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mypoisonedvine · 4 years ago

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Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (Chapter 2)

read Chapter 1 here

series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind. you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman– even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: 2.3k (exactly the same as last chapter, i’m proud of myself lol)

warnings: just fluff and ~pining~ for now

thanks again to @evnscvll for making this moodboard-- and this series is for her 3k celebration challenge so def check out her writing!

You should’ve known that you wouldn’t be able to force yourself to write, but after a quick shower to wash off the day’s journey, you decided there was nothing better to do but sit at the desk and hope for inspiration.

Your husband had never been very supportive of your writing, which is why you had struggled to complete your latest novel. He, like your publisher and many of your readers, wanted a sequel to your last book, in spite of the fact that you were adamant it was impossible. It was a complete story, even if the ending was ambiguous. There was no room for growth in the characters or the world of the story; just because readers wanted more didn’t mean that they would actually enjoy a forced product.

The publisher and your husband, however, shared a very strong opinion: the fans won’t care if it’s forced, and neither should you as long as it sells. But, they weren’t writers. You were. And you knew there were different stories you needed to tell… if only you could find the words for them.

You were a few pages in when you heard the stairs creaking outside your closed door. There was a quick knock at the door; you answered with an offer to come in.

“I was just wondering if you wanted some coffee,” Mrs. Alberti explained as she crossed the room, standing beside you at the desk. You nodded with a quick thank you as she set the cup and saucer down onto the wood. “Oh heavens, he’s working on the house again,” she suddenly groaned, motioning out the window.

You leaned over and nearly spit out your coffee when you saw Sebastian outside. He was only wearing some much-too-tight jeans, driving a hammer down onto wood as the sun cast orange light over his body. He was glistening with sweat, which was probably pretty uncomfortable for him but he looked damn good anyways.

“Is he always… like that?” you shuddered.

“Maybe I didn’t just hire him because he was cheap,” she shrugged, handing you a cloth. “Go soak this in cold water and bring it to him, he looks overheated.”

You should’ve questioned why she was giving you chores, but you just took the rag and did as she asked. He didn’t notice you walking out to him at first, but stopped when he did see you, waving quickly and setting down his hammer.

“For the heat,” you explained as you handed it to him.

“Ah, mulțumesc,” he nodded, accepting the rag with a smile.

As he wiped the sweat from his face, you found your gaze trailing over his arms, down his chest and abdomen. Jesus, how could this guy eat Mrs. Alberti’s cooking every day and still have washboard abs? When you looked back up to his face, he was looking right at you with a grin-- oh shit, had he caught you ogling? But then again, maybe he wanted you to ogle. Why else would he be doing housework so… shirtlessly?

“Wh-what are you working on?” you asked him to break the silence. He gave you a puzzled look. “Er, the wood,” you motioned to the work he was doing, “why?”

His face softened with understanding. “Construiesc un cadru nou pentru fereastră,” he explained, motioning vaguely to the house, “în partea de est a casei.”

“Right…” you nodded, realizing that you had no idea what he’d said. Clearly you hadn’t thought this through.

“Aici, permiteți-mi să vă arăt,” he said, grabbing a board and walking past you, motioning for you to follow him as he slung the rag over his shoulder. You figured you looked like a lost puppy trailing behind him like this.

He stopped when you reached the wall of the house, and grabbed part of the window frame; it creaked and moved as he wiggled it, clearly on the verge of falling off. Then, he held up the new board he had been hammering and you realized that it was going to replace the rotting portions of the frame.

“A intelege?” he smiled.

“Da!” you answered, and he laughed.

“Cred că asta contează ca român,” he shrugged.

“It’s good you’re fixing the window. I’m sure Mrs. Alberti appreciates everything you do.”

“Bătrâna îmi plătește rahat, dar sfârșesc trăind aici gratis.”

“Well, I should let you get back to it,” you decided as you stepped back with an uncomfortable smile.

“Nu te voi mai ține, sunt sigur că ești ocupat,” he said, and though you had no real way to interpret it, his tone didn’t seem to indicate that he was trying to stop you from going.

With a little wave and a heavy sense of god why am I such a dork?, you left him and returned indoors.

First nights in new places were always sort of surreal, but this was definitely less weird than the sleeper car of the train. You’d felt like a proper stowaway then, but you had a stronger feeling of belonging here… even if you didn’t quite feel like you had any place to call home at the moment.

As you laid in bed and looked at the room turned on its side, you found yourself missing your room. Your real room. It had been designed and decorated somewhat meticulously, but most of all you missed the things about it that you hadn’t put that kind of thought into: the random earrings on your bedside table, discarded casually before you went to sleep; the layers of blazers and skirts draped over the chair in the corner; the still-slightly-visible coffee stain on the corner of the rug, even though you’d spent hours trying to get it out.

Meanwhile, this room was so obviously not a space that people lived in, but just a space people passed through. Though nowhere near as sterile as a traditional hotel room, it had the same emptiness even with its personality-- specifically, a reflection of someone else’s personality rather than your own.

All that said, sleeping was pretty easy once you got yourself comfortable in the fluffy mattress, even if you were aware all through the night that you were not at home. So aware, even, that you weren’t surprised at all when you woke up in the new space for the first time. What you were surprised by was the sounds of heavy rain against your window, immediately dashing your plans for a morning jog. As much as it seemed apropos to type by the window instead and soak in the moody weather, you decided to head downstairs for a cup of coffee first. Already having forgotten where you had left off, you grabbed the pages you'd already written to reread with your breakfast as you slipped on some comfortable clothes and made your way down the creaky steps

Passing through the living area, it was impossible not to notice Sebastian sitting in one of the chairs, staring intently at a half-played chessboard. Stopping for a moment to try to determine what he was doing, he moved a piece and you realized he must be playing with himself.

Against himself, you interrupted your own thought, he's playing against himself… important distinction.

“You play chess?” you asked, pointing to the board.

“Şah,” he replied.

You pointed to the chair across from him. “Can I join you?”

“Luaţi loc,” he offered as he gestured to it as well, nodding in approval. You smiled and sat down as he reorganized the pieces back to the starting position.

“Negru?” he asked, pointing to the black pieces-- ��Sau alb?”-- he pointed to the white.

“Um, black,” you decided, pointing to them since they were already on your side anyways.

“Tu primul,” he prompted you, and you moved your pawn. He moved his, and after that, it was long stretches of silence between moves. It didn’t feel awkward anymore, though; even between two people who share a language, chess is usually a silent affair.

“Check,” you announced as your bishop came into range of his king. He looked up from the board and gave you a puzzled look. “The bishop, see?” you demonstrated, tracing a line through the air over the diagonal squares which led from your piece to his.

“Ahh,” he nodded, stroking his chin as he considered his next move. It called additional attention to the shadow of stubble which dusted over his jaw.

He maneuvred a rook in the path of your bishop, and you settled back into your chair and you pondered your options.

The next hour went by oddly quickly. Not in a rushed way, just in a way that made you wonder how it had already been an hour.

“Şah,” he informed you as his knight threatened your king. You weren’t sure if it was supposed to mean ‘check’ or ‘checkmate,’ but since you were able to capture his knight with a pawn, it was definitely just a check.

Instead of mourning his knight, he grinned and moved a rook forward, capturing the aforementioned pawn and trapping your king for good. You gasped a little as you realized you’d fallen right into his trap.

“Şah-Mat,” he declared triumphantly. That definitely meant ‘checkmate’; you could tell by the smug look on his face as he crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair.

“You got me, man, that was sneaky,” you smiled. Offering your hand for a shake, you looked up at him: “Good game.”

He grabbed your hand and shook it, squeezing just tight enough that you wondered if you were the only one noticing a certain energy to the air. “Bun joc,” he replied with a nod and a smile.

He let go of your hand after lingering just a little too long, his fingers brushing over yours for an electric moment.

Now the silence was awkward again, as the two of you sat in the high-backed chairs, staring across the table at each other.

“So, you really don’t speak any English at all, huh?” you considered aloud. He looked back at you vacantly. “English? Even one word?” you lifted one finger as a symbol.

“Halloo,” he replied-- apparently a broken attempt at ‘hello.’ You laughed a little.

“Yes, that counts! Did you learn any English in school?”

“Televiziune,” he replied.

“Ah yes,” you nodded, “I know what that is. Television; I’m a big fan myself.”

“Puteți vorbi un singur cuvânt de limba română?” he asked you, raising one finger as well. Turnabout is fair play, after all.

“You mean other than ‘da’? Or ‘salut’?” you asked with a laugh.

“Pentru a fi corect, acestea sunt cuvinte,” he shrugged.

“Teach me,” you requested. “Just one word.”

You looked around the room, settling on a lamp. “What is this? In Romanian-- română?”

“Lampă,” he replied.

“Okay, well, that one isn’t very exciting,” you frowned. “Um, what about this?” you bent down from your chair, picking up one corner of the rug.

“Covor,” he answered, leaning down with you to run his hand over the soft shag.

“Covor,” you repeated, surely butchering it.

“Da,” he smiled. Okay, maybe you didn’t butcher it so bad, or maybe he was just being nice.

“Can you teach me more?” you asked, hoping it wasn’t too demanding.

“Uhhh,” he stalled, looking around the room. Finally, he pointed to the fireplace. “Vatră.”

“Vatră, fireplace,” you tried to memorize it as he said it.

You pointed to the window. “What’s the window called?”

“Fereastră.”

You pointed to the stairway. “Scară,” he informed you, smiling a little. You hoped this wasn’t boring for him, because you were actually having a bit of fun.

You pointed to his feet. He furrowed his brow a little and lifted one, grabbing his shoe. You nodded; “Pantof,” he explained.

You grabbed your blouse and shook it a little, appreciating the puffs of cool air that rolled down your chest; “Bluză.”

You pointed to him; “Sebastian.”

You already knew that, but it was interesting to hear the way he said it versus Mrs. Alberti’s pronunciation. “Yes, that’s an English name too,” you told him, “but pronounced differently…”

You wondered if your name had another pronunciation or translation, so you pointed to yourself; “Frumoasă,” he said, a little slower, a little more thoughtfully.

“Is that the Romanian equivalent to my name-- or does it mean ‘woman’?” you asked. He just smiled vacantly.

“This,” you pointed to the book, “what is this called?”

“Carte,” he answered. “Engleză?”

“Book,” you replied.

“...book…” he said slowly, contemplatively.

Suddenly inspired, you grabbed the loose pages of manuscript that you’d laid on the small table beside you. “Book,” you repeated, flipping through the pages. He seemed confused. “My book,” you clarified, pointing back and forth from yourself the papers. “I’m writing this-- that’s why I’m here.”

“Ah!” his face lit up with recognition. “Ar trebui să scrii o carte!”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I’m a writer; or, I’m trying to be. My last book did… better than my first, at least.”

“Ce fel de carte este?” he asked. You looked at him with confusion to indicate you weren’t sure what he was asking. “Uhh, book… este--” he made a sad face, rubbing under his eyes like a cartoon character’s weeping-- “sau--” he fake-laughed.

You laughed, actually, at his charades. “It’s a thriller, it’s crime--” you thought for a moment, then made the motion of stabbing someone with a knife.

His eyes got wider. “Este… erotic?”

You choked a little, realizing that your hand movement was… more ambiguous than you originally intended. “No!” you blurted out suddenly. “No, it’s… crime, mystery--”

You looked around and saw a magnifying glass resting on the side table by your chair; grabbing it, you held it to your face and gave your best quizzical look.

“Oh! Crimă!” he grinned. “Detectiv?”

“Yes, yes, there’s a detective,” you sighed satisfactorily, “and absolutely no handjobs.”

shamelessly tagging the people who liked chapter 1! @mariahthelioness29 @navybrat817 @navegandoaciegas @mandalorianspace @2smittinkittin @maizyistrash @honeygingergemini

#sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan fluff #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan fic

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johnsamericano · 4 years ago

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“Darling.” l.t.y

Pairing: mafia!Taeyong x journalist!reader

Genre: fluff (Taeyong’s a really soft boi), angst, (not kinky) smut

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, minor character death, sex, I think that’s it.

Summary: Your boss asks you to write an insight on the mafia gang that’s been causing so many deaths recently. But you don’t expect the leader to be so...different.

Word count: idk but it’s ✨long✨

A/n: I hope you like it 😌

“Yes, boss?” You peeked through the door of your boss’s office.

“Sit down, please.” He removed his glasses, gently massaging his nose bridge afterwards. “How long have you been working with us, y/n?”

“Five months, sir.”

“Do you like working here?” It suddenly sounded like he was about to fire you.

“Yes, very much.” You squeezed your hands nervously. “Have I done something wrong, sir?”

“Not at all, your work is pretty good for a rookie.” His gaze on you was intense. “That’s why I have a special job for you.” Your eyes lit up. You weren’t getting fired and that was a relief.

“I’m sure you’re aware about the recent murders around this area.” You nodded. “After exhaustive research, we’ve found the culprit.” That was good news, yet he seemed so serious.

“Have you told the police?”

“Oh I’m sure they know.” He smirked sarcastically, his mustache making contact with his wide nose. “But they won’t do anything, we’re dealing with a mafia gang after all.”

“Wait, what?” You lived in a small town were everyone knew each other. It was shocking enough to find out that a killer was in town, but mafia? That wasn’t possible. “Are you sure about this?”

“Of course I am.” He said as cocky as ever. “I’ve worked in this industry for more than thirty years, I have my ways of getting information.”

“So what are you gonna do about it?”

“I’m not gonna do shit. You are.” You furrowed your eyebrows. “I want you to find a way into the gang, get me as much information as you can and return.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“You don’t have a say in this, y/n. Either you get information or you can pack your things, it won’t be hard to find a replacement for you.” He knew you wouldn’t risk losing your job, being a journalist meant everything to you.

“Is there a deadline?”

“We’ll discuss about that as soon as you find a way in. I’ll make sure all your personal information is well protected.” He smiled, satisfied with your answer. “You may leave now, miss y/n.” You bowed before exiting the office, kicking the plant pot by the door on your way out. One of your superiors approached you as you sat down at your small cubicle.

“What did he want?” He sat down on your desk as usual. The first few times you were afraid it’d break, but it turned out to be pretty resistant.

“He wants me to go on a suicidal mission.” You hid your face behind the palms of your hands. “And I had to say yes to keep my job.”

“The whole office turned him down, I guess he knew you wouldn’t.” He rubbed your back affectionately. “I’m sorry, I should’ve done it myself.”

“Don’t worry Jaemin, let’s just hope I don’t get myself killed.”

(...)

Three weeks. Three weeks you’d been visiting the same coffee shop in an attempt to meet the leader. But he never came, maybe your boss had the wrong information. Nevertheless, you didn’t give up. Sitting at the same spot from 9:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m., waiting for something to happen. There was usually no one there since the recent murders had happened nearby.

One day you stayed for a couple more hours, completely immersed in your work. That’s when you saw him. A man surrounded by at least ten men in suits. He was wearing sunglasses even though the sun had hidden a long time ago. His hair was silver, carefully slicked back, revealing his multiple ear piercings. You wrote exactly what he looked like as you peeked through the window, too afraid to take a picture of him. He soon dissapeared through an alley with his bodyguards following closely. You closed your laptop and packed it into your yellow backpack, calling a cab to take you back to your office. Your boss was still there, checking some of the notes your coworkers had written.

“I found him!” You bursted into his office, your journal wide open in front of his face.

“Did you get in?” He remained unfazed.

“No, but-”

“Then you shouldn’t be celebrating.” You internally screamed before going back home. You stayed up all night trying to come up with a plan to approach him without getting beaten up by his bodyguards. But nothing seemed like a good excuse to talk to the leader. You ended up going back to the coffee shop with no ideas and three hours of sleep.

After three cups of espresso, you were finally awake and ready to go back to working on one of your notes. The lady who ran the shop was always nice to you, bringing you some free cupcakes from time to time.

“I’m just grateful to have a client, that’s all.” You almost felt bad for her. The leader was nowhere to be seen, and you honestly wanted to go home as soon as possible. So you packed your stuff and waved goodbye the old lady as usual. You received a call from Jaemin on your way to the bus stop.

“Any good news?”

“Well, I saw him yesterday. But apart from that, nothing.” You bumped into someone. “Sorry.” You looked up, only to find yourself in front of the man you’d wanted to meet for the past few weeks.

He was smirking the slightest, looking down at you while his bodyguards slightly pushed you away from him, using their arms to keep you at a safe distance.

“It’s okay, boys.”

“I’ll call you later Jaemin.” You hung up, your hands shaking.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing at such a dangerous place?” He pushed his bodyguards to the side.

“I-I like the coffee shop back there.” You tried to sound as confident as possible.

“I see.” He smiled before removing his dark sunglasses, revealing a pair of cute doe eyes. Definitely not what you were expecting. “What’s your name, darling?”

‘Should I give him a fake name? No, he’d probably find out. But what if he does a background check on me and finds out I’m a journalist?’ You stared at him with wide eyes while you sorted out your options.

“I’m y/n.” You extended your hand, earning a collective gasp from the men surrounding you. “What’s your name?”

“There’s no need for you to know it.” He shook your hand with a wide smile. “Do you need a ride home?”

It’d be a terrific opportunity to get some information, but then again, he was a stranger. An extremely dangerous stranger. What if he kidnapped you and sold your organs in the black market? Your mom didn’t raise an idiot.

“I appreciate the offer, sir. But I rather take the bus. Good night.”

‘What an interesting little thing.’ Taeyong thought as you walked away.

He spent the next few days trying to gather information about you, but he couldn’t find anything, not even your age or last name. It was frustrating.

You, on the other side, decided not to tell anything to your boss until you had some solid information. That meant going back to the coffee shop.

The lady greeted you cheerfully as always. Your legs found their way to your usual spot by the window.

The day went by slowly, nothing new happened except for the fact that the lady gave you cookies instead of a cupcake this time.

The little bell on the door rang, announcing a new client. Out of pure curiosity, you lifted your gaze from the laptop. A gasp escaped your mouth as you saw the gang leader greet the lady and approach you with a wide smile.

He was wearing his usual sunglasses, but instead of his formal clothing, he was wearing a grey sweatshirt with jeans. He almost looked normal.

“Good evening, darling.”

“Hi.” Was the only answer that came out from your mouth. He never entered the shop, was it because of you?

“Can I take a seat?” You nodded.

He removed his glasses as soon as he was sitting comfortably on the wooden chair. It was amazing how fast he could go from looking like an intimidating man to a fluff ball. ‘Maybe he wears the glasses to look less cute. Yeah, I should probably write that down on my journal later.’ Conversations with yourself were now a habit since you didn’t have any coworker to talk with.

“So, y/n. How old are you?” The atmosphere seemed somehow more intimate now that he’d said your name.

“There’s no need for you to know it.” You replied, quoting his words from last night.

“Witty, I like it.” He laced his fingers, supporting his chin on them as he spoke. “No one has ever talked to me like that.”

He didn’t seem upset, which encouraged you to keep talking.

“I’ll make you an offer.” You closed your laptop, putting any distractions aside. “I’ll answer your questions as long as you answer mine. Deal?”

Taeyong was once again impressed with your boldness.

“Alright, deal.” He softly smiled, waiting for you to talk first.

“What’s your name?”

“Taeyong.” You nodded, repeating it inside your head so you wouldn’t forget it. “How old are you?”

“I’m 23. And you?”

“25. Where were you born?”

You answered to each other’s questions, careful not to give away to much information.

“What’s your job?”

“Let’s say I’m a businessman.” Well that was specific. “What about you?”

“Let’s say I’m a writer.” The screen of your phone lit up as you received a message from Jaemin.

‘How’s your mission going?’ You quickly grabbed the device, afraid that Taeyong would ask you about it. But he was busy looking at your face, appreciating every little detail. From the mole under your right eye to the tiniest pores in your skin.

You quickly typed ‘ttyl’ and turned off the phone, preventing any future messages from your coworker.

“Would you like to go on a date with me?” Your breath hitched.

“We met yesterday.”

“But I like you.”

“Uhm, it’s getting late, I better get going.” You smiled awkwardly before exiting the small building.

(...)

“Are you stupid?” Your boss spat out with a seemingly calm voice. “This could’ve been our chance.”

“I’m sorry, sir. But my safety comes first.”

“If he wanted to harm you he would’ve done it from the moment he met you.” He had a point. “You better find him again or you can bid goodbye your precious job.”

After your little “meeting” with your boss, you threw up at the nearest bathroom, pushing aside everyone who got on your way.

It happened every time you were under stress, and frankly, you hated it. You just wanted to quit your job, but it’d be hard for a rookie journalist like you to get a nice job.

“Maybe you should take a self defense course or something.” Jaemin mentioned while trying to cheer you up, sitting outside of the convenience store near your office.

“Maybe I should buy a weapon. A taser for example.” You sipped on your strawberry milk, the sweet flavor filling your mouth. Your head found it’s way to Jaemin’s shoulder, using it as a pillow.

A loud ‘bing’ interrupted your peaceful moment. You prayed it wasn’t your boss again.

‘I didn’t know you had a boyfriend, darling.’ Your first instinct was to look around, searching for Taeyong. But he was nowhere to be found.

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m right in front of you, darling.’ Indeed, he was looking at you from the back seat of his armored car, smiling cockily while pushing his sunglasses further down his nose bridge. ‘Why don’t you come join me?’

“You look like you’ve just seen your grandmother’s ghost.” Jaemin muttered while looking at you.

“He’s here, Jaems. I need to go.” He nodded comprehensively before you got up from the rusty metal bench you were sitting on. You walked towards his van with both of your hands inside your pockets, regretting not having worn a pair of gloves in the morning.

“Hop in.”

“How did you get my number?” You asked, facing him from the other side of the door.

“Get in and I’ll answer all of your questions. Deal?” That cocky smile of his was starting to annoy the shit out of you.

“Fine.” You walked around the vehicle to reach for the opposite door, smoothly sliding into it. The scent of his cologne filled the wide space. “How did you get my number?”

“Take us to the coffee shop on the 5th Avenue.” You moved uncomfortably on the cold leather seat. “Do you want me to turn the heater on?”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“I have my ways of getting information, darling. But I must admit, it was hard for me to find anything about you.” He spoke as he pressed a button to turn your seat’s heater on. “Better?”

“Thank you.” You were worried he might have discovered about your job, but judging by the fact that he was smiling so sincerely to you, he probably hadn’t. “Why are we going to the coffee shop?”

“I just want to spend some time with you, that’s all.”

“But I didn’t agree to it.” The smile on his lips dropped, discouraged by the possibility of you not wanting to be with him.

“Sorry, we can stop the car if you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’ll go. But just so you know, I always carry pepper spray with me.” He laughed. It was such a unique and contagious laugh that you couldn’t help but to smile. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, it’s just that no one had ever talked to me like that.” You nodded while tucking your hands under your legs, attempting to defrost your fingers. “Give me your hands.” You reluctantly extended them. He removed his own gloves to put them on you.

“But your hands are gonna be cold.”

“Don’t worry, we’re almost there.”

You would’ve never expected for a gang leader to be so...kind. He helped you down the car, pulling one of your hands into his pocket.

“Is this okay?” How could you say no to such an adorable face? You nodded, feeling his long fingers tracing patterns over the wool glove. “Is it weird that I’ve fallen for you in such a short amount of time?” He’d never had such feelings before, it felt like the butterflies in his stomach would come flying out of his mouth at any moment.

“Yes, it is a bit odd.” You let him hold your hand, somehow comforted by his warmth. “But everything about you seems to be odd, so it’s okay I guess.”

“So I guess you wouldn’t mind if I asked you on a date again?” You suddenly recalled the conversation with your boss. You had to accept this time.

“I suppose we can have a date.”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel attracted to Taeyong. Maybe it was his laugh, or the way his doe eyes would sparkle every time he’d look at you. But your work came first, and you were close to getting useful information from him.

“So, where are you from?” He asked, his chin resting on his palm. You’d noticed it was a habit of his to adopt said position when questioning you.

“That’s a secret.” A secret you had to protect with your life if you didn’t want him to know your identity.

“Fair enough.”

(...)

It had been a month since you started “officially” dating Taeyong. He seemed like a normal guy, which often made you question if your boss hadn’t mistaken his identity. But it was on your month anniversary that you discovered your boss was damn right.

“Welcome to my house.” ‘Welcome to my house? More like welcome to my palace.’

“This looks like the palace of Versailles.” You whispered, mesmerized with the ethereal paintings on the ceilings. “Your house looks familiar.” You hummed.

“You like it?” He hugged your waist with one arm, taking your chin between his fingers and forcing you to look at him.

“I mean, sure. It’s amazing.” He chuckled, leaning in to kiss your lips before you abruptly escaped his embrace. Taeyong couldn’t help but to sigh, he wanted to taste your pretty lips so bad, but you’d always find an excuse to avoid him. You walked down the hallway, admiring the paintings hung up on his wall, until you saw a picture of him. An elegant, blonde woman standing at one of his sides, while at the opposite side, a well known man stood.

“Mr. Lee?” You asked to yourself. You’d once written a note on him and his empire, he was one of your boss’s acquaintances.

“Oh, you know my dad?” You felt like fainting due to the excitement, you finally had valuable information.

“The whole city knows your dad.”

“I guess so.” He shrugged before pulling your arm. “Let’s continue with my house tour.” The mansion had at least twenty bedrooms, all of them the size of you apartment to say the least. But the most impressive room, by far, was Taeyong’s room.

“It used to be my parents’ room, but since they moved out I’ve taken it for myself.” He laid down on the bed, tapping his extended arm for you to lay on. “Don’t be shy.” You reluctantly let your body sink into the softness of the matress, Taeyong’s arms cuddling you while he whispers ‘I love you’, hoping you’ll say it back. But you don’t.

“It’s okay, darling. I’m a patient man.” He’d always say.

“Boss, we’ve got an-” A tall man entered the room, cutting himself of as he saw your figures.

“What did I say about knocking the door, John?” His harsh voice tone caused your eyebrows to furrow.

“I’m sorry, boss. But this is urgent.” You tried to remember every single word they said, hoping you’d be able to write them in your journal later.

“Fine.” He scoffed, turning his head to you and pecking your nose. “I’ll be back soon, baby. Don’t leave the room, just call the butler through that phone if you need anything.” The man in front of you seemed extremely confused with the situation, not being used to see his boss in a soft mood. “Let’s go.”

As soon as the door was closed, Taeyong spoke.

“She’s my girlfriend, I don’t want any of you around her. Am I clear?”

“Yes, boss. But if you allow me, how can we assure she isn’t trying to get information?” Taeyong grabbed him by the collar, his true personality making an appearance.

“If you ever bath mouth my girlfriend again I’ll cut your tongue.” Johnny knew he was damn capable of doing it, so he decided to keep his thoughts to himself. “What’s the emergency you were talking about?” The grip on his shirt loosened, resuming their walk to the stairs.

“We found one of Nakamoto’s rats snooping around. He’s in the basement.” Taeyong nodded. “What should we do with him?”

“Maybe we should send his boss a little gift.” That little smirk was one of Johnny’s worst nightmares, it meant something extremely bloody was about to happen. They reached the ground floor, walked towards the kitchen where the fridge had been moved, revealing a hidden metallic door. You, on the other side, used your time to text Jaemin. ‘I’m in. Meet me tomorrow morning at our secret spot.’ To which he responded with a smiley face. By secret spot you meant the convenience store in front of your office.

You placed your head close to the wooden door, patiently waiting to hear footsteps or any sound at all. But even after ten minutes, there was nothing. So you carefully opened the door, pepper spray on your right hand while you peeked through a small opening. After making sure no one was close, you fully exited the bedroom, ready to explore your surroundings. That was until you heard a loud thud coming from the ground floor.

“Huh?” You feet moved by themselves, going down the stairs careful not to make any sound. You walked towards the sound, which became louder with every step you took. It wasn’t long till you found yourself in front of the big metallic door, the weird noises coming from inside giving you goosebumps. The door creaked under your palm as you pushed it open, the sounds of muffled screams now getting clearer. Your opposite hand gripped the small pepper spray, your thumb ready to press the button in case of emergency.

“What should we send to Mr. Nakamoto? Maybe one of your fingers? An ear? Oh, I know. Your head will be the perfect gift, don’t you think?”

“What do you think you’re doing?” A hand grabbed your shoulder, making you jolt and fall down the remaining steps.

“A-ah.” You winced, your eyes shut tightly due to the pain.

“Y/n.” He dropped the knife he was holding, immediately running up to your curled up body. “I’m gonna kill you if something happens to her, Johnny.”

“How is this my fault? You told her to stay in the bedroom!” Taeyong gave him a warning look before he lifted your body. Carrying it all the way upstairs before you could catch a glimpse of the situation downstairs.

“Why did you come out? Something bad could’ve happened.” He wasn’t angry, more like extremely concerned.

“What was going on there? Why do you have a secret door?”

“Let’s take care of your wounds first. I promise to tell you everything later.”

Taeyong kept his promise, applying antiseptic on your open wounds while he told you every detail about his job.

“My father used to run this business, his real estate company was just an easy way to cover it. He retired a few years ago, that’s when I took over. But it wasn’t until five months ago he gave me complete freedom to do whatever I pleased.” He placed a band aid over one of your small scratches, kissing the wound gently afterwards. “We deliver packages mainly on the alley near that coffee shop you like.” You faked surprise.

“So all those dead bodies...that was you?” You were uncapable of hiding the fear you felt. You knew the truth all along, but hearing it from his own mouth was a different story.

“Yes. Most of them were part of rival gangs, trying to get information from our business.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously. “Will you still like me after this?” You wanted to say it was because of your job that you wanted to stay with him. But part of you knew that wasn’t the only reason.

“Yes.” You reached for his hand. Taeyong was taken aback, you were never one to start physical contact. “But you can’t keep secrets from me anymore. You need to be honest with me.” Said the woman who’d been lying to him since you met.

“I will be. Just promise you’ll never leave me.” He pulled you into a hug, smelling the lavender scent from your shampoo. That scent that made him feel so calm.

“I promise.” For now, at least. You still didn’t have enough information to go back to you boss. You let yourself get caught in the moment, sliding your hands up his back and hugging him as well.

“I love you.” He said again, hoping this time you’d say it back.

“I know.”

Taeyong sighed before loosening his embrace.

“I need to go downstairs to check up on some stuff.” He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, admiring your beautiful doll-like face. “Please, stay in the room.”

“Are you gonna...kill him?”

“He saw your face. If we let him go you’ll be in danger, and I can’t let that happen, darling.” He pecked your forehead. “I’ll be back, soon.”

A man was about to lose his life because of you. The thought kept haunting you even after Taeyong went downstairs, making sure to send some of his men to guard the bedroom door. You cuddled into the bedsheets, trying to get rid of your concerns. But nothing worked, your mind creating all sorts of wicked scenarios of that man getting killed.

‘Why did the boss have to choose me?’

“Y/n.” A hand rubbed on your shoulder. “It’s getting late. Come on, I’ll take you home.” You shook your head, not wanting to be alone at the moment. “What’s wrong babe?”

“Can I stay for the night?” Taeyong frowned at first, but then proceeded to kiss your cheek while combing your hair with his fingers.

“You can stay as long as you want, darling.” He went straight to his wardrobe, retrieving a pair of sweats and a hoodie. “It gets a little chilly in here after midnight. I’ll be in the room across the hall in case you need anything.” You held onto his hand tightly, stopping him from taking anymore steps away from you.

“W-wait.” The whole purpose of staying at his house was because you didn’t want to be alone. “Aren’t you gonna stay with me?”

“Do you want me to?” First, a hug from you, and now this. Taeyong’s day was definitely getting better and better.

“Yes.”

You both changed into more comfortable clothes. His baby blue hoodie smelled just like him, like a weird mixture of lavender and lemon. You laid down facing him, his arms wrapped around your waist as he waited for the right moment to speak. Your eyes examines every single part of his face. The scar beside his right eye caught your attention.

“How did you get this?” You fingers gently touched the damaged skin. “A fight with one of your rivals?”

“Actually.” He smiled. “I used to have atopy as a kid.” You’d expected a more dramatic answer.

“Oh.” You nodded, coming closer to his face to take a better look at the scar. “I think it’s cute.” Unconsciously, you pecked it.

“I think you’re cute.” He hugged your waist tighter, pulling you closer to his body. “Can I kiss you?” You nodded, gaze fixated on the way his soft lips would move every time he speaked. He was slow at first, making sure the kiss was something you wanted as well. But the moment your lips started moving against his, all his self control dissapeared.

“I love you.” He repeated for what seemed the hundredth time in the day. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” Maybe you were just to caught up in the moment, that’s what you so desperately wanted to believe.

Taeyong smiled against your lips, sliding his hand down to grab a handful of your ass.

“Can you show me how much?” He grinded against your core, stealing a gasp from you.

“Taeyong.” How heavenly his name sounded in your lips. “I want you.”

“I know baby.” He slid your his sweats down as well as your underwear, sneaking a hand between your bodies to caress your lower lips. “I’ve been waiting for so long to show you just how much I love you.” You moaned as two of his long fingers entered you, curling them to reach for your sweet spot.

“I feel l-like I’m the only one receiving something here.” You held onto his silver locks.

“Shhh.” He peppered kisses all over your face as his pace increased. “Let me make you feel good, okay?” Your high came faster and more intense than usual. Taeyong cooed at you, retrieving his fingers to pull down his own sweats

“I’m on the pill, you don’t have to wear a condom.” He nodded, pushing his member through your tight hole as carefully as he could. He helped you to lay on your back, thrusting slowly into you while lacing your fingers together. Taeyong was ashamed to confess he was about to come after a few seconds of being inside you, but your hole clenched around him so deliciously that he couldn’t help it.

“I’m close.” He whispered as his lips made their way to your neck, sucking a mark on the soft skin.

“Me too.” You hugged his bare hips with your legs, feeling another huge wave of pleasure wash over your whole body. “Tae.” He shot his seed deep inside of you. He was about to pull out, but your embrace forced him to stay inside of you, his weight crushing you as he completely laid down on your small body.

“Do you want to stay like this?”

“You said it get’s chilly after midnight, and you’re pretty warm.” He couldn’t help but to smile, skillfully turning your bodies around so you were laying on top of him.

“Good night, sweetheart. I love you.”

“Good night, Tae. I love you too.” His heart swelled with affection as he drifted to sleep with you between his arms.

(...)

“You look so dumb right now.” Jaemin said as he looked at your pink, strawberry sweater. You sat in front of the convenience store you’d usually meet in.

“Shut up, Taeyong bought it for me on our five month anniversary, it was yesterday.” You smiled fondly at the fabric protecting you from the cold weather. “He’s really sweet.”

“The boss has been asking for you.” You felt like vomiting. “I think it’s time for you to come back to the office, we both know you have more than enough information.”

“I can’t do that to Taeyong, Jaemin.” You shook your head, tapping your shoes against the ground. “I’m gonna give the boss my letter of resignation today.”

“But you love your job.” He shook his head before you could even speak. “If you say something cheesy like ‘I love him more’ I’ll punch you.”

“I’m sorry.” You grabbed his hand. “I hope we can still be friends.”

“Of course we can.” He hugged your shoulders. “Come on, I’ll walk you to the building.”

Your boss wasn’t at his office, some of your coworkers said he went out for lunch. It was easier for you to just leave the letter without having to deal with his scolding. You said one last goodbye to everyone before exiting the building. You didn’t expect to find Taeyong outside of the building, waiting for you with a small frown.

“What are you doing here?” He said with a small hint of anger in his voice. “Isn’t this the place where that local newspaper is printed?”

“T-tae, I was just-”

“Fucking liar.” He clenched his jaw. “Get in the car, now.” Tears streamed down your face as you entered the vehicle. “Crying won’t save you from anything, darling. You know what we do to traitors like you?” You shook your head, trying to get him to make eye contact with you. “You’ll find out.”

“Let me explain, please.” You sobbed. “I didn’t tell them anything, I just quit my job.”

“I don’t believe you.” He looked at you, your eyes getting red from crying and your small hands gripping the soft fabric of your sweater.

Despite knowing the truth about you, all he wanted to do was to hug you, to tell you everything was fine. But he couldn’t. The trip to his house was filled with your pleads, begging him to believe you. Taeyong felt like his heart was getting stabbed everytime he’d hear you sob.

“Shut your fucking mouth before I cut your tongue off.” Your breath hitched. You sat still, afraid to make any move. It wasn’t until you felt a tug on your sweater you realized you’d arrived to your destination.

“Miss, you need to come down.” You nodded, taking a deep breath before exiting the vehicle.

The driver guided you all the way to the hidden basement, which you’d only seen once. Taeyong wasn’t there, but Johnny was. He had a pair of black latex gloves and stood in front of a large wooden chair. It looked like the ones used to execute people.

“Take a sit, y/n.” His usual grin was gone as he talked. You had no other option but to do as he said, tensing up as he restrained your wrists and legs.

“Johnny?” He hummed. “Is Taeyong alright?” He laughed bitterly.

“You’re worried about him right now? I’m impressed.” The blade of his sharp knife traced the skin of your jawline. “You should worry about yourself.” He pressed the cold metal harder against you, making you whince. He removed the blade from your neck, letting the thick, red liquid roll down from your wound to stain your pretty sweater.

“Taeyong didn’t give me any instructions on what to do with you.” He took a few steps back, leaving the knife in a metal table. He picked up a metal rod instead. “But I’m guessing he doesn’t want you dead.” He played nervously with the object. “I’m sorry, y/n.” He said before beating your ribs with it. The scream that came out from your lips didn’t even sound like yours.

He kept hitting you with the rod at least ten more times before stopping. His features were filled with regret, but his job wasn’t done yet. His new target was your right hand, you begged for him to stop, but he didn’t.

Before the object could touch your hand, a loud gunshot interrupted him, followed by steps coming down to your location.

“We need your help John, it’s Nakamoto.” He dropped the rod. “They’re too many.”

“I’m coming.” He kneeled down in front of you. “I need you to stay quiet if you don’t want to get killed.” But you couldn’t help the small whines coming out of your mouth, even breathing hurt at this point. “I’m really sorry.”

You were left alone in the room, trying your best to keep quiet, but the pain in your ribs was piercing. All you wanted to do was to curl up and cry.

“There’s someone inside.” You heard a manly voice whisper, immediately followed by more gunshots and steps.

“Oh my god, you’re fine.” Taeyong found you, still tied up to the chair and quietly crying. He released you, pulling your arm to help you stand up, earning a loud whine from you. “What is it?”

“M-my ribs.” You hugged yourself slightly, attempting to ease the piercing pain.

“Let me see.” He removed your arms, lifting your sweater to reveal the purple skin. You weren’t able to see your injuries, but Taeyong assured you it was fine. “You’re alright, I need you to stand up for me, okay?”

“Taeyong, I’m sorry.” You kept muttering. “I’m so sorry.”

“If you’re really sorry then come with me.” You summoned all of your remaining strength to get your legs to work, walking as fast as you could.

You found yourself in front of a man on your way out. He didn’t look like one of Taeyong’s gang members. He pulled out a gun, pointing it directly at Taeyong, but you were faster than him, embracing him as you felt something impact on your back. Taeyong pulled out his own gun, quickly shooting the other male.

“Y/n.” He held you between his arms as he tried to stop the bleeding in your right shoulder, relieved the bullet hadn’t reached any of your vital organs. “I know it hurts, baby, but you need to keep walking for me, okay?”

“I can’t.” Your knees gave in and Taeyong had no other option but to carry you. He successfully walked across the battlefield and reached for his car, only to be pulled down by someone else. You rolled out of his arms, your ribs making contact with the hard concrete and making you scream in pain.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Taeyong and his sweet little girlfriend.” A man with weird accent said before grabbing your boyfriend by the collar. “I wanted to say that I personally disliked your gift. But I thought, maybe I could return the favor by sending your head to your father. I bet he’d really love that.”

“Run, y/n.”

“Awww, how sweet of you.” The man grabbed a handful of his hair, forcing his head back. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her after I finish with you. The boys have been really stressed this past few weeks. I bet she’d be a really nice fuck doll.”

“Don’t you dare, Yuta.” He tried to pull out his gun, but his rival easily snatched it away from him, carelessly throwing it near you. He pulled out a knife from his pocket, placing it directly over Taeyong’s neck. You dragged yourself to reach for the weapon, still completely unnoticed by Yuta.

“You should say goodbye to your-” A bullet pierced through his chest, blood splattering all over Taeyong’s face. The man’s limp body fell backwards, revealing Johnny holding a gun right behind him. Taeyong turned to you, an arm extended while your fingers grazed at the weapon. Blood was still leaking from your wound.

“Darling.” He quickly got up, taking you between his arms once again. “I need to take her to the hospital.”

“Don’t worry, we got the situation under control.” Taeyong nodded before laying you down over the backseats of his car.

He drove as fast as he could, exceeding the speed limits and earning a few honks from nearby cars. But it was all worth it when he saw the nurses taking you into the operation room to heal your wounds.

(...)

“She’s waking up.” Someone whispered while your eyes fluttered open, the bright sunlight forcing you to close them again.

“Darling?” Taeyong held onto your hand tightly. “Are you okay?”

You hummed, attempting to open your eyes again, this time catching a glimpse of a red eyed Taeyong right beside your bed.

“Tae?” He let out a relieved sigh, cupping your cheeks and pulling you into a kiss right afterwards.

“You’re alright now baby, you’re safe with me.”

#nct smut #nct au #nct imagines #nct x reader #nct scenarios #nct ot21 #nct #nct 127 #nct fluff #nct angst

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libraryofloveletters · 4 years ago

Text

Rating CM Couples Because I’m Bored

*I think I put everyone that I can remember in here but if I'm forgetting someone, let me know!*

A/N: these are in no specific order and yes I know you didn’t ask for this but too bad :) also spoilers are in there if you have’t seen the whole thing!

----

Aaron and Haley

The high school sweethearts storyline was cute

Great parents

I still think she was cheating, it was a little shady that her phone rang right after he got off the landline

“Make sure he knows you weren’t always so serious” or whatever she said was sweet

Her death didn’t cause tears but seeing Hotch cry out her death did cause tears

Feel like her storyline could have ended better, they didn’t really need to kill her but they did it for the ✨razzle dazzle✨

Maybe they could have gotten a divorce and been great co-parents

Overall: 8/10 (her dying was a shitty end)

Gideon and Sarah (the lady from the cabin)

Very short storyline

She made him happy

The dance scene in the cabin in Fisher King pt.1 was adorable

Would have like to seen more of her

Overall: 10/10 (they were the least problematic couple)

JJ and Will

Love them

Will is non-problematic (stan him for clear skin)

Their family is adorable

He’s a great father (literally put his job on hold and moved states for her to continue her job after Henry)

She could have definitely treated him better

Could have included their other kid more, it’s always about Henry

Will is always about JJ, JJ tends to wander ? (the je*d situation)

Overall: 7/10 (cause of the je*d situation and they could have made the storyline better)

Spencer and Mauve

Again, short and shitty storyline

There was so much more that could have been done here (like maybe let him be happy for once??)

In suspense for the longest time about the secret phone calls and when Mauve was finally introduced, we got like 2 minutes of proper screen time with her

Their little dance was cute

Her death was absolute bullshit

She tells Spencer that she loves him on the phone and he's in shock so he doesn't say it back, then she hangs up

When he finally sees her in person, she’s minutes away from her death

He had to tell her that he didn’t love her even thought he did (at least it seemed like he did)

Bringing her back in season 15 was nice so we had some closure ?? (but why was she blonde ? they have hair salons in heaven ??)

Overall: 6/10 (hated the way it ended :( )

Derek and Savannah

Savannah was the perfect woman for Derek. She’s smart, has a good job with a weird schedule (like his), not to mention gorgeous

But making him settle down with the first woman he really showed interest in, didn't make sense

If he had a previous relationship that didn’t work and then introduced Savannah, it would have made sense

They were well suited, personality and looks wise

Would have liked to seen their wedding

He got married and we didn’t even get to see it :(

The way their storyline ended was a mess ??

He gets kidnapped and when she gets him back, she gets shot and they almost lose the baby, then Morgan almost gets himself killed again and barely got back in time for the birth

Overall: 8/10 (could have been better written but they were cute)

Matt and Kristy

Unproblematic favs

King and Queen shit

Great parents

Love love love their storyline, from CMBB to CM, it was all around good

They’re both hot and educated

I don’t understand where they had make to make a 5th kid when he’s never home, she’s a lawyer (that has to be time consuming) and 4 children to take care of

Their love as always on display, seen the rawest version of it in 13x19

Overall: 10/10 (love them)

Penelope and Kevin

The shower scene when Rossi went to her apartment was the peak scandalous moment for them

Her wants and needs were too much for him to handle

She was super independent and he wanted her to do what he wants in a way

The whole marriage plot was dropped real quick

He wanted a farm ?? (if I remember correctly) and she didn’t want that

The end of their relationship was weird

They had that moment at JJ and Will’s wedding and then that was it ?? He kinda just vanished after ?

Overall: 5/10 (average couple)

Derek and Penelope

Top tier

Would have be a power couple if they got together (already a power couple but would have officially been one)

The way they look at each other

The way the protect each other, especially him with her

They’re in love you can’t tell me otherwise

If they weren’t in love, why would he come back to the BAU and only see her ?

They probably hooked up on the lows

There was a lot of potential here

“You’re my god given solace” 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Overall: 10/10 (my favourites!!)

Spencer and Derek

Cute cute cute

That’s been there since day one

They always had a playful relationship but Derek was always protecting him, no matter what

Although Spencer wasn't physically capable of defending, he still tried in his own way

Their relationship has grown a lot since season 1

“we’ll be bound together through space and time and some day, in another life, we will meet again” “I'll be waiting for you” like come on, in love.

there was a lot of potential here too

Overall: 9/10 (-1 cause it didn’t actually happen)

Aaron and Emily

Could definitely see the tension between them

There was 100% chemistry there

They both think alike, they’re very critical thinkers which for obvious reasons wouldn’t have works

Would have been cute tho

In 4x03, you could see the worry on his face when she was inside. It was more than a boss/subordinate worry, he genuinely cares about her

Overall: 7/10 (could have been better)

JJ and Spencer

Would have maybe made sense if they introduced it season 1-2

Didn’t make sense after she was married and had 2 kids

The confession she gave him felt forced (under the circumstances, they were but still)

The awkwardness after was weird, like you’re telling me the team and Will didn’t pick up on it at he wedding ?

Overall: -1/10 (je*d)

Tara and Daryl

The moments they had were sweet afterwards like their hug

They both had grown a lot since their marriage

It was very mature of her to be happy for him after they split (she’s cool like that)

Very short storyline

Overall: 6/10 (they were very normal)

JJ and Emily

Elite

Would have a power couple if the writers had actually put them together

should have confessed to Spencer that she loved Emily and not him

All their moments were adorable

Hot moms and Co parent Will (would have been so cute)

Overall: 9/10 (power couple)

Emily and Andrew

Short storyline

Kinda pointless ?

Felt super last minute and rushed

Their dinner date was cute

Overall: 5/10 (they were eh, could have been written better)

Luke and Lisa

They were cute

Again a very short storyline

She was very determined to make Luke talk about his feelings (kinda pointless ?? he’d talk when he as ready)

Should have called it quits after Phil died

Wasn’t needed to drag it along, but they did and we didn’t even see her?? They just kept mentioning her

Overall: 6/10 (average couple)

Luke and Penelope

Adorable

Would have loved to see this storyline start earlier

Maybe get to see the date ??

Their little flirting/bantering was cute

There was definitely chemistry there

Overall: 8/10 (super cute)

Spencer and Max

This felt so rushed

She was there for 2 episodes

Dragging her into the Cat plot was shit

It was nice to see him happy tho

Would have liked to seen her nephew again, he was funny

Overall: 5/10 (didn't really like this)

Aaron and Beth

This was cute

They made each other happy

She was good with Jack

Understanding about his job (unlike miss haley 🙄)

Would have to seen this go somewhere else

Her taking the job in Hong Kong was just a shitty end for their relationship

Overall: 7/10 (could have ended better, at least she didn’t die)

Rossi and Carolyn

This was sweet

Her death was sad, it was clear he still cared about her

She was only there for like 2-3 (??) episodes

Overall: 6/10 (unproblematic but normal)

Rossi and Hayden

This was also cute

Joy was the only good thing from this marriage ??

Them dating for like half a minute was weird

Making Rossi say that racist ass comment after he was literally married to beautiful woman of colour was stupid

Overall: 6/10 (average couple)

Rossi and Krystall

Loved them together

Their little sneaky links were hilarious

Miss Krystall is a bad bitch

She’s super supportive

Overall: 8/10 (my favourites out of Rossi’s wives)

Rossi and Strauss

Hilarious together, it was cute

Rossi was always on her ass, he did what he wanted

Her death was kinda shitty, Rossi cared about her tho

Reid and Garcia bumping into him and then seeing her was funny

Overall: 6/10 (ended badly)

113 notes · View notes

ralfstrashcan · 4 years ago

Note

You know what is the most fucked up thing about the show being centered on the Shadowhunter's side? They forget about some details of the Downworlder's side, which becomes totally convenient for plot reasons, but absolutely horrible for the characters. The Warlocks have the Spiral Labyrinth, a place located in a separate dimension like the Seelie Realm. And different from the Seelie Realm, only Warlocks can enter there. It's even punished by death to tell another race how to get there. If Magnus' solely interest was to protect the Warlocks, why he didn't take them there? It doesn't make sense to go to the Seelie Realm if they have an entire place for them. Of course the Vampires and the Werewolves are a different issue, but still. For plot reasons, his alliance with the Seelie Queen was just the beginning of Magnus' downfall. First his job, and then his magic, his home, and ultimately his love. This seemed more a gratuitous Magnus' whump. He suffered a whole hell and then went back to his life as if nothing have happened. Wtf. It wouldn't surprise me if the writers/producers didn't even know or forgot about the potential of the SL. One of them did confirm that they forgot Alec got hurt in the end of 3x10 and this is why he appeared as if nothing had happened in 3x11 😒

I’m absolutely with you, anon! I didn’t get very far with the books so I actually had no idea the Spiral Labyrinth was located in a separate dimension. If I recall correctly (which I do because I looked it up, haha, the power of research!) the Spiral Labyrith is mentioned in the show a whole two times, once in 1x04 when Magnus orders more shields for his loft and once in 3x09 when it’s relayed that Lorenzo said he’d put every warlock who doesn’t obey him into the SL’s dungeons. So, that wasn’t a lot to go off of XD I also wouldn’t be surprised if the writers themselves weren’t entirely clear on what the SL can, where it is, etc. but you’re right, if it was a solid option to flee the range of the angel’s wish then it makes no sense for Magnus to take that foul bargain that the Queen offered. Why should he, when he can keep his people safe without having to compromise his autonomy?

Then again it really wouldn’t be the first time that illogical / ooc stuff happens in this show for ~more drama~ right? Hah.

The fact that the show so clearly focuses on shadowhunters is a source of many of my grievances. Not to repeat myself, but at any given moment I want to ask “Okay but where is Cat?? Why is she not there alongside Magnus fixing shit??” and the show never gives a satisfactory answer. It’s the reason why there’s no casual downworlder bonding shown if it doesn’t serve a (shadowhunter) plot. It’s why Magnus especially is so isolated despite, on paper, having a support system that allegedly cares about him. (Yes, he does this to himself to some extent, but tbh from both Cat and Raphael I get definite vibes of ‘ok i’ll let you get away with this for a short while but when it reaches a certain level i will kick down your door and refuse to let you drown in your misery and depression’ but what we get from the show is ‘what, you lost and regained your magic since the last time we saw each other? hah, i didn’t even know because i didn’t bother to check in with you oops.’ That’s... not the same.)

I get it, to some extent. Unlike us blessed fanfic writers who enjoy a lot of freedom the show’s script works with some very specific constraints, especially time constraints in both the time they have to i) come up with a plot and ii) the fact that the plotlines have to be choppable into nice 42 minute segments.

(I fondly rememer The Untamed which took one look at concept ii) and said “Screw this, so what if I have to cut off the actors mid-dialogue at the end of the episode, I have a story to tell and nothing is going to stop me from doing that” and I deeply respect that.)

The way I see it there are two (ok more but let me focus on two) opposite ways to approach the construction of a story: You can a) develop a plot, and the characters and worldbuilding have to bow to this or you can b) put the characters and worldbuilding into an open space and wait and watch what plot unfolds if you leave them to their own devices. It is clear that sh follows approach a). Which is fair because the plot needs to meet certain requirements to work in this format and if you do b) that is just not guaranteed. But it’s also clear that this kind of building a plot is pretty susceptible for (periodical) ooc behavior, screwing over your own worldbuilding and dumb plot convenience.

I’m not saying it’s impossible to develop a plot going off of a) that doesn’t feature ooc behavior, worldbuilding contradictions and plot convenience but it requires a lot of careful planning.. and here we very quickly hit time constraint i) because the writers are under a lot of time pressure. I’m not an expert on how much goes into a production process but I know it’s A Lot and honestly, if the writers legit forgot that they granted one of their main characters a near death experience in last season’s finale then that really says everything you need to know about the amount of pressure they’re under.

This seemed more a gratuitous Magnus' whump. He suffered a whole hell and then went back to his life as if nothing have happened.

Mood. I’ve never particularly gotten into it, but it is a universally acknowledged fact that Magnus regularly gets benched in his own storyline (and then gets a dramatic scene to save everyone... but no one appreciates him...) right? I don’t need to explain this further.

And on top of that portraying long term consequences of things just isn’t a strength of this show. Case in point: No consequences of the (almost) downworld rebellion at the end of 2B, neither on the side of the downworld nor the clave. They all just ignore it as if it never happened. I feel like this partly translates to the characters and their interpersonal relationships as well. They experience something grave, might suffer for an episode or two and then they (mostly) reset. It can get frustrating ngl.

#not ALL the time obviously #but often enough to trip you up #shadowhunters #magnus bane #catarina loss #some salt #*whispers* watch the untamed

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nikadd · 3 years ago

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queerbaiting and shipping culture

i think there’s a significant gray area between queerbaiting and fans making shit up, and people tend to conflate things when having these conversations.

queerbaiting should describe very deliberate actions made to appease to queer audiences but never intending on following up with the outcomes those audiences desire, mostly for commercial reasons of promotion and box office and whatever else. it typically comes down from top down, though it is the media’s creators/showrunners/writers/directors are given the platform to discuss it.

(actors now, too, but it’s a whole separate issue i don’t quite wanna get into before i finish this point.)

then there is obviously some stuff that fans get into because shipping is a big part of fandom (whether you like it or not) and there are people who ship mainly bc they like certain dynamics between characters, regardless of how much actual canon basis those relationships have.

the gray area i want to bring up is where a relationship does exist in the canon, be that close friends, work partners, teammates, enemies, or anything else similar where it is a significant relationship for two characters, but because neither (or at least one, but it’s usually applied to both characters in question) were originally intended to be read as queer, everything that makes up their relationship is not intended to be read as such. again, i want to specify that it’s a significant relationship. the creators (and actors, if applicable) may or may not be aware of the ship’s following and support, and they may have whatever opinions they wanna have on it, and - as we’ve seen in the recent years with the popularization of the phenomenon - they would probably be asked about it in some way by a range of publications, and both the questions asked and the answers given may not align with what the fans may agree to be done in good faith.

i don’t want to say that some writers are just not aware of what they are writing, but i think that there is a limit to the kind of development of queer relationships we’ve seen in mainstream media, and so for the cishet creators it is difficult to recognize what the actual issue may be. very few queer relationships on our screens form after enough time and effort put into their development, while certain homosocial relationships that are not set-up to be romantic and/or sexual in nature are done very well, with interesting storylines that fans find themselves invested in.

the issue comes in certain expectations. for some of us, certain storylines make logical sense from what has been built-up over the course of the relationships’ development, and i definitely think that a good portion of this expectation comes from people’s experience reading fanfiction where people get the outcome they are looking for. once you have grown invested in certain characters and their stories, it becomes increasingly easy to imagine the exact canon-compliant ways their story can resolve itself in a way that is undeniably romantic and/or sexual.

anthony mackie’s interview, while being a little bit of a mess (but it’s honestly entirely variety’s and disney’s issue, he shouldn’t have been put on a spot like that, and also the questions themselves were very ehhhhhh neither well-put nor well-meant) was actually quite important to show the distinction between the expectations. nothing he said to describe either the relationship between steve and bucky, steve and sam, or sam and bucky feels like a non-starter for either of those relationships to have developed into something beyond platonic - to us, the queer audience, the fans of those specific relationships, the fans who have consumed and/or produced content about these relationships - but it is the understanding that those things are not typically seen as logical/viable/desired/etc options by cishet creators, actors, and audiences.

there are ships that have become popular while having barely any actual content created for them in the actual canon, and there are also those that are central to the main storylines, and also those that are somewhere in between in both attention given by the creators and the fans, but the point i’m trying to make is that all of those are more often than not seen as one and the same. maybe it’s because people get equally invested in them, or because they use similar terms to describe certain things, but there is a reason why - again, besides homophobia - they are either respected or dismissed entirely on equal grounds.

while it’s definitely not wrong to just pick two characters, decide that they would make sense as a couple, and start creating your own stories about them, in the end of the day, i think that all shipping is largely seen as a mainly creative outlet that manifests as that process, and not an interpretation of what the canon has already set up. therefore, even without considering certain levels of homophobia that may be involved, the expression of fans wanting certain characters to get together feels like an encroachment on the original canon. they don’t think we the fans want what they consider to be the next logical step in certain relationships’ trajectories, they think we want them to be set off course.

tl;dr: yes, homophobia is a part of the way creatives interact with their queer fanbases, but there are other considerations that need to be taken into the account before you go and accuse them of queerbaiting.

#it's valeriia talking #fandom #fanfiction #spn #marvel #don't know if any of this made sense #im just tagging fandoms i guess #i have a similar but shorter post going around but it's mostly going around with someone else's addition #but not with my response to their addition so i just wanted to elaborate #anyways pls lmk what u think in replies and tags :)

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ask-de-writer · 4 years ago

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KURIN’S FOLLY : World of Sea : Part 9 of 15

KURIN’S FOLLY

Part 9

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

23,699 words

writing begun 2006

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story? Read from the beginning. Part 1 is here

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Now Morgan sneered, “Don’t keep too good a track of things, do you? The Master dismissed them Wohans ago. Said anybody that you picked had to be rotten!”

Lissa looked shocked that anyone would lose an apprenticeship simply because they were picked by somebody the Master disliked. Kurin’s reaction was completely different. She suddenly smiled. “They’re free? Good. I need them. Go get them for me and you can go back to the boat shop.”

Suddenly, Morgan realized that he was being dismissed and snarled angrily, “What’s the matter? Aren’t I good enough to make stupid toys and shit?”

Eyeing the latest gluing error pointedly, Kurin replied, “No. You are not. Go. Get me Luin and Roper.”

Sullenly, Morgan said, “I don’t have to do anything that you say. Master Juris said so.”

A soft voice behind him made him jump. “Would you care to repeat that to the Captain?”

Morgan shrank and said, “No, Sir. I didn’t know that you were there, Captain Mord, Sir. I’ll go get them.”

Leaving Morgan to his errand, Captain Mord asked Kurin, “I have just heard the news. What are we to do with the boat shop? We have no other Master for it.”

Kurin thought about that for a few moments. When she looked up it was with haunted, pain filled eyes. She took a breath to steady herself against the old and hurtful memories before offering, “When you were forced to relieve Silor, you let him advise you on his replacement. Perhaps that would be the way to try.”

Captain Mord spread his hands palms down and said wryly, “I already tried that. Master Juris told me that since we did not trust him, he had no advice for us.”

Lissa just nodded. She snorted, “Some things haven’t changed. Juris still won’t give up a grudge. This time, it’s backfired on him.” She shook her head and added, “Kurin isn’t even from this ship anymore. She gave up her home to save that man and this is the thanks he gives her.”

Captain Mord gave Lissa a careful look, studying her thoroughly. Suddenly he smiled broadly and held out a hand to her. He addressed her directly, saying, “Welcome back, Lissa. I heard this news, too. It was harder to believe than the news about Juris. I am glad that it’s true.” He paused, the familiar impish smile twitching the corners of his mouth and added, “This does create one small problem, though.”

Kurin looked concerned and offered, “Why? I will give Lissa work until the others find useful tasks for her.”

The Captain began to giggle as he replied, “Oh, it’s not Lissa that’s the problem. It’s Bradon. What am I going to do for a punishment detail for him now? He’s always getting into some scrape or other.”

“Humm,” said Kurin in mock seriousness, “I do see the problem.” She began to giggle as well.

Lissa joined in with, “I’d no idea that I was so important to the proper functioning of the ship!” Cheerful laughter rang out in A4 for the first time in many Gatherings.

Captain Mord settled down and went back to his topic. “I was hoping that you might have a suggestion as to how to handle the problem of the boat shop.”

Kurin pursed her lips and nodded. “A contest. We need the little catamarans anyway. Give each of the journeymen two apprentices chosen by lot. Each team will build one. I’ll chose the best made one and that journeyman becomes the shop supervisor. At the fall Gathering, the Guild can handle the problem.”

Captain Mord nodded agreement. “I had come to a similar idea but it is a Craft matter, not an issue of Command. The Craft Council will meet shortly to discuss Mast - Juris. I would appreciate it if you were there.”

As he left, Luin came nearly flying into the room. She was a ten Gatherings old bundle of brown haired energy. “Kurin! I hoped that I’d get to see you! Morgan said something about toys. Are you going to make us some?”

Some things, a mother never forgets how to do. Lissa expertly corralled the child. Looking down at Luin, she said, “We are going to help Kurin to make toys. She is going to be very busy and we will be her apprentices. There will be another child named Roper coming to help as well.”

Luin looked up at Lissa and undiplomatically said, “I hear that you aren’t on dry land anymore. How well afloat are you?”

In answer, Lissa opened the room’s port and hung out High Cloud’s perch. In moments the big bird ducked his way into the room. Lissa confidently reached over and chucked him under the beak. He tolerated it with clear pleasure. Now Lissa spoke, “I’m well enough afloat to know what to trust. My daughter. Her Hawk. This ship. And you. Know why I trust you?”

“No,” Luin said in a small voice, crowding back from what she had been taught all her life were two dangerous creatures, Lissa and the Wide Wing both. “I saw the bandage on Master Juris’ hand,” she stated. “He said that bird should be killed because it’s dangerous.”

Judiciously, Lissa said, “He’s wrong and right, both. The bird is dangerous but so is my daughter. Neither one should be harmed on that account. They behave themselves. He got hurt because he attacked High Cloud, here. Kurin’s friend defended himself. It was Kurin who put the knife cut on his wrist, defending her friend. Why do I trust you? You are Kurin’s friend, too. It’s a good starting place.”

Just then Roper showed up. He was thirteen and more dignified than Kurin remembered. Still, his eyes lit up at the sight of High Cloud. The dignity fell away and the friend that Kurin remembered emerged, saying, “I heard about you guys! Knife and beak! Master Juris got something he’s had coming for a long time.”

Sourly he said to Kurin, “He made our lives as bad as he could after you left. He even dumped our apprenticeships out the scupper.” In a far more animated voice, he asked, “What do you need us for?”

“To start, we need to make a shop to work in,” Kurin replied seriously. “Then, we need begin making toys and instruments.”

“Instruments?” all three said, looking blankly at Kurin.

“You know, lunants and water clocks for navigation, rules, straight edges, dividers, scribers, technical abacci, that sort of thing,” said Kurin with assurance.

“Oh,” said Luin, a little taken aback at the thought of doing such delicate work, “I thought that you meant tabors, Barant type horns, flutes, those things with the strings that we heard about from the Arrakans. Stuff like that. Music.” The others were nodding their support as well.

Kurin beamed at the notion and said, “You mean Arrakan harps and lyres or Winternight tabolins. Musical instruments are an excellent idea. We’ll need to set you up a work space of your own for it after we get things together here. As soon as we can, I’ll start you all on the necessary math.” Seeing the looks of dismay on their faces, she laughed good-naturedly and said, “Don’t worry. The musical harmonics you’ll need are easy.”

Kurin turned back to the bench that lay on the floor in pieces. Gesturing at the work in progress, she explained, “We need to finish laminating this bench top and get the frame put together. Then we can get going on the tool racks. Lissa, I have a plan drawn for a screen printing device. It’s in the top drawer of my tool chest. You used to make and fix things so I think that it will be right on your course.”

Roper and Luin were busily spreading glue and Lissa was drawing up a list of what she needed for the screen printing press when Juris stopped at the door. Ignoring the rest, he homed in angrily on Kurin. “Well, now are you happy, you little white haired Ord? I had to surrender my Master’s Certificate. They’ve taken the boat shop from me!”

Lissa came to Kurin’s defense saying mildly, “I haven’t had time to learn all of the details but I have heard more than enough already. You scuttled yourself and are standing in the wreck, chopper in hand, blaming Kurin for the hole in your hull.”

TO BE CONTINUED

<==PREVIOUS ~ NEXT==>

#KURIN'S FOLLY #Part 9 of 15 #World of Sea #Written by De Writer

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kob131 · 4 years ago

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Oh and his ending, which is suppose to wrap all this up?

A. “They have the lamp that attracts Grimm, that won’t be masked by the Grimm! They’re so stupid!”

Fun Fact-When Ren and Jaune do their trick-It’s a split second so they can get in front of the Leviathan and Ruby can blast with her Silver Eyes.

“A pair of Manta aircraft are seen firing shots at the Leviathan. Suddenly, the Leviathan unleashes an energy beam attack from its mouth. It shifts the beam over to one of the poles powering the hard-light Dust barrier, destroying it. The Leviathan roars.

Ruby and her friends watch in horror from their aircraft.

Oscar: It tore straight through...!

Air Control: All squadrons, fall back to evacuation procedures. Disengage Leviathan! I repeat, disengage! Over!

Ruby: No, wait!Ruby runs up to the radio.

Qrow: Ruby!

Ruby: We can stop it!

Air Control: Who is this? Identify yourself!

Ruby: I'm a Huntress. My team and I are heading to the Leviathan and can weaken it for you to attack!

Everyone looks at Ruby in shock.

Jaune: We can?

Ruby: I can.

Maria: Ruby, when I said "trial by fire"--

Ruby: I did it at Beacon and at the farm.

Weiss: You really think you can do it now?

Ruby: I don't have a choice.

Air Control: Manta 5-1, your ship is currently flagged as hostile. You will receive no support, over.

Ruby: (picking up radio) Fine, we'll do it alone if we have to.

From her mech, Cordovin overhears Ruby's radio chatter.

Ruby: We can hit it while it's stopped at the next barrier. Ren, you're up!

Ren and Jaune proceed to combine their Semblances, masking the airship as it weaves between the air battles between Grimm and Atlas forces. The Leviathan makes its way to the next barrier and charges its energy breath again.

Qrow: We're too late! Pull up!

The Manta aircraft pulls up out of the way as the Leviathan fires its breath, destroying the next barrier and toppling a cupola off one of the buildings in Argus. Ren and Jaune collapse as their Auras are drained.’

The lamp wouldn’t matter. And it didn’t.

B. ‘Why is everyone shocked to hear Ruby suggesting to help? It’s sooo dumb!”

Wanna know why I gave so much context above? Because above- you see what FMF is referring to. ... Yeah, the shock wasn’t from deciding to help- It was from Ruby saying they can stall the Grimm.

So FMF just lied. Again. And used the commentary while misrepresenting the scene. Again.

C. ‘That’s what the Writers decide to remember? They talk as though the scenes Ruby referenced never happened!’

Yeah, remember what I said about FMF lying? Well, the commentary here isn’t edited over a scene from the show and look at the lines he choose-

‘I’m curious what the idea was, this is a pretty bold move right?’

“It came down to, they had to try.’

Doesn’t really should like they’re referring what was said right? And Kerry’s voice sounds different from how the other guy’s voice sounds like (as in, it’s as if Kerry’s voice doesn’t follow directly from what the other guy said). Considering that FMF has already lied in this segment- why should I trust that he didn’t just take a piece of the commentary out of context and sell it to an audience that buys outright lies?

Edit: Fun fact, I actually asked for a transcription of this part of the RWBY Volume 6 commentary and a user by the name of Changyuraptor did it for me.

Wanna see what was actually said here?

“Chris: "I'm curious what the idea was, like this is a pretty bold move right, like she had just not even 5 or 6 chapters ago talked to Maria about the concept of just using her silver eyes to begin with and she's looking at this massive Grimm."

Kerry: "It came back down to- there's actually some slightly different earlier versions of the speech that was a little bit different, but Miles was like (I think he's saying Miles' name here, not 100% sure) 'they have to try" you know, it doesn't look like anything else is working, if she can at least try and it works to any degree it's something you know, I think what was a bigger part of this message too is I think a lot of people probably would have told her not to do it but she needs to follow what she thinks is best."

They weren’t talking about Ruby’s idea specifically, nor is anything said here indicating they forgot anything.

In fact, he cuts off most of what was said (even cutting stuff said INBETWEEN what he used) JUST to make that point.

So yeah- definitive proof he lies using the commentary.

D. ‘Oh Atlas doesn’t want help after asking for help! How stupid!’

“Air Control: Who is this? Identify yourself!

Ruby: I'm a Huntress. My team and I are heading to the Leviathan and can weaken it for you to attack!

Air Control: Manta 5-1, your ship is currently flagged as hostile. You will receive no support, over.

Ruby: (picking up radio) Fine, we'll do it alone if we have to.”

Not what they said FMF.

Also he tries saying the group was surprised when Ruby said they helped when that’s NOT what she said. Again. So he made the same lie TWICE.

Also also, he misspelled Atlas as ‘Atlus’. As in, the SMT/Persona company. It would have even registered as an incorrect spelling when he made the spelling. This was a video in production over a YEAR.

E. ‘Atlas hates the idea of Huntsmen!’

*Shows Ironwood giving a bunch of teams the option to walk away from the Fall of Beacon*

That’s not even connected to anything here...well, here as in the review because this does reinforce the thematic idea the show presents that you should stand and fight.

... Did FMF just support Team RWBY’s stance in Volume 7?

F. ‘NO body would tell a Huntress to not save a town full of people!’

*looks over at the people calling Team RWBY stupid for trying to save all of Mantle in Volume 7*

Cool, now even his laziness is biting him in the ass.

G. “THIS FICTIONAL PERSON WANTED A HUNTRESS SO THE REAL PEOPLE WHO THE COMMENTARY IS REFERRING TO DON’T EXIST!”

Fuck, how does anyone take him seriously?

H. ‘DUr Atlas man being stupid!’

Oh so not backing up the STOLEN SHIP that was JUST IN A FIGHT WITH THEIR COMMANDER and NOT KNOWING THE PEOPLE ON BOARD PERSONALLY is stupid huh? He should just risk his men’s lives for an enemy that SAYS they can help but they don’t KNOW that.

Gee, what were you saying about logic again?

I. ‘Maria flies into a dangerous spot, so stupid!’

Gee, not like point blank range would be a good idea or that they were already on that course but that’d require FMF to not edit a scene to suit himself and we all know intellectual integrity is toxic to his very existence./s

J. ‘How do the shield generators get hit if the shields are up?’

*Shown: the shield generators NOT BEING BEHIND THE SHIELDS*

K. ‘Hey, why try to get it’s attention when you have lamp!’

*Episode 1: shows that a bunch of panicking people would attract the Grimm over the lamp*

L. ‘DUR, REN’S SEMBLANCE!’

*Shown: Ren’s AURA AKA SEMBLANCE FUEL SOURCE BREAKING*

M. ‘Ruby takes lamp despite distraction!’

Hm, gee, almost like her plan was to FREEZE the damn thing and it didn’t notice her even while flying around with the lamp.

N. ‘THEY FORGET LAMP WAS DANGEROUS BUT REMEMBER IT STOP TIME!’

*points above*

O. ‘DUR< MECH FIGHT ONLY STOPPED FINAL BATTLE FOR LESS TWO MINUTES!’

You know...and taking out the weapon made to kill the Grimm for a long period of time...and Cordovon’s actions SUMMONED the Grimm...and all the shields were down and the breath attack that could level half the city in one shot takes about five seconds to charge up.

Gosh, it’s almost like he relies on his audience not knowing any better...

P, ‘SALEM THINKS HER PROBLEM SOLVED WITH FLYING MONKEY WHICH COULD HAPPEN IN EPISODE 2!’

1. You cut out the WHOLE REST OF THE ARMY.

2. ‘Hazel: There's an old saying.

he two notice Hazel Rainart enter the room and stand next to them.

Hazel: If you want something done right... do it yourself.

Salem looks up to the army of Grimm she has gathered, before turning around and using her magic on the black pools again, engulfing the entire scene...’

3. Salem’s problem is the news Ozpin lived...delievered to her in Episode 4. Not Episode 2.

Q. ‘THEY GO TO ATLAS LIKE BAD MAN OZPIN SAY THEY DO! THEY NO QUESTION ANYTHING!’

Question.

What the fuck are they suppose to do?

Can’t wait anywhere, you yourself admitted that they showed the lamp attracted Grimm AND you never stopped bitching about Volume 5.

Vale is out.

Mistral is out, no Raven.

Vacuo is clear across the other side of Remnant.

Can’t even talk it out because people wouldn’t stop bitching about the talking in Volume 5.

You act like there’s any OTHER logical choice, FMF. Or that Ozpin’s lies would change ANYTHING about his decision about going to Atlas being bad.

But then again, that’d require your brain to function in regard to RWBY.

Then he goes on to say some shit about how everyone is just back to the way they are and how the Volume was pointless. I’d discuss that...but I want you to look at everything he said here. All the lying he did. All the suspect shit he pulled. All the crap he ignored. All the positions he abandoned in Volume 5 to bitch about here.

All the piss he spewed for nothing.

Look at this and think to yourself: Even if I saw the whole thing and heard his reasonings-

Would you believe a word he says?

I had to stop myself from wheezing I laughed at him so hard. This is the video equivalent of that drowning meme

He CREATED every single bit of his situation. He CHOSE to see things this way even after it took mental gynmastics to see it so.

It’s hilarious he acts like he’s in so much pain that HE INFLICTED TO HIMSELF.

I gave FMF a chance. His first point and his last point to impress me even a little. What did I get?

An ironic comedy routine that makes Beavis and Butt Head look like Steven Hawking.

#rwby #fatmanfalling

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astroellipse · 4 years ago

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writing *ranting about ffxiv while I wait for a queue to pop

I was so sad man... I’m just trying to do the Hildebrand questline- it popped in the middle of writing that oh my god.

What I was going to say is that I thought this queue for the quest line’s third trial was going to be 15 minutes like the last two but saw it was instead “more than 30 minutes”, and given the last time I queued for a trial that said that it took two hours, I was a little concerned. To my surprise it popped initially just seven minutes in... until someone backed out. Then I started writing this. Then it popped, I waited half a minute, and someone withdrew again. And a third time immediately after. On the fourth time I actually got in. That was ridiculous. I’ll still continue writing though, since finishing the first Hildibrand saga is a good breaking point.

That was, to be expected, hilarious. A lot of it, anyhow. Some of it just sort of hurt. The funniest moment wasn’t even during the questline, it was during the first trial with Gilgamesh. Both me and the bard were inflicted with confusion and just started blasting each other. Him knocking arrows and all but stabbing them into my forehead, and me casting ruin directly into his eyes at point blank range. That and the getting turned into a frog and getting chased by chickens. Literally nothing can top that encounter for me.

I straight up did not care about the mystery/plot the majority of the time, but I guess I should expect by now that I’ll always enjoy the characters more than whatever mediocre plot they’re tangled in. Just. The Coliseum quests specifically mostly pissed me off. The pervy tentacle monster. The needless racism. The whole thing with painting a poor person wanting to find an easy way to not be poor as undeniably evil which the game KEEPS doing makes me so fucking mad, in combination with stewing about these other themes in JRPGs especially with being all “boo-hoo, won’t anyone thing about how hard it is being rich and noble, all the responsibility, how dare these dirty poors even think about getting revenge on the very people that keep them down.

Why aren’t they just happy with what they do have? They should just put in more work if they want to eat a warm meal, even though we’ve already established there’s no work to be had. Like jesus christ I’d swear some of the shit in this game and others was being written by some 17 year old medieval lordling with too much free time between tutoring sessions. What is these peoples’ obsessions with nobility? Like I get it makes for good fantasy content but have at least a little bit of self consciousness.

I feel like I always see these games acknowledge some kind of class structure and how it negatively effects those in its lowest rungs then shrug it off as “there’s nothing anyone can do about it” and paint the impoverished as villains for being upset with the people that do have the power to change it. Sort of a tangent but this specifically is why I despised and kind of relationship between Dorothea and Ferdinand in Three Houses. She calls him out and rightfully so in the first support, then he makes a batch of pastries completely from scratch one time and this apparently makes her think that all nobles aren’t so bad? Going from straight up not wanting nobles to exist to thinking hey, they’re people too :). I hate that. I hated that FE3H characters were mostly nobles or come from notable/rich families or whatever.

Similarly I hate that FFXIV has such a huge focus on the upper crust and just completely discards and lower-class person. Like, there was a mission where I had to check on some scared refugees and they attacked me in self defense and it made me kill them? And I reported back to the guy who asked me to check on them and he just went “Ah well, what can you do.” Like what the fuck is wrong with these writers sometimes???

I was about to say this was more of an issue with ARR but remembered how the people of the Brume were treated in HW, like a mob of bumbling idiots in desperate need of guidance. What drove me insane the most on that front was when the people were on the brink of revolt after that one girl basically martyred herself, and to remedy this Aymeric decided his order and the grand companies would have their little sparring mach, because nothing sparks patriotism more like sports. Even though this left the city with significantly less protection. And that it was held in an area where not a single citizen could see it. Also, the group the people were supposed to be rooting for was the order of knights and their lapdogs (Hilda’s group) which. just. none of it made sense. It was stupid. This kinda shit makes me afraid to eventually get to Stormblood and into the thick of the Ala Mhigo stuff which they have handled TERRIBLY so far like it boils my blood to think about it. This game is so racist it’s unreal.

but. god. I was talking about the Hildibrand questline. The bit on Costa del Sol was probably the closest I came to caring about the plot, plus it had some pretty good bits. Wasn’t a fan of the big “man in a dress” at the end, though it did make me think that men should be allowed to wear dresses in this game like it would’ve looked fine without the goofy hair and makeup :/ And I completely checked out on whatever that last bit of story was no I do not care that that one girl we’ve been traveling with was the thief all along I have never liked her. Also she played into that class issue I just ranted about. The reveal of her sister was also cheap and stupid. The elezen inspector professing his love for her was also weird? My first thought during that was “jesus christ man she was trying to commit mass mur-” and then I remembered that I/my WoL was crushing on Ysale before she got axed which comes in at #2 for funniest moment in this questline. Him doing that still came out of nowhere save one or two short scenes in separate quests to me.

But I’m exhausted of this now. I might go and start the next saga but I’ll probably go to sleep early... if anything has made me rethink playing past the free trial it’s the shit above but I’ll be honest I am pretty darn likely to cave. I can only hope the writers sorted at least some of their shit out between expansions.

#collecting my thoughts #mmorpg hell

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glassbangtan · 5 years ago

Text

love lyrics {yoongi x reader}

Words: 11.8k

Summary: Min Yoongi is a Modern Arts student. You are kind of a Modern Arts student. Min Yoongi lives and breathes his music, would die for a good grade. You are hopping from course to course, still trying to figure out what you want. Two seemingly opposite people somehow form a connection in the mess of trying to complete a relatively difficult homework assignment that focuses on the topic of love - something Yoongi is completely oblivious to.

Genre: angst - fluff - high school au

Notes: masterlist - support my writing or ask me about commissions!

----

Min Yoongi is fairly certain this is the stupidest thing he's ever been told to do.

Ever.

He's a Modern Arts student – he's learning to produce music, for crying out loud. So, why is he being forced to sit down and write some stupid love poem for a person he doesn't even know?

The assignment came from his music teacher, Miss Seymour. Miss Seymour, a pleasant elderly lady who prides herself on the fact that she's married to the music, is someone Yoongi usually respects a great deal. In truth, she's taught him almost everything he knows, has paved the way for the future he wants to pursue once he leaves the hell hole that is Daegu High School.

However, this morning she'd walked into class, chipper as anything with her usual flask of coffee in her hands, and she'd told each and every student in that room to sit down and write about love.

Yoongi could have honestly slammed his head into the desk.

Yoongi isn't a hopeless romantic by any stretch of the imagination. He's read romance books (mostly because of Namjoon) and he's watched romance movies (mostly because of Jimin) but never before has he taken that side of media and applied it to his own hobby – writing music. Never before has he even wanted to, because the minute you start mixing complicated feelings into a piece of music, it can start deteriorating very, very fast. The song can quickly become something you don't even want to look at, let alone properly record and release to the world.

Nonetheless, Yoongi needs this grade. He needs to keep Miss Seymour's respect, and so he ducks his head down and starts scribbling on the piece of paper he's pulled from his backpack.

Nothing happens.

He's moving his pen. He's pretty sure there should be words on his page, but instead, all that appears is a tiny doodle of a hedgehog in the top left corner. Beside it, a smiley face. Soon, an entire little family of bizarre doodles have taken up the space of his lined page, and there is not a single word or flowery lyric intermingling amongst them.

Miss Seymour makes her usual rounds of the classroom. Yoongi tries to shield his page from view, folding his arms over the top of it, ducking his head into the tiny box he's made. However, Miss Seymour is actually a decent teacher, and she really does worry about the work of all of her students – Yoongi isn't getting away with this one.

She taps his shoulder. He doesn't move. Maybe if he pretends he's asleep, she'll realise just how exhausting it is to be a student, will take pity on him and leave.

“Yoongi.”

He squeezes his eyes closed. “Hm?”

“Can I see what you've got done so far?”

Yoongi knows he has no choice. Haltingly, he slides away from the desk and shows off his doodles. Part of him is quite proud of the little hedgehog – maybe Miss Seymour likes hedgehogs.

She tilts her head, grey eyes narrowed behind her wire-framed glasses. Yoongi sees her purse her lips, and he knows then and there that he's done for – he's nearly wasted an entire lesson, nearly an entire fifty minutes scribbling stupid doodles rather than doing this stupid assignment, and now he's going to fail, and-

“Not quite what I asked for, Mr Min,” she says.

Yoongi nods slowly. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Are you struggling?”

“I just. . . don't know what to write.” He looks up. “You know I'm more of a hip hop writer.” And she does know, because she's praised Yoongi so many times on the different pieces he's shown to her. She knows this isn't the kind of thing that comes easy to him.

She hums, settling herself down on the only other seat at the desk – it's been empty since the start of the year, considering most people would rather sit with their friends and chat then get any actual work done. Yoongi made the sacrificial decision to sit by himself this year, leaving Hoseok and Namjoon to their gossip at the back of the classroom.

“I've taught a lot of boys just like you, Yoongi,” Miss Seymour says. “They have a specific idea in mind of what they want to do, and they think that's it. They think music falls into one of multiple categories, and they choose which one they like best and that's them sorted for the rest of their life – well, I don't want you to fall under the same assumptions, because it really isn't true.”

Yoongi frowns.

“As musicians, we have to learn to love all genres of music. We might not enjoy writing them, and some will be stronger than others, but the respect at least has to be there. You have to fall in love with the art, not the genre.”

Yoongi continues to frown. Maybe he's too young to understand what she's saying. Maybe she really is bat shit crazy.

“Today we're writing about love,” she points out, tapping his page as if that will prove anything. “So, I want you to think of someone you deeply, deeply love and I want you to write about them. I know how good you are with words, Yoongi – I think you can make something beautiful out of this.”

Yoongi looks down. He might be hiding a smile; he isn't really sure yet. Part of him is amused by Miss Seymour's outlook on life, but the other half of him can kind of see where she's coming from – yes, it's important that he forms some kind of respect for all genre's of music if he wants to work with a broad range of artists in the future, but god, does he really have to suffer through the additional task of thinking about his own emotions?

Miss Seymour leaves. Yoongi never responds to her, but she doesn't really need him to. She's made her point, and now she's gone, and Yoongi is left with his pen and his sheet of paper.

He really just has to think of someone he loves.

He loves his mother, yes. His father, yes. His brother, yes, and sometimes he'll even feel a flicker of fondness for his small group of friends, as rowdy as they are. He loves music – but he can't write about that, can he? That's even worse than writing about how much he loves his family. It's just. . . not what people want to hear, and it certainly isn't what he wants to write about.

There's so much emotion in the word love. There's so much it can be, so many forms it can take, so Yoongi doesn't fully understand why he's struggling to come up with something to write about. None of it has to be truthful – he can bullshit his way through an English essay, so why can't he do the same in music?

He sighs and slumps back in his chair. His hood is already pulled on over his head, but he exaggerates his need for privacy by popping an AirPod in his ear, covering it with the hood of his jacket. He leans his head back, inhales deeply and-

The door to the classroom swings open. All attention is sucked directly towards the source.

“Sorry! Sorry, ah!” You awkwardly laugh. “I hope I'm in the right room. Miss Seymour's class, right?”

Miss Seymour pauses, chalk still in her hand as she scribbles some random motivational quote on the blackboard. It's been a long time since Yoongi's seen a startled Miss Seymour; the sight is oddly refreshing.

“Uh...,” the elderly woman drawls. “Yes. I'm Miss Seymour.”

“Sorry for being late.” You're talking so fast. Yoongi wants you to slow down. “I only signed up for Modern Arts a few days ago, and today's my first actual class. I'm still trying to find where everything is.”

Miss Seymour nods, dazed. “You've got the right place. T-take a seat wherever you want, love.”

And Yoongi knows. He just knows, because it happens in every single movie, and every single book, and you look over at him as soon as the words have left Miss Seymour's mouth. He can hope, but it's useless. You immediately make a B-Line for the one free chair in the entire classroom – which just so happens to be right beside Min Yoongi.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, even though he isn't entirely sure why he's so put-out by this. He doesn't even know you, but he knows you're loud and you talk too fast and the way you stumble over to his desk makes him think that maybe you're a little bit clumsy, too.

Bits and pieces of your personality are showing to the surface, and Yoongi hasn't even said two words to you. Clearly you don't like to keep yourself subtle.

Yoongi shuffles to the side when you slam your bag on the table and start rummaging around for your books. You're smiling the entire time – Yoongi doesn't know why, isn't entirely sure if he wants to know why.

“Sorry,” you mutter. “I take up a lot of room sometimes.”

“You're fine,” Yoongi grumbles. He tucks his AirPod back in his ear and turns back to his work; he needs to get this done. You can't be a distraction.

You sit down beside him, chair screeching with the force of which you plonk down. Yoongi tries to curl up against the wall. You don't get the hint.

“Well, hello,” you say. “I'm Y/N.”

“Hello.”

You pause. Yoongi should probably say something, maybe tell you his name.

He bites the top of his pen.

“What's your name?”

You sound like a six year old in a park.

“Yoongi,” he replies.

“Min Yoongi.”

He glances at you. “How do you know?”

You smile sheepishly, glancing down at your hands. To the untrained eye, you might look a little embarrassed, but Yoongi is struggling to believe someone with a personality like yours is capable of felling embarrassed. “I heard a bit about you when I was signing up for my extra classes. Apparently you're really good at Modern Arts.”

“Yep.”

“Well, it's an honour to sit beside you, Min Yoongi.”

“Just Yoongi.”

“What?”

“You don't have to say my last name. It's just Yoongi.”

You grin. “Well, okay, Just Yoongi.”

“We're not doing that, either.”

Your grin fades. Yoongi almost feels bad.

He shuffles a little closer to the wall and goes back to chewing on his pen. There's only ten minutes of class left. He honestly doesn't see a point in trying to force his creativity at this point.

“I don't know what you're doing,” you say. “Miss Seymour didn't explain the work.”

“Did she not?”

You shake your head. “Nope. Are you working on anything interesting?” You lean forward. “Can I hear some of your work?”

“No.”

You flinch back. “Oh. Okay.” It's silent for a moment. “Can you explain what the work is?”

Yoongi glances at you. The word “No,” is playing on his tongue again, but even he can admit that's a little bit too mean. He sighs and sits forward, nudging the instructions page towards you. He taps it lightly and says, “That explains everything.”

You read over it, furrowing your brows. “You're writing about love.”

“Apparently so.”

“But that's so broad.” You push the sheet away. “There's so much you can do with that. Like, forbidden love, platonic love, familial love, material love. What about love when it comes to hobbies, or passions? How can she just tell us to write about love?”

Yoongi shrugs. “Dunno.”

“What have you got so far?” Before Yoongi can protest, you snatch the page hidden beneath his folded arms.

He winces; fuck. You've literally just told him that people claim he's some genius when it comes to Modern Arts. He's meant to impress you, but there's absolutely nothing impressive about what you're looking at.

“Aw! That's a nice little hedgehog.”

Yoongi blinks. He thinks of saying “Thank you,” but that seems kind of stupid. He snatches the page out of your hand and mumbles something along the lines of, “Please don't do that again.”

You giggle. “So I'm guessing you're just as stumped as I am. Tell me, Yoongi – is it because there's so much to write about, or because there's so little to write about?”

Yoongi raises a brow. He spares you a glance, just over his shoulder, just something small, but it's enough for him to see the tiny smile twitching on your lips. You lean back in your chair, sighing dreamily, and the two of you wait till the bell rings, because that's all you can do – a hopeless romantic and someone who doesn't even want to ponder over the idea of love.

----

“So the new girl was pretty weird today, don't you think?”

As soon as Yoongi hears the words coming from Namjoon, he wants to turn and walk away.

He doesn't, though, because god forbid he get caught eating alone in a high school cafeteria. It would take months to recover from the torment.

So, he sets his tray down next to Hoseok and tries to change the subject immediately. “Does anyone have good sociology notes I can steal?”

Namjoon perks up. “Ay, there you are! Just the man we were waiting on.”

Hoseok leans in, nudging Yoongi's arm. “So, how was the new girl today?”

“Uh. . . On her best behaviour.” He isn't sure how else to respond.

Hoseok frowns. “No, dude. I mean, like, was she cool? Was she annoying? She seemed really overbearing when she walked in this morning.”

Yoongi shrugs, messing with the top of the salt pot. “We didn't really talk that much.” It wasn't necessarily a lie, but the way he says it makes it seem like one. Maybe you two did talk quite a lot – maybe Yoongi's shyness has reached a point where he doesn't even know what counts as talking a lot.

“Did you get her name?” Jimin asks.

“Y/N.”

Taehyung slaps the table and holds his palm out to Jungkook. “See, I told you that was it! You owe me a fiver!”

Jungkook slaps his hand away. “Fuck off. I can't afford that.” He turns back to Yoongi. “You didn't talk to her at all?”

“This is Yoongi,” says Seokjin through a mouthful of steak bites. “It wouldn't even surprise me that much if they didn't talk.”

Yoongi shrugs. He doesn't know how to respond to that, either.

Namjoon sighs. “Shame. I kind of want to know a bit more about her.”

“Why?” asks Taehyung.

“Why not? She stumbles into our Modern Arts class, yelling about how sorry she is for being late. I've never even seen her walking round the Modern Arts block before – so what made her decide to transfer so suddenly?”

These are all very good questions. So good, in fact, that Yoongi even finds himself listening to the discussion.

“I guess so,” says Jimin. “Do you know what classes she took before?”

“Maths,” Jungkook says. He pauses when he realises that the whole table is staring at him in confusion. He shrugs. “What? I worked on the student council for three weeks – the files I had access to in there, man. Crazy.” He points his chopsticks at Seokjin. “You, sir, are in Mr Brown's bad books, by the way.”

Seokjin curses.

Namjoon waves a dismissive hand, dragging back the conversation. “Isn't that so weird, though? She's moved from maths to Modern Arts – who does that? What maths student do you know that all of a sudden decides their passion is in the Arts?”

Yoongi can understand Namjoon's confusion, but he's also known the younger man long enough to know that he has a habit of looking a little bit too deeply into things that don't really matter. Maybe Yoongi is just a bit of a debby-downer, or maybe he really does just have a bad habit of taking life as it comes, but he doesn't see a reason in stressing himself out over something as simple as another persons academic interests.

But in the same breath, it is confusing.

“I'm happy for her,” says Taehyung, popping a strawberry in his mouth. His lips are already bright red. Yoongi is used to this by now. “You know, I used to think I'd join my dad on the strawberry farm when I was younger. That used to be, like, my goal. And now look at me.” He spreads his arms out, encompassing the whole table. “I'm sat with you assholes, taking a photography course.”

“What a glow-up,” Jimin deadpans, to which Taehyung merely grins.

Yoongi looks down at his own meal. The only reason he avoids these conversations is because they often get him thinking, and that's dangerous territory. He thinks enough when he's in class. He thinks enough when his parents are yelling at him for not doing a business degree. He thinks enough without the added stress of thinking about someone he doesn't even know.

But Namjoon really takes no prisoners. He leaves Yoongi pondering over the strange individual who had sat beside him that morning, the conversation he'd had with you, the way you'd seemed genuinely flustered over the array of possibilities that the word 'Love' brought to the table.

Yoongi wouldn't be surprised if you didn't show up to class next week. You honestly didn't seem too passionate.

---

Okay, so maybe Yoongi was a little quick to judge.

He should have given you more credit, because here you are, and here he is, and the both of you are fifteen minutes early to the first class on a Monday morning.

Yoongi pauses in the doorway, his folder pressed to his chest in the same way all them pretentious, quirky girls always hold them in the movies. He feels a little bit ridiculous, but there was no room in his backpack, so he made do with what he had.

Your head is down. You don't see him yet. He gets the urge to run, just come back in fifteen minutes like a normal kid, but then he's frozen and he's staring at you, silently wondering why on earth you're still here when he's already put two and two together and deduced the fact that you were, by no means, meant to be a Modern Arts student.

Before he can swivel round and flee, your head pops up from beneath the desk. How your eyes immediately train on Yoongi is a mystery, but what he knows for sure is that there is absolutely no chance of him making a swift get-away now.

“Oh! Yoongi!” You grab your bag from his chair, slipping it beneath the desk. Clearly you've already assumed Yoongi is going to sit beside you again.

He hates that you're right.

“Good morning,” you say when he slumps down next to you. “I didn't take you as the early type.”

“I'm not. Not really.”

“Well, I'm sure Mrs Seymour really appreciates your effort.”

Yoongi's eyebrow twitches. “It's Miss.”

You glance over at him. “What?”

“It's Miss Seymour,” he repeats, even though he isn't sure why he's doing this at all. “She's not married.”

You pause. For a second, Yoongi is positive he's somehow offended you – it wouldn't be the first time. He really does try and make decent conversation, but who even knows how to start a conversation these days? Who has the time to figure all of that out?

He starts pulling his hood over his head. Your hand snaps out and tugs it back down.

“Oh,” you say. “Thanks for telling me. That would have been embarrassing if I'd gotten her name wrong.”

“Yeah.”

“So, do you know what we're doing today?” You shuffle down in your seat, getting comfortable, as if Yoongi going through the lesson plan is equivalent to a camp-fire story.

“Probably just carrying on with what we were doing last lesson,” he replies. “Writing about love or whatever.”

“Oh, yes. I remember that.” You shake your head. “You know, I had all weekend to think about that stupid prompt, and I'm still none the wiser.”

“That sucks.”

“Did you come up with anything?”

“Nothing good. Nothing I can work with.”

You nod as if you understand. “That's just it, isn't it? Love has so many different pieces to it, so many different elements, but it really just comes down to our skill. Like, if we can't write about it, then we might as well not even waste our energy thinking about it.”

Yoongi nods. You aren't wrong. He wonders whether or not he should say that to you. Is that a decent response?

“You're not wrong.”

You grin. Yoongi gives himself one point.

“Have you always been a Modern Arts student?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

Yoongi pauses. “Yeah. Most of the time.” He gestures round the classroom. “This whole love thing isn't really my cup of tea, though.” Cup of tea? What does that even mean?

“I gathered that.” Your voice comes out as more of a giggle. Yoongi hates that he notices this, hates the warm feeling that immediately sprouts in the pit of his stomach – it's not very often someone giggles in his vicinity, especially when no one else is around. He's usually either got his AirPods in and his hood up, or he's saying some self-deprecating joke that just makes the other person uncomfortable.

He glances over at you. You don't look uncomfortable at all. In fact, you're slouched, as if being in Yoongi's presence is the most natural thing in the world.

He decides to slouch, too.

“I used to be a maths student,” you say. “It was difficult.”

“I can imagine.” He pauses. He has a right to ask a question, doesn't he? Asking questions is a human right, isn't it? “Why did you transfer?”

“It was just. . . . difficult,” you repeat, shrugging at your lack of a better term. “I mean, clearly I enjoyed it at some point, or else I wouldn't have chosen it in the first place, but it's a lot of work and it just wasn't. . . . I don't know, like, fulfilling enough. You know what I mean?”

Yoongi doesn't. He nods anyway.

“So I decided to give Modern Arts a try.”

“Is that not bad for your grades?” Yoongi spits out before his confidence wavers and he crawls back into his tiny hole of isolation. “Like, hopping from course to course? What happens if it turns out you don't even like Modern Arts?”

You shrug. Your pout says you don't entirely care. “Then I'll find something else.”

“Must be exhausting.”

“Not really. What is exhausting is dragging yourself out of bed every morning to go to a class you don't even like. I'd much rather be a little bit behind and happy than ahead and hating every minute of it.”

Again, Yoongi doesn't really understand. Maybe it's because he's been settled in his major his entire life – from the moment his fingers touched the keys of that piano, he's never wanted to leave it. He took Modern Arts for the same reason most other students take Modern Arts – because they want to study Modern Arts.

You, however, don't seem to care too much about structure, or the future at all, for that matter. You hop from course to course like it's no big deal, like the end of year exams aren't the things that are going to determine your overall worth as a human being.

At least, that's what Yoongi thinks. His grades mean an awful lot to him, but he's heard differing opinions.

“I'll figure myself out,” you say. Yoongi didn't realise he hadn't replied. “We all get there in the end.”

Yoongi hums. It's the only response he can think of, but you seem perfectly content with it.

The two of you sit like that until the first bell rings and the class gradually begins to fill up. Miss Seymour walks in wearing a slightly oversized body-suit with parrots on it, along with a pair of dangly earrings that look about three seconds away from snapping her earlobes off completely.

Yoongi gives her a small smile. He isn't sure why. He must be feeling nice this morning.

Hoseok and Namjoon walk past his table. Hoseok claps him on the back, offers a greeting before his brown eyes flick to you; you're busy scavenging in your bag again, and Yoongi watches as you pull a piece of gum out, frown and then quickly toss it back into your bag.

“Hello!” Hoseok almost-yells.

Your head snaps up and round, a grin immediately taking shape. Yoongi thinks it's been practised, because there's no way in hell someone can smile so well in such a short amount of time. Without warning, too.

“Hi!” you almost-yell right back.

You two give each other a high five, and Hoseok walks away.

Yoongi frowns, turning to you. “Do you and Hoseok know each other?”

“Hm?” You've gone back to studying the contents of your backpack.

“You and Hoseok. Have you met before?”

“Oh. No. I've never seen that guy in my life.” You look at him over your shoulder. Yoongi has the sudden urge to brush your hair away from your mouth. “Is he a friend of yours?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Behind him, Hoseok and Namjoon howl with laughter.

---

Yoongi is starting to get angry.

The blank page, the half-chewed pen, the fact that he's going to have to buy another Refill Pad because he's ripped almost all the pages out of his other one. Call him dramatic, but he's ninety percent sure absolutely nothing in his life is going to work in his favour ever again.

The library isn't even half full, which is weird, because it's exam season and it should be. Nonetheless, the quiet murmuring distracts him. He knows he's just looking for an excuse to get away from his music homework, which makes his anger even worse. Who can you trust if your own brain is going against you?

He squeezes his eyes closed, placing his head against the table. He doesn't want to make a scene, but if this final nerve gets plucked in the next ten seconds, he's fully prepared to flip his chair and scream at the top of his lungs.

So maybe it's a good thing that you seem to be having an even worse day than he is.

He hears you opening the library door. Everyone does. As per usual, your foot gets caught on the door frame and your casual walk turns into a stumble. The apologies fall from your lips, your folder crashes to the floor, and the entire library goes silent.

Yoongi looks up. You're on your knees, gathering up a pile of papers. Nobody is helping you.

“Sorry,” you mutter on repeat. It breaks Yoongi's heart a little bit.

He stands up and goes over to help you; it's not a heroic move. To be quite honest, he's only doing it because he wants to get out of that god damn seat, and the distraction of your misfortunes is a welcome one. He drops to the ground beside you and starts bundling up the pages, rapidly thinking up a conversation starter that might make you feel a little more comfortable.

Your eyes snap up. “Yoongi! Hey!”

Apparently you have the conversation starter covered.

He tries for a smile. It probably looks too forced. He quickly looks back down. “Hey.”

“God, I'm such an idiot,” you continue. “I probably just distracted you from some, like, really important homework, didn't I? You're probably so far behind now. You really didn't have to help me if you're busy – this is me just – you know – being me!” You laugh awkwardly. You flick your gaze around at the staring students before looking away. “Fuck.”

“You're fine,” Yoongi grumbles, keeping his head down. “They'll forget about this in about ten minutes.”

“I hope so. This is the fourth time I've fallen in the past week. Fourth!”

“Maybe you should remember that the door frame is-”

“It's elevated. Yes. I – uh – I understand that.” You pluck the pile of papers from Yoongi's arms. He sits back on his heels, watching you be awkward for the first time since he met you – it's weird. He isn't sure if he likes it or not. Then again, he wasn't sure if he liked your overly-bubbly personality, either, and he's beginning to think that maybe he's being a little selfish trying to grab for the best of both worlds.

You shuffle the papers a little bit, give Yoongi an awkward smile before the two of you finally realise you're still kneeled on the floor. You start to rise, stumbling only once. You manage to catch yourself this time.

“Thank you,” you say. “Uh. . . What are you doing here, then?”

You want to start conversation. Yoongi feels oddly flattered.

Instead of giving you a direct answer, Yoongi nods in the direction of his study area, beckoning for you to follow him. He offers you the empty chair beside him, and you sit down with your legs crossed. Yoongi makes an effort to stay as far to the left as possible, just in case he takes up your space. He doesn't want to take up your space.

You peak over at his blank sheet of paper and frown. Then, your eyes trail towards the array of information sheets, and realisation dawns on your expression.

“Oooooh. You're doing the music homework.”

“I'm trying to do the music homework,” Yoongi corrects. “It's a lot easier said than done.”

“You know, I'd nearly forgotten all about that.”

“Well, it's due in a few days. You should probably get started on it.”

“Probably.” You place your pages on the desk, setting up camp, per se. Yoongi finds that he doesn't even mind your plans to stay. “So have you got any idea what you're gonna write about?”

“Nope.”

“That's not a good start.”

Yoongi shrugs.

You hum, sitting back. You tap your chin thoughtfully, and Yoongi wants to tease you about it but he doesn't really think you two are close enough for that kind of thing yet, so he doesn't.

“Have you ever been in love, Yoongi?”

His head snaps up. “What?”

“You know.” You roll your hands. “Have you ever been in love with anyone? Like, romantically in love.” Yoongi stares at you. You sigh. “Okay then. We'll make it less heavy – have you ever thought you were romantically in love with someone?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

You tap the information sheet – specifically, the word LOVE written in big capital letters at the top.

He swallows. “Oh.”

You lean forward. “Judging by that reaction, I would say you have.”

“Well you're wrong, because I haven't.”

Your eyebrows fly up. “Never? Not even when you were in primary school? Did you never have one of them relationships where the guy – or girl – would give you a flower on the playground and then you'd think you were in love for, like, a week?”

Yoongi raises a brow. That's all the answer you need, apparently.

You guffaw, shaking your head. “Min Yoongi, you have missed out. I was going to suggest writing something about that, but your inexperience has once again trumped my plans.”

“Sorry.”

“Maybe you can write about discovering love, then.” You're talking almost to yourself, even though your suggestions are aimed at him. “Being your age and not knowing what romantic love feels like – you could write about it from the perspective of someone who doesn't really know what all the fuss is about.”

Yoongi nearly winces. “It's not that I don't know what all the fuss is about. I've just never . . . cared about it.”

“Ever read Romeo and Juliet?”

“Of course.”

“Did you think it was romantic?”

“More stupid than anything else.”

You blink. “Yeah. Yeah, you definitely don't know what all the fuss is about.” Yoongi opens his mouth to retort, but you leap up and cut him off. “But that's a good thing! It means you have something to write about!”

“That's going to be so depressing.”

“So? It's art. It's allowed to be depressing – as long as it means something.” You point at his blank page. “Or, in this case, as long as it completes your homework assignment.”

Yoongi looks down at the table. It's a start, he'll admit, but the idea hasn't piqued his interest. He knows when he's excited for a project, because he feels it in his bones and his blood, and his fingers itch to grab the pen and start writing – at this moment in time, he feels none of that.

Nonetheless, he humours you. “I'll think about it.”

“Please do,” you reply, before you grab his hand and start scribbling numbers on the back of it. “And please keep me updated on your progress, because I'm just as lost as you are.”

Yoongi tugs his hand back. “Is that your number?”

“Yep! Please text me. Just text. Phone calls make me uncomfortable.” You pause. “Although I might like phone calls with you. I don't know. It depends.”

Yoongi blushes, looking away as you stand up and say your goodbye's. He doesn't know where you're going, and he isn't sure if that's an appropriate question to ask, so he simply smiles and waves you off before slumping back in his seat.

As soon as you leave, his anger returns ten-fold. He didn't even realise it had disappeared as soon as you fell into the room.

----

Yoongi likes rivers. He always has, and he's quite certain he always will.

Ever since he was a little boy, rivers have been a source of inspiration for him. He thinks it might be the noise, the faint trickle that could be water, or the footsteps of someone coming up behind him. He can lose himself within that sound for hours on end, and those hours will still feel like nothing more than a few minutes.

His favourite river is the one just behind his uncle's house. It's big. Benches line the side of it, so he always has a place to sit. Ducks walk around in the grass, and they jump into the water and they make little noises that only add to the peaceful ambience.

Yoongi stuffs his hands in his pockets and walks along the riverbank, trailing his fingertips along the top of the weeds. His music homework burns a hole in his backpack, but he's trying hard to ignore that. For now, he just wants to settle in.

It's night time, but that doesn't bother him. He can work in all conditions – in fact, he wrote one of his favourite songs sitting under a canopy when it was pouring it down. He remembers that day well, how his uncle had basically screamed at him for risking his own health all for the sake of a sheet of paper. Yoongi had no regrets.

He finally settles down on an empty bench and takes the sheet of paper from his bag. He presses it against one of his sociology textbooks, but at this point, he doesn't even care about presentation; he just wants something on the page. He wants to get it finished, because in the next two days, he's going to have to hand it in and he'll be damned if he lets one stupid project jeopardize his final grade.

So, he sits down and he gets to work.

He hates it all. It's like pulling teeth, each and every one of his thoughts being forced through sludge in his brain. Nothing sounds right, and he can't get anything to rhyme, and honestly, nothing he's written is even coherent.

He bites his bottom lip. He has to keep his anger in check, of course, because he's in public and god forbid he show any amount of emotion outside the house. He really does just want to hurl the piece of paper into the river, though, and maybe yell some curse words, even though that's unnecessary and will do nothing for him in the end.

Instead, he moves the textbook from his lap and stays seated. He stares out at the river, silently cursing the water for not bringing the usual bout of inspiration when he needs it most. He can already hear Namjoon and Hoseok in the back of his mind, telling him this project doesn't even matter and it's just a simple homework assignment – neither of them care as much as he does, and maybe that's normal. Maybe Yoongi's the weird one, obsessing over his final grade as if it matters.

“Oh! Look who we have here!”

Yoongi's head snaps up. His lips part. He's going to say something, but the words get absorbed by the confusion over the fact that you're currently standing behind him.

“What?” It's all he can manage.

You grin, skipping to his side. You're wearing a thin jacket today, along with a plain white shirt and a pair of jeans that are marked with grass stains. Your shoes are the same, and there's tiny strands of grass in your hair that Yoongi has to fight to ignore.

“It's me!” you exclaim, as if Yoongi would forget. “I didn't know you came down here.”

“I – uh – my uncle. . . He lives. . .” Yoongi awkwardly gestures to the top of the hill, where his uncle's house is.

You nod, not even following the direction of his gesture. Yoongi wonders why he bothers. “I've just never seen you around before. I come here almost every weekend.” You swing your leg over the back of the bench and perch on top of it. Yoongi shuffles over, silently offering you the place beside him, but you're quite content sitting right there.

You nudge his backpack with your shoe. “The music homework?”

“Yup.”

“You know, I finished mine the other day. After our little chat in the library.”

Yoongi looks up, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Really? How long did it take?”

“About ten minutes.”

He frowns. “Lucky you.”

“Hey, that's not to say it's any good.” You nudge him with your foot. “I'll admit I rushed it. I bet yours is gonna be ten times better than mine.”

Yoongi scoffs. “I actually have to have something to hand in to be better than you.”

You fall silent, and Yoongi wonders if he said something wrong again. He doesn't even care at this point, though, because the sheet beside him is still blank, and he has absolutely no idea what to do about it.

Love. Such a stupid, dumb concept. Did Miss Seymour even take into consideration that maybe some people don't believe in love? She may find this to be a bit of a surprise, but not every teenager in the world is a hopeless romantic – some of them just want to curl up and watch Netflix. Some of them are perfectly content being on their own. Some of them don't even want to think about love and it's complexities, because life is difficult enough without it.

God, he's being such an idiot. He knows this. It's a homework assignment – so what if he doesn't get the expected grade? So what if Miss Seymour looks at it and laughs? So what if his emotional capabilities are sitting at zero?

It doesn't matter. Nothing fucking matters.

“Yoongi?”

He doesn't look up.

You reach forward and place your hand over his own, and it's only then does he realise he's been gripping the strap of his backpack a little too tightly. The blood has drained from his knuckles, rushing to his fingertips until his fingers look like candles.

He quickly releases and pulls his hand into his chest. “Sorry.”

“You don't need to apologise.” You tilt your head. He can feel you staring at him, but he doesn't meet your gaze. “Are you okay? This isn't bothering you too much, is it?”

He closes his eyes. “I just . . . really don't want to fail.”

He isn't sure why he's telling you this, why you would even care, why he even cares. But the words are out, and suddenly you're sliding from the back of the bench to sit beside him, and then your head is on his shoulder and your humming something Yoongi isn't familiar with, but he wants to be familiar with it because it sounds so beautiful coming out of your mouth.

“You're a very tense man, Yoongi.”

He snorts. “Oh?”

“Mm. That was one of the first things I noticed about you when we met.”

“How tense I am?”

“Yeah. That, and the fact that you don't seem to care about it at all.”

“About what?”

“How tense you are.” You squeeze his upper arm, as if all the tension you're describing is in that single muscle. “You've just kind of accepted that that's how you are. Haven't you?”

“I've never been any other way.”

“That's sad.” You sit up. “Why don't we go in the river?”

Yoongi's head snaps up, eyes suddenly frantic. “What?”

But you're grinning, and Yoongi knows you well enough to know that isn't a good thing. You rise from the bench, and you're already tugging your shirt off before he has a chance to tell you to stop. There is no shame to your movements, no worry whatsoever.

Yoongi wants to know what that's like.

“Come on!” you exclaim. “The waters cold!”

“Exactly!” Yoongi stumbles up, reaches for your hand but suddenly it's at the button of your jeans and Yoongi flinches away. “Y/N, stop. The dark won't stop us getting caught.”

“So what if we get caught? I'll keep my bra on.”

And then you're tugging your jeans off and leaping into the river.

Your scream echoes through the trees. A tiny splash of water lands on Yoongi's arm and he grits his teeth – you were telling the truth. The water is ice cold.

“You're gonna get hypothermia in there!” he calls out.

“Don't be silly! Just get in! It warms up eventually!”

Yoongi closes his eyes; you're going to drive him mad.

Apparently, you're also going to persuade him to jump in an ice cold river.

He's peeling off his shirt before his sensible brain can kick in. And then it's his trousers, and then his socks and then he's lowering himself into the river, using the river bank as a grip.

You wade over to him. His eyes widen, and he tries to bat you away, but you're laughing as you tug his hand and pull him into the water. He grits his teeth, trying to bite back the scream threatening to rise to the surface.

It's replaced by a laugh, instead.

He's more surprised than anyone. You stare at him for a second as he tosses his head back and wipes his hand over his face, trailing the ice cold water drops down his skin. He can feel your eyes burning holes into the side of his head, but he doesn't even care, because this is the most daring thing he's ever done and he feels so free. He feels like an actual teenager.

It's weird.

Finally, he drops his hand. His fists splat against the surface, splashing you. You squeal, snapping from your trance long enough to splash him back.

“We're not having a water fight,” he says, walking backwards. “That's just cheesy.”

“Awk, come on,” you scoff, splashing him again. “Why can't we just let ourselves be cheesy once in a while? It's freeing.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, but splashes you anyway. It's the start of a fight, a battle where Yoongi ends up dunked under the water three times, and you end up curled around the trunk of a tree on the river bank, kicking your foot at Yoongi any time he tries to grab for you. The two of you are laughing so hard, no pauses, no care in the world, and Yoongi is sure he's going to wake his uncle up and get a scolding for this, but he doesn't even care.

God, it feels good to just not give a fuck.

Finally, though, the night closes. Not even the moon can illuminate the grass, and the two of you finally decide it's time to pack up and head home.

Yoongi falls on his back on the river bank. You follow close behind him, and it's not even a big deal that you're only in a bra and underwear and he's only in a pair of soaked black boxers. You stare up at the stars, his hand on his stomach, your hand trailing through your tangled hair, and everything seems so right.

Yoongi didn't realise just how tense he was until he was calm again.

“My mum's going to kill me, you know,” you say.

Yoongi snatches at a dragonfly. “Oh.”

“But I had fun, so it doesn't matter.”

“Yeah.”

You spare him a glance. “You don't talk much, do you?”

“Not really.” Yoongi looks over at you. “But I had fun today. More fun than I've had in . . . in a very, very long time.”

You grin, and suddenly Yoongi isn't even worried about what could be lurking in the darkness. “I'm happy to hear that.”

You look back up at the stars, even though you have a curfew that you're clearly breaching, even though you're both soaked and will probably get some sort of cold from sitting out in the grass all night. Yoongi joins you, biting his lower lip to hide the smile wanting to force it's way to the surface.

Suddenly, he knows exactly what he wants to write about.

----

Yoongi really shouldn't be this nervous. This is his best friend. Namjoon, who has read his work on countless occasions, who has given him nothing but complete honesty from the very beginning.

And yet somehow, this feels different.

The two of them are sat in Yoongi's room this evening, an uncommon affair considering Yoongi has indulged himself fully in his studies these past few months; despite his mother finally letting him bring friends over whenever he wants, Yoongi keeps the front door locked and his curtains drawn, just to keep distractions at an all time low.

Today he makes an exception.

Namjoon sits on the spinning chair. Yoongi is cross-legged on his bed, eyeing the taller man because that's all he can think to do, besides tossing himself out the window. He doesn't even know where the nerves have come from, but they only double in size when he looks up to see Namjoon raising an eyebrow at the sheet of paper that has been giving Yoongi grief for days.

Yoongi leans forward. “So....”

“Bro...”

Yoongi flinches back. “Is it bad?”

“It's a bit. . .” Namjoon tilts his head as he searches for the correct word. Finally, he gives up and looks at Yoongi with a raised brow. “You really feel like this?”

Yoongi snatches the paper back. “It doesn't mean anything.”

“And you think I'm stupid. Great. Great. That's fantastic.”

“What are you on about?”

Namjoon gestures towards the page. “Yoongi, you were obviously writing about Y/N. I've barely even spoken to the girl and I can see that.”

Yoongi has the sudden urge to laugh.

But he doesn't laugh. He should be laughing. He wants to laugh, because maybe a laugh will make his denial a little more believable.

Instead he just stares. He feels his fingers curling round the page a little tighter. He really isn't doing a very good job of being subtle.

His voice is a little too high when he says, “You're crazy.” He coughs, standing up and marching to the other side of the room, just because he needs to move before Namjoon's eyes burn a hole in his face. He focuses his attention on the mirror nailed to the back of his wardrobe door and starts fixing his already styled hair. “I don't even know Y/N that well, anyway. How would I even be able to write an entire song about her?”

“You know her well enough,” says Namjoon. “You two are always talking in class.”

“We don't talk.”

“Are you forgetting that I literally sit right behind you?”

Yoongi hollows out his cheeks, dragging a strand of hair down his nose; it's getting long. He wonders if you like it long, or if you'll perhaps prefer him with a shorter style. “There's nothing in there that indicates it's about Y/N. It's just some bullshit I made up to get something on paper.”

Namjoon hums. Yoongi closes his eyes – that's the noise Namjoon does when he's about to prove somebody wrong, and Yoongi doesn't really want to be left embarrassed in his own god damn home.

“What about the line where you talk about how cute it is when this random person stumbles?”

Yoongi fluffs up his hair some more.

“Or the line where you go on about how you admire their personality, even though it's literally the complete opposite of your own?”

Yoongi pulls on his lower lip, inspects his teeth.

“Oh! How about the line where you describe this person making you feel alive for the first time in years?” Namjoon hums. “You didn't tell me you two went out together.”

Something snaps. Yoongi spins round and jumps onto the bed, snatching the page off the desk on his way past. He shoves it towards Namjoon.

“Fuck, is it really that obvious? What line gave it away?” He groans, trailing his hands through his hair. “I can't read this out in front of everyone if she's gonna know it's about her, Namjoon.”

Namjoon takes the sheet and gently places it on the bedside table. “It was a good song.”

“I don't care-”

“What are you so worried about anyway? It's obvious she likes you back.”

Yoongi blinks. “Fuck off.”

Namjoon's eyes widen. “I'm serious!”

But he isn't. He can't be serious. Kim Namjoon, the most serious, honest man Yoongi has ever met, is lying right to his face.

“Right,” Yoongi exclaims, “so I'll just have to write something different then.”

Namjoon grabs his wrist. “Don't you dare.”

“I'm not handing that in. There's no way.”

“But it's good! You'll get the highest grade in the fucking class with that, bro!”

Yoongi scoffs. “Yeah, I'll pass on a good grade if it means sparing my dignity.”

Namjoon gasps, flinching away as if Yoongi's skin has burned him. “I never thought I'd hear you say something like that. This is gonna go down in history.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, and then he's making his way towards the bedside table, and then he's picking up the sheet of paper.

Namjoon cries out, tries to grab his wrist but Yoongi is quicker, and Yoongi is determined, and Yoongi is embarrassed that he ever let himself get so wrapped up in his own emotions that he actually wrote something like that.

He spent two hours trying to put his feelings into words. In two seconds, the candle flame has demolished everything.

----

Yoongi has never been so tired in his entire life.

Now, Yoongi has lived a very productive life. A fairly long life, too, considering he's very nearly reaching his nineteenth year. Throughout that long existence, he has been properly energized perhaps a total number of four times. He's used to exhaustion.

But today's exhaustion is really just taking the piss.

He is genuinely willing to fall asleep on the desk, which is dangerous both because of the risk of getting caught, and the fact that two of his best friends sit directly behind him and will not hesitate to write inappropriate things on his forehead, or the back of his neck, or whatever lick of skin they can find peeking out of Yoongi's black hoodie.

So he stays upright, even though it costs him a great deal of energy that his coffee is not currently refilling.

He takes another sip and hopes for the best.

“Gooooooood morning!”

Yoongi ignores the immediate flutter in his stomach.

“Morning.”

You place your bag on the table and start laying your books out. “How are you this morning?”

“Good.”

“You don't sound good.” You slap a hand to Yoongi's forehead. A bit of his coffee sloshes over the side of his cup. “You haven't got a temperature.” You lean down and meet his eyes. “Just tired?”

“Exhausted,” Yoongi grunts, nudging you away.

You giggle, finally taking a seat. “Well, at least you don't have to worry about your music homework any more – that's one less thing to stress about.”

“I wasn't stressing.”

“You've been stressed out for the past two weeks.”

Yoongi shrugs.

You roll your eyes, leaning your head on your hand. You're staring right at him. Yoongi wants to look away, but his eyes find yours and they struggle to leave, which is becoming an embarrassingly common occurrence recently.

“What?” he asks.

You nod towards his bag. “Can I read it?”

“Read what?”

“Your homework!”

“Uh, no.”

“Why not?”

“Because you might copy it.”

You stare at him. Yoongi hides his smile behind the rim of his cup.

You slap his arm. “I'm serious. I want to see what you finally came up with.” Yoongi rolls his eyes, but it's with a fondness he can't really disguise at this point – to be honest, he doesn't see a point in trying to hide it any more. You've cracked his shell. Those walls he's been building since first year are crumbling down, and no amount of denial is going to hide it.

So, he reaches into his open bag and pulls out the sheet of paper that is the reasoning behind his deterioration this morning; the words scribbled on that page kept him up until three am, and even now he's not pleased with how they turned out.

He just needed something. After scrapping his original idea, he was put right back to square one – he needed an idea, he needed inspiration, he needed to find a muse, but that muse never came. Any time he thought of the word love, the only image that popped into his head was you in that river a few nights ago, the water glistening against flesh he shouldn't have seen because you two were just friends, only friends, and friends aren't meant to see those body parts.

You take the page from him and start reading. Yoongi notices the way you absently chew on the sleeve of your hoodie as your eyes trace the page. He might have thought that was gross on anyone else, but he smiles when he sees you doing it.

Fuck. He's whipped.

He's watching you read, and he's waiting for your reaction, but he regrets this immediately when your face slowly starts to fall. Your eyes go first, moving from side to side a little faster, as if you can't wait to reach the end of the page. Then your grip tightens. Then your sleeve drops from your mouth and you're holding it with two hands.

Then, you inhale and hand it back to him.

He slowly takes it back, not once taking his eyes off you. You've gone from saying good morning and teasing him, to suddenly not even wanting to look in his direction. You instead keep your eyes on the desk, where your thumbs are fighting one another beneath the sleeves of your hoodie.

Yoongi risks leaning forward. “Did you like it?”

You nod. It's a little too quick to be believable. “I can see why everyone thinks you're amazing at Modern Arts.” You laugh, but it's forced. “Miss Seymour's gonna love it, Yoongi. Good job.”

He tries to smile. He tries to believe you. He tries to ignore your sudden silence, which is so strange to him because usually he's the one wanting you to be quiet. He's the one who deduces his responses to nothing more than one word answers or grunts, or even a nod of the head if he's feeling particularly tired that day.

But now you've gone quiet and Yoongi doesn't really like that.

He leans back in his seat. He can't really say anything, can he? What can he say, besides asking you what was wrong with his homework. Did you not like it? Sure, it's the worst thing he's ever written, but it means something completely different when a person he wants to impress thinks the same.

Miss Seymour walks in shortly after that, and the lesson begins.

She gathers up the homework, picking a few people at random to come up to the front and read theirs out. Yoongi gets slightly annoyed when his name isn't called – usually he hates being called to read, but for the love of god, if he'd have known he was just going to hand in some lyrics without needing to spit them out to the whole class, he might have kept his original draft.

Oh well. Too late now.

However, amongst those people reading, Miss Seymour chooses you.

You grab your page and stride up to the front with a confidence Yoongi isn't sure he will ever see you without. From the very first day he laid eyes on you, you've had that aura – that atmosphere that just says I don't really give a fuck what you say. Yoongi craves it, but he likes it much better on you.

You stand at the front. People start reading. Yoongi keeps his eyes on you.

And then it's your turn.

You don't inhale, don't awkwardly laugh, don't even look at the crowd as you start reading from the page, and despite the confidence that is so present in the way you stand, Yoongi can't help but take notice of the grip you have on the sheet of paper, the way your voice trembles just that little bit at the beginning.

The beginning, where you describe stumbling into class.

The beginning, where you describe sitting beside this mystery person.

The middle, where you talk about useless conversations consisting of one word answers, grunts, the occasional nod of the head.

The middle, where you say you thought it was all for nothing until one night under the stars. There was a river, and so few clothes, and laughter that you'd never heard before because it was coming from this special individual and you'd realised with a start that you hadn't heard them really laugh before.

And then the end, where you talk about how weird it is that you've fallen for someone like that.

Like that.

You don't specify. You don't really need to.

Yoongi feels like he's going to be ill. His stomach twists, and his fingers grip the edge of the table, and if he pays really, really close attention he can hear Hoseok and Namjoon squealing in the row behind him. But also, if he listens close, he can hear his heartbeat thundering in his chest as he remembers the way the page shrivelled up in his hand last night, the words he'd written about you no longer meaning anything because they no longer exist.

After you've finished your reading, you ask Miss Seymour if you can be excused. It's in such a quiet voice. Yoongi has to lean forward to hear it, but Miss Seymour nods and tells you how fantastic you've done before you smile and leave the room.

Namjoon taps Yoongi on the shoulder. “Bet you feel like a dick now, huh?” Yoongi closes his eyes, his heart erratic.

----

He finds you in the garden after class.

He has another class he has to get to, but he doesn't care. He walks right past the door of the sociology room and straight into the garden, where he can see your bright yellow hoodie hidden amongst the bushes.

He knows this is stupid. He should leave you alone. He's messed up enough for one day, and the fact that he's willing to risk fucking it up even more makes him want to punch himself in the face – but the idea of leaving you like this makes him want to punch himself even more.

Yoongi sits down beside you. The old wooden bench creaks beneath his weight, and he has the sudden urge to get up and just stand, but that would look awkward, so he doesn't.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks up at the sky.

“Looks like it might start raining soon.”

You look up at the greying clouds. Your shoulder brushes against his when you lean back, and neither of you move. It's pleasant, almost, but there's a tension between you that no amount of physical contact will be able to conquer. Yoongi just has to suck it up and realise – sooner rather than later – that words and apologies are the only thing that can make this right again.

“I think you got the highest grade in the class, you know,” Yoongi continues. “Miss Seymour really liked your lyrics.”

“Good. That's. . . . really good, yeah.”

Yoongi glances at you. “What inspired you to write that?” God, why is he even asking? It was so obvious. You meant for him to catch on, meant for him to understand what you were trying to say, and yet he sits beside you now and acts oblivious.

You close your eyes. “Nothing.”

“Really?”

“I just wrote about love. Like I was told to do.”

“Yeah.” Yoongi turns his body towards you. “But you were going on at me about needing some inspiration. So, what inspired you?”

“Again, nothing.”

“You're lying.”

“You've gotten awfully chatty in the last fifteen minutes, haven't you?”

Yoongi bites his lip. “You know, the lyrics I showed you in class weren't the first ones I wrote. I had. . . I had another draft that was a lot better than that one.”

“So why didn't you hand it in?”

“Because I thought it would be too obvious.” He gestures between you. “If I'd have known we were doing this, I would have kept it the way it was.”

You stiffen. Yoongi can see the confusion in your face. You open your mouth to say something, to perhaps ask a question, but you close it and instead choose to just look over at him.

Yoongi shrugs as if you'd spoken. “It was a lot more honest. It was. . . a bit more meaningful than what I handed in.”

“Can I read it?”

“No.” He closes his eyes. “No, you can't. I burnt it.”

You pause. “Oh.”

“It was about you.”

“Oh.”

“Was. . . Was yours about me?” He sounds like a five year old. He sounds like a bloody five year old!

You look down at your hands, bundled up in the material of your sleeves, fingers just peeking out over the top. “Yes,” you mumble.

Yoongi's heart skips a beat, even though it really shouldn't, because he knew. He'd sat in class and listened to your retelling of that night under the stars; he wasn't an idiot. He'd written about the exact same thing, for crying out loud.

Nonetheless, his heart thunders because you've just confirmed it. There is no doubt any more. There is no but what if...

Yoongi nods. “Oh.”

You giggle. The noise startles him, and he glances over to see you awkwardly shielding your mouth from view. Yoongi raises a brow, and before he can think better of it, he's reaching forward and plucking your hand back to your side.

It lays in between you both. Yoongi places his hand on the top of it, twists your fingers together. You both just stare at the point of contact, and Yoongi doesn't know if you want anything more, or if this is finally making you realise that Yoongi really isn't the guy for you.

Because he isn't.

“This is so fucked up, you know,” he whispers.

You tilt your head. “What?”

“You shouldn't like me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I'm . . . like this.” He gestures to himself. “And you're like that. Us being together . . . . Life doesn't work that way for people like us.”

You go quiet. Yoongi doesn't look at you.

Not until you lay your head on his shoulder.

His breath leaves him in a single moment. His fingers tighten round your own. As if the blood from his brain has been completely drained, he lets his head drop on top of yours, and it is there, sitting with you in the garden, that he takes a deep breath, and he starts to realise that maybe not everything is so bad.

Maybe there's a bit more to life than what the future holds.

Maybe Yoongi should spend a little bit more time focusing on who he is now, rather than wasting away with the idea of being something bigger.

----

“So, I don't actually like Modern Arts all that much.”

Yoongi scoffs. It's too early for words right now.

You're laying on his chest this morning, playing mindlessly with the buttons on his cookie pyjama top. He rubs your shoulder with one hand, the other plays with your hair.

“You don't sound surprised,” you continue, but you don't sound surprised that he doesn't sound surprised.

“I'm not,” he replies. “You're not exactly a very stationary individual, love.”

“But I tried this time.” You look up, resting your chin on his sternum. “I quite liked sitting beside you. That was honestly the only reason I was dragging myself out of bed every morning.”

Yoongi presses a kiss to your nose. “I appreciate the company.”

You grunt and go back to playing with his shirt buttons. Yoongi goes back to messing with your hair.

“So what made you come to this painful decision?” he asks.

“I just. . . tried it, and I didn't like it.” You shrug. “Miss Seymour will understand, right? I think she only likes me because I'm going out with her star pupil.”

“I thought you were going out with me.”

“Ha ha.” You look up at him again. “When did you start getting so sarcastic?”

Yoongi simply grins. You poke his gums, just like you always do. He pretends to bite your finger, just like he always does.

You both laugh, and it's the most beautiful noise Yoongi has ever heard in his life. He's created music that has left grown adults in tears. He's listened to orchestras play live. He's listened to the tunes of a piano his entire life, and yet none of that can beat the sound of your laughter ringing in his ear at seven am on a Monday morning.

He should probably be getting ready for school. He really can't be bothered, though.

“What course are you gonna try out next?” Yoongi asks once the laughter has settled.

“Might give English a go. Fall in love with whoever I sit with in that class. Move on. Repeat.”

Yoongi pinches your hips. “Don't even joke.”

You kiss his chin. “Sorry. I had to.”

“Did you, though?”

Your kisses trail up to his lips, and Yoongi hums at the contact. You pull away, grin and say, “Yes,” before you sit up and start getting ready for the day.

Yoongi sighs, watching you pull your spare pair of jeans on – you always leave a set of clothes in Yoongi's wardrobe, just in case you accidentally end up staying the night. This is happening more and more often recently, but neither of you are addressing the issue, because neither of you mind.

“I'll go to one more Modern Arts class today,” you say, struggling to keep upright with only one foot on the ground. “Then I'll talk to Miss Seymour about transferring.”

“Sounds good,” says Yoongi. “Do you want me to stay with you after class?”

You raise a brow. “Do you not want to go to lunch with your friends? It'll only take a few minutes, Yoongi.”

“Exactly. But then you won't be in my class any more. I need to spend as much time with you as possible.”

“I live down the street.”

Yoongi raises a hand. “No arguments.”

You roll your eyes. The sun glares down on your skin. It makes your hair look a little shinier. It makes your smile look a little brighter. It makes Yoongi want to grab you and pull you back under the covers with him.

But he doesn't. He rolls out of bed and joins you in the task of getting dressed. The two of you talk about school and your days plans, and then you decide you're going to come back to his place afterwards, and Yoongi has to stop himself from giggling because you don't even have to ask any more – you just decide you're coming over, and that's it.

He loves it. He loves you.

He thinks back to a few months prior when he was sitting in his room, fretting over a piece of paper that seemed to be the bane of his existence at the time. He remembers wondering what Miss Seymour even saw in the topic of love – back then, it was so stupid to him. It was unfair. He's young, and he's still learning how to control his feelings, and he's still learning how to understand them – and even now, months into this relationship, he still struggles to understand it sometimes.

But now, as he gets dressed beside you, he wonders what took him so long to get those lyrics out. Right now, his feelings seem so obvious. Right now, he can't quite pinpoint why he ever thought love was a bad thing.

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