you guys should be proud because i finally figured out how to make it transparent

The Neighbours (Part 6)

Originally posted by cyyphr

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Romance, Mild Angst

Summary: At last everything seemed to be going your way, you had a new flat, a nice job and fantastic friends. However, your life descends into chaos when one of Korea’s most popular boy groups, BTS move into the flat next door to you. And things go from bad to worse when you find yourself falling in love with one of them.

ღ  Part 1 Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 Part 5  ღ


These days Min Yoongi seemed to be the only thing occupying your mind. You could never get the image of him out of your head, it was liked he had been engraved into your brain. You would often find yourself going over every single intricate detail of him in your head, anything from his shy little smile, his small frame, his overwhelming presence or his frustratingly confusing personality.

He was a riddle that you were perpetually trying to work out. Every attempt you’d made so far had failed miserably, every time you found yourself a little closer, every time the distance between the two of you started closing, something would go wrong and you’d be back at square one again. It was like he was purposefully forcing the distance between you to become wider, until he was totally out of your view. Just a mere figure in the misty distance. Of course, due to your rather worrying desire to be close to him, your aggravation grew everyday. You found yourself wishing, more than anything, that he’d smile at you the same way he had before in those few brief occasions when he hadn’t been avoiding you.

Obviously, he’d gone back to his usual trick of avoidance. Not that you were surprised. It seemed to be a great skill of his. He crept around the corridors like a ghost in the dead of night, had he been leaving so ridiculously early and coming back unfeasibly late simply to avoid you? That seemed a little dramatic and Yoongi wasn’t a very dramatic person from what you understood. Perhaps your paranoia had just gone a little too far.

You hadn’t even caught sight of him since the day he unknowingly walked into your cafe. Annoyingly, you missed his face, you missed his mess of black locks and his dainty lips. Though of course, you weren’t willing to truly admit that to yourself, because as far as you were concerned, you hated Yoongi.

There was a summer storm slowly brewing outside as you open the main door to your apartment complex and slowly heave yourself up the seemingly never ending staircase, your knees feeling weak and ready to buckle. Today had been a particularly exhausting day, it had immediately gotten off to a bad start when Mina had dragged you to the gym for what she had called “a pre-work workout”. She’d seemed especially proud of her coinage of the term and her mood had been so high that when you enquired as to why she’d suddenly decided to become some sort of gym addict, she simply placed her fingers over your lips to cease any further words. In the end you’d just decided to go along with it, though your sore muscles were paying the price for that decision now.

You wonder if Yoongi likes girls who work out. You think back to that one shameful night when you had googled what their ideal types were (you had told yourself it was just research, you were merely showing a friendly, casual interest in your neighbours of course) it hadn’t said anything about Yoongi liking girls that worked out. But didn’t all guys like girls who worked out? Or did they not care? More importantly, why exactly did you care?

When finally you make it to the top of what had felt like mount Everest, you let out a long, overly- dramatic sigh as you fumble around in your bag for your keys. The keys seem to evade you and you stand for a good two minutes desperately trying to locate them, the sound of them jangling taunting you. You often swore your bag was bigger on the inside than the outside, because despite its smallness, all your possessions were forever getting lost within it. When you finally find them you almost cry out for joy, you wanted nothing more than to get inside and laze around for the remainder of the day.

Just as you are about to slide the shiny key into the lock, you hear footsteps echoing throughout the hallway. By some sort of strange intuition,you could tell who they belonged too, perhaps you’d become so obsessed you’d even perfectly memorised how his walk sounds. God, you really needed to get a life. However, in spite of that, something about the noise was different today, like he was slowly dragging his feet across the tiled floor, as if each step was a strenuous effort.

You spin around, and sure enough, you’re met with the sight of Yoongi. His hood is pulled over his head, masking the upper parts of his face, but you would probably still be able to identify him correctly from a mile away. You notice that he looks smaller than usual, he’s hunched over in an odd fashion as he ignores your presence, continuing to his front door.

“Yoongi?” you say weakly, unable to resist the temptation to call out his name. Ordinarily, you would have been able to restrain yourself, but not today, you can tell there’s something wrong with him. The whole atmosphere surrounding him is unusual, he isn’t walking with strong purpose and determination. He seems sort of…frail.

He gives a uncommunicative little hum of acknowledgement before continuing his torturously slow, painful walk. As he gets closer to you and his features reveal themselves one by one, more dread builds within you. His fairly pale skin has dropped to an even whiter colour, almost to the point of transparency, and his face is covered with a glistening sheen of sweat. His expressionless eyes seem sunken in and the surface of his lips are cracked beyond belief.

“Yoongi, are you okay?” you attempt again, determined to get some sort of answer out of him, though you aren’t sure why. If he wasn’t going to answer you, you knew in reality you should just leave him be. Yet you could not bring yourself to do such a thing.

“Yeah I’m great, everything’s just peachy” he spat back sarcastically. Hidden within the sarcasm is a frailty, one that makes you bit your lip out of anxiousness and worry.

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live-laugh-loaf  asked:

you are WONDERFUL for doing this again - last year's december fics were a such a nice highlight during the holiday season and i can't wait to read this year's prompts :) :) my request is the bellamy POV of "regardless of warnings the future doesn't scare me at all". thanks in advance for all the amazing fic you continue to blow my mind with!!!!!

Original fic!


The first stray Bellamy adopted was a cat he and Octavia found when he was nine and she was four. She was an older, bedraggled thing, and Octavia didn’t even want her. She wanted a kitten, but Bellamy didn’t know how to just let the cat go. She needed them.

He came up with all sorts of arguments for his mother about why they should keep the cat, wrote lists, but at the end of the day, both his mother and his baby sister saw right through him. He wasn’t being noble or moral or anything like that. Or, if he was, it wasn’t his primary motivation.

Really, he liked the cat, and he wanted to keep it. He could turn himself inside out coming up with justifications, but that was the simple truth of it. He would have taken her to a shelter, if he didn’t like her. But the second he saw the cat, alone and scared, he knew he wasn’t giving her up.

It was a little more complicated with Clarke, but not that much more. You don’t just get to decide to keep people the same way you do with pets; Clarke doesn’t have to stay.

But all his logic, all his reasons, all his justifications just come from the simple fact that he wants her to. It feels even more transparent and obvious than the cat, and that’s what makes it so amazing that she has no fucking clue.

Of course, it doesn’t start out quite that clearly. It starts off with Octavia leaning into the kitchen to tell him that Jake Griffin’s daughter has stopped by. Bellamy remembers her, vaguely; he hadn’t disapproved of her, not really, because he knew it wasn’t her fault that she’d left her father. Divorce is messy, and just because Jake missed Clarke, it didn’t make her a bad daughter. They still talked; she still seemed to love him.

But he wasn’t ready for the sight of her, this tired, defiant woman who can’t possibly be staying. He knows about Clarke’s life. Jake was so fucking proud. She was going to Yale. Rich, beautiful girls who went to Yale don’t live here. They barely even pass through here. She’s probably getting dinner and stopping at her father’s grave on her way to DC.

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Coliver/West Wing-ish AU

Author’s note: I blame this on the fact that I watch the West Wing way too much and am a sucker for political AUs and am just Coliver trash at the moment. The new ep was amazing and hurt so good and I wanted to write something about that but this happened instead. I’m going to go hide now. 

Author’s note part two: There will probably be more of this because…well see above.

“You know it’s all bullshit, right?” Connor’s pulled the campaign’s newest volunteer into the hallway to avoid the gossipy masses in the office. His father’s campaign manager just introduced the latest group of volunteers and the rest can spend months on end volunteering for his father but Connor figures he needs to tell this guy the truth. This guy probably heard some sound bite from his father’s speech at the Equality Alliance dinner a few weeks ago and thought to volunteer, too idealistic to realize he’s wasting his time on yet another candidate who’s not worth it.

“What are you talking about?” The volunteer whispers back. He pushes up the black frames slipping down his nose and Connor should not find that so freaking cute.

“My father.” At the volunteer’s blank stare Connor continues. “My father and his whole stance on gay rights and all of that. It’s all bullshit.” The crash of a door opening down the hall startles them both and Connor takes the volunteer’s upper arm to gently pull him further down the hall and pitches his voice even lower. “Look—”

“Oliver,” volunteer supplies.

“Look Oliver. My father doesn’t give a shit about any of that. Gay marriage. Adoption rights. Anti-discrimination laws. Doesn’t care about any of it.” The volunteer still just stares at him and Connor pulls a hand through his hair in frustration. “He just lays it on thick to up his approval ratings. Then, he pulls me out and throws an arm around me to show voters how much he cares because—look at him! He’s got a gay son who he still loves! He’ll be great supporter of our issues. It’s all just bullshit. He pulls the same crap with my sister too. He’s all about equal pay and pro-choice and women’s rights. Then he shoves Lacey into the spotlight and gives interviews about how he wants to make this a better world for women like his daughter.” Connor turns to lean his back against the wall next to Oliver. His father’s tactics are so transparent. Why does no one else seem to see it? “Robert Walsh just loves the rush and the thrill of the race. The presidency is just another game for him. He doesn’t want to lead. He wants to win.”

Oliver is silent and Connor can’t get a read on how he’s taken the news. Oliver glances up and down the hall, debating, before asking, “Want to go get a cup of coffee?”

“What?” After that, this guy wants to take him out for coffee. Is Oliver kidding with this?

“Coffee. Want to go get one?” At Connor’s confused look, Oliver explains in a hushed tone, “These walls have ears.”

“Sure. Coffee sounds great.”

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