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sukiglycerin · 3 years

Text

dolce (sweetly, softly, gently)

* pairing: accompanist/violinist!katsuki bakugou x violinist!reader (gender neutral!) ft kamijirou

* genre: fluff, kinda angst, enemies to lovers, classical musician au hehe

* words: 9.5k (holy crap, this was a rollercoaster to write)

* warnings: swearing bc not only does bakugou exist, he is a prominent character, brief viola/second violinist jokes (reader’s words not mine), poor rosins being dropped :(

* a/n: SO this is very late for @prettysetterbaby‘s v-day collab!! pls check out all the other talented writers involved >< jj is an ANGEL for putting up with me being late T_T there’s some violin terminology in here but it’s fine if you don’t understand it! more notes at the end aha

* playlist (spotify in source link): violin sonata no.9, op.47 in a major “kreutzer” (beethoven) ; liebesfreud (kriesler) ; violin partita no.3 in e major (bach) ; duo concertante for 2 violins no.3 in d-sharp major, op.57 (beriot) ; clair de lune (debussy) ; duo for 2 violins in d-major, op.67, no.2 (spohr) ; 24 caprices op.1, no.24 in a minor (paganini)

* synopsis: being a soloist is not made easy by your new accompanist, bakugou. you step on each other’s toes when playing - but that’s alright, he’s just a pianist. you’re separated in your two worlds of musical instruments, until one day, you’re not. bakugou traverses over realms like a simple string crossing, and there’s a lot more he’s brought with him.

a double stop in violin is a technique in which two notes are played simultaneously. played correctly, one violin playing two notes should sound like two violins playing separate notes. if your life was a violin, you only needed double stops to play it. you'd perfected the art of being alone, playing the parts of two in your sad solo sonata. you were so, so sure you could compose and play for the whole orchestra - a symphony that would surely please the audience.

you were wrong. after all, a double stop has its limits as well, impossible to play with an interval of larger than a tenth. you were content with your double stops and playing by yourself. this was how you won countless competitions - what good would changing anything be?

you were born a soloist, or that's what your parents would say. you never followed the crowd, sticking to your own mind and doing what was true to you. you never worked well in an orchestra setting (and who knew what would become of you if you ever landed in second violin!). thus, you became a soloist, determined to keep the spotlight on you. it was you and your perfection that kept the eyes of the audience transfixed; you were desperate to keep their focus enraptured by every slight movement of your bow, every shift in finger position on the fingerboard. you wanted them to follow every dynamic and tempo change like their life depended on it, feel their emotion spark the moment your bow pressed a string. you were the only one on stage, an entertainer and an artist to the audience. you brought joy and sorrow through key changes and wonder through glissandos and held suspense with every tremolo. the audience was yours for an entire piece, for a story, for a lifetime.

oh, and there was the accompanist. what was his name again? batsugou? bakugou. the last part was a joke, of course. you'd never forget the man who ruined your first recital overseas.

katsuki bakugou was quickly made your accompanist after the previous one quit last minute and schedule clashes between any other potential candidates rendered them unable to travel with you. no one in their right mind would've come along on a plane to play a piano accompaniment for you. indeed, bakugou was not in his right mind. his name was prominent locally, an orchestral prodigy with the gift of perfect pitch since the tender age of thirteen. he never ventured internationally, though given the chance multiple times to do so. you could never understand why he never took any of the opportunities. you'd jump at any chance of expanding your musical horizons and performing for a larger audience, so it frustrated you to see someone with such potential to throw away possibly beneficial opportunities. not that you really paid much attention to him, anyway. bakugou was a pianist, and you were a violinist. you only cared about competition, not those with blessings you could only dream of achieving.

the months leading to your recital, bakugou had gone quiet. well, you didn't know him personally, so it was news of him that had gone practically radio silent. he was no longer featured in news articles or even pinned on bulletin boards for upcoming recitals. there were no updates from him on social media, too. not that you really paid attention, anyway. he was a prodigy, gifted naturally with talent, and you were a violinist.

an ambitious violinist, at that. you had dreams to perform anywhere out of the stifling air of japan. even to fly a short distance to south korea would be amazing, because it meant you'd be outside of japan. you worked towards this goal tirelessly. you dreamed of stepping on a plane, violin case in your right hand and your dreams in another, to fly to another country and perform. you wished to see the talent beyond your own bubble and feel the music resonate in an auditorium in a different way than it did in japan.

one day, that dream was realized. your violin case in one hand and dreams in another, you boarded the plane flying out of japan full of hope and the faith that good days were coming. while yes, you didn't expect to step out of that plane with anyone but your old accompanist, momo, bakugou's presence comforted you in the foreign atmosphere. for the first ten minutes, he said not a word to you but made it a point to speak to everyone else he could in what seemed like very convincingly fluent english.

to which you finally mustered up the courage to say, in japanese, "i thought you didn't travel internationally."

his japanese voice was a comforting sound. "i don't. this is my first time out of japan."

you stared at him like he just said he ate babies for breakfast (which seemed just as astronomically insane as him never stepping foot out of japan).

"but-" you stuttered. "your english is so good?"

"only because you can't understand it."

to be fair, he had a point. you could only say the basics, like, "hi," "how are you?", "i'm fine, and you?," and the ever-so useful, "do you speak japanese? my english is not good." he appeared to never use any of these phrases, so he was a god in english compared to you.

it was a miracle you navigated out of the airport with your luggage in hand and a general idea of how to get to the hotel you'd booked. you're not going to talk about the events in the hotel, though. sharing a bed with bakugou was a whole different story that consisted of him complaining about your phone usage at eleven pm and you complaining about his lack of sufficient english skills to be able to get the right hotel room (which he'd retort by saying "at least i speak english!").

the path to your first international competition was rocky, so understandably by the day of the performance, your metaphorical feet were sore and you only had water on your metaphorical mind. that is to say, you hadn't practiced with bakugou once until the day before the performance. said rehearsal was cut short due to misunderstandings as a result of bakugou's apparent not-so-fluency in english. you felt bad for him at this point.

and then you were up on stage, violin in one hand, bow in the other, and arms full of your childhood aspirations. also, definitely not prepared enough. you glanced once at bakugou before beginning and he looked confident enough. the lesson you learned that day was that looks can be deceiving.

something you could remember quite clearly was the way the spotlight shined on the varnish of your instrument as you held it, propped between your chin and shoulder. you focused on this shine before taking a deep breath, closing your eyes, and praying muscle memory would take over and you'd play the piece faithfully to the score.

you liked to think your playing was accurate. you, the soloist, were the main focus of the piece. the accompaniment made the piece richer and fuller, complementing the violin beautifully while keeping attention on said violin. the thing was, bakugou, like you, played like a soloist.

the performance was like a fight, and sadly not the graceful kind you'd see in a ballet. it was gory and a nuance to the ears, melodic tinkling of the piano becoming tears of a soldier dying in combat. at parts, you clashed by overshadowing the other by playing too loudly. sometimes it was you, and sometimes it was bakugou. it was a merciless game of tag; bakugou would be running to keep up with your playing; once achieving so, you were forced to start chasing after him. you can't exactly remember if he played well, though. for certain, he was not in sync with you, but you were mainly too preoccupied with your own playing to pay attention to his. listening to the recording of the performance, you were unable to evaluate his quality of playing properly, and thus, he remained your accompanist even when you returned to japan.

(actually, the biggest reason he stayed your accompanist was because of your classical musician friends' nagging. they were all in complete awe that the famous soloist, katsuki bakugou, had offered to be your accompanist, and begged for an autograph. of course, you declined.)

you figured that like you, bakugou was a soloist. he wasn't fit to assist your playing, far more suited to his own solos to entrance the audience with only his playing. being a soloist, he played like one too - that's simply how things worked. this understanding of him, though, still couldn't stop you from harbouring a small grudge against him for ruining your international debut.

and then there was the man himself, all standoffish and rough in words and persona. obscenities had no hesitation coming (thrust!) from his mouth. he yelled brashly and frequently and it astonished you that he was a classical musician, as most of your friends of the classical music profession were typically on the quiet, softer spoken side. those that were extroverts were optimistically so, in far contrast to bakugou, who you'd expect from looks alone to be playing in some heavy metal band. it was scary to hear his renditions of debussy's dreamy, serendipitous pieces when over your earbuds, he was yelling at some guy named "shitty hair" on his phone. you were curious how he looked recording the piece.

you didn't typically communicate, though. conversation, which only ever existed during rehearsal, was a question from you and a clipped grunt in response. there was nothing else to your relation; he played his part, and you played yours. sometimes you did this simultaneously, but it was as if you were playing two completely different things. performance, according to your friends, was now stilted. this was partially the reason you stopped listening to recorded performances. it wasn’t even like you’d ever derived pleasure from listening to them - you only nitpicked your mistakes.

your old accompanist, momo, on the other hand, was an absolute angel. she was kind, polite, and skilled on the piano, fingers dancing over the keys like a graceful ballet. you fit well with her; each performance was like a delightful conversation between friends, pleasant on the ears and twinkling with joy and laughter. with her, every performance felt like something resembling victory, even if it wasn’t a competition. to you, winning the audience’s gaze was enough.

then again, you didn't feel that you could judge quite yet. momo was your accompanist for years, and you could barely remember how the two of you sounded when you first started out. bakugou had been your accompanist for mere months (though it did feel much, much longer considering how frustrating he could be). you couldn't understand why he became your accompanist at all.

opposites. it was an accurate representation of your relationship with bakugou. he was a pianist, you weren't. he was a prodigy, you weren't. he was blessed with talent, you weren't. there was nothing to talk to him about, obviously, because of these dividing factors.

the longer you knew him, the more your disdain for the man grew. at rehearsals, it always felt like your performances were about him, him, and him. he was the star piano player, of course. he hadn't volunteered to be your accompanist as a sense of "stepping down"; no, no, rather, he was flaunting his piano playing with a violin playing in the background. he played perfectly. for a soloist.

as time passed, these frustrations with him became more and more apparent. you became acutely aware of how his performance would outshine your own, and it sickened you. slowly, the quality of your own performances took a nosedive. if the piece was originally pianissimo, you'd take it up to piano (then, if bakugou increased his volume, forte). if the tempo was andante and he was playing moderato, you'd play allegro. it was a competition at this point - instigated by him, of course. you were just upping the ante, even if it meant sacrificing your own artistry.

a lot of people warned you of what would happen, but you ignored them. the fierce competition you felt between you and bakugou caused your own downfall as a musician. slowly, gigs stopped trickling in, like a faucet being shut off. you blamed this on bakugou. ("i was international before him. now, i can barely get a gig in musutafu! why does everyone think he's so great?" you had fumed over the phone to jirou, your old roommate from university. she asked you if you had even listened to him play.)

you were scrambling for places to perform at this point. (“fire him,” the very unhelpful hagakure told you. you didn’t know what you were thinking when you asked her, a violist in a local orchestra. it wasn’t like she ever got a solo.) you’d seriously considered doing so, but came up empty when looking for another accompanist. online forums and friends’ connections could only do so much. they were all either unavailable during rehearsal schedules or inadequate in terms of adapting to the music given.

“you need to try working together with him,” jirou advised you one day over the phone.

“yeah, say that to yourself and kaminari,” you muttered bitterly under your breath. kaminari was a guitarist in jirou’s band who hadn’t quite gotten along with jirou well. jirou made fun of the lightning bolt streak in his hair. when you first met them, all they did was bicker day and night; now, according to the other guitarist, tokoyami, they still did this, though on a smaller scale.

she heard you. “well,” jirou said, slightly ticked off, “we get along better now. because of communication. look- i’m not saying you need to be best friends with bakugou or anything, but you need to talk to him about what’s working and what’s not. respect him as another musician, y’know?”

“i’ll… try,” you said begrudgingly.

you heard a muffled yell from the other side of the call. “kaminari, you idiot!” jirou called, voice a bit far. “what did i tell you about plugging in the amp? i said not to-” she cut herself off. “sorry, y/n, i need to go now. kaminari’s back to his normal antics.” she sighed, but it sounded more endeared than irritated. the call ended.

respect bakugou as another musician. you could do that. bakugou was only a pianist. you were a violinist. he was your accompanist. he was to support your playing. you’d forever be separated from him, doing your own thing. he, certainly, couldn’t understand the woes of being a violinist. not the intonation nor the techniques; you were sure that if you handed him a violin on the spot, he wouldn’t be able to even hold the bow properly. the notion of bakugou, piano prodigy, struggling to make a decent sound on the violin with a bow clenched in an ungainly grip deeply amused you.

these thoughts kept your relationship with bakugou afloat and restrained you from strangling him every time he stepped a toe out of line during rehearsals. ploddingly, with as minimal communication as you could manage, you tried to play with bakugou together, as a duet rather than as two soloists playing simultaneously. you swallowed your pride to play accurately to the music, patiently explaining any qualms you had with bakugou’s playing.

eventually, you found yourself building up your performances to the quality they had once been with momo. it was still far from the pristine playing that led you to an international invite - but it was an improvement, and that was all that mattered to you. innately, you were slightly ashamed of the thoughts that allowed you to keep working with bakugou. they were thoughts that told of your superiority to him, because he was playing piano for you. that’s all he was; an accompaniment to you. you told yourself that having these thoughts on the inside was better than fighting with bakugou.

somehow, along the strings of notes slurred together and shifts of fingers from one spot on a string to the next, you found yourself experiencing a strange joy gliding your bow against the strings of your violin. the rich sound of your instrument, withering and blooming with every stroke of vibrato you performed, fulfilled you unlike how it ever had before. up until now, you’d been playing for the audience, rather than yourself. the melody reverberating in the hollow body of your violin was never for your own ears to enjoy, it was for the audience’s satisfaction and listening pleasure. for it was their own enjoyment that won you competition after competition, playing with a blank face. on some occasions, you’d open your eyes during the applause to see some audience members crying, which ultimately confused you. how you were able to draw emotions from them with your playing when the music was unable to render you anything but indifferent?

you knew it in yourself, though, that the happiness you felt was hollow. delightful notes supposed to boast joy and love echoed in the rehearsal room, falling flat on your ears.

you were a soloist, though. you couldn’t let thoughts like these get to you. you could only play, for both your pride and your audience. these woes were for you to shoulder, on top of the violin you held between your chin and collarbone.

“you’re here early,” bakugou commented one day, opening the door to your shared rehearsal room. tucked under one arm was his folder of sheet music. he caught you in the middle of practicing one of the pieces for a gig - liebesfreud, by fritz kreisler.

it was true. the morning sun basked the window sill and laminate flooring, warming the particular spots it shone through. you’d arrived an hour or so early. pleased by the bright nature of the morning, you pulled up the blinds. typically, you ran late, arriving ten minutes after bakugou’s text of “you’re late again, idiot” with a coffee and a bagel in your hands. those mornings, you were really grateful for having a case with backpack straps. if you hadn’t the time to eat your bagel on the way to rehearsal, it was cold and hard by the time you had a lunch break.

thankfully, today was not one of those days. whether it was the sun or the title of the piece (“love’s joy,” how wonderful), you’d woken up and decided that today, you’d have a warm and soft bagel for breakfast. you had a coupon for a free coffee and surprisingly, the commute to rehearsals was more punctual than usual. thus, you arrived an hour early, a smile on your face as you opened the door. you opened your case with extra care and rosined your bow with extra zest, humming a tune you heard playing on the radio. bakugou would’ve had a heart attack had he saw you then.

you ignored his entrance, only peeping one eye open at the man and nodding your head toward the piano as you continued on with the piece. you allowed yourself to become immersed in the music, following the soft pace bakugou set in his playing. closing your eyes, you saw the audience before you and felt your fingers sliding and pressing the strings. time flew while playing the piece; you’d barely noticed that the piece was nearing its end, playing its familiar melody one last time before opening your eyes. a glance at the rosin dusted in between the bridge and fingerboard of your violin satisfied you, like salt on caramel. you surely played just as sweet, smooth and saccharine like the gooey texture of a caramel confection. you relished in the sunlight streaming through into the room, ignoring the shuffling of papers behind you (from bakugou, no doubt). that was how you should play.

“something’s off,” you blearily opened your eyes to the sound of bakugou’s gruff voice. he was frowning, eyebrows furrowed in a not atypical manner.

“what,” you said flatly. “it sounded fine to me. i didn’t mess up or anything.”

“no,” he replied, deep in thought, crimson eyes darkening a shade. “we don’t have proper… emotion in the music.”

“huh?” you felt a comical question mark rising out of your head. “i played it perfectly to score. it conveys the composer’s emotions to a t,” you said, getting annoyed with the pianist. your grip tightened on your violin’s neck.

“well- yeah,” he gritted his teeth. “but what about your emotions?”

“who cares about my emotions?” you said. “all that matters is that my playing is perfect. the audience feels the emotions, not me.” why else had you been plucked into violin lessons when you were five? surely not for your own enjoyment.

“idiot, that’s definitely not how it is.”

“it’s just violin playing!” you snapped. “it’s not complicated with- with emotions! it’s the same as anything else!”

“you’re wrong,” bakugou coldly answered.

“what would you understand?” you seethed. “you’re just a damn pianist. you follow my lead.”

he ignored your remarks. “why do you play a fucking instrument, then? why bother to enter competitions or recitals?”

“to win, like any other normal person!”

he let out a clipped, exasperated breath. “fuckin’ explains it, then.” he didn’t elaborate. dismissing the topic, he said, “whatever. play the piece from the top. actually try to look at me this time, so we can stay together. put more emphasis on the downbeat at the start.”

“it’s not like you even heard me play the beginning,” you retorted, but made sure to accent that note even more during the replay. pianists. they always were on their high horses.

something you looked forward to every year was the valentine’s recital. the organizers, an old couple, had known you since you were a child, and thus developed a soft spot for you. you were a shoo-in for the event, relied on to learn the music on a short deadline. last year, you played preludio, from bach’s partita for violin no. 3. this year, though, the catch was weird.

“the letter says it’s a violin duet?” you said to jirou while video calling her. “i don’t have a violinist on hand, just a pianist. it’s not like bakugou can suddenly master violin.”

jirou looked at you with a surprised expression. “you don’t know?”

you stared back at her. “know what?”

“he plays violin, too.”

“huh?” you must’ve misheard her.

she nodded. “he’s pretty good, too. have you not seen the videos?”

“videos?" your eyes widened as you soon realized the implications of bakugou harbouring an aptitude for violin. "i’ve… i’ve got to go.”

“he’s as good as you, y/n,” jirou said with a knowing smile. you were quick to press the hang up button.

five seconds into teenage bakugou’s rendition of one of paganini’s caprices, you exited youtube.

the next day, you kicked open the door to the practice room.

“you,” you pointed a finger at bakugou, who sat at the piano midway through a piece.

“what is it now, dumbass? you’re late again.”

“shut up,” you grumbled. “that’s beside the point. you- you play violin?!”

he shrugged, not avoiding your piercing gaze. “i’ve dabbled in it, yes.”

you shut the door behind you. “and why did you never tell me?!”

“tch. you never asked, did you?”

“you’re my accompanist, i should know these things!”

“you know i play piano, and that’s enough,” bakugou said stubbornly. “i only play piano with you.”

“not anymore.” setting your violin case down, you shuffled through the pocket that held your sheet music. flipping out a packet of sheet music, you thrust it in bakugou’s direction. “here.”

he grabbed the sheets from you, skimming the title. “duo for two violins in…. fuck,” he muttered. “why didn’t you just say no? who even is this from?”

“valentine’s recital. the pay’s good, bakugou, and we need it.”

“you need it,” he mumbled bitterly, holding the sheets out for you. “i don’t.”

“it’s not like i’m happy about it either. since when were you a violinist?”

“since when was it any of your damn business?”

"you're supposed to be my pianist! not anything else!"

you didn’t understand how he could be so musically inclined. you blinked, and your sight smeared, blurring the sight of your feet with the laminate flooring. this wasn't right, you thought as you felt a telltale heat creeping up you. why were you crying now?

if there was one thing you prided yourself on, it was your violin playing. it seemed to be the only thing you were good at as a child when academics and athletics failed you. sure, you hated it at first (as most children did when their parents forced them to do something), but as time went on, the applause of the audience and the title of "winner" rewarded you enough. you were no prodigy, so you worked endlessly every day to prove yourself worthy. you never understood how you'd worked so hard only to be in the shadows of others so naturally gifted who surely would never understand how much you practiced to become better.

when it came to bakugou, he was never supposed to be better. he was your pianist, talented in a completely different musical realm than your own, so he could never be superior to you - and now he wasn't. he never was. here you were for the past year or so, looking like a fool in bakugou's eyes. on the days you struggled so hard with fourth finger vibrato, he was probably laughing at your inadequacy at violin. as easily as he played the violin, katsuki bakugou played you like a fool.

everything collided when you stepped out of the room, leaving a particular golden haired boy alone to stare at the sheet music you tossed him. your head throbbed with the groggy sensation of almost-tears and anger coursed through your veins.

you couldn't back out of the recital now. you couldn't.

you couldn't stand to look back into the vermillion eyes of katsuki bakugou now. even more so now, you couldn't.

your solution?

"hey, what's up?" jirou's collected voice filled your ear, your phone pressed to it.

"hey, kyo, i… kind of did a bad thing," you said, feeling jittery as you sought a commute home. you'd already made up your mind that your sorry-ass wouldn't be able to look bakugou back in the face for the rest of the day.

"...again?" she asked, tone concealing a hint of surprise. "don't tell me it was with bakugou. don't you usually practice now?"

"...usually, yes…" you sheepishly shuffled your feet, standing outside on the sidewalk. "i'll be resuming it again, 'course, when i get home…"

"why aren't you with bakugou right now?"

"that's… that's a long story," you laughed nervously.

"i can wait," jirou coolly replied. "kaminari got his foot stuck in his guitar case - don't ask - so i have time."

you considered asking about kaminari, then thought better of it.

"you know about the valentine's day recital they have every year? well, this year…" you recounted the events that led you to now, standing outside on the phone with jirou.

"where are you going to find a violinist?"

a silence found itself opportune as jirou waited for an answer. "i'm, uh, not…?" you said, deflecting the question back to jirou.

"well, you can't play both parts in the duet, can you? actually, don't answer that. i know you'd try. didn't you try that one time in-"

"what's done in uni stays in uni," you hushed her before she could recall that one time you tried to play a sonata with a recording of yourself. "aren't you going to tell me to try to make amends with bakugou?"

"no," she said thoughtfully after a pause. "you've tried before, and it's not working for you. i don't think you should be forced to do something you obviously don't want to do. i just think," she continued, "you need to find someone to do the duet with, if you don't want to work with bakugou. but objectively, he's your best bet."

as jirou always was, she was right. you thanked her for her advice not before hearing a distraught kaminari shouting for jirou in the background, and then she ended the call.

you repeated her words in your head once you got home, sliding your bow back and forth on your small block of worn rosin. the score for the duet was spread next to you on the floor. it wasn't that you didn't want to work with bakugou. or was it? had you been that selfish all along, sabotaging other performances because you didn't like him? if even jirou had noticed it, had bakugou noticed it too?

your sigh let out a thousand burdens piled up in your mind, blowing air out like dust accumulating on your tribulations. you picked up your violin and bow thoughtlessly, testing out the strings and plucking a couple with your left hand.

was it really only you with the contempt for working with bakugou? you'd assumed mutual hatred with him after your international debut, but had it really been so? had you been the only one picking fights during the time you'd worked together? as you backtracked, your fingers slipped into a familiar position. you began a piece you knew positively by heart, an absolute favorite of yours for years. you played mindlessly, serenading yourself with familiar notes and string fingerings as you thought long and hard about bakugou. how much shit had you given bakugou? he hardly complained, too, but why? why hadn't he quit after you'd been so ceaselessly difficult with him?

why were you so angry at bakugou, a gifted prodigy since childhood? the answer found itself as the composition descended into an array of complicated fingerings and string changes, sounding like an incoherent chaos somehow strung together by the music. you pretended you didn't know the answer.

it was much, much easier to leave bakugou as just a pianist. respectable in his own field, and incomparable to you. it was too good to be true, obviously. all your life, you played to win, and couldn't allow anyone else to surpass you. violin was about winning, winning, winning. how were you supposed to cope when all those hours of practice were easily overcome by someone with innate talent?

the piece eased your tension with a fermata, drawing out your vibrato to think. bakugou's perfection infuriated you, you concluded. knowing this, though, didn't help with anything. you almost screeched the last note as the composition came to an end, unsettled by thoughts of bakugou. you really couldn't stand him.

in an attempt to distract yourself from your dilemma, you decided to start practicing the recital composition. you pulled out an old portable music stand, bending the parts into place and stacking it up. carefully, you placed the sheets on the stand and skimmed over the music, bringing your violin up to your collarbone.

your eyes followed one measure ahead of what you were playing as you sight-read the piece. ahead, ahead, was all you could think as your fingers fumbled the notes, eyes moving from the score to the fingerboard. bakugou was far from your mind as you caught up to the music, too preoccupied with the sharps and flats you'd forgotten and the time you had to keep. you were busied by the shifts and the repeat signs in the music over anything else. your priority lay here for the time being, after all. the sight-reading was almost enough to make you forget you only play one half to a duet. there was still still an emptiness that lurked between the rests and the redundant beats that even your stilted practice couldn't mask. you tried not to worry about that, though.

time floated by as you repeated the piece over and over, playing for accuracy first. it wasn't enough, but you pretended it was. the metronome on your phone ticked away like time, endless and impatient, until you couldn't stand it anymore and packed away your violin.

the proceeding day was filled with more of the same practicing, working on tweaking hesitations and polishing up your playing. it was kind of convenient, practicing at home rather than waking up early to practice with bakugou. you missed the bagel the most.

you were definitely not playing your best, and it was clear by the way your bow occasionally screeched and how you fumbled the fingerings when you were particularly negligent. the piece just didn't sound right without the second part. (bakugou was definitely not the second part missing. not at all.)

by the third day you gave up and admitted to yourself that yes, bakugou was the second part missing. you were only a little bit miserable buying your usual bagel and coffee and rushing to rehearsals fifteen minutes late, aware that you'd be unable to eat it before practice. you were substantially less miserable than how you were the day previous, practicing alone.

you weren't surprised to see bakugou already there, sitting on the piano bench and tightening his bow hairs. he acknowledged you with a grunt as you set down your breakfast and beverage.

"showed up, huh?" he said finally, voice rough. he stood up, setting his sheet music on a stand. you stared at him, awed by his nonchalance. he picked up his violin and bow (which, by the way, looked super expensive) and propped his violin up by his chin. it felt so foreign to see him in position to play violin, fingers already expertly in first position and wrist beautifully curved, yet it inexplicably clicked. the scene in front of you looked like he'd done this everyday, as it was always supposed to have been, his back confidently straight. his fingers arched over the fingerboard and his bow appeared mathematically parallel to the bridge, held delicately between his fingers. you'd never carefully watched him play piano (probably due to your distaste to him and lack of knowledge about the percussion instrument), but he made the violin look like an instrument of the gods. he hesitated, though, bow moving a centimeter then back. he frowned at your idle silence and turned back to you. "well? are we doing this duet or not?"

"oh," you reacted intelligently. "yeah. yeah." it kicked in what you were doing by the time you'd started tuning your violin, first bowing your a string. after tuning your violin (with the help of a tuning fork and none from the perfect-pitched bastard bakugou, who appeared to be watching you with a triumphant gleam in his eyes as you struggled to tune your violin properly), you set your sheet music next to bakugou's.

"ready?" you asked, as if you'd been the one waiting for bakugou all this time.

"ask yourself that," he snorted. "i'll do the count."

you nodded.

"one, two, three, f-"

"wait, wait," you said, squinting at your music. "isn't it supposed to be a bit slower than that?"

"it says allegro," bakugou said, tapping his foot. "need an italian lesson? lively, briskly."

"i know what allegro means," you gritted. "seems too fast, when paired with dolce."

"maybe for you," he smirked.

you narrowed your eyes at him. "and that means what, exactly?"

he opened his mouth to reply some smug, smart-ass answer, but you stopped him.

"nevermind," you said. "do the count again, at the same tempo. i can do it."

you were bluffing, of course. since when was allegro this fast? you wondered as the opening notes sped by you in a musical blur. already familiar with the melody, you messed up dynamics the most. of crescendos and diminuendos? it wasn't like bakugou would notice, too preoccupied with his part.

the ending of the piece took your breath away, storming toward you in a whirlwind. adrenaline filled your veins as you raced to the last measure of the music, overcome by the tempo and the music. this time, full of energy and exhilaration, the piece felt complete. your and bakugou's sound surrounded the two of you, overflowing the room with a saccharine melody. it felt right simply standing beside him playing a two part piece, chest heaving from the piece's energy. you could only hear your breathing, a gentle encore to your playing.

"your playing is sloppy," bakugou said bluntly. he leaned over to your sheet music, starting to point at dynamic markings.

you swatted his hand away before he could say a word. "yeah, well, i just got the music three days ago," you interjected.

"you also had two of the three days off, so i'd say you're not doing enough." he glanced back down at your score. he pointed at a measure. "this is a crescendo, moron, why didn't you get much louder?"

"just- pay attention to your own music!" you said. "besides, it's dolce. i can get away with playing softer."

"that wasn't very dolce to me," he argued. "nothing sweet, soft, or gentle about that," he mumbled.

"i can be sweet, soft, and gentle if i want to!" you retorted.

he raised a brow, as if a challenge, scarlet eyes glinting in the light. "tch. i'm sure you can, but your playing damn can't."

“it can, too! listen,” you said, impetuously raising your violin and bow again. you slowly started to play a d major scale, impatiently scrunching your nose and squeezing your eyes shut to concentrate on making the music soft and gentle, tampering with different degrees of vibrato and bow pressure.

“... that’s just piano,” bakugou said, moving to you as you bowed an a. your bow came to an abrupt halt, making an unpleasant squeal, as bakugou positioned himself behind you. you felt his body warmth radiating behind you as a sweet, homely scent wafted around you. he brought his arms around you, hands overlapping where you held your violin and bow.

“you need to be,” he murmured into your ear, gentle tone almost slurring the words together, "fragile when you play dolce." he angled your bow slightly, moving your hand. "bow closer to the fingerboard." the smooth baritone of his voice resonated within you, becoming lost within the violinist's embrace.

"most of all," he said, dropping an octave to an intimate tone, "you need to feel it. you can attempt to play it, but without feeling, it's fuckin’ meaningless."

"feeling?" you repeated blankly. “the audience’s, you mean.”

he stepped away, a gesture that made you breathless, and shook his head. he crossed his arms over his chest, unintentionally accentuating their volume. “your damn feelings. what do you feel when playing the piece?”

there’s a pause for perhaps a second too long, as you mulled over different answers in your head.

“tch.” his eyes don’t leave you, gaze a laser burning into you. “‘s what i thought. why do you play violin?”

you held your tongue from answering my parents. “to win. i play to win,” you stated.

“and that’s the damn problem,” bakugou said, releasing a breath of frustrated air. “you win to play.”

“that means…?” you were starting to get impatient with the man, who seemed to be stalling and dragging out your limited time.

“you win competitions to play more.”

you almost scoffed, but his words were plausible. “what’s the purpose in playing more if not to win?”

he made a scratching noise in his throat, cool demeanor shifting to that of the bakugou you knew. “l-l-” he coughed, “love.”

“love?” you repeated, the word a surprise to swallow.

he nodded, gagging on his reply. you couldn’t see bakugou as the romantic type - the same bakugou who called all of his friends demeaning nicknames and could barely say the word love out loud. he was explosive, maybe, and talented, sure - but acquainted with love? you pursed your lips at the stuttering man trying to advise you.

“whatever,” he dismissed, voice oddly hoarse. “just play it from the top. fix the dynamics.”

weeks passed in a blur, though bakugou’s advice was left unforgotten. it had, for the most part, faded from your mind but lingered like a ghost in an abandoned attic, stirring up dust in complete silence. it was valid criticism on bakugou’s part, but the problem was that it was criticism you couldn’t digest. it was a ghost that you could not rid of, whispering and lurking until your music played over it.

four weeks before the performance, you had the piece almost entirely memorized other than a few flukes here and there. you managed most of your dynamics, playing in sync with bakugou by your side. three weeks and the piece was mostly smooth, foregoing all sheet music and practicing in the middle of the room with bakugou tapping out the tempo on the honeyed floor. any mistakes were recovered from quickly, and you were pleased to say that the amount of bakugou’s slip-ups equated to yours. at two weeks, though, he brought up the pest bugging your mind.

“play with more emotion,” he sighed exasperatedly, letting out a huff as you played for him. “start on f sharp again.”

you’d tried time and time again, but the longer you’d replayed the same few measures (followed by his criticism for the nth time), the only emotion you felt was frustration. your bow would push too hard or your vibrato would lay on thick, immensely irritating bakugou. you didn’t know why he even tried.

the air felt stale and the lights shone obnoxiously bright. the pads of your left hand fingers had hardened by now, indented with a pair of parallel lines from your unforgiving violin strings. you inhaled rosin dust and occasional bow hairs miserably dropped to the floor. your arms were tired, sore, and sick of playing; your ears painfully endured the same tune again and again, the originally fluid and sweet notes becoming high frequency static.

“i can’t do this.” you were tempted to flop onto the ground, hopelessness pouring over you.

“you can,” bakugou insisted stubbornly. “you just need to try harder.”

“harder?” you would’ve snapped (and you were surprised your e string didn’t already by the repetitive motions on it) if you weren’t so exhausted from rehearsing.

he nodded like it was obvious. “try harder.”

you shakily inhaled, trying to smooth your voice over. “i’m sorry i can’t be a prodigy like you.”

he stiffened, tense to the point of trembling. “whatever,” and it was a strained word pulled from his mouth. it was very atypical for him to give up like this, but you didn't care. you avoided his eyes as you restarted the piece, unable to bloom anything from it.

outside of your rehearsal time, you practiced. arguably, your solo rehearsals were more rigorous. you forced yourself to add emotion to the piece, sometimes playing for jirou. she agreed with bakugou (though was a great deal less irritating), stating that your playing was somewhat hollow. (you restrained yourself from knocking on the instrument and saying that yes, indeed, violins were hollow.)

"how… how do you get any emotions from playing?" you asked jirou at one point, watching one of her band's rehearsals. they were on a break, chatting idly and taking sips from their water bottles.

“well…” jirou started, glancing back at her band members. “i think about the feelings i want the audience to feel because of my songs. i think about how the song makes me feel, then i put that into how i play.”

“how do you…” you shifted uncomfortably, “know what to feel?”

she looked at you, taken aback, but replied easily. “you don’t. it just… happens.”

her response was vastly different than what you’d been taught a child. emotions? sure, there was perhaps a time where playing evoked a feeling in you, plucked something melodical from your heartstrings. it was when you were a child, though, so it was irrational and erratic, an outburst in the middle of your otherwise level playing. your violin teacher didn’t approve when you’d follow how the music made you feel. she said it made you stray too far from the original piece and would make you lose competitions. no matter how you pushed back against her, her advice haunted you over and over every time you got anything other than first place.

your performance is the audience, she’d told you. you didn’t understand what she meant at first, but she made sure you did while practicing for your next rehearsals. the audience, she quipped with thin lips under her sharp eyes, is everything. if the audience wasn’t satisfied, your performance was worthless, no matter how well you played technically. you play for them and you win - it was that plain. there was nothing more than you wanted but to win, at the time. you wanted a trophy, a medal, a certificate stating that you were better than most. it was palpable evidence that you were good enough - for your parents, your peers, anyone. like that, you practiced, a servant for approval. you weren’t a prodigy, but you sure as hell would try to play like one. her advice worked for over a decade, soundly racking you up with countless awards that filled your otherwise desolate self-esteem.

you didn’t say anything else to jirou about it, instead thinking about the bits and pieces of human feeling you could extract in between your piece’s accidentals and eighth notes. perhaps there was a possibility, through the phrases of notes and dynamic markings, you’d find a word that said love. a renewed interest sparked itself when jirou’s band continued their rehearsals, finding yourself to be a normal audience member (maybe even crying at the end. maybe).

you returned home to practice, practice, practice, coercing any hidden message in the music to vibrate in your violin and echo around your room. you watched other renditions of the piece to find something you were missing, but imitating them didn’t seem right. this continued for the following weeks, hiding any potential development from bakugou (or trying to, at least). you knew you’d be disappointing him if you failed after trying so hard. it was only safe to play what you knew, secure in the written parts of the composition and keeping it at that.

by the time the performance came around, you were glad bakugou never found out about your secret efforts. if he had, you knew he’d be sorely dispirited by your lack of tangible progress, your sound just as hollow as the soundbox of your violin. you failed, you knew, and as crestfallen as you were on that cold february morning, the show must go on.

the performances were held in an auditorium, warm compared to the snowy wonderland outside. it was typically couples comprising the audience, all romantic and pepped up in the spirit of valentine's day (white day was no different). some arrived early, finding seats in the empty auditorium and chatting amongst themselves (or sometimes making out, which made you want to throw your violin at them and gag). bakugou’s and your performance was last; it quite the heavy honor to play the finale to the recital.

backstage was a vast contrast to the hushed atmosphere settled over the assemblage. hovering over the staff and performers for the day was a sense of panic, hurry, and hecticness. bits of rosin were scattered on the ground where you prepared for your rehearsal, some belonging to your block and others not. your pack of extra strings lay next to you on the sofa you sat on, arm resting on the side of the seat. similar to your violin's strings, spun tightly over pegs to be kept in place, you felt high-strung. the buzz of energetic excitement flitted in your head, knee bumping up and down and jerking your violin in the same motion. it was hard to calm when you tuned your violin to absolute perfection, relying on bakugou's perfect pitch to do so. the fine tuners on the end of your strings probably hadn't had a harder time in the years you'd owned your violin.

"you're shaking the entire sofa, idiot," bakugou deadpanned next to you. “some of us are trying to rosin our bow, unlike you.” he glanced at the floor, where amber shards of rosin lay amidst white dust (also made of rosin).

“to be fair, most of those aren’t mine,” you pointed out. you reached into your violin case, finding the rectangular case of rosin and opening the top. "mine's only chipped in a couple corners, and the rest is just worn on the edges from my bow."

you leaned over to look at bakugou's rosin, two stubs in its case. "and i'm the one dropping my rosin?"

his ears turned a deep red, matching the velvet curtains on stage. "that's different," he muttered, putting the lid on his rosin and putting it away.

"you ready?" you watched him swallow before speaking, not looking at you. you could hear one of the presenters speaking, introducing the first piece to be played (an ever-so romantic rendition of clair de lune), but the voices felt distant and muffled over the sound of your own nervous heart beating.

"yeah," he replied. he turned to look at you, scarlet eyes meeting your own. "what, you're not scared now, are you, dumbass?"

you gulped. "no… just excited," you said. in truth, you felt disappointed in yourself for being unable to find any emotion in your playing - thinking about the piece, you were devoid of anything but the measures and the notes. what was the piece trying to say in the white space between staff lines? after the clef at the beginning of the music, where did the emotions start and everything else end?

quiet notes, twinkling from the piano on stage, met your ears. you took a deep breath. how did they make you feel?

…not very good, because this pianist was certainly a beat or two off tempo. a large hand on your knee startled you out of your trance. its warmth was surprisingly comforting. you followed the arm connecting to the hand to meet bakugou's concentrated face, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched.

"don't shake your knee like that. also, why are you so damn cold?" he moved his hand away, leaving an imprint of heat on your knee. you hadn't noticed the physical manifestation of your nerves prior to bakugou's words.

you left his question unanswered, staring at your violin in your lap. you traced the patterns in wood, fingers following the shape of the f-hole and thumbing circles on your chin rest. how were you supposed to be able to pull living, breathing life in the form of emotions from an inanimate object? what sorcery were you supposed to manage to satisfy yourself and the audience?

you thought back to bakugou's words. what was it had he said you were supposed to be playing for? love, the irrational and sentimental flaw of life - somehow expressed from the symbols on a sheet of paper and through strings on hollow wood. what sort of miracle was bakugou creating with his music?

what was violin, if not just a task to do everyday? what was it, out of competitions and tests of skill? what was the sound reverberating within its vacant body, recording every shift of fingers on the fingerboard?

you looked past your violin to the rosin on the floor. friction, your violin teacher had explained to you. you put rosin on your bow so it creates friction with the strings, and thus creates sound. it was strange how friction caused the smooth sound of a violin. too much friction, added by pressure on the bow, made a creaky sound on the strings. without rosin, the bow would be too smooth on the string and make no noise at all. the happy medium of not too much and not too little created the familiar rich tone on the strings.

a happy medium, you mused. in between too much friction and none at all. maybe that was how you were supposed to feel, in between trying too hard and not trying at all. that's what feelings were in the end, right? a natural human instinct, spurred by life. could you breathe life into the music?

the stage seemed almost too big for the two of you, spotlights centering you on the wide, wooden platform. the crowd's eyes were on you and your fellow violinist, some watching with drooping eyelids. they felt far, distant under the shadows. even so, the question still besieged you - would you please them?

you teared your eyes away to bakugou, who started the count. everything was silent until he nodded to you, your cue to start the piece. it felt too fast when you began but it was the same allegro you’d been practicing with. muscle memory took control now, your fingers finding their places easily.

your fingers and bow took all your attention. everything else fell away - the lights, the crowd, the stage - until it was just you, your violin, and the music. you could practically see the score in your head, playing the notes you'd come to know so well.

you heard your music echo and resound off the walls, but that's all it seemed to do. it touched everyone in the room, looking for a place to stay, and diminished in an empty space alone. it frustrated you that it wouldn't resonate - where was the love bakugou had so told you of? this auditorium was no different than your room, where sounds bounced off walls and landed nowhere. you weren't reaching anywhere or anyone, lacking emotion and any true substance.

love - what was love if not a hindrance? how could bakugou expect so much out of you? love - had you ever felt it for the violin? dolce told you to play sweetly, softly, and gently, but what was sweet about the violin? what was so sweet about the imprints of strings on your fingers, fragmented rosin at your feet, and bruises on your neck from long hours of practice? what was gentle about the arduous replaying of the same measure, the ringing in your ears after playing to master a simple phrase? what was soft about the forte that rang in your head, the fortissimo that filled a performance and clouded your senses?

dolce filled you like an epiphany, euphoric in your eyes that finally opened and awakened. dolce was in bakugou's eyes, soft velvet like the crimson curtains onstage, downcast at his violin. dolce was in his sound as his bow skittered near the fingerboard, in his fingers sliding back and forth on his a string. dolce was in his grasp of his bow and violin, in the very essence he played the violin with. dolce contradicted everything you knew, reminding you of bakugou's soft hands over yours, guiding your fingers and bow. dolce was the morning light streaming into the practice room as you argued with bakugou over tempos and notes, the light glinting on shattered shards of rosin as you anxiously rosined your bow. dolce was the curve of your violin scroll, the bend of your fingers over your bow's frog. dolce was the white space in between staff lines on your sheet music and through half and whole notes. dolce was everything in between the rough of your violin experience, the laughter and smiling gone forgotten during sleepless practice sessions and violin evaluations.

what was dolce, if not a rebellion? what was it, if not a rebellion from the years of work and pain you'd endured in the name of musicality? what was it, if not laughing in the face of your violin instructors and the strict score you adhered to?

when you opened your eyes to meet bakugou's, whose carmine eyes dripped with a burning passion and the essence of souls, you finally felt. it was the so-sought over love, scorching every note and stroke of your bow and bursting life in every movement, breath, and echo of your performance. it was exhilarating, living through every slur and chord you played. when you finally met his eyes he understood, a satisfied smile tugging on his lips as his gaze never left yours. this was it - this was dolce, humming sweetly, softly, and gently in your ears and reflecting in the audience's heart. this was dolce, making you realize that you never wanted to play violin alone again.

you picked up a rose that had landed at your feet at the end of your piece, holding it next to bakugou's confused face. in doing so, you reached your second epiphany of the day - perhaps the more important of the two. bakugou's eyes bloomed redder than the rose, deeper than the lowest note on a double bass, and maybe it was he that was the true dolce you were looking for.

notes!!

if you’re reading this, congrats !! this is my longest fic on my account (the record will be broken soon), so i really appreciate you reading this :> (spare a reblog, perhaps?)

first, explaining the playlist:

beethoven’s kreutzer - this was played in the anime, “your lie in april,” and i simply think it fits the “fight” reader and bakugou have. this was played at reader’s first international recital that did not go so well.

kreisler’s liebesfreud (love’s joy) is in the same series as his piece called liebesleid (love’s sorrow), also featured in “your lie in april.” i personally really like the piece. of all of these listed, i think you should listen to this one the most.

beriot’s duo concertante was the other contender for reader and bakugou’s duet piece!

debussy’s clair de lune is simply a favorite of mine. it’s the first piece played at the valentine’s performance (and i like to imagine reader’s listened to bakugou’s recording of the piece)

spohr’s duo for 2 violins is the piece reader and bakugou play! it’s the second part of the duo in allegro, and i once tried to listen to it while following the sheet music. i was so confused every time i did so; i’d get lost and such, and figured my musicality was declining. nope. i was reading the wrong part. so, i started freaking out because oh god the dolce is in the first part, not the second, and thankfully, there’s a bit of dolce in the second part too! however, it did take me a while to decide whether to use the first part instead.

also, spohr invented the chinrest on the violin! crazy :D

paginini’s 24th caprice is considered the hardest out of all 24 caprices. imagine,,, teenage bakugou playing this,,, doing the left hand pizz and all T^T pain

there’s a lot i wish i could cover in this! a lot of reader’s own flaws (ahem, viola jokes) and development were something i couldn’t cover. bakugou’s arc as well! he had an arc a bit before this story takes place :)) tl;dr i’m very tempted to pick my violin up again and start playing

the frog of the bow does not, sadly, go ribbit. it’s the part violinists hold the bow by!

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed this :)

#bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou fluff #bnha fluff #katsuki bakugou x reader #bnha x gender neutral reader #bakugou angst #bnha angst #luna's writing #violinist bakugou

190 notes · View notes

moonlit-han · 4 years

Text

stray kids’ reactions to you taking medication for depression & anxiety ↠ all members

genre: reaction word count: 2.4k warnings: discussion of depression and anxiety, description of panic/anxiety attack, swearing request: yes

a/n: hi anon! wow, this one turned highly personal really fast. so, this turned into a combination of your original request and how stray kids would react just knowing that you have depression/anxiety. i think how they’d care for and support you is a large part of their reactions to finding out, if that makes sense. i hope this brings you comfort~

✧ masterlist in bio ✧

bang chan

as with most things, chan would be very understanding

he’d just want you to feel and function the best you could

and not have to worry about whether you’re going to be able to make it through a day

he’d noticed when you first started dating that you occasionally withdrew into yourself

and needed time alone

chan didn’t really think anything of it

bc he also kinda just turns into a hermit and hides to reset and recuperate

but when you’d told him that you take meds for anxiety and depression

his sneaking suspicion that you’d been struggling with something was confirmed

it all made sense!

chan would be immediately and absolutely on board to support you

he wasn’t gonna let those nasty depression demons get the better of his y/n

no! fucking!! way!!! ＼＼\٩(๑`^´๑)۶//／／

when you could stand it, he’d be really cute and cuddly to try to make you feel better

and he’d also research everything about the meds

on the days that you just needed to be left alone, he’d be worried

bc he wouldn’t want you to be lonely or to need him and for him to not be there immediately for you

but sometimes even just the presence of another person is exhausting

even if it’s your partner

he’d always come back with flowers or your favorite kind of pie or curry or something else delicious or beautiful

all he wants is for you to feel like you can face the world

bc he’ll always be there by your side (♡‿♡)

lee minho

minho would be matter of fact and accepting about the whole thing

he wouldn’t be fussed

and would just accept that sometimes you’d be less than cheerful

and that it has nothing to do with him or his actions

while he wouldn’t necessarily understand the ins and outs of depression and/or anxiety,

he would still be totally committed to supporting you

he’d be glad that you have meds

because it’s hard for him to see you so down and feeling so blank

he just wants you to be okay

he’ll ask if you’re okay and what he can do

sometimes he just has to ask you a few times

just to be sure

for his own peace of mind

if any family, friends, coworkers, anyone gave you shit about your depression and anxiety

minho would be the kind of person to just:

Σ(☉‿☉✿)Σ(☉‿☉✿)Σ(☉‿☉✿) “hold my flower”and prepare to fight the world for you

alkjfhakjfdhkj

minho would always make sure that you have your meds on time

either going to pick them up from the pharmacy for you

or reminding you to get them yourself

he’d also remind you to take the meds on your especially bad days

when you can’t exactly think or do much else

while he jokes that cats are the best medicine for anything

minho knows and agrees that medication for mental illness and such is important

bc it helps you be able to function

but that doesn’t stop him from trying his best to make you feel energized and focused through other means!

you have a weekly picnic date, even after dating for two years

it’s the sweetest thing ever

and definitely helps (≧◡≦)

seo changbin

it was the first time you slept over at his place

(a really lovely evening with lots of sweet cuddling ｡ﾟ(ﾟ∩´﹏`∩ﾟ)ﾟ｡ )

(((oh no now i’m soft HHHH)))

and you’d left your bag sitting out in the living room

changbin had thought it would be nice if he got your things for you in the morning

and he also wanted to make you breakfast (✿◠‿◠)

so he'd gone to pick up your bag and saw the little pill bottle

and was just “oh, okay~”

when he'd come into the bedroom, changbin looked a little nervous?

bc he wasn’t quite sure how to ask you what meds you were taking

he wasn’t really worried or anything

he just wanted to support you with absolutely no judgement because meds aren’t a bad thing~

he was so understanding and immediately, like chan, researched everything he could about helping someone with anxiety and depression

and then made you breakfast bc that’s wonderful anytime at all

on the days you felt like you couldn’t get out of bed

(or simply couldn’t whether you wanted to or not)

changbin would be there

if you could stay in bed the whole day, then he’d stay with you

if you had to get up and actually do things, he’d do his best to help you

he’d make you food, help you shower, even pick out clothes for you so that you wouldn’t have to think

he’d understand that sometimes you need a bit of a prod to do things

changbin would definitely try his best to make those reminders as caring and lighthearted as possible

after all, you don’t exactly have control over when lack of motivation strikes

changbin would understand and know a lot of the feelings you have

and be able to empathize based on his own experiences

really, he would just continue to love you ♡

hwang hyunjin

hyunjin, oh sweet hyunjin

he’d be so understanding

and would feel really sorry for you

but not in a weird, pitying way

just sad that your brain had decided to betray you in such a way

*insert all the empathy here*

he knows all too well the feelings of hopelessness you sometimes feel

he’d be glad that you have meds, actually

and would even remind you when you have therapy (if you do)

he’d probably send you random “when you have anxiety/depression” memes

you’ve busted out laughing at inopportune times more than once from said memes

when you’re in a depressive episode, hyunjin would be like a cat

just curled up with you as much as possible

if you can’t stand to have someone near you

then, he’d still text you cheesy stuff like those ridiculous valentine’s day pickup lines that are, in fact, funny at any time of the year

oh and don’t forget about the utterly sincere, will-make-you-cry texts, love letters, post-it notes, notes written in blueberries on the counter, and even signs he’d write for you

one day, you’d even opened a lunch he’d made you to find a little note rolled up around your fork:

“hi hello yes you, the pretty one reading this! i love youuuuuu~ have a wonderful day, darling

p.s. remember to take your meds <3”

hyunjin’s gentle nature would be just what you needed

to support you

to love you

to care for you, not only emotionally but also physically

he’d be like a sheltering tree for you

grounded and calm with deep roots, but able to bend with whatever wind your depression/anxiety decided to gust through your lives

han jisung

jisung would…

well, jisung would just:

“AAAAAY, ANXIETY BUDDIES!!” (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ;;;;;;

ajkdfhaljkfghaljf

definitely not the response you’d been expecting

but it was perfect nonetheless

you spent an afternoon together just talking about how your anxiety and depression manifested

what helped you to cope

what helped him to cope

which meds you took and if there was anything jisung should be particularly aware of

he’d be really interested in just how your depression and anxiety manifest

bc in order to care for you and help

he wants to know what bit of your brain chemistry has decided to fuck shit up

(sometimes jisung feels like he needs to fuck shit up, too. but really? come oooon y/n’s brain)

he’d leave you notes reminding you to do things when your ability to focus goes completely out the window

you’d wake up to find one of those large sheets of poster paper taped to the ceiling above your bed, saying:

“i love you, even if you have depression/anxiety that makes you forget to do the dishes. again. you’re still my little gremlin <3”

jisung would give you any and all resources he has to help you

he’d probably even write songs for you

there’d probably a mixtape out there somewhere of him screaming at your depression and anxiety

telling them to leave you the fuck alone

bc you’re too wonderful to have to deal with that shit

your weekends together would be spent in the bedroom

under the covers

giggling your asses off

and cuddling

bc it’s dangerous outside the blanket ( ｀^´ )

lee felix

felix would be so chill about it

you’d tell him and he’d just be like

“okay! so what kinds of toppings did you want me to put on this pizza again?”

you’d just kinda blink at him

you’d been worrying about what he’d say

and if he’d leave you or something

(thanks, irrational brain. love you. NOT! ffs)

as if lee felix would ever leave you,,,,,,

it was a relief not to worry about that

felix would still bundle you up in the biggest hugs ever

and smile his sunshine-filled smile at you

honestly, that alone should be enough to cure depression

but, unfortunately, it’s not

((*shakes fist at depression/anxiety*))

but with felix’s smile and meds, you’re feeling much better, thank you

felix would try to make life brighter for you after finding out

he’d understand that sometimes you want to do things but just can’t

there’s no rhyme nor reason to it

and it wouldn’t matter to him

bc he’d still get to spend time with you, even if it just meant sitting on the couch watching movies

felix would know that sometimes he would just have to make decisions for you

not in a controlling way

but just because your anxiety over making decisions and following through with things would get the better of you

he’d make sure you drink water and eat lots of yummy food

his deep voice is the most calming thing oh my god

and whenever you have an anxiety/panic attack

felix would immediately catch you up in his arms and slow dance with you through the entire episode

even if you’re barely able to stand, he’d hold you up and support you

just so, at an incredibly scary time, you’d have the most loving arms around you

kim seungmin

you were having a panic attack when seungmin came over one time

and you’d just kinda slumped against the wall as soon as he’d come in the door

aaaand you’d had to explain what was going on

but seungmin had just helped you breathe deeply

and eventually you’d calmed down to the point that you felt like

well, like a limp noodle (＠_＠)

you know that feeling when your body is so exhausted from having a panic attack

that you can’t exactly do much else?

yeah. that.

so, he would be glad that you have meds for your depression/anxiety

like jisung, seungmin would want to have A Stern Conversation with your depression/anxiety

bc he’s tired of its shit ψ(｀-´ )ψ

not because he can’t deal with it or you

because he hates to see you in so much distress

also,,,,,,

no one should have to feel like there’s no joy left in the world, irrational thinking rules their brain, and like they’re trapped in a cycle of dysfunction, no matter how hard they try

bc sometimes just trying isn’t enough

and seungmin understands that~

sometimes you just need a little outside help

he’d come up with all sorts of things he could do for you to help ease your anxiety

he’d write down all your triggers just so he’d know what avoid

or what to tell other people to avoid alkdfjhakljdfh

bc we all know seungmin is that person (-_-;)・・・

when he found out that you have trouble deciding on food at restaurants

he’d immediately printed out the menus to all the restaurants you loved

just so you could take your time deciding at home

and not feel overwhelmed

aksjfhlskfjdh what a good bean

seungmin is just a sweetie who wants the best for you, really

plus, when you’re feeling better….

the two of you can go on adventures!! (⌒▽⌒)

yang jeongin

jeongin would be a little baffled that someone’s brain could be that cruel to them

“you mean you sometimes just can’t be happy?”

“yep, or function, really. sometimes moving or getting out of bed or eating just isn’t a thing”

‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚

“don’t worry about. i’m on meds for it so it’s not as bad”

(◕︵◕);;;;

“jeongin i promise it’s okay…..”

“HHHHHHHHHH”

you just ended up cuddling him and explaining how depression and anxiety worked

(or rather, how fucking annoying and, even, debilitating they are)

that made him happier bc he understood

he’d try to help you do things that help with the depression

like going for walks

or drinking enough water

definitely regulating your sleep

jeongin: “i know, i know, y/n! it’s hard but you haaaave to wake up”

y/n: “mmph” (￢_￢)

jeongin: *lightly swats you with a pillow* “get! up!!”

y/n: *grumpgrumpgrump*

nights are even harder alkjhsjkslkfjhs

jeongin, on the phone: “no you’re not being a night owl tonight. no! y/n~~~~ come on, i’m tired and wanna go to sleep”

y/n: “but i’m not tired!! i’m just gonna play one more round of this and then go to bed. i promise!”

jeongin, not having any of your shit: “uhuh….”

y/n, *sweats*: “i promiiiiiiiiise”

…………………

3 am

jeongin, via email: “this is an automated reminder to G O T O S L E E P”

y/n: “shit.”

he’d want to be there to listen to you whenever you needed him

even though he doesn’t have much experience with this sort of thing

jeongin would do his best as a kind and properly aware person

like everyone else, he just wants you to be okay

1K notes · View notes

whomst-art-thou-whomst-whomst · 3 years

Text

Texts from the Lost Tomb part 6.1

🎶 Back on the bullshit I never got off🎶

Is this another unnecessary story arc?? With three sections??

Yes.

Wushanju Crew Chat

Wang Meng: You know, I’m someone who appreciates consistency in my day. My life is pleasant, very few issues indeed if you ignore the big ones. And yet. Yet here we are. With unresolved messes at the end of a day.

Wang Pangzi: SOMETHIN YOU NEED TO SAY MARY POPPINS

Wang Meng: We need to talk about Huo Daofu and the glittery bead curtain.

Wang Pangzi: MY FAVE TEEN WIZARD SERIES

Wu Xie: did you turn on that suggested word thingy lol

What glittery bead curtain

Wang Meng: I closed the shop at 6:00pm this evening on the dot. I locked all of the doors in and out of the shop very carefully, especially in light of recent events. The hall leading to the back office was empty. I filed the day’s paperwork, updated and sent emails, and then spent an extra hour organizing receipts and dusting. When I came back out, there were glittery iridescent bead curtains over the front entrance to the shop.

What could this mean?

Wu Xie: uh that you need to spend less time at work?

Wang Pangzi: LOOKS LIKE WE GOT ONE FOR THE DETECTIVES. THE MYSTERY OF THE BEDAZZLED THRESHOLD COMMENCES

Wu Xie: I think we can be relatively secure in thinking a glittery bead curtain isn’t a hostile threat

Wang Pangzi: SAYS YOU

I REMEMBER YE OLDE EXPLORATION TIMES HOW FAST THINGS GOT FURIOUS

BEANBAG CHAIRS SET AFLAME AND LEFT ON DOORSTEPS AS A WARNING

GLITTERBOMBS FOR DAYS

PANIC AT THE DISCO

Wang Meng: Ugh, forget it. I should have just taken them down, regardless of who they belong to.

Zhang Qiling: They are not mine.

Wang Pangzi: A BOLD STATEMENT COMING FROM OUR PRIME SUSPECT

SOMEONE QUICK GO DRAW CHALK AROUND THE DOORWAY TO MARK THE SCENE OF THE CRIME

Wang Meng: Do we know anyone who *would* sneak in and put those up? For whatever reason, legal or not? Even as a joke?

Wang Pangzi: ARE YOU SERIOUSLY ASKING WHETHER WE KNOW ANYONE WHO IS CHAOTIC, AN OUTLAW, A PRANKSTER AND/OR SNEAKS INTO PLACES

BECAUSE THAT WOULD MEAN OUR SUSPECT LIST IS LITERALLY EVERYONE WE KNOW EXCEPT FOR YOU.

Wu Xie: okay let’s think about this; for starters, I didn’t break into my own shop

Wang Meng: You would be in danger of doing some work in the process, that’s true.

Wang Pangzi: LOL

Wu Xie: ANYWAY let’s keep going. For example, Xiao Ge would only break in somewhere for a good reason. Xiao Ge, did you do this?

Zhang Qiling: No.

Wu Xie: okay who’s next

Wang Pangzi: YOU REALLY MISSED YOUR CALLING IN INTERROGATION TIANZHEN

REALLY PUT THE SCREWS TO HIM

IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE;)

Zhang Qiling: How can we be certain *you* didn’t do it?

Wang Meng: Admittedly that was my guess, too.

Wang Pangzi: WOW I SEE HOW IT IS

BLAME PANGZI AS USUAL

ANYWAY HOW DOES HUO DAOFU FIT INTO THIS

Wu Xie: Oh yeah him! Oops I got distracted

Wang Pangzi: UR ENTIRE HISTORY IN A NUTSHELL

Wu Xie: Ugh fuck off

Wang Meng what abt Huo Daofu??

Zhang Qiling: ?

Wu Xie: oh sorry xiaoge I didn’t realize you wouldn’t have spent much time around him last year

He and I go way back

Zhang Qiling: Way back where?

Babysitters Club Chat

Wang Pangzi: I CANNOT BELIEVE HE IS BUYING YOUR INNOCENT ACT

IF YOU EVER TURN TO EVIL WE ARE FUCKED

Zhang Qiling: ?

Wang Pangzi: YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHO HUO DAOFU IS

YOU WERE EXTREMELY POLITE AND BORDERLINE FRIENDLY TOWARDS HIM

Zhang Qiling: I wanted him to feel welcome. I wanted to be sure he understands he has a place here. A specific place.

Wang Pangzi: FOR A SILENT GUY YOU ARE A MASTER AT SUBTLE POWER PLAYS IM ALL TINGLY

LMAO THE IDEA OF WU XIE LEAVING YOU FOR HUO DAOFU IS HILARIOUS AND ALSO NOPE

Zhang Qiling: Rationally, I understand that.

Main Chat

Wang Meng: Huo Daofu is coming for the weekend—didn’t Wu Xie tell you? Wu Xie asked me to check in a week ahead so we could start getting ready for his arrival

Wu Xie: oh yeah I did do that

Wang Meng: Fortunately I know you and so I already went ahead and took care of everything.

Re: the trip

He made a deal with Wu Xie’s doctor that he would do periodic checkups on him here at Wushanju

Bc Wu Xie hates being in the hospital

And frankly the hospital hates him too

Wang Pangzi: FAMILIARITY BREEDS CONTEMPT LOL

I FORGOT HUO DAOFU WAS DOING THAT

A VERY CHIVALROUS GESTURE

WOULDNT YOU SAY

XIOAGE

Zhang Qiling: Is it safe for him to be here with a criminal loose on the premises?

Wu Xie: Right, back to the curtain! Let’s focus on the curtain, hmm?

Wang Pangzi: I AM SO LOOKING FORWARD TO THIS WEEKEND.

ALSO WE CAN RULE OUT XIAO BAI FOR THE CURTAIN SHE JUST SENT A SELFIE FROM NORWAY COVERED IN GREEN SLIME WITH ZERO CONTEXT, UR PROTEGE INDEED

Wu Xie: okay but who else would do something so oddly charming yet illegal and—wait.

Snake Eyes Chat

Wu Xie: hey, Glasses hasn’t been in touch lately right?

Li Cu: uh nope

Unless u count the outdated memes

Why, is money or Xie Yuchen missing

Or is this curtain related, I saw Wang Meng’s tweet

Wu Xie: haha no nothing to worry about really

(I mean maybe? but who knows)

Wang Meng is probably just getting a little paranoid in his old age

Li Cu: better than getting reckless and stupid as hell in ur old age

Wu Xie: …hey:(

Unknown Number: Li Cu, we discussed this.

Wu Xie: ????????

Li Cu: *sigh* fine, reckless and stupid as heck

Unknown Number: …close enough.

Wu Xie: EXCUSE who is that

Madame, Sir, Non-Binary Tree Spirit, etc—whomst the fuck

Are you

Li Cu is underage FYI

So Im staying on this chat

Li Cu: okay first of all, it’s not like that

Second of all I’m literally not underage I s2g

u threw the embarrassing surprise bday party, okay so u should remember

And C, that’s my counselor and I invited her. She wanted to meet u and I knew u wouldn’t agree to a visit so I added her to our chat

we have been discussing u

Wu Xie: Oh wow!!!!!!!

What a surprise:)

hi so nice to meet you:)

Main Chat:

Wu Xie: RED FUCKING ALERT

FUCK THE CURTAIN FUCK THE VISIT

IVE BEEN TRICKED INTO FAMILY THERAPY BY A SMUG TEENAGER WHO TEXTS UNKNOWN NUMBERS

Wang Meng: I assume that means something to someone here?

Not my problem? Good.

Wang Pangzi: AHAHAHA GOD I LOVE LI CU

HES LIKE ADORABLE KARMA FOR ALL THE SHIT YOUVE PUT ME THROUGH

IM RAISING HIS ALLOWANCE

Wu Xie: wait i give him an allowance

has he been collecting on two allowances??

Zhang Qiling: Three. I knew about both of yours.

Snake Eyes Chat

Wu Xie: so uh may I ask your name?

Unknown Number: you can call me Ms. Lee.

Now, if you’re comfortable talking in this format, why don’t you tell me how things have been going?

Wu Xie: oh everything is normal and fine and safe as usual, why do you ask:)

Li Cu: I heard about ur necklace thing. nice of you to NOT mention it.

another dangerous adventure. again. prick.

Ur lucky your cool boyfriend cares about you so much or you’d have already died like ten years ago

Wu Xie: lol try twenty years ago

Li Cu: That isn’t funny.

Unknown Number: …What?

Wu Xie: shit ur right, okay that was a bit glib, my apologies.

…I use humor as a coping mechanism?

Unknown Number: and Li Cu, how do you feel about that?

Li Cu: he doesn’t even know what that phrase means

He doesn’t cope, like ever

In fact

It’s kind of why we met

Which is a funny story in retrospect tbh

Wu Xie: haha what are you talking about sweetie hahaha need I remind you of certain anecdotes that could idk send me to jail maybe lmao

Unknown Number: …You know, perhaps an in-person meeting might be more effective?

Wu Xie: haha such a nice idea but why

Main Chat

Wu Xie: If I go to jail, I’ll have to create alliances for protection, right, that’s how it works on tv

Who do we know who spends time in jail

Other than Hei Yangjing, he’s only ever there for like 12 hours and i suspect he just gets himself arrested bc he enjoys the breaking out process

Also how’s the curtain case coming along

Zhang Qiling: Has someone threatened you?

Wu Xie: well not yet but soon I’m sure

Wang Pangzi: WHERE WAS THIS PARANOIA WHEN WE GOT TAKEN TO THE TEA HOUSE HUH

Snake Eyes Minus Your Fucking Therapist Chat

Li Cu: okay how tf did u pull off spy and undercover shit

u are sus as hell

Wu Xie: damn son is it pick on Wu Xie night

I missed the flyers or I would’ve invited my uncles

Also re: the curtain it’s been mostly solved

Li Cu: I’m not your son, idiot.

Wu Xie: …oh. Sorry, sorry, you’re right, bad choice of words, haha

Forget i said anything

Delete this chat even

Li Cu: shit I meant

Legally, biologically, I meant—

shit

…I turn into an asshole as a coping mechanism?

Wu Xie: oh that’s all okay! I have to go do something else now let me know if you need anything okay kid thanks!

Li Cu: goddamn it calm down who’s the kid here

lemme organize my thoughts so I can articulate my emotions fuckin healthily or w/e

Ugh maybe for like one afternoon we could go to Ms. Lee together? She knows how to word stuff

Wu Xie: uh…okay.

Li Cu: Anyway you don’t need to worry abt jail

As if you would survive prison for one day you’d piss off half the place in like an hour or less

I gave Ms. Lee the heavily edited version of the desert highway to hell roadtrip and i discussed it more in terms of like “nightmarish but still wouldn’t take any of it back”

Well maybe the sand

that shit was everywhere

Wu Xie: oh kiddo. It’s fine, really…You don’t have to explain yourself to me.

Li Cu: no, no it’s just

I do technically have a dad

who is an asshole. Being a son doesn’t really mean shit to me bc it sucked.

So you need to stop backing down just cuz ur guilty abt stuff. I’m really really glad ur not my dad in a good way. Do u get what I mean there

Where’s the mafia widower I followed into hell, huh

Wu Xie: Ur a good kid, despite my influence. I’m really glad you have someone to talk to after everything I…after everything. Wow this talking through feelings thing is kind of weird but nice ur right

Jfc no wonder it took me and xiaoge so long to—you know what, we won’t get into that

Li Cu: ew tmi

Also re: this week’s recent necklace fuckery

I moved my stuff here, I live here now

So you can’t die anymore

Or else…Idk I don’t have a threat planned

anyways abt the curtain

Wu Xie: oh my god, kid…kid you have no idea

I am in tears.

Li Cu: see this is why I can’t be nice to you I can sense the hallmark channel from here

Ugh don’t be sad in ur room that’s dumb

Go hug Pangzi or something

Maybe delete this chat

Or the curtain thing

Focus on the curtain thing

Just stfu and go away

Wu Xie: <3 screenshotting this <3

Li Cu: I take back everything I said. This is why Xiao Ge sleeps on the roof. I hope the ghosts of the Wangs put up that curtain to strangle you somehow. Go die in a stupid way, it’ll suit you.

Wu Xie: lol don’t worry I’m not gonna embarrass you with it or anything

Main Chat

Wu Xie: omg guys look how cute my kid is *sending screenshot*

Wang Pangzi: I MEAN

HE IS WISHING YOU DEATH

BUT SURE

CUTE I GUESS

Wu Xie: no but read the whole thing:):):)

Zhang Qiling: It is indeed very hard to remain angry with you. And you are welcome to join me on the roof.

Wang Pangzi: UH NOPE

NOT WHENI HAD TO BLEACH THE COUNTER IN THE KITCHEN

DONT TRAUMATIZE THE EARLY BIRDS THEYRE ALREADY FREAKED OUT BY U YA HOODIE CRYPTID

Wu Xie: ok true but babe ur like a sexy cryptid

Wang Meng: so, are we just accepting that there is a glittery curtain of unknown origin, and Huo Daofu is going to have to see it while he’s waiting for you at Wushanju bc you’re going to family therapy?

Wu Xie: right

Wang Pangzi: SHOULDA TAKEN EARLY RETIREMENT HUH

Wang Meng: I’m going to go dust something.

Unnamed Chat:

Unknown number: so the curtain…

Unknown number 2: yep, not my best work but I kinda panicked last minute u know

Unknown number: what is in the water at Wushanju that makes everyone dumb and attractive

Unknown number 2: relax they’ll figure it out

#ultimate note #whomst #wu xie #dmbj #the lost tomb #pingxie #iron triangle

36 notes · View notes

loveyourownsmiilee · 3 years

Note

You know what, the funniest thing is that we all think that basically all of the 118, and Maddie and Carla and everyone around Buck and Eddie KNOW already. They can feel the energy in the air, they see the way the two men look at each other. I think Chim is the one that’s like come ON why can’t I say anything and Hen is like 😐 because you have to let them figure it out. How would you like it if we butted into your relationship with Maddie at first? And Chim is like *rolls his eyes* I guess you have a point. I don’t think they’re making bets but I do think they watch their dynamic play out every day and are just waiting to see how it ends with them (relationship wise). Honestly I think Maddie already assumes there’s something going on LMAO (well I guess before the finale 🙄). I feel like if Buck said hey me and Eddie are engaged as a prank/joke she would believe him automatically and start crying of joy. Remember when she was like ‘so this crush on Eddie...’ and Buck was like that’s cute. I feel like she just assumed that there was more, that Buck had always had feelings for Eddie and that he eventually made a move and all that. But I mean can you blame her. We have all seen how soft and sweet and flirty Buck is in relationships and he acts the same way basically around Eddie and they aren’t even in a relationship. He fits right into Eddie’s life and he has this same commitment to Eddie as a partner would have to their significant other in a relationship

Oh nonnie, I always go back and forth on whether everyone else knows or not. I feel like I agree with you bc they just don’t seem like normal best friends, contrary to what T*m believes. They are definitely closer and act more coupley than anything. Maddie has to know something for sure because not only did she mention what you said, but she also knew what she was doing when she told Buck “He is so cute…Wait, Chimney has a kid?” Why Buck’s brain automatically went to Eddie is beyond me (no it’s not) but it’s about her lil smirk as she walks away that made me believe she def knows something is up with her brother and Eddie! Carla has to know for sure because she’s probably around both of them when they’re having their domestic Buckley-Diaz family moments. There’s a reason she said what she said to Eddie about following his heart. She wouldn’t have said anything unless she had another specific person in mind. For the firefam, I just honestly think it’s an unspoken thing with them bc they don’t wanna say anything or step on anyone’s toes. They rather have them either be comfortable with how they are right now, just co-parenting a child together and acting like a married couple, or have those two idiots just come to their own realizations without help from external sources. I mean the whole team saw Buck completely lose his mind when Eddie was buried and those shared looks makes me think for a fact that it’s a known thing amongst them all! I really do think that when they eventually get together, it’s going to be so seamless and not at all monumental that no one will even notice a shift in their dynamic/relationship until it’s explicitly said! Ugh I can’t wait for that day!!

#juju answers #anon asks #buddie #firefam #carla price #maddie buckley

43 notes · View notes

crispyjenkins · 4 years

Note

I dare you to write an Ani5 fix-it fic. I will not be taking criticism and will die on the hill that this is the most powerful ship and could’ve saved the entire clone wars. Bonus points if it features the ship Mace Windu/headaches (bc anakin is a walking mess of shatterpoints and lives to annoy Mace). Codywan to help knock some sense into anakin would also be top tier. I LOVE YOU ZEPH’BUIR

(of course i can’t do a whole fix-it in a quick prompt answer, but i think i’ve set it up for a far happier ending than in canon! support communication and education in relationships (ღ˘⌣˘ღ) and also adhd clones.

fives might be the most i’ve ever struggled with a character (‘cept maybe ahsoka....) so it took a little while to figure out how to write this scene in a way i liked. also, had to go and watch fives clips to try and get my autism brain working, and BOY HOWDY do i actually hate dbb’s take on the clones, especially the accent but everything else too. their character designs make me want to cry. so i’m begging, for me, to imagine this fives like this especially because then we get Tol Anakin and a Smol Clone BF and i think that is a seriously underutilised dynamic.

thank you for the prompt, ad, and for cursing me with this ship in the first place. someday i’ll get around to actually writing them as the battle husbands they are 🧡)

Alt+R to quick reblog on desktop, Hold the reblog symbol to quick reblog on mobile

Echo's always been good with programming, but Fives is better with the actual building. He's not any good with inventing, maybe, but putting things together? Opening them up and knowing immediately what's wrong? Fives would even say he enjoys it — and being able to talk shop with Skywalker like they're nobody mechanics from the Outer Rim instead of General and Soldier makes the long hyperjumps between missions actually bearable.

How that led to him sitting in a rarely used hallway on the Resolute with Skywalker ("Anakin," he keeps insisting with a smile), both leant over a mouse droid in pieces on a drop cloth, Fives isn't really sure. It probably had something to do with Skywalker's excited bounce when he'd come to ask if Fives wanted to help him, the sparkle in his eye reminding Fives just how young the both of them are. How, technically, he's older than Anakin.

Because, yeah, he is Anakin, not Skywalker, when they're like this. With his growing knight cut a curly untamed cloud around his ears, grease smeared on the underside of his jaw, with Fives stripped down to his blacks from the waist up, with even his blasters set on the floor next to them.

With it quickly becoming clear that Anakin doesn't actually need help to rewire the mouse droid, but had asked for Fives to join him anyways.

They've been at it for a few hours now, their jokes winding down to companionable quiet as they both work on separate parts of the droid. It honestly might have been easier to start from a scrap droid than try to rewire this one correctly, but it's easy work Fives could do blindfolded, and sharing the mutually-focused silence is actually quite nice.

Anakin is elbow-deep in the outer casing when he finally asks, "Do the clones feel love?"

And Fives almost gets up and walks away. He knows not every battalion ended up with a good Jedi, that the 212th and the 501st had been so kriffing lucky to end up with "The Team", but sometimes he forgets. Maybe that's the worst part of it: slow, personal moments like this, Fives forgets he's not natborn and bearer of a face shared with millions. Being around his general makes him forget, and maybe he had taken that for granted until now.

Or maybe it's for that reason that he hesitates from storming off, because Anakin had been the one to name Alpha, to insist on giving them proper leave, to defend them from anyone who talks down at them even if they're a planetary leader. And Rex had said something, once, about Anakin’s brain working in either/ors, being hardwired in some way to only see in black and white and believing that if you're one thing, you can't be another. That what Anakin says isn't always what he means.

So instead, he asks, "What kind of love are we talkin'?"

Anakin refuses to raise his head, and Fives can almost see him stressing about how to phrase this. "Y'know, grand romance and stuff. One-and-onlys and holodrama romcom propaganda and imagining growing old together."

"'Not quite sure what you're asking, sir." He takes a deep breath. "The short answer is yes, we can and do feel that, but the long answer is I can't speak for every brother, and I would not want to. Some of us don't feel that." Shrugging, he passes Anakin a socket wrench before he can ask for it. "But it's not because we can't, not because of the longnecks. We're bred to be obedient, sir, not emotionless."

Quiet settles over them again while Anakin processes this, his mouth twisted rather horribly. Fives starts to think he would do a whole awful lot to turn that frown back into a haughty smile.

"What do you really want to ask, General?"

"I'm married to Senator Amidala."

Now, everyone with eyes knows that. Maybe Torrent knows even better, when they've been covering for their general for over a year now, and clearly the Jedi just aren't doing anything about it — but Fives also knows Anakin has never actually told anyone about this, not even General Kenobi. Rex says Anakin still thinks they've been discreet.

"If I may be blunt, sir, this is not news."

And Anakin actually laughs at that, shaking his head as he tosses down his tools to stare at the opposite wall instead. Fives watches his gaze go distant, somewhere far away from the Resolute lost in the middle of space. “I’ve loved her since I was nine years old, Fives. I loved her through not seeing her for a decade, through her assassination attempts and the First Battle of Geonosis and becoming a knight, and I...”

Fives sighs once. “No one said you had to stay in love, sir.”

“But that’s just it,” he groans. “I’ve never known how to do anything else, how to be anything else. I don’t... know who I am without it.”

He has to look away from Anakin, then, because he’s seen brothers go stupid for people they meet on campaigns, or for their Jedi, and Fives isn’t nearly as young as some of the shinies out there, but he knows what it looks like, when they leap in without thinking. He lets out a long, slow breath, his eyes falling on the ‘saber at Anakin’s hip. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

Anakin blinks at him, and nods.

“That’s too young to decide what you want to do for the rest of your life.” Fives raises a brow at his general’s startled expression, which is maybe more amusing (endearing) than it has any business being. “General, you’re barely an adult, just the same as the vode. If my mental timeline is right, you weren’t even twenty standard when you married Amidala, which, frankly, was reckless and unfair on her part.”

“Padmé would never–”

“I don’t mean intentionally, sir. The fact of the matter is, no wonder you don’t know who you are without her, because you’ve always had her.” That decade of no contact notwithstanding, considering Anakin didn’t not have her, either. “Senator Amidala knew who and what she was before you, and she’ll know who and what she is without you.”

“That’s not quite fair,” Anakin grumbles, but his throat is flushed in what Fives hopes is entirely appropriate guilt, or at the very least embarrassment. “It was my idea to get married after Geonosis.”

Fives snorts. “The idea of a child thrown into war, afraid to lose anything.”

“You’re being uncharacteristically candid, Fives.”

“Respectfully, sir, the last thing you need is to be coddled.” His general laughs again, this time good and bright in a way he hasn’t heard before; and then Fives can’t help what he admits next. “We weren’t allowed toys, or anything.”

Laughter cutting off abruptly, Anakin’s eyes grow haunted instead. There might not be anyone else in the galaxy with quite the same experience as the clones, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t those that understand.

“Hevy made me and Echo– Well, he said they were mythosaurs like Kal taught us about, but they looked more like sad loth cats. He cut up his own bedsheet to make ‘em, and couldn’t tell the longnecks what he’d done with it, so he just slept on the bare mattress.”

“Fives...”

But it’s clear Anakin doesn’t actually know what to say, so Fives pushes on. “Some of Fett’s instructors tried to teach us Mando’a, you know? I think Spar is the only brother that ever got fluent, the rest of us have been making up words and combining them with Basic and Kaminoan and whatever else the Cuy’val Dar spoke that sometimes we don’t even remember what language they are anymore.”

“I didn’t learn Basic until I was five.” Anakin thunks his head onto the wall behind him with a sigh, the mouse droid forgotten at his feet. “Other padawans always told me I was lucky Master Obi-Wan knew Huttese.” Ahh, kark, his general had been a Hutt salve; at least the spice runners made sure their slaves could communicate with their customers. “I couldn’t read a word of Aurebesh when I first came to the Temple, though to be fair, I couldn’t read anything else, either.”

“You grow up around other kids?”

“Yeah, my mom and I lived in the biggest slave slum on Tatooine.”

Fives doesn’t need to tell him how lucky he was just to have had their own quarters. “I think, sir, that the vode know better than you think, what it’s like always standing on the edge of losing everything.”

Squeezing his eyes closed, Anakin inhales sharply and clenches his fists over his knees. “What happened? To your mythosaur toys?”

“One of the longnecks found them while we were in training, ‘threw them out before we got back. I think Hevy was even more upset than we were.”

The leather glove over his prosthesis creaks as he tightens his grip on his own palms. “Was it easy? To just... forget about them?”

“Of course not,” Fives snorts and crosses his arms, “we were the equivalent of eight standard at the time, but we honestly didn’t have a choice. As we got a little older, we stopped trying to put meaning in things, because we weren’t allowed things. Our names are our only real possession, even our armor can be taken from us, but we will not, cannot, let anyone take our names.”

Groaning, Anakin scrubs his hands over his face before pushing himself up to finally look at Fives properly. He still doesn’t speak for a moment, just watching him, then teases flatly, “You’ve been spending too much time with Cody and Obi-Wan, you’re starting to speak in riddles.”

“They are riddles only to you, sir.” He offers a small smile, and is only slightly disappointed when Anakin doesn’t return it.

Instead, he lets out a winded breath. “So. You’re saying that it’s not easy to let go of even small things, but we must. And then there are things that we shouldn’t let go of?”

“Some things aren’t ours to keep.”

Anakin swallows. “Like Padmé,”

“Like any person, no matter what sort of love we have for them.”

Groaning, Anakin pulls his knees back up close and drops his face into his arms. “But I still love her.”

Knowing that this is not a new problem, that General Kenobi has been trying to teach his general this for as long as they’ve known each other, Fives takes a moment to consider. “You don’t really have to stop loving her.”

“But you said–”

“You think I stop loving my brothers when they die?”

Whether or not it’s healthy to hold onto affections for someone after a romantic relationship is a conversation for another time, Fives decides, and leans over to pick up where Anakin had left off with the droid.

“General, it sounds to me like you already know all this,” he says, twisting a wire into the grip of his glove to yank it from the motor. “And that you’re digging your feet in — which is the crux of the problem, isn’t it?”

“You sound like Obi-Wan,” he groans, but doesn’t deny it.

“Hmm, well, at least we’re still just kids.”

Anakin very slowly looks up from his arms, just enough for Fives to see his wide eyes. “What do you...?”

“Well, we’ve still got time to learn, don’t we?” Fives raises his eyebrow as he fits the new wire into the motor and starts to close all the panels back up. “I still think about Hevy and Droidbait and Cutup, and honestly, I still think about Echo’s and my mythosaurs. That’s not a bad thing, I don’t think, not even the Jedi would think that’s bad. I’m still angry when my vode don’t get funerals and I honestly hold that against the Chancellor and the Jedi both. But I don’t get to go back to Kamino and take my anger out on the longneck that took our toys, and I’m... working on it, not being so angry with the generals. I’m still angry. But I know the Jedi have about as much say in all of this as we do, and I know burying my brothers won’t bring them back. So I’m working on it.”

“I... don’t have to be good at it all at once.”

“Great Maker, General, just because you’re the Chosen One doesn’t mean you have to actually be good at absolutely everything from the start. You just have to try, and you still have time to.”

He looks up and finds Anakin already smiling back. “Fives, I could kiss you.”

“Considering it sounds like Senator Amidala just divorced you, I think that’s a very bad idea, sir.”

“Bah, you’re no fun.”

Fives feigns offense, “This mouse droid we’ve rigged to follow Captain Rex around and scream says differently.”

The night the 501st returns to the Resolute after finally (kriffing finally) leaving Umbara, Fives finds a hand-sewn stuffed mythosaur on his bunk, with a string collar and a dogtag etched with CT-782.

Mando’a: Cuy’val Dar — “Those who no longer exist”, group of 75 Mando’ade and 25 others put together by Jango to train the clones vod/e — “brother/s, comrade/s, sibling/s”, technically gender neutral but used most often in fandom as “brother/s” (*in this context, fives is using brothers as gender neutral as well, because you won’t take trans and nb clones even from my cold dead hands*)

#prompt fill #crispy writes #ani5 #anakin/fives #no really what's their ship name #prequel trilogy #clone wars #pre-relationship #but they're getting there lads #cw slavery #clone culture #domino squad #past anidala #very recently past lmao #anakin skywalker #trooper fives #mando'a #is it really childhood if you've never been allowed to be a child #but seriously dbb is sort of fucking awful as the clones #like i love the man he's been in almost every cartoon i've ever cared about #but good lord it's like he wasn't even trying to act #anyways #theclonewarsbrokeme #rare pair #like.... never seen anything for this kind of rare pair...#wanna write more about them adhd stimming together #and being worried babs on the battlefield #cause unlike ships like codywan or rexwalker or skysolo #ani5 would have NO problem being obvious as fuck about their worry and affection #they wouldn't even try to hide it

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yeontanismypresident · 3 years

Text

truth untold | jikook

a/n: uh hey guys i know this isn't what i normally post, but i did a roleplay with a friend (they're so talented holy fuck i'm in love bro) and decided to post it on here since it's already on ao3! they wrote for jimin and i wrote for jungkook. so, come cry with us and watch jikook be all lovey dovey after their rainy day fight hehe <33 thanks for being an amazing rp partner @eglantinian and s/o to my baby @minloop for making this awesome header love you bb <3

pairing: park jimin x jeon jungkook

word count: 11.1k (yikes good luck)

genre: angst, fluff, smut, idolverse

warning(s): unprotected sex (pls be safe babies), finger sucking/fucking (yes, it's a warning bc fuck i love it 🥵), oral sex, fingering, the authors falling in love, Feelings™, okay i think that’s it ghfjd

summary: I love you, I love you, I love you, and I didn't want to be forgiven. That's the hardest part. I looked at you, and I didn't want to be forgiven. Because loving you is not a sin.

But that's it.

I love you, Jimin. In spite of everything.

Park Jimin doesn't trust words.

Pretty ridiculous, given how much he loves being affirmed by it, but there's such a thing as "loving compliments'' but not allowing yourself to be deceived by it. There's also the fact that he's got a vendetta... against some words and how someone says it. Not to mention, words are highly fluid, able to empower or destroy when choreographed into perfection. Just like the twists and turns of chaînés or the smooth glide of a moonwalk. An emotion in motion rehearsed a-plenty with the intent to electrify.

To dazzle, to revive, to thunder people's spiritless lives.

Words.

That's it.

That's why he remains a stoic sceptic, pining and fawning over words, but never also completely trusting them until he's sure that the person speaking them does not intend to deceive him. It's very exhausting, but it's a struggle he puts up with in order to protect himself from getting hurt.

Honey, it is one of the sweetest things in the world, but only because they were a product of the labour of a thousand bees. Because while others may think he just readily wears his heart on his sleeve when he's acting like a mochi, they don't realise that it took years to get to the level of confidence he has today. Persistent and consistent labour, that's what it took to make himself appear effortless, not birth lottery.

Not ever.

Which was why he kept rewinding Jungkook's speech, nay, confession, in his head over and over again when they argued in the practice studio. He's practically memorised every word, the heartache and the love in the maknae's voice ringing clearly through the space between them. Jimin's stupid mind even etched in his memories the way Jungkook's brows furrowed in frustration when he shouted at him to "do what you want."

Or the way the tears fell from Jungkook's eyes when he slammed the door to his face, intent on leaving him there in the studio. Jimin wanted some time to himself while walking to their dorm — it was only 20 minutes away, anyway — because he doesn't trust himself alone with Jungkook. He'll end up ruffling Jungkook's dark hair before tugging it back so that he could tilt his head to face him and lose himself in the depths of his dark, dark gaze.

The sweetest eyes in the world, he'd once thought to himself when he first met the maknae. It was just. Just looking at him then, he already knew it was over for him. Jeon Jungkook wasn't just some band member of BTS to him. Neither was he just some cute boy that he can't help feeling fond of. Nor a younger brother he'd dote on endlessly. No, not at all. Once he looked at Jungkook and got to know him throughout the years, Jimin just knew.

One way or another, their lives will always be intertwined.

Serendipity.

He didn't expect it. And yet here he was, falling in love with him. Can't get him out of his head. Can't get him to be affectionate with him even as a joke. Can't get him to stop pushing him away in front of the camera. But still. Still, he kept trying because Jungkook....

Just now, his eyes, his voice... none of it ever held any intent to deceive him.

Not at all.

It's just that today, Jungkook really had to tell him everything he's wanted to hear from him. And while Jimin knew that Jungkook's words carried weight, he just couldn't help doubting it.

Especially when Jungkook's hands kept fidgeting.

And that's the thing — Jimin suddenly felt that he might be uncertain. That maybe he said those words sincerely, but why was he still being unsure? Like damn it, it's not like he was never afraid every time he made himself look like a fool whenever Jungkook kept dismissing him or denying his affection.

It drove him a little crazy.

But still, even now as he's walking outside and ignoring his phone — it's been vibrating ever since he left the studio, and truthfully, his legs feel a little numb already, but he left that place with his head held high, so if anyone's going to do the chasing, it won't be him, not again — Jungkook's words were a chorus he can't help himself from repeating over and over again.

It's just that I've never felt this much for anyone before.

I don't know how to take it. One day, you were there, and I felt like nothing made sense until I met you. I love you, I love you, I love you, and I didn't want to be forgiven. That's the hardest part. I looked at you, and I didn't want to be forgiven. Because loving you is not a sin. Why does it have to be, just because people are uncomfortable? Why does it have to be, just because you're a man and I'm a man? Why does it have to be, just because I got afraid? I just kept overthinking everything, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you.

But I've been in love with you. Still do.

Fuck. I just said it all. But that's it. I love you, Jimin.

In spite of everything.

And then he just had to look afraid. It's not as if he's the only one.

He sighed, closing his eyes only to blink them open when a drop of rain fell on his cheeks.

His lips curled bitterly. He didn't need to cry at all.

The skies will do it for him.

How lucky.

Jungkook stands in the middle of the practice room, all alone with only cold silence surrounding him. There are silent tears falling from his eyes and gliding down his blushing cheeks. Where did everything go wrong? He was sure he saw the signs right. Sure, he had pushed Jimin away when he was just trying to show his affection, but what else was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to do when they had thousands of eyes on them, just waiting for one of them to make a mistake? It could have cost them their career. No matter how much he loves Jimin, he can’t won’t ruin the rest of the group’s careers.

He can’t help but feel embarrassed and hurt. How was he ever going to face Jimin after this? Would his Hyung make fun of him? Would he hate him? Avoid him? Jungkook really put his heart out there, did the one thing that has terrified him for years and he’s...shut down? Rejected? Was he wrong to assume Jimin had feelings for him too? Is this what heartbreak feels like? Like his heart was ripped out of his chest and stomped on a hundred times? Like someone tore it into a million pieces all the while laughing at him for being so idiotic? How long will he have to deal with this aching, sharp pain in his chest? Until he can get over Jimin? Will he ever get over him?

His head snaps to the opening door so fast there’s a loud pop throughout the room. Wincing, Jungkook rubs the back of his neck, praying that behind it is Jimin coming back to clear things up, to confess it was all just some sick joke he was playing on him. But it’s not him, and Jungkook doesn’t know how he should feel when he comes face to face with the confused one of Taehyung. He probably looks like a right mess with tears leaving a wet trail on his blotchy cheeks and falling off his chin, eyes bloodshot from how hard he’s crying.

“Jungkook-ah?” Taehyung hesitantly asked, slowly making his way towards the maknae, “Are you okay? What happened?” He places a comforting hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, the warm and kind gesture causing him to break even more.

Jungkook gasps for air. He can’t breathe and everything fucking hurts. What does he do? Should he call Jimin? Make sure he got home safe, or should he give him some space? The sound of thunder shakes him from his panicking, and he walks to the window to see dark clouds rolling in. Fuck. It’s about to rain and Jimin is walking back to the dorm. He’s going to get soaking wet and then he’s going to get sick. Jungkook is sure he’ll hate him even more if he does end up ill.

With his mind made up, he frantically grabs his phone. Opening up Jimin’s contact, he hits the call button, silently begging the other to answer. When he’s met with Jimin’s voicemail, he leaves a desperate message, telling him to call him back. He does this multiple times, each time feeling more and more hopeless.

Please pick up, Hyung.

Everywhere was grey.

The sky, previously golden touched with lilac at dawn, is ashen. The streets, once dazzling silver pavements in the moonlight, have returned to its original shape, a dull concrete in the day unlike the vision in his daydreams — mocking his stony reflection in the muddy puddles that have formed beneath his shoes as rain continued to fall quickly, wetting his cheeks. Jimin wanted to laugh, but the sound is trapped in his throat as his phone kept ringing in the background. It was supposed to be quiet. Yet even in this grey afternoon, his fingers couldn't help inching towards the source of the sound — a half-hearted wish to silence the chaos that was his heart.

Jimin took a deep breath, trying to gather himself. Well, more of trying to remember why he exploded in disbelief despite knowing the truth in Jungkook's words. It's just that after he made the decision to not be as affectionate to the maknae, that's when he suddenly tried to get close to him. It's like someone dropped a bucket of cold water on him, paralysing him. It made him feel like an afterthought — Jungkook's warmth towards him had come too late, the abrupt 180 of his efforts giving him a whiplash that when Jungkook finally said those words, he just saw red.

He ran a hand through his hair. He had overreacted.

Jimin is usually able to separate his emotions from his thoughts easily, enabling him to focus and see things clearly for what they were. It just so happened that everything about Jungkook affected him greatly, his control slipping every time their eyes met. Almost every time, that is. The thing is, Jimin had always prided himself with his willpower and resolve, but in that argument... he didn't care. He just lost it.

It's just that... when he saw Jungkook hesitate, he also got uncertain. Afraid. And Jimin hated being unsure, hated losing control, hated the bitter after-taste of regret.

And yet, leaving Jungkook in the studio, it was all he felt.

Regret.

He bit his lip, no longer stopping the tears from falling.

I was wrong, he thought, averting his gaze from the puddle beneath his shoes once he realised he had halted on his way to the apartment — the pause feeling like a thread was trying to pull him back, stopping him.

I was wrong, he repeated, breaking down as he took the phone from his pocket, the ringing never stopping.

Never hesitating.

Never afraid.

Not anymore.

Jimin wiped his cheeks, resting a hand on his face as he answered the call with a quiver in his voice.

"What is it?" he asked, trying to sound firm, but all he heard was the way he sounded so broken.

And all it took to keep him afloat was Jungkook's voice.

Jungkook is still muttering helplessly to himself, feet pounding against the wet pavement as he tries to find Jimin. He doesn’t know where the other is and there’s panic clutching at his heart and everything is just a gigantic mess. Did Jimin head towards the dorm? Or did he decide to go on a walk somewhere else? Somewhere Jungkook wouldn’t know about? Turning towards the opposite direction of their dorm, Jungkook sets a brisk pace, phone still to his ear as he waits for Jimin to answer his phone.

The rain is pouring now and Jungkook can hardly see what’s in front of him. There’s hardly anyone out, so no one can see the way he’s breaking down in the middle of the sidewalk. So caught up in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice that the constant ringing has stopped. Only when he hears Jimin’s broken voice coming through the phone does he react.

“Jimin, I am so sorry,” Jungkook sobs, feet frozen as he tries to stay standing. He refuses to break down even more when he's out in public.

All he wants to do is fall, fall into the older’s arms. To feel his comforting arms wrapped around him in a warm embrace. But would Jimin still want to hug him after this? Did he freak his Hyung out too much by confessing? Hurt him too much? Did he push him away for good? Jimin’s voice breaks his disheartening thoughts.

His throat tightened.

Jungkook was crying. Because of him. Fuck. Jimin's tears suddenly halted, his frustration towards himself rising — not realising that he was squeezing the phone unconsciously until his nails dug red half moons on his skin. He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he listened to the maknae's shaky breaths through the phone.

“I told you not to call me,” Jimin still tried to resist, his control slipping away yet again. Except… except he’s starting not to mind it once again.

Only for Jungkook. Only him.

Because loving you is not a sin, Jungkook's words filled his thoughts once again, breaking through every wall, every monument of fear he thought he built perfectly in spite of his trembling hands — afraid of anyone discovering his deepest fears, afraid of letting anyone in, afraid of no one trying at all.

I love you, Jimin. In spite of everything.

He raised his eyes to the sky.

The rain ceased, and once again, the horizon burst with colours.

His lips trembled.

"W-where...," Jimin spoke more softly this time, hoping it would soothe Jungkook a little, hoping he'd understand, hoping he'd keep trying, "where are you?"

I want to see you.

“I told you not to call me.”

Jungkook feels as if the breath was stolen right from his lungs. He thought the older wouldn’t want him to call, but he was hoping he was wrong. He has no clue how he should respond to that. I’m so sorry, Hyung. Please, just tell me where you are. I promise to leave you alone, just let me know you’re safe.

“Hyung…” Jungkook whispers and he’s not sure whether or not Jimin can hear him. He’s afraid to speak up. He’s afraid his voice will crack and that he’ll appear even more pathetic than he already does.

He wants to give up.

If Jimin’s made it clear that he doesn’t feel the same, then why should he continue fighting for it? Why fight for something that isn't even there?

Jungkook glances up when he doesn’t feel the harsh, cold rain pelting on his skin anymore. It’s stopped raining and the clouds are slowly dispersing, leaving behind a blue sky with a vibrant rainbow. The sun is shining down on him, warming his shaking body, and his body releases its tension.

"Where are you?”

Where is he?

Jungkook looks around at the scenery surrounding him. He’s… where is he? He can feel the panic returning, tightening his chest and lungs until it feels like someone is stomping on his chest. His eyes are frantically moving around, trying to find something familiar, something that will tell him where he is. Where is he?

“I don’t know where I am!” Jungkook sobs, fingers shaking as he clutches his phone to his ear. Jimin’s voice slowly calming him down, grounding him to reality once again.

"Jungkook-ssi," he murmurs over and over again, hearing the panic in the maknae's voice. He almost burst into laughter, the shock of Jungkook's bewildered reply making his heart flutter despite his concern. But that would just set Jungkook off to even more panic, so he swallowed it, willing his mien to follow so that he wouldn’t laugh.

Fuck, he loves this boy so much.

"Jungkook-ssi, take a deep breath," Jimin said more firmly, trying to capture Jungkook's attention. He needed to focus, and as much as Jimin wanted to see him, they won't be able to do that if Jungkook can't calm down.

He looked around him — he's just a few blocks away from the dorm now, and it should be easy to pinpoint his location, but given the maknae's tendency to lose himself in the height of panic, he might as well be the one to go to where he was.

"Just — don't move. Stay where you are. I'll come get you," Jimin offered, trying to get a hold on the situation. When someone is panicking, you can't ground them with softness. You need to be assertive — turn off their impulsive urge to jump off the cliff with cool, solid, and sound facts.

Basically, logic the fear away.

It's just that Jungkook disagreed, his voice breaking, trying to fight against himself, anyway. A taxi, he said, tumbling over his words, the desperation making Jimin curl his lips in fondness, I'll take a taxi. Or I don't know. Run. I'll run to you. But no, a taxi. A taxi would be best, I guess, I really don't know where I am.

At last, Jimin lets out a chuckle.

"Jungkook," he whispers, his tone the softest it’s ever been, dropping the honorific, knowing that the maknae will realise what he meant.

He heard the shudder in Jungkook’s voice, the sound of his name from his lips stilling the maknae.

“Jungkook,” he repeated, his tone firmer, but nonetheless just as soft as he uttered it a few moments ago, “I’ll stay.”

He looked at the sky again, lips curling at the rainbow.

“I’ll wait for you,” he says, voice low and husky — a sound he only uses for Jungkook.

I miss you.

“I’ll wait for you.”

Jungkook’s mind is reeling.

Jimin will wait for him?

Does that mean….

He doesn’t waste any time trying to figure out what that means. He needs to get to Jimin as soon as possible.

As much as he wants to run to Jimin, run to him until he’s in his arms, he decides to take a taxi. If he ran then it would take him at most 20, maybe 30 minutes depending on if he got lost again. A taxi would get him to Jimin in around ten minutes. But would it be more meaningful if he ran to him? After all, who doesn’t want someone to run after them? Show them how much you’re willing to do for them?

“Don’t hang up,” Jungkook whispers, “Please don’t hang up, Jimin-Hyung.”

He wants Jimin to stay on the phone with him. Stay on the line and just talk to him, help him not have a panic attack again. He just wants to hear the voice of the man he’s in love with. Always wants to hear his sweet, warm voice. With Jimin’s reassurance, Jungkook’s shoulders slump and he waves a taxi down. Throughout the drive Jungkook holds his cell phone tightly, breathing gently as Jimin’s voice echoes through the speaker. The ride goes by quickly and before he knows it he’s rushing out of the taxi, throwing some money to the driver, and finally running towards Jimin.

He stops just a few feet away from Jimin, admiring the way the sun shines on him, casting a soft glow and making him look like a beautiful angel. Jungkook wants Jimin to be his angel.

His voice is timid, quiet among the growing crowd of people, “Hyung… ”

"Hyung...," Jungkook breathed, his lips trembling before him as they stared at each other across the street.

Jimin could only eye him with his heart in his throat, his cheeks flaming, his mind pensive and out of control all at once. He curled his fingers, restraining himself from simply bolting towards Jungkook — much like what the maknae was doing when he halted — their dark gazes holding onto each other's — everything missing from their previous conversation spilling in the silent moment between them, the truth untold about to break free.

He shivered — not in a bad way, but an uncomfortable sort of shiver tinged with the pleasure and bashfulness that emanated from having your feelings reciprocated way — at the twinkle in Jungkook's eyes, shining with the hint of previous tears. Jimin mentally cursed at himself for making Jungkook cry earlier, but he pushed it down for the meantime because his heart won't stop pounding as the maknae's lips started to curl the longer they stared at each other.

Ah, Jimin is so far gone in the world of Jungkook land, and he doesn't even feel one whit of guilt, just plain pleasure — pure, unadulterated happiness filling his every being, making him feel like he's floating as he returned the maknae's tender smile.

Slowly, Jimin pressed forward, step by step — feeling calmer as the thunder of his heart calmed down each step he got nearer to Jungkook. And once they were face to face, almost a breath away from each other, Jimin couldn't help it anymore. He just broke down, tears falling from his cheeks — he rubbed them away with the pads of his hands, shaking his head at Jungkook who tried to do it himself, but he can't let him do that — Jimin had to do it for himself so that Jungkook would know that he wasn't alone and that he wasn't the only one who cried.

Once he calmed down, he eyed Jungkook once more, just taking in the way his dark eyes softened towards him.

That's it, Jimin thought, biting his lips in total surrender — he engulfed the maknae in his arms tightly, like a slam dunk hug, the kind that he wanted to shout at the rooftops, screaming, this is the man I'm in love with, and he loves me, oh my god, he loves me back!

Jimin sniffed as Jungkook's hands encircled his waist, so he leaned back just in time to catch the wide, bright, completely enamoured grin that the maknae was giving him. It was enough to weaken Jimin's legs a little, but thankfully, the maknae was holding him tightly. He took a deep breath, resting his forehead on Jungkook's before holding his face in his hands. He brushed his thumbs over Jungkook's cheeks, feeling the slight wetness from his previous tears.

Oh, my love, Jimin could only think, caressing Jungkook's face slowly, just feeling him and soothing him. Then he wrapped his arms around Jungkook's neck, pressing himself closer as much as possible — a silent way of asking forgiveness for how much he hurt Jungkook earlier.

He took a deep breath, resting his chin on top of Jungkook's shoulder before he lowered his head to the maknae's ear. Jimin bit his lower lip to stop himself from crying all over again just before he murmured, "Just... just let me love you, Jungkook."

And when Jungkook nodded against him, he hid his face in the crook of Jungkook's neck, letting the tears fall anyway.

After a while, Jimin let go of Jungkook, wiping his face as he gripped the bottom of the maknae's shirt.

"Let's go home, then?" Jimin asked, hiding his face for the meantime, willing his mien to cool while he searched for a taxi. They need to be alone now, but given how a crowd was forming around them, here isn't the best place to be — no matter how much they wore black hoodies to help hide their identities — two men hugging each other while crying is still an oddity in South Korea, no matter how much the country claimed they were progressive.

Jungkook understood quickly, though, only humming in agreement as his eyes scanned the streets before ducking his face a little when he saw some girls staring too intently.

"Let's go," Jimin repeated with a slight grin, and when Jungkook's hands travelled to his wrist so that they don't get separated in the street, his lips curled even more.

Once they get home, he's so going to kiss Jungkook until he's breathless.

Until Jungkook can only utter and remember one thing: him.

Jungkook’s grip on Jimin’s wrist is tight, his other hand clutching at the back of Jimin’s shirt, trying not to lose him in the crowd surrounding them. He can feel the eyes of many people on him, probably wondering why he’s so close to another man. But, he doesn’t care. All he cares about is getting back to their dorm so he can cuddle with Jimin. He just wants to be held by the older man, feel his arms embracing him. He’s always said that Jimin was the best person in BTS to give hugs (he promises he’s not being biased).

Once they’re in the taxi, Jungkook glances at the driver, making sure he’s not looking before he grabs Jimin’s hand, intertwining their fingers and giving a gentle squeeze. He’s staring out the window, trying and failing to hide the grin spreading across his face. His heart pounds frantically in his chest as Jimin squeezes his hand back. That has to be a good sign. There’s a rosy blush going from his cheeks down to his neck. God, he’s so in love with Jimin it hurts.

Does this mean Jimin loves him as well?

Jungkook hopes and wishes on every shooting star out there that he returns his feelings.

Why else would he tell you he’d wait for you?

Maybe because he’s your Hyung and would be responsible if something happened to you.

The maknae shakes his head, getting rid of those self-deprecating thoughts. He wouldn’t think like that. Refused to.

He’s just about to fall asleep, exhausted from the events that happened earlier. His head is resting against the window, but Jimin’s soft voice fills his ears, causing him to sluggishly lift it. With tired, half-lidded eyes, Jungkook watches Jimin pay the taxi driver. Before he knows it, his Hyung is gently helping him out of the car and leading him into the building. Inside the elevator, safe from any prying stares, Jungkook leans on Jimin and wraps his arms around his smaller body.

“Hyungie, I love you,” he mutters, half-awake and unaware of the words he’s uttering, or the reactions from the older. He’s still filled with so much guilt for hurting the man he’s in love with, “‘m so sorry for making you uncomfortable. I didn’ mean to.”

The rest of the ride up to their dorm is full of Jungkook spewing apology after apology with a few “I love you’s” added into the mix.

Warm.

Jungkook was so warm.

Jimin was trying to control himself, ignoring how his reflection on the elevator betrayed him with his flushed cheeks when the maknae's hands wrapped around his waist. If that wasn't enough, Jungkook just had to rest his cheek on top of his shoulder, basically embracing Jimin everywhere, though he guessed that the maknae was clueless over how much it greatly affected him.

If only that was all.

If only.

But no, Jungkook had to murmur "I'm sorry's" and "I love you's" near his ear. His ear. Was it possible to be this jealous of an organ that was attached to his body? Seriously, Jungkook's lips kept brushing against it every time he whispered, voice a little shaky from tears, but hot damn was it so low enough to make Park Jimin's eyes flutter close and moan a little.

He bit his lip, cursing how slow this damn elevator was, delaying his chance to thoroughly kiss Jeon Jungkook he'd stop crying — so he pressed on the number of their floor with an impatient grunt while his other hand traced comforting half-moons on Jungkook's arms. He wasn't about to be cock-blocked by a fucking levitating metal box, thank you.

Finally, they reached their floor with a ping that Jimin felt was mocking, but that was just his anxiety talking because he really, really wants to hold the maknae in his arms — surrounded by fluffy padding and soft blankets to park their bums to. Like, c'mon, they deserve it after that gruelling dance rehearsal for No More Dream, all right?

Once the doors opened, he ruffled Jungkook’s hair to wake him, but the maknae groaned his disagreement, so Jimin laughed before kissing his cheek.

That snapped Jungkook to attention, his form straightening against Jimin’s back before allowing himself to be pulled towards their apartment. Jimin bit his lip again — Jungkook’s response to him amused and turned him on at the same time, BUT they needed to sort things out in a safe space, so he casually scanned the apartment for any open cameras. Unfortunately, there were a lot, so Jimin kept walking towards their room, gripping the bottom of Jungkook’s shirt so he wouldn’t lose him.

He mentally sighed in relief when he found that the staff were merciful enough to leave the cameras in the bedroom off for the meantime. They must have turned it off since the rest of the members were out, but that was damn more than enough. Shit was exhausting.

Once he locked the door, he pivoted to check on the maknae, who already plopped himself on the bed with pillows while waiting for him. The sight made his lips curl fondly — Jungkook’s wavy hair was all messy from the practice and hysteria earlier, so it made the weary gaze he gave Jimin looked cuter.

He bit his lip again, his cheeks heating for the nth time when his eyes met Jungkook’s — a silent plea he interpreted as please, come be warm with me again.

Ah hell, he’s gone off to Jungkook land once again when there’s a whole Jungkook that was begging to be kissed in front of him.

He shook his head, willing himself away from the trance as he laid down beside Jungkook on the bed and laid his forehead on top of the maknae’s before closing his eyes for a bit — just taking him in, feeling the tenderness seep in between them.

When it felt right — Jimin didn't know how he knew, but he just knew when Jungkook reached out for his hand and laced their fingers between them — fine, he bloody knew because he was waiting for a sign that it was okay from the maknae, okay? — Jimin opened his eyes and held Jungkook’s gaze in place, eyes never straying anywhere else when he pressed his lips on top of Jungkook’s fingers.

The gesture drew a shaky breath from the maknae, and it curled his lips. If this was how Jungkook reacted with a simple peck on his hands, what more glorious sounds would he hear when he kisses him on the mouth?

Jimin drew closer to the maknae, rubbing his nose on Jungkook’s cheeks affectionately before lowering his voice when his lips were just a brush away from Jungkook’s lips.

“May I kiss you?” he whispered even when there was no one else in the room besides them.

The question made the maknae’s brows furrow, as if to say, Why do you still need to ask, Hyungie?

Jimin smirked, cupping Jungkook’s face in his hands. “If we’re gonna do this,” he explained, caressing the maknae’s brow, “I want to know you’re okay with it. I don’t want it to be like before when it wasn’t clear, so I’m asking.”

When Jungkook nodded and looked at him expectantly, Jimin laughed a little, shaking his head. “No, I’m not asking just to kiss you. I’m asking because in case you didn’t hear what I said earlier properly, what I’m asking your permission for is…”

Jimin took a deep breath, playing with the ends of Jungkook’s dark hair on his forehead. He looked down for a bit, gathering the courage to repeat what he said earlier. Ah, why was something so precious and previously hidden in his heart that he managed to blurt out earlier so hard to say again? Was it because he felt braver in front of other people? That’s not fair to the both of them — not when it mattered more to let the truth be heard when it was just the two of them.

He almost couldn’t say it again, but Jungkook breathed his name without honorifics, and that was it. That was it. Jimin raised his eyes and held onto Jungkook’s warm gaze.

“Just let me…,” Jimin said shakily, tearing up a little, the words making him feel like he’s handing his heart to Jungkook — which he was, okay, it’s just. Ugh. Feelings. He took another deep breath. “Let me love you, Jungkook. I love you.”

“I love you,” he repeated, posing his mouth over Jungkook’s.

“In spite of everything,” he repeated the maknae’s words, lips crashing over Jungkook’s as his eyes closed with a flutter, his heart singing, the truth finally free.

He heard Jungkook gasp against his mouth when he deepened the kiss, his fingers carding through the waves of his dark hair.

Oh, my love, Jimin can only think again, breathing Jungkook in, lips yearning and burning, their hands slowly, tenderly reaching to pull each other close because space didn’t belong in the dictionary if it meant that all the years of pining wasn’t all for nothing.

Because right here, right now, with Jungkook’s lips tenderly caressing his in return, Jimin is finally free.

Jungkook’s breathing is shaky with each loving action Jimin performs. His fingers tingle where plump lips brush, and his cheeks heat up as Jimin’s button nose lightly rubs against it. He listens intently, wanting to hear everything the other has to say. He had the chance to pour out his heart earlier and now it’s Jimin’s turn. There’s a slight pang in his chest, his heart hurting at the insecure expression on the older man’s face. He knows it’s not easy to discuss feelings, god, does he know. So, he’s going to give his Hyung all the time he needs. This time, he’ll be patient, he’ll bite his tongue and refrain from interrupting.

His eyes flutter as Jimin’s fingers run through his hair. It’s calming and he can feel his tense muscles relaxing with each passing second. He wishes he could pause time. All he wants is to stay here in Jimin’s arms, being held in such a comforting way, away from the public eye, and away from everyone that will try and keep them apart. Opening his eyes, he notices his frustrated expression. Lifting a hand, he caresses Jimin’s cheek, thumb rubbing against the soft flesh.

“Jimin.”

It’s all Jungkook can whisper before Jimin’s lips are being planted on his own and his eyes are slipping shut. He shakily gasps into the kiss, lips moving rhythmically against the older’s.

It’s soft. So soft.

It has Jungkook feeling dizzy.

Has him feeling light. Like he’s floating on cloud nine.

It’s all he’s wanted, more than anything he’s wanted in his life, but he still wants more. He wants to feel Jimin’s body flush against his. He has the strong desire to tangle his fingers in Jimin’s hair. Tangle his legs with his best friend’s. So he does just that. He slides closer, one hand coming to rest on the back of Jimin’s neck, the other carding through his hair, fingers gently grabbing a fistful of locks. He angles his head to the right, following Jimin’s lead. His heart is beating so fast he’s afraid it’s going to jump right out of his chest, and when Jimin curls his hand against his chest, he hopes he can’t feel the fast pace. Hopes he can’t hear how hard it’s pounding.

Jungkook sighs, leaning forward to press Jimin against the bed, arms caging him in, both hands now running through his tresses. He rests between his best friend’s open legs, unconsciously grinding down when his thighs wrap around his waist and moaning at the sweet, delicious friction. Jungkook teasingly bites at Jimin’s bottom lip, tongue slipping inside when Jimin gasps. Breaking the kiss, Jungkook’s gaze zeros in on the thin string of spit connecting their kiss-swollen lips. His eyes trail all over the older man’s flushed face before gazing into Jimin’s eyes.

“I love you so much, Jimin.”

"I love you so much, Jimin," Jungkook's voice was full of tenderness that it made him choke up again, tearing up a little.

Such a sweet sound from an angel.

Ah..., he fell in love all over again. He doesn't even need to worry whether Jungkook will misinterpret his silence since he knew for sure that the way he was staring at the maknae was enough — he couldn't even look at anything else except him.

Jimin took a deep breath, appreciating the way Jungkook's lips were parted a little, his lower lip shining from the kiss they just shared. He could feel his cheeks heating up again, especially when Jungkook pressed himself between his legs, his weight sending a delicious shiver throughout his body. He bit his lip, raising his hips a little, just to see how the maknae would react.

A loud moan fell from Jungkook's lips, and it made him feel emboldened, tugging at the maknae's hair near his nape before he pressed an open-mouthed kiss on Jungkook's. The maknae shuddered, his fingers curling on the bottom of Jimin's shirt. Jimin bit on the maknae's bottom lip, making Jungkook roll his hips against him again.

The gesture made Jimin smirk, a mischievous plan forming in his mind when he saw how much Jungkook's eyes kept saying, I want more, Hyungie.

Jimin flipped them over, not losing one moment to sit just before the tip of Jungkook's bulge.

Slowly, he unzipped Jungkook's hoodie with his teeth, making sure to maintain eye contact until he reached the bottom with a loud smack of his lips. The gesture made Jungkook gasp audibly, the tent of his arousal swelling further as Jimin lifted the bottom of his shirt and caressed his abdominal muscles, dragging his nails a little before drawing little half-moons all over the maknae's stomach. Jimin smirked every time Jungkook could only utter his name with soft and frustrated sighs, his desire all too apparent for Jimin to see that he can't help leaving open-mouthed kisses too.

When he reached Jungkook's neck, he made sure to press his full lips on the spot — the soft pressure causing the maknae to cant below him with an alluring shiver, another moan falling from his lips as he stared at Jimin with half-lidded eyes, the swirls of his pupils growing darker when their eyes met.

"I love you, Jungkook," Jimin said softly, pressing a chaste kiss on the maknae's lips before dragging his lips on the younger's collar bones — punctuating every kiss with a small bite, another silent way he hoped Jungkook would understand to be —

I want to be with you for a long time, if you'll let me, so please, please, please be with me. Be with me, my angel, and I will give you all the best of me. I love you so much my heart glows when I'm with you, so please, let me love you.

Fuck, he's tearing up again, so he blinked the tears away, caressing Jungkook's face once he finished worshipping the maknae's sculpted body just so he remembers that heaven is not a place, that home is not place, that love is not a place — that nothing matters, that everything is useless, that life is pointless if he can't be with him.

So please, let this be right.

Let him make things right.

Just for once.

Just for him.

"I love you," he swears it's the only refrain he can utter with his heart feeling like it'll unfurl wings anytime it's directed towards Jungkook. So he repeats it again, kissing Jungkook deeply once more, feeling their hearts pound at the same time as he laid on top of the maknae.

He could keep kissing Jungkook's soft lips forever, but he needs to breathe too, plus there was the really pressing situation down there — their arousal swelling against each other's, so he tugged at the maknae's waves when they paused their kisses, not yet opening his eyes as he rested his forehead on Jungkook's.

He just. Fuck.

It's, like, his mind has gone off to Jungkook land and wants to stay there forever with him because he kept falling in love with the maknae the more they kissed and pressed their bodies against each other. Just... just how much would he fall even more once their bodies united in one sweet rhapsody?

He took a deep breath.

Slowly, Jimin opened his eyes, gazing directly at Jungkook. He rubbed his nose against the maknae's cheeks again as he lowered his voice with a request.

"May I touch you now?" he murmured, his hands poised over the buckle of Jungkook's belt.

I really want to hold you.

Jungkook can’t stop gazing at Jimin with wide eyes as he pulls the zipper down with just his teeth. It was one of the hottest things he’s ever seen and he knows it’s going to be ingrained in the back of his mind forever. A gasp slips past his trembling lips, feeling his dick twitch as Jimin’s warm palms slide against his taut stomach. Nails dig into his tan skin and he hopes, god, he hopes they leave marks for him to stare at later when he’s all alone. So he can gently trace over them and feel the slight sting reminding him of who left them there.

“Hyungie,” Jungkook moans, eyes growing dark as Jimin places a soft, open-mouthed kiss on his neck. He wants him to leave pretty, red marks. He wants to have Jimin’s claim all over him. He needs everyone to know that they’re in love and don’t care about the opinions of others.

His heart skips a beat at Jimin’s words. I love you, Jungkook. This doesn’t feel real. How is it that there is a literal angel above him, peppering fond pecks on every visible inch of his skin? How is it that this man, this wonderful man, loves him? It all feels like a dream to him. A dream he never wants to wake up from. He wants to live in this moment for all of eternity.

”May I touch you now?”

Well, if Jungkook wasn’t fucked before, then he definitely is now. Who knew Jimin asking for his consent would be this sexy? He can feel his cock throbbing at the idea of finally being touched by Jimin. He’s dreamed of this ever since he discovered he was in love with the man and finally being able to experience it has him feeling so many emotions. Love. Excitement. Arousal. This was really happening, he was really going to be able to show Jimin how much he’s wanted this.

Licking his lips, he whispers against Jimin’s lips, “Please. Please touch me, Hyung.”

"Oh, is that so?" Jimin can't help tease, fiddling with the buckle of Jungkook's belt, flicking it open and close, casually dragging his nails over the bulge of the maknae's arousal, his smirk widening when Jungkook bit his lips in frustration — his pretty cheeks visibly flushed from all the foreplay.

He draws closer to the maknae, leaving soft pecks over Jungkook's cheeks until his lips met the maknae's ear. Breath hot and swirling with desire, Jimin licked his ear and bit it gently. "Tell me, then, my love," he murmured against Jungkook's lips, biting the maknae's lower lip when he said my love. "Tell me. I need words."

Jungkook let out a cry, suddenly placing his hands on Jimin's hips, grinding against him. Jimin chuckled a little before swatting it away, taking Jungkook's hands gently and holding it on top of the maknae's head. Jimin clucked his tongue, shaking his head at the maknae playfully. "You have to listen to your hyung, Jungkookie."

The maknae grunted, grinding against him again, but when Jimin didn't budge, Jungkook tried to caress Jimin's hands on top of him, thinking maybe being gentle was the way to go about it, but no, no, no. The moment Jungkook pressed himself between Jimin's legs, gentle was for kisses and their belated love confessions, not making love.

Tender was it.

Tender can be the red and the blue blossoms that mark their bodies when their nails and their teeth roughly drag over each other's skin, when their bodies cant towards each other's as they scream their names to oblivion, when their bodies shiver in the aftermath of the previously undelivered truth finally kissing the sun.

At least, this is what Jimin thinks, tracing Jungkook's lips with a finger, whispering, "Your mouth, my love, open it for me, please."

Jungkook's lips fell apart, eliciting a low growl from within Jimin's abdomen, the maknae's compliance turning him on so fucking much. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Jungkook's dark eyes were so, so dark that Jimin can't help biting his lower lip again.

Takes two to tango, after all, he thinks with a smirk, sinking a finger into Jungkook's open mouth, pressing the pad of his finger on the maknae's tongue before inserting another and pumping it rhythmically — his mind so gone that only the sensation of Jungkook receiving his fingers into his mouth without question kept him moving — that it was his idea to do this, that it was the taste of Jungkook's spit wrapping around his fingers, that it was all real, not a daydream he concocted each time he and Jungkook danced way too close for comfort on stage because every moment with Jungkook was just that electric.

Fuck, he thinks again, taking a deep breath as Jungkook stared at him like he wanted to eat him.

Jimin shivered as he drew his fingers away from the maknae's mouth — the moment all too real and too hot to the touch.

Fuck, he thinks again, his hold on Jungkook's hands above his head loosening, his pulse rising, his mind falling into another dimension of oblivion as the maknae growled and flipped their positions again, leaving Jimin to fall on the bed with a soft plop as Jungkook aggressively kissed him over and over again as they rolled their hips against each other in unison.

He bit Jungkook's lower lip, tugging the maknae's zipper open and dragging the maknae's cock out, pumping it quickly between them as their lips crashed on each other's, never letting go. When Jungkook gasped against his mouth, Jimin squeezed his cock again, enjoying it swell in his hands as they kissed each other again and again — the concept of time and space confining and expanding to several infinities with every caress.

Oh my love, Jimin could only think, tearing up again, even as he can't help smiling against Jungkook's lips when he laced their free hands together.

The universe has moved for us, and I'm so happy that you love me too.

My love.

The pet name has Jungkook tearing up. That’s the only thing he wants in this cruel, twisted world. To be Jimin’s love. The thought of being the only one for Jimin makes him want to cry, to sob out how much he loves him and how much he would do for him. How he would go to the ends of the Earth for him. How he would run a thousand miles just to reach his hyung whenever he needed him. He doesn’t want to cry because of this. Only when Jimin finally breaks him down in the most pleasurable ways does he want to cry. So instead he grips his hyung’s hips and grinds up against him, his dick getting the much needed friction he’s been craving. He can’t stop the gasp that falls from his trembling lips. Who knew he would have a hyung kink?

Jungkook whines, lips parting and tongue sticking out. The need to please his hyung makes the action come easily to him. He needs to be a good boy for his Jimin-Hyung. The strong desire to make Jimin proud builds inside him. He doesn’t want to make him regret this. Jungkook gazes into Jimin’s eyes, his eyes pleading with him, pleading him to do something.

Hyungie.

The moment Jimin adds another finger and thrusts them in and out of his mouth he’s a goner. His lips wrap around the digits, tongue licking in between them, and his eyes flutter shut as he suckles on them. There’s drool leaking from the corners of his mouth and Jungkook’s body is feeling hot, hot, hot. Everything about this moment was perfect to him. The way Jimin held his wrists in a bruising grip to prevent him from breaking free. The way Jimin felt on top of him, controlling the situation and playing Jungkook like a puppet. Jungkook opens his eyes, staring at Jimin with half-lidded eyes when the fingers are removed. He focuses on the string of saliva connecting his kiss-swollen lips and Jimin’s wet digits. Everything was perfect.

Jungkook notices Jimin’s hold on his wrists slowly loosening and starts to count, eyes still locked with Jimin’s, unadulterated lust in his gaze.

One…

Two…

Three…!

Once he hits three, Jungkook is flipping them over with a low growl. His lips smash against Jimin’s, passionately placing kiss after kiss on his mouth, hips grinding down to give them both friction. Jungkook breathlessly gasps, cock throbbing in Jimin’s hand. He cants his hips up, moaning as his cock slides in and out of Jimin’s grasp. Eyes shut, mouth parting, he frantically reaches for Jimin’s unoccupied hand and locks their fingers together.

Don’t let go, hyung, please don’t let go. Just hold me.

Love me.

Oh my love, I am made anew with you.

This is what Jimin thinks, removing Jungkook's clothes with trembling fingers as the maknae pressed his naked arousal against the tent in his pants. Fuck, he's just so damn good, he shivers with so much want and need, and everything else could just fade away, he is utterly, completely, irrevocably a goner for one Jeon Jungkook.

He holds onto Jungkook's shoulder before reversing their positions once again, his every being filled with just one intent — loving every inch of Jeon Jungkook for all the universe.

And so he does, taking his top off, reveling in the way Jungkook seemingly marked his skin like a painting, his dark gaze tracing through every inch of his body as he wet his lips like he desperately wanted to dazzle his abdomen and his chest with every languid roll of his tongue.

Just like that, Jimin feels every dream of his come true.

His mind is gone, gone, gone, it's all just Jungkook — his euphoria.

"My love," he breathes again, eyeing the maknae through the curl of his lashes as they slowly removed each other's pants, their fingers caressing each other's all throughout, never wanting to be apart even for a second, never wanting to be uncertain once again, never wanting to lose each other again.

Once they were fully bare in front of each other, Jimin took a deep breath, taking in the sight of Jungkook laid out before him.

Could he still sleep again? Could he still dream again? Could he still close his eyes again?

Would all that still matter when right here, right now were beyond his wildest dreams?

He's tearing up again, his heart so full yet so light with the way Jungkook stared at him with so much love.

"I love you so much," Jimin falls, resting his forehead on Jungkook's, before kissing the maknae's brows. "So much," he kissed Jungkook's eyelids when it closed, "my heart glows," another kiss on his nose before caressing the maknae's face just so he could kiss him fully and deeply on the mouth, "when I'm with you."

His tears fell freely when Jungkook's hands found its way on his back, tracing comforting swirls, every shape a reciprocation of Jimin's love for him. So he kisses the maknae's tears away when he tasted the salt of his tears afterwards. And just. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The stars are in the sky, and they are flying, their hearts soaring to the vibrant horizon.

This isn't a dream, Jimin breathes, kissing the maknae's taut stomach until he reaches Jungkook's cock. So he grinds his bare arousal against it, the delicious shiver in their bodies just syncing as they both moaned aloud. Jungkook reaches for his hands, lacing their fingers together, not wanting to let go.

Jimin drew another shaky breath before sliding down a little, only a little at least just before the swell of Jungkook's dick, so that he could prepare to take all of it in his aching mouth. He wants it all — the bad and the good, the worst and the best, everything that is just Jungkook.

Just him. That would be enough.

And so he takes Jungkook's cock in his mouth, running his tongue along the length inside his mouth just to hear the maknae growl in pent up desire — let it all out, my love, Jimin thinks, eyes closing as he savours the feeling of Jungkook's alluring shivers with his ministrations. He dragged his teeth a little, testing to see whether Jungkook liked it or not, and was rewarded with a chorus of fuck, I'm so in love with you's, so he smirked and bobbed his head on his cock again and again until Jungkook tugged at his hair in frustration just to say I want you, Jimin, I want you, I want you, I want you.

His eyes darkened with pleasure when he opened his eyes and met Jungkook's gaze, the desire so fucking contagious he could just swim in the depths of those eyes forever, no kidding. So when Jungkook rolled his hips, grinding against his mouth, Jimin let him fuck his throat raw to oblivion.

Jimin let out a loud gasp once Jungkook came in his mouth, swallowing all his cum before fingering and licking all the salty remnants on his full lips. Jungkook was still trembling beneath him, so Jimin caressed his face and his hair, soothing him as much as he could.

"We did the annual physical just last month," Jimin muttered, languidly caressing Jungkook's parted legs before him, "and we're both clean, right?"

Jungkook could only nod, his eyes still closed from the aftermath. Unconsciously, he opened his legs more when Jimin's hands drew nearer his cock again. Jimin bit his lips when he saw how Jungkook's cock swelled up again, his arousal just so big and so full and begging to be loved again.

"Perfect," Jimin murmurs with a low growl, posturing his fingers right before the entrance of Jungkook's perfect ass. He took a deep breath, and eyed Jungkook so he'd do the same before he slid one finger in to let the maknae get used to his touch. When a moan fell from Jungkook's lips, he slid his finger further before inserting another, widening the opening a little more and pumping it, trying to loosen the tightness in Jungkook's ass.

When he slid the third finger in, Jungkook grabbed his shoulder, his voice shaky as he drew a breath and bit his lips. Jimin, Jimin, Jimin, was all the maknae could utter so Jimin pumped all three fingers further, settling within the maknae's ass deliciously.

"I want to hold you now," Jimin whispers, his forehead resting on Jungkook's as he posed his own cock in front of the maknae's ass. "So just... just let me love you, Jungkook."

And when Jungkook replied with, Love me, Jimin, love me. Because I love you, too —

Jimin forgot to breathe.

He slid his cock slowly, deeply within Jungkook's ass, his mind empty, his heart full.

The world is so different from yesterday, and now we're becoming a we.

Jimin tears up again, their bodies colliding in that sweet, sweet rhapsody.

We love each other, oh my god, we love each other.

I'm so happy.

Jungkook's hips jump, his dick twitching. Fuck. The feeling of Jimin's teeth lightly scraping his cock followed by his hot tongue has him wanting more, more, more. He wants Jimin to hurt him in just the right way until he's begging him to stop. He throws his head back against the pillow, hands reaching down to pull Jimin's hair, mouthing falling open only to repeat a mantra of Jimin's name over and over.

The maknae lets out a cry, grinding into Jimin's mouth as his best friend swallows around his thick length. His hands are tugging and tugging at Jimin's hair, tears blurring his vision before slowly cascading down his flushed cheeks. He fucks Jimin's face in deep, steady thrusts, and when he glances down, he can see Jimin's throat bulge where his cock is repeatedly sliding in and out. It pushes him over the edge fast. His back arches and he screams as his orgasm hits him hard. Jimin, Jimin, hyungie.

Jungkook's mind goes blank and he's letting out a loud moan at the feeling of Jimin pushing one finger inside of him. It feels amazing. It feels so much better than when he does it. Especially when he adds two more fingers inside him, scissoring them to prepare him for Jimin's cock. It's such an addicting feeling that he never wants this to end.

Before he knows it, Jimin is leaning over him, sweaty forehead against sweaty forehead.

So just... just let me love you, Jungkook.

Jungkook frantically nods, hands wrapping around the older's neck, holding onto him tightly, “Love me, Jimin, love me. Because I love you, too—”

He cuts himself off with a loud, breathless gasp because Jimin is finally, finally, pushing into him. He's connecting them in the most intimate way and it has him tearing up because goddamnit he's so in love and they're finally one. He lays there with his eyes closed and sighs over and over, just taking in the sensation of Jimin making him feel so full.

"Okay," Jungkook whispers as he opens his eyes to gaze lovingly at the other, "I'm ready. You can move."

Jimin could scarcely breathe when Jungkook gazed at him with those dark, dark eyes, the swirls of it clouded with pleasure and love — his eyes seemingly repeating his earlier words, ...I looked at you, and I didn't want to be forgiven. Because loving you is not a sin... I love you, Jimin. I love you, in spite of everything.

Angel eyes.

Eyes I'd fall in love with over and over again , Jimin catches himself thinking as his lips fell apart with emotions he can't even — didn't even — need to have words anymore, the assurance from Jungkook's words — Love me, Jimin, love me. Because I love you too — breaking him apart and making him feel whole at the same time.

You can move, the words fell so softly from the maknae's lips that Jimin almost came from just that, but he controlled himself, willing his mien to cool and adjusting his cock deep within Jungkook before pressing a kiss on his forehead.

Their hands intertwined, Jimin began to move, thrusting and pumping as deeply as he could, letting Jungkook feel every inch of his love within him. A shaky moan fell from his lips when Jungkook panted against him, pressing a kiss on his throat as they held onto each other's hands tightly — a gesture he felt was one of Jungkook's ways of assuring him that it was all right, that they wanted it both, that they don't have to be alone ever again.

He didn't even realise that his eyes have closed as they thrusted against each other, their bodies uniting so sweetly, so feverishly, so lovingly that Jimin could only see an explosion of colours when his lids fell and Jungkook cried against him. The sound made Jimin blink his eyes open, worry suddenly filling his heart when he saw that tears were falling from the maknae's eyes.

Jimin paused, caressing Jungkook's face, pressing his full lips everywhere — his eyelids, his brows, his cheeks — to take the maknae's tears away. "Don't cry, Jungkook," he murmured against the maknae's lips, "don't cry, my love."

When Jungkook only cupped his face in return, Jimin couldn't help crying too — the maknae pressed his lips against his, wiping all his fears away. The gesture caught him off guard, making him laugh as their tears mingled with each other's when they bumped on each other's noses afterwards.

Oh, my love, Jimin can't help thinking again when Jungkook laughed with him — the sound of it making him laugh and cry harder just like the maknae as they moved again within each other's depths, making love in the darkness of the room.

Ah, even the darkness was so beautiful — the shadows of their bodies moving and pressing against each other in a united rhythm, spreading their warmth all over the bed beneath the glow of dusk falling, sun and moon filling the skies in a chiaroscuro of colours — their love for each other silent, but loud, loud, loud in spite of everything.

"Hey, stay by my side and laugh," Jimin murmurs once they came together, his voice hoarse as they moaned and screamed together, the high from the unity of their fall filling them both with warmth.

"Live happily with me," he continues, kissing Jungkook's eyelids, not yet parting from the maknae's depths. "We'll make it work."

He just doesn't want to let go anymore.

"So stay with me," he whispers, kissing Jungkook's forehead. "I'll be with you, every step of the way."

Because a future without you is a world without colour.

"So will you still be with me, my love?"

Tears gather in his eyes as they tangle their fingers together. As one. His head is thrown back, messy hair fanned out on the pillow. Dreamy sighs slipping past his kiss-bitten lips at the feeling of Jimin’s mouth barely grazing his neck. He tightens his hold on Jimin’s hands, praying he understands what holding onto each other means. I’m never leaving you, hyung. Not again. Never. You’re mine and I’m yours. Only yours. Forever.

Jungkook gazes at Jimin through blurry vision, taking in how beautiful and angelic he is in their moment of love. His eyes are closed, mouth parted with small sighs and moans being released in the air, cheeks flushed with the exertion of their activities. Of them making love. A lone tear trickles down his cheek at the thought of them making love. It’s what they’re doing, and Jungkook still can’t fathom how lucky he is to be able to love and be loved by Jimin.

Love. It’s such a crazy thing, but he’s so grateful he has the chance to experience it. With his best friend at that. What more could he ask for? It’s such an overwhelming thought, and he’s hit with so many feelings that he can’t help but to finally let the tears fall from his eyes and make their way down his cheeks.

He opens his eyes, gaze connecting with Jimin’s, and he leans into the comforting touch as he repeatedly whispers I’m okay. Jungkook just cries harder at the soft gesture and the feeling of pecks being lightly placed all over his face. God, he’s so, so, so in love and he doesn’t know how to handle it. So he returns the gesture and swipes his thumb under Jimin’s eyes, wiping away the droplets of liquid before placing a chaste kiss on his chin, giggling when their noses bump against each other.

And he’s so happy, so happy, that they can still find humor and laugh in this moment. With each pump of Jimin’s hips, Jungkook could feel himself climb higher and higher to his orgasm. With each thrust, he could feel his head getting fuzzy and his body rising in temperature. With each laugh and kiss they shared, he could feel himself falling even more in love with his hyung.

Jungkook’s release hits him hard, and he clutches onto Jimin, pulling him even closer as he cries out Jimin’s name over and over again, their hearts beating in sync. His breathing slows down, but he keeps his eyes closed. He’s so tired and all he wants now is to sleep in Jimin’s arms. It’s one of the only places where he feels completely safe and protected. He sighs once again when Jimin kisses his eyelids. He feels so tranquil lying here in his lover’s embrace and hearing his sweet, sweet promises.

So will you still be with me, my love?

The maknae slowly opens his eyes to stare at Jimin with unadulterated love and adoration, tenderly kissing him and whispering against his lips, “Always.”

Always, Jungkook breathed against his lips —

And oh, oh, Jimin was crying again — how wonderful was it to love and be loved in return. His Jungkook, his sweet, sweet Jungkook. He... he really said that — the one answer he previously never thought of having when he earlier thought —

Always — it is now the only refrain that exists in his heart.

Always — it is now the only word that his soul wants to know, wants to share with Jungkook.

Always — it is now the only light he seeks in this previously monochrome world.

A word filled with so much radiance, so much promise, so much euphoria.

"Ah, my love," Jimin murmurs against the maknae's lips, cupping his face, kissing him over and over again.

"You are me," his breath staggers as Jungkook kisses him back and whispers, his voice in the same quiet and tender tone, "I am you."

Park Jimin doesn't trust words.

But when it came to him, Jungkook never lied.

His eyes, his voice, his touch.

And if it's with him — if it's with him — Jimin will never fear anything ever again.

Because that's what they'll be. That's what they'll do. And that's who they’ve always been.

Never hesitating.

Never stopping.

Never afraid.

No longer.

Because one way or another, their lives were always meant to be intertwined.

Fate. Destiny. Serendipity.

Always.

22 notes · View notes

sortasirius · 3 years

Text

Broken Wings, Pretty Things

AN: Based on this bc I saw it today and I’m trash

Pairing: Steve/Bucky

Words: 1662

Read on AO3 here

Bucky doesn’t pay attention to the passage of time anymore. The room they keep him in has large windows, but even the moonlight burns his eyes, so he has no way of knowing whether it’s night or day. He just knows they wake him up several times a day to strap him to a table and pump him full of things that make his entire body burn.

Even so, it’s been awhile since anyone’s been by. They usually had him on a pretty strict schedule. He doesn’t have the energy to look around, to try and fight or escape. He’s never been so tired in his life, but whatever they put into his veins keeps him awake, a deep, simmering pain he can’t shake. He doesn’t know if the screaming that he’s hearing is outside or inside his own head.

Vaguely, he becomes aware that there’s someone in the room with him. He keeps repeating his classification, his number, determined not to forget this most precious information. Well, that and light blue eyes, but he couldn’t forget those, not even in the middle of a war, not even when he left those eyes behind in Brooklyn.

“Bucky?”

The voice stirs something in him, but it can’t be, just another fever dream brought on by the chemicals that ran through his blood. That voice couldn’t be here, that voice was across an ocean, safe, not thinking about him. That voice, which he had heard in his dreams for years, didn’t belong in this place. He had always done whatever it took to protect that voice, it’s carrier. How could it be here?

“Oh my God.”

He feels the straps around him being pulled off, and he tries to focus on his savior. Tall, broad, military gear.

But those eyes. He’d know those eyes anywhere.

“Is that...”

He can’t let himself speak his name, because if this wasn’t true, if this person was someone else...now that might really break him.

“It’s me,” says the man. Bucky tries to focus, sees the nose, which isn’t as crooked, the face, which is lined in worry, the shoulders, which aren’t hunched, holding in a cough, “It’s Steve.”

Bucky doesn’t care that he looks different. He doesn’t care that he looks about seven feet taller and as wide as a truck. He doesn’t care, he just can’t tear his eyes away from him.

“Steve?”

He can feel his lips curl up involuntarily, the first smile he’s had on his face in what feels like years. His eyes, which he had kept closed for so long, were suddenly wide open, drinking Steve in like a man in a desert craves a glass of tall water. He reaches out almost blindly, desperate to make contact with some part of Steve, only to realize Steve’s hands are wrapped almost all the way around his forearms. The difference in his physical appearance is jarring, but his face, his eyes, the soft smile he gives Bucky, that’s all the same. It’s all exactly the same and it feels like someone’s switched the IV in his arm from the chemicals to pure sunshine, filling him to the brim with warmth.

“Come on,” Steve pulls him up, and Bucky takes a second to steady himself, still clinging to the leather of Steve’s jacket, unable and completely unwilling to let go.

“Steve.”

He could say his name a million times, it would never be enough.

Steve looks at him, his brows knitting together in that telltale way when he’s really worried or focused on something, and touches the side of Bucky’s face lightly with the palm of his hand. It takes absolutely everything in Bucky not to sink into the touch and be buried in the feel of it.

“I thought you were dead.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to take him in, and he realizes, with a little jolt, that Steve is taller than him now. Taller, clearly stronger, standing straight up, not with that hunch in his posture from his joint issues. What is he supposed to say when the man he’s known all his life, the man he’s loved for all his life, is so different yet so the same? He goes for the joke, it’s easier than the alternative.

“I thought you were smaller.”

An explosion in the distance pulls Steve’s eyes away from him, but Bucky can’t take his eyes off Steve, still a little afraid that this is all a terrible dream, that he’ll blink and Steve will be gone again, disappeared into the hazy corners of his mind that he could only retreat to when they left him alone to battle with the poison they put in his blood.

“Come on,” Steve pulls him along with ease, supporting almost all of his body weight, while Bucky’s tries to remember how to use his legs. He can’t stop staring at Steve, who’s checking the corners like a real soldier, but Bucky can’t compute that, can’t understand how he’s grown a foot and is supporting his weight like it’s nothing, not when, six months ago, Bucky had spent two weeks checking on Steve every day to make sure the New York winter didn’t kill him with his asthma.

“What happened to you?” he manages, still trying to get his feet under him. Steve doesn’t seem to be bothered by his weight.

“I joined the Army.”

The make it down one hallway until Bucky finally manages to support his own weight. Steve lets him walk on his own, and though he appreciates the gesture of not needing help, he immediately misses the contact with Steve.

Steve walks purposefully in front of him, still checking corners and keeping his eye on Bucky. Bucky has about a million questions, and questions will keep him from falling asleep on his feet.

“Did it hurt?”

“A little.”

So a lot.

Bucky suddenly thinks of what they had been pumping into him for the last month. The whispers he had heard of a super soldier, a new creation, the way to turn the tide in the war. Fear settles in his gut like poison.

“Is this permanent?”

Steve shrugs, looking back at him again.

“So far.”

The make it to the hangar, which is already a torrent of heat and explosions. Bucky has no idea where they’re going, but he would follow Steve anywhere. Even death, if that’s where they were headed.

Bucky loses track of his mind when they come face to face with a man he had only seen in the shadows of the base, a commander of some kind, but one that never stopped to look at him long. All he knows is that Steve throws a punch at the man that would have broken the old Steve’s wrist. He was never much of a fighter, no matter his intentions. A doctor that Bucky recognizes from his time in the green room separates them by splitting the bridge. That was probably a good thing, he reflects, when the man Steve punched peels off his own face to reveal a horrible red skull.

“You don’t have one of those do you?” he asks Steve quietly, unable to handle the world in front of him without humor.

The two leave he and Steve in the middle of the exploding hangar, and it takes Steve only seconds to see their only hope: one last beam that could get them to safety.

“Come on. Let’s go, up,” Steve tries to push him to go up the stairs first, but Bucky sidesteps immediately, thinking of the pact he had made with himself at 13 years old. Steve always goes up the stairs first. It doesn’t matter that he’s different now, Bucky has to look out for him. Always.

Steve insists that Bucky go first, and he can feel immediately that the beam isn’t going to last long. The heat is overwhelming, like it could melt steel, and he just makes it across before the beam collapses, falling into the depths of the fire. Leaving him and Steve separated.

Bucky’s brain immediately clears, not filled with the fog of the pain he’s in, the exhaustion. There’s a problem in front of him, the biggest problem, and he’s going to find a solution, to get Steve to where he was, to get Steve out of here.

“There’s gotta be a rope or something-”

“Just go! Get out of here!”

Bucky feels the anger rising in his throat. As if he would ever, ever leave Steve.

“No not without you!”

He seems to understand that his options were get across, or watch them both die. He bends back metal like pipe cleaners, and Bucky is suddenly, viscerally reminded of the crafts his sisters would bring home when they were children. But this was a war, and there’s no art in war.

Steve makes a jump that no one should be able to make, one that you only hear about in stories, and they get off the base with just seconds to spare. Bucky refuses the medical attention offered to him as they start the long trek back to base, instead walking next to Steve, stealing a glance at him every so often, forgetting, more than once, to look up instead of down.

“Thank you,” Bucky whispers to Steve halfway through the night, as the men around them chatter animatedly about showers and good food, eager to get back to a military base where they were soldiers and not prisoners.

“Come on pal,” Steve grips the back of his neck gently in the darkness, where they knew no one could see, “You’d do the same for me.”

You’re right, Bucky thinks, watching Steve step into the role of leader he had always been suited for, in all ways but physical. Now they can see what I always have, he thinks dryly, still unable to tear his eyes away from the blue eyes that would carry across his dreams for the rest of his life.

#my writing #stucky #not spn #mcu #catfa

16 notes · View notes

fl0ating-tree · 3 years

Note

Fanfic prompt: everyones first visit to Dream in the prison (specifically Puffy, Sapnap, Punz, George, and/or Niki)

OOH i really hope we get to see these actually happen because my heart is gonna snap when it does happen. im gonna do george + sapnap and puffy bc this would be super long if I did them all.

george is probably OOC because we don’t really have an example of how he is when he’s in character. also fair warning for puffy’s part, it might come off as a little c!dream sympathetic. that’s not the intention, it’s more to show how even dream still has emotions even thought he’s awful, but if that stuff really upsets you maybe don’t read puffy’s part. it’s barely there but still.

George and Sapnap

Sam rarely stood guard outside of the prison. After all, it’s inescapable and he’s the only one with access. After locking Dream away Sam reassured them all that he built safety features in that no one but him, not even Dream, knew about. Sapnap called him paranoid when Sam told him that over lunch one day, now he couldn’t be more thankful.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Sam asks as he leads both Sapnap and George towards the only occupied cell. “He’s...he’s not exactly fun to be around at the moment.” Sapnap cringes at that. He feels bad that Sam is the one who has to bring Dream food and water, but no one else was particularly jumping at the opportunity to be around Dream after what happened. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget Punz’s panicked urges for him to find anyone on the server and meet up at the Nether hub. How Punz led them through the Nether in full sprint, giving them all the vague explanation of “Dream is going to kill Tubbo and lock up Tommy” and nothing else. Sapnap wouldn’t have believed him if he didn’t walk in on Dream laughing at a despondent Tommy, holding a sword to Tubbo’s neck. Seeing the walls lined in trophey cases labeled for his friends and allies belongings (and even loved ones, was Dream really going to put Skeppy in a cage just to get to Bad?)

“Sapnap?” Sam asks again after Sapnap doesn’t respond.

“Yeah, sorry,” Sapnap shakes his head and continues walking, glancing at George to his left, “I’m sure.” George says nothing and continues walking. He hasn’t said anything since he logged on asking where Dream was. It took an hour of nearly everyone on the server telling George what happened for him to believe it. Even after everything Dream had done, George was still loyal to a fault.

“George?” Sapnap presses and George’s shoulder stiffen.

“I need to see him for myself,” George says flatly and Sam and Sapnap share a look before continuing down the halls. Sam brings them through locked doors, redstone contraptions, pad locks after pad locks and at some points he even has George and Sapnap be blindfolded so they can’t see the inner workings. Sapnap was worried, as were others, that Sam would betray them and simply let Dream escape. But the fury in Sam’s eyes when he saw the cage built for Fran, when he heard Dream blew up the Community House, that squashed any thoughts of betrayal still lingering.

“Wait here,” Sam tells them and Sapnap can smell redstone lighting and pistons firing before Sam’s now muffled voice calls out to them. “You can take off the blindfolds now,” he calls and they both do.

Before them is a large blackstone box, the wall between the cell and the corridor being made of obsidian enforced glass (Sapnap didn’t even know that was possible to make until Sam told him about it.) It was well lit and inside the cell was a decent looking bed, a door in the far corner presumably leading to a bathroom, a desk with papers and blunt markers, a round table with only one chair, and lastly, Dream. All things considered the cell was nice, nicer than Dream deserved, but Dream himself looked terrible. His mask was gone, destroyed by Tommy, and it made him so...human. Out of the corner of his eye Sapnap could see George studying Dream as well. His clothes were disheveled, deep bruises still on his face from his fight with Tommy and Tubbo, and where there was a normally calm and sophisticated aura surrounding him, Sapnap saw nothing but unjustified anger.

“You’ve got visitors,” Sam says unnecessarily from where he stands by the lever to open the cell. George flinches at how detached Sam sounds. The normally kind and bright man sounded almost disappointed in Dream.

“Yay me,” Dream snaps back, it’s Sapnap who flinches this time.

“You two wanna go in, or just talk through the glass?” Sam asks and Sapnap looks to George for an answer. He doesn’t give an answer, only stepping closer to the glass. Dream leans up from his relaxed position on the bed, intrigued.

“I’ve gotta say Gogy this is probably the biggest thing you’ve slept through yet,” Dream teases, his voice friendly and open and Sapnap hates how badly it makes him want to break Dream out of this terrifying prison and pretend like nothing bad has ever happened.

“Were you really going to kill Tubbo?” George asks, voice quiet and void of emotion.

“Why do you care?” Dream growls, and Sapnap remembers why he can’t pretend like this is the Dream from months ago that he built the community house with, “You never gave a fuck about what was happening before, why do you care now? Cause Sapnap told you to care?” The mockery in Dream’s voice builds tension in George’s shoulders.

“He’s 17, Dream,” George’s voice is thick and Sapnap takes a step forward, having his own questions for Dream.

“Why did you do any of it?” Sapnap asks, “Taking everything everyone loves? Controlling Tommy, trying to kill Tubbo, why did you do it?”

“None of you get it!” Dream screams and even Sam jumps in surprise, “This is my server! I’m in control here, not Tommy, not Tubbo, no one but me!” Seeing Dream this...lost, this out of his element, without the mask is unsettling. His face is too raw, too many emotions on display from the man Sapnap always knew as calm and collected and one step ahead. Sapnap turns away, not baring to see his once best friend so far gone.

“I’ve seen enough,” Sapnap tells Sam quietly, and the man nods. He guides Sapnap towards the exit, the two of them glancing back when George doesn’t follow. Dream seems to notice as well.

“Not gonna follow them Gogy?” He laughs, crazed and maniacal and hauntingly similar to a certain dead president.

“You don’t get to call me that,” George snaps, voice fierce and shoulders tense. “You lost the right to call me that a long time ago.”

The three of them say nothing else as Sam leads them out of the prison, even as Dream’s screams echo down the hallway and echo in their minds for the rest of the night.

Captain Puffy

It started out as a joke, if Puffy was being honest. Dream had followed her around one day, carrying extra supplies for her, listening to stories of her old pirate adventures, and helping her with her daily tasks. She’d later find out that he was having a really terrible week, stressed from events he wouldn’t disclose (she’d later find out about those “events” as well, to her disgust) and not wanting to talk to anyone but needing something to occupy himself. Puffy joked around, calling him her “duckling” and let him continue doing it. It helped her and him, so she found no harm in it.

Months passed with their small routine. Dream would have a bad day or simply not want to be around the others (Puffy would, again, find out later that it was more that others didn’t want to be around him) so he would follow her around, helping out with her daily tasks or just spending the day with her. It reminded her so much of one of the younger boys on her long abandoned crew, cured a small amount of homesickness, and slowly it became less of a joke and more of a true friendship. The day Dream slipped up and called her mom, even thought she’s only two years older, used to be one of her favorite memories. Emphasis on used to be.

She was hesitant when she heard rumors of Dream’s villainy. This was Dream they were talking about, the kind guy who came to her when he had a bad day and helped her with anything she asked. She saw him build up those walls around L’manberg, and she heard the murmurs of how he wouldn’t let anyone go see Tommy in his exile, but she passed them off as hyperbolic or flat out lies. She wonders if she was more attentive to what Dream was doing could she have prevented some of this pain. She doesn’t think she’ll ever recover from seeing Dream, her duckling, seconds away from killing a child and further traumatizing another.

“We’re here,” Sam tells her solemnly as she hears pistons move and unties her blindfold. She could care less about how the cell looked, or how impressive the redstone was. All she could focus on was Dream, standing close to the glass, looking terrible. His mask was gone, showing his emotions clear as day. His eyes screamed sadness and anger and betrayal all in one. His hair was tangled and there was still some blood matted in it from where Tommy had fought him. His shirt was wrinkled and he didn’t even have any shoes. He was simply stood looking heartbroken and entirely human in this cell and it took ever ounce of willpower in Puffy to not cry to Sam to let him out. He looks nothing like the monster who manipulated and controlled others, he looked like her Dream, her duckling, her friend.

“Dream...” Puffy starts but the words die on her tongue.

“Puffy, please,” Dream starts and without the mask she can see tears welling in his eyes, “I know it looks bad but you know how bad these past months have been for me, you’ve always been there for me, you have to understand.”

“I don’t...” the air in the room feels suffocating, “Dream I saw it with my own eyes. I saw it with my own eyes. How could you?” She watches as anger overrides Dream’s eyes but a mournful look still stays on his face.

“Puffy, Cara, you know me,” Puffy can’t hold back her sob when Dream uses her real name. The only other person she told that was Niki, and after their recent fight over what to do with Tommy, Puffy really didn’t want to think about Niki right now. “You know I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t have a reason. I’m doing what’s right, I’m making sure there’s no more fighting. You’re smart, you know me, I wouldn’t do this.”

Puffy looks at Sam who looks an awful combination of guilty, furious, and depressed. Sometimes she forgets Sam has been here since the beginning. She wonders if Dream has always been evil, if he was always this manipulative, in the beginning.

“When you would help me,” Puffy starts, still not looking at Dream, “when you were my duckling, was that just a cover? Was that just you trying to use me, too?” She turns back to meet Dream’s eyes, the mask no longer there to hide the way his eyes scream that he’s lying. His face is a dead give away for what he’s doing, Puffy wonders if that’s why he always wore the mask.

“No, Cara,” Dream lies through his teeth, “I’d never use you, I promise. You have to believe me.”

The three of them stand in silence, Dream leaning on the glass with fake tears in his eyes and real tears in Puffy’s. Sam is deathly quiet in the corner of the room, watching and not intervening. Puffy can’t tell if she appreciates that or not. What she can tell is that she can’t stand to look at Dream another minute.

“I really did care about you, Dream,” she wipes her tears on her sleeve and turns to Sam, “I’m done.” Sam just nods and leads Puffy towards the exit.

“Puffy, please! I wouldn’t do this, don’t you see it!” Dream pleads, voice morphing from sorrow to anger, “I did what I had to! Puffy listen to me! CARA!”

Sam still says nothing as he sets a steadying hand on Puffy’s shoulder as she sobs, guiding her out of the prison and away from her duckling.

#dream smp fanfic #dream smp #captain puffy #sapnap #georgenotfound #fanfiction #Anonymous

32 notes · View notes

merakiui · 4 years

Note

i don’t remember actually sending a request, sorry about that- anyway, how about the noctu team realizing they’re crushing on the manager? make it like a puppy crush for aiyachi bc the baby is only 14

(Here are the hcs! Please forgive me. I don’t know why they took so long to post. :< But I’m happy with the result! I hope you’ll like it too. Thank you for requesting! These are really cute to think about.)

Noctu Team With a Crush HCs (Aitachi, Kirr, Nine, and Day)

🎯 Aitachi 🎯

Aitachi looks up to a lot of people. He’s not bothered by the fact that most of them might be older and taller. That just means they’ve got more years under their belt and plenty of wisdom to share with him.

He’s so used to being around adults that your presence doesn’t faze him in the slightest.

Intimidation? He knows no such thing! Aitaichi hardly considers fear when you treat him with the same respect as everyone else.

Just don’t baby him. Aitachi may be the smallest and youngest out of the group, but that doesn’t mean he’s a child. He’s a mature Reaper with the courage and strength of a true, pure-hearted warrior!

That’s why he’s always willing to put his life on the line if you’re ever in danger, which is extreme and illogical considering he’s already died once and is now immortal.

He means well, but you’ll still clarify that he doesn’t need to go to such lengths to ensure your safety.

“I’ll be fine,” you told him after a vengeful spirit tried to attack you. “You don’t have to worry so much. As long as no one’s hurt, we can continue with our work, right?”

The very next morning you find a talisman on your desk, along with a small note telling you to keep it close whenever you’re in danger.

Since then, you’ve kept it as a good luck charm, knowing that as long as you’re careful you won’t fall prey to any wandering spirits.

Aitachi takes up the role as your unofficial errand boy ever since he discovered the special spot on your desk for the doll he made. He insists on bringing you every important document because it’s a warrior’s duty to provide for those in need.

His fellow Noctu Reapers think it’s quite charming that he does this, especially Day, who makes all sorts of comments doting on how his “little brother” is so helpful and sweet.

You’re grateful that Aitachi’s so willing to lend a hand without a single complaint, and you make sure he knows just how thankful you are.

Even if the gesture is reserved for that of a child, you still pat him on the head. Aitachi pouted about it at first, saying that head pats aren’t suited for warriors.

Now he just blushes at the contact, proud to have gotten your recognition.

He’s almost like Day in a sense, unintentionally following you around like a lost hound.

It’s quite obvious that he’s got a case of young puppy love.

He’s making another talisman doll for you when he comes to the realization of his wholesome feelings.

Are warriors even supposed to feel this way?

He’s stuck thinking about it the whole day, and he’ll probably be less confident to admit to it.

In the meantime, though, he’ll continue helping you to the best of his ability, secretly doing everything he can to be considered your number one. Almost like a teacher’s pet, but in this case it’s manager’s pet.

All of those talisman dolls are starting to pile up on your desk, as well as his innocent adoration for his hard-working manager.

🏹 Kirr 🏹

Having a crush is such a foreign concept to Kirr.

When he first heard the word, he took it quite literally, wondering why anyone would want to crush another person. That should only happen in a survival scenario where life and death is at stake and you’re facing an enemy with negative intentions.

Yet as he learns more about what it means in a romantic sense, it gives him more confusion. So a crush is a strong sense of admiration for another person?

In that case, wouldn’t it be his manager who he holds in high esteem?

He doesn’t really know how to bring this topic up with the others, so he’s debating it internally. It’s definitely a struggle for poor Kirr, who can’t seem to figure out whether or not what he’s feeling is a crush or just simple respect for his colleague.

So he ends up watching how the Reapers act around you. They’re so kind and sociable. And he acts the same, albeit at a serious level where most jokes go over his head.

Kirr is so busy troubling himself with these inner debates that he doesn’t even register when someone’s trying to talk to him, and it’s a bit concerning.

One afternoon he’s sharpening the arrowheads on the ends of his arrows when he sees you crossing the field. And you look serene as you walk, not paying any mind to the wind that rustles your clothes.

He’s shared plenty of conversations with you before, but during those times he never had a chance to appreciate you in all your astounding form.

It’s almost too much for him, and a slew of feelings catch his heart in a vice.

Maybe he does have a crush after all.

But where are all these emotions coming from? Based off of what he’s heard from the Department, Kirr knows that a crush is normal for everyone of all ages. It’s a sign that you’ve taken romantic interest in someone.

He wonders what one does with feelings like these. Obviously he could confess or get to know you more, but something’s holding him back. Suddenly, he’s become indecisive.

Normally, when he’s hunting, it’s easy to rely on logic and instincts. Now he’s not so sure which will help him out in this situation.

When you catch his staring and wave, a smile on your face, Kirr holds up his arm, returning the gesture. You really are a great person; your personality glimmers underneath the glare of the sun, and he’s glad that someone so amazing is his manager.

Logic might fail in this case, and instincts won’t get him anywhere as he has no idea where to begin. So maybe he’ll settle on his heart, following it like it’s a searchlight in the blurry haze of confusion that’s overtaken his reasoning.

Kirr’s definitely going to gravitate towards you more as he tries to navigate his newfound feelings. He’s doing his best, so please encourage him.

🎼 Nine 🎼

He catches you slacking off one day, absorbed in the videos on your mobile device.

Nine isn’t one to snoop, but he does happen to catch the swish of a colorful pen against a sheet of unwrinkled paper. He knows what it is at once.

You’re watching calligraphy videos.

“Do you enjoy that, Manager?” he’ll ask, awaiting your answer.

Once you confirm that you do like it, Nine’ll be happy to know that his manager shares similar interests with him.

Since then, the two of you have bonded over calligraphy, and Nine’s even showed you what his skillful hands can do. Just give him a pretty pen and some paper and he’ll be scribbling all sorts of gorgeous words.

He finds that the best word to write is your name, which is a tad confusing, but you seem honored.

Before he can even register the extent of your relationship, you’re already inviting him to places. Whether it’s in your office talking over paperwork or rendezvousing in the human world during a successful mission, Nine enjoys your presence.

Nine realizes that every day spent in your company is fun, albeit a dangerous erosion to his heart, which is beginning to wear at its foundation.

He manages to stay composed, but there’s something strange in how he hopes of eventually surpassing the border known as friendship.

He’s not used to getting so close to others; usually he keeps his distance, only upholding a conversation when needed. But now he feels as though he’ll lose you if he doesn’t stick around, and the idea of that is crushing.

You’re already such a ray of sunshine, a soothing force against the hectic work days, so he wants to ensure that you’re also content.

He’s writing down the remnants of a composition he recalls, testing his memory of his distant past life, when everything starts to click into place. The stars align as he writes in the final notes, reviewing the completed composition with tranquil eyes.

If he’s right, it should be played slow and steady, transitioning between notes of melancholic hope and satisfied bitterness. Quite a tragic piece, if he’s being honest, but maybe that was his intention. Or his memory might be faulty. Either way, he’s certain that this composition describes his inner turmoil perfectly. Bittersweet like chocolate and uncertain like his intuition.

Nine can’t remember the name to this particular composition, so he writes the first thing that comes to his mind.

The moment he finishes writing your name is definitive proof of what he’s feeling.

Some would say it’s a crush, and others would say it’s unfiltered endearment. Regardless of what it is, it holds the same implications.

Nine’s in love.

Though his previous life was cut short and he refuses to sort through his cracked past, he has all the time in the world to start anew. And that’s all he needs to act upon these feelings that have blossomed.

It’ll take time, but he knows that he’ll be able to confess when he’s certain that his love isn’t completely one-sided.

In the 14th Department, Nine seems to wear his smile purposefully, and there’s a bright shine in his gaze.

🍦 Day 🍦

He’s with you 24/7. At least, that’s what it feels like to you.

Realistically, it’s because of your role as manager. But at some point he just starts to forget that that’s your job and he begins to consider you a friend.

He’s in your office all the time, sitting on a swivel chair or trying to lounge on your desk while you’re writing up reports.

In the beginning, you would always kick him out, lightly advising him that work hours are not play hours—even if there aren’t any ongoing missions.

But Day is so loyal, constantly flitting around you like a butterfly. He seems to smile even brighter when you address him, and despite his carefree demeanor he wants to provide as much help as he can.

“Let me carry that, Manager!” or “Hey, hey! We should get ice cream to celebrate your hard work. I want to take you to the best place. You have to try the new flavors with me!”

You give up pushing him away and start to welcome him into your office.

The other Reapers begin to suspect something’s up, especially those who are more perceptive than the others. Day’s own team members can’t help but wonder what’s got him so fascinated with you.

He claims he can never be bored when he’s around you, which proves to be true because this man can talk about anything and everything.

All it takes is for you to mention that you’re in the mood for something sweet, and he’ll be on that topic faster than a moth to a light.

Without meaning to, he memorizes all of the information he learns about you, accidentally mentioning some facts during a conversation.

It makes you realize just how close he pays attention to you.

Even Nyang Lead Manager has noticed his attachment, but he’s uninterested for the most part. As long as Day doesn’t let himself get distracted from work, he’s not bothered.

But it makes things harder for you. Your focus diminishes whenever he’s near, so much so that you begin to take in different aspects of his actions.

He rarely blushes, but when he does it’s usually whenever you do something that warrants bashfulness. And he’s started to compliment you a lot now, always recognizing changes to your fashion.

Day happens to be relaxing in his dorm, reading an ancient tome about magic and its connection to the heart, when it finally makes sense.

Wait. Hold on.

He peers at the symbols with undeterred intensity, recalling memories of you and him. Eerily, his feelings fit the exact description in the book.

He really does spend a lot of time with you, and you’ve been occupying his thoughts day and night since he first got to know you. Some would say it’s too much, but you can never have enough of something you love.

Love. That’s the word he was looking for.

He’s in love. True, real, authentic love.

Day pops up from his sitting position so fast it almost throws him off balance. The other Noctu members look at him in confusion, but he’s too busy to even give them an explanation.

Now wired with too much excitement to feel worried, he rushes through the 14th Department, completely shirtless and in a hurry to get to your office so he can give you a rambling soapbox speech about his inner thoughts and feelings.

Someone give him a shirt before he gets himself in trouble with Nyang.

#afterl!fe #after l!fe #afterl!fe aitachi #afterl!fe kirr #afterl!fe nine #afterl!fe day #noctu team #night team #crush headcanons #afterl!fe x reader #afterl!fe headcanons #afterl!fe hcs #afterl!fe the sacred kaleidoscope #aitachi #kirr #nine #day

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woulddieforperrytheplatypus · 3 years

Note

I would like to call shenanigans about the complaints of Phineas being "out-of-character" in the specials and movies. He's a kid! And human! It makes his character more interesting and three-dimensional! He's allowed to be sad or mad when he's out of his comfort zone! I mean, everyone else is allowed to have a wide range of emotions, and it makes it all the more satisfying when he manages to pull through and go back to being his usual positive self

SAY IT LOUDER FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK

I’m about to get real salty for a second (not at the show tho I’m getting salty at people who get salty at the show) so here’s a cut

Nothing annoys me more than people who think Phineas had no reason to get upset in at2d. Literally one of the last things 2D Doof said to him before Perry revealed that he was a secret agent was, and I quote, “You really think that he’s your pet, don’t you? WRONG! He’s using you! He’s just your cover!” Of course he was going to internalize that!

And that’s not just speculation, either. As soon as they get a moment to talk without the constant fear of, you know, getting arrested by an evil dictator’s robots, Phineas straight up asks him, “Was that evil guy right? Were we just a cover for you? Were you ever really our pet, or part of our family?” AND THEN HE HAS THE AUDACITY TO BREAK MY HEART BY FOLLOWING THAT UP WITH “Well, apparently not, because you didn’t trust us enough to tell us!” Like? 2D Doof’s words overshadowed the entire reveal. Of course that was going to impact how Phineas reacted to it, and it blows my mind that people think he should have just accepted it with a smile like nothing happened.

And that’s not even getting into the fact that Perry got them into that mess in the first place. I don’t even think I can say it better than Phineas so I’m gonna use another quote from the movie because I am apparently writing an actual angry essay right now with evidence from the text movie lmao. When they’re still at DEI and Heinz clarifies that he’s an evil scientist, Phineas turns on Perry and says, “You just sat there and let us help an evil scientist open an evil portal into an evil dimension, and you did nothing to stop us?” (With, of course, the caveat that yes, Perry peed on the couch, but “That wasn’t enough!”)

~~ taking a brief break from angry ranting in the middle of the night to add that I definitely don’t think Perry was in the wrong here. I’ve just spent a lot of time thinking about at2d because a) I’ve seen it so many times and practically have it memorized (thus why I threw in all these quotes off the top of my head lol) and b) I’m writing a fic where Perry can talk (it’s Bitch Shut The Fuck Up on Wattpad and AO3 if anyone’s in the mood for sassy, swearing Perry) and I’m going to start incorporating episodes once summer starts in the fic so I lowkey spent most of my nights in bed thinking about what Perry’s going to say and how it would change things if he could explain himself and would he even try to or would he let the kids think he betrayed them if he thought it would keep them safe so anyways I have a lot of feelings but tl:dr Phineas has ever reason to be upset and I don’t blame him and neither should you ~~

And then, of course, there’s the Marvel crossover and, like, he was right? He was 100% right? Candace was too star struck to help, and it was too important for them to take any risks. And you make a really good point with your comment about being out of his comfort zone. I don’t think there’s ever a time that Phineas is more out of his league than in the Marvel crossover. He really is just a kid, and he only got roped into this because he just happened to put his space station in the wrong place at the wrong time and the Avengers made the wrong assumptions. The fate of the entire world depended on them, and when Candace repeatedly messed things up, Phineas had every right to be upset -- and the fact that he was undoubtedly really stressed out because, again, the fate of the entire world, only gives him more of a reason to snap. It’s not out of character; his character had just never dealt with anything like that before.

I mean, of course, there’s Phineas and Ferb Save Summer, which I think was a more mild example of Phineas getting angry, but it’s similar enough to the Marvel crossover that I feel like I need to bring it up, if only to point out the differences. In the Marvel crossover, the world was actively being threatened by a group of actual supervillains. In PnF Save Summer, technically LOVEMUFFIN is also threatening the safety of the world by trying to plunge it into an eternal ice age, but Phineas doesn’t know that which is half the fun of the episode. Like, they don’t know why they can’t move the planet back into place, just like LOVEMUFFIN doesn’t know why they can’t move it further away.

That’s not really the point here, though; that’s just me having unnecessary opinions on everything. I don’t really view this one as Phineas snapping, but Buford does make that joke about how it must be a special episode because Phineas is yelling at his sister again so I’m guessing there are probably people who think it’s ooc which means naturally I gotta bring it up (and, of course, I wanted to reference the meta joke because I love it).

Phineas built those thrusters. He knows how they work better than probably anyone but Ferb. When Candace says she’s going to overwork them, of course Phineas is going to tell her not to, and he’s going to be urgent about it, but he doesn’t yell. And when Candace accidentally ruins the thrusters, Phineas doesn’t yell at her then, either; he just tells her how to fix it (and, when she’s too scared to go into the attic, his hologram is there to cheer her on). It’s just? So? Wholesome? And “wholesome” is basically Phineas’s entire character, so that fits really well.

And the only other one I can think of off the top of my head is Summer Belongs To You (and it’s entirely possible he’s supposedly “out of character’ in other specials too but it’s 11:20 at night and my brain is fried lmao). “Get on the trike!” is literally one the most iconic lines in the show. Even Dan said it’s one of his favorites because it wasn’t necessarily a funny line, it was funny because it was Phineas saying it, and the fact that so many people remembered it was that it seemed so out-of-place coming from Phineas, which meant they had developed the character well (and if anyone happens to have the video -- I think it might have been an old tiktok but there have been way too many for me to look through -- hmu bc it was such a pure moment). But tbh even though the yelling was “out of character” in the sense that it made for a good joke, I don’t think his actions were out of character at all? Phineas sets crazy goals all the time, and he always achieves them. They’d put so much work into it so far, and he wasn’t going to let it go to waste when the end game was right there. He was exhausted, presumably both physically and mentally (I mean, we didn’t see him sleep at all, you know?) and he wanted to get home and he wanted to accomplish his goal and he wanted to do it as a family (because 🎵 friends are also family 🎵) and he wasn’t going to let Candace ruin that, which I personally think is adorable because technically Candace was never even part of the bet and she didn’t have to make it home with them for them to win so Phineas easily could have ditched her and made her find her own way home but he wanted her to see it through with them and I just have a lot of feelings 😭

OKAY last paragraph because I know no one really cares and it’s getting late and I have an 8:30 class tomorrow and should probably be in bed by now. I also like the point you made about how that makes it more satisfying when he manages to pull through and go back to being his usual positive self. I don’t know if anyone considers it out of character given that it’s really supposed to be a powerful moment purely because it’s so out of the ordinary (although I guess I could say the same for all these scenes) but god, when Phineas breaks down on the island in Summer Belongs To You, it’s such a testament to his character because he had managed to push through so much because he was determined to get home but it also proves that he does have a breaking point. I mean, we see it in all the other scenes, too, but those are directed at people. This is purely situational, which I think hits harder and it’s why that was the first one I thought of when you mentioned pushing through. All these scenes are a testament to his character, really, and basically the moral of the story is that I completely agree with you, Phineas deserves to have his character explored as much as Candace and Heinz have theirs explored, and that I clearly have way too many opinions and should really learn to tone it down fjksdhfjka

#pnf #phineas flynn #across the 2nd dimension #at2d #phineas and ferb: mission marvel #mission marvel #marvel crossover #phineas and ferb save summer #pnf save summer #summer belongs to you #all these tags and i still know that it won't show up if i ever try to find it lmao #look i have an ask

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chuckbass-love · 4 years

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can I request a Steve Rogers x trans!female reader where reader is pre-op. Tony is hosting a Christmas party, Steve and reader have been dating for a while and reader is insecure about wearing a dress to the party, so Steve comforts her, takes her out shopping, and is eventually her date to the x-mas party and keeps on reassuring and supporting her? thanks!

Hi love! Thank you so much for this request. I’m a sucker for cute Steve being all in love and crazy for his girl so i was more than happy to write this!

I’m so nervous to post this! I always get anxious when posting requests as i want the person that requested it to love it so i hope you do!

I just want to take the time out now to say that if anyone who follows me is transphobic then please leave at the nearest exit.

Trans men ARE men and Trans women ARE women. That is all! I hope you enjoy bc fluffy Steve is here!

Disclaimer: My work is not to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad and Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Trans!Female reader

Warnings: A whole lotta fluff and i guess some angst too

Word Count: 1,806

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @hasan-minhaj go check them out ❤️

You’re Fucking Perfect

Growing up, life has been pretty tough for you, you never managed to fit in. Life got even harder as you slowly but surely started the process of transitioning from male to female. Not everyone was accepting but you already expected it.

You hated being the odd one out, the girl that everyone automatically refused to call a girl. But no matter how much you hated that, you knew one day, things would change, someone would love you for you and you’d be accepted by not just that person but by everyone around you.

Now was that time.

You’re happy and healthy, pre-op of course but it didn’t matter. Because you have the most amazing boyfriend who accepts every part of you, the good and the dark parts. You have friends too, friends who care for you.

You can genuinely say that you’re happy again and happy with who you are becoming and with how your life is panning out.

You step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around your body and proceeding to dry off and change into new clothes, ready for another day.

“Hey babe” your boyfriend calls out, you just finish off with your very particular skin care routine. A girl needs to look her best always.

You wonder into the living area, to find him stood there, brows furrowed as he squints at his phone.

“You really need glasses baby, your squinting again”

He waves you off as he chuckles.

“Come here” you strut over, sitting down at the breakfast bar as he places the food onto your dish.

“What is it anyways?” you shove some scrambled eggs into your mouth.

“Tony texted, he’s throwing a Christmas party this weekend, we’ve been invited”

Panic starts to rush over you like a tidal wave.

You’ve yet to meet his Avengers pals and you’re nervous to. You know they know who you are, Steve always talks about you to everyone. He’s always gushing about how lucky he feels to have such an amazing woman in his life.

It always puts a smile on your face whenever he tells you about his day and how he got caught up speaking about you rather than focusing on the mission.

He was more than proud to have you and you felt so loved and always lucky to be loved by him.

But now you have to meet them.

What are you even going to wear? What do you say to them?

All these questions flood your already over worked brain as you pause, not touching your food.

“Baby” Steve snaps his fingers in front of your face, pulling you out of your daze.

“Yeah?” he chuckles again.

“Is everything okay? you’ve barely said two words to me after all that”

You flash him a confused expression.

“I said did you want to go and decide what to wear, i already have an outfit but i know how you love to look your best, even though no effort is needed for that”

You shove him playfully, hopping off the stool and leading him to the bedroom to decide together.

Hopefully finding a killer outfit will help calm your nerves.

“How about this?” you reference to a black playsuit. He shrugs, shaking his head.

Every outfit you choose is bad.

“Tell you what, why don’t we just go shopping? I can buy a new one for you”

“Steve, baby. I don’t need you to buy it for me”

“I know you don’t, you’re as stubborn as anything but please. Let me treat my woman to a new outfit”

You giggle as he pulls you flush against him. Your heart starts to race.

“Let’s not get carried away now Rogers” you slide his hand off of your ass. Moving past him to walk out the door.

He follows, like a little puppy dog chasing his treat.

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

“Ugh i don’t know, i hate this one too” you sigh, looking in the mirror as Steve sits there in the changing room stall, watching you strip down to try the next one on.

“That’s s the one, that’s it” you look at him, then back to yourself in the mirror. Turning around to check yourself out.

It’s a little black dress, this would go perfect with your red bottom heels. But you’re not sure if you want to attend a party in this.

“Baby, you look incredible in this” he gushes, causing your cheeks to heat up.

You can’t deny his compliment, you do look amazing but the anxiety is hitting you full force.

What will people think? Will they accept you?

You’re still just halfway into the transition and you’re about to consider wearing a dress to a party.

Steve notices your face fall.

“Look, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I love you remember, this dress looks incredible on you and you’ll knock em all dead with this. Me included”

You giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck loosely.

“Now please, let me get this for you and then we can go get some food. I’m starving”

“Okay, are you sure i should be wearing a dress, considering i-”

He doesn’t even let you finish, he already knows what you were about to say anyways.

“No, we’re not having this again. You’re not about to put yourself down and do the whole ‘considering i’m still a guy’ routine. You’re a woman, a beautiful one at that and i can’t wait for you to see yourself the way i do because to me you’re fucking perfect”

Your heart melts, his love for you is overflowing right now. You can see it in his eyes. His dreamy blue eyes.

You sigh, letting him move closer. His lips touch yours in a gentle but all consuming kiss.

“I love you so much Y/N”

“I love you too”

You take the dress off and get back into your original clothes. Steve takes it to the register to pay before you both head out to grab a bite to eat.

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

It’s time, the day of the party is today. You feel sick as you finish your makeup. You slip your shoes on and stand up from the bed to be faced with Steve.

“Well dam” a flirty look fills his face, his eyes are clearly hungry for what’s in front of him.

“You really are quite literally the most beautiful woman ever” you hide your face in your hands but he pulls them away.

“Now, i know you’re nervous baby, so take this. It should help a little”

He hands you a shot of tequila, you gladly accept. You both scrunch your noses up at the taste as he takes the shot glass from you.

You head out the door to the cab waiting for the two of you.

“You’ll be fine baby, i’m with you, i’m gonna be with you all night”

You go to kiss his cheek but he turns his head so you get his lips instead. The kiss gets heated but just as things are close to taking a kinkier turn, the cabbie coughs as you arrive at your destination.

“Here goes nothing” you groan.

“They will love you and you look insane”

His constant comments of reassurance fills you with joy and happiness.

You were happy before you met him, of course you were. But he filled you with more happiness. He always tries his best to make you see how completely amazing you are. Some days you agree with a whole lotta sass and others you shake your head, not wanting to look him in the eye.

But you know every woman has this, even men too. Everyone is in a constant battle for self love.

You link your arm into his, strutting your way through the door to Tony’s place.

You’re instantly greeted by Pepper. Steve told you about her, Tony’s girlfriend and assistant.

“Steve, you made it” she pulls him into a hug before turning to you.

“This must be Y/N it’s so lovely to finally meet you, Steve speaks about you all the time. You look gorgeous” your cheeks heat up again.

You scan over her outfit, she’s a goddess.

“Thank you so much for having me here and thank you, i love your dress it’s beautiful like you” she waves your compliment off.

“Come in, you thirsty?” she asks and you nod.

She hands you a drink, you smell the contents of the cup before taking a sip. Vodka and Coke. Not your favourite but it’s still nice.

As you and Steve laugh away at a joke he made, you see some people approach the two of you.

“Rogers”

“Romanoff”

You smile, staring over her dress and the four guys behind her, all dressed up in smart suits.

“Y/N is it? Hi, I’m Natasha. This is Bruce, Thor, Tony and Clint” you nod, holding your hand out to shake it but she declines, bringing you into a hug instead.

You shake the guy’s hands though and introduce yourself briefly before Natasha pulls you away from them all.

“I just wanted to get you away from all the testosterone! Those guys can be a lot! By the way can i just say, this dress. Beautiful” you shrug and gesture to her dress as you smile and return the compliment.

“So how are things going with Steve? He never shuts up about you”

“Things are going great. He makes me so happy” you smile again and she beams at you.

“I can tell he’s happy too, the dude is an actual walking love heart. He brings you up into any conversation that he can. Always showing us cute pictures of the two of you so i’m honoured that i finally get to meet you”

“Oh god, i hope they are actually nice photos not just ones he considers nice where i look rough. And yeah i heard you tried to set him up with some girls”

She nods her head.

“Oh i tried, but failed and now he has you so i guess my failings were always meant to be. And don’t worry, they were nice photos”

You giggle, looking back at Steve who’s ogling you from head to toe.

“Put that tongue away lover boy, you have her alone tonight, for now she’s ours” Nat shouts, everyone stares at you.

You feel so welcomed by everyone here, they are all making an effort to get to know you and you’re learning new things about Steve. Or should you say hearing embarrassing stories.

Tony makes a joke about his thing for language.

“I remember when i first swore around him, his face dropped as he sighed” they all laugh at you’re addition to the conversation.

This is perfect. You forget all about your previous worries. Everything is going well and you don’t want to leave.

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

TAGS: @deadlymistress24 @coffeebooksandfandom @princess-evans-addict @badbo1-evans @holtzkinnon @mychemicalimagines @llamadelreyx @haus-of-bitch-talk @buckstaybucky @thewinchestergirl1208 @chrissquares @patzammit @adriannajackson @dummiesshort @cevans-fics

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!

#steve rogers #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x trans!reader #trans #fanfiction #fic #fluff #chris evans #chris evans fluff #chris evans x reader #chris evans x trans!reader

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starkeaton · 4 years

Text

the adventure zone: graduation character list

Well, i accidentally deleted the original graduation character list post, so here i am making another one. Oops. And as always, if anyone has important details i should add then feel free to suggest them!

Here are all the characters introduced in episodes 1-25. Named characters only!

Also i can’t hide spoilers! So, um..... I can’t put spoilers on this one. If you need the version with spoilers try this version of the post that i made on the adventure zone subreddit but youre not missing out on much.

# -EPISODE 1- (19 characters)

Hieronymous Wiggenstaff (he/him): Head of the Hero/Villain school. at least 400 years old. wears shining blue armor with gold accents. also an elf. according to Tomas, he led the charge at the "battle of blood valley", brought the Kingdoms of Rickart and Dawnbreak to a peace treaty, and founded the school. a little boastful, a little prideful, [SPOILERS OMITTED], and overall a pretty good dude.

Higglemas Wiggenstaff (he/him): Head of the Sidekick/Henchperson annex, cranky old elf. has a dog named hero who shows no signs of anything strange at all, ever.

Gary (he/him): friendly room gargoyle. pseudo-hivemind.

Groundsy (he/him): the groundskeeper. a pretty nice fellow. don't go in his shed.

Hernandez (he/him): beautiful centaur professor of animal handling.

Jimson (he/him): human battlegrounds trainer for sidekicks/henchpeople, world famous featherweight champion, wields a staff. married to crushman.

Crushman (he/him): silver dragonborn with a sickle, and self-described beefy boy! heavyweight blood champion married to jimson. never lost a match for 8 years. full name Frostus Crushman.

Rolandus Fontaine (he/him): former prince, son of deposed king, kind of an asshole, maybe. wears a cape (important detail)

Zana (she/her): "terrifying" tiefling villain sorcerer, friend of rolandus. barkept the test tavern in ep2

Rhodes (she/her): hero ranger, friend of rolandus.

Buckminster Eden (he/him): hero guy. son of "The Iron Lord". their dad is stronger than rolandus's dad. his wiki page says rogue so i think hes a rogue? i never caught that and ive listened more times than i wish i did

Leon (he/him): softspoken buff, bald "fighter" (although i dont remember any clarification on how exactly he fights), sidekick of buckminster, around 28. anyone else keep forgetting he's bald? i keep forgetting it. >!gets sorta-drafted into becoming a falcon for higglemas and so far hasn't done much else.!<

Rainer Michelle (she/her): cheerful villainous necromancer with a floating chair. also, her name is pronounced "rainier" despite not being confirmed as such? travis ships her with fitzroy.

Tomas (he/him): human man with "kind eyes" and a good (psychic???) memory. guidance counselor.

Stewart LeBoeuf (he/him): brawny human man. serves food. there is no joke here, i promise

Mulligan (he/him): teaches potions. mentioned but doesn't appear yet. and we're like 25 episodes in. maybe we'll see him someday

Germaine, Victoria, Rattles (he/him,she/her,???/???): Skeleton crew. They live in the training room i guess, and as a result can never die, because "no one dies in the training room!" (note: someone now HAS to die in the training room). also their races are never explicitly stated but i guess they're probably human? in episode 3 travis brings up something about how many bones are in "the human body" and at this point i think i'm looking too deep into this so i'll just forget about it and you probably should too.

# -EPISODE 2- (9 characters)

Riveau (he/him): halfling, blame-taking teacher.

Mimi (they/them): gnome sidekick who builds cool robot prosthetics

Bartholemus (he/him): owl aarakocra accountant teacher, known for being the best accountant in the land and having a face some might describe as "smoochable". very pro capitalist :’( hope he gets better

Ramos (she/her): goliath teacher of shieldwork. *

Dip (she/her): sidekick, half-orc twin of pip

Pip (she/her): hero, half-orc twin of dip

Festo (they/them): fairy with "beautiful gossamer wings", independent study teacher of magic, loves to party

Snippers (he/him?): Let me tell you my story about Snippers the magic crab. When Travis gave the list of animals that Griffin could choose as Fitzroy's familiar's current form, he listed crab near the start, and this gave me excitement. Now i knew that crab was pretty unlikely but god i hoped that he would choose it. When the list went on- Bat, Cat, Crab, Frog, Hawk, Lizard, Owl, Poisonous Snake, Fish, Rat, Raven, Seahorse, Spider or Weasel- I nearly lost hope. I was hoping so hard that Griffin would choose the crab, but i was ready to accept a non-crab familiar. It was just buried in that list. It wasn't the most useful animal and it was an obscure pick. And as Travis informed him that it didn't have to keep the form for the whole campaign, Griffin said those five words i wanted to hear so, so badly. "Well then it's a crab." Folks, I do not often react physically when something happens in media. But in that moment, i remember very clearly, i fist-pumped and yelled, "YES!!!!!!"

so anyway, Fitzroy has a crab.

Jackle (he/him): kenku teacher of sneakery. creepy dude. apparently knows something about argo? also his name is not spelled "jackal" for some reason. Also in later episodes theyve started calling him "The Jackle" for some reason??? *

# -EPISODE 3- (1 character)

Dakota (they/them): tavern instructor, clad in black/red leather. no race stated? probably human. *

# -EPISODE 4- (6 characters)

Gerry & Tom (she/her, he/him): shopkeepers at barns and nobles who seem to have very bad names. also constantly competing for customers? these guys got dropped faster than the heathcliff quests, which is honestly just sad.

Barb (she/her): the bartender. runs Springs Eternal in Last Hope. has a sweet seeing-eye hawk familiar.

Jaryd Reginald (he/him): owner of Reginald Ore. Wants the workers to be held responsible for the damage caused by the xorn. (fun fact: originally i wrote down "Jerrod" because i wanted it to sound like a fantasy name, then realized it was probably "Jared" because theyre named after listeners, but i was pleased to find it confirmed that it's actually "Jaryd")

Candice (she/her): A Miner. thought those werent allowed in bars but, i guess not. Wants the mine owner to be held responsible for the xorn's damage.

Jade Johnson Esq. (she/her): lawyer.

# -EPISODE 5- (1 character)

Xorn: a big hungry gem eating guy from the plane of earth Low-Down Deep with 3 arms and 3 legs. why did travis just say "multi-armed" instead of specifying it was 3? who knows! Anyway it leaves

# -EPISODE 6- (3 characters)

Osric (he/him): the man, the myth, the bursar. finally shows up after being mentioned in episodes 2 and 4. he's an elf.

breeze through the willows (she/her): Pegasus attacked by demons, lost her parents. introduced in ep1 but gets a name here so fuck it. also in ep>!16!< we find out shes a "white arabian pegasus" and i dont think thats a spoiler bc we shouldve really known it from the beginning

Sabor (he/him): Librarian/research teacher. also a TORTLE. Really good at recalling stuff, i guess. kinda reminds me of Tomas's memory thing but i'm sure that's just a coincidence... *

# -EPISODE 7- (1 character)

Mosh (he/him): The goliath blacksmith who welcomes argo into the unbroken chain. Also, and this is specific to the tumblr version of this post, all the characters with an * at the end of their descriptions are also members of the unbroken chain. if someone knows how to do spoilers on tumblr please tell me

# -EPISODE 8-

# -EPISODE 9- (2 characters)

Eeiïäá#æ&éñn (pronounced like "Ian") (he/him?): an imp but without a shitty voice. also happens to not be violent. what a coincidence?

Terence (he/him): a chain devil with a real demonic name. minor boss of the imps. very convincing and very threatening. has the frightening ability to make you zone out during his fight

# -EPISODE 10- (2 characters)

Althea Song (she/her): elf with autumn-orange hair. representative from heroic oversight guild. i'd like to personally thank travis for spelling her name out.

Crabtree (she/her): Artificing teacher. Long gray hair with a long grey beard. no mentioned race, one might guess dwarf but that would be an assumption i suppose. also unbroken chain member, presumably the dwarf argo didn't recognize in episode 7.

# -EPISODE 11- (3 characters)

Marie (she/her): Grey-haired elf woman. She's the school's physician, i guess. Member of the unbroken chain.

Dendra Maplecourt (she/her): Fitzroy's mom. Has hot mint gum, i guess. She was mentioned earlier but i wasn't convinced she was a real person until this episode

Cool Gary (he/him): AYY ITS ME GARYR

# -EPISODE 12-

no new characters again!

# -EPISODE 13- (7 characters hhhyyyuu)

Kale (???/???): Head of the Placement Department, in charge of real world assignments. First mentioned in Ep4 but i missed that the last few times bc it is so brief. Gives exposition about missions i guess????? is that the only reason this chara cter exists

satyr thief (unnamed) (he/him): tries to rob thundermen, dies instantly

Ogre (he/him): teamed up with the satyr. his name is ogre.

Moon (he/him): A Sidekick. small pale sullen guy. no mentioned race. Why is there another FUCKING sidekick WE HAD ENOUGH hhhyuuuuuu

Deanna (she/her): A bigoted centaur with an obnoxious voice. Malwin the Strong's second in command.

Malwin the Strong (she/her): Leader of the centaurs of the scarlet woods. Wants to appease the spirit of the scarlet woods so that thecentaurs of the scarlet woods will be protected in the scarlet woods. Had a relationship with Arturas in the past but their clashes are currently known to get pretty heated.

Arturas (he/him): Leader of the Centaurs of the Valley, i guess. Had a relationship with Malwin. Centaur. Did i mention centaur? i cant think of anything else about this character

# -EPISODE 14- (2 characters)

Calhain (he/him): Human wizard, Malwin's magical advisor. Kind of an amateur wizard in a job high above his skill level. Graduated Wigginstaff's as a hero.

Spirit of the Scarlet Woods: A spirit who requires sacrifice in order to keep Malwin's herd safe and prosperous. Not keen on dubiously canonical combos, i guess. i wouldnt be either. also apparently the sacrifice depends on personal value, not how much value it has to the spirit.

# -EPISODE 15- (2 characters)

Sylvia Nite (she/her): Fitzroy's magic theory teacher at knight night school, who he turned into a catfish by accident. oops!

Chaos (they/them, maybe more): Presumably a deity, gave Fitz his powers and wants him to give in to his chaotic desires. (physical desc: 9 foot tall, iridescent 'mother of pearl' skin, pure white eyes, fine burgundy cloak with gold/onyx lining. their physical form beyond that seems to change every time they show up.)

# -EPISODE 16-

none -w-

# -EPISODE 17-

some demins happened. the big dudes are called "Pit Fiends" and the armored demon ladies are called "Erinyes", by the way. that was incredibly hard for me to figure out the first time, especially without headphones, i thought travis was saying "pig feet" and i just could not discern what the other things were

# -EPISODE 18- (6 characters)

snow on the mountain: shire horse pegasus

storm at sea: peruvian paso pegasus, vehement defender of The Guardian. doesn't have a goofy voice.. but he could have....

thaw of the spring: a winged horse

night of no clouds: a winged hhorse

The Guardian: "An ancient and powerful being that guards the unknown forest." Has protected the flock from demons for many many years. apparently is the voice that was talking to our firbolg in episode 1?

Grey, the Demon Prince (he/him): wants to cause a war, originally wanted to kill hiero and higgs, forces the heroes to build an army to fight his. As "Fauxronimous", he has skin the *color and pattern of* (but not necessarily made of) slate splashed with liquid, pointed ears, sharp teeth, shining eyes, horns of unspecified shape. 12 fucking feet tall. wonder if the slate-looking skin is related to garys. plot twist detected? Also i recently looked at the episode descriptions and found out his name is spelled "Gray", but really does it truly matter?

# -EPISODE 19- (2 characters)

Shabree Keene (she/her): Argo's mom, killed on the Mariah, possibly by the Commodore. Long auburn hair, green eyes. Mentioned earlier but described here, so fuck it.

**Thomas** (he/him): Argo's first mate on the Mariah, as the Kraken, in his chaos-dream. may or may not actually exist.

# -EPISODE 20- (1 character)

The Commodore (he/him): Reknowned hero of the seas, military regalia, great naval hero, presumably responsible for the death of Shabree Keene. No mentioned race. Seriously, they never mention this guy's race. The only thing described about him is how he's dressed and his evil smile. Does that mean he's human? Elf? Dwarf??? Who knows! maybe it just doesnt matter.

# -EPISODE 21-

none

# -EPISODE 22-

not any of them. not any.

# -EPISODE 23- (1 character)

Ozymondelius (sp???) (it/its): A warforged teacher who just so happens to like war or something? i guess its in the name. only mentioned in this episode, doesnt show up yet.

# -EPISODE 24-

they have a fight in the training room but nobody dies :\\ maybe next time. also no new characters. pog

# -EPISODE 25- (4 characters)

Gherkin (he/him): Tall lankier skeleton, has a scimitar and a merkin, which is a pubic wig... and he wears a jerkin? which i guess is a kind of coat? also i think hes mute

Tibia (she/her?) : Shorter skeleton with gold teeth, and long canines. i think both of the skeletons are mute actually.

The Lich King aka Gordy (he/him): Rainer's dad. Commands armies of the undead. lives in The Crypt. described as a hooded, skull-faced man with intricate black lines on his face, but changes to a shaved-head man with dark skin and vetiligo. Abandoned as a babby, raised by traveling parents, had necromancy powers, took Rainier in. Not actually very scary at all i don't know why he did the creepy laugh. Kind of a warm fatherly figure actually. hm. also people are speculating Gordy might be short for Gordita and his parents are maybe supposed to be lup and barry but THAT S JUST A THEORY.

our firbolg's father (he/him): A firbolg who lived by the code and was there when our firbolg was banished. Came to respect our firbolg's interest in a new way of life, in his final moments.

TOTAL: 72 NPCS! (well, including 2 extra PCs, i guess.)

Average: 2.88 NPCs per episode.

i was gonna not include the bone-PCs and have it be 69 but our firbolg's dad was just too important to not respect with a spot on the list.

anyway as always make sure to smack me with a blunt object if i forgot any characters!!!!!

#the adventure zone #taz #taz: graduation #taz g #sir fitzroy maplecourt #argonaut keene #taz firbolg #i dunno what else to tag this with #text post #keatposting

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sierracolorstheworldofwords · 4 years

Text

Yandereplier x anxious reader

An: Idk if anyone is going to read this but if you do and somehow like it HIT that reblog button babey! And also hit me up with a request if u want. Anyway, this was a request from Wattpad, and I have more one shots on there! The name of said wattpad is in my bio! :3 ALSO TRIGGER WARNING: Reader has an anxiety attack! So if that triggers you or anything please skip this! And read some of my other fics bc yes I’m plugging!

It all started with that nightmare.

Yan and you sat underneath a cherry tree in full bloom, each pink petal a promise, each soft flower a gentle declaration of love.

The sky was a beautiful island blue, and the clouds looked like they were painted onto the sky, just for you. You could see patches of them through the dark, curved branches of the tree, and feel the warm sun, sweet like honey, shining on your face.

Everything was.. perfect. You wished you could stop time forever, make this moment into a crystal bubble, preserve it in a snow globe forever.

"I have to tell you something." Yan said suddenly, fingers unwrapping from yours.

You turned towards him, taking in his gentle eyes— a beautiful brown that in the right light, looked red.

"Yeah?" You whispered softly, a love struck smile on your face.

He looked away from you, up at the sky, cracking his knuckles, "You know how I said I'd love you forever?"

"Of course! You tell me everyday—"

He took a deep breath, "That's changed. I found someone else."

You sat up suddenly, looking down at him in confusion, heart pounding fiercely in your chest, "Wh-what? Yan.. Yan that's not funny—"

"It's not a joke, senpai— wait, I can't call you that, anymore, because you're not my senpai. I can't believe I even dated you! You were just trying to waste my time and keep me away from my real senpai!"

"Wh-what?! No!"

"You're so stupid and worthless, all you do is whine and I honestly can't believe I even loved you!"

A pair of legs appeared in front of Yan, a faceless figure standing in front of him. The opposite of you, everything you couldn't be... smart, witty, attractive, actually deserving of Yan's love. You watched Yan sit up, a smile on his face— a smile that used to belong to you and you alone.

"Senpai!"

He got up, hugged the mysterious person, and grabbed their hand, "Let's leave this freak! I missed you so much!" He cooed, leaning on their shoulder, completely love struck.

"Y-Yan! Wait!" You stood up, wanting to chase him, but you couldn't. You were stuck, as if your legs had been welded to the ground below you.

"See senpai? I'm so dedicated to you. I broke their heart to prove how much I love you— do you want me to break their bones too, senpai?"

The world stopped. Everything froze like an icy tundra. You fell to your knees, looking at them going further and further away, seeing Yan going further and further away.

Your heart felt like it'd been pulled out of your chest and beaten with a baseball bat full of nails. All you could do was watch Yan leave, seeing his red hair fade away. You sobbed as your everything—the only person you truly trusted left, laughing wickedly, not even caring about how you felt, not even caring.. not caring at all.

"Yan!" You screamed.

You stood up. Legs finally moving.

Maybe you could convince him! You loved him! You could convince him! You— you loved him!

"Come back!"

You began to run, legs finally working, you desperately reached for him, the world a blurry mess of tears, "YAN! COME BACK! PLEASE—"

But he didn't.

He disappeared. Didn't look back. kept going. Leaving you like an old doll he'd gotten bored of, finding a new toy instead.

You alone. Again.

With no one to turn to. Again.

Nobody to care for. Again.

Nobody caring about you. Again.

Alone. Again.

Blackness crawling into your chest again, loneliness nesting inside of your rib cage, cocooning itself inside you. Again. Again. Again.

Alone.

Again.

You woke up with a soft whimper, heart pounding in your chest as you felt warm tears falling down your cheeks. You closed your eyes, crying softly and hugging your pillow.

Maybe you should call Yan.

He'd be more than happy to comfort you! You sat up, grabbed your phone of the charger, and noticed the time— School was in hour. You sighed. He probably wouldn't even be awake now.

You lay down back down, wondering if you should text Yan.. everything that happened in your head kept ringing over and over again, especially what Yan said. You knew it was a nightmare, but it felt so real. Like it did actually happen.. like.. like it was going to happen. Could Yan ever.. ever find someone else? Someone who was better than you? He probably could, right? Then.. then he'd leave you all alone..

Your stomach curled into a tight, knot, and you felt the familiar fear run like a spiked metal wire in your veins, causing your heart to pound harder. What if it was all gonna happen? Not today or tomorrow, but.. someday? He could easily find someone else. He was so amazing and you.. you weren't.

Yan always said he loved you but.. but.. did he really? You were an anxious mess with too much emotional baggage, and sure, he had his problems, being possessive and clingy but.. but he didn't have the type of background you had. It just didn't make sense why he would choose you of all people. Your anxiety just made the thought worse, dangling it above your head and maliciously smirking.

You closed your eyes, listening to the voice in your head telling you that Yan was going to leave you, and that you might as well get ready for it. Prepare for the inevitable. Did you really think he would actually wanna stay with you? Really? Really? Look at yourself, you're crying over a stupid bad dream, almost always insecure and almost as clingy as Yan. You were surprised he didn't find the constant need of reassurance from him annoying yet.

You wiped your tears and turned your phone back on and opened up your messages, reading a few from Yan—

Omg Senpai! I just saw the cutest person today! You'll never guess who!

....It was you! Love you! <3

A smile crossed your features and you wiped your eyes, of course he loved you. Of course he did. You scrolled up and read another one.

Senpai I can't wait for you to come over this weekend! :3 I'm so excited~! We're gonna watch so much anime and cuddle so much! :D I love cuddling with you, you're perfect cuddle size. uwu

Your cheeks flushed a little, and the voice in your head snickered. You really think he loves you? It asked, swirling in your head like a snake of smoke, all those cheesy messages don't mean shit. Maybe he does love you now, maybe— but don't you think he'll get tired of you?

You frowned, arguing with it. Wondering why Yan would say those things if he didn't mean them. Of course he meant them! You knew he did. He wasn't the type to lie about loving someone. That just wasn't Yan at all!

But how do you know? And maybe he does mean them.. or maybe he did mean them, but he doesn't mean them anymore because you were so annoying and he was just saying all those things to get you to shut up. The voice filled your head, burning up all the messages with questions of why, and how and really? What if it was all a lie? What if he used to like you and now he didn't— You slammed your eyes shut. Covering them with your hands as you gritted your teeth, asking yourself if you really were gonna cry over something so stupid?

How could Yan even love you when you were like this?

Your alarm rang and you gasped, sitting up, remembering you had to pack— today was Friday, you were supposed to go over to Yan's house for the weekend. Would you be annoying? Maybe you should cancel? Say.. say you couldn't come over? But.. he got everything prepared and— you sighed softly, rummaging through your drawer and stuffing clothes into your backpack.

Your phone buzzed, you looked at it before picking it up from your bed, turning it on and opening it. Reading the message from Yan—

Good morning Senpai! It's Friday and I'm so excited!! Don't forget to pack! :3 Also love you and have a good day! I'll see you soon! Love you! Ok bye

A small smile bloomed on your lips, and you texted back, hearing that small seed of doubt as you did. You ignored it, sending a message that read— Morning Yan-Yan! Can't wait to see you and stay over, and don't worry, I packed up. Love you too and see you soon~

You placed it back on your bed and fixed up your hair before brushing up your teeth and getting dressed, making sure to grab your phone and headphones before you did. Then you went to school.

When you arrived, you met Yan in the cafeteria, he brought breakfast for you, which was an unexpected surprise, and all he asked in return was a kiss. (Which you found adorable, and of course you gave him one.)

The two of you ate outside, watching the sun rise as you talked. You wondered if you should tell him about your nightmare, but you didn't want to ruin his happy mood, or be annoying. Before you knew it, your first class started and Yan walked you to class, giving you a kiss and a hug before running to his class.

The rest of the day.. was.. a day.

Your anxiety kept piling up, and then just found more reasons for Yan to hate you—

looks, grades, the way you speak, how you talk too much, your smile, your eyes, the way you walked, the clothes you wore.. everything.

By the time the day was over, thoughts swirled in your head like a tornado, and when you went to meet him by your locker, it took everything in you to not cry and panic. Your stomach hurt and your heart pounded as your brain kept saying— he's gonna leave. Not be here. You'll be all alone. He won't miss you. He doesn't need you. Can't you be better?

You leaned against your locker, head swirling as your chest felt like it was being wrapped up in a giant fist. Your lungs constricted. Your heart pounded. Palms sweated. Throat dry. The world blurring, people becoming slashed of color, the school becoming nothing but a blur that felt.. that felt like distant waves at sea. Real, recognizable, but not entirely there, dreamlike in a sickening way.

"Senpai?"

Yan.

Your eyes snapped up, focusing on him, the world a buzz of noise. You were so stupid! You just had to go and panic, didn't you? Ruin everything like some sick disease—

"Are you okay?" He asked softly.

You couldn't breathe.

He should've been yelling at you! Scolding you! Punishing you! Giving you a reason to cry! A reason to be scared so why, why was he being so nice?

Air rushed in and out your throat as you tried to speak, words replaced with shallow harsh breaths. You placed a hand on your chest, heart pounding loudly in your ears.

Softly, Yan grabbed your hand, holding you close as everything crashed— crashed, crashed like a boat in the middle of a fearful storm, crashed like a frantic car speeding down the high way and off a cliff, crashed.

Yan pushed people out the way, practically slamming the school doors open before picking you up and cradling you like the gentle cargo you were. Fishing the keys out of his skirt pocket, he clicked the button, unlocked his red Cadillac, before opening the back seat door and placing you there, climbing in next to you and closing the door shut.

You looked at him, the eye of the storm, the patch of sky in the middle of the tornado and—

"Don't leave me Yan!" You sobbed, clinging on to him desperately, hands digging into the soft fabric of his white shirt and you cried.

"Leave you Senpai? Why would I leave?"

You couldn't even answer back, your breathing was too rapid, too much, your nerves felt like they were on fire, and the world wasn't real— or was it real and you weren't? Or was none of it real and you were just floating? And scared? And alone? And—

"Senpai." Yan whispered, his voice a soft breeze, "I'd never leave you, senpai. Never."

You only responded with a gasping sob, throat feeling like it'd been scratched over a thousand times.

Yan placed a hand under your quivering chin, lifting your face turning your face towards him.

"Breathe senpai, breathe— slowly." He murmured, scooting closer and using his other hand to stroke your cheek, "breathe.. breathe.."

You closed your eyes, taking a shaky breath, feeling your lungs expand like blooming pink flowers.

"That's right Senpai, just breathe for me, okay?"

You nodded, swallowing back tears and feeling him shift and wrap his arms around you loosely.

"Breathe out.."

You let out a deep breath.

"Breathe in."

You breathed in through your nostrils, feeling the air travel down your throat as you calmed down and wiped your tears away.

"Better?"

You nodded.

He wrapped his arms tight around you, kissing your forehead, "I'll never leave you Senpai."

You snuggled into his chest, saying nothing.

"I mean it. No matter what that mean voice in your head—who I really need to beat up by the way— says. I love you Senpai. You and only you."

You looked at him, eyes big and wide, vulnerable, begging him to reassure you like always. He practically read your thoughts.

"I mean it Senpai," he whispered, "I really do—

And I don't care how many times I have to tell you, because I want you to believe it, so if I have to say it a hundred or a thousand times then I'll say it. Because I love you."

You gave him a watery smile, warm tears pricking the corners of your eyes, "I love you too Yan-Yan."

He smiled, kissing your forehead, before tucking your head underneath his neck and softly rubbing your back.

“I love you so, so much Senpai," he whispered, "I'd do anything for you, and I mean anything."

Your heart pounded like always when he said those type of things— his words were so reassuring.. you snuggled into his chest, wrapping your arms around him.

"I love you so much— I'm.. im surprised you haven't left me yet, senpai..."

You gasped, pulling away momentarily, "Oh Yan! I'd never leave! I love you too much!"

The yandere smiled, grabbing your hands in his, "That's exactly how I feel Senpai.."

You smiled softly, wiping the last of your tears before hugging him again. The two of you cuddled for a while before you let out a yawn, exhausted from your anxiety filled day.

“Let's go home, senpai! Then we can take a nap!"

You nodded and agreed, crawling into the front seat, Yan followed and started up his car, clearly excited. His cheeks flushed and a smile crossed his face— causing your stomach to flutter like always. Yan didn't even know how beautiful he was, sometimes.. nor did he know how cute he could be. His hand rested on the gear shift between you, while the other one held the wheel as he backed out of the school, once he was onto the road, you grabbed his hand.

"Yan?"

"Yes senpai?"

"Y-you know how you have nightmares?"

"Yeah."

"I had one this morning.." you said softly, sadly, "and it was about you leaving.. and I just thought I should tell you.."

Yan stopped at a red light and looked at you as you continued, "I-it was about you leaving me and finding someone else.."

"Senpai.. I'd never, ever do that. There's no one else as wonderful and amazing and— and ahhh senpai! There's so many things about you that I love.. and I know you're scared of me leaving, but I promise I won't, okay?"

You nodded, biting your lip.

"I really do mean it, senpai. I love you so much. I— before I met you.. I.. I didn't feel anything at all, and I'd always have to pretend to be happy.. b-but.. when you came into my life.. I felt.. I felt so.. happy—" tears welled up in his eyes, and he turned towards the stoplight, realizing it was green with a nervous laugh, "I'm such a baby— the lights green!"

He pushed the break with his foot and continued driving to his house. You couldn't help but feel your heart pound, not out of fear.. but out of pure love for your Yan-Yan. Your stomach looped itself into playful knots as his words played over and over again in your head.

"Yan.. I feel the same way. Ever since I met you.. I.. I.. know what it's like to be happy.." you whimpered, eyes welling up again, causing you to wipe your tears, "and that's why I get so anxious— and why you get anxious too.. because we're so afraid of losing each other but.. but.. I.. I know that I'd never leave you.. and I'm starting to believe you'll never leave me either.. and I'm sorry it's taking me so long to believe it.. I'm always used to people leaving."

You saw Yan smile softly, and then his smile widened, brown eyes shining with determination, "Well senpai! I'll just have to make sure you believe it! Because I really mean it, I won't ever leave you!"

You smiled again, cheeks flushing, "Thank you Yan.. I— I love you so much."

His face turned red as his smile grew, "I love you too Senpai."

Soon enough, the both of you pulled into his driveway and got out the car, going straight to his bedroom and changing into pajamas. After that, the both of you snuggled underneath the covers, exchanging love struck glances and soft kisses, until.. you both eventually fell asleep in each other's arms.

#yandereplier #yandereiplier #yandereiplier x reader #yandereplier x reader #ego x reader #iplier ego x reader #fan fic #my writing #iplier ego #yandere #sierra’s writing

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