#endless cycle of reporting and blocking
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me after reporting and blocking the 3rd pornbot of the day:
#i wake up i block one#its lunch i block one#its bed time block another#endless cycle of reporting and blocking#i should be getting paid
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Why can't I just turn off the ability to be followed? I'll suffer the lose
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WHAT WOULD YOU DO?
You and Suguru are roomates in this.
He hates this side of you. He hates everything about this side of you. If there was some form of higher power, he's begging them to tell him why, why out of everything he had to go through in his painful life, did he have to deal with this? All he's ever wanted was to be yours. He wants to be yours and he wants you to feel the same way for him, and he thought he was so fucking close.
You two sleep in the same house, you both do domestic chores together and he felt like you two were really beginning to bond after an entire year of living under the same roof. All of those years of stalking your everyday life after work, finding out your morning and night routines, memorizing your habits and hobbies, all of this just for you to give your full attention to a male human that knew nothing of your existence?
He can't say it out loud or his heart will stop, but you say that you love him. But he knows that look in your eyes. He's been giving it to you for years. You don't love him. You have a borderline unhealthy obsession with this animal. Every inch of his body is lit on fire whenever you mention him, knowing that he will never be able to have a chance due to your deranged fantasies of another he doesn't even consider to be anywhere near worthy enough for you to even lay your beautiful eyes on.
Why can't you see he's so much better?
He can't even distract himself on his phone right now. As much as he wants to block out your useless blabbing about him, he can't go two minutes without hearing your voice in general. It's an endless painful cycle.
As you're making dinner, cutting the potatoes in bite-sized pieces, Suguru wraps his arms around your midsection and peeks over your shoulder at the cutting board. Maybe he can distract you. "I can take over if you're tired," The vibrations from his chest reach your back and you hum, lost in thought. "No....I need to perfect this meat pie." His frown only deepens at what it implies and your smile only grows.
"Can you taste test this when it's done? I need about fifteen more minutes to-"
"Y/n, he doesn't even know you."
Your smile completely vanishes at his words and he lets go when you turn around, clenching the kitchen knife in your hand tighter. "Suguru, you know what this means to me. I know what he wants. And if I have to-"
"Don't. Just don't finish that sentence. Please." He slowly takes the knife from your hands and sets it on the counter behind you, stepping closer to you, looking deep into your eyes, hoping to find you in there somewhere. Because you've been drifting away from him for far too long.
"Y/n," His cold finger brushes so softly against the fat of your cheek and you're clearly jittery at the sensitive topic he just brough up. "You have to let him go." You already started shaking your head, knowing he was going to spew some nonsense. You turn your head to the pre-heated oven and he brings your face back to look at his own.
"Look at how you're acting. You haven't met this guy not even one time and you're attempting to perfect your cooking for him as if he would even be willing to try it from a stranger who's obsessed with him. He wouldn't like it. You wouldn't like it."
"I know how to act normal." You defend yourself, but it sounds more like you're attempting to convince yourself that you have a possibility with this man. Suguru begins to get annoyed at your defiance and doesn't know whether to just try and shove it into your head or try the softer way. Either way, you have to stop going after him. Or at least see that he's a better option.
"I know how to be normal. I've been practicing what I've been saying to him for a while now, and I'm pretty sure I got it down now. A-and I've been sending him gifts and letters and stuff and he hasn't reported me or anything. He never posted anything on any of his socials about the stuff I sent, so I think he thinks it's fine. His friends haven't said anything on their accounts either, so I think it's okay for me to keep trying. I'm close enough to his type of girl and I know the stuff he likes to do for fun, and what-"
The amount of energy and restraint he had to not just kill everyone within a 3 mile radius is something he didn't know he was capable of having in the first place. You reminded him too much of himself. Too much of how he already is with you. And if you were anywhere near like how he is with you and it's all directed towards that thing, he'd be sure to top your crazy pretty soon. And if he was anywhere near your type of crazy, he'd be in the right mind to erase that fool off of the face of the earth to get you to finally pay attention to him.
He deserves everything that animal has. And it's you. He has you wrapped around his finger and he doesn't know and it makes Suguru's blood boil with every second he acknowledges it. He will be dealt with accordingly.
#yandere#jjk#yandere x reader#reader#yandere x you#yandere character#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#yandere jjk#yandere suguru geto#yandere geto[#geto x reader#suguru x reader#suguru geto x reader#jjk suguru geto#jjk geto#jujutsu kaisen suguru#jujutsu geto
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breaking news. you don't die once you turn 20.
once you become an adult it's not just work, loans, a family.
becoming an adult doesn't mean the world turns grey and life becomes an endless cycle of duties and responsibilities.
being an adult also means having fun, having passions, having hobbies, enjoy stuff. i know adults that are more lively than teens.
so please can we just stop pointing our fingers to other people and judging them for what they like? bullying them for being adults with passions?
i am an adult, and i like a tv show whose characters are teenagers. this doesn't mean i support peodophilia, the sexualization of minors or any other thing that harms minors, because again, breaking news! i've been a minor myself! and as if it couldn't be any worse, i've been a minor on this website, which was probably one of less minor-friendly place in the universe.
if any of you is a minor and doesn't like what they're seeing, because it makes you uncomfortable, please block and report. add to your bio you do not want adults to interact.
if you're an adult, and you want to post something that can be triggering, use the "for mature audience only" tumblr feature, and you can also mark your blog as 18+ on the tumblr settings. also, if you don't want minors to interact, just add it to your bio.
edit: another measure is that, if you get an anon hate ask you can block the sender. don't click on reply, but on the three dots on top of the ask.
it's really that easy to keep a place safe and friendly.
yes there are nasty adults that do awful things and those i condemn, don't get me wrong.
just remember, that growing up doesn't mean killing the kid that's inside each one of us. in fact, if we do, what kind of adults are we going to be? lacking of joy, a dead body, shadow of what we could be.
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Every frickin time i go on tumblr i need to do the endless cycle of Block and report of those stupid porn bots.
I’m ACE!
Your foul tricks do not work on me!
Leave me ALONE!
+ A protip for new users:
Please name your blogs! You could be mistaken for bots without a title and you could be blocked and reported!
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a crusty old sea captain, abandoned by their crew long ago due to their ever-increasingly reckless decisions, has been out at sea on their own for countless months, searching, but they know not of what... "hark! what be that just ahead? ahh... alas,, is not but another Siren , Witch of the Sea. their numbers be growin' ever stronger, singin out to me , but I will never bend to them." they avert their gaze from the siren and sail on, focused on the darkening horizon.
the ship charging ever on, ever on through clear sky and storm alike,.. they approach another outcropping of land, and they know what to expect. "ah, ahead, there be five Sirens this time..." the captain begins changing course , but as the ship sails past the group of bewitching women, one stands out amongst the others... something is different about her... under their breath, the captain mutters, "by the gods... could it be...?"
one of the women, fully clothed , calls out to the captain, not in song but with a voice full of painful desperation, rising above the others, "please, help me!" the salty captain wheels the ship around, careful to approach steady , they throw a rope ladder over the side of the ship, and pull the woman to safety.
///
a short story i wrote because the endless cycle of report, block, repeat for the porn botties has me going insane and i've never felt such true euphoria over a new follower before
anyway, thanks for climbing aboard @phobossaccountant !
#im sorry about the stickers#i was cropping the pic and saw my phone's editor had a bunch of sticker options#i dont think it came out quite how i pictured it but it took like 20 minutes so i'll be damned if im not posting it anyway
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All the dnitwt losers getting pictures, and smiletwt is overreacting because that’s what they want - to claim the are being harassed by the girl who got hasan in her replies defending her for switching up as if she wasn’t the freak he was calling out when he defended Dream 💀 like fr how pathetic can you be to half your tweets hating these people and meet them just to piss people off. The Midas freak says they will try to meet dre so 🤷♀️ please can they back to blocking and ignoring (and reporting if possible)
it's whatever it's an endless cycle it's always gonna happen like this 
#like i cant bring myself to care anymore tbt like they should all kts but me personally im having a fucking ball rn#and dream is the happiest hes ever been which is more important than any twitter drama#ask
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Fast Lean Pro Review - Weight Loss Supplement
Fast Lean Pro Eating junk food actually helps fat loss by keeping your hormones sharp. While there is no doubt that there is a point of diminishing returns, if you have your diet and Fast Lean Pro supplementation in place, the chances of hitting cardio too hard are very low! Overspeed training teaches your body to move at speeds faster than you're used to. Fast Lean Pro Even though you might not want to be that big, you can add shape fast by focusing your workouts and nutrition in the right way, for body design rather than bodybuilding.
These foods are rich in minerals, vitamins and anti-oxidants that can truly help you build muscles. So if you increase your protein with lean meats like organic chicken and wild caught fish this will help you lose belly fat. They only things your missing out on versus the gym is waiting your turn to use the free weights or following up behind some sweaty person who has been coughing and sneezing putting you at risk of getting sick. These Fast Lean Pro essentials become even more vital when you go sailboat cruising offshore.
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They Fast Lean Pro were fun to use but let's face it, with the rudimentary graphics and low resolution cockpit interiors, you were never going to believe that you were really flying. In warm or cold weather, go with the modern microfiber synthetics for superior comfort beneath your foulies. You will find so many trainings and exercises accessible in order for you to develop muscle, lose fat and look fantastic.
Open Fast Lean Pro source programming sounds like a recipe for disaster, too many cooks and all that, but if fact it works remarkably well. Maybe you want your body to look better so you can have more dates, or maybe you just want to develop your self-esteem. Another cool thing about ECA's is that they are great pre-workout stimulants. I Fast Lean Pro have always kept myself in pretty descent shape.
Fast Lean Pro Unless you sail all the time, your hands will not be used to handling the sailing ropes of synthetic material common on sailing yachts. Back leg/free-hand motion - Work to make sure you're firing your back leg and free hand forward as your first movement when you're coming out of the Fast Lean Pro blocks. If your legs are vertical (i.e. perpendicular to the ground), when you start, your first movement is going to be to crouch down before you explode out of your stance.
Click Here For Visit Official Website – Order And Discounts
You will be glad to read that people who followed this diet have lost more than 20 pounds during their first 14 days of dieting. This problem with hair usually effects people with curly hair because they are already half way there. Low GI carbs being carbs low on the Fast Lean Pro. Let me say that once more: Focus NOT on Fast Lean Pro weight loss, but RATHER on gaining muscle.
A home gym is the answer and dumbells are an essential part of your home gym equipment. Even with all the bad things reported about using ephedrine-based Fast Lean Pro, they continue to reign in the Fast Lean Pro fat loss supplement world. By consuming at least 30 grams of fiber daily, you will feel fuller than you would by not eating the fiber. Steer clear of fatty foods as these will hide the abs you've worked so very hard to get. Fish, such as salmon, it is rich in Omega-3s, which is an Essential Fatty Acid.
These Fast Lean Pro create an endless "yo-yo" cycle where you lose some weight initially, then gain it all back (and more) once you stop doing the limited diet. Start training - As I said earlier, your start is extremely important. If you are serious about your health, fitness, and bodybuilding; then a bodybuilding Superfood diet must be part of your health and fitness plan.
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About
My name is Hope, ironically. I’m 24 and have suffered from BED and binge-restrict cycles since 2014, formally diagnosed in 2017. I’ve also been on and off ED tumblr since 2016. I’m a former nutrition & dietetics student and you’d think I would have a healthy relationship with food as a result... I don’t. Maybe someday, but I’ve relapsed once again, so here we are.
My last blog was silent-orchid. You might remember me for my “Your Favorite Th*nsp0 is Photoshopped” posts and attempts to combat the dangerous health/weight loss misinformation flooding ED tumblr. I got too much attention which ultimately led to people seeing and reporting me, so I got taken down. I’m just going to lay low this time around and keep to myself.
** I don’t post or reblog tsp0, this blog is purely for journaling, venting, and memes I find funny that help me cope.
DNI List
Minors: I know what it’s like to be 15 and addicted to ED tumblr, so please trust me when I say that all you’re gonna find here are unattainable beauty standards, dangerous misinformation regarding health and weight loss, an endless cycle feeling like you’ll never be good enough. I also know that nothing I say will prevent you from being here though, so I just ask that you don’t look at or interact with my blog. I’m not saying I’m okay with 18+ sufferers hanging out in this hellhole, but if I knew I influenced an impressionable minor in any way, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. I will not report you, but I will block you.
Racists, LGBT-phobes, cisphobes & heterophobes, misogynists, misandrists, TERFS, bodyshamers, any kind of bigot is not welcome here.
DD/LGs, MAPs, lolicons, or any other kind of pedophilic scum.
People who glorify/romanticize eating disorders or treat EDs like a diet or quirky personality trait rather than the mental anguish that they really are.
Anyone who thinks BED isn’t as serious as restrictive/purging EDs.
I’ll likely edit this post over time, but for now, that’s all. Feel free to follow or hit my DMs if you need someone to talk to.
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Chapter 5
The next two days blurred into a cycle of Chinese food, mind-numbing TV, sleeping late into the afternoon, followed by endless bouts of insomnia. Viola finally shut her eyes at around 4am, only to wake up with the bitter realization that she missed her alarm for college. With no desire to catch more Z’s, she stumbled down the stairs, rubbing profusely at her eyes. The naturally dark circles around her eyes were more pronounced, her head thumping from the lack of healthy food and water. The door to the communal sitting room was wide open, the TV on and displaying the morning’s news:
“The whereabouts of 19 year old Harlan Garnett are still known. She was reported missing by a family friend, who claimed she wasn’t at her home for a prior arrangement. CCTV picked up the teen’s last known whereabouts, where she is seen entering the XXTRA Fitness building with another female, emerging minutes later and driving off in an unknown vehicle.”
The screen transitioned to grainy CCTV footage of Harlan, flanked by a woman with fiery, red hair. The woman’s walk was clear and purposeful, Harlan’s lagging and somewhat hesitant. Viola silently noted that. The news anchor continued:
“In a written statement, the head Detective stated that the teen’s disappearance is being treated as suspicious. While information has yet to be discovered about the nature of this investigation, it is being treated with the highest sensitivity and priority. The statement concludes by encouraging the public to come forward and share any information regarding Harlan Garnett.”
A picture slowly emerged of Harlan, followed by the AnonymousTip helpline. Viola was transfixed on the picture: the deep brown hair, pale eyes, open-mouthed smile. The magnitude of this finally started to sink in. She could only describe the feeling as somewhat..cold. Cold clarity. It prompted her to check her phone. She sighed in frustration when she saw no new message from Gardner. She racked her brains on what to do, what her next move was. As with any GenZer, the main wealth of information is typically stored on an electronic device: phone, laptop, etc. In her house, of course, in St Pierre. With the entire day free due to missing college, she refused to sit and twiddle her thumbs.
Elaine, the staff member on duty, was at the kitchen table, typing furiously into her laptop. Muttering a quick greeting, Viola said she was off and made for the door before she could be quizzed on her absence from college.
Houses in St Pierre, while having individual doors, were bound under one roof. Rusting gates, drab walls and overgrown shrubbery completed the look. Viola passed Harlan’s house on her way to college, so it was relatively easy to find the door when the bus dropped her off minutes away. There was no police tape, but a lone police car had pulled up in the narrow driveway. As Viola made her way forward, a sullen policeman stepped in front of her. She cut in first.
“Hello. I’d like to speak to the lead detective, please.”
The policeman’s tall and broad structure blocked the view of the open door.. She could hear the shuffling of multiple people inside, and she caught a glimpse of a white suit and face mask.
“He’s at the police office.”
“And where would that be?”
He gestured vaguely in the opposite direction.
Viola blew out a frustrated breath.
“I suppose there’s no chance in letting me in?” Viola hated the wheedling tone in her voice, but she was desperate.
“Why would you need to do that?”
Viola thought fast. “Sleepover. Left some of my stuff there.”
“It’ll be returned to you after we’ve finished here. Bagged and tagged, of course. Now please, if you wouldn’t mind..” His gaze became hard.
She murmured a curt “thanks” and walked away, dejected. Without thinking, she was walking in the direction of her college. A thought was niggling in the back of her mind, and she had a feeling a certain classmate of hers might know what it was. It seemed like she’d be attending class today, after all.
#crime writing#crime writer#author#writers on tumblr#thriller#adventure#female writers#crime blog#crime#autistic character#black author#black female#black character#mystery#black female writers#psychological thriller#black female oc
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An Inuit hunter stands on the surface of an iceberg to assess the seascape in Qaanaaq, Greenland. The changing shape of Arctic sea ice will ultimately affect not only sea creatures, but humans who depend on the ice to survive. Photograph By Paul Nicklen, National Geographic Image Collection
Arctic Ice Is Getting Thinner By The Day—And Sea Life Is Suffering
A new study says the structural change has been abrupt, making life harder for everything from tiny algae to polar bears.
— By Cheryl Katz | March 15, 2023
In April 1895, when famed Norwegian explorer Fridjtof Nansen attempted to mush across the frozen Arctic Ocean to reach the North Pole, he was stopped by endless rows of sea ice ridges. “It was a veritable chaos of ice blocks, stretching as far as the horizon,” wrote Nansen in his expedition account, Farthest North. Dragging a sled over them was “enough to tire out giants.”
The gnarled ice-scape that thwarted Nansen is now largely a thing of the past, according to research reported in Nature on Wednesday. Arctic sea ice has undergone an abrupt, permanent, and consequential change in its structure—from thick and ridged to thin and flat. The shift occurred around 2007, when record-low summer ice cover triggered a feedback cycle of rising ocean heat and spiraling ice.
Now, when ice floes collide, the thinner sea ice is more prone to shatter from the pressure than build ridges—an accordion-like process by which ice thickens. The thin, flat ice also moves across the ocean more quickly, giving floes less time to grow, and making life harder for those who rely on them to survive.
“Sea ice is to the Arctic ecosystem what soil is for the forest,” says Flavio Lehner, a climate scientist at Cornell University and Polar Bears International. “Rapid changes like these will affect all sea ice-dependent fauna and flora, from tiny under-ice algae to top predators like polar bears.”
Thick Arctic ice at the North Pole. Photograph By Borge Ousland, National Geographic Image Collection
Ridges make Arctic sea ice thicker and sturdier. From above, they look “like Lego bricks in an elongated pile,” says Mats Granskog, part of the research team that has since 1990 been monitoring sea ice in the Fram Strait—the main gateway between the Arctic and Atlantic oceans. Thick, ridged ice like this has decreased by half since 2007, lead author Hiroshi Sumata and colleagues at the Norwegian Polar Institute report.
Thin Sea Ice. Photograph By Michael Melford, National Geographic Image Collection
Today’s Arctic sea ice is more likely to resemble a snow-covered parking lot than the chaotic ice blocks Nansen saw. Two years of tanking summer sea ice—in 2005 and 2007—exposed the dark ocean surface to more heat from the sun, further reducing sea ice and increasing heat in an ongoing cycle, says co-author Laura de Steur. The new study's findings are consistent with satellite observations and other research, says Julienne Stroeve, a sea ice remote sensing expert with the U.S. National Snow and Ice Data Center and the University of Manitoba.
Sea Ice Ridges. Photograph By Rudi Caeyers, UIT The Arctic University of Norway/Norwegian Polar Institute
Ridges form when floes bump against each other (called ridging), or one over another (called rafting). The pressure makes sections “deform” — thrusting blocks of ice up into chunky piles. This process is the fastest way for ice to thicken, Sumata says. However, thinner ice can’t produce such sizeable ridges, and is more fragile, likely to disintegrate when floes crash.
As with icebergs, 90 percent of an ice floe is below water. Ridges on the underside can stretch 60 feet deep, where they act as keels to help hold the ice in place and give it more time to grow. But the Transpolar Drift Stream—the powerful current Nansen discovered by deliberately freezing his ship into the ice—has sped up by more than a third since 2007, the researchers report. With smaller or absent keels, today's ice has less power to resist the forces pushing it across the Arctic and out into the warmer Atlantic, to melt. Consequently, the average lifespan for an ice floe has shortened by more than 1.5 years.
A Polar Bear Climbs Onto An Iceberg. Photograph By Keith Ladzinski, National Geographic Image Collection
Thinner, flatter, faster—the new ice regime could have profound impacts on the Arctic ecosystem. Polar bears, for instance, have to walk more quickly to stay close to good hunting areas as the drift speed increases. That makes them burn more energy on the “ice treadmill,” says John Whiteman, a biologist at Old Dominion University and Polar Bears International. But with the sea ice platform they hunt on shrinking, and the ice season shortening, the bears’ energy reserves are already stretched thin. Changing ice conditions also threaten ice-reliant mammals such as hooded seals and narwhals, as well as Indigenous communities across the Arctic that rely on ice-hunting for food.
Amphipods Swarming Under Arctic Sea Ice. Photograph By Paul Nicklen, National Geographic Image Collection
The underside of sea ice hosts a multitude of life, such as these amphipods. Loss of ice-bottom ridges could reduce habitat for these and other tiny organisms at the base of the ocean food web, with repercussions throughout the marine system. Thinner, flatter ice is also more vulnerable to destruction by Arctic cyclones, which are on the rise as the planet warms. The new ice regime could open the Arctic to ship traffic and invasive species. The full consequences remain to be seen. Meanwhile, Arctic water temperatures continue to climb. “Now we see it winter as well as summer,” says oceanographer de Steur, “making it even harder for the already thinner ice to survive.”
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Not going anywhere | Lucifer Morningstar x reader
Fandom: Lucifer
Request:” Hi i have request for you ,Lucifer and the reader have a big fight they are married, and this fight it's lucifer fault The reader leaves home and Lucifer decides to give her space After a few days, he goes to the reader and realizes that she has been missing for a few days,When the person behind all this claims that the reader is dead and gives them a her body . Everyone thinks that the reader is dead and Lucifer He gets depressed and thinks it's all his fault , and after a few days, the thieves release the singer and the reader goes to Lucifer.Lucifer first thinks it is an imagination and then apologizes to the reader Thank you so much”
Genre: Angst with happy ending
Warnings: kidnapping, death
~~~
Your intention had never been to start a fight. All you wanted an explanation (preferably one that also made sense) and an apology, but apparently that was too much to ask, because as soon as you voiced your opinion, Lucifer went up in flames
“Don’t start this again!”
“I dislike it just as much as you do but what I hate more is being cancelled on, AGAIN, through a text message no less!”
“It was an emergency!”
“It’s always an emergency Lucifer! It’s starting to sound a lot like work means more to you than I do!”
“The detective needs me, damn it!” your husband yelled
“And she has you! Every day of every week! All I ask for is one date night and for the past month you’ve done nothing but avoid committing to one or backing out at the last second! I’m tired of being your second choice Lucifer! I’m your wife and you are my husband, I love you to the ends of the world, I just wish you'd say no to Decker from time to time...”
“I’m saving people’s lives Y/N. So if you’re not on your deathbed, other people are and they need me now!” as he said this, Lucifer walked right past you and into your bedroom, seemingly ignorant to the painful words he’d just said. You looked around the living room, vision blurry with tears, your chest heavy with anger and disgust. You rushed towards the elevator.
“When you find time in your busy schedule and feel like being my spouse again, let me know!” the elevator door closed before Lucifer could say anything
~~~
When Lucifer woke up the next morning to a cold and empty bed, he didn’t think much of it.Truthfully, he was still kind of pissed at the attitude you had given him a day before, so he got dressed as usual and went to the precinct, assuming you’ll be home by nightfall.
Except when he got home that night, he stopped by Lux first, which ended up like it always does: with him sucked into an endless cycle of booze and dancing, that lasted until well into the night. When he did enter the penthouse eventually, he found it empty. Exactly the way he had left it in the morning. Even the tie he had left on the floor, after deciding last minute that it didn’t go with his suit, was untouched. Now this was curious, but still, Lucifer felt like you must be playing hard to get. He sent you one text message, before going to bed
“Call me when you can!”
The day after that, he figured his part was done! By reaching out first, he had already made a big compromise, so now it was your turn! To reach out, come home! But that didn’t happen that day, or the day after that.
Three days after the text message,Lucifer was getting worried. He was looking at his phone every other minute. Always making sure he hadn’t accidently put it on silent or missed any texts. He sent more messages, telling you he was sorry and that he wanted you to come home. That he would listen and spend more time with you, promising luxurious dates and weekend trips, if only you forgave him. You didn’t even open the messages.
“Lucifer are you listening?” Decker was insanely annoyed at her partner’s lack of concentration
“Sorry detective. I’ve...I’ve got a lot on my mind”
“Well, better get it out of the way now, so that we can move on to our case!” she said, cleaning out her desk quickly, before resting back into her chair “Talk to me!”
“It’s Y/N. I’m worried about her!”
“Why?”
“We...had a fight a couple days ago and she left. She hasn’t come back since”
“Have you heard from her at all?”
“No…” Lucifer said, embarrassed at his own lack of care for you. He should have called you earlier, reached out more! He should have tried harder!
“How long had she been missing for?”
“4...maybe 5 days…”
“Lucifer, are you sane? And you’re only telling me now?!” Chloe jumped from her seat, turning on her computer
“I thought she needed space! I thought she was avoiding me intentionally cause she was angry! I didn’t know…” Lucifer choked back a sob, not wanting to break down in tears in the middle of the precinct
“Lucifer!” Chloe caught hold of his hand “I’m gonna find her! I promise you!”
A few days later, she did. Well, more like Y/n came to her, in the shape of a pretty little gift box left on Decker's doorstep.
“A lil too late on your case detective” read the note attached to it.
Inside were Y/N’s clothes, all of them stained with dark, dried blood. Y/N was declared dead that day and the case was closed. At her funeral, only her closests friends were present. Lucifer wanted it to be as intimate as possible.
That day was also the first time anyone had seen Lucifer, since the news. His eyes were bloodshot and the dark circles under his eyes almost matched the black suit he was wearing. Throughout the ceremony he kept twisting his wedding band, a habit he’d picked up on since you went missing. He chose not to do a speech, but once the crowd disappeared, and he was left face to face with your grave, he pulled out a little piece of paper from his pocket and sat down on the grass.
“In hell, everyone feared me. There, I was nothing but another server of the universe, ruling over an empire I never really wanted, because I never had a choice. So eventually I left, thinking anywhere will be better than what I had, and I came to earth.
I ran into you about 2 weeks later, before I really even knew how to behave myself. Before I knew anything about who I really was besides ‘the devil’. I longed to know, grow and discovers different sides of me, where I could be something new, and you gave it to me. You made me who I never thought I could possibly be. You made me a lover. I never thought of myself as capable to love anyone, in any degree, but your light shone everywhere you went and your kindness touched me and everyone around you. It became impossible to not get infatuated with your person. I allowed you to see and feel around every dark corner of my soul and being and every time I thought it was the end. Everytime I would take in your touch as if it was the last, I would prepare myself for abandonment, but it never came. Through everything you stood by my side and when I felt my darkest, you gave me a fistful of your light and that was enough to keep me going. You married a broken man and called him perfect, despite everyone telling you how much of a foul you were. Even then, you shooed them away. Even then you chose me. I wasn’t worthy of your love or your trust and our last night together proved it.
You’re not here anymore to hear my apologies and I’ll never forgive myself for it. You’ve gone now somewhere I can not follow, but I know you are well taken care of there. I hope, someway, somehow, you’ll hear these words: I am sorry. I loved you with my entire soul. Not listening to you was the biggest mistake of my life and I’ll never forgive myself. I choose however, to remember you as you were, because I know that’s what you’d want. I’ll remember you and your laugh.I’ll remember our date nights and shopping sprees. Nights in Lux or on the penthouse balcony. I’ll remember all the meals you prepared for me and the flirtatious remarks you used to make, because you thought they were so silly. I’ll remember the little frown on your face whenever you worked on an important project for work and I’ll remember every evening walk around the block you’d make me accompany you on. I know I always complained about them, but they were always fun. Everything I ever did with you was always fun.
I loved you. I still do. You are my everything Y/N. Thank you for devoting yourself to me in all the ways that you did. I’ll forever live on in my heart.“
~~~
It had been months since your disappearance. After all this time, you finally managed to escape your kidnappers and report them to the New York police station, since that’s where you had been held hostage for so long. As soon as the paperwork was done and you were sure that the people who ruined you were getting the punishment they deserved, you jumped on a train and headed straight back home. Straight to Lucifer.
Lux looked exactly the same as you had left it. You were washed over by a wave of comfort that almost brought you to tears. Home. You never thought you’d get to step in here again. Overwhelmed, you took a seat on one of the couches, allowing your head to rest back on it, as you took in every detail of your surroundings: the feel of the leather on your fingertips, the cool breeze of the air conditioning, the warm lights. Everything was still here.
“Y/N?” you jumped at the sound
“Hi love…” your voice broke as you said those words. Words you never thought you would be able to mutter again. The sight of your husband, messy as he was, made you weak in the knees. He was standing at the top of the staircase, dressed in nothing but his robe, tied carelessly around his waist. He had probably just woken up. You wanted to say something again, but before you could, he laughed
“Nope” he said simply, before making his way down the stairs and to the bar “I’m not doing this. Not today, not ever!” Lucifer filled his glass to the top with bourbon, before turning around and trying to leave back to where he came from
“Lucifer, it's me!”
“Sure you are, except you’re not real! Nice of dad, taking my ability to stay endlessly sober, getting me drunk, forcing visions of my dead wife onto me to teach me another lesson about managing my emotions. Real clever, except this is too much! So I’m going to enter that elevator and I expect to never have to see you again, hum? Right, well, au revoir now!” he continued on his way, but before he could get far, you were clutching on the silk tie of his robe. Lucifer felt the tug around his waist and turned around slowly to look at you, this time a little more unsure. As if he was trying to figure you out
“Lucifer, I’m Y/N. I escaped”
“Escaped? But that’s impossible, she died! I saw it-”
“What you saw was a bloody shirt!” he looked up to meet your gaze, tears already forming “They lied to you Lucifer”
Finally, it seemed like he had connected all of the pieces of the puzzle. The glass of alcohol fell to the ground and your husband wrapped you in a big hug for the first time in months. He nuzzled his head in your hair and took in your scent, your figure, your warmth. Hell, you were even more perfect that he remembered! Silent tears fell down both of your cheeks as you collapsed to the ground, still holding onto each other for dear life
“I’m so sorry” Lucifer sobbed in your hair “I’m so so sorry”
“It wasn’t your fault Luci”
“If I hadn’t been a jerk you wouldn’t have left! If I would have simply listened to you, they wouldn’t have gotten to you! You would’ve stayed here, where you belong! You would have stayed with me but instead I was too busy with my stupid job and the stupid cases and I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry” he continued crying on your shoulder as you rubbed small circles on his back
“I’m here now my love” you whispered, kissing his cheek “And I’m not going anywhere”
#lucifer#lucifer netflix#lucifer morningstar x reader#lucifer morningstar imagine#lucifer morningstar angst#lucifer morningstar
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hey buddy, I’ve got a request
how does the duwang gang (+Hazamada and Mikitaka and maybe even Yukako 😳😳) react to reader sending dumb shit at 3 AM? like memes or what happened in their dream. modern AU kinda because of textin and all, also gender neutral preferred.
sorry if you’re working on something else, thank you buddyyyyyy 🐎🐎🐎
IM WORKING ON DIFFERENT 7 SMUT REQUESTS BUT THIS IS BETTER. THIS IS FAR MORE IMPORTANT IT IS 3:12 PM AND IM IN THE SHOWER WHILE WRITING THIS ON A TUESDAY SO LETS SEE HOW FAST I CAN WRITE THIS WOOOOOO. Idk who you count as the Duwang but Ik who I count so. Can be read as romantic or platonic (except for Koichi it’s romantic for him)
Josuke
-you remind him of Okuyasu tbh, the memes, the stupid ass dreams, the rants and you being sleepy and dumb.
-it’s so funny to him though.
-Tomoko took away his video game console for 2 weeks because she caught him talking to you at 4am.
-you told him about what happened in your dream and he mentally face Palmed, he gave you a resting bitch face picture once and you saw his hair all messy and you laughed at him so much. (Even going as far to threaten to leak the photo)
-there’s probably a group chat if you and Josuke and Okuyasu and Josuke just has to put up with your guys’ bullshit lmao.
Okuyasu
-what makes you think he isn’t doing the exact same thing to you??
-you guys get no fucking sleep I swear. you both constantly text, and the fact you're just as weird as him makes him so happy, youre his 1st best bud, mans dont even care about Josuke anymore.
-he wakes up early so he can go to your house and walk to school together so instead of texting you abt his dream he can yell it at you.
-he probably sends you old vines.
Koichi
-Ayana found him asleep with his phone buzzing due to you spamming him at 3am.
-he isn’t awake very late, he goes to sleep early. So when you first start spamming him he adjusts his sleep schedule to be able to text you. He probably gets caught talking to you a couple times by Mrs. Hirose, she’s so nice and sweet though. she gives him a warning and invites you over to spend the night and makes you guys food. But Ayana eavesdrops and reports to her mother about your guys’ conversations..
-he genuinely thinks the stuff you send him is funny and he giggles silently at all the stupid shit you send him.
Rohan Kishibabe
-he is so fucking pissed.
-“Y/N why would you interrupt me for your childish stories?”
-he probably blocks you :/ (he unblocks you later tho,, only to block you again the next night, it’s an endless cycle.)
-After a while he enjoys your goofy stories about your dreams, he may smile at your memes sometimes but never to go as far to actually laugh.
-you guys probably call often, Rohan is good at multitasking and can call while drawing his manga.
-as long as you don’t tell anybody your calling him during work hours he doesn’t care. (He doesn’t want the gang calling him while he’s at work, ur the exception)
-if he is up late and texts you it’s probably him giving you a list of shampoo, soaps and cleaning products because he says you stink.
Yukako Yamagashi
-As seen in most of Yukakos episodes she doesn’t enjoy people goofing off a lot, she’s strict and focused. Which is so beautiful I love her-
-She doesn’t mind you going off task and not sleeping though. Mainly because you spend the time texting her. She adores you and the stuff you find funny. She isn’t one for memes but I can see her liking memes after you spam them.
-whenever you tell Yukako about your dreams she always laughs and chuckles, she sends back long detailed paragraphs in response but if she’s too tired she send small paragraphs with poor grammar.
-She probably sends you pictures of herself at night, mainly her getting ready for bed with a smile, to remind you to “Go to sleep, we have a long day ahead of us! ❤️”
Hazamada
-he’s the type to send cursed images, you can expect horrifying shit to look at, I kinda feel like he would send pictures of dead animals with the words “Pablo dead” over them?? If this stuff freaks you out it’s gonna be a fictional animal, probably from a manga he likes.
-he tells you about his dreams too, he usually has nightmares but telling you helps him laugh it off.
-sometimes Surface steals Toshikazu’s phone and texts you, and if he does it means Hazamada is asleep. Toshikazu will take a picture of the sleeping Hazamada and send it to you saying “bitch fell asleep at 9pm.”
Mikitaka
-he doesn’t have a phone, you’d probably have to buy him one. Or he’ll steal one. Either works 🤪
-he is amused by your ranting, he finds it very enjoyable.
-he doesn’t understand many of your memes but he always laughs.
#mikitaka jjba#mikitaka#jjba#hazamada#hazamada toshikazu#toshikazu#jojo#jojos bizarre adventure#discord#jjba x reader#josuke x reader#josuke higashikata#Okuyasu#Okuyasu nijimura#mentions of Ayana Hirose#mentions of Mrs. Hirose#koichi hirose#koichi#Rohan#Rohan kishibe#Rohan jjba#diamond is unbreakable#diu x reader#Yukako yamagashi#Yukako x reader
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The Future That Belongs To Us
Hey, I actually got another fic done for jmart week! huzzah! (ngl wasn’t sure if that would happen, but I’m super glad I did.)
Anyways, this is for Day 7′s prompt, Growing Old Together
(tho it only sorta kinda fits it? It’s more about considering the possibility that Jon and Martin will get to grow old together than narrating them actually doing so. tbf when I started it I had a different, more ‘Forehead Kisses, direction in mind, but the fic was like ‘I’m going to go this way instead’ and I indulged it.)
@jonmartinweek
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Martin doesn’t like hospitals. He doesn’t like being in them. He doesn’t like the smells, the noise. He especially doesn’t like how his heart plummets every time he hears some alert go off or a doctor with a clear destination in mind hurries past him. He reminds himself over and over again that Jon is fine. He’s stable. Heck, he’s breathing this time around. There’s absolutely no reason for the doctors to be rushing to his bedside. Certainly not because the five minutes Martin left him alone to go get something to eat from the canteen were the exact five minutes something happened—Jon’s heart stops and he’s dying or some would-be murderer finally made it past their security detail (or was allowed past, Martin still doesn’t quite trust the gruff men in uniforms despite their reassurances) and finished the job Martin himself started when he…
Martin buys a plastic-wrapped sandwich and a bottle of water without much fanfare. He keeps his head down and hopes no one notices or recognizes him. Not that many would. Though a photo of Jon’s face (usually his employee ID photo from the Institute, which frustrates Martin to no end. Even with it all being over, Jonah Magnus still looms over them.) has been printed alongside news articles or write-ups debating his character, making him irrevocably recognizable to the public, Martin, Basira, Melanie, and Georgie managed to avoid the same level of scrutiny. They’re not as interesting to the media news cycle as the Bringer of the Apocalypse himself apparently. For the most part. Usually.
Martin very much wishes it all would stop, and go away already. They changed the world back. That’s what matters. Not these endless inquiries into who Jon is. He doesn’t need them. Not now. Not when he’s trying to heal from…
“Mr. Blackwood! Mr. Blackwood!”
Martin cringes. He stops in his tracks. The lift doors are a meter ahead of him. He was so close. There’s always one, though. One persistent reporter who just won’t bugger off. He sighs, rolls his shoulders, closes the remaining distance, and presses the button for the lift anyway.
The reporter, one Martin doesn’t recognize (and he knows quite a few by now, almost every freaking time he leaves the hospital…), doesn’t take the obvious hint. He, huffing and puffing catches up with Martin, and scrambles to removed a notepad and pen from his pocket.
“Mr. Blackwood, care to comment on—?”
The lift, which Martin will forever be grateful for arrives. In a well-practiced maneuver Martin steps into it, blocks the reporter from following, and hits the door close button. Only after the lift, with only him in it, starts to move, does Martin let himself sag against its back wall.
The ride up to the floor where Jon’s room is is short. Too short. Martin tenses and mentally prepares himself right before the doors open. There won’t be any reporters up here. Though one may be able to slip in downstairs, where the hospital is still just a hospital, it’s far less likely here, in the wing they sectioned off to house the Archivist himself.
On the one hand, Martin is a bit relieved for the privacy granted by the government’s insistence of dedicating an entire area in the hospital to house Jon while he recuperates from being severed from the Eye. On the other, Martin’s ongoing anxiety that this is the day they’ll determine Jon Well Enough to ship off to some prison somewhere Martin can’t reach him surely isn’t good for his own health.
Not that there’s been any official decision there that Martin knows of. According to Basira, enough people in governmental positions were Avatars during the Eyepocalypse themselves, a call for criminalizing the role likely won’t happen. Probably.
Or, they could ship Jon off to one of the countries demanding to try him in their own courts. The last time Martin allowed himself a few minutes of watching a news broadcast, the Americans were still doggedly demanding as much.
The long and short of it is, there are a lot of thoughts that aren’t good for Martin’s health and all of them tend to clamor for his attention the second after the lift stops and before the door opens. The second that, once the doors do, the fear that Jon won’t be somewhere on their other side spikes to its zenith.
Arnie, the bored attendant assigned to checking everyone’s IDs once they step off the lift on this floor, grunts his usual greeting when he sees Martin. Martin allows himself to finally exhale. If Jon were no longer there, Arnie would be informing him as much.
He walks down the hallway, pointedly not looking at any of the officials who cut off their conversations when he passes. Martin wants to yell at them, demand they tell him why they’re there. They don’t need to be. Jon isn’t going to-to do anything! He can’t! Not anymore! And Martin and the others made sure the story that got out was that final decision to save their world over all the others was a unanimous one.
No one knows, has any reason to think, Jon would have done anything differently.
Martin pauses just outside Jon’s room. Jon wouldn’t have told them the truth himself. Of course he wouldn’t. Even he’s not that self-destructive.
The first thing Martin sees inside Jon’s hospital room are the nurses. The first thing he does is look for knives or guns in their hands. Takes a would-be murderer to know one, his voice mocks him from inside his head.
But no, one nurse is supporting Jon sit upright while the other gently wraps fresh bandages around his torso. Martin stands in the doorway and watches a long minute, but no hidden, sharp objects are slipped out of pockets to do harm. He approaches the bedside.
“Hey,” Martin’s hears the quiver in his own voice. He starts to reach out a tentative hand, but hesitates. He still loves Jon. Even after everything, he’s fairly certain he’s not capable of not loving Jon. The problem is Jon loving him back.
Because, ultimately, Martin is the one who got want he wanted. Their world was saved. The Entities were sent away, dooming all the others. Jon lost.
Jon’s hand, the one without an IV attached to its arm, wraps itself around Martin’s and gently squeezes. Martin looks up, and, for the first time without also facing off the intensity of a supernatural force, meets Jon’s unwavering gaze. It’s warm and brown and loving, and it occurs to Martin that he’s not sure he’s ever really seen Jon without the shadow of the Eye cast over him. That that’s something he can do now.
“I…” The words don’t come. The idea of Jon sending him away, never wanting to see him again, comes back. It’s so much worse because there is a Jon without the Eye now and, though Martin would do anything for his happiness, he may not want anything to do with Martin. Because the one time it really, truly mattered, Martin didn’t agree with him. He betrayed him. And, even if there is a Jon who gets to live to tomorrow, that Jon certainly doesn’t need Martin there with him and…
Jon’s hand pulls at Martin, and he lets it guide him to sitting on the edge of Jon’s bed.
“I still love you,” Jon whispers. “I want…” he pauses, looks away. “I don’t know how to…” He pulls his hands away, curling them into his blanket. “It’s okay if you leave. I can—I’ll be fine. I…”
“Do want to grow old with me?” The question blurts itself out of Martin before he can stop it. It’s not what he wanted to say, what he was slowly putting words together to say, but it’s the underlying inquiry beneath all of it.
Now that we have the future, do you want me in yours?
Jon blinks owlishly at him. His brows furrow together. “Of course I do, Martin, but I don’t want you to feel obligated to me. You’re free. You don’t have to…”
“I want to.” Martin pauses. “That is, if you’ll have me.” I almost killed you, after all. It would be perfectly reasonable if you never wanted to see me again.
There’s a long pause where Jon doesn’t say anything, but a contemplative look overtakes his face. “I think,” he finally admits, “we’re talking in circles.”
Martin considers the concept. “…yeah, you might be right there.” He chuckles. “I suppose we could figure it out as we go?”
“Together?”
Always. “Together.”
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Energy Update: Mars and Jupiter in Aries
Hello, fistfights. Screaming matches. War. Mars in Aries is the complete ego trip (up). Jupiter magnifies everything that it touches. Do the math.
Expect to pick that fight. Forget getting along. For a couple of days of our Mars ingress and into next week, we will likely be feeling this Mars-Jupiter conjunction very strongly. It will go exact on Sunday.
This isn't new energy (both Venus and Mars have felt very afflicted pretty much all year and it has been showing) but it will get further heightened while Mars spends about a month in his home sign. Just...be prepared. Try and slow down. Get off your high horse. Let the unimportant stuff go for once.
It'll help.
Baby steps away from this seemingly endless cycle of conflict.
Venus enters earthy Taurus on Saturday so a way through all of this angst could very well be your belly. I'm not suggesting you eat your feelings (says that Taurus...I know that game) - I'm saying nurture yourself through what you eat. Ground yourself with food - that's deep Taurus medicine. Eat something local and earthy - aged beef, mushrooms, or root vegetables would do the trick.
Let Venus in Taurus be a balm to all of our aching wounds - Taurus has a deep well of forgiveness within it, they just have to unclench and allow. If you are too busy making food to feed your family - or fuck, the whole block - you don't have time to overthink it, turn it into that same old ego game, and fight about it.
Cook with love, that's also deep Taurus medicine.
I think the beginning of this Mars transit will be the worst of it. If it's too much for you in this first week - try fighting in a constructive way. Kickboxing? Running? An agreed about enthusiastic argument among loved ones?
If you're conflict avoidant, this is a week (or so) to lie low and avoid the fire starters. This Mars transit just lit the fuse on every person with an Aries placement out there (we know who we are...)
It is what it is, put your armor on. Check your ego. Know whether you are prepared to step in the ring or not. Don't be somebody else's tinder when you could have stepped out of the way.
Mars in Aries can be used constructively but you NEED to be able to put in the work. Mars in Aries moves fast and is very target-driven. If you need to get something done, see if you can tap into this energy. This will be easier once Mars has stationed direct on 6/3, until then, there may not be paths to drive down. Nebulousness plus Mars being ready for a knock 'em down fight is a pretty bad combo.
This is Three of Swords weather. Especially while Venus is also still in Aries for the next couple of days. Are you listening to your others? Actually hearing them?
If the relationship is important to you, make sure that you cut them some slack until after 6/3 when Mercury stations direct. Even if you're sure you want to end something, it won't really resolve during the retrograde cycle anyway. Give your thought and feeling some space to just be right now - rather than reacting to them.
If you've got a lot of fire or water in your chart, that may prove impossible right now. That's okay, too. Honor where you are and try to keep the collateral to a minimum. Sometimes that's the best that we can do.
Give yourself the same grace that you would give your others. Or, for those that need it the other way, give your others the grace that you give yourself.
This too shall pass. Until then, be fire retardant.
Do you like my work? You can support me over on KoFi by tipping me, purchasing an astrology report, or buying some of my art.
#witchblr#words#mine#transits#energy update#May 2022#Mars in Aries#Jupiter in Aries#Mars conjunct Jupiter#Venus in Taurus#June 2022#Mercury retrograde
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A Boy Like You | Yoongi
→ summary: for whenever you are feeling low, always remember that there is a boy you know who would lift the sky for you.
{or alternatively: Min Yoongi loves you, though he never says it. He’s always been a firm believer in that actions speak louder than any words ever could.}
→ genre: coworker!au, f2l, fluff
→ warnings: an overabundance of shy!yoongi to the point where you’ll want to squish his cheeks; kinda ooc but it is what it is
→ words: 11.5K
→ a/n: whaddup kids it’s ya girl... back from the dead after months of not writing shit, and what’s this owo... it’s a fluff fic?? miracles do happen... anyway i wrote this bc i just thot “man, wouldn’t it be super epic if i wrote a super self-indulgent fic where yoongi fulfills every single one of my deepest desires?” well... here is THIS!! pls feel free to scream into a pillow bc i certainly did!! enjoy!!
There is a boy you know who likes to show his kindness quietly. It would go something like this:
The air is thick with static; your hair stands up on end: a warning. The scent of raindrops hitting hot pavement graces your nostrils as a waterfall drops from the sky. You see the sea of heads begin to disappear under a canopy of multi-colored umbrellas. You, the lone ranger, rush back into the building from whence you came, dragging puddles and annoyance with you.
You should have anticipated it, should have thought to check the weather app before scrolling through dull social media posts when you left your house that morning. Instead, your fingers are left cold and umbrella-less.
You tilt your head upwards, watching as gallon upon gallon fell from the sky in an endless cycle. The watch on your wrist reads 5 PM, but the sky says it is 9 PM. The dark, swirling mass of clouds above you will continue on its thunderous parade, pausing for no one, especially not for you.
Your work bag is practically weightless, devoid of anything that might protect you from the onslaught of rain. The only thing inside is a small wallet that holds nothing more than dust and a loose promise of a paycheck. There is no way you can call a taxi like this, and the nearest bus stop is at least two blocks away. You are starting to think that your childhood dreams of becoming a mermaid hadn’t been so ridiculous after all.
Then comes the hand of God. It touches your shoulder gently, hesitantly. You turn around to face a stranger, a boy with shaggy black hair and pale moonlight skin. It is not God, but he comes close.
In his other hand is your salvation wrapped in Kumamon print nylon. It is proffered to you with a silent nod, his gaze fixed somewhere behind you as he waits for you to take it. The tips of his ears begin to redden the longer it takes for you to respond. Eventually, your brain connects with your muscles as you robotically pluck the umbrella from his grasp, a stuttered “thanks” leaving your lips.
He nods stiffly once more, removing his palm from your shoulder as though he had been burned. He shuffles for a moment, mouth opening and closing as he struggles to find the words to say. You wait, patience never waning for the strange boy that you have come to know as your salvation.
He doesn’t find the words after all. You aren’t too offended by his silence, but he appears to be mortified. And so, he leaves just as quickly as he had appeared, like a whirlwind dressed in an oversized blazer flapping behind him like wings. He runs through the rain without another thought, an arm raised above his head in a futile attempt to avoid getting wet.
You try calling out to him, wanting to thank him once more and maybe to ask how you can return his umbrella, but he is long gone. A speck of black dashing through the gray.
You clutch the umbrella closer to you, a feeling of something new growing inside of you. It is too small to call anything, but it is warm.
x x x x x
Umbrella boy has a name, and he happens to work on the same floor as you. You know this because he is standing right in front of you in all his bespectacled glory.
He ducks out of view the moment your eyes meet his. There is a stack of folders in his arms, and he bows his head until his nose touches manila. It’s too late––he knows you caught him staring. He scurries behind walls of filing cabinets and desk cubicles, desperate to get back to his desk where he hopes you’ll never find him.
The office floor is large, but it is not large enough to hide in. It takes only a few minutes until you find him hunched over his desk, every inch of space taken by enough towers of paper to cover a forest. It is no wonder that you never encountered your mysterious umbrella boy; he does a wonderful job of blending in.
Your eyes trail his form, not out of any perverse intent, but just out of curiosity. You never would have guessed from his unassuming and meek nature, but the boy is devastatingly beautiful. The devil is in the details: you admire the soft slope of his nose to the adorable pout of his lips. His eyelids are charmingly mismatched and his cheeks are begging to be pinched. It takes a year’s worth of self-restraint to keep your hands at your sides, if only so you don’t scare him away before you can even introduce yourself.
(You can already imagine your HR department contacting you about nonconsensual manhandling… You admit that you tend to get overzealous with your affection, especially when confronted with cute things. This boy would definitely need to watch out for you if he knows what’s best for him.)
((Also note to self: Stop having these psychopathic conversations with yourself. Being stuck inside the cage which is your brain is torture enough, so let’s not encourage it to get worse.))
There is a lanyard laced around his neck, the gaudy orange color of your company’s logo emblazoned across the thin material. And just out of your line of sight, you catch a glimpse of his ID. His name is––
“Y-Y/N?” He stutters out–no–he squeaks. Ah, so he’s noticed you. The folder in his hand slips out of his grasp, an avalanche of white tumbling all over his lap. He curses loudly, frantically sweeping away the mess under his desk, as if he could somehow magically make them disappear if he just kicked them hard enough. Unfortunately, the papers stay stubbornly tangible, and he is left with a halo of accounting reports around his workspace as a result.
“Are you… umm…” You hesitate with your words, fearing that any sudden movement on your part might cause umbrella boy to combust on the spot. “Do you need help… picking those up?”
“I–Well, no–Yes, but–” His sentences are stilted, his brain struggling to catch up with his tongue. He clamps his mouth shut, then shakes his head like he’s trying to reboot himself. Finally, after a few more deep breaths, he goes, “No. I’m fine. Thank you for offering.” He says that, but he appears awfully content with staring holes into the keyboard of his laptop when he is speaking to you though.
“Still… I’m terribly sorry for startling you,” you say, lips tugging downwards into a frown. You should have guessed he was skittish from how he had acted yesterday, but it’s quite a surprise to see one man so… disastrous, for lack of a better term. It’s awfully cute. “I just wanted to properly introduce myself and thank you for lending me your umbrella yesterday, but it seems like you already knew who I was.”
His face does a weird thing then and there. It almost appears like he was caught in a time loop, like someone was manually reversing and replaying his facial expressions like a video. It takes a few minutes for his little stroke to settle down, but even then, his cheeks remain a rosy pink. “I–I just… remembered your name during the company retreat the other month. I’m not weird or anything, I swear!”
“Well luckily, I was never going to accuse you of being weird anyway!” You laugh, trying to ease the perpetual look of anxiety on his face. However, it only seems to worsen his nerves with how quickly his skin starts to redden. “In fact, I should be apologizing for not remembering your name, Mister..?”
“Min Yoongi,” he replies, pausing for a second too long. He must have realized his delay because he coughs awkwardly into his forearm, averting his gaze away from you in a futile attempt to become nothing more than an abstract thought.
He must be equipped with some sort of superpower, because you’re starting to feel his secondhand embarrassment flood through you like a tsunami. Are you that difficult to converse with? Does he want to be left alone so badly that he’s trying to subtlely tell you to fuck off?
You’re about to start apologizing and scurry off back to your desk in barely concealed mortification when Yoongi clears his throat, his gaze fixed somewhere to your right. Whatever caught his attention must have been revolutionary with how large his eyes are, although last you remember is that the wall behind you is the same dull jailcell gray that you have come to know and hate.
“I just… I’m sorry if I’m acting odd right now. I just wasn’t expecting you to come to my cubicle and I would’ve… I don’t know, tidied up? If I knew you were coming,” he mutters, propping his glasses back up when they start sliding down his nose. They make their slow descent back down immediately after, forever on an endless cycle of up and down his face.
“You don’t have to clean up just for me! I’m not your manager or anything,” you say, surveying the absolute disaster zone that is his workspace. For his benefit, you sure hope that he has a map of his desk and filing cabinets, as it would have been a miracle otherwise if he memorized where anything was located in his personal office sty. “Though, it would be nice if you could see the bottom of your desk every once in a while.”
To your immense surprise, Yoongi lets out a resounding laugh at your quip. Though Yoongi isn’t a mute by any means, it isn’t like he spoke with much volume either. You hadn’t even thought your joke was funny enough to deserve a strained Caucasian™️ smile, so you appreciate that he had considered that you were even slightly funny. You love the pleasant tinkling of his laughter, so genuinely joyous that you can’t help but want to make a fool of yourself just so you can hear it again and again.
When Yoongi stops, the familiar reddish hue that has made a home on his cheeks resurfaces, though it’s less from embarrassment now. His shoulders are more relaxed, and he doesn’t look like he wants to crawl out of his skin as much. He still has eyes averted away from you, however. “Sorry. I don’t know why I laughed too hard at that. I’m normally not this weird… I think it’s just the nerves.”
You cock your head to the side. “Nerves? From what?”
Yoongi freezes, mouth gaping open slightly. “I, umm…” He coughs into his white button-up sleeve, pupils shaking as he formulates a response. “Just from… work. Yeah, I just have a lot of paperwork to do this week and I’ve been, er, having difficulty relaxing.”
Yoongi visibly breathes a sigh of relief when you accept his flimsy excuse, not really lingering on the validity of his statement. “Oh, sure! Don’t overwork yourself too much, okay?” you say, smiling sweetly back at him. He stares, wide-eyed, not really sure how to go on with his life after he’d been blasted by the full force of your grin.
God, you hope you remembered to use a toothpick during lunch. Was there spinach in your teeth? Oh fuck.
“Gah,” he intones, his brain not fully cooperating with his mouth just yet. If you were any more socially inept, you’d probably be doing the same. Eventually, he clears his throat and tries again. “Uh. Yes. I’ll try to do better next time.”
Feeling like you’ve overstayed your visit, you decide that it might be best for you to leave him be before either of you do or say anything more awkward and stupid. Before you turn to leave however, you decide to extend your hand forward, hoping to erase all the previous awkwardness between the both of you and hopefully start afresh. Even though you’ve only just met, you can’t help but feel drawn to him, wanting to see him again and somehow gain his friendship. “Hey, no sweat. It was really nice meeting you, Yoongi-ssi.”
“Just Yoongi is fine,” he says, almost like an afterthought. He’s so busy staring at your proffered hand that you are afraid that you might have offended him unknowingly or something. Does he think you don’t wash your hands? Given by the fact that your office’s manager refuses to restock the soap dispensers at the washrooms, that isn’t that much of a stretch. Or maybe he was weirded out by your random handshake? Have handshakes become antiquated these days? Are the kids no longer doing it? Are you supposed to do those awful brohugs like the fresh-out-of-college interns do in the breakroom? Oh God, does Yoongi think you’re old?!
While you were in the midst of your mental breakdown, you soon begin to realize why Yoongi had contemplated returning your handshake for so long. Instead of taking your hand immediately, Yoongi rubs his own two palms together first, much like how one would when warming their hands in front of a fire. He takes care to blow on them slightly before grasping your hand firmly in his, finally bestowing you with your much awaited handshake.
“Umm..?” You stare at your intertwined hands, a little confused about the previous series of events that just happened five seconds ago. Yoongi, in all his adorable and flustered glory, releases your hand much too quickly like he’s been shocked, most likely realizing (belatedly) that what he had done might not be as clear to an observer as it is to himself.
“Oh, I – I’m so sorry about that, again.” Yoongi stutters, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s just – my hands are really cold so I was trying to warm them up before I held your hands. I’m – I only just realized how odd that must have looked. Sorry.”
A rush of endearment and warmth surges through you as you behold this high strung boy, your heart flooded with a mix of emotions that make you feel gooey and blissful in one perfect package. No, this boy is the perfect package, all soft edges and blushy cheeks. It’s going to take a mountain and a room of vengeful deities to stop you from walking past his desk to catch a glimpse of him at this rate.
Oh God, you’re whipped already and it’s only been a few minutes since you said hello. He warmed his hand for you for heaven’s sake! Surely your enthusiasm can be excused in this one instance.
“That’s, uhh…” Now it seems that it is your turn to be at a loss of words, your throat clogged with a clump of newly discovered feelings that you don’t have enough time to sort through at the moment. The hamster running circles inside your brain has long since ground to a halt, and if Yoongi is going to keep staring at you with those charming cat eyes for any longer, you aren’t sure you’ll be able to convince the little vermin inside your skull to puppet your body again. “That’s… really sweet. Thank you.”
Thank you? Really, Y/N?
“It’s, uh, no problem. Really.” And with that, Yoongi presents to you his most deadly smile to date: blinding whites coupled his prominent pink gums, with his cheeks stretched like proofed dough that make his dark eyes disappear. Is there a pencil wedged inside your chest cavity, or were you just spontaneously having a heart attack? It’s hard to say; all you know is that your organs have turned to slush, and you make a mental note to send the imminent hospital bill to a certain Min Yoongi.
Cause of hemorrhage: being too fucking cute.
With your daily dose of embarrassment fulfilled, you turn to leave with short stilted steps, as if you have to force yourself away from him like those stubborn souvenir shop magnets that never come off the fridge. “I guess I’ll see you around?” you say more like a question, unsure if he’ll even want to ever see you after that disaster of an interaction. Kim Namjoon from Accounting would be entirely too delighted if he ever found out that he wasn’t the most awkward human being in the office.
“Sure? I’ll just be here. As always,” Yoongi replies kindly, same gummy grin on his face, albeit a little more hesitant. “It was nice speaking to you, Y/N.”
When he returns his attention to his workspace, it serves as a signal to you that you really should be going. Before you leave, you take note of the subtle red tint of his ears that reaches the back of his neck, the gentle tremor of his hands as he reorganizes the files that he had previously dropped. It makes you feel odd for relishing in the fact that you hadn’t been the only one feeling the tension between the two of you, though that doesn’t help lessen the confusion that soon follows anyway.
Why are you so drawn to him? You have never felt so strongly for someone this quickly, and frankly it sort of frightened you. You’re too afraid to confront that blossoming curiosity inside of you. No, it’s much too soon for that. For now, however…
“Oh shit. I totally forgot to give him back his umbrella,” you curse yourself once you return to your desk. The smiling face of Kumamon looks at you knowingly, as if this had been planned all along.
Well. Now you have an excuse to see him again tomorrow, at least.
x x x x x
There is a boy you know who likes to show his tenderness quietly. It would go something like this:
Company dinners shouldn’t feel like as much as a punishment as it does, but that’s just how social gatherings with semi-professional coworkers are like. No one here really wants to be there, but the carefully worded e-mail sent to the entire company clearly suggests that this was more of a “go to the party or risk getting fired” type of deal than anything remotely enjoyable. As much as free food and booze are often harbingers of a good time, it hardly makes any difference when your inebriated boss spends the entire time chatting you up in front of the presence of a dozen or so indifferent associates.
“Oh, Y/N! Good job securing that deal with Mister Park the other day. It’s all thanks to my valuable tutelage, is it not?” your manager guffaws, slapping your back with misplaced camaraderie. He leaves his warm, sweaty palm there, feeling it slide an inch lower than you were comfortable with anyone being. The smell of cheap wine on his breath is making you feel nauseous, and the tacky black and white tiled flooring isn’t doing anything to lessen the incoming migraine.
“Right,” you say with a tight-lipped smile, unable to say anything else lest you lose your job over something silly like establishing boundaries. It’s no wonder that the number of female employees on your floor has significantly dropped over the years, especially with rumors attaching themselves like maggots all over your stupid manager’s name. You wouldn’t be surprised if his stomach exploded ala Alien (1979) style with how much bullshit resides in his body and soul.
You’ve long since given up on anyone saving you, not when everyone was either too busy taking advantage of the free food or too scared to confront your shitty boss. You resign to your fate, ready to scrub yourself clean with a brick once you get home in a futile attempt to rid yourself of the feeling of his hands on you.
That is, until someone clears their throat from behind you.
Salvation comes to you wrapped in a crisp white button-up, thick-rimmed glasses, and cat-like eyes. You almost want to start breaking into Gregorian chant just then to fully express your gratitude to the deities of above for sending an angel in your time of tribulation.
“Excuse me,” the (welcome) intruder says, voice quiet but clear even amidst the cacophonous music and chatter. Min Yoongi steps forward until he is to your right, and you don’t miss the way his shoulder “accidentally” bumps your manager hard enough for him to drop his hand from your back. When Yoongi smiles at your manager, it is all teeth and no mirth, his eyes carefully blank.
Thankfully, your manager isn’t quite as fortunate in his brains department as he is in his stomach. “Oh, Yoongi! It is so nice to finally see you attend one of our social functions. You are enjoying yourself, I hope?” your manager asks, guffawing loudly despite no joke being said. You never did quite understand how some men think they are the most hilarious thing to ever exist since clowns, though you suppose your manager was only missing the red nose to complete the look.
“Thrilled, Mister Lee. Absolutely thrilled,” Yoongi says in a dead monotone voice. You can’t help but giggle at his sarcasm, and Yoongi points a wicked grin back at you before returning to his neutral and passive “work” face.
The sarcasm flies over your managers head like you expected, though you can hardly blame the alcohol for his lack of cognizance. You wouldn’t be half surprised if you knocked lightly on his head, only to hear a resounding echo following thereafter.
“I have never seen you at any of our parties before, Yoongi. What’s with the sudden change of heart?” your manager asks.
“Sir, I’ve attended every single social gathering since I was hired,” Yoongi says plainly, his composure never faltering. He must have better control than you, because you’re sure you would’ve barely held yourself back from smacking your manager had it been you. Though in fairness, you aren’t sure if you’ve ever noticed Yoongi at any of the other parties before this one either.
“Oh really? Well then, you mustn’t have said hello before then!” your manager laughs, patting Yoongi on the shoulder. “Always so enigmatic, our dear Yoongi! Well, keep up the good work.” When your manager turns his attention to speak to another one of your poor coworkers, Yoongi visibly gags from behind your manager’s back, grimacing as he pats away all traces of that foul man’s hand germs away from his dress shirt.
“Gross. Now my sleeve is damp,” he mutters, just audible enough so that only you could hear. You laugh out loud at that, nodding in understanding.
“Same here. There’s probably a gross sweaty handprint on my back now,” you say, wincing when you do feel a noticeable damp spot near the small of your back. “Ugh, what a pig.”
“Tell me about it,” Yoongi shakes his head, making a move to get away from your awful manager. He gestures for you to follow him, and you are more than happy to oblige.
“Thanks for saving me, by the way,” you add, keeping in step with him. He leads you out of the disorienting ballroom, though he doesn’t head towards the exit like you had expected. He appears to know the building much more than you do, given by how assuredly he walks. Either that, or he could be leading you to a deadend, but confidently.
“No problem. You honestly looked like you were about to punt him across the room, though I doubt anyone would be opposed to that magnificent spectacle,” Yoongi jokes, same mischievous grin from before decorating his face. He is so different from the taciturn man you had met two weeks ago, back when he had half-hidden behind his desk like an animal being cornered. Though, that might not be the best analogy to think of, as it only painted you as some sort of predator who came after meek and soft-looking men. Which you aren’t. Hopefully.
“Oh, I would’ve done more than just that, so really he should be thanking you for saving him,” you snort, and Yoongi chuckles lightly in response. Like before, his laughter is just as pleasant as you remember. Your greedy heart yearns to elicit the same sound from him once more, for as many times as you can muster before the night ends.
You had been so immersed in trying to keep up with his quick strides that you don’t notice where exactly he has taken you. The two of you haven’t gone too far away from the ballroom before he stops right in front of a metal double door, the neon green exit sign about it glowing conspicuously in the otherwise dimly lit corridor. He pushes it open, allowing the cool evening air to blow across you and your hand-me-down dress.
“Are we… at the balcony?” you ask, though the view that greets you is answer enough. How Yoongi could have known where the balcony is, you can’t say for certain. But any sort of question dies on your lips when you see how beautiful the skyline is: the stars and city lights twinkling indiscriminately, the sound of nightlife and traffic sounding loud despite the streets being so far away, the smell of ozone signalling an oncoming storm.
This, of course, is what you imagine the view to be like. You know, if the ever reliable Seoul smog wasn’t there to obstruct any sort of magical, romantic view that you should have been privy to.
“Oh damn. I forgot the smog forecast today was especially bad,” Yoongi groans from beside you, quickly shuffling through his pant pockets for a face mask. He procurs two black masks, still in their plastic packaging, and hands one of them to you. “Jesus. Sorry about this. Didn’t expect the smog to be so bad… We can just go back inside, if you want?”
Then, you are reminded of your manager, who is basically pollution incarnate with how terrible his breath is. So, you accept Yoongi’s proffered mask and promptly put it on. “Yeah, no thanks,” you say, voice muffled slightly by the fabric. The implication of your acceptance makes Yoongi grin cheekily back at you (or so you think, guessing by how his eyes crinkle cutely above his mask.)
Now properly equipped to not inhale disgusting air matter into your lungs, you step out farther across the balcony, enjoying the way the cool night breeze feels against your alcohol flushed face. (Though, if you were being honest, the heat on your cheeks has less to do with the meager flute of champagne you had earlier and more to do with the company you currently find yourself with.)
“I fucking hate these company dinners,” you whine a little bit too petulantly, complete with the jutted lip of a child who has been forced to wait as her mother engages in an eternity long conversation with an acquaintance. You lean against the railings near the edge of the building, watching idly as Yoongi does the same. “Don’t you think that if they wanted us to get ‘closer’ with one another, they’d first want to address the fact that some of our coworkers happen to be pigs dressed in white collared shirts?”
Yoongi snorts at that, his right hand immediately coming up to his mouth to silence the unflattering sound. Not that it wasn’t completely charming to you, but you do enjoy the slight abashment that blooms across his face shortly thereafter. “Sorry, didn’t mean to laugh like that. But, I do agree with you… I can’t say that anyone in our department is especially fond of that Habsburg motherfucker.”
Maybe it was the little bit of alcohol in your system, or perhaps it was the sudden rush of realizing that Yoongi is strangely attractive when he swears, but the laugh that exits your mouth sounds a touch too crazed for your liking. Either that, or perhaps you’re finally dying from the pollution.
Luckily for the both of you, it seems that Yoongi likes your weird laugh just as much as you like his. He tries to hide a smile before continuing, “Like, come on! I’m sorry for saying that because attacks on physical appearance is always a low blow, but why the fuck does that dude look like he’s been compressed and flattened on Photoshop? He’s got perpetual flat-face syndrome. You could - you could land a damn plane on his face or some shit.”
The cork inside of your bursts, and you let out the most ungodly guffaw in your life. You don’t even have the time to be embarrassed by how loud your howls are, not when every word he says hits the mark a little bit too close to home. There’s nothing quite as pleasing than sharing mutual dislike for the same person, and it fills you with the utmost glee that Yoongi is no exception to that rule.
“Oh god… You’re right. You are absolutely right. I seriously can’t believe anyone can put up with him. I mean, the damned bastard couldn’t even remember my name until two weeks ago,” you say, shaking your head in disgust. The first few times he had forgotten, you had been gracious enough to laugh away his mistakes as little more than that: mistakes. But when five years pass and peanuts-for-a-brain still hasn’t deemed that remembering your name to be as important as when the “next big Game™” is, then it’s easy to understand the depth of your resentment towards your manager.
“Are you for real?” Yoongi asks, brows raised in shock. “How could anyone ever forget you – I mean, shit, uh,” Yoongi coughs suddenly, red-faced. You tilt your head in confusion, waiting for him to finish. He’s still kind of spluttering when he continues, “What I meant to say is… H-how could anyone forget their employees name after working here for so long?”
You shrug your shoulders. “I have no idea. Honestly, I think he’s trying to purposefully forget everything I tell him. One time, he had asked me what plans I had for Christmas, and I mentioned to him how I was going to be visiting my parents back home, and he has the gall to ask what country I’m from. Like???” Your face contorts as if you had eaten an entire lemon, so wracked with disbelief that Yoongi can see the hypothetical question marks floating above your head. “Bitch, do I look foreign to that bastard? I’ve lived here all my life!”
Yoongi hums, thoughtful. “Your parents live just an hour away from here, right?”
“I… Yeah, they do,” you reply. You eye Yoongi curiously, watching his all-too familiar flush resurfacing on his neck once more. “Wait… How do you know that?”
“You… You were talking about them, once. To Seulgi? Yea, you were, um…” Yoongi coughs unassuredly, rubbing the back of his neck. A nervous tick of his, you suppose. “It was a year ago? Something about visiting them during the weekend… Not that I was eavesdropping on purpose! I would never, er, do that…”
You don’t even register his embarrassment as you are mostly shell shocked that he had even remembered that little tidbit from over a year ago. Hell, you didn’t even remember going to your parent’s house until he mentioned it. “No it’s fine, I get it. I’m just surprised that you even bothered to remember that.”
Now it’s his turn to look at you strangely. “Of course I remember. Why wouldn’t I?”
You stare at him in disbelief. Fluttering of wings begin to erupt in your stomach, but you hardly have the peace of mind to fully grasp why you were even feeling so flustered in the first place. It was just that he had said it so… matter-of-fact, like there was no possible way he could’ve forgotten even if he tried. It was kind of disconcerting, but flattering all the same. But more importantly--
“Wait, you’ve been working at the company since last year? How have I never seen you before this month?!”
“Oh,” Yoongi coughs out a laugh, scratching the end of his nose. He turns his gaze away, looking anywhere but you. “I was just, umm… Really quiet? I don’t really talk to anyone unless I need to. I’m more of a listener.”
“Oh my God, now I feel even more terrible for not knowing your name! I must look like an egotistic bitch to you,” you despair lowly, cupping your face into your hands in shame. You feel another pair of cold hands clasp your wrists, and you watch in shock as he pulls your palms away with a determined expression.
“What? Of course not. You are definitely not an egotistic bitch, Y/N. In fact, you’re the complete opposite,” Yoongi whispers, so quiet that you might have imagined it. He grasps your hands tightly, like he’s desperate for you to believe him.
You stammer in embarrassment, staring wide-eyed at Yoongi as you try to regrasp your comprehension skills. It’s especially hard to concentrate with how close Yoongi is to you, the latter unaware of his own proximity. He had stepped closer towards you to hold your hand, and normally you hated it when people touched you without permission, but somehow… This was alright.
(Unbeknownst to you, this will not be the first time that Yoongi becomes your secret little exception. It’s only the first of many.)
“I-I don’t really know what to say?” Your gaze is locked on his firm grip on your hands, the only thing flitting through your mind: damn, this dude’s hands really are fucking freezing!
It takes another few seconds for Yoongi to calm down, and you know when it happens because the realization of what he had said makes itself apparent on his expression. He turns beet red in a second, stepping away from you with his arms flying off of you like those inflatable tube men outside car dealerships.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, taking two steps away from you. You almost take two steps forward to keep the distance closer, but you have a feeling that he would keep walking away from you until you both inevitably fall off the balcony, so you smartly choose to stay away (even if it pains you to do so). You wait for his breathing to settle, all the while still reeling from his blatant confession just moments ago.
Could you even consider it a confession? Were you being delulu, or is there some sort of connection that you and Yoongi were both feeling?
“Yoongi, it’s fine! Really,” you smile wryly, raising your hands towards him open-faced, much like how you would do when approaching an agitated animal. Like a nervous kitty, you think privately to yourself. “I’m really flattered that you feel so… strongly?”
“I’m… I’m really not like this normally. Honest,” Yoongi says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I… I never… do that. Whatever that was. Umm.”
Because you’re a freak of nature and enjoy exacerbating awkward social interactions, you decide to respond to him like this: “No worries, I’m flattered, honest! But hey, maybe next time you try to give me a compliment, you could look me in the eye?” You know, like an asshole. Who points out people’s social anxieties like that? You bitch!
On cue, Yoongi’s cheeks bloom into cherry blossoms once more. “I––I, I didn’t mean to––uh!” he stammers.
“No, no, I’m sorry for even saying that!” You apologize profusely, bowing so low that he could probably see the top of your spine. “I didn’t mean to tease you like that! I’m sorry! That was seriously out of line!”
What a pair the two of you were… Like two trains crashing into each other at mach speed, continuously and eternally. A constant and ongoing catastrophe!
(The little gremlin living inside your brain is knocking at your empty skull, whispering deviously, “But doesn’t that make the two of you the perfect pair?”)
When he doesn’t respond back immediately, you have to wrack up enough courage to look back at him. You gasp audibly when you do, and you have to forcibly grip the insides of your bicep to keep yourself from squealing in pure anguish.
Because there, right before your very eyes, is a blushing Min Yoongi looking you straight in the eye with his face squished between his hands, as if he’s forcibly keeping his head locked in place. His pupils are noticeably shaking and his brows are furrowed in concentration, but he’s looking at you. Like you asked.
He’s… He’s too…
“Okay, let me try this again.” Yoongi takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what may be the most embarrassing thing he has ever done in his life. “Y… You’re a great person, Y/N. I hope you know that,” he whispers, voice trailing off by the end of his sentence.
He’s dry heaving like he’s just finished a marathon, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off of you. You’re worried if he even remembers how to blink with how intensely he’s staring you down, but you can’t bring yourself to ask him when your heart is quite literally beating out of your chest like a cartoon character from the 80’s.
“I…” You’re at a loss of words. If Min Yoongi can capture you like this with just a look, then think of how much more powerful he would be if he just learned how to use it. You’re slipping into real dangerous waters, and you don’t know if you’re just a frog in boiling water or if this is where you were meant to be all along.
“Yoongi, I didn’t mean for you to… force yourself like that, really…”
The moment breaks, finally, when Yoongi begins to cry.
“Shit!” you both exclaim, but for two different reasons. “Are you okay? Oh my god!” you reach out for him, not even thinking when you cup his cheeks in your hands. He gently pushes you away with one hand, while the other goes to scrub at his tears.
“Yes, I’m fine! A piece of dust got caught in my eye and I was too slow to blink it away,” he explains, still wiping at his cheeks. He pulls his mask down to his chin, pouting cutely at you. “Sorry. I’m not used to looking people in the eye yet. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
Oh my god. At this point, you’d be surprised if your heart was located anywhere near your body. You were running purely on autopilot, so enamored by the boy in front of you that you could almost faint. He was entirely too unreal, unbelievably so. Perhaps, if you tried hard enough, you’d be able to find your heart again, and you know the first place where you’d look.
“Give it back,” you mumble, and Yoongi tilts his head at you in confusion.
“Sorry? Did you say something?”
“Nothing,” you reply, reaching over him and snapping his mask back on his face. You laugh as he splutters in surprise, floundering about overdramatically as if the elastic on the mask had done any damage to him at all. “Oh, stop it. You’re just being silly now.”
“Hey, I have delicate skin! You never know,” he jokes, but stops when you give him an unimpressed look.
“Sorry,” he laughs again. “And well, since I keep saying sorry today, and you look like you could use a little warming up, do you wanna leave this place and get some coffee? My treat.”
And really, who were you to say no to that?
And really, who were you to say no to Min Yoongi?
x x x x x
There is a boy you know who likes to show his thoughtfulness quietly. It would go something like this:
A steaming hot coffee cup from the nearby cafe manifests itself on your desk one Monday morning. In your sleep-deprived haze, you had originally failed to realize that there was a hand connected to that cup and that it hadn’t actually just materialized from thin air like you had thought. After much blinking and staring, you crane your head up to see Jesus standing in front of you, his glasses still fogged from the outside chill.
“I got you a drink. I hope I remembered your order right,” Yoongi says in lieu of a greeting, a small smile gracing his lips as he watches you lethargically reach over for the cup to lift the lid open. His grin widens when he sees your eyes light up at the sight of little marshmallows bobbing up and down in your hot chocolate, bits of whipped cream already melting away from the heat. When you take a sip, you breathe a content sigh, your eyelids fluttering shut.
“Yoongi, I’m going to kiss your feet right now and you can’t stop me,” you say, upper lip lined with cream and sugar. Yoongi’s hand twitches by his side, but he doesn’t move.
“Even if I have toe fungus?”
“Especially if you have toe fungus,” you say, downing as much hot chocolate down your throat without choking and barfing all over him.
From the rim of your cup, you can see that Yoongi still has his parka on, his signature black mask pulled down his chin indicating that he’s only just arrived at the office. It makes your heart jump a little, knowing that he went straight to you first before anyone else that day.
“I still don’t understand how you hate coffee. Like, I don’t think I’d be able to be conversing with you right now if I didn’t have caffeine running through my veins,” he says, staring at you(r lips) as you chew a marshmallow thoughtfully.
You want to tell him that Yoongi doesn’t talk a lot anyway in the first place, though you have begun to notice that he’s becoming more talkative the more you hang out with him. However, you aren’t quite sure if you’re imagining it, but it seems like Yoongi’s change in personality doesn’t really apply when he’s with anyone else. On the days where you’d pass by his cubicle on the way to the water coolers, he’d still have his usual stoic expression on his face as he goes through his paperwork with the grace of a robot. When he’s with you, however…
“Says the guy who’s started drinking frappes after I suggested them to you. Don’t lie to me, Min Yoongi.” You’re giggling softly, and you can tell Yoongi’s seams are already breaking. Pink gums and straight teeth are seconds away from peaking through. You wink cheekily at him. “You’re just as sweet as your personality is.”
“Stop, that’s so embarrassing!” he exclaims, hiding behind his hands. He’s already smiling. “I’m not as sweet as you think! I’m a mean guy!”
“Yoongi, you literally just bought me hot chocolate with marshmallows because you remembered what I like. I don’t think there’s a mean bone in your body,” you retort, rolling your eyes at the prominent pout on his face.
“Not true! I stole an extra coupon booklet when I was at the grocery store the other day.”
“Ooooh, I do love a bad boy,” you say, but the two of you are already laughing hysterically. “Seriously, thanks. I really needed this today.”
“Dang, bad morning already?” he winces, having noticed the purple moons under your eyes when he had approached you. He didn’t want to mention it without you bringing it up first, but he had been worried about you since last Friday when you had left the workplace with a slammed door.
“Try bad weekend. Mr. Lee has been pushing my buttons for months now, but I seriously didn’t think he thought it was a challenge. He’s been giving me shitty filing jobs to complete like I’m some overworked intern!”
Yoongi cocks his head, confused. “Aren’t you, like… In the advertising department? Why would he make you file things?”
“Exactly!” You’re all but roaring now, but Yoongi can’t help smirking at the stray dollop of whipped cream that had somehow found its way on your nose. He pulls his sleeve over his wrist, swiping it away with the fabric as nonchalantly as possible (which is to say, he’s as red as a spanked ass when he does it.)
You don’t even notice his actions, still deep in the abyss of your rage. “And also! My shitty phone ran out of storage space the other day so I’ve had to delete all the songs on my library and I can’t find any good playlists on Spotify to help me dissociate on the train!”
“Wow, that’s a mood,” Yoongi says, chuckling. He clears his throat, an idea popping into his head. He turns bashful all of a sudden, gaze diverting upwards as he musters the courage to say, “I-I mean, I think I can help you with that last problem, if you want…”
You stop huffing and puffing long enough to appear intrigued. “Oh? Are you gonna send me a playlist?”
Yoongi splutters. “I mean! If you want it, I do have some songs that I like listening to.”
Yoongi squeaks when you smile at that, radiant and all-encompassing. He wonders how he’s not dead right now.
“Oh god, that would be great actually! Text me the link, would you?” you say, already making grabby hands for his phone. “Here, lemme put my phone number in your phone.”
Yoongi almost drops his phone as he takes it out of his pocket, staring in awe as he watches you type in your number into his phone. He has to keep himself from outright howling when he sees you place a sunflower emoji beside your name. How fitting, he thinks to himself.
When you return the phone back to him, he immediately texts you the link to his playlist. You have to keep yourself from screaming to the heavens when you see the very Yoongi-esque title, “Songs for the Sleepless,” complete with the grainy-noir-film-type playlist art to complete the look. It was just so… personal, so Yoongi, and it’s making you clench organs that you didn’t know were clenchable.
You whistle at the sheer number of songs on the playlist, with the first song being—“Didn’t peg you as a Lana Del Rey fan,” you pipe up, scrolling through his playlist with acute interest. “Kendrick Lamar and Epik High, I understand. But Lana?”
To his credit, the playlist did seem like it had a narrative of sorts, despite the eclectic range of artists and genres. You only recognize maybe ten of the songs from his five hundred song playlist, and you’re very curious to see what type of songs he connects to.
“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he shrugs his shoulders, though a little bit embarrassed. “Lana Del Rey could sing my obituary and I’d jump out of my grave in an instant.”
“Bit morbid but okay,” you laugh, finger ready to close your music player app when you catch sight of a song with an artist you didn’t expect to see. You reach over to tug on his sleeve, your sly smile already causing Yoongi to break out in hives. “Hey… I didn’t know you shared your name with a singer, unless, of course…”
Yoongi doesn’t even let you finish your sentence when he yelps in surprise, snatching your phone out of your grip as his eyes bug out of his sockets. His ears redden, words tumbling out of his mouth like a waterfall as he tries to explain himself despite your raucous giggling.
“I––You weren’t supposed to––I forgot about! That was––I was just––Ugh,” he groans despairingly, smacking himself in the forehead with your phone. You’re still giggling madly, enjoying the spectacle before you as Yoongi’s ears are practically shooting out steam.
“You’re so cute.” It slips out of your mouth with such ease that you almost don’t notice saying it at all; you’re still smiling dreamily at Yoongi as he stares at you in shock, mouth still agape from his earlier rambling. You gasp loudly when your brain cells finally catch up, but by then it’s already too late. Now, the two of you were a matching pair, with your fire engine red ears standing at attention.
“Oh my god, I can’t believe I just said that,” you mutter into your hands. You wish the earth would swallow you whole right now.
“Oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that,” Yoongi wails beside you, but you don’t notice the small satisfied smile he’s sporting on his reddened face. “Y-You can’t just say things and not expect me to…”
You look up, wondering why he’d suddenly trailed off at the end. “Expect you to what?”
Yoongi, once again, defies the laws of the universe by somehow turning even redder than humanly possible. “N-nothing. Ignore me. Let’s just admit we’re both embarrassing and carry on, can we?”
“Sure,” you agree, nodding enthusiastically. “But, does that mean I can listen to your songs, Mister Min ‘I’m-a-superstar-singer-in-my-spare-time’ Yoongi?”
“I’m not a superstar! I just record songs in my free time, that’s all,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.
“Says the guy who apparently raps as a hobby! Seriously, I can tell I’m gonna love it already.”
His gaze is turned upwards, cheeks puffed up in embarrassment. He looks like he wants to say something else, however, and you wait for him as he tries to gather the courage to say what else is on his mind. “S-say, I was wondering… Since I’m already here and all, do you want to maybe go out wi—”
“Yo! Hyung!”
A deep voice from across the office floor snaps the two of you out of your little bubble in an instant. It doesn’t take a genius to tell who it is, not when there’s only one person in the entire company who would dare wear a sushi-print tie to work at one of the most lucrative companies in the country.
Kim Namjoon hobbles over to your little cubicle space in all his sushi-print tie glory, knocking over a coworker’s potted plant in the process. Between you and Yoongi, you had been more surprised by Namjoon’s sudden exclamation, mostly because you’d never been particularly close with the eccentric man. Yoongi probably can’t say the same since he had briefly mentioned that he and Namjoon go way back, though you’re starting to have some doubts about that due to the dirty glare Yoongi was currently pointing at the sentient noodles-for-legs.
Namjoon waves cheerily at you before cutting to the chase as he envelops Yoongi in a not-too-gentle hug. “Hyung! I’ve been looking for you. You weren’t at your desk this morning so I was wondering where you’d wandered off, but of course I’d find you here at Y/N’s de––”
Yoongi promptly stomps on Namjoon’s feet, causing the younger to yelp out in pain. “Namjoon. I told you I’d talk to you later.” Yoongi smiles sweetly, but you can see the aura of danger radiating off of him in waves. “Emphasis on later.”
Namjoon pouts petulantly, but he doesn’t look all that offended. “I was just gonna remind you to ask Y/N if she wanted to join us for lunch la––OUCH! WILL YOU STOP STEPPING ON MY FEET!”
Yoongi appears unbothered, not even looking back at Namjoon’s shouts of betrayal. All the while, he still has his gaze trained on you, never wavering for one second.
“Please ignore my colleague. He can a bit… Unnecessarily loud,” Yoongi says, accompanied by Namjoon’s splutters of indignation.
“Umm?? I’m right here?? Your actual best friend?? Geez!” Namjoon huffs, looking at the both of you incredulously. You just shrug your shoulders, completely dumbfounded by the last five minutes of human interaction.
“As Namjoon was saying before we were so rudely interrupted… I was going to ask if you wanted to have lunch with me? Namjoon can join too, but only if he behaves,” Yoongi jokes, smirking at Namjoon’s ireful glares.
You giggle quietly at the unlikely pair, amused beyond belief at this new side of Yoongi that you hadn’t been aware of. So this is how he is with his friends… Cocky Yoongi is definitely someone you wouldn’t mind talking to occasionally, you admit.
“Sure, I’d love to. Just let me finish all this filing crap for Mr. Lee, then I’ll head over to your desk at around 12?” If you work at a breakneck pace, then you could probably finish sooner if you didn’t let anything else distract you. “Oh! And I should probably return your umbrella before you leave. I keep forgetting to give it back to you.”
“No worries,” Yoongi says. “You should keep the umbrella. I’ve got a spare anyway.”
Namjoon’s head whips toward Yoongi at that, staring at him skeptically. “Dude. Ain’t that your favorite Kumamon umbrella though? Didn’t you almost murder me that one time I forgot it at the McDonald’s last mo––WILL YOU STOP STEPPING ON MY FEET! I’M GONNA GET FLATFOOT SYNDROME!”
“Not my problem,” Yoongi replies, pinching Namjoon’s nose for good measure. He turns to you, waving goodbye. “See you in a few?”
You stretch your back, psyching yourself up to get back to work. “Right. I’ll text you when I’m done okay? See you at 12-ish!”
The boys make their leave, bickering all the while. You catch wind of a bit of their conversation as they turn the corner, their voices echoing down the hall.
“Hey, I noticed that you were looking Y/N in the eye when you were speaking. Why don’t you ever look me in the eye when we talk!”
Yoongi snorts, flipping him off. “It’s because you’re not as nice to look at. Simple as that.”
In your seat, you smile secretly to yourself, butterflies erupting in your chest. Filled with newly found fervor, you chip away at the pile of work on your desk until it starts to vanish from view.
Before you know it, you’re off to see Yoongi once more.
x x x x x
There is a boy you know who likes to show his vulnerability quietly. It would go something like this:
x x x x x
There is a boy you know who likes to show his love quietly. It would go something like this:
Your day begins with a phone call: a warning. Your boss tells you to come into work as soon as possible, not a note of enthusiasm or friendliness in his tone. He ends the call just as abruptly as it had come, the silence following soon after deafening your ears. Your heart races marathons in your chest, and your brain goes to the worst place it can go.
Your hands are sweating gallons upon gallons as you shrug your coat on, fumbling with your keys as you struggle to place them in your pocket. For a brief moment, you think about calling Yoongi for moral support, but think better of it. You don’t want to bother anyone, especially not him.
You, the lone ranger, walk out of your apartment and into the murky urban outdoors, the first pitter-patters of rain making their descent the moment your foot meets the pavement. You don’t have quite the energy to go back inside to grab your umbrella, not when you’re unsure if you’ll be courageous enough to leave your bedroom once more if you did.
You’d always been a coward, a soft-hearted fool. Content with shouldering the consequences of your actions without another word: a sufferer in silence. For the past few weeks, you thought you might have changed. You’d been smiling a lot more, laughing a lot more. Your cheeks were often more red than any other color these days, and it was all thanks to a boy you know.
He was shy, but brave. Quiet, but talkative. Mysterious, but vulnerable.
He made you realize that there was no need to settle for one side of a coin, not when you could have both. The longer you stuck around him, the stronger your desire was to become… more.
You wanted to be open; you wanted to be known. You wanted to be able to ask for what you want, and never feel the crushing sense of guilt that usually came afterwards. You wanted to be unapologetic, wanted to keep your hands open, waiting for good things to come your way. To never cower in the face of a gift being handed to you. You wanted to have all that life has to offer––
(Him. Him. Him.)
But there is something pitiful about being unable to keep your own promises. The embarrassment of returning to the state where you once were, of turning meek at the first sign of adversity. The dreams of a happier life drifts away from you like mist under the morning sun, and the pressing weight of the world once again makes its home on your shoulders.
And so, you do not cry when your boss tells you to pack up your things within the hour.
You do not cry when you cut your finger on the corner of your desk that had never been replaced during your five-year stay at this company.
You do not cry when one of your potted plants smash to the floor when you try to carry too many things at once.
You do not cry when co-workers you’d only barely spoken to come over to your desk with showers of condolences, as if you’d already died.
You do not cry when Kim Namjoon walks over to you, quietly bending down to help you carry your boxes down to the lobby.
And when all is said and done, you most especially do not cry when Min Yoongi runs to you with his lungs burning in his chest, glasses still fogged up from the morning cold outside. His hair is in disarray and his shirt is on backwards, as if he’d jumped out of bed the moment he knew something was wrong. When he skids to a halt right in front of you, the pain etched on his face is as plain as day.
Wordlessly, he takes the last box out of your hands, placing his car keys on top when he can’t hold onto them both. His eyes flit towards your clenched fists for a second, but looks away the moment you notice. Instead, he walks out to the elevator, and you follow soon after.
You do not cry when Min Yoongi helps you load his car with your things. You do not cry when he takes a first-aid kit out of his glovebox and puts a band-aid on your finger. You do not cry when he offers to pass by the local home depot to pick up a new plant when he notices yours is gone. You do not cry when he doesn’t treat you like your life has ended.
(But you feel it. Pricking along your eyes like a dam about to break. He is doing this to you. He’s making you feel again, and it fucking hurts.)
And so, he drives you home.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Yoongi starts after a while, tapping a rhythm away on his steering wheel as he waits for the morning rush traffic to subside. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, worried when you don’t respond. You keep your head pressed against the cool car window, staring blankly at the gray skyline.
“I… I hope you don’t mind if I play you something. Just… Just listen to it, okay?”
You don’t see him, but you hear his fingers switch their tapping to his phone as he unlocks it, searching for the song he wants you to hear. It takes a moment or two for him to find it, soft curses tumbling from his lips as he goes through his Google Drive for the unfinished draft that he hadn’t meant to show you until it was complete, but well––
You were always an exception to him, weren’t you?
The first notes come creeping up from behind you, and it reminds you of the way Yoongi would speak to you. All soft whispers and gummy smiles, like he’s restraining himself. Slowly but surely, the music grows louder, more confident with its sound. You can picture Yoongi standing upright, hand outstretched towards you as he asks you to follow him.
The song is unfamiliar, but there’s something about it that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand at attention. You’re trying to go through your memories, sorting through the hundreds of songs that Yoongi has made you listen to but none of them seem to ring a bell. You’re still trying to figure out if you’d heard this before when the lyrics finally start.
“Lost in the sea of my regrets, you became my polaris.”
Yoongi’s voice comes from the radio speaker, jolting you from your seat. Your spine straightens, and you stare bullets at Yoongi’s phone as the song continues to play. When you look towards him, Yoongi’s face is a statue; the only thing giving away the fact that he was with you at all was the steady rise and fall of his chest.
“The shadows, which had been my haven, no longer feel as good as they once did. You, my light, have changed all of that.”
You gasp, and Yoongi’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. It seems like the two of you stop moving at that moment, neither of you daring to breathe. Even the outside traffic sounds muted compared to the sound of your hearts hammering inside your chests.
“I’ve long since forgotten to pray, but I will remember for you. I only dream of happiness for you, my morning light, my northern star. And I’d give it all up for you.”
Yoongi notices your tears fall before you even do; he’s quick to fluster, scrambling through his car side door for a tissue to hand to you, but he stops the moment he feels your hand fist the elbow of his sleeve. He turns to look at you, all blotchy and tear-stained, but beautiful all the same. And even through your tears, you smile just as radiantly as when he had first seen you.
“Thank you,” you mouth, fingers trembling as you fight to keep more tears from falling, but nothing can stop a dam from breaking. Not when you’re sitting beside the hurricane who broke it in the first place; it was the boy with feelings that never did quite fit in his body the way other people’s did.
Luckily, they fit right in with you.
When the song comes to the end, you’re sniffling up a storm, but you still haven’t let go of him. When you’re only a few minutes away from your apartment, Yoongi parks a little bit far off from your doorstep, so you have to walk the rest of the way home. But you’re still unwilling to let go, not yet.
Gently, Yoongi pries your hand away from his sleeve and you’re about to protest, but the words die on your lips the moment they form when Yoongi rubs his hands along the side of his slacks before placing them in yours. His hands are still cold, but comforting all the same.
“Let me walk you home?” he whispers.
You nod. Of course, you want to say. But he knows what you mean, anyway.
When he goes to unpack your things from the trunk, you shake your head, stopping him from moving any further. “I… I don’t feel like sorting through those things right now. Is it fine with you if I just… Go home for now? Please?” Your brain feels like lead in your skull after all the bottled up tears had finally escaped from years of constant pressure, and you don’t think you’re quite ready to go through all those emotions again. You feel deflated, but better. He always makes you feel better.
Yoongi closes the trunk, locking his car before stretching out his hands for you. You stare at the proffered hand for a moment.
“Oh, right.” Yoongi goes to rub his hands to warm them, but you stop him once more in his ministrations. He looks at you, confused, as you grab his hand from him. You rub circles into his palm, staring at the ground in embarrassment.
“You’re always warming your hands for me… So this time, I’ll warm them for you, okay?”
Yoongi doesn’t say anything in response to that. Instead, he tugs you along towards the sidewalk and keeps you close to him. As he walks with you, you notice the way he leans slightly to the left, like he’s drawn to you––like he can’t help be more than an inch further from you.
You keep glancing back down at your linked hands; he’s shaking, but then again, that could also be you.
You arrive at the gate of your apartment quicker than you would have liked. Neither of you move to separate; when you look back at Yoongi, you see that his eyes are trained on you. He doesn’t even flinch away like he used to. His lips are pursed, like he wants to say something but he’s still too afraid to.
So you say it for him instead.
“Do you have… somewhere to be?” Unlike you, he still has a job. He still has commitments. He still has a life outside of you. You’re hit with fear, once again, at the sudden change in your circumstances.
You might never get to see him again. Is this where your paths cross, never to intersect again? Your stomach drops at the thought, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.
“No, I don’t. I could…” Yoongi trails off, glancing at your apartment with soft hesitance. “If… If you want me to…”
Yes. Please. I’d love it. I love yo–– ”Yes. Stay with me?” you mumble.
“Always,” he promises.
The pair of you trudge up to your apartment, passing by the prying eyes of housewives with your heads bowed in embarrassment. They don’t miss your pinkies linked behind your backs, nor the subtle blushes on the apples of your cheeks. Thankfully, they don’t comment when Yoongi enters your apartment after you, but they do giggle when his coat gets caught on the door handle in his rush.
When the two of you are finally alone, the air isn’t as awkward as you had feared. You work like two cogs in a machine; he readies your TV and scrolls through your Netflix for a movie, while you go to your kitchen and have a small mental breakdown (while also microwaving some popcorn). Soon, the two of you are snuggled into your small couch, elbows barely brushing against each other.
You’re only half paying attention to the generic action movie that Yoongi had put on; you were still deep in your thoughts. You’re picking away at your hangnail, worrying your lip as you try to enjoy what might be the last time you’ll ever get to hang out with Yoongi again. You’re so deep in your musings that you don’t immediately feel when Yoongi wraps his arms around your shoulder, nestling your head into his chest.
“W… What?” You crane your head and stare at Yoongi in shock, but he’s already returned his attention back to the movie. His cheeks are burning.
You’re still stiff with tension despite his comforting caresses against your hair, so he changes tactics and brings your hand up to his.
You think he’s just going to hold your hand, but he keeps bringing your hand up until it gently caresses his face. Just as you’re about to ask him what he’s doing, he curls your fingers until only your pointer is left unfurled, and casually uses it to poke himself in the cheek.
He leaves it there for a second or two, and when you finally turn to face him, he’s smiling so sweetly at you that you almost feel compelled to cry again. His eyes and nose are all scrunched up, rose petal gums on full display. Your finger is still pressed gently into his soft cheeks.
“You said you liked to dream about poking my bread cheeks. Well, here’s your chance,” he says, like it’s nothing at all. As if what he has done was as simple as breathing.
Yoongi’s smile brightens when he feels your form relax against him, giggling softly when you go to pinch his cheek for good measure.
“Bread cheekies,” you say, like you’re in a trance.
Yoongi nods. “Bread cheekies,” he repeats. “And it’s all yours.”
There’s a promise in there, you know. Somehow, he had sensed your worry and had thought of the perfect way to calm you. Like always, he never has to say it. He’s never needed words, anyway.
The two of you stay like that for hours. The sun sets as surely as the moon rises, and Min Yoongi stays with you through the night. When your mind drifts off and only your steady breathing fills the room, Min Yoongi brushes a small kiss against your forehead.
“Dream of happiness, my love,” he whispers into your skin, just when he thinks you’re asleep, “I’ll dream of you, too.”
It’s a promise that he keeps.
There is a boy you know who never learned how to say he loves you, but it never mattered all that much to you––not when he’s willing to show you over and over again. It goes something like this––
#btsboulangerie#btsguild#networkbangtan#bts scenarios#yoongi x reader#bts x reader#bts reader insert#bts fanfiction#bts#bts imagines#bts fluff#coworker!au#min yoongi#yoongi#suga#yoongi scenarios#suga scenarios#yoongi fluff#bts suga#bangtan#bts fanfic
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