#sorry that got a bit depressing. but that's how fast my brain thinks! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

that-smallinjured-bowylamb · 3 months ago

Text

National Showdown!

Summary: Yes, the continuation where we left off with Vil crashing out. But first, let's look through your misery. With these white chocolate forms of singulars trying to be plural with you, the black chocolates arrive just in time to crash the oncoming-ungoing wedding plans from the whitewashed united students. And then, we'll look at our depressed betches that think they've almost lost a huzz. If you're asking me if I recovered this prev. No. I had to start over. I wanna kms 😭 anyway, they're not that bad, they're just

....some of the worst to hang out with..

The entire cast x reader (No, staff is platonic, I refuse to make romance with them. Crowley is my irl father fr‼️‼️) have reminders I finished this past my bedtime tmrw I might not post often, my bad g 🙏

Warning ⚠️:Amazing Grammer, crack fic (apparently bc I'm higher than my holy spirits, and will to live), OOC(?), depression but covered with humor, mc has no gender (bc it's you I'm talking abt), I will ALSO talk to you, RSA guys r kinda normal and not too overwhelming *looks at Wintergreen* SOME of them, Floyd is about to be sent to a psyche ward by Jade (man's going to tweak tf out if his brother keeps this up), mama leech mentioned, the Octavinelle dormitory is going through an episode, Rook is probably reciting sonnets in French of how he feels devastated and shi, Cater started the entire shitshow unintentionally (He said sorry over text btw), Idia planning to send Ortho over RSA and become the average American quiet kid that becomes a school-shooter, Kalim is silently panicking bc he thought you got kidnapped bc of him, Jamil is about to turn 91 for this in a Queen Elizabeth style, Silver went to a dream reality (he disconnected from TWST), Sebek is Sebeking, Ortho almost took your weave, Leona planned out a war against Wintergreen, Ruggie is concerningly fast and a bit hungry for smth idk what 4, Jack regrets going to this school, the first years are not handling it well, second years are unhinged, third years are about to commit a third degree murder, different timelines, the post getting too long might have to make another part for the 4th dorm all the way to 7th... srry.

<- Angel of Rewind🎀 or Angel of Journey🪽

A/n: Mentally note that, "COE" means "Crash-out episode" So, don't expect anyone to be taking this lightly (especially reader that got kidnapped), good luck bc there are annoying princes in the Academy... and my brain and fingers hurt more than using it in social skills help I'm so cooked.

COE1:THE NUKE AT THE ASS-CRACK OF DAWN 💋

At the tower where the reader resides in...

Take me to the king.

Imagine, sitting on your rusty-ass bed, doom-scrolling. Then, after talking with your friends on the phone and laughing with them and whatnot, you wanted to sleep, right? Normally, being the Ramshackle Prefect isn't just being a Prefect like the rest are, no. You're dealing with NRC, sweetie. This ain't Candy Land. So, of course you were tired after everything you had to do through out the day (depressed readers w no motivation I'm srry you did work 😔), flopped on the bed and slept.

..."..ess.."

Huh?

..."...ncess, princess?" Some man was calling out for you? Or for whom? Who tf is this guy talking to?

Then you regretted every single decision the moment you opened your eyes. Where in the heavenly fathers' are you?

And of course, getting back to all of your five senses that are miraculously intact, you knew you weren't hallucinating again, (just like how you delude yourself into marrying fictional characters 💘) it was real. But exhausting, so no your clothes were changed and yes, they were not shabby or ripped or whatever Crowley gave you anyway. No, men did not touch you (phew), but the female nurse (phew, that girl 😍) dressed you in silks because she thought you'd get comfy in it. She was so beautiful. Tall, fair-skinned, majestic, long flowy hair, those gorgeous eyelashes, she's so beautiful to the point where- "Are you alright?" You forgot a guy was there, sorry not sorry.

Some guy was just staring at you with a worried face. "Ah, my apologies - ' you should be. ' - The names prince Evan Wintergreen, but, you can call me Evan! Welcome to Royal Swords Academy!" The boy beamed with a blinding light, like anyone could care about that.

And now, cue to you being dragged into a unwilling tour with a tour guide showing you around a very peaceful jungle, you were met with seven dormheads (and you might have an inkling of what's about to go down in the future)

One was Allen, a bit ditzy but still mature in a way, maybe emotionally? Oh, well. But he greeted you warmly with open arms (<-either metaphorically or literally)

Second was Livre, a shy but reserved individual whose quite timid around you, he's actually one of your biggest fan of you when Cater first revealed you (book1), and he was a story writer, along with his brother, his opposite.

Third was Rielle (Wait...)

Fourth was some guy that heard about you from Kalim, Yasmin. (Idk I had to search up a name 😔)

Fifth was fucking Neige himself ("Hiii! I'm so glad your here!"...yeah)

Sixth was a Hercules wannabe

Seventh was the reincarnation of sleeping beauty (Aurora? Aurei? Idk I'm calling it Aurei)

So, yeah. Timeskip to you being shown around the school with seven tour guides in each cages, growing more unhinged than the last.

And, starting off with Allen. He is ditzy and and emotionally intelligent, you noted. He was welcoming in the dorm when you entered, it was a nice first meeting. There was an actual Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-doo, the blue caterpillar, the white hare(?), and Che'nya... Wait, Che'nya??? "Perrfect!~ yourr here!~" the grinning cat said. Then, spoke in riddles and no I'm not going to write this down bc I suck at them.

Next were the Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-doo, thing is, they remind you of someone, but, at the same time, they were much nicer in their first meeting with you. (Hear that Ace?)

You spoke with the blue caterpillar, maybe by coincidence or you were genuinely interested, the blue thing just smiles at you (yes, he is in a personified form, not in the actual caterpillar one)

You saw the white hare, running. Looking for something, or someone? Well, whoever it is, it must've been Allen, wandering off again. He spotted you, and waved shyly before running off to who fcking knows where.

All of a sudden you were at the tea party, don't ask how, though. That imaginary is up to you to decide. But, actually? You were kinda enjoying it. It was peaceful, no chaos, no trouble, just... enjoying [which tbh, after staying in NRC for so long, for me, it'd get boring and MAYBE might stir up some trouble]. Oh, but no time to relax, you've got plenty of dorms to go.

Next was Livre, a shy boy around you, you're not sure what caused this behavior, but whatever, it was kinda cute. (<- Those at NRC won't enjoy hearing this from you) and actually? Livre is real pretty. His natural brown hair tied to a up-do bun, and has side braids that ties around the bun.

Tbf, Livre was actually a big fan of you, ever since Cater posted the first photo of you (book1), and while he was waiting for his favorite magicammer [<-Cater] to post, got excited, checked his phone, all he saw was a beautiful person standing next to Cater with an awkward smile... that was you..

Lumiere was glowing, like a candlestick. [<-yes if you guessed], he was... uhm, flashy. Idk what to describe him it is literally 10pm and I'm writing this shit down at this hour- but anyway, he was nice to you, showed you around and his bedroom which actually looked cool. To be honest, you'd be jealous from how the chandelier looked like your dream chandelier bc like??? Dream houses>>>

So anyway, you meet Livre's brother Chris. The total opposite of babygirl. So, now your stuck here with the mix of Kalim energy but Sebek volume. So you were dealing with an exhausting combo that will for sure kill Jamil not once, not twice, but every breath this dude takes. He goes on and on about his unique magic and how cool it is and explaining some of the concepts to the point it actually breaks your mind process because, genuinely, you woke up in a outfit way too expensive to your liking, get dragged out by some chopped shyte, get introduced unwillingly to people you don't fucking know, now your here being shown like you're in a museum.

So moving on, to the 3rd dorm that is about to give you a headache (And Azul gets a telepathic migraine knowing that a bubble-headed red bitch is about to breath near you), the prince (whom you forgot the name of because MAN there's too many people here at once) was making some weird ass assumptions about you finally being "free" and how you needn't to "suffer" anymore. But, realistically speaking, yes, you WERE suffering, no your friends did not have a good start with you, no your friends had long stopped their tormenting simply because your precious to them now (doesn't mean they'll stop completely though), yes they all like you because you've done so much for them (and exhaust yourself to the point Jamil knocked you out to sleep), but maybe you did grown some Stockholm syndrome or smth. Cuz, now you're missing the drama, but you don't wanna be included, that is. So, imagine his shock when you said, "Yeah, but I wanna go back to NRC"... and this whitewashed version of Halloween looks at you then says, "You wish to go back to your cell? How come? Did those villains brainwashed you!? You shouldn't go back! You do not belong there at all! What if you get trapped in there once more, no one to save you? You, are a damsel in distress! The thought of making yourself suffer aches my heart!" Evan exclaimed dramatically. Emphasis on the Villains btw. Okay, ik so tired of these types of princes in fics and the reader is either like mad oblivious or just... idk not doing ANYTHING??? So, I'm tired of this "reader doesn't do shit to the prince that "saves" them bc they're too nice" man, if I were there I would've cried and full on crashed out until I was sent back to nrc and cause chaos. No bitch is safe from me. So, you know what you will do? You walk up to him, look at his dumb fucking face, subtly raise your hand, preparing a blow to the face. You know this world ain't gonna see the next sunrise if you were capable of making weaponry.

*SLAP*

The biggest, satisfying, bombastic slap you've ever given to a man. It was amazing, even more when you noticed a few gasping, chuckling, holding in laughter, or even downright cackling at the scene. The entitled moron got what he deserved. Man's just look shocked as if you shown him r34 arts.

"Anyway, let's continue this tour please!" You say in a haste. Cause' man, you want things to end RIGHT NOW. Your going to lose your shit if you keep staying here, the walls are whiter than the average American girl skin. It's like seeing their inside teeth bro.

Okay, next is Rielle. The red head Azul fr didn't like at all.

He was quite bubbly, and so curious of human customs, too. He shows you around, it was quite similar to Octavinelle but no Monstro Lounge or anything like that. Oh, and if your talking about lounging, yeah there's a lounge a chill Cafe I'd think...

There was Flounder, kinda reminds you of that fish from little mermaid, but it's inspired so what to do. So, your being shown by colorful skittles under the sea. (Maybe you'd understand why Azul hates them, and the Tweels ig🫶🫶) so imagine seeing colorful strings of whatever ducking corals those are, Flounder is not so discreetly looking at Rielle and at you (Rielle is making heart-eyes, so is Flounder but he can't rlly express it, not when his friend wants you) Flounder showing you a rlly cool fish you didn't know existed, your starting to kinda like this place instead of hating it, but there's no contracts to sign so what's there to dislike? Idk maybe a kinder version of Jade Leech. Thats scary.

So then in comes the said kind version, Sébastien. Holy, the literal cut-cloth of whoever tf that butler was from One hell of a butler. (I couldn't spell his last name), anyway, red hair, probably a crab or whoever tf that is. He was actually a decent butler (yes also Jade but he shady asf, let's admit it.) He kissed your backhand (the hand you used to slap Evan), guided you to a table and gave you free food and drinks without discount.

...

This, might be nice. You think you should stay for a littleee while... and indulge for a moment before the peace in this school erupts...

Housewarden 【And vice wardens if you think abt it】 meeting[<-take note their dorm members are also having a meeting too]...

Riddle looks red as fuck.

Leona looks disinterested even though his bitch-ass is right here in the meeting unusually on time.

Azul looks like he's about to have another mental breakdown

Kalim goes, "So, you're saying that they weren't assailants? They were just RSA students that took prefect?" Yes, please don't state the obvious.

Vil looked at him, giving the look of "teacher is about have a mental breakdown in front of class and tell their sob story, while the students hold back their laugh" thing. Yes, Kalim. He fucking told you, dumbass.

Oh, but Kalim knew. He's just playing dumb.

Idia still brought his tablet because the tension was way too high for his social standards (if he ever had one), and is probably just quiet... thinking about something. Ortho is analyzing every word his brother says to him. No, Ortho bby don't blow up the school.

Malleus is dead silent, first time invited and he's seeing these fuckers making sound with no words. His vice is in another meeting with other vices, so he gotta handle this himself like it's WWIII.

"How do we get them back?" "Can't we just go in and grab the herbivore? It's as simple as that, no need to worry about plans. We'll make sure it gets through their head." "Now, now, Leona-san. We can't just rush in recklessly, it's like driving a car with no directions of where to." "Can we actually plan something instead of arguing..." "..." "I think I might have a plan, but, I am not sure if the others will participate." "Oh? Pray tell, what do you have in mind, Malleus-san?"

Vice-housewardens and others...

Trey just gulped at the tension, but he's far off from calm.

Ruggie looked.. idk man, this guy looks like he's about to commit cannibalism bro, someone, save NRC rn 🙏🙏🙏.

Jade still smiled, musing because all this is happening for one student that wasn't even a student to begin with. But he's one speed dial away if he hears Floyd crashing something in the distance again. Might have to call momma Georgina Leech for this one.

Jamil looks like he's about to pass away from so much shit happening, someone, give him a break, he's begging, not on his knees, though.

Rook was making some off-handed sonnets ok how much he longed for you and wished you'd return home to the arms of where you once resided, and shit I can't keep up with this guy, but Rook appreciation is allowed so 💘💘💘 very nice Rook. Now sit the fuck down. We are not in a concert.

Lilia was smiling with a very ominous aura, felt like a dad suddenly stopped snoring, and you'd hope for him to sleep and go back to snoring before you get caught. Man, this is wayyy to exciting for him to hunt- play with these pretentious guys.

"Ah, so you need to tell me, the prefect got kidnapped? How so?" "I am not quite fully sure how they snuck into school grounds, but it is highly suspected it could be them. Even if we check, a specific username had already claimed the prefect had arrived there, more specifically, Neige." "So, Neige is... going to send photos of them in RSA, equivalent to how Cater introduces new students in the internet...?" "Somewhere like that, I guess." "...mhm..." "Ruggie, are you perhaps alright?" "...Yep, Totally! Just thinking." "Alright." "Ohhh! How it pains me, To be ripped away from my heart, mon trésor! If only I knew this would've happened, then I would've saved you sooner!-" "Okay, Rook. Sit back down please. We aren't doing a presentation right now..."

Do you know what the other residents feel?

Cater feels terrible, maybe he shouldn't have sent that photo. So, he went over to his contacts and messaged you,

Heyyy, sooo srry for posting that photo yeh? Anywayzz I rlly hope you forgive me !!! I promise I won't do it again without your permission !!

And on a serious note, I'm sorry if you hate me now.

Yeah, Cater might need a little break for a while... maybe he should delete that message... nvm it's seen already. How'd you get on so quick? [<- idk man you just did] this is why he shouldn't be so deeply connected with others if he knows they'll suddenly be ripped away from him.

Ace and Deuce had been trying to sneak in thrice. Not twice, thrice. They were trying to get you back but is blocked by those flashy, shining, walking materials. Eugh. Why must you ALWAYS bring attention wherever you go?? Ace is literally cursing them out, while Deuce is about to pull out the one punch.

Jack literally doesn't know what to do when he sees one of his upperclassmen planning devious shit but he's trying, also checking if your alright since your one day of disappearance. Like, bro it hasn't even been a day and they've already found out you've disappeared right into their local enemy's territory.

Floyd is genuinely crashing out. And inside Monstro Lounge he can't do shit. It's closed anyway due to a meeting Azul is going through, yet they have the audacity to steal Koebi-chan? [Name]? But, he should've expected it: having to choose a mate that has the tendency to attract bizarre trouble is amusing, but the fact it has ANYTHING to do with romance intervention? Fuck no. Those bitches get their own Koebi-chan! That's HIS (or his brother, if sharing) Koebi-chan to take! Momma Leech even agreed to meeting Koebi-chan one day! (And momma Leech will be so happy seeing her future in-law - son's bestie!

The Scarabia students are quiet and confused, like wtf is happening??? The school was bustling yesterday now there's a whole ass switch up, even KALIM had to go to an important meeting they refused to elaborate on. [<-these guys will catch up dw, Scarabia student B]

Epel was just ranting to Sebek on how annoying those bright baby-ficationed school was. That grown-up daycare lookin ass from the other side of the island looks realll bright. He hopes they like extensive brightness that helps them blow their minds away.

Ortho is just listening to his brother talking abt some... "plans" for RSA... I wonder what it is?

Diasomnia ain't looking too good either. If housewarden Draconia is infuriated, then for sure the rest of his students is down right horrifying, but Silver is in the middle of it. Sleeping, content. Disconnected from the inner war that's about to stir up between schools [<-until his dreams notify his reality by giving him nightmares of you getting kidnapped while he falls into the abyss, helpless], Sebek fucking screamed at anyone that does not match the vibe/mood state of his great waka-sama! Please stfu ima kms. But it's okay, it's Sebek 🫶🫶☹️.

The End.

Sorry if it was short lol. But enjoy this lovely picture of Jade escaping the cops whilst admiring the beautiful sunset that illuminates his pathway, so romantic right? It's not like he kidnapped you to meet his parents or anything. Haha! Never. That would be so out of pocket with him...

137 notes · View notes

magic-shop-stories · 1 month ago

Note

O.M.G. You’re like THE BEST writer I’ve come across on Tumblr….Your writing style is just Chef’s Kiss 🤌🤌💜💜 the way I’ve been feeling down and I read your imagines and they made me feel better??? Just pure magic!! I hope you get all the happiness and love in life and that all your wishes and dreams come true!!

In all honesty, no matter how amazing you are please don’t feel pressured to write….like I don’t mean it in a negative way I meant that don’t push yourself and whenever you feel like it you can take a break and we’ll still be here to support because I’ve seen way too many writers get burnt out fast and then they lose passion…so take your time and I hope you continue to live what you do💜

With that being said, (I genuinely hope you don’t feel pressured to write this, sorry your girls got anxiety and dont wanna stress you out but i feel like im just stressing you out by saying that….im a mess 😅🤪) is it possible to wtite a yoongi imagine (if you could bring out the real life min yoongi that’d be great!) where hes dating an international army (could be an indian or any other country…since i am one🤭) and she/they moved to Korea to be with him and shes still particularly new and doesn’t have much friends except for bts (mainly jimin if possible) or also they haven’t moved in and she’s still living elsewhere and she’s a middle class so it’s not like she can flight out whenever cause of money and visa issues and they have a huge argument (she/they ended up feeling insecure cause shes/they dont speak the same language and she/they are still learning and she/they are a little bit on the plus size category and isn’t someone that people would say is pretty comparing to celebrities or “influencers” type just a normal looking type of person…if you know what I mean?? And there is a little bit of age gap like 6-8 years difference?? Andd she’s really short too sooo many things to add for the insecurities…) ….how do you think its gonna unfold and hows they’re both gonna resolve it? Could you make it angsty with fluff in the end and maybe smut in the end too? (You can use one or the other scenario….if you want you can use both…I don’t mind…completely up to you….if you wanna make it OT7 you can do that too! )

I hope I didn’t ask for too much and as I said I hope you don’t feel pressured to write not just mine but any requests take your time….you’re amazing!! 💜💜

💌 Reply:

O.M.G. [can i hug you through the screen?] First... THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU. Your request? Chef’s kiss... It was so beautifully detailed, vulnerable, and real. I read it and immediately thought this is the kind of angst-to-fluff comfort food my soul craves... (or did you try to match me - almost?) And asking for real-life Yoongi? YES. Also PLEASE don’t apologize for “stressing me out” or “asking too much”! Your request was a GIFT. Your concern means SO MUCH. Honestly? It’s not pressure from people like you, it’s my chaotic ADHD brain trying to juggle life, uni, work, the emotional hurricane that Bangtan is right now, while also wanting to write ALL THE THINGS. My time management is a work-in-progress, and my inbox is a rainbow of amazing requests I wish I could answer at lightspeed. But I promise... I write when it feels right, and your request? It FELT right. Your words gave me energy, not stress about the smut... I kept it emotional and tender... like more “worship” than explicit, focusing on the reconnection after angst. I’m still a tiny bit shy writing public smut, but I hope it is still what you were looking for... I hope this ...Yoongi’s blunt love, Jimin’s sunshine, and your OC’s brave heart, feels like a warm hug. You deserve comfort, and I’m so honored you trusted me to write it. 💜 – c – ✨️

Weight of the World and Other Things That Don't Matter

Pairings: Yoongi x f!Reader Rating: PG-13 Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, romance, slice of life Warnings: anxiety/depression, cultural adjustment stress, body image issues, financial stress, emotional breakdown, mild intimacy (non-explicit), language barrier realism Word Count: ~ 5.8k

Weight of the world and other things that don't matter

Description:

The decision wasn't made lightly. Packing your life into two suitcases felt like shedding skin. Saying goodbye to your family, their faces etched with worry and pride, tightened your throat. The flight was a blur of anxiety and fizzy hope. You weren't chasing a fantasy, not entirely. You were chasing him. Min Yoongi. The man whose music had been your anchor, whose quiet intensity had drawn you in like a magnet through countless screens. Meeting him felt like fate, the connection startlingly real despite the flashing cameras and watchful eyes that came with his world. His words, low and sincere in a rare private moment, echoed: "Stay. Here. With me." So you jumped. Six months ago, Seoul swallowed you whole...

The Cracks Appearing

The single-ring burner hissed under the dented kettle, the only sound besides the relentless drumming of the rain against your tiny window. Your studio apartment in Hongdae was functional. Cramped, sure, the bathroom barely big enough to turn around in, but it was yours. Or, rather, it was rented with the rapidly dwindling savings you’d brought over. The E-2 teaching visa stamped in your passport felt less like permission and more like a ticking clock. You stared at the job board on your laptop screen; another rejection email. "While we were impressed with your enthusiasm, we require a higher level of fluency for this position..." You closed the tab with a sharp click. The air felt thick, suffocating.

You caught your reflection in the microwave door. Sleep-tousled hair, the tired circles under your eyes more pronounced than yesterday. The BTS hoodie you borrowed from Yoongi, smelling faintly of his studio, coffee and wood polish, dwarfed your 5'2' frame. You ran a hand self-consciously over the soft curve of your hip beneath the thick fabric. Here, walking down streets lined with impossibly slender mannequins in boutique windows, navigating subways filled with women whose effortless style felt like a foreign language in itself, you felt conspicuous, kinda off. Not just foreign, but built differently. A solid, unremarkable shape in a landscape of delicate lines. Yoongi never made you feel that way, but the world outside his orbit certainly did, too often.

The rain hadn't let up, turning the walk to the subway into a damp, grey slog. You hunched your shoulders against the chill and the inevitable stares, the oversized hoodie offering little protection against the feeling of being scrutinized. The subway was its usual crush of bodies, a press of damp wool, sharp perfume, and the low hum of rapid-fire Korean that still, after months, often sounded like static. You avoided eye contact, focusing on the rhythmic sway of the train, the advertisements flashing past; flawless skin, impossible waistlines, luxury watches. A digital billboard near Seogyo-dong momentarily filled the window. BTS promoting a new brand collaboration. There was Yoongi, all sharp angles and cool confidence, looking every inch the global superstar. The disconnect between that image and your reality, fighting the morning chill in his old hoodie, clutching a worn tote bag with your Korean textbooks, was a fresh bruise. You squeezed your eyes shut, the rejection E-Mail and the reflection in the microwave door replaying. By the time you surfaced at the language institute stop, the exhaustion was bone-deep, a familiar companion. You trudged up the stairs, the fluorescent glare of the institute's lobby hitting you like a physical blow after the gloom outside. The cheerful chatter of other students felt jarring, a reminder of the fluency gap you couldn't seem to bridge. You slipped into your seat just as the bell chimed, the weight of the morning settling heavily on your chest.

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. "Chingu-deul..." the teacher prompted brightly, gesturing around the room. "Use it in a sentence." Your tongue felt thick, cottony from lack of sleep and the lingering taste of cheap instant coffee. You knew the word - friends. But forming the sentence felt like climbing a mountain with lead weights strapped to your ankles. "Jeo-neun... chingu-deul... eopseoyo," you stammered, the words clumsy, the grammar probably mangled. I have no friends. The truth, clumsily spoken, made your cheeks burn hotter than the subway crush. A sympathetic murmur rippled through the class, mostly other foreigners grappling with the same beast. The young woman next to you, effortlessly fluent and radiating a kind of polished Seoul chic in her tailored sweater, gave a small, pitying smile that felt infinitely worse than indifference. It underscored your own perceived clumsiness, your borrowed hoodie, your 'otherness'. The lesson moved on, a rapid-fire exchange about weekend plans you couldn't follow. You grasped maybe 60%, the rest a frustrating, meaningless buzz. Exhaustion settled deeper into your bones, a dull ache. Learning a language at 28, while juggling survival in this demanding city, felt like rewiring your brain with blunt tools while running a marathon. And what was it all for? The specter of another rejection slip, just like the one glaring from your laptop that morning, loomed large. The weight of it pressed down, making the fluorescent lights seem unbearably bright.

The final bell was a mercy. You gathered your books, movements sluggish, the sympathetic glances from classmates and the teacher's overly patient "Good effort today!" only adding another layer of humiliation to the fatigue. Stepping back out onto the street felt like entering a different kind of pressure cooker. The rain had stopped, leaving the air thick and humid, clinging to your skin like a second, unwanted layer. The walk back towards Hongdae was a blur of neon signs and rushing bodies. Your head throbbed faintly behind your eyes, a souvenir from the fluorescent assault and the mental strain. The borrowed hoodie, a comfort earlier, now felt stifling in the damp heat, the thick fabric itchy against your arms. You pulled it off, stuffing it into your tote bag, suddenly hyper-aware of how the simple t-shirt beneath clung to your curves in the humidity, feeling exposed and decidedly un-polished compared to the woman in class. The gnawing thought from the rejection email 'not fluent enough' morphed seamlessly into 'not thin enough, not put-together enough, not enough'. You needed caffeine, cheap calories, and the numbing routine of your shift to shut the internal noise down, even just for a few hours. You ducked into a different GS25, grabbing the cheapest canned coffee and a triangle kimbap, barely tasting either as you wolfed them down standing near the trash can outside. The sugar and salt hit your system like a weak defibrillator, just enough to propel you the final blocks to your GS25, the one that paid your meager wages. You slipped into the cramped back room, the air thick with the smell of stale ramyeon broth and disinfectant. Swapping your damp T-Shirt for the stiff, slightly-too-small polyester uniform shirt was its own small ordeal, the fabric pulling tight across your shoulders and chest. You took a deep, bracing breath, pinned your name tag on crookedly, and pushed through the swinging door into the fluorescent-lit storefront, bracing for the next wave.

The part-time job at the GS25 near your apartment was a lifeline, barely. Minimum wage, long hours stocking shelves, dealing with impatient customers who often spoke too fast. The canned coffee buzz was already fading, replaced by the familiar ache in your lower back and feet. You fumbled with a customer’s change, mishearing their rapid-fire request for a specific brand of cigarettes "Dama Mild, juseyo!" sounding like a blur. Your brain, still sluggish from the language class overload, scrambled to parse the sounds. Their sigh was heavy, laced with irritation. "Aish, ppali!" Hurry up. The familiar sting of inadequacy pricked your eyes. You mumbled an apology, your face flaming as you finally handed over the correct pack and change. Turning quickly to hide your expression, you busied yourself restocking the ramyeon shelf, the crinkly packets a mindless distraction. As you straightened up, wiping a stray strand of hair from your damp forehead with the back of your hand, your gaze snagged on the magazine rack near the register. There he was. Yoongi. Frozen in glossy perfection on the cover of a high-fashion magazine. He looked effortlessly sharp and cool, all sharp jawline and intense gaze, draped in black tailored lines that cost more than your monthly rent. Beside him, leaning against a gleaming, impossible luxury car, was a stunning, willowy model. Photoshop, but her limbs seemed to go on forever, her face a sculpted masterpiece of angles and cool confidence, her outfit a whisper of silk and daring cutouts. The contrast wasn't just jarring; it was devastating. Your eyes flickered instinctively to your own reflection in the glass door of the drink cooler behind the counter. The image that stared back was blurred by condensation, but unmistakable; hair escaping its messy bun, cheeks flushed and sweaty, the cheap uniform shirt straining slightly across your shoulders, the outline of your soft stomach visible beneath the thin fabric. Flustered, exhausted, ordinary. The glossy perfection of Yoongi's world versus the sticky, fluorescent-lit reality of yours. The disconnect wasn't just about fame; it was about worth, about belonging. The question slammed into you with the force of a physical blow, stealing your breath... What am I even doing here?

The rest of your shift passed in a numb haze. You moved on autopilot; scanning items, counting change, stacking shelves, your smile a stiff, practiced mask that felt like it might crack at any moment. The magazine cover seemed to burn a hole in your peripheral vision, Yoongi's intense gaze and the model's impossible figure a constant, silent accusation. Every interaction felt magnified, every impatient "ppali" another confirmation of your perceived clumsiness, your fundamental lack. When the relief cashier finally arrived, you practically fled, the humid night air outside the store doing little to clear the fog of inadequacy clinging to you. The walk home was short but felt endless. The vibrant energy of Hongdae, the laughter spilling from bars, the couples holding hands, the groups of effortlessly stylish friends. it felt like watching a movie you weren't cast in. You kept your head down, shoulders hunched, the borrowed BTS hoodie now a shield you desperately needed against the world and the cold pit growing inside you. What am I doing here? The question echoed with every step, morphing into a darker whisper... What is he doing with me? You let yourself into the silent, dim apartment, the emptiness a stark contrast to the noisy loneliness outside. The persistent drip... drip... drip from the kitchen sink was the only sound, a metronome for your spiraling thoughts. You peeled off the scratchy uniform, leaving it in a heap on the floor, and pulled on Yoongi's oversized hoodie like armor. You didn't have the energy for food, for light, for anything. You just curled into a tight ball on the small couch, knees pulled to your chest, burying your face in the soft fabric that smelled like him , like coffee and wood polish, like home; a scent that usually soothed but now felt like a painful reminder of the impossible gap between his reality and yours. You waited in the near-darkness, the silence broken only by the dripping sink and the frantic drumming of your own heart. You waited for him, dreading and needing his presence in equal measure, the chasm inside you widening with every passing minute.

Minutes later the key turned in the lock. Yoongi slipped in, shoulders dusted with rain, looking weary but softening as he saw you curled on the small couch. "Hey," he murmured, his voice a low rasp that always settled something in you. He didn't ask about your day immediately, just walked straight to the kitchen sink, where the persistent drip had been driving you mad. He rummaged under the sink, emerged with a wrench you didn’t know you had, and within minutes, the drip was silenced. He washed his hands, dried them meticulously, then came over.

He didn't sit beside you; he sat with you, pulling your legs gently across his lap. His hand, warm and solid, rested on your calf. He leaned his head back, eyes closed. "Long day," he stated, not a question. The familiar scent of him, that unique Yoongi scent, enveloped you. He was physically present, a comforting weight, but his mind felt distant, orbiting around whatever complex track or contract negotiation was consuming him. This was his love language; fixing the drip, sharing his quiet exhaustion, the grounding weight of his touch. He assumed it spoke volumes. Tonight, the silence felt vast.

"Jimin-ie called," he said after a moment, eyes still closed. "Wants to know if you wanna grab jokbal tomorrow night. His treat." Jimin. Your beacon. The one who texted silly memes, who patiently listened to your fractured Korean, who dragged you to hole-in-the-wall restaurants and made you laugh until your cheeks hurt. He saw you, not just Yoongi's girlfriend.

But tomorrow… "I... I can't," you said softly, looking down at your hands. "I have that interview prep call early the next morning. And..." You trailed off, the unspoken 'I can't keep letting him pay, it feels wrong' hanging heavy. The flight fund you were desperately trying to build for a potential trip home if the visa renewal failed was microscopic. Jimin wouldn't care, but you did.

Yoongi cracked an eye open, looking at you. "Money?" He asked bluntly, his tone practical, not accusatory. "I told you, I can..."

"No," you cut in, sharper than intended. "It's not just money. It's the time. The energy. I'm just... tired." You pulled your legs back slightly, breaking the contact. The warmth of his touch vanished, leaving a sudden chill. He frowned, a slight crease forming between his brows. He wasn't angry, just puzzled. He saw a problem, you were tired and stressed and he offered his solution; financial help. He didn't grasp the tangled knot of insecurity, isolation, and the crushing weight of trying and feeling perpetually not enough that made socializing, even with kind Jimin, feel like another mountain to climb. Not yet.

He studied your face, the stubborn set of your jaw, the shadows under your eyes. He sighed, a soft exhale. "Okay," he said, the word flat. "Rest, then." He leaned his head back again, the distance between you on the small couch suddenly feeling immense. He was there, his body a solid line of warmth beside you, but the connection felt frayed. He processed internally, retreating into his own weary thoughts, assuming the quiet was what you needed. He didn't see the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, or how the silence now screamed with everything left unsaid, the fear, the loneliness, the gnawing doubt that whispered, You don't belong in his world...

The drip was fixed. The silence, however, was a different kind of leak, widening into a chasm neither of you knew how to plug. The pressure built, a slow, steady tremble beneath the surface of your fragile new life in Seoul.

The Eruption

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. The comforting weight of his hand on your calf, the familiar scent of him; usually anchors in your storm , now felt like weights dragging you deeper. His quiet exhaustion, the distant look in his eyes before he closed them, the simple fact that he hadn't asked, it all coalesced into a sharp ache behind your ribs. The magazine cover flashed in your mind , Yoongi, sharp and untouchable beside impossible perfection. The rejection E-Mail glared from your mental inbox. The impatient "Aish, ppali!" echoed. The drip was fixed, but the pressure inside you had reached critical mass.

He shifted slightly, his hand absently rubbing small circles on your calf. Eyes still closed, he murmured, his voice rough with fatigue, "Manager-nim just confirmed. That charity gala next week... mandatory appearance. Full black tie. Gotta schmooze with the usual suspects ... uhhh actors, influencers, chaebol heirs." He sighed, a sound heavy with the dread of performative socializing. "Gonna be exhausting. Wish I could just send a donation and stay in the studio."

To him, it was a complaint about an obligation. To you, in your raw, insecure state, the words landed like shrapnel. "The usual suspects." Stunning celebrities. Flawless influencers. The very embodiment of everything you felt you could never be; everything you feared he secretly compared you to, found you lacking against. The image of the willowy model beside him on the magazine cover superimposed itself over his weary profile. Your breath hitched.

It started as a tremor in your voice. "Right. The usual suspects." The bitterness bled through, sharp and unexpected. Yoongi’s eyes snapped open, instantly alert, focusing on you with an intensity that was usually reserved for his music. He saw the tears welling, the way you were trembling despite the hoodie's warmth. "Y/N?"

That was all it took. The dam broke.

"I don't belong here!" The words tore out of you, raw and ragged. All the pent-up insecurity, isolation, financial fear, and crushing weight of inadequacy erupted. "Look at me, Yoongi! Really look! I'm not pretty enough, not skinny enough, not fluent enough! I stick out like a sore thumb everywhere I go! Everyone stares! I'm a burden! A clumsy, foreign burden who can't even get cigarette orders properly!" You yanked your legs off his lap, scrambling to sit upright, putting distance between you. The hoodie sleeves swallowed your hands as you gestured wildly, your voice climbing. "You deserve someone perfect! Someone Korean! Someone who fits into that gala world without blinking! Someone who doesn't need your pity money just to afford a flight home when this... when I inevitably fail and my visa runs out!"

The mention of money triggered another wave. "And stop trying to fix everything with cash! I don't want your pity money! I want to be enough! Enough on my own! But I'm not! I'm just... ordinary! And you..." Your voice cracked, tears streaming freely now. "You're Min Yoongi! And sometimes... sometimes it feels like I'm just a secret you keep tucked away because you're embarrassed. Because someone like me beside someone like you... it doesn't make sense!" The magazine image burned behind your eyes. "Not like them."

He didn't flinch. Didn't interrupt. He went utterly, terrifyingly still. The weariness vanished from his face, replaced by an unnerving blankness. His eyes, dark and unreadable, locked onto yours as you unleashed your torrent of pain. He absorbed every word, every accusation, every shred of insecurity laid bare. His posture was rigid, his hands resting loosely on his knees where your legs had been. The silence after your outburst wasn't just quiet; it was a vacuum, thick with the shockwaves of your words. To you, it felt like the coldest rejection, confirmation of your deepest fears. He was seeing the mess you truly were, and he was repulsed.

The silence stretched, agonizing. Then, he moved. Not towards you, but forward on the couch, leaning in with an intensity that pinned you in place. His voice, when it finally came, was dangerously low, stripped bare of any inflection, yet vibrating with a suppressed emotion that made the air hum. "You think..." he began, each word deliberate, heavy, "I care about any of that?" He held up a hand, cutting off any instinctive reply you might have made. His gaze was a physical force. "Look at me, Y/N." It wasn't a request; it was a command, delivered with a quiet ferocity. "Look. At. Me." You couldn't look away. His eyes were blazing, stripped of their usual guarded calm, revealing a depth of raw feeling you rarely witnessed. "Do I..." he continued, his voice gaining a slight, almost imperceptible tremor, "...look like a man who chases influencers? Who gives a single damn about gala perfection or chaebol heiresses?"

A hint of his characteristic dry disdain seeped in, but it was laced with something fiercer. "Do you think I spend my precious free time, the little I have, fixing your leaky faucets, bringing you kimchi jjigae at midnight, listening to you butcher Korean grammar..." He paused, the ghost of something almost like pain flickering in his eyes. "...out of pity?"

The word hung in the air, charged.

"You think I don't see?" His voice dropped again, softer now, but no less intense. "You think I'm blind to how hard you work? Every damn day? How brave you are?"

He leaned even closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, rough with emotion. "You came here. Alone. To a country where you knew no one, didn't speak the language, with nothing but a suitcase and... and me. You fight every single day. You stumble, you get back up. You try. That takes a kind of strength..." He shook his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. "...a kind of courage that leaves me in awe." He took a shaky breath, the vulnerability stark and breathtaking. "I know what it feels like. To feel... not enough. To be judged for where you come from, what you look like, the dreams you have that seem too big."

A flash of his past struggles, the underground days, pre-debut, the doubters, it surfaced in his eyes. "I know that ache. And seeing it in you..." His voice cracked, just once, a fracture in his usually controlled facade. "...it fucking guts me."

He reached out slowly, not to pull you close, but to gently cup your tear-streaked cheek. His thumb brushed away a falling tear. The touch was searingly tender.

"You..." he said, the word imbued with absolute conviction, "...are everything to me. Exactly as you are. Your strength, your ridiculous laugh that sounds like a squeaky hinge, your stubborn mind that won't quit... you. Not some airbrushed fantasy. You." He addressed the fear head-on, his gaze unwavering. "The only reason we're careful, the only reason it feels like a 'secret' sometimes, is to protect you. From the cameras, the rumors, the fucking chaos that comes with my life. Not because I'm ashamed. Never." The word was a vow. "Never ashamed of you."

His hand remained on your cheek, grounding you as he shifted seamlessly to the tangible problems, his voice regaining some of its practical cadence, though still laced with deep emotion. "The money? The visa stress?" He shook his head slightly. "It's not pity. It's partnership. It's me wanting you here. Safe. Able to breathe without that constant weight on your chest. Able to focus on building your life, not just surviving it." His gaze was earnest. "Let me help you find a better tutor. One who actually teaches, not just drills. Let me help you network for a job that values you, not just your Korean level right now. But don't..." His voice softened, pleading now. "...don't push me away. Don't shut me out because you've convinced yourself you have to be some impossible ideal to deserve this. To deserve me."

A flicker of his dry humor surfaced, a tentative bridge over the raw emotion. The corner of his mouth lifted infinitesimally. "My ideal..." he stated simply, his thumb stroking your cheekbone again, "...is you. Curves, stumbles, bad Korean, squeaky laugh and all."

He paused, his eyes scanning your face, seeing the shock, the residual pain, the glimmer of hope warring with disbelief. Then, the faintest hint of a smirk touched his lips, pure Yoongi. "And for the record," he added, his voice dropping to a low murmur, "...being short just means you fit perfectly right here." He didn't gesture; he simply tugged you gently, firmly, towards him, enveloping you in his arms, tucking your head under his chin, right where you always fit. "Always have. Always will."

The storm hadn't passed. The problems hadn't vanished. But in the quiet aftermath of his fierce, vulnerable truth, held tightly against his chest where the frantic beat of his heart echoed your own, the crushing weight of isolation began, slowly, to lift. The chasm hadn't disappeared, but he had thrown himself across it, offering a bridge built of raw honesty and unwavering love. The silence now was different. It held the echo of his words, the solid reality of his arms, and the fragile, trembling beginning of understanding.

The Aftermath

The raw, shattering honesty hung in the air, thick as the scent of rain still clinging to Yoongi's jacket. Held tightly against his chest, the frantic drumming of your heart gradually synced with the steadier, stronger beat beneath your ear. His arms were an unyielding anchor, his chin resting gently on the crown of your head. The storm of words had left you both utterly drained. Tears still leaked silently down your cheeks, soaking into his t-shirt, but they were different now; less of despair, more of a profound, trembling release. You felt the deep rise and fall of his chest, the slight tremor in his own arms betraying the intensity of what he’d just laid bare. When you dared to glance up, you saw it, the suspicious brightness in his own usually guarded eyes, the faintest sheen of moisture he’d never admit to. He pressed a kiss, feather-light, to your forehead, wordless comfort.

Yoongi didn’t try to fill the silence with platitudes. He understood the weight of what had passed needed space. Gently disentangling himself, he stood. “Stay,” he murmured, his voice still rough but infinitely softer. He moved to your tiny kitchenette with the quiet efficiency of someone who knew its limitations. You heard the clink of mugs, the hiss of the kettle reheating, the rustle of a tea bag; chamomile, your favorite for nights when sleep felt impossible. He returned, placing the steaming mug carefully on the low table beside the couch. He didn’t crowd you, settling back down beside you with a respectful few inches between you. He pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, and soft, melancholic piano notes filled the small space, one of his own unreleased instrumentals, you recognized, a piece that always felt like a quiet conversation with the night. He leaned his head back, eyes closed again, but his presence was different now. Not distant, but profoundly present. A steady anchor in the calm after the storm. He simply existed beside you, the warmth radiating from him, the gentle music weaving a cocoon of quiet safety. You sipped the tea, the warmth seeping into your chilled bones, the silence no longer a chasm but a shared space for healing.

Later, as you drowsed against his shoulder, lulled by the music and exhaustion, Yoongi’s phone buzzed softly on the table. He glanced at it, a faint, knowing smirk touching his lips before it vanished. It was Jimin. ‘Hyung. Everything okay? Y/N seemed… heavy today.’ Yoongi typed back a brief, characteristically blunt reply: ‘Rough night. Talked. She’s sleeping. Check on her tomorrow?’ He didn’t need to ask twice. Jimin’s response was immediate: a heart emoji and ‘Of course. Samgyeopsal on me.’

True to form, Jimin texted you mid-morning the next day. ‘Unnie! Sunshine calls! Walk and pork belly? My treat, no arguments! ’ His relentless cheer was impossible to resist. He met you near your apartment, his smile warm and genuinely concerned, devoid of any pity. As you walked through a quieter park, he listened – really listened – as you haltingly shared fragments of the argument, the insecurities, without betraying Yoongi’s vulnerable words. He didn’t offer empty reassurances about your Korean or your looks. Instead, he focused on Yoongi. “Hyung,” Jimin said, his voice uncharacteristically serious for a moment, “he’s… the worst with words sometimes. Like, impressively bad.” A small, understanding smile. “But his heart? When he loves, it’s absolute. All-consuming. I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you when you’re not watching. Like you hung the damn moon. Last night… he was worried sick. More than I’ve seen him in a long time. He adores you, Unnie. Exactly as you are.” He bumped your shoulder playfully. “And for the record, anyone who makes Min Yoongi crack his heart open like that? Must be pretty damn special. Don’t forget your own spark, yeah?” His words, simple and sincere, were a balm, reminding you of your worth outside of the relationship’s turmoil.

Yoongi didn’t just leave his words hanging in the air. He acted, with the quiet determination that defined him. wo days later, an email appeared in your inbox. ‘Recommended by Bang PD-nim’s niece. Specializes in conversational fluency for adult learners. Patient. First session Monday?’ Attached were glowing testimonials and a confirmation that the (notably expensive) tutor was already paid for the first month. “Try her...” Yoongi said simply over dinner that night. “...if she sucks, we find another.”

That weekend, he took you to a cozy, wood-paneled Italian place in Haebangchon, known to be frequented by artists and musicians, relatively paparazzi-free. He wore a cap pulled low and a mask, but he held your hand openly on the walk there, guided you with a hand on the small of your back, and pulled out your chair himself. He didn’t hide you; he presented you. The simple act felt monumental.

His touch became more intentional, more affirming. A firm hug from behind while you washed dishes, his chin hooking over your shoulder. His hands resting naturally on the curve of your waist or hips as he passed you in the hallway. And in the quiet intimacy of your bedroom, his touch was reverent. Slow kisses tracing the lines life had drawn on your skin – the softness of your belly, the curve of your hip, the delicate stretch marks like silver whispers – accompanied by murmured words in the dark: “Yeppeo… gajang yeppeo…”, or simply “Saranghae,” breathed against your skin with a sincerity that melted your bones. His admiration wasn’t performative; it was palpable in every lingering touch, every appreciative glance.

At day, he sat with you at your small table, laptop open, researching visa extension options and language certification programs that could improve job prospects. “Look at this one,” he’d point, practical. “Faster track.” He also floated the idea of moving in together, not as a grand romantic gesture, but with typical Yoongi pragmatism. “My place is bigger, closer to HYBE. Secure building. Would save you rent, save me travel time. Think about it. Logistics.” It was framed as a practical partnership, respecting your need for independence while offering tangible support.

And you gave in.

One rainy Friday evening he found you at his apartment. The city lights blurred through the rain-streaked windows. You stood side-by-side at his spacious kitchen counter, chopping vegetables for a simple bibimbap. The sizzle of bulgogi in the pan, the rhythmic sound of knives on wood, the comfortable silence punctuated by the occasional comment; “Need more gochujang?” “Knife’s sharp, careful.” Later, you were curled on his oversized sofa under a soft blanket, a movie played, something lighthearted, forgettable. Your feet, perpetually cold, instinctively sought warmth, tucking under his thighs. He didn’t flinch, just shifted slightly to accommodate them, his hand resting casually on your ankle. Halfway through the film, you felt his head grow heavy against your shoulder, then slowly slide down into your lap. His breathing deepened, evening out into sleep. You paused the movie, letting your fingers gently card through his soft hair, the rhythmic motion soothing for you both. The only sounds were the soft patter of rain, the hum of the heating, and his quiet breaths. Safe. Seen. Cherished in the utterly mundane. This was his love, too.

The sofa wasn't too comfortable; you woke him up with soft kisses; pulling him into the soft darkness of his bedroom, the rain a gentle hush against the glass, the quiet comfort of the evening deepened into something more profound. The air hummed not just with desire, but with the powerful echo of reconciliation, the fierce tenderness born from vulnerability. There was no hurry. Yoongi moved with a deliberate slowness that was almost agonizing in its intensity, his focus entirely on you. He wasn't about conquest, but reconnection. Worship. His hands mapped your body not as uncharted territory, but as beloved, familiar land. Every curve, every soft plane, every scar and mark was touched with reverence. His gaze held yours, dark and fathomless in the low light, reflecting the storm that had passed and the deep calm that followed. In his eyes, you saw the echo of his words: "You are everything. Exactly as you are."

His lips followed the path his hands had traced, not skipping, not avoiding, but lingering. A kiss pressed to the soft swell of your stomach, another to the inside of your thigh, his breath warm against sensitive skin. Murmurs fell like warm rain against your flesh, a mix of Korean and hushed English: "Gajang yeppeo…", "Saranghae…" ... "Perfect… Mine…". His touch was confident, possessive in the purest sense; a claiming born not of dominance, but of profound belonging. He took his time, learning your responses anew, ensuring every sigh, every shiver, was one of building pleasure and absolute security. His intensity, usually channeled into music or fierce protection, was now entirely devoted to your comfort, your pleasure, reaffirming your worth in the most intimate language possible. In the sanctuary of his touch, under the weight of his adoring gaze, the insecurities didn't vanish, but they lost their power. For these suspended moments, the whispers of 'not enough' were silenced by the tangible reality of his desire, his love etched onto your skin with every kiss, every caress. The relief of being truly seen, truly wanted, not despite your perceived flaws but within the entirety of who you were, fueled your own response. Your touches were equally sure, equally reverent, meeting his intensity with your own deep well of love and gratitude. It was a conversation without words, a reaffirmation of the bridge built from shattered pieces.

The external struggles – the language barrier, the visa anxieties, the occasional pang of insecurity – didn't magically disappear. But the foundation had shifted. You faced them now tethered to an unshakeable truth: you were loved, fiercely and completely, for exactly who you were, by the man whose quiet strength and unwavering loyalty had weathered the storm and emerged only more resolute. The journey wasn't over, but you were no longer navigating the cracks alone. You were building something new, together, one repaired faucet, one Korean lesson, one tender affirmation at a time. And in the quiet moments, wrapped in the safety of his arms, you finally started to believe you belonged ... not just in Seoul, but right there, perfectly fitted against his side.

43 notes · View notes

poopwons · 2 years ago

Text

**Break My Heart**-Ft. Jean Kirstein 18+ MDNI!!

Synopsis: You and Jean break up, he doesn't know what to do with himself. Maybe you'll call him? (surprise, you will)

Content: (NSFW), F!Reader, Jean’s POV, post break up feelings, angst, cursing, depressed Jean, pet names, handjobs, fingering, praise kink, Jean has a teensy bit of a size kink, collaring (if you squint), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, people), cream pie, hair pulling, light alcohol consumption

a/n: I have never written anything this long before, but I got the idea in my head and it would not get out so, here it is. I was literally driving home from work listening to Olivia Rodrigo and Happier came on, so that's what inspired this 🥰 Huge shoutouts to @jeanboyjean and @cowgirlikets for encouraging me through this entire process!💜💜💜 ***also I know absolutely nothing about plumbing, so sorry if all of that is completely inaccurate LOL***

words: 6.9k

Two months, four days.

That’s how long it’s been. That’s the last time Jean saw you in person, talked to you at all. Sure, he’s wanted to reach out, he’s gotten drunk a few times and Connie had to wrench his phone out of his hands when he saw your name on the screen. Jean had yelled at him, tried to push him off, but Connie ended up with the phone, locking it away before helping Jean to bed. All in all Connie was looking out for him more than anyone else. That’s what good roommates are for, right?

Though, Jean is sure that Connie never expected to ever see his friend like this. Hell, Jean never thought he’d be this way; he never even thought of the possibility of the two of you splitting at all. The first week after you told him you didn’t want to keep seeing him, he stayed in bed, blaring awful sad songs, just wallowing in his own self pity. He supposes he still is, even months later.

The days without you have slowed to a crawl. He still thinks about you all the time, it takes all his will power not to scroll through your instagram, wondering if you’re thriving without him, or if you’re just as fucked up as he is. He doesn’t want to know, he’s not that desperate yet. Still, thoughts of you plagued him every moment it seemed like. Who does he make breakfast for now? Making a single serving for himself just seems.. pathetic, pointless, in comparison to making something for you.

The two of you had a great routine, his favorite, he thinks. You’d wake up, curled in his arms, peppering little kisses to his face, trying to wake him up. He’d groan at you before running his hands to your sides to tickle you, calling you a menace for disturbing a man’s sleep. The little giggles he’d pull from you were his favorite sound, he’d never heard anything better. Then he’d get up, make coffee and breakfast for the two of you while you showered. Sometimes he’d say fuck the breakfast and shower with you instead. Hot water cascading down the two of you, the smell of your shampoo in his nose as he kissed the back of your neck while washing your hair. Fuck. He needs to stop. Think about anything else, he curses himself, his brain can’t keep doing this to him, can it?

But, turns out, it can. Who makes your tea the way you like it, muddled with honey and a splash of cream? Who else knows that you only want earl grey when it’s raining because that’s what your mom would give you when you came inside from splashing around in puddles when you were little? That you want chamomile when you’re sick, and coffee most mornings, unless you’re anxious, then you want English breakfast. Who knows the way you order your meals from your favorite restaurants? That you don’t like water chestnuts because “they’re too crunchy without enough flavor”, or that you hate fast food lettuce but will completely devour the caesar salad from the diner downtown because you say the lettuce is always “the perfect amount of crisp and never soggy”? What does he do with all this little information that he’s learned about you, that’s now completely useless to him since you’re not here?

Connie managed to drag Jean out to go have lunch with him and Sasha the next day. It’s the first time he’s been out in weeks for something other than work. He’s dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, the most he can manage with how exhausted he’s been. The little chain that you picked out for him draped across his collarbones. He likes that memory. You dragged him into a jewelry store, showing him the necklace, saying something about how you thought it’d look good on him. He was never much of a jewelry person, but for you? He agreed, but only if you’d get a matching bracelet, and you did. You said it was your favorite, you loved it so much, and it went on like that, the two of you, in your matching pieces, wearing them everyday…

“Jean,” Connie breaks him out of his thoughts, he wonders if he could tell that he was thinking about you again.

“What,” his tone is flat, nothing like his usual light hearted one.

“Dude, don’t you think you should take that off?”

Jean looks down at his chain, then back at Connie, a frown plastered on his face.

“No, I don’t want to take it off.”

“Look, man, I know you’re still upset, but.. doesn’t that make it worse?”

Jean can’t stand the look of pity he’s getting, he shrugs and doesn’t reply. Take it off? And then what, get rid of it? No. No, he can’t get rid of it, you got it for him. It would be like throwing you away.. and he’s just not ready to do that, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be.

Sasha kicks Connie under the table, the two of them had clearly talked about how to handle today and it seems like Connie is going off script. Jean can’t take it anymore, he can’t stand the way his friends are looking at him, he wants to look anywhere else. So, he does what he’s been trying to avoid. He pulls out his phone, opening up your instagram. You haven’t posted in a while, but there is one new picture. Jean’s heart lurches into his throat when he sees it. Who is that? Why is he with you? He’s never seen this guy before and he doesn’t like it, right down to his stupid green eyes, that idiotic man bun, and that shit-eating smile plastered on his face, like he’s mocking Jean without even trying. The picture is innocent enough, a selfie with his arm around you. But why is he touching you? Why are you letting him? Did you really move on this fast? Did you forget about Jean already? Is this the real reason you ended things with him, for this other guy?

He hears a faint grunt from across the table, then Sasha is talking to him, he hardly hears it, the blood is rushing in his ears. Connie snatches his phone from his hand, Jean can’t even find the energy to snap at him. Connie groans when he sees the screen.

“Shit, man… I was hoping you wouldn’t see that.” Connie practically winces when he meets Jean’s eyes, tears welling up in them. His voice breaks when he finally speaks up.

“Who is that with her?” He sounds like the world has been ripped from him.

Sasha speaks up from her side of the table, having seen the post as well. “I don’t know.. maybe they’re just friends. Don’t overthink it, it’ll be okay.”

He sends a pitiful look her way, it most definitely would not be okay. He takes his phone back from Connie, rising from the table, hell bent on getting back home. His brain is going a mile a minute thinking about you and.. whoever that was.

Two months, fifteen days.

He stays in his room all week. Barely leaving, laid up in bed scrolling through your entire instagram. All the pictures of you and him are gone. He can’t believe you got rid of them, did you delete them off your phone entirely? Were all those pictures slowly being replaced by new ones with this guy? He hates the thought of this stranger taking up camera space that should be his. He knows he shouldn’t.. looking through this idiot’s instagram isn’t going to make him feel any better, but he has to know why you chose him instead.

He swipes through this guy’s pictures, he’s even got a stupid name. Who spells their kids' name Eren? There aren’t a ton of posts, but the few that Jean does see has him rolling his eyes, gym selfies and photos of him playing a guitar, his long hair flowing down his shoulders. Great, so he’s ripped and talented. Jean’s not out of shape by any means, but he isn’t as cut as that, especially since he’s been skipping the gym the past couple of months, unable to find the energy to go, and he definitely can’t play any instruments. Maybe he should learn, would that impress you enough to finally reach out to him? No, that would take way too long, he wants to hear from you so much sooner than that. Maybe he can start growing his hair out.. would you like that? You never complained about his hair before but, this whole thing has thrown him for a loop. He’s questioning everything about himself wondering what Eren has that he doesn’t. Maybe Eren’s better in bed? No, that can’t be it. You never once complained about Jean’s performance, all those pretty sounds you made when he touched and kissed and sucked at all the right spots. No, he definitely knew what he was doing in that department. So, that can’t be it, which almost makes it worse. That must mean Jean failed you in some other way as a partner. Was he not attentive enough, not supportive enough? Did he not make enough time for you? Maybe he should have tried to plan more dates. The thoughts go on and on like this until he finally falls into a fitful sleep, what little dreams he has are plagued with you laughing at Eren’s stupid jokes, of you being happier with Eren than you ever were with him.

Jean is sitting up on the sofa in the living room, Connie had begged him to at least come out of his room so he knows the poor guy’s still alive. Jean is scrolling through yours and Eren’s pages, checking yet again for any more posts.

“Dude, seriously? Are you looking at that guy’s page again?” Connie asks, as he sits down on the couch with a bowl of cereal.

Jean gives him a noncommittal grunt, before shoving his phone in Connie’s face. “I mean, what does she even see in him? He’s not that good looking and he has stupid hair. He probably can’t even play that guitar.”

Connie gives him a sympathetic look, he knows it can’t be easy for Jean to see you with someone else, but it’s been almost three months since you two split. All the same, he’s Jean’s friend, he can’t always tell him what he wants to hear, right? He sets his bowl down with a sigh, bracing himself for what he’s about to say.

“Come on, man. He looks like a decent enough guy. I know this is hard for you, but don’t you want her to be happy?”

“She’s supposed to be happy with me! Me, not this fucker with a guitar, who’s side are you on, anyway?”

“I’m on your side, you know that, but this is nuts, she’s just a chick. You’ve been hung up for almost three months. You need to get back to the shit you used to do. When was the last time you even went to the gym? That used to be so important to you. You should go back, get some endorphins going, that would make you feel better.”

Jean huffs, Connie just doesn’t get it. He gets up off the couch and walks over to the entryway, pushing his shoes on. “She’s not just some chick, dude.” He spits the words out before walking out the door. Maybe a walk would clear his head. He knew in some regards, Connie was right, he hasn’t been taking the best care of himself lately, but his “just a chick” comment has Jean seeing red and he can’t focus on any of the other rational things Connie’s said.

He walks and walks until it gets dark outside, when he finally gets home he scarfs down a protein bar and flops down in bed. Closing his eyes and drifting off relatively quickly, worn out from the walk, maybe he should go back to the gym, he thinks, if a walk has worn him out so much. He doesn’t know how long he sleeps for, but the buzzing from his night table lulls him out of sleep. Bleary eyed and groggy, he picks up the phone staring at the screen. He must be seeing things. Or he’s still asleep and this is a dream. He sits up abruptly, rubbing his eyes, looking at the screen again. Sure enough, it’s your name that’s up on the screen, the phone is still buzzing in his hand as he stares at the caller id. It finally hits him that if he doesn’t answer it’ll go to voicemail and you might not call back. He fumbles to swipe his finger over the answer key, almost dropping his phone in the process.

“Hello?” Jean tries to make his voice sound calm and not rushed, despite the fact that his heart is practically beating out of his chest over something as simple as a phone call, at the prospect of actually hearing your voice for the first time in months.

“Hey, uh, it’s me. Well, duh, you probably know that.” Your voice sounds just as angelic as he remembers and part of him thinks he might cry right on the spot. “um, listen, I didn’t know who else to call, I-I know it’s late.”

“No, no, I’m uh, I’m awake. Wha-what’s up?” He hates how nervous he sounds, but he can’t help it, even his hands are shaking.

“Can you come over? There’s like, a leak in my apartment, and the office is closed, I just don’t want to lose my deposit. I’m sure they’ll find some way to blame it on me and not their shitty plumbing. I mean.. Obviously, if you’re busy, it’s okay, I can figure something else out.”

So, you’re calling him to come help you, not Eren, interesting. Jean feels over the moon, maybe Eren isn’t all he’s cracked up to be after all.

“No, I’m not busy, it’s fine. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Just try to soak up all the water you can.” Jean says as he scrambles off his bed, going to the bathroom to check his hair in the mirror, smoothing some parts that got ruffled in his sleep. He looks at his shirt, cursing silently that he’s still wearing this sweaty t-shirt. He puts you on speaker and quickly pulls the fabric off, throwing it in the hamper.

“Thank you so much, you’re really doing me a huge favor.”

He pulls a fresh shirt over his head, the shirt getting caught in his frantic movements causing him to have to talk louder than normal, so you can hear him over the muffle of the fabric, “yeah, it’s no problem, I’ll be there soon.” He’d do you a million favors if it meant he got to see you. You hang up and he slips on his shoes, rushing out the door to get to your place with his tools.

Jean’s heart is hammering out of his chest the whole drive to your place, it feels like his body is vibrating with anxiety. He’s practically white knuckling his steering wheel, his brain just going and going. He finally gets to see you, he’ll get to see you. He hopes you’re wearing his favorite pair of sweats. He always thought you looked so cute in them, so comfy and cozy. Excitement is starting to bubble in, until he thinks, oh, god. What if he’s there? What if Jean has to see you and Eren together in person, in a situation where he can’t just walk away. Oh, fuck, why didn’t he think about this before? He was just so excited to hear your voice, to see you, that he wasn’t thinking. If he has to see this idiot touch you right in front of him he thinks he might punch him. That would not look good on him, you’d probably even get mad at him, that’s the last thing he needs. He pulls up to your apartment before he knows it, punching in the gate code that he still has memorized, begging and praying to whatever good karma he’s drummed up in the universe, that Eren fucking Jaegar is not in your apartment with you.

He knocks on your door, fussing with his hair a little as he bounces on the balls of his feet, unsure what to do with all this nervous energy. When he hears the lock disengage he pulls his hand away from his hair as fast as he can, trying to look as casual as possible, like he hasn’t thought about you every second of every day for the past three months.

“H-hi,” you answer the door, obviously feeling a little uncomfortable with this whole situation yourself, but he doesn’t know if it’s the same kind of nerves he’s having or something else. But fuck, you look so pretty, so so pretty, with your hair draped over your shoulders in loose waves, the way you always wore it before, wearing a crew neck and some shorts.

“He-” Jean’s voice cracks, it fucking cracks. Seriously? What, is he sixteen again? He clears his throat and starts again, “Hey,”

You let him in, and he gets enveloped in your smell, he practically sighs as he breathes in the familiar comfortable scent of you and your things. He didn’t know you could miss a person’s smell this much. He looks around expecting to see the place how he remembers, but he’s thrown off when everything looks different. You’ve rearranged all your furniture. Thankfully, though, you’re the only one here, there’s no sign of another guy having been here at all. He lets out a little sigh of relief, following you into the kitchen where sopping towels are littering the floor.

“I just came home from work and found it like this. I don't know what happened.” you say, waving your arm to the floor.

“Well, let’s just see. I’m sure it’s just a loose rivet or something,” Jean walks past you, trying his best not to let your proximity as he does get to him, fighting the urge to just take you in his arms and not let go. That’s not why he’s here, you didn’t call him for that. He’s thankful that you called him for an actual task, something for him to focus on so he’s not just staring at you, he’s afraid if he stares too long he’ll snap.

You stand in the kitchen with him while he patches everything up, it’s an easy fix, just like he thought. A baby with a wrench could fix this, so again, his mind drifts back to why you called him and not Eren, not that he’s complaining. He thinks it all feels very domestic, you watching him fix up things around the house. He’d fix everything you asked him too if he could hold onto this feeling. He’s surprised when you crouch down next to him, trying to see what he’s doing.

“It was loose, right here, I’m just tightening it up.” He smiles as he looks at you briefly, he can’t help it, you just look so pretty and you’re right next to him, right where you belong.

You smile back at him and he feels his heart lurch again, turning the wrench a little more, satisfied with his work, he catches your eye, “and that should do it, you should be all set now.”

He stands up, wiping his hands on his pants before offering you a hand up. When you take his hand he bites back a smile at the feel of your hand in his again after so much time, even if it is a harmless interaction. Standing up with him, you don’t pull your hand away right away, lingering there for just a second too long. Did he imagine that? No, no you definitely lingered.

You brush a strand of hair behind your ear and smile at him sheepishly. “Thanks again, I really appreciate it.” God, your smile is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“It’s not a problem, I don’t mind helping you.” Jean runs a hand through his hair, rubbing at the back of his neck, looking away from you, still nervous. He knows the whole reason he came is taken care of now, and he doesn’t want to leave, but he thinks that’s what you might want.

“So, I should–”

“Do you want–”

You both speak at once, sharing a nervous chuckle. Jean lets you go first, giving you a look that says so.

“Do you, um.. Want a drink?” You look nervous, awkward. Surely he’s imagining it, he doesn't want to get his hopes up too high. “It’s the least I could do, calling you over here on a Friday night. I’m sure you had better things to do.” You give him another shy smile and he swears he could melt into a puddle right there.

“Uh, sure. Y-yeah, a drink sounds good.”

“All I have are those hard seltzers I usually get, that okay?” you ask like you expect him to remember, and he does. He wants you to know how much he remembers about you; everything, he remembers everything.

So, just drinks for yourself? No beer, no liquor, nothing he thinks a guy like Eren might drink. Interesting. So far, everything he’s observed has led him to the conclusion that maybe you and Eren aren’t together. Maybe Sasha was right, and the two of you are just friends?

“That’s fine,” He bends down, putting his wrench away, placing his tool bag on your counter. Turning back to look at you, the slim can in your hand as you hold it out to him. He takes it, following you over to the couch where you both take a seat next to each other.

His body feels like it’s vibrating, sitting this close to you. You didn’t have to sit this close, but you did. He pops the tab, taking a drink to calm his nerves, and you do the same.

“So, how have you been? It’s been a while.” You speak so softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear again, a nervous habit. Are you feeling the same tension he is? Is he making it all up because he missed you so much?

“Uh, good, good.” He lies, what is he supposed to say? That he’s been completely miserable without you? No, if he’s wrong and you have moved on, he has to at least pretend he’s been doing alright. “Work is, well, work, you know. Haven’t been doing much else. What about you?”

“Y-yeah, no, things are, um, they’re okay. I finally got promoted at work.” you smile at him again, before taking another sip. “I’m officially management.”

Pride swells in his chest, he knows how badly you wanted to move up in your job, how much you craved more responsibility. He’s glad your place of work is finally acknowledging your potential.

“Hey, that’s great. I’m really happy for you,” and he is, genuinely. “Is it everything you wanted it to be?”

You give a little snort, “I mean, I guess. Workplace drama is a lot more stressful when you’re actually the one in charge of trying to defuse it, instead of just listening to all the gossip.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re handling it fine, you were always good at that kind of stuff.”

You huff a little laugh again, thanking him before pulling the sleeves of your crew neck up while adjusting your position on the couch. That’s when he sees it, that little glimmer of silver on your wrist. His heart pounds harder as he sees it. You’re still wearing your bracelet. You still have it.

“You’re still wearing that,” Jean points out, his voice coming out little more than a whisper, like he just can’t believe it, his eyes locked on the bracelet.

A blush blooms across your cheeks and Jean is positive it’s not just the alcohol. Fuck not getting his hopes up, you wouldn’t still be wearing something he got you if you didn’t miss him a little bit.

“Oh, yeah..” you fiddle with the bracelet with your free hand, “I um.. I feel a little naked without it, you know?” you cheeks are still flushed as you look up at him.

Jean just smiles at you, “yeah, I know what you mean.” he says as he pulls the chain out from under his shirt. “I got so used to wearing it everyday, it just doesn’t feel right with it off.” It’s not even a lie, just, not a full truth. His nerves are slowly fading away, getting replaced with renewed hope.

“Well, it does still look good on you,” you reach your hand up to run your fingers along the chain, Jean feels a jolt of electricity in your touch that practically lights his skin on fire, and that’s when he really knows. There’s no way you’d be touching him like this if you didn’t miss him, if you were seeing someone else. He’s never felt so much relief in his life. “Suits you, for sure.”

He takes his hand placing it over yours, goosebumps prickling his skin where your fingers dance along the chain. “You..um, you have good taste,” he says, his breath turning a little shallow, he knows he’s not imagining all the tension that’s been slowly building up since he got here. “I never would have picked anything like this for myself.”

Your hand is so small in his, he’s always been bigger than you, taller, more muscular. He didn't realize how much he missed it until now, he was so caught up with missing all the other parts of you that this bit seemed to have slipped his mind. You’re looking at him with your pretty doe eyes, letting him hold your hand, he can practically see the hearts in your eyes, looking at him like you used to. Fuck it, he’s going for it. Drinks completely forgotten on the coffee table as he scoots a little closer to you, just enough so that your knees are touching.

“I’ve really missed you.” He whispers, leaning in just a little closer, he hears your breath hitch in your throat, your eyes flitting to his lips.

He smiles as you lean in too. You want it just as much as he does. “Me too..”

When he finally presses his lips to yours he almost explodes with happiness, he’s feeling giddy, all these pent up feelings pouring out into your lips. He cups the back of your neck as he deepens the kiss, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip, a silent request for permission. He sighs as you grant it, opening your mouth for him so he can glide his tongue along yours, and you moan into his mouth. You fucking moan. He loses any semblance of control he had. His hands move, roaming over your back and the two of you lose yourselves in the moment. Without really thinking about it he pulls you onto his lap, moving his mouth to press hot kisses to your neck, nipping the sensitive skin. It always was one of your favorite spots. His hands run under your sweatshirt, caressing your back, savoring the feel of your soft skin under his palms.

“Missed you so fucking much.” Jean breathes out between kisses, groaning as you grind your hips onto his lap when he kisses your neck again.

“Missed you too. Thought…Thought about you all the time…” Your words are broken up by little gasps. Jean thinks he could die happy, just like this, but then your hands go to the hem of his shirt, pulling it off, running your hands over the contours of his chest and he feels like he’s going to burn out of his skin.

His hands follow suit with yours, pulling your sweatshirt off, discarding it on the floor next to his, drinking in the sight of you, sighing when he sees your bare chest. Running his hands over your tits, kissing his way down your neck and your collarbone before taking one of your nipples into his mouth and starts kissing and sucking, pinching at the other one with his free hand. You arch your back into his touch and he moves his hands back around your waist, pulling you closer to him. He just needs you closer, so much closer.

You just grind against him, he can feel the heat coming off of you, listening to your breath get more and more ragged as you wrap your arms around his neck in order to get closer, pulling his head up.

“I’m sorry. Jean, I’m so sorry.. I never should have–” your voice sounds broken, despite the desire and need coursing through the both of you. It breaks his heart to hear you sounding so sad. You don’t even have to explain what you’re apologizing for, he already knows.

Jean cuts you off with a kiss, running his fingers through your hair, shushing you softly. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” He soothes, pressing soft kisses between his words. “Later. We’ll talk about it later, yeah?” He pulls back, pressing his forehead to yours, looking in your eyes with all the love he has for you.

You give him a feeble little nod, kissing him passionately. Your tongues glide together as you taste each other, making up for lost time, and god, does he want to make up for it. With that in mind, his hands move to the plush of your ass, squeezing as you keep your lips on him. As much as he doesn’t want to push you away from him, he needs to touch you. He runs his hands over your bare thighs before hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, pushing you back just enough so he can get the leverage he needs. Tugging them off, you lift your hips to help him. He looks down and sees you clad in lace, one of his favorite pairs. A brief look of surprise as his brain sorts through it. You… you planned for this, at least to some degree. All doubts completely leave his head as a satisfied grin curls on his lips.

“You wear these just for me, baby?” He murmurs into your ear as he nips at your earlobe, fingers already dancing along the sides of your panties.

You give him another nod and a breathy little sound that he assumes, if you were able to form the words, would be a confirmation. He pushes the material aside, running a finger through your folds. Shit, you're so fucking wet for him. He’s going to lose his mind. His finger swirls around your clit, eliciting moans and gasps from you. You’re already starting to squirm for him and he doesn’t let up, still swirling little circles with the pad of his finger.

“J-Jean,” you moan out his name and cling to him, holding his head tightly to your chest.

“‘M right here, baby, I got you. You gonna be a good girl and cum for me?”

“Y-yes, yes, yes, fuck!” He feels your legs shaking on him, still moving his hand. God, he missed seeing you like this.

“That’s it, that’s my girl. That’s my good fuckin’ girl, did so well for me. ” He purrs into your skin, pressing kisses to your neck, giving you a second to catch your breath.

Turns out you don’t even want a breather, your hands moving desperately to his lap, frantically trying to undo his buttons, slipping your hand in and wrapping around his cock.

“Fuck,” Jean groans under his breath, lifting his hips with you still on his lap, so he can shove his pants down enough for you pull him all the way out.

Your hand pumps him, smearing the precum over his flushed tip, causing him to suck in a sharp breath. You keep working him, your hands are always so soft, twisting your wrist a bit on the way up, squeezing the tip just a little. He loves the way he looks in your hands, your smaller ones making him look even bigger. His eyes catch a little glimmer, and he groans again when he sees you jerking him with your bracelet bouncing on your wrist with your movements. All he can think about is that you’re his, you're his, you're his. That one little accessory tells the whole world. Maybe he’ll replace it with a ring. He leans forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck, taking a shaky breath.

“Shit, you’re makin’ me feel so good, but I don’t… fuck, I don’t want to cum like this.” He pulls back to look in your eyes, seeing nothing but how good you want to make him feel and he doesn’t know what he did to deserve you.

He pulls your panties to the side again, lifting you up, lining himself up with your entrance and pulls you down onto him. Jean thinks he’s died and gone to heaven. He has never felt anything better than you wrapped around him like this. You both let out audible moans, as you adjust to him. Without any warning, you start bouncing on him. His eyes roll back as he drops his head to the back of the couch. Your bounces are slow, deliberate, he’s sure he’s in heaven.

“You feel so good. Love how full you make me feel.” You murmur, breathy, into his ear, bracing yourself on his shoulders.

As much as he’d love to just sit here and bask in you riding him, he’s going to cum way too soon if he lets you keep going like this, especially if you keep using that mouth of yours to whisper everything he’s been wanting to hear for the past three months in his ear. He moves his hands back to your ass, grabbing handfuls of you, doing the work for you for another second or two before he wraps his arm around your waist he starts fucking up into you.

“Missed my pussy so much, baby. She’s mine, yeah? That’s what this means doesn’t it?” He growls, taking your wrist, adorned with your bracelet, showing it to you. “That’s why you never took it off? Been mine this whole time haven’t you?”

Your walls squeeze him, as you hear his words, and he groans again. “All yours, Jean.. al-always yours.”

In all his desperation to get close to you, to get inside of you, he didn’t think your panties would cause a problem, but at this point they’re in his way, they won’t stay to one side. He moves his hand, gripping the flimsy garment, and pulls hard, tearing them.

“Jean!” You protest, looking down at where the two of you are connected.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” He mutters before he picks up his pace, finally able to fuck you the way he wants, slamming his hips up into you.

You don’t seem to care so much anymore, as your eyes roll back, and you let out a cry. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, moving to bury your face in his neck. And for Jean, right now, that just won’t do, he wants to see you, wants to see your face contorted in pleasure. He brings his hand to the back of your neck, tugging your hair so you’re looking at him.

“Look at me, baby, wanna see you.” Shit, he already feels close. Not having you for all these months, and finally getting you, getting to see in your face how good he’s making you feel and how much you missed him too. He didn’t think he was going to last long anyway. He brings his lips to yours, kissing you hungrily, all tongues and teeth.

“Ba-baby, ‘m close,” you whine, eyes glazed over, face scrunched up just the way he likes.

“Me too, cum with me, yeah?” His hand snakes between you, finding your clit, rubbing circles on it with his thumb.

He feels you clenching around him, cunt pulsing and god he missed this feeling, missed feeling you come apart just for him. You say his name again and again like a prayer and he just can’t hold back anymore.

“Fuck, baby, I’m shit–” He tries to warn you so you can get off of him, but you just stay put, slamming down on him again and again. He cums hard, painting your insides white.

Still holding onto you tightly, one hand on your neck and the other around your waist, you both just stay locked in an embrace, panting. Each of your heads are resting on the others shoulders, Jean presses little kisses there while he catches his breath.

“God, I really did miss you so much.” He whispers into your skin. “And not just this, all of it. I missed all of you.”

“I know, I missed you too. I wanted to call you or text you, or anything. I just…didn’t think you wanted to talk to me.” Your fingers toy with the hair at the nape of his neck and he just savors the moment.

Neither one of you moves, you just sit there holding each other. You haven’t even gotten off of him yet, his cock going soft inside you, feeling his cum leak out onto his lap, but he couldn’t care less. He just runs his fingertips up and down your back tenderly.

“You really scared me, you know that?” Jean says when he finally feels like breaking the silence.

You lift your head, giving him a puzzled look. “What do you mean? How did I scare you?”

Jean sighs, it sounds stupid now, in hindsight, thinking that you had moved on. “I thought you were dating that Eren guy. You posted a picture with him and I kind of freaked out.”

It seems like it takes a second for his words to register, because you’re quiet for a moment before you burst into a full fit of laughter. Jean just gives you a pointed look. He doesn’t see what’s so funny about that. You’re laughing so hard you practically roll off of him, landing on your side on the couch, your legs still draped over him. He follows suit, cuddling you when he gets onto his side.

“What’s so funny?”

You finally stop laughing long enough to answer him. “Eren? EW.” you manage to get out before you start giggling again. “He’s like a brother to me, we grew up together. I haven’t seen him before that post since he left for school. You really thought I was dating Eren??”

Jean’s cheeks flush, a little pout forming on his face. “What was I supposed to think? He was way too close to you in that picture.”

Your laughter subsides, and you brush some hair out of his face, giving him a soft smile. “He just took me out for the day because I was so sad about you. I felt like I’d made a big mistake, and he just wanted to get my mind off of it for a little while. Besides, even if he wasn’t like a brother, he’s been in love with the same girl from middle school since he was like, twelve years old.”

You look like you have more to say but you’re hesitating. Clearly feeling a little nervous, he just nudges you gently, wanting you to continue.

You take a deep breath before going on, “I am sorry.. I shouldn’t have broken up with you, and for such a stupid reason.”

“What was the reason, exactly?” He asks, he never actually got the full story.

“I just… I liked you too much, things were going too well. I guess I kind of panicked, wondering when the other shoe was going to drop.”

Jean just stares at you, of all the reasons he thought it was, he didn’t think it was this.

“So… you broke up with me, because things were going too well?”

“It sounds stupid when you say it like that!” You bury your face into his chest, hiding your blush. “I said I was sorry.”

“What if there’s no other shoe? What if we’re just good together? Did you think about that?” He asks, no malice or hurt in his voice, just genuine curiosity. He presses a little kiss to the top of your head, trying to soothe you.

“There’s always another shoe.” You mutter, not bothering to lift your head up.

Jean sighs, taking your chin in his hand, pulling you up so that you’re eye to eye with him. “Baby, I promise, I will do everything in my power to ensure that there is no other shoe, okay? You have a problem, just talk to me. Let me be there for you, let me try and make things better. I’m not saying everything will be perfect all the time, but just know I’ll try my damndest for you.” He presses a kiss to your lips, sealing his promise.

“Yeah.. okay,” you finally give him another smile, and he kisses you again, unable to resist. “So, can I be your girlfriend again?”

“As long as you promise not to break up with me for such a stupid reason ever again.” He smiles at you again, pressing another kiss to your forehead before pulling you back into his chest.

“Promise,” you mumble as you nuzzle into him.

Jean’s happier than he’s been in months, with you in his arms, right back where you belong.

Thank you so much for reading! Likes and Reblogs are always appreciated!💖

#jean kirstein #snk jean #jean x reader #aot smut #jean kirschstein x reader #jean kirstein smut #snk smut #snk x reader #attack on titan #attack on titan smut #jean x you #jean x y/n #aot fanfiction #no use of y/n

315 notes · View notes

dakotalun · 10 months ago

Text

What Now? | Eddie Munson

pairing: Eddie Munson X Fem Reader

summary: PART 5- You finally tell Eddie about your past. And it's not pretty, cause it never is.

warnings: talk of cheating, mentions SA

word count: 1.2k

a/n: tears for Y/N!

*******NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS*******

I sniffle a bit more before I pull away and look at my friend. His face is soft with a hint of fear behind his eyes and I honestly can’t blame him, I probably sounded like I was getting murdered just now.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize. You can’t control that, it’s not your fault,” He reaches his hand up towards my face but I flinch backwards. His eyes go wide for a second before slowly trying again, this time I don’t pull back and allow him to wipe away the tears from my face.

“I’m guessing these happen often?” His voice is quiet, as if speaking over a certain octave will trigger me again. I only nod. “Is it the same every time?”

“Not always. But a lot of the time.”

“You want to talk about it? I know it’s easier to talk about dreams and nightmares to allow your brain to discern reality from dream.”

I just look at him as he lets his hands fall from my face into his lap. I want to know why he knows this but I don’t want to pry or overstep at all, so I don’t ask. I scoot back on the couch and pull my knees to my chest, building a wall around me.

“They started about a year and a half ago,” Eddie shifts his position and listens intently to my words, “My ex had broken up with me a few months earlier and I got depressed one night and looked him up on Facebook, just to see if he updated it at all. It was a stupid thing to do.”

As I say this he places his hand on my ankle, just to let me know that it’s okay and he’s there for me. “As I searched his page I saw that he was in a relationship, I was a little hurt at how fast he had moved on but my curiosity was piqued now so I went to her page, but there wasn’t much there. She had a unique name so I went to Instagram to try and see if I could find anything else about her and subsequently, him.”

I pause for a second to assess Eddie’s expression although it’s neutral, with no sign of emotion. I gulp a few times and he seems to notice this and grabs my tea from the table, handing it to me.

“Thanks,” I take a sip before continuing, “So I found her account and it’s private so I can’t get any more info from it and was about to just give up and go to sleep when I noticed that in her bio it says she’s married and she tagged a profile. Same name as my ex and the date of the wedding, October 3rd.”

“So he got married to this other girl while in, where?”

“Indiana.”

“Right, but broke up with you two days later? So were you the person he was cheating with or the one he was cheating on?”

“That’s the question I’ve been trying to figure out since I found out about him being married.” I finish off my tea and reach to set it back down but Eddie takes it from me and heads to the kitchen.

“Okay. So these nightmares are about him cheating on you?”

I raise my eyebrows at his question, surprised that they aren’t, “Actually no. They’re about the moment I fell in love with him.”

“What about the other name you kept saying, uh Sarah?”

“Right, her. Well she was the first person I ‘got with’ after Quinton and she was in college I was still in high school, she was so cool and experienced and I just wanted to get it over with.”

“Get what over with?” I cringe at the fact that he’s going to make me say it so I instead just look at him like, come on you know. He finally gets it, “Oh.”

He sits there for a minute thinking before he face shows confusion, “But wait, didn’t you say you were virgin, like you’ve never even made out with anyone?”

“Yeah I did. Because I didn’t want to do those things with her. I mean past me thought they did but afterwards I felt, violated in a way. I don’t know, I just don’t think that I was really ready I just wanted to be like everyone else. I wanted to feel normal for once.” I don’t say anything else after that, the memories being too much to handle especially after reliving them in the worst way ever.

“I get that, is there anything I can do to help? I mean like do you want more tea or some water?”

“I honestly don’t know. I don’t normally get them around others, at least not that they notice.” My roommates all wear headphones to sleep and I never stay with Jamie for more than a few days and even then I haven’t had one this bad in a while. Honestly since December.

“What does- or shit did Jamie do to help you through them?” He has two water bottles in his hand as he sits back down in front of me, opening one and handing it to me. As I accept and take a sip he opens his and downs about ⅓ of it in one go.

“Well to be honest, I never really had nightmares around them. We’d sleep in a small bed and so we were forced to cuddle and I guess just knowing that they were there and they weren’t him I wasn’t susceptible to the nightmares.”

“What about your friends and roommates?”

I shake my head, “Even with them if I did have one it wasn’t like this, I would just wake up maybe in paralysis but it’d stop in a minute or two, I haven’t woken another person with it before. Sorry”

“Shut-” He takes a deep breath before continuing, “You don’t have to aplogize, you don’t do it on purpose, plus I shouldn’t sleep on the couch anymore than I already do,” He rubs the back of his neck.

“Thanks for being concerned about me but you should sleep, I’ll be fine out here.”

“Or you could,” He averts his gaze, looking out onto the water, “You could sleep in my bed. With me.”

My eyes go wide. Is Eddie seriously offering for me to sleep in his bed…with him! Clearly just as friends but still… “I, uh,”

“It just seems like you sleep better knowing someone is there with you. Like the nightmares are nonexistent. I was just offering because I care about you and don’t want you to scream bloody murder again.” He’s rambling and it’s cute.

“Eddie,” I rest my hand on his, the one resting on his thigh, “It’s okay. I’m fine on the couch, plus I’m going home tomorrow so it’s only a few more hours.”

“But what if you have another one? I can’t get to you as quickly.”

“Because it’s not your job to help me through them, I’ve lived with them on my own for this long. One more night won’t kill me.”

“It could,” He mumbles. I pick up a nearby pillow and hit him with it.

I roll my eyes at him, “I’m fine, go to sleep.”

“Not unless you join me,” He defiantly crosses his arms.

“Ugh you are impossible you know that?” I say tossing the blanket I had over my legs off to the side.

“I do, my uncle tells me that every day,” He follows me as we head to his bedroom around the corner.

Taglist: @ali-r3n @dixontardis @witchwolflea @micheledawn1975 @daydreaming-mood @idfwfeelings @adaydreamaway08 @preciousbumplingbee @rustboxstarr @plk-18 @teary-eyed-egg @needylilgal022 @exploding-bonbon @gagasbee @eddiemunsonsguitarpic @aol19 @thatwitchyoucouldntburn @meanlilbean @sonnyahngel @corrodedcass @pigwidgeonxo @marsmunson86 @lottie-90 @figmentofquinn @sareim123122 @eddies-puppet @gvf23 @kennedy-brooke @rocklees-wife @emma77645 @cherris-n-peaches @breehumbles @joequinn-love @anyoddthoughts @aysheashea @eddiesskittle @uncxmfxrtablex @cherrymedicine13 @mrsjellymunson @shotgunhallelujah @bambipowerblueaddition @hexqueensupreme @josephquinnsfreckles @harrysgothicbitch @paleidiot @smurfflynn @lilyungpeanut @selena-rocker27

#eddie stranger things #munson #eddie munson #eddie my love #eddie my beloved #female reader #oneshot #smut #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things 4 #st4 #stranger things season 4 #eddie x reader

31 notes · View notes

justmeinadaze · 1 year ago

Text

"I'm Just a F**ked Up Girl Looking For Her Own Peace of Mind"

I'm currently experience this and struggling with it so I wrote a little thing here. *sighs*

TW: Mental health (anxiety and depression), child abuse, mentions of suicidal thoughts. Reader has a breakdown and the guys help her through.

Eddie firmly barreled open the front door as he powerwalked into the house. Steve had texted those two words he dreaded every time he got a text from the former jock.

“Bad day.”

When they started dating you, you told them about your past. About the hospital stay and medication… the depressive lows and manic anxiety episodes… the thoughts that pushed through your head from time to time even though your life was so much better now than where it had been.

“I’m not…easy…to be with.”

“That’s ok, honey, neither are we.”

You three had laughed at that at the time.

The first time they experienced it broke their hearts for you. People always mentioned “feeling depressed” or “oh I’m so anxious about this thing!” but they discovered the true meaning of those words during your first break in front of them.

They hadn’t moved in with you yet so you were able to hide the fact that you hadn’t been sleeping. Your mind constantly reminding you of things that needed to be done and how you were a failure for not doing them. Nightmares plagued your dreams at all hours so you just gave up, scrolling through your phone instead as the mental illness continued to whisper.

“Do better. You’re lazy. May as well just get it over with and end the burden you put on people.”

That following evening you had a date night with them at their place and you couldn’t cancel. You genuinely wanted to see them but you were so tired…

“A good girlfriend goes out on dates. Go ahead. Cancel. Let’s see how quick they leave you for someone better.”

Through the first half of the movie they put on, your leg never stopped moving. Steve watched as your eyes never stayed focus in one place. Eddie felt your erratic energy radiate off you as you switched from holding his hand to letting go every few minutes.

“Baby? Is everything ok?”

“Yeah.”, you responded a bit too enthusiastically. “Yeah, Ed, I’m fine. I’m just…I’m just a bit tired. It’s ok. I’ll get over it.”

Steve paused the film and as his hand petted your head you broke down.

“I’m sorry. Fuck! Why can’t I be normal?! I’m ruining everything. You should just leave me and find someone better.”

“Hey, hey. No. Sweetheart, no one is better than you.”

“Talk to us, honey. What’s going on?”

You sobbed as you told them what had been happening over the last few days. The listened intently, comforting you anyway they could think of in that moment.

“They don’t go away, Steve. Those thoughts never go away. Most days I can manage them but they are always there. W-Who can I tell? If I tell a therapist or a doctor they will put me back in the hospital even though I’m not going to do anything… I can’t tell my friends because I feel like I’m burdening them or they just don’t care. I can’t tell people in general because then I’m being ‘overdramatic’. I can’t take time to heal because I’m supposed to ‘suck it up’. So I do… Eddie, I want my brain to just stop telling me I want to die because I really don’t. Some days, though, on bad days…it’s so loud…”

The metalhead yanked you to his chest as you cried, crying with you as he tightened his grip as if he could squeeze all your broken pieces back together. He’d give anything to take your pain away, they both would.

Today was a manic day and Steve picked up on it fast. Today was his day off and as soon as you woke up, you barely said a word. He asked you if you wanted breakfast and you shot him an angry look as you walked away. Turning on the tv, he put on the game but after a few minutes you came around the corner snapping at him to turn the noise down. Even when he muted the sound, he could hear you growling and swearing under your breath as you moved around the bedroom.

Other people would see it as you being a brat; causing drama for the sake of drama.

You wished you could make the world understand that was the opposite of what you wanted. In an episode like this everything was just…amplified…and for some reason your brain insisted it was on purpose. Steve was purposely turning up the volume to get under skin. The birds chirping outside knew you were on the edge so they gathered outside your window with intent. Even the clock on the bed side table was mocking you.

Both men tried to handle days like this by themselves but when it got to a certain point, they knew they needed to come together to help you. That point came when you abruptly screamed and threw something hard against the wall.

When Eddie entered the bedroom, Steve was off to the side watching you as you angrily paced, fluttering your fingers with eyes squeezed tightly closed.

“What happened?”

Your eyes open at the sound of his voice as you shrugged and threw your hands in the air.

“What happened? What the fuck happened?! Oh, I don’t know. Where do we start, Eddie?! This house is a fucking mess. I tell you guys all the time I need fucking help! I’m not a maid! I’m your girlfriend! But who fucking cares right?! We can just live in trash and be unhappy!”

They knew better than to respond. Before you three moved in together, you had suggested they come to therapy with you and they were surprised with some of the things they learned. They and even you knew they were more than accommodating when it came to housework and splitting household chores. When you were growing up, however, it was never enough.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, look at this mess! Did you do anything today?!”

Little you looked around at the immaculate living room wondering what else you could have missed.

“I work and I slave all day at a job I hate so you can have food and a roof! The least you could do is fucking get off your ass and clean a bit!”

“I-I’m sorry, mama.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just do your job! We’re a team remember? I need you to pull your weight.”

They could almost see interactions like that replaying through your eyes and it killed them. They also saw how fast the logic brain took over as you realized what you were doing before the depressive brain abruptly took over.

“I’m sorry. I-I don’t mean to… I know I’m being crazy…I just…” You lean your back against the wall and slide to the floor with your hands over your ears.

Both men descend with you, crawling closer to you and as soon as Steve’s hand touches your bicep you head shoots up with eyes full of tears.

“I’m sorry. You two don’t deserve this. I’m a terrible girlfriend.”

“No, baby, you’re not terrible. Everything’s ok.”

“I-I-I appreciate…e-e-every…everything you guys do. Fuck. Everything is so loud, Eddie. I can’t… I couldn’t…I just wanted to scream…”

“Then scream.” You laughed at his response as you wiped your eyes but he insisted. “I’m serious, sweetheart. Just let go.”

“What about…about the neighbors?”

“Like they don’t get an earful almost every night.”, he jokes, grinning when you laugh again. “Go ahead. Just lean back and let loose.”

You roll your eyes as you do what he says but it’s a small shout that barely echoes in the room.

“Wow. That was both adorable and pathetic. Come on now. Steve, why don’t you try?”

Chuckling, he struggles to stop smiling making you giggle harder before finally closing his eyes and letting out a good scream that makes the metalhead clap.

“That’s the king of Hawkins right there! Now try again princess.”

Sighing at his antics, you do as he says actually letting go while they scrunch their face and cover their ears.

“Woo! That was like Banshee from X-Men! Way to go!”

“What about you, nerd?”, you ask as he smirks.

Eddie doesn’t even hesitate as he leans his head back and howls loudly like a wolf.

“I love you both.”, you softly grin as you reach for both boy’s hands. “I’m sorry for being…me.”

Wrapping his arms around your shoulders, Steve tilts you closer to him and kisses the top of your head.

“Don’t ever apologize for being you, honey. We love you. Every part of you.”

“We know everyday you’re trying, baby. Unlike your mother who insists on being an evil little gremlin.” You giggle at Eddie’s interpretation. “Like your wizard of a therapist said, healing takes time and we’ll be with you every step of the way.”

“Jesus, Munson, you ARE a nerd.”, Steve jests. “But the other stuff he said I agree with.”

“Oh please! Tell me her doctor doesn’t sound like Gandalf from time to time.”

“I still have no idea who that is.”

After rising to his feet, the metalhead grabs your hands and pulls you off the floor.

“Well, I know what we’re doing tonight.”, he announces with a mischievous smirk before kissing your lips and running back towards the living room.

“I’ll make dinner.”, Steve murmurs as he leans down to kiss your lips as well.

“Oh, you know he won’t allow that. He’s going to want you in front of the tv so you don’t miss anything.”

“True. Hm. How about Enzos delivered?”

When you nod, he caresses your cheek before disappearing after his friend.

As your eyes glance around the room again everything seems different than it did before. Instead of seeing a mess ridden, dark empty area, you saw a bright room filled with memories of the men you loved making you laugh and feel loved unconditionally.

“But for how long? It’s only a matter of time.”

“No, it’s not.”, you whisper.

Taking a deep breath, you head towards the living room where Eddie and Steve greet you with a comforting smile.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #joe keery #joseph quinn #steddie drabble #steddie au #mental health #mental health is important #you are not alone #you are loved #you matter #you are enough

131 notes · View notes

euphoriaslux · 1 year ago

Text

hello!

hi everyone, so sorry i have been mia this month your girl had a wee bit of a depressive episode but you know what we're BACK! I'm going to get back to writing daily so i can feed you guys and stop focusing so much on perfection because ultimately i am writing smut about fictional characters who do not know who i am, why do i care so much!!

anywho, here's a little snippet of my part two for "two's a party" that will hopefully come out very soon :) this is mainly angst but there are three separate smut scenes in the whole fic because I'm sick in the mind. my vincent fic will also hopefully come out soon, i have had such trouble writing him for some reason so i think i need to rewatch aoaf and get an idea of his characterization again... ANYWAY enjoy this snippet and let me know if u guys have any requests :p

The sun has set, and you find yourself standing outside of the tennis courts. You passed by gaggles of students on their way to parties and bars, wearing tight clothes and big smiles with the scent of cheap liquor stuck them like a cloud. Hearing the sound of tennis balls clanging against the metal gate, you open the door to the courts ever so slightly, peering in to see Art grabbing neon green balls from a bucket before slamming them with his racket, making you cringe at the harsh smack it makes when it comes in contact with the wall.

There’s no one else in the courts, likely because it’s nearly sunset on a Friday. You try and close the door quietly behind you but it makes a loud sound as it goes back to its original position, and you shake your head slightly as Art turns around, meeting your eyes. He’s wearing a Stanford Tennis sweatshirt, with his blond locks peeking out from the black cap that’s backwards on his head. He stands, staring at you for a few moments before he puts his racket on the floor, walking towards you. Your heart starts thumping in your chest, so fast that you’re scared he’ll be able to hear it through your ribcage.

“Hi,” you smile, hoping your nerves don’t show. You hug your arms as a particularly strong wind chill passes through, feeling the goosebumps start to form.

“Hi,” he parrots you, slightly breathless.

“You haven’t been to class lately, just wondering if you’re alive.”

“That’s a good excuse to stalk me,” he grins, and you feel your shoulders drop at the sight.

“Good to see your confidence hasn’t taken a hit,” you say as he takes some tennis balls from the pocket of his sweatshirt and tosses them into the bucket before taking a few steps closer to you.

“Nope,” he says, his mouth popping at the p.

“I think that may be impossible.”

“What gave you such an impenetrable ego, Art?” you cock your head and he shrugs, smiling as he puts his hands on his hips.

“Don’t know, maybe being great at hitting a ball with a racket your whole life does something to your brain chemistry. The jury’s still out on if it’s a good thing,”

You hum, stifling a laugh. The two of you stand quietly for a few moments before you talk.

“Last weekend, if I did something wrong-”

“No, you didn’t do anything,” Art cuts you off, sighing at the topic. “Patrick and I-”

“We got into a stupid fight. It doesn’t matter.”

You play with the skin around your nails.

“That makes me feel like it was my fault.” You take a deep breath before talking again.

“What you and Patrick have, how you know each other. How you’ve grown together, and play together. I would feel awful if I played any part in messing that up.”

Art scoffs. “No need to be melodramatic, we’re not fucking dating or anything.”

You nod, unsure of what to say.

“I saw he has a match this weekend…” you prompt, and Art nods.

“Are you gonna go?,” you ask gently. Art says nothing, and you decide not to press him.

“Okay, well I’m going to go,” you adjust the strap of your backpack.

“Let me know if you change your mind.”

Art looks you up and down before he takes off his hat and then brings his sweatshirt over his neck, tossing the sweatshirt into your chest as he puts his hat back on.

“Don’t want you getting cold.”

“It’s fine, Art-”

“You’ll give it back to me next time.”

Feeling the fabric between your fingers, a grin crosses your face at his words.

"Alright, next time.''

Art watches as you walked out of the tennis courts, leaving him alone in the quiet noise of the sunset. He’s forced to remember that morning with Patrick.

It was a couple of minutes before seven, the sunlight just starting to creep through the blinds of the hotel window. You’d just shuffled out of the room a couple hours ago, your shoes in your hands and your shirt on backwards. Art was laid across the two twin beds that they pushed together, his hand on his stomach as he watched Patrick grab his shirt, pulling it on and buttoning the bottom three buttons.

“Can’t find my pants,” Patrick muttered as he stopped his movement, his eyes scanning the room. Art snickered from his position on the bed.

“They’re on the chair,” Patrick turned at Art’s voice, grinning as he walked across the room to find his jeans perched on the wooden chair. He could feel Art’s eyes on him as he tugged his pants above his thighs, zipping his jeans and leaving a sliver of his boxers visible.

This continues for a while - Patrick haphazardly packing and stressing about his tennis game tomorrow as Art falls in and out of sleep, slightly jolting when Patrick closes a drawer particularly hard or trips over a piece of clothing on the floor. Art was almost asleep again when he heard Patrick’s voice, muffled by the bathroom door.

“Can I use your razor?”

Before he could think, Art yelled back “I have a new one in my backpack, just use that.”

Patrick’s movement stills for a moment before he pops his head out of the bathroom door, his hand raised with the razor and a slight furrow in his brows.

“I can’t use yours?” he asks, and Art doesn’t like the guilt that the question causes him, and doesn’t know why the ask makes his mouth dry.

“Just use the new one. You won’t get my hair on you.”

“No sweat,” Patrick moves to go back to the bathroom but is cut off by Art.

“Use the new one, Patrick.”

“Jesus Christ Art, I just need to use your damn razor,” Patrick’s smiling, but his voice is a little sharper, a twinge of hurt playing on his tongue.

“Fine, use it. I don’t care,” Art sighs as he rises from the pillow to sit up, pinching the place between his eyes.”

“My dick was in your mouth last night, in case you forgot.”

Patrick rests against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest, Art stares at Patrick for a few moments, feeling the skin on his face get warm. Of course he remembers last night, but hearing it out loud makes him feel a weird mix of rage and embarrassment. Art stands up and moves towards the dresser, grabs his clothes, and starts to put them on.

“Dude, is it so insulting to think you wanted to fuck me?” Patrick says through a laugh, watching Art intently.

Art pulls his arms through the sleeves of his sweater, staring at his brunette counterpart as he stuffs his wallet into his pocket.

“Patrick. Don’t think I did anything last night that wasn’t just to fuck her, alright?” Art gives a tight-lipped smile as he grabs his keys. He tries to move towards the door but Patrick is faster, cutting him off as he blocks the door.

“C’mon Art,” he playfully taps his chest.

“It’s just me. You can be honest.”

The soft tone Patrick uses, the implications, the stuffiness of the room and the sight of Patrick’s slightly tousled hair infuriates Art.

“What the fuck did you think was gonna happen today, Patrick? I mean, what, we were gonna walk out of here holding hands, drinking a milkshake with one straw or something?” Art chuckles dryly, seeing the change in Patrick’s face as he realizes what he’s saying. He knows he’s being mean, but he doesn’t know why. He’s too far gone, now.

“I don’t want to be with someone like you, and I thought you knew that.”

Art’s words stick in the air as Patrick chews on his lower lip, slightly nodding.

'“Good luck tomorrow,” Art pats Patrick’s shoulder as he pushes past him to open the door, but Patrick grabs his wrist right after the key clicks open.

“You know, you have so much going on in your head,” Patrick points his finger into Art’s face, any humor in his voice long gone.

“That you let it rule your whole life. Well, I’m done letting you infect me with it. I won’t let you turn me into a pathetic coward too.”

Art slams the hotel room door so hard that a couple from across the hallway creaks their door open, asking if Patrick is okay. He doesn’t answer.

#i was giggling writing that fight scene #what is wrong with me #hopefully this snippet resonates with you guys #if not i'll rewrite the fic completely LMAO #challengers fanfic #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x patrick zweig

31 notes · View notes

victoriousscarf · 16 days ago

Note

I must say, the speed at which you update your various fics is incredibly impressive! How do you manage to keep track of so many at once and type out chapters so fast? Do you have them typed out or have full outlines for them in advance before you start posting??

In any case, thank you so much for all your hard work and wonderful fics! It's always such a mood boost to see an update or new fic from you in my inbox, and you even got me invested in a number of pairings and concepts I've never considered before.

Do I have full outlines in advance...?

...

..........

No.

Sorry that question made me stare into the distance like but imagine how powerful I could be if my outlines weren't just random notations on the back of napkins with like "Fox-Beach" and nothing else.

As for keeping track of all of them... It's a balancing act but I've always operated that way. I read on average 8 different books at one time, my yarn WIP bag has like 12 half finished projects, and so it goes with writing too. I've never been capable of sitting down and working on one project all the way through until completion and then starting the next one. Amazingly, I *do* finish things but usually I have to cycle around projects for a while first, working a bit on each as I go. The 2020-2022 period where I only worked on one story at all was an aberration, rather than the norm.

As for typing so fast... This year it's all about the stress unfortunately. According to AO3 I've posted as much in the first 6 months as I've averaged for a whole year the last like 5 or 6 years. I'm often working on chapters on breaks or while dinner is cooking because stress finally unlocked "type whole 8 page chapters on my phone" which. I don't necessarily recommend but hey. It's upped my posting time by a lot. Some stories are computer stories, and some are phone stories. For example most of Wilted Stalks and Open Blue Sky have both been written on my phone, while Galaxy is Wide and To Gain To Lose are computer exclusives. There is no clear reason for this, but it seems once a story has settled on one or the other it stays there lol.

I also try roughly to schedule when I'm going to work on stories. To gain to lose was my usual Saturday story, and has been replaced by the galaxy is wide as the Saturday post, so I feel I'm making consistent progress on at least one story every week. Sunday is for whatever my brain is most buzzing about that week and then during the week is open blue sky writing time, which leaves it open for whichever day I have the brain power to finish up a chapter. Sometimes that means it becomes the Sunday story but it usually is a weeknight.

Lately the summer seasonal depression has been hitting hard, though usually that just means I write more, so we'll see what happens :/

And thank you! I love making people care about the weirdest ass concepts and characters and ships. Apparently I made multiple people emotional about Jar Jar this week and it's like good! You should be emotional about him, at least some of the time. On top of the wildest pairings you've seen this side in the tracks, lol. I think I've started like 6 or 7 ship tags since I came back around to Star Wars ...

#vs does an ask

3 notes · View notes

66sharkteeth · 2 years ago

Note

idk what that person was on about your art being mediocre. I've read a lot of webcomics. a lot. from the "greats" of webtoon, to a ton of canvas stories, to Tapas, to Hiveworks and out of all the ones I've read, I consider City of Blank to be my absolute favorite. I'm sorry I can't be more than one person, one fan. I don't have a ton of friends but I've shared CoB with all of them. I've fast passed episodes, subbed to your patreon, commented stuff I like in most episodes, because I wanted to show as much support as I can. Knowing thats not enough is crushing. But I'm just one person and idk what I can do to help more. I love CoB, not because of itself, but you made it. You made it in a way nobody else could have. It's so special. It's inspired me to create. If it comes out on physical, I'd buy it instantly. I don't want to pressure or upset you. Just please, if you have even the smallest chance, don't give up, ok? The talent in your work shows. I've seen plenty of mediocre work, and CoB is not one of them.

When CoB is over, I want to see what you create next. I want to support you in your future art and I'm sure many others do too and are just nervous to say it. i'm worried even typing this that I'll just make it worse. I hope I'm not making this worse. I'm not sure what else to say but please take care of yourself at least. I know you've said if you disappeared nobody would care, but I would. I don't know you personally but I would care, as much as I'm able to.

I got a few asks like this last night but I wanted to respond to this one and apologize again. The last thing I want is for my readers to feel like they aren’t doing enough. In a more clear headed hindsight, I can see how spirals like that can make you feel that way.

Even just reading my dumb comic is enough. The fact that some of you do even more than that is more than enough. I’m so lucky to have as many readers as I do and I know it probably comes off like I take them for granted sometimes. But I am so so so so grateful. So many of my dreams have come true bc of readers like you.

I just have some really personal struggles with my definition of success and a bit of a complex about being unimportant. It’s something that’s completely on me, not my readers, and something that I’m regularly battling with. Sometimes I think it’s getting better but I clearly have lapses like last night where all the reassurance I’ve built up still gets overtaken by the negativity I’m always trying to hold back. I guess to put it bluntly- depression and anxiety suck. I’m always working on keeping them at bay, but on the nights that I lose that fight, I’m so sorry it if I ever made you guys feel like you aren’t doing enough. You are- more than enough. My brain is just really stupid.

34 notes · View notes

theallianceofcelestials · 4 months ago

Note

Since I cannot for the life of me remember the password to our blog, we’re going anonymous again T-T

Anywho… Yap time? It’s been a minute since the last time (for classified reasons /silly)

-Sigma Anon C.

Those damned passwords :( I have also forgotten my discord password, haha

I've been fine for the most part, though I'll be real and just say I've been thinking about makind a Ko-fi and doing writing commissions on the side cuz I need the money, but it's not something I've really decided to do you know? And I'm also not sure if it's anything anyone would be even interested in, so eh

Life has been... a bit depressing at times but nothing new. I just wish one of my irl friends would stop doing stupid things and ignoring us when we try to help, cuz that's weighing on me a lot.

I'm also just thinking about sitting down and trying to make one of the games I've been kinda planning, though I'd need to study a lot for that and I currently don't have as much time as I want to. Life's been on the downside of the roller coaster.

But that's okay, it's sometimes like that you know? Even if it'd be great if there could be a skip button which'd fast forward you to when you're happy and satisfied with your life.

It's just a lot of boring stuff right now that I'd be happy if I could just get over with, but eh. I do hope everything's better with you Sugarcake :) Ignore the somewhat depressed rambling lol, it'll be okay, I'm just somewhat melancholic. That's normal :P

Heey Sunray here! The forgetting passwords thing is relatable, I also always forget my passwords, and by te time I remember them I already have a new one, haha...

I'm doing alright myself, been doomscrolling Instagram more though, but I'm having fun on the witch side of things, so at least there's that.

Also! Dinosaur news for anyone who hadn't heard yet! They discovered a new sauropod dinosaur, "The Titan of Salt"! It is a titanosaur, but was quite small only around 23 feet tall, and had a slender, delicate build for a sauropod. And it is called Chadititan, lol

Also I've applied to 3 jobs today and the anxiety is killing me, but at least the coffee machine works again, haha...

I also may or may not have stayed up until 2 AM today, so I'm tireeed ₍^_ _^₎⟆

Also I really got addicted to Cookie Run Kingdom thanks to the Discord server, lol. I love the silly biscuits. And I realised I really want to rewatch Generator Rex, because I loved it as a kid, and a couple years ago rewatched it during the summer (after remembering what the title was, lol. also by couple years I mean like 10), and then rewatched it again next year, and maybe the year after, but didn't rewatch it since then. But hmm, maybe a Generator Rex AU would be fun? Though I'm going to stop that train of thought before I get too attached to it, I already have a bunch of w.i.p.-s that have been sitting in my notes app untouched for months, because crow Brain is like "Oooo sHiNy" whenever there's even just a vibe's worth of new AU potential. Also before anyone goes and searches up Generator Rex to watch it if they never saw it, there's body horror in it. A very important plot thing actually. And some disturbing creatures. Oh I miss old Cartoon Network

Sorry for the low energy Yap Session from the both of us, but how are you doing? ≽^•⩊•^≼

#OurEssays #generator rex is also by the same studio who made the original ben 10

4 notes · View notes

victor-cartoons · 2 months ago

Note

BELOVED MUTUAL COME HOME. IT'S US ROOKIE WE REALLY REALLY MISS YOU

Sorry kiddo(s).... I went out to get some milk

okay but in complete seriousness MISERABLE LIST OF EVERYTHING THAT MADE VÍCTOR BE INACTIVE ON TUMBLR AND NOW ON ALL MY SOCIAL MEDIA (BRO IS NOT EVEN ACTIVE ON TWITTER) !!!

1 - In general it was easier to post on Twitter for some reason

I don't know, it's like, I feel this weird obligation here that posts have to be elaborate and have some brainpower (even if my posts don't seem to have a single brain cell in them) and somehow sometimes I got panic attacks interacting with people here, And while I'm still nervous about interacting with people on Twitter, it was somehow easier, and I made a new friend! Which was nice because he's profic and very interested in dark fiction!

2 - NSFW drawings

drawing a lot of nsfw stuff, so I couldn't post it here!!

3 - depressive episodes

Even if this year was the one in which I was able to better understand how my depression worked and finally take the first big steps to get my mind thinking about living and not assuming that death is approaching, I still have to take my time with depressive episodes in order to recover!

4 - Breakup with my ex, with whom I had a relationship of almost 4 years

Oh yes, I'm still dealing with everything. It happened on June 2nd and I'm still sorting my head out on how to feel and if I really want to talk to him again. It's too complex to summarize here, but let's just say that we tried to do what we could to save the relationship, but the last act of love was to end it.

5 - new friends

I created a discord server with two very dear friends!!! All of my Bluetank ideas that I usually uploaded here because I didn't have specific people to share them with, finally went to interested friends! It feels really good to do that, and with my recent breakup, I've been landing a lot on friends to, well, not lose my mind. Not to mention that if I didn't have all of them, I wouldn't be alive. and I appreciate them for that <3

6 - planning my future

Oh yeah, 17, that year where you finally get to plan what every adult asks you: What would you like to be when you grow up? I used to prefer being dead. I used to assume that by then I'd be long dead. But not anymore! Now I want to work hard for my future, to finish school. I know I'm ready and I want to have the strength to do it, and honestly, breaking up with my ex helped me wake up and realize that I should think fast, since my plans were with him. Now I'm giving my all to school because (if all goes well) I'm going to finish next year, and then I'll be able to go study and pay for a small place with a close friend! 2027 plan ™️

7 - school and bullying

ah yeah, bullying, how do I explain it, they do weird things like booing me or spitting on my desk before I get to school, sometimes moving my desk to just make it inconvenient for me, it's weird, I was always just ignored but now it really bothers me, but I'm coping with it, and I've already talked to the school officials. It makes me feel bad, but fuck them, we ball

8 - hiatus everywhere

Inactive everywhere!! All these negative things + finding out a friend was talking badly about me made me feel the need to isolate myself from social media a bit (I think? I'm a chronic online user, so this is very rare for me)

9 - I'm not drawing that often

And that's okay

10 - cookie run kingdom (what)

Yeah!!!! Started playing not long ago and I HAVE A NEW F/O!! a very strong one, It feels like he came to save me just when I needed him most <3

So... answering some questions aside, has the love for bluetank gone away?

NO!!! NEVER!!! IM THE BIGGEST FAN ALIVE AND I WILL LIVE FOR BLUETANK!! I CAN'T DIE IF THAT MEANS BLUETANK WILL NO LONGER BE ALIVE ON THE INTERNET!!

(not ironically I'm going to get the word bluetank tattooed on my fists... one day)

SO!!! THAT'S ALL!! Thank you so much for missing me, I miss this magical place too <3, I will try to upload every drawing I make.

#vivyor rawrs

2 notes · View notes

pinkpurplesunrises · 2 months ago

Note

Well, that was beautiful my friend, I love that we can see Alexia finally realizing that she really messed up and she needs to fix it fast ,before the divorce papers are on her table.

I have anxiety since I am fourteen and it comes and goes in waves, one minute I'm good the next I am really trying not to have an anxiety attack so, yeah they are unpredictable, so I am trying to be more active when it comes to leave messages on accounts or stories I like but sometimes my limited English comes to play and then my anxiety enjoys to make an appearance at the same time, so I am trying to if not in the moment I read the story leave a message at least trying to leave one on the same week.

And I enjoy everything you post.

My test I told you about was my last one of the year and I failed, so that means I have to retake the same course again and I am tired of it this it my 4th attempt, and I am ready to just getting behind me, but then anxiety and depression it hard and I am left procrastinating and not paying attention to it, and then and feel worse because of it, and I feel like a failure, but I guess that's live.

How are you doing/feeling?

(Sorry for the long text, I got carried away.)

Hey, thank you so much for sharing this with me 🌻 I have written a lot!

First of all thank you so much for opening up like this, seriously... 💛 I know how much energy it can take just to write something when anxiety and everything else is flaring up. You’re definitely not alone in how you’re feeling.

Anxiety coming in waves like that? So real. And when it tags along with self-doubt, especially over things like language or messages... it’s rough. But honestly, your message was so clear and heartfelt. And I’m really touched that you took the time to send it.

Please don’t stress about your English. It’s more than enough and what really matters is the kindness behind it, which comes through so strongly.

I’m really sorry to hear about your test. That kind of setback, especially after trying so hard, is incredibly frustrating and disheartening. You’re allowed to feel tired of it. You’re allowed to be upset and overwhelmed.

But please don’t let that failure word sit too heavy on your shoulders. You’re not a failure. You’re a person going through something really hard and still showing up and trying, which is a kind of strength that doesn’t get enough credit.

Procrastination, anxiety, depression... they all feed off each other in the worst way and I totally get how easy it is to get stuck in that loop. Be gentle with yourself. You’re doing the best you can, even when it doesn’t feel like it.

As for me, my week’s been okay! Just a bit tense because I’ve got an anxious call tomorrow that I’m dreading (my brain has already imagined every possible awkward and negative outcome lol), so I’m trying to stay grounded and not spiral. We’ll see how it goes...

And never worry about long messages. I'm glad you got carried away. I'm always happy to read and hear from you. Sending you so much love and a big deep breath. You're doing better than you think, even if your brain tells you otherwise. ✨🩷

Hope the next half of the week will be better for you, sending strength! Please come back again whenever you feel ready to.

#my answered asks

5 notes · View notes

justajsworkshop · 10 months ago

Note

Hey, I hope you’re doing well. Do you ever feel like time’s just slipping away and it makes you anxious, like maybe you’re not doing enough or that life is moving too fast? If you’ve ever felt that, how do you deal with it? Have you found a way to calm that fear that what you’re doing might not really be making a difference?

Today, I spent more time meditating and stayed off social media, which was great at first. But by the end of the day, I got hit with this wave of anxiety out of nowhere. It was kind of scary and made me feel like all the progress I made was pointless, like I was back to square one. I eventually calmed down, but I still hate when that feeling creeps in. How do you handle it when that happens?

Anyway, I hope your journey is going well love<3 and that you’re finding peace even in those tough moments.

hiii, omg. you sound so much like me when i'm reaching out to people for support, so i'm just giving you a big nose boop and a cookie. i've got two branches of thoughts on this as (1) a person who gets anxiety and (b) someone who can add a bit of context with all the loa/consciousness stuff.

(this got egregiously long. i'm so sorry. you don't have to read the whole thing. sorry in advance for typos. )

so, lemme start with the first, and i'll say yes. i have totally felt that way before, and tbh, i think you'd have a hard time finding a person in modern society who hasn't felt that way at one time or another. sometimes it helps me to remind myself that i'm not the first person to ever feel this way before, and it kinda takes away some of the exceptionalism goggles we can get around ourselves (in the negative way, e.g., thinking we're so uniquely horrible, incompetent, unloved, etc. when we're just having a human moment.).

feelings are just sensations in the body, and thoughts are just thoughts. i'm someone with a history of anxiety/depression to the point where i've been hospitalized, and i'm not saying for sympathy; i'm way better now! dw. it's just so you know i'm not just talking about anxiety flippantly.

i've found that it's helpful for me to know when my anxiety flares up, and a lot of times, it's in the afternoon/evening when i'm done with work and the stimulation of the day kinda simmers down. i think it's also a neurodivergence thing. it helps me to know these patterns, so i can give myself grace and remember my brain is just a bit different and has different needs than most people. just because it says something is true, doesn't mean it is true. more often than not, anxiety is a straight up liar.

yes, i know i could manifest better mental health for myself, and i do affirm when i need to, but overall it's not bothersome enough to me that it's where i'm focusing on. for anyone who's reading this and wondering why i haven't done that yet.

when i can, i try to give myself a little distance between the narrative my anxiety is trying to write and how i experience it. so, trying to watch it all move through me instead of experiencing it as me, although i recognize that at some times, your eyes are glued to the mental tv so close, it's hard to distinguish between the two. and when i feel too close to it all, i'll either (a) do something to distract myself like watch a comfort movie/show, go for a walk, talk to my fandom friends about stupid shit, etc. or (b) let myself have a good cry about it all and wallow. i give myself permission to just be a sad sack for a day, and remind myself that tomorrow will be better. if i can, i find some self-satirizing in it. just trying to be as comically dramatic as possible about "woe is me!" and this helps me to bring some lightness and humor to it all, remembering that horror and comedy writing are only different because of the punchlines. i just tend to try to live life with a "laugh maniacally in the face of absurdity" mindset, and what isn't more absurd than your perceived limitations, y'know?

that's the love on your linear, human self side of things. and if that's what you gotta do, do it. we can't go off limiting god by saying that giving compassion, grace, and love to your human self means you're losing anything. you can also set the intention that you'll have a breakthrough on the other side of this, and i often do because i let go of all this tension and bullshit i've been carrying that i just don't need/identify with anymore.

ok, for part two that brings a bit more of loa and consciousness into context:

once again, yes. i've felt all of this around manifestation/shifting specifically, and the things that help me are remembering that this isn't about doing and that time isn't linear.

the quote from the magician's way that tom mentions a lot is "there's nothing to do but always action to take"—differentiating between 'doing' from an assumption that your success is dependent on specific action(s) vs. taking action because you're already assuming fulfillment. the affirmation that's really helped me with this one in particular is "what if there was nothing else to do? what if it was all already perfect?" whenever i ask that to myself, i instantly feel a massive wave of calm and release, and i just soak in that feeling. and after a couple of days of coming back to that place, i let go of so much of the instance that any "doing" was required of me to have/be everything i want.

if that one doesn't do it for you, play with the wording a bit and see if there's one that does. or set the intention that the perfect language will fall in your lap.

as for the other prong of your ask regarding time and progress, this is when i remind myself that time is not linear, and all moments exists at once simultaneously. so, i'm already in my desired end and experiencing it because i am in all realities everywhere all at once. ultimate reality consists of one moment, so you can't really make any progress when everything exists all at once; therefore, you can't lose any progress either.

i used to be obsessed with the idea of "how long" i'd been persisting because i saw persisting as a means to an end: that if i do this "long enough," i will get my desired result. but when i started understanding that persistence is the end, i was less attached to the amount of time/how consistent i had been, and i focused more on "who am i choosing to be right now?"

i also like to remind myself that time as we experience it from a linear, horizontal perspective is something we create. people go back in time. people revise their age. you could shift to a reality that doesn't even experience linear time in the way you do now. so, yeah, it might appear that time is slipping by, but appearances can be deceiving. and all appearances that you perceive with your physical sense are an act of deception claiming "this is all that is" when it's not. you are.

i also think that people confuse persistence with perfection—this notion that you have to be perfectly consist and that no wavering/contradicting can happen, etc. but at the end of the day, if you continue to come back to your desired end even after a day or a week or years of being your undesired self, you're still persisting. because you're still coming back home, and that's what the parable of the prodigal son taught us: god is always going to accept you with open arms instantly no matter now long you've spend squandering your inheritance of your I AM awareness on nonfulfillment.

you can't lose anything because that would imply nonexistence, that whatever you perceive you lost "went somewhere" and cannot be experienced, but all possibilities exists now and forevermore in the eternal now, so you literally cannot lose anything. you can create the experience and perception of loss, but that's just getting too close to the movie saying it's the only one that exists when we exist in a greater reality with unlimited scripts and possibilities.

so, to summarize, take care of your human and remember your being. that's really the very short and much more straightforward answer haha. i hope this helped, and if there's anything else i can offer, you're free to ask. :)

#answered.#enave

6 notes · View notes