#but like. why go through life reading poetry this way. why go through life reading anything this way! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

roosterforme · 6 months

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Covering the Classics Part 4 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Anna was afraid to face her new friends after the night out at the bar. Admitting she was attracted to Bob was easier to do than explain why she couldn't have him. When she finally sends him some book recommendations, she finds his taste in books familiar in an all too intimate way.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, eventually 18+

Length: 4700 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more! Thank you to @mak-32 for the beautiful banner!

Anna spent the rest of her weekend working on lesson plans and looking at Bob's number saved in her phone. She had compiled a mental list of titles she thought he would like, and she'd even pulled a few dog-eared books from her own collection and stacked them up on her narrow counter. She would absolutely love to have Bob borrow them from her, but she'd completely messed everything up.

Why, when confronted with a decent man, did she shut everything down and destroy all hope? Because of Kevin. That's why. She knew this crush on Bob was a bad idea. Nothing good could come of it, but she still caught herself looking at his contact information on Sunday evening with longing in her heart.

She made herself a sad sandwich for dinner and packed herself a second sad sandwich for lunch the next day and then she settled in with her computer. The idea of taking her sad sandwich to the quad and eating with her friends was making her anxious. What if they didn't even want her around now that she'd made a complete fool of herself in front of their friend? What if they looked up at her as she approached them sitting on the bench with their perfect, beautiful lunches and scowled with their perfect, beautiful faces?

"Oh no," she groaned, covering her eyes with her hand. She really liked them, but they probably hated her now. And she really liked Bob, but he probably went home with that better looking woman who was at the Navy bar and hadn't thought about Anna one time since.

She forced her attention to her computer screen which was prompting her for a password. She entered Kev1n1s@t00L and watched as the website she'd had open on her browser came to life. She sighed as she scrolled through her saved favorites on PoetsAmongUs. It was kind of pitiful that she knew what she was going to end up reading before she could actually admit it to herself.

Your whispers call out in the darkest shadows, My heart answers like a flame, Igniting this shared space with every breath I take, Giving you a love that will never find the end. It binds me to you, pulsing through my veins, Emotions like I've never known before. I've doubted that I could reach this place, But I feel endlessly sure here now.

Anna whined from her bed in her sad little apartment as she looked at the pen name of her favorite poet before clicking on it. He either never finished filling out his profile or he was being purposely vague. Male, 30s, United States.

"Sky Writing. The only man I would trust with my heart ever again." She read the poem once more. That was her favorite passage, but she knew everything he posted by heart and got excited every time something new from him popped up every few months.

It was late enough that she could probably just go to sleep without acknowledging that she hadn't texted Bob and probably never would. She couldn't set foot back in that bar ever again. Maybe that other place that Jessica loved so much would be somewhere she could check out next time she had nothing better to do. Chippy's or something? She started to doze off.

When her alarm started blaring, it was almost like she had slept too well. She'd dreamed about a faceless man with beautiful hands reading poetry to her while he ran his fingers slowly up and down her bare thigh. She couldn't shake the delicious feeling even as her alarm got louder. When she managed to turn it off, she lay there wishing she had time to go on the poetry website and masturbate before work.

"Stop it," she whispered as she got up and started getting herself ready for the day.

At least she got to teach English 522 this afternoon. Feminist Literature was becoming one of her favorite classes, as evidenced by her well worn copy of Carmilla by Sheridan Le Fanu which was in her bag. When she stood in her kitchen and ate a peanut butter granola bar and drank some coffee, she looked at the books she had pulled out as options for Bob, but she shook her head and left for the day without dwelling on how disappointing her life truly was.

Relying solely on public transportation meant leaving a lot earlier than you wanted to, but Anna still barely made it to her office in time to grab her notebook and teach her first lecture of the week. Half of the students still looked like they were asleep while the other half were looking at her like she was a literary messiah. It was almost comical, and when lunchtime rolled around, she was in a pretty great mood. Until she realized she was still on the fence about going to the quad.

"Just do a vibe check," she muttered as she grabbed her lunch from her office. "If they look pissed off, you can come right back here and never talk to anyone else again for the rest of your life." She could subside on sandwiches and online poetry and only speak when she was giving lectures. That sounded simultaneously amazing and also terrifying.

The college campus was bustling today. There were some guys skateboarding through the quad, and she recognized a few other faculty members from the English department who waved to her. But that didn't stop her palms from sweating and her heart from thudding in a sickening rhythm that Edgar Alan Poe would think was beautiful. When she spotted the two women on the bench in front of the weird tree, Anna was shocked to see them waving to her with smiles on their faces.

"Anna!" called Jessica. "You'll never believe it! The vending machine just gave me my bottle of Pepsi and a bonus bottle of ginger ale! Like it knew I was about to see you!"

"Chaos Theory at its finest," said the other woman before she bit into her carrot stick and hummus.

"It's really more of the Butterfly Effect," Jessica replied. Anna had no idea what they were talking about, but they scooted away from each other on the bench to make room, so she decided to stay.

Anna swallowed hard as she sat and opened her pack of peanuts. "How was the rest of your weekend?" she asked the two of them, and soon her nerves calmed down.

"Excellent. Bradley and I took a tour of the library yesterday."

"Pretty good. I helped Jake make waffles for breakfast. Lots and lots and lots of waffles. What did you do with the rest of your weekend? After the Hard Deck?"

Anna accepted the bottle of ginger ale that Jessica handed to her as she said, "Um, well I did my lesson plans for the next few weeks. And I started writing my midterm exams. Nothing exciting."

She was met with a bit of awkward silence, and she could feel the two women sharing a look behind her head. "Did you happen to text Bob?" Advanced Calculus asked cautiously, and Anna knew this was the part where it was all over. The dramatic climax, except she was actually the villain in this story.

"No, actually. I think that ship has sailed," she replied softly.

"Why?" Jessica asked, not unkindly. "When we figured out that you and he already met at the bookstore in North Park, we were ecstatic. He's the mystery guy you were losing your mind over, Anna! The handsome one with glasses who smells so good!"

"He really does smell good," Advanced Calculus muttered as she dipped another carrot into the hummus which was probably unfairly homemade. "Are you no longer attracted to him? Was it his nerdy tee shirt? Or were all the guys so obnoxious you couldn't wait to leave?"

Anna held onto the cold bottle of ginger ale a little tighter as she said, "It's not that at all. I mean, who in their right mind wouldn't be attracted to Bob? And I thought his shirt was kind of charming. And the rest of the guys were welcoming in a slightly intense way."

Now Jessica was turned to face her, eyes wide behind her glasses. "Bob thinks you ran away from him twice now because he's unappealing and boring."

Anna jolted and the pack of peanuts went flying to the ground, nuts rolling in every direction. "He does?" she asked, palms beginning to sweat again.

"Yeah. Big time. But he's quite attracted to you. Apparently the red hair is a thing."

"Oh my god," Anna moaned in embarrassment. Bob liked her red hair? "Oh no. No. No. He's just.... he's so.... and he's also.... I can't even." She took a deep breath as she kicked at the lost peanuts. "Bob is so handsome. It's hard to look into his eyes for too long, because you start to feel like you're going to break out into song. And I don't think I've ever been around a man who smells quite that nice. And he's funny and just a touch nerdy, but that's a good thing."

There was another beat of silence before Advanced Calculus said, "I'm not really understanding what the problem is."

Anna shook her head and unwrapped her sandwich to keep her hands busy. "Listen, none of my weirdness is because of him. It's all because of me. I can't have a crush on him. I can't be interested in him. I can't be interested in any men whatsoever."

Jessica nudged her shoulder and said, "Maybe you could just text him? Maybe making another new friend wouldn't be so bad?"

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"Well if you can't find a girlfriend, I hope you're at least getting your rocks off with an attractive lady."

Bob was cradling his forehead in his hand and trying to escape from Suzanne's house without having this conversation. Whenever he stopped to pick up dinner instead of cooking something at home, he always brought something for her, too. It was the neighborly thing to do, especially when your neighbor was decades older than you, but right now he just wanted to vanish.

"I wouldn't tell you even if I was," he replied, earning a laugh as she opened up the container of soup at her kitchen table.

"Sit down and stay for a while," she told him, pointing to the empty chair. "I'll pay you back for dinner with my charm and witticism since you won't accept any money."

His phone started to vibrate in his uniform pocket, and he dug it out thinking it was probably Jessica having finished mocking up her barbarian character for their campaign, but it was a text from an unknown number. He was about to pocket his phone again, but then he saw the words book recommendations and paused. He quickly unlocked the phone and started reading the texts that were coming through.

I have some book recommendations for you if you still want them. I'm sorry I didn't send them over the weekend.

This is Anna, by the way.

I should have started with that information.

Wow. This is already embarrassing.

Bob laughed and started to type back immediately, and then Suzanne's voice cut across his thoughts. "Are you sure you don't have a special lady? You're smiling an awful lot at your phone."

He looked at her and shook his head. "I'm sure. I like this girl, but she doesn't return my feelings that way. She's just sending me some recommendations." He started to back away as he added, "Enjoy your soup. I'll see you later, Suzanne."

"Good night, Robert."

Bob ended up standing just inside his front door as he saved Anna's number and typed back a message to her. He thought keeping it simple would be his best move. Anything more than that and he'd embarrass himself once again by getting ahead of himself with his feelings.

I would love some more recommendations from you. You're the expert.

He only had to wait about a minute for her response, which was just a list of book after book after book that he'd never even heard of. The first were the ones she'd given to him verbally on Friday night, but the rest were just as foreign to him.

Anna Webber: Persuasion by Austen. Northanger Abbey by Austen, Lady Chatterley's Lover by D. H. Lawrence, The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton, Far From the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy, Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf, Cranford by Elizabeth Gaskell, and The Black Tulip by Alexandre Dumas (because you like poetry so much)

Bob quickly ate his own container of soup while he read the list over and over again. Then without changing out of his uniform, he grabbed the keys to his beat up truck and headed to the bookstore in North Park to see if he could find any of these titles before they closed.

The store was virtually empty, and when he climbed the stairs up to the slightly dusty loft he could practically picture Anna's pretty hands and painted nails gliding along all of the spines. He could imagine her pretty, wide eyes looking up at him before she figured out he was boring. He could hear her laugh as he made his way to the spot where they had been standing together.

That horrible Vonnegut book was still there which made him chuckle. "Figures nobody else would want to read it," he muttered as he reached for it. Then he backtracked a little bit to start collecting everything from Anna's list. He referenced his text messages several times, hunting all over the Classics section until he had almost everything in order. Then he spread them out along the shelf and took a photo. He texted it to her before he could second guess himself after he added a short caption.

Did I miss anything?

He was walking back down to the poetry section when his phone vibrated.

Anna Webber: You're at the bookstore right now? The one in North Park?

Bob froze in the middle of the stairs. He embarrassed himself without even knowing it. He must seem desperate right now. Running out to the store as soon as she sent him the list. "Shit," he groaned softly. When he got another message, he was almost afraid to look at it.

Anna Webber: I LOVE that store. I wish I were there right now, too.

Bob thought that sounded perfect, actually. Maybe if she were here now, she wouldn't run away this time. He'd been playing those kinds of scenarios over and over in his head, ones where she liked him back the way he liked her. Ones where they left the bookstore holding hands.

He continued downstairs to look for the book of poems she suggested for him, which he found quickly, along with Votive by Keiran Goddard. Would Anna like a copy of his favorite book of poetry? Did he even want to ask her? At this point, he had nothing to lose. She wasn't going to suddenly want him, but that shouldn't stop him from sharing a recommendation of his own. Especially when she might really enjoy something he found so spectacular.

Bob held the book up and snapped a quick selfie, sending it away into the universe before dwelling on it too much.

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Anna was preparing a piece of toast with jelly for herself or dinner, desperately wishing she were back at the bookstore. Bob was there, probably smelling so nice and luring everyone else who was shopping closer to him. Perhaps he was wearing another Dungeons & Dragons shirt like he'd worn to the Navy bar. Perhaps his biceps were straining against it.

She didn't have to use her vivid imagination for very long, because suddenly Bob was staring at her through her phone screen with his crooked little smile and his beautiful eyes. And his uniform.

"Oh my god." The toast slipped from her fingers and landed jelly side down on her plate as she took in every single detail. Navy uniforms were khaki? Why had she assumed they were all navy blue? Why didn't she know more about the Navy? She was going to take the time to learn everything she could about the United States Navy.

When she realized her mouth was dry, she reached for her glass of water and downed it. She was in a daze. A Bob Floyd induced daze. Even all the little pins on his shirt were distracting. She wanted to count all of them. She wanted to touch them. She wondered what they would feel like if she pressed her lips to them.

"Stop," she gasped. But she couldn't. Now her eyes drifted up to his face again, and she thought she'd only really ever seen the exact color of his eyes in a Kandinsky painting at the Guggenheim. She couldn't look away. "No. No. No!" she moaned. And then she finally read the actual message he'd typed out after gawking at his photo for five whole minutes.

Bob Floyd: Have you ever read Votive by Keiran Goddard? It's my favorite collection of poetry.

Anna laughed a little hysterically. She hadn't even noticed he was holding up a book at all. His graceful fingers were wrapped around the damn thing, but she'd been too distracted by him to actually look at the book. But now the fact that she'd never read Goddard before had her flushed and flustered, because Bob had sent a book recommendation to her. Nobody ever did that, and all she could think about was how she absolutely needed to get her hands on a copy and devour the whole entire thing if it was something he liked.

Very calmly and rationally, she typed back to him.

I have not read it yet, but I'll add it to my list of things to check out of the library.

When she set her phone down and realized her toast had become a casualty to this text conversation, she moaned and flipped it back over. Her heart was still beating a little erratically from looking at Bob's photo for too long, and she didn't think she could even eat. There was no way she could waste any food in her current financial state though, so she took a bite anyway as he texted her back.

Bob Floyd: I'll just pick it up for you while I'm here. I hope you'll like it, but if you hate it, that's okay too. It's a bit of an acquired taste.

Oh no. She couldn't let him buy it, because she didn't have any extra spending money at the moment to be able to pay him back. But admitting that to him would be excruciatingly embarrassing, and she didn't even think she could do it. Perhaps she could scrape together twenty dollars if she skipped a few meals, but then she wouldn't be able to join the girls in the quad at lunchtime. They'd notice her lack of food right away.

"Why are you such a disaster?" she asked herself as she scarfed down the rest of her toast and typed back to him.

Thank you. I can pay you back for it later.

She would figure it out. She always did. Even when she didn't want to, she managed to find a way to solve her problems. Even when it hurt.

Bob Floyd: It's my treat. I can give it to Bradley or Jake at work tomorrow. I'm sure either of the ladies wouldn't mind getting it to you when they see you. Or if you feel like it, we could meet for coffee one day and I could give it to you in person. Just let me know.

"Oh, Anna," she whispered, already typing out a response before she could think better of it.

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Bob was surprised Anna took him up on his offer to meet for coffee, but he found himself looking forward to it in spite of the fact that he was still pining a bit. He'd get over it in time. He'd find someone new to crush on, or maybe he'd meet another girl that he was interested in, and maybe she would be interested back. But none of that stopped him from being excited at the prospect of being around her again. And none of that prepared him for the way he felt when Anna pushed through the door of the coffee shop on Wednesday evening and looked around tentatively. Her red hair was in another loose braid, and her freckles were so endearing.

As soon as her eyes landed on him, she looked less apprehensive but also more resigned. When she approached the table where he was sitting with three books, he stood. "Hey. Anna. How are you?"

"Hi, Bob." Even her voice was soft and sweet as her eyes swept along his face and body. She blushed a pretty shade of pink as she said, "Thanks for the book. Will you let me buy you something to drink?"

He didn't respond beyond nodding and leading the way toward the counter. He listened to her order a small coffee before he ordered a large hot tea, and when she reached for her wallet, he was already handing over a twenty. When she looked up at him with wide, brown eyes, he just smiled. "You don't have to buy me a drink."

She watched the money leave his hand as she said, "Well, you don't have to buy me one either."

"Too late."

She was quiet as they returned to the small table with their hot beverages, but as soon as she sat, she said, "You'll have to let me pay next time."

Bob slid two of the books across the table as he asked, "Next time?" But she didn't respond as she let her fingers brush along Votive before she picked it up to reveal the one underneath it.

Anna's laughter filled the small space as her eyes darted back up to meet his. "You bought Cat's Cradle? I didn't think that was the kind of thing you were looking for?"

He glanced down into his tea. "Uh, it's not. I got it for you."

"Bob," she said quietly, her fingers tracing the spine now. He liked her nail polish and wanted to touch her hands. "You did not have to get me two books."

"Yes I did," he said with a smile. "Vonnegut sounds horrible. I felt bad for it because nobody else was ever going to buy it. I couldn't just leave it to rot on the shelf when I know the only person who would be willing to give it a nice home."

When she laughed again, she seemed resigned to the fact that the books were both hers. "Thanks. Money is a little tight for me right now. You know how it is when you first move," she told him while she fidgeted a bit. "But next time, I'll buy your drink. Or your book. Or something."

"You keep saying 'next time'."

Anna poked at her coffee cup and said, "I thought maybe.... we could be friends."

"Friends." His voice felt and sounded stale. The word made him feel sadder than it should have. "Of course."

She looked even more relieved now as she took a sip of her coffee, but Bob was busy trying not to memorize the pretty pattern of her freckles across her nose and the way her lips were pursed. He wouldn't look at a friend that way.

"Which book is that?" she asked, nodding toward the last one in front of him.

He flipped it over so she could see the cover, and he said, "Oh, it's The Age of Innocence. I'm almost done reading it, and I was just hoping to get your opinions on a few things."

Anna's eyes went wider. "You're almost done reading it? Already?"

"Yeah." His voice sounded like a groan, and he knew he should be embarrassed since she recommended it two days ago, but he said, "Once I start a new book, I can't put it down if it's good."

"So you like it?" she asked, leaning a little closer to him as a smile played along her lips.

"It's fantastic," he replied, and her foot brushed his softly beneath the table.

Anna licked her lips and shifted in her seat as she made a soft sound that just made Bob want to get closer to her. She clasped her hands on the table in front of her and cleared her throat before she blurted out. "You're really handsome." His lips parted wordlessly, unsure how to respond, but he didn't have to as she immediately said, "And you're not boring. Not at all. I could have stayed in that dusty bookstore all afternoon, tucked away in the loft, talking to you about book after book."

"Oh," he replied, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Really?"

"Yes. Really," she said, and it sounded like she meant it. "I didn't disappear because of you. I disappeared because of me. And I'm really sorry about that."

Then he realized what was going on. His friends got to her already. He'd told Jessica on Saturday night that he was sure Anna ditched him because he's probably not as handsome or interesting as she's used to. And now he was going to have to text her and tell her to lay off. This whole thing was embarrassing enough without having to hear Anna pity him like this.

"Don't worry about it," he told her softly with his best attempt at a smile. "We can be friends."

When he got home, she texted him to thank him again for the books and the coffee. But he was still thinking about her freckles and how far down her neck they might go. Maybe they made a pretty pattern across her shoulders, too. Maybe they would disappear into her bra, a perfect treasure for another man to find. But not Bob. Bob and Anna were just friends.

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When Anna finally got home after taking two buses, it was so late, she knew she should go right to bed. But she was wishing for another cheap bottle of wine to try to take her mind off of Bob. He was perfect, and she couldn't let herself have him. They could be friends, but nothing more. She could send him texts, but they couldn't flirt.

She already missed his soft voice and the way he gave her his entire focus when they were together. He bought her two books! Nobody else ever bought her books! And he read the ones she recommended to him! Maybe Kevin was to blame for most things that had gone wrong in her life, but literally no man she'd ever known was as kind and thoughtful as Bob.

She collapsed back onto her bed in her sad apartment were she could look at her kitchen and her bathroom at the same time, and she opened the book of poetry. Bob's favorite poetry. Within minutes of reading the first few pages, she felt warmer and maybe a little flustered. The passages were romantic and insightful in such a familiar way. Something was tickling at her brain, trying to trigger a memory. She kept reading, making it fifteen pages in before she gasped and realized what it was.

"Sky Writing," she murmured, reaching for her computer in favor of the book. She was reminded of her favorite novice poet from her favorite website. The poetry in the book sounded a bit like the poems written by Sky Writing, and now Anna was even more of a mess knowing that this was the kind of intimate literature Bob preferred to read.

She wanted him. She wanted to know what his big, sturdy hands would feel like on her body. What his lips tasted like. She wanted to erase that pinch of doubt she saw on his face when she tried to reassure him that even though they were going to be just friends, she definitely found him attractive.

The next time she went shopping, she was going to need to stock up on some more bottles of cheap wine.

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Just friends. Okay, Anna. Sure, babe. Let's see how long that lasts. Bob's wingwomen are powerful. Thank you @lauratang for the book/reading list! And thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 5

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#bob floyd x oc #robert bob floyd x oc #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #robert floyd imagine #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fanfiction #robert floyd x oc #robert floyd fanfiction #robert floyd fic #robert floyd #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #roosterforme #covering the classics

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hotjaneaustenmenpoll · 6 months

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Semi-Final One

Propaganda...

Colonel Brandon (1995):

Alan Rickman has the sexiest voice. Just listen to him reading poetry to Marianne at the end to witness how hot he is.

Alan Rickman simply embodies the truth of Col. Brandon in a way that no one else every could. It's the perfect merging of actor and role. He brings the perfect combination of honor, decency, sensitivity and passion. He is the ultimate mensch.

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Brandon propaganda in which even the film's director agrees that Brandon is sexy.

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More Brandon propaganda! This photo could only be published in black and white because it would have been too powerful in color (the original color version is currently being used to provide electricity for a medium sized town in Devon. It's THAT powerful).

The brim of the hat falling over his eye. The casual lean. The hunting rifle slung across his leg. The puppy bestie. The fact you know he could row that boat while you watch and wish you were the boat.

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From Emma Thompson's diaries which she kept while they were shooting Sense & Sensibility. Emma Thompson said vote Colonel Brandon.

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Mr Darcy (1995):

Colin Firth (1995) is book Darcy brought to life. He uses tiny gestures and looks to communicate with us and Elizabeth… his struggle is so subtle but so palpable. A beautiful asshole with a creamy nougat center. Just perfect.

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Those heart-eyes right up above☝️? Hot!

Passive-agressively drinking tea? Hot!

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The way he rushes over to see Elizabeth at Pemberley on those delicious long legs of his with that slutty wet curl hanging over his forehead? Hot!

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Fencing? Hot!

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The way he is so concerned about Elizabeth crying and takes her hand even though he shouldn't? Hot!

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This dimple-y smile of pure joy because he knows he's married to Elizabeth freaking Bennet? Hot!

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Colin Firth Darcy is simultaneously immaculately put together and entirely falling apart internally. The wet shirt scene is so iconic not (only) because ‘oooh almost-shirtless sexy man’, but because it’s a metaphor for how he’s absolutely falling apart!!! This is a private moment, when he doesn’t think anyone can see him. And then he bumps. into. Lizzie. At his house!! And the entire sequence that follows with him rushing out still doing his jacket up to catch her before he leaves. They are both on the back foot and it’s THAT moment of confusion that opens a more honest dialogue between them.

Without Firth in a lake you wouldn’t get Macfadyen in a downpour!

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There's a reason why Colin Firth is forever known as Mr. Darcy above all other roles he's had and will have! Even ignoring the wet white shirt, which has become A Thing now, he is so hot with his curly hair and his little half smiles and his intense looks of longing and his legs that go on for milessss.

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This cannot be real. My fellow Jane Austen people. Without Colin Firth’s Darcy we wouldn’t have 90% of modern JA content. He opened a door and there was no turning back for modern culture. There would be no MacFadyen standing half undressed in a field at dawn without Firth jumping into a lake first. There would be no hand flex if there hadn’t been Firth doing his best impression of a man undressing Elizabeth Bennet with his eyes and hating himself for liking it. There would be no Bridgerton without Bridget Jones. Let’s face it people. We wouldn’t be here having these arguments if Colin Firth had not been Mr Darcy.

Colin Firth understood Mr. Darcy in a way no other actor ever has. He is awkward as fuck in a way that comes across as snooty and judgmental on a first watch-through, then can be read as awkward and longing on a second time. His performance had such depth while looking extremely shallow at first glance. This man WAS Mr. Darcy. (I love 2005, as well, and I love Matthew McFayden, but he was awkward for awkward sake.) Colin Firth made Darcy's awkward look snooty and aloof.

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THE socially awkward Darcy is the 1995 Darcy - look at him coming and sitting in awkward silence with Elizabeth pointedly asking her if she wants to live a long way from her family (to obvious relief) and then abruptly leaving - vote for him please 😭😭😭😭

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GIF by my-little-random-world

Colin Firth served so much as Darcy that when they did Bridget Jone's diary, they brought him back.... AS DARCY. The smoulder. The angst. The man is the quintessential Darcy.

“Firthing” is an actual term that is used now to describe someone yearning intensely. It is named after Colin Firth’s Mr Darcy performance.

Colin Firth all the way. He's known in our household as Owl Eyes because in every frame he's mooning over Elizabeth Bennet. Unsurpassable, unmatched, golden television (and some of the worst dancing you've ever seen).

Colin has beautiful, touchable curls.

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My high school English teacher was very into using movies to teach alongside literature, which was a great teaching tool. When we read Pride and Prejudice, he used both 2005 and 1995 for various scenes. What stands out to me all these years later was when it got to the part when Lizzy went to help Georgiana after Caroline dropped Mr. Wickham's name and Darcy gives Lizzy this look:

My teacher stopped the film and pointed at Darcy's face and said, "See that? That is THE look. If someone ever looks at you like that, you know they're in love." And what is hotter than that?

Also this teacher had two cats named Lizzy and Darcy. Not relevant to the poll but I wanted you all to know about them.

Colin Firth dazzles and amazes in the nuanced performance that just blows all other attempts away.

The best thing about the Colin Firth wet shirt scene is actually the scene that follows where him and Lizzie are both just dyinggg of embarrassment but Darcy pulls himself together refuses to lose his advantage and runs to get dressed and chase her down before she leaves - just the mix of cringe and hopefulness at seeing her again is so well done and so attractive!!! (this is just the bit where he's running after her but I love it all!)

#hotjaneaustenmenpoll #semi finals #mr darcy #colonel brandon #pride and prejudice 1995 #sense and sensibility 1995 #pride and prejudice #sense and sensibility #jane austen #colin firth #alan rickman

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lixies-favorite-cookie · 2 months

Text

an ocean in a world full of puddles ◦ Chapter 1

-After being brushed off by Chan once again, you are stuck waiting in the lounge room for him to arrive. What are you going to do when it isn't Chan that arrives, but instead Felix? And it feels like you've known him for years."

words ◦ 5k

genre ◦ series, angst, fluff, the beginning of a wild ride

warnings ◦ chan is painted in sort of a negative light because he is always busy, felix is sort of shy around you at first, but lowkey flirty near the end as he starts to get more comfertable, theres a lot of fucks in this, i keep calling yall im dumb im sorry, fem!reader, felix calls her a lady once,

a/n ◦ The strikeouts are intentional to show how chaotic the reader's mind is and how she feels like her emotions are so invalid she has to just erase them away. I'm sorry if this isn't what you expected. I found myself struggling to describe certain aspects of this and was quite disappointed by the outcome (but please do not let this deter you. If anything, read it and let me know what you think/what I can change. Plus, I know the other parts are going to be way better than this).

also i listened to heather while writing this up until the phone number bit... then i listened to slow down by chase atlantic...do with that information as you will

A VERY VERY SPECAIL THANK YOU TO THESE BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE that helped me through the different struggles and stages in this fic I thank most of my unnecessary errors being fixed because of them @yongbun, @jeonginsleftcheek, @luvtak

masterlist ◦ a loved lived in between the stars and the sea

The human condition: a soul filled with passion, but not a mouth to spill it into.

It was ironic really.

Your soul was filled with passion, but you had a mouth to spill it into.

That mouth just didn't want your passion-

Your fervor-

Your ardor-

Romance practically coursed through your veins, your blood cells shaped like the hearts you saw the world through.

Chan was filled with passion.

Chan was filled with ardor.

Chan was filled with romance.

But Chan didn't want poetry-

Chan spilled too much soul into songs.

Songs that made him too busy for you.

The two of you saw the same goal, but spoke different languages-

Your love was often-

Lost in translation.

You shout, frustration poking in the pit of your stomach painting the car red you dig the pencil into the words scratching them out so hard you cut holes in the page that sounded so stupid

all of this was so stupid

your feelings-

stupid

your issues-

stupid

the thought that Chan was anything other than perfect-

stupid

Why couldn't you just be content with everything you have? So many girls would pay to be in your place, tripping over each other just to be in his presence, and yet, what, you're unhappy because you spoke different languages?

What the hell does that even mean?

You were trapped inside an inescapable box, the sharp edges of your unrealistic expectations like shackles that cut into your skin, bleeding with a passion only ever found in fiction.

Why were you always stuck?

stuck in the stars, stuck in the sea-

stuck in this stupid line of stupid traffic, waiting for a stupid meal that Chan probably will be too busy to eat with you, writing some stupid piece of poetry that was about as poetic as the rotting innards of unidentified roadkill.

stupid

“Finally,” you mumble as the car in front of you inches up, allowing you access to the next window. You politely bow, grab the trays from the worker’s hand, and drive off.

Your life quickly turned from the hope of a story to the reality of a routine. The road, the walls, the button your finger grazes as the doors to the elevator slam shut, the number of steps it takes to get to his room, the feel of cold metal underneath your palm as you open the door, the same hunch of his shoulders, the same glow of his laptop, the same empty look in his eyes.

the same

Most of your relationship is spent looking at him like this.

"Hey channie," you say, setting the food down on the empty spot beside his keyboard.

"Hi, love." His voice is nothing more than the ghost of a mumble, blending with the click and shift of his mouse, moving different blurs and blobs of color on the screen. Chan tended to get tunnel vision when he was working, even if that meant you were left stranded in the shadows of his forgotten responsibilities.

"I um brought you dinner." you clear your throat, pointing lamely at the boxes beside him like he couldn't clearly see they were there. He perks up, finally lifting his eyes to meet yours.

"Oh baby, thank you." The tension in his shoulders melts. "I'm sorry, you know how busy I am sometimes; right now it feels like I'm drowning in work," he chuckles, absentmindedly shifting in his chair.

you're always busy

You push a smile through the tangled ball of suppressed emotions climbing up your throat.

"I know you're busy, but do you think I could eat dinner with you today...please?" Your stomach twists in painful knots. It was pathetic really, the way you begged for attention like a needy dog more than a doting girlfriend, but you were desperate, scrambling to fan a flickering flame that felt long sputtered out.

stop

You knew what you were getting into when he asked you out—the stress, the anxiety, the workload, the long hours. Chan was always upfront and honest about the struggles of being an idols girlfriend, never wanting to veil your eyes from the harsh sting of realities rays.

then why does it still feel like your soul is burning?

He flicks his gaze to the screen, guilt gnawing at his core. There was so much to do in the day and just never enough time to do it. "I don't know, I don't really have a lot of time right now..." He mumbles, picking at the seam on his shorts apologetically, "Do you think you could wait about 20 minutes? I'm kind of on a roll here."

When your relationship was first blooming, your spirit would often shatter with those words, but pain only holds power when it isn't welcome, and as long as you are loved by him, you will accept the feeling with open arms.

"I'm going to go sit in the lounge room then." You try to keep the disappointment out of your tone, but it leaks through the cracks echoing in your chest, radiating in palpable waves. You clench your jaw, picking up your tray of food.

does he not care?

"Okay," The squeak of his chair indifferently swiveling back to its previous place echoes in your ears. Louder than anything you've ever heard.

he didn't even kiss you

1 hour 45 minutes and 13 seconds

That's how long you have been waiting in the lounge room for Chan to walk in the door.

that is how long you've been wallowing in a sad pathetic heap staring at your uneating supper

1 hour 45 minutes and 15 seconds now

16 seconds

17 seconds

You spin around when you hear the door creak open, anticipation fluttering in your stomach, only to plummet when you see Felix standing in the entrance, too busy shoveling a fork full of noodles in his mouth to notice your presence.

Felix was a familiar face, mostly associated with sweet smiles and bouncing eyes; you have only ever talked to him on a handful of occasions, possessing the basic relationship of hellos in the hallways and smiles when you enter the same room, but besides the couple times where he offered you some of his freshly baked brownies or told you which room Chan was in, you haven't actually had a conversation with the boy.

You groan, dramatically deflating in your seat.

Of course, it wasn't chan

Felix yelps, his heart leaping in his chest, only to wrap around his bones, doing trapeze tricks inside his ribs when he lays eyes on you—why, out of all the days he could have seen you, it was on the one day he was least ready, and the way your whole body slumps like a deflated balloon, it becomes crystal clear you weren't exactly jumping up and down to see him either.

Does Cupid have a vendetta against him or something?

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know anybody was in here," he stutters awkwardly, running his fingers through his hair like he was trying to fix it without a mirror. Disappointment quickly brews into guilt watching the way his eyes shift, hurt drooping his shoulders down.

"No, I'm sorry, it's not like that; I just thought—" You falter. What the hell did you think? Sorry, but I thought you were my boyfriend who left me here all by myself, and like usual, my stupid, hopeful heart really believed this time was going to be different. "You were someone different." You sink into the couch, a dull ache spiderwebbing through the chasms in your chest.

"Let me guess." His eyes crinkle with sympathy. "Chan."

You glance down at your ribs—some silly part of you really believed your shirt had blossomed with the crimson stain of your sorrows.

"How could you guess?" you mutter sarcastically, picking at the skin of your nails. Why did it seem like everybody else got the memo that if you were to search the thesaurus, your name would be the first word under forgotten?

"Well, really, it was a toss-up between you being with him for the past 5 years and the fact that he has been glued to his computer for the past 5 hours," he grins. "Pick your poison."

Your gaze drifts back to the couch that sits idly in front of you, lonely in the middle of the room, out of place, without the implant of another person's body.

"W-Well," he starts, shifting his bowl in his hands. "Do you... I don't know, want some company...maybe."

He's so awkward, so unsure, like a baby deer wobbling on unfamiliar legs, struggling to stay upright. You tilt your head, your lips pulling up into an adoring grin; you never really noticed it before, but he was sort of shy. You had a terrible tendency to take your time observing people unintentionally, causing discomfort to the victims of your restless brain—assessing in silence.

His ears burn when your eyes gloss over with an opaque glaze. His heart drops only for those silly little butterflies that always appear when you are around to swarm their wings around the lump growing in his throat.

Well, that was a bust.

Why couldn't he just be normal around you?

"O-Or not, that's fine too. I-I get it; you're probably l-like waiting for Chan or whatever. I-I can go get him if you would like." He jerks his thumb behind him, forgetting he was holding something for a second, stumbling to catch it right before it falls. You snicker, biting your lips to contain your laughter. His eyes flutter shut, scrunching his nose in embarrassment.

He was cute

Why haven't you talked to him before?

"No, please sit down," you lazily gesture to the couch in front of you. "It's not like Chan's going to be coming down anytime soon."

He sighs, his whole body melting with relief, practically forming into the couch when he shuffles over, adjusting himself to comfortably sit with his legs wide and his head tilted down. He picks up his fork just before whispering, "I'm sorry that he kept you waiting," and stuffing his face. You smile, the sight all sorts of endearing. The amount of food stuffed into his cheeks puffs them out, forcing his mouth into a pout that's smeared with red sauce. For a moment, you almost forget that you're supposed to be groveling, but why would life want to let you live when instead it could remind you constantly how much it sucks?

"I'm used to it." You learn to live with the absence of air when your hope always causes you to suffocate.

"You shouldn't have to be," he murmurs, his hand politely veiling his mouth while he chews. He's staring at his food like his noodles were an impossible labyrinth he's forced to escape, completely oblivious to the cataclysmic sentence he just uttered. Your jaw drops, stomach fluttering with butterflies, butterflies that you could’ve sworn burned out a long time ago. When most of your time is spent in a constant state of apocalypse, you forget the side effects of a romanticism, felt before your soul was littered with the echos of war.

"Oh?"

"Are you not going to eat?" He questions, forehead creased with concern as he gestures to the food that was currently burning a hole in the table. You stare at him stupidly, mouth ever so slightly agape. Did he not notice that there were swarms of zombified insects burrowing their way into your belly, kaleidoscopes charred wings creating panic in your pounding heart?

(cookie interruptions: I was today years old when I found out that a kaleidoscope was the technical term for a swarm of butterflies)

Why was he making you feel so jittery?

"Oh," you blink, giving an imperceptible shake of the head—a weak attempt to gather your disoriented thoughts.

Honestly, you had forgotten it was there.

"I was waiting to eat with Chan..." You mutter through the tufts of wool still stuffed in your head, wrapping your fingers around the tray, but when you pull open its flappy lid, your lips pull into a sneer glaring at the congealed sauce and cold noodles. You weren't surprised that your food had spoiled over the 2 hours you had been waiting, but it didn't make the frustration that bubbled in your gut any less apparent either. "But clearly, that hope was shortlived," you scoff, chucking the useless tray back on the table.

Felix clears his throat, adjusting himself in his seat. He often found himself tiptoeing on the edge of insanity, always rewriting the words he wanted to say, terrified you had written a line in the sand the waves had washed away.

You were a star with a heart tied to the sea, where he would have more success breaking the bond of the moon than turning the tides of the ocean that suffocated your soul.

So for now, he will coast the cosmos alone, waiting for the day you will finally look his way.

"You can have some of mine... if you want," he whispers, shyly scooting his cup over to you. "It's salmon-flavored; it's really good."

"Are you sure?" you blink, utterly flummoxed.

"Yeah, of course!" You swore you could trace the stories of the sky in the gaps where his freckles glowed.

"Thank you; I promise I won't eat too much," you joke, pulling out your fork. "I don't mind it, really. I can always make more as long as you're eating I'm okay," he grins, sliding his hand out of the way to allow room for yours, grateful for his generosity; you bite back a smile, digging into the hot noodles; a spicy flavor pulled straight from the sea explodes on your tongue as soon as the food meets your lips.

You swear you just tasted heaven's gates.

"Holy shit, this is delicious," you moan, rolling your eyes back in your head.

"I'm glad you like it," he smirks. "It's my special recipe."

"So you do more than bake, huh?" you waggle your brows lightheartedly, though you were sort of impressed by his broad palette of skills.

"You know that I bake!?" He was still recovering from the shock that you even knew his name—the way he often dissolves into the wall when you enter the room.

"Of course, I know that you bake; I always have to eat at least half of the plate of brownies Chan brings home." You giggle, picking at the noodles, wanting more but feeling guilty for hogging the whole bowl.

"Oh, I'm full," he stretches, rubbing his stomach like a stuffed cartoon character.

"Are you lying?" Cynism was a side effect of being a creative romanticist—your artistic brain didn't limit itself to only forming one conclusion, while the stories that ended up on paper were solely portrayed as having happy endings—you knew this philosophy was neither sadistic nor realistic, for even if the fictional characters made up of the fluid of your mind betrayed each other, what would a human, evil in its rawest form, do to you?

well that was melodramatic

"You know you're a very skeptical person," he jests, pulling his lips ever so slightly up.

"I'm a hopeless romantic; there's a difference," you state, stuffing your face when you finish studying him down to the very twitch of his right calf muscle.

"Aren't hopeless romantics supposed to be happy-go-lucky all the time? Seeing the world through rose-colored glasses and stuff?"

"You know we are called hopeless for a reason," you snort, unrealistic standards were more of a curse than a blessing.

Scratch that, having unrealistic standards is just a curse

“Being a hopeless romantic is like being an ocean in a world full of puddles.” Your soul speaks like his fingertips have felt its walls a million times before “devastating.”

He stares at you gobsmacked, blinking like you just hit him over the head with a mallet. Your mind kicks into gear, anxious little butterflies flipping on the switch for damage control.

that must have sounded so self-centered

"I-I didn't mean, like, in a cocky way, I'm better than other people. I just meant it's impossible to pour my passion anywhere because everybody else doesn't have room to take it. If anything, I-Im the bad one in this scenario.” You stutter, sporadically shaking your hands, worried that the misconception is going to create a concrete opinion. He quickly waves you off, seeming anything but bothered.

“An ocean in a world full of puddles that's pretty deep,” he implores, treating the words like age-old wine to be sipped with both time and deference. “You know you should really consider being a poet 'cause that like moved my soul.” Only Lee Felix can make humor sound so honest.

Why was he so ...amazed

"I like to think I'm a poet." Your cheeks are painted red as you bashfully tilt your head down.

but right now not so much

“You can't think you're a poet,” he chuckles. “If you ever wanted to read somebody your stuff, I would be happy to help…Maybe it could fix your uncertainty." Something twinkles in his eyes, something nervous yet desperate, something you couldn't quite pinpoint while your stomach was sprinting in circles—the mere thought of showing somebody else your poetry was the equivalent of slicing your heart in half and presenting it to the world on live television.

basically, something that will never happen never ever

"No, no, no, it's nothing like that. I don't really write poetry per se; I just write my..." You trail off.

What do you write?

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he reassures, his warm smile cooling the icy anxiety that crystallized around your core.

Why do you do this to yourself??

Stupid Felix and his stupid power to loosen your lips-

stupid. stupid. stupid.

To be a poet is to be vulnerable; no great art is ever created comfortably.

Fuck it

“I write my dreams,” you blurt, peeking out through your clenched eyelids to see if Felix caught the spit of a sentence; clearly, he did the way he lifts his brows thoughtfully.

“Elaborate”

A man of many annoying questions you see

“Why,” you groan, sinking into your seat almost comically.

"Because I want to listen to you," he laughs like whiskey and wine, both husky and rich. You choke, your heart imploding into a million tiny, rose-shaped pieces.

"Nobody wants to listen to me ramble on about hopeless fantasies that will never come true," you sputter, still trying to reshape your rose-shaped shatters into something that resembles an organ.

"I do."

Oh well, there they go again, forming right back into roses-

He made all of this seem like a complex game of chess, every move of hesitance quickly countered by a block of honesty.

From the moment you could write, you found out that paper was not volatile the way people were, how you could erase a word written but, in time, in life, you cannot erase a sentence said—that philosophy stuck with you, forever rendering you apprehensive to vocalize your feelings.

Maybe it was your soft spot for the stars that made you speak, but either way, when your mouth opened, it felt as though all your past doubts had washed away, and for once, you were free.

"I have always held onto my dreams through the tip of a pen, existing in between the lines of my poetry. But I don't write about deep philosophical pearls of wisdom; I write about love, passion, beauty. I write about coffee and cream, roses and vanilla. I write what I think romance tastes like, how the contrast of the most iconic confessions has been written in the rain, a usually gloomy, grey thing completely transformed through the lenses of love…" You sigh, tilting your head against the back of the cushion in bliss.

"I write the way I want to love, for I know it's the only way to quell my heart's aching urge to live anywhere but reality."

He stares at you eerily still, blinking once, twice, three times."

Why wasn't he saying anything?

Perhaps you were drunk off Felix's promises, or the cracks Chan created in your chest made you bleed with a passion only ever reserved for your poetry. But either way, you felt naked—exposed under his exploring eyes.

"What?" You croak, picking at the sleeve of your shirt.

Why did everybody act like you were crazy?

Was there something wrong with you?

You are floating in the asteroid belt, a thousand tiny rocks hovering around your head.

"Maybe you're just not looking in the right places." There’s a deep intensity in his eyes, a million roaring waves crashing against each other; you run face-first into a meteor, bouncing around the surfaces of a weightless space.

How many brain-altering revelations could Felix bestow before your brain cracks?

"You know, I haven't even told my friends that," you deflect. It was a dangerous game, diving too deep into your thoughts, and right now, with him—with that statement, danger could quickly bleed into destruction.

"So, I'm not your friend?" Clearly, Felix catches on to the sudden swerve of the conversation, how he eases into it with such grace, jestingly poking your knee.

"This is the first time I've ever had a real conversation with you," you scoff, poking him right back. His jaw drops in faux offense.

"You know, I just gave you my food. I think that deserves an upgrade into friendship territory," he states matter-of-factly.

Two can play at that game-

"I don't have your number; usually friends have each other's number." You place your elbows on your knees. He has been playing a metaphorical game of chess with you this whole time, his pawns moving ever so slightly forward. He forced your hand, the comfortability in your eyes making openings on the board you never meant to create. His rook, his bishop, his queen—they kiss the place right below your king.

You had one more trick up your sleeve-

You were a creative romantic whose moves were nothing less than a story, and you were going to be damned if you let your king be captured.

Now, where's the happy ending in that?

(cookie interruptions… I dont know what this is nor why i am so dramatic but hey what can you do ALSO LISTEN TO SLOW DOWN BY CHASE ATLANTIC I BEGTH OF YOU )

He leans forward, pressing his tongue against his cheek. The fabric of his shirt stretches across the hard ridges of his abs—

No, stop it, bad y/n.

"Do you want it?" He leans his head ever. So. Slightly. Forward

"Maybe I do."

"Maybe I'll give it to you," soft, smooth voice-

you narrow your eyes,

"What will Chan think?"

"It doesn't matter what Chan thinks-"

"Tell that to Chan-"

"Maybe I will." His lips-

"You know, if Chan saw us here right now, he would not be very happy." You suck your teeth.

Check-

He scoffs. Moves his bishop.

You're right back where you started.

"You're not his pet."

"Yeah, but I am his girlfriend." Block.

"Those two words are not synonymous," he says. Moves his queen.

Too many openings, too many moves, too many pieces on the board.

Too many outcomes.

Do you even still want to play?

Weren't you the one who started the game?

You bite your cheek, his eyes burning like molten amber, glinting in the overhead lights.

Should you have really asked for his number?

What would Chan think if he saw it in your phone?

Who were you kidding? He would actually have enough time to look at your phone.

"You know," he leans back, extending his arms to drape across the couch, pushing his thighs ever so slightly apart. Gone is the man with smiles like sugar; determination wisps across his face like spits of fire, overtaking every feature."If I give you my number, I'm going to have to help you unlearn your engraved cynicism." He's closing in on you, moving all his pawns in one fair swoop. You're surrounded, swarmed.

"You can't ungrave something it's scientifically impossible." You shift your king. One last dying breath-

Before-

"I can try."

Checkmate

And like every person of honor does when they have nobly lost a battle they created-

You run away.

“I have to admit, as much as I loved this conversation, I really should be going,” you say, picking up your tray of forgotten food to chuck in the trash, leaving Felix's bowl on the table. He jumps up, scrambling to pick up his mess while you dart out the door, tossing the tray in the can just outside the room.

“Wait,” he gasps, stumbling to catch up with your speed. Your finger, out of habit, moves to press the button to the elevator doors—that is, before he catches it, his warm hand wraps around your wrist.

“Now, what gentleman would I be making a lady get her own door?” He bellows, voice deep and low, a sound echoing through his chest as the fabric of his shirt kisses your back. He’s so close, so close, so—

How long has it been since you've been touched?

Heat. You're drenched in it, painted in it, enveloped in it.

His hand grazes your skin as he slides up your wrist, his finger extending to press the button.

Your breath hitches.

Body shutters.

Every atom erupting in flames.

The elevator doors slam open-

Your brain clicks back into place-

“Will I be seeing you again?” Your hot, so hot. He’s hot, so hot. Breath—it tickles your ear. Disoriented, so disoriented.

“I still don't have your number,” you manage to utter, slipping into the doors. His face will be the final thing you see as you descend down the shaft, lifelessly walking to your car where you will go home, go to sleep, and start your routine all over again. He smirks, flicking his eyes to your pants.

“Yes, you do.”

I do?

The doors inch shut, and a small, teeny-tiny part of you wants to wrench them open, pull him in, force him into the stanzas of your story. You are tired—tired of waiting for your life to begin, tired of repeating the same vicious cycle.

But that wasn't you talking-

That was the hopeless part of your personality,

The unrealistic-

The fiction-

Life wasn't a game and reality wasn't a book.

You had a good thing going wth Chris and you were going to be damned to ruin it just because of one fun conversation.

You reach one finger into the back pocket, feeling around for what Felix could have been talking about.

There's no way.

Your skin brushes across a smooth surface—something that definitely wasn’t there before.

There's no fucking way.

You pull it out.

It's pink and folded and definitely written on. You unfold it.

XXX-XXX-XXXX. Just in case you ever need an editor or a friend.

Oh well, fuck the game. He just flipped over the whole damn chessboard.

Read Chapter 2 here

160 notes · View notes

acidsoju · 7 months

Text

MUSE

genre: smut, college au, non idol. pairing: poetry major!soobin x art major!femreader warnings: alcohol, dom sobin, sub reader, safe sex, oral (m. and f. receiving) word count: 4.9k summary: college life can bring really stressfull times, just like what you're experiencing now; absorbed in frustration, you can't seem to find inspiration for a painting that's supposed to be crucial in your grades. lucky for you, you seem to have eyed the perfect guy to help you.

“What are you wearing?”

Your lips trembled in annoyance, trying to close the door in your friend’s face, but he was quickly enough to stop you and pushed it open. Making his way into your home, Yeonjun sat down on your couch and leaned back, turning on the tv and flashing an innocent smile at you.

“Why are you here?” You asked him, already knowing why as you had read the multiple texts he’d sent you since this morning.

“We’re partying, duh.” His eyes went down to your pink pyjamas pants. “But, please, first get a shower and a change of clothes. I'm not going out with you looking like a lost puppy.”

“How about no?”

“Agh, c’mon!” He whined, sitting up straight and looking up at you with a pout in his lips. “I haven’t seen you since Monday and we live literally next to each other” You opened your mouth, but Jun cut you off with a roll of his eyes. “I know, I know, you’re working on your arty thingy and want to get the best grade possible, but you need a change of air and I bet everty single penny I own that you’ve only gotten out of this place to buy fast food at the convenience store.”

This time you rolled your eyes, but you didn’t answer. He was right. You knew it and he, obviously, knew it too. Thing was, you had been working your ass off on an oil piece that was driving you insane. Since Monday, you had spent most of the days and nights mixing colors, swinging your brushes and wiping tears of frustration. Nothing you did was to your liking, nothing was at the level of the ideas you had in your head which were, apparently, impossible to transfer to the canva.

“So? What'ya say?” Jun grabbed your hand and pulled off the puppy eyes he had mastered since the age of two. You smiled, relaxing yourself and surrendering.

“Where to, tonight?” He squealed and jumped off his seat, hugging you tightly enough to make you breathless for a second. Jun wasted no time in dragging you down the hall to your bathroom.

“I know this guy, he’s having a party in his house tonight.” Jun closed the door between the two of you and as you undressed he kept talking on the other side. “You know Taehyun? The one majoring in dramatic arts?”

“Mhm, I've heard of a dramatic Taehyun.” You hummed in response, getting into the shower, getting goosebumps at the chilly air hitting your skin. “And you sure I'm invited?”

“Everyone’s invited, y/n. Haven’t you checked your social media either? Goodness…”

After your shower, with yourself wrapped in a towel, you got out of the bathroom and walked into your room. Jun was standing facing your closet, with a serious look on his face holding his chin in his hand.

“Don’t pick my clot-

“Here, wear this and put on this too” Your friend threw some pieces of clothing literally to your face. Of course, Yeonjun the major of fashion design wouldn’t let you pick out of your own clothes. Yeonjun as it is wouldn’t either. But truth was, he knew you well enough and had actually picked up some really cute stuff, so no complain was made by you.

You got dressed up after shooing Jun out of your room and finished getting ready. You friend waited for you in the couch, scrolling through his phone. He looked up and smiled brightly once you entered the room.

“That’s the cutie I know.”

Jun drove you both to Taehyun’s house which was bigger than you expected. The mansion-like-house had all its windows and the door opened, welcoming just anyone who wanted to come in. The loud music broking into the silence of the night mixed with laughter and cheering up screams.

“Y/n? Is that you?” Beomgyu opened his mouth feigning surprise. You scoffed; you had seemed him just last week. “God, it’s been ages since we saw each other! Just how old are you know?”

“Shut up” You smiled at your friend, who dropped the bad act and smiled back, hugging you tightly before greeting Jun with a tight hug.

You had missed your friends, but you had just picked on that fact. Being inside your house too much had mad you oblivious to natural things and feelings, it seemed. You followed Gyu to the kitchen where all the drinks were placed on the counter. You eyed all up, debating which drink you should take. Just as you grabbed a bottle of soju, Jun took a shot of tequila as if it was mere water while two boys cheered on him.

“Good thing you’re driving tonight.” You told him, an accusatory look on your face. He shrugged and leaned to speak in your ear so you could hear him better over the music.

“Guess we’ll have to crash here.”

Well that was an idea that didn’t excited you so much.

“Hi!” The previous boys smiled at you. The one speaking pointed to himself. “I'm Kai, from your department. You're y/n, right?”

“Oh yeah, I've seen you around.”

“This is Taehyun” Kai said pointing at his friend, the owner of the house you assumed, who smiled at you.

“Glad you could make it, hope you can feel better after tonight.” You looked at him intrigued by his words. “Jun told us you’d been kinda on edge lately, something about uni stuff?”

“Oh, is this about the oil canva assignment?” Kai asked. You grimaced; you didn’t really wanted to be reminded of your frustrated attempts at what was supposed to be easy for you. Still, you nodded and lifted the bottle to your lips. “Man, I get you. I struggled like four days at it, but I'm glad I finished it” Kai’s smile faltered when Taehyun nudged him. “Of course, I'm sure you’ll be able to soon, I've seen your work, it’s really beautiful.”

“Here, have a shot with me” A small glass filled with transparent liquid appeared in front of your eyes. Jun winked at you as you grabbed the glass. He even made you intertwingle your arms before taking the shot. The burning sensation did help you forget about the awful reminder that at home still awaited for you what could be days of frustration.

Jun laughed at the face you were making, planting a chaste kiss on your forehead before turning around to keep chatting with Taehyun and Kai. Just beside them, Beomgyu was apparently trying to break a record of alcoholaemia as he gulped down cup by cup strangers handed to him.

“Hey, Soobin! Here!” Taehyun screamed over the music to someone else the second a he put a step into the kitchen. He approached the group, greeting everyone with a shy smile. You just mumbled a hello while nodding in his direction. Taehyun hugged his shoulders with and arm and smiled in the group’s direction. At the same time, Kai slipped a drink into Soobin’s hands. Nice hands.

Your eyes darted unconsciously down at his hands. They were quite pretty. Like white porcelain colored, with long and slender fingers. You found yourself mesmerized by the non-stopping tapping of his fingertips against the glass bottle.

“Oh, I've seen you around campus,” Gyu said, taking a little break from swallowing down alcohol. “you won that poetry contest last year, right?

“Yeah” He replied smiling coyly before taking a small sip from the bottle.

This time your eyes fell heavy upon his features. He surely was beautiful. Your eyes didn’t moved as he lifted the bottle to his lips once more and drank, the liquid leaving a faded shiny trace on his lips; it was starting to feel like you were on some kind of trance. Maybe it was the alcohol already in your system, but when Soobin caught you staring at him intensely, you didn’t look away. Instead, you shamelessly looked at him more.

Was it possible to get the pumped texture of his lips on a painting?

“Boy’s gonna get creaped out.” Jun whispered in your ear, dragging you down from your little cloud by softy tugging at your shirt. You caught Soobin’s eyes looking at him before going back to you, before looking away. You looked over your shoulder at your smirking friend. “Let’s go rock that dancefloor.”

“God, finally” You breathed in deeply the fresh air of the night as you stepped out of the agglomarated house. Dancing was fun; drinking was fun too; dancing and drinking with Jun was fun as ever, but it wasn’t so much fun getting bumped at and pushed by the people around you.

Taehyun's house was beautiful from what you could caught on as it was completly filled with people. Just guessing, you had walked away from the living room where Jun was still dancing with some other people he knew, trying to find what should be the yard they probably had.

You walked cautiously near the pool and wasted no time before taking off your shoes to let your toes sink in the cold water, as you sat on the edge and finally leaned back against the grass, looking into the night sky.

Again, your thoughts wandered around that damn canva waiting for you back at home. It was impossible not to. Even in your dreams you struggled about it. It frustrated you so much being stuck in a place, but it frustrated you even more being stuck at something you knew you were good at and enjoyed.

Maybe I should paint a night sky filled with starts or just the constellations, or is it too easy of a way out? Maybe I could paint a scenery, but I'm sure I won’t be the only one doing it… What about a sentiment, maybe I can try portraying a feeling, maybe nostalgia; sorrow? Grief? Lov-

“Are you okay?” You gasped suddendly startled and looked at the tall figure standing a few feet away, looking down at your lost-it-thought self. Soobin walked a little closer and kneeled at your side. Then, he lifted his hand showing two long fingers while looking you dead serious in the eye. “How many fingers do you see?”

You couldn’t help but to laugh loudly in his face.

“I’m fine” You got your back up from the grass and sit properly to face him. Soobin’s eyes scanned you, unsure. You scoffed. “Two fingers.”

“Good” He nodded, smiling softly. You were able to noticed the little dimple on his cheek and blinked. Could a man get even more beautiful in less than 24 hours?

Soobin sat down next to you and looked up at the sky just as you had before. Your eyes, again, were glued at him and when he looked again at you, his raven hair falling over his eyes, your breath was caught in your chest for a second.

“Is something wrong?” He asked, tilting his head slightly.

“You’re really beautiful” You mumbled. His lips darted open. “Sorry, that just came out.”

There was a moment of silence between you two before he said:

“It’s fine. I'm the one who should have said that” oh.

Oh.

“Oh.” You said under your breath. Soobin laughed softly and looked up at the sky again.

“So what were you doing here, anyway?” He asked, looking at you from the corner of his eye as you sat facing ahead again. You hummed.

“I needed a moment to breath, y'know? It’s been a while since I've come to a party”

“Isn’t Yeonjun going to worry if you leave for too long?”

“Maybe, if he isn’t drunk enough to pass out already,” You scoffed. “can you believe he’s the responsible driver for tonight?”

That made Soobin turned his head to look at you with a concern in his eyes. You noticed the worried expression and bite back a laugh; he was really cute.

“Don’t worry, he’s not taking me home tonight.”

“Who is then?”

Maybe Gyu could? But honestly, you didn’t think he was a good option either as you recalled him practically inhaling alcohol just a few hours ago.

Sighing, you shrugged. “I'll just walk”

“Let me take you home.”

“Mh?” You arched an eyebrow in his direction. You’re sure you saw Soobin drinking too. You couldn’t help but smile as you lifted up your hand and showed him two fingers, just like he did a moment ago. “How many fingers do you see?”

Soobin scoffed, but the smile on his face was fighting its way. His teeth chew on his bottom lip, his eyes shining like the stars above you. “Very clever”

“What can I say?” you shurggued.

“But really, though, can I take you home?” His eyes fixated on you. You tilted your head slightly looking at him before answering:

“Why?”

“It’s gonna burn my conscience if you walk home alone at night and something happens to you”.

“... Fair enough, I’ll take the offer.”

“Good.”

Soobin got up quickly and offered you his hand, which you didn’t hesitate to take. He didn't loosen the grip on your hand once you were in your feet again, the warm feeling spreading all over you from your hand. You cleared your throat before taking a small step back, feeling the warmth reach your cheeks.

“Wait, let me check on my friends first.” You said after putting on your shoes back. “Wait for me on the entrance?” Soobin nodded and you walked into the kitchen again, where Kai and Gyu were laughing their lungs off.

“Oh, y/n!” Gyu exclaimed, throwing his arms around you and putting all his weigh on you. Kai giggled while you visibly struggled not to fall to the floor. “I really missed you. Do you know my friend Kai?”

“Hi y/n!” Kai said, copying Gyu and embracing you and Gyu one a bigger hug.

“Yeah, hi. I'm leaving, ‘kay?”

“Booh!”

“What? No! You can’t” Gyu protested, practically screaming in your face.

“I can and I will, Soobin’s taking me home.” You grabbed Gyu’s face in your hands and forced him to focus on your words. “Drink more slowly, okay? I'll talk to you tomorrow, promise.”

“Mmmm’kay.” Gyu mumbled, nodding softly, his eyes heavy as he tried to focus on your blurred face.

“Soobin’s really nice.” Kai added, still hugging both of you.

“Yeah, I think so too. See you around, Kai.”

Once you stepped out of the kitchen, it wasn’t hard to spot Jun’s drunken ass sitting with some random people, sitting down on a big couch on the corner of the room.

“Hi baby!” He stiffened in his seat and hugged your waist once you stood next to him. “You left me behind, meannie.”

“Sorry, needed a break. I'm going home, what 'bout you? Want a ride too?” It wasn’t your car and you hand’t ask soobin either, but you imagined he wouldn’t mind since Jun and you were neighbors.

“Ugh, no way! I'm having fun!” He giggled, but then his face got serious and looked up at you trying to focus. “I didn’t know you knew how to drive”.

“I don’t.”

“You’re not going back walking!?”

“Soobin’s taking me.”

“Who?”

“Taehyun’s friend.”

“Ah, the cutie?” Jun pouted. “’Kay, but be careful”

“Of course, Junnie.” You bent down and kissed his forehead before walking away.

Outside, you spotted Soobin waiting for you standing on the sidewalk, talking to a girl who looked up at him with heart in her eyes.

“... give me your number?” You heard her ask. You stopped in your track and looked away, trying not to interrupt the conversation.

“No, sorry.”

“What? Why not?” she whined, only gaining a heavy sigh from the boy in front of her.

“Do I know you?”

“Well, I’m-

“Oh, y/n, you ready?” Soobin caught the sight of you a few feet behind and smiled, completely ignoring the girl who he just got cut off. “Let’s go”.

“Are you… sure?” you asked, not really moving from your spot, looking at the girl beside him. He nodded enthusiastically, which, of course, made you want to smile since he was so cute, but you hold it back.

“Yeah, hurry, I wanna leave.” Soobin quickly took a few steps to you and pulled from your sleeve. “C’mon.”

You mumbled a goodbye to the girl who looked at him with a sad look and walked behind him to his car. He opened the door for you and waited till you got in to close it. The inside was warm compared to the coldness of the night and Soobin's scent reached your senses as soon as you were in the car.

He started driving once you told him your direction. The only thing you could hear was each other’s beath and it made you feel kinda nervous, so you asked Soobin if hearing music while driving was okay for him, to which he agreed before you turned on the radio.

“Looks like you’re kinda popular.” You said trying to start a conversation for the ride not to feel so long. “You won last year’s poetry contest, you said?”

“Yeah, did you read it?” He asked, his eyes never leaving the road in front of him.

You hadn’t. You did remember last year’s furor about that guy who’d won, even Jun said it was a really wonderful written piece. Still, when you had tried to read it you ended up falling asleep. After all, reading wasn’t exactly your forte.

“Something like that.” Your mumbled, gaining a soft laugh from the driver.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means I tried but fell asleep,” You confessed, chewing on your lip. “but in my defense I’m an art major, I don’t really do words. Besides, you haven’t seen any of my works bef-

“Oh, but I have thought.” He said, cutting you off -which seemed like kind of a habit if you were honest-, looking a second at you from the corner of his eyes. “I’ve seen your work, you're great. I could tell you love what you do just from that expo last semester... I like it when people do what they enjoy."

You sighed, shifting in your seat. “I like it too but honestly, recently it’s been too much.”

“How so?”

You told Soobin about your daily struggle with the the oil assignment you couldn’t get done. How you’d tried changing the topic of the painting, new ideas, new techniques, but nothing felt right.

“I get what you say, I’ve had moments when my writing doesn’t go as I’d want. It really is consuming.”

“Really? How did you pulled it off?” You asked, genuinely curious. Soobin stayed silent a second too long before clearing his throat, a fade shade of red tinting his ears.

“I found some ways to relieve stress.” Oh.

Oh.

“You think you could show me?”

Soobin's lips stretched into a little smirk. He stopped the car in the parking lot of your building, finally turning to look at you. His hands quickly unfastened his seatbelt before leaning in towards you, his big hand cupping your cheek. “Would you like that?” His dark eyes stared intensely at you, his thumb caressing your soft skin.

As soon as the door of your place closed behind your back, you were pressed against it. Soobin’s lips crashed hardly onto yours making you groan in a pain, that quickly subsided. His hands grabbed your hips firmly; his hot breath hitting against your face as he tilted his head to a side, deepening the kiss and poking your lips with his warm tongue.

You couldn't help but copy the gasp that left his lips when you pulled softly at the hairs located on the nape of his neck. His tongue shamelessly colliding against yours as he eat you alive.

Your breaths were heavy, painting as you pulled apart. Your eyes falling to his plump lips, darted open lips. Easily giving in, you caught in between your teeth his bottom lip and softly tugged at it. His eyes pleaded while a soft whine scaped from him, hands moving up to meet the exposed skin on your waist and pressed you closer against his body.

Letting drop his head to a side, Soobin started kissing on your neck, biting occasionally while his hands moved smoothly up and down your soft and wamr skin. By now, you were a sighing mess.

Still, nothing stopped you as your hands trailed down Soobin’s chest reaching the tent in his pants. He gasped against your shoulder when you grabbed his hard dick over the clothe. His hips involuntarily thrusting into your touch. You wasted no time as you slid your hand inside his pants and boxers, biting your lip as your hand closed around him before moving up and down his length; him, shuddering with his head still hiding in your neck flinched when you called his name so prettily.

“Soobin,” His dick twitched as a response. You reached his ear enough to plant a soft kiss on it before continuing: “let me eat you out.”

“Oh, god."

Soobin fell onto your couch, looking up at you with hunger in his eyes as you studied him carefully. Soobin’s red ears, his heated breath, the intense look in his eyes, his parted open, delicious lips, the way his thighs opened wide for you to place in between them, the tip of his cock coyly sticking up to his abdomen and barely showing from under his clothes. He looked so fucking hot waiting for you.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt and slowly close your lips around him, enjoying the taste of him. His hands grabbed the back of your thighs, just underneath of your ass, and it felt like his fingers were melting down with you. Your mouth moved down, from his lips to his neck and then his chest, down to his abdomen reaching the wet tip of his dick.

Soobin pulled of his shirt over his head, his hair ruffling even more while you pulled down both his jeans and boxers. A hard, raspy groan erupted from the back of his throat when your pretty lips covered his leaking, tasting his pre-cum on your tongue.

“Fuck, y/n…” He mumbled, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes as you tried to take all of him in your mouth which, was pretty fucking difficult as he was just too big. Still, you pushed yourself down on his length, eyes watering up as his tip reached the back of your throat. “So fucking h-hot."

His groaning continued as you bobbed your head up and down, feeling his dick twitching as you whined whenever his tip reached deep inside your mouth.

You knew he was close once he started bucking up his hips, thrusting into your mouth at a fast pace while you let him fucked your mouth, your own spit slidding down your chin. The ropes of cum filled your throat and you quickly swallowed it down, the clenching of your mouth making Soobin shudder as he was sensitive.

“Not fair, come here.” He panted. His hand clasped your cheeks and kissed you, tasting himself on your mouth, both groaning at each other. He swiftly changed positions and laid you down on the couch, with himself kneeling in between your legs. His fingers quickly pulling off your own clothes and blindly throwing them somewhere in the room.

“This was supposed to be me helping you out, not the other way around, baby.” You ignored the way your cheeks burned up, not really sure if it was because your bare core facing the gorgeous man in front of you or the way he called you baby.

He laid down on his chest, grabbing your tights and throwing them over his shoulders. His hot breath against your core made you shiver. His eyes were glued to your wet entrance; his lips turning into a quick smirk, glancing up at you, tongue linking his swollen lips.

“You’re already so wet, did you like my dick that much?”

“Shut up, just eat me out alrea- oh” Soobin’s tongue’s long lick against your wet folds was a very nice way to cut you off. He gave a few more licks against your entrance, which had you rolling your eyes till the back of your head, while his nose rubbed against your clit, humming at the taste of you.

Unconsciously, your hands grabbed his hair and pulled making him groan against your pussy. One of his large hands pressed down on your stomach, trying to keep your hips in place when you started grinding against his face.

You moaned at the pretty sight of him between your legs; his eyebrows knitted togheter while his head moved up and down, eating you out like some kind of starved man. When he inserted a finger in your core, you threw your head back biting down on your lip to prevent being so loud.

"Fuck... s'close, Soobin." Oh, the way you said his name was music to his ears. He inserted another one of his pretty fingers into you, fucking you with them while his tongue rolled over and over against your knob. He felt your gummy walls clenching around his fingers before they were all covered in the juices.

You panted heavily as if you had run a marathon while he sat down on his knees again, taking out of you his fingers before licking them clean, his eyes fixated on yours.

“You good?”

“Are you kidding? I could do this all night.” You answered, trying to sound cool. He chuckled and towered over you, kissing you hungerly while griding down his trobbing cock against your wet cunt.

“W-wait.” You pushed him a little. He petrified. “A condom.”

Oh, right. He forgot. Was he about to have unprotected sex with you? He waited patiently while you looked for one in your room and when you came back, he took it off your hands and put it on really fast; you couldn’t help but chuckle at his eagerness.

You climbed over his lap, straddling him. His hands pressed against your ass, positioning you just above his tip. He looked up at you with such enthusiasm you couldn’t help to softly caress his cheek before sliding down on his dick. His eyes rolled to the back of his head while his plump lips formed a perfect 'o' shape. Fuck, he was so hot.

“You’re so- fuck, baby, still so tight, uh?" Soobin quickly pulled off your shirt over your head and unclasped your bra before his mouth covered one of your exposed breasts, licking at your nipple while the other one was masaged by his hand. He moaned still with your breast filling his mouth when he felt you clenching around him. "Fucking ride me, baby, please."

You started bouncing up and down his length; his feeling pressing hard into your skin as he moaned, looking up at you with his bottom lip clasped by his teeth if he wasn't busy licking at your breasts. You threw your head back when he started bucking up his hips into you, hardening your pace.

"Gonna c-cum, gonna cum, baby." He said, panting and squeezing your ass so hard that it felt numb.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." You chanted, the hard slaps of his heavy balls hitting against your core driving your insane. You couldn't even say anything before you cummed, your walls clenching so hard against Soobin's cock. He grunted at the feeling of his dick being asphyxiated by your so wet and so tight insides, before cumming himself as well.

You both panted heavily as Soobin fell on your side, his head hiding in the crook of your neck and his arm around your waist. He forced himself to get up and help you get clean; when he walked back into the living room, after disposing of the used condom and with a clean towel to clean you up, you were already passed out on the couch. He chuckled quietly and cleaned you up trying not to wake you up.

He carried you to your room and tucked you in your bed, covering your naked-self with your bedover.

Should I sleep here too?

While debating what to do, Soobin looked around your room. It was indeed an art major’s room. Pilled up on a corner where some old pieces made by you as homework, collecting dust. Your desk and even your wardrobe was invaded by all kind of brushes and paint jars.

He liked it. A lot.

Soobin didn’t notice you barely opening your eyes while he looked around. You stretched out your hand and softly pulled at his fingers.

“What’ya doing?” You mumbled lazily moving to a side on your bed, never letting go of his fingers. Soobin didn’t put any kind of resistance either as you pulled him into the bed. “Let’s sleep."

Soobin hummed, a soft smile on his lips as he covered you both and hugged you under the cover. “Mm’kay, baby.”

You woke up really early that morning, embraced by a pair of firm arms pressing you against a warm body. Soobin’s slow breaths filled the silence of your room. You looked up at him, mesmerized.

You managed to get up without waking him up. After all, it was still kinda early and you two had gone to bed so late last night.

The memories of last night rushed at once into your head, making you blush from head to toes. You didn’t even notice when you sat down, facing the blank canva in the living room and started painting, sure of what you wanted to project.

Only once you stopped, and it was to send a text to Yeonjun.

you: hey can u send me last year’s winning poetry ???junnie: you mean this years?you: no, last year’sjunnie: mmmmmm, suspicious but alrightjunnie: (attached file)

a/n: hi girlies you can read the second part of muse here

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valberryventi · 3 months

Text

all metaphors fall away when diluc ragnvindr becomes a little tipsy.

the winery's business party starts off seamlessly. no one was drinking excessively just yet (except for that bard, of course). as host, he wanted to stay sober. he knew every drink by heart, every scent, every measurement. surely, in this party, he wouldn't drink. he's always known to keep his hands off the alcohol, so why now?

it takes a rosy-cheeked smile from you from the other side of the banquet hall, and diluc absentmindedly takes a drink with firewater, bulle fruit, and zatyun peaches. diluc first thinks it was juice, that is, until, the light buzz of alcohol gets to his head. kaeya's gotten too good at mixing drinks, damn him.

you were a painter. you were his go-to artist when it came to commissioning moments he'd like to keep in the brushstrokes. you had frequent interaction with him leading up to this event, and, well, he's gotten quite fond of you.

with a bit of the cocktail flowing through his system, he takes another look at you and thinks archons, you're amazing. breathtaking. stunning. he wanted to take your hand and kiss the back of it. he wanted to have you in ways a gentleman would disprove of. he wanted to be selfish—a word he despises, yet inserted itself in his vocabulary at the thought of you.

your hands brush against his as you make your way through the crowd. you give him another smile as pink dusts your cheeks ever-so slightly, but diluc doesn't miss it.

"diluc," you shake him out of his reverie as you catch him stare. "are you alright?"

he absolutely wanted your lips on his at that very moment. he manages to make eye contact with you, taking your hand in his gently. he almost doesn't notice the way your blush deepens despite the dim lighting.

"of course i'm alright." he says. the liquid courage hits him in that split second, now that he had your hand in his. he takes a deep breath.

"i would like to request you be with me for the rest of the evening."

you raise an eyebrow, trying to keep your heart from beating too loudly. "and what does my presence have to do with anything?"

he smiles back at you this time, thumb rubbing circles over your hand, hoping he conveyed it properly through his tipsy state. "i like having you with me... that is, if you do not m—"

"i don't mind." you step closer to him. "i've been waiting for you to say that all night."

diluc's eyes sparkle with mirth. "then we have no problem."

all metaphors fall away when diluc ragnvindr becomes a little tipsy. but, perhaps, it was you who made him remove all the unnecessary flowery musings and thoughts. after all, you were already the poetry and the art he wanted in his life.

hi guys! it's been a while hehe. i wrote this in an actual tipsy state and i was being very direct so. uh. why not project on my beloved fictional man

if you guys want to read more of this, let me know via asks! i've been meaning to do an x reader / character / lore analysis but i am too Afraid. anyway have this hehe

#diluc ragnvindr #diluc genshin impact #diluc genshin #diluc x reader #diluc fluff #hushvalberry ; 🍓#valberry ramble #genshin impact #genshin x reader

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khloxxy · 3 months

Note

hello! i hope you're doing well ^_^ i just wanna ask about your favorite headcanon of rus, cana and ame (if you're up for it, no pressure, i wanna see what kumajirou looks like in your style)

i like your art! don't mind me if you see me liking your posts hehe

Hello (^_^) thank you... Your art is very beautiful I'm honoured... Sorry if this is kinda late(?) my brain works best when it's the middle of the night. I wrote this in my notes at like 3am...

My headcanons are really messy and subject to change so keep that in mind 🙏 Gonna put them under a read more cause they're pretty long and I rambled on and on.. Got carried away sorry!! Also it's kind of cringe at some points but that's okay. To be cringe is to be free.

---

Rus: My beloved... He's cute, yes, but also very creepy. (I love a creepy rus) I see him as this character that's always looming over everyone, always watching... He likes how docile and obedient Cana is, and with Ame... well... He likes the challenge.

He likes the arts... And I believe he's an incredible poet and dancer. I like to think that Rus spends his free time writing hauntingly beautiful poetry in a journal of his since there are a lot of beautifully written Russian literature... That journal could also probably work as his diary too because why not. He also does ballet and figure skating, and Ame probably calls him gay for it, this irks Rus but that's okay. He'll rip the tongue out of that American's loud mouth one day. He just has to be patient. (that last part is cringe but my rusame brain told me to write it)

For music I think he'd like classical (tchaikovsky) and metal. I also think he'd visit old abandoned buildings just to see the ruins. Maybe even appreciate the architecture? He finds beauty in the decay.

His relationship with Ame is a game of chess (Rus loves chess, so he loves whatever he has going on with Ame), each move calculated, each interaction charged with unspoken tension (they never reveal their love for eachother... the only time that would happen is probably in life-or-death situations but with their immortality that's practically impossible – actually you know what?? Scratch that. No confessions... Unless drunk or under the influence of something maybe.) With Cana, it's more like a delicate dance, appreciating his gentleness but always aware of the fragile nature of their bond – he's aware that cana and him are only really bound together through Ame.

---

Cana: Neglected boy (eng and fra both coddled Ame more) ... Envious of Ame but still loves him – he's frustrated. He knows so much about Ame but Ame knows nothing about him. Ame doesn't care enough to bother learning about him. It's unfair. I believe he actually has Kumajirou for comfort... But even his pet bear doesn't remember him (to be fair, he doesn't remember Kumajirou's name either.)

For music taste, I think he'd like shoegaze actually... it's calm yet messy-ish and it matches well with his vibe. (Totally not just projecting my music taste onto him)

He dislikes being in the shadow of his brother but he does appreciate his brother sticking up for him. Doing all the talking for him. He doesn't like new people usually. They never understand. (Never understand his freak.. yes Cana has a hidden freak to me.)

He genuinely gets along with rus. They're more similar than they initially thought after all. I mean they're both shy (to a point), both live in cold climates, both have weird relationships with ame... And both are connected through Ame... Rus and Cana both recognize that they are intrinsically tied together only through Ame.

---

Ame: Insufferable (put him in the eternal torture chamber!) Even so, Rus and Cana are still drawn to him like moths to a flame. Type of guy to test the limits of his immortal body... I wish Hima did more with their immortality because that is such an interesting subject. Probably has more DUIs than you can count. Has crashed a plane on purpose. No way you can be the United States of America and not end up crazy.

For the Cold War... Ame was genuinely disappointed when the USSR fell, he was like "well... what now...??" Because for several decades he had a villain to match his hero... But now that Rus fell off... what now? He misses the thrill and rush of it (he's a thrill-seeker... Type 3 fun typa guy). Also, he knew nothing would actually happen anyhow because of M.A.D (Mutually Assured Destruction) no one would actually drop bombs.. right? (they had a few close calls). Maybe the cold war was just one big edging session... (Lmfao sorry had to say it)

Okay adding to the above thing but the paragraph got too long for me. Another reason why Ame thrived in the cold war is that Rus had his singular attention on him. Just him. He loved that. He loved having all of someone's attention. He can't help it. He's just a girl! 🎀 (Kinda yandere-ish vibes but I fw yandere ideas so... Actually all 3 of them could be yandere in the right mindset.)

To me, Ame is the kind of person who thrives on adrenaline, always seeking the next big rush – he's also a huge sucker for attention. That's why he does the crazy things he does. For attention. After all, what is he without attention?

With Cana, well this is a me thing but I like to think that Ame is actually quite clingy with his brother.. He's one of the only people Ame allows to touch him.. Ame's not a very touchy person. Ame does crave genuine connections and Cana is one of the few that can offer that. They're each other's one and only brother after all. That has to mean something.

His relationship with Cana? Complicated... They seem good from the outside but Ame barely knows anything about his brother. Cana could say a million things about Ame but Ame could only respond with maybe a few hundred or so things about Cana – heck, maybe even that would be stretching it. Although, Ame does care for his brother in his own way, truly.

Last little thing I'd like to add: Ame has a collection of vintage stuff. I don't know why. Vintage things just scream American to me. Like old comic books..

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juleswritesstuff · 5 months

Text

Jealousy, jealousy

Poly!Jegulus×Reader

I know it may not be everyone's cup of tea, but I was inspired and...this is the result.

Hope you like it 💗

English isn't my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

Regulus Black was a possessive prick.

Or so Barty said.

“Merlin, didn't you notice the way he was looking at that guy ? The bloke is lucky he is still alive”

“Stop looking like a rabid dog, blondie is not even looking in Potter's direction”

“I swear you can't just curse a random dude for talking to Y/N, Reggie. He was just asking her about the books for Salazar's sake !”

So yeah, Regulus was apparently a possessive guy.

Then why hadn't you nor James ever noticed or even witnessed it ?

Barty and Evan always told you and James how Regulus would get fired up as soon as he noticed someone just as breathing in your and the Griffyindor's direction.

But both you and James thought it absurd.

Regulus Black ?

The always calm and collected headboy of Slytherin ? The guy with the stone cold stare and the stoic expression ? The same quite boy that liked to read and write poetry, looking at the stars and sleeping in on Sundays ?

Jealous ?

You and James had a good laugh.

If you had to consider one of you as the ‘jealous one’ most of the times that would've been James. The boy couldn't go a second without yours and Regulus eyes on him, pouting his way through it to get the attention of his partners, and sometimes sending dirty looks to people who were being a bit too insistent and pushy.

But it never got beyond that.

Other times it was you even. Having two of the most handsome boys in Hogwarts as your boyfriends was fun, until random girls tried to slip Amortentia in their cups at dinner, and a weird green concoction in yours.

Then it wasn't fun anymore.

The points deducted from your House were definitely worth seeing the two girls jinxed to puke slugs for a week.

So it was always either you or James. Never Regulus.

He was always calm, put together and, weirdly you must say, extremely affectionate.

So Barty's words didn't really make sense to you and your Gryffindor boyfriend.

Until that night.

Gryffindor had won a match against Ravenclaw. One of the biggest and toughest matches of the last three years (or so James said), so partying was mandatory.

For a night the Gryffindor common room was opened to everyone who wanted to have fun, relax, and possibly and most importantly, get wasted.

The room was full.

People from every house were there, the sound of muggle music filling your ears (David Bowie, was it ? Salazar, Remus sure talked a lot about that guy).

After getting a drink you spotted some of your housemates talking to Remus and Lily. Dorcas, Pandora, Barty and James were there too.

You walked up to them holding your, now full, glass of firewhisky mixed with some sort of juice. Courtesy of Sirius.

“You guys keep hogging my boyfriend here. I wasn't even able to congratulate him on his victory” You said, arms going to circle James’ neck, careful not to spill your drink, as you left a kiss in his lips.

“You did so good up there” you whispered on his lips before smacking another small kiss on them and letting go.

“Did I ? Must've been my lucky charms” he said grinning, hands still on your waist as he took in the sight of you in Gryffindor colors. A rare occurrence, happening only when the match was a big one.

In all honesty both you and Regulus would've rather died than ever wear red and gold, but James needed to know that the two most important people in his life were there for him, so you made an exception.

Well, that, and the jumpers you always stole from him that were too big on both you and Regulus, but they smelled of James and they were a lifesaver in the nights where you couldn't sneak out to pay him a visit.

“Speaking of” James lifted his eyes to look around the room, scanning it in search of a particular mop of ebony curly hair and stormy eyes “where's Reggie ?”

“Was talking with Evan at the drink table. Said he would be here in a minute” You answered, taking a sip of your drink.

“Good, I have to thank both my charms. Can't miss one” James said with a goofy smile, one that could only be considered lovestruck.

The same kind of smile that curled your lips, too.

“Don't think you'll have to wait for long” added Barty with a smirk on his face, trying to hide it with the rim of his cup as he took a sip.

You and James shared a look of confusion.

Suddenly a voice spoke up.

“Hey, James. Nice match you had up there ! I think it was really thrilling-”

Cole Aleberstine, sixth year Hufflepuff, came to congratulate James as well.

You knew him seen as you had Divination together. He was a quiet and shy guy, and you were almost sure he had a crush on James.

Which was hilarious considering the whole school knew James was a taken man. A very taken man.

You never considered him a problem, he actually looked like he was terrified most of the time. His little infatuation with James was never acted upon.

You actually found it rather endearing.

But apparently not everyone thought the same.

The poor guy couldn't even finish talking when a louder than usual “Baby” was heard, and suddenly a flash of black hair and gray eyes was in front of the Gryffindor chaser, surging on his tiptoes, fisting James’ shirt in his hand and yanking the boy towards him in a hungry kiss.

James let out a yelp in surprise, and then proceeded to literally melt in Regulus' arms and at the mercy of his lips.

Oh, you knew that feeling all too well. The way Regulus kissed like he was starved, like it was the end of the world and only the taste of your lips could save him.

Yes, Regulus Black was a hell of a kisser.

And you were sure James was in heaven right now.

Being used to it, you didn't have much of a reaction (the butterflies in your stomach begged to differ), but the flabbergasted faces of your friends were pure gold.

Even Remus and Sirius, who were more than used to your and the other two boys' antics, were left speechless.

You let out a snicker.

When you turned around Cole was gone, no trace of him whatsoever.

Regulus then parted from James’ lips and turned his head, looking at the empty place that was previously occupied by the Hufflepuff.

The most imperceptible smirk peaked on his lips, like he had won the lottery or something.

Your eyebrows slightly furrowed.

What ?

And then it clicked.

The way Regulus was definitely at the drink table before Cole showed up and then, as soon as he opened his mouth, he stormed there like a fury, kissing James like his life depended on it, like he wanted to swallow him whole, like he wanted everyone to know that the Gryffindor chaser was his.

A grin spread on your lips.

Oh, Barty was right.

Regulus Black was a jealous prick.

And he made sure that everyone knew by claiming you and James.

And only then your brain realized that all the time he was extra handsy in public, which was very uncharacteristic of him, he was trying to literally mark the territory.

A part of your brain wanted to find it a little excessive, but the other, more prominent, part found it extremely attractive.

Barty sent a knowing look in your direction.

The obvious ‘I told you so’ written on his face made you shake your head lightly in complete disbelief.

“Damn, I must've been really good then”

Said James, who looked thoroughly snogged, lips plump and glasses crooked on his nose.

“You were alright I guess” Regulus said, trying to appear as unimpressed as possible, but the sweet smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

James loved when Regulus was a little mean to him, all in good fun, of course, and it was entertaining for you to watch.

“I should start playing Quidditch too if this is the treatment we get from our boyfriend” you added, a playful offended tone in your voice.

“No need for that, my love” Regulus said with a proper smile this time, detaching himself from James, picking you up and twirling around once before kissing you softly but just as eager.

Funny thing ? You could still taste James on his tongue and it made your head spin.

His lips were like silk, molding perfectly with yours as you let out a content sound.

“Yeah, better not. I'd probably end up with a broken bone every two weeks”

You said chuckling and a little breathless, as he put you down gently, hands still on your hips.

“I already have one boyfriend with enough broken bones, I definitely don't need my girlfriend doing that too” he said as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“But- I mean, if you want to you can of course”

He added.

“I was joking Reggie, don't worry” you said smiling, endeared by him “I definitely like it more when my feet are on the ground”

“Pity” interrupted James “You would look so hot riding a broom with the wind in your hair” he stated, drinking from his cup.

“I'd say I ride enough things already, don't you think Jamie ?” you said with a smirk and a raised brow.

James proceeded to choke on the alcohol in his mouth, while Regulus’ cheeks tinted a splotchy red.

“Ok, enough” said Sirius, his face distorted in horror “there are certain information that we really don't need to know”

“Speak for yourself, Black. I wanna know everything”

Barty said, wiggling his brows.

Regulus threatened to make him bald for the rest of his life.

Laughter roared, and the night proceeded as smoothly as a party at Hogwarts could ever go.

#marauders #marauder's era #regulus black #james potter #regulus x reader #james x regulus #james x reader #sirius black #remus lupin #barty crouch junior #harry potter #polyamory #lily evans #evan rosier #pandora rosier #dorcas meadowes #marlene mckinnon

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amelee23 · 1 year

Text

I didn't accidentally love you | Hwang Hyunjin

Genre: Hopelessly romantic fluff, angst, poetry, a little comedy

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x gender neutral reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: reader is an insecure poet, heartbreak, bad self esteem, poetry clubs, Hyunjin is dripping charisma, shameless flirting, reader thinks hyun is a jerk for like a second, reader.exe stops working multiple times, reader gets shy, i just HAD to be funny at the end OKAY

Synopsys: Your friends forced you to become part of a poetry club, and when you receive a task to write a poem about sadness, you realize you accidentally write it about Hyunjin, the guy you had a crush on and tried to forget about. And he finds out.

A/N: I promised @astraystayyh to write this, here you go sugar <3

Artists have many moments of weakness.

Those moments when you start to question your craft, whether you're even worthy of being called an 'artist' or you're just a fleeting talent that is going to wash away with time, just like the hobby or interest of a preschooler. You inquire if you're worthy staining pages with ink, using the words of the dictionary just to feel the high of belonging - the high of doing show and tell with your emotions like it's a new toy your parents gifted you; or you should just remain a consumer, and observe the beauty that lies in others, the beauty others can create. Could your craft ever rise to all these expectations?

But what else is there to life, if not making art?

Perhaps you've always been clinically insane, but you've only truly felt alive when you felt the beauty of the world - dark and bright alike - conveyed through you in the form of poetry and words, sent by the angels above for a mere human to toy with. So you pick up the pencil again.

The paper before you is blank, and you're frankly uncomfortable in the position you are in, notebook on your thighs, back curved over the page as if you're shielding unwritten words from the sun itself to not read them. But you've always felt more at ease writing outside, under the natural light of the sky, with the clouds passing by carelessly, like they don't have doubts about their worth like a human would. But the stares of the students passing by are not exactly comfortable. You take a breath and urge yourself to focus; they don't care about what you're doing, they're just heading to their classes, living their lives (hopefully) with that same hunger you have for art, for their chosen subjects.

You face your paper again and remember the prompt you were given - writing a poem involving the feeling of sadness - that you're supposed to hand over to the club in a couple of days. Insecurities and procrastination led you to keep putting it off, but the dread of a deadline has always been a great motivation for humanity. Your friends urged you towards this, to join the poetry club of your university - it's a small, non-profit club put together by a bunch of random art and literature students. It's so non-profit in fact, that it barely has any funding at all. They had to fight tooth and nail to be allowed to host the club meetings every week in the sculpting room - and that, late in the day, when the cleaning staff unlocks the doors for their cleaning sweep. You sit on awkward, stained chairs, and make sure to raise your feet up one by one to not stand in the way of the mop and brooms. But the club members would withstand anything, and would pretty much commit homicide to keep the club running. One more reason why, when faced with the passion and fighting spirit your club mates have, you wonder if you even have a space with them. You had to be shoved - one could say even blackmailed - by your friends to take the step forward and join, so you could be able to share your craft with others. You were perfectly happy letting your poems stack up in endless notebooks on top of your dusty bookcase. You didn't feel the need to share them, per se - but everyone else insisted it would have been a crime to keep them to yourself selfishly like that.

Sadness, sadness. You need to embody sadness for this prompt. You look around for inspiration, but there is no sad sight to see. The sky is clear, in colors of baby blue and soft whites, the branches of the green, young trees are barely even swaying in the wind, and there's college students laughing all around. Has anything sad happened in your life lately? Not really, nothing to inspire poems at least. Not that you are bursting at the seams with happiness, but you believed no one really is. There's a lot going on behind the cover of every human passing by, and even if all you can feel is the slight shoulder brush of a stranger, you do know those shoulders carry as much, if not even more weight than yours.

That's it. You start writing, and word by word they flow, one line, two lines until you have seven of them - you even managed to rhyme! It's not much, but it's honest work. Since there is no one close by, you begin to read the poem out loud softly. Hearing what you wrote always helps you perfect the rhymes, the punctuation and change around words if they sound too awkward. After erasing, rewriting and erasing again just to end up redoing the whole last two lines, you finally thought it was good enough.

---

Here and now, I must take a vow:

You'll never hear me confess, that in the depths of my weary chest

Underneath the smile I wore, there's a sadness in my soul;

Nothing's wrong - it's my biggest lie, hiding a muffled cry

Just behind a giggle and a laugh, acting is my biggest craft;

I loved you - but heard the ticking of the clock and thought

No more. It's time I stopped and gave you up.

---

You smile, because for a split second you actually think your poem sounds really good. But then, the insecurities crash on top of you again. Your club mates are probably writing long, heart-wrenching poems that are going to make you cry when you read them. Your idea will surely seem shallow and rushed in comparison to theirs. With a sigh, you wish to be able to just give yourself this one. Tell yourself you did good enough by trying and move on - brush it off and think progressively, that your next poem is going to be even better than this one. But you don't truly feel that way, so you begin to beautify the first letter of every line with calligraphic letters to overcompensate for the lack of skill you feel you have. The capital H at the beginning of the first line, the capital Y at the beginning of the second line and so on; you turn them into beautiful, aesthetic calligraphy as much to your ability. In the end, you just think you've made a mess, and that there is simply too much ink on the page now.

---

Here and now, I must take a vow:

You'll never hear me confess, that in the depths of my weary chest

Underneath the smile I wore, there's a sadness in my soul;

Nothing's wrong - it's my biggest lie, hiding a muffled cry

Just behind a giggle and a laugh, acting is my biggest craft;

I loved you - but heard the ticking of the clock and thought

No more. It's time I stopped and gave you up.

---

Oh no.

Your eyes open wide and you can't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.

The first letter of every single line, from top to bottom, spell HYUNJIN. The name of the boy you swore to yourself you've moved on from.

Hyunjin, who spoke about life as if it was art itself and spoke about art as if it was life itself.

Hyunjin, with the calm and warm voice - quiet and observant and yet, from the ocean in his eyes, bathed in a soft moonlight, it always seemed like his mind was in faraway lands, dreaming, humming, sighing before a field of lilies in the middle of the night.

Hyunjin, who seemed like through every song he listened to and sang, every poem he read and wrote, every painting he saw and painted, he dicovered all the secrets the universe had. As if human life was a melancholic, nostalgic memory to him, life experiencing itself all over again - he seemed so kind, so unfazed, so utterly in love with existence.

Hyunjin, who read every single one of your poems and told you he'd never allow you to leave the club. He was always so warm, you could hardly believe he wasn't doing it out of habit, spreading his magical touch over the wounds in your heart just like he would with anyone else. But it wasn't his fault you always questioned your worth.

Hyunjin, with whom you've fallen in love with gravely. For every smile he showed around you, for every squeal-like laugh he gifted you, for every time he held your hand gently to calm your nerves, you added one more day to the delusion of hanging on to him.

Hyunjin, who was merely a pipe dream.

He is the co-leader of the poetry club you're in. That's why you've always considered his compliments and encouragements to be just him doing his job - and yet they continued to fuel that foolish fire of yours for far too long. You never confessed to him, of course. But there would be nothing wrong with you two dating, from an ethical point of view. This is just a poetry club ran by students, it's not like having a crush on your boss. But still, the title of co-leader put him above you in a way you couldn't describe. Maybe it's the fact that he has more experience in art. Maybe it's the fact that he's more skillful. Maybe it's the fact that he's taught you many techniques and actually became a figure to rely on. Therefore he was still above you in a way, and so was the leader.

The leader of the club, she resembled Hyunjin in an almost eerie way. People do say, someone who is beautiful on the inside will always radiate beauty on the outside, too. That was a clear description of both of them. She too, was a romantic and an artist, she had a feather light laugh, star like freckles dusting her face, and eyes that could hold galaxies. She was the end of Hyunjin's sentences and the beginning of his thoughts. They made an incredible pair and their teamwork was impeccable as leaders. They weren't dating, but your heart kept telling you, that one day they will. It would be simply impossible for two souls so perfectly woven for each other to simply separate and go their different ways. And yet, you still foolishly had fallen for Hyunjin and every single week, the pain in your chest grew.

Oh, it hurt. It shouldn't have, really. You were just a newcomer being silly and they were fit for a lifetime. You had no chance nor the courage to hope and dream a miracle would land you in Hyunjin's loving arms. She wasn't to blame, he wasn't to blame, your pain was fully your fault. You fell in love and you had to fix it. So you made an oath with yourself to let it go, get those heavy rocks off of your lungs and allow yourself to breathe. There will be other boys in your life. They will not be Hyunjin, but other boys will exist.

You thought you were done with the tears, with the heartache and the love-sick poems. But it seemed you did have one more poem left in you, and it bubbled to the surface.

If the sun wasn't that bright, you wouldn't even have noticed the shadow of someone looming over you. You heard a melodic hum above your head and when you looked up, your heart dropped.

"What do we have here?" He teased, snatching your notebook right out of your hands. You couldn't even react in time, he was already standing up before you, reading the contents of your poem. His lips hung slightly open and he let out a gasp, and you really thought poetry was perhaps the only way to describe the look on his face. You watched his eyes travel the page, his chest deflating very rarely as if he was holding his breath. He looked surprised, but it wasn't an anxious type of bewilderment, nor an excited one either. He was looking at your notebook as if it was some sort of mythical creature, something that shouldn't possibly exist-

And then his eyes found yours. They wrecked you from the inside out, a brown so blown out, so dark, unalike what you've seen before. There was no more serene skies and calm seas in his eyes, there was a storm, a hurricane - a complete blackout. He looked frightened. Maybe he was in fact, still shaken by the secrets of the universe. Maybe humans are not supposed to know what mythological creatures actually look like. Maybe denying their existence would be easier on the collective-

"I can explain!" You jump up from the bench you were seated on. "That was an accident - it's not what it looks like!" He's not listening to you. His mind has gone to those faraway lands again, and he's dreaming while he glances at the page. You move to take the notebook away from him, but he raises it above his head. He's too tall to reach, so you don't even try.

"Well." He speaks, softly, anxiously, awkwardly. He softly lowers the notebook, but he holds it tight to his chest. He won't let you take it back. "I think now it's only fair I dedicate my poetry to you as well." Now it's your turn to remain with your mouth agape. You're blinking at him, and you don't realize you're looking at him exactly the same way he looked at you a minute ago. You're both scared and yet in marvel, and he takes a step closer. You inhale sharply, but it gets stuck in your throat. You can't breathe, your stomach is tense, and a shiver is shaking the fingers of your hands. His eyes are transfixed on yours, and he moves even closer, he's too close - and he asks for permission. "If you'll allow me?"

He's asking you to become his muse.

But you couldn't answer him even if you wanted to. It's embarrassing, but the only thing you can muster is a whimper.

He continues to stare at your face, until slowly and gradually a smile tugs at the corner of his lips and he lets out a giggle. He waves a hand in front of your face and cocks an eyebrow, in an attempt to bring you out of your daze. You're so confused you could die.

Was the last few minutes just a joke? Was he just mocking you-? He must have been. Nothing is as good as it seems, and Hwang Hyunjin couldn't be any different. Maybe he was just a self centered jerk under the dreamy romantic aura he carried. It would be easier to start hating him than to continue helplessly liking him, right?

You barely register Hyunjin putting your spiral notebook down on the bench to gently rip out the page with the poem. He folds the page in two and then hands you your notebook back.

"As the co-leader of the club, I reject your entry. You must write another poem, I'm confiscating this one." You cock your head. What is he saying? Is this still, all part of the joke?

"What- what are you- what are you gonna do with it?" You manage to spew out a sentence, not that it was the most important question to ask. Hyunjin raises his shoulders.

"Put it on my wall? Tape it in my journal? I'll find a place." He answers nonchalantly. You see his eyebrows dance on his face as he thinks for a second, then his expression tells you he got an idea. "Or... I could give it back to you... If you visit the seashore with me."

You side eye him and furrow your brows. "To do what?" He raises his shoulders again.

"I need inspiration for all of the poems I'm gonna start writing about you." He's calm, almost too calm as he says it, and he begins to smile once more as he watches your mouth hang open again.

"Are you making fun of me?" You finally ask, and Hyunjin looks downright offended. He raises his eyebrows, and comically cranes his neck back, pointing a finger at himself and then at you.

"ME? Make fun of YOU? Why? I'm... asking you out on a date..." And you're somehow supposed to process that information without finding a million excuses why this shouldn't be happening and wouldn't be happening. But it is happening.

"So you're not joking?"

"No?" He replies shaking his head.

"You're being serious."

"Yeah.." He replies, this time nodding his head.

"Seriously?" He laughs, finding you adorable.

"Seriously." Suddenly, the situations is a little too real and too much to take. Your hopelessly romantic and yet heavily insecure brain almost ruined a moment you could have only dreamt about, and you almost thought Hyunjin was a jerk. You hide your face in your hands and let out a muffled whine. Hyunjin is extremely amused, and feeling a little playful, he comes closer and cocks his head close to your face. You can't see him, but you peek through your fingers when you hear him speak again. "So is that a yes?" You watch glimpses of his face between your fingers and nod back at him. "Great then!" His face is so bright, and you can't hide your eyes from his anymore. Today, you saw how his eyes looked with a storm in them, but now they look different once more - like a sunrise above a beach, it's all so golden and full of life, sweet like honey and rich like gold. Warmth spreads through your chest, and he places a hand gently on your arm. His thumb caresses your bicep for a few seconds. "I'll text you the details."

You feel drunk, as his touch leaves your body but still lingers. He walks away to his next class, but he turns around briefly to remind you of your task.

"And don't forget you have to write a new poem until Thursday!" He waives the page he stole from you between his fingers and laughs his ass off at the exasperated sigh you give in return and the angry squint and pout.

You're pretty sure he didn't believe you when you said that poem was an accident. And he never will, even when you try to explain it to him on your first date. And on the second date you swear it wasn't on purpose, and on the third date you tell him for just how long you've liked him and how you tried to let him go. And on the fourth date he tells you he knows your poem wasn't an accident no matter what you think or say. And on the fifth, you agree with him.

--------------------------------------------------------------

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chainsawcorazon · 5 months

Text

August 26th - September 1st, 2024

Monday, August 26th - Rescue // Doppelgänger // First Time

Tuesday, August 27th - Moving in Together // Multiverse // Sex Accidents

Wednesday, August 28th - Scars & Disabilities // Ex's // Aftercare

Thursday, August 29th - Double Date // Phobias // Secret Rendezvous

Friday, August 30th - Superfam & Flashfam // Fourth World // Control

Saturday, August 31st - Realizations & Confessions // Only Lovers Left Alive // Fuck Nasty

Sunday, September 1st - People of Manchester, Alabama & The Ravers // Nightmares // Accidental Kink Discovery

Purpose?

Continuing to celebrate the BartKon Renaissance in the modern era. Since the ship has historically been a rarepair since its conception in the 1990's, this fanweek acts as both a way to celebrate the BartKon narrative in DC Comics, as well as engage new fans in our small yet mighty collective.

Why should we participate in this?

Because you like BartKon. Because you saw fanfiction and fanart and shitposts, and decided you wanted to see what's poppin' in the BartKonosphere. All creators are welcome. Our romcom lovers, the darkfic connoisseurs, and of course, our smut specialists.

So how does it work?

The release date for fanworks is from Monday, the 26th of August through Sunday, the 1st of September, 2024.

You have four months to write, draw, and create fanworks. On top of fanfiction and fanart, we also encourage meta, essays, ship manifestos, playlists, and poetry.

This is also an opportunity for new fans to engage with an old ship with a robust body of work, hence why this fanweek is dedicated only to BartKon depicted in DC Comics from 1994-2024. This is not a YJ-centric week, nor it is a BartKon+third week, nor is it a my-ship-is-better-than-your-ship week. Please be courteous and treat each other with respect when engaging with fanworks and their creators. If you misbehave, I will be cursing you with ten thousand years of bad luck on top of car/train/transportation trouble every day for the rest of your life.

BartKon of ANY comic book universe is acceptable. If you want to spend the entire fanweek exploring Luthor-El and Bart because you love horrific love, then be my guest! If you want a crazed version of Bart to kidnap Kon from Gemworld, go for it! Let that imagination run WILD!!!

Both safe and not-safe-for-tunglr dot hell tropes are welcome. Just make sure that you post any Mature content on a landing page that doesn't restrict Mature content (like AO3). I don’t want anyone getting their blog banned. We cannot defeat our capitalist overlords, but we can definitely work around them.

This fanweek will not have a dedicated blog. These prompts are free for anyone to use. Because it is a non-traditional, non-monetized, and free-to-opt-in casual event, there will be no mods but moi, no advertising of paid services, and no ratings or participant restrictions. I will open a collection on AO3 in August for anyone who wants their work collated for this event.

In order to ensure that both creators and the audience are making informed decisions about what they engage with, all creators are encouraged to include triggers and any other squick warnings.

Please utilize the read-more function for fanworks that are longer than 250 words. We're tryna read yer stories, not get spammed with a wall of text. Please Be Courteous.

And last but not least - if you are engaging with any of the fanworks, reblog, reblog, reblog! Share the work with your followers. Send all the love to the creators for crafting their masterpieces!!

What can I contribute?

Fanart (standalones, comic strips, etc.), fanfiction (one-shots, multichapter, etc.), fanmixes, gifsets, graphics, meme collections, fanvids, ship essays and meta, songifics, playlists, poetry, whatever your heart desires! Go wild!!!

Can I create/write not-safe-for-tunglr dot hell content?

Yes!!! All creators are encouraged to include triggers warnings, sub-genre specifications, and other warnings in their posts. I will not discourage you from writing your 16k Bart Goes Insane Over Kon fic, but please... Be Courteous and tag your fanworks appropriately so people can make an informed decision about what they're comfortable with engaging with.

What does (X) prompt mean?

Each day has three prompts!! You can either pick a prompt OR you can combine prompts in different ways. Although the prompts range from The Basics, to Things That Frighten The Barts and Kons, and end with They're Fucking Nasty in Cissie's Basement Because They Can't Afford a Motel, I challenge you to let your imagination take you where you want to go with each prompt!! If you want to explore all three in the same fanwork, then be my guest!! I will not stop you :'>

Mainstream Canon, Elsewords, and AU content is acceptable! Just make sure to stay within the comicsverse. We have SO MUCH BARTKON MADNESS IN THE COMICS, SO PLAY AROUND WITH OUR BEAUTIFUL CANON!!! Creativity is key! Have fun!!!

Can I crackship/multiship/harem/OT3/polyam the characters?

No. It's literally BartKon Week, Heart & Bones Edition. There's like six active fans left on this bitch of an earth. Don't do this to me :'<

Does this have a tag?

During release week, use the general “bartkon” and "konbart" tags to share your work with the wider BartKon fandom on tunglr. You can use whatever other tags you fancy. The best way to share, however, is to directly @ me so that I may reblog it.

I didn’t read a damn thing before this, Ava.

TL;DR: Nearly four months until the fanweek!!! For all fanwork creators out there, now’s the time to start thinking about what prompts you want to utilize for your creations. There are no creative restrictions, but I do ask that you follow these posting tips:

All fanfiction should be under a read-more.

Not-safe-for-tunglr fanwork should be LINKED to whatever landing site the content is being hosted on (Twitter, AO3, etc). This includes both fanfiction and fanart. I don’t want your blog getting flagged bc tunglr hates gay people.

Provide content warnings for all triggers, squicks, and sub-genres. Unfortunately, in my ten odd years away from DC Comics, the fandom's seen a resurgence in puritanical behavior and tons of censorship and self-censorship. Please list content warnings on your work but do not be discouraged in sharing your work. If a fancop gets on your ass, block them. Please block as MANY as you can. They're like pests, they're always gonna be there, but their influence can be diminished by staunch blocking and reporting.

You can participate as much as you want!! Maybe you only wanna create for one day? Cool! Maybe you’re an overachieving corporate clown insomniac like myself, and wanna create for every day of the week? Go for it!!!

The most important thing is to have fun :)

Closing Remarks

Like all my other events I host, this event, too, is entirely selfish. I've loved BartKon since I was a child when I was first introduced to it in the form of Bart/Clark on Smallville. Although I only recently came back to reading DC's mainline comics, BartKon still holds a special place in my heart even after all these years, and the few who still create and engage in their fanworks inspired me to host a little something-something for our small community.

Take your time, look through the prompts, and get your creative juices flowing! I will be sending out reminders until the go-live date.

For the people who showed interest during the initial interest check, I hope you're able to participate. To the people who hate me, your mom's a hoe. Thank you.

#bartkon #konbart #kon el #bart allen #superboy #impulse #dc comics #bartkon week #real talk #ava's ficcing adventures #superboy 1994 #impulse 1995 #young justice 1998 #young justice

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lovebugism · 1 year

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can I request modern!steve meeting shy!reader at a bar? maybe she’s overwhelmed and he can tell and tries to calm her down? I love your writing!

Steve buys you a drink at The Hideout.

Not because he thinks you’re pretty (he does), but because he thinks you need one.

You’re brooding in a frilly white dress, practically a rain cloud in lipstick in high heels — far too gorgeous to look so sad.

You sit in silence with your woe, like two old friends who’ve already said too much to talk. It keeps you company on the farthest end of the bar, a dimly lit section where the hanging lamps don’t reach because no one ever sits there.

You only speak when you’re asking the bartender for another round.

Steve reads your glossed lips — “A lemon vodka spritzer, please. And can you make it a double?”

He waits until your glass is running low to tell the man behind the counter to fix you another, on him.

Your sad eyes go wide when you’re handed another chilled beverage. “Oh. I didn’t—”

“From the gentleman with nice hair,” the server explains beneath his bushy mustache, tilting his balding head to the other end of the bar.

A pretty boy with cinnamon and honey locks hanging over his forehead is already looking at you when you turn to find him. He wears a whiskey-slicked smile on a rosy mouth, tightlipped and warm. Holding an Old Fashioned in one hand, he throws up two fingers with his free one in a sheepish wave.

He seems kind. Beautiful. He looks like poetry in his stripped collared shirt and circle glasses — something simple you could drown in.

There’s a twinkle in the chocolate of his eyes that you figure must be from the dim amber lights hanging from the ceiling — there’s no way you’re the one putting stars in them. The lamps cast shadows on his chiseled jaw, dusted with a fine layer of scruff. The Renaissance sculpture brought to life just bought you a drink.

He doesn’t know he shouldn’t want to be your friend.

Actually, you’re pretty sure that if your real friends hadn’t stood you up tonight, he wouldn’t even be looking at you twice. And you wouldn’t have blamed him for it, either.

All you are now is slim pickings in a sleazy bar and a total idiot for getting so dressed up just to be left behind.

This is why I don’t leave the house, you keep thinking to yourself as you drown your sorrows in too sweet alcohol. I’m way too soft for the rest of the world.

The vodka spritzer the pretty man bought for you goes warm.

The ice cubs melt and the glass begins to sweat with condensation. Your eyes go glassy in a similar fashion. You try to tell yourself that they’re just sweating, too — that you’re not the kind of girl that cries in bars.

Burning tears finally trickle over when the low radio gives way to a live band. The suddenness of the pounding drums startles you from your sad girl stupor and pushes you far past the point of being overwhelmed. Through a tightening throat, you hand the bartender a tenner and ask him to return the drink.

You’re nearly weeping when you repeat it for the third time because he couldn’t hear you over the music.

That’s when Steve goes to find you — when the keep nudges his shoulder to get his attention and hands him a melted drink along with a folded-up bill. “She wanted me to tell you thanks, but no thanks,” the man yells gruffly over the metal band.

“She left?” Steve shouts back, brows furrowed and eyes wide beneath his glasses. His heart thrums something fierce, stomach twisting at the thought of having missed you.

“Yeah. ‘Bout a minute ago or so. Looks like she’s havin’ a pretty rough night.”

He pushes through the forming crowd and rushes outside like a madman, prepared to sprint down the sidewalk to catch up with you. He’s distantly worried that you’ve already called an Uber by now or that you’ve turned a corner and walked out of his life forever.

He nearly trips over himself when he spots you sitting at the bus stop.

“No, I know,” he hears you assure into the phone pressed to your ear. “I get it, okay? It’s fine. I… I would’ve left me, too.”

You cover your gloom with a half-hearted laugh.

Steve feels like someone’s shoved a knife in the spot between his ribcage.

He idles by the entrance until you hang up. The hand grasping the phone falls helplessly into your lap, like it’s too heavy for your trembling fingers to hold. You sniffle and drop your head into your palms. Your shoulders shake as they rise and fall with uneven breaths — trying and failing to calm yourself down.

“Hey, uh— Spritzer?” he calls awkwardly out to you as he slowly approaches the bench you’re on.

He doesn’t want to startle you, but he does anyway.

You jolt at his presence, hand snapping up as you gape at him with wild eyes that glimmer beneath the orange lamplight. You’re frightened at the intrusion first, then shocked to find the pretty guy from the bar standing in front of you.

“Me?” you question, voice fragile and tight — feeling stupid because the two of you are the only ones at this bus stop.

“Here’s your ten back,” Steve says with a tight-lipped smile. He holds the bill between his pointer and middle finger and motions for you to take it.

Your glassy eyes flit between it and him. You sniffle. “No, that was— that’s for you. For the drink.”

“The drink I bought for you,” he corrects gently.

“…I didn’t drink it,” you confess, face twisting like you’re about to cry again.

“No, I know. I was just… I was trying to be nice.” His soft laugh fills the awkward quiet. His smile fades when he notices you aren’t laughing with him. “Uh, can I— Is it okay if I sit.”

He points to the spare spot on the bench beside you.

You nod and move over a few inches in invitation.

The old wood creaks under his weight as he sits.

Steve smooths his sweaty hands over his jean-clad thighs, not knowing what to say. He peers at you from the corner of his eye. You’re not looking at him, too focused on declining another call. Your thumb swipes over the screen when you turn your phone off entirely.

You wipe your nose with the back of your hand. “Sorry for not— for not drinking it. That was really rude, I’m sorry.”

Steve twists his head to look at you completely. His smile is still warm, his eyes still twinkling. You don’t know why he looks at you so softly, only that it could make you weep.

“Hey. It’s okay,” he assures with a shrug. “It was just a gesture, you know? No big deal.”

You nod, then turn away to look up at the velvet night sky. He watches your profile scrunch in concern again before you glance at him, looking more sheepish. “But… why?”

His brows raise. “Why what?”

“Why did you… buy me a drink?”

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully, bouncing his shoulders. “You just looked like you coulda used one.”

A part of you is glad he wasn’t trying to make some kind of move on you.

Another part is disappointed by it, too.

“Right,” you nod, trying to smile though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Uh, thanks. For, uh… For noticing, I guess.”

For noticing me in my sadness, you would’ve said if you weren’t talking to a total stranger. Most of the time, I’m invisible.

“Thank you for not dumping it in my face,” he jokes.

Your nose scrunches softly. Your smile is barely there but more sincere. “Why would I have done that?”

“I don’t know… I feel like when a stranger buys a girl a drink, they’re either really into it, or they think it’s drugged or something—” he explains with a laugh. It fades again when your soft features twist in confusion.

His eyes go wide in a similar horror.

“It wasn’t! I was just— I was just saying that… Some people might think that, you know? But I’d… I’d never.”

A smile pulls at your lips just before a giggle tumbles from them.

The sound is too pretty for him to be embarrassed.

Steve smiles, too. “I’m making a whole mess of this, huh?”

“No,” you assure rather quickly, shaking your head in reassurance. “You’re… You’re actually taking my mind off of all this…”

“Yeah?” he wavers.

You nod. “Yeah.”

“Can I… ask what happened?”

“It’s just… my friends. We were all supposed to meet up here, but they went somewhere else,” you explain, wrenching your sweaty hands in your lap. “And, like, I don’t blame them, you know? Concerts aren’t my thing, ‘cause they’re so… loud. That’s why they didn’t buy me a ticket... So, in a weird roundabout way, they were kinda thinking about me by… not thinking about me.”

You end your rambling by shooting him a contorted glance, like you don’t even believe your own words. “Does that make sense?”

Steve nods slowly, then shakes his head. “Not really, no. They kinda sound like assholes, honestly.”

“It just wouldn’t have been as fun with me there—”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“…No?”

“No. I mean… I’m having plenty of fun with you now, so…”

You scoff and you roll your eyes. “Right.”

“I’m serious!” he promises, laughing. “I don’t know if you can tell, but that place is totally not my scene. I mean, honestly, I wasn’t even gonna come tonight, but my friends dragged me here and everything…” He trails off, smiling too sincerely as he looks at you with honey eyes. “Now I’m glad I did. “Cause, you know, I met someone as miserable as I am.”

You don’t want to laugh, still a little bit sad about the whole thing, but this boy brings a smile to your face without even trying. It’s totally not fair.

He laughs at your laughing. “And I’m having a lot more fun out here with you than I was watching some idiot scream into a mic, so… your friends are obviously blind.”

“Obviously,” you snort in return, still not believe him.

“I’m— I’m Steve, by the way.”

He holds his hand out, wide and warm. You take it in your own. His long fingers engulf your smaller ones. “Thanks for the drink, Steve.”

“Any time,” he grins and means it.

“Maybe… Maybe I can buy you one sometime,” you offer suddenly, flitting your gaze to a building across the street. You say it with a nonchalant shrug like you don’t care either way — like your heart’s not beating out of your chest just now. “You know, like, as a thank you?”

His smile widens. “I’d like that, Spritz.”

The newfound nickname makes you smile.

You don’t notice until then that your hands haven’t let go of each other.

#steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #steve harrington #stevie drabble #st drabbles #modern!steve #shy!reader #steve harrington x shy!reader #published by bug

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desifleabag · 5 months

Text

Hello beautiful people out here!

I am Deepali. I am from Pune, Maharashtra. I am 21 years old (shaadi ki umar)

Desi fleabag? Because I relate the most with that specific character. Horny, messy, vulnerable, and crazy all the time but also considerate, expressive, and kind. I am a desi version of her.

🎀What I like? I like to dance, sing, journal, write poems and stories, and doom scroll all the time

📍Professional side of me

I did my bachelor's in philosophy. I have been working in an organization for quite a long time. I am a content writer. I am a writer/poet. I am an open mic performer. I have performed at esteemed platforms like tapeatale, poemsindia, kommune, and many more. I am a psychology and sociology student too. I am a co-facilitator and youth lead in different schools through my organization. I have worked on poetry anthology books.

The most important part of my life is being a poet or a writer. It's been a decade since I started writing, and professionally, it's been two years. My poetry and stories revolve around different and unique topics like mental health, family dynamics, feminism, societal norms and culture, romance, life intricacies, friendship, etc. I love being a poet and telling people stories about me and the world because I believe poetry is everywhere. I have a blog called Sip and Sofa Stories where I share the most wholesome blogs and fun-to-read stories.

Not much of a reader, but I like reading poetry by Sylvia Plath and more female writers.

💌 Movies and songs? I am a die-hard fan of Bollywood. I listen to 2000s Bollywood and retro songs. No one can challenge me the way I vibe on these songs and dance. My childhood is memorable because of Sunidhi Chauhan, Lata Mangeshkar, Kishore Kumar, RD Burman, Asha Bhosle, Sonu Nigam, Shaan, Arijit Singh, and many more artists. I also listen to Kpop, pop, indie type of music on days when I am dissociating at the fullest. Hold my clutcher, I am a Swiftie and Lana Del Rey fan too, bitch.

I love Bollywood movies, and I am yet to discover more Western movies. I have a bunch of comfort movies like Ye Jawani Hai Dewaani, Piku, Om Shaanti Om, etc.

🪕 My aesthetic type? A combination of Geet and Piku and a little bit of Poo vibe sometimes. But I love desi clothes. Kurti, jhumkas, bindi, bangles, oh god I love being a woman.

Interesting facts about me :

🌸I have three tattoos on my body (Crescent moon, "you're on your own kid" title, "grateful"). I love getting tattoos!!

🥃Loneliness who? I go to bars, cafes, and parks alone because why not. I fear no god.

💛I never was in a relationship, just some hardcore crushes who crushed my soul.

❤️‍🩹I have been in therapy for almost three years and on and off on meds. GAD (generalized anxiety disorder) gang assemble!

😶‍🌫️I love and hate spending time on LinkedIn. Girl boss era.

💬I write poetry about my crushes and defame my ex-friends. They know it very well! Lol.

I am a hopeless romantic and a professional delusional person. I will cook the best scenarios in my head and write about them. I romanticize life on another level though there are 156 rupees in my bank account by going to aesthetic cafes.

:¨ ·.· ¨:

`· . ୨୧⭒๋࣭ ⭑ 𝛢𝑛𝑑 𝑤ℎ𝘰'𝑠 𝑔𝘰𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠 𝘵ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝘰𝑤𝑛 ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙𝑠,𝑊ℎ𝘰'𝑠 𝑔𝘰𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑤𝑖𝑝𝑒 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝘵ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝘵𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠? ⊹ ‧₊˚

🖇To connect with me

𖹭 kavitavali.deepali to read my poems and stories on instagram

𖹭 sip and sofa stories blog. I write monthly blogs

Thankyou for reading my long ass introduction! Flying kiss tumhai💋

#a much awaited intro mera!#bohot mehnat lagi bc #hellowww!#desi dark academia #desiblr #desi #desi shit posting #desi academia #light academia #dear diary #poems #poetries #short essay #spilled poetry

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lostgracestories · 10 months

Text

What am I to you? - Sukuna x Reader

Okay, so this was the winner of the most recent poll that I did to get ideas and it took me a couple days to get to it cause I got a little busy but I hope you enjoy this!

tw: really angsty, VERY minor physical altercation (reader gets pushed), female reader, also Sukuna. Because he's his own trigger warning.

wc: 1.2k - also not proof read.

pt 2

How long had this been going on… How long had it been since this all started…? You stared across the room at Yuji’s body, now adorned with Sukuna’s markings. You had graduated 2 years ago and never had issues with Yuji losing control of Sukuna in high school but now here he was, standing in your living room.

You and Yuji were roommates for the sake of saving money. Neither of you had any feelings for each other. You prayed that Yuji would never discover the nature of these meetings between you and Sukuna.

You and Sukuna had been meeting almost daily to talk. It startled you the first time because he was so threatening, however, you slowly began to lose the fear of him. It had been so odd though when he first met with you. He had been watching you read and write poetry and claimed he was amused that you shared one of his interests. That was then, this is now.

You and Sukuna had argued recently. A few months prior to this meeting, he had made the mistake of getting too involved with you. He had allowed you to fall for him by mistake and he had allowed you to kiss him. The night after that had sparked a fight. You desperately wanted to understand the relationship the both of you had. He had threatened and insulted you then he disappeared from your life, ceasing all meeting with you for three whole months. That is until now.

“You’ve been toying with me, brat”

Sukuna starts the conversation, irritated and angry. You furrowed your brows as you looked at him. What was he talking about? If anything he had been toying with you.

“Excuse me?”

You meet his tone with the same attitude, except you seem a little more irritated than him.

“If I recall you’re the one who stopped meeting with me for a whole 3 months because you were butt hurt that I wanted to know what we are!!”

You shoot up from your spot on the couch and storm over to him, your feet thunking against the wood floor. When you reach Sukuna, you jab your finger into his chest and practically scream at him. Sukuna just stands there in shock. If it had been anyone else, he would have sliced them up by now for even looking at him funny. But why did he always refrain from doing that to you? What was it about you?

“YOU don’t get to say that I’ve been toying with you!! If anything, I’ve been playing your stupid little games since these meetings started!!!”

Sukuna looks at you, his eyes narrowed but he can feel a sinking feeling in his stomach that betrays how he wants to feel about you right now. He wanted to convince himself over the three months that these meetings were unnecessary and he owed you nothing but truthfully, those 8 months felt like years. It irked him so deeply that he had to confront you about it. You had done something to him. Not the other way around, your anger was unjustified to him. And yet he couldn’t open his mouth to speak.

You stay silent for a moment before looking directly up into Sukuna’s eyes, searching for something in him that cared, but his barrier stayed up. His barrier was so thick, hiding his true intentions, he was a master at hiding his intentions and giving into bloodlust. A frown replaced the anger in your face when you realized you couldn’t see through him. You kept your eyes on his, still searching as you spoke quietly and softly.

“Why did you let me kiss you that night… Am I just a toy in one big game to you…?”

Sukuna feels his chest tighten and holds his breath as he looks into your eyes. Unlike him you were an open book. Looking into your eyes was like pouring alcohol onto a deep wound. It made his face twist up into an unreadable expression for a moment after you spoke.

He didn’t owe you a response and yet… he couldnt stop his lips.

“No”

“No what Sukuna, no I’m not a toy?”

“No you’re not. You’re confusing”

Sukuna’s words catch you off guard and you furrow your brows again as you keep your gaze trained on him.

“I’m confusing…?”

“I feel suffocated being near you”

You go silent again for what feels like an eternity before he breaks the silence.

“You have put a spell on me woman”

You scoff in disbelief, is he still toying around with you? Could you really believe anything he said?

“I have not”

“It is the only explanation for the tightness that burdens my chest near you woman! You have bound my soul to you to bend to your will!”

You burst out in laughter finally, you have never heard the king of curses become so desperate. You were beginning to realize the nature of the situation. You figured that he had never been in love before and this whole concept was new to him. You pursed your lips, thinking of something to say while Sukuna looked at you like you were crazy for laughing at him.

“You laugh at my suffering woman?!”

“Sukuna, I haven’t put a spell on you. That tightness in your chest is a reaction to loving somebody. If you had wanted to cut contact with me that night you would have never returned to me in such a sour mood. You thought of me those entire 3 months”

Sukuna glared at you for even suggesting that was the case. He shoved you away from him to get distance and the sinking feeling struck him again along with an instinctual urge to pull you back to him.

You stood there, looking at him in shock. He could have done way more than push you but that push irked you to the very core of your soul and your expression soured once again.

“You know what, fine. Be that way! Go back to hiding in your prison inside Yuji’s mind! I don’t care what feelings you have for me, figure it out yourself and don’t talk to me again! I don’t want to meet with you ever again!”

Sukuna looked at you, angry and dumbfounded that you were demanding him to do things.

“You have no authority to demand things of me woman! I do what I please!”

“I DON’T CARE”

Your scream causes his jaw to clamp shut. He had never heard you so angry before. He grumbled a curse to you under his breath before traveling back to Yuji’s room and laying his body down in the bed, swapping out with him so that he wouldn’t become suspicious of why Sukuna was standing in front of you who was so angry.

You on the other hand grabbed your keys and left the house, slamming the door behind you. You didn’t know where you were going but you needed to get away from the house to process your anger and frustration. You walked to your car, unlocking it with the keys and quickly pulling open the drivers side door, getting in and driving away.

#jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk sukuna #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #angst #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #aged up characters #aged up au #jjk fanfic

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