cold air of the night hit your skin, making you shiver slightly. You closed the door and hid your hands in the pockets of your sweater, bringing it closer to your body in a poor attempt to keep the warmth from escaping.

  Walking towards the convenience store located a couple of blocks from your house, you let yourself get lost in headspace again. You knew you weren’t being fair to Taehyung. As much as you wanted to talk about this situation with him, you couldn’t. It felt like betraying someone who hadn’t even put their trust in you to begin with. Yes, it was unfair, and maybe you were being a shitty friend every time he tried to have a serious conversation about the subject and you brushed him off with an excuse, like getting coffee in the middle of the night.

  You sighed, not really willing to wallow in guilt tonight, and just tried to focus on your immediate task. One step after the other, then one more, and you could already see the lights of a tiny single shop, the only one opened this late at night. It belonged to Mr. Newton, a sweet old baker who treated you kindly every time he was filling up for his cashier.

  You entered the store and heard the little bell announce your arrival. Much to your surprise, Mr. Newton was working there that night. As he saw your expression of detachment, he frowned. So you tried to arrange your features in a polite smile before speaking.

  “Hello, Mr. Newton.”

  “Y/N, child, why are you wandering alone when it’s already this late?” he asked softly, though clearly concerned for your safety.

  “Don’t worry, sir,” you answered, walking towards the cooler where they kept the iced coffee and taking two in one hand, as you went for the chips next. “Tae and I needed a little snack. Movie night.”

  He nodded and you placed the items on the counter for him to scan.

  “Well, then. Tell that kid to come by whenever he can. My wife wants to send some essential oils for Mr. Kim’s aromatherapy sessions,” just as he’d said it, he got a bit closer to you, as if the next words to come out of his mouth were a secret. “Truth is, she misses him. The boy is the only one who can stand her cooking.”

  Despite being moody, you chuckled wholeheartedly. No one could be indifferent to Taehyung’s charms, it seemed.

  “Yes, sir, I’ll tell him.”

  As you went through your wallet to pay the old man, you heard the little bell once again. Mr. Newton greeted the new client, but you were too engrossed in finding the right bills to snap your head in the newcomer’s direction. However, the inquisitive sound that left the old man caused you to steal a glimpse, catching auburn hair and broad shoulders in their wake. You stood still for a moment, trying to recall why those locks seemed so familiar. Until it hit you.

  “Jin?” you breathed, not loud enough for anyone in the store to actually hear you. Just as you muttered his name, he closed the door and turned left, disappearing from your sight. You gasped. “Keep the change, Mr. Newton!” you said – audibly, this time – leaving a ten dollar bill on the counter and grabbing your stuff as gracefully as you could muster, rushing to the door like your life depended on it.

  “No running in the store, kid!” he tried to scold you, but could already feel the cool breeze as you opened the door and looked around, expecting to find his brother. Only this time around you weren’t scared, no. You wanted answers, heart beating fast at the possibility of hearing from Yoongi, maybe even seeing him… Okay, no, not the time for this, first things first.

  When you realized he was nowhere to be found, you ran. Left. He went left. You passed by a few houses and almost tripped on a stray cat, turning your head to the side to check on it and apologizing profusely as you picked up your pace again. A few blocks later, you were already out of breath. You came to a halt and put both hands on your knees, gasping and feeling your lungs burn.

  Trying to ease your labored breathing, you realized that you were probably going crazy. A halfhearted chuckle escaped your parted lips. You were disappointed, even if actually meeting the redhead meant trouble. Trying not to let frustration and melancholy get the best of you, you decided to just let it go and head back home. Even if it was Jin, he probably wouldn’t tell you anything anyway.

 ||\\

    The snow under your feet was slippery as you got out of the library, leather backpack and navy-blue beanie on. You held a large cappuccino on one hand, careful not to spill it as you dodged passers-by and umbrellas every now and then. The streets were a little crowded that afternoon, and you were dying to get home and relish on Mrs. D’Angelis’ famous chicken noodle soup. Maybe she’d even grant you a warm glass of wine if you asked properly. You tried to occupy your mind with ordinary, day-to-day thoughts, trying to ignore the flutter on the pit pf your stomach.

  During that entire week, you were constantly under the impression that something was off. When you were going to school with Taehyung, or grocery shopping for your mother, there was always that tingling feeling on the nape of your neck that told you that someone was watching. Then you’d turn around and nothing. No one was ever there. The uneasiness was uncomfortable, but you didn’t feel endangered, just really jittery. And your motto was: no better medicine for anxiety than tons of caffeine.

  “Mom, I’m home!” you crooned, taking your coat off and discarding the empty thermal cup.

  “In the kitchen, honey!”

  The smell was splendid. You took a deep breath, already yearning for the hot meal, and kissed your mother on the cheek while she stirred… something.

  “Uh, smells nice,” you praised, making your way to the fridge for a glass of water. “I’m shocked Tae hasn’t come knocking on our door yet. Maybe his flair is broken because of the flu.”

  “Is Taehyungie sick, honey? Why didn’t you tell me?” she almost whined.

  “It’s nothing, just a bit of phlegm. But I’ll take some of these,” you pointed to the pots, “for him and his dad later.”

  “You really should. Now go upstairs and change before dinner.”

  You mumbled a response and climbed the stairs to put on some good old band t-shirt and sweatpants. You didn’t notice the broad-shouldered frame behind the door, and as soon as you closed it behind you, you felt a cold hand covering your mouth, while the other held you in place by the waist. Your whole body tensed, eyes bulged and breath hitched. Fuck. You were prepared to let out a loud scream, but his whispered voice stopped you.

  “It’s me, it’s me,” he shushed you. As a reflex, your muscles relaxed. “Gonna take my hand off your mouth now, George,” he informed, slowly moving his hand from your face.

  Of course it was him. His smell was all over the place, his touch still left little electric jolts on your skin. You snapped your head and turned around to face him. You realized your memories could never do him justice. He was so heartbreakingly handsome, you could cry. Pale skin, shiny disheveled raven hair. You noticed the circles under his eyes were darker and he seemed exhausted. Regardless, when your eyes fell on his lips, your body reacted before your mind could.

  Your hands made their way to the nape of his neck, caressing and gently pulling his hair. At the same time, you clasped your lips together on a desperate kiss. His surprise didn’t stop him from matching your frenzy, grunting as he sucked your upper lip and asked permission with his tongue, one that you promptly granted. Henceforth, your tongues performed an erotic, lewd dance as they fought for dominance, swirling and exploring each other’s mouths.

  Only when the back of your knees touched the bed did you realize he was moving you towards it. He broke the kiss for a moment to mercilessly throw you on the soft duvet, and you let out a surprised moan when he immediately covered your body with his, mouth returning to yours. A primal need surged from within you when you felt one of his hands roaming at your side lustfully, gabbing tight on your ribcage, your waist, your hip. He hoisted your leg and you hooked it around him, holding back a loud moan when he pressed his erection to your groin. You could feel your panties drenching from the sudden contact, a new wave of desire making your core ache.

  “Y/N-“ he tried to speak through heavy breathing, his lips never leaving yours long enough for him to finish a sentence. “Baby,” he groaned, obviously trying to say something, but you weren’t ready yet. You rocked your hips against him, earning another lecherous noise from his rosy lips as he closed his eyes shut.

  You used that moment of weakness to knock him to his side, climbing on top of him as you clamped your thighs harder on his hips. His eyes went dark at the sight, a devilish smirk tainting his beautiful features. You didn’t give him time to say anything, taking his lips on another bruising kiss. His hands on your ass, squeezing and groping, and you felt him throb inside his pants. You moaned, a gush of wetness coming out as you clenched around nothing. You couldn’t form coherent thoughts anymore, pressing yourself harder against his bulge as you rolled your hips, searching blindly and desperately for a sweet release that was already so close…

  “Hold it, baby.” His voice was stern, and he pinned both your wrists on your back, his hands seeming incredibly big when closed around them. He was sitting now, hot, labored breath hitting your lips, heightening your senses and sending shivers down your spine. You crumbled under his dominant demeanor, feeling an inconceivable need to obey, and instantly stood still. It surprised him as much as it did you, and you saw a smug grin plaster itself on his face. “That’s it. Be good for me so I don’t lose my mind.”

  You let out a breath you didn’t know to be holding and weakly nodded, mind still clouded with want. He let go of your wrists and gently pecked your lips, sitting you down on the bed instead of his lap. Father knows he would be physically uncapable of having a proper train of thought if he didn’t.

  “So… I guess we have a lot to discuss first, don’t we?” his smile was sheepish now, hands going through his hair in a nervous tick.

  “Yes,” you breathed out. “What happened? I was so worried, Yoongi, you have no idea. I didn’t even know where you were or what the hell you were up to, I-“ you took a moment in order to stabilize your voice. You knew you were affected by his sudden absence, you just didn’t know how much until now that he was actually in front of you. “I don’t even know what the worst case scenario could be, but I bet my thoughts came pretty close,” you chuckled humorlessly.

  “I’m sorry, I never meant to worry you. If I knew I’d be gone for that long, I would’ve told you before I left. I missed you so much,” he confessed, voice lower than before, and rested his forehead on your own.

  “Tell me. Please, I need to know,” your brows furrowed.

  “I met my brothers,” he paused, waiting for a reaction that never came. It’s not that you were not surprised by the information that he had other siblings, you just wanted him to finish it before you spoke. “Jin aside, I spent… years apart from my family. You could say that we didn’t leave things on the best of terms when I left father’s, so it was a surprise for me when I learned that they wanted to talk. Notwithstanding that it’s out of need, not love.” His heavenly features contorted in hurt and resentment, and you felt you own heart clench. You gave him an eskimo kiss as a sign of reassurance and he smiled timidly. “They offered to take me back. It’s… certainly a grand gesture for the likes of us,” he shook his head slightly and knitted his brows.

  “Isn’t that a good thing? Don’t you miss them?” you didn’t know why your voice was so small.

  “Not anymore, no.” His gaze was intense and made your heart beat impossibly faster. “I do miss them. They used to be my whole existence, the reason for every breath of mine. But now… now everything’s changed.”

  “What’s changed?”

  “You.”

  Your breath hitched. If it was anyone else, if it was any other situation, you’d laugh at the cheesy line. But this was him, and that, too, changed everything. That one word was enough to unleash butterflies in your stomach, enough of them to knock you breathless. The truth behind his statement carried a heavy meaning, one that you yearned for and that made you giddy. His onyx orbs were wary, and you wondered if he was blind to the utter relief plastered on your face. It was selfish, but you couldn’t help it. Not when it came to him.

  “H-How come?”

  He chuckled. “Don’t get bashful on me now, George, I’m pretty sure you understand.”

  You tried to scowl, but the grin was insistent on your lips. “Alright, let’s put a pin on that. You still haven’t told me everything. What did your brothers want?”

  “Y/N, there are certain things about me and my family that I cannot tell you. It wouldn’t be safe.”

  “You don’t trust me?” you were mainly curious, but a hint of hurt could be heard, too.

  “That’s not it. It just wouldn’t be safe for you.”

  “Is your family involved in something… illegal? Is that why?”

  “Not illegal, no,” he chuckled.

  “Then I don’t understand.”

  “I know. But please, George, don’t be stubborn about this one. All I’m asking for is a leap of faith,” his eyes were pleading as they bore into yours. Was he aware that he could probably convince you that the sky was neon green if he looked at you like that?

  “It’s a big leap,” you mumbled.

  “I know. Just trust that I have good reasons,” he smiled softly.

  You sighed. “Fine, Romeo, keep your secrets. Just tell me if you get too deep into whatever it is that the Min’s are hiding. I care about your safety just as much as you care about mine.” You forced the heat back, secretly hoping that it did not reach your face in time for you to actually blush.

  “Doubt it,” he grinned. “Dinner is ready, Mrs. D’Angelis will be coming for you soon. I should get going.”

  Your face paled as you rushed to the wardrobe, retrieving some clean clothes from your drawer. “Wait,” you stopped on your tracks in the middle of the room, glaring at Yoongi through narrowed eyes. “How do you know that?”

  “I have my ways,” he shrugged, then tugged his lips upwards on a daring smirk. “It’s a secret.”

  “If you keep giving me clues I might just figure it out. Go on.”

  He chuckled and stood up from the bed, walking languidly in your direction. He touched your nose with the tip of his index finger, tracing it’s way all up to your forehead, then coming down to your jaw, where he grabbed firmly. His lips were smooth and slightly damped as they softly touched yours in a chaste kiss. A ragged sigh of pure bliss escaped you, and you tried to fight the haziness.

  “Bye, George,” he was still lingering when he spoke. As he broke the contact and turned to the window, you woke up from the trance.

  “Stay,” you breathed out. He looked at you with a hint of confusion. “I-I mean, you can stay if you want. I can bring you some of mom’s soup and we can eat it here. But you don’t have to, if you’re bus-“

  “Okay,” he deadpanned.

  “Okay. Yeah, uhm… I’ll go change in the bathroom, you can make yourself comfortable.”

  “Already am,” he said as he threw himself on the bed, bouncing a little. His countenance was amused and he eyed you intently, toying with the elephant plushie.

  “Of course you are,” you snorted, carrying yourself to the bathroom.

  That night, you both relished on your mother’s cooking while watching some old movie about Cole Porter on your laptop. You were sure that it wasn’t his cup of tea, but he payed attention to it nonetheless. After you were done, you offered to take the dishes downstairs, since your mother would probably have a stroke if she knew there was a boy in your room. You stopped by Taehyung’s to check on him and offer his favorite hot meal, but it didn’t take more than five minutes. You were on a hurry, and he knew better than to question it.

  Back upstairs, you and Yoongi curled up under the covers and tried to find something interesting enough to watch for what seemed to be ages, your head resting on his chest and his hands holding you securely by the waist. It wasn’t long until you fell asleep, and only then did he leave, pecking your forehead gently before jumping out the window.

  ||\\

  “Get in.”

  “No,” you tried to end the discussion then and there. As expected, you failed.

  “Y/N, you can’t go back on pinky promise. You should’ve thought this through.” His goal was to sound stern, but in reality you could see the hint of a pout on his lips. “It’s my birthday.” Okay, there it was. That was definitely a pout.

  “No,” you closed your eyes shut and facepalmed – for good measure. “Don’t give me those eyes, I’m not looking,” the sound was muffled by your hands.

  He wrapped his incredibly large fingers around your wrists and whined: “Come on, we’re already here. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “Why on earth would you say that?” you instantly took your hands from your face and shot him a glare. He had the nerve to chuckle.

  “You can’t possibly expect me to do this alone.”

  “You can’t possibly expect me to do this at all,” you retorted, kicking the snow piled up near the curb, shunning away from his puppy dog eyes.

  “You promised you would! I’ll do it, Marzipan. If you win this round, I’ll get a tattoo with you as a birthday present,” his voice was high pitched.

  You snorted. “I was out of it, mental faculties completely fried. Drunk on power and merlot. Plus, I’m pretty sure you cheated, you could never beat me at Mario Kart,” you grumbled.

  “I did not cheat,” he was outraged. “I’m a lawful man, I abide by the rules, and they are clear: a bet is a bet.”

  You honestly have no idea why you let him talk you into this. Perhaps because you’ve been feeling guilty lately, and therefore didn’t have the heart to turn him down when he broke into your room to collect his victory this morning. It’s a good present, right? To get tattoos with your best friend? He had been trying to convince you since three birthdays ago. You hoped it would be enough to ease a bit of the weight on your chest.

  Truth is, you had been spending too much time with Yoongi these past few weeks. After what happened when he showed his face again, it became routine that he came by almost every night when your mom fell asleep. You’d talk, watch movies, kiss… But what you enjoyed the most were those moments where you curled up in his embrace, face buried in the crook of his neck, and neither of you would say a word. You’ve always appreciated peaceful silence, but those moments were so much more. You felt truly connected to him, in a way you’d never felt with anyone else. Like you were both pieces of the same puzzle, cheesy lines aside.

  Or when he would be the one to rest his head on your chest, blinking lazily as you twisted his silky, raven locks in your fingers. Perhaps those were truly your favorites, as you felt the incontrollable urge – need – to be protective of him, to never let anything disturb his serene, almost childlike countenance, so bare before you in the night’s veil. Before the sun came up and brought back the little wrinkle between his eyebrows.

  During the day, you often returned to his safe haven – one that ultimately became yours, too. The waves breaking against the rocks, the salty breeze, the deep blue of the ocean, you had gotten acquainted to it all in a heartbeat. On occasion, you’d bring warm, fuzzy blankets, hot cocoa and books, spending an entire afternoon on your own personal eden.

  You never meant for any of it to get in the way of your friendship with Taehyung, but counterbalancing proved to be harder than you first thought. Although you may have gotten too caught up, inevitably distancing yourself a bit, you were now eager to make it up to him. He was like family, after all. So here you were.

  “Fine, have it your way. But I’m telling mom that you put me up to this,” you threatened. The snow under your boots making a crunchy noise while you crossed the street to get to the tattoo parlor.

  “She won’t believe you. I’m a saint. I’m her Taehyungie.” He was beaming.

  As soon as you got in, you saw a man sitting behind the counter. He was buff, and you’d bet that pretty much his whole body was covered in piercings and tattoos – mostly about dragons and snakes. Looks aside, his voice was warm and welcoming when he greeted you.

  “Welcome, kids. My name is Eli, how may I help you today?”

  All the drawings and pictures on the walls seemed to have detained Taehyung’s attention, so you plastered a polite smile on your face before answering.

  “Hi. My friend over here came to get a tattoo,” you pointed at the boy beside you and he scowled.

  “We both did,” he smiled at the receptionist.

  “Alright. You have to sign a couple of forms before we get into details. You’re both legal, right?” the receptionist asked and you nodded. “Peach. Just a second,” he turned his attention to the computer in front of him, taking a couple of papers from the printer soon after. He handled you each a consent form. Before you signed yours, you exchanged a look with Taehyung, almost having a whole conversation – bickering – with him through knowing looks.

  “Here you go,” Taehyung handed the papers to Eli.

  “Cool. Do you guys have something in mind? We have a few drafts you can check out. But if you already know what you want, Hyunjin can draw it when you get inside. Don’t worry, he’s good.”

  “I have something in mind,” Taehyung offered a bright boxy smile. “I guess I’ll just explain it to him, then.”

  “Great,” Eli turned his eyes to you, realizing that you definitely had not made up your mind just yet. “If that’s the case, I’ll let him know that you’re going in,” he said to Taehyung, who nodded in response. When the buffy man went to the back, he glared at you through narrowed eyes.

  “I’ll come back with permanent ink on my skin. You better not chicken out by the time I’m done,” he threatened.

  “Hope you don’t regret it within the year,” you taunted.

  “I won’t,” he snorted.

  Eli returned a second later, excusing himself to lead Taehyung to the tattoo artist. In the meantime, you picked a binder that was resting on top of the counter to take a look at the drawings he’d mentioned, hoping to find something you’d actually like – or at least an inspiration. Most of them were very intricate, and although they were beautiful, you wanted something simple. Less is more when you’re tainting your skin for life because of a bet.

  You were turning the pages with such disinterest that you almost missed it. It seemed unfinished, just a sketch, and you couldn’t quite pinpoint the reason as to why it caught your attention in the first place. It was a dragon intertwined in a circle, it’s countenance exuding fierceness and strength. Inside the circle, however, was just an unembellished arrangement of lines, one that was strangely familiar and alluring. 9-7-1-12-6, if you think about a clock.

  “Oh, I see you’ve found Lee’s work. What do you think?” Eli pulled you out of your headspace.

  “Uhm… Yeah, he’s great. His drawings are pretty authentic.”

  “Uh huh, he’s been working on those for a while now. So, do you have any idea what you’re gonna get yet?”

  “Not really. I mean, I liked this one,” you pointed to the page you were previously analyzing. “Do you know if it means anything in particular?”

  “Yes! Actually, it does, but I can’t really remember what. I think it’s a sigil, though. You know, one of those thingies people believe to be magical.”

  “Mhm.” You really didn’t know why you felt the need to purge those next words, but you were saying them before you could stop yourself. “This is it.”

  “What? You’re gonna tattoo that?” Without even knowing what it means?

  “Yes. I liked the dragon.”

  ||\\

  His lips were soft against your collarbone, leaving a trail of goosebumps on their wake when he moved them lazily to your jawline, wet little kisses making you squirm and sigh. His index finger was tracing patterns on your bare thigh, caressing and examining as if he’d never done it before, as if you were a made of glass. The sun had graced you with its appearance for the first time in weeks, and you wanted to enjoy the good weather as much as possible, so you had convinced Yoongi to lay on the grass by your side.

  “Tired of Miss Brontë already, love?” his velvety voice evinced his amusement.

  “Can’t read. You’re distracting me.”

  He chuckled lightly, delivering small puffs of air on the crook of your neck, and raised his head just enough to look at you, blocking the sunlight and making it possible for you open your eyes. Before he’d made his mission to disturb your concentration, you were reading for him, like people do with kids before they go to bed. It became a thing after the first time you did it, and now he picked a different book every week or so. When you’d asked about it, he just shrugged and declared that ‘It’s just nice. I like hearing you.’ This week, it was Wuthering Heights.

  “Continue, please,” he adjured, laying his head on your chest as a demonstration of good will. You grabbed the book you’d previously set aside and opened it, leaving one hand free to play with his locks.

  “That, however, which you may suppose the most potent to arrest my imagination, is actually the least, for what is not connected with her to me? and what does not recall her? I cannot look down to this floor, but her features are shaped on the flags. In every cloud, in every tree—filling the air at night, and caught by glimpses in every object by day, I am surrounded with her image. The most ordinary faces of men and women—my own features—mock me with a resemblance. The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her.”

  His eyes were no longer closed, he was gazing at you.

  “Do you pity him?” he suddenly asked.

  “Heathcliff? I don’t.”

  He nodded slowly. “So, you think there’s no redemption, then?”

  “Not for him. He lived and died as an antagonist. Some might think his cruelty is just an expression of his frustrated love for Catherine, or that he conceals at least some virtue, a romantic heart. They expect him to be anything but what he constantly proves to be, they expect misunderstood heroes. But he himself acknowledges his sadistic nature.”

  He stood still, seeming to be lost in thoughts while tracing invisible patterns on your shoulder and refusing to meet your eyes.

  “Would you be able to love someone as tainted as him?” he asked wistfully.

  You lifted your upper body, compelling him to a sitting position as well.

  “I’ve never had to,” you pecked his lips chastely, even though he still kept his eyes trained on the grass underneath you. “Hey,” you dig your nails gently on the nape of his neck, asking for his attention. When he raised his head, the wrinkle between his eyebrows was there again. It worried you that, since he’s been back, it’s been a constant feature of his. Every now and then, his face twisted into an inscrutable grimace. “You understand, don’t you?”

  A half-hearted nod was your response, and he built up the mask to conceal his discomfort once again.

  “Enough vitamin D for you? I can’t stand the heat,” he grumbled.

  “Yeah,” you chuckled, pressing your lips to his forehead and standing up, stretching a helping hand. “Where do you want to go?”

  “My place.”

  Which was code for: Your mom is home and I want to pass out on my bed nuzzling you.

  “Whatever you want, grandpa.”

  “Be a brat and I’ll hit the throttle,” he threatened, positioning himself on top of his Triumph. Sometimes he took full advantage of just how dreadful you found his two-wheeled vehicle. And it always worked. You snorted, climbing on the back seat and wrapping your arms around him. “Hold tight, George.” His warning was delivered with amusement, but you knew better than to take it lightly.

  The fifteen-minute trip went as smoothly as it could, and even though you’d made sure to keep your eyes closed, you still felt dizzy and light-headed when he parked into the old building’s garage. He sensed your distress and got off the motorcycle slowly, careful when untangling you’re your arms from his waist and never completely breaking physical contact.

  “Open your eyes,” he murmured, one hand on the small of your back and the other placed on your hip. You took a deep breath and your eyelids tentatively fluttered. His lips brushed your right cheek as he effortlessly lifted you and put you down on the floor, covering the entirety of your hand with his and making a beeline for the elevator.  

  Yoongi’s apartment was on the fourth floor, which happened to be the last one – the building was a small, fading-yellow rectangle in the middle of a quiet neighborhood. In a way, it suited him. Secluded and discreet. Perfect for a misanthrope such as himself, given that you’d never even bumped into one of his neighbors – and you’d been visiting quite regularly. On another note, however, it was uncannily unpretentious for someone like him.

  He stopped for a moment on the front door, fumbling for the keys in his pocket. As soon as he opened it, you made your way to the couch, crashing with a sigh, face buried in the cushion. A minute had passed before he plopped on top of you, compelling a puff of air out of your lungs. You grumbled something about manslaughter, but the sound was muffled. He ignored you, making himself comfortable by nuzzling your neck and taking off his shoes using only his feet. You chuckled, making an effort to turn on your back so you could catch a breath.

  “Sleepy?” you asked, running your fingers through his hair. He hummed a response, content with your ministrations. “I, uh… have something to show you.”

  He raised his head from your throat, eyeing you curiously. “What is it?”

  “Bedroom,” you commanded.

  “Oh, I see,” he taunted, but stood up nonetheless. You rolled your eyes.

  You guided him to his room and closed the door behind you. He leisurely sat on the bed, waiting cautiously for you to proceed. You sucked in a deep breath, growing doubtful under his gaze. Pushing all insecurities aside, you unzipped your shorts.

  “Y/N, what are you doing?” he warned in a low-pitched, deep voice, orbs darkening considerably. You dismissed it, tiptoeing closer to him. He straightened his back and raised his eyes to meet yours, searching for any indication of what you intended to do. You pushed the waistband down, letting the piece of clothing pool on the floor, but he didn’t flinch, attention still focused on your features. When you hooked one finger on the hem of your white panties, he quickly snatched your wrist on a tight grip, brows knitting together. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, baby. You know that, right?”

  Your chest swelled with warmth and affection. After the night he came back, things heated up a couple of times. Once he’d realized how tense and anxious you got at first, he began to hold back, withstanding your advances. You never verbalized anything, but he had a hunch, and pressuring you was definitely not on his to-do list. He was being respectful and caring, and although you shouldn’t accept nothing less, it made you feel safe. He made you feel safe, always.

  “Let me show you,” you murmured, a soft smile blooming on your face. He seemed puzzled, but ended up nodding warily. When you moved your finger, slightly pushing the fabric down to expose your hip, he finally had the guts to jeopardize his restraint and look down. You didn’t know what you expected his reaction to be, but that certainly wasn’t it.

  His breath hitched and he paled, eyes almost bulging out of their sockets. He didn’t move a single muscle, whole body tensing up. It was as if he couldn’t fully comprehend the sight before him, like he couldn’t believe. He composed himself soon enough, but you could still see the glint of shock in his eyes. It didn’t make any sense.

  “When did you get that?” his voice came out flat and a few octaves lower than usual.

  “A couple of weeks ago,” you frowned. The tattoo that marked your hip was now almost fully healed. You were doubtful in the beginning, but now you kind of grew fond of it. “What’s wrong?”

  “Do you know…” he cleared his throat, fingers twitching. “Do you know what it means?”

  “Not exactly,” you confessed sheepishly. “The tattoo artist said it was a religious symbol and… Truth be told, I’m not even sure why I did this. Just felt right,” you mumbled, realizing then that you probably sounded a tad out of it. You held your lip between your teeth, unsettled.

  “Yes. It’s the sigil of one of the seven archangels, love. It’s… Michael’s… sigil,” his jaw clenched, but his tone was now softer. “It’s used to invoke strength and protection. The ancients believed that, if you will it enough, he will be able to hear your prayers and, perhaps, be of assistance,” he laid his hand flat on your skin, stroking the symbol with his thumb, oblivious to the little jolts of electricity the simple gesture sent through your body. An unfamiliar mixture of dejection, despair and awe flashed through his onyx eyes, and you wondered what it was that he wasn’t telling you that could’ve possibly elicited such reaction.  

  “How do you know all that?” you wanted him to focus on something other than whatever it was that poisoned his thoughts.

  “Father taught me,” he shrugged.

  It’d been a while since he last mentioned his family. But you knew he was thinking about them whenever you saw the accentuated wrinkle every time he furrowed his brows, or when his muscles felt so tense to the touch that he was akin to marble against your skin. He was worried, he had been for a while now. And it scared you. You needed to know.

  “Yoongi…” the uncertainty that laced your tone made him squeeze your flesh encouragingly. “Where is he? Your dad.”

  “Home,” he stated tersely.

  “I know, but… Where is home? And what about your brothers? I know you said you don’t speak to them anymore, you just never explained why.”

  “We’ve already talked about this. They’re home, too. Y/N, just forget it,” he shook his head, avoiding your gaze.

  “Why do you build this wall between us every time? It’s frustrating. I can help-“

  “You can’t,” he deadpanned, breaking off any contact when he got up, making his way to the door. His demeanor screamed for you to back off, that he had no interest in continuing the conversation. But you were done being left in the dark.

  “Why is it so hard for you to trust me, huh?”

  “I already told you that it’s not a trust issue,” he raised his voice. “Why can’t you accept that I don’t want you to get caught up in the middle of my mess?”

  “Well, I am caught up in the middle of your mess!” you roared. “You were gone for an entire month and have been on edge ever since you got back. Something’s going on, I’m not stupid.”

  “Jesus Christ, Y/N,” a deep growl escaped his throat. “It’s none of your business, if we’re being honest here. They’re my problems, I’m the only one who can fix them – hell, not even that.”

  “If you could stop being such a jerk for a second, you’d realize that they became my problems, too, as soon as I fell in love with you. But you’re so far up your own ass that we can’t even discuss things without yelling at each other,” you spit the words. “Do you know what it’s like for me to watch you struggle like you’ve got the whole world on your shoulders? Especially when my hands are tied,” you stepped closer to his figure, heart hammering on your chest after your little speech. It was nothing but a whisper when you said, “You’re not alone, you idiot.”

  His whole expression softened, and you could recognize a faint smile on his velvety lips. Taking a deep breath, he closed the distance between the both of you and let his hand rest on the column of your neck.

  “I am an idiot,” he nodded, visibly calmer. “And you’re stubborn, you know that?”

  “Might have heard something about it,” you grumbled.

  He hummed. “Forgive me. Could you?”

  “Maybe. Will you… I mean, I just wish you’d open up a little. I’m scared, Yoongi,” you confessed.

  “Me, too.”

  “I know. That’s why.”

  He shook his head and lowered it until his skin touched yours. “I’m scared of your reaction, baby. I don’t know if you’ll want me once you discover the truth,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

  “I’d say you’re safe. Unless your family is trying to coerce you into becoming a real life Michael Corleone. You didn’t shoot anyone in the head, did you?”

  He chuckled wholeheartedly and took a step back to maintain eye contact and mock you properly. “That’s your theory? That I’m a mobster?”

  You looked down sheepishly, before answering nonchalantly in a small voice, “One of them.” He couldn’t help himself, even though his hand was pressed tight against his mouth and his eyes were glistening with unshed tears of amusement. He tittered.

  “May I know the others?”

  “No,” you glared.

  “Oh, George, what if I ask nicely? What if I say please?”

  “Not even then.”

  “How about pretty please?” You shook your head, trying to pass through him to get to the kitchen, but he encircled his arms around you from behind before you could grasp the knob. “And what if I tell you that I am, too?” he breathed in the shell of your ear and you held your breath for a second. You didn’t need him to vocalize what you already knew, but you felt butterflies fluttering anyways. Still, you kept your ground, suddenly very conscious of the fact that your shorts were still pooled on the floor near the bed.

  “Closer, goodfella. But not enou-“

  The loud bangs on the front door cut you midsentence. You felt Yoongi’s body stiffen before something that sounded terribly similar to a low growl broke out of his throat.

  “Get dressed and stay here,” he ordered, authoritative. He didn’t spare you a glance before exiting the bedroom, and you felt a dreadful feeling claw up your insides, piercing your gut and making you nauseous. Pulse thrumming viciously under your skin, you fetched your shorts and wiggled it up, fastening the belt with shaky hands. Stop overreacting, you told yourself over and over, growing more anxious by the second. You couldn’t understand why, to be honest.

  Taking deep breaths, you forced your fidgety fingers to stay still as you fell limp on the soft mattress, eyes closed. Your mind wandered to the safe haven: cotton clouds and baby blue sky, the smell of the grass, the books scattered around you and him. For a minute, you could truly take the edge off. Until you heard the noise of glass shattering on the wall.

  Getting off the bed as fast as you could, your head spun. You opened the door quietly, careful not to expose the presence of another person in the house, and made a beeline to the kitchen. While you looked franticly for something that could be useful as a weapon, you tried to stay attentive to the sounds. They were muffled, but you could discern at least two voices, apart from Yoongi’s.

  Alright. Great.

  As any sane person who’s watched more than a few movies would do, you went for the most obvious choice. Knives. Better safe than sorry.

  Almost counting your steps, you tiptoed your way to the living room. The voices were not very loud, but you could easily understand what was being said now that you were closer.

  “It’s imperative that you return with us now,” a dulcet, almost high-pitched voice uttered softly. “I am sure you are aware of your responsibilities. It’s time.”

  You stayed hidden behind the icy-white wall that separated the two rooms, gripping the hilt of the knife so tightly that your knuckles turned white. Maybe you shouldn’t be eavesdropping, that was clearly a family matter. Maybe you should lock yourself in Yoongi’s bedroom and do as he said. But the truth was that you were far too curious – and now far too enchanted by the childlike voice – to stop yourself from prying.

  “I believe you have already forgotten about the current state of affairs, then? Father exempted me from my duties as soon as he banished me from the Gates and sent me to exile,” Yoongi spit. You could see it clearly in your head as he ran his fingers through his hair in annoyance. He sounded… different. You didn’t have the courage to tilt your head and steal a glance, afraid they’d catch the motion.

  “Father warned you about the consequences of your stubbornness, Michael, but you were very much unyielding in your misconceptions,” the second person said, gruffy and curt.

  “It is not a misconception to care for our own flesh and blood.”

  Wait. Michael? Had he been listening to your conversation earlier? If the man wasn’t so deadly serious and the air so dense, you would’ve laughed – although you felt that it was probably not the right time to let out a full-throated  guffaw to mask an anxiety attack.

  “Our own flesh and blood abused his role as a persecutor and bent the rules for his own selfish purposes. Azrael is fortunate if Father ever forgives him, albeit we both know he will. Brother, I know you hold the highest regards for truth and justice, but it was not your place to question an order.”

  You could hear the crude man pacing around the room as he spoke. Hoping to stay unnoticed, you sneaked a peek. The first person you landed eyes on was not at all taller than you, and you supposed that was the first man you’d heard. His hair was silvery, almost platinum blonde, styled in a way that evinced his beautiful forehead. The way he carried himself was elegant and graceful, like a ballerina, and his appearance suited his youthful voice perfectly. The second figure to catch your eye, though, was the complete opposite. Tall, lustrous olive skin and brown hair, he was intimidating at first glance. His steps were heavy on the floor, nearly clumsy.

  “Perhaps there lies the problem. We are never to question, even whilst we deem fit. Azrael is the embodiment of corruption and amorality; it’s consensual, we are well aware. No matter how devious, he is needed. Casting one of the Seven out ought to never be an option. Be that as it may… There are only five of us within the Gates now. Was I supposed to receive graciously the task of exiling our own brother?”

  You were growing considerably annoyed by their choice of words. Why the hell would they be talking like your great-grandparents? All cells in your body were telling you that it was supposed to be cringey, but in reality it was nothing but alluring. Charming. And that’s where all the annoyance came from.

  “It is unwise to go against His instructions. Are you a rebel at heart, Prince?” The man stopped his pacing to let the words tumble out of his mouth, venomous. You could tell by Yoongi’s countenance that he was about to lose his composure, and in a way you were yet to see. His body were trembling slightly in fury, and his lips were compressed together in a well-defined line. You were astounded, however, by his eyes. In that moment, you couldn’t move even if you intended to. They were tinted in a deep violet, just like you had seen before at Jin’s encounter, except that, this time, they hadn’t gone back to black.

  “This has nothing to do with the Rebellion, Raph-“

  “Then why disobey? Do you plan to defy Father as well? It would be entertaining to watch you fight your antithesis for the throne of the underworld,” he chuckled.

  It all happened in an instant, but for you it felt like slow motion. Yoongi was convulsing within himself, as if attempting to refrain a great deal of energy from breaking free. Once you saw blood oozing from his closed fists, you knew it was a lost battle. But never, ever, could you have foreseen what came next, what kind of energy – power – exactly he was trying to repress. For a very brief moment, everything stood still. If you had been able to avert your eyes from him, you’d see the silvery-hair figure shudder. You’d see the faint smirk on the lips of the man who caused Yoongi’s outburst, even though he was, deep down, a tad terrified. But you did not have time, nor will-power, to pay attention to anyone but him, ablaze amethysts shooting daggers at the man before them.

  Then everything came crashing down. Your beliefs, the world as you knew it, it was all taken away ruthless and abruptly once you saw white feathers rip through black shirt. You gasped audibly, falling to the floor with a dull thud as the knife clinked at your feet. None of them noticed, too entranced by the interaction that unrevealed itself. Yoongi got to his prey at an unhuman speed, grabbing him by the throat and caging him against the door. The horrid sound was enough to make you wince through your stupor, and, if it were anybody else, their skull would have cracked. The man, however, only clenched his jaw to suppress a whimper.

  “How dare you speak ill of your Leader like this?” as his voice went down a few octaves, Yoongi’s hold tightened visibly. The man-child seemed as ready to meddle as he would ever be, though still too frightened to actually move. “How dare you, brother, mention the Chief of the Heavenlies in the same breath as his nemesis? Mere one hundred and fifty years, Raphael, and you already built the temerity of being impertinent towards me? Or have you simply forgotten who I am?” his wings were whooshing, as if he was preparing to – quite literally – take flight at any given moment. They were stupendous, bigger than he himself, and so snowy-white, so untainted. Truly immaculate, contrasting with his raven hair.

  His angelic features, albeit glorious, could never outstand the magisterial way to which he spoke, imposing authority. Like he was born for it. Everything about him in that moment urged you to bow before his feet, and you weren’t even the one holding his darkened glare. It was entirely alien to you, a facet of him you could barely conceive, let alone process. Raphael undoubtedly recoiled at his words, but tried to conceal it.

  “Then show me. Do your title justice and lead us to victory, as I know there is no wrath nor passion greater than yours. Not for a moment have I forgotten who you are, Flaming Warrior, but you certainly have.” Raphael spoke, and it fell to the ears like a prayer.

  As Yoongi’s wings retracted once again, you breathed what seemed to be the first intake of air in hours. He slackened his grip on Raphael’s throat, who then bent over in a fit of coughing. The boyish man’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and he let out a sigh. Of course, the little truce was bound to be broken the minute one of them laid eyes on you. It happened to be the blonde.

  “Michael, there is a human on your floor,” he whispered, resembling a kid more than ever with his eyes wide open. “Why is there a human on your floor?” he snapped his head, shooting the question directly to Yoongi’s face, and you saw his body stiffen. “Oh, Father! She’s heard our names! Brother…”

  “Silent,” his voice was gruff, and he turned to scrutinize your figure. You weren’t sure of how you looked from the view of an outsider, but you felt… Shock, maybe? Fright? You didn’t know who and what was in front of you, and all you could think was how come his eyes are pitch black now?

  “Yoongi, we violated the law,” the man you now identified as Raphael said.

  “Namjoon,” his eyes never left you as he spoke, “take our brother home and certify yourself that he does not mention today’s events within the Gates.”

  “B-But the protocol-“

  “Does not apply to her, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi cut him off, “If you still need me to fight by your side, that is.”

   He seemed appalled by the perspective of that being an option. “Needless to say, brother, of course we do!”

  “That means I am in charge, then. So, at your superior’s orders, will you be able to keep this to yourself?” Yoongi craned his neck to glance at them through his peripheral vision.

  “If it is what you want, brother,” he mumbled, averting his gaze to the floor in respect.

  “Well, that being the case, I fear we might have to end this dreadful visit already. Notify our soldiers that I am to be expected soon.”

  “Yes, sir,” Raphael responded with a worried frown tainting his beautiful face. He touched the cherubic-like man on the shoulder and they both left the apartment.

  Yoongi’s feet were glued to the floor, the same spot he’d been standing since landing eyes on you. Your breathing was labored and hitched; your throat so dry that it felt like sandpaper. He took a little step forward, slowly stretching one hand in your direction. You let out a low whimper, recoiling until you were almost balled up, knees pressed tight against your chest. He immediately withdrew his arm and flinched.

  “I told you to stay in the bedroom.” His voice was flat, it wasn’t a scold.

  “W-What- What the hell just-“ a sob broke through your throat, and only then did you notice hot tears striking your cheeks. “Y-Yoongi,” you weren’t sure of what to say, let alone if you were actually able to choke a whole sentence out.

  “Are you afraid?”

  Yes.

  Fuck, yes.

  Were you afraid of him, though? Granted, his whole countenance while exerting power over someone else sent chills through down your spine. But that was not the man standing before you now, no.

  “Who are you?” you asked, trying too hard to keep a clear head.

  He straightened his back. “My true name is Michael,” he muttered.

  “You know that’s not what I asked,” you objected.

  “Yes,” he sighed, “I know. Can you keep an open mind?”

  “An open mind?” you scoffed. “I’m here, aren’t I? After seeing a pair of wings growing out of your shoulder blades.”

  “You are,” he chuckled humorlessly. He then walked tentatively in your direction, sitting on the floor as well when he deemed close enough. “I’m one of the Seven.”

  Your face twisted in confusion. Your brain was trying to deny what your subconscious already knew. “Go on.”

  “My brothers and I… we are one of Father’s first creations. Have you ever heard of the seven archangels, George?”

  “Yeah,” your voice was nearly inaudible.

  “It’s easier for you to understand, then. We are responsible for maintaining harmony in Heaven. That, occasionally, includes keeping things in order between the Gates and Earth,” he paused, searching for anything in your face that would require him to stop. “I am… let’s say, of great importance to keep the balance between our worlds, including the nether regions. You might have already gathered that I’m their leader, so to speak. I am in charge of all heavenly troupes, every single one of Father’s soldiers is under my command, as well as I am under His. In times of war, I am indispensable. That’s why they call me Warrior Prince; amongst other things.”

  “So it’s… all real?” your voice almost cracked. “Hell, heaven… God?”

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  “Then why are you here?” you murmured under your breath and his expression darkened.

  “Immortality can make you petty. Do you remember meeting Azrael? I guess you know him as Jin. Azrael is… unique. Known as the Persecutor, he was the first reaper to ever exist – created before I was, even. He harvests human souls in due time and delivers them to a realm that suits them best. Paradise, Purgatory or Hell. My brother can be misunderstood very easily; his job has brought to the surface a sadistic persona. We all deal with evil from time to time, it was born in our home, but… Azrael is death, it’s a heavy burden to carry. Infinite lifetimes dealing with the worst sentiments a human can ever experience is bound to leave some scars. He can be mischievous and quite a pain in the ass, to be honest,” he huffed, “but his loyalty is admirable. So, when he made an egocentric mistake, Father reunited us all to discuss the best course of action. Much like a trial, if you will. The point is: they banished him to live amongst his… victims for a certain period of time. I could never agree to that, I believe every single one of the Seven serves a purpose, we are all needed to maintain natural balance.”

  “So you rebelled?”

  “No,” he scowled. “I’m not a rebel, I’m… a nonconformist.”

  “It’s the same thing.”

  “Not for us, it’s not.”

  “Okay. Then what happened?”

  “It’s a long story, if you want me to explain it correctly.”

  “I do. And you’re everlasting, so I bet we have some time to spare.”

  “Right,” he snorted. “My people is a bit traumatized when it comes to defiance, you probably know why.”

  “Because of the devil, right?”

  “Lucifer deeply despises all of his nicknames. But yeah, he’s the reason. A very long time ago, Father decided to expand our family. My brothers and I were content, but when He presented the idea of more… more of us, more love, we agreed on the spot. See, He was never, ever, the tyrant your kind makes him to be. Until Lucifer, that is. He was… exquisite, my brother. From his birth, each and every angel to exist used to say that Father got inspired by me when creating him, but in a very distinctive way. As much as possible, we were the flip side of each other, although extremely similar still, if that makes sense. With time, our bond grew stronger; we became inseparable. Almost everything we did was in each other’s company: from training in the fields to reading manuscripts under the sunlight. My brothers and I didn’t have much to worry about, it was a very peaceful existence. We had not come to know sin yet.

   Needless to say, it did not last. Because we were oddly alike and yet so different, comparisons were nearly inevitable. I didn’t mind them back then, so I thought he would never take it to the heart either. I was wrong. Lucifer distanced himself slowly but surely, and with each passing day, he tried harder to triumph over me in a childish competition, one that existed strictly in his head. He’d become resentful, and his animosity soon spread like wildfire towards the others, too. None of us were able to comprehend a feeling we had never experienced ourselves, so it took us years to make sense of the situation. By the time we did… I guess it was already too late.

   When Father created your kind, the hierarchy became even more apparent: only us, the archangels, were allowed to interact with humans – even so, only to a certain degree and always serving a purpose. Father wished your… species to stay untouched by our graces. Masterpieces, as long as kept apart, he had said. You see, your people got it terribly wrong. Lucifer was never jealous of humans – in fact, he holds deep contempt for them. He was jealous of us, of me, because my new responsibilities evinced that we had different roles on the chain of command. If rancor was his first sin, fury came to be the second. He endeavored to make a point of how unfair it was of Father to ‘play favorites’ and provide the Seven with greater might. My brother was a very shrewd, intelligent being, but his envy made him blind to a lot of things.

  Lucifer used the following years to spread his beliefs right under our noses, and therefore was able to gather a herd of angels who succumbed to blatant lies just as much as he did. That was the beginning of the rebellion. His ability to lead was remarkable, but he could never be a true leader – not that he intended to, anyway. The reason is pretty obvious: my brother did not care the least about those under his directions, they were means to an end. His main goal was to dethrone the Seven, and for that he forged a deadly weapon: the flaming sword. The uprising initiated a war that none of us were ready for, not even him. For seven days, we fought. For seven days, we continuously killed our own. I suppose you already know the end to that story.”

   You were so fascinated by his narrative that you’d already forgotten the reason he brought up the subject.

  “I think so,” you said. “The real thing is actually so… different from everything I’ve ever heard.”

  “I know. Tales never accomplish the whole truth.”

  “But what does that have to do with the reason you’re here?”

  “Like I said, my kind does not tolerate defiance after everything that happened. When Azrael was sentenced, I didn’t exactly make an effort to hide how I felt about it. They didn’t take it very well, so if you ask any of them why I was exiled, they’ll say it was for disobedience. When, in fact, it was because I reminded them too much of him,” he sighed, and you both fall into a pregnant pause. “How are you taking this?”

  “I’m not sure. I guess I just didn’t have enough time to process yet.”

  “I know,” he twisted a strand of your hair in his slender index finger.

  All of a sudden, a realization fell heavy on your heart.

  “Is your time up?”

  His brows knitted themselves together. “My time?”

  “Yeah. You said you’d stay here… for a predetermined amount of time. Is that why they came to get you?”

  “No, George,” he let out a puff of air from his nose, “that’s not why they came for me.”

  “Then why?”

  “Think about it. Why would they need their General for?”

  You shook your head, trying to make sense of what he was telling you. Oh.

  “You said you were indispensable in times of…” your whisper faded to an end.

  “War,” he completed.

    ||\\

                                                                                                                                  “While they adore me on the throne of hell,

With diadem and sceptre high advanced

The lower still I fall, only supreme

In misery; such joy ambition finds.

But say I could repent and could obtain

By act of grace my former state; how soon

Would height recall high thoughts, how soon unsay

What feigned submission swore: ease would recant

Vows made in pain, as violent and void

For never can true reconcilement grow

Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep:

Which would lead me to a worse relapse

And heavier fall: so should I purchase dear

Short intermission bought with double smart.”

      There was a thin layer of snow covering the streets once again. The friction between the tires and the asphalt was barely there, and if the circumstances were different, that would be your main concern. The wind howled as you cut through it like bullets, and you tightened your embrace around his waist, somehow enjoying the numbing air of a cold late-afternoon. Eyes wide opened this time. When he finally parked in front of the porch, you quickly hopped down and took the helmet off, placing it in the seat you had previously taken. Before you could say or do anything, Yoongi seized your wrist with a leather-gloved hand.

  “I’m positively opposed to this,” he blurted in a last attempt to change your mind.

  “I know.” You tried to free yourself from his iron grasp, but to no avail. It was getting easier to read his features, and you could tell he was still unsure. But you were not. “Yoongi, it’s my call.”

  “Don’t I have a say in it?”

  “Ultimately… no.”

  “Want you to be safe, that’s all. Let us be reasonable about this, why don’t you?”

  “I thought you understood better than anyone that I don’t get to be reasonable about this,” you sighed with impatience. “Please, I—”

  “Okay,” he loosened his grip. “I’ll wait here.”

  “Okay.”

  The light was off in the living room, your mother wasn’t home yet. You told yourself that it was better this way. Making a beeline to the stairs, you went over the little list in your head once again before entering your bedroom.

  Set of clothes, toothbrush, toothpaste, laptop… What else?

  You looked around, the baby-blue walls somehow mocking you, an excruciating reminder of simpler times. Memories of your childhood swirled inside your mind. All the times you and Taehyung would play hide and seek, the squeals he’d let out whenever you caught him off guard, how he was certainly faster than you, but would let you win a childish race every now and then. The familiar scent of caramel and coffee roaming around the house in the wee small hours of the morning after movie nights, your mom’s chocolate chip pancakes for lunch on Sundays. It all felt like a lifetime ago.

  Hauling your backpack across your shoulder, you had a weird feeling that that was it. That was goodbye. Although Yoongi had promised you’d be back safe and sound in a couple of days, you knew things could go wrong. It was a pondered decision; you were aware of the risks, he’d made sure of it. Still, leaving his side when there was a real possibility that he might not get out alive was just… not conceivable. Logically, you understood that, if things went south, you would not be able to do much. You did not care much for logic these days, anyway.

                                     [Cheers Darlin’, by Damien Rice]

  Stepping out of the room and shutting the door as quietly as possible—for no apparent reason—you hopped downstairs two steps at a time, making sure to avoid staring at other parts of the house that could trigger another episode of nostalgia. Too focused on the task of trying not to focus, you missed the six feet tall barricade blocking the entrance to the living room, crashing into it face-first. If it wasn’t for the unrelenting grip keeping you in place, you would’ve certainly hit the floor.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the flat baritone voice resonated throughout the empty space.  

  Of course. You closed your eyes tightly, taking a deep breath before even contemplating lifting your head to make eye contact.

  “Do you need something?” in a poor attempt to shield yourself, you parroted his dead intonation.

  “Do I need something,” he hummed. Then he chuckled, fists clenching around your forearms. “Are you leaving?” he spat. “What about your mom, huh?”

  “It’s just a couple of days. I’ll call her.”

  By the scowl plastered on his face, your dismissive attitude hadn’t worked the way you planned it to. You had to do this quick, like ripping off a bandage. If anyone could give you a run for your money in this situation, that would be Taehyung. You knew he’d try to persuade you into staying, so you couldn’t risk it. For both your sakes.

  “I see,” he remarked. “Were you planning to tell me you’re running off with your boyfriend or you’d just leave me to figure it out on my own?”

  His venomous words burned out of his mouth at lightning speed, tainting his tongue with a pungent aftertaste.

  “You know I would never do something like that,” the hurt that laced your voice was evident, but, maybe for the first time, it didn’t make him feel half as bad as it should.

  “Do I?” he scoffed. “For the past few months, it feels like you’ve already left. Wouldn’t make much of a difference if you actually did, I guess.”

  That did it. You felt tears well up in your eyes, but you were determined to not let them fall.

  “Okay, I’m not doing this,” you whispered, not trusting your voice enough to speak properly, and pulled your arms out of his grasp roughly. You darted for the closed front door, feeling sick to your stomach at the thought of spending another minute inside the house. He clutched your shirt tightly, as if it was a lifeboat.

  “Wait,” his fists clenched tighter. You could sense him getting closer, but you didn’t have the guts to turn around and face him just yet. He buried his face on your right shoulder, holding your hip now, nails bound to leave little crescent moons on your skin. “M’sorry,” he mumbled. “I hate this.”

  Your heart ached. You hated it, too. Pushing Taehyung away was never your intention, but you finally came to understand all the times Yoongi had kept a safe distance before. To keep you safe. You couldn’t risk it, not with Marzipan.

  “It’s fine, Tae.”

  “It’s not,” he shook his head, brushing his nose on the fabric of your blouse. Inhaling deeply, he moved to the nape of your neck. You shuddered. “None of this is fine,” a peck on the bare skin of your neck, and your entire body tensed.

  “Taehyung…” you warned.

  “Don’t,” he begged, turning you around. You were adamant on avoiding his gaze, so your eyes kept darting between your feet and your hands. “Don’t go.”

  While he rested his forehead on yours, one hand on your cheek and the other thumbing your collarbone, you knew what was about to happen. You knew, and, still, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him. You knew, but it was Taehyung, your best friend. Marzipan, the little boy from the house next door. Boxy smile, disheveled hair, sweet-toothed Taehyung. How wrong could it be? You were saying goodbye to a part of your own soul. How wrong could it be?

  When his lips touched yours, soft and ravenous, you really wanted it to feel right. But the answer to your previous question was: too wrong. You loved him, yes. But he wasn’t him. Didn’t taste the same, didn’t feel the same. His movements weren’t slow yet demanding, his hand wasn’t drawing invisible patterns on your lower back, his smell wasn’t musky enough. It just didn’t feel right.

  “Tae,” you tried to end the kiss, but he led his mouth back to yours like in a trance, nibling on your lower lip. “Taehyung, stop!”

  By the end of it, you were both panting. It dawned you how big of a mistake you had just made, and guilt made you nauseous. Neither of them deserved what you’d just done, neither of them deserved to have their hearts broken because you were such a fuck up.

  “I-I’m so sorry, Tae,” your voice cracked. He was about to answer, but you didn’t want to hear it. You couldn’t breathe, your skin was on fire and there was a big, nasty lump in your throat. You bolted out the door, only to be met with Yoongi’s inquiring gaze. It seemed to have broken a damn, and heavy tears tumbled down your cheeks. He rushed to meet you halfway, brushing the tears away as soon as his hands reached your face.

  “Hey,” he shushed you. “What happened, baby?”

  “Can we go home, please?”

 The crease between his furrowed eyebrows deepened, but still, he chose not to pry any further.

  “Of course, love. Of course we can,” he softly muttered, although still hesitant to take his hands off you.

  You climbed onto the familiar grey motorcycle and hid your damped cheeks on his jacket. The beast rumbled, gaining speed as you cut through the air. The ghost of Taehyung’s lips on yours haunting you the entire way back.

[catelyngrant]

For the writer asks, how about 1, 9, 12? 😄

1. what’s the fic you're most proud of? This is a really interesting and hard one! There are a few that come to mind, in no particular order:

my house is haunted by rotten desire (CAOS, post s3, Zelda-centric): I always feel satisfied when I feel like I've a) nailed a character that I find hard to write and b) made sense of or fixed something that really frustrated me or was just plan wrong, gross, or ignored in canon. I felt like this fic accomplished both.

beckoning towards me from behind that closed door (Supergirl, Kara-centric): Gen fic doesn't usually get the same love as fic tagged with popular fandom pairings and I totally get that, but this was one of the very first Supergirl fics I wrote (shortly after season one ended) and I've always thought it was a bit underrated. I think it does a good job of exploring a lot of different aspects of and possibilities for Kara in ways that felt believable.

love leaves a mark and love leaves a strain (Supergirl, Supercat): I thought that this one explored parts of Cat in a way that I hadn't really seen, and considering what a talented and thoughtful fandom this is, that felt rare! I also really like reading/writing Kara and Cat navigating new stages of their relationship dynamic, no matter what that dynamic is, and I thought that this fic was set in an interesting moment between them.

sugar, we're going down swinging (Hacks, Ava/Deborah): I hesitate with this one because I'm really proud of the first chapter but less so about the second chapter - I was so determined to get it out before season two started, and I think if I'd spent another week or two with it, I'd be much more satisfied for having fleshed out some areas that right now leave me a little disappointed. That said, this was a fic I never expected to write, was terrified to write, gave me no small amount of grief, and really challenged me in new ways. I'd written next to no really explicit smut before, for one thing, and picking Ava/Deborah as the ship to change that was...a choice.

I was in my mid-twenties through 30 (my current age) when I wrote all of these, but I do have a few older ones that - while I'd definitely change some things - I think hold up really well for having been written when I was much younger.

9. what’s your writing process like? Lie awake at night or get caught up in daydreams while commuting, fleshing out entire worlds and specific scenes, and then being frustrated at how many of them vanish before the Divine Inspiration to actually put them on the page hits. When it does, I pretty much slam them out very quickly. This also happens when I'm facing a deadline of any sort, only without the Divine Inspiration and a lot more anxiety.

For non-fic writing (mostly poetry), it's a little different. It involves a TON of reading and being inspired by other works, which serves to get me into a mindset where I feel like I just start viewing the world a little differently and everything suddenly feels like it has potential to be a poem. Generative workshops or my local queer craft night are great, and I have so many bits and pieces of imagery/phrases/anything that feels like it might have a place in a poem someday scattered all through my life (my phone, scraps of paper, jotted in notebooks or the margins of books, voice memos, etc.)

12. What’s your perfect environment to create/write? I like working in groups with other writers, so local writing groups are great even if I don't share much of what I'm working on. At home, it's usually just me on the couch. My favorite - though rare - options are holing up at my aunt and uncle's little camp on a lake and writing on the dock or in the cozy cabin which feels like it's designed for writing, or on my mom's porch with the cats dozing nearby. I like silence when I write, at least in terms of no music/TV/talking going on in the background.

Ask me fic questions!

[ya-like-huey-lewis-and-the-news]

how the dead poets would prompose…

(pt. 2)

a/n: hello guys the response from my previous one was very positive and i had a lot of fun with it so i have decided to continue with the rest of the poets! also when i say all the poets i mean everyone except cameron since i know he's not a fan favorite lmao

knox overstreet:

we all know this man is very much a cheesy romantic

like

very very cliche stuff

scatters rose petals in a little trail with lit candles in a park probably at an ungodly hour of the night

he made the mistake of telling the poets so charlie and neil (who probably dragged todd with them) may or may not be hiding in some bushes

petals lead to a bench where he's sitting in with either flowers or promise rings or something like that

not much is said but you can see how much he loves you as you walk up to the bench

he just stares in awe at you

to him, you are the most beautiful person in the world

once you reach him, you sit next to him as you turn to face each other

he gives u the ring and says "(y/n)…will u go to prom with me?"

you aggressively nod your head yes and kiss him and hug him

so definitely a success

steven meeks:

definitely in a creative way but not in the way you would think

so basically

mr keating asks to see you after class and says he wants to work on some poetry analysis stuff

so he asks you to bring your poetry book and notebook and all that

he goes through about five or so pages outlining how to structure an analysis based on those poems

when you flip to the next page

which has a little note in it that says

"prom? -s.m.”

your face lights up obvs

you run out of the room to see steven and all the other poets there, standing

you give him a peck on the lips and hug him so tight he thinks he might die

“okay so i was thinking we could match with a sage green-“ he starts as you guys walk back to his dorm

gerard pitts:

he does something kind of simple but it has a lot of thought put into it because it’s…pitts

he probably asks you to meet him in the library or a random study room because he needs help with math

which you believe because none of these boys can do math to save their lives

as you walk in you see some low candle lighting and the rest of the boys all dressed nicely in a line leading to pitts

your boy looks so handsome all dressed up

he rarely ever dresses nice and when he does you know it’s because he cares

“(y/n)…will you go to prom with me? :)” he says as he holds out your favorite flower for you

which you only mentioned in passing and never mentioned explicitly because he’s THAT GOOD

“your tie is crooked” you smile while looking up at him

he grins and you can tell he’s so happy bc he’s an all around giggly person and there’s a specific smile he does when he’s around you

he just leans down and presses a kiss on your lips

“is that a yes?” “duh” you say as you kiss him again

i had much fun writing this pls give me requests !! i think my messages are open so pls lmk!!! i am pretty much willing to write anything (within reason)

[margridarnauds]

I think a lot about what it means to be a Celticist, what it takes, how I ended up in this area, what led me here, what my relationship is with it. Most of the time, terrified of accidentally leading someone into being in over their head, I emphasize the hard work, and it’s true --  the field is notoriously strenuous. 

But there are times, just times, especially when I see people’s ideas of what it’s like, usually filled with misty forests and insufferably easy translating work, when I want to talk about the emotion behind it, the love. As terrifying as it is, as raw as it is, because it’s so much easier to talk difficulties. You’re not putting as much out on the line, it’s more detached, more clinical. Talking about the love is inherently personal, it’s inherently terrifying and vulnerable, especially when you’re in such a position that people have, in the past, voiced a belief that you have no business studying it in the first place. It isn’t what people who are invested in notions of dark academia or overly aestheticized visions of the Celtic peoples think, it isn’t particularly mystical or effortless. 

It’s almost the opposite, really. 

It’s when I was working at home over the summer, my head bent over my notebook, my brow knit, working through some Old Irish paradigms, and one of my cats would paw at my pen, and I would think of the poem Pangur Bán, about the monk and his cat and, for a moment, I wasn’t sitting in a disheveled desk, littered with books and bits of paper, lit with a cheap lamp that made my face look absolutely ghoulish in morning Zoom calls, I was a medieval monk, carrying out my studies in the dead of night, a small candle burning at my side, my trusted cat beside me, as we worked to turn darkness to light. 

It’s when I’m working on some line or the other from the Mabinogi and, for one moment, one magical, golden moment, I figure out how all the verbs and nouns and adverbs and particles fit together perfectly, and, in that moment, the text sings, and I can step back and appreciate how good the writing is, the fine use of Middle Welsh, the attention to pacing, the delicate characterization, all the better part of a thousand years later. 

It’s looking at a manuscript and seeing all the little ways that a scribe’s hand could differ, all the little things that make them unique, at the little notes in the margins, in the way that the symbols can change. (And sometimes, being furious at a scribe with a particularly bad hand or bad vellum to work with, when you have to cut off a transcription partway through.) It’s wondering whether, when they were writing this down, they knew it would reach quite so far into the future, by people with such different lives from them in so many ways. 

It’s walking by a river or lake or bit of rock and thinking of the Dindshenchas, of how the Irish heroes carved their identities into the landscape and thinking about how, no matter where you go, people have looked at the same rivers and lakes and woods for thousands of years, and I’ll wonder what people saw a thousand years ago.

It’s when I delve into the historical side, looking deeper into the people who are otherwise just names in the annals, all these people with names like “the short”, “the fair”, “the dark one”, and realizing that each one of them had lives and loved ones, all these lives spread out across the years, just names to us now. 

It’s reading bardic poetry, listening to all these great poets from close to a thousand years ago -- Their loves, their heartbreaks, their fears, about one princess’ love for her favorite lapdog and another’s love for her pet goose, and feeling this connection to people who are long since gone.

It’s finishing a paper on some character or person and being overwhelmed because, after hours and days and weeks and months and, God help you, sometimes years, it’s done. And you feel, if not totally happy with it, because there are always going to be little things, that you did them some amount of justice, after all these years, and for a second, they’re there with you, whether they were chieftains or slaves, whether they even ever existed in any tangible way. 

It’s being able, if you’re very lucky, to visit some spot or another associated with a character that you’ve done research on, and being overwhelmed because it doesn’t really matter if they never existed, what matters is that you have something of them that’s solid. 

It’s sometimes looking at when a text references some work that’s been lost and feeling this overwhelming sense of loss and fury, not just for the stories or the books, but for everything. All the lives lost to the greed and cruelty of colonialism. All the things we can’t know because they were destroyed. All the things we can’t get back. And then it’s going right back into it because there’s nothing else to do but to fight like Hell for everything that’s been preserved. 

It’s looking at the historical scholars who did everything they could to preserve these things, often at great cost, and just wanting to reach out and tell them that it was all for something. That we’re carrying on what they started, and that we know what they did, that we’re grateful.

It’s being worried each time some new ordinance passes against a Celtic language, every time another comes within a knife’s edge of extinction, every time someone writes a thinkpiece about their lack of relevancy, every time Celtic Studies programs are cut, and wondering whether we’ll ever see a day when everything we’ve done, all of us, all of it, is for nothing. And it’s wanting to reach out and SHOW THEM, take them by the hand, let them read the literature, let them understand the greatness that these languages produced. (As an American Celticist, it’s wanting to SCREAM “If I can love this, why can’t you?”) And it’s knowing that it wouldn’t matter to anyone whose mind is already closed to anything outside their own experience, especially as I think back to everyone who told me I was wasting my time doing this work, that I should go somewhere important, someplace useful.

It’s feeling an immense debt to it all, because it did give me a life, it’s saved my life multiple times at this point, while knowing that there’s an awesome responsibility to make sure that it’s all passed on, that it can keep living, the modern and the medieval alike. 

It isn’t easy. It isn’t effortless. And, frankly, most of the time, it isn’t particularly #aesthetic or romantic. But it’s worthy.

[n0wornever]

Meet Cute (pt. 2) - Luke Patterson x Reader

Read Part 1 here

So....I got a little carried away with this. If you don’t like it, pls don’t ever tell me lolol (also, yes, the lyrics included are Miss Taylor Swift’s)

Y/N placed her bag down at her usual table. She took a look around the room, trying to draw as little attention as she could as she looked around the room for those hazel eyes. Unsatisfied with her assessment, she sits down at the table and opens her book. 

Within a second, a soft voice tickled her ear. “Looking for someone in particular?” She felt her ears burn as he giggled softly close to her face. 

She turned to be met by the smiling barista, coffee splattered all over his apron and flour attached to the sides of his arms. She tried her best not to smile too quickly back at him, tucking a piece of her falling hair behind her ear. 

“Nope.” She stated, scrunching her nose up at him. He rolled his eyes, leaning on the table in front of her. 

“Well are you going to order something or do you plan on freeloading all afternoon?” She popped her jaw as his eyes bulged, raising his eyebrows at her. 

She set down her book and placed her hand on her chest, mouth ajar in his direction “Not with this kind of customer service.”

His smile grew even wider as he shooed her gaze off of him with the towel in his hand. He slid the open chair toward her, sitting down and leaning his elbow on the granite below. 

Can I at least get a chai ready for you, miss comedian?” 

She brought her finger up to her face, tapping her cheek a few times before nodding. She moved to grab her wallet out of her bag, but by the time she did, he was out of sight. 

She leaned over to look at the bar, where she saw him running quickly to the machine, booting his coworker off of it with a push of his hip. She smiled dreamily as he worked quickly, steaming milk, and then flipping over to the other side to start steeping the tea. He eventually poured something into an orange mug with a smile on his face. She watched him carefully sprinkle cinnamon on top of it, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he did. As his eyes moved away from the cup, she leaned back over to face forward at the table and lifted her book to her face again. 

It took a few seconds for him to walk over to her table. She forced herself to keep her eyes on the words in front of her until the glass actually hit the table. She lifted her eyes to meet it with a small smile. She looked up to see him beaming down at it with his hands out.

“Ba daaaa…” He said with jazz hands shaking at his creation.

“Thank you,” She said simply, picking her card up from the table next to her “How much do I owe you?”

He shook his head “I get a free drink a day, this one is yours.” 

She frowned at him, pushing the debit out toward him. “No, Luke come on…” He rose his hands, refusing to take the card from her once again. She moved her feet, preparing to get out of her chair but Luke took off on foot back toward the bar. 

She looked down at the ground, shaking her head before rotating back to her book. She leaned over to her bag, pulling out her pencil and tucking it behind her hair. She had created a habit of spinning her shoulder-length hair around writing utensils to make a makeshift ponytail. She pressed down on the middle of her bun to make sure it was secured before bringing her hands back down to the table. She chewed on the middle of her lip as she finally dove into her first poem of the evening. 

A moment passes before her phone buzzes against the table. She finishes the line she’s on before picking it up. She looks at the message from an unknown number with furrowed brows. She swipes it open, eyes falling on the word “purple.” 

Unknown: “Hey purple, it’s your favorite barista.”

She smirks down at the device, quickly typing her response. “Shouldn’t my favorite barista be working and not texting customers?”

Unknown: “Yeah well...we’re dead and I want to talk to you without being whipped by my boss again.”

She giggled, her mind falling back to the sound of the towel slapping back and forth on the barista’s back. “You are making it quite difficult for me to focus on my reading….” 

Unknown: “So studious. I guess we can talk later. :(“ 

She rolled her eyes, not responding to his pouting. She placed her phone face down on the table and gripped the book in her hands once again. 

Y/N eventually finished the book in one sitting, with extra time she planned to spare. She pulled out her notebook from her bag and flipped to a fresh page. She leaned over to rummage through her bag for another pencil. She felt her hair collapse around her face and sat up straight, she turned to see Luke holding up the purple mechanical pencil in his hand as he hovered over her.

“Need this?” He winked in her direction, his eyes drawing over her features. “I think I like your hair better down anyway,” 

She pulled her curls behind her ears and shook her head up at him as she reached for the writing utensil.  

“Unbelievable,” She muttered.

A smirk reappeared on his face as he held out the pencil, shaking it between his fingers. She reached over and he caught her wrist with his free hand. She tried and failed to hold back the audible gasp that came with his sudden touch. He flipped her hand over, place the pencil in it before closing her hand around the small object. He placed his hand on top of hers for a moment before letting her go.

She turned back to face forward, hoping the growing redness on her face and ears weren’t as apparent as it felt. He slid into the chair in front of her, catching her eyes again. He set his elbows on the table and leaned his chin in his palms. 

“So you’re actually writing tonight?”

“Are you on break?” She rose an eyebrow at him. 

He shrugged “Kind of?” 

She narrowed her eyes at him. He was unbelievably determined. She watched as his eyes fell to her open notebook and back to her eyes. 

“What are you writing.” 

She sighed, tapping her pencil on the table. “That’s the problem, I’m not sure yet.”

He nodded, propping his hand under his chin as he looked over in the distance. Almost as if a lightbulb turned on in his brain, his expression changed to one of excitement. “How about I help you?”

She shook her head “You’re going to get yourself fired if you just sit here and try to help me brainstorm…” 

He laughed again, digging into his pocket “I’m not going to just sit here….I have…” He pulled out a square piece of paper and pushed it over toward her. She stared at it for a moment before looking up at Luke in confusion. He lifted the paper into his hands and unraveled it, pressing the open paper to the table before pushing it over to her once more. She read through the chicken scratched lines as he spoke to her.

“These are lyrics I started writing last night. Maybe you could respond to them?”

She rose an eyebrow “I don’t write music.” 

Luke scoffed, rolling his eyes at her “I meant write-in in your medium of choice. Write a poem or just a few statements in the way that someone may respond to what’s being sung.” 

She moved the paper back toward him “Luke I can’t just take your work like that.” His hand moved to cover hers as his smile grew.

“I want you to take it, use it if you can. I’ll be waiting…” He stood up from the table, running over to his very unenthusiastic coworker. 

She held the paper in both hands as she started to read the lyrics. She felt her heart pick up even staring at the writing, feeling like she was reading directly into someone’s diary. 

“And you stood there in front of me just, Close enough to touch, close enough to hope you couldn't see what I was thinking of. Drop everything now, meet me in the pouring rain, kiss me on the sidewalk, take away the pain 'Cause I see, sparks fly, whenever you smile.”

There was a large space between paragraphs. He must have pieces missing still, she thought. She let her eyes fall to the next line, a small smile forming on her lips. 

“I run my fingers through your hair and watch the lights go wild. Just keep on keeping your eyes on me, its just wrong enough to make it feel right. And lead me up the staircase, won't you whisper soft and slow? And I'm captivated by you baby, like a fireworks show.”

Y/N sat there in awe as she read through the short lines over and over. Whoever Luke was talking to, he was really in deep. His cool demeanor didn’t give away this kind, vulnerable sound that came through his lyrics. She tapped her pencil as she began to think thoroughly about these short lines. 

Luke has to be extremely infatuated with this love interest he’s writing to, she decided. So she decided to write from the perspective of the girl, who is hesitant to be as confident about the possibility of a relationship budding between them. Her hand wrote frantically across the page as her mind ran wild. 

“The way you move is like a full-on rainstorm, and I'm a house of cards. You're the kind of reckless that should send me running, but I know that I won't get far.” 

She thought these lines might sound a little corny, but she loved it already. She sat and gazed over at Luke at the counter. He was already leaning over the ice cream area, smiling in her direction. She shot him a quick smile, looking into his brown-green eyes before looking back at the table and putting the pen to paper again. 

“Get me with those green eyes, baby as the lights go down, give something that'll haunt me whenever you're not around, 'cause I see, sparks fly, when you smile.” 

She wanted to go a bit deeper than the fluff, so she concentrated on the next part being the girl’s nerves. She’d never felt like writing had ever come this simply to her, practically overflowing in her mind before she’s able to capture it in words. 

“My mind forgets to remind me, you’re a bad idea, You touch me once and it's really something, you find I'm even better than you, imagined I would be. I'm on my guard for the rest of the world, but with you, I know its no good. And I could wait patiently, but I really wish you would.”

She decided to end it with a call and response to Luke’s initial lyrics, rewriting “Drop everything now, meet me in the pouring rain, kiss me on the sidewalk take away the pain 'Cause I see, sparks fly, whenever you smile.” 

Y/N put down her pencil and read it back a couple of times and she couldn’t help but beam at the paper below her. 

“Is it going well?” A voice boomed over her shoulder, causing her to jump up in her seat, hearing a familiar laugh behind her. 

She turned to him with wide eyes “Do you ever like to enter a room quietly?” He shook his head at her, the two laughing together as Luke took a seat at the table. He put his hand out toward her notebook. 

“Let me see what ya got, Y/N.” 

She hesitated, playing with the red ribbon that sat in the middle of the page. Luke’s face softened as he noticed her anxious tick. “I promise I won’t judge, and if I do...you have every right to never speak to me again.” She sighed, meeting his eyes, Luke’s teeth atop of his bottom lip. “Y/N, I understand how vulnerable creative work can be, I promise you...it’s between you and me.” his finger pointing back and forth between the two.

Y/N gave in, sliding the notebook his way and bringing her eyes to the ceiling. She didn’t want to see his reactions quite yet to her quick writing. She’d had only an hour to start scribbling, so she wasn’t convinced that it would drop jaws. Her internal monologue was stopped by her eyes when they looked over and saw Luke’s wide smile as he ran his eyes down the paper. She let them linger there for a while, taking in his animated expression. He looked up at her for a moment, the smile staying put before he darted back down to her words. He pointed to a specific spot on the page and brought his gaze back up to her again. 

“I'm on my guard for the rest of the world, But with you, I know its no good.” He sang quietly, his eyes fixated on her face. He spun around in his chair before he opened his mouth again.

“Y/N, this is so good. This...is music. At least to me. I can hear this.” 

She knew her face was a perfect shade of pink by now, but she tried to ignore her elevated heart rate as she asked him a question. “You, you mean that?” 

He nodded “You have to sing this with me.” 

She shook her head profusely “Luke, oh no, absolutely not.” 

He giggled, touching her hand again. “Come on Y/N. My house isn’t far from here and I’m off in 10 minutes. It could be as private as you need it to be.” 

She thought about her former voice lessons, her years of choir and her short time in the drama department. She wasn’t a terrible singer. For some reason, the mixture of her finally being able to put something on paper and the way Luke was looking at her right now made her want to say yes, so she did. 

She finally nodded his way, whispering a quick “....okay.”

Luke’s smile grew as he stood from the table, “Wait for me here, I’ll be done in a few.” 

She spent the last 10 minutes painstakingly over-analyzing every single possible situation that may come from this encounter. She was about to be alone, with a boy she’s met all of two times, giving one of the most vulnerable parts of her to him. What if he hated it and never wanted to see her again. Did she want to see him again?

What was happening to her? She tried to focus on the lyrics/poem or whatever she’d written. She started to hum along to a line to calm herself down as she waited for Luke to finish. As soon as she’d hit her second stanza, a hand touched her shoulder. 

“Let’s get out of here.” He said, pulling on his coat. 

She got up out of her seat, placing her notebook in her bag and throwing her coat over her body. She followed him out the door into the cold autumnal air. He turned to her, pointing to the left side of the lot. 

“Ride with me? I’ll bring you back to your car later.” She nodded at him, following him across the street. 

As she got into the passenger side seat, the smell that wrapped around her felt familiar. It smelled like him, like dark woods and coffee mixed together. She took a silent breath in, exhaling as he got in next to her. 

“You okay?” He asked, putting on his seatbelt.

“Just preparing for my 9 p.m. news abduction story.” She said, grabbing onto the handle near her chair. 

He pursed his lips together, obviously holding in laughter as he put the car in drive. He pulled out of the lot and onto the road quickly. As they moved past homes and office buildings, Y/N brought her attention out toward the window. She listened to Luke’s light humming as she took in what passed them by. 

He turned onto a street lined in trees that were shedding their summer green. She almost wanted to take a shot of the leaves, but she didn’t want to feel invasive. Instead, she mentally took note of their beauty, something she’d hope to at least get to write about later. 

Luke hopped out of the car quickly, lightly jogging her side to open the door. “Ma lady,” he slightly bowed at her and she rolled her eyes, stepping out of the car. 

He walked next to her toward the wooden door with a large wreath hanging upon it. Shades of yellow and orange and green sprinkled around it. He put the key in the door and guided her inside. The place was quiet. Table set, rooms clean but no sight of anyone around the first floor. 

“Where’s your family?” She asked.

He held his hand out to take her coat. “Dunno, probably at one of our relative’s houses. It’s poker night.” She shrugged off her jacket, placing it in his palm. 

He pointed at the stairs “Let’s go to my room.” She followed his lead up the winding stairs. He moved toward the door straight in front of them and spun the handle open. He gestured her in first, and her eyes met walls of musical artists and ticket stubs. She turned in a circle, taking all of it in. 

“Pretty sweet, huh?”

She smiled at him “Quite a collection you’ve got.” He held her gaze for a moment before walking over to his guitar stand. 

“Here’s my baby, let’s get to singing!” He ran his fingers down the strings once before sitting back on his bed, tapping the spot next to him for her. 

She moved slowly, sliding next to him and leaning back on the wall. She handed him her notebook and he strummed away as he looked at their combined words. Y/N watched him in awe as he combined words and melody in front of her. Her eyes fixed on his closed expression, shaking his head enthusiastically to the notes he played.

He smiled back at her, laying out some poorly drawn notes on paper in front of them. “Okay, so I already had something in mind for this piece. Let me know if you need any help as we go through this.”

He started to play the opening notes, leading up to the first verse she came up with. He hummed his thoughts on the first stanza, and then looked at her, nodded her along. She tried to avoid looking at her shaking hands as she quietly repeated that first line. His warm grin boosted her confidence, next coming in stronger and the following even brighter than before. 

As they hit the chorus he counted down from three for her and then they sang together. “ Drop everything now, meet me in the pouring rain, kiss me on the sidewalk take away the pain 'Cause I see, sparks fly, whenever you smile.” His velvet voice eased her worries as they continued down the page, eye contact staying consistent.

By the time they got to the end, Y/N and Luke were simply looking at each other as his playing faded out into the background. His gaze always made her a bit on edge, but the way he looked at her right now, with that dreamlike trance, was enough to make her feel like the room was spinning. She finally diverted her gaze from his to look out his window and she heard him exhale.

“You okay?” 

“Yeah.” She said lazily, letting her eyes slowly migrate back to the bedframe he laid against. He set his guitar to the side and moved over to the edge of the bed near her. She watched as he slid his hand closer to her, inching it toward her own. When he finally closed in, his grip was soft and gentle, bringing his fingers between hers. She looked up to meet his eyes, trying to dissect what he was doing. 

She watched as his body leaned in toward hers. She felt her breath hitch at the proximity. Finally letting her gaze meet his. She watched as his gaze moved from her lips to her eyes a few times before he closed the distance, hand reaching for her neck. She shut her eyes, leaning into him as their lips moved together. As they pulled away, his dark eyes glistened at her.

“Like music.” He repeated, touching her cheek gently.

.

.

.

.

Tag list: @xplrreylo​ @lovesanimals​, @anythingandeverythingfandom​, @crybabyddl​, @oswin05​, @themaddies-obx​, @lukeys-giggle​, @bumbleberry-pie​ @kiss-themoongoodbye​  @marinettepotterandplagg​, @lolychu​, @bathtimejish​, @dasexydevitt13​ @musicconversedance​, @txrii​  @bestdressedandstressed​ @daisiesforlacey​  @epikskool​  @bookfrog247​ @carleywhittaker​ @princessvader15​ @rudysbay​ @spooky-season-bitch​ @kcd15​ @whatever-happens-imma-stand-tall​

[knifewieldingenby]

I have a prompt. How about geralt realising that is writer boyfriend is actually the famous Julian pankratz and that jaskier is a name he use for some of his work. I don't know if you can something out of this. Take care of yourself ❤️

Okay so this is definitely not exactly what you asked for (I took some liberties) but I hope you still enjoy it! 

Geralt hadn’t meant to snoop through his best friend’s desk. It’s just that he’d let Jaskier borrow one of his favorite pens last night and the junior had forgotten to give it back, and, well...Geralt was maybe a tad bit possessive of his belongings. He didn’t have much growing up, so what little he had, he coveted. 

And of course Jaskier’s desk was a trainwreck and a half. Stacks of papers, notebooks, highlighters thrown about, a few glasses of now unidentifiable liquids that made Geralt cringe. He’d tried to be gentle and fast, moving things aside to search for his pen. He didn’t much care for Jaskier’s academic writing, but when the pages started resembling lines of poetry he got curious and careless.

Jaskier is writing again?

Geralt slowed down and picked up one of the pages. Definitely a poem. Months ago Jaskier had burst into their shared room, thrown himself on Geralt’s bed, and declared that he should never write again.

(“I shall never write again!” Jaskier had his arm thrown dramatically over his eyes. Geralt nudged him over so he could stretch his legs out and continued tapping away at his research paper. “Don’t you want to know why, my dear friend?”

“Not particularly.”

“I shall tell you anyway!” Jaskier crawled into a sitting position and threw his hand back over his forehead. “My muse has broken my heart for the last time! Never again shall ink touch paper, not by the hands of this poet.”

“Hmm,” Geralt muttered unhelpfully. He knew Jaskier would be over it in a matter of days, as soon as he found a new muse.)

The problem was, Jaskier didn’t get over it. In the days that followed he became solemn, quiet, and distant in a way Geralt wasn’t used to. He was used to Jaskier hanging around at all times, joining him at practice most weeks, staying up late to watch tv and talk about (e.i. distract him from) his papers. After his announcement he made himself scarce, spent most of his time in the library or the office of the student paper, editing others' works instead of publishing his own. 

But this. This was clearly quite new. Geralt felt a burst of happiness for a moment, glad that his best friend was finding his muse again. That is, until he read the first few lines and felt the nagging suspicion that he’d definitely read these words before. 

Taking the piece of paper with him, Geralt dug through his trash can until he found the most recent copy of the student newspaper. He normally cut out Jaskier’s pieces and saved them in a binder he kept hidden under his bed, but since the poet stopped writing he’d taken to skimming over the paper and just throwing it out. He turned to the last two pages that displayed student creative writing and his eyes immediately went to the poem on the bottom right page. Starlight. It was clearly a love poem, about a silver-haired beauty who slipped through the poet’s fingers. He’d loved it, but he didn’t want to say so to Jaskier. No point making the boy jealous of some punk named Julian Pankratz. 

But now…

It was the same poem. Line for line, word for word; it even sounded like the poet’s style, if a little more melancholy. Before Geralt had time to process his emotions the bedroom door swung open.

“Ah, Geralt, you’re here! Terribly sorry to be a downer but I’m quite tired, can I- what the fuck are you holding?”

Geralt bristled, suddenly defensive. “I was looking for my pen.”

“Oh.”

Jaskier plopped his backpack on his bed and began rummaging around. He finally brandished Geralt’s pen and held it out to him tentatively. Geralt took it and, before he could talk himself out of it, held out the poem. Jaskier’s eyes widened.

“That’s-”

“You’ve been writing again.”

The silence that followed was beyond uncomfortable; Geralt was mad, but did he have any right to be? He hadn’t exactly been very responsive when Jaskier first told him he wasn’t writing anymore, why would he expect the boy to share it with him now?

Because he always did, his stupid, wounded brain supplied. 

To his surprise, Jaskier spoke first. “I’m sorry Geralt. I didn’t mean to mislead you-”

“No, I think that’s exactly what you meant to do. I just don’t understand why.”

“Because it hurt.” Jaskier moved to join Geralt where he was leaning against his bed. “I was in pain and I didn’t want you to know.”

“Why not? You’ve never hidden it before.”

“Have you been reading these poems?” Jaskier poked the newspaper laying idly on Geralt’s bed.

“Yeah,” he said slowly. He’d read every poem written by Julian Pankratz over the last two months, loved every one. 

“They’re...they’re about heartbreak. And I didn’t want to make things awkward between us.”

Either Jaskier really wasn’t making sense, or Geralt had taken a beating in practice. Either way, none of it was adding up.

“Why would it be awkward?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and sighed, defeated. “Because they’re about you, Geralt.”

Geralt must have been a ridiculous sight, body frozen to the spot and eyes owlishly large. The lights were on, but clearly no one was home upstairs. 

“Come on Geralt, silver hair? How many people do you know with silver hair?”

“But- I- I assumed you were embellishing!”

“While that does seem like exactly the thing I’d do, this time I didn’t. This time it was all real. All of it was for you. I can...go, if you need time.”

“No!” Geralt gently grabbed him by the arm as Jaskier made a move to leave the room. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Jaskier laughed, but it sounded painful. “I did. Don’t you remember when I asked you out after your big game a few months ago? You told me you’d rather date a baboon.”

“...Oh my god. I thought you were making a joke!” 

Geralt shoved his head in his hands and cursed himself. 

“Would your answer have changed if I’d made it more clear how serious I was?” Jaskier’s voice was so soft now, so fragile. Geralt sighed and dropped his hands. They were standing close enough that their hands knocked together, and he couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and thread their fingers together.

“Yes. I would’ve instead told you how long I’ve wanted you. And I would have done this.”

Slowly, he leaned toward Jaskier, giving the man enough time to pull away if he no longer wanted Geralt - and he wouldn’t blame him at all - until their lips met in a soft kiss. It didn’t last long, but it made Geralt’s heart soar all the same. 

“God, you’re an idiot,” Jaskier grinned. Geralt rolled his eyes, but this time he couldn’t deny it. He pulled Jaskier against his body and kissed him again, because he wanted to, because he was finally allowed to have this.

And in the back of his head he was figuring out how to get a hold of the last two months worth of newspapers. Julian Pankratz’s poems belonged in his poetry binder. 

[nypmphetsbastard]

PARADIS ISLAND

Genre: slowburn fanfiction, college!au

Pairing: yelena x fem!reader

Summary: college becomes a whirlpool of new people and emotions once you meet a woman by the name of yelena manages to weasel her way into your once perfect life and tear down everything you ever thought to be true. From religious views to friendship, she builds something new. Now, she introduces you to new world she likes to call Paradis Island.

Warnings: angst, smut, hurt/comfort, struggles with Religion, homophobic comments/people

A/N: this story is posted on ao3 {NYMPHETSBASTARD} as well as wattpad {SUGACODED} because wattpad is acting a fool and I need another place to save this story👍

————

Leaving home was always a rough time for both parent and child. Anybody who grew up in a loving home tended to stick to that home like glue, not wanting to separate from it and instead choosing to go to schools and jobs closer to home, closer to family. Those without however, preferred their freedom. When the clock struck 12 and everybody went to sleep was the only time they'd have to themselves, the only time they'd ever have to feel safe and relaxed — leaving home wasn't as hard on them.

You...well you were a different story. You didn't like a lot of things, being grabbed, having things snatched out of your hands, people taking your food without permission, somebody talking to you when you're clearly trying to avoid them — the list could go on. But growing up leaving you home never seemed to cross your mind. For whatever reason you felt like things were fine at home, not perfect but not terrible either, nine year old you didn't stop to think that one day you'd have to make the decision to move away from your friends and family. The small town you were in had a lot of older people, ones that never separated from their high school popularity phase and believed that the world revolved around them and them only, the others were newly young adults seeking any way out. You hoped you'd be the ladder.

Your parents had never spoken to you about leaving the house, meaning you grew up only learning what was taught in school. World War One and two, Pearl Harbor, slavery, and other shitty thing America did and or went through throughout the course of centuries on end — all only ever learned or discussed in school. The main focus in your household was religion and religion only. It's what you grew up to be right, nothing else existed in your mind besides that.

There was nothing wrong with that. Well...until around the time high school hit. Senior year was the year stressed to you since you were a freshman, you could barley fathom the fact that you'd have to apply for colleges, work on a bunch of different essays and possibly move away when you were young and you could still barley understand it now. But it was only then, then when they had handed you that slip of paper of which colleges you were going to apply to did you realize something; you didn't want to end up in a boring old relationship with a guy from your sophomore geometry class, get married, have a couple of kids that would send you to a nursing home and never live the life you dreamed of having.

You wanted that Disney channel teenage life, teenage adventures that would give you enough memories to last a lifetime and successfully say you lived your life to the fullest. While your teenage years had been spent in a church every weekday, your nose in school books and your bedtime forever stuck at the time 8:30, you swore your adulthood would be different.

Everything would be different.

"Are you sure you're not missing anything, hun?" Your mother asked nervously watching you pack the trunk up with your suitcase and extra bags. You yawned into your hand due to the more than early hours you guys were beginning the trip in order to make it early to your destination.

"You made a list mom, I don't think there's anything I could miss." She smiled your small joke and got in the passenger seat of the car, "You know, you guys really don't have to come. It's nearly a 4 and half hour drive over there, not including the drive back." You mentioned

"We already told you we're going to stop by my mother in laws and stay for a while." Your father explained, you sighed and got into the backseat of the car.

You brought your favorite stuffy and laid your head on it against the window as you prepared yourself for the 4 hour drive from your old childhood home to a new place where new memories could be made. It felt almost nostalgic watching your entire childhood fly by from behind a window. The blue slide you loved going up and down on till you felt like throwing up. The metal pole that always terrified you trying to go down. The monkey bars you taught yourself to climb because of the lack of friends you had that could teach you. It all seemed to disappear behind flashes of trees and road as the car drifted further and further away from the place you called home.

"Morning sunshine! We're here!" Your father exclaimed, waking you out of your slumber. You groaned quietly and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, taking a moment to look out the window at the large building in front of you. Gawking at the size, you shook your head and stepped out of the car to get a closer look.

"This is much smaller than the one I went to." Mentioned your father, squinting up at the building and helping you pull your suitcase out of the trunk.

"That's because you went to community college, honey." You chuckled at your moms observation and rolled your suitcase up to the sidewalk.

"Well I'll see you guys—" you started until your words were cut off by your mother slapping her hands down on your shoulders and giving you a firm look.

"I better not come visit you in a few months and see you with a purple Mohawk, piercings and a girlfriend, you hear me?" You nodded at her dramatic remarks and felt yourself internally cringe at her words.

"Hopefully we come back to you with a kind little boyfriend and a college degree we can show off to the rest of the family." Your father said, wrapping his arm around his wife's shoulders and gave you a tight lipped smile.

"Call us when you get settled and show us your roommate."

"And if they're anything we told you to not look like or if they smoke, drink or are sexually active in public, please change roommates."

They listed off, you internally rolled your eyes but still managed to give them a nod.

"Okay, I get it. Bye." You waved them off and stayed on the sidewalk till their old beat up grey car pulled away from the university.

Sighing, you rolled your shoulders back, grabbed all your things and walked the 10 minutes all the way to your side of the dorms. Personally, you had no clue who your roommate was besides their name but you knew even if you got a wild one you wouldn't change rooms. It didn't matter to you wether or not your roommate had purple hair, while your parents and nearly everyone in life tended to stick their nose in the business of others, you had no care in the world about anybody else.

From the moment you stepped into your new room, your nostrils were immediately being wrapped in by the smell of vanilla and incense. You looked around the room and noticed that only half of it was done up while the other was plain and void of any decoration.

"Hello, who are you?" A soft voice asked politely and there in front of you stood one of the prettiest girls you'd ever seen. She was a short young woman with long, disheveled shoulder-length black hair, a Greek nose and relaxed dark eyes.

"Oh sorry! I'm your new roommate, you're Pieck Finger, right?" You greeted her, shaking her surprisingly soft hands and placing your bags down on the floor next to you.

"Sorry about the smell, I'm lighting some incense to cleanse the new room. I just got here last night."

"Mhm, are you religious?" You asked, pointing to the black leather notebook in her hand. She looked down at it but smiled and shook her head.

"Ah no, I'm Agnostic. Although my childhood friend practices Hinduism and I guess I pick up on some things." She explained, you nodded at her words and made a mental note to ask her what the hell agnostic meant at a later time. Her eyes went down to the bags in your hand and reached out to grab your suitcase.

"Here I got this, I'll put this on your side of the bed and let me know if I can help with setting anything up." She offered kindly, you nodded at her offer and the two of you immediately got to work.

As you folded your clothes into a drawer and hung them up in a closet and Pieck finished wrapping your bed in it's covers and blankets, the two of you talked. Talked as if you'd been friends since birth. Pieck felt like someone you could truly se yourself being friends with in the long run of college, she was also someone your parents would most likely accept and allow you to stay with. The two of you bonded over certain interests, Pieck had a knack for writing — poems, full books, it didn't matter; you were the artistic one. Always doodling on something or recreating famous art paintings in your room, usually religious paintings as your parents always told you that if you were going to have painting as a hobby you might as well paint something useful.

"Finally, we're done." You sighed, exhaustedly throwing yourself onto the newly made bed. Pieck chuckled and stood up, grabbing her belongings and putting them into a small book bag.

"Hey, me and my friends are meeting in the library later, would you like to come?" She asked, you mulled over the idea for a quick second and nodded your head.

The walk from your dorm and the library gave you and Pieck even more time to get to know each other. She explained how most people from her old high school had come to the nearest college, it being this one which is why she never worried about not making any friends. Your eyes nearly popped out of your eye socket as you stepped up to the large library building, it being much bigger than any library your town had to offer. Pieck held the door open for you as you stepped in and took a moment to admire the large area.

"Psst, Pieck!" Whispered a voice, you looked over to see a brown haired woman in big round glasses waving the two of you over with a wide grin on her face. Pieck waved back and walked over the round table with the two other people sitting and you following behind her.

"Hey guys, this is my new roommate. This is—"

"Hange Zoë, nice to meet you!" The glasses wearing woman exclaimed excitedly taking your hand in her and shaking it vigorously. A nearby librarian glared her way and hushed her, she smiled and apologized to the old woman.

"I'm Porco." Replied the blonde boy on the other side of the table dryly.

You waved at him awkwardly and sat down next to Pieck, yet it was only after they began pulling out their books did you realize you had nothing with you. Tapping the dark haired girl on the shoulder, you motioned towards the bookshelf's and stood up to leave once Pieck nodded her head.

You walked around aimlessly with no true destination or book in mind till you came across a bookshelf, this one different than the others and tucked away in a little corner. It was old and basic but it still had integrity. The wood was straight and it hugged the wall. On closer inspection you could see scratches, the wood a little more pale where it had been dinged. You touched the roughness, not minding one bit and looked at the books inside. The fiction section had always been your favorite growing up, your parents believed books like Harry Potter were some sort of books that demonic and plaguing words hidden within them so you only ever grew up reading them in short amounts of time in the library before they could find you.

A small gasp made its way up your throat as your eyes landed across a book titled Alice in Wonderland, one of your top favorites. The ladder that usually came along with each bookshelf was currently being occupied yet this specific bookshelf seemed to take up nearly the entire wall of the library — this might've been one of the first things you couldn't successfully grab with ease. You reached your hand up to grab the book, your fingertips only slightly touching them before the book suddenly disappeared from your grasp and a warm presence creeped up behind you, towering over your frame.

Looking up, your eyes met a pair deep dark eyes staring down at you, the book now forgotten in your mind as it was now clouded with the face of the person in front of you. It was only after a couple seconds that you blinked out of your trance and stepped back, falling straight between the bookshelf and the person. You felt...intimidated. The person in front of you was more than taller than you, a height you thought was nearly impossible. They tilted their head to the side, bent down a bit and held the book out in their hand as your eyes stayed trained on theirs.

"Do you want it?" They asked, you nearly jumped in your skin at the sound of their somewhat deep voice.

"Huh?"

"The book." You looked down and finally registered the fact that they'd picked up the book you were grabbing at and now held it out to  you.

"O-oh right, thank you." You stuttered, mentally cursing yourself for acting this way. While your eyes strayed away from theirs, they went downward to the person's appearance.

They wore a dark green turtleneck sweater paired with high waisted black pants, accentuating their long legs and black lace up Oxford shoes — their entire appearance intimidated you. The center of their nose pierced through with silver piece of jewelry.

"I..." you regretted opening your mouth the second the words came out, "gotta go," the words spilled out of your mouth as you immediately walked around them and towards your table, the interaction still replaying in your head on loop. It wasn't until you rapidly sat yourself down next to Pieck that you felt like you could breath.

You weren't the most social person in the world but you also weren't the most nervous, but they...their presence, their height, the look in their eyes, it all seemed to send you into frenzy. Ignoring the slightly worried look you got from Pieck, you open the notebook given to you and tried to let the interaction seep away into your memories. Yet it didn't work. Every word on the paper seemed to fly over your head, your mind never sticking to the sentences given to you. Hell, you could barley read about Alice's shitty life without comparing it to what had just occurred. It was all too fresh. Too new. Too...interesting.

"Mornin' Pieck." Greeted a deep voice from behind you, turning around you were faced with a tall blonde haired man with small circle glasses resting on his nose.

"Good mornin, Zeke." Pieck responded kindly, the man looked around the table greeting everyone till his eyes met yours.

"I don't think I've met you before, and who must you be?" He bowed down respectfully and held out his hand, you looked at it confused for a second before sliding your hand into his and watching as he leaned his head down to plant a kiss at the back of your hand.

Before you could protest, a different hand gripped Zeke's shoulder, he pulled away and turned around to find his female companion standing above him with a blank expression on her face — one he'd gotten used to over the course of their friendship. Meanwhile your breath was caught in your throat at the sight of the intimidating person you'd met only moments before.

"Your book, Zeke." They said plainly, Zeke pulled away from you and took the textbook of their hands, thanking them and skimming through the textbook as both of your eyes never left theirs.

"Good morning, Yelena." Pieck greeted her with a smile, finally, Yelena's eyes drifted away from yours and were now on Pieck, the sides of her lips quirking up into a smirk for a second.

"Good morning, Pieck." Your eyes went back and forth between them in confusion until another person popped up behind Zeke.

"Hey guys, hey hange, Pieck." The dark haired man bun wearing boy said, leaning his arm against Zeke's shoulder despite them being the same height.

"Guess I'm just invisible then" spoke up Porco with an offended look on his face, the dark haired boy simply looked at him and blinked.

"Oh no I knew you were there, I just don't care. Anyways, are you guys coming to my big party tonight?" He asked excitedly, Zeke scoffed and pushed his glasses further up his face.

"Tch, we're not children, Eren. Why would we go to some teenage party?" Eren scoffed at the blonde mans response.

"Yeah obviously not you, old man, you're fucking ancient. I was talking to Pieck and..." he looked at you with a confused expression before shrugging and pointing at you, "and her."

"I'm not even that old—"

"Sorry, Eren but you already know my answer." She apologized, Eren pouted and groaned.

"Oh come on, please, Pieck? The last time you went everybody loved you, please?" He begged Pieck, placing his hands on her arm that was leaned against the wooden chair she sat at.

"Aw sorry, kid. I love them all too but I gotta tutoring session today." She apologized sympathetically, patting the boys head and turning to you, "what about you?"

You jumped at the sudden spotlight on you but shook your head regardless, "If Pieck's not going then neither am I." Eren groaned again and tried puppy dog eyes on the long haired woman in front of him.

"Look Pieck, you're deriving your new friend here with the experience of a fun college party." She smiled at his explanation which apparently told Eren enough that he stopped bugging her and stood up to his full height, slamming his shoulder into Zeke's as he walked away and mumbled something under his breath. Zeke almost turned around to go after him until Yelena outstretched her arm to stop him.

"He's a child." She pointed out

"He's a little shit, is what he is." Zeke complained, you looked over at Hange for information.

"They're brothers." She stated, your mouth made an o shape as you finally came to understand why the two seemed to have so much beef between them.

"Half brothers, Hange. Don't associate me with that brat." Zeke huffed, everyone chuckling at the mans clear discomfort with him and Eren being in the same room let alone sentence. "Anyways, we've gotta go, me and Yelena have business to take care of." Zeke said.

"Jeez, you make it sound like the two of you are hooking up." Porco mentioned with a disgusted look on his face,

"What if we are?" He joked playfully until he looked up to see Yelena towering over him with a straight look on her face, Zeke cleared his throat and shook his head, "Kidding, kidding."

The two of them walked out of the library and the three other people at your table continued on their reading while your mind was racked with a bunch of questions of the new characters you just met. You tried to avoid eye contact with Yelena when she was leaving but could still feel her piercing gaze stay onto you until she couldn't anymore.

"So are they?" You inquired with a whisper, leaning over Pieck's shoulder

"Are they what?"

"Zeke and Yelena. Are they..." you raised your eyebrows as the words clicked in Pieck's mind and the other two at the table began laughing into their books.

"No, sweetie, they're not sleeping together or dating." She denied

"Pfft, the day we see Yelena with a man is the day pigs fly." Chuckled Porco, you looked at them confused at their jokes.

"Yelena's a lesbian, babe." Pieck finished your thought and your eyes slightly widened at her response, not expecting it. Embarrassment silently creeped into your mind as you groaned and tucked your head into your arms.

"Well now I feel stupid." The three of them laughed and Pieck rubbed your back.

For some reason, those words felt like a small weight lifted off your shoulders. You couldn't understand why you felt so...happy that she wasn't with Zeke in that way. Maybe you just wanted to her friend. Yeah....that had to be it....her friend.

[mini-moongi]

My Lover, Love Letter || kth.

Genre: angst, fluff, pining?? unrequited love for a hot sec? EXTRA cheesy 

Summary: Being in love isn’t supposed to hurt so much, but you’d sooner roll over dead than confess to him. Your best friend. After a particularly rough break up, you decide to send Taehyung some additional love via love letters. What you weren’t expecting, however, was a letter back.

A/N: Not entirely proof read, so please excuse any inconsistencies lol

─────── ☽. ✧₊∘ ───────

“I just don’t know,” Taehyung sighs as he grabs his shoes from the company’s designated drawers. His name that’s scribbled onto a label is faded and worn, but he pays no mind as he slips his sneakers on. Frustration eats away at him, silently beckoning him closer. “How did I not see it coming? I’m so stupid like how could I not have seen--”

“--I don’t think anyone would’ve seen it coming.” Your voice lays low, uncertainty and concern bubbling up. “And I know what you’re thinking: No, this isn’t your fault. She cheated on you, and you’re doing the right thing, okay?” 

Taehyung doesn’t look at you like you so desperately wished he would, but what else could you do? What else could you say? “...You’re just saying that because you’re my best friend.”

“Yeah, your best friend who knows that you deserve better. Besides,” you smile,” there’s plenty of other fish in the sea.” and oh how you wish you were a fish.

That night, your mind wandered to Taehyung’s predicament. He’s been your best friend for years and years on end, but along the lines somewhere, you’ve started to feel a little bit more than “just a friend.” It’s an ongoing pain, and you’ve known that for a while now. A breathy sigh escapes your lips as you glance down at your notebook. Minutes go by of you staring at nonsensical scribbles of lyrics and poems, ones you’ve written throughout the day. That’s it. 

The next day you get to the recording studio a bit early, early enough that there’s no one else in sight and no one to see you with a crisp white envelope. Your footsteps echo throughout the empty hallway, and with each passing second, you become uneasier and uneasier. Is this a bad idea? Is it too much? What if he finds out? Will he find out?

You’ve been standing in front of his drawer for the past five minutes contemplating. It stares back at you the same way it did last night, piercing through your soul and convincing you to step closer. If anything, you’re doing this to be a good friend, right? Before you can mull over it any longer, you hear chatter at the end of the hall. You can’t even convince yourself that it’s a horrible idea anymore when you slip the note in and hurry off inside the studio. Minutes later, Namjoon walks in with Jungkook.

“Oh!” Namjoon breaks out into a small smile,” You startled me, y/n. What are you doing here so early?”

The question catches you off guard and has you scrambling for an excuse. “I uh… I couldn’t sleep? I have a lot on my mind, I guess.” You shrug and spin around in an office chair. You didn’t like the fact that you just lied to Namjoon, but it wasn’t necessarily a lie. It just… wasn’t the whole truth. “I got us coffee?”

Jungkook and Namjoon don’t catch on to your jittery attitude, too excited by the fact that you bought them drinks. They mumble out their thank-yous and go off on their way. They’ve been working on Jungkook’s new single, so it’s not that big of a surprise that they’re also here early. It’s the fact that usually you’re never here early, and it irks you every time they look your way.

A heavy pair of footsteps trudge through the hallway, and your breath catches in your throat. This is it, the moment of truth. You hurriedly get up to greet taehyung outside. For a moment you catch yourself; you’re like an overly excited puppy greeting their owner, it isn’t too obvious, right? Nevertheless, Taehyung didn’t seem to mind too much when you said hello. He slips his shoes off and opens the drawer.

He sees the letter.

You watch as his eyebrow quirks up a little and how he gingerly picks it up out of his box. “I didn’t know we get mail in our cubbies now.” He jokes halfheartedly. When he looks at you, you shrug and look as shocked as he is.

“Does it say who it’s from?” You ask aloud. Your heart pounds so loud in your ribcage you wonder if he can hear it too.

Taehyung turns the envelope over to examine the front and back. It’s a simple white envelope with a red heart sticker sealing it shut. “...It doesn’t. Huh,” he ponders,” that’s weird.”

You wander back to your desk, but you can see him holding the letter in his hands out of the corner of your eyes. He follows you, and to be quite honest, you feel like you're going to shit your pants. You’ve never done this before, and rightfully so, but you really wish he wouldn’t try to read it in front of you. He opens it carefully, his fingers slipping between the lid of the envelope and pulling out the letter you wrote. You swallow thickly,”....what does it say?”

He’s silent for a while, eyebrows furrowed and focused on the tiny piece of paper in front of him. His deep voice reads,

“Dear Taehyung,

   I hope this letter finds you well. I’m scared, terrified even, as I write this. I heard that you were going through a rough time, and I thought to myself: it’s now or never, you know? I want you to know that I’m cheering for you! 

  You may not realize it now, but I promise you, good things are waiting for you. It’s not going to be easy, I know from personal experience that love hurts, but it’ll be okay :) I really like you, Kim Taehyung, so please cheer up! Your smile is really cute!! (´,,•ω•,,)♡

Love,

        :) “

As per the singular acting class you took, you widen your eyes and pretend to be shocked. You gasp,” Taehyung, I think that’s a love letter?”

“...yeah?” He nods. Suddenly his throat is very dry, despite being very hydrated seconds ago. A smile crept up onto his lips as he gazes at the handwritten note. “Yeah, I think it is.”

The next couple of times were just small sticky notes all signed with a smiley face; encouraging words to give him some extra love. And it works. He’s happier when he reads them, and you’re happy when you write them. 

The next time you give him a major note is on a whim. Written at 3 in the morning, where loneliness is felt and feelings are emptied out onto a page. You don’t even remember sealing it or sneaking out to slip it into his drawer for him to find. Eventually, the morning sun shines in your eyes, and your alarm is too loud for your liking. Grogginess envelopes you and pushes you out of bed, yelling at you to start your day, but five more minutes couldn’t hurt...

Taehyung’s contact buzzes on your phone, making your device shine brighter than it needs to be at this hour. You squint at the harsh light and unlock it.

Tae: ajsdjsjfdsljds

Tae: there’s another one

You: another what

Tae: Letter!!!!

You immediately sit upright in your bed. Wait, you actually went out last night? You look around frantically, trying to somehow prove to yourself that you didn’t. The jacket laying in the corner of your room taunts you: you did it again.

Hastily, you scramble out of bed. You’re wide awake now, eyes wide and crusty. You rack your brain for an appropriate response because leaving your best friend on read might be a little suspicious.

You: omggg

You: what does it say this time :0

You’re a little nauseous waiting for his response, but you throw on clothes and hope that you didn’t reveal too much about yourself.

Tae: “i miss you. i wish you’d look at me the same way i see you. Like my favorite color, or my favorite sweater, it’s always been you. You’re my favorite, but am i yours?”

Tae: they say other stuff too but that one hit deep yknow

It’s hitting you like an 18-wheeler, and everything you wrote comes back to you in waves. ugh, emo hours are meant to stay in 3 am, not shared with your crush via secret love letter.

You: woah that does hit different

You walk into the studio that day a little bit more paranoid than usual. Taehyung greets you, already starting his day with a smile stuck to his face. It’s softer today, one that comes with a huge sigh and big brain thoughts. You already know he’s going to ask you a question; which kind however is what you dreaded.

“Hey,” he starts off slow and unsure. A beat goes by, and he continues,” is it stupid to fall for my secret admirer?” The question comes out, loud and clear. You feel the wind is knocked out of your stomach, or is it your gut? You stare at Taehyung in shock; he’s in love with you? Well, obviously, he doesn’t know it’s you, but still--

You choke on the water you’re sipping and turn to face him. “You’re in love with.... the writer?” You’re trying really hard not to tremble in surprise, and he buys it.

“Yeah, I just wish I knew who they were..”

“--Woah, hold on,” you’ve officially thrown yourself into the deep end. “What if it’s someone you know? You could be crossing some sort of line here buddy.” You didn’t anticipate Taehyung falling for your love letters, so for him to now start reciprocating was a bit much. You had gotten comfy in the unrequited love section, and to ruin your friendship like this was going to be one hell of a rollercoaster. 

“Ugh,” he grumbles. He drapes himself on an adjacent office chair and twirls around dramatically. “You’re right, but maybe things will change? All I know is that this person is writing me enough love letters to actually be my lover.

“and not to mention the fact that I love handwritten notes? Like come on, y/n,” He gives you a lopsided grin that makes you fall for him a little too much. “You know I’m a sucker for this crap. Whoever this is should just marry me right now. I’m ready to be an old fashioned, romantic poet writing, sonnet sweetheart for you darling!” He calls out to the open air.

You chuckle at this, a prime example of why you love Taehyung. His hair falls a little on the sides of his face as his shoulders shake in laughter. Your face is starting to feel warm, but you pay no attention to it. “Oh yeah, that’s totally gonna get them to reveal themselves.”

The next time you go to deliver him a letter, you find that there is already a sealed envelope in his drawer. Carefully, you pick up the letter with a wax seal holding it closed. To my Lover, it reads on the top left corner in Taehyung’s handwriting. A short barely-there laugh breathes out of your nose, and a smile finds its way to you. Of course he’d do something like this; something so out of the blue and unnecessary, yet so thoughtful and sweet.

You slip in your letter in exchange for his, and gingerly put it in your backpack to read later in the confines of your home. 

[ ---I can’t sleep because I lie awake and think about you, did you know that? You could be anyone: my boss, the intern, the librarian, or even my best friend, and I’d still have no clue. Is our relationship really so fragile that we can’t meet in person? Or maybe, we always do? 

Have you listened to my friend’s new single? It’s called “Still with You.” Please think of me when you hear it. “When will it be when I get to see you face to face? I’ll look you in the eye and say I missed you.”--- ] 

It’s a small excerpt compared to the rest of the letter he’s written for you, but you can feel your heart beat faster in your chest. You find that your hands have already started writing a response. 

A month goes by since you’ve started exchanging letters with Taehyung in secret, but today shit hits the fan. “y/n?”

You’re in your kitchen fixing up some snacks for movie night when Taehyung calls out to you. “yeah?” you respond.

“Why do you have this?” He comes around the corner, holding up a letter that was once sealed with a wax stamp. You freeze. 

“--Why the fuck do you have all of my letters?” At this point he’s face to face with you, a pain etched into the soft features that silently cry out. You’re silent, the pop tarts in the toaster long forgotten.

Your eyes paint him like a movie; a film that you’d never get to see again. Everything is blurry except for the old letter and tears that fall to the ground. Love hurts, but never this much before. You clutch your chest— lungs aching for the sweet relief of fresh air. “Taehyung, I didn’t... It’s not—“

“Is this some kind of sick, twisted joke to you?” His voice reverberates in the kitchen. Dark, deep, bitter, like the coffee you used to drink. “I don’t need you to play pretend anymore; you can drop the act. I don’t want empty love letters filled with shit if it’s all fake anyways.”

Those words cling to you and rip through old scars. He’s leaving you with open wounds, bleeding out painfully slow. It’s not shit, it’s your feelings. You poured your heart into that! If any song could play right now, it’d be,” All I Ask by Adele.”

“...what?” He stops in the doorway, having heard a faint whisper fall from your lips. Had it been a nasty remark, he was ready to spit one back at you. But it wasn’t. He didn’t catch what you said, but he knows it wasn’t an insult.

You couldn’t have with the way you’re clutching the empty pop tart wrapper for dear life, looking so empty and lost and alone on the tile floor. An empty shell: nothing more than a vessel staring at him, soaking in his every detail as if it’s the last time you two will meet. Hurt and betrayal replays in his head, so no matter how much he wants to stay, Taehyung steps out the door.

You couldn’t bring yourself to write letters for a while. You wished so desperately to tell him that the letters were genuine: you loved him. You still do. There are so many things you want to say, but none of the poems or essays you’ve written were strung together correctly. They just didn’t convey your feelings the way you want them to: the pain, the regret, the love, it wasn’t good enough.

After many sleepless nights and a few phone call confessions with Namjoon, your last letter was written. The cute stationary you’d use reminded you of every other letter, but this will be the last one. Promise.

[—“if this is my last night with you, hold me like I’m more than just a friend... because what if I never love again?”—]

[—All I Ask by Adele played in my head when you left, like a soundtrack in a movie. Everything I’ve written to you is true; please forgive me for falling in love with my best friend.—]

That night it rained. How fitting, you think to yourself. The weight from the grocery bags pile softly to the floor, the annoying crinkle rustling from the plastic. You peel the wet jacket off of your shoulders, hanging them up to dry while you put away the food. Thunder rolls in from the distance, pellets of rain tapping on your window. You don’t bother with music or tv, the silence thick and heavy as you busy yourself in the kitchen.

A knock sweeps you out of the dull lullaby of chores and rain. You move to open your door, and the next thing you know, a pair of arms embrace your still figure. All at once the sweet scent of cologne and honey clouds your senses, a familiar sedation too powerful alone. He holds you closer to his body. The physical touch makes you crave more, leaning in to relish in as much of it as you can.

He releases his hold a little, much to your dismay, and your eyes catch his restless ones. They flutter shut, and Taehyung’s forehead touches yours. His hot breath tickles your lips, shaky but inviting all the while. “...I missed you, so much.”

Is this what it feels like to be held like a lover? Embraced so tenderly and gently, fingertips tracing along your jawline. He pours his love onto you like the rain outside, and the kiss he gives sparks like a strike of lightning.

You wonder how you could’ve been content with unrequited love when this was on the other end? Seeking mutual forgiveness, making up for guilt with praises and promises? You know from personal experience that love hurts, but now, you’re ready to learn how love heals.

─────── ☽. ✧₊∘ ───────

A/N: This originally was supposed to have a sad ending but I couldn’t bring myself to...... I had to be cliché, it’s my drug 😔mayhaps I’ll make an angst fic someday,,