#i’m the least musical person ever like I had piano lessons one time but that’s it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

arvandus · 3 years

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The Sound of Silence (18+ Aizawa x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Aizawa x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: After once again being stood up for a date at your favorite jazz club, you decide to give up dating entirely in favor of watching and fantasizing about your favorite jazz musician, Aizawa Shouta. You had assumed you’d never meet him face to face. You had assumed that he didn’t even know you existed. You’re about to learn that your assumptions are wrong.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY/NSFW; reader wears a sexy black dress (minimally described); minor sexual harassment; slow build; praise kink (if you squint); hand kink (probably); fingering; ‘baby’ petname.

Special Note: A few days late, but here’s my contribution to the BNHarem January Collab ‘Making Beautiful Music’ posted by @kingexpl0sionmurder. It was supposed to be a oneshot, but this particular piece got a mind of its own and will at least have a sequel. If we’re all really lucky, it may become a multichapter series in the far and distant future, when my life is less crazy (I have ideas, ok??). In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this fic!

Word Count: 9486

Recommended Song: No specific song at the moment, but this was what I listened to while writing this.

Lesson 1

It was crowded tonight, the air of the small club Midnight hot and heavy with the scent of cigar smoke and booze. The noise of conversations and laughing voices filled the air like the buzzing of a hive, as bodies mingled about like busy bees, each looking for their own bit of nectar. Some looking to win romance. Some looking to win money. While others were simply winning by enjoying the company of friends. Their movements were carried on the music that filled the space, upbeat jazz played by a three-person band. It was comforting in its familiarity, developed over multiple visits – some with friends, some with coworkers, and some with potential love interests.

You sat at the bar, a drink held protectively in your hand as your eyes searched. You checked your phone for messages but found none. It’d been a full twenty minutes and you were pretty sure by this point that your date wasn’t going to show up. It was supposed to be your first date in over a month, and you’d had high hopes for it - you’d clicked well with the person on your dating app (or so you thought), talking over the course of a couple of weeks before finally deciding to meet. So tonight, you’d put in a little extra effort into your appearance, donning a black dress that showed off your curves and putting careful attention into your makeup.

Damn. You were genuinely interested in this one.

You sent them a quick text in the hopes that you’d get a response. Give them an extra ten minutes… You thought. Maybe they were caught in traffic or something.

But by the time you hit the 45-minute mark with no messages, you’d officially given up. A half-hearted sigh fell past your painted lips. You weren’t really too surprised by this point. You’d been having terrible luck in the dating scene for a while now. Sometimes it was them. Sometimes it was you. But for whatever reason, each attempt ended in failure.

Oh well. It was likely for the best. At least you would be able to enjoy the rest of your evening in solitude instead of enduring a potentially disastrous date. And as for your attire, it certainly didn’t hurt to feel sexy, even if you had no one to share it with.

You loved this place. The atmosphere, the music… you’d even managed to make friends with the bartender Hizashi to the point that he’d walk you to your car on the nights that you stayed until closing.

Your eyes scanned around the room, observing. Wooden tables littered the main floor, where small lit candles cast yellow light on observing faces, eyes trained on the musicians. Booths lined along the far wall, filled mostly with men who puffed cigars over a game of cards, their raucous laughter carrying through the din. Closer to the bar was an arrangement of tall, round tables with matching bar height chairs. A group of women, likely on a ladies’ night out, filled the table closest to you, taking shots and laughing, their heels perched on the rungs. Waiters zigzagged their way through the crowd with expert precision, platters held high with drinks and snacks, while patrons milled about, waiting for an open table.

And, of course, there was the stage itself, where the jazz band finished their final piece before collecting their instruments and leaving the small stage. All that was left from their departure was a black baby grand piano, property of the club. Your pulse quickened as you checked your watch. Was it that time already?

Not a moment later, there he was. Long, black, wavy hair pulled back into a half ponytail, the hint of a 5 o’ clock shadow dusting his jawline and framing his lips. He was dressed in simple clothes, as always… a black v-neck shirt with the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms and dark jeans. He entered the stage without so much a glance towards the busy room, instead making his way to the piano with his hands in his pockets. He sat down and from your position at the bar, you could barely see his long fingers arrange themselves at the keys, gently curled.

As soon as he began to play, the mood in the club shifted slightly from buzzing to relaxing. The flow of his fingers across the keys drew a lazy melody reminiscent of rainy days and hot coffee; of snuggling under warm blankets, feet intertwined with a lover who danced their fingers across your skin, gently tickling your flesh the way his fingers tickled those keys.

Aizawa Shouta.

Of course you knew his name. The first time you’d heard him play, you’d felt weightless, your body going numb as every sensation coalesced into your chest like the forming of a star. The question of his identity had fallen from your lips before you’d even realized it, and it had been Hizashi who’d answered you, a chuckle on his lips.

Fuck. It felt like he was making love to you through the notes, each key meticulously selected like a carefully-worded love letter. It made your palms sweat against your glass, your breath hitching in your throat as that familiar sensation took you over, holding you hostage.

This. This was probably why none of the people you dated ever seemed to work out. You’d tried… God, you’d tried… some of them were nice, good people. But you couldn’t help but search for that feeling – this feeling – each time you met someone new. And every single time it fell short. It was an impossible standard, an invisible bar that no one was able to jump. Deep down you knew this, yet you couldn’t figure out how to let it go. It was just music, right? Played by a handsome man who didn’t even know you existed. But you didn’t want to let go of this feeling, to settle for someone that made you feel only an inkling of what he made you feel. Or worse, to let it go and be left with emptiness.

You had no solutions. You were trapped in Aizawa’s maze of music, unwilling to find your way out as his notes weaved a cage around your heart.

You lost yourself to his melody, the club around you fading away. Time lost its meaning as you watched his hands dance along the keys, his fingers nimble. His half-lidded eyes were fixed on the instrument before him, his expression neutral. To anyone else watching, he would look almost bored; but you’d seen him play often enough that you’d grown accustomed to reading the nuances of his body language, even across the smoky haze. You knew his look of boredom was really a look of focus as he submerged himself in his art, his hands playing on instinct, a direct link between what he felt and what he expressed.

He loved what he did.

And you loved watching.

Hizashi’s voice interrupted your hypnosis. “Another night solo, huh?”

You took a look at the bartender as he prepped some cocktails for some waiting patrons. He had his wire-framed spectacles on again, the orange tinted ones, the color visible from the white backlight of the bar. His long blonde hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and he wore a pinstriped shirt adorned with a black waistcoat.

You chuckled and took a sip of your drink. “It wasn’t supposed to be.”

“You got stood up again?” You shrugged and Hizashi shook his head slightly. “If they ain’t willing to show up, then they ain’t worth your time.”

“Probably more like the other way around, don’t ya think?” you replied wryly.

Hizashi scoffed. “Don’t let them get to you. They don’t know what they’re missing.”

You grinned and set your glass down. “Are you flirting with me, Hizashi?”

He grinned back and winked at you through his spectacles. “Always, darlin’.”

You chuckled and returned your eyes to the stage. “It’s okay…” you said thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s time I stopped trying.”

“Mhm…” Hizashi watched you stare at Aizawa and he raised an eyebrow. “Y’know, I can get you an introduction if you’d like…”

“What??”

“Don’t play coy with me, darlin’. You know who I’m talking about. If you want to meet him, I can introduce you to him. We’re good friends, he and I. Known each other for years.” He commented.

You weren’t surprised by this news… you’d seen Aizawa join Hizashi at the bar on rare occasions after his performance was done. But you’d always been occupied at a table with company when it happened.

Watching him from a distance was one thing. But actually meeting him? Up close? Where you couldn’t hide your girlish infatuation?

You felt your pulse quicken with dread, heat flooding your body. “No, it’s okay. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience him.”

Hizashi gave you a skeptical look over the rim of his glasses before he shrugged. “Suit yourself, darlin’.”

The blonde stepped away, a new group of customers hollering for his attention. You took a large gulp of your drink hoping it would quell your nerves at the thought of meeting the man on stage. No. You definitely didn’t want to meet him. The last thing you needed was for your interaction with him to be a dud just like it was with all the others, destroying your own secret little fantasy. He was handsome to look at. And you fantasized about his skilled hands when you were in the quiet of your bedroom. But that was all it was; just harmless daydreams over someone you didn’t really know or plan to get to know. Besides, if you’d ever thought you had a chance with him, you certainly wouldn’t be trying to meet people through a dating app.

Gradually the time ticked by as you enjoyed watching the dark-haired man play, Hizashi stopping in to check on you from time to time and place fresh drinks in front of you. You were content for the time being, enjoying the steady buzz you were maintaining as you enjoyed the ambiance. Occasionally you people watched or engaged in conversation with Hizashi when he wasn’t busy… but for the most part, you relaxed as you observed the raven-haired pianist, letting his music ease the tension in your shoulders as the alcohol warmed your bones.

A few hours later, as you were busy talking with Hizashi, the final note on the piano rang out, signaling the end of Aizawa’s shift. The sudden silence hit you like a bucket of ice water, and your eyes darted towards the stage, your heart pumping panic through your veins. You had planned to leave just before his shift ended, just to make sure you didn’t run into him. Maybe it was the daydreaming, or the conversations with Hizashi, or the alcohol... but you’d lost track of time. Now you could only watch and wait to see where he’d end up, hoping beyond hope that he’d disappear like he usually did. Only rarely did he linger for a drink. What were the odds, right?

Tonight was one of those rarities, and you held your breath, your posture going rigid, as he sat himself a mere two seats away from you. He never once looked at you, instead, addressing Hizashi.

“Old Fashioned.” He requested, his voice deep. It sent a shiver down your spine as the blood in your veins turned molten. You knew instantly that that sound was now committed to memory.

“Do you even need to ask?” Hizashi replied with a grin as he slid the drink to him.

You disciplined your eyes to stare at your own drink as if it’d open up a portal for you to escape through. But as much as you struggled to control yourself, the simple gesture of Aizawa reaching for his drink made you break eye contact with your own. Your eyes caught how his fingers circled around his glass, long and surprisingly manicured. You couldn’t help but watch as he brought the drink up to his lips to take a sip, and from there your gaze followed the curve of his mouth, the stubble that framed it, his jawline, his eyes…

Your eyes made contact with his briefly and you quickly looked back down at your drink, your heart pounding in your chest.

Shit. He caught you staring.

You took a couple of deep swigs, forcing the alcohol down your tight throat, letting the burn of it act as a punishment for your violation. This. This was why you didn’t want to meet him. No words had even been shared yet and you were already making a fool of yourself.

“Long night?” Hizashi asked him. In the background, the next performer entered the stage and began to play, and you couldn’t help but strain your ears over the music to listen for Aizawa’s answer.

“I’ve had worse…” Aizawa replied. “You?”

“Busy, but I’m in good company at least.” Hizashi replied. Your heart pounded in your chest as your fingers tightened around your glass. Your eyes darted up to lock with the bartender’s and you caught him smirking at you, his small, pointed mustache following the curve of his upper lip.

He wouldn’t…

Suddenly another customer called for him from the other end of the bar. “Duty calls, friend. Be back in a sec.”

And just like that, you were left alone with him. Aizawa. Your mind froze as it warred with itself between actually talking with him or grabbing your things and running away. Surely Hizashi would understand, right? And you could always pay back your tab later. You took another deep gulp of alcohol in the hopes that it’d burn away some of your cowardice.

Before you could so much as open your mouth, the unwelcome sensation of an unfamiliar hand on the curve of your back made your body go rigid, every muscle poised to fight. A second later, the scent of hot breath laced in the stench of alcohol choked the air around you as an unfamiliar man slid into the open seat between you and the object of your affection.

“Hey there beautiful…” he slurred. “You’ve been by yourself all night… you in need of some company?”

You covered your hand over your glass and shifted away from him slightly, your demeanor cold. “No.”

“Aw, c’mon doll… don’t be like that…” he grinned. “You don’t come here dressed like that for no good reason…”

The man’s hand was still on your back, its presence making your skin crawl. It made the fog of your buzz lifting slightly, your senses suddenly heightened in the presence of a potential threat. Your eyes searched frantically for Hizashi. He had a way of handling drunken idiots. But he was stuck at the other end of the bar still, a drunk woman trying desperately hard to flirt with him.

You were on your own, and this creep clearly wasn’t taking no for an answer. Your brain started to fabricate worst-case scenarios and planning for them, a million options running through your mind. Screaming. Throwing your drink in his face. A well-placed kick to his shin. Your pepper spray.

Your free hand slipped into your purse, fingers closing around you’re the plastic cylinder. The feel of it gave you a sense of security, even if it might be a last resort. You didn’t really want to use it, especially with Aizawa sitting behind him… you never had to use it before, and you couldn’t guarantee your accuracy, especially in such a tight space.

You watched from the corner of your eye as the man’s free hand reached forward to grasp your own that covered your drink, and your grip around the cylinder tightened, a warning beginning to fall from your lips. But your words were cut short as the man’s hand was suddenly grabbed by familiar, long fingers and bent back at an uncomfortable angle that made the drunk cry out.

“Hey! What the hell?!” the man demanded.

Aizawa took a casual sip of his drink with his free hand while maintaining his grip on the offender, before pinning him with a dangerous glare. “She said no.”

The man’s hand left your back as he struggled to free himself from Aizawa’s grip. “Let go!”

“First you will apologize to her.” Aizawa ordered.

The man sputtered. “For what?!”

You watched in shock as Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. His thumb positioned itself on a digit and began pushing it slowly backward.

“For touching her without permission. For insinuating that her attire makes it acceptable for you to ignore her boundaries. For being a disgusting pig.”

With each statement, he pushed the finger back farther and farther, until the man was buckling to his knees under the pressure in an attempt to alleviate the pain and prevent the digit from breaking.

“Ow ow ow! Okay! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” The man begged.

Aizawa held him for a moment longer before finally releasing him. “Good. Now get out.”

The man scurried away until he was out of reach before turning around to glare daggers at him. “Hey, fuck you man!” He shouted. But for all of his drunken bravado, he stormed out of the club clutching his sore hand to his chest, as heads turned to watch him leave.

The hum of voices within the club fell silent for a moment, with only the band continuing their music. After the front door closed, the noise of people chattering slowly returned, countless sets of eyes turning back to their tables. Aizawa turned his gaze back to you, the lethal look gone from his dark eyes.

“You okay?”

You nodded mutely, swallowing the dryness in your throat as your sweaty hand released the pepper spray in your purse. Sensations warred within you, momentarily leaving you a confused mess. The speed at which he came to your defense and his willingness to resort to violence on your behalf fueled a carnal need you didn’t even realize you had. But even as hot arousal pooled deep in your gut, your heart still raced from the threat that had been quickly neutralized.

His eyes caught the movement of something over your shoulder and he cursed. “Shit.”

“SHOuTA!” Scolded a feminine voice.

He turned back to his drink, hunching his shoulders. “I told her not to call me that in public.” Aizawa muttered under his breath.

You spun on your stool to see the owner of the bar, Nemuri Kayama approaching, clad in a deep purple business suit with a dangerously low-cut black blouse. She was next to you in a matter of seconds, a cloud of strong perfume enveloping you as she snatched Aizawa’s drink from his hand as he began to raise it to his lips.

“What the hell was that?!” She demanded. “What makes you think you can attack my customers like that?”

“Your customer was harassing this customer.” Aizawa pointed out.

Nemuri looked at you with her lavender eyes as if seeing you for this first time and paused in her verbal assault.

“Is this true?” She asked you.

She had a presence about her that instantly made you find your voice again.

“He was being handsy and wasn’t taking no for an answer.” You confirmed.

“Can I have my drink back now?” Aizawa asked.

She stared back and forth between the two of you for a moment before slamming the glass down in front of him, half of the contents spilling over the side. “Ugh. Fine. But next time ask for one of my bouncers. Or Hizashi. Or me. Anyone but you.”

Aizawa’s mouth curled with a sly grin as he wiped at the spill with a napkin. “And why is that?”

“Because you scare away customers.” She growled.

Aizawa stared into his drink, swirling its remaining contents. “Well maybe you need better customers.” He took a sip.

“I’ll take whoever is willing to pay. Unfortunately for you, this club doesn’t survive off of chivalry.” She crossed her arms. “Besides… it’s less about losing that drunken idiot and more about losing those who saw you almost break his hand.”

“I wasn’t going to break his hand. I was going to break his finger.” Aizawa said.

You stifled a chuckle with a bite of your lip.

Nemuri rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Don’t try to make it sound like that makes it any better. And you!” She pointed at Hizashi, who had conveniently shown up not a minute before. “You know better than to leave him alone like this!”

“I can either be a bartender or a babysitter, love. I can’t do both.” Hizashi replied as he polished a glass.

Nemuri grumbled under her breath before turning her gaze back to you. “I apologize for Aizawa’s violent behavior.” “Oh I didn’t mind…” you confessed with a small smile, and you could feel Aizawa’s eyes flicker to you briefly.

“And I apologize for the inappropriate customer. Alcohol is no excuse for harassment. I guarantee he won’t be returning to this club any time soon.” She looked at Hizashi. “Get her a fresh drink.”

“Already on it…” He replied, sliding a new glass to you and removing your old one.

She looked back at you. “And your drinks are on the house tonight.”

“Thank you.” You replied.

Nemuri gave a satisfied nod. “Now I need to go schmooze the rest of our frightened patrons, which is exactly how I didn’t want to spend my evening.” With a final glare at the two men, she stormed off, her pointed heels clicking on the hard floor.

You stared at your new drink for a moment, the desire for it lost now. “Hizashi, can I have a glass of water?”

“Sure thing, darlin’.” Hizashi replied and placed a chilled glass in front of you.

You thanked him and took a sip followed by a long, deep breath. Aizawa moved into the now-vacant seat next to you, and you welcomed the closeness. The gesture felt protective, a warning to anyone else who was dumb enough to try their luck with you after that display. Noticing the closer proximity between the two of you, Hizashi quickly made himself scarce again.

“Thank you…” you said to Aizawa as your finger traced patterns into the condensation on the glass.

“It was nothing…” he replied. There was a long silence before he spoke again. “I hope I didn’t scare you.”

You looked at him with surprise then. Scared? No. Aroused? Definitely. The dampness of your panties were evidence enough of that, but he certainly didn’t need to know that.

“Not at all.” You confessed. “I actually really appreciate it.”

Aizawa’s shoulders relaxed slightly, as if a weight had been lifted.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” you asked. “You were so fast…”

Aizawa gave a small grin. “Piano isn’t the only thing I’m good at…”

You had no difficulty believing that…

“Were you a bouncer or something at one point?” you asked curiously.

Aizawa chuckled. “Yeah, something like that…” he took a swig of his drink, the ice in it clinking. The amber colored liquid was nearly gone now.

His response only gave you more questions, but you forced them down. There was a fine line between being curious and nosey, and you were too worried of crossing it, thus ending your conversation with him.

“You’re a regular here.” He commented.

It wasn’t a question – it was a statement. He recognized you. You averted your eyes away in embarrassment, feeling suddenly exposed, your anonymity blown. How long had he noticed you’d been coming here? Did he know how closely you watched him?

“Yeah.” You confessed, as you took another sip of water. The alcohol next to it was calling to you, promising to ease your anxiety, but you refrained for the moment. You wanted to keep your wits about you while you talked to him.

“No company tonight?” he asked.

Oh. He watched you more closely than you ever realized. You weren’t sure whether you were feeling embarrassed or aroused. Was it possible to feel both?

“Not this time. I got stood up.” You replied.

“Sounds like you dodged a bullet there.” He said, looking into his empty glass.

You gave a dry laugh. “True. I’ve dodged lots of bullets lately.”

Aizawa chuckled. “I believe it…”

Contrary to his outward aloof demeanor, he was nice. You could feel the tension in your body start to dissipate as words came easier.

“If you ever think you want to try a dating app, don’t.” you commented. “It makes for good stories, but sometimes it really makes you want to give up on humanity.”

That earned an honest laugh as he looked at you with a grin. “Well now you’ve piqued my curiosity.”

You couldn’t help but smile back. This actually wasn’t so bad…

With amusement, you began to recount some of your more outlandish dating disasters with him, letting him in on the world of online dating from a woman’s perspective. Aizawa listened with quiet interest, making the occasional wry joke or, for the more serious cases, wearing a deep frown of disapproval. He was a good listener, and the conversation flowed easier than you had expected, words falling from your mouth without a second thought. It felt natural. Comfortable. And for the first time in a while, you felt like yourself. After you ran out of stories, Aizawa offered a couple of his own, and you found yourself laughing at his own tales of dating woes. As Aizawa talked, Hizashi stopped by to quietly replace his empty drink before disappearing again, a pleased smile on his face. His brief presence reminded you of your own glass pooling condensation on the paper coaster beneath it, and you returned to sipping its contents, once again finding the buzz you had been enjoying as you listened to Aizawa.

The time passed by as the two of you talked about the stress of dating and relationships. You’d learned that Aizawa rarely dated, but would occasionally have to endure awkward matchups thanks to Hizashi and Nemuri. You learned how much of a private person he was, how he generally avoided dating culture entirely in favor of letting life play out on its own. Everything about him exuded a man of experience and maturity, a man comfortable in his own skin and content with his life. You couldn’t help but admire him as you soaked in every little detail that you’d wanted to know, committing every little bit of information he offered up to memory. He was everything you’d imagined; kind, respectful, and serious with a sly sense of humor that he only shared once he was feeling comfortable.

Once the topic was exhausted, you sighed. “I think I’m done with dating.” You confessed. “I’ll just resign myself to my singlehood.”

Aizawa pinned you with a pensive look. “Is that what you want?”

Something about the tone of his voice made your pulse race with excitement.

“Well… It’s better than being repeatedly disappointed.” You gave him a side glance as you took sip of your drink. “But if the right guy comes along, I wouldn’t say no…”

“Hm… the right guy…” Aizawa muttered as he returned his gaze to his glass.

Your statement was a bold one, filled with invitation. You hadn’t exactly planned for it to come out that way, but it was too late to take those words back now. You quickly tried to turn the topic back to him. “How about you? Any special someone for you?”

He chuckled. “No. No special someone. Not yet, at least.”

The words fell from his mouth like breadcrumbs leading to a secret as he eyed you over the rim of his glass. You felt lightheaded and warm, the tips of your fingers buzzing with numbness. Maybe it was the half-finished drink in your hand. Or maybe it was the look in Aizawa’s eyes that made you feel drunk, the Earth spinning under your feet as you mentally struggled to find some sort of purchase to keep from falling.

Was he…?

Hope held you captive and you suddenly became acutely aware of how close you were to him. Your eyes traced the scruff on his jawline, the stitching of his shirt, the slope of his neck as his Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow. A stray strand of hair had come loose from his half-ponytail and was hanging over his forehead, begging to be touched. Your fingers twitched. If you reached out to tuck it back into place, would he let you?

You couldn’t muster the courage and averted your eyes. You were filled with alcohol and infatuation, you reasoned. Your defenses were down, your judgment potentially impaired… what if you were reading into something that wasn’t there? What if you were wrong?

You watched Hizashi close out a tab for an older couple as you took a sip of your water.

Warmth pressed against your forearm and looked down to see Aizawa’s arm resting against yours. All of your attention honed in on the softness of his shirtsleeve and the warmth of his skin as his hand fiddled with a paper coaster, flipping it over and over with each tap on the counter. The contact was intentional, calculated in its subtle intimacy. It was a silent question… a tentative invitation, absent of assumptions or expectations. Your doubt evaporated like mist and you understood.

He was interested. In you.

Your heart did a somersault in your chest as you sat there, stunned. Time froze as everything that’d transpired throughout the evening flitted through your mind. It was a perfect amalgamation of circumstances, leading to this single moment, giving you the one thing you wanted most. You held your breath as you stood on the precipice, uncertain if your next step would make you fall or let you fly.

You stared at the contact and carefully… slowly… brushed your pinky along the back of his hand. It traced the vein that stood out there, following it to the knuckle. His own hand let go of the coaster his was holding, his own pinky linking with yours in affirmation.

You couldn’t help the elated smile that spread across your face in that moment and when you looked up at him with a shy glance, he had a smile of his own, small and secretive as he stared at your linked fingers. Slowly the rest of his fingers followed, twining themselves into yours until he held your hand, his thumb brushing sensually against your skin. That single action alone was enough to reignite the fire in your loins, your blood racing through your veins from the epicenter of his touch.

Hizashi’s voice crashed through your private, titillating moment. “We’re closing up, lovebirds…”

Your hand pulled away from Aizawa’s on instinct as you looked around the now empty club. Only staff remained, finalizing the last bit of cleanup and arranging the furniture for the next day. How had it gotten so late so fast?

“You want me to walk you to your car?” Hizashi asked, a knowing grin on his face.

In all that had happened that evening, you’d forgotten about that little arrangement. But you weren’t ready to leave just yet…

Aizawa’s voice answered before yours could. “Leave me the keys to the place. I’ll walk her tonight and lock up when we leave.”

“Suit yourself.” Hizashi replied with a shrug. He placed a set of keys on the counter. “Don’t tell Nemuri, though. She’ll kill me.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, friend.” Aizawa replied.

With that, Hizashi gave a small salute, grabbed his coat, and left. You watched, your heart pounding as the door closed behind him, leaving a deafening silence in its wake.

You were alone with Aizawa. Completely and utterly alone.

Your turned back to face him and froze. Aizawa still sat on his stool, but he faced you now with an elbow propped against the counter, and that simple distinction made his presence fill your space. He stared at you, the look in his eyes unfettered now, deep and hungry. “You really do look beautiful tonight.” He complimented.

With the way the words fell from his mouth and curled warmly into your chest like a cat, you believed him. You felt beautiful.

“Thank you.” You said with a soft smile. “You look handsome yourself, Aizawa.”

He took your hand again and slowly began to lean forward, closing the small distance between you. “Call me Shouta.”

You swallowed. “Shouta.” You whispered, feeling the name on your lips.

His dark pupils dilated and you felt his other hand on your jawline, warm, long fingers wrapping towards the back of your neck to pull you into a kiss.

His lips were warm and soft as his stubble tickled your skin, and you leaned into it fervently, your hands finding their home on his chest. You could feel his toned muscles beneath the black cotton and a purr found its way to the back of your throat. Shouta took it as an invitation, coming off of his barstool to stand between your now parted legs, his arm wrapping itself around your waist as his tongue slid along your lips. You opened your mouth eagerly to taste the bourbon there, to feel the wet muscle dance and slide against your own. Every touch, every taste, every smell enveloped you further and further in the essence that was Shouta until your entire body was singing, teetering on the edge.

Oh God… you were not going to let yourself cum just by kissing him.

You pulled out of the kiss slightly as your hands pressed gently against his chest, and he retreated from you just enough for his eyes to search your face, a silent question in them.

“I-I’m sorry, I just…” your words fell pitifully from your flushed, wet mouth, your voice shaky with pent-up arousal.

One second longer. One second longer is all it would have taken…

Shouta’s hand on your back began to rub soft, slow circles. “Would you like some water?” he asked, a small smile on his lips.

You nodded, and he kissed your forehead before handing you your glass. You drank greedily before handing it back to him, half-empty.

“Have you ever been kissed like that?” he asked curiously, as he placed the glass back down onto the counter.

You gave a small laugh and shook your head. “No… not like that.”

Your confession left you feeling embarrassed, even as your chest felt it would burst from this latest turn of events.

You kissed Aizawa Shouta.

Actually, he kissed you.

You needed a moment to collect yourself, to process everything you were feeling.

So, you completely changed the subject.

“How long have you been playing piano?” you asked.

Shouta didn’t miss a beat, returning to sit on his stool to give you the space you silently needed. But his hand still held yours, resting on the counter as his fingers twined with yours. It gave you a sense of reassurance, that everything was okay, despite your awkward hesitation.

“My grandpa had one when I was a kid. Used to mess around on it.” He explained. “He finally got me lessons from a guy he knew, and I’ve loved it ever since.”

You smiled as you watched his thumb trace across each of your fingernails. You returned the gesture, tracing the details of his own hand. It was like living a dream, to see them up close and feel them, every fingernail, every vein, even the pads of his fingertips. The number of times you’d fantasized about these hands…

“I always wanted to learn how to play, but my family could never afford lessons.” You confessed. “But my mom used to have all of these old jazz albums, and I used to sit in my room and listen to them for hours.”

“I can teach you.”

Your fingers stopped their tracing. “What?”

“I can teach you.” He repeated.

You shook your head. “Um, no it’s okay… I’d probably be a terrible student anyway.”

“A student can only be as bad as the person teaching them. Follow me.”

Before you could protest further, Shouta’s hand closed around yours and pulled you from your seat. He led you up the steps of the stage and across it until you reached the black piano sitting forlornly in the empty space.

It felt strange being up on the stage, especially with the club being completely empty. The stage light was bright and warm on your shoulders, and the silence sounded different there, affected by the difference in acoustics.

Shouta sat at one end of the black bench and pulled you down by your hand until you were sitting next to him. The bench was small, meant for only one person, so you had to press yourself against him to be able to sit without feeling like you were going to fall off. Even then, it wasn’t the most comfortable arrangement, but you endured, if only to be close to him.

He released your hand and began his instruction.

“First thing you should know is how to find middle C. Everything else will center around this.” He pressed the white key with the thumb of his right hand, the note singing out into the empty space. “Then, it’s D, E, F, G, A, B, which brings you back to C. That creates an octave, also known as a scale.” He played each note as he spoke.

“What about the black keys?” you asked curiously.

“Those are the half notes. Don’t worry about those right now.” He arranged his hand back how he initially had it, his thumb on the middle C key.

“Now,” he continued, “First, you must learn how to move your fingers along the keys. Like this.” Shouta demonstrated the motion again, his fingers playing each note slowly in a steady rhythm. “The switch of the fingers is important. It will help you flow quickly and easily without having to watch where your hands are, which will be important for reading sheet music.” He repeated the motion again, the sounds once again ringing out. Then, he removed his hand. “Your turn.”

You bit your lip and placed your hand how you’d seen his arranged and tried. The notes were clumsy, lacking in rhythm and falling together as you forgot in your nervous haze where the switch of the fingers happened. Embarrassment flooded you and you withdrew your hand.

“Don’t expect to get it right on the first try.” He reassured. “Let’s try it again. Try to keep your fingers loose, curved like a bowl.”

Shouta modeled it again. You watched, but your focus was muddled with anxiety, attraction, and likely alcohol. It was a poor recipe for learning, but you knew he was trying to make you feel comfortable, and you didn’t want to turn down his kindness. You arranged your hand back on the keys again and tried again, with little improvement.

“I’m sorry, I…” you stuttered as you clutched your hand in your lap protectively.

His hand covered yours and you looked up at him to see him staring at you with warm patience. “It’s okay. If you don’t want to do this, we can stop.”

You stared at him, mouth slightly open as you thought about it. You knew he wouldn’t hold it against you if you wanted to quit. And sure, you felt silly being so poor at it when sitting next to someone who’s skills you idolized.

But did you really want to stop? How often would you get an opportunity like this?

“No, it’s okay. Keep going, I want to learn.” You replied.

Shouta watched you for a moment longer before he placed his hand back on the keys. “Place your hand over mine.”

You followed his instructions, your hand looking small compared to his. His skin was warm, and it calmed the shaking in your fingers.

��Watch where the fingers land. Feel how they move.” He played the notes, and you could feel the tendons of his hand tense and shift, his fingers rising and falling like a wave.

“It’s like they’re dancing.” You said. “You switch to your thumb on this key… E?”

“Yes.” Shouta replied in approval. “Your turn.”

This time you focused, remembering the feel of how his hand had moved under yours as you played the keys, switching your fingers at the right time. The improvement was noticeable.

He smiled. “Good. Now, for the other hand. You’ll start one octave lower. Can you find it?”

Your arm crossed Aizawa’s chest to press the white key, letting the sound ring out.

“Perfect. Only this time, your pinky will sit on this key, with the others following after.”

You placed your fingers across the white keys. “Like this?”

Shouta nodded. “Now you’ll try the same progression with your left hand. The middle finger will follow after the thumb plays the G note.”

You removed your hand so he could place his own and demonstrate it for you. You followed after him, imitating his actions, but this time your attempt was worse than your first, your hand angled awkwardly due to limited space as you pressed yourself against him.

“That was terrible.” You laughed. “I can’t reach very easily.”

A small mischievous smile formed on Shouta’s lips and he slipped his hand around your waist.

“Come here.” He said.

You didn’t fight him as he pulled you into his lap. His right hand settled itself against your stomach as his legs parted slightly to make room for yours, your knees drawn together between his. The heat of his touch seeped through the fabric of your dress, weaving a tight knot of desire deep in your core that made your body go rigid as you tried to keep yourself from melting against him.

“Is this okay?” He asked, leaning slightly to see your face from his position behind you.

You licked your lips and swallowed, giving a nod. “Y-Yes…” you answered shakily. “Are you okay…? I’m not too heavy?”

Shouta gave a soft laugh. “No. Not at all.” His breath was hot against your skin and you could feel the scratch of his stubble as he spoke, sending goosebumps over your body. “Let’s continue.”

He placed his left hand on the keys again with ease, regardless of how poor his view of the piano was with you in front of him. He knew this instrument like the back of his hand; could probably play it with his eyes closed and never miss a note.

He played the simple notes again, C through B, fingers tip-toeing across the keys as he said their names out loud, helping you to remember them. You watched carefully for where the shift in finger arrangement happened, the middle finger following after the thumb just as he’d described.

“You try.” He instructed, his right arm still wrapped around your waist, holding you close against him. You could feel the warmth of his chest against your back now, feel the strength of his body beneath you.

You loved this. The lap-sitting, the lesson, the praise. Each time Shouta praised your improvements it sent a thrill through you from your head down to your toes. To be complimented by him, even for something as simple as pressing a few keys… it only made you want to please him more.

You played the progression of notes with renewed motivation, once again showing improvement from your first attempt.

“Good.”

Your spine straightened against him slightly. The thumb of his hand caressed your abdomen where he held you.

“Now you need to learn to do the same but in reverse, until you’re back where your fingers started.”

You moved your hand away to let him demonstrate and his right hand left your stomach, leaving an ache in its wake. You watched both of his hands play the simple notes up and down, working together with ease. But you knew it was all a ruse… he made it look easy, but if you tried to do the same, you’d fumble clumsily.

“I don’t know about this…” you chuckled.

“It takes practice,” he replied, “until it becomes muscle memory.”

Shouta demonstrated it again, up and down. And again.

You placed your hands over his, wanting to feel the touch of his hands under yours more than the actual pressing of the keys. All you wanted was his arm around your waist again, his hand on your lower abdomen. His touch was tantalizing, and you wanted more of it.

He completed the simple scale progression two more times with your hands on top of his.

“Do you want to try?” he offered.

His hands left the keys to hold you again, his arms wrapped more tightly around you this time. You leaned against him, reveling in being held in his arms.

“I’m going to mess up.” You warned.

“Just take it slow.”

You shook your head a little and let out a small breath, shifting your position in his lap slightly as you leaned forward to focus on the keys. His arms loosened around you, his hands shifting to your thighs.

It was likely an innocent action, intended to give you the freedom to move as you made yourself comfortable. But as soon as the tips of his fingers touched the bare skin below the hem of your dress, that sharp zap of arousal tingled the ends of your nerves, causing you to suck in air and part your knees slightly, your walls throbbing in hopeful anticipation.

It wasn’t intentional. Your body just… reacted. But Shouta noticed instantly.

There was silence at first, his hands still on your thighs, waiting. Finally, he spoke. “Y/N….” his voice was huskier now. “How long has it been since you’ve been cared for?”

Embarrassment flooded through you. Embarrassment at your sensitivity to his touch, embarrassment at the answer to his question... You hesitated a moment before words fell clumsily from your mouth. “I, um… a long time.”

A low hum rumbled from Shouta’s chest as his fingers brushing gently along the inside of your thighs until they dipped just beneath the black fabric. The action was experimental, a testing of the waters, and it brought immediate results. Your thighs widened the slightest bit more as you failed to fight back a whimper, your hands grasping his arms in need. Not a moment later you could feel the growing firmness of his cock begin to press against your backside, despite the restriction of Shouta’s jeans. Shouta’s hands halted again their movement, waiting. He was miraculously under control despite his obvious arousal, and you envied him.

“Do you want me to touch you?” he asked, his voice low.

Of course you did. It was obvious you did. Why else would your legs be parting like the red sea as if he were Moses?

But for some reason, your body language wasn’t enough for him. He needed to hear it. A sense of urgency filled you, desperate need driving you. At this point, you’d give him whatever he wanted…

“Yes.” you begged. “Please, Shouta... Please touch me.” You leaned back against him, allowing the angle of your hips to tilt as your hands guided him further beneath the skirt of your dress.

With you draped onto him, your head tilted back, Shouta kissed the curve of your neck as his hands gently gripped the insides of your knees, pulling your legs apart until they were draped over his own. You were open for him now, your skirt hiked halfway up by the spread of your legs.

Your heart pounded in your chest with so much excitement that you could feel your own pulse in your neck and between your legs. This was happening… This was really happening… How many times had you fantasized about this very thing? How many times had you longed for this man, whispered his name on your tongue only to be met by the empty silence? And now here he was, freeing you from the shackles of your loneliness in the best way possible.

Shouta’s hands pushed the fabric up the rest of the way until it was pooled around your hips, exposing your panties. The thin cotton fabric did little to protect your aching cunt from the cold air, and you sucked air through your teeth at the sensation. His fingers traced invisible lines up the inside of your thighs, leaving nothing but singing nerves in their wake that cascaded into a shiver that rolled over your flesh, leaving goosebumps. Your body was already moving of its own volition, hips rolling, eager for Shouta’s fingers yet simultaneously attempting to grind down onto his restrained cock. Your breaths were already coming in hot and ragged, every inch of you frantic for the release that it had been denied all evening.

Shouta gave a low growl, his left hand holding down your hip, halting your movements. “You better stop that…” he warned.

No doubt your girating was making things difficult for him on his end. But you didn’t care. You were an unfettered, horny mess now.

A whine escaped your lips at his restriction. In response, Shouta’s left hand trailed up the length of your body, caressing over your breast before finding its home on your neck. His palm was against your voice box now, his fingers long enough to wrap around your throat and reach your jaw. There was no force in his hold, but it still held power over you, ushering your body into stillness while your chest heaved with heavy breaths.

“Patience.” He whispered. “Let me take care of you.”

Shouta followed up his words with more gentle kisses along your neck, your shoulder… wherever his lips could reach with you on his lap. The feel of his hand on your throat was a reminder of who was in control. But it was also a promise - a promise to ensure your needs would be met.

Once Shouta was sure he had your compliance, his right hand travelled the remaining distance of your inner thigh to arrive at your panties, where moist heat greeted him.

A low hum of approval rumbled in his chest, vibrating against your back. “You’re so wet.”

A pitiful “yes” was all you could muster before the tips of his fingers brushed gently against your clothed sex, stealing your voice and replacing it with a gasp.

Slowly Shouta pet you, his fingers stroking gentle circles over the wet cotton, teasing the sensitive flesh beneath. With his hand still on your neck, you kept your body torturously motionless as he gradually increased the pressure of his digits, reducing his speed as he passed over your clit to drag the pads of his fingers over the bundle of nerves.

You swallowed the pooling saliva in your mouth, the action causing your throat to press against his hand. “Please…” you begged. “I can’t…”

Shouta was strict, but not cruel. He obliged, slipping his fingers beneath the cotton to swim his digits into your juices, never breaking his circular, rhythmic motion over your slick entrance. The scent of your arousal surrounded both of you, thick and heavy.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he growled against your skin.

Two of his fingers dipped into you then, slow at first, allowing you to stretch around him as your walls quivered. Your thighs tensed at the intrusion, welcoming the stinging pressure as your core burned with fire. He withdrew his fingers slowly and you lifted your head to watch in carnal fascination to see his fingers shining wet down to the knuckles. He pushed them into you again, curling his fingers towards the sensitive, spongey tissue along the top of your walls, his thumb pressing down on your wet clit. A zap of stimulation fired from your core before fizzling away, a teasing warning of what was to come.

“Oh-Oh fuck…” you gasped as one hand reached back and grabbed a fistful of Shouta’s thick, dark hair.

He picked up his pace then, his thumb driving firm circles around your swollen pearl as the sounds of your wet hole being finger-fucked filled the silence of the empty stage. With each pass of his thumb, with each curl of his fingers, the heat grew hotter, your cunt swollen and burning with the need for release. Your thighs were tensed so tightly now that it made your legs lift and you had to brace your feet against the piano, discordant notes ringing out to join the sounds of your heavy pants and wet squelching in a lewd song. Shouta’s hand left your throat to hold you under your thigh to keep you steady as his other hand worked fast and hard to unravel you. With the absence of his touch on your neck, you were free to move your hips, grinding hard into his hand, his lap, whatever part of him you were touching. Your grip on his hair tightened, mirroring the tension building within you, clinging to him like the boughs of a tree knowing that any second the flood would come.

Shouta was your lifeline, your rock, your destroyer. You were the waves and he was the shore, and your body tensed to prepare itself to crash against him.

“Come on, baby…” Shouta whispered gruffly. “I’ve got you. Cum for me.”

You came with a cry, loud and frantic as your walls clamped down on his fingers. The ball of heat that you had been carrying like a stone exploded within you, incinerating every nerve from the inside out, leaving nothing but sweet, sharp, euphoria in its wake. Your walls spasmed repeatedly, sucking greedily on Shouta’s drenched fingers, as you cried and moaned, bucked and arched. Shouta’s arm was around your waist, holding you against him to keep you from sliding off of his lap as you rode the high of your orgasm, tumbling like a waterfall over and over again to finally become a puddle in his strong arms.

Shouta held you silently against him as your body twitched with aftershocks of pleasure. Once your spasms subsided and he was sure you wouldn’t fall from your perch, Shouta released his hold around your waist to draw his fingers up and down your arm, creating goosebumps under his gentle touch. His fingers were still in you, his hand cupped between your legs. The warmth of his touch on your tired cunt was comforting, and it brought forth a content moan from your parted lips. Shouta smiled as he planted another kiss on your shoulder.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that with him. But you finally made yourself sit up when you felt sleep starting to drag you down into its murky depths, your limbs feeling heavy.

Finally, Shouta spoke. “Better?” he asked.

You gave a laugh. “Much.” You looked down at yourself in amusement. “You made a mess of me, though…”

Shouta gave a satisfied hum and stared at his hand that held you. “I like you messy.” He stated.

“So, you’re just gonna leave me like this?” you teased.

He laughed and withdrew his fingers, wiping the slick coating them onto his jeans. “As much as I like that idea, no.” He adjusted your ruined underwear and the hem of your dress back into place before turning you around in his lap. His hands were planted on your rear, keeping you securely and comfortably in place. “It’s late. We should get you home.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him. “What about you?” you asked, your eyes glancing down to his lap. Your hands began to trail down his chest to reach the button of his pants, eager to reciprocate.

Shouta smiled at you and grabbed your hands, bringing them back up to plant kisses on your palms. “Tonight was about you. There’ll be more opportunities for both of us later.” You pouted and he chuckled. “Don’t give me that face.”

“It hardly seems fair…” you muttered. You were looking forward to enjoying more of him… you didn’t want tonight to end.

He hummed as he began to trail kisses along your jawline and you arched your neck to allow him better access. “We both… need sleep.”

Sleep? With his mouth on your skin, sleep was the last thing on your mind. Shouta pulled his lips away to look into your eyes again and you could see the fatigue there, dark circles framing bloodshot eyes. He really did look incredibly tired, and you couldn’t help but wonder how late it really was. You brushed the errant strand of hair off of his forehead, tucking it behind his ear.

“Okay...” you softly agreed.

“You should come back tomorrow night.” He mused, the mischief back in his eyes. “We can continue our piano lessons.”

“I’d like that.” you smiled.

You couldn’t wait.

#aizawa shouta #Shouta Aizawa #Aizawa x reader #Aizawa x you #shouta x reader #Shouta x you #bnha smut #mha smut #aizawa smut #bnharem collab #Jazz Aizawa #Jazz AU #Music AU #BNHA music AU

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stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 3 years

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I’m sorry, but can I just go on a little rant about the Louis, clouis, and the Clem comic...?

I didn’t really talk about Louis in my overall review of the comic because I wanted that to be more contained to the content shown on the pages, Clementine’s relationship with AJ, and her as a character.... but the more I think about these comics and Louis, the more frustrated I become thinking about what Clementine abandoning everyone would do to him.

[... okay it’s not little anymore since I guess I can never just do anything simple when it comes to Louis, sorry my bad]

So, no surprise, we all know the comic’s bullshit by now. Clementine leaving everything and everyone behind because she’s not happy is dumb, AJ just letting her go is dumb, and Clem going to the mountains on crutches and a peg leg to find this so-called happiness is dumb.

Now that we’ve established it’s dumb, I wanna talk about Louis because I got a lot of built up feelings about how bullshit this storyline is with how Clementine would not only abandon AJ, but also abandon Louis.

Because let me tell you..... his heart would be broken beyond repair and I need to talk about why.

Sigh.... so.... muh boy.

Before he met Clementine, Louis was this laidback, irresponsible, but caring and musical person who kept his head down to avoid conflict and never looked at the future. He was the kind of person who took things one day at a time, saw survival as a day-to-day task, and said that the future doesn’t exist, there’s only today. You get the point, he was never too concerned with things because they always seemed to work out, and if they didn’t, then that sucks and that’s why we should appreciate every day while we have it.

Louis is shown to be charismatic and friendly, he spends his free time playing piano and card games, but no one really takes him seriously. Not even Marlon, his best friend for 8+ years. While he doesn’t seem to be on bad terms with anyone [including Aasim, they just act like people who disagree with the other’s point of view and have had the same argument many times, but that doesn’t mean they hate each other, y’know?] he also doesn’t appear super close with anyone outside of Marlon and possibly Violet, but even then.

Marlon’s shown to have little faith in him with the way he talks about if Louis will even show up to hunt. He has a controlling grip on Louis that’s prominent during the confrontation scene when he uses intimidation to try to convince Louis to not interfere. Oh, and there’s the fact that Marlon’s been lying to Louis for the past year about the twins and then continued to lie to his face about what really happened to Brody... which isn’t great when you consider how Louis was the only one who had blind faith in him as a leader and, according to Marlon, was the only one who couldn’t see how pathetic he always was.

Violet, while having a few more nicer moments with him than Marlon, still invalidates him and his feelings several times throughout the first half of the game which makes me wonder how close they ever were, or at least if Violet ever considered him a close friend to begin with. And no, a small monologue in the dorms doesn’t make everything better or confirm they were brotp the whole time... especially when once they’re on the boat, Louis might as well not exist because Violet can’t be bothered to acknowledge what happened to him or inquire about how he’s doing. I guess she just didn’t have time react while standing in her cell for several unbothered minutes-- no wait, it’s she already reacted off screen. Right. Good writing is good.

What I’m getting at here is that even though Louis is surrounded by people who he genuinely cares about, there is an argument to be made that he’s a lonely person. Hell, he’s aware of his loneliness when he says that no one hears past his music and jokes. I mean, how many nights do you think he spent by himself playing the piano because no one wanted to hear it? Are they like Violet and crack jokes about how he doesn’t have actual talent? Probably, given that someone literally carved “you suck at playing” onto the side of the damn piano.

Oh, and let’s touch on that backstory of his. Louis grew up wealthy with two parents who loved him and each other, and they gave him anything he wanted except singing lessons. Louis says he wanted to be a real musician. But I guess his father didn’t like that idea and told him no, with the [as Louis puts it] dumb dad lesson of, “You get to be happy, or you get to be rich, can’t be both.” ...which is interesting given that Louis and his family were stupid rich but also.... were they not happy? well, that doesn’t make sense because little Louis knew that if he broke up their marriage, they would be hurt.

So yeah, Louis was so upset that his father continually refused to let him take singing lessons that he broke into the man’s credit cards and faked an affair, which led to his parents divorcing... and then he spit his father’s words back in his face.

Then they dumped him at Ericson. And the walkers came.

There’s so much to unpack from the story he tells that it could be it’s own analysis, but basically.... Louis is aware of why what he did was fucked up, and he carries it with him every day.

He regrets what he did, chews himself out for being such a “vindictive fuckhead” [and the amount of force used in that line tells you a lot, like how it’s not the first time he’s chastised himself like this] and he admits that he doesn’t even know the person he’s talking about. Yet, he still sees himself as bad, saying that they [I assume the staff] told him and the other kids they’re bad people. I don’t doubt that Louis internalized that which played a huge role in the confidence and self-esteem issues he has during tfs.

Anyway, I’ll come back to this later, but when you take that amount of guilt and regret, and mix it with the fact that they dropped him off at this school that was supposed to make him better.... then the walkers came and those teachers, staff, and headmaster? Gone. Left a bunch of kids to fend for themselves, with the exception of Ms. Martin [but given how she looks when we find her I doubt she lasted that long] and I cannot imagine how horrifying that was for all of them. The dead are up eating people, and if you die you become one of them... and the people you thought you could rely on just fucking left you to die at this school.

Every kid in that school has trauma and abandonment issues from before and after the world went to shit, every last one, and Louis isn’t the exception here. Over the years, a lot of kids died and they’ve all seen horrible shit. They all knew they were never going to see their families again, and as far as we know, no one came to get their kids at the beginning. They had to find ways of coping while trying to survive, and all they had left was each other.

Louis copes with music and games and jokes. He’s built up this persona where it seems like he’s unaffected by the comments the others make, that the death and suffering he’s gone through is in the past, that he is confident and open to those around him.

But then Clementine and AJ show up, and Louis grows close with both of them. They had immediate chemistry upon first meeting, he was the one who looked after AJ since it seems like everyone else saw him as a little terror, and he went out of his way to be kind and make them comfortable.

When they go hunting with him, Louis and Clementine have a moment after taking care of the walker where they lower their guards a bit-- Louis gives her more in-depth reasons for his views of survival, and going off her expression, it gets to her and makes her think.... but they’ve know each other a day and he’s not quick to infodump his life story or let her in, so he cuts the conversation short.

Then we have the Marlon confrontation scene that I have gone over so many times in the past. I won’t dillydally with it too long but..... Clementine appeals to Louis, who curls in on himself because of the control Marlon has on him. He wants to help, and hell, he knows this is wrong but he’s so used to not getting involved that he gets defensive.... plus, he’s known Clementine for two days, and he’s known Marlon for 8+ years.... he wants to believe Marlon but you can tell he doesn’t want this, either. It takes Clementine talking to him to give him courage to stand between her and Marlon’s gun and it’s a lot.

AJ shoots Marlon and everything goes to shit, and Louis is a goddamn mess. His best friend was murderer right in front of him, so add that to the trauma list, and he’s overwhelmed with all these feelings that again.... they keep getting invalidated by Violet because “Marlon was a liar and murderer, therefore you shouldn’t feel bad about his death. Get over yourself, Louis, you can be such a shithead sometimes.”

Oh yeah Vi, I guess he should care more about two people he’s known for a total of two days rather than for the safety of the people [including you] he’s grown up with and cared about for 8+ years.... makes sense.

So yeah, little to no support during this time. Alone again.

And just because I have to make this clear so no one gets a hair up their ass-- both Louis and Violet are wrong here. Kicking them out isn’t the solution, but neither is acting like AJ was right to commit murder just because it was Marlon.

But plots gotta plot, so they get voted out and you can see that Louis is conflicted about the whole thing. He wants them gone, but at the same time, he knows what kicking them out means. You can see it on his face that he’s not okay with kicking them out. He’s hurting when he’s there in the dorms telling them how the vote went... he literally doesn’t know what else to do. He just knows that everything hurts, Clem and AJ caused it, and he wants the pain to stop. He even tries to justify it to himself by figuring that they’ve done this before so they’ll be fine. Not a great thing to say, Lou.

Anyway, we know the story, Clem and AJ come back and Louis once again sees the consequences of acting out of pain.... AJ is shot because Louis was hurt and he made a bad decision that he’s gotta live with.... something that he’s done before, and this affirms to him that he’s bad. He wishes he could take it back, and goes as far as to admit that to Clementine during the archery scene.

By the way, credit to him for his apology to her. It’s rare in these games that Clem gets a genuine apology from someone who hurt her and doesn’t turn around to repeat the hurtful behavior, y’know? Plus, I can think of plenty of characters who owed Clem an apology in the past or if they did apologize, it was half-assed.

You can feel how conflicted he is with this whole thing-- learning who Marlon really was and what he did, feeling something for Clementine before everything went down and not knowing how to handle those feelings afterward, caring about AJ and understanding why he thought shooting was the best choice but still hurting that his friend is dead....

And the thing is.... Louis forgives her for so much, as she does him, and through all of that bullshit, they manage to develop that strong connection that turns romantic. Louis lets himself be fully vulnerable with her and is honest about his feelings, how she listened when no one else did and seeing him for more than just the persona he put on.

This works on Clementine’s side, too. Clementine has been through her own fair share of bullshit-- trauma, abandonment, loss, injury, you name it. She’s made mistakes, done terrible things, and has been in enough groups to know that romance usually ends in heartbreak.... and yet, she’s willing to open herself up to Louis and admit she feels a lot for him.

Is it a little rushed? Yep. Could it have been handled better? Of course, most things this season could’ve, but what we got was pretty good.

So Clementine and Louis are romantically involved now, the raiders attack, and she saves him... and boy does Louis feel guilty about that one, too. He feels bad enough that he questions why she would pick him because he can’t fathom his life being worth saving over another’s. He doesn’t see himself as useful, and even though Clementine is literally his girlfriend at this point, his self-esteem is so all over the place that he can’t understand why she would have him at her side.

And when Clementine tells him that he’s too important to her, he’s too baffled to even give a response. He looks at her in disbelief like he wasn’t expecting her to say that. But this shows that at the beginning of their relationship, he still doubts himself, and through her working with him, he begins to build up that strength in himself.

He becomes brave enough to share what got him sent to the school with her, and he plays Don’t Be Afraid for everyone at the party and like.... for once, everyone is listening to him. Really listening to him. They’re not talking shit about his musical skills, they’re not ignoring him or the feelings he’s putting into the song, they’re sitting there with him and I just..... if you watch him, you can see that his eyes get pretty glossy throughout the song. The moment meant something to everyone.

There’s also the fact that Clementine asked him to come with her and AJ onto the boat, and to be the one in charge of the bomb... that’s a huge responsibly and he feels the pressure of that. He starts to panic a bit about if he can do it, because what if he fucks up? What if he gets them caught and makes everything worse? What if something happens to Clementine and he can’t do anything about it?

She’s there to reassure him that she believes in him, and that he can do this. They’re going to get everyone back, and he needs to focus... then he asks her to slap him which why would you? that’s dumb, so Clementine smooches him instead and like.... he physically relaxes into her because he’s comfortable and trusts her in this situation.

Also, he loves her and cares about this mission enough to cover himself and his fancy jacket in walker guts.... sure, he complains while doing so but how else is he gonna cope with rubbing rotten guts on himself to blend in with a herd of walkers?

Skipping ahead so that we’re not here all day, I wanna talk about the walk back to the school because it’s one of the most important clouis moments in the game and a huge reason that solidifies why the comic is bullshit.

Louis went off on his own to go out and find them. He didn’t know where they would be, he just knew that he had to go out and find them after making sure everyone was okay back at the school because he couldn’t bare the thought that he had lost them. And the way the AJ gets so excited to see him? and the group hug??

At this point, Louis has grown so much as a character. With Clementine by his side to support him, he’s grown stronger and more reliable. Remember how he never thought about the future? Well, now he is because his relationship with Clementine has given him a reason to long for a future. He talks about building this imaginary house with her, one he knows they can’t physically build... but it’s his way of saying we can build a home together, that he wants a future with her and AJ and everyone else. It’s such a personal conversation that flows so easy between them. Louis is more comfortable talking to her about things from his past, which is something he didn’t want to do back in ep1.

He confides in her how he’s feeling after he shot and killed Dorian, he tells her that having a home means protecting it and I just.... it’s so good, okay? And from Clementine’s side, you can feel how at ease she is with him, too. Just the way she smiles at him as they’re walking? like he’s the cutest thing and she’s so happy to have him with her?

But then we gotta deal with Minerva’s crazy ass on the bridge and well, AJ shoots Tenn and Louis is having flashbacks to Marlon and it’s not great. That’s a whole thing, and he ends up separated from them while escaping.

We don’t get to see Louis’ reaction to Clementine getting bit and losing her leg since I guess that puts a damper on the overly happy ending. But, going off of what we know about him and what I’ve explained [which isn’t even all of it, this isn’t a full Louis character analysis. if it was, it would be much longer and in multiple parts... believe it or not, I’m trying to not make this too long and only sorta failing...] we can get an idea of how he would react.

Um, to say he was upset is an understatement.

Because remember, he had no time to think and climbed over the fence, thinking he could get them to climb over and they could get away, but it didn’t work. He ended up leaving them in order to save himself since walkers were closing in on him.

But you know that he’d blame himself for the bite. A lot of, “if I had just stayed” and “I should’ve climbed back over, I should’ve stayed with you.” I’m sure there were points where it looked like Clem wouldn’t make it and I can’t imagine how much hurt he went through watching her suffer and heal from losing a leg like that.

Not only that, but knowing that AJ was the one to do it? And him thinking about what Clem’s death would do to AJ after all this? There isn’t a doubt in my mind that Louis would take care of AJ if she died. He cares about AJ, and he loves Clementine, so he be there for both of them, even if he’s still hurting from Tenn’s death.

However, Clementine didn’t die. She survived the bite and amputation, and when we flashforward, she and Louis are still happily together. Louis is right there next to her at dinner, and he’s the one to help her with her crutches. He’s there to go over future plans to meet the traveling caravan, and Clementine wants him to be the one to go.

Oh, and Louis once again forgives AJ for shooting Tenn, claiming that he understands that AJ saw something that he couldn’t. Like with Marlon, he’s not happy Tenn’s dead but he can see why AJ did it to save his life.

I just..... happy ending. Clementine and Louis are together and she’s truly happy to have found a home for her and AJ with him at Ericson.

....But then the comic thought it would be fun to say “nah.”

The comic isn’t canon, I’m still insulted that it would ever consider itself as such, but even so I can’t help but feel so frustrated about how this would destroy Louis.

He finally found someone he would consider his best friend, not just his girlfriend. She saw past that funny man persona and he trusted her enough to let her past this wall he built around himself. He let himself become vulnerable around her, he named his song after her. Their initials are carved into his piano with a heart surrounding them. He loved her.

Clementine left him feeling loved, something he probably hasn’t truly felt since he was a little boy with his parents before their divorce. She loved him even after hearing his past because she knew that wasn’t him anymore, and she helped him build the confidence he needed to step up. Because of Clementine, Louis wants to enjoy every day while also looking at the future. He isn’t lonely anymore, he has her and AJ. He’s truly happy.

So to tell me that Louis would wake up one morning only to have AJ tell him that Clementine’s gone, she’ been planning an escape without telling anyone because she wasn’t happy...? I’m sorry, but if you think that wouldn’t leave Louis absolutely devastated, then you know nothing about him as a character.

This idea is just.... look, Louis is perceptive. That’s a big part of his character, he’s perceptive of those around him. If Clementine was showing signs of being unhappy or depression, he would see it. He would notice a change. He would be able to tell if something was off, and he would ask her about it. Louis is the type of person to ask you what you need. What can he do to help? What do you need to feel better? And if you don’t know, it’s okay, he’ll help you figure it out in any way possible.

Plus, the comic suggests that there are times where she went off on her own but came back [probably doing her escape prep ugh] and you expect me to believe that Louis wouldn’t notice that or wonder what she’s doing? Wouldn’t sense that something’s going on?

After she’s gone, he’s going to blame himself for not being enough. He couldn’t make her happy and he was a fool to think he ever could. AJ lost the only family he’s known since he was born because Louis couldn’t help her, couldn’t do anything to stop her from leaving.

And for him to realize that she didn’t love him? Clementine, the girl he thought the world of because of how strong and confident and in-charge she was, because she saw him for who he was..... she left him, abandoned him... and she couldn’t even be bothered with a goodbye.... that says that she didn’t care all that much about him in the end.

You KNOW that he would think he had this coming, too. How could the universe allow him to fall in love and be happy with someone who loved him back after what he did to his parents? He would feel so heartbroken that he would see this as some sort of karma for breaking up his parents happy marriage as a kid years before he ever met Clementine and before the apocalypse.

I fucking can’t.... I don’t have the words to fully explain how much I hate this. Louis wouldn’t be okay afterward, and I doubt he’d ever fully recover. I wasn’t joking when I mentioned before that Louis would stop playing piano. How could he sit there and play when I he can see is their initials and remember the night she confessed to him? When he named his song after her? Clementine left and took the music with her because Louis wouldn’t have it in him... something that he used to cope would be ruined and that’s just.... it’s fucking awful.

Not only that, but now he has AJ who I assume is hurting just as much [though the comics inaccurately assume he would just let Clem go sooo... yeah] and he would be the only one Louis would really talk to about it, but then again.... what if AJ doesn’t wanna talk about it? What if AJ starts to act out and things just become terrible and Louis is just too overwhelmed?

I just.... UGH. That’s how I feel. UGH.

Clementine from the comic? Not her. She would never fucking do this to Louis, AJ, or anyone else at Ericson, and you would know that if you played the tfs.

Sigh.... sorry, I just needed to get this all out. I haven’t seen anyone talk about how Clem leaving would affect Louis and I’ve gotten some asks/come across some posts about Louis that have left me incredibly annoyed.... well, I was annoyed before because of the comics, so my annoyances with those things were only heightened. So yeah... I wanted to talk about Louis’ character in hopes of explaining why he would be so hurt if this comic was canon.

Which it’s not. So it’s fine.

How are we all feelin’ at this point, by the way? I know I’m not the only one still annoyed with the comic, so I hope y’all are doin’ okay. Hope you’re stayin’ chill and thinking about your faves to help cope with this mess hahaha

#twdg louis #twdg clementine #twdg clouis #twdg aj #twdg marlon #twdg violet #clouis #twdg #sometimes i just need to talk about louis okay #one day i'll do a full character analysis that goes over everything #but today isn't that day #long post

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beom1e · 3 years

Text

PINK GUITAR

nobody had ever really noticed you before. you spent your entire life blending in with the crowd, despite dedicating your entire life to becoming a singer on stage. you’d always felt so unimportant and uninteresting. but to him, you were the bright splash of colour in a grey world.

PAIRING park jongseong x fem! reader

THEMES bassist! jay, vocalist! reader, fluff, highschool au

WARNINGS very light sex references

the energy of the club whenever a band was performing was your favourite. everybody was dancing and singing along to what they knew, using those few hours to push away all of their responsibilities and just relax. for many years, you had witnessed it from the crowd with a yearning to be up there creating that energy yourself.

having taken up guitar lessons at a young age with an innate desire to perform, you knew that one day you’d get the chance. or, at least you thought you would. auditioning for a highschool band seemed like an ingenious idea at the time, until you got the part as sub vocalist. the girl that had taken your place as lead vocalist happened to be sleeping with the band’s leader... and the rest was history.

but the lost opportunity wasn’t going to get you down. especially not as you were standing in that very same club, sipping on your drink and eyeing the competition on stage.

said competition was the small group that had taken over the school with their good looks and musical talent. there was heeseung as the lead vocalist, a sweet boy who had already graduated. then there was sunghoon, the lead guitarist that had every girl and guy alike in the palm of his hand. and jake, he was the drummer but spent most of his time trying to be the top of the class and flirting with his fangirls. finally there was jay, the bassist. you didn’t know much about him, just that he seemed very chilled out and insanely popular for that reason specifically.

something about jay always had you wondering, though. he’d meet your gaze as you were sipping from your drink, keeping his eyes on you. it made you feel seen, and you felt stupid for feeling that way. in what world would jay park be interested in you?

as the last song came to a end, you turned back and made your way through the crowd. there your own bandmates were, chatting amongst themselves.

being in their band was a temporary fix. you weren’t their friend, nor were you a necessary member of the band. although you could easily be traded out for someone else, you really didn’t mind. at least you had the opportunity to be on stage, even if it was out of the spotlight.

‘we should head backstage,’ you reminded your lead vocalist before stepping away from them. making your way through the staff only door and heading up the steps, you came face to face with jay.

‘hey, y/n,’ he greeted with a smile, moving out of the way so that you could get past him. you mumbled a quick thank you before fleeing the scene and finding your guitar. jake and sunghoon passed by you as well, talking loudly about something. and then heeseung, who smiled at you before following the rest of the boys onto the floor of the club.

your own band finally showed up as you were checking the tuning of your guitar. the four of you made your way onto the stage, the lead vocalist getting right into greeting everyone.

it was routine. you started the song off with the strum of your electric guitar, and the energy began to pick up. the lead vocalist sang, the drummer played the drums, and the bassist played his bass guitar. you had small singing parts, usually as the backup for your lead, but it was enough for now.

jay was watching your every move. from your black painted nails to the pick between your lips to the way you gripped the microphone and sang so beautifully. his favourite thing was your baby pink electric guitar, perfectly preserved and a huge contrast to the outfits you wore on stage. he was completely mesmerised by you, but you didn’t have a clue.

singing was your first love. you loved the rush of playing a guitar solo, but nothing felt better than expressing your emotions through your voice and lyrics. so every friday, as students began flooding out of the school gates, you headed to the music classroom for practice.

your piano skills were rusty, but you took a seat at the instrument anyway. although, there was one tune you would never be able to forget, which happened to be a song you’d written. your purpose in the band wasn’t to write music, so you’d never mentioned it to your bandmates.

as your fingers ran delicately against the keys, you began to hum. jay came to a stop outside of the classroom at the sound of your playing.

when you began to sing your lyrics, he felt himself mindlessly smiling. he always thought you had a better voice than your lead singer, and was confused as to why you were made sub vocalist. it seemed like you were overflowing with musical ability, and deserved a better place in your band.

‘that’s a pretty song,’ he stepped inside, making you jump. there was a horrible clash of piano keys coming together to make an awful sound that made you both cringe. ‘sorry, i didn’t mean to scare you.’

‘it’s fine,’ you turned around on the piano bench to face him. ‘how long have you been there?’

‘just since you started singing,’ he shrugged, but you felt your eyes go wide. nobody had ever heard your song before, so you couldn’t believe the first person to hear it was jay park. ‘oh... i’m sorry for invading your privacy. i just came here to pick up my guitar.’

‘seriously, it’s fine, jay,’ you reassured with a smile, watching him reach for his guitar. ‘but maybe knock next time so that i don’t almost have a heart attack.’

he laughed shortly at your words. as he was about to leave, he turned back around to face you. ‘you have a really beautiful singing voice,’ your cheeks began to heat up. ‘you know, heeseung has been considering leaving the band since he’s no longer a highschool student. so if you ever wanted to practice as a lead vocalist, the place is up for grabs.’

‘i think i’d like that,’ jay couldn’t help but smile at your words. ‘do you want my number so we can arrange a session together?’

sunghoon and jake were tired of hearing jay go on and on about you. he’d been jumpy all day waiting for you to show up, so much so that heeseung felt himself getting dizzy.

when you did arrive, everybody already looked exhausted. it reminded you a lot of your own band practices, since everybody in your band was always so dull and boring.

‘y/n!’ heeseung called happily, dropping down from a barstool to greet you. ‘finally, you’re here.’

‘did i keep you all waiting long...?’ you awkwardly looked around the room. but nobody seemed too annoyed, so you were sure you were off the hook.

‘no,’ sunghoon started. ‘just jay—’ jake reached to cover sunghoon’s mouth, cutting him off.

‘let’s get you set up,’ heeseung suggested, gesturing towards the stage. you followed him up, the other three boys finding their instruments. ‘just choose a song you want to try and they’ll start.’

he jumped back down from the stage to sit back on his bar stool. at first you felt awkward, standing up in front of the band’s current lead vocalist. it didn’t help that you couldn’t see the three boys behind you.

but after a while, you started to feel more comfortable. and it was fun, taking control of the songs with your vocals. every couple of songs, you’d take a snack or drink break and sit around on the stage with the boys, just chatting amongst yourselves. jay was unusually quiet, watching you laugh with his friends from the sidelines. it wasn’t jealousy, he just liked seeing you happy and carefree.

after the session was over, you packed up your pink guitar and said goodbye to the boys. jay followed you out, catching your wrist to spin you around.

‘you’re amazing, y/n,’ he spoke, holding back a smile. ‘i’m not going to force you to leave your own band, but i want you to know the position is being offered to you. so think about it, please?’

‘i will,’ you nodded, beaming with pride. ‘thank you for today, jay. i’ll see you on monday.’

you were sitting with your back against the tree, snack in one hand and a book in the other. considering it was a sunny day, you thought it was a great idea. well, you were wrong.

‘enjoying that, y/n?’ you lowered the book to see your lead singer standing in front of you. ‘i just came to see if the rumours were true.’

‘what rumours?’ you closed your book, setting it down beside yourself. she was standing with her arms crossed, an annoyed look on her face.

‘just that you’re the new lead singer for jay and his little buddies,’ the tone of her voice was mocking. a smirk was on her lips, as if this whole thing was nothing more than a joke to her.

‘well, they’re not true,’ you defended. ‘heeseung is leaving and jay asked me to practice with them. he said he really likes my singing voice and that they’ve been wanting a female touch to the band.’

‘well, they’re kind of true,’ she squinted her eyes, staring down at you. ‘if you want to fraternise with the enemy, then go ahead. but you’re out of our band, and we won’t be taking you back.’

‘fine by me,’ you stood, slipping your bag onto your shoulder. ‘good luck sleeping your way to the top, we all know that’s the only reason you got lead singer.’

as you tried to walk away, she just kept going on. ‘do you really think i’m that stupid, y/n? the only reason jay is offering you a place in their band is because he��s hoping to sleep with you.’

‘unbelievable,’ you turned back around. ‘can you just drop it? i really don’t care for your opinion.’

‘not an opinion, y/n,’ she stepped forward, a smug smile on her face. ‘just a fact.’ shoving past you, she disappeared inside of the building.

there was a knock on the door and you looked up from your lyric book. ‘hey,’ jay greeted, letting himself into the music classroom. ‘i heard what happened.’

‘hi, jay,’ you smiled weakly. ‘yeah, it was pretty bad... but please don’t pity invite me into your band.’

‘can i sit here?’ he gestured towards the piano bench you were occupying. you nodded, sliding over a bit to give him more room. ‘i’m not pity inviting you. with heeseung leaving, we need a talented vocalist to take his place. i’ve seen you sing and perform, and i just genuinely think you’re an amazing artist.’

‘thanks,’ you bit back your smile, looking off to the side. ‘that means a lot. but i do have one question.’

‘i’m sure i have an answer,’ jay shrugged.

‘please bare in mind that i really don’t see you as the type to do this,’ your words made him tense up. what could you possibly need to ask? ‘but ever since she mentioned it, i couldn’t stop thinking about it. you’re not asking me just because you want to sleep with me, are you?’

‘no,’ his answer came quick. he didn’t want you to see him as that type. ‘i can’t say that i don’t have feelings for you, but i wasn’t looking to pursue you. i’m sensible, keeping work and play separate.’

‘work and play?’ you laughed, resting your hand on his arm for support. ‘work hard, play hard type of guy? not very surprising.’

‘nah, that’s jake,’ he laughed along with you, eyes moving down to where your hand was. feeling awkward, you removed your hand and cleared your throat. ‘but seriously, the spot is yours. i’d love to see you up there thriving on stage.’

he stood from the bench, sending you one last smile before turning out of the room. shuffling your things into your bag, you ran to catch up to him. ‘jay, wait!’ you called, seeing him stop in his tracks.

‘yeah?’ he asked cluelessly. you got closer, a bright smile on your lips. leaning up, you pressed a kiss to his cheek. jay felt himself tensing up, his entire body warming up at the gesture.

‘thank you, jongseong,’ you smiled, then leaving him to stand there looking like an idiot.

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sourholland · 3 years

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hiii, can i request a blurb for a timothée x reader where music is kinda of something like special to their relationship so they’re just talking about music and how similar their music taste is and how beautiful music can be? lmao im a literal musician so i’ve been daydreaming abt that for a while

blurbs & drabbles night

First dates are always the most stressful.

This seemed especially true when they were with big time actors who you’d only met by chance in a coffee shop off a corner in Manhattan. You hadn’t recognized him through his hood and baseball cap, but as soon as he’d complimented your Nirvana t-shirt and offered to buy your coffee, how could you not?

The conversation lasted quite a while, and he was modest as well. He’d introduced himself as any other guy would, said his name was Timmy and that he really enjoyed Nirvana as well and liked your style. If you hadn’t been internally screaming before, his asking for your phone number only added to the carefully contained meltdown you were having on the inside.

You then went on to spend two hours that night rightfully stalking all of his socials. He texted a bit later while you were making pasta and jumping around the kitchen to Pearl Jam. It was a couple lines about how he wanted to wait a few more hours so he didn’t look desperate, but that he had some free time later the following week and wanted to ask if you’d like to go out with him.

With wide eyes, you willed yourself to wait at least five minutes before responding so you didn’t come off like you were waiting for his text. Once you responded with a quick ‘of course,’ he asked where you lived. Turns out, your dorm wasn’t too far from where he was taking you, which he’d explained was a small record store he’d been going to since he was in high school.

Now, you were both walking down the bustling sidewalk, hands brushing every few seconds. He explained how difficult it was for him to get out without being photographed, and that he was sorry if paps started following you guys. However, you both made it to the small, hole-in-the-wall little shop with ease.

The little bell jingled as soon as you stepped in, and an orange cat came out from behind the counter. It was one of those old looking cats with smooshed faced, it reminded you of the one from Harry Potter. The store owner seemed to smirk at Timothée, eyes darting from you to him.

“Bring all your dates here?” You teased, letting him pull you up the small, cluttered staircase.

“I’m hurt,” he joked, hand over his heart. “Actually, I’ve never brought anyone in here before.”

This may have inflated your ego a bit too much, face heating at his words. He brought you to a small little area, there was a couch that looked like it came straight out of the 1970’s and shelves lined with records. He thumbed a few of the vinyls, seemingly trying to choose the perfect one.

“You seem like a Billy Joel fan,” he observed.

“Who the hell isn’t?” You laughed, “when I was seven, my mom put me in piano lessons and all I would play was Billy Joel.”

“I play piano—I mean, I’m not amazing, but I can play. I did a movie a few years ago, I had to learn how to play for it,” he spoke.

He hadn’t talked much of his fame, or the fact that he was a big shot movie star with millions of people fawning over him. It seemed like he was trying to be humble, but you were curious about his career. Maybe he saves that for third dates, you thought to yourself sarcastically.

You leaned over him, looking through the section he was gazing at. He flustered easily, a visible redness spreading through his cheeks. You grinned a bit, watching him pull the record out of the sleeve and place it down. He moved the needle onto the vinyl with ease, sinking down to the floor and pulling his knees to his chest.

Vienna played lowly, a classic that you loved all too much. He noticed this, taking the opportunity to look at you a bit closer. The sweet silence made you wonder if he really hadn’t ever brought another person here.

“Music has always been a passion of mine, it’s like—I don’t know, it’s like everything in music just seems to come together and make sense. I just feel weirdly connected to it,” you rambled. “I probably make no sense, but hopefully you get a little bit of what I mean.”

“No—no, I completely agree. There’s just something about good music, I think I really got to broadening my taste later in high school. I totally see what you’re saying, it just sort of means something more than words can sometimes.”

#timothée chalamet blurbs #timothee chalamet blurbs #timothee chalamet imagine #timothée chalamet imagine #timothée chalamet imagines #timothee chalamet imagines #timothee chalamet x reader #elle’s blurbs

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osakaso5 · 3 years

Text

IDOLiSH7 6th Anniversary Special Story: Full of Heart...

Chapter 2: Tearjerking Memories

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Torao Mido: Atchoo!

Toma Inumaru: Caught a cold, Tora?

Minami Natsume: Don't infect the rest of us, please.

Haruka Isumi: Maybe it's hay fever? Apparently that can get pretty bad in August.

Torao Mido: Or, someone's talking about me... A pretty woman, most likely.

Toma Inumaru: Sure, whatever.

Shiro Utsugi: I must say, I'm impressed that you could reserve such an expensive-looking bar for us.

Torao Mido: It was no trouble at all. Besides, Haruka wanted to try going to a bar.

Haruka Isumi: He promised to take me here if I won in a game of Konpira Fune Fune. And I did.

Minami Natsume: Hee hee... Oh, Isumi-san. I didn't know you had what it takes to become a geisha.

Toma Inumaru: Don't teach Haru anything weird, now.

Shiro Utsugi: Since we're at such a fine establisment, we should make the most of it.

[Snap]

Shiro Utsugi: I'll have a Bloody Mary.

Toma Inumaru: You're going to drink? I thought we had a meeting...

Shiro Utsugi: This is a bar. We're not here to see the sights. Now go on, Inumaru-san, order something.

Toma Inumaru: A-alright. Uh...

Shiro Utsugi: As artists, you should enjoy life to the fullest. Don't worry about breaking the rules every now and then.

Minami Natsume: Should you be breaking the rules, Utsugi-san? I believe you're still an ordinary employee of the very strict Tsukumo Productions...

Shiro Utsugi: It'll be fine. I'll just climb the corporate ladder until I'm in a position where I can change the company to suit me.

Haruka's Thoughts: This Shiro Utsugi guy is really aggressive...

Torao's Thoughts: He's supposed to be our newbie manager, yet he's the one pushing us around...

Minami's Thoughts: I'd expect nothing less of the man Ryo-san chose as his last minute replacement.

Toma's Thoughts: I don't think I've ever seen someone order a drink by snapping their fingers before...

Shiro Utsugi: Let's have a toast before we begin our meeting. Order something, everyone.

Toma Inumaru: I'll have beer.

Torao Mido: A gin rickey.

Minami Natsume: Oolong tea.

Haruka Isumi: Orange juice.

Shiro Utsugi: And there you have it. That'll be all.

Shiro Utsugi: Now, would you mind showing me your childhood pictures before our drinks arrive?

Minami Natsume: The pictures for our "Welcome to Kids Room" guest appearance?

Shiro Utsugi: Yes. Did you bring them?

Toma Inumaru: I've got mine, yeah.

Haruka Isumi: Me too. Show me yours first, though. I wanna see what you looked like as kids.

Toma Inumaru: No way, that's too embarrassing. You go first, Haru. You probably look the most similar to when you were little, anyway.

Haruka Isumi: You think so? Okay, fine. Here you go.

Torao Mido: Let's see...

Minami Natsume: My, how adorable.

Toma Inumaru: Whooa! You were super cute! With a round face like that, I'll bet you were a little angel!

Haruka Isumi: Don't call my face round.

Shiro Utsugi: You were a textbook junior idol, if I've ever seen one. You'd have made a good duo with Mitsuki Izumi of IDOLiSH7.

Torao Mido: But that guy's my age.

Minami Natsume: ........ To think that Kujo-san whisked him overseas not long after this picture was taken...

Toma Inumaru: I'd have been so worried for him...

Minami Natsume: As would I.

Haruka Isumi: I came back safe and sound. Nothing bad happened to me either, other than a rude wake up call.

Haruka Isumi: If that hadn't happened to me, I wouldn't be the main vocalist of an outlaw group like ours now.

Haruka Isumi: Pretty cool, huh?

Toma Inumaru: Hey cool outlaw, your orange juice is here.

Haruka Isumi: Whoa! There's an orange slice on the glass! Wow, that's so neat!

Shiro Utsugi: Now, let's toast.

Toma Inumaru: Yeah!

Toma Inumaru: ŹOOĻ...

Minami, Haruka, Torao, & Shiro: Rules!

[Clink]

Minami Natsume: Am I the only one who finds this cheer somewhat... lacking?

Toma Inumaru: We might wanna rethink it, yeah.

Torao Mido: There's a lot of dinosaur stickers plastered all over your house, Haruka. What's this one called?

Haruka Isumi: Uh... That's Dee, the Growlysaurus...

Toma Inumaru: Ah, I remember those! You must've really liked Growlysauruses. Should I buy you one sometime?

Haruka Isumi: I-I don't need one, stupid! How old do you think I am?

Haruka Isumi: Give me my picture back. It's someone else's turn.

Torao Mido: I'll show you mine.

Toma Inumaru: Well?

Toma Inumaru: ...Your limbs were freaking LONG! This is basically just a tinier version of how you look now...

Minami Natsume: Oh my. I quite like the way you looked at this age.

Torao Mido: Yeah, I bet you do.

Minami Natsume: Is this a transformation belt?

Haruka Isumi: It is. I kinda wasn't expecting you to bring a photo like this.

Torao Mido: I learned something recently. Namely, that even a perfect man like me is more interesting with some mundane characteristics.

Haruka Isumi: I guess some kid who plays with transformation belts is a lot more approachable than a flawless celebrity.

Torao Mido: Exactly.

Toma Inumaru: You don't gotta make excuses, you know. The truth is that you just thought it was a nice photo, right?

Toma Inumaru: You said you like all this sentai and superhero stuff. For what it’s worth, I think the pic's nice, too.

Torao Mido: ...That wasn't why I picked it, really.

Toma Inumaru: Yeah, right.

Torao Mido: It was a calculated decision.

Toma Inumaru: No need to play tough. It's fine that you chose a picture you liked from when you were little.

Torao Mido: I told you, that's not why.

Toma Inumaru: Ahaha! You're starting to sound a little too defensive.

Torao Mido: ........ Whatever. Maybe I'll just use a different picture.

Toma Inumaru: Oh, stop sulking, for Pete's sake!

Shiro Utsugi: Don't try to tear it up, now. I agree that you'll most likely garner more attention with a picture like this, Mido-san.

Torao Mido: I knew it. Okay, I'm going with this picture for the show. What about you, Minami? What kind of picture did you bring?

Minami Natsume: Mine isn't particularly interesting. Anyone can look up what I looked like as a child, after all.

Torao Mido: But you did bring a photo, right?

Minami Natsume: I did.

Shiro Utsugi: Would you be so kind as to show it to us?

Minami Natsume: Very well. Here it is.

Toma & Haruka: ...So cute!!!

Haruka Isumi: You were adorable as a kid, Minami! Like a girl or something! A really cute one!

Toma Inumaru: Kinda like Tora, you looked like a mini version of what you're like now, but in a different way! You've definitely got the air of a celebrity here!

Shiro Utsugi: This must be from around the time you were filming the movie Kagurazaka. Even as a child, you had very fine features.

Minami Natsume: Hee hee. Thank you. I do enjoy a bit of unfiltered praise every now and then.

Torao Mido: Was this taken at your home? That's a pretty big piano you've got.

Minami Natsume: Yes. I took piano lessons when I was younger.

Minami Natsume: I had to quit playing when my work got too busy to allow for it, but I finally resumed my lessons a few years ago...

Toma Inumaru: So you're basically a musical genius. That's cool.

Minami Natsume: Hee hee... Yes, it is cool. Now then, would you mind showing us your picture, Inumaru-san?

Toma Inumaru: Sure thing!

Haruka Isumi: What kind of photo did you pick?

Toma Inumaru: I figured at least one of us should bring in something goofy, so I got the funniest one I could find!

Torao Mido: Funny... Ah, you're at a festival, wearing a happi!

Shiro Utsugi: Oh, you've even got a sarashi wrapped around you. It looks very authentic.

Minami Natsume: You must've lived in a neighborhood that loved festivals.

Haruka Isumi: I'm jealous. I wish I could've worn clothes like this to a festival, too.

Toma Inumaru: I could take you to a festival around where I'm from. The neighborhood grannies would be all over you, Haru.

Haruka Isumi: Yeah, I wanna go! This picture's pretty nice. I bet it'll be good for the show.

[Phone rings]

Torao Mido: Hmm...? Oh, now that's unusual. Sogo says he needs to ask me something in person.

Toma Inumaru: Ask him where he is, and if he's nearby, go see him. It could be something urgent.

Torao Mido: But aren't we in the middle of a meeting?

Shiro Utsugi: We're all done now. You may go.

Toma Inumaru: Oh, that's it?

Haruka Isumi: We could've stayed at the agency if all we were gonna do is show our pictures...

Minami Natsume: Now, now. At least we got to deepen our friendship at this lovely bar.

Torao Mido: I asked Sogo. Turns out he and Tamaki Yotsuba both happened to be in the neighborhood, so they're headed here.

Haruka Isumi: Yotsuba's coming, too? I bet he's gonna freak out, because he's never been in a place like this before.

Haruka Isumi: I suppose I'll just have to teach him how us adults hang out.

Toma Inumaru: Says the boy sipping on orange juice.

[Door opens]

Tamaki Yotsuba: Good evening.

Sogo Osaka: Pardon our intrusion.

Haruka Isumi: Yotsuba!

Tamaki Yotsuba: Whoa... This place has a super mature vibe... I knew ŹOOĻ's up to no good.

Sogo Osaka: That's rude to the establishment, you know.

Tamaki Yotsuba: It's not my fault this place looks like people come here to make shady deals.

Sogo Osaka: It's calming. And there are plenty of places like this in the world.

Sogo Osaka: Good evening, Mido-san. ŹOOĻ. I'm sorry for dropping by on such short notice.

Shiro Utsugi: Good evening, Osaka-san and Yotsuba-san.

Sogo Osaka: Good evening. You're Utsugi-san, yes? ŹOOĻ's manager.

Shiro Utsugi: That’s right. Thank you for remembering.

Torao Mido: This has to be the first time you're asking me for anything. What do you want to drink?

Sogo Osaka: Just oolong tea, please.

Tamaki Yotsuba: I want this one! The frozen cocktail that looks like ice! I bet it's yummy.

Sogo Osaka: No, Tamaki-kun. It's alcoholic.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Really? Do they have a version without the booze?

Minami Natsume: I think the bartender could make you one.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Awesome! I'll have one of those.

Haruka Isumi: I want one, too.

Torao Mido: I'll have the alcoholic version. Should I go ahead and order you one too, Sogo?

Sogo Osaka: Ah... Um, alright.

Tamaki Yotsuba: So-chan!

Sogo Osaka: It's fine. This drink is basically just a sherbert, it won't get me drunk.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Don't you know that ice is just frozen water?

Sogo Osaka: I do know that.

Tamaki Yotsuba: So it's still booze! It's just been frozen!

Sogo Osaka: It can't be that strong. And besides, it's the same as yours.

Tamaki Yotsuba: So what if it's the same?

Sogo Osaka: Our matching drinks would make a nice picture for social media.

Tamaki Yotsuba: I can't believe your first approach to everything is still to be some kind of businessman.

Sogo Osaka: It's not as if people can tell how close we truly are based on a picture of some food. If that were the case, we wouldn't truly understand each other at all.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Especially since everything you eat is bright red.

Sogo Osaka: And you only have eyes for King Pudding.

Toma Inumaru: What're you mumbling about?

Sogo Osaka: It was just a mini meeting. We're done now.

Minami Natsume: Much like us, then.

Tamaki Yotsuba: I did it for you guys' sake too, y'know.

Torao Mido: Our drinks are here. Let's toast.

Haruka Isumi: Does MEZZO" have a cheer for when you toast?

Tamaki Yotsuba: A cheer?

Haruka Isumi: It makes things more exciting.

Tamaki Yotsuba: We've got a cheer for calming Re:vale down..?

Sogo Osaka: But it's a bit too long for making a toast. Hmm, a cheer for MEZZO"...

Toma Inumaru: Don't think too hard about it. It can be something simple, like one of you says "MEZZO"" and the other one says "rules".

Sogo Osaka: I see. We could give that a try. Tamaki-kun, which part do you want to say?

Tamaki Yotsuba: The first part.

Sogo Osaka: Alright. Well then, everyone raise your glasses...

Tamaki Yotsuba: MEZZO".

Sogo Osaka: Rules.

[Clink!]

Sogo Osaka: So, what I wanted to ask you is...

Torao Mido: Hold up! We need to talk about your cheer first. Any thoughts!?

Sogo Osaka: Thoughts..? Tamaki-kun, what do you think?

Tamaki Yotsuba: It's kinda short.

Haruka Isumi: Totally. So is our "ŹOOĻ Rules!"

Minami Natsume: Isumi-san. Be careful not to hurt Inumaru-san's feelings.

Toma Inumaru: Ahaha! It's fine! Not like that cheer was my best effort, anyway...

Sogo Osaka: Thank you for the suggestion, Toma. We probably can't use this cheer all the time, but we'll try to make use of it when we can...

Toma Inumaru: Don't sweat it, seriously! It was just the first thing that came to my mind! You don't even gotta use it!

Sogo Osaka: I-I'm sorry if we can't use it often enough.

Toma Inumaru: I'm telling you, it's FINE!

Sogo Osaka: Thank you. That's very nice of you to say. Mido-san, may I tell you why we're here now?

Torao Mido: Let's hear it.

Sogo Osaka: To tell you the truth...

- - - -

Torao Mido: Ah, Ito-san. That brokerage firm CEO who likes traveling and photography...

Sogo Osaka: Yes, him. He took a picture of me once.

Sogo Osaka: And when we discussed his camera, he told me that he saves all his negatives...

Torao Mido: So he should still have them? Just go meet up with him, then.

Sogo Osaka: We don't have that sort of relationship. He may be my father's old friend, but I've been disinherited, so...

Haruka Isumi: Disinherited?

Sogo Osaka: Being disinherited means your parents have cut ties with you.

Haruka Isumi: You were adopted..? And he said you were a disappointment and chased you out?

Sogo Osaka: No, we're biologically related. I might still be a disappointment... But I don't regret my decisions.

Sogo Osaka: I wanted to live as a musician.

Minami Natsume: What a wonderfully sympathetic story. I like you. The world needs more artists like yourself.

Sogo Osaka: Natsume-kun...

Minami Natsume: I hereby pledge my support to Osaka-san. Mido-san, you simply must do something to help him.

Torao Mido: Like what..? I haven't seen the guy in ages, either.

Toma Inumaru: You should still have an easier time getting a hold of him than Sogo. At least call him once.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Toracchi, please! If you call him, I'll stop calling you an evil rich guy!

Torao Mido: I didn't know you called me that in the first place... Fine. I'll give him a call.

Sogo Osaka: Thank you.

Torao Mido: It's no trouble at all, really. You may be an heir with a strict upbringing, but I'm a spoiled youngest son.

Haruka Isumi: So did this Ito-san spoil you, too?

Torao Mido: He owns a boat that I got to ride on a few times, not to mention he's got a few unique side ventures.

Sogo Osaka: Unique side ventures...

Torao Mido: He never told me about them in much detail. He may be a CEO, but he doesn't have any family to share his wealth with.

Torao Mido: So his side ventures have to do with finding said family... ...Ah, he picked up.

Torao Mido: Hellooo? Ah, Uncle Ito? It's been so long! Yeah, it's me, Torao.

Toma Inumaru: That's how I talk to the old ladies from my neighborhood!

Tamaki Yotsuba: He speaks just like Rikkun when he's asking for something!!!

Sogo Osaka: So this is what it's like when you're the youngest child... I wonder if even Iori-kun has a side like this...

Torao Mido: Ahaha. I'm doing fine, just fine. I've got a friend here who wants to talk to you, do you mind if I put him on?

Torao Mido: Here you go, Sogo.

Sogo Osaka: Thank you so much, Mido-san.

Torao Mido: Hmph. Let's just agree that you owe me one.

Haruka Isumi: I can't believe you're still trying to act tough, after sweet talking the guy like that...

Sogo Osaka: Ito-san. It's been a while. This is Sogo. ...Yes, that's right. Sogo Osaka.

Sogo Osaka: Ah... You bought an IDOLiSH7 CD? Thank you very much.

Tamaki Yotsuba: He knows us!

Minami Natsume: This bodes well.

Sogo Osaka: Is it at all possible for me to borrow certain old photo negatives from you..?

Sogo Osaka: I need the photo you took of me and my uncle in our garden. It's very important... Really!?

Tamaki Yotsuba: What'd he say!?

Sogo Osaka: He said he'd reprint the photo for me!

Haruka & Tamaki: Awesome!!!

Toma Inumaru: Yay! That's great!

Shiro Utsugi: Congratulations! Let's all have another toast!

Tamaki Yotsuba: MEZZO"...

Minami, Toma, Haruka, Torao, & Shiro: Rules!!!

Sogo Osaka: P-please, be quiet, everyone. Thank you, Ito-san. I'll come get the photo in a few days.

Sogo Osaka: Where are you now? ...What?

Sogo Osaka: The North Pacific..?

To be continued...

#idolish7 #anniversary story 2021 #translation #i7 #trigger #re:vale #zool

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purpleyellow · 3 years

Text

Random lesson

TXT 6th member

Minji’s masterlist

“Yeonjun and Minji both get lost in the HYBE building and end up meeting a senior. But it’s not the same encounter”

a/n: I’m aware the timing for the events mentioned doesn’t make sense. Do I care? No. Feel free to share your thoughts with me. Requests are open! 💚

Minji stares into the long hallway and sighs confused. Ever since they moved buildings, she has been kind of lost, merely following along the boys whenever they had to go somewhere other than their "assigned" practice rooms and studios. But now, she's by herself, trying to find Yeonjun in a floor she's not even sure it's the one she's at.

Unlocking her phone, the girl walks lazily while calling the oldest. A whining tone leaves her mouth after he picks up "I have no idea where I am, can you come find me?"

"Yeah, that would be nice, but I'm not too sure where I am either" Yeonjun says, and she notices he's mildly panicking which makes her laugh.

"Which floor are you on? I can hear a song playing and there's a couple of dance rooms here, but I don't think it's the ones we use" Minji mumbles still walking and looking at the doors to find some kind of indication she can use to tell him.

"Funny thing is, I was talking with a staff in the elevator, but they had to get off, so I just followed them out to finish the conversation" The girl hears him groan "Wait, I can hear something too. Maybe we're in the same floor"

Stopping, Minji looks at the door where the song is louder and hums "I found where the music is coming from, meet me here"

"Sure, I'll be there shortly" The boy hangs up quickly.

Minji leans on the door, and almost instantly, the song from inside stops making her groan and hope that Yeonjun will at least keep walking to where she is. She doesn't, however, realize that the silence will most likely mean someone is getting ready to leave the room. So without processing anything, the girl feels the door on her back go missing, and she yelps tumbling back and bumping onto a person.

"Ow, ow, I'm sorry" Someone says hurriedly, holding Minji's shoulders to steady her and the girl turns around still startled. As she recognizes Hoshi from Seventeen, she gives him a small bow and laughs from the chain of events.

"That was so unexpected, it felt like I was going to die" Minji says still chuckling.

"Sorry again, I didn't know there was someone guarding the door" Hoshi giggles and notices her peeking inside the room, looking specifically at the set of push up bars set up for his solo. Grabbing her attention, he adds politely "They're there for a choreography we're practicing"

"Oh, I was wondering if they had turned this room into a gym or something" She smiles and looks back inside. "Push up bars, that's cool. Pretty creative, is it for the whole song or just the intro?"

Taken back by her interest, Hoshi scratches his head looking back inside "For the entire thing, though not every part is around it" He tries not to give too much away, but Minji is still staring around the space trying to figure out the staging of everything.

"Here, come inside" Hoshi waves her in and drops his bag by the door, while pointing around the room "The reference point changes throughout the song, so it starts from here, then it changes to the side, then it comes back. The bars are there to structure the space, but the main point of them is to hang upside down during the introduction"

"Wow" Minji gasps following with her eyes and picturing what he's saying "That's really cool, Sunbaenim. Do you think you could show me?"

"The beginning?" Hoshi widens his eyes and she nods calmly.

"You don't have to. I can wait for everything to be released" Minji giggles, and the boy thinks for a minute before walking to a push-up bar and effortlessly getting on it, so his legs are up and his hands hold the top bar allowing him to a 'sitting' position.

"So like, the theme is spider, right?" Hoshi asks not sure if she's aware of his mixtape. Nodding, the girl steps a little closer as he lets his body hang a little more. "So, think creepy like a spider. Hold the sidebar. One. Two. And let go"

Speaking while he does the first few seconds of his choreography, Hoshi laughs and jumps down while she wows again.

"That's really so smart. The little nuances... wow" Minji pouts and claps.

"Do you want to try it?" Laugh softly, Hoshi points to the bars and much to his surprise she nods. "Okay, just. Focus on your core while doing it"

Doing a little step with his hands, he helps her get a grip and Minji pulls her legs up with some ease.

Coaching her into the starting position, Hoshi nods and starts counting "Hold. One. Two. Let go"

Minji follows the movements he did a few minutes before, though not as naturally as Hoshi considering it was her first time. The only mistake she makes is looking at the floor once she's upside down and getting frightened by the thought of falling from there.

Quickly going back to the starting position, she grabs the top bar and laughs nervously "I thought I was going to die again"

Hoshi laughs at her exaggeration and steps up to help her get down from the equipment "It gets better over time. If you ever want to try it again"

"I'm not sure about that. Heights it's not really my thing" Minji giggles, taking some sweat of her hands "But this is seriously smart, Sunbaenim. Mind-blowing, I can't wait to see the whole thing"

"Ah, thank you" Hoshi bows a little and holds up his hand for a high five which she reciprocated without a second thought "I'm actually quite late for something, so I should be leaving right now. Good luck with your schedules today"

"You too. Thanks for the lesson" Minji follows him to the door and takes her phone out of her pocket, wondering how it didn't feel while she hung upside down. Waving at her, Hoshi picks up his pace and soon disappears into the long hallway.

Minji unlocks her phone to find a bunch of notifications from Weverse, as well as a couple of missed calls from Yeonjun. Before she can contact him back, his name rings on her screen again.

"Hey, you're not going to believe-" Minji starts but gets cut off by his whisper-yelling.

"When you said you were listening to a song it wasn't a piano, was it? Because I just walked inside Minhyun Sunbaenim's room, and he was in the middle of a vlive, so I panicked texted everyone about it"

"What?" Minji laughs shaking her head "Where even are you, right now?"

"I came to the cafeteria floor, to drown my utter embarrassment in energy drinks"

"Wait for me there, that's the only place I know where to get to" The girl starts walking and giggles as he continues complaining about how startled he got.

#Minji #txt addition #txt au #txt 6th member #txt additional member #txt oc #txt female addition #txt x oc #txt x 6th member #txt female member #txt female oc #kpop addition #kpop oc #kpop female member #kpop female addition #female!idol #female!addition

133 notes · View notes

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

honsoolie · 3 years

Text

don’t rush | 04

pairing: Yoongi/reader

genre: slight enemies to lovers, college au, fluff, smut, classical pianist!yoongi, violinist!reader, they’re both actually really into each other but won’t admit it

warnings: excessive amounts of pining, explicit smut, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, semi-public sex, mutual masturbation

words: 10.3k

rating: +18

summary: You know, when Min Yoongi’s face isn’t screwed into an accusatory scowl, he looks exactly like the kind of guy you’d have no trouble falling in love with. Or, the conservatory au where Yoongi helps you get over your stage fright. In more ways than one.

a/n: thank you for waiting... if you've stuck around this long :") i've tried so hard for the past couple months to condense this story into the original length (3 chapters) but i've gotten attached and i'm afraid that this will turn into a longfic at the rate i'm going. so after this chapter, i'll be sure to post lots of drabbles of the scenes i couldn't fit in!! thank you so much for the wild ride, and without further ado, i present to you don't rush 04.

start from the beginning?

You can’t bring yourself to fault Yoongi for what happened that morning. You also can’t bring yourself to say that it was your fault either–or even that there may be a single person to blame.

24 hours of radio silence. No good morning text, no morning after–or really, afternoon after–text. Nothing.

The thing about silence–absolute silence, with the exception the low hum of the air-con, or the distant sounds of a city, or footsteps from the room above you–is how slowly it passes. Maybe that’s why you’re a music student, spending all your time filling the silence with your own music.

Silence is such an empty space–and can breed such bored thoughts. And where else for your mind to wander but Yoongi?

It’s not that you were waiting for a text from him, it’s just that… you were half-expecting a text from him. Like he owed it to you. Even if none of this had ever happened, he would have texted you good morning by now.

At least in your head, it seems fair that the onus is on Yoongi to text first. After all, he was the one who dragged you tightly by the wrist back to his apartment. He pushed you down on his couch, and in a very roundabout way, made you late for class.

It’s not that you let this whole affair happen to you, but he started it. So it’s his job to text first. That’s the excuse you use, for not being brave enough to do it instead.

It honestly feels a little pathetic that most of your thoughts outside of music and school are occupied by Min Yoongi. Even now, weeks after you’ve started talking to him, even mere thoughts of him elicit physical reactions from you.

Your heart rate picking up, skin flushing where your neck meets your collarbone… maybe you’re allergic to Min Yoongi.

It’s hard for your mind not to run wild with conclusions and assumptions after what happened between the two of you, even if a day hasn’t elapsed yet.

Why hadn’t he texted? Does he do this often? Did he hate it? Did he ghost me, and now I’m never going to hear from him again? Should I text him first? Why is this so hard?

Why do I care so much?

The worst part is, you can’t turn it off. The thoughts follow you throughout the day, a weight sitting on your shoulders as you flit from class to class, building to building, rehearsal to rehearsal. Once the sun dips below the horizon, you’ve almost completed the process of resigning yourself to never knowing the answers to any of your questions.

You make a note to yourself that you might start grieving the loss of any sort of closure–other than what Yoongi had given you the day before. All evenings this semester have been relegated to the confines of the practice room, so that’s where you head next after chamber music rehearsals end. Finally, the Bach partita has a purpose in your life other than plaguing your waking dreams–something to focus on other than Yoongi. But for God’s sake, it sounds pathetic when it’s put like that.

Your. Life. Doesn’t. Revolve. Around. Min. Yoongi. You tell yourself, punctuating each word as you march down the stairwell in the music building. You clutch your violin case to your body, seeking warmth in the cold plastic.

The universe likes to play tricks on people, and its language is irony. Yoongi taught you that lesson, the hard way.

So it almost makes sense that the next time you encounter Yoongi is when you collide head-on with Yoongi’s smooth chest as you speed-walk through the doorway once you’re at the foot of the stairs. Just as you dreaded (and knew was going to happen anyway), your cheeks light up, some light from deep within you turning on. You kick yourself for the fact that your entire body perks up in his existence, erasing the cold and the tiredness from the night before.

“Oh–I didn’t expect to see you here.” At the very least, Yoongi doesn’t look like he hates you. Or is disgusted by you. If anything, he looks a bit coy. If you could let yourself believe it, there might even be the warmth of fondness in his eyes, and even more incredulously, maybe the hard edge of guilt.

“Didn’t expect? Yoongi, I’m here more than my own room.” You laugh despite the thoughts that have been trailing you all day, sounding something like cherry blossoms floating on the new breeze that spring has brought. You feel like you’ve forgiven him for something that he didn’t do, even if he hasn’t said anything yet.

Just seeing him makes you feel better, the devil in the back of your head whispers.

“Right, right.” His answering laughter is familiar. Even now, ever after everything, he still has the audacity to smooth his hands over your shoulders, make sure you’re intact and okay. “Violin okay? You okay?”

You try not to let his scant touches send a shiver down your spine, just so you don’t give him that satisfaction, but you fail all the same. You manage a nod, but can barely bring yourself to look in his eyes. But is it for fear of seeing that warm tenderness again, or something else?

“So…” With no prompting from you, Yoongi slides a fingertip underneath your chin. It feels simultaneously casual and momentous, and you’re not sure which one you prefer.

Is this really happening right now?

He looks deep into your eyes, taking inventory of something that you’re too self-conscious to think about right now.

Of course, you’re self-conscious. You bump into your hookup a day after the fact, now that it’s nighttime in the practice rooms on the second floor of the music building. Both of you should be somewhere else, anywhere else, preferably drunk. How could it not be awkward, and how could you not feel self-conscious?

His eyes flick lower, to your lips, and you avert your gaze. Yoongi’s hand returns to his side, and he coughs.

“Sooo…” You say, digging your foot through the carpet, the warmth of his hands lingering on your skin. You play with the buckles on your violin case, just to give your hands something to do. You hope he says something first, because you’re sure as hell not going to do it.

“Got something to say?” There’s a hint of a laugh in his words. He coughs again.

“I thought you were going to say something,” You say, still not looking at him. It’s all you can do to not shrink away. In the dim lighting of the mouth of the hallway, there’s no way he can see your blush, but you turn away all the same.

He’s smiling like he knows something you don’t, or maybe like he’s purged the last thirty-six hours from his memory. “Let’s not be strangers, come on. Are you busy?”

“Not… particularly.” You commit to the words before you can finish the thought.

“Can you do me a favor?” Right. So he wants something from you. Of course, of course he wants something from you.

“What kind of favor?”

“I was going to print something downstairs, but now that you’re here, can you listen to my piece? I need a second opinion.” He sighs, as if remembering something sweet. “It’s time I made it even, right? I’ve kept you waiting for long enough.” He smiles, just barely, and yet it feels like a gift.

So that’s it. It’s confirmed. This is officially Not a Thing, you consign yourself to the fact. It’d be a lie to say that you aren’t a little bit relieved. At least you have an answer.

There’s no need for a great step forward that’s necessary. No more awkward conversations like these, no admitting of feelings, let alone reciprocation of feelings.

Nothing has to change between the two of you. Isn’t that what you wanted?

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” You say, like it shouldn’t have been a question in the first place. You hate that even despite his silence on the matter, you’re running back to his side. You hate that you’re happy that he still wants anything to do with you. You ignore the empty kind of ache in your chest, too hollow and too full at the same time.

You follow him down the narrow hallway, past the couch where it all began, and into the practice room. Of course, Yoongi’s already booked the only one isn’t a dingy cesspool.

He pats the space next to him on the piano bench, beckoning you closer.

“Sit down, don’t stand the whole time.”

“Don’t you need the space?”

“No, no, it’s okay. Come here.” If it’s even possible, your face burns even hotter when you sit down next to him, shoulders brushing just so. It’s harder to forget about the fact that you are hopelessly crushing on Min Yoongi when you’re literally touching him again.

It reminds you of all his touches from before, because it was good. The sex was good. If it had been awkward and fumbling, if Min Yoongi hadn’t been able to push you over the edge with only his mouth and that look in his eye, you would be a lot more inclined to leave those memories in the past.

You don’t need to relive the memory over and over, an endless reel. And yet, glimpses, flashes, disjointed stills of that morning still follow you everywhere. But you look at him now, silently flipping through the marked pages on his score, and now you see more than just a good lay. Looking at him now, in his natural state, you’ve fallen down the rabbit hole, you’re whipped, there’s no chance for you.

“I don’t have it memorized yet, please don’t judge me.” You try not to think about the way he had pulled you closer by your hips. You try not to think about what you might have thought was lovesickness in his eyes. You try not to think of the timbre of his voice, when he told you to come for him. You try not to think about that.

“Really, a pianist who can’t memorize his pieces? Sacreligious.” The delivery of your jibe falls flat. You steady the ricketing breath in your lungs. You’re nervous, and tired. Accepting that your Min Yoongi has absolutely no interest in you other than when he needs you for something isn’t easy, you know.

“Oh come oooon y/n, this is something I’m learning this semester.” He pouts, just like he had before the both of you had fallen into this nebulous mess of feelings. Or maybe, it’s all one-sided and you’re the only one feeling like things have gotten messy.

You poke him in the side, which you regret immediately after doing so. “I’m just joking. Show me your piece. Are you warmed up?” Yoongi turns pink, again.

You remember the pink dusting his cheeks when he was–right, you’re supposed to be forgetting that ever happened.

He runs his tongue along his lower lip, everything moving in slow motion. Your head is swimming.

Well, maybe things aren’t moving in slow motion, and it’s the proximity to Min Yoongi that’s making time distort. “Yes, yes, yes, I’m fine. Are you ready to listen?”

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

Yoongi hovers his hands over the keys. He does that pianist thing you’ve always loved, where he pauses before the keys, preparing to play.

He leans in slowly, sinking his hands down, pulling out a sound so sweet and, so, so solemn. This is a different Yoongi than the one thirty seconds ago.

You realize somewhat belatedly that the fluorescent lights, the same ones that erase any sort of proper time telling in windowless rooms like these, still make Yoongi look good. The light bounces off of him just right, his cheekbones casting a gentle shadow on the sloped panes of his face. Like the rest of him, there’s no harsh angles, just soft gentle slopes that feel like home. Like comfort. Your gut twists in yearning. The hollow of his cheekbone is the perfect place to kiss, you ponder.

Things should be easier now. All of it was a mistake. It’s in the past. It seems that Yoongi doesn’t seem to care at all. It should be forgotten about. Things, in theory, should be easier now. You should be able to carry on as you’ve always been able to. The path of least resistance, right?

He pauses, and begins what must be the main theme, cascading sixteenth-notes that sound about as tumultuous and troubled as you feel.

He looks like he’s about to cry. Sure, you’ve seen sleepy Yoongi, cranky Yoongi, even a little bit of earnest, pleading Yoongi. But whoever is in front of you is entirely different. He’s approaching the main theme again, hands jumping over the keys as if they were hot irons. You can see all the versions of him laid out before you. Younger Yoongi, hands too small to reach the tenths written in his score. Hungover Yoongi that shuffles into class a couple minutes late, remnants of a late night out drinking written all over his face. The Yoongi that holds your hands between his and tells you that everything is going to be okay.

When he reaches the final cadence, he doesn’t look at you immediately, still trained on the keys. His hands are still placed in the final chord, lifting them off slowly so the sound doesn’t quite fade away yet. The both of you stay like that, in the aftermath of what he just played. You hear the click as he takes his foot off the pedal. The tension that he was churning out doesn’t fade away when the sound stops. If anything, it gets worse. Blood rushes to your cheeks, the room warmer than it was before.

“So… that’s what I’ve been working on so far. I, uh, hope you liked it.” It’s shocking how that compelling spirit from just minutes ago dissipates into thin air. He looks vulnerable, naked despite the fact that he’s fully clothed.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Min Yoongi.” You laugh in disbelief, blinking away tears. God, you are so fucked. Sure, you’ve heard him play before, practicing with him. But you’re not practicing with him now, you’re watching. You’ve become the audience, and the dynamic has changed once again.

There’s been many a night where you googled his previous performances and competitions on Youtube, but this doesn’t compare. Not in the slightest. So this is what all your teachers were talking about when they were lecturing you about the importance of stage presence.

“Uh, wow. Wow.” You’re still tearing up, no matter how much you try to will it away.

You’re not even really sure why you’re tearing up or why you can’t stop. It’s usually difficult for music to elicit such a visceral reaction from you. Goosebumps, sure. That very specific thrill down your spine when you hear music that isn’t so much as something that you hear, but feel in your blood, thumping, alive, real.

But tears, no. That doesn’t happen.

It feels like your body is reacting to something that isn’t tangible, that you can’t see with your eyes or hear with your ears. Like there’s something else in the room that you can’t quite register. Like you’re crying despite yourself.

You desperately want to kiss him. You want to pull him close and breathe in his familar scent and feel him pull you closer. It feels like the only appropriate thing to do, rather than just say “wow” over and over, in that stupid longing voice because you don’t what else to say. This is too overwhelming. More overwhelming than what it feels like when he finally puts his hands on you.

It’s the only thing you want to do. You can’t imagine the night ending in any other way. It seems like it was prewritten in the stars, like the universe came together to stitch this scene together. Like it was fate for you to find him here, long after the sun disappeared over the horizon, practicing just like you were.

But you can’t, so you hug him. Like an absolute idiot.

You regret it as soon as your arms circle around his shoulders. Yoongi stiffens, as if startled, as if he wasn’t expecting the hug either. Then his hand come to awkwardly pat the space between your shoulder blades, as if this couldn’t get any worse. This feels like a consolation prize.

He can’t see your face nestled against his shoulder, but you cringe.

You feel the vibration of his laughter against you, his shoulders shaking, “You liked it that much?” You can feel the way his voice resonates in his chest, and like everything else about this ordeal, it’s overwhelming.

“Yeah,” You pull back away from him, relieved that the moment is over, “Yeah, I liked it. Winter Wind, right?”

“Yeah, fitting for this fucking weather.”

You laugh. “Look, thanks. But I gotta go, it’s getting late and I have a paper due tonight. Thank you, again. It’s really good.” You pick up your case, “You have good start, but keep practicing. Can’t stop until you have it memorized, ha.” You try to force a laugh.

You hope you don’t look like you’re fleeing the scene. (Except you are. You leave the building without even practicing. But you don’t tell him that.)

As you stream down the steps leading to the music building, the cool night air blotting away the swelling tears in your eyes, there’s something else that takes up residence in your heart: jealousy, and initiative.

You envy the lucky bitch that ends up with Min Yoongi. And if Yoongi won’t talk about it, then you will. You won’t let him drag you around on a whim without a real answer. You can’t bring yourself to wait any longer.

Min Yoongi doesn’t like you back.

At least, that’s what he tries to tell himself before he goes to sleep, as if lying to himself might make sleep come more easily.

The truth is, you are Min Yoongi’s favorite bedtime story. Like many other nights before, Yoongi falls asleep thinking of you, hashing and rehashing all the little details and inside jokes and past conversations. It’s a small comfort during this semester, thoughts of you keeping him warm.

Tonight, Yoongi is replaying the conversation from earlier, the way he saw you nervously rubbed at the tough calluses on your left hand while he was playing for you, out of the corner of his eye. It made Yoongi want to make you smile, laugh at his bad jokes, and maybe, if you’d let him, gasp against his lips. It’s been less than a day since he saw you and yet he misses your laugh.

That morning after class, you had sat up, blinking away the sun filtering through his shades, or maybe trying to clear the post-orgasm fog. Post- orgasms fog. Then you mumbled something about being late for class, a thin layer of sweat shining down to your chest.

You had thanked him, then laughed at the misstep. God, you were so dorky that you thanked him. How was he ever supposed to resist you?

How had the two of you come so far?

And the guiltiest indulgences Yoongi would allow himself in the middle of the night were the things he hadn’t experienced with you. Like a kiss. He hasn’t gotten a chance to do that, not yet. Maybe not ever. Would it be chaste? Slow and romantic? Or would it be impassioned and angry?

Yoongi is particularly fond of the image of taking you to the jazz cafe a little ways away from campus. Would you wear a dress, once the weather warms up a little bit? What kind of coffee would you order? Do you even like jazz? What would it feel like to feel your hand slotted against his?

He definitely wasn’t been thinking about pushing you up against the mirror in the practice room and seeing if the soundproof padding was actually properly installed. Or about that morning after classes, and those little mewling noises you made to urge him on. You were so desperate. It was cute, to say the least.

But Yoongi wasn’t trying to think about that right now. He was thinking more about your unwavering diligence. Or the merriment in your eyes despite the tired shadows that hung beneath them. Or the way you didn’t back down from the way that he was obviously flirting with him, fighting fire with fire.

How much longer can the both of you live in denial, waiting for the other to make a tentative step forward?

The more he thinks about it–about you–the less he can comfortably stay in his little bubble of denial. Denial can only get him so far. He tells himself that whatever relationship between the two of you is inevitable, and someone is going to do something eventually, and that’s why he’s not making a move just yet.

Much of your relationship (or lack thereof) has been stepwise progression, slow steps. Graduating slowly from classmate to study partners to friends and closer, still. And now Yoongi had made this great leap and it felt like the both of you were lost amid the signals and the truths neither of you knew how to broach.

And no matter how brave he is on stage, it’s nothing compared to being up close and personal with you. Cheesily enough, it’s easy enough to show a crowd what he’s been working on for months, but with you, he has to improvise.

Truth be told, Yoongi knew he was being idealistic. The space that you two existed in had become precious to him, and he didn’t want to do anything to upset the balance, until now. There’s no easy way to make this all go away. Both of you were in too deep now.

He saw the way you sighed into his touch, the way your eyes would go unfocused when he said something that was even remotely flirtatious, then then snap back to reality, as if you were reminding yourself of something. He knew you wouldn’t do anything any time soon. The past evening had shown him that.

And how was he supposed to admit his feelings for you… when he could hardly admit them to himself, in the privacy of his own room?

And now, how could Yoongi make sense of anything? Every quiet moment carried the ghost of your voice. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the way you had squeezed your eyes shut when he brought you to rapture. Even when you’re not with him, you’re filling up his senses. His thoughts.

Am I in love with my friend? Are we friends because we’re in love? Am I feeling like this because of the way she says my name? Am I feeling like this because of the way she touches me?

So those are all the reasons. To not talk to you. To talk to you. God, how the fuck was Yoongi supposed to know?

You (5:03pm): hey, I think we should talk soon

The minutes tick by. Does the time always pass this slowly, you think to yourself. Your hand hovers over your phone keyboard.

Fuck… what have I done.

You (5:15pm): that sounds sooo scary lol no pressure okay?

You grow desperate in the wake of his silence. Have you ruined it all?

Yoongi (5:30pm) yeah

Yoongi (5:31pm): sorry I was practicing

Yoongi (5:31pm): wasn’t looking at my phone

Yoongi (5:31pm): let’s talk then

Yoongi (5:32pm): where are you?

You find yourself at his apartment once again, the closed door spelling out all the possibilities in front of you. At least give him the benefit of the doubt, something reasons inside of you, but something darker says, think of what he’s put you through.

Think of what you’ve put yourself through, you finally think. You’ve stood outside long enough. You’ve overwrought this, alone, long enough.

Each knock that you rap against the door sounds like another nail in the coffin, but you still cling onto the last dregs of hope left in you.

The door opens immediately, a rush of warm air enveloping you from outside. “Hey,” Yoongi says, shyly, almost demure in his lounge clothes and undone hair.

You want to take him apart.

“Hey,” You mirror, and try to pretend like Min Yoongi hasn’t stolen the breath out of you for what seems like the thousandth time. You hate that he has this effect on you. With nothing but a simple greeting, it seems like you’ve forgiven him for all your grief already. You try to push that feeling further down, trying to stay objective.

Yoongi leads you to his couch. “Here… sit down. It’s cold outside, I made tea,” He says, padding into the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything else, but it looks like he knows exactly what you want to talk about. There’s something in the little tick in his jaw that tells you he’s just as sure as you are, but you’re tired of guessing. Your eyes are blurring from looking in between the lines for so long.

There’s a big difference between overt facts and implied certainties. Fact: You and Yoongi are friends who study together, and now, ex-hookups. Implied: There’s something more there, something between friend and one-time hookup.

“Um, what did you want to talk about?” Yoongi says, setting down a steaming mug in front of you. You don’t reach for it.

“I–” You steel yourself for the words to tumble out of your mouth, but you lose your nerve. You had prepared a whole monologue on the walk to his apartment, but it doesn’t seem right now. You sigh, loosening the tension in your shoulders. “I wanted to talk about… about the last time I was at your apartment.” You hope it’s enough for him to get your point, and you hope that he’ll be honest and direct. He owes at least that much to you.

“What about last time? Like specifically, what about last time?” Yoongi says, not flippantly. Please, you silently plead, please… just say something good.

“Yoongi,” You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what’s to come, “What happens now? What does it mean? Please, just be honest.” When you hear your voice leave your body, you can hear how pained you sound. It wasn’t something you intended. You match his gaze and his eyes are like mirrors. “Yoongi… whatever you say, I won’t be angry. I just–I just want to know how you feel.” Your voice trembles. You hope you don’t sound as pathetic and humiliated as you feel, the scorned hookup.

Worse yet, the scorned hookup who didn’t get the hint the first time.

“No, no. You deserve the truth.” He sets his mug on the table, and you bristle at the fact that he doesn’t use a coaster. “I’ll, um, tell you my side of the story. Just to be clear I’m not like, mad at you, or anything like that. I’m also not the type to fuck and go… even though it looks like that. And I’m not like, going to ghost you or anything. Unless you want me to do that. In that case,” Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, lingering on the nape of his neck, “I’ll do that.”

“Can you do something for me, y/n? Can you just–” Yoongi holds his hands out in front of him, and he clasps his hands between yours. He always knows exactly how to comfort you, even now.

He sighs. “I wasn’t… expecting everything to happen like this. y/n, I… Just let me think about what to say for a second. But I promise, you’ll get the explanation you’re owed.” Another deep breath in. Another deep breath out.

You sit like that for what seems like a long, stretched out moment, your hands clasped in Yoongi’s, his brow furrowed.

“Why didn’t you say something yesterday?” You burst out.

Yoongi clears his throat. “Okay, look. I have… a lot of… okay, I just, I wasn’t sure how to go about this whole thing. And that morning in class, I rushed everything and after that I wasn’t sure how to approach you. Then when I saw you in the music building afterward, I just wanted to talk to you… to make sure you were okay. I saw you and I blanked. I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t know what to do without making it weird. That’s a shitty reason, but I blanked and didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

“So,” You blink, frustrated, confused, flushed hot with embarrassment and maybe a little bit of arousal, “Okay,” You say. At least you’re getting somewhere. “So… why did it happen? Why… why did we…”

Your eyes sting, and you breathe deeply, as if you might run out of words. “Was it all in my head?”

Yoongi’s clammy hands tighten around yours, as if he’s afraid you’ll leave.

“No,” Yoongi exhales, “No, it wasn’t.”

Your body is running hot and cold. It feels like something in the air has been punctured, all the tension, all the doubts, rushing away. Something new rushes in.

“I spent all this time guessing and wondering and hoping. I ran myself ragged with all my thinking. It’s not your fault, mostly, but I’m so tired. Of guessing.”

He smiles. Well, smirks, in that Yoongi fashion that makes it feel like the top of your head is spinning. “Stop thinking so much then.”

“It was–” Yoongi’s voice breaks, rips in half. “It was a mistake,” Yoongi lies. You know he’s lying. You can tell from the way his eyes are looking everywhere on your face but your eyes. You can tell from the way that he wrings his hands, like he’s reading a pre-written apology from behind the camera. “I’m so, so confused about everything. This isn’t going the way I thought it would–not that–it’s just my words aren’t coming out like I thought they would. I’m sorry. I don’t mean it like a bad thing.”

Yoongi sighs, “I thought this would be easier.” And when you look at him again, you can see the pink on his cheeks. And how dilated his pupils are, and the decreasing proximity between his lips and your lips, because again Yoongi is still death-gripping your hands in his. If you could let yourself entertain the idea, he might be pulling you closer.

“You’re going to need to be more specific,” You say. You lean away from him, hoping that the energy in the room will simmer down if you’re not centimeters away from falling into his arms. You need to hear him talk more, say everything, explain himself. You can’t leave this room without knowing more, you won’t be satisfied with anything but the truth and the full truth. You really don’t have the energy to wait more.

“Well, even before everything–” And this is where Yoongi waves his hands in the air, gesticulating wildly. He doesn’t elaborate, although you suppose “before the almost-handjob in class and the whole mouth-fucking each other on your couch” is a bit of a mouthful.

“Even before everything– I knew you liked me. Like, you can’t even be surprised that I knew. Because you were really obvious. Like so obvious. But yeah. I knew, and I thought it was cute, and it was super flattering.”

You open your mouth for a response, but you concede that he’s right. You flush ever hotter.

Yoongi’s voice drops a little lower, like he’s telling you a secret, “And it was so fun to mess with you. Like, I could make this cute fucking girl blush and giggle and squirm and it was all because of me, how can I not be flattered? How can I not want to spend more time with you, push all your buttons? I figured you’d eventually do something about it. But you never did, no matter how much I pushed it with you. I wanted you to make the first move. But we started getting closer, and I thought maybe you were never going to do anything about it. Like we agreed to be friends, but on the inside we both liked each other? I didn’t want that to happen, but I was too scared to just go and ask you out. So I was getting frustrated. So that morning, I was just messing around with you again. I wanted to annoy you during class, I wasn’t expecting anything to come out of it. But you–I guess you were frustrated too, because you called me on my bluff. And then, you know, one thing leads to another and we’re somehow at my apartment, which I barely remember how we got there in one piece before–” Yoongi stops, breathless and something tender sparkling in his eyes. His hands aren’t gripping you like you might run away, just resting on the tops of your knees. Reminding you that he’s there.

“And now, in the present, I’m just confused? Did I like you before or after we…” He trails off, bashful still, even now. “Or do I feel like this now because we were together? And does that even matter now, because I like you regardless?”

All the blood has rushed away from your chest. It feels like someone has knocked all the air from you but also as if a winch has tightened ever-so around your heart.

“Let’s take it slow, if that’s something you want. Nobody…” You grapple for something to say, after that hell of a fucking lovesick speech, “Nobody said that you needed all the answers now. Don’t rush.” You take his hands back into yours.

The weight of it all hits you slowly, in successive waves. You don’t have to filter anything out, never have to make yourself feel appropriate for him. When you practice with him, study with him, eat with him… all the quiet spaces and body-wracking laughter just feel like a perfect fit. Nothing out of place. There’s never a conversation topic or something to stray away from, other than circumventing the feelings you have for him. Even then, it’s not like Yoongi pretends like the attraction isn’t there. He doesn’t skirt around it, avoid it like taboo conversation. It really only serves to amplify your conversations, a red thread pulled taut underneath everything else.

And now, you can give into that? You can show him how you really feel, and there’s just one less thing to hide?

“You know, you’re not blameless. I was super stressed out at the time, and with the Bach Festival and midterms and everything I guess… you gave me the opportunity to lessen that a little, so. I know, I know. It’s a shitty excuse. But I wanted things with you and with the way that things converged, it seemed like–”

“Serendipity?”

“A bit like that, yes.” You tighten your hands around his, and he pulls you a little closer. You’re leaning over his lap now.

You can’t choose whether to look into his eyes or at his lips. It looks like Yoongi has the same problem. He pulls you imperceptibly closer.

“Can I kiss you? If that’s not rushing, of course.”

“Yeah. Yes, please.” You soften yourself into his lap, Yoongi pulling you closer by the shoulders, sliding down to rest on your arms. You relish in the sensation, knowing it’s something that you can enjoy with a reassured heart now.

He plants a closed kiss against your lips, and somehow that makes your heart flutter more than anything else he’s ever done before. The pads of his fingertips are soft and gentle against your arms, pulling you closer by the bicep.

“I like you… I like you a lot…” Yoongi whispers against your lips, laughing at the confession. So sweet, so soft.

“I like you too…” You whisper, kissing back. Slow, chaste, if a bit restrained. The realization hits you again, slowly, like an ocean wave washing over wet sand.

Yoongi likes you back. Yoongi wants you back. You laugh at how absurd it sounds, even in your own head, nipping at his lip. “Say it again, Yoongi.”

“I like you…” Yoongi sounds coy.

You smile against him, “Say it again,” You gasp, pushing him back on the couch, gentle but firm, “I like you too, in case you didn’t know.” You can’t help but laugh. Not at the absurdity at the situation, but just out of happy shock.

“y/n, I like you…” Yoongi chuckles, deep in his chest, looking up at you. His hair falls out of his eyes.

“Do you know how happy it makes me, to hear you say that?”

You’re honestly surprised that you don’t have whiplash. Whiplash from the weeks of tension and denial, feeling like you would never get this relief, but now you have a whole new set of problems. Dating Min Yoongi.

This whole “taking it slow” thing is fucking bullshit. The past couple weeks have been one long sustained effort, some kind of marathon in testing the waters, drawing back and then pushing forward.

Maybe you spoke too soon. You have to admit that the slow build, chaste romantic courtship is nice .

The study dates are more than nice. The coffee shop dates feel almost luxurious, expensive in time in the same way that the actual coffee is cheap.

Actually, all of this is a lot nicer than having to guess his every intention, the message between the lines. But you already know what it’s like to have Min Yoongi.

In fact, things have been largely the same for the past couple weeks, except now you can feel the weight of his flirtatious jokes. You can now confidently say that Yoongi says what he means. The more time you spend with Yoongi, the more liberated you feel in letting yourself delight in the feeling of being allowed to show your feelings for him, and having them be duly reciprocated.

After the confessional evening the both of you had, Yoongi had agreed to take it slow. In your lovesick state, you probably would have said yes to anything that Min Yoongi put on the table. Which is probably why you agreed to the whole courtship thing.

“y/n… think about it like this! If we take our time then when the time finally comes… to… uh, you know, then it’ll be so much more gratifying. And I want to be with you more, like this,” Yoongi says, as you lean against his chest, feeling it rise and fall with his words.

“Delayed gratification, have you ever heard of that?” Yoongi had said, smiling wider than you’d ever seen.

“Although from my experience with you, I think you like instant gratification more,” He said, a touch darker. Your memory blurs now, because that was about the time he started tickling you relentlessly. And then kissing you relentlessly.

And at the time, you had agreed. The delayed gratification would make everything better, make the world a little more rose-colored than before.

You don’t want to push his boundaries, he doesn’t want to push yours, but now it’s begun nearly feels both of you are so afraid of each other that you haven’t touched each other in what seems like fucking forever–and it’s reached a boiling point, from what you can gather this evening.

The newfound tension between the two of you is new, maybe a day or two at most, but annoying nonetheless.

“Y/n, how many times have I told you? Stop rushing. Do you need me to count your part out? One, two, three, four.” He punctuates every count with a clap in your face, and a sneer to boot.

Yoongi has been especially volatile this evening. His normal jokes and jabs at you fall just short of endearing. Your initial approach at remedying the situation by focusing on the music at hand has only seemed to make things worse, and you’ve given in to your slowly-growing temper.

“I am fucking counting, and I’m not the one playing fucking half notes, okay? How about you just focus on making the harmony, I don’t know, harmonious ?” You lower your violin, face screwing up in anger, only you don’t know how much of it is joking anymore.

You don’t know how much longer you can take this kind of tension in the air. It feels angry and red and biting, but you can’t help it. The stale air-conditioned air in the practice room only seems to make your face warmer and warmer as time passes.

All this tension, and no release. That’s what music is all about. The build-up of musical intensity, the expectation and anticipation for resolution. It’s like you’ve been stuck on the same chord of a cadence, waiting for a release that feels like it isn’t coming anytime soon.

You take a deep breath, the frustration tightening in your chest. “From measure eighty-four, and take the fucking repeat this time. Let’s just move onto the next section after this, we’ll just come back to it later.”

You fight the urge to huff and sigh, knowing it would only earn you a comment from Yoongi about being, as he had put it, ‘wound up.’ Yeah, no shit, you’re wound up. Wound up is putting it lightly. Just last week Yoongi had made a mess of you at his apartment, teasing you apart and then stopping just short of an orgasm. And he said the same thing last week too: delayed gratification.

You try again, cueing him in with a sharp breath and the uptake of your bow.

And again, and again, and again.

“This isn’t working.” You set your violin on the soft lining of your case and rub your temples, resting your upper body on the body of the piano. You swipe the back of your hand across your face, breathing in the clean smell of the hand soap from Yoongi’s apartment bathroom, from when you were there a couple hours ago. Warm. Brown sugar. It feels like his embrace–if only you’d ever feel it again.

God, why did you let him push all your buttons? All evening–ever since the two of you left his apartment to come to the practice rooms–he’s been acting like this. You know it has something to do with you, another game. But you don’t have the energy to divine his ulterior motive, whatever it is. You shut your eyes to provide some reprieve from the strain of staring at the same phrase that you have been stuck on for what has felt like an eternity.

“Yeah, this isn’t fucking working,” He says. It reminds you of the way he talked to you when you found him practicing in the early morning that one Tuesday. You only open your eyes when you hear him get up from his bench.

Min Yoongi is standing too close to you. His eyes are on your lips and not your eyes. Even in the dim light of the practice room, you can see how dilated his pupils are.

You meet his eyes. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, more breathless than he’d like to admit, “You’re provoking me. Why?”

“Who said I was trying to do that? I think you,” You point a finger at his chest, looking into his eyes, “Are provoking me.” You try to sound as petulant as possible, and it works.

Yoongi’s lips meet yours before you can even take your hands off of him.

In the best sense of the word, you are cornered. Backed up against the piano, enclosed by his arms. He slips his hands up underneath the cotton of your sweatshirt, pulling you flush against him. His cool fingertips grazing the small of your back have you gasping against his soft lips.

“Tell me, why are you provoking me?”

“I, well-” You don’t continue with an excuse, because you’re finally getting what you want. What you both want.

He presses on. “Gonna answer my question, or are you just gonna keep being a little brat?” He wedges his thigh between your legs, closer to where you need him most. You stifle a moan, it’s too soon to be making those kinds of sounds, but you grind down on him anyway. “What?” He laughs, the sound sitting deep in his chest. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

You try to focus on the possessiveness in the way that he holds you by the waist, so you’re not thinking about how weak your knees are.

He sighs, as if in disappointment. Only you’re not sure who it’s directed towards.

“If I touch you right now, will you be wet?” He laughs. “I don’t even have to guess.” The ghost of his breath fans against your upper lip. “Is this what you want? Do you, do you, want to keep going?” Yoongi stops his ministrations. When you meet his eyes, both of you breathless, you can see the inquiring concern in his eyes again.

“Yes, yes, don’t stop,” you say, trying, and failing, not to sound frantic, “Only if you’ll see it through to the end this time,” You bite.

He laughs, devoid of mirth. “You say that like it’s not hard for me, either.” His hands trail down your torso to rest at the waist of your jeans. You don’t want to pseudo-argue with him anymore, so you just whine a little from the back of your throat, hoping he’ll get the point.

You don’t want him to think that this isn’t what you want, because truth be told, it is exactly what you want. Your hands come to meet his when you reach to undo the button.

“You know exactly what to do.” He laughs, lighter this time. He’s laughing like he’s not mad at you. He helps undo your jeans, pushing them and your panties just past your thighs. You gasp when he starts rubbing gentle circles on your clit. His fingers slip against your wet, slippery pussy.

Yoongi is everywhere. He’s crowding your space against the wall, hand down your pants, the other holding your neck in place. It’s getting overwhelming with his beautiful hand rubbing little circles on your clit. So simple, and yet it feels like you’re breaking apart underneath him. It’s getting harder and harder to bite back the moans, stay in control.

“You know, these rooms are soundproof. Let me hear you,” He murmurs, pulling you closer. “Stop hiding from me.”

Yoongi shifts his attention from your wet cunt to the collar of your shirt. “What’s this? Getting busy without me?” Yoongi brushes his free hand over the circular dark mark coloring the crook of your jaw. You’re starting to get impatient with all this teasing, how much more can you take?

“Haven’t you ever heard of a violin hickey?” You spit, grinding down on his hand, but it’s not enough. God, it really has been too long since he last touched you. He never stops the gentle advance he makes on your clit, never faster, never slower. Just barely enough. “We were just practicing, it gets darker when I play.” You try to explain yourself, as if that might make him show mercy later on.

“You’re not in any position to talk back right now, don’t forget that.” He leaves open-mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking gently. “I’ll just help you add to your little collection.” Your eyes roll back, unable to help yourself. It’s been so long since anyone has touched you. It’s been so long since anyone has held you so closely.

Your desperation is beginning to show. With every movement of his hands, Yoongi starts to lessen his touch, your hips dogging his hand. You come to the realization that you’re not above begging to get what you want. He doesn’t even have to ask.

He continues his gentle assault on your clit. “Do you know what these mirrors are for? They’re for checking your posture as you practice, but I guess this is just a different kind of practice.” He turns you around, your hips digging into the wood panelling of the piano. You’re confronted by your own fucked-out reflection, flushed and panting. You’re still mostly clothed, and yet you look debaucherous, like some ancient painting of a study into the nuances of female pleasure. “Look at you. All messy. And for what? I’ve barely touched you.”

The frustration is too much, reaching a boiling point. “Please, I swear to God.” You bury your hands in your head, wiping away frustrated tears. Your legs are trembling now, now that Yoongi is only using one of his arms to brace you against him.

“Please, what?” He digs his nails into the soft skin of your hip, and you can’t help but like it. He lowers his head so it’s level with your ear, sultry, low. “Use your words.”

“Can’t you just, just-” Again, you buck your hips against his hand, as if that might make him get the point, only for him to nip at your inner thigh with his hand.

“Don’t rush me, babe.” Babe. Min Yoongi is calling you babe. Is the universe playing some trick on you?

He takes advantage of your position and leverages his knee on the inside of yours, spreading your legs further. “That’s it, just take it. Take it.” Finally, he takes pity on you and slips a finger inside. He earns an answering gasp. You can tell he means business, because he doesn’t take it slow, he doesn’t let you adjust, going directly at that spot inside of you that makes you keen for him.

You struggle to stay upright, eyes rolling back. Your fingers scrabble along the dark wood of the piano, struggling to find purchase.

“Fuck, Yoongi…”

“So needy, look at you, so fucking needy...” He drives his point home further by adding a second finger.

“I’m sooooo sorry… how can I ever make it up to you…?” Even despite the mind-bending pleasure and the prospect of Min Yoongi blowing your back out this evening, you roll your eyes.

“What if someone hears?” Your point is lost when Yoongi changes the angle of his hand, and you break off into a ragged whimper. It’s loud enough to make you embarrassed to have made that sound in the presence of another person.

“Oh, so you care about that now?” “What about that one time in class,” Yoongi all but pants in your ear, digging his nails into your thigh, “That you were being a desperate little cocktease?”

You don’t answer, shame stoking the embers in your belly, driving lower and lower. You hate, and love, that he can make you feel like this with only some stern wording and a firm hand. Because it feels that good. Because you like him that much.

“What then, hmm?” Yoongi doesn’t wait for a response however, before he’s yanking your jeans and panties further down your thighs. “Do me a favor. Touch yourself for me. Show me.”

“Why?”

“Wanna see you all messy for me,” Yoongi says, voice silky soft, liquid sex. He guides your hand down to your pussy, and god, you realize just how embarrassingly wet you are for such little foreplay. “Please?” He presses his chest flush to your back, leaning his forehead into the crook of your neck.

You oblige him. You’re wet to the point where it’s difficult to find purchase against your clit. “Okay… but you have to forgive me.”

“Forgive you for what?”

“For being needy…” You say, sweetly.

“Sure. I’ll forgive anything you do if you do this every time.” He says it like it’s a matter of fact.

You giggle, like a lovesick idiot. At the very least, you’re glad that Yoongi can make you laugh even when you’re half-play-fighting, half-on-the-verge-of-having-sex-in-your-favorite-practice room.

The vibrations of your laughter traveling through your body have you moving in new, novel ways against your own hand, and you break off into a moan.

“You’re so beautiful,” Yoongi murmurs, voice barely above a scratchy whisper. He sounds genuine, and the tenderness of the moment isn’t lost to you, even despite your pleasure. At least now that you’re touching yourself, you don’t have to suffer the patient wrath of Yoongi and can touch yourself the way that you see fit.

You feel his free hand nudge against the back of your thigh and when you look, he’s dragging the heel of his hand across his pants.

Fuck. Fuck, you are so wrecked for Min Yoongi.

“No, you too,” you say, “Show me too.”

Yoongi moves away from you, pushing his waistband past his hips. He’s gripping his cock in one hand. He’s reaching for your waist again, his hand traveling up to grasp your throat. He jerks your head back. “Look, look at yourself.”

The combined sensation of his hand on your neck and own hand on your pussy is too much. Your eyes water. “Yoongi,” You gasp, “I’m going to come.”

“No, not yet. Not yet.” He wrenches your hand away, and the sudden lack of touch is almost cruel.

You buck against him, his back to you. “Please, please let me come, I can’t–you can’t do this again, fuck,” Your desperation comes out in whines, all shame lost.

“Be patient, come here.” He turns you around again, your back against the wood of the piano. And you’re looking into his eyes, dark and filled with something like lust. Min Yoongi wants you. You reach up to brush his hair out of his eyes.

Yoongi’s on your clit again, drawing light circles, testing the wetness before slipping a finger inside again. “I wanna hear you,” He says, adding another finger, more tenacity behind his strokes. He rocks his thumb against your clit. “I wasn’t asking.”

Up until now you’ve been biting your lip, muffling your cries as best as you can. You look up at him again, drawing up your courage. You feel exposed–how can you not, half-naked in the practice room, when you’re not completely confident that the soundproof padding on the walls can contain the sounds of your rapture.

“You-you fuck me so good Yoongi–” And you keen, just because he asked you to.

He stops in his fucking tracks. Again.

“Well. You fuck me so well. You can’t describe a verb with an adjective. God, I really shouldn’t let you come…”

“Oh my God, are you really going to do this right now.” You bear down on his hand with your hips again, seeking more friction. “Please… please, I can’t wait anymore.” You can hardly finish your sentence, as Yoongi fucks into you with a particularly hard thrust. You’re finding it difficult to keep your eyes open, instead opting to rest your head on his shoulder.

God, he smells so good. Like fresh laundry and the melting snow outside, warm and human and reassuring.

You can feel his smile ghosting over your neck as he leans down to suck another mark into your collarbone. “Yes, yes, I am.”

“I’m–I’m getting close again,” You say, fisting your hands in his shirt, “Just, ah–” It takes you by surprise, crashing over you. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to stay upright, pulling Yoongi against you. You can feel his satisfied smile, as he pants against the curve of your neck, hot and heady and everything you need.

“Good?” He asks, after your breathing has calmed, even though you know that he knows that he’s done more than a good job.

“Okay, okay, enough bragging,” You half-laugh, half-scoff, pulling your pants up past your hips again.

“I wasn’t bragging,” He whines. It’s endearing, and you pepper his face with kisses before you get to business again.

You sink to your knees before him, and his expression immediately softens. You try to bridge the gap between the two of you, placing the palm of your hand on his thigh. Asking for permission.

“Are you sure?” He says, but the expression in his eyes saying something to the effect of “I really hope you’re sure.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” You say, smiling as you tease the head of his cock with your parted lips. You replace his hand with yours. It’s barely any contact, really, but Yoongi closes his eyes in pleasure nonetheless, head tilted back. Normally, in any other situation like this, you’d be at least a little bit nervous. Or shy, hoping that Yoongi keeps his eyes closed so he’s not looking at you. But the absolute deprivation you’ve felt for the past couple weeks is enough for you to not care.

You sink lower, in the wake of remembering how pent up and frustrated you’ve felt for the past couple weeks. You even, at least try to, bat your eyelashes at him. But like you guessed (or had hoped), his eyes are squeezed shut. You try not to delight in the sudden change of power too much, but it’s impossible not to.

He tightens his grip on the back of your neck, groaning. “You’re so good to me.” You take him further in your mouth, eager to please. Eager to hear him make more of those sounds. Eager to take this further.

You try your best to make it slick, flattening your tongue against him. You’re a little out of practice, after months of being alone, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to notice. And if he does, he’s still enjoying himself. Thoroughly.

“Fuck, fuck,” He gasps, in hushed whispers.

“What a mouth on you…” Yoongi moves stray hairs out of your face, surprisingly tender given the lewdness of the situation. The sounds of your mouth fill the practice room, although hopefully not loud enough to expose your vulnerable position. You truly hope that the soundproof padding lining the walls works as advertised.

“Ah–ah wait, I’m getting close, wait–ah, y/n, fuck,” He rasps. You don’t let up quite yet, letting him sit in that in-between space between ‘on the edge’ and ‘letting go’. His free hand makes a weak fist against his leg.

Someone knocks on the door. Your first thought is that it may be security wrapping up rounds for the night.

Your eyes widen in shock as you stand upright and zip up your jeans. The surge from adrenaline at the prospect of getting caught in the act makes your head pulse and spin. Your heart seems to have fallen from the left side of your chest all the way into the pit of your stomach.

It’s hard to remember how aroused you were, not thirty seconds ago.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” For someone who was quite literally about to be balls-deep inside you, Yoongi tucks his dick back inside his pants with a surprising amount of tact and speed.

Yoongi is fixing his hair in the practice mirror as you cross the room at the piano bench, pulling out your phone to make it look like the two of you were just dawdling or taking a practice break.

Maybe twenty seconds have elapsed since the first knock at the door, which you reason might be a reasonable time for someone to stop practicing, and walk to the door to answer it. You hope it might seem reasonable.

You can feel the pulse in your neck moving as Yoongi opens the door. You train your eyes on your phone screen, as if that might make you more nonchalant.

“Hey, Yoongi-hyung.” The voice at the door is youthful, and energetic. You can even hear the smile in his voice. “I didn’t know you were here this late. I was looking for you!” You finally muster up the courage to stop staring at your phone, your eyes venturing to the other side of the room.

It’s… Jungkook?

Jungkook, as in, the only bassoonist in the department, Jungkook?

Jungkook must have had the same idea as you, because he looks over at you at the same time you do.

His smile falters, albeit briefly. Whatever replaces it is something akin to a smirk. A knowing smirk. An accusatory smirk. A proud smirk.

“Hyung, who’s that?”

#armywriterssupport #btsgoldnet #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #bts smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi scenarios #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #min yoongi x reader #bts x reader

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sigillaria-svt · 3 years

Text

Notes from the Moon (University AU)

Pairing: Moon Junhui x Reader

Word Count: 5,637

Warning: None

Genres: fluff, secret admirer, bestfriend!Minghao, female reader

Synopsis:

Throughout his college life, Junhui has been contented with admiring from afar. It didn’t matter to him that she wasn’t aware, or that nothing was between them except a friendly acquaintance. However, Minghao knew deep inside that Junhui wanted to start moving forward, and thus he provided the starting ground for a series of secret notes that would end up becoming the seed to building Junhui’s confidence.

Junhui wasn't entirely sure when it all started. On his first day in college, he barely knew anyone except Minghao who he went to high school with. He couldn't remember the names of his classmates after they introduced themselves. However, there was one person that made a strong impression on him. Although he didn’t remember her name at first, he was drawn to the way that her eyes seemed to glow with curiosity.

Because of his bad eyesight, he always wanted to sit in the front along with Minghao, albeit at the far right corner of the room so that he can get away with dozing off just in case it was going to be a long class session. Somehow, with the same mindset, she sat at the front too. At first, it meant nothing to Junhui other than an interesting classmate.

That is, until he started paying more attention to her, and less attention on the lesson.

She wasn’t the type that attracted looks at first glance. She was a normal person with a strong sense of passion, but somehow, Junhui didn’t quite know how to act around her. Eventually, he just decided to look from afar, where he knew he didn't have to deal with overthinking what to say and do. It's not like he didn't try to before, either. On some days, he tried to approach her to ask about an assignment or to borrow a pen, but it ended up as small talk that fizzed away after a few sentences.

Doesn't help that her eyes tended to be fixated on the whiteboard, and not much else.

In a way, Junhui was thankful that she was always set on the lessons and assignments. He could look at her all day and she wouldn't notice a thing. For a time he was satisfied with just this—just admiring her every day without her knowing anything. It’s not like she was going anywhere. No one else ever showed romantic interest in her either, which gave Junhui all the more reason to continue staying as he was.

However, feelings can’t always be completely contained, especially if they’ve been growing slowly over a series of months.

It was a beautiful warm day in June, so Junhui and Minghao took the opportunity to be in the library for most of it. The library had large windows that spanned the entire wall, giving a view of the greenery outside the building. The temperature inside was just right, making it a favorite spot for students who wanted to study in comfort and quietude.

She was sitting a few tables away, a pair of earphones filling her time with piano music as she prepared to take notes for the test the next day. Junhui sat with Minghao, who was studying seriously while Jun was looking up from his notes once every few minutes.

"If you keep on looking at her like that, might as well stop studying and look at her for three hours." Minghao said, eyes still fixated on his notes below him.

"What? I’m not doing that, I'm studying!" Junhui said defensively, careful to make sure that his voice doesn’t go above the appropriate level for libraries.

"Then what are you looking at?"

"This book, of course." Junhui responded while indicating the book in his hands.

Minghao looked over at the page Junhui was on, "Uhuh, and what does it say about the Law of the Minimum?"

"Hmm, something about a function..."

Minghao looked at him, "Jun... it's been two years. Are you really just going to stay as an admirer from afar?"

"I know, I know. I'm just not sure how to approach her. I mean, I know what I want to say and do, but I'm just afraid that I'll mess it up." Junhui scratched the back of his hand. “You know what I mean right?”

Minghao sighed and put his hand on Junhui's shoulder. "So do you want to make a move or not?"

Jun raised his eyes and looked around, scared that someone else might overhear them. "Huh?"

"Come on, I know you do. The silent admirer thing has been fun and all, but you’ve really been getting more restless these past few days, especially when she’s around.”

"No, I mean yes. I mean...”

Minghao groaned in slight exasperation, "She's smart, so I'll teach you something that will make sure that she won't stop thinking about you."

He pulled out a pouch from his bag and took out a stack of green sticky notes. He laid it in front of Junhui along with a pen. Junhui looked at him with confusion, but Minghao simply raised his eyebrows and motioned for him to take it.

"If you're too shy to talk to her, then you can just write instead." Minghao said.

Junhui started to panic internally. "But what if she finds out that it's me?"

"If she finds out, she finds out." Minghao said with a shrug, as if it were no big deal. He tapped on the stacks of sticky notes. "It's not like she memorizes everyone's handwriting. To be honest, you don't write much either, so she isn't going to know."

Junhui took the pen in his hands and thought hard. He wanted to write something that wouldn’t make it seem like it's him, but something that would pique her curiosity enough for her to keep the note.

He started writing. I like your shirt. He bit his lip as he finished writing. He looked up at Minghao who looks at Jun as if he just committed a crime.

"Seriously? I like your shirt?"

Minghao took out the note and crumpled it. "Make it something nicer. Don't think too hard and try again."

"But..."

"Did I stutter? Don't think too hard."

Jun was about to whine, but stopped. He thought about the first thing that he's ever wanted to said to her, but couldn't. He knew that it was somewhere at the back of his head, he just had to put it into words. He thinks about the way that she seems to put all her focus into whatever it is she was doing, about the way she lost track of time working on a project, and in the way that she was excited to answer any question that you threw at her.

He didn’t understand why simple things about her made him so flustered. The simple existence of a person shouldn’t be making you lose sleep thinking about what things made her happy. Junhui pursed his lips and wrote a simple sentence on the piece of paper.

Your passion is beautiful.

He looked at it for a moment, wondering if it would be enough. No, it had to be enough. This was the starting point of everything, not the end. It shouldn’t matter if he messed up now.

Minghao looked over and smiled at him. "See? I knew you had it in you."

Just as Jun had finished writing, she took off her earphones and stood up. She headed over to the bathroom with her phone in hand, leaving her textbooks and notes scattered on the table.

When she's out of sight, Minghao nudges Junhui. Junhui looks at his friend with wide eyes, broken out of his focus on his newly written note.

"Go on and put it on her table while she's not there!" Minghao whispers.

"What, we're doing this now?" Junhui whispers back.

"When are you supposed to do it? When we graduate? Go ahead and do it!"

Minghao pushed him enough just to get him off his seat. Jun clumsily walked to her table, looking to see if her friends are around. Once Jun saw that it was clear, he quickly stuck the note on one of her open pages and walked back to his table red as a tomato. Jun falls to his seat and covers his face in embarrassment.

"Was that so bad?" Minghao asked.

"I can't believe I'm actually doing this." A mess of red blushes covered Jun's face, up to his ears.

Just then, she got back from the restroom and sat on her chair as she put her earphones back on. She picks up her pen to continue writing, until she noticed the green note that was left on her notebook.

Minghao pulled Jun's hands away from his face. "Wait, look, she's reading it."

She took out one earphone and picked up the not, a smile forming over her face as she read the sentence. She looked around to see who might have left it, and Junhui quickly looked back down at his book, pretending not to notice. However, he did take a small peak up from the corner of the book enough to see her tuck the note in one of her notebooks. Minghao gave Junhui a proud smile, but says nothing else.

For the rest of the afternoon, Junhui watched as the girl he's been liking for the past two years smile widely as she wrote notes and highlighted sentences on her textbook.

Now, he didn’t have to keep on thinking about what made her happy. Here was there actually doing it by his own efforts.

Now that he was finally able to say what he always wanted to, it left a soft and fuzzy feeling in his chest. The fact that she kept his note and didn't throw it away makes him even happier.

He thought about the idea of her ever liking him back. It seemed like a childish thing to think about, but it was the first time he ever put serious thought into things like this. He realized that he has no idea how to even go about finding out, at least not the first time. It's fine if he doesn't find out right away, anyway. He's just happy that he's finally taken the first giant step forward.

Eventually, she packed up her things and made her way to leave the library. Meanwhile, Jun's eyes followed her around until she's out of sight.

"I think it's time to go." He says, standing up from his chair.

Minghao looks up from his book, nodding back to him. "Yeah, me too. So, what do you think? Happy?"

Junhui says nothing else, opting to give his best friend the biggest smile instead. Minghao didn’t need any words either, he understood Junhui just by the look on his face. So long as his friend was happy, he was more than willing to help him build up his confidence.

This was just the start of the many notes that Junhui would leave on her books or on her desk whenever she wasn't looking. For all those years that he wasn't able to say anything, he was finally able to put it into words and send it over to her. Every day, Jun would end up excited to write another new note that he would try to sneak in without anyone else noticing. At times, he wrote whatever just came into mind, at times earning a weird look from Minghao because of how cheesy it sounded.

You look amazing even when you think you don't. If you weren’t aware, now you are.

I don’t know why, but you look very attractive when you’re focused.

You've done well, don't forget to rest well and eat well. Congratulations on getting the highest score.

I hope you don’t mind me admiring you in secret.

You looked sad yesterday, I hope you’re doing alright. I found out myself that watching puppy videos online cheered me up, you should try it too.

I like the way that you laugh, it’s very joyful and carefree. I hope you stay happy and healthy all the time.

On other days, he ended up writing something without much thought. It didn’t bother him—he wanted her to know his thoughts, even those that seem random and out of nowhere.

The moon was beautiful last night, did you see it?

I noticed that you really like the color yellow. It’s nice and bright, I like it too.

I think the chicken came before the egg, but my friend has been bugging me that the egg came first. I wouldn’t know, really, I’m not a bird.

Are you curious about who I am?

As much as possible, Jun would try to stay around to check for her reaction. To Jun's satisfaction, it would always leave a smile on her face. That smile was all he needed to continue his hopes of starting something between them. It's not like he could just go up to her and say "Hey, do you have a moment? I’m actually that guy that keeps sending over green sticky notes."

As much as Jun enjoyed sending notes over, the girl had been starting to grow all the more curious about who this secret person was. It happened one early morning when Jun had arrived at the classroom to stick his note on her desk where she always sat for their first class. However, instead of seeing an empty white desk, he saw a yellow sticky note right where he usually stuck his notes on.

Similar to his own notes, she wrote a message:

Who are you?

She had also written her name and class on it. Now that she had asked, he wasn't going to reply with just his name, he wasn't ready for that just yet. To be honest, he was just delaying the process, but that was fine by him. What could he say?

Not wanting to make it too obvious, he wrote down a riddle instead. She's smart enough to get good marks on their tests, so Jun was sure she would figure this out in no time. However, he wanted to make it vague enough to just reveal a bit. Jun took out the pen in his pocket and wrote:

You can find me at night if you look up in the right direction.

He took off her note and placed it carefully into his notebook before replacing it with his own green note. He quickly walked out of the room, heart beating fast. He didn't expect her to respond in that way, but he was happy that she was getting interested.

Just as he had predicted, he saw her at the classroom later that morning. There were a group of students gathered at the front of the room, but she still managed to catch his eye. However, this morning was louder than usual, with her friends surrounding her in excitement.

"They left a riddle?!" One of her friends said, leaning in to read the note. "As if he, or she, wasn't already mysterious enough."

"What does it say?" The one who had asked the question for everyone else now asks her.

"It says you can find me at night if you look up in the right direction."

One of her friends crossed his arms. "Probably one of those night owls that spend their time in those 24/7 cafes until morning. Explains why they always seem to give you notes early in the morning when no one's around."

Jun gave a small chuckle as he listened in from one corner of the room. The only reason why he was able to put in those notes early is that he lives in the dorm right across from their campus. He just went in before anyone else arrived at the room and returned to the dorm to go back to sleep. Junhui continued to listen in as the group tried to unravel the riddle.

"So, what's the answer?" One of the guys asked.

Before she could respond, someone else answered for her. "Don't you think it has something to do with the sky?"

Shee points upward as if the answer is right there. "Either way, we have the first-period class in 10 minutes, so we better hurry and solve this." The first one said, turning around.

After a few moments of trying to think of the possible answers, the first person spoke again. "Hey, why don't we just... Call him out on it? I mean, if he's been leaving all of these notes on your desk, then he probably knows where you sit all the time. He's got to be a classmate."

Junhui's heart started to race. He knew that if they just try hard enough, they're bound to figure out that it's him, especially since her group of friends is quite large. All they really need is just the time to check the handwriting and ask around. Someone must have seen him at least once or twice with the pad of green sticky notes.

"Yeah, but where's the fun in that?" She said with a laugh, to Jun's relief. "I want to try and figure out who they are based on their hints."

"You're just making this harder for yourself, you know?"

"I mean, if they wanted me to know who they were right away, then they would have just approached me right then and there." She tucked in the sticky note in her notebook, which was now filled with all of Jun's other secret notes. "Let's try to figure it out more after class."

As the topic is changed, Jun felt relieved. He wouldn't have been able to concentrate in class with everyone trying to figure out the riddle right beside him.

However, Jun was feeling a bit braver today than usual. In one of their classes, they were free to work on their task however they wanted so long as everyone stayed inside the classroom. Jun and Minghao managed to find a spot in the classroom next to where the girl was sitting. She was typing something on her laptop, but her notebook was right beside her with some of the green papers peeking out.

Minghao decided to join in on the plan. "Hey, I heard about the commotion before class. Have you really been exchanging notes with this mystery person?"

"Yeah, why?" The girl said without looking up from the laptop.

"How does it feel?" He said, leaning towards her.

"How does what feel?"

“Ahh, come on, I know you know what I’m talking about.” Minghao crossed his arms. "How does it feel to get notes from someone you don't know?"

"It's nothing special." She said, not sounding enticed at all by his question.

Junhui's heart drops for a bit, and Minghao tries not to give him a look.

"If someone I barely knew was leaving me notes, it would definitely mean something." He said, trying to take a different route. “It’s exciting, isn’t it?”

The corners of her mouth go up, trying to suppress a smile.

"See?" Minghao said, half at her and half at Junhui. Her face started to turn red and she turned around to face away from Minghao.

Her shoulders started to shake as she tried not to laugh. "Would you go away already?" She laughs, turning off her laptop and standing up. "It's nothing special, I just find it kind of cute that this person, whoever they are, is so clueless about how I feel."

Minghao and Junhui exchange looks. She's definitely not confessing anything to them.

"Ahhh, come on. How long have you had those notes from him?"

"A while now." She answers, picking up her bag and laptop. She grabs her things and walks past the two of them, turning her head to look at them.

"So what's the deal then?"

"We’ll see once I figure it out." She said finally, giving one last glance at the two boys. She briskly walked to the front of the room, passing her flash drive to the professor before she headed out of the room.

Junhui finally released the breath that he never realized that he was holding. He leaned back in his chair as the professor reminded them that they have 20 more minutes to pass their outputs.

"She likes you." Minghao said quietly.

"Shut up." Jun said, but he can't help but smile.

Just like that, Jun had been dropping small hints about himself. It made him really excited to see that she was also enjoying it. Her friends became just as invested as she was, but she always made sure that they wouldn't try to do a stakeout to figure out who the mystery writer was. On the other hand, Minghao had been working with Junhui to make it even more exciting. The idea came to him one night while they were hanging out at Junhui's dorm.

"What about we attach a QR code and make it into a kind of treasure hunt?" Minghao said as he takes a bite of his chicken salad.

"A QR code to what?"

"To a music playlist." Minghao opened up the Spotify app on his phone. “They’ll enjoy trying to figure out each song. I’m pretty sure she isn’t the type to just listen casually to songs without understanding what the lyrics mean.”

"Wait, isn't she going to know that I made it?"

"Not if we make a new account to make it all anonymous." Minghao replied. "So, do you want to try it out and see their reaction tomorrow?"

Junhui thought it through, kind of shy at the idea of making a playlist for someone. However, he went along with it. He tried his best not to include songs that would immediately give him away. With Minghao's help, he eventually printed out the QR code and stuck it on the sticky note. Junhui took out his pen and wrote above the code:

It looks like you're really trying hard to figure out who I am. Check this out.

Then he got really nervous and turned the notepad over. Minghao gave him a look, but Junhui only rolled over on his bed, flustered at the idea. Junhui paused for a moment with his face buried in the pillows. "Okay, alright, I'll do it. I can do it."

"Good." Hao hit him on the leg before getting up to clean his plate.

The next day, the reactions were just as Minghao expected them to be. One of her friends immediately took out their phone to scan the code, ecstatic to find themselves at a Spotify playlist.

At this point, they still didn't know who the secret admirer was, but one of them was starting to think it was Junhui. Although they never saw him put the notes on himself, Junhui always seemed to be around the area whenever she got the notes.

However, they were never really able to find enough evidence that it was Jun, so it was all left as a theory on their side.

Although the notes were there every single day for the past month, Jun suddenly stopped sending them. This wasn't because he was losing the mood for it, but because he wanted them to actually start figuring out who he was. He was happy that she had been getting curious, but he wanted to start going beyond just leaving notes on her table every morning. He wanted to go up to her and talk without getting shy, to hold her hand instead of imagining it. He didn’t expect that his feelings would grow like that.

That's why he needed time. Time for them to actually talk to each other and not be simple classmates anymore.

For the next two weeks, the notes just stopped, and they were left with only the Spotify Playlist as a hint for who the secret admirer was.

They talked about it in class, some thought it might be a fellow student, while others thought it was too vague and might be someone outside of school. Fearing that she forgot about it, Jun left one final note for her to unravel.

Junhui stood in the dim room early in the morning, pen and sticky note pad in hand. He leaned on the desk and writes his final message.

Do you know who I am now?

Jun paused for a moment, before adding the first hint he'd ever sent her.

You can find me at night if you look up in the right direction.

It was perfect for the occasion. There was going to be a full moon tonight with cloudless skies. She'd surely be able to find the moon. His last name isn’t necessarily the most common one out there. She should be able to figure that the moon was meant to point to him, Moon Junhui.

And so, he left the notes for her. Jun quickly returned to his dorm. He was too nervous to go back to sleep and ended up playing games on his phone in an attempt to pass the time.

However, when he went into class that morning, there seemed to be no fuss. The note was nowhere to be found and she was studying on her desk like she normally would.

Anxiously, he glanced around, but there's nothing out of the ordinary. His heart began to race. Did she find his clue? Did she realize who he is? He'd have no way of finding out. The rest of the day felt like walking through the mud as Junhui tried to hold himself back from outright approaching the girl and declaring himself to be the secret writer all along.

He was too nervous that he wouldn't know how to explain himself if she really did figure out who he was. At the same time, he wanted to finally take the next step forward, still slightly scared of how she might actually react.

Just as he was about to lose all hope, the full moon finally appeared in the sky. Jun was on his way back to the dorm when he received a call from an unregistered number. "Hello?"

"Did you run out of sticky notes? Is this why you haven't been sending me notes for the past few weeks?

Jun stood frozen in the middle of the sidewalk. It was her. She finally figured it out. He opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't know what to say without stuttering.

Jun stood there for a good ten seconds before the girl spoke up again, "Hello? Is this Junhui? Did I get the right number?" She started to hum some song on the other end, not hearing the silence from his end.

"Uh, yeah...erm..." Jun managed to spit out. "How did you find out?"

"Having 'moon' as the title of your playlist wasn't exactly the most mysterious thing, you know?" She said with a bright tone. “How I figured it out is a long story, so let’s just say that you sound a lot like the notes you were putting up.”

"So you've known for quite a while now?"

"Yeah, I just didn't want to do anything yet before... checking out a few things." She pauses for a moment. "Are you free right now?"

"Uh... yeah I am." Junhui managed to spit out, a bit more steadily than before now that he’s gotten himself together.

"Good, because we need to talk. Don't be so scared, It's not bad news." She laughs at the other end. "Meet me at the department lobby in ten?"

Jun gave her a small yes and dropped the call. With shaky hands, he quickly dialed Minghao and told him all about it.

"Well, isn't that good? You're finally getting to where you want." His friend said nonchalantly.

"That's the point! I didn't know it was suddenly going to happen like this!" Junhui paced back and forth. "I'm going to be a stuttering mess, I didn't prepare for this! Well I mean, I wanted this, but it’s just…AH!!"

"Look, you're going to be fine. You're just nervous, that's all."

"...Can't you come with me?"

"Huh? Jun, I'm just going to be an awkward third wheel. You need to go to her yourself. I'm going to hang up, good luck."

"Wait, no, Hao--" Before Jun could continue, his friend ended the call, leaving him alone in his nervousness.

He had to go do this himself. If he didn't, he'd always regret it. Junhui gave himself a few slaps on the face before turning around to head back into their building.

The lobby was found right at the entrance of their building. It had a small indoor garden with a few benches and tables. Jun fidgeted with his phone as he stepped in, looking for the familiar figure that he had been watching over all this time.

When Junhui found her, he held his breath.

This is it. This is finally it.

She turned her head to look at him, smiling at him. She was sitting on one of the benches, her notebook filled with Junhui's notes on her lap.

She stood up and walked towards him. "Hi."

"H-hello." Jun says nervously, taking a small step back. "So you finally found out, huh?"

"Well it wasn't that hard to figure out. It wasn't until I started noticing that you've been staring at me a lot during our classes that I was definitely sure that it was you."

"I do?" He knew that he absolutely was, but he wasn’t aware that it was actually that obvious to her.

"Yeah, you do. But I didn't mind it, if that's what you're wondering." She answers as if it was the most normal thing in the world to say. "One question though, why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you like me? As far as I know, I'm not really the kind of girl that gets all the guys riled up. Being a study freak doesn’t really scream girlfriend material, you know? As far as I’m concerned, I even hear that people get intimidated by me for reasons I can’t really pinpoint.”

"I... Eh..."

"Don't worry about it, I'm not mad."

A small laugh escaped from Junhui's mouth. "No, I don't think you would be."

The girl looked at him patiently as Junhui takes a few moments to compose his thoughts. "Well, you're smart and outspoken, but I don't think that's something I should be intimidated about. I actually think it's pretty incredible that you stand up for what you believe is right. I don't know if you see it or not, but you become different when you concentrate on your work, well I mean, in a good way, of course."

"You really think so?" She asked in disbelief, as if she didn't have a kind word for herself.

"Yeah, I really think so." He nods, being completely sincere.

The girl tilted her head a bit as if considering his compliments. Then, she returned her attention to her notebook.

"You know, these notes really meant a lot to me." She said with a small voice. "I've been having a difficult time these past few months, but I didn't really tell anyone about it. Just when I was really getting sick of everything, your notes suddenly popped up into my daily life. For that, thank you so much."

"You're welcome." Junhui pressed his lips together. "Do you mind if I ask you a question in return?"

"Go ahead."

"What do you think about me?" The question was out of his mouth before he could stop it. He immediately clamped his lips and cheeks shut, waiting for her answer.

She laughed. "Don't be so nervous." She told him. "Well to be honest with you, I'm not yet sure. It's really the first time someone liked me in this way. I tried to think about it to settle my feelings, but I always get caught up doing something else in the middle of it. If anything... I guess you make me happy in a way?"

"I make you happy?" He could barely believe she said that.

"Yeah, that's it. You can make me really happy, or at least that's what I think you're capable of doing."

"That's, that's great!" Junhui felt like he was floating.

"I'm glad that it made sense to you." She grinned. "I don't know if I'd call it love just yet. Would you give me time to think it through?"

"Uh, of course." He nodded. "I'd hate for you to make a hasty decision just because I reached out to you."

"Alright. Thank you, Junhui."

The both of them stood there in silence for a few seconds. Just ecstatic to know how they felt about each other. After all the initial anxiety and sneaking around, everything finally felt that it was worth it. Sure, he didn't know if she would ever reciprocate his feelings in the same way, but now that the cat's out of the bag, he felt that there really was something waiting for them at the end of the road.

Junhui can't help but smile like a kid.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" The girl asked.

"I'm just in shock. That's all." He smiles.

She gives a small chuckle and looks away. "Your personality is very adorable, are you aware? If not, now you are."

"Huh? What? Oh! No. Well, I mean I know, but I'm just surprised someone told me." He laughed nervously. Junhui cleared his throat. "So, do you want to grab some dinner with me? I know all the good Chinese restaurants around campus."

The girl smiled. "I'd love to."

That was the start of it all. At first, Junhui regretted not telling her earlier, but now he understands that it was just the perfect time for it. He was happy enough to have her by his side, slowly figuring out the complex intricacies of her personality one small piece at a time. It was a joy to know her, and an even greater joy to fall in love with her. It didn't matter that they were taking slow steps, what mattered to him is that they find peace in the pace that the other was on.

This was more than enough for him.

#svt #seventeen #wen junhui #jun #svt jun #seventeen jun #moon junhui #moon junhwi #seventeen fic #svt fic #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #junhui x reader #jun x reader #moon junhui x reader #wen junhui x reader

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mammons-sugarbaby · 4 years

Text

The bros reading MC’s diary Part II: Romantic!

Lucifer ⦁ He'd started giving MC piano lessons after their RAD classes, they'd requested it and he wasn't going to pass up a chance to show off his talents. ⦁ After MC leaves he notices they forgot their things, namely a few schoolbooks and notebooks ⦁ He also notices when he gathers them up that one notebook seems different than the others and opens it to see what it is ⦁ It's a daily journal of their time in the devildom ⦁ He flips through a few more pages and lands on a page that, to his surprise, is about him ⦁ He goes to the beginning and sees where it becomes less about general happenings and more about him

Diary Content ⦁ "Lucifer agreed to teach me how to play the piano! I've already been practicing a little so he would be impressed at how quickly I learned. I feel bad for lying but... It's a chance to be close to him, to get him to notice me. Sometimes it's hard to concentrate with him right next to me, and when our hands brush against each other...It take everything in me to keep my composure!"

⦁ "I'm so excited! Lucifer is taking me to Restaurant Six tomorrow! He says it's to reward me for my hard work, both for my RAD classes, and how well I've done in our piano lessons! My heart was beating so fast when he asked if I would like to go. I'm going to go shopping later for an outfit to wear, it has to be something special! I know it's just a treat but....I'm just going to pretend we're on a date."

⦁ "I'm so embarrassed! I was waiting for Lucifer in the music room and I started daydreaming about us sitting next to each other. Lucifer turned to me and our eyes met and I confessed my feelings and....then he leaned in and kissed me! So I was shocked when Lucifer was right in front of me suddenly asking if I was okay. For a second I thought the kiss had actually happened...But he just said we had better start lessons...and I was too nervous through the whole thing I kept messing up...I think I irritated him because he said that I I obviously wasn't able to pay attention and that continuing would be a waste of time..."

His Reaction ⦁ He had been surprised at how quickly MC had learned and suspected they knew more than they let on, and though he wanted to be mad or disappointed about the lying, he was actually impressed with the lengths they went to get his attention. He made a mental note to be more....attentive during their next lesson.

⦁ Lucifer recalled his shock at how well MC had dressed for the occasion, he hadn't expected them to go all out. At the time he felt a little guilty for not putting more effort in his attire, but seeing how MC stared at him and how they blushed when he looked at them or complimented them, he doubted they cared. He would ask them again when he had some free time, this time he would specify that this time was more of a...romantic occasion.

⦁ He recalled that day well, he had entered the music room and saw MC staring at nothing, a hint of a blush on their face. It had taken a few moments for him to get their attention, and now their reaction when they snapped out of it made sense. He felt bad now because he had snapped at them, but he would make it up to them in the future. He looked forward to teasing them, and....he'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about kissing them at times.

Mammon ⦁ He was looking through MC's stuff to sell for quick grim ⦁ Finds an intricate looking book, it's looks expensive ⦁ He opens it and notices its a scrapbook ⦁ He soon realizes that there a lot of cut outs and pictures of him ⦁ And there are full pages of writing ⦁ Of course he's going to read about what they have to say about him, The Great Mammon!

Diary Content ⦁ "Managed to sneak in another magazine that featured Mammon without anyone noticing, I'd be so embarrassed if anyone found this book. I feel like a kid with a crush drawing hearts all over everything but...it's fun, and it's not like anyone is actually going to see. I'm almost embarrassed at all the times I've written about confessing to him."

⦁ "He makes my heart stop sometimes I swear, every time he looks at me, my mouth goes dry and I feel like I can't breath for a minute. He's just so damn hot. And he's funny too! And even when he's hyped up about another plan to make quick grim, even if it makes absolutely no damn sense, I can't help but nod along and want his plan to succeed."

⦁ "I know it's dumb but I just want to march over to him one day and demand to know how he feels about me. Sometimes he acts all flustered around me and his face looks like he's blushing, but then he says something that dismisses everything and just...crushes me a little. Today we were hanging out and one of his brothers teased him about being around me all the time and he told them it wasn't like he wanted to, he was just helping me with classwork. Which he was, and poorly at that, but it hurt a lot, I had to get out of there before he saw me cry. He apologized later but....he just gives off such mixed signals...I wish he'd just say how he actually felt."

His Reaction ⦁ He's floored, he had absolutely no idea they felt this way. At most he just thought they were a fan of his. But they were right, they had written what seemed like a hundred different ways of confessing their feelings to him. He felt his get hotter and hotter with each page he read.

⦁ He had just figured MC was kinda shy and was supportive towards everyone. He even thought they were fake laughing at his dumb jokes to make him feel better, especially since everyone usually groaned and said his joke was stupid. But the fact that they actually found him attractive and funny? He wanted to run to MC and wrap them in a bear hug.

⦁ Mammon hadn't realized he'd been hurting MC all this time, making them feel like he was stringing them along. He just got so embarrassed and didn't want anyone know how he felt about MC. He already got so much shit from his brothers, teasing him about falling for the human wasn't appealing. But he'd take their teasing over continuing to hurt MC this way. He couldn't bring himself to admit his feelings outright, but he wouldn't deny them anymore.

Levi ⦁ He'd gone into MC's room to retrieve some games and manga he'd lent them ⦁ He saw a pile of books near a neat stack of games and assumed they'd left it on their desk for him. ⦁ It wasn't until he got back to his room and was organizing them that he realized he grabbed a book that wasn't his. ⦁ He opened it then quickly shut it after realizing it was their diary. ⦁ He argued with himself to read or not to read, but he saw his name! ⦁ Deciding, he opened the diary again, he just had to know what they were writing about him

Diary Content ⦁ "Hung out with Levi in his room today. He was watching a new show, as usual, and I asked if I could join him. He said sure, but there wasn't a whole lot of space to sit, so I tried clearing away a few things so I could sit beside him without being too close. But I guess I was still nervous being so close to him because I kept fidgeting and bouncing my legs. Eventually he got annoyed and grabbed my legs and put them in his lap!! I was so shocked my brain felt like it short circuited."

⦁ "While I was playing co-op mode with Levi tonight, he got in a rough spot and I ended up saving him. You would have thought I'd saved his actual life! He threw his arms around me and told me I was the best player-2 ever!! My heart was pounding, he usually wasn't so...hands on? I'm probably weird for thinking about it, but I imagined him kissing my cheek."

⦁ "Every day I feel like it gets harder and harder to be around Levi, I get so....tongue tied! And my heart feels like its beating a thousand times a minute! My face gets so hot and i feel like I can't even look at him or I'll confess on the spot! I haven't been hanging out with him as much because....I really like him but I'm sure that he'd think having a 'normie' crush on him would be lame and gross. And he seems so down lately I just want to cheer him up and see him smile again! Maybe I can give him head pats to cheer him up? It would give me an excuse to touch him at least..."

His Reaction ⦁ He remembered that night, mainly because when he had realized what he'd done, he got so embarrassed. MC had been really quiet and would barely look at him, of course they'd be disgusted by a gross otaku like him...

⦁ His brain had to take a moment to process the last sentence. They wanted him to....KISS them??? He hadn't thought about it when he had hugged them because he was so happy, but afterwards he couldn't stop thinking about it, how he wanted to wrap his arms around them again, to hold them..

⦁ So THAT'S why they had been avoiding him!! He thought after the previous two events, they were grossed out by him but....they liked him?? Like liked him?? He honestly couldn't wrap his head around it, he wanted to think it was some trick but....this was MC's diary, why would they lie about something that was only meant for their eyes?? MC liked him....as more that a friend....He couldn't get them out of his head for the rest of the day.

Satan ⦁ MC returned some books he'd lent them ⦁ While putting them away, Satan realized they'd accidentally given him one of their books ⦁ They'd already left though, he opened it to see what the book was about ⦁ It was a thick journal and he realized it was specifically a diary ⦁ And the page he'd opened to was about him ⦁ Intrigued, he sat down and flipped to the first page.

Diary Content ⦁ "Satan offered me a few books today that he enjoyed and suggested we start reading together so we could talk about them. I pointed out he's a much faster reader and he said we could limit it to a few chapters a week. He's so considerate and I really would love to share something like that with him! I know he gets a bad rep for being the avatar of wrath but he's surprisingly gentle most of the time. And I like a lot of the books he reads, so we have that in common. And if there's something I liked but he didn't personally find interesting, he still talks with me about it in detail and lets me be excited. Usually people ould just brush me off because they didn't care."

⦁ "I went to Satan's room earlier to hang out but he was so engrossed in reading I don't think he noticed me come in. I just found a spot to sit and started playing on my d.d.d, but I couldn't help but get distracted by him. I love watching his facial expressions while he reads, if he's around others his face gives nothing away, but when he's alone, or with me, that mask falls. He finally noticed me when I giggled at his shocked expression and seemed embarrassed, but I told him it was something on my phone. I would hate for him to put that mask up around me, I like seeing him openly himself."

⦁ "Today I almost pulled a huge pile of books on myself by accident. I didn't realize when I was trying to get a book from the top shelf that there were books piled on top of it! Luckily Satan was there to catch it before it fell and warned me to be careful. But when he stepped in to stop the books, he'd grabbed my shoulder and pulled me against him, like he was trying to shield me. Then when the books had steadied, he turned me around and asked if I was okay. The look of concern on his face...I can tell he cares about me. I know he didn't mean anything by it, but I swear my heart fluttered for the rest of the evening. I know I liked him before that but...is it cliche to say I think I fell in love? Maybe not that serious but....I definitely have strong feelings for him."

His Reaction ⦁ He was touched at MC's words, he already felt like they were a kindred spirit, but this really made him feel even more drawn to them. He loved being able to talk about a story with them; and realized soon after they had arrived and started reading together that they weren't as fast a reader, which made sense he'd been reading for much longer than they had been alive. He knew how it felt to be dismissed, and even if he didn't find a particular book to his liking, hearing MC's thoughts and feelings on it somehow made him see it in a different light.

⦁ He hadn't realized he let his guard down around MC so much, it almost made him embarrassed to know they had seen him make all sorts of silly faces, but reading that they enjoyed him being comfortable around them made him smile. He did trust them, more than he realized. And it didn't appear that they were aware that they too, made silly faces while reading. But they didn't hide it when they were around everyone else, in fact the only time he'd see them have a blank expression while reading, was when they were reading something erotic. He laughed because when he asked what they were reading to make their face so intense, they immediately turned red and they got embarrassed.

⦁ He remembered that day, how he saw the books teetering on the edge, that sharp worried feeling, and the way they felt against him when he pulled them back. He was able to stop the books from falling, but he was actually prepared to shield them with his body. And seeing their face, wide-eyed and a light blush across their cheeks, he was surprised at the restraint he had; because right then he had wanted nothing more than to lean in and kiss them. But he didn't think that they held the same feelings for him and didn't want to make them uncomfortable. But now he knew they felt they same way, and reading about them falling in love, even jokingly, left him smiling for the rest of the day.

Asmo ⦁ He went into MC's room to show off some new beauty products he'd bought ⦁ They weren't in their room, so he texted them, they replied they'd be there shortly ⦁ he takes a seat on their bed and notices a notebook on their nightstand ⦁ He opens it and sees it's their diary ⦁ And more importantly, they're writing about him

Diary Content ⦁ "I almost managed to flirt back at Asmo with a straight face today. Almost. He's too good! Whenever I do manage to flirt back, the next thing he says leaves me a stuttering mess...I know he flirts with everyone so of course he's going to be amazing at it, but I wish I could fluster him at least once! I think he would look really cute being a blushing mess."

⦁ "It's hard not to take him seriously with the things he says sometimes. It's too easy to read into things. I know he's just teasing me and he doesn't mean the things he says, but sometimes....like today, we were sitting next to each other and he just! Put his arms around me! And said I was one of the cutest humans he'd ever seen!! He's seen thousands of humans, I don't see how I could possibly compare. I even said so and he took my face in his hands and had this really serious look on his face. He told me I shouldn't be so critical of myself and he knows cute when he sees cute! Then he told me we need to have a self care day soon."

⦁ "Asmo!!!! Kissed my cheek!!! Then whispered in my ear!!! All he said was "See you later~" but!!! I swear I couldn't speak for a solid 10 minutes. I sat there and daydreamed about kissing him back, and wrapping my arms around him, and holding hands, and going on cute dates, and all that during class! I missed everything!! And there's a test coming up.....The boy is going to be the death of me, especially if I fail this test and Lucifer finds out....Still...as pathetic as it might be to actually have a crush on the avatar of lust, knowing full well he doesn't feel the same way, it's just how he acts...I might just tell him how I feel so he can shoot me down and I can get over this silly little crush."

His Reaction ⦁ He loved when MC tried to flirt with him, loved seeing their face and seeing them try so hard to act unphased. There was a time or two when they actually had said something that caught him off-guard and made him blush, but he's well practiced at hiding his feelings.

⦁ He remembered that day! MC was wearing such a cute outfit and looked absolutely stunning, he couldn't help himself! And then when they put themself down it made his stomach drop. He couldn't believe they actually tried to compare themself. He wanted to go on a who lecture about how everyone has something about them that shines and they shouldn't compare themself, but them again he technically compared them to all the other humans he'd seen....He still meant what he said though, yes physically they were cute, but they sounded cute, acted cute, just....everything about them he found endearing. Even when they were angry, or sad, he thought the were one of the most attractive beings he'd laid eyes on. It threw him off when he thought about it too much, so he did what he did best and deflected, and pushed those thoughts and feelings down. But he couldn't just let them continue to think that they couldn't compare! So he suggested a self care day to try and lift their spirits.

⦁ Oh honey....he wasn't joking. More and more he found himself being serious when he flirted and asked after them. After a while he realized he was pursuing them, it was shocking because usually he was the one being pursued. He had figured MC had developed a crush on him, who wouldn't?? But it made him feel strange because he reciprocated their feelings. He started to plan to ask them on a date under the guise of studying, since they were...distracted during class. He didn't want them to get punished if the failed a test. Lucifer would blame him and tell him he wasn't allowed MC. He wouldn't follow the rules of course, but it would be a pain to try and sneak around to see MC. His thoughts wandered and he imagined kissing MC, something he'd done plenty of times before, but this time it made him blush and he felt giddy and nervous.

Beel ⦁ To be fair, MC told him he could borrow their study notes, but didn't tell him where in their room they left the notebook ⦁ He sees what he assumes is the notebook on their bed and grabs it and heads to his room ⦁ Once he gets settled, he opens it and reads half the page before it clicks that these are definitely not study notes ⦁ This is their diary, and they were writing about him ⦁ He shuts it so fast, super embarrassed, but he can't stop thinking about what he'd read ⦁ Guilty, he opens it to read more

Diary Content ⦁ "Beel asked today if I wanted to go with him to Hell’s Kitchen, he heard they had one of my favorite foods back in stock. I was surprised and asked him how he knew it was one of my favorites, I had only eaten it twice. He told me he notices how my face changes when I eat something I particularly like, and how I make a little humming noise. I was really embarrassed and it made me a little self conscious, so I told him I'd get back to him about it. I hated seeing his face fall...Then he apologized and said he'd see me later, which made me feel even worse!! I just... the thought of someone paying that much attention to me, to notice what I like and how I act when something makes me happy...I'm not used to it. Of course I found him later and asked him if his offer still stood and I swear his smile made me forget for a moment that there wasn't a sun in the devildom."

⦁ "I failed a test today!!! Lucifer is going to kill me...I told Beel about it and he asked if I would be okay if he helped me study. I told him I would be so grateful! I was so happy I hugged him without thinking and I swear I saw him blushing, I mean I was too but then he told me I could always come to him if I ever needed anything. I swear my heart jumped in my throat. He's always looking out for me, I know he's nice to everyone but....he always makes me feel like I'm special to him. I'm probably looking into it way too much but I might have a small crush on him. Not that he feels the same way, and I'm okay with that, but it's nice to know I have someone I can always count on."

⦁ "I want a black hole to open and swallow me!!! I'm going to hide in my room until I go back home I'm so embarrassed!! I was eating lunch with Beel and I was eating a jelly pastry and he noticed I had some on the corner of my mouth so he asked me to hold still for a second, and wiped it off with his thumb then licked it! I just...couldn't stop staring at him and his mouth....He thought I wanted some of the food he was eating so he offered to let me have some, then held it out for me to take a bite. Then!! Asmo walked by and said how we were so cute together, feeding each other and acting like a cute couple! Beel was confused and told him we weren't dating, and Asmo looked surprised and told him that I had a crush so he thought I had asked him out. I haven't been answering my phone and I've been hiding out at Purgatory Hall for a few hours now. I don't think I can face Beel after this...."

His Reaction ⦁ Beel had seen Hell’s Kitchen had a dish that MC really enjoyed back in stock for a limited time, so he wanted to surprise MC. He thought he'd made them uncomfortable, in a way he kind of did but for a different reason. Maybe it was because food was his thing so he noticed how others reacted when they ate foods they did or didn't like. So he was really surprised when they found him later and apologized and asked him if he still wanted to go. At the time it made him really happy, even more so now. He felt his cheeks flush at the last sentence, did MC really feel that way?

⦁ He had seen how distraught MC was that day and when they told him what had happened, he offered to help. He usually got good grades and didn't think anything of it, but when they threw their arms around him out of the blue, and how happy they were, he got a little embarrassed. They just looked so cute and he found himself wanting to see them more so he told them they could come to him for anything. In a way they were really special to him, and he too liked them in more that just a friendly way. He felt really happy though, that they trusted him so much.

⦁ Things had gone back to normal since that day, mostly anyway. By the time dinner came around and MC still wasn't home, he went out and looked for them. Luckily when he texted Simeon and Luke, Simeon replied that they were at Purgatory Hall baking with Luke. He still wasn't sure how he felt at the time, since learning that MC also had feelings for him, but he didn't want to make things awkward so he asked if Belphie could go for him and bring them home. He replayed the events of the day over in his head, but this time from MC's point of view and how he would have felt had they acted as he had... He didn't want to make things awkward again since things had mostly gone back to normal but he also didn't just want to ignore the fact that they both had mutual feelings for each other.

Belphie ⦁ MC texts him asking if he could bring their notebooks they forgot ⦁ They were supposed to have a study session in the planetarium but MC had forgotten their things in the attic ⦁ He opens one of the notebooks to quickly scan over the notes they were supposed to study ⦁ These are not school related ⦁ This is their diary, and what’s more, there's a lot about him in it ⦁ His eyebrows furrowed and he settled in to read what MC had to say about him.

Diary Content ⦁ " Beel asked me today if I was mad at Belphie, if we had a fight. I was confused and told him no and asked why. He explained that he noticed when I would see Belphie, I'd usually try and leave the room, or I'd avoid trying to look at him again. I hadn't realized I'd been so obvious about it, but I couldn't explain the reason why to him. He told me Belphie was starting to get depressed, and mentioned that I might have had a change of heart due to the incident. I told him that wasn't the case at all! This is a mess....I'll either have to get over myself or tell Belphie the truth...It's not fair to him I'm acting like this."

⦁ "Belphie's noticed I haven't been coming over for naps as often, I always tell him I've got stuff going on. I used to be fine with cuddling for naps, was totally okay with waking up and having his arm slung over me. I don't know when it changed but I started feeling shy, I was less comfortable with him touching me. Not in a bad way! Just....I got hyper aware anytime he touched me, my heart would start pounding. And in the cases that I couldn't come up with a good reason to say no to a nap, I kept as much distance as I could. Saying I felt too hot to be all wrapped up has been a good excuse so far, and it's not a lie."

⦁ " Ugh! Everytime I try to talk to Belphie about why I've been acting so weird, one of his brothers comes around! Or Simeon...or Solomon...or Luke...It's like now that I'm trying to confess, everyone can sense something is about to go down! I just...want to tell him that I like him as more than a friend and if he can just bear with me so I can get over it, I mean he obviously doesn't feel the same and I don't want to make things more awkward and lose my best friend. Part of me wants Belphie to like me back, as more than a friend, but the other part knows that'll never happen and I need to just get over it."

His Reaction ⦁ At one point he barely spoke to MC aside from meals and in passing, they either didn't reply to his texts, or they took forever. He thought maybe they had finally come to their senses and realized that they actually hated him, and for good reason. Even though he knew they had every right, it still made him feel depressed and lonely, angry even sometimes; and one day he'd vented to Beel. While it irritated him that his twin had told MC, he was relieved to read that MC's behavior wasn't in relation to the incident. But now he was curious about what it WAS about.

⦁ He had noticed MC had been avoiding him in a sense, and at the time he wasn't sure what he'd done. But in the times that they had stayed over for a nap, they would practically be hanging off the edge of the bed, or as far from him as they could get. They told him they were hot, which given the red face and sweating, he believed. He had actually planned to get a fan and a mini air conditioner so they would be more comfortable, he still planned to, but now he had a different reason in mind.

⦁ Belphie remembered the various times MC would ask to talk with him, only to change their mind whenever someone else was around. He was actually going to ask them to meet him at the planetarium tonight and demand to know what was going on. But his brain stopped working when he read MC liked him. Like liked him. He laughed because he was doing the same thing, but he was much better at hiding his feelings. He'd had centuries to master it after all. He was tempted to let MC go through all the embarrassment of a confession after what they'd put him through lately, but right now all he wanted to do was find them and wrap his arms around them and tell them how dumb they were for crushing on a demon. A demon who was just as dumb for having a crush on a human.

#obey me #long post #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie #msb writes #obey me imagines #obey me scenarios #obey me headcanons #obey me diary

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caswellprmanager · 3 years

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read it on ao3

Ship: Ricky Bowen/EJ Caswell

Summary: Snippets of EJ Caswell's life leading up to the mystery that is Ricky Bowen.

Notes: Hello. I decided to bite the bullet and post something here! This technically is in my Trans!EJ and Genderqueer!Ricky AU but I haven't properly written anything for it yet so consider this one to be the first official fic within that universe. Feel free to send some asks or other headcanons in my inbox about the AU! I'd love to hear what people think (but don't be unnecessarily mean. I will delete that very quickly.)

Disclaimer: I'm not an expert in all things transgender or genderqueer. I am writing from my own experience within the spectrum however so it's truthful to what I have been through, but will not represent everyone else's experiences. I also have friends within the spectrum who have given me great advice on how to go about these things but once again, it won't be accurate to everyone's experiences.

Warnings: Mentions of gender dysphoria, transphobia, and neglectful parents

People always told EJ that he had the picture perfect family.

His mom and dad were successful corporate lawyers, they lived in the wealthiest suburb in all of Salt Lake City, and he was the kind of child other parents would compare their own children to saying, "why can't you be more like EJ?"

But EJ knows that's farthest from the truth.

He doesn't have the picture perfect life or the paragon of White American families that people think they do. His parents are affectionate and supportive only when there are people around to comment on it. Most of the time, they're not even at home, leaving all of the child raising to their maids and other house servants. EJ spends more time at Ashlyn's house than he does at home because at least his aunt and uncle actually treat him like a son.

Because there are days his parents would forget they have a son. Sometimes they'd slip and call him their daughter, which makes EJ want to disappear from this world altogether. He supposes he should be grateful that they even bothered to pay for all the things he asked for — binders, testosterone shots, and regular visits to the doctor to check up on him throughout his transition. And he is grateful. He knows so many kids like him that can't even afford a decent sized binder without going bankrupt. He used to be that kid until he gathered up all his courage to come out to his parents.

But what they told him?

"Well, if you're gonna be our son, you will have to work twice as hard to make us proud now."

Yeah. It's a lot to process when you're 12 years old and scared shitless that you'd be disowned for "disrupting the natural order." But he figures things could be worse. So he sucks it up and vows to become the kind of son that his parents could truly brag about.

When EJ was a kid, he loved mysteries. His parents were the greatest mystery of them all. He's spent so much of his time trying to figure out what makes them happy, or angry, or sad. He's put the clues together and has a cork board of pictures and red string at the forefront of his mind whenever he so much as tries to interact with them. Soon, he sort of figured out what makes his parents smile at him — when EJ is excellent.

So, he became excellent at all kinds of sports, took up piano lessons, studied until his eyeballs burned with the lowlight of his desk lamp — all so that he could maybe get a pat on the back from his dad and a small smile from his mom. Their versions of "good job" or "keep it up." He drank that all in, craved it even, and worked his whole life until now to get even an iota of his parents' affection.

So, when he meets Ricky Bowen, the lanky and extremely clumsy skater who seems to live in the detention room, he was met with a brand new mystery to solve.

"Who's that?" EJ whispers into Nini's ear, who just seems to be irritated by the new person's presence.

"That's Ricky," she says with the barest hint of affection but with a whole lot of irritation. "My ex."

"Huh," He says, intrigued by the way Ricky's movements stutter like a half-finished stop motion film and how their wide doe eyes scan the room like — unironically — a deer in headlights. They looked nervous, confused, and all around terrified and EJ wants to reach out to them and tell them that this was a safe space. That they could be whoever they wanted to be in the theater.

He glances at Nini when Ricky starts singing a song that she seems to recognize. The immediate tensing of her shoulders and the way she subconsciously reaches out for EJ's hand for support tells him that this song... means something. Or meant something. EJ's not quite sure but he squeezes Nini's hand in silent reassurance, bringing himself to half-glare at the guitar playing skater just a few feet before him.

He met Nini during theater camp. A firecracker of talent with a voice that could melt the heart of even the coldest man on earth. She was beautiful in the spotlight and even more ethereal beneath the stars. She was kind, gentle, and a mystery that EJ solved quickly enough. She wore her heart on her sleeve despite it being broken because she believes that broken hearts can be mended with time and patience.

Nini was patient with him. She was patient with him when he took her up the little hill next to the campsite just to watch the stars on an old picnic blanket he stole from the camp counselors. She was patient with him when he couldn't keep up with the dance steps. Her hand was warm in his own and the flush of her palm by his neck was a grounding force that kept his head from going in the clouds.

She was especially patient with him when he took her to an empty tent and told her about his life. Nini was kind. Nini was patient. Nini was safe. And if she were to walk away and tell him that she wanted nothing to do with him after what he told her, he would have understood and learned to not associate kind brown eyes and ukulele calloused fingers to what could be barely described as home.

But she held his hand in her tinier ones, a smile on her face that radiated warmth that seeped into the depths of his soul, and told him that she was proud of him.

It was the first time that someone was proud of him... for just being him.

He cried into her arms that night, knowing he's got a lifelong friend within the kind brown eyes and ukulele calloused fingers of one Nini Salazar-Roberts.

"She thinks I'm a Chad?" He asks, less incredulously and more with a burning curiosity.

Nini rubs his arm comfortingly but he keeps staring at the cast list like it was going to burst into flames any second. "You're still a Troy understudy! You could still go on as him in one of the shows."

"Shows only run for three nights, Nini." He says with barely concealed frustration. Great. If he can't even get the role he was technically destined to play, how the hell is he going to explain himself to his parents?

You're not the lead? Oh, then we won't watch. If you're not onstage the whole time, why be there?

EJ grits his teeth and slowly brings his gaze to the person who has just taken away one more way for him to prove himself to his parents. Ricky Fucking Bowen, who stands there once again with their enormous brown eyes, gaping like a fish. EJ wants to deck them in the face. But Nini's hold on his arm grounds him back to reality and he lets out a long breath through his nose.

This is gonna be a long next few months.

"Look, I'm just trying to make the best out of a bad situation."

"Don't try," He ends up saying, still wiping at the blood caused by the basketball Ricky hit him with only moments ago. "It's painful to watch you do something you clearly don't want to do."

"What makes you think I don't want to do this?" Ricky asks with furrowed brows and EJ throws the wadded up tissue paper stained with his blood into the trash.

"You hated musicals before you auditioned. You landed the part of Troy without even fucking trying. And now you think you can get through rehearsals without fucking trying? It's tiring to work with someone who couldn't give two shits about this musical in the first place!" He says, every sentence rising in volume as he steps closer and closer to Ricky. "You also need to stay the fuck away from Nini."

Ricky scoffs then. "Why? Cause you're her boyfriend?"

"What? And you are?" He retaliates, which effectively makes Ricky click their mouth shut. EJ smirks. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

"Nini can choose whoever she wants to talk to." Ricky ends up saying with tense shoulders and a glare that could murder if EJ weren't already a person who doesn't fear death. "You can't tell me what to do."

"Well someone has to!" EJ throws his hands up in frustration, grabbing his jacket and zipping it up angrily. "Because you don't listen to Nini though, do you? Have you ever listened to her? Do you listen to anybody?"

"EJ I—"

"You better listen to me right now Ricky Bowen," he laces every syllable of Ricky's name with venom. "Stop trying to make things right. Stop trying to become a person you're not. If you actually cared about Nini or – god forbid – the musical, you'd stop trying and just get your shit together."

EJ doesn't even bother to look back at Ricky as he exits the bathroom, unaware of the look in Ricky's eyes when he walked away.

It isn't until Ricky approaches him one day after rehearsals that EJ was finally starting to unravel the mystery that was Ricky Bowen.

"Hey... EJ?" Ricky asks, looking at anywhere but at him and EJ would have been annoyed if it weren't for the way Ricky was holding themselves in front of him. They were tense, eyes glassy and unfocused whenever EJ caught a glance, and their fingers were gripping their bag straps so tightly that he was afraid Ricky was going to rip it apart if they weren't careful.

"Hey Ricky," He says with a softer voice than he's ever used with Ricky. "Is there something you need?"

Ricky's eyes dart around the still full rehearsal room, at the dangerously close proximity Miss Jenn was, at the stage managers that were just behind EJ who were reviewing the blocking notes, and finally at Nini who was engaged in a conversation with Carlos and Seb. Ricky's eyes lingered on Nini for a bit before they reluctantly settled on EJ's pristine white sneakers. "I would have normally asked Nini for this but – and you can say no by the way I'd completely understand – it's just..."

Ricky looks around again before leaning closer to EJ and shakily whispering, "Do you have any tampons?"

And just like that, the walls that were built around a certain Ricky Bowen were starting to crack. And EJ was allowed to see the smallest snippet of the kind of vulnerability that Ricky was capable of.

And it was the kind of vulnerability that he could relate to completely.

"My emergency stash is in my locker," He says, hastily packing up the rest of his things while Ricky continues to stand there dumbfounded. When EJ turns back to him with his own bag over his shoulder, he could see that there are a few unshed tears shining in Ricky's eyes. EJ softens for a second, knowing how difficult it must have been for Ricky to come to him for something so private.

"Come on. I'll even guard the bathroom for you." Ricky eventually follows him after a few seconds of just staring at his back and they fall in step around the corner. Ricky stays silent, fingers all fidgety and eyes still darting around like they'll be caught any second. EJ, instinctually, wraps a comforting arm around Ricky's shoulders. Ricky doesn't relax immediately but they do lean a little closer, somehow finding the weight of EJ's arm around them safe.

They eventually reach EJ's locker and Ricky smiles a bit because it's directly across from Sharpay's famous pink lockers. "Did you choose this spot specifically for Sharpay's lockers?"

EJ glances behind him and chuckles, rummaging through his stuff. "Oh yeah. If you say Ashley Tisdale three times in a row while touching her locker, you're guaranteed good fortune for at least a week."

Ricky looks at him with a smirk. "Have you tried that before?"

"Every year during finals week. I'm telling you, that shit works."

"Or maybe you're just really smart."

"Maybe," EJ says, finally locating his emergency stash of period essentials. "Or maybe it's just Ashley Tisdale bopping me to the top."

That's when Ricky lets out a laugh — an honest to god booming belly laugh that makes EJ pause just to stare at him. They look... nice like this. Without the worry lines and longing gazes at a girl who won't give them the time of day. They look just like a little kid, carefree and alive despite the world crumbling all around them, and EJ feels a weird surge of pride at being the person who made Ricky laugh like that.

He wants Ricky to laugh like that more. He wants to be the person who makes Ricky laugh like that more.

And so the walls around Ricky crack a little further, and the drawbridge is opened for one weary traveler to come in.

EJ doesn't notice the cracks on his own walls, nor the knowing little princess who watches from the east tower, smiling.

"Hey, what are your pronouns?"

Ricky doesn't look up from their practice skateboard, concentrating hard on their balance. "I don't have any. I'm just Ricky." They look up though, giving EJ a warm smile. "But go ahead and use any pronouns with me. I don't mind if it's you."

"So would you mind if I call you your majesty?"

EJ doesn't miss the flush on Ricky's cheeks at that and definitely doesn't miss the way they say "I'd like that very much." with the barest hint of embarrassment.

"Okay," EJ says with his chin propped up in his hands. "Your majesty."

Ricky falls off of their practice skateboard then, soon glaring up at a cackling EJ still with a blushing face.

EJ forgot his binder today.

And his body loved reminding him every time he took a step.

Thankfully, there wasn't going to be water polo practice today and he could get away with wearing multiple layers to school. But even with the sports bra, the t-shirt, the sweatshirt, and the letterman jacket doing a good job at making his chest look flat, he still felt his skin crawl looking at the mirror. His jeans hugged him a little too tightly, forcing him to notice the still feminine curve of his hips. His sports bra was a tad smaller than the last time he wore it, so the pinch at his chest doubled in size.

EJ resolved that he was not going to have a good day today.

But today was tech rehearsals and he couldn't ditch that. He was starting to really enjoy rehearsals now that he and Ricky are on good terms. Even the stage managers ask him to hang out with them time to time outside of rehearsals. EJ actually felt like... he really belonged somewhere now. And he wasn't going to let this ruin it for him. Not today.

"Hey EJ," He heard Nini say to him as he got out of his car. "What's with all the layers? It's pretty hot today."

"It's one of those days, Neens." He says with a heavy sigh and Nini just grabs his hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. Ricky rolls up to them two seconds later, their head suspiciously missing a helmet.

"How many times do I have to tell you to wear a helmet when you're skateboarding, Ricky?" EJ tries to scold the junior despite this weirdly overwhelming fondness growing inside of him every time he even looks at Ricky now.

"Haven't gotten into an accident yet," Ricky shrugs, smiling politely at Nini and changing it into a cocky little smirk the second they look at EJ.

"Yet being the operative word here," EJ rolls his eyes and opens his trunk for Ricky to stash his board in for later. "I won't drive you to the hospital if you end up getting a concussion for not wearing a helmet."

"Yes you will." Ricky says, knocking their shoulders together. "You love me!"

EJ freezes for a bit but before he could even respond, Ricky is already catching up to Big Red and Gina, waving back at EJ and Nini with a wide grin. EJ stares at him for a few seconds, not quite sure how to process the last few moments, until Nini waves a hand in front of his face.

"Hello? Earth to EJ?"

"Huh?"

"Care to share with the class what's going on?" The little smirk on her lips says it all and EJ was not going to fall for that.

"Nope. There's nothing to share."

"Mhm," She says, looping her arm around EJ as soon as he closed his trunk. "Of course there isn't, EJ." Nini pretends not to see EJ staring at Ricky as they walk into school. EJ pretends to not notice that she's pretending to not see EJ pretending to not overtly stare at Ricky.

Besides, EJ has gotten pretty good at pretending.

Aaaannndd that's it for now. I hope you guys liked that! I really enjoyed exploring trans!ej and genderqueer!ricky through this au and it means a lot to me. Maybe next time I'll write something in ricky's pov but for now thanks for reading !!

#ej caswell #ricky bowen #nini salazar roberts #rj #hsmtmts #trans!ej #genderqueer!ricky #tw: gender dysphoria #tw: transphobia #tw: neglectful parents #cloud's writing now #hsmtmts fanfiction #they're not really together yet here but #ej is Definitely pining at the end tho #and nini is the best i will not tolerate nini slander in my blog #caswen #ricky x ej #ej x ricky

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