#direction of trying to get some of my poems put out there

[medusa-was-innocent]

Wow this sucks

[bokutosbabe]

Now I'm Covered In You

(bllk boys as boyfriends)

a / n — thought making another post in this form would be fun, so i hope you enjoy!

content — bllk characters x reader, gn! reader, pet names used in a few parts, sadly canon otoya i fear, misspelled words are there for a reason i swear, cheater! otoya and oliver, some characters repeated, lmk if i missed anything!

synopsis — bllk boys and what type of boyfriend they'd be

✿.｡. “ how's one to know? ” .｡.✿

—The Romantic One

is always planning surprises for you, and i mean always. there's not a single week where you aren't being taken on 'adventures' that always lead you to a different restaurant.

what's the point in having all this money and not spending it on you?

they are constantly writing you love letters and poems. well, they try to anyway. they're not the best with their words and with many spelling mistakes, rather liking to show with actions, but they tried for you.

usually their poems end up something like this

' roses are red

so is my heart

my darling

my deer

my sweet buttercup

you taste just like a

tasty soda pop '

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ISAGI YOICHI, shido ryusei, jyubei aryu, ALEXIS NESS

— The Player

you know the famous saying, "how you get them is how you lose them?" yeah that's exactly how this relationship is.

you'd been one of their many side quests while they had a relationship going on. eventually after they'd ended said relationship, they'd chose you as their next partner.

they do spoil you with many gifts, mostly after you catch them cheating on you for the umpteenth time, but you stayed because they 'loved you'

sure they told you they loved you, but that wasn't really the case when they'd broken up with you because you were 'boring' them.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ OTOYA EITA, oliver aiku

— The Protector

is constantly worrying about you and is looking out for your safety.

with them being this 'big bad' soccer player, many people refuses to even look you in the eyes when you were with them. but if someone dared to hit on you when they walk off for a second? please pray for them.

some guy could be asking you for directions and he'd come up behind you and wrap an arm around you without even uttering a word. you didn't have to look at them to know the look they were giving the man was nothing but deadly.

some may call it controlling, but you knew them, they just wanted to keep you safe from all these men.

you had him, who else would you need?

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ KUNIGAMI RENSUKE, rin itoshi, SHOEI BARO, tabito karasu

— The Funny (insane) One

is constantly making jokes- some that aren't funny - but you laugh anyways.

everyone always asks you how your relationship is doing so well, and the answer is always, " i don't know," because you genuinely don't. yes, the two of you get into arguments, and sometimes the two of you get heated enough to have to take time apart from each other, but you always come back together.

how?

because they always forget what the fight was even about and come back into your space to show you some cat meme they believe you would like.

and the two of you laugh until you feel better again.

maybe you don't know how your relationship is so healthy, but you know why you're happy.

because they take the time to make you laugh.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ BACHIRA MEGURU, RYUSEI SHIDO, gin gagamaru, seishiro nagi

— The Traditional One

dates. Dates. DATES!!

they took you on soooo many dates before officially asking you to be their partner.

they definitely give the vibes of "my mom taught me i needed to..."

just the best gentleman!

you need to step over a puddle? they're putting their jacket down over it for you (it wasn't necessary, but they insisted on it)

you talked about wanting to see a movie once? he's already bought the tickets.

if you get married? he's insisting you stay home

" a pretty face like you doesn't need to work, i'll provide us everything." in his words

will do anything for you, really.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ YUKIMIYA KENYU, michael kaiser (pls ignore the mom part), REO MIKAGE, oliver aiku (again)

✿.｡. “ i'd meet you where the spirit meets the bone ” .｡.✿

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!!

[musette22]

What if, one Avengers movie night at the tower, the team decides to watch Four Weddings and a Funeral because Steve and Bucky have never seen it, and apparently, that's shocking.

Steve has been kind of quiet all evening, not joining in with the usual banter or even munching on popcorn like the rest of them, just watching the screen silently and sitting very still.

Two weddings come and go, and then, it's time for the titular funeral.

"Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone," the pale Scottish man recites W.H. Auden's poem, visibly overcome with emotion as he remembers his deceased beloved.

He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. For nothing now can ever come to any good.

The poem's final words hang in the air for a moment, bleak and heavy with sadness, and then suddenly, Steve makes a sound. It's not intentional, he just can't seem to stop it. Like the wave that's been building inside of him, quietly but inexorably mounting higher and higher, finally crests. A sob escapes him, sounding like it's torn from his chest, harsh and incongruent in the heavy silence of the room - and then, he starts to cry uncontrollably.

All heads swivel in his direction, surprised at the sudden outburst, but it’s just Bucky who is up like a shot, immediately reaching out for Steve. Steve curls in on himself, trying to hide his face in his hands, his whole body shaking with heaving breaths and big, ugly sobs.

“Oh, Steve, Stevie, hey." Bucky's hands are on Steve's shoulders; soothing, anchoring. “It’s okay. You’re okay, hey, sshhh.”

The words don't seem to register, bouncing uselessly off the wall of sorrow surrounding Steve, so Bucky wraps his arms around Steve's shaking frame instead and pulls him in, close to his chest. Steve resists for half a second before he melts into it, hugging Bucky back tightly, desperately, clinging hard enough to crack a rib in someone not enhanced.

“You were d-dead,” Steve chokes out, in between sobs. “You were dead and I – I m-mourned you. Bucky, I couldn't... I w-wasn't - Buck- Bucky.”

The last iteration of his name resembles a wail more than a word, heartwrenching, cutting right through Bucky's bones.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, inadequately, miserably. “I’m so sorry.” He rubs Steve’s back, over and over, shivering when Steve buries his nose in the crook of his neck, like he wants to burrow under Bucky's skin. Bucky presses his cheek against Steve's hair, trying to give Steve the comfort he's finally admitting to needing. "I’m here now. We’re both here. I’m never leaving you again, Steve. Never again, I promise.”

This time, the words get through to Steve, but instead of calming him down, they just make him weep even harder. He cries and cries until finally, his entire, big body shudders in Bucky's arms and some of that awful tension finally drains from his shoulders.

When his grip on Bucky loosens a little, Bucky pulls back to look at him. Steve’s face is blotchy red and wet, but his eyes are like cut diamonds, deep blue and bright with tears and emotion. He is, without a shadow of a doubt, the most beautiful thing Bucky has ever seen. Slowly, Bucky lifts a hand to Steve’s face, gently brushing his bangs away from his forehead. Apart from the occasional aftershock, Steve stays still, arms still wrapped around Bucky’s waist, their faces only inches apart. Steve's face, usually so controlled, is now wide open, love and adoration and awe all right there on the surface, plain for anyone to see.

Steve looks at him like Bucky hung the moon, like he’s his North and South and East and West, and Bucky feels too small to warrant it all, small but solid like a gem, precious and cherished in the face of Steve’s devotion.

When Steve’s eyes flick down to his mouth and linger there, his gaze rapt, transfixed, Bucky's heart trips. They haven't -- not since Bucky came back to Steve, not in this century, and Bucky hadn't been sure he'd remembered right, but now... Bucky's lips part on a soft, stunned gasp, and then before he can so much as blink, Steve surges up and presses his own lips against Bucky's. Bucky gasps again, arms coming up to take Steve's face in his hands, cradling it tenderly in his palms, metal and flesh alike.

The kiss is as much a thrilling, breathtaking culmination of years of silent yearning as it is the easiest, most obvious thing in the world. It makes everything that's felt just slightly off-balance over the past seventy-odd years finally right itself, pieces falling into place, the red thread of fate untangling itself and smoothing out, stretching taught and vibrant between them.

They're not sure how long they stay there like that, wrapped up in each other, revelling in the feeling of finally being together, being whole again. But when they finally break apart, Steve's eyes are closed and his face serene, finally at peace. He hums softly when Bucky rests his forehead against Steve's and rubs them together, lightly, comforting. The room around them is silent, the TV turned off, everyone else gone.

There'll be curiosity later, gentle teasing and well-intentioned demands for explanations, and that's alright. But for now, it's just Bucky and Steve, and a love that burns as bright and all consuming as the sun, as endless as the moon and stars.

[augiewrites]

“secret admirer” - dead poets society (final)

summary: y/n confronts their poet (lightly inspired by this post)

pairing: (not-so) anonymous!dead poet x reader

word count: 536

previous

Y/N felt like they were having an out of body experience—maybe they were dreaming? That seemed like the most reasonable explanation for a night like that.

They kept waiting for the moment where they shot awake in their dorm room, but it had yet to come.

No, this was real, and it was more beautiful than they ever could have imagined.

It was also over much faster than they would have liked. Y/N and Charlie bounced glances back and forth all throughout Neil’s monologue and the following final words from the poets. They were the last two to exit the cave.

Y/N spoke up once there was some distance between them and the rest of the poets, “So it was you this entire time?”

“That it was,” Charlie grinned as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“God, you’re so annoying.”

“What?” Charlie laughed out.

“It’s such a you move to be waxing poetic to me in secret while being an absolute terror in person.”

“Well, I had to get through to you somehow.”

Y/N was having a difficult time being annoyed at the grinning boy.

“You could have tried talking to me like a normal person—you know, the old-fashioned way of doing things.”

“I thought this was the old-fashioned way?” the grin still hadn’t left Charlie’s face, and the light look in his eyes made Y/N’s stomach flutter, “Besides, you wouldn’t have had any of it.”

“Who said I’m having any of it now?”

“Well, you’re here, and you’re actually having a conversation with me without trying to run in the opposite direction,” he stopped walking and faced Y/N, “I’d say that’s a start.”

“Maybe so,” Y/N shrugged and couldn’t help the smile spreading across their face.

Charlie’s features softened, “I liked your poem, by the way…not as good as mine, but it’s the thought that counts.”

“You’re insufferable,” Y/N laughed.

“But you’re suffering me anyway.”

The pair stood in silence for a beat, exchanging soft smiles and savoring the moment.

“So, where do we go from here,” Y/N inquired, “what’s your master plan, Romeo?”

“We go out on a couple dates, get married, grow old together—you know, the usual.”

Y/N rolled their eyes as their cheeks flushed, “would it kill you to be serious for five seconds?”

“Maybe,” Charlie grinned as he entwined his hand in Y/N’s, “I’d really like to kiss you.”

“Then kiss me, Dalton.”

And so he did, and it was perfect.

That is, until the cheering and wolf whistles began from up ahead.

Y/N was impossibly red as Charlie pulled them along with him back to the poets, a mixture of pride and adoration on his face as he looked at them.

“Really, Dalton? We leave you alone with an individual for one minute and you’re already putting the moves on them?” Knox teased the boy.

“Long con, boys,” Charlie wrapped his arm around Y/N’s shoulders, “works every time.”

“Have I mentioned that you’re insufferable?”

Charlie just smirked and leaned in for another short kiss. Sounds of mock disgust fell upon deaf ears.

Meeks was right, Y/N thought, this night really did wonders for my spirit.

~~~

a/n: keeping it short and sweet for the finale—thanks for all the love on this story <3

taglist: @vvnbxz @edb954 @coralineyouareinterribledanger @ashisabitgay

[recurring-polynya]

In the years since I've been running this blog, I've made a lot of jokes about Renji's seemingly ill-thought-out plan of:

Beat Captain Kuchiki

???

Profit Be with Rukia again

but I was looking at his volume poem the other day, and I think that I am an idiot, and beating Byakuya has never been connected to seeing Rukia again. It's a smokescreen. He does have an actual, actionable plan of training and working hard enough to become a vice-captain (specifically Byakuya's vice-captain), and then approaching Rukia again as her social equal. We know that beating Byakuya wasn't a key component of that, because he was planning to do it as soon as she got back from her mission.

The thing about defeating Byakuya is that Renji is purposely setting his sights a few degrees to the left of the truth to keep from falling into depression and despair. Trying to get Rukia back is a thing that he can try to do and fail, and in fact, he very well may. Beating Byakuya is impossible. No one believes he can really do it, least of all himself, which means, paradoxically, he can't lose. When you fail to do the impossible, you can shrug and say, "well, it was impossible, what did you expect?

I mean, it's right there in the poem: "I am going to focus on reaching the unreachable because if I think about Rukia, I am going to kill myself." And I don't think Renji is a guy who has a suicidal bent--the fact that he pursues this line of thinking is proof of that. But what is the difference between a person who thinks about killing themself and someone actively works to not to...? I don't know. It's complicated.

One of the most fundamental themes of Bleach is the idea that Hollows are fallen souls who lose their hearts and eat other souls in order to ease their pain, but they only end up creating more Hollows in the process except that we see examples again and again of shinigami pulling this exact shit (Byakuya, I am looking at you). I cannot figure out if Renji's drive to distract himself from the pain of losing Rukia is a play to avoid falling into monstrosity, or if it's pretty much a direct route. I mean, this is basically exactly the path that Gin and Tousen take--which makes it all the more interesting to me that Aizen rejects Renji as unsuitable for his conspiracy.

I can't put my finger on any particular thing that separates Renji from other characters in this respect, aside from maybe his fundamental Renji-ness-- the fact that he has other friends and connections? That he has hope, no matter how dim, that he may actually reunite with Rukia some day? That he's just a guy who reaches for life instead of death? (Mildly off-topic, but if there is one other character that this is also true of, I think it might be...Matsumoto???)

Anyway, another thing I like about setting himself against an impossible goalpost is that this would be a terrible idea for a human with a finite lifespan, but shinigami have all the time in the world. Go ahead, pal, pursue your impossible tasks, live your truth! I read a lot of stories about semi-immortal beings, and I love love love it when they seem very human and then they do some batshit insane thing that makes you realize, oh, they very much are not.

My favorite way to break my own heart is re-reading the "Fate is a Millstone" chapter, where we learn that Renji was a hair's-breadth away achieving his real goal of talking to Rukia again, only to have Fate throw him a face-full of pocket sand. I think it's extra salt in the wound, to be honest, if he's been pursuing the impossible goal of beating Byakuya as a distraction for all these years, only to arrive at a place where Rukia's life literally hinges on him beating Byakuya, a thing which is not just theoretically impossible, but something Renji has spent 40 years becoming intimately familiar with just how impossible it is.

[writingonleaves]

were you sent by someone who wanted me dead? (did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?) - jeremy swayman

pairing: jeremy swayman x original female character

warnings: swearing, pretty angsty. hopeful ish ending because i can't do sad endings, very personal but i think many can relate in their own way, cliche ish, barely proofread

inspired by + title: "the smallest man who ever lived" by taylor swift

word count: 5.6k

author's note: i'd argue almost every piece any author writes is personal, because it has their life interspersed through the words. but this one really is, because a majority of this is the exact same words i wrote years ago after a break-up. heard the bridge to this song and immediately knew i had to write something inspired by it. also trying a new format of sorts (maybe a bit meta??), so i hope you enjoy and lmk what you think!!

~*~*~

When Noelle Betsko walked away from Jeremy Swayman, holding back tears until the call dropped, she knew it was going to be a tough time for the foreseeable future. 

It didn’t matter that the pandemic had forced them apart. She knew she would still feel him for months to come.

She did the only thing she knows how to do when trying to deal with things. The one thing she always resorts to as an aspiring novelist. Sometimes on her laptop when the words were spilling out too quickly for her brain to catch up, tears littering the keyboard. Usually in her old beat-up journal, scribbling in the cursive that Jeremy claimed he always loved (“It makes your handwriting unique”) with the pens he had gifted her just a few months prior. 

At the age of 21, Noelle got her heart broken for the first time. At the age of 26, she’s about to publish her first poetry collection of sorts, all of the poems modeled after journal entries written throughout her life. So not really poetry, though her mother would say otherwise. 

She swallows as she thumbs through the middle part of the first known and binded copy of “miscellaneous.” There are only eight entries in the whole collection that are taken verbatim from her past writing. These are the eight.

May 13, 2020 (three days post-breakup, crying in my childhood bedroom)

I don’t even recognize who I was and who you were in those writings before these pages filled with love and hope and happiness. I can’t even summon up those feelings anymore that I knew existed at one point. Those feelings of complete bliss and love for someone so deep you can’t explain it. 

I’m mad at myself for not being able to conjure those feelings, because at one point, I did love you. How could something that was part of my daily life for over two years just disappear so quickly? 

But now, I’m not mad at myself. I’m mad, but I don’t know where to direct that anger to. I feel a bit empty sometimes, but then frustrated the next. Sometimes I get sad, but not so much compared to the other feelings. I spent enough time being sad during our relationship.

When we broke up, on an annoyingly beautiful Tuesday in May — over the damn phone, mind you, which whatever, it’s COVID. Fine — You told me you felt like you had been putting more effort into us. 

At the time, I didn’t react, but I’ve been thinking about how angry that statement made me. Makes me, actually. I was always very open with how much I gave to that relationship. How much it meant to me. How much it affected me. But I understand that with some people, sharing everything too much equates to things not meaning anything anymore. But you out of all people should’ve known that I mean everything I say.

I felt like I gave so much. I know I gave so much. When I told you I loved you, I always meant it. Every single time. When I told you I missed you, I always meant it. I wished you were right next to me at that moment. I mentally gave so much, because to me, I wanted to. You were always on my mind, always high up on my list of priorities. I never took us for granted.

I’ve been questioning if that was the same for you. Did you start becoming complacent?

The second thing you said that day that hasn’t left my head is that you knew me pretty well. And initially, I remember not thinking much of it. So I don’t doubt that; you always knew right when I was about to cry, even over the phone. You often knew when I was mad or upset, but when I look back now, you never pushed. Which is a good thing, to an extent. But it was a bad thing sometimes too. I knew you often wanted to give me space, but sometimes I didn’t want space. I wanted you to push. To try to understand. Maybe that’s unfair of me; it probably is. I should just say I want to talk about it more, right? 

But if you genuinely knew me, you would’ve known.

After two years, seven months and 12 days,  I still feel like I didn’t know you. Did I ever know you at all?

When people talked shit about you, I always defended you. And I still would defend you now. But lately, I've questioned what I’m even defending. All those good qualities that I thought you had, were they even real? Of course, I know some of them were, to a certain extent. But as I look back on us, there’s a lot of doubt about whether I even knew the person I called my boyfriend for so long. I know there was a point where you cared about me, but I can’t remember when. 

I often felt like I was letting you know so much about my life, but you didn’t do the same. I get that sometimes a person just wants to forget about the bad and focus on the good with a person you like for awhile. I get that. But once that was happening every damn time? That should’ve been a red flag. 

June 7, 2020 (twenty eight days post break-up, outside my childhood room on the deck) 

I don’t understand how you can give so much to something or someone and have it not be recognized or appreciated or enough. If I wasn’t enough for you, how will I be enough for anyone?

I hope one day you’ll truly understand how much this hurt. Not just the breakup, but feeling like I was always being pulled in a direction I didn’t always want to be pulled in. Feeling I was stuck between a rock and a hard place and never ever being able to win. I hate that I settled so much in the last year. Because I should’ve demanded more, even though deep down I knew you were never going to be able to give it to me.

I think back to our past daily texts, and I just don’t get it. At one point, we both meant the things we said to each other. 

Yet we still hurt each other. 

This fucking hurts.

You’ve hurt me so much, but most of it wasn’t intentional, which I think is somewhat even worse. Because I’m not totally mad at you for causing the pain. You never did anything outright to cause me pain, but I still feel like you did. 

Unintentional pain almost stings more than intentional. 

When I asked you out that night after we were both on an emotional high, I took a chance. For once in my life, I took the leap, knowing that I could get humiliated or hurt or just straight up shot down. 

Where did it all go wrong? Or, more realistically, how did we think that we could go through the wrong when it was there at the start?

I’m trying not to blame myself too much. Trying not to tell myself that I should’ve known better. 

All those times, especially at the start, when I would ask you if you genuinely liked me, you always thought I was just trying to be annoying. But you never understood that I genuinely thought that way. My self confidence from the start was lacking, and you didn’t try to understand that, because I come across to everyone as confident and self-assured. 

It hurt, when you would brush things off like that. I felt like you didn’t care.

And then, it got to the point where I stopped asking that question. Part of that is because I did become more confident and you did show that you cared, and part of that was because I knew it would piss you off.

The amount of things I was scared to talk about with you because I knew it would piss you off? I don’t wish that feeling on anybody.

I shouldn’t have been scared. I shouldn’t have been uncomfortable. But I was. And if you did notice like sometimes you claimed to, why didn’t you make it more comfortable for me? Was that too much to ask for? 

So larger than life that at the end, you faded into just the smallest man who ever lived. Fuck you.

Was it too much to ask for when I just wanted to know why you were upset? You didn’t have to ever tell me the full story (lord knows there were times I didn’t), but was it too much to ask for something? You told me once that I’m the person you’ve told the most to. How? You barely told me anything. And when I wanted to talk to you, whether it was about growing up in Alaska or why you were in a bad mood last night, you always brushed it off. Always. 

So I don’t feel so bad about feeling like I gave more effort. I gave so much of myself to you. If you really cared about me like you claimed you did, why couldn’t you show even just 1% of that care back? Or just meet me in the middle?

I could’ve tried harder to meet you in the middle, I’ll admit that. But you didn’t even give me a map or a clue how to. 

I felt so fucking left in the dark. I felt left in the dark about my own fucking relationship, something that I should be completely sure about. If you really love someone and care about them, how can you leave them in the dark? How could you not even see that I was struggling to find a flashlight?

You did care about me. I know that. To some extent and at some point in time, you did care about me. But caring about someone and their well-being isn’t always enough.

Why couldn’t you have worked with me? When I was extending my hand out, why didn’t you reach for it? How can someone just be so blind? I mean, I’m practically always spelling it out for you. 

Maybe I am being selfish. But fuck, I just wanted to be happy. At some point, you made me happy. When did I start making you feel like I wasn’t enough? Why wasn’t I enough for you?

It’s useless, in a way, to keep going about this. Because I know I deserve better. And we’ll both find people who are better for us. We just couldn’t be that person to each other.

I fucking loved you.

I wish it ended differently.

July 8, 2020 (fifty nine days post-breakup, in front of the lake)

I really really fucking miss you. 

I do. 

I miss being able to text you that i love you and not necessarily expecting a response until the next morning. I miss knowing that as soon as you wake up, you’ll text me back and assure me that yeah, you love me too. 

I’m left feeling bittersweet as I look back on memories that are just splashes and not definite strokes on the canvas that used to be us.

I miss having you as a friend. 

I’ve been having more urges lately to want to text you. And it isn’t even anything important. Just moments I experience throughout the day.

Do you get the urge to do the same?

July 19, 2020 (seventy days post-breakup, still in the same damn house)

It’s hard. It really is. And it kinda just hits you at random parts of the day. Sometimes I wake up from a dream that you were in and have to remind myself that it didn’t happen. 

Sometimes it physically aches when I realize that you won’t ever help me put on my jacket again, or complain that my hair is in your face when we’re lying on the couch watching Brooklyn Nine Nine, or groan when I drag you up to dance with me (which you never improved on, no matter how many times I tried to teach you basic rhythm). I can’t view our song the same way anymore, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to. 

The other day, I read some simple thing on Twitter. I don’t even remember what it was, but I do remember that for a split second, I could see your smile in my mind. But it wasn’t just any smile. It was the smile you gave me when you took me ice skating that first time. I remember asking you what you were smiling at, and you said that you just were taking in this moment. I don’t know if you took a mental picture that day, but I know I did. That day seems so long ago now. 

In almost anything I do, you somehow pop into my mind or into the conversation. And it’s not even in a harmful way either. It’s because you were part of my life for so long. I see a dog on the street, and it reminds me of how you always stopped to pet every single one we’s see I write something in my messy handwriting, and I remember how you always used to complain that you couldn’t read the notes I’d occasionally leave around your place when you went away. I went to the doctor’s the other day, and they said I was 5 feet and 3 inches, which is just definitely not true, and I almost reached for my phone to text you, because you would’ve cackled and insisted that no, I’m 5 feet 2 inches and it wouldn’t even matter because I’ll always be shorter than you. It’s simple and minute things that make me miss you that much more.

I still can’t listen to some songs the same way anymore, but I can at least listen to them now, which is a feat in itself. I was unpacking from college and found the teddy bear you sent me the first extended time we had to be apart and had to immediately put that out of my sight. From those boxes also came photos that I had decorated my dorm room with, and to be honest, I’m glad now that I let you keep our best one. I deal with all my emotions, besides writing, by making Spotify playlists, and I made a new one earlier this week. I think it’s helping. It’s a slow process, this whole moving on thing, but it’s one that I’m trying to be grateful for, because like most things in life, you just don’t truly know until you go through it.

Sometimes, I find myself wondering how you are and how you’re healing. But, even though we’ve both changed since the day we met, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you’re incredibly strong and stubborn. I hope that you’re finding some growth in this process too. 

October 17, 2020 (one hundred fifty seven days post-break up, apartment in orono)

It’s been almost 5 months, and you still cross my mind everyday. 

Why wasn’t I enough for you? Why didn’t you fucking tell me what you were thinking? Why was I the one who had to approach you just because I was just so done with the silent treatment?

But I’m not mad at you. Not anymore. The mad phase passed ages ago. 

Closure is a fake word. Even a breakup as mutual and smooth as ours was still left me with so many questions that will probably never be answered. 

Any breakup fucks you up to some extent. I knew it was going to mess me up even back when we were together. But not like this. Never like this. 

But like anything in life, I guess you can never really prepare for what you think you might feel, because most of the time, you discover a whole new side of you that you never thought existed. 

I don’t miss you. I don’t. I don’t feel that love in any way anymore. 

But I did once.

You did too, right?

November 15, 2020 (one hundred eighty six days post break-up, fogler library)

I hate Halloween. 

Though, it did bring me to you three years ago. I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you right then and there. 

Three years later, you texted me on Halloween, five months after our breakup. The universe really, really wanted to fuck with me. 

It was a tough night for you. I knew that. Because I know how you are after losing a game you should’ve won. But that didn’t mean that I owed you anything and had to respond. 

We agreed on no contact if we ever wanted to stay friends. Clearly, friends is out of the picture now, but come on. A vulnerable text after a bad night because you know I would feel bad for you?

Fuck, you know how much I would hate that. You had to have known. 

Just because we’re not dating anymore doesn’t mean that everything about you just disappears. I still know your tendencies. I still know exactly how my head burrows into your chest during a hug. I still know the actions I used to do that would be followed by you attacking me with a hug. I still could point you out in a crowd. 

I looked for you in every crowd for years. 

That stuff doesn’t just go away, no matter how much I want it to. But fuck. Fuck. Why did you text me? 

I don’t regret how I handled it. I probably would’ve responded months ago. But just like you, I’ve grown these last couple of months. 

It was comforting, for a split second, to know that maybe, just maybe, these past couple of months have been hard for you too. It makes me feel human. It makes me feel like I’m not crazy.

I’m glad you texted me. You gave me another level of closure I hadn’t known that I needed until then. 

But fuck, dude. You know me better than that. You should know me better than that. 

I hate Halloween.

November 26, 2020 (one hundred ninety seven days, at the coffee shop i brought you to when you came home with me two years ago)

I don’t regret loving you, but I hate you for what you did to me. 

Or maybe not. 

I hate knowing that even though we haven’t been in a relationship in a bit, it feels like sometimes, you’re on my mind the exact same amount when we were dating. I hate knowing that I gave so much of myself and my love to you, and it always felt unrecognized. 

Fuck, will it ever stop hurting? Will I ever be able to have to stop myself from thinking about you? Will it ever stop?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Happy birthday. I hope you enjoy it.

June 12, 2021 (three hundred ninety five days post-break up, in boston, visiting a friend)

Tonight, when a friend asked me about you and how I felt about how we ended, I was able to articulate my thoughts clearly. I’m really proud of myself for getting to a point where I can take the lessons I learned the few months after we broke up and acknowledge them in a succinct way without breaking down into tears. Just watery eyes and the occasional voice crack 

I’m also proud that I can say that when we were dating, I lost a bit of myself. For months, it was really hard to admit out loud.

I’m proud of how far I’ve come. Sometimes, I wish I could call or text you about it, because I think you’d be proud too. And I know I’d be proud of you. I am, to be honest. I do break resolve once in awhile and check on you through various avenues.

I still haven’t seen you in person since the last time COVID made us say goodbye. Maybe I never will again. But day by day, I’m starting to accept that and be okay with it. I’m accepting that memories that used to be so painted in my mind are blurry or almost completely erased now. But that’s okay. Honestly, it’s probably for the best. 

I wonder, when you think about it, if you think about different moments that I do. That’s the thing when something ends. You have to be okay with letting go of those moments and realizing that just because you forget them, doesn’t mean they weren’t important. 

I don’t think I miss you. I hesitate in saying that. Because I’ve moved on and handled the aftermath of it better than I think both of us ever thought I could. When you hung up the phone for the last time, I proved to myself again that I’m stronger than I give myself credit for. I think we all are. But we don’t realize it until we’re thrown into a situation that we think we’ll never be able to overcome. 

But we do. Whether it’s because we’re forced to because there’s no other option, it doesn’t matter. Because we get through. We move on. 

I hope you're moving on. 

And then it goes into other topics, graduating during a pandemic specifically and losing what’s supposed to be your last year of no responsibilities before adulthood. There are other poems in here that reference a past relationship, but not as much as these eight. 

If there’s one thing that Noelle did change, it was taking out the details. Jeremy may have hurt her, but he doesn’t deserve someone possibly making a connection between these poems and their shared background. She’s not a famous author by any means, but she wanted to be careful.

Not that she makes that part of her life publicly known. People don’t need to know that her brother was Jeremy’s captain for two years at Maine and that’s how they met. 

Noelle grew up going to rinks. She hasn’t gone to one since they broke up. 

But also, what the fuck? It’s been five years since she’s dated the guy. She really is over it by now, even if his rise to stardom in the Bruins flittering on her social media feeds still sometimes has her swallowing a bit before she can continue with her day. 

Brooklyn is far enough from Boston. But sometimes it feels like it’s right outside her door. 

She’s proud of her first published work. She really is. People believed in her and after numerous notes swapped back and forth with her editor, she did it. She always knew she wanted to work in publishing. She never knew she herself would publish anything.

And here she is now, two weeks after the book release, in Boston, about to do a q&a and a signing. Apparently, “miscellaneous” has been on top of numerous lists and it’s flying off the shelves. Noelle can’t really believe it and tries not to think about it too much, trusting her agent with all of that. 

She’s happy to talk about her work and process though. That she can handle. And she’s grateful for all the love.

After a signing at a local bookstore, she decides to walk the 20 minutes home in the Boston fall. It’s a bit brisk, but she doesn’t mind and she just wanders, belly filled with delicious sushi she inhaled for dinner with an old friend.

Of course it happens the one time during her walk when she doesn’t avoid eye contact with someone. The song playing in her earbuds fade out of her focus and she almost stumbles. 

Jeremy’s eyes were always Noelle’s favorite thing about him. She thought she would’ve forgotten what they looked like by now. But clearly she hasn’t. 

Her eyes quickly cast to the person next to him. It’s definitely a girl. They’re a bit too far away for Noelle to pick out details. But it’s enough. He’s walking on the side closest to the street. It’s a Friday Night in a bustling part of the city. 

It hurts. She wishes it didn’t.

Even from far away, she sees his eyes blink in recognition. Noelle puts her head back down and walks faster. 

(She cries in the shower when she gets back to the hotel. She had debated feeling super sorry for herself and going to the hotel bar but refrained)

She has a few free days in Boston before flying back to New York. When she wakes up the next morning, she debates on going home early. But no, she won’t let a three second glance at someone ruin her time here. She used to occasionally come here during her college days. She loves this city. 

The city may be Jeremy’s, but she can make space for herself here too. 

She takes her time at a cafe, people watching and eating some breakfast. As she takes her coffee to-go, she looks out the window at the bookstore she was in the night before for the signing. She almost drops her coffee. 

Jeremy walks into the book store. 

Now, Noelle is debating her options. What she should do is continue with her day and walk in the opposite direction. But she’s always been too nosy for her own good. And maybe a bit self destructive. She decides to leave the cafe and cross the street immediately, so impatient to where she’s almost tapping her foot as the pedestrian signal stays red. 

As a writer, she’s no stranger to movie moments. The scenes written in books or movies where the timing is too accurate to be real. The situation too good to be true. But after a car speeds through an orange and she can finally walk, she stops in her tracks instead, feet glued down to the sidewalk.

Because Jeremy is right in front of her on the other side of the street. Her book in his hand. And he’s looking right at her. 

The first feeling she can recognize in herself is anger. Anger at the way their relationship panned out. Anger at the way they ended. Anger at the radio silence the years following. Anger at him for everything. Angry at herself for everything. 

The second feeling is, weirdly, shame, which she’s embarrassed by. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. But she feels it anyways. 

The third, and perhaps the most prominent, is emptiness. Five fucking years later, and she’s brought back to the emptiness she felt immediately after they broke up. The emptiness that the person you loved isn’t yours anymore — who maybe wasn’t ever yours to begin with. 

Before she can run, he’s already crossed the street to her. He looks naturally different as someone who you haven’t seen in five years would. But he also heartbreakingly looks the same. 

“We should get out of people’s way,” Noelle manages to chokes out. 

Jeremy laughs a bit. Her heart lurches. “Yeah.” He starts walking and she follows him wordlessly. This is his city after all. 

He leads them to a bench under a tree with beautiful fall foliage. She puts at least a foot between them as they both sit down, staring out at the people passing. She can’t take the silence. 

“I see you bought my book.”

“I did,” he replies evenly. “Congratulations. I always knew you would do it.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. Maybe if she squeezes hard enough she’ll forget when she originally pitched Jeremy the bare bones idea of the exact same book that’s currently in his hand. “Thank you. Congratulations to you too. On everything.”

“You’ve been watching?”

She shakes her head. “No. But, you know Seth and…yeah. It comes up during family calls sometimes.”

“Why didn’t you say hi last night?”

She looks pointedly at a couple walking their dog. “You seemed busy.”

“She wasn’t-that-it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh. Because that makes me feel so much better,” she spits out, before taking a deep breath. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. We broke up ages ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she gives him a look and is slightly proud of how he seems to shrink into himself a bit. “I-I know it’s five years too late. I know I didn’t handle it as well as I should’ve. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

The thing is, Noelle always thought that maybe hearing an apology someday would make her feel better. But now that’s heard it, she’s not sure she does. 

She swallows. “I appreciate that.”

“I’ve already read it, you know.”

“Read what?”

Jeremy runs a hand through his hair. “Your book. One of my teammate’s girlfriend recommended it and I asked to borrow it. It’s fantastic,” He looks down at the book in his hand. It’s like the cover is taunting her. “I wanted my own copy.”

“Oh.” 

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For letting me off the hook with the poems I know were about me,” he scoffs, shaking his head at himself. “You could’ve written way worse.”

She can’t help but let out a chuckle. “I thought I was pretty mean.”

“Your definition of ‘pretty mean’ is tame compared to a lot of people,” he says, mindlessly flipping through the pages of the book. “You were always the kindest person, even when you shouldn’t have been..” 

He puts his hand out in her direction, the hand with the book in it. She furrows her eyebrows. “What-”

“Could I get a signed copy?”

“Jeremy. What do you want from me?”

He sighs, taking his hand back. “A chance to apologize?”

“You’ve already done that.”

“Not in the way I want to and what you deserve.”

She lets out a sigh, turning to face him fully. “I don’t know if that would be worth my time or yours. I know the book just came out, but that was five years ago. I’m over it. Forgive and forget, right?”

“But do you?” Jeremy counters back. “Clearly, you don’t forget, which I deserve. But forgive?” 

“We’re just going in circles now.”

“No we’re not,” he says firmly. “You’re just shutting me down because you don’t want to talk about it. I’ve had five years to prepare what I would say to you if I saw you again. You’re telling me you haven’t?”

“Of course I have,” Noelle tips her head back. “But also, what’s the point?”

“The point, is that I still love you.”

“Fuck you,” she says in a strained voice. “You can’t just-you can’t just throw that shit out there. Fuck you.”

He bites his lip, and to her annoyance, he laughs. But she listens more carefully, and it sounds very self deprecating. “I deserved that.”

“Yeah,” Noelle looks down at her feet. “So…what? You still love me?”

“I do.”

“And what are you going to do about that?”

“What are you going to let me do?”

“I live in Brooklyn.”

“I know,” she whips her head up. Jeremy looks sheepish, which she didn’t even think was something he knew how to do. “Seth mentioned it when we caught up a bit ago. I also still follow you on Instagram.”

She tries again. “It’s been five years.”

“And I’m here sitting with you and still feel the exact same way I did back then. Even more, to be honest.” He eyes her pointedly. “Any more excuses?”

Her voice softens. “You really hurt me.”

“I know. And I’m so sorry, Noelle.”

“I hurt you too.”

He shrugs. “We were young and stupid.”

“And we’re still not?” Noelle says with a snort before swallowing. “I’m not the same person you fell in love with.”

“I’m sure I’m not either. But I don’t know if there’s a world where I don’t love every version of you.”

“Even after reading the book?”

“Especially after reading the book,” he sighs. “Noelle, I know this is unfair of me. All of this. And I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to reach out. But I always intended to. And then you’re here? And I see you twice in two days? I’d be an idiot to not try. More of an idiot than I am, anyways.”

“Try for what?”

“A second chance? To be friends? Whatever you want.” He suddenly deflates. “Even if you don’t want anything to do with me. At least I’ll know.”

“Why did you never text me?”

“I thought about it a lot,” he admits. “I tried once, actually, after the high of a really good win. But it didn’t go through. I got the message.”

“The message?”

“You blocked me, right?”

Oh. “Yeah,” she lies. “I did.” She reaches into her bag for a pen and gestures for the book, which he gives to her, a curious gleam in his eyes. “I’m in Boston for two more days, including today.”

He takes the hint immediately. Eagerly. “I have a game tonight, but I’m free tomorrow.”

“Who are you guys playing?”

“Toronto. And I’m starting. Should be a good one.”

She hums non-committedly, scribbling on the inside of the front cover. She hands it back to him with a small, close-lipped smile. She nods at him to read the message.

to my first fan, 

i still love you too. 

xxx-xxx-xxxx

yours, 

noelle

He looks up, eyes shining but a bit confused. 

“I never blocked you. I just changed my number.”

“Oh.”

“And even if I still love you, I’m still mad at you.”

“I know. I’d be more surprised if you weren’t.”

She stands up, adjusting the bag on her shoulder and putting her sunglasses on. “Text me?”

His mouth splits wide into a grin. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

She backs away with one last attempt at a smile before turning down the street.

[antennaed-kenzy]

How r u? This is my attempt at a request!

Barou Shouei x GN (preferably)! Poet! Gentle/Sweet! Reader

Genre: Fluff, Crack, Reader is a sweetheart, Highschool/No Blue Lock! AU

- Reader doesn't know how to talk to Barou, so instead they secretly put love poems in Barou's locker. Reader thinks Barou doesn't know who his secret admirer is, until he corners poor Reader after class to confront them.

Small Letters

✰ Baro Shoei x GN! reader

✰ Genre: fluff, crack, reader is a sweety high school au

✰ Misc: Word Count: 1.7k I am having a wonderful day, sorry it took forever. Thanks for the request hope it meets what you wanted.

✰ you leave letters in his locker cause you're scared to say what you mean to him, that is until he confronts you

"You're joking? Love letters?" Your best friend shouts, way too loud for the whole world to hear.

You cover her mouth with your hand so she doesn't say anything else she isn't supposed to. "Will you keep your mouth shut!" You look around to see a few people giving you two weird stares as they walk past down the street. "People are looking at us weird."

The two of you continue to walk to school. Your friend made it their life mission to make fun of you about putting letters in someone's locker. You did your best to ignore her, but everything she was saying was right.

You don't like confrontation. Check You stutter when you try to talk to people you don't know. Check You forget things when you try to talk to new people. Check You are too shy to say what's on your mind. Check Lastly, you ignore your feelings and yourself. Check

So what are letters in someone's locker going to prove? The courage? No. The skills to talk? No point in learning who someone is? Partially. Then what's the real reason why you are writing these love letters?

"To get the thoughts out of my brain. Even if he doesn't know. I know he's at least seeing them." You respond to your friend while jotting down the notes from today's lecture.

She sighs wondering what is going on in your head. She knows you don't really speak your mind. So what are love letters going to do?

You made it home and opened your notebook to a clear page. You looked at your pens to find a nice one that had smooth ink on the paper. Everything had to be perfect, he had to know that someone cared for him.

After what felt like an eternity of thinking you finally thought of some cute little sentences for the first love note.

"You barely know me, but I feel like I know so much about you. Your cleaning habits, how you think you are the best. Well, you are the best. At least in my eyes. My eyes can't look away from you when you talk in class."

You put the pen done and looked back at your writing. You didn't like it too well but for the first letter, you don't want to be complicated and long like you have been stalking him for years. You fold up the letter put cute stickers on it and put it in your backpack.

The next day you wait for your friend to stop by our house so you guys can walk together.

"Have you written the letter?" She asked looking in your direction with a grin on her face.

You took away from her down on the ground with a little smile on your face. "Yes, it's short. Nothing too sweet."

"I can't believe you." Your friend teased you the whole walk to school about the letters.

When you finally arrived at school someone took away your best friend. They were from her club so you let it slide, thought it took you both by surprise when someone grabbed her and walked away.

Now it was your chance to slide the letter into his locker. You went to his locker and slid the note in the slit. You then ran away into the bathroom so you could hide away.

You look in the mirror while washing your hands. Your cheeks were like a fireplace, this was your first time doing anything like this. After regaining yourself you walk out of the bathroom and to your next class.

"Did you slide the letter in his locker?" She asked leaning on your desk.

You couldn't face your friend otherwise she would make fun of you more. "Yes, I did." Though your voice also spoke more than need be.

Your friend chuckled at you, "It was just a letter. Calm down. Who says he's even read it yet?" She sat in her seat in front of you, her body still facing you. "Don't be shy, {Y/n}. You just wrote a love letter to a guy that has more steam than a boat."

"Hey," You lifted your head to look at your friend. She had a big smirk on her face when she saw you. You hide your face when you feel the heat rise to your cheeks. "Shut up."

She laughs before turning around to face the class. The teacher walks in and class goes as normal. Besides that fact, you couldn't stop thinking about the note you slit in his locker.

When class was finished Baro Shoei opened his locker to be greeted with a letter that fell to the ground. He bent down to pick it up. There were a bunch of cute flower stickers around it, which were won from a prize machine for some sort of award.

He put the letter in his pocket for later. He went to his next class forgetting about the letter until he got home. As he was cleaning his school jacket he found the letter from earlier.

He opened the letter to be surprised by a love letter. Love letters were common in the school, but for him to receive one. It was like a blue moon, hell there is more of a chance for a blue moon than Baro getting a love letter. He opened the letter and read it through.

He pinned another love poem to the wall, and the collection kept getting bigger with each passing day. They all started the same, "I know you don't know me." Then the rest of the poems were her pouring her heart out.

They all had the same handwriting, the same pen, the same signature. It all leads to one particular person themselves, {L/n} {Y/n}.

The next day at school {Y/n} had put another letter in his locker. There he was waiting from afar to go grab the letter. They have gotten used to dropping off the letters, and they no longer rush to the bathroom to wash off their face.

You drop off Baro's love letter for the day and catch up with your friends. You have gotten more comfortable with life and yourself. However old habits don't die hard.

"What did the letter say today?" Your friend teased getting real close to your face.

Your face rushed on heat when you thought back to the letter. "I know you don't know me, but I know you. I know you so much more now through these letters..."

Baro took the note from his locker and put it in his pocket so he could hand it on the wall when he gets home. It has been about two months since this all started and Baro figured out who the person was about a week in when he saw a paper of yours. The same handwriting and the same pen.

After School Baro was waiting at the spot you usually wait for your friends.

As you were walking to your normal waiting stop you saw someone there. 'Baro' You stop walking when you realize who it was. You were shocked and wanted to back away, that was until he saw.

Baro looked at the time and then back at his surroundings. Then he saw you walking toward him. He called you over, loud and clear. Pretty much for the whole school to hear.

You stop in your tracks wanting to cower away in embarrassment. Since he already called, you had no choice but to walk over to him. You took a deep breath in and out. Your whole body was shaking, and your knees felt weak like they could give out at any moment.

You were unable to move anywhere, partially due to the fact that you couldn't move away. Your body wouldn't let you, and Baro had you in a corner. With a piece of paper in his hand.

You know what this was about, and so did he. This was his plan after all.

"Need anything, Baro-kun?" You ask not sure what to say.

He stayed silent for a while making the tension grow stronger and your body heating up like a furnace. He finally spoke and you realized everything you did was so, you.

"You're really bad at hiding things. Every letter was the same, the pen the handwriting. Your morals never changed along with handwriting. For the first 3 days, you were easy to figure out, but you kept going." Baro held the letter and gave it to you. "And maybe you shouldn't have used the same stickers you use on your folders."

You were too stunned to speak and too shocked to react. He caught you, the one thing you wished not to happen has happened and you didn't know what to do. You could only sheepishly laugh at his remark.

You look behind Baro to see your friends looking at you, yet here you are being confronted by who you think is the man for you and for your future.

He may not look like a good husband on the outside. He may not even look like a person to talk to. But on the inside.

On the inside On the inside, he is a perfect man.

He can cook for you He can clean for you. He'll take care of you.

Baro Shoei is the man for me. He may know me. He may look at me.

I'll care for him and he'll take care of me till the end of time.

That was the last letter you left in his locker. Along with it was the last letter of the school year. It certainly wasn't the last letter you left for him though. Every morning Baro would have a letter by the side of his bed, and he would have one waiting for him when he got home.

The both of you made a bigger wall dedicated to all your letters. All of them still had the same pen, the same handwriting, the same signature, and the same stickers throughout all the years.

For the long 3 years, everything was the same in the letters. You poured your heart out to him even if you two were together. You still wrote all your thoughts down on the notes and Baro loved every single one of them. You knew he loved them from the way he kept them in order all the wall easy to read from afar.

a/n: thanks for your request. I loved writing this and I hope it reached your expectations :).

[silverskye13]

Cursed/turned into an animal Tanguish, make him actually a cat

"How do these things happen to you?" Helsknight asked, crouching down on the balls of his feet so he was closer to Tanguish's level. Closer, but not on his level, as Tanguish, by some clever, terrible miracle, had been transformed into a cat. He was a handsome enough little creature, all blue-black, with a handful of sparse white hairs that salted his back and shoulders. But there was a large difference between handsome little cat and the full helsmet he was supposed to be, and Tanguish was, understandably, he thought, upset about his current circumstances. Even more upset now, given Helsknight seemed incapable of taking it seriously. "No really, I'd like to know. If I make an offering to whatever god or saint you pissed off, they might pass me over."

Oh haha, very funny, Tanguish said. Or he tried to say. What actually came out of his cat-shaped mouth, which made itself unavailable to forming human words, was a string of yowls that conveyed vague allusions to indignation. His fur spiked up his back for good measure, and he flattened his ears, just in case Helsknight needed the extra hint.

"I don't speak cat," Helsknight informed him helpfully, crossing his arms on his knees and raising his eyebrows in an amused expression. "You know, I've always been more of a dog person. Matches my aesthetic better. Do you think you could shape shift into something a little more intimidating? Even a large cat would do. You're a bit too scrawny and gangled, if I'm being honest."

Tanguish rumbled back a growl that he hoped would sound fierce and insulted.

"I'm terrified, truly," Helsknight informed him patronizingly. "Would a sardine help soothe your temper, O Mighty Feline? Maybe some cream?"

Tanguish swatted at him, tiny, impotent claws raking across Helsknight's boot.

"Hey now, be grateful," Helsknight tsked disdainfully. "Cream and sardines are an expensive find in hels. Probably worth your tiny cat weight in diamonds."

Tanguish huffed a sigh out of his nose, and then sneezed when the sensation tickled his whiskers. He was still getting used to whiskers. A tail and claws he was used to. The eyes weren't so good as his sculk sight, but not so different that it took a lot of adjusting. No, it was the whiskers that made his body feel the most awkward, little strings attached to his face that made him feel like he was constantly in danger of getting stuck somewhere, only to realize no, he'd just walked a little too close to a wall. It was his whiskers that told him, while he pawed miserably at his nose, that Helsknight had reached for him. Before he could jump away, Helsknight had picked him up by the scruff and tossed him on a pauldroned shoulder like he was nothing.

"So I guess we'll start with a quick prayer to my Saint," Helsknight sighed, "and then we'll start visiting alters until some priest comes up with a solution. Have you tried respawning yet? No, don't hiss at me. I don't know what that means. Just meow once for yes and do that weird growl-thing for no. So have you tried-- no, didn't think so. Put the claws back Tanguish, I'm not going to kill you. Killing cats is bad luck."

Tanguish snorted indignantly again, and then sneezed again, and at least got some satisfaction at the disgusted look Helsknight flashed in his direction.

"Sneeze somewhere other than my ear next time please."

Tanguish growled.

"I'm sorry, was that a no?"

He meowed brightly.

"You know, you've got at least nine lives. I'm sure my Saint will forgive me if I wring one out of you."

Tanguish swatted him on the side of the face. If Helsknight was bothered, he didn't show it. Instead he walked off down the street, clearly intent on his plan that Tanguish was sure wouldn't work, but they might as well try. Under his breath Helsknight hummed:

"There's an old poem about cats and monks. Can't really remember the lyrics. Something like... Pangur, white Pangur."

Helsknight chuckled.

"Tanguish, O Tanguish, how happy we are. Alone together, warrior and cat."

Tanguish settled down on the knight's shoulder, tail held out stubbornly for balance as he strolled down the street. He had to dig his claws in to Helsknight's cape to keep from falling off, but at least if was warm place to sit.

"Each has his own work to do daily; For you it is hunting, for me, slaying. Your shining eye watches the wall; My fair eye is fixed on a blade. You rejoice when your claws entrap a mouse; I rejoice when my mind fathoms a problem. Pleased with his own art neither hinders the other; Thus we live ever without tedium and envy. Tanguish, O Tanguish, how happy we are, alone together, warrior and-- are you purring? That's hilarious."

Tanguish, who hadn't realized he was purring, stopped abruptly, feeling vaguely betrayed by his own contentment. He swatted Helsknight's face, careful to keep his claws sheathed.

"What? It's not my fault you can't keep your little cat noises to yourself -- stop swatting at me! That's rude. Do it again and you can run your little paws off through town all on your own."

[love-lilly02]

LILLY PLS IM SUPER DOWN BAD FOR SOME TF141 DRABBLES RN

OK IDEA: HOW THEY SHOW THEIR AFFECTION/LOVE LANGUAGE 💥👊

KEEPING IT BROAD CAUSE I WANNA SEE YOU BE CREATIVE 🤭

MWAH DONT FEEL FORCED EITHER

— 🪿

RAAAA DUCK ANNON IS BACK‼️‼️‼️

i’m so sorry i didn’t see this by the way, i was cleaning😕😕

Anyways we’ll start off with Price, i think he’s definitely a words of affirmation person or gift giving. in the beginning he leaves you small things, a flower (yes, a singular flower.) with a letter saying it’s pretty like you, poems, treats hidden around your room. Once the two of you are together though he’s going all out. Flowers every week (he keeps one so he knows when it’s time to buy more), text messages with poems and paragraphs, date nights, shopping sprees. (emphasis on the shopping, you can look at something for too long and it’s in your apartment the next day.) i also don’t really see price as a touchy person, but he likes when you hold his hand or his arm (imagine period drama arm holding), ESPECIALLY around the boys.

Johnny next, this man is touchy to ALL hell. your on the counter? he’s got your ass. standing there doing ANYTHING? he’s around you, holding your waist, putting his chin on your shoulder, all of the above. In public he’s got your hand, your arm, your waist, any part of you he can grab. he’s also a flirter, to the BIGGEST extent, i mean this man will take one look at you and spew out so many compliments you think he’s got them pre written down. their also never the same compliments, ever. how he has so many you’ll never know. I don’t see him as a gifts person but if you express an intrest in certain things it will pop up from time to time.

Kyle is a bit tricky for me, because i don’t write him often. I think he’s a reassurance person, if you’re not feeling well he’s there or he’ll always say he loves you or something. Definitely someone who believes actions speak louder than words, which means everything in your house is getting done for you. dishes? he washed them an hour ago. trash needs taking out? oh don’t worry love, i got that. He just likes taking care of you, doesn’t really mind the busywork. And don’t you dare feel bad for it, he’s right there scolding you for it, saying that he wants to do those things, that he wants to help you. He’s definitely a clingy person, but not out in public. poor kid’s too shy for that, but at home he’s all over you. his favorite position is to lie with his head on your stomach, watching something on the telly while you read or scroll on your phone. definitely not because he falls asleep easier in that position.

Ghost is my favorite of them all. at first he just ignores you, i mean once this man realizes he has feelings you NEVER see him around😭 and then he gets over himself and somehow apologizes (how he got over himself, we’ll never know) and slowly starts going around you again, but that’s literally it. You don’t think anything else is wrong, wouldn’t even be able to tell something was different if it weren’t for all the people that started going missing. You complain about a co worker? their gone the next morning. some rookie is pissing you off? oddly enough he got deployed and killed in combat. you never understand it, especially when no one questions the disappearances or just where the people went. That’s how ghost loves you, by keeping you happy. Simon on the other hand, takes a much more direct approach with his love. Once ghost is done with his “i’ll kill you if you touch her” bs he’s confessing to you, buying you flowers for the first date (only then, for some reason?) taking you somewhere nice. The whole shabang for his pretty thing. He’s also a nicknames person, some of his favorite being “love, lovie, princess” and sometimes “thing” when you really make him mad. he’s just like kyle, shy in public but a fucking PUPPY at home. you try to get up in the morning, he’s got you trapped under him in seconds. you leave a room, he’s tailing after you, your cooking in the kitchen he’s right behind you, if you don’t yell at him to get off. it’s never suffocating, though. In public he’ll hold your waist or your hand, that’s about it.

i feel like i kind of got off topic at some points but those are hot takes off the top of my head🥳🥳 lmk if yall want an nsfw version

[unclewaynemunson]

prompt idea! :D

steve being a poet and eddie being a songwriter. they both reference each other in their works and no one has put it together yet.

( also hi you're awesome )

Oooh anon I love this, this is such an intriguing concept bc the possibilities are ENDLESS with this one! I hope you like the direction I ended up taking it in :) (and thank you so much for dropping this in my ask box! <3 )

EDIT: I wrote an expanded version for this one and it's also on ao3 :D

---

Jeff was the one who introduced Eddie to Ronan Right. His mom was moving and when Eddie visited to help, he found his friend with his nose buried in a small book that was nearly falling apart in his hands.

“What's that?” Eddie asked, flopping down next to Jeff among the boxes.

“My mom's favorite poet,” Jeff mumbled, barely glancing up from the page.

And as soon as Eddie got a chance to pick up the book from where Jeff had left it, he was hooked. He was no help at all for Jeff's poor mom, completely engrossed in poem after poem, reading them again and again and again.

Eddie liked reading poetry to get some inspiration for his songwriting, but a lot of poetry had this atmosphere of pretentiousness around it. This didn't. It was surprisingly simple. To the point, with a rawness to it, mostly short poems that had a simplicity with which they managed to cut right to the heart of things.

Ever since that day, Ronan Right became Eddie's biggest source of inspiration. He'd never start working on new songs before reading one of Right's poems first. And whenever he got stuck on his lyrics, he'd pick up one of Right's books – and every time, without fail, he'd find something in there to help him find the right words.

---

When people would ask Steve what inspired him, his answer was always the same, always simple: music. Most people probably assumed that by that, a poet would mean classical music or maybe jazz of some kind. They were wrong: Steve Harrington, professionally known as Ronan Right, liked to blast the most screamy metal imaginable whenever he was writing – much to the discontent of his poor neighbors. He didn't care much for lyrics, it was all about the sound for him: about volume, about harmonies, about a combination of ingredients that somehow managed to flip a switch inside of his brain that unlocked the more creative ways to look at words.

His favorite band was called Corroded Coffin. Something about them stood out in the long list of metal bands he loved to listen to. It was something about the sound of the singer's voice, about the guitar riffs, that simply made sense to him, made the words that he was looking for bubble up to the surface naturally.

He got halfway through the first song on Corroded Coffin's newly released album, when he froze at his desk. He didn't care much for lyrics, but those words... There was something familiar about them.

He replayed the song from the beginning and started frantically flipping through the pages of one of his earliest poetry bundles... Yeah, there definitely was something familiar about those lyrics.

They weren't copied, exactly. It could just be a coincidence.

But the album kept playing on and Steve kept getting distracted by the lyrics because there was so much familiarity in them. It wasn't like the singer was stealing from him, it wasn't even like he was taunting his copyright or anything like that... It was like he was building on Steve's words. Like Steve had laid a foundation that had sparked Corroded Coffin to make something beautiful. Like the two of them shared a mind, a soul, an inspiration.

And Steve wrote the best poem he had ever written, in one go, that day.

---

More bundles followed. More albums were released. And they kept interlocking with each other, one causing the other to do something new, try something different, figure something out.

Ronan Right was still an obscure poet, well-respected but not mainstream enough for bigger successes. Corroded Coffin was still an obscure metal band, praised by the connoisseur but too experimental to ever get anywhere bigger than the verge of the metal scene. The only one who noticed the textual similarities between the two, was Jeff's mother. She'd smile her knowing smile and chuckle quietly, delighting in her own private understanding.

---

A new book was about to get published. Steve had to drive down to Chicago to meet with his publicist and talk some things through, but his car was in the shop so he got on a train instead. The meeting went well, Don't try to be a hero officially got the green light, and feeling content, Steve pulled out the latest Corroded Coffin cd to put in his walkman as soon as he got on the train back home.

“Hey,” the guy opposite him said with a smile and a nod towards Steve's walkman, just before Steve could put on his headphones. “Corroded Coffin, nice.”

“You know them?” Steve asked, taken by surprise, a matching smile creeping onto his own face.

“Yeah.” The guy chuckled. “Yeah, I know them.”

Sunlight fell through the window and shone on the big rings around the guy's fingers, catching Steve's eye – and pulling his gaze towards the tiny book he was holding in his hands.

“Hey,” he said, “Ronan Right, nice.”

The guy stared at him for a few seconds, something like disbelief in his big brown eyes. “You know him?!”

Steve felt laughter bubble up in his chest. “Yeah, I know him.”

[the-hole-in-terzos-shoe]

Intro to Romantic Literature: Prologue

Professor!Terzo x TA!Reader (pretty gen for this part, but the main fic describes fem parts)

CW: implied smut, MDNI, 18+ only please, romantic tension, professor Terzo is a tease ✨

Word Count: 1.2k

I have been working on a Professor Terzo fic for MONTHS now, literally months. I'm getting close to the end, and this prologue popped in my head at 5 o'clock this morning, so I had to scribble it down. Plus, I think it'll make a cute little teaser 🥰 enjoy!

Intro to Romantic Literature: here!

Every day feels like a big day as you barrel towards the end of your degree. The pressure of arranging your final portfolio of works, defending final arguments, typing papers... it's all really starting to get to you.

𝘐𝘵'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯, the bittersweet thought crosses your mind. You'd finally be done with all this stress and move onto the ease of a consistent career, but you'd also be leaving behind the best job you've ever known. Leaving 𝘩𝘪𝘮 behind.

In fact, you're so lost in your thoughts, collecting and organizing papers and files so efficiently--you could do it in your sleep at this point--that you don't notice him staring at you, the pained expression on your professor's face that would tell you it eats him up to see you like this: so stressed you're ready to snap.

He reads you like the many leaves and pages studied in his romantic literature class, like a poem written just for him. You recite your feelings to him daily without knowing it; it's in the way you walk, the way you hold yourself, the way you tilt your head when you rest the tip of your pen on your bottom lip, lost in thought on the class discussion at hand.

Sauntering into his office, you drop your shoulders as you flop into his soft leather chair, taking a deep breath before sorting papers accordingly: lesson plans in the bottom right desk drawer, books on the bookshelf, papers to be graded in the third slot of the black wire rack, anything needing immediate attention left squarely on his desk in plain sight.

"Grazie, stellina," his voice snaps you back to reality, immediately causing your cheeks to flush at the nickname. 'Little star' is what it means. It makes you feel like a teacher's pet, which would've bothered you if it had been anyone else; however, it makes you feel special to earn attention from him. "La mia brava ragazza, you always do such a good job for me." He leans in the doorway, running a hand through his graying locks.

"Thank you, Professor Emeritus," it comes just above a whisper, and you look down at the desk briefly before standing to make your exit.

"Ah, ah, ah, not so fast," he murmurs, catching your waist as you try to pass him in the little room. Spinning you around, he pins the back of your thighs to the desk before leaving some space between you... Just enough space to be respectful, but a clear indication that you're not getting out of this so easily.

You're so caught up in the intoxicating scent of his expensive cologne that you hardly hear him when he asks how you've been. "Hm?" you reply, playing naïve.

"Tesoro, please, I can't have my favorite student looking as distracted as you've been lately," he starts, but you interrupt him.

"I'm not your student, I'm your teaching assistant," you remind him with a light hearted smile.

"You are still learning things, no?" he cocks one thick black eyebrow in that way that always makes your heart skip a beat, his intense white eye putting you in checkmate.

"I suppose so," you whisper, looking down at his ridiculously shiny loafers.

His fingers under your chin direct your stare back up, "What has you so distant, eh? Would you like to talk about it, cara? Confess your sins... So to speak." He winks at you, earning a small huff of a laugh from you.

"What are you, the Pope?" you joke.

His eyebrows quirk in an unreadable way, but he stays silent, urging an answer from you.

"I've just been really stressed with school," you finally concede, letting out a breath you'd been holding.

"Have I put too much on you?" he worries about the workload he's given you cutting into your schedule.

"No!" you look up at him almost desperately, "No, I enjoy this position so much. It's everything else. The final papers, getting good grades, trying to graduate." You choke on the last few words; it was something you'd been emotional about the last few weeks, plus your professor had your guard down.

"Don't cry, tesoro," he commands softly, but it's already too late as tears flood your waterline. Without a second thought, he cups your face in his hands, wiping away anything that threatens to spill across your cheeks. Wrapping a protective arm around your waist, he pulls you flush to his chest before fishing a handkerchief from his pocket, because of course he has one, and dabbing softly under your eyes before offering the piece of silk to you.

"Thank you," you stutter, clutching the cloth in your hand. Hesitantly, you glance up at him before laying your head on his chest, folding your arms under his in a hug.

His hand on your waist falls to caress the small of your back while the other cradles your head, while you regulate your breathing. You can't say for certain, but you think you feel a whisper of a kiss placed on the crown of your head. Holding each other like that for however long, you don't know, but when his fingertips gently start to massage your scalp, you let out an involuntary moan.

Your cheeks blush pink again, meeting a much more heated look in his mismatched eyes. As his warm hands move to grasp at your hips and waist, suddenly all of your worries melt away, as the only thing you can think about is him hoisting you up on the perfectly organized little desk and having his way with you, your panties tossed aside in his office chair, and you laid back and arched up into him while he works every tension from your needy body.

Your fantasy fades away when Professor Emeritus's hand cups your chin again, fingers pressing into your jawbone in a dominant way to lift your face to his. Your gaze wanders to his plump lips... how many times you've thought of having them on you.

His thumb gently strokes your cheek as he leans impossibly closer, and one of your hands smoothes over his firm chest.

But before he makes a move that he can't come back from, he presses the pad of his thumb firmly against your supple lips, stopping himself from crossing the line, even though he so badly wants to... wants you.

He gives you a solemn nod before putting some distance between your bodies, "I hope you're feeling a little better, after our, uh... chat, stellina."

"Uh huh..." is all you manage to breathe out before straightening up. "Yes, sir."

Offering a reassuring squeeze to your shoulder, he carefully presses a kiss to your cheek before sending you on your way.

Tonight, you'll tell yourself that you misread the situation, that he was only trying to be a kind and caring professor, but somewhere deep down inside you, under lock and key, you know that isn't true. Especially because you felt something hard graze against your hip as you squeezed past him and out into the hallway, but you put that thought far behind you as you head back to your dorm.

[floras-imagination]

Robbers, forever? 🖤 matty healy x reader

CHAPTER 1

series masterlist

summary: Y/n and Matty break each other's hearts multiple times over the years, yet they find themselves unable to stay away from each other... and this is the beginning of their love story 🖤 authors note: This story is inspired by some of my fondest memories shared with an ex (but I've made some changes to better align the story with Matty's character), and each chapter is accompanied by poems I've written about that relationship. I've posted them on my poetry blog, so just click on the links you'll find in the chapters:) Hope you enjoy it as much as I do 💘 (i think it's so cuuuute) word count: 2,6 k warning: y/n struggles with a restrictive ed in the first few chapters (but it's just kinda mentioned in the diary entry at the beginning)

August 2012

Dear Diary, I wish I were stronger. I wish I could beat this illness, but I just can't. Every time I try to recover, I fail. I've been doing so well in the last few months, but it's always the same. As soon as I'm doing better I mess it up again. Why do I keep lying to myself? "I'm in control." "Just one more day." "I can stop if I want to." But I never do. A day turns into a week, and suddenly weeks have passed, and I can't control it anymore.

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

Y/n sat in her living room, having some dinner while watching the news. As she glanced at her phone, she noticed an incoming call from an unknown number.

After considering it for a moment, Y/n became curious, so she decided to answer. "Hello?"

"Y/n?", a male, familiar voice asked.

"Matty?", she asked slightly confused, immediately recognizing the man on the phone.

"Surprised?"

"Uhm... yeah, kind of, I guess. Haven't heard anything from you in ages. How've you been?"

Matty and Y/N have known each other from school. After they graduated a few years ago, they sometimes still bumped into each other in town, enjoying a nice chat and updating each other about their busy, somewhat messy adult lives. Though their paths seemed to cross every once in a while, they never really tried to stay in touch.

"Great, actually," he answered. "George and I got a bit bored, so I was wondering if maybe you wanna hang out with us?"

"Hang out with you?"

"Yeah, we'd pick you up."

"Okay, let me get this straight," the girl stated. "You and George got bored..."

"Yep."

"and out of all the things you could do, you chose to ask me if I want to hang out with you?"

"Now what's wrong with that?" Matty asked, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, to call someone you have never called before, asking them to hang out on a casual Thursday.

"Well, I don't kn... Wait! Where did you get my number from?"

"Doesn't really matter, does it?"

"It does matter somehow."

Suddenly, the sound of a car horn made Y/N jump.

"Nah. We're here by the way. You're coming?"

"Matty! It's 9:30; I'm already in my pajamas!" she exclaimed.

Matty laughed. "I don't care what you're wearing."

"And who even gave you my address?"

"Just get your ass out here!" he snickered into the phone. "Now!"

"You're insufferable!"

"Yeah, I know," he shrugged it off with a smirk.

"Give me at least a sec to put some clothes on." Not waiting for an answer, she hung up. Despite her confusion about Matty's suspicious call, she changed into a pair of jeans and a hoodie, quickly grabbing her jacket and keys as she went downstairs to leave the house.

Matty sat on the passenger seat of George's car, his arm casually dangling out of the open window. "Hi, Y/n!" he greeted her with a big smile on his face, causing y/n's bewilderment to grow.

"Hi, Y/n!" George called from the drivers seat.

"Hi...", she hesitantly answered, shyly waving her hand toward his direction.

"Come on, get inside!" Matty said excitedly.

"Matty, I still don't kn..."

"Sshhh!" he cut her off, pressing his index finger on his lips. "It'll be fun. I promise."

Y/n opened the door and placed herself on the backseat, putting on her seatbelt as George started the engine, ready to drive off.

"How are you Y/n?" Matty asked.

"Uhm.. fine, I guess. Bit tired. I have work tomorrow."

"Are you still working as a nurse, Y/n?" George asked.

"Yes, I am. How's your music thing going?"

"Absolutely amazing", Matty answered immediately. "We're currently working on our first album. It's gonna be a fuckin' banger, isn't it George?"

"Oh, definitely!", George added.

"That's cool. I'm so happy for you guys. Can't wait to hear it," Y/n grinned.

"You're gonna be the first to hear it when it's done.", Matty beamed.

George shook his head, trying to hide a chuckle as he glanced over to the overly excited Matty. "What?" Matty reacted.

"Nevermind," George now laughed.

Matty shook his curls out of his face. "Idiot."

"Where are we driving?" Y/n asked as she slowly got more comfortable in the presence of her old classmates.

"I don't know," both Matty and George stated in unison, looking at each other as neither of them had a clue about their destination.

"Maybe we can park the car over there," Matty pointed towards and empty parking space he randomly saw.

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

After George parked the car, Matty quickly left the car to open the door for Y/N.

Their gaze locked for a moment, as she looked up at him from her seat "Uhm.. thank you," she chuckled.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you're welcome," he waved it off. "Don't mention it."

George rolled his eyes at Matty's silly behaviour. "Ouch!" he squeaked, as Matty stabbed him with his elbow.

"Ah look! A church," Matty stated as the three of them were heading towards one of the city's churches. "Quite stunning, isn't it?"

"It's just a church, mate," George raised an eyebrow at his best friend.

"Shall we sit down on that bench over there? Hope I won't go up in flames. Wouldn't that be fun, huh?" Matty asked.

A slight chuckle left Y/n lips, as she realized that going outside with Matty and George wasn't as bad as she expected. She was actually glad that she picked up that call. A little bit of distraction from her mind and her self-destructive thoughts had been long overdue.

"Do you smoke, Y/n?"

"Nah, it's disgusting."

George threw his head back in heavy laughter before patting Matty's shoulder, who looked at him in his usual clumsy way.

"What is it with you today, George?" Matty asked, shaking his head. "You're acting kinda weird."

"Me? No idea what you're talking about," he kept on laughing.

Y/n was still standing in front on the bench, while only the two boys were sitting.

"Anyway," Matty looked away from George, turning his face toward Y/n. "You know you can actually sit down here beside me." Matty said as his curls were dangling in his eyes again. He pushed them aside with his hand as he continued, "We don't bite, you know?"

"Well, I certainly won't," George still couldn't get over whatever he was laughing about. "But I wouldn't be so sure about Matty."

Matty kicked his foot against George's. "I'm sorry about him. He's usually not like that."

"It's okay, I'd rather keep standing. I just wish I knew what he's laughing about, so I could join in," the blonde girl chuckled.

"No, I think it'd best if he kept it to himself", Matty said with a pointed look at George, his tone firm, implying he should refrain from sharing the source of his amusement. "... wouldn't it, George?"

"Ookayy... this is... weird," Y/n said while observing the two musicians, trying to figure out what was going on.

Matty knew why George was enjoying himself this much, but he didn't want anyone else to know, especially not Y/n. He instantly started to regret that he had told his long kept secret to his best friend earlier that day, since George was on his best way of ruining Matty's well-thought-out plan.

George cleared his throat as he finally pulled himself back together. "Mh, mh...," he hummed. After lighting his own fag he handed the lighter over to Matty so he could light his.

Y/N watched as he blew the smoke out, which slowly meandered all over his face before evaporating into the cold, dark night. As he slowly opened up his eyes, their glances met for a second but she looked down at her feet immediately, to avoid having any more eye contact.

"I kinda miss going to school with you guys," Matty informed them. "Do you miss it too sometimes?"

"Nah, certainly not," George answered, but Matty's eyes were fixed on Y/n.

"Yeah, I do," Y/n chuckled. "Do you know who I miss the most?"

"No, who?" Matty asked, before he quickly added "Ah, no, wait! I know it!"

Y/n raised her eyebrow, waiting for his answer.

"It's me!"

George and Y/n looked at each other before bursting out in laughter.

"Oh damn, Matty. I wish I had an ego as big as yours," Y/n snickered.

"Yeah, well... okay. Who is it then?", Matty shrugged.

"It's Mr. Miller. I kinda miss his bad jokes"

"Haha, yeah, he was such a pervert, though."

"Yeah, I know. That's what made it so funny," she answered.

"I mean, he was only that funny because his jokes were so bad. Ridiculous." George added, slightly chuckling under his breath.

"Wait... doesn't he live over there?" The girl turned around, pointing towards a house across the street from the church.

"Uhm..," Matty thought for a moment before he continued "Yes! He does! He told us about the annoying chimes of the bell tower right in front of his house, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he did. Wow, that's amazing. Come on, let's see if he's home," not even waiting for a response, she started to make her way across the street to Mr. Miller's house.

"Y/n!" Matty whisper-screamed, "Are you insane? It's half 10. He's probably in bed already, shagging his wife or something."

George laughed at Matty's words. "I'm in. This is fun. Come on Matty. Don't be such a wimp." He stood up from the bench they were sitting on, walking over to Y/n.

Matty was still sitting on the bench, his arms crossed in front of his chest like a little kid left behind by his parents.

"Matty!" Y/n turned around to call him once again. "Get your ass up!"

Matty rolled his eyes before he got up, slowly strolling over the street to where is friends stood.

"Who's gonna ring the doorbell?" George asked, looking at Matty, who immediately responded in denial. "Don't look at me like that! I won't do it."

"And you want to call yourself a man? Pathetic." Y/n snapped in annoyance.

Surprised but kind of impressed by her answer, the two boys looked at each other and shrugged.

"I'll do it then," y/n informed them before she rang the doorbell at Mr. Miller's front door.

After waiting for a few seconds with no answer, she decided to ring the bell again.

"I think no one's home.", George said.

"I told you he's under his wife!", Matty stated.

Y/n chuckled as she looked at Matty to respond "Yeah Matty, you might be right. Let's leave then."

"I'm always right. Don't know why no one's ever listening to me," he said as they walked back to their bench across the street.

Now it was only George who sat down again, while Y/n and Matty stood in front of the bench.

"Imagine..," y/n started as she turned around to face Matty "like what if they were really in there..."

"They were!" Matty interrupted her. "Believe me."

They both chuckled in unison at their silly and dirty imagination. As Matty sought eye contact again, she tried to cover up her mouth with her hand, feeling a bit insecure. This time, she didn't look away but locked her gaze with his, looking up at the curly-haired man. Suddenly, something seemed to click in her. The sound of his laughter touched her soul like rays of sunshine, covered in sweet melodies. Like the myelin sheath of axons, allowing them to reach her ears even faster than the speed of light. She didn't yet know that this exact moment would change her life forever. That this exact moment was the start of a series of memories she would never get rid of. She didn't yet know that if a magical creature offered her to relive one day of her life, she would unhesitatingly choose this one.

If she had known all this, she probably would have held onto this moment longer. Maybe her question would have been something like 'Can we stay a bit longer?' or 'Can we make this night last forever?'

But instead, she said "Can we go home now? I'm kinda freezing, and I have to get up very early tomorrow."

"Yeah, sure thing," Matty said. And even though he wanted this rather intimate moment between the two of them to last forever or at least a little bit longer, he slowly loosened his gaze from hers. "George? Come on, off we go."

George stood up, and they slowly walked back to the car, neither of them saying a word. It seemed as if something magical lingered in the air. George had noticed that something had happened between Y/N and his best friend — something that changed the entire atmosphere around them, adorning it with a sweet, metaphorical scent.

🖤[poem 1]🖤

As Matty was about to open the car door, Y/n stopped him. "Look! There's a firefly!"

"Where?" Matty asked, wildly looking around.

"Right there, in your hair," she pointed up to his messy curls. "Wait, don't move." She carefully reached out her finger to his hair, trying to let the little firefly crawl onto it.

"It's so cute, isn't it?" she asked, showing him the insect on her finger.

"It is. I've never actually seen one before. Have you?" he asked while admiring the glowing creature on Y/n's finger.

"No, I haven't."

"Look, there's another one," Matty stated as he pointed his finger in the air next to Y/n's face.

Just a few seconds later, they found themselves surrounded by hundreds of fireflies, their gentle glow illuminating the dark night around them.

George was already sitting in the car as he rolled down the window, curious why his friends were still standing outside of the car. "What's going on out there?" he asked.

Done admiring the fireflies, Y/n and Matty got in the car. "Man, you missed out on something. About a million fireflies were out there!" Matty exaggerated.

"Oh really? I see them all the time in my garden," George answered casually as he started driving.

"You must be kidding!" Matty stated in surprise.

"No, like literally almost every single night!" he laughed and kept on driving towards Y/n's house to drop her off.

🖤[poem 2]🖤

🖤[poem 3]🖤

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

When George stopped the car in front of Y/n's house, she unbuckled her seatbelt, getting ready to leave the car.

"So, uhm... it was nice to hang out with you, guys," Y/n said.

"Yeah..." Matty started before he was cut off by George.

"Yeah, Y/n. I'm pretty sure Matty liked it too," George teased, wriggling his eyebrows.

"Thank you, George," Matty rolled his eyes at him. "But I think I can speak for myself, can't I? I'm a big boy, I suppose." He turned around to face Y/n in the backseat. "So, yeah. I loved it. It was fun. Maybe we can hang out again at the weekend?"

"Yes, I'd love that," she shyly smiled in response.

"Great."

"Okay. Well, goodnight then," she said, opening the door to get out of the car. "See ya, guys!"

"Bye, Y/n!" George waved.

"See ya!" Matty called out of the open window as she was already out of the car, opening her front door, waving goodbye with a smile on her face.

After she disappeared into the house, Matty immediately turned around, confronting George. "You fuckin' idiot!"

"What? What have I done now?" George laughed.

"George, I'm telling you...," Matty warned him. "If you ruin this..."

"I won't ruin anything, mate. I think you need to settle down a bit. Tonight went quite well, didn't it?"

"Yeah... Yeah, I think so," Matty looked outside the window, his tired head resting on his hand, his mind replaying the evening's events like scenes from a movie...

_____________

Let me know what you think xx

[heaven5own]

we need to stay strong, brothers.

genre fluff, college student au, beomgyu is down pathetic

brief desc beomgyus just so in love he needs to mentally choke himself so he wont vomit all the worlds poems about beauty and light to you

made this for my creative writing class and my lecturer shared my opening line to the class!! i wasn’t expecting validation so i was vv obviously unprepared when she asked me to talk ab this rrr… also ofc the version i submitted did not have beomgyu (characters were nameless and pov was 3rd person)

word count: 381 listening to — paris by taylor swift

Love confessions threatened to spill out of his mouth, but he was quick enough to wrap the imaginary red string of fate around his neck before humiliation marked his existence forever. Beomgyu promised himself just two more months—if, in those two months, he finally sees that you look at him the way he does, then he’ll say it. Men need to be strong. Keep your emotions at bay was what his dad used to say. He didn’t really get it, but he’ll do it because his refusal to vocalise his feelings for you isn’t cowardice… It really isn’t!

Blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil going on inside the man to your left, you ignored the two clenched fists in front of his face and continued wiping the strawberry-pink stains from his sleeve. He struggled to keep his face away from yours when his dad’s voice echoed through the bustling cafeteria only for him to hear.

Men need to be strong.

Stiff as a board, Beomgyu sat there trying to focus on the ugly, neon lights their faculty put up for Christmas. Your hands paused for a moment to process a question some guy on the table threw at you—something about the group’s plan to visit the zoo next week? He directed his eyes towards the hands he kept clenched in front of him as some sort of emotional support. You didn’t seem to mind anyway, so might as well just keep it there for his sanity.

Why you had been wiping his sleeve for 20 minutes now (it was 5 seconds) was something he couldn’t answer, but it’s fine, he could take it. Until you discovered that fruit jam was particularly hard to remove from a shirt and pulled his arm close to see better.

Men something something strong something something.

Every centimetre lost between you two drove him closer to slamming his face on the table and forever changing the trajectory of the cafeteria’s lives.

Beomgyu had almost finished calculating the cost of raising three kids and a dog when you stopped wiping. You turned your head to the rest of the table, continuing the conversation about that animal farm your friends wanted to visit. One squeeze of your hand around his and suddenly the invisible string around Beomgyu’s neck comes undone.

[faraway-sunshine]

Asker Dos and Don'ts

I'm sorry, this is going to contain so many don'ts, I feel bad!

Do:

Send asks!

Send asks with media or links!

Share any anecdotes, other stories, anything on that line so long as it's constructive (as in, Sunny can answer it with more than "oh damn" or "cool" or "I'll check it out later")

Feel free to send fanworks based on the blog! I will appreciate you for eternity

Push Sunny if he's initially evasive about a question - he's not a very reliable narrator after all ;)

Ask about other aspects of the world, such as other characters, his school, or whatever!

Hint about ships - a whole tag is dedicated to Sunny questioning himself regarding his sexuality.

Send stuff to me, the admin - just mark it as such as I default to answering as Sunny.

Check if it's been asked before by combing the blog.

Don't

Spam a question. It won't make me get to it any faster. If you're worried Tumblr ate it, wait at least three days for the first resend, a week for the second, and a week after that if I seem dead.

Send vents. I understand you mean well and I'm touched that you consider this blog safe, but! I'm not a therapist! Neither is Sunny! We're both mentally ill recovering teenagers who have a lot in our own lives and can't handle the stress! I'm sure you're a nice person but please talk to your parents, friends, doctor, or one of the hot/text lines on this list - they're all confidential.

Send asks in languages other than English - unless you're okay with being put through Google Translate.

Send random poems, songs, etc that aren't related to the blog in an obvious way. I'm sorry for those that put a lot of time and effort into them, I've seen some real wonderful stuff! But it's been getting spammed a bit and I don't have the energy to either halfass answers or spend an hour writing an analysis on each one. And neither does Sunny!

If you send a link, understand chances are it won't exist in Sunny's time.

Talk about modern politics; I'll very occasionally bring up past political issues, though very minimally as Sunny is by default disinterested.

Push your own headcanons or ships - you could talk about knowing someone where it ended differently or whatnot, but yelling into the inbox will not make me change my mind about my world. If anything, it'd make me resent the headcanon or ship if I get spammed over it.

Send anything that would be considered crossing a line anywhere else. This includes slurs, NSFW content beyond frank discussions of those topics, and serious threats directed at me, the admin.

Advertise. Anything that encourages people to look at an external link which benefits you directly (i.e an online shop, social media account, crowdfund business start-up, fundraiser) is banned. I understand often times are tough but this is meant to be a safe space. Yes, I did make a post to signal-boost a (now taken down) Lego Ideas set in the past, but that required no money shared and was tied directly to the blog's fandom (as in, it wasn't a political petition or similar). It's an exception and not one I expect to repeat anytime in the near future.

Roleplay as a canon character, though I appreciate the enthusiasm!

Try to use Anon powers - nice try. It's as tangible as Sunny reading a blog in real life. You can't send 100 tacos to me through the inbox, so you can't do that to Sunny either.

Happy asking!

[shark-myths]

🍓 🥤 🌿 for the ask game!!!! <333

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction? 

one of my favorite k facts tbh. i invented fanfiction at jesus camp with my new friend eden. we clutched each other on a hillside while a god rock band performed below, puffy with mosquito bites and illicit ideas, and whispered to one another of the members of our mutual favorite band, what if they kissed each other? we were 13 years old. camp was so in-the-middle-of-nowhere you could see the whole milky way at night, the thickness of it. the grass got wetter and wetter the longer you sat in the dark, hiding from the flashlights of your counselors. every few breaths you'd see a shooting star, til you were numb to marvel, til that was just what the night sky looked like and you expected it everywhere. it was magic and no one had ever thought of it before, boys in bands kissing. when we went home to our separate cities, i started handwriting fic (decorated with gel pen! this was the year 2003) and mailing it to her in hot pink envelopes. imagine my surprise when i discovered the internet.

🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love

one of my favorite fics i ever read was a girl!one direction story about squirting. here it is: you change, water sea by got2ghost

🌿 ⇢ give some advice on writer's block and low creativity

love this question, as someone who has struggled in the workplace to maintain the same creative energy i had access to in school.

for creativity: read. read endlessly. try to understand on a granular, sentence-and-word-level, why you like the things you like; what makes a line funny, what makes a line scary, what draws you in to a writer's style vs pushes you out of it. what do the books you can't put down have in common? read things that challenge you--long-form novels, old novels, things way outside your preferred genres. and try to have lots of experiences in the time you aren't writing. try new things! paint something, walk down a block you've never been on, look in people's windows, cook a new meal, get coffee at a new place, go for a drive, listen to someone else's favorite record, listen to a record you hate actually, go to a new store and just look around, touch fabrics, dance, have conversations, travel for no reason, watch videos on youtube about new skills you don't intend to master. READ NONFICTION, especially essays. try to avoid doing the same things you're comfortable with or things that feel easy for a whole afternoon. bury yourself in sensation. chase pleasure. let yourself play.

for writer's block: write anyway--in a journal, in your fragmented notes file with ideas, edit or polish something that's already written, get one sentence out. i like to set a timer for 20 minutes and give it a proper try (this means staying off tumblr and my phone) and then, if it doesn't lead to anything, i'm off the hook guilt-free, because i made an effort. try writing in a different notebook, with a different pen, in a different place, even in a different font on your computer. set yourself challenges like, write a 100 word story. write a specific type of poem like a villanelle. respond to a prompt or create one for someone else. if there's a part of the story--or a different story--that feels more easeful to write and you're just trying to get there, skip to that part. to be quite honest, writing in a notebook away from technology is the #1 thing that helps me just keep moving. it breaks me out of distraction and perfectionism cycles. it feels good to fill pages, even if it's with words you don't even up using.

the other part is, accept that our brains won't do what they won't do. great writing is not created by use of force. the biggest thing i have learned about myself is that if i can't write, there's something wrong. maybe the characters in my story aren't making sense, maybe the plot is boring and readers will be just as bored as i am, maybe i need to go back and rewrite something to end up in a better place for the next scene, maybe i need a week off from a story because i'm burned out on it and i should write something else or nothing at all. but most often there's not something wrong with the story--there's something wrong with my life. i don't have the time or the energy; i'm giving too much of the best parts of myself to the wrong thing; i'm trying to write at the wrong time of day for my energy level; i checked my email first and now my concentration is entirely shot; i need to work fewer hours if i want to write more; i need more help around the house if i want to write more; i need to just let it be dirty for a while and skip my chores if i want to write more, etc. figuring out what you need to actually feel like writing--learn to feel that again!--and making it possible to set other things, even important things, aside in order to write when you feel it, is so huge for me. making a commitment to the practice of writing and not the product of it. if you're doing that, you can relax. take care of yourself and fix the imbalances in your life. the ideas will come. writing is organic and we are organisms. given space and time, things will always change from how they are right now. let yourself and your creative practice ebb and flow when it needs to instead of forcing it to be something it's not.

thank you for the ask darling sorry i ranted at you for twenty fucking minutes!!!

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

skz prompt game!! i’ve got a request ;) image 4 prompts 32,33,38 and image 2 prompt 4! i’m thinking a seungmin/jeongin/fem!reader style thing! i love to see some maknae line representation 😏 especially in ur writing style! love u and ur work, jess! <3 - 🦊

SKZ Prompt Game

Prompts: "If you interrupt me one more time, so help me god."

"I'm going to put on some clothes before you say anything else."

"Are you trying to turn me on or are you really just that oblivious?"

"Excuse me, I have to go make a scene."

Members: Kim Seungmin, Yang Jeongin

Relationship: Burlesque Performers!FemReader x JeongMin

Genre: Fluff

"Guess what?" You flounce into the dressing room with a triumphant look on your face and a Cosmo in your hand.

"No." Seungmin replies back instantly, voice flat, face uninterested, as he leans forward to finish applying his makeup in the mirror.

You ignore his sour attitude, smirking slightly, as you lean your hip up against his vanity and watch him perfect his winged liner.

"It's a full house out there. Packed."

Jeongin appears at your side, stealing your drink from your fingers, ignoring your glare, as he takes a delicate sip and grins widely, arching a brow.

"Of course it's a fucking full house. All the best are here tonight."

You lean over Seungmin to grab a tube of lipstick out of his carefully organized makeup case, jabbing him with your elbow on purpose as you do so.

He flicks his dark eyes to yours in the mirror and stares you down, still crowded into his space.

"If you don't get your tits out of my face right now-"

You grin down at him and shake said tasseled tits in his face. "Oh, you mean these?"

He sighs as you finally straighten up and move to your own vanity, carefully applying the red stolen lipstick.

Jeongin finishes off your drink and sets down the empty glass, moving around you to sit down on the small couch to tug on his black heels.

You glance over at him as you finish your lips, a pout on your face.

"How is it fair that your ass looks that great in those pants?"

Jeongin grins, wiggling his brows at you, the dark kohl around his eyes darkening his pupils.

"I know right? I'm going to get so many fucking tips tonight."

Seungmin shoves back from his vanity, standing, as he tugs at the ropes of pearls draped around his long neck, adjusting the hem of his open vest as he glances between the two of you with something akin to irritation on his pretty features.

"Are you two going to banter like this all night?"

You give him a sly smile, moving to throw your arm around his shoulders as you nuzzle your nose into his neck, ignoring his attempts to push you away.

"You know it, babe."

You kiss his throat, leaving a red lipstick stain there, and he rolls his eyes.

Music and announcements echo down the hall from the main stage, and Jeongin stands, straightening his black leather pants so they hug his ass perfectly, adjusting the gold chain around his throat in front of the mirror.

He turns to the two of you, grinning, and motions with his head down toward the stage and the starting show.

"Excuse me, ladies, but I have to go make a scene."

Seungmin rolls his eyes as Jeongin disappears from view.

"Fuck. That means we have to control said scene, huh."

It's not a question.

You smirk at him and give him another quick kiss, pulling him along with you down the hall by the straps of his suspenders.

"On the contrary, baby boy. If we don't control the scene-or Jeongin-they're bound to make us a hell of a lot of money tonight."

********************************************************************************

"Introducing, the Songbird of Seoul himself-here to serenade us with his unmatched rendition of Love Poem-his unmatched vocals, raw talent, and stunning looks are sure to be a firecracker way to start off our show here tonight, ladies and gentlemen."

"And of course, not to be forgotten, our own lovely lady of the night, Mistress 9. Direct your eyes heavenward, beautiful audience, because she's about to descend like a dark angel from above and show you what those long legs and tiny waist can do for you-aerial style."

"Last, but certainly not least, we direct your eyes to the center of the stage, where the jewel of Seoul's performing scene stands ready to dazzle you with a routine he choreographed himself, the grand finale, give it up for the Maknae on Top!"

********************************************************************************

The show goes off without a hitch.

As it always does.

You are the best of the best after all.

After the rowdy audience has finally vacated, and no one is left but the small amount of staff, you let your facade drop, heaving out a long breath as you instantly lean over to unbind your ankles from the heavy, velvet manacles tightened around them.

You move to your wrists next, carefully placing the velvet ties, lined with lace, into the waiting box someone had brought out for you beside the stage.

You rub at the slightly reddened skin, stretching slightly, leaning over to once more take off your stilettos, and feel eyes on you.

Glancing up, you catch the eye of a guy you've never seen before-clearly a bouncer-frozen beside the stage, his shocked gaze clearly locked on your exposed breasts.

Bent over like this, you're sure it's quite the view.

His eyes finally drift to your face, and you smirk, raising a brow at him as you ask in a teasing purr, "Like what you see?"

The guy instantly goes ruddy, blushing heatedly, and looks away, clearing his throat in embarrassment, moving back to his job of stacking chairs.

You note appreciatively the way his arms flex every time he lifts another onto the pile.

"For the love of God, (Y/N), please don't embarrass another one of my bouncers into quitting." Chan, the owner and announcer, bemoans, appearing at your side, giving you a stern look as he lowers himself to hop down off the raised stage.

You laugh, straightening back up, the tassels that barely cover your nipples tinkling with the motion, and grin at Chan, giving him an innocent, wide eyed look in response as he begins to gather up the other props strewn around the club.

"He's cute, Channie. Where'd you find him?" You ask conversationally, kicking your heels to the side and breathing out a sigh of relief as your sore feet finally get to breathe.

"None of your business." Chan replies back grumpily, and you bite back another smile, because you've known him long enough to know he's all bark and no bite.

The bouncer gives you a sidelong glance again, and you move to the edge of the stage, sitting down, cocking your head as you study him.

He's definitely hot.

Large and muscular, dark hair sweeping into his eyes, a strong jaw.

"Am I allowed to at least talk to the new bouncer?" You ask Chan without really looking at him, catching the way the big guy blushes once more under your obvious stare.

Chan sighs, and you take that as the go ahead.

You swing your legs against the edge of the stage, playing with the ripped fish net tights that stretch across your thighs, and when he moves to stack another chair onto the growing pile, you ask curiously, "You got a name, new bouncer? Or are we all just referring to you as bouncer from now on?"

He glances up at you, meeting your eyes quickly before looking away with a harsh clear of his throat and a tug at his black turtleneck.

"Changbin."

"Changbin." You try it out on your tongue, and like the way it tastes. You glance over to Seungmin, who is currently busy straightening crumpled dollar bills and ask without preamble. "Seungie, are we looking for a fourth?"

You hear Changbin choke on his spit.

Chan's exasperation is practically palpable.

"Not actively." Seungmin remarks dryly without looking up from his task. He slides a glance over to Changbin and you see his brow tick slightly in interest. "But minds can change."

Jeongin appears then over Seungmin's shoulder, pulling wads of tips out of the tip hat sent around to each table.

He gives Changbin a sharp toothed grin, eyes alight, and you're sure he's taking stock of the way his muscles flex with his movements, just like you had moments ago.

He watches Changbin heave the stack of chairs easily against the wall, and heated interest suddenly sparks in his gaze, his grin growing predatory.

He's watching the new bouncer like he's his next meal, and you can't say you blame him.

"Are you trying to turn me on, new guy, or are you really just that oblivious?"

Changbin chokes again, going beet red, stuttering out something unintelligible, and Chan shuts one of the lids of the prop trunks a little too hard to be accidental.

"Okay, seriously?" He groans, glaring between the three of you. "Can't you all just behave for one night?"

"Of course they can't." Minho scoffs, polishing glasses behind the bar, not even looking up from his task as he addresses Chan. "Everyone who works here is a heathen."

"You work here, hyung." Jeongin points out cheekily, sliding down to sit beside you on the stage with a large grin in the bartender's direction.

"I know. And I'm no better than the rest of you." Minho remarks, and as if to prove his point, slaps one of the waiter's asses on his way by the counter, carrying a full tray of glasses.

Jisung yelps and glares at Minho, the tray rattling in his hands. "Hyung." He whines. "I could've dropped these!"

"And you'd clean them up too." Chan begrudges, dragging a full prop trunk past the disgruntled waiter and the smirking bartender.

"God, you guys are disgusting." Hyunjin remarks, making a face at Minho and Jisung, as he pushes past with his own tray of used glassware. "I hate it here."

"He doesn't mean that." Felix adds quickly, as Hyunjin disappears into the swinging doors that lead to the small kitchen.

"Yes, I do!" Hyunjin's voice drifts back out and Felix sighs, rolling his eyes and following the other waiter into the back with the rest of the dirty dishes.

"Regardless-" Chan says, reappearing from the storage area, a serious, business like look on his features that you all recognize. "-We need to talk about a few new acts for the show. We need to keep our stuff fresh to attract more customers-"

Everyone in collective hearing range groans.

"God, hyung, you're literally no fun." Jisung complains, before he escapes to the back to help wash dishes with Hyunjin and Felix.

You don't blame him.

Everyone knows anything is better than listening to Chan give one of his 'dad' talks.

"No, but seriously-" Chan protests, as people resume what they were doing, Minho moving further away to wash down alcohol bottles, Seungmin pulling his mic to the side to begin to clean it.

"Oh my god." Jeongin groans, looking heavenward as if any god within hearing range will spare him from Chan's onslaught. "I'm going to die."

"Jeongin, you specifically-" Chan turns on the youngest member of your troupe, and you take the opportunity to quietly slip off the stage and tiptoe back toward the dressing rooms.

"Please, hyung, just kill me. It would hurt less and be way less boring."

"If you interrupt me one more time, so help me god-"

Your foot hits a creak on the floor, and you instantly freeze, grimacing.

"(Y/N)." Chan's voice echoes out behind you, and you wince, turning to him with an innocent look and a sugar sweet smile. "We need to talk about a new aerial routine-"

You hold up a hand. "I'm going to put on some clothes before you say anything else."

Behind the bar, Minho snorts.

You can feel Changbin watching you as you walk away.

********************************************************************************

Changbin catches up to the three of you as you leave through the back door into the dark alleyway behind the club, your breath frosting in the early winter air.

"Hey, wait-"

"Fuck!" Jeongin jumps and swears, whirling around as you all turn to see the thick bouncer behind you. "Scared the shit out of me, man!"

Changbin's face grows apologetic. "Sorry, but I just-"

Seungmin tugs his coat up further around his throat and shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, and when he speaks, his voice comes out as a sort of high, nervous squeak, "We were just joking about the fourth thing."

You smirk at the bouncer over his shoulder. "I wasn't."

"What? No-" Changbin's face grows red, and then he shakes his head quickly, stepping forward and holding out his hand without really looking at any of you. "Chan just sent me after you to return this, said one of you left it behind."

There's a phone held in his large palm, and instantly, you feel Seungmin breathe a sigh of relief as he sags against you.

Jeongin pushes past the two of you, taking the phone from the bouncer's hand with a slight smirk as their fingers brush purposefully.

"Thanks, big boy. I would forget my head if it weren't attached to me."

Changbin's blush grows even deeper at Jeongin's casual use of the nickname.

You grin and tilt your head, studying him. "Wanna get drinks with us?"

Changbin's head jerks up, and his eyes grow slightly wide, before he's hurriedly shaking his head.

"I shouldn't, I should probably stay and fill out paperwork-"

He glances back toward the door that leads to the club, but his body language tells you he wants nothing more than to accept your invitation.

"God, you're already beginning to sound like Chan-hyung." Jeongin gripes, stepping around you to take hold of the bouncer's burly upper arm, and you don't miss the way he gets in a few appreciative squeezes as he pulls the man back toward you. "C'mon, big boy, live a little. He won't kill you if you do your paperwork tomorrow."

"He might." Seungmin deadpans, but there's a hint of a smile on his lips as he watches the unsure bouncer held in Jeongin's grip.

"We wouldn't let him." You assure with a slight smile and an arch of your brow, and Changbin's chest rises and falls with a sigh.

"Okay, if you're sure-"

Jeongin's face lights up with a grin, and he pulls Changbin with you down the alley.

"Of course we're sure!"

"He's definitely going to kill us for this, you know." Seungmin says under his breath, as the two of you trail behind the chattering Jeongin and the long suffering Changbin.

You shrug and give him a sidelong smirk, looping your arm with his as you walk.

"He can't. Not if he really cares about the club and making money. We're his best after all."

Seungmin hums in some sort of affirmation beneath his breath. "Yeah, I guess."

You tug him closer to you and snuggle against his side, the soft fur of his long coat brushing your cheek.

Your gaze drifts to the large bouncer walking in front of you, and your lips curve up into a smirk.

"From what I gathered, the new guy really likes tassels."

Seungmin huffs a little chuckle out his nose. "Yeah?"

You grin and look up at him. "Yeah. Can't wait to show him our impressive collection."

Seungmin's lips quirk into the hint of a dry smile and he rolls his eyes as you laugh and rib his side.

"Luckily for him, he's chosen the right profession then, hasn't he?