#my friend saw the initial doodle for that and laughed so hard i almost abandoned this artwork

[shrimpyjackal]

Can you draw anti CosWan? 🥹 You probably already draw them before but I like to see more of anti CosWan since they don’t get enough attention… please 🥹🥹

oh the sillies-

[ace-in-a-shopping-cart]

Trust Issues

Summary: Virgil and Logan are internet friends. Can they be something more? Angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, analogical. Mentions of abuse.

Word Count: 3,784

Taglist: (Send an ask to be added or removed!) @starlocked01​​ @spoopy-turtle​​ @lizluvscupcakes​ @more-fandon-than-friends 

Virgil kept everyone at arm's length. He knew it wasn’t fair to himself but he didn’t care. It was the way he had been since high school. He was half way into college now and doing fine. That was, until he met someone online. They got along well, having similar interests and Virgil enjoyed talking to him. He didn’t realize that he was letting his walls down until it was too late.

He was trying to study for an important exam when he got the request for a call. Sighing, Virgil rolled his chair over to the side, reaching into his loft bed to grab his phone. He accepted the call as he rolled back, turning the music coming from the laptop down. 

“Salutations, Virgil.” The almost musical voice came from his phone.

Virgil was still out of sight of the camera and allowed himself a large smile before sobering and propping the phone where he could see it and be seen. “Hi, Logan. Did you need something?”

“I wanted to spend time with you.” Logan said as if it was the most logical thing in the world to call someone up simply to spend time together. Which, for most people, it probably was. Unfortunately, Virgil wasn’t most people.

Virgil scoffed as he jotted down a note. “Sure, because you’ve got nothing better to do.”

Logan sighed, already used to this from him. “Virgil, I can see you multitasking. Is it not possible to conceive that I might also be capable of doing the same? Is it a truly impossible idea that I simply wanted your company, whether we discuss topics or not?”

Virgil’s hands stilled, pausing in his thought process to look at the small screen housing Logan’s face. “No, I guess it isn’t.” He ran a hand through his hair, oblivious to the amount of graphite on the side of it. “Sorry, I’m just stressed out right now.”

Logan smiled. “Take a deep breath. Now, do you want help, or a listening ear?”

“A listening ear. I’m trying to study for my second to last exam but it doesn’t feel like I’m remembering any of it.”

Logan nodded. “Okay, maybe it’s time to take a break. It seems that I called at just the right time.”

Virgil shook his head. “I don’t want to bother you with this. It’s stupid and not even like it’s the class with the most credits right now. I think I’ll just switch to a different subject and work on that.”

Logan’s voice took on a dejected tone. “Alright. I’m here if you need me.” He turned away from his screen and Virgil got a look at his surroundings. Unlike Virgil who was in a dorm, Logan seemed to be in at least an apartment. He was standing in an immaculately clean kitchen with a few mixing bowls behind him.

Logan turned to the bowls, grabbing a bag of flour from off screen and started measuring out ingredients. Virgil rested his chin on his palm, elbow placed on the desk, and let himself watch for a few minutes as Logan whipped up a batch of cookies by hand and placed them in the ove, setting a timer before turning back to the phone, obviously surprised to see Virgil spaced out in front of him.

Virgil startled out of his thoughts when Logan called his name. Eyes focusing again, he found himself looking at Logan’s face with a soft smile resting upon it. “Virgil.” He called again, voice impossibly gentle. 

Virgil lifted his head. “You need something?”

“You spaced out for a bit. Anything on your mind?”

Virgil shook his head, removing his pencil from behind his ear and looking back at the scratch paper in front of him. “Just the math problems.”

“Okay. I’m gonna read a book for a while so just say if you need anything.”

Virgil gave a thumbs up to the general area of his phone and hoped Logan saw it. After a few minutes of quiet music and no sound from Logan, Virgil needed more auditory stimulation. So, he rolled back in his chair and pulled out a drawer that housed his headphones. Plugging them into his laptop, he turned the volume up just enough that he could finally think. 

His thought strayed from his work to the man sitting nearby but so far away. Looking up, Logan’s phone was positioned against what Virgil assumed was a lamp that allowed him to read and still have the phone within his sight line. Virgil sighed quietly as he directed his gaze back to his page and started to doodle in the margins.

He knew what was happening, had known for a few weeks now. He was terrified of the consequences of these feelings that were beginning to bubble up inside him like a freshwater spring in the mountains. While he wanted to live by the spring and drink deeply of it every day, he knew he was doomed to be a nomad and was scared to fill his water bottle from the spring. 

He knew he was falling for Logan, knew he could confess and have a good chance Logan felt the same. He also knew the chances of him turning him down and cutting off all contact with him. Virgil didn’t think he could stand that again. He looked up when he heard a sound, only to find Logan staring at him with another smile in his eyes.

Logan mimed taking headphones off and Virgil did as requested. Pausing the music, he turned his full attention to the beautiful human on the other side of the screen. “You need something?”

Logan coughed. “Well, I actually did call you for a reason.”

Virgil nodded, letting his pencil fall out of his hand and roll across the desk. “I’m all ears.” His heart was in his throat and was pounding a mile a minute. There was no other sound in his room as he turned his undivided attention to him.

Logan smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s nothing major, I assure you.” Virgil nodded, heart rate slowing just the slightest. “I have to go away for a week or two and I won’t have access to the internet or service. I’ll essentially be radio silent for the foreseeable future.”

Virgil nodded in understanding even as the feelings he had been dreading the most clawed their way into his throat. He forced them back down, telling himself he would deal with it at a later time that would never come. “Okay. Are you just informing me out of courtesy?” He was surprised by how nonchalant he managed to sound as he started looking around the desktop for the dropped pencil.

“I know you worry to the point of excess at times and simply wanted to inform you so you don’t freak out when you can’t get into contact with me.” He paused. “Virgil, are you alright?”

Virgil was leaning away from the camera. “Yeah, just looking for my pencil.”

Logan sighed as a timer went off in the background. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

“I’m fine. Go check on the cookies.”

Virgil finally sat back up, pencil in hand. He could feel the tears pricking his eyes even as he swallowed them. ‘He’s just going somewhere for a while.’ He thought. ‘He’s not like him. He’ll come back, there’s no reason to panic.’

He watched Logan stand and walk off screen before his head dipped back down, looking at his paper through blurry eyes as a tear splashed onto the problem he was working on. Sniffling, he rolled away to grab the box of tissues that his roommate stole. He blew his nose in case Logan was within hearing range before swiping at his eyes a bit too hard. He cleaned his face up before blotting the water drop on his page. 

Logan came back into view and picked the phone up, holding it away from his body. “Are you alright? I thought I heard something from here?”

“Yeah, I just have a stuffy nose right now due to the weather.” He rubbed his hands down his face, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Hey, I really need to focus on this right now. I don’t know if I can call you back later so I’ll talk to you in a few weeks.” Virgil purposely kept his voice light, almost cheerier than normal. “Bye!”

He ended the call, head falling to rest on his desk. First it was the stress of having homework to do on top of studying for a test he was sure he was going to fail, then he was sure he was coming down with a cold, now Logan initiated a long bout of not talking. He knew Logan wasn’t going to abandon him, but it hurt just the same.

Remus came back a half hour later to find him in the same position. “Yo, dude. What’s wrong?”

Virgil grunted, not bothering to move.

Remus’ voice softened as his footsteps approached. “Hey, you wanna talk about it?”

Virgil’s hand shot up, showing Remus the bird. Remus just snorted. “I get that enough from my brother, you don’t scare me, emo. Come on, what’s wrong?”

Virgil finally lifted his head, allowing Remus a glimpse of his red, puffy, and bloodshot eyes. “My life is going to hell faster than you are.”

Remus nodded, ignoring the last part of the sentence. “Okay. That’s not new. Tell me what happened this time.”

Virgil stood from his chair, crawling into his bed and hugging his pillow. “Logan just told me he wasn’t going to be able to talk to me for about two weeks and now I’m having past trauma creep up. Nothing too major.”

Remus sighed, climbing into the bed next to him. “Do we need to move your appointment up so you can talk about it with Dr. Picani?”

Virgil shrugged. “Probably. I don’t want to bother him with this though.”

Remus laughed. “You do realize that this is the exact thing you started going to him to help with, right?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Virgil leaned his head on Remus’ shoulder. “So, how was your day?”

So, Remus distracted Virgil from the tempest raging inside him, talking on and on about the things he learned and got to experience in his mortuary science classes. That night, Remus helped Virgil bump his appointment to the day after next.

When it was time to go, Remus offered to drive Virgil but he opted to walk instead. He got there and checked in with the receptionist, Remy. They chatted about what kind of coffee Remy was drinking today and his current recommendation before he was told to go ahead and go on back. Dr. Picani came in shortly, skipping the theatrics and going straight to the nitty-gritty.

“So, something's bothering you?” He asked as he sat down.

Virgil nodded. “Yeah. It’s just . . .  something happened recently that caused me to go back into the mindset of a few years back.”

Emile nodded. “So, your abandonment issues are back?”

“Yeah.” Virgil sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, almost ashamed to have brought this to him. “It’s something so stupid too.”

“Nothing is stupid when it comes to this. Now, what caused this?”

“A friend that, for the past two years-”

“Logan?”

“Yes, Logan. We keep in contact regularly, always chatting at least three times a week, sometimes more.”

Emile nodded. “He’s good for you.”

“Well, he says he has to go somewhere for the next few weeks and won’t have any service or access to wifi. In his own words, he’s going radio silent for one to two weeks.”

“I can see how that would be distressing to you. What feelings does it bring up? Honestly, please.”

“Honestly? Inadequate, too much, like I was stepping on his toes and wasn’t told of it until just now. Most of all, it hurts to know that I’m falling for him but have no courage to confess or even bring it up. I don’t even know if he’s into guys.” Virgil ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly.

Emile made a note. “So, you feel like when your ex left you?”

“Put plainly, yes. I’m back into the loop of wondering if I did something wrong only this time I have the knowledge that Logan communicates enough to let me know if I did something wrong. He would have no reason to lie to me. Then again, he was baking cookies while we were talking.”

“He is not the baker type?”

“I’ve never seen him use that much sugar in all the time I’ve known him.” Virgil shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m probably just being paranoid.”

Emile hummed. “You are not paranoid, but you are probably overthinking this. If you have a way of texting him, maybe do that to cope. If nothing else, write him letters when you want to talk to him.”

Virgil nodded. “That’s a really good idea, thanks!”

The rest of the appointment went smoothly, Virgil needing a refill on his medication anyways. Over the course of the next few days, Virgil bought a small notebook that he started filling with random thoughts that he thought Logan would enjoy or things he really wanted to tell him. Maybe he would tell him parts of it but much of it was something he would die of embarrassment if anyone found it. 

One night, Virgil was sitting at his desk while trying to do some research for an essay when there was a knock at his door. Groaning, he stood up. “Remus, you’ve gotta stop leaving your key here.” He said as he opened the door, not even looking at who was at the door. Afterall, who else would be knocking on his door at two in the morning? 

“I did not know I possessed a key.” A familiar voice that definitely wasn’t Remus answered.

Virgil whirled around, only to see Logan standing in his doorway, a suitcase in one hand and tubberware in the other. Logan raised his eyebrows. “Do I need a key to enter?”

Virgil shook his head, brain not actually connecting what was happening at the moment. Logan smirked as he stepped past the doorway and shut the door behind himself. “Are you alright?”

Virgil nodded. Legs giving way under him, he collapsed into his desk chair. His eyes were wide as they followed Logan. Logan slipped his shoes off and placed them by Virgil’s near the door before setting his suitcase down and handing the tupperware to Virgil, who took it and placed it on his desk.

Another minute passed as Logan got a good look around the room before Virgil finally got his brain cells working again. “What are you doing here?”

Logan laughed, pulling Remus’ desk chair over to sit at Virgil’s eye level. “I wanted to surprise you.” His eyes were soft and voice fond, leaving Virgil a figurative puddle of feelings.

Virgil blinked but had enough presence of mind to close the journal he’d been writing in, making it look like he was just tidying up his desk. “Why?” His voice was filled with bitterness directed at himself. He wasn’t sure why Logan went through all the trouble of coming all the way here.

Before Logan could answer, the door was flung open. “Emo, I’m hoooome!” The word ‘home’ was sung out like Remus was in some sort of sitcom.

Virgil sighed, grateful for the distraction. “Hey, stinky.”

Remus looked over at him. “Oh, who’s this? Is this that boy you’ve been talking to for the past three years?” His eyes were bright with mischief. Or maybe that was alcohol.

Logan stood, holding out a hand for Remus to shake. “I’m Logan. It’s a pleasure to meet Virgil’s roommate.”

Remus looked at the hand before taking a few steps forward, close enough that their noses were almost touching but not quite. Before he could do anything, Virgil spoke up. “Bad Remus. Go to bed.”

Remus pouted but climbed into his loft bed, rolling to face the wall and putting his headphones on. Virgil sighed, standing to give him a water bottle before turning back to Logan. “He tends to lick new people.”

Logan rubbed his cheek. “Lick?”

Virgil nodded, chuckling. “Yeah.”

Logan nodded, a relieved expression crossing his face as he sat back down. “So, how have you been? We haven’t talked in a little while.”

Virgil nodded, grabbing water bottles for himself and Logan out of the minifridge before sitting back down, handing Logan his. “I’ve been okay.”

Behind Logan, Virgil saw Remus roll over and raise his eyebrows in a way that Virgil had come to know as, ‘You wanna tell him or should I?’ Virgil waved a hand at hip height, something Logan would miss but Remus would know as, ‘Leave it.’

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You seem unsure of that.”

Virgil sighed, running a hand through his hair before taking a sip of water to avoid the question. As soon as the liquid touched his tongue he realized that the last time he drank something was an energy drink a few hours ago and chugged half the bottle. When he came up for air, Logan looked concerned. “Do you want the honest answer?” Virgil asked, capping the bottle.

Logan’s concern turned to surprise. “I thought we were always as honest as possible.”

Virgil nodded, hand subconsciously reaching for his fidget cube. “I’ve not been doing so well.” His hand went through his hair again, tugging slightly.

Remus laughed. “That’s an understatement!”

Logan turned to look at him. “Would one of you care to explain?”

Virgil gestured at Remus, who instantly swung his legs over the side of his bed, not caring that he didn’t have a railing. “So, Virgil has a past. Because of this, he’s got such things as abandonment issues and an anxiety disorder. He’s going to therapy for both but had to bump up his appointment due to you going radio silent.”

Logan held up a hand, turning to face Virgil. “Is this true? Why did you need to change the appointment date?”

Virgil nodded, fingers pressing the buttons harder than he meant to but the clicking was calming. “I needed to get a refill of my meds as well as needed to talk to my therapist about it.” He shrugged, his hoodie being pulled tighter around him. “My ex would often be abusive before going radio silent. I got used to the connection to the point that he could just go radio silent and I would wonder what I did wrong. I haven’t seen him in years but old habits die hard.”

Logan’s face crumpled in sympathy, leaning forward to put a hand on Virgil’s knee. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Virgil shrugged. “That’s cause I didn’t tell you.” 

Logan nodded. “I’m sorry for making you feel like that. No one should have to go through that.”

Virgil nodded. “I guess.”

“Hey!” Remus called. “It’s late and I want to sleep! Get out!” 

Virgil playfully gasped. “Remus! You don’t even know if he was planning on spending the night here!” Virgil turned to Logan, hope in his chest but practiced indifference in his eyes as he struggled to build his walls back up brick by brick. “Were you?”

“No. I was going to get a room in the hotel down the road. Although, I should be going now as it’s quite late.”

Virgil nodded, standing with him. As he rested his hand on his desk to stand, it fell on the journal he was writing in earlier. On a whim, he picked it up and held it out to Logan. “Take this with you. You know, for some light reading.”

Logan smiled as his hand gently closed around the book, slipping it into his suitcase. “I will, thank you.” Virgil ignored the way Remus was making kissing faces.

Logan left and Virgil had a hard time getting to sleep. Eventually, he did. Sleep crept in like a thief in the night, noticed just as quickly and caught even slower. When morning came, he was just drifting off to sleep but had to get up to go to class, grumbling all the way.

When he was getting out of his last class, Virgil got a text from Logan that said to wait in front of the dorm building. When he got there, a car was already parked outside. The window rolled down to show Logan in the driver’s seat. “You got time?”

Virgil smiled and nodded, getting in. Logan sped off gesturing to the stereo. “I don’t know the local stations and this is a rental.”

Virgil sat forward, hand poised to change the station. “What are we looking for?”

Logan shrugged. “Anything you like, really. I’m not that picky when it comes to music.”

Virgil smirked before changing it to the one station that was eternally stuck in the early 2000’s. Logan smiled. “I missed this music.” He muttered.

Virgil sat back and let himself get lost. He didn’t care about the destination, just focused on the music around him. Blocking out all thoughts except for the music, he started to hum along to songs he knew. Eventually, he started to sing to them. Logan just smiled and turned the music up.

When the car stopped, Logan turned the music down and all Virgil’s worries came back. He remembered the book he gave away last night, which he now noticed was sitting on the center console. Logan turned to face Virgil, who started to play with his hood strings.

Logan smiled, reaching a hand out to hold one of Virgil’s. “I want you to know I read the whole thing.”

Virgil wished the car had an eject button or that the ground would open up and swallow him. 

“Honestly, reading that gave me confidence and made this infinitely easier to do.”

Virgil squeezed his hand, reminding himself Logan wouldn’t have come all the way over here just to tell him he didn’t want to be friends anymore.

“I want you to know that I feel the same way.”

Virgil’s gaze shot up from their joined hands, looking at Logan and feeling like a house was being built by the spring. “Do you mean it?” His voice was quiet, hesitant.

Logan smiled, thumb idly rubbing on the back of Virgil’s hand. “I’m as serious as I’ve ever been. I made cookies to butter you up, for goodness sake!”

Virgil giggled. “You’re a dork.”

Logan leaned forward, his smile turning into a smirk. “Can I be your dork?”

Virgil nodded, leaning in to close the distance and kiss his dork.

[sergeanttpoliteness]

➹puppy love➹(peter b. parker x reader)

Requested by @connorshero➝  “Something fluffy and sweet: Peter B surprises Reader (his best friend, who he's in love with) with a puppy after Reader lost their previous puppers.”

Forget listening to sad songs as you eat pizza that burns the roof of your mouth— Peter B. Parker believes a puppy is the medicine for a grieving heart.

word count: 3.5k

a/n: finally, i wrote something short. hello! i’m sorry this took so long, @connorshero , i’m going to be 100% honest and admit that i struggled quite a bit lol— i wrote the entire thing but i decided to delete it and start over bc i wasn’t happy with it. but i finally finished and here it is! requests are open, so feel free to send some if you want (: hope you enjoy!

A desperate thumping on your front door along with the fierce crackle of the storm roused you from the light slumber you didn’t even know you had succumbed to, your body jerking as you choked on the drool that had managed to slip down your chin. You grimaced, wiping the gross saliva off of your face with one hand while the other rubbed your eye. You sat on your floor, your back against your sofa which explained your sore neck and shoulders, staring at the carpet until the knocking returned and brought you fully back to consciousness. You didn’t know what time it was— it felt as if an entire year had gone by whilst you slept, honestly, but you were certain it was too late for it to be your landlord reminding you about your rent payment. You clumsily stood to your feet, the lack of illumination dooming you to knock your shin into the sharp edge of the coffee table. You screamed, but continued limping toward the door anyway, flinging the door open with a scowl as you held onto your throbbing leg. Your expression softened, however, and your brows drew together for in front of you stood a dripping wet Peter B. Parker wearing a large coat that barely covered the red and blue suit underneath it, and… holding a puppy covered in dirt?

“What the fuck?” You muttered, suddenly fully awake. It was an odd and unkind greeting, but Peter really couldn’t blame you for your reaction. He opened his mouth, laughing nervously as his eyes shifted down to the creature in his grasp.

“Hey? Sorry if I woke you up, I just… kinda had an emergency.” He nestled the puppy on his chest and your attention came back to it. The animal shivered wildly, and so did your best friend who smiled at you while his teeth chattered.

You silently moved aside for him to walk in, your brain working hard to figure out what in the world was happening and trying to arrange all the questions speeding by. Peter briefly studied the living room— images of days prior, when he embraced you as you dampened his neck with your tears in that same spot he was in, flashing through his eyes. A twinge of worry invaded him when he took in the abandoned box of pizza on the couch, and the two empty cans of beer littering your red rug. Meanwhile, you might as well have heard the dog talk, because your stunned face— eyes as big as a full moon, your eyebrows almost reaching your hairline— represented just that as you couldn’t tear your gaze away from the stray puppy huddled against the man. “Oh my god,” You finally said, gasping and your hand reaching out to hang above its head. “Why do you have a puppy with you?”

“It was a surprise, to say the least.” He allowed you to take the animal from him, groaning when he saw the grime on his hands and coat. You didn’t mind much about the dirt, though, as it was a dog; laundry day was tomorrow, you told yourself as you hugged the puppy like a young child with their favorite stuffed animal. “I was in an alleyway when I heard something break behind me and so I went to investigate, but instead of a homeless person or something, I found this little girl right here.”

“And you decided to take her with you?”

“Well, yeah, we… had a connection.”

A lovely trail of footprints and droplets of mud now adorned your floor which you had actually swept hours earlier; not the makeover you wanted, exactly, and it would’ve irked you except that you were too exhausted and confused to save a place for an extra emotion. You glanced back at Peter, studying his shivering body, and sighed. The man could be bleeding out to death, yet he wouldn’t complain nor do much about it unless you physically dragged him to a nearby hospital; it wasn’t an exaggeration, rather a characteristic of his you gathered after having a friendship with him since prehistoric times, but also since (to your dismay) the exact same scenario had occurred many times before. “You had a connection, huh? Alright, dork, I bet there’s a forgotten collection of your clothes in my closet— go get changed while I get the bath ready.”

There was a certain weakness that threatened to attack Peter, and the fact that he was freezing after swinging to your apartment in the ruthless downpour easily might have been the culprit of that; but as bad as he wanted it to be that way, it was evident in his heart that you were the true delinquent— you, with your tangled hair perhaps from the slumber he disrupted, with just your presence really, continued to transform him into a teenager who wrote long melodramatic poems about his crush and doodled their initials on his school notes during class. It was absurd, truthfully, how you managed to do such thing to a fully-grown man. But you were his time machine, his youth potion, that remedy that allowed him to see life as colorful as a pure child did, and he’d never complain about it, because that’s just what he needed all the time.

Peter had forgotten about the pile of clothes belonging to him that neatly rested on one shelf of your closet. Ever since you two were in college— when he’d pretty much constantly live in your apartment for an entire week— you’d been assembling the shirts and other articles of clothing the man often left behind as if clothes were as expensive as a carton of milk that’s about to expire. So that’s where that shirt went, he thought as his eyes settled on a green flannel he used to wear religiously back before Christ, partially because you always voiced how much you liked how he looked with it. You’d truly had him wrapped around your finger for the longest time, he realized, and yet he’d never had the guts to make a move. That frustration abandoned him, however, when he put on an old shirt and it smelled like you; there was that youthfulness again as contentment pecked his entire face, coloring his skin a rosy tint. Like a new man, he headed down the hallway to the bathroom where he could hear water running. He peeked his head inside, the corner of his lips tugging upwards when he saw you on the floor caressing the puppy on your lap and talking to it. “I see you two already became friends.”

You looked up at him, directing to him a tired twitch of your mouth. “You better be scared, ‘cause your title of best friend is at risk. Could you close the door?” You gestured your head toward the entrance and your wish was his command as a gentle click left the bathroom’s door when he closed it.

“Again, sorry about bothering you. I just didn’t know where else to go, and you’re the best person I know when it comes to dogs.” He shrugged, descending to sit down in front of you, his knees uncomfortably tucked close to his chest to fit his long legs in the small room. The puppy forgot about you, and was determined to snuggle under Peter’s knees as he jumped off of you. “No! I just changed!” He groaned and wriggled away from the animal into the wall.

You giggled, quickly grabbing the excited creature before it tragically attacked your friend’s immaculate clothes. “I don’t really mind, honestly. I wasn’t exactly having the best night anyway; so thanks, Prince Charming, for coming to rescue me with a stray puppy— hic!” You hiccuped, the alcohol finally getting to you. You stood up, waving your hand which you weren’t cradling the puppy with for him to do so as well.

He hummed, amused, his hand on his hip as you closed the faucet. “I’m excellent when it comes to bathing dogs.” You glanced back at him, quirking a brow and narrowing your eyes.

“You sure? Because every time I asked you to help me give Webster a bath you just watched while I did all the work.” A grin may have remained on your features, but the rain cloud of sorrow that showered over you was evident after you mentioned that one name— the one you used to cheerfully call all the time, but now tried to avoid at every chance you got. Peter noticed, his eyes sad, but he elbowed you playfully hoping that it would help somehow, even if just a little bit.

“Lies, I think I did a pretty good job at holding him still.” It was unavoidable, no matter how hard he could’ve fought, the dreamy smile that etched on his face simply as a consequence of your empyrean laugh; such a minor thing that had a tremendous effect on him, and it embarrassed him, but again, he wouldn’t ever complain. It was baffling how you’d never noticed the stares that lasted too long whilst you just existed, or the utter and raw infatuation his eyes burned with as you smirked up at him.

“Sure, keep lying to yourself. I really need you to help me, though, because this girl is a shit ton more hyper than… uh, you know.” Peter recalled in his head the trip to your place and the humiliating amount of times he yelped while swinging as the dog would continuously squirm out of his grasp and attempt to climb onto his shoulder. He nodded, releasing a big puff of air because you had no idea. You grabbed a red a bucket from the cabinet and handed it to him. “Okay, just use this to pour the water over her.”

“Am I going to get something if I do a great job? You know, like a sticker?”

You shrugged, kneeling down before the bathtub. “I don’t know. A kiss, maybe.” You stared back at him when moments passed and he didn’t say anything, both of your faces as red as the bucket he shakily held. “It was a joke. C’mon, get down.”

He waited for you to take your words back, or maybe add something along the lines of “but if you’re down so am I” if the cosmos decided to bless him for once. You remained quiet, though, and a quiet sigh slipped through his lips as he decided to leave it behind for his own sanity’s sake. “Why did you make me stand up if we were gonna get back on the floor again?” He grumbled, following you suit. He looked at you confused when you began to laugh at him. Was he still blushing? You did always make fun of him when he blushed. “What?”

“Why are you making those dad noises?”

“Me? Dad noises?”

“Yeah, like—” You let out a low grunt, your lips puckered and your eyebrows scrunched together, and then breathed out obnoxiously loud and heavy. “That’s what you sound like— hic!” You hiccuped for a second time, and he threw his head back as he laughed.

“Shut up, you can’t even handle drinking two cans of beer, look at you right now.” He teased, the many times you’ve flirted with him throughout the years after getting hammered with a ridiculous quantity of alcohol in the back of his head.  He stretched out his arms, making grabby hands at the puppy, the bucket abandoned and floating in the water. “Gimme.”

Your mouth curved into a smile at his childlike actions as you carefully placed the creature in his hold. “I can’t believe you’re such a dad, but also a man-child, it’s adorable.”

He chose to say nothing, lest his voice decided to backstab him and crack like a fourteen-year-old boy during an oral presentation. He took a deep breath, instead focusing on the dog who believed it was a menacing beast as it chewed on his finger, and the grey layer of mud covering its short fur. He frowned, thinking of different scenarios of how the poor pup could’ve possibly ended up such way, none happy. He filled the plastic bucket with water before draining it slowly down its back, revealing its true dark brown color. “She’s so cute, I might have to cry.” He mumbled, his expression strangely serious in spite of his words.

“What are you gonna do with her?” There was a glint of what he wished was hope in your tone, anticipation clouding your features as you tried to nonchalantly squirt a generous amount of dog shampoo on the palm of your hand.

The animal tried to escape as he rinsed the grime but he held it in its place while he waited for you to start washing it. He raised his shoulders, glancing sideways at you. “I don’t know, I guess I’ll take her to a shelter or something.” You almost announced your disappointment, but you nodded, drawing your lower lip between your teeth. “You look disappointed.”

“Me?”

“Uh, no, the fucking ghost in your bathroom.” He said sarcastically. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, of course I meant you.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you massaged the shampoo into the puppy you cared about too much despite only knowing it for less than thirty minutes, creating enough foam that miniature bubbles drifted in the air. “Did you know that my apartment is haunted?”

Peter snorted at your spontaneity. “Oh, is it?” In a mere second, however, he completely tuned out everything along with your response; all purely because of the accidental caress you gave his hand as you scrubbed the dog’s loin. Was it accidental? Your touch lingered for too long for it to be, no? Or was he just overthinking? Most likely. He desperately needed to put himself together, he groaned internally— and if only he’d done so sooner, then he wouldn’t have been too distraught by a hand touch to notice the rapidly approaching mountain of foam on your hand until it was too late. He felt pressure on the top of his head, and that’s when he recognized your hand sliding down the side of his face, lathering the bubbly liquid on his skin. He jumped, pushing your arm away as his eyes widened. “Why did you do that?!”

Your beam was as contagious as a virus as you giggled, your foamy hands proof of your crime. “I asked you something like twenty times and you didn’t answer!” You defended while he wiped his eyebrow with the back of his hand. “Hey, I saw the opportunity and I took it!” Red alarms went off in your head, and you regretted everything when you saw his sly smirk. You lifted your finger up as a warning when he picked up the bucket and loaded it, innocent eyes staring at you. “Don't you— hic!— fucking dare…”

“Your shirt’s kinda dirty. Here, let me clean it for you—” He spilled all the water over your head and you shrieked, wielding yourself with your arms, which was nothing other than pointless as— regardless of your efforts— you still finished entirely soaked. Peter held his fist up to his mouth, wheezing while you glowered at him with wet hair stuck to your forehead.

“You dick…” You chuckled incredulously, giving him no time to feel satisfied before scooping more foam and launching yourself at him, slamming your hand into his mouth.

It was the cafeteria food fight you’d always dreamed of having; except that it was just two people (and a puppy playing in the bathtub) in your bathroom instead of a big cafeteria, and food was exchanged for water in an old bucket close to breaking and wasted dog shampoo with enough bubbles for a little kid to have a stroke from the excitement. Not a degrade, but an upgrade, indeed— one you’d accept without a doubt; even if you could already imagine how much your back would hurt after you mopped up the mess you two made, for it was impossible not to as Peter grinned widely at you with his fake bubbly Santa Claus beard, and you held your soaked stomach as you hysterically laughed. Peter’s body tingled when he thought about dropping all his fears and doubts to crash his yearning lips against yours; to hold your chin with the delicacy you deserved, inundate the room with all his repressed lust and emotion, like a volcano that’s been asleep for eons gushing everything out for the first time in forever. He held himself back, though, like he always did, and just admired your sunshine from afar.

You lounged on your couch, your arm hanging off the side while Peter rested on the floor with his head against your knee, ignoring the discomfort just to be as close to you as possible. It was a well-deserved break after your puppy bath-time-turned-into-a-water-fight as you two watched the clean animal almost do a handstand while trying to eat from the larger bowl. You chuckled, your cheek squished against the cushion. “Did you know I named him Webster because of you?” You mumbled, and you felt Peter’s head graze your knee as he glanced at you, humming questioningly. “Webster. Web.”

“And you waited seventeen years to tell me that?”

“Thought it was sort of obvious.”

“I kinda just thought you were really passionate about the dictionary.” He said and you let out air through your nose, gripping the worn Mickey Mouse blanket wrapped around you. You clutched the memory of Peter gifting you the cloth for your dog’s first birthday close to your heart— the cloth which would become the Australian Shepherd’s most beloved possession, even up till to his last moments and as you said goodbye to him. You sniffed, closing your eyes when your vision began to blur.

“Spidey was an option at first, but I felt really lame calling my dog ‘Spidey’. Plus… he also really reminded me of you.”

His eyes softened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, y’know: brown hair, brown eyes, adorable…” He almost had a heart attack. “He was always there for me and I… I really loved him.” You whispered.

Peter’s stare moved down to your hand, and soon you felt his fingers curl around yours. “Hey, Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“I have a confession to make.” You peeked an eye open. “I didn’t just bring the puppy here so you could help me clean her up.”

“What do you mean?”

“I, uh,” He scratched his stubble, trying to find his words. “Webster took care of you when I couldn’t, y’know? Not just that, but I hate seeing how much it hurt you to lose him. It hurt me as well— you saw me bawling my eyes out like a baby when they put him to sleep.” He laughed.

You frowned, giving his hand a squeeze. “Thank you for being there with me. I probably would’ve broken down if it weren’t for you. But why’d you bring the stray puppy here?”

“I know I said I was going to take her to a shelter, but I really just wanted to see your reaction. I don’t want you to think that I’m trying to replace Webster, though, because nothing ever could, and he deserves better than that.”

You then sat up, holding his hand on your lap as you began to understand what he was trying to say. “Peter…” You warned him— you truly weren’t in the mood for a prank, but his voice and features expressed nothing more than honesty. Peter rose from the ground and you immediately followed him, your hands linked as he walked up to the puppy.

“Sorry, bud, but I’m gonna take you for a sec,” He muttered as he bent down and scooped the dog. He faced you, your heart glowing at the sight of his sheepish smile and his giggles whilst the dog began to lick his neck. “I need someone to watch after you now that Webster can’t, and this girl right here is perfectly fit for the job.”

You were aware of how ridiculous you were for tearing up, but it was bound to happen when Peter handed out the puppy— your puppy to you. You gawked at him, taking her gently into your arms, blinking furiously when she washed your knuckles with her tongue. “Are you serious?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” He scoffed, although showed you a crooked grin. You couldn’t contain yourself anymore, and took a step closer to him before landing a tender kiss on the corner of his mouth, lightly brushing his lips. He gulped when you pulled away, his eyes going round. “O-oh.”

“It’s not a kiss like I said back in the bathroom, but it’s what you’ll get for now.” You murmured shyly, suddenly your feet much more interesting to look at than the flustered man in front of you or the sweet creature you held. However, once again, you missed that stare of his and his growing smile as his whole face lit up.

“I really can’t complain.”

[taexyoongs]

In Full Bloom

Author: Anonymous

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Romance, Angst

Words: 4.8K

Author's Note: Hi everyone! This is my first time sharing a story here, so most of you have no idea who I am. I'm posting anonymously for one reason and one reason only--this is my first piece of writing in a long time and I'm really nervous about how it'll be received. Being the first fic (or anything) that I've written in such a long time, this story is really special to me, and so I hope you'll enjoy it and receive it warmly. Please note that this fic uses she/her pronouns, and the occasional "woman" here and there. If you don't identify with those pronouns/labels, please feel free to change them as you see fit. Thank you in advance for your time.~

Summary: One glimpse was all it took to change Yoongi's life forever. 

Admin Taenox’s Note: This was not written by this blogs admins!  It was written by someone very dear to me who is amazing at writing but doesn’t know it. SO SEND IN LOTS OF NOTES (to this blog) TO SHOW HER YOU LOVE IT! If anyone else wants to send in writing, go ahead <3

When Min Yoongi first saw you three years ago, it was through a cracked window- a window that was as fractured as both your hearts.

You were sitting in a coffee shop, doodling absentmindedly in the margins of a notebook, dreaming of escape, dreaming of something more than this. The cup of tea on the table spewed steam; it lay untouched.

Yoongi had entered then. You barely noticed as he sat down in the chair across from you; you were too focused on your notebook, lovingly caressing its pages with ink.

A soft cough roused you from your daydreams. Dark eyes peered at you, at the notebook, then back at you again. His hands, strong and capable and clearly made for music, flicked blond strands of hair away from his forehead before they landed in his lap and were obscured from view.

The breath was suddenly snatched directly from your lungs. You felt as if you were watching yourself from outside your body, from somewhere far far away where an alternate reality existed. Your teeth began to chatter so hard you had to clench your jaw shut tight to prevent any further embarrassment on your part.

Yoongi lowered his eyes; they never again met yours.

"Go out with me," he stammered out.

You blinked. You weren't sure you'd heard him correctly. Surely he has the wrong person? For a moment, you dared to imagine the possibilities, dared to imagine what this might mean for you. What it could mean. But then, then other thoughts began to run through your head. The cameras, the gossip, the blood and tears he would need to put in to ensure his happiness, however fleeting. And even then, even if he did manage all that, there was one small problem. Did you want to date him because you'd looked up to him because you had followed him to the ends of the earth for years as he soothed the demons in your heart through his voice and intricately woven words? Or did you want to date him because he was beautiful because his eyes seemed to look at parts of you that you wouldn't dare show the world because he was the only one who could reach you through honest words? Or- or, did you want to date him because you wanted to get to know him, who he was, what made him laugh, cry, what made his heart sing? And because you knew exactly who he was, because you knew exactly how this would end, because you wanted to spare him the utter misery of knowing someone like you-you told him no. 

The taste of rejection was bitter on Yoongi's tongue. He was someone who was used to being told no, and this was no different, but this one hurt in a way that other "no's" didn't. This one was not like the others. So he did what any self-respecting man who had just been told no would do; he apologized and rose from his chair, casting a regretful glance backward. Days later, and he couldn't stop thinking about the girl with the spark in her eyes and a voice like the blackest of nights- quiet, unwavering, and maybe just a little broken. Broken. Just like him.

Weeks had passed. You continued to tell yourself that what you had done was the right thing, that there was nothing else you could have possibly done no matter how much you had wanted to tell him yes. You had no time for regret. Yoongi stopped by the coffee shop almost daily after that initial meeting, hoping to get a glimpse of you for whatever strange reason. He would always sit at your table, laughing, his eyes crinkling wildly at the corners whenever he asked you about your art. You had never seen him like this, not even in the pictures of the albums you kept stuffed haphazardly in your closet. Most days, the notebook you usually took with you lay abandoned, its pages open to a smile you knew extremely well by now. Why look at an imitation, born from your imagination, when the real thing was sitting right in front of you, endless stories from his travels and work leaking from his lips? Oftentimes, weeks would go by where you wouldn't see him. You knew why, naturally, but it was always disappointing when his reassuring smile failed to appear before you. He didn't smile often, and that smile struck the fear of God into you whenever it did appear, because who knew when it would appear next, or at all. But there was a guarantee in these meetings, the guarantee that he would see you again, no matter how much time had passed, and that he would always greet you with a smile-eventually-no matter what he had endured. You wondered if he had told anyone about these meetings he was having with a strange girl in a foreign place. If he had, you were blissfully unaware, and if he hadn't, well, that would have been the more likely scenario. You imagined him consulting with his brothers, and they-they would likely either marvel at his utter stupidity or encourage him to no end, even if this, whatever it was, was futile. You would never be anything more than friends anyway, if you even were that at all. 

He kissed you for the first time exactly eight weeks after that fateful afternoon, a backdrop of stars as the only witness when he blinked sleep away from his eyes and leaned in. You had dared to allow him into your apartment, to let him stay the night after he'd come to you with his eyes rimmed red and silence on his lips. Terror tore through you. He didn't cry, he never cried. And as he paused before you, ready to launch himself into your arms, you didn't think. You cradled him to you as he looped his arms around your waist, gripping you tightly with his shoulders shaking wildly. Whatever had broken him, whoever had broken him, it had been bad. There was nothing you could do for him but this. He'd fallen asleep on your chest after you had allowed yourself to awkwardly pat his back as silent tears leaked from his eyes. You wouldn't have moved and woken him if the earth itself was about to be engulfed in flames. And when he woke it seemed to have dawned on him what he had done, and so he opened his eyes, lifted his head, and gently took your chin in his hand before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. He pulled back, just enough to gauge your reaction. His breaths barely staggered out. He was afraid, but he saw that you weren't upset, that you didn't pull back in utter repulsion, and so he leaned in again. You let him. His kiss tasted like melodies and jumbled words and sleepless nights. You were stunned...and you allowed yourself to fall.

When he found the albums in the closet, he walked out with no intention of ever coming back. You had never planned to keep what you knew a secret. You had never planned to NOT tell him that you had known his name since June 13, 2013 when you first glimpsed him on that stage that would now forever be known as having hosted legends. The simple fact was that you were afraid. How would he react once he knew the truth? Would he think that you wanted his money, or that you wanted him simply for the bragging rights, just so you could say that you had been with Min Yoongi? Status. Money. Power. All the things he had, and all the things that you didn't want, not from him. What you did want? Him. You wanted him. His dreams, his fears, his laughter, sadness, the ugly parts of him that he would never allow anyone to see. Everything. You wanted everything. "I can explain!" you screamed after him. "It's not what you think, I-please let me explain!" Yoongi snorted. A look of pure hatred descended upon his face. He looked to the albums, stacked neatly on the closet shelf. Everything was there, from the very beginning to the very end. The traitorous spines declaring the titles seemed to laugh at him. He turned back to you."You lied," he spat. "You lied, and I refuse to entertain a liar." "But-" "Did you really love me?" he snarled, voice like poison. "Or was it because of who I was? Who I am. Did you see that and decide that you would play stupid and get what you could?"You felt an eerie chill run down your spine. "Yoongi I-" "Shut your goddamn mouth!" he cried. "Did you love me." The words came out tightly, with more force than you had ever heard in any cypher. When no answer came, he tilted his head back and laughed bitterly. It was to keep the tears from spilling over, you realized. You stood there, frozen, unable to make any sound that even remotely resembled human speech. Nothing that you said would make any difference. You could tell him that you loved him over and over and over until the day your body turned to dust, but he would never believe it. He had already decided. Your throat began to close up, and in that moment you knew that you had lost. You had lost the moment that Min Yoongi had first laid eyes on you through that broken window."This is what I fucking want," Yoongi said, ice coating his tone. "I never want to see you again. Don't contact me, don't support me- hell, pretend that I'm dead to you. Because that's what you are to me. You are dead to me. And if you're worried about me telling anyone about this, about handing over your name to anyone- don't worry. I won't. You have my word." Then, in the quietest voice that you almost didn't hear him, "I'm honest, unlike you."The worst part was that he didn't even slam the door. He closed it quietly as he saw himself out without a single glance back. You crumbled the moment that he disappeared from view. He had left your life as quietly as he had entered it. Unexpectedly and without a trace. 

Yoongi hated himself. Certainly, hatred was a strong word, but there was nothing else that could express the contempt that he held for himself at this very moment. "Why did I do that?" he asked Namjoon. "Why the fuck did I do that?"He had been in Korea for approximately three months since he had shouted at you in your bedroom. He had zero intentions of ever returning to you when he had walked out that door, but the moment he stepped on the plane two days later, he realized that he was leaving his heart behind. He was making a terrible mistake, and he knew it. But to hell with it, because this was his choice, and since it was his choice, he would deal with the repercussions too. He had never really been the logical type. Act first, deal later had always been more his style. Namjoon leaned back on a cream-colored couch, a book in his hand. He closed it with a snap and sighed heavily as he stared at Yoongi. Truly, he looked pathetic. The sequined silver jacket he wore sharply contrasted with his jet-black hair and pale face. Too pale. Much too pale to be healthy. Did he seriously think he was going to perform like that and not have anyone notice that his insides had been ripped to shreds? The show started in twenty minutes. Maybe the crowd wouldn't notice, but his brothers would."I don't know what you want me to tell you," Namjoon said. Yoongi's eyes were hollow. They appeared more hollow as time continued to creep forward. "I didn't mean a single fucking word I said to her that day." "Did you call her?" Namjoon asked. "Text? Email? Apology?" Silence. "Acknowledgement of her existence?" Still, no one spoke. "Come on, you have to contact her Yoongi. You can't expect things to fix themselves. You made a mistake, that's fine. People make mistakes when they're emotional. But you made a very big mistake. You should have let her explain. You knew she didn't mean any harm, you knew. From what you told us- you knew, so why did you-" "I know," Yoongi whispered. "I was scared, ok? I was fucking scared." "Why?" "Because I wanted a reason to run away. I wanted a reason to leave. Because it was real, Namjoon. It was fucking real and that's what scared me. I wanted a reason for the whole thing to have been a lie so I could justify it when she told me she didn't want me anymore." "Was it worth it?" asked Namjoon. Yoongi considered the words. Was it worth it? Was his stupidity worth this utter shit show that he had concocted for himself? Absolutely not, but everything else? It was worth it, every last thing. When he thought about why he had yelled at you that day, it all came down to one thing: fear. What he'd told Namjoon hadn't been a lie. The fear of losing you, of not being good enough, of you running away once his darkest demons came out to play and tried to burn him alive- that's what it came down to. Yet even when he found out that you knew of his identity since day one and beyond, that you weren't as clueless as he had initially hoped. He knew without a doubt that what you wanted from him wasn't something that could be issued out in the form of hundred dollar bills. You wanted to know him, and that was what scared him the most. He knew why you didn't tell him the truth, and he understood. Maybe that's why he turned to Namjoon and said in a barely audible whisper, "Help me."Namjoon's hand found Yoongi's shoulder and lightly squeezed. "I will," he said. His hand remained, and it looked as if he wanted to say something more. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Finally, he simply said, "Get her back. You have to get her back."Yoongi knew what he meant. She could make or break his entire life. The rest of it, anyway. If this was her, if this woman was the choice he was making, here and now and possibly for the rest of his life, he had to get her back. Yoongi grabbed his microphone and held his breath.

 He waited.

"But you said I could do it! You said I could do the vocals!" "Jimin," Yoongi said sweetly, "if you don't shut the fuck up right now, I'm going to throw you out of the nearest window." "But you said-" "On second thought, I take that back." A wicked grin spread across Yoongi's face as he turned in his chair to look at Jimin. "If you don't shut the fuck up, I'm going to give Jungkook the lines."Bangs echoed off the studio door, and despite the studio's sound-proofing, Jungkook's voice could be heard  shouting several richly-colored epithets.  Namjoon's muffled voice soon followed, though much quieter than the former's. The banging and screaming ceased at once. Jimin sighed. "Fine. What exactly is the song?"Yoongi's face softened. His eyes, always the color of slightly melted chocolate, burned darker. "It's...special."Jimin didn't ask any further questions. He simply grabbed a chair, slid close to his friend, and waited for instructions. 

It was impossible to keep track of the nights you had cried yourself to sleep from missing him. Sometimes you cried out of sheer desperation, while other nights you cried because you simply didn't know how else to deal with the pain. And then there were those nights where you couldn't cry at all, and so you tried to sleep most of your days away. Regardless, it was always his voice you fell asleep to. Always. The voice you found comfort in then was the voice you clung onto now. Funny how that worked. You were certain that if things ended badly- and clearly they had- you would never be able to return to this safe space made up his voice and the calming melodies that washed over you like the stillness of a river. You had tried to contact Yoongi. You hadn't made it a full twenty-four hours and your fingers had already been fumbling for your phone, dialing his number as if it was the only thing in this world that could save you. When he didn't pick up, you tried to text. Of course, he never replied. You weren't that surprised. You had earned this. You had destroyed him. And for that, he had destroyed you. What did surprise you, however, was the day you returned home from work to a small brown box waiting for you in the mailbox. It was thin. You shook it, but nothing seemed to budge out of place inside. Your blood turned to ice the moment you caught sight of the return address. You didn't wait to go inside. With shaking fingers, you tore the box open to find a smaller package wrapped in delicate gold paper. The sun glinted off it, reflecting all the colors of the rainbow. You opened it, and inside were two single sheets of paper. Printed on the first was a photo of a young woman facing forward, her eyes closed. Daisies and small bunches of Baby's Breath were sprinkled throughout her hair like a crown, woven throughout. The woman's face was bathed in golden sunlight, hiding most of her features. The background of the photo was a sky streaked with pinks and oranges and purples. Taped to the photo was a note with the words, I hope you don't mind. Tell me what you think. You tried not to cry and failed miserably. You remembered that day. You remembered it too well. Yoongi had told you how he needed to practice his photography skills (or lack thereof), because Taehyung had told him how awful he was at taking selfies, and Min Yoongi was certainly not going to be outshined by anyone. Taehyung had bet that he wouldn't be able to take even one good picture. Apparently, Yoongi had been able to take one. Just one. After spending at least forty-five minutes giving him directions and ensuring he wouldn't get lost, you had met him at one of your favorite parks. After the coffee shop, this is where you came to be alone. It was wildflower season, so of course, Yoongi hadn't been able to resist using them as props for his photo shoot. He had told you that he wanted you to wear the flowers because this was his only chance to upstage Taehyung in an area that wasn't rap, but you knew he was lying. He told you so later on when you had him pinned to the wall and breathed sweet words into his ear. You shook yourself back to the present, tears threatening to spill over, and took one more look at the photo. The words "Agust D," printed across the bottom corner of the page, made the world spin around you. He wouldn't. He couldn't. Oh, but he was. Sucking in a breath, you carefully tucked the first sheet of paper behind the second. This one shared a similar background to the first, but unlike the first photo, this one was numbered from one to twelve. A tracklist, you realized. Most of the slots were empty, but some of them had titles with notes made beside them in messy handwriting. His writing. One title, in particular, commanded your attention. Track twelve. It was circled and underlined in heavy black ink multiple times. In Full Bloom, you read. Immediately, you reached for the small box that everything had been packaged in. Your fingers closed around what appeared to be a rectangular piece of metal enclosed in bubble wrap. You took it out and unwrapped it. A USB stick.  Your heart thundered in your chest. You couldn't breathe. Surely this was a mistake? But it couldn't be, because Yoongi would never, not in a million years, allow such a mistake to be made. Everything he did was purposefully and thoroughly done, and this was no different. You hurried inside, transferred the song to your phone, and prepared to cry. 

The first time I saw you was through shattered glass

Broken, like the pieces that made up you

I feel like destiny was on my side that day

Because even though I couldn't fix you

Even though I didn't want to (no need to change what's already beautiful)

I knew we could be broken together, you and I

We could make something new, conquer the stars, conquer the world

You and I

We could be in full bloom

Keep going, it's going to be okay

Soon, you'll be in full bloom

No words would ever come close to being able to describe the things that Min Yoongi's voice did to you during those three minutes and fifty-eight seconds of bliss. His words flowed quickly as if time was not on his side and he needed to get them out as soon as possible. There were points where he finally stopped to take a breath and slowed, then quickly sped back up into a whirlwind of emotion. The melody itself was infectious- light and airy yet dark all at once.  And then- Jimin. You easily picked out Jimin in the background, singing not words, but light, soothing notes that sounded like millions of stars. That night, you cried yourself to sleep again, but this time was different. Because this time you cried with a smile gracing your face, Yoongi's voice in your ears, and love stamped onto your heart. Somewhere in the world, thousands of miles away, you knew that Yoongi was going about his day, scribbling words from the heart onto paper napkins, and offering forgiveness, hoping that you'd take it. He understood why you'd lied. It was going to be okay.

It's three o'clock in the morning. You're in bed, and a head of jet-black hair rests face-first on your chest, the owner's hands tightly clasping both of your own. You're not sure if he's (still) asleep, but Yoongi's hands have been holding yours for quite some time, and you'd be a fool to let go of them now. It's been three years since that night he had come to you, his eyes telling stories of pain and pain and more pain. His hands gently squeeze yours, and you're sure that he's awake now. His head lifts and the smile he gives you is nothing short of exquisite. His hands untangle themselves from yours, finding your waist. His hands, those glorious, perfect hands, guide you so that he's the one beneath you now, and you're the one sprawled out on his chest. He tangles a hand in your hair, and you look up at him with questions in your eyes. So many questions."Do you think this is crazy?" he asks, his voice like gravel. "Am I crazy?"You considered for a moment. It was easy to figure out what he was referring to. "Depends what you mean by crazy. Do I think you're brilliantly, insanely talented? Definitely. Do I think you're also insane? Probably."He smiles and chokes back laughter. His hand begins to caress your cheek. You let him, and your palm covers his hand. "I am so in love with you," he says. "And I'm scared." His voice cracks on the last word. "Still scared."You sit up on his lap so that you can look down at him from above. This was not a man that was used to sharing his emotions, so even this was a step forward. "Why?" "Because I've never loved like this, and what's freely given can be easily taken away." He kisses your palm. "You're the most important thing in my life, and I never thought I'd ever be saying that."You think back to Min Yoongi's first love; a piano, a notebook filled with hastily scrawled lyrics, and a studio where he may as well have lived in for all the time he spent in it. "There's no reason why more than one thing can't be important," you say, gently reminding him. What you loved most about him, besides his kindness, besides his warmth hidden beneath stalking shadows, was his burning passion for music and his ambition in creating something even better than the last. "What if you leave my ass someday?" "Never."For a heartbeat he says nothing, then simply repeats after you, "Never." He smiles, and you know without a doubt that his demons will never be able to catch up. You dissolve into giggles, and he soon follows. And then Min Yoongi does something that he never once dreamed he would be ever be doing because his life was supposed to be cut short a long time ago, and people like him aren't allowed happiness. Until three years ago. Until you. Until now. "Marry me."You stare at him, your ears refusing to believe what your brain understands to be true. Your body stills completely against his, and Yoongi sits up slightly. His expression softens further, if such a thing is even possible, though the smile that had been blinding before is slowly growing dimmer. His hand goes to lightly grip your arm. Slowly, his hand trails down your arm until he lays your palm flat against his. He refuses to look at you. "What?" you whisper. Fear, as sharp as any blade, slices into your chest. No, not fear. Worry. For him. Always for him."I don't think either of us ever expected for this- us- to make it this far. I mean, I'd hoped, but still," he says evenly. There's a softness to his voice that you have never heard before. "I know that things aren't going to be easy, and I know that it's not easy being with someone like me. It won't be easy." His voice breaks at this, but he carries on. "The- the fame thing. And other stuff." He still won't look at you. He takes a breath. "I'm clingy, I'm stubborn, I'm rude, and I like being holed up in a tiny room all alone for far too long for it to be healthy. But I think, I hope, I can make you happy. Because this is it, really, this is fucking it. This is me. I have issues, way too many of them to name out loud, but if you're ok with that, if you're really fucking okay with that... marry me. Because if you love me the way I think you do, I'm never letting you walk away ever again. Unless you want to." Finally, finally, Yoongi's gaze meets yours, and what you see there feels like you've been dealt a blow to the chest. Hope. So much hope, burning brighter than all the stars that had witnessed your first kiss on that fateful night. "So where's the ring?" you ask, looking to him expectantly. His cheeks immediately flush the deepest shade of crimson. He mumbles something unintelligible and lowers his head, once again avoiding your eyes."Hey," you whisper, taking his face in both your hands. "Hey, it's okay. I'm only messing with you. I don't need a stupid ring, dumbass."His lips quirk up slightly at the corners. "So? Will you?" "Of course. Yes. Yes, I will marry you."Yoongi leans in, covers your lips with his own, and for the first time in his life, allows himself to fall, fall, fall. The darkness would not touch him tonight.