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persphonesorchid · 3 days ago

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Echoes Of Nebula - MYG

Summary: Some people say that soulmates are made of the same star, a part of each other, one and the same. Stars don’t live forever, Yoongi found, but they do burn forever.

Genre: Exes to lovers, angst, fluff

Word Count: 5.5k

Warning(s): I don't think there's any, but let me know if I've missed! Any mistakes are my own, I proofread this one (1) time 😭

Masterlist

Notes: Eep, hello! Here's this lil thing I've been working on! Also, Yoongi and Mc didn't end on bad terms, their separation was somewhat mutual and they're all good :)). Feedback is always appreciated and encouraged! Enjoy!

“Make sure to eat, okay?”

Snow swirls along the train tracks, following a gust as a train pulls into the station. There’s the bustle of people getting on and some getting off, bundled up warmly against the winter air. Some are going to see their families, some are taking a break from theirs. Some of them are stepping onto the train to never step foot in this town again. Some of them are just starting the first day of their adult lives.

Min Yoongi? He’s moving to Seoul.

Your hands tuck the ends of his scarf securely into his sweater, staring at him like you’re trying to memorize his face. Your tears make tracks against your cheeks and dry quickly in the cold.

Min Yoongi is breaking up with his girlfriend.

“Eat on time. And I don’t mean ramyeon because you’re too lazy to cook.” You sniffle, and Yoongi wipes under your eyes with his thumbs. His glove has a hole in it. Not that it matters much right now, he’s trying to get you to stop crying. “Sleep on time, not when the sun’s coming up.”

Min Yoongi is trying not to cry.

“Okay.” He holds you still because he’s trying to memorize your face. He’s got pictures, even the silly ones that he took and promised to delete, but they won’t compare. “I’m sorry.”

He must’ve apologised for the millionth time. He doesn’t know what else to say.

You nod, smile — sadly, tears on your waterline — and, “I understand.” for the millionth time.

He’s moving to Seoul, a long way away from Daegu.

A mixtape he made for shits and giggles took off and pulled him with it, and he has no choice but to follow. Your life is in this little town like a ship in a bottle and like a captain you’ll go down with it. You can’t follow.

You both talked about it for days, compromising, bargaining, but in the end, your lives are going separate ways.

Stars either explode or implode when they die, and Yoongi feel like the star you’re both made of has finally reached its end. It’s imploding, folding in on itself and pulling everything with it.

He has five minutes left to take you in, how the tears shine in your eyes despite his efforts, the string of the necklace he won you at a fair peeking from behind your scarf. The way you smile and your eyes squint, the way he could feel the chill of your hands through his gloves.

He wants to stay right here in this moment and never leave if it meant he could take you in for five minutes till eternity.

“Remember to...” His throat feels raw, but it’s because of the cold and definitely not because he’s crying. The lump in his throat makes it hard to swallow. He looks somewhere above your head to give himself a second, things like these are always hard for him. “Remember to dress for the weather.”

He squeezes your hands, takes a breath that he almost chokes on, and looks back at you. “Don’t skip meals. Get warm when you feel cold. Always carry an umbrella in July.”

Sometime later, Yoongi will wonder if the things he reminded you to do made much sense, if they mattered at all. Wonders if you’d actually remember. The umbrella one is really important; you always forget.

He sat where he could see you when his five minutes were up and eternity never came. Waving from behind a glass and missing the warmth of you and the sound of your voice. He watches you wipe your tears and smile big and you walk alongside the train when it pulls off and then you run, and then, Yoongi could no longer see you.

Min Yoongi broke up with his girlfriend and left her in the middle of winter chasing a train.

July is always rainy.

And every time it rains, Min Yoongi remembers the love he left in winter. He wonders if you remember to carry an umbrella. It’s been five years; he wonders if you remember him at all.

He watches the rain splash into puddles and listens to the patter against his umbrella. Seoul bustles on, indifferent to the weather, its crowds meandering through the mid-summer downpour. Despite the season’s warmth, a stray breeze slips past his collar and reminds him of colder days. He’s grateful his gloves no longer have holes.

He walks along the sidewalk, carried by the crowd’s flow without much thought.

There’s not much that he wishes for anymore, not much he can wish for when he’s got everything. He lives in a high rise, works at the top music production company. Sometimes it’s a bit hard being the most sought-after producer in Seoul. Life has been good; he can’t complain. That mixtape opened doors he thought he’d be knocking on forever, and he’s worked hard to keep them open.

Min Yoongi doesn’t need much of anything else.

But on days like this, when the wind is just a little chilly and the sky’s opened up and crying, he misses you.

Sometimes he looks back on that day and feel guilt. He knows it was just as hard for you as it was for him, the pain in your eyes that you smiled through.

For a while, he’d call you every night and update you, made sure that you were doing well. For a while, he’d keep up with you and made sure that you’re doing well. For a while, he’d call you every now and then, see if you’re doing well.

For a while, it had been a while and life, and then five years slinked on by.

Yoongi sighs, and there’s guilt in it. He got busy, as one gets being a producer in Seoul with a shit ton of expectations. He’s changed phones over the years, lost your contact, and he got busy.

Of course, he’s dated — mostly blind dates his friends set him up on — and he’s tried his best to push forward. There’s no point living in the past, he’s sure you’ve moved on and on by now. Sometimes he’s fine, and sometimes he’s back on that train station platform, wishing he’d begged you to come with him.

It would’ve been the selfish thing. It wouldn’t have been fair to you had he done that. When he got to Seoul, he’d buried himself so deep into his work he barely found himself. He would’ve dragged you out here, made you give up everything just to sit on the side-lines.

He misses you sometimes, anyways. He’s forgotten the sound of your laugh, but he still remembers the way your nose scrunches when you do. He’s forgotten the scent of your favourite perfume, but he remembers the way you lit up when he saved up and bought you a bottle forever ago.

Min Yoongi wonders if you remember him at all.

As Yoongi turns the corner, his umbrella catches a gust of wind and flips inside out. He fights with it for a moment before giving up, letting the rain soak his hair and the front of his jacket and jeans. He can’t help but laugh at the irony, standing there drenched, remembering the countless times he reminded you to carry an umbrella.

In the distance, he spots a small café and decides to seek shelter. The bell above the door jingles as he enters, and the warm, cozy atmosphere wraps around him like a comforting hug. He shakes off his umbrella – finally pulling it back down – and steps up to the counter, ordering a hot coffee to chase away the chill.

As he waits, his eyes wander around the café, taking in the rustic décor and the soft hum of conversation. A bulletin board on the wall catches his attention, filled with flyers and photos. His gaze lands on a familiar face, and his heart skips a beat.

It’s you. Your photo, smiling brightly, pinned among various advertisements and announcements. You’re standing next to a large canvas, looking proud. He steps closer, reading the caption beneath your picture: “Local Artist Exhibition - Featuring Works by ________.”

Yoongi’s mind races as he takes in the information. You’re here in Seoul, and you’ve been showcasing your art. A mix of emotions floods through him—relief, excitement, and a twinge of nervousness. He jots down the address of the gallery from the flyer without much thought and leaves without his coffee.

As Yoongi steps out into the rain, a million thoughts swirl through his mind, each one more turbulent than the last. He wonders why you never sought him out. Seoul is vast, but you’d known he was here, making waves in the music scene. Did you ever think about him? Did you ever miss him?

The realization hits him hard: he never knew you were doing art before he left. In all your conversations, all your late-night talks and shared dreams, you never mentioned a passion for painting. He feels a pang of guilt. Had he been so wrapped up in his own ambitions that he failed to notice yours? The thought stings, and he can't shake the feeling that he should have been there for your journey, supporting you the way you always supported him.

The gallery isn’t far, and soon he’s standing in front of it, his heart pounding in his chest. He takes a deep breath and pushes the door open, the sound of soft music and hushed voices greeting him. There’s quite a bit of people mingling about in quiet discussion, taking photos of the art mounted on the walls under ambient lighting.

Inside the gallery, he feels out of place. The walls, adorned with your art, are a testament to a part of your life he knows nothing about. Each piece is beautiful, but they also serve as a painful reminder of how much he’s missed. He wonders how many late nights you spent creating these, how many times you might have needed someone to share your successes and frustrations with.

Yoongi wanders through the gallery, the sound of soft music and hushed voices creating a backdrop to his thoughts. The rain outside has left him feeling introspective, and as he takes in the various pieces of art, he feels a strange mix of pride and sadness seeing how far you’ve come.

Each painting tells a story, each one a glimpse into your life over the past five years, a life he wasn’t a part of.

His gaze is drawn to a large canvas on the far wall. The colours are bold and dramatic, the brushstrokes chaotic and full of emotion. As he steps closer, he realizes with a jolt that the scene depicted is achingly familiar: a train station, snow swirling in the air, and two figures standing close together, wrapped in scarves and winter coats.

His breath catches in his throat as he takes in the details. The style is unmistakably expressionist, the exaggerated forms and vibrant colours capturing the raw emotion of that day. The figures are abstract, but he knows them instantly: one is you, and the other is him.

He remembers the way you tucked his scarf into his sweater, the tears that made tracks down your cheeks, and the way you both tried to memorize each other in those final moments. The painting captures all of it, the pain and the love, the sorrow and the hope.

Yoongi feels a lump in his throat as he stares at the piece. It’s a testament to your skill as an artist. He wonders how long you carried the weight of that moment, how many times you revisited it in your mind to create this masterpiece. He’s overwhelmed by a wave of emotions: regret, longing, and a deep, unspoken connection.

The title of the painting, written on a small plaque beside it, reads “Departure.” It’s fitting, he thinks, for the moment it captures, but also for the way it marks the beginning of your separate journeys.

As he stands there, lost in thought, he hears your voice nearby, and for a moment, he simply stands there. Your words meld together and he isn’t hearing much of what you’re saying, just the sound. His heart pounds against his ribs as your laugh — it sparks a memory and adds sound to the ones that were muted — bounces off the walls and around in his head.

He turns and sees you, in a corner, your back to him talking to a taller man, discussing a point of space where you’re standing. The sight of you, so vibrant and alive, sends a mixture of relief and nervousness fluttering around in Yoongi’s tummy.

Gathering his courage, he takes a step forward, then another, until he’s standing just a few feet away. You turn and startle, staring at him like he’s a ghost. There’s a brief moment of surprise — he gets it — and then you blink.

“Yoongi,” you breathe, and turning to the man next to you, you smile gently. “Taehyung...Can you give us a moment?”

The guy looks between you both for a second with a raised brow before he’s gone, walking off to some other part of the gallery. Yoongi’s mind is too occupied taking in the sight of you to wonder what that man’s presence may mean.

“Hi,” he replies, his voice soft and filled with all the words he’s wanted to say for years. Despite this, he doesn’t actually know what to say, he didn’t actually think this far ahead. He glances back at the painting of the train station platform, then back at you. “I saw your painting.”

You follow his gaze and nod, your smile tinged with a hint of sadness. “It was a significant moment for me. For both of us, I think.”

It’s a lot awkward, with him just standing there, not sure what to do with himself. You look the same, though now your hair is styled professionally and not the frizzy, wind swept mess it was when he last saw you.

There’s so much he wants to say but he feel like he doesn’t have enough words, or the right ones, so he takes it easy. “I saw a flyer...in a café. Um... It’s amazing...your work.”

“Thank you,” you say, your eyes reflecting a mixture of pride, nostalgia and a certain sadness. “I didn’t know you’d be here. It’s... good to see you.”

The conversation goes slowly, awkwardly. There are long pauses and nervous laughter, each of you trying to bridge the gap of five years with small talk about your art and his music.

“You’ve done well,” he says, gesturing to the paintings around you both. “I didn’t even know you were into art.”

You smile, the same just barely there sad smile from earlier. “It was something I started after you left. It helped me cope.”

“Oh...” His heart aches at the thought of you turning to art just to fill the void he left behind. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You shake your head and shrug. “We both had our paths to follow. It’s just... life.”

He nods, but the guilt lingers. Life had taken you both in different directions, but he can’t help but wonder what might have been different if he had stayed, or if he had at least tried to stay in touch better.

Min Yoongi is an idiot and he’s always told himself so. He’s an idiot and he sucks at this sort of thing.

As the gallery starts to empty out, Yoongi looks at you, the rain pattering gently against the windows. There’s a part of him that wants to apologize, to make up for all the lost time, but he knows it’s not that simple.

“Do you have time for a coffee?” he asks, hope and uncertainty mingling in his eyes.

Your smile is a little hesitant, but you nod, “Sure.”

You excuse yourself to grab your jacket and an umbrella — you remembered, he smiles privately —, and then you talk to the man from earlier for a minute before Yoongi follows you out of the gallery and onto the wet street.

The walk is quiet, filled with the awkwardness of five years’ worth of missed everything’s, and Yoongi holds tight to the handle of his umbrella. There’s a confidence to your step as you weave your way through the crowd, head straight forward and not looking down at your feet like he remembers.

You’re not the girl he left on that platform five years ago just as he’s not the guy that left you there.

You walk back to the cafe he’d come from, and he realises that you’re probably a regular here. The barista behind the counter greets you with a smile and asks if you’re having your usual. You order a coffee and Yoongi asks the girl behind the counter to reheat the one he bought earlier, and the barista’s eyes dart between you both.

You lead him to a cozy corner table after the order was called, and as you settle in, the conversation starts up slowly again.

“How long have you been in Seoul?” Yoongi asks first, his voice a little hesitant, not sure if he’s allowed to ask.

“Almost three years now,” you reply, looking down at your coffee cup, the tiniest furrow between your brows. “It took a while, but I got settled.”

Yoongi takes a moment to observe you, trying to reconcile the person in front of him with the memories he’s held onto for the past five years. You don’t look much different, your hair’s in an up-do, your cheeks are a little fuller, but that’s as much as he notices.

The silence that rings between you both is louder than the other customers in the cafe. Yoongi can only imagine what this scene looks like to others; two people who are barely looking at each other, like awkward strangers forced to share a space.

His coffee is still hot, and it burns his tongue when he sips at it, but at least it’s given him a distraction. He steals glances at you, watching the way your eyes comb the cafe and avoid his gaze.

Unfortunately, Yoongi is naught but a man, and there’s a nagging sound at the back of his brain. It grows louder until he fidgets, the nerves of his free hand feel like they’re dancing and he takes a breath. He looks down at his coffee cup, glances at you and then back to the cup. Then, he asks a question that made him want to crawl out of his skin.

“So...that guy back at your gallery seemed nice...”

He knows it’s been five years, and a lot can change in that time. As toxic as it may sound, the thought of you moving on with someone else stirs a mix of emotions in him.

He knows he has no right to be upset if you’ve found happiness with someone else. It’s not his business anymore, not after all this time.

Still, the fear is there. He doesn’t want to admit how much it hurts to think of you with someone else. He can’t deny the pang of jealousy at the thought, but he tries his best to ignore it. He has no claim over you. You deserve to be happy, and if you’ve found that with someone, then he’s happy.

He sighs inwardly, pushing the thoughts aside. He wants to focus on the present, on the fact that you’re sitting in front of him right now. Whatever happens, he’s happy to be here, he hopes he can be a part of your life again of you let him, even if it’s only as a friend. He doesn’t want to ruin this, whatever it turns out to be.

You stare at him for a moment and Yoongi can’t tell what you’re thinking, “He is...he’s got an eye for art.”

Yoongi nods slowly, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup. He hums softly, and now it’s his turn to pretend you’re not looking; he finds interest in the light fixtures above.

His next question sits on his tongue trying to pry past his teeth. He feels like a kid trying to find the right moment to ask his parents if he could go play outside. There’s a nervous churning in his tummy that isn’t at all pleasant. How does one ask their ex of five years if they’re seeing someone?

Yoongi imagines they’d just ask, out of curiosity, and get it out of the way. He could play it well. Maybe lean back into his seat and appear more casual before he says the stupid words. Maybe he could stop staring at the lights like a damn moth, and act like a being with a fully developed frontal lobe.

“Are you two...close? Or...you know...” He waves a hand and then lays it on the table. The sound of his ring knocking against it is kind of jarring, but it gives Yoongi an opportunity to look away again.

You make a quiet sound, and Yoongi finally meets your gaze. There’s amusement in your eyes, it’s obvious you’ve figured him out already — he wasn’t exactly being subtle. Which is unfortunate, because now Yoongi could feel embarrassment tapping on his shoulder.

You say nothing of it, even though he knows you want to. He could feel it.

“As close as business partners can be, I suppose.” You say, and Yoongi can see the beginning of a smile as you lift your coffee to hide it.

“Right...Sorry.” Yoongi says sheepishly, though, a weight lifts off his chest. As he looks at you, he notices something that makes his heart skip a beat.

You’re still wearing the necklace he got you all those years ago, the one he won for you at the fair. The twine that the little pendant hangs on looks worn, fraying a bit at some points, but you’re wearing it.

You kept it.

He clears his throat, the words he’s been holding back spilling out. “I’m sorry I lost touch. I got so busy, and then it felt like too much time had passed to reconnect. I lost your contact, and… I didn’t know how to find you again.”

You nod, your fingers brushing over the necklace like you sensed his gaze on it. “It’s okay. Life happened, for both of us.”

“But why didn’t you seek me out when you got to Seoul?” Yoongi asks, his voice soft, devoid of accusation; genuinely curious.

“I thought it would be for the best,” you say, equally as soft, staring into your coffee as though it would give you the words you’re looking for. “So much time had passed, and I didn’t want to disrupt your life. You were doing well.”

You look so sad when you say it that it almost breaks Yoongi’s heart.

“You know I wouldn’t have...” He wouldn’t have turned you away.

“I know, I just...” You sigh, your eyes dart somewhere to his left, and then back at him, “...I really missed you.”

Yoongi wants to reach out and take your hand so he does. Your fingers are warm from the coffee, squeezing his own, and tears beads at your waterline.

“I missed you too.” His gaze is soft and he knows it, but he doesn’t care because its you. You’re still you and he’s still him, and he misses you and the girl he left on that platform.

You’re both still made of the same star. It’s imploded but still glowing, and your necklace pendant catches the above head light.

His finger brushes over your knuckles, he stares at them, the shape and colour and all the little things about them that makes them a part of you. All that with his heart in his throat because he wants to ask something.

“Do you think…” His voice is barely a whisper, as if he’s afraid the wrong volume might shatter whatever delicate thread holds this moment together. “Do you think there’s a chance… that we could try again?”

You stare at him, your eyes wide, and he feels the subtle pressure of your fingers in his. He knows it’s a lot to ask, but the longing, the sense that maybe something beautiful can still be salvaged from the pieces, presses him to keep going.

Hope catches on the glint of your necklace pendant, and he clings to it.

“I don’t expect anything to happen right away. I just… I want to be in your life again, even if we start slow. No pressure, just… what feels right.”

You’re quiet for a moment, and then a soft smile curves your lips, almost as if you’ve been waiting for him to say something like this.

“We could try,” you murmur, the words tentative but filled with the same cautious hope Yoongi feels.

And from there, the pace is unhurried. You both ease into each other’s lives like rivers that find their way back to the same stream.

Some days Yoongi feels like he’s been whacked on the head with a giant stick. Anyone could tell by looking at him, when he’s got that stupid look on his face. Like he’s seen a goddess and she spared him a glance. He feels like he’s dreaming, and the last five years without you seem to blur.

He starts small, a text here and there; good morning and good night. Even if he’s busy he’d keep up with you, except when his work demands his focus. There are some days when you’d disappear, and Yoongi understands when you explain you’ve been in your studio for hours.

Your gallery isn’t far from his work, and as much as he could he’d go see you. He finds himself drawn to small gestures—bringing you lunch or a cup of coffee, or sometimes a sweet he thinks you might like. Each time he steps into the gallery with something for you, he feels a warmth settle in his chest.

It’s an excuse, he knows, to see you smile, to watch you light up at the thoughtfulness of it. And each time you look at him with that gentle, appreciative gaze, he feels his hope grow a little stronger.

You’d tell him all about your creative process, how you’d spin and weave what’s in your head onto a canvas. He’d listen attentively because he’s interested and he owes it to you. All those nights spent burning the midnight oil, steeping in his frustrations; you were there. You’d listen to him rant and cry when things weren’t working out the way he wanted.

He owed you much more than that.

He feels like he has to learn you all over again, which, in a sense, he does. Even if the bases of you are the same, there’s new facets. Little shards that fit into the mirror that reflects you, some pieces are a little dusty and worn with time and others are new and shiny. Yoongi has to take his time cleaning the old ones to see them again, and get used to the new ones that twinkle his eyes.

He invites you to his place for dinner, something simple and easy, and the conversation flows a lot better than it had a month before.

There’s no awkward sentences that cut off somewhere in the middle. Yoongi knows what to do with his hands and he has a better time looking you in the eye now. He feels a lot like he did back then, like a school boy taking his crush to meet his parents. His hands are a little sweaty, but the food is good and your eyes sparkle like they did back then, too.

You seem so sure, like you’re not worried one bit. Like you knew you’d meet him again and you’d be here in this moment; sipping on white wine – something new he’s learned – and chucking over stories set in the past.

The day he let a pet name slip was the day Yoongi wished a chasm would open up and swallow him. He had his excuse ready; the clock’s pushing one in the morning; he’s tired. The truth? It’s so easy to slip back into old ways, like nothing changed at all.

Like a smouldering fire in a hearth. It’s not quite out yet, and if you throw some sticks in there, they’ll catch.

After a while, on some sunny evening, Yoongi invited you to his studio.

“This is where I spend most of my time.” And he means that, letting you into his studio. There’s a blanket tossed haphazardly on the black couch that lines the wall near the door.

There’s day old take away coffee cups that never made it to the bin, cluttered in a designated spot. The bin he meant to empty is overflowing with scraps of paper and crushed takeout containers. That’s as far as the clutter goes. Though, Yoongi’s embarrassed now – he prides himself on keeping tidy. He wasn’t thinking when he asked you over, didn’t expect you to agree either.

So now he’s clearing up his desk and tying a knot on the waste bag. You make yourself comfortable on his couch like you’ve been there before, throwing the blanket over your lap as your eyes dart about to take everything in.

You’re impressed, he could tell by the gleam in your eyes and your little down turned smile. He’s come a long way from his old computer and MIDI.

“Its nice, cosy. Beats camping out in your bedroom.” You smile and Yoongi chuckles, nodding.

“Damn right.” He agrees, but he wouldn’t trade in those days for anything. Truthfully, he’s been here for three days, only going home to shower. Inspiration on an all time high and he’s just been riding the wave, you’ve been his muse for the past month. It isn’t the first time, at moments over the years gone you’d float into his mind like a mirage, and he’d get stuck on you.

He’s grateful for the break, though, there’s nothing much to do and he doesn’t want to bore you with rambling about what he’s working on. So he orders something, and lets a movie play on his laptop.

The clock ticks softly in the corner, its sound nearly drowned out by the hum of the desk lamp — he should really get that replaced. You’re still curled up on his couch despite the hour, the blanket pooled around your legs, your eyes scanning a painting on the wall he doesn’t remember hanging.

“It’s peaceful here,” you say, your voice quiet but steady, like you’re speaking directly to the heart of the room—and to him.

Yoongi glances up from the cluttered desk he’d been half-heartedly straightening; resorting his things because he can’t sit still. He watches the way you seem to belong in his space, your presence settling into the corners he never realized were empty. The faintest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“You think so?” he asks, moving to lean against the edge of the desk. He crosses his arms, the soft light from the lamp catching on the fine lines of his face. “I always thought it was too chaotic.”

You turn your head, your gaze locking onto his. “Chaos can be beautiful. It just takes the right eyes to see it.”

The words settle between you, their weight both gentle and profound. Yoongi feels something inside him shift—a small piece of armour finally cracking and falling away.

He takes a step toward you, his hands slipping into his pockets, his expression tentative. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

You sit up a little straighter, tilting your head. “What is it?”

“Would you…” He hesitates, his fingers brushing against the edge of a USB drive in his pocket—the same drive that holds the tracks he’s been working on for weeks. “Would you let me write something for you? About you?”

Your surprise shows in the slight widening of your eyes, followed quickly by a soft, warm smile. “You already do that, don’t you?”

Yoongi chuckles under his breath, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment. “Maybe,” he admits, with a small smile that meant more than he could say. “But this time, I want you to know it’s for you. No hiding it in metaphors or beats no one else understands. Just…you.”

You rise from the couch, the blanket slipping to the side as you close the small distance between you. Standing so close, Yoongi count all the things that make you you.

“Okay,” you say softly, your fingers brushing against his. “But only if you let me paint something for you, too.”

Yoongi takes your hand because he wants to, and his fingers make home in the spaces between yours. It feels like déjà vu and an epiphany all at once: five years ago you were this close and he was saying goodbye. His gloves had holes. Today...he’s saying hello again, and it feels like no time had gone by. And he kisses you now because he didn’t kiss you then, and you sigh into it like you’ve been waiting a lifetime.

Some people say that soulmates are made of the same star, apart of each other, one in the same. Stars don’t live forever, Yoongi found, but they do burn forever.

Tagging: @hoseoksluna @xpeachesncream @amon-rei @allhobbitstoisengard @euphoricfilter @madbutgloriouspond

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kingkatsuki · 2 years ago

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You’ve been Dynamight’s secretary for one year, two months, six days and four hours. You’re the best secretary he’s ever had, but now you’ve given him your two weeks notice. Bakugou can’t hide his disappointment at losing you, and wonders why you’re leaving him to go and work for another hero— Pro-Hero Manual. But you can’t give him the real answer.

It’s been the best job you’ve ever had, but it’s slowly become the worst because you just can’t avoid the feelings you harbour for your boss. Working beneath him has a dull ache continuing to grow in your chest, and you’ve decided to do what you think is best for yourself and leave. So you’ve handed in your notice, but Dynamight isn’t going to let you go that easily, he’s determined to remind you why he loves you working here, and why he wants you to stay— because he’s just as in love with you.

If only he could admit it.

Here you will find lots of little drabbles about working at Dynamight’s agency with Bakugou. They can be read in any order, and have no real timeline. More will be added as inspiration strikes, and please feel free to send me your own thoughts!

♡ ˚ · . when he brings you coffee first

♡ ˚ · . when you get him a birthday cake

♡ ˚ · . when you spill coffee on him

♡ ˚ · . when he gossips with you

♡ ˚ · . when he comes back injured

♡ ˚ · . when he stands up for you

♡ ˚ · . when you stay late

♡ ˚ · . when he stays late

♡ ˚ · . when he catches you crying

♡ ˚ · . when he does you a favour

♡ ˚ · . when he calls you out of hours

♡ ˚ · . when he almost gets caught

♡ ˚ · . when you stand up for him

♡ ˚ · . when you accidentally send him a lewd text

♡ ˚ · . when he hears an office rumour

♡ ˚ · . when you get jealous

♡ ˚ · . when he gets jealous

♡ ˚ · . when you ignore him

♡ ˚ · . when you tell him you’re proud of him

♡ ˚ · . when he gives you a ride home

♡ ˚ · . when he does a gossip magazine interview

♡ ˚ · . when he wants you to stay

♡ ˚ · . when he’s interviewing new secretaries

♡ ˚ · . when he spills his coffee

♡ ˚ · . when it’s raining outside

♡ ˚ · . when you’re both caught under the mistletoe

♡ ˚ · . when you play secret santa

♡ ˚ · . when you want to be his valentine

♡ ˚ · . when you have a blind date

#Bakugou x reader #Bakugou smut #masterlist #two weeks notice masterlist #these will just be little drabbles 400-1k #unless I get carried away #but I just love office romance bakugou ahhhh #will probably post the first little one tonight!!!

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therealneilperry · 16 days ago

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Look, Ik they went queerbait in season 8, but even before, house and Wilson are just so genuinely romantic.

We see time and time again that house puts Wilson above most things-if not all things in his life. He talks about “sacrificing a lot but never sacrificing himself” and then he proceeds to sacrifice himself for Wilson. We see him have to be high to be there in Cuddy’s hospital, but he never explains why it’s so difficult for him to be there; and then we get a parallel where house shows up sober, and explains why he has trouble with it. “If you die, I’m alone.”

The whole show is about House being a Doctor, it’s something he needs, even in prison and the mental hospital etc. but he gives it up willing to spend time with Wilson! Just like that! He hold Wilson while he almost dies and takes those silly pictures of them to make Wilson smile, his face when Wilson saws though his cane, the way he refuses to say I love you unless Wilson fights to live-which was his way of saying ‘I love you so much, I can’t imagine what I’ll do without you. I need you to fight so you can keep living for me’; he fights Wilson’s girlfriends constantly and Hector (Bonnie and Wilson’s dog) proves that Wilson reciprocates this weird devotional codependency (because Bonnie doesn’t point solely to cheating for her and Wilson’s divorce, she points to house)

Either way, they’re soulmates, and probably the only people who could stand to be with them, and it’s romantic as fuck; nobody can tell me otherwise.

#house #house md #house md fandom #james evan wilson #james wilson #gregory house #greg house #hilson #Hilson analysis #house analysis #Hilson breakdown #god i love these two #ahhhh #their so devoted to eachother #repressed gay feelings go CRAZY

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giggly-squiggily · 2 months ago

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Freckle-Dusted Daffodils (Jujitsu Kaisen)**Tickletober2024**

Y'all know I had to write for the girlfriends. Like- it's the law. Anywho- happy Tickletober! :D Today I bring you some NoMaki (Makibara?) cause dang it they're cute and I love them!

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@thatbigbisexual29 @duckymcdoorknob @gladdygirl18 @baby-tickles2022 @cupcake-spice13 @rachi-roo @mystwrites @chibisstuff @imjusthere07 @sevenincubistolemyheart @riisada @sp1racle @happy-trenchcoated-impala @r-ne_lovesu

Maki wasn’t the type to sleep in. Not usually anyway.

She was fairly consistent with her morning workouts- making it a point to get up extra early and hit the fields with her various cursed weapons; coming home around brunch hour with treats for her and Nobara to share. Some days however- she just let herself relax.

Today was one of those mornings.

Nobara let out a near mute sigh of content as she laid her head against Maki’s chest, relishing this rare day off from their usual routine. The room was the perfect temperature of cool but not too cold- the sky outside was cloudy and threatening to rain at any moment. Maki’s heartbeat was white noise; a soothing rhythm that pulled her towards sleep the longer she listened to it.

She didn’t want to sleep though. It was a rare sight, Maki at peace like this. She wanted to drink it in for as long as possible.

Leaning into the pillow, Nobara took in her face, from her long lashes to the way her hair fell against her scarred and freckled shoulders. Maki always had her skin covered- she never knew about them until now. The brunette took one last peek at her girlfriend’s face before reaching out, barely tracing the pattern of brown spots with her nails.

A twitch, a squirm. Nobara felt her lips curl into a grinch like smile.

Oh?

She did it again, just barely touching her as she traced the freckles dusting her scarred skin, feeling her girlfriend stiffen some in her sleep. Despite this, she didn’t look mad or unhappy- the slightest of frowns and Nobara would back off. Instead, she seemed even more relaxed than before.

“What do we have here?” Nobara barely spoke over a breath, biting down giggles as she carried on walking her feathery fingers down the freckled skin of Maki’s arm, tracing constellations against the warm surface. The entire time, Maki remained asleep- only occasionally reacting whenever Nobara got close to her armpits of the skin not covered by her tank top. It was such a warming sight, seeing her so peaceful, and knowing Nobara’s actions- admittedly backed by mischief- were a part of it made the smaller girl happy.

She ran her fingers back to the skin on Maki’s shoulder, debating whether she’d go for her neck or not. It’d end the game, but she just might have an advantage. She was about to do so when-

A hand caught hers, golden eyes opening and staring down her wide brown ones. “Oh, hey honey. Good morning.” Nobara smiled, hoping she didn’t look like a field mouse to Maki’s lioness glare. “You erm- sleep well?”

“....You know, I did.” Maki admitted, making Nobara relax. “I had a dream that I was in a field, and no matter how many times I swatted it away, this daffodil kept tickling me.” Oh no! Nobara tried not to laugh as she was suddenly pulled closer, Maki’s dangerous form looming over her. “So I decided when I woke up, I’m gonna pluck it out of the ground and tickle it. What do you think?”

“Well…erm, can the daffodil make a request?” Nobara squeaked out, giggling more when Maki quirked an eyebrow. “Cahan she have breakfast first?”

The green haired warrior blinked. Then she laughed, the sound low and raspy and doing funny things to Nobara’s insides. “Later.”

“Wait-wai-ahhahahahahhahahahahait!” Nobara let out a shriek as her sides were grabbed, Maki’s fingers flying up and down with merciless intent. “Mahahhahaki! Mahahhahhaki babahhahahahbe pleahhahahahshe-gehahhahahahah!”

“What’s wrong, daffodil? Not happy with the consequences of your actions?” Maki cooed at her, voice sweet compared to the destruction her fingers were bringing upon Nobara’s nerve endings. “Did you not think this through? Or are you just realizing this is what you wanted all along?” She kneaded along the terrible spot against Nobara’s hip, making her shriek so loudly they were sure somebody would complain. “Admit you wanted this all along and I’ll stop.”

“THAHHAHAT’S NOHOHOHOT FAHAHAHAHIR! AHEHAHAHAHAH MAHAHHHAKI!” The brunette cried, cheeks burning and eyes blurred with mirthful tears. She didn’t have the strength to push her away, so she opted to let her hands kinda flail, slapping at the sheeted bed and pulling at loose strands of Maki’s hair. “OHOHOKAY OOHOHOKAY FIIHIHINE! THIHIHIS IS WHAHAHT I WAHHAHHANTED NOW STAHAHHAP!”

Maki hummed in thought, moving her fingers to Nobara’s belly as she pretended to think about it. The brunette’s screeches died down to relentless giggling, her hands coming up to grab onto Maki’s. “Well…okay. I guess I can forgive you this time.” She finally stopped for good, letting Nobara breathe. “Do that again however and I’ll really make you regret it.”

“Schahahhary.” Nobara giggled out, squeaking when her hips got pinched. Before she could protest, Maki was kissing her, switching gears in her brain and making her melt. When they pulled back, she let out a happy sigh, reaching up and brushing her bangs back from her forehead. “I love you so much.”

“Love you too, you dork.” Maki kissed her again before rolling off her, going towards the bathroom. “Hurry up and get dressed- I promised a daffodil breakfast.”

“Aww, but I just got comfy!” Nobara whined some from her sheets, curling up more with a small pout. “Can I have you for breakfast instead?”

Maki paused, turning back with a raised brow. Nobara let out a witchy cackle before hiding in her blankets, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re too much.”

“You love me!”

“Do you want real breakfast or not?”

“Can it be that new donut place that opened up?”

“If you get your ass out of bed in time, yeah.” Maki smirked as she walked into the bathroom, the sounds of Nobara flailing out of bed making her laugh.

God, she loved her so much.

Thanks for reading!

#tickletober 2024 #tickletober2024 #tickletober #jjk #maki zenin #nobara kugisaki #nobamaki #makinoba #Maki x nobara #fluff #girls being girls #I love writing woman so much ahhhh #they bring me joy!#these two are my girls I tell you what!

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hallows-evening · 1 year ago

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hehe I love them, this idea has been on my mind for DAYS and now I am finally sharing it

Fic based off the image below the cut! ^^ Here is part two!

NSFW/ FETISH/ PROSHIP DNI

🍂 Ler!Poob (they/them), Lee!Pest (he/they) 🧡

(no japanese and no poob tq because I'm writing this on mobile and I might break something lol)

Pest grumbled softly to themself, staring at the door with a disgrunted look, waiting for the elevator to drop them off. The last rando finally stopped off at a floor called Splitsville and never returned, and Gnarpy, who, the moment the elevator stopped at a convienence store, left instantly in search for catnip. Which left Pest with.... them.

The "them" in question was no other than Party Noob, nicknamed by many others as simply "Poob". Pest was aware of Poob snatching quick glances at them, just waiting to start an annoying conversation on the only thing they ever talk about: parties. They particulary hated them because of their extroverted personality, clashing with Pest's more anti-social one. They wanted to be left alone, Poob would not let that slide.

They continued glaring at the elevator door, watching the numbers go by and the doors opening to every other place BUT the one they wanted to go. Pest, zoned out, did not notice Poob getting ever so closer to him until they were almost touching, and Poob decided to blow their party horn right next to Pest's ear, causing them to jump and let out an angry snarl.

"POOB."

"....Yes? Hi!" Poob waved their hand. "Welcome back! You are zonin' out and I wanted to-" Pest slapped their hand away, glaring at them. Poob shut up instantly, still smiling despite Pest's tall and (frankly) scary demeanor he suddenly put on.

"Do not do that again or I will throw you OUT at the next floor that shows up." They growled, not noticing the sudden holes appearing on the ceiling. Poob, having lost interest in what they told them, noticed the holes and jumped at Pest right before a spike shot out right where they were just standing.

Both were thrown to the ground, slightly against the wall, and Pest looked up at Poob in surprise and a little bit of anger that they had pushed them that hard.

"AH SORRY!!! I didn't want that spike to hit you!!!!" Poob exclaimed nervously, struggling to get up and out of Pest's grip, squeezing their side accidentally. Pest let out a small gasp, quickly and nervously pushing at Poob and struggling to get up themselves. Poob stopped for a second, wondering why they let out that small sound, staring at him. There was a small hint of a blush on Pest's cheeks. Then it dawned on them.

"Awwwhh Pesty I didn't know you were ticklish!" Pest's blush deepened at the observation, and then he instantly tried to scramble away from Poob, to no avail. Oh god no.

"NO I AM NOT." They growled, a hint of a shake in their voice. "No? Then why'd you make that noise? Can you do it again? Or am I gonna have to get it out of ya?" Poob smiled, a mischevious one.

Pest started fighting off Poob's hands advancing towards him. "DO- DO NO-OHOT!!" They yelped, losing their grip on one of their hands and it instantly going to his side. Poob giggled at them. "Ya know you've been reeeeally grumpy lately! You keep stealing from people, too. I think you need a little cheer up, and a little bit of punishment!" They watched as Pest struggled against them, squirming and flailing his arms, trying so hard not to let out all the laughter bubbling inside of them.

Pest used one hand to cover up his face as a grin managed to creep it's way onto their face. They tried to grab Poob's hand, but Poob just grabbed their arm and pushed it against the elevator wall. "Nuh uh." They scratched and scribbled their fingers underneath Pest's arm, making them throw their head back and kick their legs. They released their arm, using that hand to tickle Pest's other side.

Pest squirmed and flailed and kicked their legs, a tear forming at the edge of their eye. God this can not be happening! He was started to lose his breath from how long they've been trying to keep their laughter in, refusing to let Poob win. Poob, on the other hand, decided to switch one hand to his neck and that broke them.

"POHOHOHOOB NOOHOHOHO pFTTAHAHAAAAHHAHA-" Pest laughed hysterically, scrunching up their neck from Poob's prying fingers. Poob looked at them in surprise, not expecting this much of a reaction, but smiled and used the hand that was under Pest's arm to tickle his neck with the other hand. "Looks like I've found your weaaak spoott!" They sang the last words, enjoying the sight before him. Big scary guy that looks like he could rip you in half being tickled to bits? Absolutely adorable to them.

Pest continued to laugh, twisting and turning his body sporadically, trying to buck Poob off of him but with no luck. Poob took mental note of how they haven't told them to stop yet, and by the way his tail's wagging, they assumed they were enjoying this. They looked at Pest absolutely melted against the wall, halfway on the floor now, their hat slightly off their head and hair all messed up; Poob could be here for hours. They adored the way Pest was smiling and laughing, they hadn't ever seen him this.. happy. Poob was resisting the urge to snuggle up against him. They know if he did Pest would give him a few scars to take to his next party.

Poob was so focused on Pest's face that they didn't notice them getting weaker, until Pest clawed gently at their hoodie and they were brought back to attention. Poob stopped, moving their hands away from their neck and scooting away from them nervously. Pest, still giggling, rubbed at their face with a small growl, bringing their now-free legs up to his chest. They refused to acknowledge the feelings that moment left him, of Poob staring at him with a happy and caring look, making them melt into laughter that felt so unlike him.

They opened one eye, staring straight at Poob in the corner of the elevator with an unreadable expression. Right as they did that, a ding played and the door opened to the subway, their stop. Pest quickly got up, slipping a little on the floor, ignoring Poob's offer at help, and bolted straight out the door, not looking back. Poob watched them go, a little disappointed, but not like that was out of character for Pest to do... however, Poob didn't miss the blush still on their face as they ran out of the elevator.

#AHHHH I LOVE THEM SO!#The sillies!!!!!#Maybe.. I will make a part two..... ^_^#tickle art #tickle fic #sfw #sfw tickle art #sfw tickle fic #tickle content #tickling #sfw tickling

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