THIS IS SO FUCKING ADORABLE - Tumblr Posts
Sometimes nightmares are a b*tch but don't worry your personal overworking nightlight will sleep beside you and make everything better :)
Hugging the nightmares away...
one night, the commandos see something, a flicker of something none of them dare name, between their captain and their sniper.
‘i think we should just ignore it, dugan. it doesn’t really make a difference. we’re still a team, right?’ gabe asks, eyes flickering over to where cap and barnes are sitting at the bar as he does. there’s so much there; it’s in the way they move around each other, the look in their eyes as they stare at one another.
‘i mean… does anyone here have a problem with it?’ falsworth comments. gabe quickly translates, and dernier waves him off in a way that tells gabe that he’s got no quarrel with it. ‘speak now or forever hold your peace, gentlemen,’ morita says. they stay silent, and falsworth raises a glass. the rest of them follow suit. ‘swear yourselves to silence, gentlemen. cap and barnes deserve this. we owe ‘em that much.” they drink, and the moment passes. none of them mention it again. they don’t mention it when barnes and cap go missing for hours, only to sneak back into camp in the middle of the night. they don’t talk about the way the two of them slide their sleeping mats ever so closer together when they’re out in the field. they don’t talk about it, until the day after they receive the news that cap’s plane went down, with him on it. “to the captain, and to barnes. may they find each other again, in every eternity.”
Prelude | MYG
Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (Gender Neutral)
Genre: angst, fluff, comfort, non-Idol!AU
Rating: T
Warnings: mentions of a break-up, mentions of loneliness
Word Count: 1.9k
Disclaimers: None other than obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me
Summary: You're all alone in your new city, save for the handsome man you keep seeing around your neighborhood, and the mysterious pianist who lives upstairs.
A/N: I wrote this back in November and then just let it sit for a while, thinking I might add more. But now I think I like it as a short one-shot, so here it is, in time for Yoongi's b-day! The inspiration came from this tweet:
Tell me hoooooooooooow I wrote a letter to the pianist upstairs and said how much I love hearing them play and they came downstairs to thank me ONLY TO FIND OUT IT WAS THE CUTE DUDE I KEEP BUMPING INTO?!?!
Unbeta’d as usual. I’d love to know what you think - my inbox is always open! 💕
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It's your third night in your new apartment when you hear it.
Hushed at first, then gradually growing louder as the song crescendos–someone is playing the piano. The music swirls around you, and you sit up in your bed, the book you were reading resting on your lap as you crane your neck to better hear the enchanting melody drifting down through the ceiling above.
It happens again the next evening. And the one after that. Almost nightly, you find yourself the unwitting audience for a performance from the pianist who lives upstairs. You can't help but wonder if that was the reason the previous tenant was so eager to break their lease, allowing you to move in sooner than you'd originally planned. Most people might not enjoy a near daily private concert.
You aren't most people.
It's never the same song twice. One night, it's a buoyant contemporary piece that you identify as the theme song to a prestigious arthouse film. The next, it's a mournful classical solo that has you nearly weeping into your dinner. Your mystery performer's talent and range astound you, and you feel fortunate to hear every note.
Maybe it's a good omen. A sign that you've made the right decision coming here to the big city, striking a tiny chord of hope within you that there may be more amazing discoveries just waiting to be found.
A month after you've moved in, you are still finding your way around. You've taken to wandering the streets on early morning walks, trying to orient yourself better. Earbuds replace the hustle and bustle of the city with the soothing sounds of classical music, a new interest that you directly link to your unseen neighbor's recitals. Each day, you watch the sun rise over your new hometown to the stirring strings of a symphony, letting the orchestra carry you away.
As much as you like your new place, you're rather lonely. Your coworkers at your new job are nice, but most live outside the city and don't stick around after hours, commuting home to their families as soon as the work day ends. The only person you know here is your boyfriend, but he's so busy that you've only seen him a handful of times. The two of you had been doing the long-distance thing for over a year, and while your job is what lured you here, he is the reason you ultimately decided to accept the position.
A new movement begins, a minuet that has you stepping quickly in time with the music. Humming along under your breath, you round a corner, heading back to your apartment, and promptly collide with something. No, someone. A minty-haired man, not much taller than you, slender, with the loveliest dark eyes you've ever seen.
And the most intimidating scowl that makes you immediately apologize.
"I'm so sorry!" you gasp, as the man releases his tight grip on your arms. One glance at your fretful expression and his face relaxes. He almost looks sleepy now as he peers at you, and you try not to stare, awestruck by how gorgeous he is.
"S'alright," he mumbles, "no worries. Wasn't watching where I was going, sorry." The corner of his mouth twitches as he gives you the tiniest of smiles, but it's enough to ease your mind. "Have a good day, ok?" he calls over his shoulder as he passes by, and you smile too late at his retreating figure before shaking yourself and heading on your way.
You see him again a few weeks later, queuing in line at this little coffee shop you'd discovered a few blocks from your place. It's sandwiched between a dry cleaner and a bank, easily overlooked in a city where the big chains are located on every other corner. He's ahead of you, and when he turns to leave, he spots you and inclines his head, lips curling slightly in recognition. You nod back.
He's at the diner where you eat your lunches on the weekend, sitting in the window, watching the crowds roll by. He's at the basement bookstore where you load your basket with more books than a person could possibly need. You notice him all over your neighborhood, that pretty hair catching your eye like a beacon, reminding you of spring and new beginnings, and every time there is a nod or little smile offered, you accept each one eagerly.
He's technically a stranger, but the gesture still makes you feel seen. A little less alone.
"You're breaking up with me?"
You don't mean to yell the words, but you're caught by surprise. When you'd answered the phone, you’d expected to hear a lame explanation from your boyfriend as to why he was over an hour late to pick you up - traffic was awful (it was always awful in this city), or he had to stay late to close that big sale (he was always working late), or any one of the other million flimsy excuses he seemed to rotate through lately.
But you hadn't expected him to break your heart.
You beg him to reconsider, but he ignores your pleas, telling you that it's been over between you for a long time, that it was so evident to him long before you'd moved here. But it wasn't evident to you. Lying on your bed as you bawl into your phone, you don't notice when the music above you stops, the peppy, upbeat composition breaking off mid-note.
"I just don't understand. I love you! I thought you loved me! But you couldn't even break up with me in person? After all we've been through?" you howl, nearly beside yourself with despair. More words flow from your boyfriend's mouth, but you don't hear any of them as you try and fail to understand. It's several minutes before you realize that he said goodbye one last time.
The room fills with the sound of you sobbing your heart out.
And then the piano begins again. It's not the same bubbly tune from earlier. Softly, tender notes fall like gentle rain, cascading down upon you. Your tears slowly subside, and you inhale a shuddery breath as you focus on the melody. Thanks to your morning walks, you recognize this one. Arabesque No. 1, by Debussy. It's your favorite of his works, even more cherished than the much-loved Clair de Lune.
The pianist upstairs has no way of knowing that it's your favorite, but you can't help but feel like they do. Like they're playing it just for you. Tonight, you're not the audience by default, but by choice. Their choice.
Your breathing begins to even as you lie on top of your blankets, listening intently. You are wrung out, exhausted, but cannot help but lose yourself in rhapsody. The pianist plays so delicately, almost lovingly, and you imagine their fingers dancing lithely over the keys as your eyes flutter shut, the peaceful sonata lulling you to sleep.
Weeks pass. The performances go on. And slowly but surely, you begin to heal.
Hindsight is perfectly clear, of course. Looking back, you see that the distance between you and your ex was more than just physical. And it really was obvious. Just as obvious as the fact that you are now completely alone.
Yet that tiny chord of hope still rings within you, sustained by the music floating from above. Day by day, week by week, you keep moving forward, putting your ex behind you as you truly start anew.
You make friends with another recent hire at work who lives just a subway stop away. A neighbor down the hall introduces herself in the elevator, and by the time you've reached the lobby, you've been invited to her weekly book club. The man with the light green hair is still hanging around your periphery, a few casually exchanged hellos encouraging you enough to ponder asking him to coffee someday-not today, but someday.
The chord swells. It's no longer just a few notes. It becomes a measure, a verse. A song.
And you realize it all started with the first strike of the piano above.
Though you have no idea who lives upstairs, you decide that they should know how much you appreciate them. You need them to know. So, you dig out some old stationery buried deep in your desk, and you write them a letter.
Unsure of what to say at first, you start by thanking them for their captivating performances, stating how lucky you are to have moved in so close to such a talented musician. Before you know it, you've told them how their music has given you hope when you needed it the most. Anonymity emboldens you, allowing you to spill your heart without fear of being too earnest, too vulnerable.
Once it's finished and you've signed it "your neighbor," you trek upstairs and slip it under their door before you can lose your nerve.
The next morning, there is a rap at your door.
You peek through the peephole and draw back in disbelief. It's the handsome minty-haired man from all your favorite neighborhood haunts. Why is he here?
"Can I help you?" you call out.
"Uh, yeah," he replies, his low, rich voice surprising you. "You wrote this letter, right?" He holds up a piece of paper, which you immediately identify as your stationery.
You open the door so quickly, he jumps in alarm.
"You," he breathes, as recognition sweeps over him. "I didn't know you lived here."
"You live upstairs?" you ask timidly. His dark eyes examine you from beneath his shaggy hair. Long fingers clutch your letter, and you can't help but stare at them, thinking about how they must look as they caress the keys of his piano.
"Yeah. Hi. I'm Yoongi," he introduces himself.
You give your name, then pause. "So... how did you know I wrote that?"
"Process of elimination. No one has moved in on my floor in over a year. And little old Ms. Choi above me has told me multiple times that she turns her hearing aids off at night, so she can enjoy some peace and quiet," he informs you, flashing a smile that is all gums and rather endearing. “She says she means that to be encouraging, that I can play as loud as I want.”
Not knowing how to respond, you remain silent.
"I just wanted to thank you," he declares, glancing at the letter. "The things you said about how I play... how it made you feel...." He turns his gaze on you, regarding you carefully before he finishes his thought. "I, uh, don't get a lot of opportunities to perform for any audiences. So to know there's someone listening, and actually enjoying my playing, is amazing." He laughs, a shy chuckle that pleases your ear as much as any sonata he's ever played. "It made me feel seen. Or I guess heard. Damn, I don't know if I'm making any sense. Do you know what I mean?" His expression is so earnest that you feel your heart seize up.
You nod. You absolutely understand.
That gummy smile returns.
"Anyway, I wanted to let you know how much I appreciated it." He rubs the back of his neck, looking down. "Maybe some time, I could play for you? In person, I mean. Not through the walls."
"Okay," you answer, not hesitating, making his head snap up. He grins, and you can't help but do the same. "But do you want to start with coffee first? I know a great little place."
© 2022-23 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.
Hi! 💐💐 hope you're having a nice day😊💗 I couldn't stop thinking about it since I saw your lovely johnshi cats au art!🙈💖🐈🐈⬛ but what if Kenshi waking Johnny up, nuzzling and purring in his fluff ginger ear "babe wake up I brought you a gift!" And when Johnny blinks his eyes open sleepy, stretches his body and yawns (to show his little fangs hehe) Kenshi presents him a small box of 'catnip' with a ribbon on it hehe.🤭🙈💗
I don't advise drawing a character yawning when you are also tired dhhdhdjdjz
Such a cute idea!
it's your time to shine, pumpkin fun kitty!
