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lovebugism · 7 months

Note

for your fall prompts! what about “why are your hands so cold?” with the love of my life, steve harrington?

autumn, my love! ty for requesting! i hope you like it!! — steve makes fun of your cold hands but only as an excuse to hold them (mutual pining, friends to lovers, 2k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Family Video always smells like Robin’s morning coffee, crisp autumn air, and warm nostalgia this time of year. It’s quiet and homey and liminal — as orange as early autumn itself.

The empty store is filled with the sound of your rushed scribbling as you jot down a load of cursive nothingness in your journal. Your hand smears the wet ink across the page. It stains the paper as much as the side of your wrist.

Your other hand is curled into a fist to prop up your lolling head. Expelling your racing thoughts into the leather-back book is the only thing keeping you awake.

The stale air glows suddenly with a newfound life when a cozier, more familiar scent engulfs you — like pine, musk, and vanilla. You feel Steve’s visceral warmth surrounding you. Before you can blush about the unexpected proximity, he snatches your journal out from under you.

“Hey!” you shout before you mean to, perhaps the loudest he’s ever heard you.

“What’s this?” this beautiful boy muses, honey eyes sparkling. The dull store blooms with its radiance. You can’t believe he’s looking at you with it and with his rosy, lopsided grin.

“Give it back,” you demand, quieter now and smiling wider.

Steve meets your playfully arched brow with a sunny grin. He thumbs through your journal with golden hands from a leftover summer tan. His biceps are all but bursting from his vest and too-tight polo.

“Keith said you’re not allowed to write in your diary on the clock, you know?” he reminds with a feigned seriousness, scrunching his nose when his twinkling eyes flit back to yours.

Keith did actually say that. A few days ago now. He also said he’d dock your pay if he caught you doing it again, the absolute asshole.

“It’s not a diary!” you argue with a beam on your face.

You briefly wonder if you’re smiling a little too wide, and the fleeting thought makes the bright expression flicker.

You cross your arms over your chest and pretend to be more serious. Something about Steve stirs a deep sensuality in you, though — like a wolf innately drawn to a full moon. The corners of your lips quirk with an emotion you couldn’t conceal if you tried.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he singsongs with raised brows.

Strands of honey hair hang over his wrinkled forehead when he turns to the book in his hands. He swipes his fingers through them to push them back again, but they fall into place a second later.

You’re too enamored by the boy in front of you to stop him when he starts flipping through your notebook. You know he knows it isn’t a diary. You also know he wouldn’t be going through it if it were. He’s too nice for that. Too sweet on you, anyway.

He finds a random page and lingers there. His eyes flit over every inch of the ink you’ve scribbled inside — miscellaneous lists, doodles, and song lyrics. He figures it must be the music you’re humming all the time, tunes you can’t get out of your head.

Every time I see you, all the rays of the sun are streaming through the waves of your hair, the words read in clumsy cursive. And every star in the sky is taking aim at your eyes like a spotlight. The beating of my heart is a drum, and it’s lost, and it’s looking for a rhythm like you—

Steve’s heart flutters. He feels like a kid again. His stomach swirls with the thought that you might’ve been thinking about him in between the lyrics. It’s as unlikely as it is childish. He knows this, so he frowns.

“Oh,” he monotones playfully, brows pinching and lips jutting. “That’s boring.”

“Exactly. So give it back—” You reach for the book, but Steve’s too quick. He jerks it out of your reach and leaves your hand grabbing at air.

“Ooh, sorry, sunshine,” Steve lilts. “Looks like you’re not tall enough for this ride.”

Your cheeks speckle with heat. You wonder if he’s flirting or if he’s just being friendly, and you’re too in love to know the difference. Your terribly hidden smile is wide and impossibly giddy, anyway.

“Steve,” you bite, though it comes out much happier than you intended it to. “Give it back.”

He purses his lips to the side and furrows his brows. “Hmm… No.”

Your smile broadens, and your eyes widen at his blatant defiance. You giggle like a child as you walk the short distance towards him. “Give it back,” you laugh and stand on the tips of your toes in front of him.

He chuckles boyishly in return and lifts it further out of your reach.

You jump slightly off the ground to grab it. You fail the first time and try harder the second. You just narrowly miss it. The tips of your fingers brush his wrist as your torso presses too intently against his ribcage.

Your chest scrapes his vest and jostles his Hi, I’m Steve name tag. You stumble back in mortification.

With a red-hot face and a gaping gaze, you try to stammer out an apology. Nothing comes out. Your mouth opens and shuts like a fish as you pull the hem of your sweater down from where it had ridden up.

Steve has his own look of bewilderment. His honey eyes are aglow with something short of amusement. You’re briefly worried he’s about to mock you until he starts to laugh. “Why are your hands so cold?” he wonders with squinted eyes.

Your stutter hasn’t quite left you. “I— I don’t know. My hands are always cold.”

You curl your fists into the sleeves of your sweater on instinct. If only to hide how they shake for him.

“But that’s like… ice cold,” Steve insists, crooked smile widening. “Like, we live in Antarctica cold.”

Less embarrassed and more playful, you roll your eyes and turn away from him. “Okay…” you mumble under your breath as you sit back down in your chair. Steve can’t stand you being too far away, so he follows you.

“Like, you just got done shoveling snow with your bare hands cold. Like—”

“I get it, Steve. I’m a freak of nature,” you concede, spinning in your swivel chair to face him again.

He’s much closer than you expect him to be. His long legs are all but inches from your knees as he stands before you. You flush but smirk up at him in attempts to keep cool about how fervently he makes you tremble.

“I’m just teasing,” he assures with a pretty laugh.

You already knew that, though. He’s too kind to be mean. He’s a dumbass sometimes, but he always means well.

“Here, look,” he starts, laying your journal back on the counter with a quiet thud. “Let me make it up to you, yeah?”

Your brows pinch. “What do you mean?”

You find out a second later when he turns back to you and takes your hands in his larger ones.

His fingers are long and golden as they curl around your knuckles. His palms aren’t soft, but they aren’t rough either — like they’ve been used, but not too ardently. And he’s warm. He’s oh, so warm.

You tense at the sudden action but relax a second later, melting into him like you’ve always been destined to.

“Oh…”

“Right?” Steve nods with raised brows and quirked lips. “I’m practically a space heater.”

Your heart’s fluttering too aggressively to stutter out an intelligible sentence, so you just nod back at him. “Yeah…”

It makes a little too much sense that the ray of sunlight that always calls you Sunshine feels so golden warm.

Steve gives your hands a squeeze. “See? You’re getting warmer already.”

He doesn’t know it’s because you’re blushing so intensely you feel like your entire body has been set on fire. You’re happy to let him keep on not knowing.

“Thanks, Stevie…” you murmur quietly, gaze trained on your entwined hands.

“Stevie?” he chuckles.

Your eyes dart up to his sparkling ones, and you freeze. You hadn’t meant to call him that. That nickname was usually reserved for your too-elaborate daydreams. “Oh. Shit. Sorry. It just— It just slipped. I’m sorry.”

“No. No, it’s okay,” Steve assures with the shake of his head, giving you another reassuring squeeze. “Seriously. I liked it.”

You exhale a nervous laugh through your nose, ducking your gaze away from his. “You always hate when Robin calls you that…”

“Well, yeah. ‘Cause she’s Robin.”

Your laugh is more genuine this time.

“And it sounds a lot prettier when you say it, anyway.”

He must notice how hard he’s making you blush with how warm your hands have gotten — from frozen solid to fiery hot. But he holds them, anyway. Even when they get all clammy. You want it to mean more than it probably does.

“Yeah?” you press, peering up at him through your lashes.

“Yeah,” he nods like it’s obvious, then gets as sheepish as you a moment later. He tries to act cool through his shyness, tilting his head and shrugging as he smirks. “How about you call me that tonight?”

Your eyes go wide at the unintended insinuation.

His gape matches your own when his own words dawn on him. “I meant at dinner!” he follows quickly. “At Enzo’s. Seven o’clock. You know, if— if you wanna go with me or whatever.”

You do. Most desperately so. In fact, you’re pretty sure you dreamt about it one time. Maybe you’ll tell him that if you’re brave enough — over pasta and breadsticks.

“I don’t have a car,” you confess with a forced laugh. “Or a pretty dress…”

“I can pick you up!” Steve assures immediately, then grows visibly shier. He shifts his weight on his feet but doesn’t try to let go of your hands. It feels too right to hold them. “And, you know, I’m sure you’ll look nice in whatever you decide to wear, sunshine.”

You purse your lips to the side as you nod, lest your beam blinds him and makes your cheeks burst.

“Okay… Enzo’s. Seven o’clock,” you repeat quietly.

“I pick you up,” he says, squeezing your hands.

You squeeze him back. “You pick me up.”

“And we spend an hour eating breadsticks and making fun of all the wine snobs.”

The imagery makes your stomach swirl, a dream so real you can taste it — red wine and garlic and cherry chapstick.

“Sounds like a plan,” you affirm with a sheepish giggle.

He nods, having no idea he’s grinning like a lovesick idiot down at you. “Cool.”

“Cool,” you repeat.

You watch his tongue dart out to wet his bottom lip. For a fleeting moment, you think he might kiss you. You want him to kiss you. You might melt at his feet if he did, but you need it like you need air.

Ding!

The door chimes at the front of the store.

Autumn air rushes in, leaving you bitterly cold all over again. Or maybe that’s just because Steve’s stepping away from you. Both of you know that Keith will have a fit if a customer complains about PDA.

“Hi! Welcome in! Can I help you find anything?” Steve greets as kindly as always, smiling just the same.

He only says it because he has to say it. He’s secretly hoping for a negative response, just so he can keep on talking to you.

The man in big work boots and a thick canvas jacket squints around the store. He rubs his scruffy face with a hardened hand and turns to Steve. “Yeah, actually,” he says in a gruff, gravely voice. “I was looking for this movie for my wife. It’s her birthday and…”

He rambles on about her favorite movie, a cartoon from her childhood he’s gone two towns over to find. It’s sweet enough to give you butterflies, though it doesn’t match the zoo that erupts in your stomach when Steve turns to look at you again.

He departs from you with a honey gaze. You smile back at him as he goes, watching him intently as he helps the customer with a pretty pink smile.

Your hands are cold again. So much that they ache with you curl them into fists.

You can’t wait for Steve to hold you again tonight. Over a white-clothed table, warm yellow candlelight, and wine-slicked lips.

Enzo’s. Seven o’clock.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fluff #stevie dabble #st drabbles #event: fictober!

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flowercrowngods · 11 months

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it’s floaty steddie hours

Eddie never knew there were moments that would just steal his breath and not give it back even after they passed, lingering in his mind, his heartbeat, his fingertips, making him wonder if the world is suddenly much bigger than before, or endlessly smaller, reduced only to one impossibly perfect moment.

He never knew. Until he met Steve. Steve, with his moments, with his smiles, with his kisses and laughs and gentle voice singing under his breath when he thinks Eddie isn’t listening.

But Eddie listens. He always listens.

And he basks, taking it all in as he’s sitting in the back of his van somewhere at the foot of Weathertop, leaning against the side wall.

There is a steady pitter-patter of heavy summer rain against the roof of the van, a breeze of fresh air coming in through the open doors that occasionally leaves goose bumps along his arms and brings with it the smell of rain and drenched soil, of blooming fields and trees and life, mixing with their own little bubble of life and love and tobacco.

Eddie wants to catch that smell, that sound, that feeling in a mason jar like Steve told him he used to dream as a kid. Maybe he will. He knows there’s one in the driver’s side door for this very purpose.

It would be a good forever-moment, with Steve lying in the back of his van, illuminated by the soft glow of the fairy lights Eddie installed for him the other week with a hearty but ultimately fake grumble. The warm light dances along his skin, making it look even more golden than usual, complementing the galaxy of moles that is imprinted and immortalised on his skin.

And Eddie watches. He always watches.

Golden light that makes even his dimples shine as he smiles, eyes closed as he’s singing along to the third mixtape of the night. Space Age Love Song, which Eddie pretends to hate. But how could he hate it when it makes Steve look like that? When it thus steals Eddie’s breath, his heart, his sanity?

And then, for a moment, for one perfect, drawn-out moment, all Eddie Munson can do anymore is watch. And listen. And feel. Because what he sees and hears and feels is everything.

His breath is lodged in his throat as he reaches for his little sketchbook — the special one, littered with drawings and doodles and musings of Steve. His face, his hands, the constellations of his moles. The occasional DnD related sketch in there, because Steve just inspires him.

His pencil dances over the page in practiced, familiar movements as he tries to capture the moment on paper. It’s hard, though, because Steve’s nose is scrunched a little with that smile that Eddie’s not even sure Steve’s aware of, and his dimples tell a story of their own tonight. A story of contentment rather than joy or amusement. Eddie has to try and try again, never quite getting it right, this perfection, and he curses a little under his breath.

“What are you drawing?” Steve asks, turning his head and opening his eyes a little, squinting but curious.

“Nothing,” Eddie smiles, pulling the sketch closer to his chest, away from Steve’s sleepy, lazy, slow attempt to reach for it. “Go back to sleep.”

“‘M not asleep,” he sighs, rolling over onto his side, watching Eddie and reaching for his ankle — just to touch. To hold. To feel.

It makes Eddie smile. “No?”

“No,” Steve says, helpless not to smile back, and Eddie wants to kiss him. “Just… I don’t know. ‘S nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm. Perfect.”

Eddie discards the sketchbook and goes to lie down beside Steve, wrapping one arm around his middle, the other coming up to take Steve’s, their fingers intertwined between their faces.

“Then I think the word you’re looking for is basking.”

Steve hums again, touching his forehead to Eddie’s knuckles before brushing featherlight kisses over them. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Basking.”

Eddie’s heart is ready to beat out of his chest, make a life of its own fuelled by the perfection of this moment. Everything about it. Everything.

Outside, the rain picks up even more, a wave of cold air coming into the van that makes Steve cuddle closer to him, until their foreheads are touching. Eddie closes his eyes, breathes him in, and slowly inches forward, tilting his head to claim Steve’s lips in a gentle kiss.

They trade slow, sensual kisses for a while. Steve’s hand comes up to Eddie’s cheek, his thumb stroking whatever skin he can find, caressing his cheek, his chin, his jaw, while Eddie plays with Steve’s hair.

In the end it’s Steve who pulls back first, eyes open, just watching Eddie. Taking him in, making him feel seen rather than watched.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Answering is as easy as breathing. And just as difficult. Just as impossible. His love, his breath — they both belong to Steve, completely and entirely.

Steve, who smiles at him like being loved by Eddie Munson means something to him. Like it means everything. Like it can mean Forever. Eddie feels like he might not survive tonight it Steve continues to be so genuine, so honest, so raw, so open, so vulnerable, so pretty, so beautiful, so absolutely breathtakingly everything.

“Can I see what you were drawing?”

“You,” Eddie says, reaching behind him blindly in search for his book, too weak to refuse Steve anything he asks for. “I was drawing you.”

“You were?”

Eddie nods, feeling a heat creeping up on his cheeks.

“Sap,” Steve grins, leaning in to plant a kiss on Eddie’s cheek as he reaches over him for the sketchbook. “Can I?”

“Knock yourself out,” Eddie grumbles, rolling them so Steve’s lying on his back and Eddie can sprawl on top of him. Hide his face in the crook of Steve’s neck, hide the way he’s flushing, hide the absolutely obvious way he’s a goner for Steve fucking Harrington.

He hears the gasps, hears the pages being flipped, the little giggles of surprise, the hums and tiny, secret little ohs. He hears them and he holds his breath, beginning to shiver for a reason that even the cool breeze cannot compete with.

“Eddie,” Steve breathes. Doesn’t say anything else for a while. And Eddie wonders if Steve is in the same boat, in the same condition, if he has these moments, too. Moments like this. He wonders, and he hopes, and he wishes.

But Steve doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Eddie, and the music switches to Springsteen. Tougher Than the Rest. It’s always been too soft for Eddie, but right now it serves to give the word perfect a new melody.

“Dance with me,” Steve breathes.

“Hm?”

“Dance with me. Please?”

“In the rain?”

“Mm-hmm,” Steve nods, tightens his hold around Eddie as if he forgot that they still had to get up and get out there.

“Yeah, okay,” Eddie says, lifting himself from Steve’s chest and climbing out of the car, warm rain immediately drenching his clothes. It makes him laugh, a boyish little thing that bubbles out of him as he holds out his hands to help Steve out.

Steve takes his hand, jumping out with a small giggle of his own, making for a glorious vision: happy and giddy against the golden light inside the van, his wild hair soon drenched completely, sticking to his face where he shakes his head, showing droplets of water left and right.

It doesn’t fit the song, doesn’t fit the notion of basking, but they’re both laughing and breathless, clinging to each other in the moonlit night somewhere at the foot of weathertop, far away from everyone else that they might just be the only two people left in the world. Two silly boys, giddy and breathless and stupidly in love.

It makes Eddie pause. Swallow. It makes his heart go wild as he stills.

“What?” Steve asks, stilling as well, looking over his shoulder to see if someone was coming, if someone’s watching them.

Eddie pulls him closer, makes Steve meet his eyes again as he rests his hands around his neck. “Dance with me.”

A smile spreads Steve’s lips, breaking through all of Eddie’s walls to let the light in — even in the middle of the night. “Okay,” he breathes.

And if you’re brave enough for love, // Honey, I’m tougher than the rest.

The sound of rain isn’t loud enough to drown out the music, but still Eddie can barely hear it over the sound of his own heart. Over the sound of I love you, I love you, I love you. Over the sound of Is this forever? Can this be forever?

They slow dance to Springsteen, then to Tears for Fears, and eventually to Prince. They dance until Steve begins to shiver in his arms, until the rain has drenched them so completely that none of the day’s heat is left in the air and the breeze is getting uncomfortable. And then, they dance a little longer, because Steve is capturing Eddie’s lips again, slow and unhurried and like he means it. Like he means it all.

“One day,” Steve breathes against Eddie’s lips. “One day I’m going to marry you. I’ll find a way.”

And it’s Eddie this time who gasps, who falls into Steve because his knees are giving out. It’s Eddie who’s lost for words.

But he doesn’t need words, because Steve is kissing him again, holding him up, holding him, holding his heart and his life and his future in hands so gentle and sure that Eddie wants to fall apart, just a little bit.

“Not if I marry you first,” he says eventually, brushing one last bruising kiss to Steve’s lips before pulling back and climbing into the van, dripping as he is.

Steve, laughing and giggling, follows immediately after him, pulling off his clothes in a hurry to get under the blanket. Eddie watches him with a leer — at least until Steve kicks him in the side and tells him to get out of these clothes and come under the blanket to warm up.

“If you wanted to get me naked, you could’a just said so, Harrington. Didn’t have to propose first.”

Steve grins, helpless against it, blushing a little and hiding his face in the blanket even as he reaches for Eddie to come closer.

But Eddie doesn’t, and awkwardly climbs over Steve to reach for the driver’s side door.

“What are you—“

Steve shuts up when Eddie retrieves the mason jar, his mouth clicking shut adorably, making Eddie grin, vulnerable and nervous and raw as he feels.

“Told myself I’d capture a perfect moment for you. What do you think, does it qualify?”

Steve swallows. Nods. Reaches for Eddie once more, who shuffles closer until Steve can test his head on his shoulder.

“Can’t believe you remembered,” he murmurs, trailing his index finger along the lid.

“I find your lack of faith disturbing,” Eddie grins, making Steve laugh. Alleviating the moment, but not dislodging it. “So?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “It’s perfect. I’m… God, I love you so much, Eddie, shit.”

“And that’s how I’m gonna label it,” Eddie grins.

“Not One day I’m gonna marry you?”

And Eddie’s breath hitches again. He lowers the mason jar, meeting Steve’s eyes this time. He wants to ask; needs to ask. Needs to know.

“Do you mean that?” It’s whispered; he doesn’t have the strength or the bravery to be any louder.

Steve’s hands come up to his cheeks, cradling his face in the gentlest way as he holds Eddie’s eyes. “Eddie Munson,” he says, “one day I’m going to marry you. And I won’t let you marry me first.”

Between them, Eddie opens the mason jar just as Steve leans in to capture his mouth in a kiss that really is nothing less than a promise. Nothing less than Forever.

happy birthday @anzelsilver i have the hugest “pls be my friend” crush on you so i decided to write you a lil thing and hope you enjoy this and the rest of your week 🫶🤍🌷

#and then they cuddle naked and. do other things hehehe #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #dio words #i am 17 minutes late for your birthday in my time zone and idk where you are but i hope you like this lil thing #it’s floaty it’s vibey it’s uhhh not as capital F fluffy as i intended but alas eddie was too in love it’s not my fault

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justblades · 1 year

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⌕ DULCET MUSINGS

⟢ CHARACTERS : dan heng, gepard landau & sampo koski x gender neutral! reader WC : 1.4k

⟢ IN WHICH they celebrate your day in their own special way <3 tooth rotting fluff

dan heng — beams a sweet smile as he fixes the little gift's wrapping that nestles in his gentle soft palms. he closes his eyes for a little while, envisioning your reaction once he finally gives the item he carefully prepared for you. although silent most of the time, dan heng is the type to pay attention to your preferences, your dislikes, almost everything that you babble about to him.

with his eidetic memory and meticulous nature, his present, without a doubt will cater to your liking. but apparently, two hands cover his eyes, making the male flinch from the sudden presence behind him. "oh, what could this be?" you query, scooting closer to the male, scrutinizing the gift box before him.

"wait, remove your hands first." dan heng protests as he attempts his best to gain his vision back. a chortle slips from your lips and eventually gave in, letting the male breathe free again without the restraints of your hands plastered on his face. he arises from his seat and hands you the gift, teal eyes glimmering with excitement although not that evident from his expression.

sometimes, a small smile from his lips and his long lashes fluttering are all you need to know his heart is brimming with happiness and excitement. dan heng is usually perceived as a cold yet nerdy type, it's actually a privilege you get to see him like this.

gepard — whisks the mixture carefully, having a full on chef look from the apron tightly wrapped around his snatched waist and a hand towel draped on the front pocket. aquamarine irises glancing from one dessert to another he intricately made for you, euphoria pools inside him - feeling satisfied with everything he did so far.

every dessert is different from the other in spite of each one belonging in the same category, he made sure that your taste buds won't cloy from eating too much sweets of the similar variety. the blonde male suddenly takes a trip down the memory lane, moments of when he tried to perfect each sweet dish flash in his mind.

with enough perseverance, he finally perfected the arts of it— thus, he calls you from your room, masculine yet gentle, affirming voice chiming into your ears from the other side of the wall. "coming!" you respond with such enthusiasm and once you got to meet up with your partner face to face, your eyes avert to the desserts prepared on the glossy tabletop.

pudding, ice cream, muffins, everything. the extra toppings were even in your favorite flavor, you also noticed how majority of the courses were also in your favorite color. a miniature doodle adorns the pudding's gleaming surface, supposedly a chibi version of you and gepard together bound by a small heart.

the doodle looked different yet adorable in its own way, baby pink hues flushing his pale cheeks. "it's not much but . ." you immediately cut him off by pressing a quick chaste kiss on his lips, "this is everything to me already. it's a lot, it's not 'not much'!" gepard's heartbeat picks up, embarrassed from how he looks disoriented in front of you. "i'm lucky to have you."

sampo — is usually deemed unreliable and a ridiculous person, leading you to doubting yourself how did you fall for someone like him. sometimes it's unbearable to hear people dissing him and even the male knows it well. however, he sports that usual smug look on his face and shrugs it off by saying "it's not a big deal."

you knew him very well so it was natural for you to not heed any mind to those comments. your perception of your boyfriend is always a 50/50 and never exceeding past that number. 50 of happy for having him, 50 of wanting to strangle him because he always does questionable things that irk you.

no matter the outcome, sampo never fails to grant him a saccharine smile from your lips. he has his ways to make you happy - but he might be crossing the line just now. today is your birthday but the male is nowhere to be seen, he was gone since yesterday and you couldn't help but heave a sloth sigh in the end.

traversing the boulder town with no particular plans in mind, you find yourself seeking companionship from whoever could improve your solitude in the streets. your eyes land on the moles and they do so too; hook trekks towards you followed with her other two playmates, curiosity glinting in her eyes. "huh? isn't it your day? where's your blue haired lover?"

kids can really rub salt on the wound sometimes and your nervously chuckle, "it's okay, he's probably busy." when suddenly, a confetti pops from above, glittering shiny paper shreds fall down in a horizontal blur from your sight. you quicly whip your head, your eyes greeted by the lush green ones- and the iconic cocky smile.

he bows lightly with a gloved hand on his chest, sampo gestures for you to look at your left and three unknown men make their entrance. one man was holding a bouquet of roses, one was holding a box of chocolates, and the remaining guy hands you an envelope, seemingly a handwritten letter for your lover. "i hope i'm not late." he says, holding your right hand and seals a lingering kiss on the back of your palm.

my masterlist !

#dan heng #dan heng x reader #gepard landau #gepard x reader #gepard landau x reader #sampo x reader #sampo #sampo koski #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader

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jnnul · 2 months

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in another lifetime... (nct dream)

a/n: mark’s is a little too long...this was originally a fic for him but it, uh, turned into a dreamies fic idk how either word count: 2.6k genre: fluff

in another lifetime, mark lee would be a novelist. he would be writing manuscript after manuscript about dragons and oceans and crossing oceans on dragons. he would be quiet, oftentimes just scribbling away on some fat stack of papers. mark would be handsome, in that nerdy and almost innocent way. he would push his glasses further up on his nose bridge, always meaning to get new glasses and then never getting a chance to.

mark wouldn’t drink coffee (his parents didn’t like him drinking coffee) so he would just sip a cup of hot chocolate milk ceremoniously. he would bring his own tumbler every time to that hole in the wall coffee shop he frequented because as much as he loves his parents, he doesn’t want other people to know that he’s 23 and he’s still drinking hot chocolate.

you would probably be the barista at said hole in the wall coffee shop. owned by your close friend’s mom, every time you would come home from college, you would come help out your friend and her mother at the shop. all the regulars would know you by name because you’ve always got this kind smile and welcoming air about you.

fitting that you would be a secondary education major, many people would muse, especially when you would set about making some absolutely monstrous drink without so much as batting your pretty eyes.

mark, in particular, would be so intrigued by your ambiance that he begins to write you into his stories without even realizing. suddenly, the main character has a lilt in their voice like you do. and even the villain flashes award-winning smiles to their henchmen every so often.

needless to say, mark would be smitten. crushes are probably foreign to mark. for as long as mark has been able to pronounce the word ‘crush’ he had denounced the idea altogether. inseparable with his legal pad filled with random ideas, mark would write down everything he saw and felt - and subsequently, the fleeting passion would fade into doodles and sketches of forgotten characters.

but somehow, you would be different. maybe it’s way you remember exactly how mark likes his hot chocolate by his third time ordering it, or the fact that you call out, “one latte for mr. lee!” even though you both know full well that there is no latte in the tumbler you have just filled up.

either way, mark would probably hand you a letter one august evening, a couple weeks before you head back for your last year of college, and needless to say, you say yes to the question in the letter.

“be the main character in my life and go on a date with me?”

in another life time, renjun is an artist. he’s still up and coming but he’s got talent and eye for beauty that not many people have. he’s almost as beautiful as the landscapes that he draws, with the same twinkle in his eyes and the slight upward tilt to his lips. but his artwork is something else.

as beautiful as renjun is, you can’t take your eyes away from his art. there would be some with vivid blues and reds and greens that should clash in a way that such bold colors do but somehow renjun makes it work. there would be some with muted colors, reflecting the struggles that renjun has seen and faced during his lifetime, evoking sadness in even the casual passerby. and there would be some that just showed how madly in love renjun was with you.

you would probably be his childhood sweetheart. someone who, although they appreciated the arts, worked a stable, well-paying job. someone who cared more about putting food on the table and supporting their partner in their passions than perhaps pursuing your own passions. renjun would probably argue with you, especially when he’s going through artist’s block or his paintings aren’t selling.

he’s worried for you after all. “it’s selfish of me to continue to paint when it’s not paying the rent. you should get to follow your own passions too.” he would say, brushing away the tears in his eyes as he looks at a half-finished canvas that you started back in high school. you had never quite gotten around to finishing it. but every time he felt that way, you would put a hand on renjun’s cheek and tilt his face towards yours gently.

gentle, so gentle. everything about you was gentle. your touch, your smile, your love. and you would press a soft, almost fleeting kiss to his cheek. “i am following my passion, renjun. i would follow you to the ends of the earth.”

and that would be that. renjun would be an exuberant lover. he was, after all, an artist and what are artists without their emotions? often times, renjun’s mood would fluctuate with the painting he was working on (or vice versa) and every single time, you would bring him back to the earth with a knowing look and a loving touch. renjun brought the color and passion into your life that you don’t think that you would have otherwise.

and he would give you the love of a lifetime. nothing less, of course, for his muse.

in another lifetime, jeno would be a teacher. throughout his childhood, jeno would be a good student - not at the absolute pinnacle of academic achievement - but he would make the top ten list of students almost every single year up all the way through high school. and then he’s faced with college and deciding what field he wants to go into and he’s stuck.

throughout his life, he has been a pretty normal kid, according to himself. he was good at studying but he was only good enough at it to go to a decent school. he liked sports but he liked having a real job more and then again, he was also just good enough that. he was alright in pretty much everything so he ended up committing to nothing and becoming a teacher.

anybody can tell that his heart’s not in though. for some reason, for all of the ways that jeno lee had thought himself to be just average, he feels as though he’s restricted himself to a role that he’s too big for.

until he actually starts teaching - then it feels like the earth has opened up underneath him when he steps into his first classroom full of fourteen year olds, all with bright eyes and curious minds. and jeno falls in love with something for the first time. he loves that he gets to walk into a classroom and foster children into pursuing their passions and interests. he goes to every sporting event, marching band concert, salsa y salsa night that he’s invited to. he sponsors three clubs (robotics, fashion club, and songwriters association) that he knows next to nothing about just because he can’t get over the fact that these kids trust him with their carefully guarded passions and promises to themselves.

he sees so much in each and every student and walks out of every parent teacher conference with glowing recommendations and referrals because it’s so obvious to everyone that he truly cares. and as much as he’s appreciative for all of the care and attention he gets from all of the parents, it’s different when it comes from you.

you’re the parent to one of jeno’s favorite students, a shy and quiet student who was very intelligent and well-mannered but slow to participate in class. and jeno’s well-aware that it’s inappropriate to think this during a parent teacher conference but when you walk in the room, the only thing that jeno can think is wow. they are absolutely gorgeous. that’s how jeno lee falls in love for the second time.

conversation flows easy and one thing leads to another and now suddenly you and jeno are dating. the student gets a lot more comfortable around jeno as well, and he’s even caught them reaching out a shy hand to some of the other students to show them the book they were reading. he texts as much to you and the two of you continue happily down your path of content and quiet, nurturing love.

in another lifetime, donghyuck would be a singer/songwriter. he probably tries hard to find something else to love, something else to latch onto - preferably something that pays the bills without any doubt of the next paycheck. but no matter how many times he switches his major or tries to find new passions, he falls into music every single time. so he decides that there’s only one life to live and throws himself into music.

it takes a while before he gets discovered. he gets discovered for producing one of his friend’s songs and slowly, as he builds up a steady fanbase, he begins releasing more and more music. when donghyuck hits 10k listeners on spotify, he feels as though there was nothing that could stop him.

until he’s completely stuck. he’s in a creative block, completely unable to come up with anything to write or sing. every time he tries to put pencil to paper, he ultimately draws a blank, unable to even think of how he feels about his writer’s block.

and then he’s in the studio, producing another song for the friend who brought him to this level of success at all when you walk into the recording booth. you were featuring on the song for the friend as a favor (your mutual friend thought you had a gorgeous voice even though you really had no interest in stardom) and donghyuck suddenly was hit with inspiration.

he didn’t really know what it was about you. maybe it was because of the way you smiled at the friend as the two of you goofed off in the recording booth. or the way you would always ask donghyuck if he had any thoughts on how you were approaching the song. or the way that your eyes seem to twinkle with the light of the stars in the dim lighting of the shitty recording booth.

whatever it is, you’ve got donghyuck. hook, line, sinker. and so, with little no explanation, donghyuck finds himself asking you to spend time with him, just so that the creative juices would continue flowing the way that they always seem to when you’re with him. somehow, you just being in the same room as him, focused on whatever homework you were doing, is enough for him.

and one day, when you see a song come up on your spotify feed that says - ‘go out with me?’ and your initials are listed in the songwriter’s credits, you find that perhaps you should thank that friend for dragging you into the recording booth after all.

in another lifetime, jaemin would be a computer scientist. he probably would’ve tried to get onto the surgery/medical path but promptly changed his mind after seeing just how long he’d have to be studying before he got to do anything he actually wanted to do.

he wouldn’t be in love with his job - he mostly just sees it as a means to an end more than anything. but that’s okay because he recognizes that a job is just meant to do for living expenses but not for living. jaemin gets upset sometimes that he isn’t really pursuing his passions on any level for his job but he’s a rational man. he rationalizes that it’s best if he has a well-paying job (that he’s very strict about 9 am entry and 5 pm exit with) to use the rest of the day for what he actually wants to do.

so when his company asks him to learn about a new coding language to better prepare for the integration of ai into their daily workflow, jaemin considers jumping ship and joining another company. he didn’t even like his job well enough on its own - why would he go out of his way to learn a new language?

well, because you’re the one teaching it to him.

you’re the instructor for the course his company is forcing him to take to learn about this new programming language and you had him wrapped around your little finger. jaemin was never a bad student, but if he had put in the same amount of effort into his classes in undergrad as he was now in your class, he’s damn sure he’d have been a c-suite officer by now.

you’re probably well aware of his crush (he is the singular person in the course who submits the assignments well before the deadline - and one of very few who bother to do the assignments at all) but due to the technical power you have over him, you don’t bother even trying to entertain him at all.

however, when jaemin cleverly sneaks his phone number into his final project, you end up finding yourself accidentally writing down the silly little digits onto a post-it note to save to your phone at a later date.

in another life, chenle is an entrepreneur. he tries to follow the footsteps of those who came before him to inherit the family business - he truly does. but he finds that he simply cannot bring himself to do work for a company he doesn’t truly care about. so, he works hard to create his own path.

he fails more than once, but he’s a strong person and he doesn’t get down very easily. in fact, it’s after he meets you that he creates the business idea that finally allows him to take on the world.

after he meets you, everything seems to go his way and even though chenle isn’t usually the superstitious type, he always insists that you stay by his side whenever he makes big decisions. first, as an acquaintance, then as a friend, and then as a partner.

chenle gains a sense of confidence and stability (two things he’d never had thought would go hand in hand) after he meets you. his life becomes a lot mroe understandable, and you allow him to find a sense of comfort in you that he cannot find elsewhere. it becomes easier to rest his mind, and once he does, he always comes up with better ideas than the last.

he still insists that you’re his lucky charm though, and although you know it’s not true, you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.

in another life, jisung becomes a soccer player. he knows it’s nowhere close to easy to become a soccer player but once he discovers that that’s what he wants to do, no matter how much he tries to do something else, he can’t find it in himself to become anything else. his parents do their best to support him but he still can’t help that he feels guilty. at this age, he wants to start to be able to support his parents - and perhaps if he chose to do a 9 - 5, he might’ve been able to.

but now, he was just scratching the surface of the success that he wanted to achieve. everything changes when he meets you though.

you’re the captain of the national woman’s soccer team and jisung has had a crush on you since before he even knew that his dream was soccer. and so when you come to his little club (it’s not that little - they won the national championships last year) to serve as the coach for a two-week training camp, he’s doing his best to impress you.

and impressed, you are. you admire his work ethic and his style and on your recommendation, jisung applies to play for the national soccer team and gets selected (as a reserve player, but that’s more than he was before!), beginning a romance for the ages.

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dentiststoothfairy · 6 months

Note

Helloo!! Could I ask for Norton with a VERY shy s/o who has difficulty speaking but loves to draw, has a big crush on him and is always secretly (they are not) drawing him because of it? Means they always stare at him and starts doodling, which might look very weird at first. I just love the dynamic shy x "i hate everyone, except this one" lmao

Please take your time with that! I saw how many request you have and i hope it was okay to give you one more. Take care!! <333

[🦷🎀 𝙸'𝚅𝙴 𝙱𝙴𝙴𝙽 𝚂𝙾 𝙽𝙴𝚁𝚅𝙾𝚄𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝚆𝚁𝙸𝚃𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙱𝚄𝚃 𝙸 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙺 𝙸𝚃 𝙲𝙰𝙼𝙴 𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙻𝙻𝚈 𝙶𝙾𝙾𝙳! 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜, 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚛! 𝚂𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚜𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚜 𝚞𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚕 <𝟹𝟹]

🍩 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥 🍩 𝐱 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐒/𝐎

At first? He probably wasn't too interested I'M GONNA BE HONEST

You never really spoke, so he didn't really feel a need to talk to you either. It's not that you couldn't or were mute, you just seemed to really suck at it.

It didn't help that the flushing on your cheeks would occasionally go unnoticed and he just thought you were socially inept 😭

But, he quickly picked on your staring.

Yeah, anon he wasn't too happy about that.

First, and obviously, he assumed it was about his scar. Of course you would want to gawk and stare at him. Everyone else did.

His instinct told him that you were just like the others, snickering at him even if it must've been behind closed doors but to be honest he was more reasonable than to listen to his insecurities.

Although, his stare tended to harden to you.

You always seemed to bashfully look away, scribbling down on a paper. His eyes still stuck on you until he was satisfied that you weren't staring at him like he was an animal in a cage.

God bless. You two dancing around it completely unknowing of it 😭❤

Anyways, it wasn't until he passed behind you. He got curious.

His eyes fell down past your shoulder and he practically fell over. He's very graceful guys I promise.

"... Is that me?"

Now, Norton isn't exactly the most... Handsome fella ever. He believes that anyways. So him.. Being a muse?? To such?? An artist??? HELLO??

If he had known that he was unknowingly posing, he definitely would've asked for money but...

As he gently picks it up, his eyes soften for the first time in years.

YOU POOR THING. YOU'RE EMBARRASSED BEYOND ABSOLUTE WORDS, ALL THE WORDS YOU HAD BEEN STRUGGLING TO SPEAK TO HIM WITH SUDDENLY CAME POURING OUT LIKE PROJECTILE WORD VOMIT

He just shut you up by raising his hand up, really looking at your drawing.

Did...

Did you really see him like that..?

"Uh.. This is.. Pretty Good."

#anon #anon ask #x reader #x y/n #identity v #idv #norton campbell #norton x reader #idv norton #norton campbell x reader

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lunaroserites · 25 days

Text

Art and Ice - Cold

Pairing: Eventual Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Characters: Natasha, Wanda, Pietro, Loki, Bucky, Sam Wilson, Clint Barton, a lot of the avengers cast is mentioned.

Summery: Doodle is coming to terms with her feelings and we see a snippet of Bucky not seen before.

This might a 2 or 3 parter (it's gonna be more because cannot help myself). College AU, our boy Bucky is on the hockey team, and reader is an art major (because I love that trope and couldn't help myself)

Warnings: Not beta'd! All mistakes are my own. Friends fluff, swearing, mentions of college students being college students. Bit of friendly harmless flirting between friends. Bucky is a playboy. Fighting. Some vulgar language, and some inuendo

Word Court: 3800

Likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! ❤️

Please do not repost, translate or otherwise copy my work elsewhere, without my express permission, thank you! Lunaroserites on tumblr and ao3

Catch up here: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 ❤️

People were leaving, they were talking excitedly about what they just witnessed as if it was entertaining. For you the high pitched ringing in your ears wouldn’t let up and you couldn’t tear your eyes from the scene in front of you. The medical team led Bucky off the ice, pressing a cloth to his nose to stem the bleeding. You didn’t register Nat pulling your arm toward the locker room because you couldn’t take your eyes off the puddle of blood solidifying to the ice.

“Hello, hello,” Nat waved her hand in front of your face, your eyes focused back in suddenly, and the ringing in your ears stopped as well. You shook your head and blinked a couple times to clear your swirling thoughts. You looked at her with wide eyes, she gave you a sympathetic smile back. “You good?” She asked and you nodded, she was studying your face before determining you were actually okay, and over the momentary shock.

“I’m fine,” your head snapped toward Bucky’s voice as he shooed a medical examiner off. “Doodle?” He looked around, over the sea of people in the hallway. “Doodle,” he caught your eyes and smiled. He swaggered over to you instantly, a cocky grin plastered on his face. He had a couple steri-strips on the bridge of his nose and his knuckles were wrapped in gauze.

You raised an eyebrow at him and crossed your arms over your chest as he sauntered over, a look of disbelief on your face.

“What did you think?” He asked with a smile on his face. Taken back by his question you didn’t answer right away.

“What did I think of what?” You asked bewildered. He tilted his head and stared down at you with a “are you kidding” expression.

“The fight? What did I think of that unnecessary amount of violence and display of barbarism?” You questioned, your voice raising a couple notches by the end of the sentence. He couldn’t be serious, could he? He was.

“It wasn’t unnecessary violence,” Barnes sounded taken back, almost offended by your statement. You raised both eyebrows now and looked up at him, your hip cocked to the side and the exasperation evident on your face.

“Then what in pray tell would you call it?” You asked, your tone matching his.

“Hockey? Defending myself?” He questioned back. Your eyes widened slightly as you thought about your wording. It sounded like you were blaming him for starting the fight that was clearly started by the other team. But that didn’t excuse the excessive amount of violence displayed by two grown men.

“Defending yourself, and fucking a man up as bad as you did are two very different things,” you tapped your foot annoyed at him. He was smirking now, that confused you.

“I love when you swear Doodle,” he mused, “such a proper, pretty mouth saying such filthy things,” his hand slipped up and cupped your face as he ran his thumb over your flaming cheek. You grimaced and stepped back from him, ripping his hand from your face instantly.

“God you’re disgusting,” you said with a clipped tone, you turned away from him to try and calm your flaming cheeks. “I’m glad you’re okay, you oaf, but I need to go now.” You started walking away from him, his big hand gripped your upper arm and tugged you back.

“Oh come on Doodle, I meant no offence,” he had a slight almost desperate sounding whine in his tone. “What do you mean leaving? There’s a party to celebrate the win!” He said enthusiastically.

“Well whether you meant offence or not is neither here nor there. What you said was crude and uncalled for,” you said firmly. You pulled your arm from his grasp, “and I don’t do parties.,” you said firmly. “Also, I told you, I’m not interested in anything outside getting my project done. I’m sure you’ll find someone at the party with a pretty mouth to do whatever you want,” you spat at him. You turned fully, your face set in nasty scowl and you marched out of the arena, ignoring him as he called after you.

You didn’t see him for a week after that. Not because you were avoiding him, maybe you were avoiding him, but the team had a few away games and classes got in the way. Most of your free time was now devoted to being hauled up in one of the art studios in front of a huge canvas you were using to do your project. As well as completing other small projects for other classes. At this point you really didn’t need to see Barnes in person anyway you had a decent amount of sketches from your few trips to the arena.

It was the night before the last home game of regular season, Nat had informed you Barnes had been looking for you during practice, even to the point of deliberately asking her where you were lately. After tomorrow night's game it was 4 away games and then playoffs. Your project was due in 6 weeks, at the end of the semester. You also had to submit your progress sketches and show off the beginnings of the final project next week. So you were trying to have something done and you couldn’t waste another canvas because you couldn’t get the placement right, or the pose right, that was mainly because you didn’t actually know what pose you wanted.

With an exasperated groan you threw your head back, closing your eyes and taking a few deep inhales through your nose. You were so focused on trying to recenter yourself you didn’t hear the art room door open and close followed by heavy footfalls.

“Doodle!” You screamed when you felt his hand touch your shoulder and his voice echo through the art studio.

“Holy shit Barnes,” you squealed, placing your hand over your pounding heart to try and soothe it, “you scared me.”

“Ouch,” he shook his head to stop the slight ringing in his ears from your scream. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said quickly. “I was looking for you, figured the art rooms would be a good place to start.”

“Good deduction skills Barnes,” you said in an exasperated tone. “I’m surprised the FBI hasn’t come to recruit you yet,” your eyebrow raised as you looked at him.

“You haven’t been to practise all week,” he said quietly, his tone was different from his usual cock sure one. “You haven’t been avoiding me have you?” He asked, his usual teasing lit was back now.

“Nope, just didn’t need to see you in person,” you patted the sketch book laying up on a book stand. “Have everything I need in here,” you smiled up at him.

He looked dejected almost, like he was upset you hadn’t been at the rink, he rubbed his neck awkwardly before stopping and straightening up. “I see. So you won’t be at the game tomorrow?”

You shrugged, flipping the sketch book closed and gathering your supplies, “I don’t know. Don’t really need to,” you said as you walked around the studio putting things away, Bucky followed the best he could.

“Ah come on Doodle,” he whined. “Watching is part of the fun.”

“I guess so?” You said with a question. “I don’t find sports that interesting,” you said nonchalantly as you made it back to the door, opening it up and waiting for Bucky to get the hint. He quickly scurried out of the room and you closed and locked the door.

“But you find all that interesting?” He asked, unconvinced. “Or do you enjoy getting high off paint fumes?” You clenched your jaw to stop the scathing remark from coming out, but he struck a nerve at this point.

As calmly as you could you spoke, “not all of us get to be here because we can throw our fists around and shoot hard rudder at nets, Barnes. Some of us actually had to work hard for our full rides.”

“I work hard. I didn’t get where I am because I can ‘throw my fists around,’” he snapped. You stopped and turned to look at him, arms crossing over your chest waiting for him to continue. “I had to show I was worth it, talent scouts, practising. You know, hard manual work, not just waving a brush on some canvas and batting my eyelashes to get in.”

You were seething at this point, but refused to let yourself sink to yelling, or cussing him out. “I’m not having this conversation. The amount of work I put into my portfolio to be here isn’t going to be belittled by an overgrown toddler that skates with a stick in his hand for a living, someone who could care less about anything but a fucking hockey puck and some cold pussy afterwards.”

“Is that what you think?” He asked, you couldn’t quite tell if he was genuinely asking or challenging you.

“It doesn’t matter what I think. I’m done. Have a good night Barnes,” you gave up, you didn’t want to fight or yell. You also really didn’t have the mental energy to go through Barnes' personality with a fine tooth comb to find the desirable parts of him that had to be buried in there somewhere. You left the art annex with him hot on your heels calling after you.

“Hey,” he grabbed your shoulder to make you stop. “I’m not done. You don’t get to decide what I am.”

“Let go Barnes,” you struggled with his grip, it wasn’t hard or painful by any means, just firm.

“No, you’re avoiding me. Why?” He questioned.

“I'm not avoiding you Barnes, I have projects and deadlines to meet. Because contrary to popular belief you don’t occupy every female brain on the campus.” You snapped.

“Come on Doodle, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, his cocky demeanour back. “I just wanna get to know you. Be friends,” he didn’t even sound sure about that when he said it, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“You and I both know what you actually want and it’s not fucking happening. I’m not interested, I’m doing this project and hopefully we’ll never have to be around each other again,” you shook your shoulder again. “And would you please let me go,” you said in a very annoyed tone.

You hadn’t heard Loki come up behind you two, your conversation quiet although heated, Barnes grip loosened slightly as he stared at you in disbelief, “she said let her go Barnes,” Loki’s silky voice said sternly.

“Whatever,” Barnes' hand dropped from your shoulder and he grumbled under his breath. “If you want to come watch the game tomorrow, the seat is reserved for you,” he said as he walked away.

“Are you alright darling?” Loki asked as you turned to face him, moving your shoulder a little, Bucky’s grip wasn’t painful and you couldn’t get your heart to stop pitter pattering.

“I’m fine,” you muttered. The rage in your eyes dying. “He’s just…” you trailed off.

“Insufferable? Annoying? There’s many synonyms for him,” Loki mused. You gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Loki frowned at that, “what is it darling?” He wrapped his arm loosely around your shoulders as you walked toward his car.

“I don’t know. Just something I can’t really articulate properly. He’s so many things but there’s something there. Hiding, like he’s afraid to express it,” you said softly as you leaned into his side. “Maybe I’m reading into it and he’s actually just an insufferable prick, but I can’t help but think there’s more to him,” you mumbled thoughtfully, looking up at Loki, he held a thoughtful expression as he looked ahead.

“Maybe darling, you never know,” he responded quietly. The air was thick with tension, and you couldn’t quite wrap your head around your opinions on Barnes. On the surface he was cocky, arrogant, and down right crude. But sometimes, when he was skating and you could see his eyes there was a peaceful, care free expression. When he looked at you, just below the surface there was something akin to admiration and thoughtfulness. I’m definitely reading into this you thought to yourself as you slid into the passenger seat of Loki’s car.

~The next day~

You found yourself pulling on a sweater over your T-shirt before leaving your room and pulling on some shoes, with a hat tucked under your arm but no sketchbook this time.

“Where are you off too? The Arctic?” Wanda mused from the kitchen.

“The rink,” you muttered back, securing your laces.

“Where's your sketch pad?” She asked softly, while stirring her dinner. It smelled delicious.

“In my room, I’m going to get some videos of Barnes’ skating and maybe actually try and understand the game,” Wanda gave you a questioning look, before she smiled and looked down. “What?”

“Nothing, it seems you’re enthralled,” her voice light, “it’s like Hela all over again,” she chuckled. Your cheeks heated up a little, but unlike Hela you were garnering a small crush on Barnes. It was annoying and uncalled for, and damn your brain for having a thing for blue eyes and brown hair.

“Once this project is over, all will be right,” you said, not fully believing yourself at this moment and you were sure she didn’t either.

“Be careful,” she sounded so soft and motherly, she didn’t convey any malice or harm, just genuine care for you. Those two words conveyed much more than just a simple sentiment. You knew that you had to be careful, men like Barnes were usually nothing but trouble, players, womanisers. But for some reason whenever he looked in your direction, whenever he spoke to you, your heart rate sped up and your stomach did somersaults.

When you sat down in the chair that was reserved for you Nat joined you a moment later, the arena starting to fill nicely.

“I didn't expect to see you here today,” she smiled at Clint as he skated by for warm ups. “Clint said Barnes was in a mood all day, and during practice.” She side eyed you “you wouldn’t have anything to do with it?”

You groaned and leaned your head back, “we got into a small disagreement last night, after you told him where to find me.”

“Ah, I told him to check the art rooms, he had been dogging me all week about why you weren’t here,” Nat responded.

“I probably said somethings that were cruel because he got under my skin,” you sighed and rubbed your brow. “I don’t know why, but he brings out the worst in me. And I‘m starting to think it’s just me and I’m being unfair to him.”

“Nah he probably deserved it, not many will put him in his place. The last one was his girlfriend in first year, they had been dating for a couple years and she kept him in line. She left him to move away with her family to Alaska,” Nat said casually. That definitely made a little more sense. Perspective changing your perception slightly.

“Hmm,” you hummed as you watched the players skate around. Barnes and Rogers rough housing on the opposite end of the arena caught your attention. Barnes’ head turned as if he felt your eyes on him and he pushed away from Rogers and skated toward you.He came to a stop just in front of you behind the glass and smirked, you rolled your eyes in response.

“Glad to see you back at the rink,” he said cheerfully. “Need some more inspo for the project? I thought you had everything,” you picked up a slightly sour undertone in his voice. Your mouth formed a thin line as you squinted at him, not bothering to entertain his petty jab. “Whatever Doodle, enjoy the game.” He skated backwards and flashed a full tooth smile.

“I think he likes you,” Peggy said as she sat down, you groaned.

“He likes the thought of sleeping with me,” you said pointedly. Peggy laughed, she had a sing song like laugh, it was like bells. You slid further down in your seat to make yourself smaller.

“He’s usually not this persistent,” Peggy noted as she watched Steve skate by with a soft blush on her cheeks.

“He usually doesn’t have to be,” Nat chimed in.

“Oh, then I should be honoured he can’t take no for an answer? Persistence isn’t flattering. We're not 5. It's obnoxious,” your tone was flat, and unamused. Nat and Peggy’s eyes widened. “What?”

Nat laughed now, “I’m not used to you getting so heated, you’re not wrong though. I wouldn’t have given Clint a chance if he acted like Barnes.”

“From the outside it looks cuter than it actually is,” Peggy said softly, “but I see where you’re coming from.”

“Maybe if he didn’t start out with that cocky attitude, or didn’t flaunt himself all over campus as a playboy, maybe I would have given him a chance. But I’m not in the mood to be used as active release therapy and dumped,” you were sour about it, it bothered you for many reasons and the biggest most glaring reason is the stupid teeny tiny crush you may or may not have on him, and you hated it. Wanda seemed to just know but didn’t push it, and maybe Nat realised as well but chose to keep your sanity intact and not bother bringing it up. Nat just placed her hand on your shoulder and gave you an encouraging smile, she did know, and that was confirmation.

The game was not as intense as the last you watched, our team was easily winning. Whenever Barnes had a goal he made sure to skate past you and send you a wink, which would make your cheeks turn bright red. Groaning, you covered your face with your hands for what felt like the millionth time that night.

Natasha dug her elbow in your side and pointed, Barnes was skating effortlessly on a breakaway as you had learned, you pulled your phone out and filmed him. He scored and the artist in you screamed, that was the pose, he was slightly crouched, the stick extended and the puck sailed. It was beautiful, and you squealed out loud, which made Nat give you a funny look. You stared back at her, mouth slightly agape as Barnes’ had also heard you delighted squeal as he skated passed, a beautiful smile on his face. “I got the pose for my project,” you said sheepishly. Nat burst out laughing.

Your school's team unsurprisingly won the game by a landslide, and there were no fights this time, so you actually mildly, fully, enjoyed the experience. You were trailing behind Natasha and Peggy as they expertly wove in and out of the crowd to the locker room. The three of you stood waiting for the guys to finish up and come out, Clint was first, Nat walked over to him and wrapped him in a big hug, congratulating him on the win with a sweet kiss following, you couldn’t help but smile at them. A few more of the guys came out and waved and went on their way, one choosing to stop in front of you.

“Wilson, my friends call me Sam, and you must be the artist?” He smirked, offering his hand. You smiled back and took it with a short shake.

“That would be me, Wilson.”

“Oh that's cold,” you couldn’t help but chuckle at his reaction, he was laughing as well. “Buck will be out soon,” he said with a bright smile.

“You don’t get to call me that,” Barnes’ voice called out, as you watched Wilson roll his eyes.

“Steve does,” he called back.

“Yeah, I’ve known Steve longer. And he always had a plan,” Barnes retorted back as sauntered over to you. “Hey Doodle,” he flashed an award winning smile. You gave him one back, this side of him something you never saw before. And you really liked it.

“Come on man, one missed goal and suddenly I never have a plan,” Wilson was holding his stomach while he laughed.

“It’s why I’m the Captain,” Steve butted in, throwing his arm over the two men’s shoulders.

“Rogers,” you greeted. He gave you a dazzling smile, and you quickly realised why Peggy was so smitten.

“Oh please, call me Steve or Cap,” he stuck his hand out politely, you took it and shook his hand.

What you didn’t see was Nat and Clint watching the interaction with shit eating grins on their faces, and you definitely didn’t notice the picture she snapped of you smiling up at Bucky and he sending it to Loki, captioned She totally hates him XP. To which he responded Is that what they’re calling falling in love nowadays? Nat burst out laughing and they caught your attention. You looked over at her and she shot you a bright smile and patted Clint’s shoulder.

“So Doodle,” your attention was brought back to Barnes, and you smiled up at him. “What made you come to the rink? You said you had everything,” He played with the end of a strand of your hair as he spoke.

“I needed a couple videos so I could watch the movement. And I finally got the pose I wanted,” you stated happily, dancing on the balls of your feet.

“Will I get to see?” He asked, fingers still twisting the strand of hair as he smiled down at you leaning over you slightly. The pose could almost be considered intimate if you had been paying attention.

“Once it’s done,” you smiled back and scrunched your nose at him. This side of him, you could get behind. He was effortlessly flirty, but not cocky and crude.

“Come on Doodle, the muse should get to see, and I could provide some live modelling,” his voice dropped an octave and your cheeks reddened at the implication.

“And you had to ruin it,” you stepped back, putting distance between you two, breaking the heavy atmosphere that had built up. Barnes hand dropped from your hair as he huffed.

“Doodle,” you crossed your arms over your chest and looked up at him unimpressed.

“If you want to see the progress you know where to find me,” you said, moving to leave the arena and head home for the night.

“I guess you’re not coming to celebrate,” he called after you. You turned and walked backwards for a moment, waving.

“See you Barnes, night everyone,” you turned and walked out of the arena into the night. The breeze cool as spring slipped into place over the college town you called home.

Taglist: @vicmc624, @calwitch, @learisa, @aaqua-tofana

Feel free you send me a message if you have a request or would like more, or would like to be added to the tag list <3

Next chapter is going to be Doddle/Bucky centric, they're gonna spend some more time together. I'm terrible at slow burns, I'm trying guys.

#bucky barnes #bucky imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel #fluff #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #hockeyplayer!bucky x artist!reader #hockey fic #college!bucky #college fic #college au #bucky barns imagine #bucky barnes x doodle #bucky barnes fanfiction

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mlmxreader · 2 years

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It's Not the Weed | Jesse Pinkman x gn!reader

Anonymous asked: Sure okay

Can I request a friends to lovers type of thing for Jesse Pinkman x gn!reader? They’re both idiots in love with each other and maybe out on a night drive idk and one thing leads to another etc.

summary: you and Jesse have had crushes on each other since your years back in secondary school, but in a parked car smoking joints, it seems like the perfect time to confess.

tws: drug use, smoking, swearing

The love of your life was sat beside you in the car, music making everything around you shake and thud as you kicked your feet up onto the dashboard and leaned back, closing your eyes as you did your best not to look at him; Jesse was rolling the next joint already, hardly able to keep his eyes off of you. The music and the weed couldn't keep his attention away from you, the starry night outside couldn't either; a rural spot in the middle of nowhere, a long drive out of the suburbs where he lived, nothing but the desert to gaze out at. It was beautiful, really. Still couldn't stop him from looking at you, though.

Tilting his head to the side, Jesse handed you the joint and watched as you lit it up, the orange flame illuminating your features so well that for a second he knew that you looked absolutely divine, holy; it made him rub his eyes as he wondered whether or not he was dreaming. Such sweet and holy dreams weren't yet to come, though, but he hoped that they would. Jesse really hoped that they would. He had had his eye on you for a while, ever since you were in secondary school together; ever since you decided to sit next to him in Mister White's class, sat at the back together doodling and listening to music with earphones that didn't quite work right. He thought you were cool, but he didn't dare to approach you when you were eating lunch with your friends.

You ran with a crowd different to him back then, yet every day after school, you always went over his house; you helped him with homework, you sat around and played video games and watched shitty horror films about masked serial killers that were more silly than a group of clowns. Even on weekends, you would go out together and sit on a damp fields and smoke weed and drink beer, hidden away from everybody else; your head would end up on his shoulder and your arms wrapped around one of his, his baggy and oversized hoodie draped over you like a blanket.

Pulled from his thoughts, Jesse dared to look at you again; his gaze softening as be swallowed thickly, tilting his head to the side and trying not to giggle when your fingers graced his as you passed him the joint. You grabbed the bottle of Lucozade from between your ankles, cracking it open and taking a long swig as you hummed softly and relaxed a little more.

"Y'know," you mused softly. "I always did think you were kinda hot."

It felt like the sky had come crashing down, shakily reaching for the Lucozade bottle so that he could take a swig but immediately choking on it as his eyes welled up with tears; it didn't feel real. Jesse was sure that he misheard you, but when you tapped him on the shoulder, he swallowed thickly.

"Did you hear what I said?" You spoke so slowly, like every word had a golden meaning. "Jess?"

"Uh, no," he breathed out, shaking his head and shivering a little. He turned on the car's heaters.

"I said, I always thought you were kinda hot," you fucking grinned as the words left your mouth, and suddenly the weed didn't matter and the fact that it was only you and him meant everthing in the world.

Jesse took another few drags, then handed the joint back to you. His mouth felt dry and his heart was pounding. He thought his hands were shaking but that could have just been the weed, a fuzzy feeling surrounding him as he grinned and shook his head. "Nah, that's just the weed talking, yo."

"It's really not," you scoffed, shaking your head and licking your lips. Your mouth was starting to feel dry, and your stomach was starting to feel empty as a giggle left you; one that forced you to close your eyes as the giddiness ripped through you for a moment.

It really wasn't. The weed had nothing to do with it, in truth; you always thought he was kind of hot. Ever since you sat down with him in Mister White's class all those years ago; how he smiled always made you feel like you couldn't breathe for a second, how he laughed always made you feel sort of giddy and made your face feel hot to the touch. You missed the times when you would play video games together and fight dirty, pushing and shoving one another until you were sitting on his lap and trying to block the screen just so you could win. You missed the nights when you would smoke together on the fields, and when he would freak out when you took him to supposedly haunted places, promising to protect him. As you grew together, your attraction to him only grew, and as you looked at him now, you knew it wasn't just the weed. Maybe the weed made you a little braver, maybe it made you a little more confident, but it didn't change how you felt.

The joint was finished, smoked down to the roach and thrown out of the window when Jesse moved his seat back, the metal nearly grinding as he swallowed thickly and ran his tongue along the roof of his mouth, frowning at how fucking dry it felt. "It's just the weed."

"It's not," you insisted, daring to awkwardly climb over so that you could straddle his waist, hoping that the gear stick wouldn't dig into your knee as you put your hands on the seat either side of his head, glaring down at him. "Jesse Bruce Pinkman... this isn't just the fucking weed speaking."

'Sex is Muss' by Feuerschwanz was playing and you couldn't help but to wriggle around a little, almost trying to dance to it as you grinned and bit at the inside of your lip; but Jesse was too stunned to speak, those bright blue eyes focused entirely on you as he reached out and put his hands on your thighs, swallowing thickly as he didn't dare to take his eyes from you. Not this time. He did his best to focus on the lyrics, focus on the song as best as he could, but it wasn't exactly helping as it made the entire car vibrate.

Das ist kein normales Liebeslied, (denn Sex is Muss!) sondern ein Triebeslied, (denn Sex is Muss!) ein ganz besonders liebes Lied, (denn Sex is Muss!) eine Ode an den Liebestrieb, die Katz und der Kater, die Kuh und der Stier. Ente und Erpel, welch lüstern Getier. Maja und Willi, Struppi und Tim, Heidi und Peter, ergibt doch voll Sinn? Der Topf und der Deckel, der Arsch und der Eimer, die Faust und das Auge, alleine bleibt keiner. Alle Welt tut es, so war's immer schon. Selbst Vögel vögeln, frag mich nicht warum.

"I wanna kiss you."

"Then do it," you nodded, and when he leaned up a little, capturing your lips with the most soft and quick of kisses, you couldn't help but to laugh. "Is that all you got?"

"I wanna take things slow," he told you. "If... if this isn't just the weed talking, I wanna... y'know, do things right."

"I can do that," you licked your lips, your gaze going down to his lips for a moment. "Do you, uh, do you remember when you caught me snogging Nia at Theo's house party?"

Jesse nodded. "Yeah."

"Would it be too forward to say I wanna do that with you now?" You asked, and when Jesse agreed, you leaned down, capturing his lips so gently.

One hand went to his jaw, as you tried not to laugh when he put one hand at the back of your neck, the other gripping your shirt so tightly that his knuckles went pale as he kept you so close; the feeling of your lips on his made him more dizzy than any drug could, and when you slipped your tongue into his mouth, his breath felt like it had been drawn from him and given to you. He thought he had been blessed more than he could say, more than he wanted to admit, and when you pulled away, all that left him was a soft whimper.

"Was that okay?"

"Yeah," Jesse nodded again, licking his lips and savouring the way yours tasted. The mix of weed and Lucozade. But then you made a move to get off of his lap, and Jesse gently tugged at your shirt. "Can you stay like this?"

You grinned. "Sure - if you give me a cigarette."

He fumbled around until he found the packet, and pressed it into your hands. "You're somethin' else, (y/n)."

But the smile on his face, the giddiness in those eyes that wasn't just from how high he was, it was all too much to ignore, and you dared to laugh softly as you lit up two cigarettes and gave him one. It really wasn't just the weed.

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; spam likers WILL be blocked. as will blogs that refuse to reblog or to give feedback. if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG

#mlem writes #jesse pinkman x reader #jesse pinkman one shot #jesse pinkman imagine #jesse pinkman #breaking bad imagine #breaking bad fanfiction #breaking bad

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green-kat331 · 1 year

Text

Sketch (Ghost x Artist!Reader)

(I have no idea what Call of Duty is about so if something doesn't make sense in game I'm sorry DX)

Putting your life in danger is damn near constant.

Adrenaline rushing through your veins is like 2nd nature, so relaxation is a rarity. Some would say it's a scarce treasure.

So when those few hours do come, many from the 141 don't have a single clue what to spend their free time doing. some spend it sitting around playing cards, writing, sleeping, or setting up their gear.

over your years with the 141, you had time to develop a hobby, Sketching. you sketch everything on anything even on missions you take a moment to pull out your sketchpad and doodle whatever you see whether that be the location, fellow teammates, maps, or just random stuff. it's become a way of clearing your head and relaxing before having to live through another adrenaline rush.

Luckily this isn't one of those days, today was a break and your partners were scattered around the base, invested in their own ways of passing the time. you walked around, sketchbook and pencil in gloved hands searching for a place to sit and draw. finally picking a spot with a good view and lighting you begin sketching the scenery outside the window and once you were satisfied with the result you turn the page.

you take a moment to observe the people around you, some are playing cards others are reading in their uncomfortable seats. Soap was over with Ghost, writing something to himself. The masked man on the other hand was cleaning up a few of his knives and other weaponry.

You always admired Ghost from a distance he was big, strong, and intimidating, yet he had an air around him that kept teammates comfortable obviously not too comfortable but enough so they don't have to keep an eye on him 24/7 out of fear. you were very intrigued by the large man having the privilege to fight alongside him. He was gruff and stern but you could've sworn you heard him sharing jokes with soap over the transmitter. not to mention the delightful short conversations you had with him in far and few occasions, which consists of you asking him questions and him giving a 'yeah' 'yes' and/or 'sure' but of course his willingness to stand in front of you when gunfires roared spoke louder than any words could.

Ghost is the silent type and he works alone, but he never forgets about his comrades.

You readjusted your seating and gazed at the large man. guiding your pencil across the paper occasionally glancing up at him as your reference and also using your memories to add more details. you completely zoned out when drawing him.

Adding the folds to his uniform with his sleeves rolled up and pencil strokes toning his muscular arms and tattoos, his pose showed off his arms and stature, feeling a presence beside you you glanced up to see one of your partners standing in front of you hovering over to see the drawing he silently gave you a thumbs up in support of the piece, you gave one back then went back to your piece. luckily, you didn't finish the top part so he didn't know who the drawing was dedicated to.

you completed the rest of his uniform, then moved towards his head. line after line of his iconic mask forming the skull shape, you paid mind to put in as much detail as you could into the mask, as most would say it's the most recognizable part of him, the cracks and specks of dirt covering the top. quickly you glanced up to take another peak of your muse. To your surprise, he had also caught your eyes. even through the shadow of the skull, his eyes were piercing and deep showing emotions his face didn't. quickly averting your gaze you see the person from before looming around ghost and soap debating whether to sit down or not.

you looked back at the man and he was still staring in your direction, his eyes were as intense as always, if you were any other person you would hate to know the reason he was suddenly very interested in you, but instead of being scared or questioning him you gave a slight wave from the top of your sketchbook he lifted his fingers from the table in affirmation as a subtle wave back. the interaction was brief yet you felt strangely uplifted. You made a note that Ghost will have to secretly be your subject of artistic expression more often in future events.

You break eye contact with the masked man to add some touches to your drawing, zoning out completely yet again. You unknowingly just got what you needed to complete the pencil sketch.

His eyes, eyes that showed so much concealed emotion they were sharp with black irises or were they brown? He was too far to really tell.

You use your finger to rub in some spots you want shaded.

You sign the page at the edge of the paper and when you held the book out to gaze at your work you also looked back towards where ghost is seated.

But he wasn't there anymore.

a breath forced your head in the other direction, you found yourself face to face with Ghost's mask. His tall figure loomed over you and he stared at the page containing the pencil sketch of himself.

You felt a hint of embarrassment when his eyes shifted over toward you.

"This the reason ya been sparin' glances at me?" He asks sternly. At this moment you had no clue how he would react to being drawn, maybe he thinks it's an invasion of privacy or he'll think your creepy for paying so much attention to him, lying won't do you much good though.

"yes sir"

With your response he turns and walks away, no harsh words, his eyes didn't glare at you. He just turned and walked away. Soap stuck around briefly giving you a compliment on the detail work as well as recommending a few more details to add. He was the closest person to the masked man after all, so the tip helped make the piece perfect. Once complete, you closed the book and got up to get busy.

---

Over the passing days your relationship with Ghost stayed more or less the same, making him your muse didn't seem to weird him out from what you could tell, in fact Ghost seemed to become more and more tempting to draw again. For some reason whenever you looked at him he was posed still. more and more times you catch Ghost looking cool and collected while standing perfectly like a statue.

Unknown to you, this was completely on purpose. Being drawn seemed to secretly flatter the big man. He couldn't help but make himself more and more artistically capturable.

#cod modern warfare #codmw #cod #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty ghost #call of duty #simon ghost #simon ghost riley #ghost #cod ghost x reader #ghost call of duty #ghost x reader #x reader #call of duty x reader #cod x reader

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swordsandspectacles · 6 months

Text

Things I didn’t expect from Aura’s playthrough; for her to sit up and go “Oh hey there-“ @ Argent

Ramblings under the cut

These were all meant to be longer but I’m still figuring out a lot and - comics aren’t a thing I can really do. I’m learning.

THINGS I LIKE before I start to muse on the nature of Aura’s bisexuality

-Aura’s speed bubbles cut her off from Argent and Ortega. This is ! Intentional. I felt clever about it.

-Light through blinds like cage/prison bars on Aura and Argent, but not Ortega.

- Argents sword at opposite angles to the bridge cables! It’s satisfying. The arm + sword should probably have like a 5° clockwise angle shift though. Argents taking up very little space in the panel but the hand/sword breaks through, she’s so imposing, suddenly, she’s breaking the border, and the bridge cables are sort of like a net around Maneater. The sword + cables behind her also box her in.

Bonus doodle for sticking with me so far

Aura and Argent are both SHORT.

Also argent gets fluffy angry ghibli hair. I think it would be funny if the hair floofed up when angry tho that’s. A bit of a dead giveaway with the nanovores- anyway———

Aura’s having fun.

She’s! A weird character to play. Mel’s a fallen hero original, Matty isn’t but he fits the world well (he’s sort of a refugee from his original setting and likes to pretend he belongs elsewhere. Aura is too (she’s. She’s his mum in basically every other au) but she plays it off better!

So the whole run is a bit more “let’s! Have fun!” Than actually. Honestly building the character thoroughly. It’s an Au of my oldest oc! My favourite girl! Hell yeah!

Plus in superhero universes she’s usually a bit of a superwoman-sort-of-a-vibe so it’s nice to see her with the gloves off being horrible. Because it does come fairly naturally to her.

But yeah! The “Maneater” moniker lends itself to ‘oooo femme fatale’ but she’s equal opportunities on the eating, she’s bi. Generally in a sort of “lmao doesn’t everybody have crushes on other girls though???” Way, she’s sorta clueless. She’s also got a heavy streak of “I’m here for a good time not a long time so I’m gonna take everything going please and thank you veeery much!” By which I mean I think Chen’s the only person she isn’t making a pass at.

She leans more to attraction towards men, but it’d be like 60/40 if I had to put numbers on it. There are universes where she has like two and a half wives, she’s out here vibing.

#fhr #fallen hero rebirth #fallen hero retribution #lady argent #fhr argent #fhr sidestep #sidestep fhr #Ricardo is there in silhouette if you squint #sadbh art #aura cross #wow I’m so sorry I talked. so much.#this isn’t even like good this is my experimental noodly shit #well this was meant to have a transparent bg #and now I feel like a fool #smh

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hiraya-rawr · 2 years

Text

──── ❝ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 2 ❞ ────

navigation || masterlist 1 || series m.list

*mature content is SFW (but may be have dark or suggestive themes)

M U L T I P L E .

I can go anywhere I want – just not home // fic // diluc, thoma, kaeya, kazuha // you confront someone homesick

lover from another nation // hcs // you're their foreign lover

I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs // multiple // nahida's story quest where they dream of lost loved ones

giving them a seelie pet // diluc, ayato, wanderer, zhongli

to pass the kamisato standards // multiple // kamisato mc introduces their lover to their siblings

Bloodsucker // mature fic // (crack) diluc, (angst) thoma, (horror) zhongli // they're a hungry vampire

Fix me up, lover boy // short fics // they like you and they help fix your appearance // elzer, zhongli, diluc, ayato

Blood Week // HCs // multiple // them on your period

Less than Lovers // mature fic // thoma, diluc // you're more than friends but less than lovers

You were the enemy all along // short // multiple // how they react to you betraying them

I wanna ruin our friendship // mature fic // diluc, kaeya, zhongli, xiao // a little burst of courage is all you need

Outburst // HCs // multiple // when elements reasonate with their emotions

Dragonspine (Playable AU) // fic // diluc + kaeya + klee // your player logs out, leaving the team in dragonspine

D I L U C .

Loyalties 01 // 02 // 03 // mature mini series // you're his lover but he found out you're a fatui spy distributing delusions, now you're chained to his basement (ft. Kaeya) // read more in series m.list

Family Agenda 00 // 01 // 02 // 03 // 04 // 05 // concept series // having more than 8 kids with him // read more in series m.list

Sly Villain 01 // 02 // brainrot+fic // rewrite // you're a harbinger with an obsession

"Hands off! I'm taken!" // fluff fic // in which he gets drunk and you pick him up

Little Star // SAGAU fic // the creator doesn't want diluc, everyone knows this (everyone is wrong)

The painter’s muse // soft fic // where reader comes from a family of painters for the ragnvindr family

Suddenly // mature horror-mystery fic // he's trying to find you (he might be too late)

I love you in every universe // playable reader drabble // diluc never notices you, until your player co-ops with a diluc main

physiologically reactive // brainrot // dendro MC burns every time diluc touches

End game // short // Mondstadt is in ruins but he loves you

diluc gets a new skin // drabble // playable reader

s/o fell first, diluc fell harder // drunk brainrot

diluc's fashion; by the maids // ramble

diluc & attachments // brainrot

Enemies to lovers // brainrot

diluc has a king sized bed

baby fever // ramble

kätzlein mc + tcg

diluc's instagram

K A E Y A .

Stalker // mature fic // you seek his help from a stalker

red flag // brainrot // toxic relationship where he tests you

A Y A T O .

Chess Piece // drabble // you play along in his political game

Change of Pace // drabble // Ragnvindr Reader's attention is on Thoma

Ayato's Routine // brainrot // contract marriage reader

Competition // drabble // sagau, he comes home but childe is there

Z H O N G L I .

Dear Osmanthus // mature fic // you're traumatized and he comforts you // father figure zhongli, slight yandere

Devotion // brainrot // being a Rex Lapis devotee, not knowing it’s him

Platonic Intimacy // drabble // Zhongli is there to comfort you

possessive vs jealous // word vomit

sacrificed to rex lapis // brainrot

mulan au with general zhongli

immovable zhongli

doodles // adepti mc, father figure zhongli

A L H A I T H A M .

everywhere, everything // fic // enemies to lovers / stuck in a broom closet with your rival

glasses // short / he likes you with his glasses on

pros & cons // ramble

alhaitham, what are we? // short

ditzy dumb mc // brainrot

sickly mc // brainrot

T H O M A .

You can't choose who to fall for // brainrot // noble reader falls for a simple housekeeper

G O R O U .

Poly with kazuha x cat!reader x gorou // HCs

does poly gorou kiss cat reader? // ramble

gorou's tragedy // ramble

D A I N S L E I F .

dainsleif royal guard x royalty reader // brainrot

DILUC & KAEYA (RAGBROS) .

dating diluc // brainrot // ft. protective little brother kaeya

ragnvindr reader's first crush // brainrot // crushing on albedo but your brothers are diluc and kaeya

youngest ragnvindr // 02 // brainrot // imagine the exhaustion of being their sibling

reassurance // not xReader brainrot

In Another Life // not xReader drabble

diluc has to choose between reader or kaeya // brainrot

crepus has to choose between kaeya or diluc // not xReader brainrot

diluc's your husband but kaeya is more present // brainrot

melt reactions with kaeya // not xReader brainrot

to appease diluc // not xReader short

M I S C .

secret relationship with albedo (but susbedo is there)

leap of faith from celestia, the final battle

arranged marriage with someone else

being a less intimidating harbinger

nosebleeds from overused visions

sumeru archon quest favorites

happy alternate dimension au

drinking culture + mond girls

modern au and cell phones

dendro/cryo yaksha reader

chongyun appreciation

how childe met zhongli

fake date // diluc, ayato

facts about osmanthus

tighnari fear of electro

lore + modern au

casual tragedies

endgame

#hira status #genshin masterlist

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shysneeze · 2 years

Text

there's a girl out there with love in her eyes | robin buckley x artist!reader

summary: robin gathers the courage to talk to her crush and ends up your muse

warnings: i am not an artist so excuse artsy errors, kissing, tooth rotting fluff, reader is slightly self critical, take a shot every time i mention the low autumn sun

notes: title from going to california by led zeppelin

Robin has become well acquainted with the art corridor, the walls lined with paintings and drawings, the splatters of paint on the floor and the earthy smell of clay. It’s not exactly a short cut to the bandroom, in fact it’s more of a detour that she’s become far too accustomed to taking.

She’s mumbling beneath her breath, practising what it is she intends to say when she finally arrives at the senior art studio, where you will undoubtedly be working away, listening to a new tape and glowing in the low autumn sun.

As she approaches, it’s to the soft staticky sound of The Cure playing, echoing in the empty hallways. She slows to a stop, breath shaking nervously from her lungs. It’s silly, to get so nervous just to talk to you, but suddenly her fingers feel tingly with anxiety, and she shakes them out with a gulp.

You’re sitting with your back to her, humming along to the song and adorning a half painted canvas with stokes of red. You're wrapped up in it all, the peace of it, Robin imagines. It’s part of what has her so enamoured really, what has her taking the detour every time, for a glimpse of you in your element.

Robin hesitates now that she’s arrived, hand frozen in midair before she can knock on the doorframe. She tries again to recall the plan, one discussed endlessly with Steve during work, the one that had her best friend just about pulling his hair out in exasperation because ‘for god’s sake, Robin, just talk to her!’.

Gulping, she rattles her knuckles lightly against the hollow wooden door frame, grimacing a little at the way your shoulders shoot up, tensing in surprise as you turn to face her. Her cheeks feel suddenly red, and the plan falls completely apart, crumbling before her eyes.

Her lips hang slack as you blink at her from across the room, head tilted curiously at her lanky frame in the doorway. You have paint smudged across your cheek and specks of red and orange drying in your furrowed brows.

Robin thinks it’s adorable.

“Can I help you?”

“H-Hi,” She exhales, pulling herself briefly together, “I didn’t mean to startle you… I’m sorry.”

You’re blinking at her silence, waiting for more, and watching as her cheeks get redder and redder. A smile quirks at the corner of your lips as you lower your paint brush onto the palette to your left.

“You okay, Robin?”

Robin’s face twitches a little with surprise, pulling the politest of giggles from your lips.

“We’re in the same english class,” You explain, “You sit behind me.”

Robin is well aware of this, instead stunned by the fact that you’ve noticed her. Briefly, the thought warms her chest before simmering into a nervousness in the pit of her stomach.

“Yeah, of course,” She nods quickly, “You’re always doodling in the margins of your paper- which everyone does but your doodles are always… beautiful. I guess that makes sense though given you’re an artist-“

A laugh interrupts her, cut short by your hand over your smiling lips. The heat rises to her ears with embarrassment, and she opens her mouth to apologise for rambling when you lift your hand to wave apologetically.

“Sorry, just… artist isn’t the right word.” You admit, “I’m still in highschool, I’m not an artist yet.”

Robin’s brows twitch slightly into a frown, and she takes a few steps forward, peering down over your shoulder at your painting, causing a self-consciousness to unfurl in your stomach.

“You don’t think this is art?”

You blink up at her, breath catching. Her eyes are round with awe, eyeing the painting with the sort of wonder every artist dreams of producing. The sun floods her face with a warm orange light, and her freckles blur pleasantly beneath it, little specks of autumn.

“This is just… it’s not finished yet.”.

Suddenly recalling her plan, Robin straightens a little, stretching beyond the orange blanket of light and finally allowing you the chance to breathe again.

“Well, I’m sure your finished stuff is just as beautiful.” She says, confidence almost betrayed by the nervous quiver in her voice, “Can I see it sometime?”

The way she chews on her cheek nervously whilst awaiting your response is oddly endearing, and it has you nodding almost too quickly, too eagerly. Wiping your slightly clammy hands across the paint streaked jeans, you stand.

“I have my folio with me,” You confess, walking across the room to your abandoned belongings. “If you want to see it now.”

“Yeah?”

“If you’ve got the time…”

“Steve is working so he can’t pick me up for a while,” She assures, bouncing slightly on her heels with excitement, “So I’m totally free.”

You try not to let your face sour at the mention of Steve Harrington. Your body loosens with disappointment suddenly, at the reminder of the well justified rumours of Robin and Steve’s unexpected relationship.

“Great,” You manage a smile, “Here,”

She comes towards you, watching you pull various paintings and sketches from your project case. She can see the anxious tremor to your fingers as they push the pieces carefully across the table, and the honour at getting to see them fill hers to the brim with warmth.

“This is a lot.” Robin exhales after a moment, “Wow…”

“I’m here a lot,” You shrug.

“I know.” Robin blurts, before panicking at the implications of it, “I mean, I’ve seen you a lot after school when I’m on my way to band practice… I've been hoping to see your work for a while now.”

“Well, you’re always welcome.”

She meets your eyes for a moment in surprise, before turning back to your art. That wonder is back, and as she bends for a closer look, that orange light engulfs her again, tying knots in your stomach.

She’s so pretty, all warm light and perfect freckles, it almost hurts.

“Wow…” She exhales again in a whisper, “These are amazing.”

“Thanks,” You mumble with an embarrassed grimace. “It’s just some ideas for college applications so it’s not much but-”

“No, these are amazing,” She repeats, almost sternly, “What do you mean you’re not an artist? What would you call this?”

“Paintings,” You exhale, “Drawings, and sketches, but that doesn’t make it art.”

Robin smirks a little, shaking her head as she draws her finger gently across a portrait, feeling each brush stroke tenderly.

“You’re one of those tortured artists, huh?”

Surprise slackens your lips, and she twists to grin at you, eyes crinkling in the corners.

“I’m joking,” She assures, “But I think these are beautiful, and that you’re an artist.”

“Thanks, Robin,” You exhale, “That’s sweet of you.”

She spends another few minutes admiring each piece, and you watch her eyes find each pencil line and each colour. You watch her take in each one, how her long fingers trace the shapes across the paper, so gently they barely touch it.

It’s so nerve wracking, so intimate in a way nothing could possibly have prepared you for, and when she finally straightens, her cheeks are rosy, smiling to herself as if she’s simply the luckiest girl in the world.

“Thanks,”

“Huh?” You ask, blinking slowly back to reality as her ocean blue eyes meet your own, “For… For what?”

“Letting me see your art- or your paintings, drawings and sketches,” She teases with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “Especially when I just showed up out of nowhere… you’re really talented.”

“T-thanks.”

“I should go,” She admits, “Steve will be heading this way so…”

“Right,” You say, ignoring the disappointment that flares to life in your chest. “Of course.”

Robin nods with that awkward charm, making her way towards the door. You watch her retreating figure, eyes caught by the red streaks in her hair, and an overwhelming need to see her again takes you both by surprise when her name blurts from your lips.

“Can I paint you?”

It’s not what you intended to ask, not even a conscious thought you knew existed in your head, and when Robin turns back to you, its with parted lips and furrowed brows. Your stomach lurches nervously, but there’s no going back.

“Just, if you’re free,” You continue, “I’m sure you’ve got work so it’s okay if you can’t, but I’d really like to paint you.”

“Me?”

“Y-yeah,” You admit, “You’re… really pretty, you know.”

Robin’s freckles disappear beneath a crimson blush, neck stretching with a nervous gulp. Mortified, you turn back to your paintings, busying your hands with returning your work to the project case.

“As I said, you’re probably busy so-”

“I’m not.”

Your shoulders ease slightly, and you bravely turn back towards her, though she’s avoiding your eyes, one hand lifted to scratch awkwardly behind her neck.

“I’m not working next week,” She assures, “So I can come after band practice, if that suits.”

“T-that’s perfect,” You confirm, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” She nods, smiling anxiously, “What’s the worse that can happen?”

-.-.-

Robin has learned that you paint with a specific look of concentration. It greets her each time you tilt your head past the easel to take her in again, lip pulled between your teeth in a way that makes her feel entirely too warm, too nervous.

She’s spent a week here, balanced awkwardly on a stool in front of you, listening to whatever tape you produce from your bag that day, and rambling in desperate attempts to avoid the heat in her chest each time you meet her eyes around the canvas.

And you’re more than happy to listen, filing each new fact away in your head; her favourite books, her least favourite subjects and the songs she hums along to as you paint. Today, she’s talking about work, hands moving animatedly as she talks about a regular, and you’ve long past given up on trying to keep her still.

“I mean, the same documentary every week.” She repeats, “How many times can you watch a plane documentary? It’s like aviation 101 every time he walks in- Steve is probably kicking himself for covering my shifts this week because he really doesn’t have the patience for Plane Guy.”

“Wait, what?”

“Sorry, am I talking too quickly?”

“No, it’s just… he’s covering your shifts?” You ask, peering around the easel with a frown. “You said you weren’t working.”

Robin’s eyes widen a little at being caught in such a silly lie. Tearing her eyes from your own, she twists to hide her embarrassment, though you can see the red climbing her neck.

“Um, yeah,” She admits, “I did say that…”

“You’re ditching work for this?” You ask, somehow mortified, “You didn’t need to do that, Robin.”

“Yeah but you seemed so excited and I wanted to!” She argues, rubbing at her neck awkwardly, “and Steve owes me for all the shifts I’ve taken whilst he’s been on dates, so really, dealing with the plane enthusiast is the least he can do.”

You sit back a little, hiding yourself behind the painting, eyes rounding with hopeful surprise. Gulping, you do your best to ignore the butterflies swelling in your chest, the excitement bubbling up inside you.

“Oh.” You attempt casually, lifting a shaky hand to the canvas again. “So you aren’t… He’s not your boyfriend?”

“Oh, god no,” Robin’s face twists beyond your line of sight, “I’ve seen that boy flirt and I have no idea how he’s getting dates at all really. So, no. We’re friends- best friends.”

“Right,” You nod, gulping, “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” She assures, still red-cheeked, “I get it a lot… but we’re not together. He’s really not my type.”

“No?”

She can hear it in the lift of your voice, the question of what her type really is. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Steve is telling her to be bold: girls, artists, you… but all she can do is clear her throat, humming in confirmation.

Beyond the soft static of the tape playing in the background, silence falls upon you both, and the odd new tension in the room. That late evening sun washes Robin in orange again, and with each peer around the canvas, your stomach tightens.

You move onto painting her freckles, struggling for a moment with the colour, breathing out a frustrated sigh as nothing seems to mix quite right on the palette. Robin’s head tilts curiously at the sound.

“You okay back there?”

“Fine,” You mumble, “Just… your freckles.”

Robin’s brows twitch slightly in offence.

“Sorry, I guess?”

“No, they’re perfect and pretty, but they’re all different shades of orange,” You explain, standing with a sigh and stepping around the painting towards her. “Need a closer look.”

You take a step between her knees and Robin’s eyes widen in surprise, body swaying backwards at your sudden proximity. That paint smell finds her nostrils, mixed with the subtle scent of your perfume, and as she looks up at you, her lips fall apart.

Behind you, Led Zeppelin bristles to life from the cassette player again, the first strings of Going to California stretching outwards to every corner of the room. You’re squinting down at Robin, lifting your few paint-free fingers to tilt her chin from the sun briefly, biting your lip with that concentration Robin has become so infatuated with.

“So many freckles,” You exhale, “You’re so pretty, Robin.”

It’s not consciously that the words leave you, and Robin is almost certain you’ve hardly noticed yourself saying them, but her ears warm at the sound of them, and beneath your touch, she’s positively melting.

It draws a small whimper from the back of her throat, exhaled shakily into the sunlight washed room, joining the soft guitar strings and your just slightly uneven breaths. You pause a little, realising your current position, her knees bracing your legs, her face against your fingers.

You whisper an apology, but don’t dare step back, not with her ocean eyes staring at you with that awe, that wonder, that love… you can do nothing but blink down at her, take it all in. Then, her breath catching, she lets out a whisper of her own.

“I really want to kiss you.”

And who would you be to deny her such a simple desire?

You don’t waste a second, taking her chin and pulling her towards your lips, and she pushes upwards to meet them with a gentle sort of eagerness that tugs at your heartstrings. When you pull back, it's to her rosy cheeks and perfect freckles.

“Like that?”

Robin can only nod before pulling you in for another kiss, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you against her chest. There’s no rush though, not as your paint-streaked fingers clasp her cheek or comb through her hair, not as her tongue slides across your concentration-chewed lip and presses into your mouth.

Her hands on your waist push up slightly to graze the skin beneath your sweater, as gentle as the shapes traced across your painting, her warm fingers leaving featherlight touches over the skin above your waist band.

“Robin..,” You mumble above her lips, “You really like me?”

“God, (y/n),” She exhales between warm kisses, “Do you know how far this place is from the bandroom?”

You grin as you find her lips again, arching into her as her fingers run up your back. You leave paint on her cheek, then her neck as your fingers trail down towards her shoulders, balancing yourself as the kiss deepens dizzyingly.

It’s with a sharp, frustrated sound that Robin pulls away, only in response to the shrill sound of car horn being pressed outside. You turn with her to the window, frowning with your arms still balanced on each of her shoulders.

“Steve,” She grumbles, “Terrible timing.”

You blink down at her, resisting the overwhelming urge to kiss her blush-blurred freckles one by one. You pull from her touch, skin cooling rapidly without it, and her brows drop disappointedly, hands dropping to her side.

“Go tell him I’m driving you home,” You instruct, “Tell him it’s your lips, they’re impossible to get right… I really need to study them.”

Robin clambers far too quickly from the stool, and with a delighted laugh you catch her before she can fall completely. She straightens with a lopsided grin, stealing another kiss before dashing towards the door.

You pace giddily back to your painting, suddenly in disbelief at your luck, but what’s an artist without a muse, you suppose.

…

bonus:

Steve knows Robin is trying to explain something, something about not needing a ride home, though he can’t quite concentrate on anything but the paint streaks on her cheeks and the obscene red of her ears.

“You are covered in paint.”

“Huh?”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Nothing, Rob.” He assures, “Go back and make out with your artist, I’ll see you later.”

Robin can’t hide her excitement, lips stretching into a grin that has him rolling his eyes endearingly before pulling out of the car park, watching Robin hurry back into the building in his rearview mirror.

a/n: not the biggest fan but lemme know what you think :)

tag-list: @woahhhfidgett @sireeeeee @lovelyy-moonlight @starselle @robinsprker @flourelle @robinbuckleysgfreall @robinbuckleyluvr @lesbiihoenestt @sumobug @milkiane @janeswhore @strvngerrose @rxbinbuckleys @amelies-a-simp @vampirtet@zzharrypotter

#robin buckley x reader #robin x reader #robin buckley x you #robin buckley x y/n #robin buckley #robin buckley fics #robin buckley imagine #robin buckley imagines #robin buckley headcanons #robin buckley x artist!reader #robin buckley x fem reader

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heartcereql · 1 year

Text

am i the girl that you dream of?

✩ xavier thorpe x f!reader

SYNOPSIS- all over the summer, xavier has been having dreams of a certain girl, who, much to his surprise, arrives at nevermore for the new school year.

CW- lowercase intended, cursing, bianca and xavier don’t have any history, also divina may be a bit ooc since we didn’t get much of her.

A/N- i know it doesn’t really follow pretty when i cry (the song i got the prompt from) but i loved how it turned out. sorry in advance, it’s pretty long LMAO. also feel free to send request for wednesday characters! :)

moonlight bathed her features. her eyes glistened, reflecting the stars. hands delicately mused, fingers interwinned, softly caressing the other hand. her chest rose up and down, inhaling midnight air, fueling her lungs with the pure atmosphere that surrounded her figure.

dreams always felt surreal. but when she was in them? they went beyond that. xavier stretched his hand towards her. slowly, his fingertips grazed her shoulder. and then he saw.

his vision suddenly flooded with flashing memories. dazzling blue lights, very muffled chattering, hands, lips, figures, were all his senses were taking in.

4:39 AM

xavier woke up covered in sweat once again. the sun wasn’t up yet. dim light from the stars came through his window.

he hadn’t been thrilled about going home for summer holidays. he thought he’d be staying at ajax’s or be sent to a summer camp. he would’ve liked that. but his father had kept him home. all. fucking. summer. and then the dreams started to appear. the first one, he doesn’t even remember. he just brushed it off. but then they continued appearing. and he found himself enhanced. for almost two months, he’d drawn the girl from his dreams. wether it were only sketches of herwaist, or doodles of herparted lips. he even had an unfinished painting of her moonlit face in a big canvas. anybody who had seen his latest pieces would’ve thought he was a stalker. he was just trapped in his house. it only conforted him how close the beginning of the new school year was.

back at nevermore, xavier felt at ease again. getting back on track carried an euphoric feeling for him. settling everything in his dorm, catching up with ajax and rowan, cleaning his art shed, it all gave him a sense of belonging that he wouldn’t change for anything. the dreams even went away.

and, in one of his conversations, he found out. about your arrival. though, at first, he paid no mind to it. ajax had said something about two transfer students incorporating this year.

“yeah, one of them will be here in a couple days. i heard the other’s application is still pending or something like that” rowan added.

“damn, does everyone know but me?” he said. he meant it as a joke, but, deep down, he was worried he’d been living under a rock the whole summer.

“it’s not that big of a deal” ajax shrugged “but most likely.”

xavier groaned and mentally face-palmed himself. he could’ve checked enid’s blog. idiot.

✩✩✩✩

meanwhile you were talking to principal larissa weems alongside your parents. the woman before you had an elegant and intimidating beauty and her words came out graceful and confident.

she’d explained how the school worked, what the classes consisted in and the insitute’s norms. your parents were delighted with weems, relieved she would be in charge of your security and safety. she seemed trustworthy. she inspired comfort, but also discipline and respect.

“now, now, y/n, it is time for you to meet your roommate and she will give you a tour around school. i’ll leave you sometime with your family to say your goodbyes” weems spoke with a warm smile.

your parents nodded and thanked her as she escorted you out of her office.

✩✩✩✩

as you were seeing your parents’ car drive away, a presence approached you. you turned around to meet a girl with chestnut, shoulder lenght hair and pale blue eyes.

“hey! you must be y/n. i’m divina, your roommate” she gave you an enchanting smile as she offered her hand.

“charmed to meet you” you smiled back as you shook her hands.

“i think your belongings have already been moved into our dorm, so let’s take a look at the school first, shall we?” she asked, linking your arm with hers as you nodded, delighted.

✩✩✩✩

xavier was working on his latest project very near the quad. it had been half his and half weems’s idea. a mural adorning one of the walls adjacent to the quad. his mind ran free as he painted some details in a crow.

as he changed some of his used brushes for clean ones, his eyes scanned the quad. some girls chatting in a bench nearby, a group of gorgons in the back of the quad, and then his eyes made their way towards two moving figures.

was that divina? she indeed was. and she was talking to a girl, who was looking for something in her bag. she was not wearing the uniform. she must have been one of the transfers. xavier stopped whatever he was doing to take a proper look at the pair.

as the new girl found what she was looking for, her face now exposed, xavier realised. it was you. the girl he’d been dreaming of all summer. too shocked to react, he could only watch you walk away towards thelxiepeia hall.

✩✩✩✩

september passed by faster than everyone had wanted.

you and divina had become quite close and she’d introduced you to bianca, yoko, enid and kent. you’d even thrown a slumber party at your shared dorm; the girls helped you settle in and decorate your side.

xavier, on the other hand, had been thinking of how to approach you, if he even should. he hadn’t wanted to be affected by it, not wanting to start the neverending cycle this past summer had been, filled with incognitas about you. but the dreams came back. and they were different. you actually spoke to him in this new dreams. nothing that he could comprehend though. sometimes you spoke in unsolveable riddles, sometimes in a language he couldn’t understand.

“it is time for you to make the very first project of this semester” professor Cross, horror literature’s teacher anounced, earning a groan from all the students. “it could’ve been an exam, no need to be so dramatic. the couples assigned and the book assigned for each are displayed on the classroom door. have nice evenings!” and with that, he vanished from the class.

you and bianca made your way towards the door. she was the only one from your friend group who had horror literature in this period.

“i’m up here and you, oh here!” she pointed at your names.

she got paired with a girl named iris. your name was written nexto to ‘xavier thorpe’.

“it’s perfect that i got Lovecraft. i mean, i’ve loved him since i was merely in the womb. i spent all summer reading-” bianca was rambling about lovecraft before you interrupted her.

“hey, b, who is xavier thorpe?” you asked her, fidgeting with a sticky note in which you’d written his name along with ‘The Tell-Tale Heart’.

“you know that kid who’s painting a mural in the quad? that’s him. i think he’s super good at literature , so you’re gonna ace this” she responded, walking you to the quad.

as you and her were about to start a conversation as to which outfit you should choose for your girls’ evening out, someone catched up to you.

“hey, you’re y/n, right?” a tall boy, with sharp features and long hair, asked, locking eyes with you.

you felt a sensation of déjà vu run through you as you could only nod, enhanced by his figure.

“i’m xavier” the boy smiled. “we are partners for this project, so, um, maybe you want to schedule for some days to work on it?”

“sure, sure” you reciprocated the smile, taking in the way his made you feel. “i’ll catch you later, bi” you said to your friend as she nodded and walked away.

“so, uh, when are you free?” he asked as you turned back to him. “for the project, i mean”

“i think i have this afternoon free, and next one as well, if it works for you” you spoke.

you sounded exactly like what he’d dreamt. your silk soft voice reverberating in his ears, sending goosebumps down his body.

“sounds perfect. library, 4pm?” xavier said, observing your features in the sun, rather than the moonlight, admiring you. not a product of his imagination. just you.

✩✩✩✩

xavier got to the library at the very time he’d told you. scanning the place, he finally found your figure. your bag was placed in a chair, and you were browsing through the shelves, looking for some books.

“hey” he greeted.

words caught up in your throat when you looked at him. he loved the way your eyes fluttered around, finally settling down on his.

“hi” you responded. “so. i’ve been collecting a few books about poe, you know, so we can make a deep analysis on the piece”

“cool, cool. i feel like the old man has a lot of connotations-” he started.

“wait you’ve read the tell-tale heart?” you asked, smiling. you loved poe’s works.

“yeah, everyone should” he chuckled. “i find poe inspiring. all of his horror pieces itch all the right places in my brain” he shrugged, licking his lips.

“i love poe too. i went to a summer camp this summer about him and it wa...”

xavier let your words run through his mind as he focused on your excited expression, talking about something you were so keen on.

both of you sat now next to each other, rambling about nonsense, enjoying the other’s company, your assignment long forgotten.

✩✩✩✩

and so the two of you had to meet again the next day and over the weekend, rushing your assignment.

but neither of you minded it. you grew closer, learning about each other. xavier found out about your passion for astronomy and your connection to the night. and you learnt about his relationship with his dad and his coping mechanism: painting. you’d even seen some of them, and you were captivated by them.

he showed you his ability and he’d swear your reaction was his favorite thing ever. how your eyes widened in suprise, lips parted slightly, an amazed smile making its way.

and he told you about his visions. he trusted you enough.

✩✩✩✩

“and, you know, sometimes i have dreams, but they’re real. the people, the creatures are real” he said, almost a whisper.

you two were walking around the school’s surroundings, october’s cold breeze hitting your rosy cheeks.

“like visions?” you asked

“sort of. the scenarios are barely real, but the people i see are. and lately, this girl has been appearing”

“is she a sleep nymph? i heard of them once, they’re pretty cool” he could feel your eyes piercing him as he looked forward.

“no, no, i don’t think she is. at first i thought she was just something i imagined, but then i saw her” he looked down at you as he spoke.

“what were your dreams like?” you softly posed the question.

“i saw her, laying down under the stars. i could only see her in a blue palette. and then, i saw her memories. and i just can’t get her out of my head”

you went quiet. he feared he’d scared you, and he was about to start rambling apologies when you stopped walking and took his hand.

“xavier?” you looked up at him “am i the girl that you dream of?”

his heart skipped a beat. he wanted the ground to swallow him. he couldn’t scape.

“how’d you know?”

“i’ve been seeing you too. in the stars.”

he stared at you blankly. so he hadn’t creeped you out. he finally reacted, smirking.

his hands made his way to your face, holding your cold cheeks. you looked up at him, hands around his neck. he wanted that moment, that sight to last forever.

he leaned down and kissed you for an instant. he pulled away, just to watch your features before you pulled him down and kissed him again, loving the feeling of his lips on yours, like they were made for each other.

#xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe x reader #wednesday netflix #xavier thorpe imagine #heartcereql

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