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pies-writes-and-more · 4 years

Text

фейерверк

Word Count: 161 for the poem, 2,558 for the fanfic!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: firework-induced panic attack descriptions, maybe some anxious thoughts, but there’s a lot of fluff in the end i promise!

A/N: Instalment #6 in @wxstedhexrt‘s and my Falling collection! Series Masterlist can be found HERE. Please read the poem first as it is the whole centrepiece of the fanfic :) If you need or would like a typed out version of the poem instead of the photo below, here’s the link to it on Destiny’s blog :) I hope you guys enjoy this one as much as I loved Destiny’s poem for this <3 (Sorry for how late this one is! I’ve been so swamped with writer’s block and homework haha)

фейерверк (Russian): fireworks (pronounced feyyerverk according to Google Translate)

It didn’t really matter that Steve had insisted that he didn’t want a big party. His concerns fell on deaf ears and Tony made an offhanded remark that he had been preparing for this party for 5 months now.

“Can’t have our very own American veteran not be celebrated on his ultra-American birthday! The party will be grand. No, grander than grand! You are America’s Sweetheart, after all,” Tony had scoffed and Steve had face-planted onto the table in front of him, groaning like he was getting his teeth pulled out.

And it was grander than grand. Y/N couldn’t remember a time in her past that she had been around so many people before. She wasn’t even sure she had ever heard of the brands of the top-shelf liquor that Tony insisted on serving, or that she had ever seen an ice sculpture in person before. It was very well crafted, even capturing Steve’s side grin that made all the girls who were attending the party swoon. Y/N was grateful that Wanda and Nat were around, hooking arms with them so she didn’t trip over her floor length evening gown. It didn’t help that the press were so eager to hear from her, being the newest team member that is, about what it was like to be working with Steve Rogers, always asking if they could quote her on what she had said and making her wonder if she had said something that was going to be taken out of context later.

But a couple of champagne glasses and top notch whiskey thrown back and Y/N was humming along to the songs the live band played like she hadn’t been anxious at all. Bucky had even joined her for a dance to a slow song, whispering sweet nothings into her ear about how gorgeous she looked tonight as if he hadn’t been the one to pick out the dress. He himself was looking very well put together, and Y/N was glad that her bobby bins had helped to keep his long hair back into a bun.

Hours filled with somewhat boring conversations and stolen giggles with the girls flew by quickly, and now, the party was finally coming to a close. Tony insisted that since every party had to have a good ending so that it was not easily forgotten, so near the end of the night, he quickly ushered everyone outside. The cool evening breeze made Y/N and a few other women shiver, her fingers rubbing gently along her exposed skin to keep her warm, but the look on Tony’s face insisted that whatever was going to happen was going to be worth it.

He stood up on a stage, grinning and posing for a moment before inviting the birthday boy onto the stage and clapping a hand on his shoulder saying, “Thank you, Cap, for everything you’ve done for us. Truly, I’ll never have anyone else be so helpful. Seriously ‘cause no matter how old I get, I always remember, that you’re so much older,” Tony grinned and Steve rolled his eyes with laughter, chuckles pouring out of the audience. “Now to celebrate my favourite Captain, I have asked a very special man to help me with some very special fireworks. But first, Birthday Boy, would you like to give a speech?” Tony held out the microphone but Steve waved it away. No matter how hard the crowd cheered, Y/N laughed a little knowing that Steve’s ears were turning pink with embarrassment, knowing he didn’t really like talking in front of large groups.

“Tony, just get on with it,” Steve tried to beg, cheeks flushed as all eyes turned to him.

“Fine, anyone else want to talk about the birthday boy?” Tony offered, holding out the microphone in the crowd’s direction.

“Oh! ME! Mr. Stark, Tony! Me! Please, pickmepickmepickmepickmeeee!” sang a voice from the very back of the crowd. Much like everyone else, Y/N turned to see who was yelping from the very top of their lungs and she burst into giggles noting Scott Lang’s eager hand waving to grab Tony’s attention.

“Really, anyone at all,” Tony was saying, as if there wasn’t a man jumping up and down like a 4 year old. “Anyyyyoneeee?”

“Mr. Iron Man! Me! I promise it’ll be good! It’ll be like the best speech you’d ever heard!” Scott was pleading and Y/N realized that the flush in his skin was probably due to the alcohol in his blood. He tried to wave around both hands, forgetting that one of them was filled with some whiskey and it splashed around to the people around him. “Oops I’m so sorry, I totally didn’t mean to do that, I’m so very sorry-”

“Fine. Get up here, Regular Sized Dude,” Tony groaned, rubbing his forehead gingerly as Scott whooped and hollared excitedly, dashing through the crowd clumsily to get to the stage.

“Thank you! Thank you thank you thank you!” Scott started as he yelled into the crowd. Tony rolled his eyes and shoved the mic into his hands, probably adding into Scott’s ear that he didn’t need to yell. “Alright. Whew. Here we go,” Scott grinned, wiggling out his joints like he was getting ready for a fight. He turned to face Steve’s direction, who was turning bright red at the second hand embarrassment.

“Mr. Captain, Captain Steve, Mr. Rogers, Captain America, Mr. America, Steve- if I can call you Steve. Steve!” Scott howled out the last one, grinning from ear to ear as if his words weren’t slurring together and his body wasn’t fumbling around the stage. “Mr. Steve, you are one of the coolest people I’ve ever met and I need you to know just how amazing I know you are like seriously, did you guys see that news story where he just lifted like three cars?” Scott asked with wide eyes, looking to the crowd for some sort of agreement. “Seriously, like I think you’re a really cool dude and you’re always super nice and- no no, I swear I’m almost done- you’re like my biggest hero so thank you so much for letting me join your team.” Scott waved away Tony who continuously tried to take the mic away, still going on his love confession to the Captain.

Murmurs in the crowd with fake smiles plastered on had everyone wondering how long this speech was going to go on. Hope managed to get through the crowd with a forced and apologetic smile on her face, climbing the stage and tugging on Scott’s arms to drag him down slowly.

“I LOVE YOU CAP!” Scott yelled out once more before Hope finally managed to tug him down, Tony grabbing the microphone and trying to salvage the audience’s attention.

“Uh, thank you Scott, for that really desperate attempt of a speech. Thank you for not letting the audience suffer anymore, Hope. Anyways, on to our grand finale! The fireworks!” Tony proclaimed and a feeling of relief washed over the crowd as they cheer, Y/N clapping along as a few workers helped to prepare the first few. The dark sky was quickly lit up with red, white, and blue. Flashes and bangs popped up into the atmosphere and the guests were all ooh-ing and aww-ing at the sight of them. All in a row, the lights popped up into view with loud sounds and then dissipated back into the black nothingness.

Y/N’s lips were worn into a tired smile as she watched the sky, tired of both talking to her friends and socializing with people who seemed awfully familiar but she couldn’t quite place where they had met. She was utterly exhausted, though to be honest, she expected nothing less from a Tony Stark party.

For just a moment though, there was very little chatter, and everyone stood together all staring up at the sky, mouths open just slightly as they watched art made by some famous firework maker light up the sky. Steve’s face sparkled against the dark sky, his shield popping up next to him with a loud bang.

Then out of nowhere, it was almost as if there was a quick whisper in her ear, as if some deity had kneeled down to her height and wondered aloud, “Where’s Bucky?”

The thought pulled Y/N from her sky gazing, eyebrows furrowing when she didn’t catch his eyes immediately. The two of them had been unhappily torn apart from each other for the majority of the night, Y/N having been pulled by reporters and esteemed guests while Bucky tried to stay out of the limelight due to his reputation. But even though they had been apart physically, Y/N always found herself able to catch his eye even from across the room, and a quick shared smile between the two of them was all Y/N needed to feel comfortable in the room again.

She finally caught sight of his frame, his dark hair pulled into a bun and tall demeanour making him easy to spot over the crowd, and for a moment, her nerves were relieved. But there was a look in his eyes that made her stomach turn. She wasn’t quite sure from this distance, but something was wrong and she knew it. “Excuse me, ladies,” Y/N gave a short smile to the women around her, pushing through the crowd around her in an eager attempt to find him. She had to get to his side, she had to help, she knew something was going wrong.

When she finally got close enough to note his facial expression, another firework went off and she noticed just how quickly the blood was draining from his face, his eyes wide and trained on the flashes of light in the sky. “Sorry, gentlemen, I’m going to steal Bucky for a moment,” she spoke quickly, giving a smile to Sam and Clint who chuckled, not noticing the panic in Bucky’s face and assuming the couple were just disappearing for some alone time.

Y/N placed her hands gently on Bucky’s chest, gently pushing him backwards, looking up at his eyes as his gaze slowly fell to hers. She watched as his dry lips parted slightly, eyes widening some more as no sounds came out. “It’s okay. Just come with me inside, Bucks,” Y/N whispered to him, taking his hand and walking briskly to the doors. Firework after firework crackled into the sky and Y/N realized as they so quickly burst behind them, just how much it sounded like a war. Her heels clicked underneath her as the two of them scurried off past the party room that was once filled with far too many people, and soon found themselves in Y/N’s room. She closed the door quickly behind them, keeping the lights off and rushing over to the window to shut the curtains.

When she returned to Bucky’s side, she noticed the clamminess of his hands, the sweat beading at his brow, the bloodshot in his eyes. “Bucky?” Y/N called to him gently, waiting for his eyes to meet hers. “Hey, it’s alright. Just focus on me okay? I’m gonna take this tie off alright?” Y/N told him and waited for his head to slowly nod before her fingers pried the knot away from his throat, slipping it onto the floor. She remembered just how happy he looked earlier today, staring at himself in the mirror and commenting to her how he hadn’t felt this happy in so long.

Now here he was, standing there like when she had first met him. Broken emotions heavy in his eyes, fingers curling into fists as if ready to defend himself. Her fingers gently pulled apart the first few buttons of his shirt and reached behind her to find a small face towel she normally used for her skincare routine. With gentle and soft presses to his face, Y/N patted away the sweat that stuck his loose hairs to his forehead, gently reminding him to “breathe in…. okay now breathe out…,” as she went.

Bucky’s eyes seemed so hollow as he watched her, his breath still jerky and heaving, as if he was unable to grab the oxygen he needed. “Here,” Y/N offered softly, taking his hand and pressing it to her chest, keeping his eyes on her. “Copy me,” she whispered, slowly breathing in and out, dramatizing the movement of her chest and shoulders so he could see. Bucky nodded after a while, his breaths slowly becoming calmer, more fluid. “I’m here, don’t worry,” she whispered to him softly, reaching up with one hand and tucking his hair behind his ear. “I promise they won’t hurt you anymore.”

There was a moment here and Y/N would wonder later if Bucky felt it too. A sort of serene minute where the muffled sound of fireworks in the distance stopped and the two of them just stood there, breathing and looking at each other.

“Will you stay with me?” Bucky asked quietly, feeling how eager his panic was to seep back in. He needed to control it, he wanted to fight it, and yet it felt like he was swinging his arms at a losing battle.

Y/N nodded slowly, reaching up to kiss his nose, “Of course. Want to watch some cartoons?” She offered and grinned as the suggestion lit up his eyes. He nodded quickly, trying not to wince as another firework went off somewhere.

In a few moments, old reruns were playing on Y/N’s laptop and she had pulled out her speaker too so the noise was a little louder than the fireworks going off. She waited for him to settle on the bed, for his breathing to slow down and his body to relax, before prying off her dress and pulling on some comfier clothes.

“Can I come cuddle you?” She asked him in a hushed whisper as she crawled back into bed with him, as if they were going to get caught and scolded if they were any louder. Bucky nodded quickly and opened his arms for Y/N to crawl into, and pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

Scooby and his gang caught the thief, the Road Runner still managed to outrun the Coyote, and Tweety outsmarted Sylvester the Cat, and Y/N and Bucky were still half watching, their eyelids heavy with the full exhaustion of being social hitting them.

Y/N’s eyes closed for a moment and she felt Bucky’s fingertips trace gentle shapes into her arm. She kept herself awake as she felt his finger start to make more deliberate lines, slowly spelling out what felt like… I LOVE YOU.

Her heart fluttered for a moment and she couldn’t help but shift in her nervousness. She felt Bucky’s breath hitch, as if worried that she really was still awake and wondering what she would think. Had she really felt what she thought she felt? Was it real? Was she just dreaming?

“Y/N?” Bucky whispered gently, his thumb now stroking her arm. “Are you sleeping?” He murmured.

“Mm?” Y/N hummed, turning further into his chest as the next cartoon episode started to play.

“Just… wanted to thank you for tonight. Thank you for being there for me.” Bucky’s voice sounded like music, floating in the air like a dream.

“Always,” Y/N yawned softly, a small smile on her lips as she felt him press another kiss to her brow.

** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

WE LOVE A WHOLESOME COUPLE. I love these two so much. A big thank you to Destiny for the idea of a drunken Scott speech (so much fun to write honestly) and a thank you to my IRL bf for being my muse for the whole ‘tracing I love you’ thing (fun fact: he did that to me before the boy even got the nerve to ask me out LOL)

Anyways, as always, we love to hear from you lovelies! Please feel free to comment any feelings!!!

MASTERLIST // Destiny’s Blog! <3

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thefudge · 4 years

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Do you have any Romanian (language or just content-wise) media recs? Particularly novels and poetry but really any must-sees/must-reads are welcome!

uuuu!

my brain is too fried right now to do any kind of exhaustive list so i’m gonna rec a few things that i know you could get your hands on/available in translation:

for two thousand years, by mihail sebastian - really heartbreaking yet also lucid, adventurous and darkly humorous memoir of a Jewish writer in his youth at the height of nazism in romania (there’s even a Penguin classic of it)

diary of a short-sighted adolescent by mircea eliade - a funny and bittersweet bildungsroman about a bookish teenager who wants to read everything now and be the cleverest person alive while also struggling with being super lazy and unmotivated because he’s young and restless, it’s very #relatable. but it’s also fascinating to read this in opposition with “for two thousand years” because eliade entertained legionnaire nazi sympathies at one point. (also, you should check out his novellas too, especially the fantastic ones)

anything you can find in translation by gabriela adamesteanu - just lovely, delicate prose about growing up, being an adult, inhabiting your body and your feelings in an oppressive world

the hatchet by mihail sadoveanu (apparently, there is a translation) - a lot of people give this novel flak, mostly because we had to read it in high school, but it’s a great and deceptively simple little novel that says a lot more about people than it cares to admit. the action takes you through several villages in the East-Carpathians, where a peasant woman goes in search of her missing husband. it’s a fascinating mixture of crime and folklore and mythology.

any novella by costache negruzzi, but especially “alexandru lapusneanu”, another classic we had to read in school and which gets a lot of flak. it’s so bonkers and #quality-trash. let’s just say there’s a scene where the power-hungry voievod/prince lapusneanu enacts a red-wedding situation and builds a pyramid of freshly severed heads to impress his lady wife *swoon*

the forest of the hanged by liviu rebreanu - i know people argue this isn’t his best novel, but it’s got the most heart. it’s the story of a soldier/philosopher in WW1 who falls in love with people again. that’s it. he falls in love with people, and the war and everything in between doesn’t matter anymore. or it matters only as it pertains to people, and people alone.

gallants of the old court by mateiu caragiale - a bizarre gem of early 20th century Romanian nightlife, a wonderful, orgiastic fugue, feverish and infuriating. it’s mostly about rich men and social-climbers getting into existential trouble, but also into real trouble. normally, because the action takes place right before WW1, this would signify the end of an era. but we don’t really have a beginning or end. we are part-balkan, part-french imitators, part-whatever-sticks. nothing moves us, and everything does. and that’s why it’s a sort of love/hate letter to romanians

in terms of poetry, some personal faves: nichita stanescu, ana blandiana, monica pillat, marin sorescu, a.e. baconsky, lucian blaga, emil brumaru, nora iuga, marta petreu, nina cassian. and yes, mihai eminescu, our national poet, though i’m often in two minds about him.

poetry in translation is really hit and miss because of the “untranslatable”, so here’s two lines from a poem by nina cassian, because i want to show you what i mean:

De când m-ai părăsit mă fac tot mai frumoasă ca hoitul luminând în întuneric.

this roughly and poetically translates to:

Since you left me I’ve grown more beautiful

like the corpse lighting the dark

and this is sort of lovely on its own, but you’d need to know and hear and taste the word “hoit” in romanian to really feel the abjectness, because “hoit” is a smelly, ugly yet also alluring, already decomposing version of “cadavru” aka cadaver/corpse. also “ mă fac tot mai frumoasă” cannot be accurately summed up in “i’ve grown more beautiful”. a literal translation would be “I make myself more beautiful”. in romanian, this is obviously idiomatic and not literal. and yet, these strange self-reflexive valences make these lines strong and eerie, as if the speaker were authoring her beauty, shaping it out of clay and darkness and “hoit”, like a butterfly cracking the corpse’s shell to get out, but also retaining some of its mesmerizing stench. why did i pause to do a close-reading of romanian poetry??? anyway, you catch my drift

in terms of movies, a recent one i really loved was sierranevada by cristi puiu, which is a neurotic family drama that drains you but also lifts you up

and yeah, the hype is real, 4 months, 3 weeks and 2 days by cristi mungiu really is that good (about two young women trying to get an illegal abortion in communist romania. it won the palme d’or for very legit reasons. it breaks you in small ways. the very last shot of the film you’ll carry with you forever). i also liked graduation by cristi mungiu, where a young overachieving girl is about to graduate high school and go on to study abroad, until a terrible event unmoors both her and her family. the movie turns almost hallucinatory at one point, filled with ambiguity and a kind of sleep-walking quality

tales from the golden age by cristi mungiu (him again!) is also fantastic for anyone who wants to get a taste of communist romania and the sad-funny absurdities of everyday life. this movie is split in 2 parts and the format is that of an anthology, almost like watching several short films at once. and there is one film in the anthology that always turns me inside out, and it’s really silly, it’s this bonnie and clyde type story about this girl and boy who meet at a party and devise an ingenious get-rich scam and just run around a few neighborhoods trying to put it into practice and it’s...the sweetest, most incomplete thing. there is such a strange, lovely connection there that never gets realized, and there is a MOMENT between them where he helps her step down from this ledge and he holds her briefly to him and i remember being in the cinema and thinking THIS, this is THE MOMENT where i felt these people were real. it was such an honest, lovely moment. like the equivalent of this song. ANYWAY, why am i rambling so much??? this ask was supposed to be SHORT.

aferim! by radu jude is also a really neat movie and provides a look into the historical romanian/rroma relationship and why it’s so messed up, yet also so organic

the death of mr. lazarescu by cristi puiu is also a great little film about a man who gets sick and goes to the hospital. and...dies, as you can tell from the title. on the surface, he dies because of institutional ineptness and a broken healthcare system. at a deeper level, he dies because we no longer know how to help people. various hospital staff in the film do try to help him and fail for various stupid or quietly heartbreaking reasons. it’s a movie about being physically unable to care. there’s indifference, sure, but also this great exhaustion of the human spirit. but the movie is also darkly funny. might not be a great pandemic watch, but then again it might be exactly what you need

there are soooo many other classics in terms of books (morometii by marin preda, for instance, about a patriarch in a small village in the South who slowly realizes the world he used to live in doesn’t have room for him anymore, and maybe it never had) but i’m gonna end on a quote from ion creanga, one of the most cryptic classics of romanian lit:

“Şi eu eram vesel ca vremea cea mai bună şi şturlubatic şi copilăros ca vântul în tulburea sa”

my translation: “and I was cheerful like the best weather and frolicsome and childish like the wind in its cloudiness”

and again, the words in romanian and their particular sound and bite (”şturlubatic”, “tulburea”) immediately take me elsewhere. creanga writes about childhood, but it’s never really childhood. he writes as an adult who, in my opinion, was never really a child, but a weird, small god of the land. i mean the word “tulburea” can mean both “turmoil” and “muddiness”. the wind can be anguished, but also just a little cloudy, just a little hazy, shrinking its agony, howling it in the child. it’s eerie and gorgeous. so, that’s what he does: creanga writes about children as if they were wind-like spirits. he writes stories about devils and the peasants who trick them and school books filled with spit and flies, and warm eggs stolen from nests and fairy-tales of a world that is buried somewhere inside us, but not too deep, things hidden under our clothes or nails or even in our hair. and it’s all so physical and convoluted, just like his prose. and i don’t think anyone will ever make sense of him and that’s what makes him so discombobulatingly great.

anyway, this was supposed to be...like, really short! and not gassy! i’m sorry. i love waxing about all this gay stuff. i’m so gay about it.

realistically tho, the nearest thing you’ll find in your local bookshop is probably books by famous ‘theater of the absurd’ playwright, eugen ionesco, or novels in translation by contemporary author mircea cartarescu. both are pretty good, so go for it! (if you want to start small, i’d recommend REM by mircea cartarescu, because it’s so trippy and meta and captures that summer holiday eeriness so well. it goes well with this romanian song sung in english)

okay byeeeee

#romanian lit #recs #romanian literature #reference #my thoughts #romanian cinema #i hope no actual romanians come across this list and eviscerate me haha #im sorry this is such....MUCH

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imaginesfora3 · 4 years

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Homare + first times

Arisugawa Homare:

First Times: First time you and the character have sex.

Homare often found himself tongue-tied around you.

It was the first symptom of falling in love, he didn’t know it well but he knew enough to know he was tumbling down a rabbit hole faster than he intended. The countless hours spent at your side, listening to the soothing sound of your voice, getting into countless antics and adventures as you suggested numerous ways for him to get inspiration while suffering from writers block, he was doomed to constantly fall under your spell. But he’d never been happier, trailing along after you, teasing you about your potential feelings for him while he knew it was he who was head-over-heels. It had been a careful waltz the two of you danced but it had eventually led to a beautiful explosion of emotion (mostly on his part) where the two of you finally reached the same level of understanding.

But this situation was something else.

The sheer nightgown you wore made his heart race, the proper poetic words he wished to use not coming to mind though he can’t say his head was completely blank of any thought. He’d always thought you to be quite tantalizing but seeing so much of your skin at once, so tempting and kissable, made his thoughts drift downward quickly. As beautiful as you were and as much as he’d love to simply admire you in your full glory a hunger was beginning to build within him, one that had been building for days, one that he could no longer resist as he slowly approached you.

“All for me?” He whispered against your skin, lips gliding against the exposed skin of your collarbone. “What have I done to receive a present such as this?”

“Full of yourself, aren’t you? Maybe I just wanted to look beautiful and dramatic.”

“You’ve succeeded, my rose, “ He tugged at your chin so you’d look into his eyes, finding them full of love and appreciation, “How could I resist you when you’re at your most enticing?”

“Who’s asking you to resist me?” Your lips hovered closer to his but you don’t close the gap, wanting to see how desperate you could make him for your touch before he gave in. Fortunately, Homare had denied his feelings for you for so long that now that you were an official couple, his body simply wouldn’t allow him to not give into his carnal desires. He dipped down to capture your lips with his, pulling you against him by your hips and letting out a deep groan as he felt the expensive material rub against his bare skin.

He might not be able to think but words were no longer needed as you pushed him back towards the bed, giggling as he tried to make his fall as graceful as possible. You’re quick to undo the buttons on his shirt faster than he can relax, Homare licking his lips in anticipation as he stared longingly at your chest. What he wouldn’t do right now to cover you in a slew of kisses, marking your body as his, listening to the soft sighs as you beg him for more. But it seems almost too natural for him to allow you to do what you wanted after he made the first move, your lips locked together once again as you eagerly tugged at his pants. He lifts his hips to help you remove them, soon only in his undergarments while you continued to blind him with your beauty in your lovely lingerie.

But no man could resist unwrapping a present like you.

“Might I...?”

“You can do what you want to me.”

You were akin to a siren, your seductive tone making him want to act hastily but he couldn’t ruin this wonderful garment. He’d have to have you model it for him when his head was clearer, when he wasn’t throbbing with need, slipping it off of you carefully and licking his lips when your entire body is visible for his drink up. He started by kissing the top of your foot, earning another cute giggle which quickly turned to encouraging moans as he kissed up your leg, dipping briefly between your thighs but teasingly avoiding the area you’d like him to use his mouth the most. He left more feathery kisses along your stomach, up your chest, and up your neck until he finally reached your lips again, muttering something about how mesmerizing you were before you leaned forward to silence him.

You loved the way his hands ran up and down your body, memorizing every curve, prodding at potential weak spots; his dick twitches as you moan into his mouth, knowing it would drive him wild to hear how good he was making you feel. He almost regrets the fact he has to pull away from your mouth but there’s something else aching for his attention, his fingers rubbing against your warmth with Homare basking in the noises you were making for him. It was a symphony that stroked his ego, his tongue licking along your slit as he glanced up to see your approval. It made it all the hotter to see you watching him please you, his hips rubbing against the bed to give him some type of friction while he eats to his hearts content.

This wouldn’t completely stave off his hunger for you but it certainly helped, especially as you threw back your head, starting to wiggle relentlessly under his attention.

“Homare...” Hearing his name roll of your tongue in such an erotic way would’ve made him come on the spot had he been a virginal teenage boy who’d never had sex before, but thankfully he’d learned quite a few tricks to make himself last a bit longer. He works diligently with his tongue to bring you to your peak, supporting your hips as you started to buck against his face. With a cry of his name your thighs tighten around him and he thinks it would be the perfect way to go, hearing his name cried out by his lover while being completely surrounded by their essence.

“If I told you I was struck by inspiration right now, how would you feel?”

“I’d feel like you’d never write another poem again if you leave me like this.”

“I wouldn’t consider it, my rose, do not fret!” He removed his boxers so his dick could spring free, reaching over towards the drawer to grab a condom to put on. You give him a few encouraging pumps as he searched for one, smiling as you see he’s quite pent up; the two of you had hardly had a moment alone recently, and the minute you knew you’d have at least one night of Homare all to yourself is when you’d bought yourself that lingerie. You’re glad to see your plans are all coming to fruition since it was good for both of you to get out a little stress before things boiled over. “I must say your hands are quite... masterful.”

“I would say just like your mouth but I don’t really think I need to stroke that ego of yours even more, Mr. Genius,” You had been distracting him with your fingers, thumb dragging over the sensitive tip of his dick, rubbing teasingly in circles, but he’d finally found what he was looking for.

Homare slid inside of you, slow and cautious, wanting to feel the way your walls clung to him; he let out a deep groan, head falling onto your shoulder as your tightness was driving him wild. He was so full of love, lust, and everything in between, his hips jolting forward suddenly to fully sheath himself inside you. You let out a squeak of surprise that causes him to twitch inside you, moving from resting his head on your shoulder to pressing his forehead against yours. His gaze is full of admiration and a gentle smile finds its way to his face while you run your fingers through his hair, tugging back slightly. You can’t help but smirk at how the pace he set is temporarily interrupted by your teasing, especially as you break eye contact to attack his neck. Thinking about how the next day there’d be clear marks of what had happened that night, that everyone would look and see and know that he belonged to you completely and utterly...

It was too much for him to bear.

Homare did his best to focus on you, fingers drifting down to your sensitive spot and rubbing in quick circles as he hoped you reached your end before he did. Even with all the tricks he’d learned over the years nothing could stop him from spilling inside you, desperate to hit that high that would have his head swimming with thoughts of you and only you. He knows he can finally stop worrying when you start to gasp his name out, unable to focus on kissing his neck any longer as you beg him to go faster, to go harder, to reach that spot within you that will make you succumb to the ultimate pleasure-

You both coming crashing down at the same time, Homare whispering lovingly in your ear that he loved you, that you were the most beautiful being to ever grace the earth and that he counted his lucky stars that you were his every day. He kept you in his tight embrace even after you’ve come, not wanting to separate from you quite yet but knowing it was an inevitability. He’s quick with cleaning himself off and doing the same for you, discarding of the used condom in the attached bathroom before nearly diving back into bed with you.

“I hope my absence wasn’t too overwhelming.”

“I was counting down the moments until you were back,” You tried not to laugh at the prideful look on Homare’s face, snuggling into his arms as he pulled the covers up over you both, “Still inspired?”

“I’m in a constant state of being inspired when you’re beside me,” He led a trail of kisses along the side of your face but you could tell he was growing tired, leaning back and sighing contentedly. “I... I love you. More and more each day.”

“I love you, too. More most days, although some days... I’m kidding!” You give him an apologetic peck on the lips as he started to pout, “But I do love you. A lot. Way more than you love me, probably.”

Homare might be tired but this was not a fight he was about to lose.

#Homare Arisugawa #Arisugawa Homare #A3 #A3!#A3 Imagines #A3 x Reader #Act! Addict! Actors!#Arisugawa Homare x Reader #Homare Arisugawa x Reader #Drabble Prompts #Scenario #Smut

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2021animalfarmfanficg2 · 3 years

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American Farm

Afonso and Matias

Synopsis: What if there was a second revolution, one that would bring peace and happiness to the hopeless animals, could you imagine that? Well the animals thought of that, but would Napoleon simply let this happen and let the new animocracy be implemented on Animal Farm, even if this means the end of his reign? Will the animals be able to take over Animal Farm with the help from Farm Louis and Snowball? Will Animal Farm become a capitalist farm, with elected leaders and a fair system of government?

Text: As the harsh winter drew closer and closer, the animals kept working on the windmill, afterall, the construction of the windmill was widely considered a necessary evil, or so Squealer said. The animals just barely finished the windmill before winter came along, though its construction was rushed and a few blocks of limestone weren’t placed here and there. Winter came, and the famine on the farm started again, all of the animals were given scraps of food, while the pigs were eating like royalty. All types of animals had died of starvation, even Boxer, the once strong horse was so thin you could see his bones against his skin.

One day, a devastating storm came along. One so devastating that even the powerful windmill made of tough stones broke when it came along. The animals weren’t too cheerful about the situation, this was not the first time the windmill had broken down, and their motivation for rebuilding it was over. Squealer tried to explain to them that the windmill would benefit all animals, saying that they must not lose hope. But, the animals were tired of listening and obeying Napoleon and Squealer.

Snowball, who secretly listened to Squealer, didn't wait a second and jumped out of his hiding place, as he did so, he whipped out a stick and knocked out Squealer, who didn’t have a second to react. The animals were shocked, the traitorous Snowball who had been the cause of every bad happening on this farm had returned. The animals began to get ready to fight and kick him out of the farm, but then, Snowball began to speak. “My fellow animals, I know that you are all probably very upset to see me, as Napoleon has led you to believe that I was the one who destroyed the windmill. I assure comrades that I have done nothing wrong and whatever comes out of Napoleon’s or Squealer's mouth is a complete lie. Don’t you all see how your living conditions are much worse now then when Mr.Jones was in charge? Can’t you see that a group of animals contribute nothing to the farm, while you all must be the hardest workers”?

The animals began to think of their living conditions when they were ruled by Jones, where they had little to no food and where they lived in fear. Then they realized that they weren’t living any differently now.

Snowball continued to speak. “My fellow animals, there is only one thing that we must do to better our living conditions, and that thing is a second revolution. We must fight against this “King” and win over our farm. When we do, a number of things will change”.

The animals began to listen to Snowball, and all of them agreed to join him, even Minimus started to draft a new poem for Snowball.

“But, Snowball, how will we be able to take down Napoleon? He has all those dogs with him that could kill all of us”. Cried Clover“

Worry not my friend! While I was away, I wasn't staying at Foxwood or Pinchfield, I was at a neighboring farm known as Louis Farm. There, I managed to convince them to help me take down Napoleon. With their help, we can surely take him down”. Said Snowball.

And so, the animals were now Snowball’s side. They were ready to take down the evil Napoleon and remake their entire farm.

“My fellow animals, I have devised a great plan in order to take down this empire. Listen closely. We will sneak at night, deal with Napoleon's dogs, get Jones' gun and kill the tyrant once and for all. Remember comrades death to Napoleon, death to the king”. Cried Snowball.

Everything got planned. The animals waited for Night to befall. All of them were nervous and thinking if the revolution would go well. When Night came, they waited for their allies to come, and they eventually did.

The plan had now begun. The animals moved very quietly and were able to sneak into the house. Some dogs started waking up. Snowball gave them a few dog treats and just like that they went back to sleep. The animals made it over and got Jones’s gun. They carefully went inside Napoleon’s room and with a shot ready, they killed him. Napoleon, with his last dying breath, whistled for his dogs. His last words were “You won’t get away with this, If i'm dying, then so are you Snowball”. The pigs woke up due to the sound of the gunshot, and after noticing what was happening, began running out of the house to other farms, Squealer, who had woken up from being hit by Snowball, had started to do the same.

The Dogs came to Napoleon's room and after seeing him dead, they would no longer get persuaded by some treats. And so a great battle was fought, leaving many injured and even dead on both sides. But, in the end the dogs gave up, and the animals captured them and imprisoned them.

And finally, with their efforts, they were able to take over the farm. At last, the animals would have a new society, with new laws and new rules.

Morning came, and Snowball gathered all the animals in the farm. Most animals from farm Louis had gone back, but some decided to stay in Animal Farm. With everyone gathered, Snowball began to speak:

“My fellow animals, we now have control of the farm. I just have one question, would you all like to continue operating this farm with Animalism, or would you rather use this new system called Animocracy”?

A vote was carried out and Animocracy won 100% of the votes. The animals seemed worried that if they returned to Animalism, it would just be like Napoleon’s rule all over again.

“Very well, I shall now explain some of the principles of Animocracy. In Animocracy, we will choose a leader to lead our farm every 2 years, and this leader can be any animal, the only requirement being that he was born on Animal Farm. You will be able to vote for any animal, but the one with the majority of the votes will be the leader. The second principle is a new economic system, called Anicatilism. Here, the market shall be free and those who work the hardest will be rewarded with more land and more food, while those who barely work, will get absolutely nothing. Does this sound alright with you comrades”?

The animals began to think, and eventually decided that it was fine, since this time there would be no tyrant and everyone would be given food for their work.

“Now, I shall write the principles on the barn wall, and after that make Animal Farm a new flag and a new poem”. Said Snowball.

Snowball did both of those things in just a day. The next morning, it was elections and unsurprisingly enough, Snowball had won.

Animocracy had just been put into place, the animals had started to work, and after a while, they realized that this new system of government was way better than animalism.

And so, the farm started to work again, they expanded their land and started to produce more crops. Every 2 year they changed leaders, every animal had a president at some point and felt that they were represented. With this, Animal Farm became one of the most powerful farms in all of England. And the animals have lived well and happily ever since.

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project-ohagi · 4 years

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Tamaki Amajiki x Reader

Buy me a coffee!! <3

----

(Y/n) -

I love your cute smile.

I love your amazing laugh.

I love your silly jokes.

I love the way you make me feel - all warm and tingly inside.

I love that we have similar interests.

I love looking through your pictures.

I love smiling to myself when I think about you.

I love how enthusiastic I am to talk about you.

I love how dedicated I am to you.

I love the idea that we could be something more.

I love you, inside and out.

Tamaki's pale, pointy ears twitched nervously. The note he had written (after around seven failed drafts), conveyed almost all his feelings, but it still couldn't quite capture the real essence of his love. You seemed way out of his league - unbelievably pretty, sweet and kind, popular with students and staff alike. He always felt dejected, never hopeful, but his best friend (the exasperatingly energetic Mirio Togata) finally managed to convince the timid elf to let his emotions bleed on to paper. Tamaki wasn't about to let you find it, however, relinquishing any chance he might have had with you. Opening and closing his butterfly-embellished A5 notebook, an expression of utter embarrassment plastered on to his features, he made a point to sigh loudly. Thankfully, this didn't attract any unwanted attention, since he was currently alone in the classroom. Not even Mirio was eating with him today, which he thought odd, but perhaps the outgoing, bubbly boy had ultimately admitted defeat - Tamaki was surely a lost cause.

His Sasuke-esque indigo locks ghosted the notebook as he lowered his head, bashing it lightly on the table. How stupid could he be? Why would he even bother writing out something so humiliating? What if you did get hold of it? You might make fun of his feelings, although this stabbing sensation in his gut told him otherwise.

"But," He started, voice trembling like white noise. "T-This is my first love...if she rejects me, that will confirm I'm worthless, right? Not worthy of being a hero - not even a human being. I might as well be a potato, but I probably wouldn't be a good potato; I'd be the kind of deformed potato that gets thrown away before it can be sold. A worthless potato..."

Someone laughed a monstrous laugh, startling Tamaki out of his seat.

"You really like potatoes, huh Tamaki?"

"M-Mirio..."

Tamaki placed a hand over his clothed chest, feeling the vicious vibrations of his heart, pounding against his rib-cage in an effort to be released. Where would it run to, he wondered. The answer was blindingly obvious, yet he chose not to believe it. Surely you wouldn't accept the invitation into his deepest, darkest parts, where the monsters burrowed and the beastly thoughts dwelled...Who was he kidding? There was nothing cool or mysterious, extraordinary or interesting about him. That would likely be the reason for your distance. Tamaki's head hung low as he processed this, a frigid air seeming to hang around him alone. Other than the righteous blonde who stood before him, Tamaki was always alone. He always had been, and figured that he always would. Some things were simply destined never to change; they remained the same regardless of time or events. If the two of you weren't meant to be together, the universe would soon tell him definitively.

That smiling mass of muscle noticed his friend's dismay rather quickly.

"Let me guess - is it (Y/n)?"

Hoping that a hole in the ground would suddenly appear to swallow him up, Tamaki only nodded. He was afraid that the more he spoke of his love, the more his voice would break. It was a secluded classroom for now, sure, but the door was slightly ajar, and anyone could walk past. This image alone made him quiver on the spot.

"Haha! Why are you on the ground, Tamaki? I'm sure if you just tell her, everything will go your way!" Mirio beamed, although he didn't manage to instil much confidence in the indigo-haired boy.

Tamaki shielded his eyes. "Too bright..." He mumbled, but Mirio seemed not to hear him.

Instead, he resumed his monologue: "(Y/n) is really nice, so she'd never let you down! D'you remember that time she stayed after school with you to help tidy up, even though it wasn't her turn? Or what about when that guy tried to play a prank on you in our second year, and she stopped him? She was so badass, and I'm sure she likes you back! Why wouldn't she?"

"Because..." Tamaki stammered, almost incoherently. "I'm nothing compared to her. She's so amazing, and I'm...just me."

"Maybe she likes 'just you'!" The blonde pressed, desperate for his friend not to fall deeper into despair.

Tamaki shook his head, signalling his complete denial - it was too convenient to ever come true.

Soon, the bell echoed across UA, and students rushed in for their next class. Tamaki took his place once again, that always-present, gloomy aura repelling everyone. Almost everyone. Your seat was directly next to his, and he had yet to realise, but you were slowly moving your desk closer to his. Midnight made her entrance, and the lesson began. You spared a few glances to the side, gauging Tamaki's current mood. Mirio was seated a couple of desks away, but he made a sort of bird-call-like gesture to you. Midnight didn't notice, but some of your classmates sniggered. Mirio pointed to Tamaki. His notebook had been haphazardly tucked away under a pile of books and stationary, but you could see a beautiful blue butterfly - an Adonis Blue, and a male at that. A smile enveloped your face, as you wondered what secrets were buried within the pages.

Glancing back towards Mirio, you saw him nod. Not two seconds later, he stood up to brag about a presentation he had done for homework. It was bound to be awful, but you appreciated the signal; it was a distraction, to ensure that you could swipe the notebook without getting caught. It worked, and soon enough, it was splayed out on your desk, a range of colourful butterflies appearing to stare up at you. Tamaki still hadn't acknowledged the theft, so you decided to read. This was okay...right? After all, if it was something Mirio wanted you to examine, then it must be important, and it definitely involved you. Mirio wasn't the type to be cruel to his friends. You turned the cover, and started to flick through. You frowned - what was going on? Gazing towards the boisterous blonde, you shot him a quizzical look. While everyone was concentrating on Midnight, he mouthed a singular word: poem.

You tried again, and this time, you found exactly what you were looking for.

(Y/n) -

I love your cute smile.

I love your amazing laugh.

I love your silly jokes.

I love the way you make me feel - all warm and tingly inside.

I love that we have similar interests.

I love looking through your pictures.

I love smiling to myself when I think about you.

I love how enthusiastic I am to talk about you.

I love how dedicated I am to you.

I love the idea that we could be something more.

I love you, inside and out.

Tears were welling in your eyes, but you refused to wet the page. This was such a heartfelt confession. You dried your eyes, determined to write a tribute to love more eloquent than Tamaki's. However, your mission was a disaster. Words abandoned you and there was only one thought swirling around in the vast potion of your mind. So, taking a deep breath, you inked it on to the paper, watching your simple phrase manifest with pride.

Tamaki, I love you more than you will ever know.

[Word Count: 1306]

#bnha #bnha x reader #tamaki amajiki x reader #bnha tamaki x reader #tamaki amajiki #my hero academia imagines

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dropsofletters · 4 years

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tales of a perfect rhyme

title: tales of a perfect rhyme pairing: son hyunwoo/reader genre: poet!au/painter!au/forbidden love!au/friends!au summary: Sometimes, you’re bad at exactly what you desire to become the most. That’s her case and it also is Hyunwoo’s when they realize that they are not exactly good at the arts they desire. Yet, their youthful personalities and their blossoming love seems enough to stay happy throughout their toughest times, until it is not enough. type: angst/fluff/romance/humor word count: 12,540 disclaimer: this is part of my august special called ‘the anti-love club’. each story can be read individually, however, you’d be getting a little bit more of backstory along with some easter eggs if you read each of them, as well as helping me with support. the masterlist can be found here.

Without the chirping tone of birds outside her window, what would be of her? Without the sunshine that gleams through it, the smell of fruits lingering in the air—too dulcet, yet too necessary, what would her life be like?

The question does not go through her head often, for her mind remains too busied by the beauty of the winery around her. Her house, on its own, is surrounded by fields and fields of fruits, green and blooming, the peak of existence. The oxygen in her lungs has always been easier to breathe, more lightweight, the reason as to why mischief is the first thing she thinks about when the ashes of sleep are dusted away from her face.

This room has seen her grow up into the woman she is today. With old paintings from her youthful days, running up to her uncle with paint-stained fingertips creating images of the rainbows she’d get to see after every ounce of rain. Some of them are newer—a portrait that said uncle, the owner of the winery, had gifted her for her seventeenth birthday, and clearly…some of her newest pieces of art. Nothing too excellent, mixes of colors a la Pollock, not quite looking for a shape or an imagery, but a feeling instead. One that she always dares to call normality—it may be happiness, just like it may be a routine, but in her thoughts, she knows that whichever way she decides to go, the winery will always be her home.

The paint on her walls is a contrast to her colorful sundress, yellow with daisies on top of it, but the length is not exactly what she is looking for. To anyone that has seen her walk through the streets, or simply riding on her bicycle, they’ve captured a glimpse of her style. The painted sneakers, the fixed dresses, the shirts that end up bleached or died or cut. The itch starts from her soul and ends up on the tips of her fingers, desiring to make a change in her life that can translate through her. She thinks that happiness shall be shown as long as it’s had, and it shall be prided on.

Perhaps, the reason of her happiness may be having breakfast right now and her gloss-coated lips press together while she looks at her reflection in the mirror. A pair of scissors is already going through the edge of the sundress—making it a tad bit shorter, a lesson that she learned when she had her second boyfriend and she felt more confident on her choices of clothing. The thing is…there are days in which she wants to exude the mentality that art is in herself, in a way, that as long as she can create something, her mind may never be dulled.

The fabric is shorter by the time she steps out of her room, not perfect, but sufficiently flowy for her to walk down the set of stairs and approach the cream-colored kitchen. The microwave is buzzing, her uncle’s shaggy head of hair covering the majority of the surface while he leans down to look at the coffee cup that is being heated inside the machine. The old man has done nothing but support her dream, that one memory of her youth that told her to be an artist…even when everyone else had told her that she’s not good at it.

Art is not about being good, she tries to tell herself. It’s about enjoying life in a different way. About feeling and letting others feel.

It will never pay the bills for her, but that’s why the winery exists.

Her attention is caught on someone else, sipping on a colder drink of coffee, then slurping from the spoon hovering over his rice bowl, so heated that a cloud forms on top of the breakfast. One of the winery workers, with golden skin and matted black hair, more often than not faintly moved away from his eyes, to show those small senses of gravity in their chocolate hues. His lips are plumped up, as if he’s always blowing on his meals to eat them—and that may be the case, for one of the few times in which she gets to see Hyunwoo open his mouth is when he is relishing on the taste of her Uncle’s infamous cooking.

Or that’s what the other workers at the winery say; that Hyunwoo is sweet, but too quiet. So eerily quiet that he seems to blend into any wall, any floor, any seat…though, she cannot see it that way. The moment Hyunwoo stepped into that winery, she was very well out of a relationship and promising to the world that love does not exist. She’d said she would never take any other man seriously, and he came in like a gentle breeze. Not a tornado. Not a tsunami, like the soft reminder of his laughter early in the morning, or the looks spared throughout a few months until a friendship started in between the two of them.

Her weight leans forward, staring at Hyunwoo’s eyes when he captures her gaze before jotting her chin forward. “Give me some of that,” She says, making sure that she crosses her arms under her chest, legs extending as a way of capturing his attention. And she has it, shredded glimpses of his interest in his eyes, in the way those lips quirk up and give her a foretaste of that soul that hides underneath his quiet nature. To some, he ruins the mood. For her, he creates it.

“Your uncle made you a plate.” He tells her, though his spoon is already balancing itself on the expanse of his hand, nearing her lips until they part and take a bite of the meal, paired with eggs. When the spoon is once again nearing his plate to scrape some contents off, her eyes trail to the notebook by his side, some words scribbled, others hidden under the blurred lines of a word he may not have liked…and still, Hyunwoo opts to use a pen.

“You got some writing done during the weekend?” And perhaps, a poet-to-be like Hyunwoo should really go for a laptop, and a Word Document at that, but his style is to keep it simple. Hyunwoo may not be the most profound, romantic of men—heck, he may not be one of those rooted poets that grow up to be stars every few years, creating a new wave to be remembered by textbooks, but the relaxed expressions on his features when finally having somewhere in which he can voice out his thoughts and concerns is more than she could ever ask for.

Hyunwoo nods, ready to spurt some knowledge of his endeavors back at home when her Uncle clears his throat, resting the expanse of her plate on the counter, the seat that she would be taking place in right beside her Uncle’s favorite worker. His strength has helped her Uncle endlessly, with carrying the wines, organizing them, making sure that his poor, old bones don’t struggle at the mere weight of his bent knees. “Pull your skirt down and stop fluttering your eyelashes like that.” Her Uncle says, giving her a pointed look when she simply shrugs her shoulders.

“Can’t pull it down, I already cut it.”

“One would think that once you became an adult, you wouldn’t be so…stubborn, but the older…the worse it becomes.” Though, the tiredness in his voice doesn’t dismiss the nostalgia on his tone. Days that were difficult, yet part of her growing-up process. The leather of the seat digs on the back of her thighs when she takes her spoon in between her fingers, her other hand already sneaking to reach for Hyunwoo’s notebook and read over his poems.

Something about him will always be tranquil. Just like wine, he makes her feel—sleepy, a bit heated, ready to embark in her biggest adventure but take it slow while in the process. He swirls on her tongue, intoxicates her, leaves a flutter on the pit of her stomach, a heartbeat against the other to race and see who wins, it brings her to the sky and puts her down on her feet in such a gentle, caring way. “Ah…I’ve heard that before. I’ll settle down eventually.”

Though, while munching on her meal and hearing the utensils on both men’s hands moving with precision to eat as fast as possible before getting to work, her fingers hook on the small, yellow, somewhat bitten pencil that rests in between the pages, scribbling down a note that only Hyunwoo could read.

“When will you write me a poem?” She writes first, on the last line of the one poem she read before drawing an arrow towards the piece of art itself. “Also, you’re improving.”

The pencil glides from her fingertips for him to take, and she swears she sees his expression lighten up, cheeks filled with food when he writes some words of his own. “What do you want me to write about?”

The action repeats itself, sparing one glance at her Uncle, too lost in the news displayed on the television to pay attention to her. “Whatever I make you feel.”

His response reads: “I can’t.”

She voices her thoughts out, speaking in a hushed voice while looking at him. Hyunwoo’s trembling expression turns towards her Uncle, but she knows that the old man is not what is stopping him—if anything, her Uncle would be over the moon if she got to date Hyunwoo, more seriously past this flirty relationship they hold. Instead, she basks on his presence, his manly scent, the way his white t-shirt hugs his body, jeans cladding his thick legs. “Why? Do I make you that speechless?” She counterparts, quirking an eyebrow when Hyunwoo chuckles and shakes his head.

“I just need time to think about it.” He whispers. “I’m not that good of a poet, yet.”

“You write about the winery, though. The trees, the fruits, the people here. Why not me?”

Why not her? Why not the woman that has promised herself that she’d capture his gaze and practically make it impossible to tear it away from her? To have Hyunwoo has always seemed holy, in a way, almost like getting an angel sent directly to her…all memories of the past few years merging into one single thought: that it has never happened. Without a lot of trying, and with a lot of work to do on the winery and on their preferred choices of art…it never happened. “It will happen someday.”

Though, she can only pucker her lips up, taking another bite of her meal before leaning back on her seat, arms crossed over her chest as a way to release the stress that is pent-up inside of her. Maybe, Hyunwoo would not see her a muse—that one person that takes every single breath away from his lungs, even in a place filled with trees. Or that one person who clouds his mind, even in his dreams, creating images of what-could-have-been’s that he can only fantasize about. “I won’t get younger at the pace you’re going.” The only sound she receives is his chuckle, shaking his head at her antics. This counts another day of a failed try of getting to be his muse, or simply to see more of a glimpse of interest from him. Not surprising, though somehow digging on her chest, she stands up from her seat after a few quick bites of her meal, doing her best to finish the rice before she continues on with her day.

Not without wrapping her fingers around his shoulder to speak into his ear:

“You’re lucky wine gets better with the passage of time.”

###

The trees wave against each other, dancing with the wind, singing their lonesome blues with every movement of their leaves. Instead, she finds the happiness in them—in the hope that the Sun glares down onto their existences, in the way animals seem to be happy around the winery and in the workers, too, not only Hyunwoo but everyone else, as well. Though, if she’s honest with herself, she wishes she could be a good artist, for painting Hyunwoo should be the best benefit for a person of artistic desire.

He’s far away, like he always is. So close, yet so far away when the day is welcomed into their lives. Another day in which she has to smile to hide the absolute adoration behind her eyes and another shrug of her shoulders when her uncle asks anything about Hyunwoo and herself. There’s nothing, she says, and it may be like that—if it was not for the way he smiles at her when he looks up from his position at picking up the sweetened violet grapes, because those eyes scream for her to finally settle down.

For him.

With him.

To have him.

The concept had always been foreign to her—settling down. There are too many beautiful people in this world; too many lips to taste; too many nights to remember. Plenty of times had she heard the words whore or slut used to describe her around the city, small in comparison to the ones in other countries…and she’d say that the concept is so…antique. Perhaps, she could image the word escaping the lips of a sexist man trying to sound remotely attractive while also demolishing the amount of things a woman can do…or, something easier, it’s the word that people use when they can’t understand the complexity of dating. Or maybe, she just sees it from the other end of the spectrum.

But Hyunwoo did not see her like some cheap woman who would much rather have her legs opened than her mind, because that’s not the case…and it will never be for him. The beige hat to shelter him from the sun moves a bit with the wind when his fingers stretch to wave at her, a gentle smile on his features—one that reads have a nice day, instead of the usual this is just a pleasantry before we have sex and have to pretend we don’t know each other after. And surely, with any other man she would have gotten tired…she would have simply said that not a lot of people are made for kissing and telling.

But this is Hyunwoo, the one man that saw her as an artist, as the glide of her brush against a canvas that reads…nonsensical matters. No one sees her art as worthy. No one but Hyunwoo.

When she stares back at the canvas, right after sending a wave back, she realizes that what she does is not art. If she had to conceptualize it, she’d go past Van Gogh or Pollock, past whatever The Louvre could show—that’s the history of art, but it happened way before all those people that crafted the popular side of art. Why is it that people had forgotten that they are art themselves? Art that when described, when coming to life, could be beautiful just like how it could be utterly disgusting. In her eyes, there will never be enough museums and art history books that would ever be able to help her become the artist that would showcase something to the world that matches what Hyunwoo makes her feel.

Her fingers hook around her sketchbook, moving away from the living room of the house while the flapping of wings dulls after two seconds of its initiation, her parrot resting on her shoulder. It may be a bit movie-esque, and Hyunwoo has compared her to a pirate countless times, but nature exists within her…and Hyunwoo is the tranquility that matches her softened heart. A heart that has prickled edges, too much intelligence for its own good, but that can become warm at the mere sight of him.

Art goes past colors—past the damned lines that she does in the name of showing what it is that goes through her head, past what she could ever comprehend, perhaps more understood by an expert…but she can give a name to what Hyunwoo makes her feel.

The caress of fingertips over someone’s back. Traced over lines, bumps, love handles, marks, reddened spots, moles—softly, gently, chilling, relaxing, yet so intimate. It can be done wrongly, when asking for a massage after a long day to someone who is not interested, for example; just like it can be the most miniscule of gestures that breathe out an ‘I love you’. Hyunwoo, with his voice alone, makes her feel like a teenager that has gotten her waist grabbed for the first time—not with a pull to make her feel uncomfortable, but with gentleness, the steps in between them taken far too slowly, too meticulously.

But…she’s not the type to get scared about what her uncle may think if Hyunwoo ends up dating her.

So, what is it that stops her?

Hyunwoo is kneeling down, the fabric of his pants dirtied by mud, his white tank top showing his glowing sweaty skin in the faintest golden color. With a raise of his eyebrow and a stare from the corner of his eye, he says: “Isn’t that my favorite pirate?”

Her fingers move at their own accord with her little pencil, too worn out that it creates the faintest of lines. She starts with the shape of his face—oval, with small eyes that glisten immensely, one more closed than the other as if deep in thought; his lips, plump, asking for a kiss, making her beg mentally to have him speak more. He doesn’t speak enough for how delicious his voice is to hear. “Depends. Jack Sparrow is not on your list?”

“Not when you exist.”

“Smooth.” She replies, looking at her sketch and furrowing her eyebrows. Realism is not her forte—but what is, really? Deep in this whole nonsensical heartbreaker stance that she has created for her, lost in a never-ending summer, she has tried to cover that insecure part of herself. The one woman that never grew up as a talented individual—that loved art, but was never good at it. Hyunwoo is the same with poetry, though he’s far more talented at other stuff around the winery, and an exquisite wine preparator. “I tried to draw you, but it looks like the lovechild of…a goblin and yourself, actually.”

“I wanna see.” He says, knees creaking when he stands up, nearing her body and making her pet parrot fly away. Sunny, an odd name for a parrot…but it just happened to stick around in between the staff at the winery.

Pressing the sketchbook to her chest, she looks into his eyes. “No. I’m shy.”

“You read my poems all the time—” Hyunwoo starts before squinting his eyes, smiling at her when tilting his head to the side to inspect her features. “Wait, did you just say that you are shy?”

For a woman who claims to love sex, casual dating and never getting too attached to anyone—for people are just that, equals, individuals supposed to coexist with each other to get to the end-line, she has definitely gotten attached to Hyunwoo. She’d say, even, he’s the cause of her abrupt stop in dating around. “I mean, I can be shy about things.” She starts, a shrug given by her shoulders. “Much more when those things look like shit.”

“Is it the first time that you’ve tried drawing me?” He asks, and she finds herself speechless.

“Depends.”

“Stop saying depends—”

“Would you think it’s silly of me if I had tried drawing you before?”

Twirling around after his response, a smile crept up on her features when she hears him say: “I’d think it’s sweet.” He tells her, the creaking of grass under his boots sounding behind her, holding her sketchbook to her chest, her dress moving with every movement she gives.

“I never do you justice, though.” She answers, trying to get away from him simply to tease—to have him chasing, following, at the edge of his seat for every word she says. Hyunwoo is a man that has, at least, a vast majority of the people in the city head over heels for him, and to see his quiet persona crumble into a bashful beam at her presence boosts her ego, truthfully—and gives her hope, if anything. For what? Only God would know.

“Don’t look down on your art.”

“We both know it’s not art.”

At that moment, he takes her by the wrist, turning her around until the expanse of his wide and toned chest connects with hers. Eyes to eyes, lips to lips, and when he breathes out an answer, she swears the air has sent her a kiss from him her way. “I’ll give you something and you give me your sketchbook to see how you drew me.”

Her eyes roam his features before scoffing. “Money?”

“I don’t have money, you know that.”

“Ah, a kiss?” Trying her luck, Hyunwoo raises an eyebrow, chuckling at her words.

“Not when all the workers are looking at us.”

“I’ve done worse—”

“I know,” Hyunwoo indicates. “But I’m not one of your worse moments.”

“Right, you’re the best.” She mumbles, knowing that losing him would probably hurt her as much as a blade digging into her sternum, towards her heart, dissipating to the rest of her body—electrifying her with one last breath. His fingers slip into the pocket of his baggy jeans, getting a small notepad out before putting it on her hold, snatching her sketchbook away from her hands just in time to open it.

Her eyes flicker towards the opened notepad, reading pages and pages of a supposed ‘her’. The poems are short, far too small for them to be thought-out pieces, but…they exude the kind of love that is simplistic, softened, all around a bit immature. “You know?” Hyunwoo answers, ripping the page away from her sketchbook before giving it back to her. “I’m going to keep this.”

“I’ll only keep this if the ‘her’ in the poems is me.”

Hyunwoo gives a few steps away from her, walking backwards as he speaks. “…Wouldn’t you want to know.”

The world shines brighter for a second, in the way it falls over his body and clads him in the shape of her daydreams. Where they stand will always be the reason of her reminiscing, something that shall never be taken away from her. “I do,” She adds, arms crossed, rushing towards where he is. “Because I’m the perfect rhyme for anything you think about.” She teases, knowing fully well that Hyunwoo’s mind will always be a mystery to her—but she knows there is attraction, this magnetism in between them that keeps them close, much more when he halters his steps, hands ending up on top of her uncovered arms.

A rhyme is more than tunes that sound the same. A rhyme needs profoundness, meaning, history after history behind syllables that match. “…You’re not wrong.” Hyunwoo breathes out, the wind blowing a bit on his hat, his hand reaching up to keep it in place. “Just, read the poems, don’t overthink it.”

“I won’t.”

And he leaves, blocking the noise of the birds with his steps, with the hum on his voice as he relishes on the sound of his favorite song of the week. For some reason, she feels like dancing when seeing his back depart from her and when her fingers feel the glide of the sheets of paper against her fingertips.

Her.

She’s ‘her’.

Unnamed, she shall remain—like a song that he heard on the radio, learned from one listen, and will never be able to find. But she’s there. Oh God, she’s there, settled, waiting for a smile from him, a rhyme to fit her, a moment that is not fleeting. For a chance to make Son Hyunwoo fall in love with her, and have a future with him.

But she’s not a woman to call a ‘forever’.

###

“Is this the apple wine you guys prepared this week?”

Hyunwoo has his hands crossed over his body, the light of the storage room of the winery barely powerful enough to cast down on his softened features. He quirks one of his eyebrows, a habit of his, and turns to look at her after humming. He has listened to her, she knows, but maybe he needs some confirmation, smiling at her before turning to the pristine shelves that showcase years and years of wines, all of different tastes. “Ah, yes,” He initiates. “It’s not fermented completely, well, not yet. I had to go over the recipe time and time again with your uncle—been a long time since he last prepared one of those.”

They’re not tipsy, but they’re alone. The sound of music is in the background, soft, steady, some jazz that relaxes them into—probably—sharing a drink or two. The door is locked, everyone is back at home and her uncle is certain that they’re adding the labelled stickers to the bottles to send them off to a store tomorrow. That, however, is only halfway done by the time she started to inspect the shelves. “Do you think it’s good?”

“It may taste a bit like cider, I believe.” But he doesn’t give much of an answer, instead taking another sticker and a bottle, lining it up perfectly before sighing. “Why?”

“Ooh, why must you think there is a reason behind me asking?”

“Because you’re you.”

“I’m the company’s publicist.” She defends herself—even when the title is not paired with a degree, it damn right fits her. She has done everything and anything to take the company to social media, exploiting it to getting more clients, more stores to buy their products—and of course, a few pictures that entice anyone to try their wines. “I need to know if what I’m selling is good.”

Hyunwoo chuckles, dragging a seat until he is seated in front of the spacious, glassed table where the newest bottles were placed, fresh out of fermentation. “So, you want to try the apple wine?”

“I want to try it with you.” She corrects, already looking for a switch to clear the room with more lights, smiling to herself at the sight of the city from the small windows. “It’s Friday night, Hyunwoo. And even on Friday nights, you’re always stuck here.”

Though, he can only give a soft answer. “I know.”

But why?

Why?

Why is someone like him just so given to the winery?

Her hand touches his shoulder, softly, gently, dragging her fingernails over the expanse of his t-shirt to ask: “Why?” Because she’s not one to stay with her curiousness, the questions that overtake her even at the peak of the night.

“Just because.”

“I don’t get it.” She skips the conversation, moving around until she is in front of him on the chair. His legs are extended, parted, fingers wrapped around a bottle of wine and she actually takes it from him and places it on the desk, getting lost in his eyes the more she speaks. He’d never see the poetry of him. “You’re a dancer, Hyunwoo. You’re meant to be in some club, dancing the night away with some girl—”

“I have you,” Hyunwoo replies, though they’re not a serious matter—much less have they voiced out their clear ministrations, what unites them. Their start had been simple, for Hyunwoo is a dancer, took years of classes just like her, artists that found love in some other shape of art…and ended up not being good at it. Their only choice was to get better together. “…And that wine really is calling for me.”

Slipping her fingertips on the bottle that had captured their attention, she uses a utensil to open it, grabbing two glasses with quickened movements. “I knew you’d end up trying it!”

“You always make me try new things.”

“Because you’re a boring grandpa, sometimes.” She answers, passing the glass down to him, surprised when his arm wraps around her waist, bringing her down to settle her weight down on his thigh, her knees pressed to his, his eyes staring directly into her soul after taking a sip of the wine. She follows his actions, sighing in delight. “This is good.”

“It is.” He answers, smiling at her with that glint behind his eyes. “At least, I’m good at something. Wines, you know.”

She blinks at that, letting her hands roam his face, learning every aspect of him—of the lips she has gotten to kiss a handful of times, never too profound, as if afraid of falling. But Hyunwoo is a ticking bomb, he’s waiting to grab her by the hand and drag her into the depths of bliss that is…being around him. “You’re good at everything, Hyunwoo.” She replies, leaning closer until her shoulder is against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. “Just because you weren’t good at poetry from the beginning doesn’t mean you’re bad at it.”

“I just don’t get it,” Hyunwoo mumbles. “Poetry? Someone like me shouldn’t even be rhyming stuff.”

“Oh yeah, sure, let yourself get carried away by the supposed stigma of society that says that buff men can’t be sensitive or have a braincell sometimes.” She huffs out her answer, looking into his eyes and seeing the adoration in them, his silent stance speaking more than his words ever could. “We’re dancers—of course you’d end up liking poetry. You’ve danced to poetry, without knowing,” And her smile expands in a grin when she remembers that one night in which they did go out to dance, the night of their first kiss, the reason as to why Hyunwoo never disappeared from her brain. Hips snug together, arms slotted in fitted ways; two souls conjoining. “It’s music. Hyunwoo, if there’s anyone that does music justice in this world it’s you.” She takes a sip of her drink just at the same time that he does, the dulcet taste sticking to her tongue, begging to be taken away by him. By his kiss. “The difference is that music sticks to our brains—the lyricism of it is meant to be remembered, but poetry sticks to the soul. Let your soul speak, if it’s about the winery or about me, just let it have a voice. It’s getting better, I promise.”

His arm tightens around her waist, leaning forward until his lips press to hers softly, carefully, as if he’s afraid he’ll be caught, and he may. When Hyunwoo pulls away, his legs parting even more in the process. “You’re a doll, you know that?”

“I try to be for gods on legs just like yourself.” She replies, leaning her weight back before closing her eyes at the warmth of him. “Hyunwoo…”

“Yes?”

“We’ll make it someday.” She says, trying to sway into his heart, surprised to feel his breathing stopping for a moment, as if taken off guard. “You, as a poet. Me, as an artist.”

“I don’t think so—”

“That’s what dreams are for, aren’t they?” She replies. “It’s not for thinking, it’s for imagining, dummy.”

And she may imagine that, someday, her fingers may hook around a brush just at the same time that he reads over a book. Just at the same time that they grow away from that winery and turn into the exact persona that no one would have ever imagined them to be. And more than that, together, to be exact.

But that’s what dreams are for.

###

“Do you like Hyunwoo?”

Taking care of children may probably be one of the things she likes the least—but someone at the winery had brought their daughter to work today, and having children close to alcoholic drinks may not be the best of ideas. Hence, while seated in front of her canvas, in front of the window that sometimes shows the figure of Son Hyunwoo—just like now—, she wonders why the child that could not even braid her hair a few minutes ago now is intelligent enough to guess that she likes Hyunwoo.

Seojin swings her legs back and forth, seated on a chair right beside her, and she turns to look at her briefly, a smile on her features. “Maybe,” She answers, earning a big beam from the seven-year-old child. Once returning to her painting, a mess of colors and emotions that she cannot explain—too much green and yellow, currently, perhaps inspired by Sunny, hanging around the living room, she voices more of her thoughts out. “Why do you think I like him?”

“Because you look at him like how my mom looks at my dada.” Seojin replies smartly, moving the little baby hairs away from her face to look at the man that is kneeling down in front of the greeneries to pick up some fruits. “Hyunwoo looks like a prince.”

“He does.”

Curiousness overtakes her. “Then, why isn’t he your prince?”

Simple, she believes, the answer slips her tongue just when she stares away from her canvas, twirling her brush in between her fingers when Hyunwoo becomes a clear shadow that passes through the window, embarking a trip towards her heart. She had been touched by too many people, in love plenty of those, she had gotten drunk far more than a princess could ever tell, made mistakes that were horrendous, tainted her soul in distrust. That’s not something a princess does, or a doll, like Hyunwoo calls her sometimes. “Because I’m not a princess.” She answers, shrugging her shoulders just when she creates another line of the canvas, quickened and interrupted by Seojin voicing out her concerns.

“But you like him…if you like the prince, that makes you a princess.” Seojin speaks quickly, standing up from her spot and getting in the way with her canvas, the tips of her messy hair—still in a braid—getting scattered with a bit of paint. She does her best to take the small towel that hangs from her shoulder to clear the brown strands, but Seojin is not paying attention. “Why don’t you make him your boyfriend?”

Because it may be a bit crazy—a bit too out of what she normally does, simply date around and wait until it is over. It may mean love and part of her just fears what that could mean, or if Hyunwoo would even want something like that, for he had not voiced it out either. “I’m afraid he’d say no.”

“You’re pretty, though.”

“It takes more than being pretty to get a man like him.” She tells her, only to widen her eyes when Seojin rushes towards the entrance of the house.

“Of course not, you’re nice and cute, what else does he want?!” Seojin fires back, too overexcited when she opens the door with swinging motions, not helped by the strong wind that almost closes it again. “I’m going to tell him—”

“Seojin, no!” But Seojin moves too fast, already running to the left to go to the field in which Hyunwoo is working at. Without knowing, she stands up quickly, letting her brush fall on the floor just as she feels her heart racing at the mere words that Seojin had brought to life innocently. Someone’s half, a story to tell, a tale to finish—a fairytale, one that she has never lived, never got the chance to have with the people that she liked.

The wind moves her hair, her dress, crazy just as she wonders through the fields, hearing the giggles that escape Seojin’s lips. Just when she picks up her steps, the heels of her boots digging deeper into the grass, she watches Hyunwoo kneel down in front of Seojin, putting his ear closer to her lips just when she mumbles something to him. Slowing down her steps as she nears them, she’s met by Hyunwoo’s stare that trails up her legs and towards her features, giving her a piece of his heart in a smile.

She has never been this nervous—not when seated on his lap, not when kissing him, not when she promises herself that Hyunwoo is the reason behind her solitude these past few months, afraid of getting her heart broken, but also needing more of him. Her fingers slot with each other, trying to look for leverage, just when Seojin lifts her hands in the air, happiness overflowing. “She likes you!”

“Seojin, I asked you not to go out running like that.” She scolds softly, letting out a sigh at her last word, only to watch Hyunwoo nearing her.

“She came here to tell me a secret.” He says.

“We both know it’s not a secret.” She replies, wary of the small eyes that are staring at them as they speak. Hyunwoo is having the time of his life with this, his broad chest shaking with laughter. “You’re not even good with children, stop pretending you are now—”

“I’m not.”

“Hyunwoo—”

His fingers go through his hair, the strands curving to cup his face softly, caressing it with the twirl of his bags. Parted, showcasing his forehead that creases a bit when he speaks. “But, I like you, too.” He tells her, speaking nonchalantly, albeit laughing a bit to himself. Perhaps, the people around—ahem, Seojin—may be the reason behind his nervousness. “What if we settle this with a date? Friday?”

“…As if you were not going to spend your Friday night with me already.” She answers, her voice cut short when a set of plucked, small flowers flies in the air and falls on top of them. The extended hands and the huff that came from Seojin is enough of a reason to showcase that she must have plucked some flowers, thrown it at them as some sort of celebration.

“You’re so cute together!”

“Ah, Seojin, don’t pluck the flowers like that. That hurts them.” Scolding, she starts, only to hear Hyunwoo muffling his laughter when she kneels down and picks Seojin up on her hands, the weight making her puff her cheeks out. “I’ll take her inside before she starts telling people that I like you.”

“No one knows?!” Seojin voices out, only to have her hand pressing down on her small mouth.

“And no one will know, Seojin.”

Turning around, she feels Hyunwoo’s eyes on her form and she swears she hears his laughter, the promise of an endless love and a date that may be the start of her doom.

###

Living in the moment, that had always been her mantra. And what a way to live in the moment, it is, to be held in Hyunwoo’s arms.

Never had anyone taken her breath away, in a way that her chest constricts and still, she can’t have enough oxygen inside of her. But he does. Of course, it is the man that is dancing the night away with her that is doing so—the only person in this entire town that could have her thinking of a house in a hill, with not so immaculate decorations but homely ones instead, of walking barefoot on the tiles to reach him, wrap her arms around him as he downs his first cup of coffee of the day. But he does. Son Hyunwoo does, absentmindedly perhaps, simply by smiling at her, by holding her closer and dipping her into the dance floor, as if she’s a feather and he’s a bird—meant to coexist together.

Because, once every few moons, someone like her falls in love…and it is so slow and calculated in its process that she is surprised by her patience, by her abstinence in having him, but Hyunwoo is worth it. He’s worth waiting a million years, the slow music around them in the romance themed Friday night, paired with lighted up hearts in pink shapes is everything she could have never imagined happening. But here’s Hyunwoo, a predicament, the one stone in her road that had her falling and she’d go back and do it again if she had to.

…She had never been one to learn from her mistakes, after all, and if Hyunwoo is one…

This is the greatest fucking mistake of her life.

Her fingers wrap around the edge of his collar, opened buttons welcoming his taut chest that she traces with the tip of her index finger. “Showing some cleavage here, I see.” She says, sending a toothy grin that she can’t imagine herself giving to anyone but him—one of those that show her gums, make her seem a bit childish, and yet speak of nothing but excitement. “We’re twinning, then.”

Hyunwoo’s smile falters, his eyes flickering down to the neckline of her dress before laughing at his own antics. His cheeks are tainted pink, or maybe the lights are deceiving her, but it’s a nice color to match his beige button down and that rosiness of his lips that she will probably dare test later on the night. Probably meaning…certainly, as long as he’s into it. “You talk a lot.”

“And you talk too little.”

“I’m not a man of words.”

“You’re an action man?”

“I don’t know, I’d have to show you.” And with that, he presses her body closer to his, her hands stopping her ministrations to expand on top of his chest, catching her footing quickly, learned from years of dancing. Her feet move with expertise, along with his, the lingering smell in between them of fruity drinks and dinner. His hand moves on her waist, rest along her hips and sighs heavily, as if nearing their bodies will end of suffocating them but also filling them up with attraction. Past attraction, even, whatever it is that flutters on her chest and has her thinking about the beauty of being held by him instead of simply voicing it out is some magic that she can’t quite explain.

“Ooh, Hyunwoo is talking big.” She wiggles her eyebrows, trying to regain some power and speaking because—damn, it’s what he does. He gets her tongue going, her mind railing, her heart aching simply to have a piece of him. Hyunwoo seems like her future, and she’d be disappointed if this is not some sign from life that the only man that she feels like falling in love for is anything but trouble. “Let me tell you something. I’ll recite a poem to you, Shownu.” The way she spits out the poet name he had come up with has him smiling, nodding along to her words. “Roses are red, violets are blue—”

“Aren’t violets supposed to be, well, violet?”

“Don’t go smart on me now.” She replies, resting her head against his shoulder and looking towards the other couples dancing; some older, some younger, some definitely together for a long time, some learning to fall in love. Where do they fall? Where do an artist and a poet fall more than together? “You know what? I forgot. Thank you. Now, I can’t tell you anything.”

Hyunwoo closes his eyes when he laughs, rubbing his thumbs against her hips before he lowers his head slightly, bending his body in a way in which he can capture her lips in a kiss, though fleeting and soft. “My pleasure to make you speechless, doll.”

She squints at him, taking him by the face with both hands to stare into his eyes. Well, he’s not wrong, for the tip of her tongue is trying to look for words to tell him, for flirtations to whisper in his ears, for more than simple actions to clarify her interest in him, one that is already as clear as water, as the sky, as a glassed window itself. Because…she has talked enough, to other people, to people who did not want her to speak but still pretended to listen, and who would think that someone like her could find love in something as silent as art, and Hyunwoo, himself?

“You’re something else.”

“Good thing?”

“Very good thing.” She complies, leaning forward to press her lips to his, relishing on the taste of him before humming, eyes still closed. “I wish I could tell everyone just how head over heels you have me.”

But she can’t. She can’t turn this relationship serious, because it would not benefit them in the work place—Hyunwoo has more to lose than she ever could, but also because the timing of them will never seem to be right. She has to hold back, not because Hyunwoo is slow in his movements to her heart, but because he’s so skilled in his way there that she’s afraid something else could happen. What if it doesn’t work out? What if he’s indeed a prince, and she ends up running away in fear of the constricting seriousness of the situation?

“I have you head over heels?” He asks, as if he likes to hear her saying such things…and damn, he probably does.

She gasps, contrary to what one would believe. “Of course. Hyunwoo, I’ve been practically into you for the past few months and you still think I’m not head over heels?”

“Why?”

“What?” She asks, watching the way he lowers his lips and kisses her softly, delicately running his tongue on top of her upper lip, her hands trailing down to his neck, grasping softly to feel the pulse in there, Hyunwoo’s arms wrapped around her body entirely by the time he speaks again.

Rare. Of course, it had to be something important if Hyunwoo dares voice it out. “Why don’t you just show me how head over heels you are?”

This is exactly how she finds herself in Hyunwoo’s apartment, how suddenly being friends flashes in the back of her eyelids and reminds her that it has not been months, but years since Hyunwoo has taken up the vast majority of her heart. In the couch that he lays her on to take off his shirt, lips latching to her pulse points, sucking the soul away from her with each flutter of the plumpness of his skin, she had told him about the eleven years she spent in ballet classes and in between chuckles, she had admitted to being kicked out for flirting with the instructor’s son too much. The shirt that is thrown on the floor by the time he leads her to his room, hands expanded on her thighs, reminds her of the night three years ago—New Years’ Eve, when Hyunwoo couldn’t go back home to his parents and his frown was evident. At the time, she had done her best to prepare a meal for everyone at the winery to enjoy, and it was called a coincidence when Hyunwoo’s favorite meals were served on the table.

Or that bed, the background noise of the sheets the one she listens to whenever he calls her, saying how much he misses her—listening to her and sometimes, telling stories of his own. The timing with him will always be off, because she’ll forever be scared of waiting for too long, even when his legs are parting her own, strong muscles resting on each side of her head, his heart pressed to hers, skin to skin. Everyone says that waiting…fuck, waiting is the key to love.

Like waiting for someone to wake up.

Or waiting for someone to come home.

Or waiting for the day in which she believes she’ll have earned his love.

Because Hyunwoo cannot be a love affair—she wouldn’t forgive herself if she gets to taste him once or fifty times, but never forever. It’d be tragic, just like the sighs that leave her lips, the way her nails cling to him, the smile on his face that reads adoration—that sees her as more than a line in his body count, more than a friend: he sees her as art, and that’s all she has ever wanted to be.

Art is complicated, and she finds herself being egotistic, like she has always been. Selfish, in a way. Her hands cling to him, her lips press to his skin, to his neck, wants him to be more of her own, wants for every crevice of his soul to belong to her. When her eyes connect to his, his hair is done a mess, ruffled and ruined just by her, the skin of his neck bathed in sin, Hyunwoo can only reciprocate the kiss that lands on his lips, fervent, needing to have the moment last for an eternity, the one eternity that she has never wished for.

In one kiss, she expects to have her confession be read. She expects Hyunwoo to listen to the silence, like she does with him, but maybe, he doesn’t understand…that one simplistic kiss is screaming at him that she’s falling in love—

No, that she is in love. And it feels like she is floating on the shore of a beach, the tingling sensation matching with the rays of sunshine making her forget that there is a world around her, that there will be repercussions like a broken heart or worse…a fired man.

With one last breath of his name, she hopes the confession fell into his ears, one that reads a single sentence:

I love you.

###

“Where is my book of poems?!”

“What?”

Pulling her gaze away from the break-up app showcased on her phone in between her fingertips, she looks at Hyunwoo practically turning the house upside down in his repertoire to find his notebook. When entering the kitchen, well overdue the time in which he goes back home, the trails of the night seek after him when he lifts whatever surface he can to find that notebook, that damned notebook that she knows means the world to him.

“My notebook. Did you take it?” Hyunwoo asks, eyes shaking, for she knows better than anyone else that, just like her sketchbook, his notebook includes motions of his being that no one should read, or have gotten to read other than herself. His hands are already resting on her arms, as if keeping her in place will resolve the predicament, they’re in, but she simply shakes her head. “Fuck, I swear I left it on this counter earlier—”

Scratching the back of her head, she watches as Hyunwoo moves with anxiousness, for the first time showing a sign on his face that screams…hopelessness. Perhaps, he’s afraid of losing what he had worked so hard for, or he’s afraid that tomorrow morning he’ll wake up to the sound of his poems being read to the daylight, to be showcased as a comedy, when all he has done is try to find a sense to that inner voice of his. “Let me help you.” She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, looking around the couches in the living room, under the mat, whichever bump in it inspected by her.

“This is it. I’ve lost it.” The hopelessness in his voice comes soon enough, throwing himself over one of the seats, slumping immediately with his hands softly bounded in front of him.

“You have not, Hyunwoo. I’m here to help you out—”

“It’s not here, and it’s definitely not in my car.” He answers, not even sparing her a glance when she nears him, arms outstretched to hold him in her arms. “Goodbye poetry, goodbye that stupid dream of mine—”

“Your poetry is not hidden in that notebook, it’s in you, Hyunwoo. Stop it.” She replies, taking his face in between her hands before letting her faded lipstick create a shadow on his lips with a gentle kiss. “Don’t say those things.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’ll shatter this earth if that means getting that notebook back.” After months of this relationship, unknown to the world, three months of absolute joy, she’d do everything to give him the world if she could. “Make that a promise. I won’t ever give up when it comes to you.”

And what’s with this…feeling that tells her that letting go of Hyunwoo will be impossible to her? That she has found it, that thing that her friends had always talked about. That love that goes past summer nights and the heat that comes with forgetfulness, or with winter and its need for warmth—a love that stands even when a train is nearing it, when saying goodbye could be easier than staying. But, she decided to stay—to stay for a long while, as long as he lets her, and so far…it has not been so bad.

If hiding in the storage room every Friday night as a date is excellence, then so be it. If hiding their romance to the eyes of everyone at the winery is what it takes to have Son Hyunwoo, so be it.

“Don’t be scared,” She tells him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and nearing his face to her face, rubbing soothing circles on his shoulders. “I’ll find it, I promise. I’ll find it.”

“No—”

“I said I’ll find it, and I will.”

Because she’d drop a star from the sky itself if it meant seeing him at peace, like he always is.

Which is why she almost turns the entire house upside down the next day, as if looking under the sofa will get her the precious notebook that her boyfriend is looking for. Sunny is somewhere, flapping its wings and resting on her shoulder as if to help her, and she even skips breakfast to favor finding a part of Hyunwoo’s soul. It’s only when she opens the door to her uncle’s office that she finally gets to see a glimpse of a notebook, seated on top of the mahogany desk her uncle is by, and it’s opened, shown to the world to bare Hyunwoo’s soul.

The weight of the flooring creaks under her, though it is not as loud as the thumping inside her chest when her eyebrows crease, moving with precision to reach for the notebook and plater her hand on top of the pages to cover the peeping eyes of her uncle.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She says in between a whisper, hearing how her uncle stops his typing away on the keyboard before continuing, fingertips ushering her hand away so he can look at one of the poetic pieces written by Hyunwoo.

“I’m doing Hyunwoo a favor.”

“He’s been seeking for this notebook since yesterday, Uncle. That’s not helping him—” She tries to grab the fabric away, only to be stopped by a hand that wraps itself around her wrist. The glisten of happiness behind her Uncle’s eyes is clear, the document in front of him bleeding the words of Hyunwoo’s soul—sweet, caring, silent. “Explain.”

Her uncle lowers his glasses, plopping some of the blueberries on a white plate inside his mouth, munching slowly, with precision, patiently like he lives his life when he speaks: “I happened to come across it yesterday afternoon and took the time to read it. My boy has talent.” Her uncle replies, but her mind can only worry about the poems there—the little notes that they had shared in their written conversations when her uncle is in the room, perhaps dusted over with some lines on top of it caused by Hyunwoo’s precaution or if they are easily shown for the world to read. “So, I looked for some poetry contests online and I am mass sending my favorite poems—or a variety of such. The only way I can pay Hyunwoo for the support he has given me the past few years is by letting him go to something bigger than what he has right now.”

Letting him go, why is it that he is the only man that she has never thought of letting go of? His fingers always spread when around them, trapping her hand as if meant to be together forever. Sometimes, she likes to believe she’ll reach older years by his side—that one day she’ll get to see Hyunwoo with gray hairs, and he’d let his fingertips trace her wrinkly cheeks, pinching them with his usual smile on his face. Letting him go to another place, a place in which he’d become a true poet, could mean that he is simply leaving the winery, just like it could mean that he’d have to go anywhere else. Around the world, probably. Somewhere where opportunities for writers are far more fruitful.

She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, speechless, watching as her uncle continues to type and he asks a question, one that she can’t give an answer to because she can’t listen to him. Her ears beep intensely at the mere reminder that Hyunwoo is not a forever, because the title doesn’t exist or perhaps, because it has never been meant for her. His arms will not always wrap around her waist, his sighs won’t always end up on her nape, leaving her with a trail of goosebumps that can only be intensified by a kiss.

Another muse could exist in the far future for him.

And her canvas may consist of darker colors once he is gone.

“I see,” She breathes softly, only to earn a pointed side-eye from her uncle.

“You alright?”

“Kind of.”

“I’m doing this for him. He’s always said how he wants to go somewhere else, travel the world, you know? It would be nice if he got accepted.”

That’s a promise that she has heard in their late-night conversations, a reminder that the tapping of water on the vase will sometime overflow and leave them with the taste of memories. Her fingers try to wrap around the notebook again, but she ponders on the options of badness and wellness, of destroying his future or keeping him to herself. Instead biting down on her tongue, she nods at whatever her uncle said.

“Don’t tell Hyunwoo.”

About what? About the opportunities that will surely start to appear like clouds on his days?

“I won’t.”

And with that, she slips away from the room with a saddened sigh leaving her lips. Positivism lingers with nostalgia, it seems as though there is a goodbye—a piece of her mind that reads with certainty the words:

One day, you will have to let go of him.

Because, if you love him, you let him go, huh?

###

“It’d be cute.”

“What would be?”

“If one day, when we live together, we could hold one of your paintings up as decoration.”

His arm is extended on top of his bed, knees digging onto the mattress, his hand interlocked with hers on top of her abdomen. His body is resting by her side, black sweater riding up his tanned skin, looking at her with a messy hairstyle right after the small nap he had taken the moment they had arrived to his apartment. Hyunwoo is staring at her, she realizes, cheek pressed to his taut muscles, eyes inspecting her reaction when she finally pulls her gaze away from that one movie they had been wanting to watch—the initiation of a good actor, that had both written the script with his best friend, just as he had starred in it. She can remember the name of the actor right now, but it’s not like she cares.

Weeks after Hyunwoo’s stolen notebook issue, she had been the one to deliver it back to him after her uncle had stopped signing up the poems for every contest that he could find online. The life had been returned to Hyunwoo’s gaze, and he seemed to be more tranquil, breathing normally after days of silence that meant no one had read his poetry book. Instead, she’d take up on more working around the winery, trying to distract herself from her muse and on the long run, stopping herself from thinking of the end of something she feels like has just started, even after years of mutual attraction.

She rubs her free hand against her face, a few bumpy stops that she had not tried to conceal with makeup the first thing she touches, and still Hyunwoo looks at her as if she’s the world itself. Her worries may be spurts of non-knowledgeable insecurities, maybe Hyunwoo is the one person that won’t leave her.

“You would want to live with me?” Her voice doesn’t drop flirtatiously, instead she brings their joined hands up to her lips, kissing his knuckles in hopes of one day seeing his finger glisten with a band that calls him her husband. It’s stupid to think in a long run, to imagine Hyunwoo as the man to settle down with her, but he’s the one talking about it.

“Of course.” He says, eyes twinkling when he smiles, his fingers expanding to caress her bottom lip.

“I don’t think my art would be beautiful enough to be in our future home, though.” She replies, voice going through the depths of what their home would like. Tranquil, homely, perhaps with woodened decorations and too many memories—pictures of the people they love, of themselves, perhaps with a pet going around, or some old wines decorating the shelves.

Still playing with her lips, he answers. “Stop it.”

“I mean it.”

“Your art is fine.”

“Ah, I’m not good at it. We both know.” She says, shaking her head before straightening her back, sitting up on the bed and letting her asleep legs crack at her extension. “But what is it that you see in me that has you wanting to live together? That’s a big step.”

Her boyfriend turns around until he is facing the ceiling, their hands pulled away when he crosses his own over his chest. He breathes in softly, a smile plastered on his features, almost dumbly, too many thoughts that he can only voice out in a few words. “Because I love you.”

Oh, that would make sense. For time has taken its sweet years for her to feel as though he’s the only man that will ever love her for who she truly is, past the summery dresses and the faux smiles. “What do you love about me?” She asks, in a mere whisper that has her coming closer to him, as if nearing him will make her remember every part of Hyunwoo, in case she ever dares to forget about him in any day of her life.

“Can I say everything?”

“Yes,” She laughs, trailing her fingers up and down his arm, pecking his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt before resting her nose against the material. “I love you, too.”

“I know.” Hyunwoo answers, sparing a glance at the movie before she captures his attention again.

“Your phone has gotten a few notifications. Aren’t you going to check them out?”

With his phone in vibration, he may have not noticed. “Oh yes, I hadn’t noticed.”

Hyunwoo stands up, his physique in clear view for her when he moves towards the bedside table, picking up his phone and squinting at the screen. For a moment, she inspects his room—the one piece of art that is hers and he had hung up there, in belief for her passion, and the little bits of him that rest in memories on every spot, even on the pillows that are now too uncomfortable in comparison to his body. She studies his expression, how a white light washes over his face and he reads, reads until his smile is permanently plastered on his face, until he checks his messages and whatever notification he had gotten before he wraps her up in the biggest of hugs.

Those that take her breath away, that has her chuckling at his strength, pressed down by the weight of his body, feeling every movement of his lips while they press down incessantly on different spots of her face. Her cheeks. Her neck. Up until when he decides that speaking is a necessity, that whatever has overjoyed his chest shall be shared with her.

She’ll never forget that smile—that smile that had warmed her, just like how it had turned her blood cold. Hyunwoo shows her the screen, but it is too close to her eyes for her to inspect more than the big letters. Not necessary to read more, because Hyunwoo speaks with excitement. “You didn’t tell me your uncle had sent my poetry out. I just got an offer of representation and a call to sell my book and get a contract!”

She wishes she could keep him, that she could trap him in her arms and simply tell him to stay there, to let the silence in between them fall into normality, into a sweetened lake that will take them to endless romantic bliss. Instead, she clasps her hands together, because his happiness is hers—and love is about that, giving more than receiving. “Fuck yes, I’m so proud of you! Is it for real?”

“Yes, your uncle just confirmed it!” And his lips slot with hers, in a way that tells her that he really does love her and maybe…he will stay. She will be the culprit of his poems, he will be the outline of the shadows in her paintings and their love shall remain like that. Two rhyming words, they are, joined together by a verse—and not another word could ever compare to the magic the two of them work.

“Let’s celebrate!” She cheers, wrapping her arms around his neck and squealing when he lifts her up from the bed, moving towards the kitchen to what is clearly a night filled with take-out and cheerful conversation.

Waiting for this, for Son Hyunwoo, is the best decision she has ever taken in her life. There is no regretting that.

###

That one hat that she had seen on Hyunwoo’s head plentiful of times is now on top of her hair, caging the memories to her brain the more she paints. Realism is not her forte, she will always say it, but a sigh leaves her lips when she finds herself painting the outline of him—past the muscles, the lips she dares to kiss, the eyes that look for her everywhere and anywhere, but in his soul. Hyunwoo will always be a soul in green—like the greeneries around the winery, where she met him, and the calmness of him is a representation of nature.

Love affairs are supposed to be red, passionate, they are supposed to feel like sex and carnality, they are supposed to be plenty of things…but Hyunwoo is not a love affair. If anything, he is the only man she has ever loved. The brush dimly moves against the canvas, her hair framing her face uncomfortably, but she doesn’t dare move the strands, because there is this vacant voice in the back of her head that is telling her something will happen. The twist of her gut, the taste on the back of her tongue, everything reads fear, like in any occasion she will be moved by her feet, dragged through the ground, given a piece of reality for falling in love.

Hyunwoo is somewhere around the winery, God knows where, speaking to the representative on the phone to state the conditions of the contract he will be signing with the company for the publication of his poems. This makes her nervous, but more so angry at herself.

What a fucking egotistic bitch, she can only tell herself, not because she is envious of what Hyunwoo will surely approach with his talent, but because she is afraid of losing him. Scared that one day Hyunwoo will look at his success and think of her as a loss more than a win. At some point, she lets the brush rest against the canvas for a second longer. A dot. A dot on the figure that is supposed to be her boyfriend…an ending, because dots can mean the finalization of an idea, just like how it can mean the end of a story.

She doesn’t hear footsteps, not even Sunny dares make a noise, tranquil on the windowsill when Hyunwoo lets out a sigh that speaks wonders. It has all the meaning of her world in one single breath that falls deafly, as if he knows there is something deep in her mind bothering her. His lips press to her temple, his eyes dare close to flutter his eyelashes against her skin and when he finally gives her an answer, there are undertones of happiness in his voice:

“They want me to move to New York for the publishing of three poetry books.”

And this is excellent—it’s the best of the best. It’s the opportunity Hyunwoo always wanted and the one that he deserves, but long distance is something that she doesn’t know if she could bear. She could always leave with him, live alongside him like they had always planned—but she’s tied to her uncle’s waist. The poor man, only getting older, needs to be thought about from time to time and the winery cannot be kept together without someone helping him.

So, this means that her dreams are crushed.

This means that leaving is not a choice.

“That’s good, Hyunwoo. Congratulations.” She tells him, putting the brush down and twirling around on her chair, not as excitedly as she used to whenever she wore a flowery dress. Instead, he inspects her features, a small smile grazing his features. The whiteness of the room contrasts his beam, the twinkle in his dark irises when he says:

“We could always leave together. You’d have huge opportunities as an artist there—”

“No, love. I can’t leave.”

“Why not?” His fingers stop playing with hers, trying to look for the certainty of a possibility that has been broken. That, once again, leaves her with the lack of a bound that will never be broken.

“My uncle is not getting older, and you know his health is not the best nowadays. I can’t—I’ve been selfish my own life, I can’t leave him like that.” The affection in her voice must have softened something within him, and Hyunwoo is about to drop the subject, leave the talk for later like he always does, but instead, she continues. “D—Do you think we should break up?”

“What?” Hyunwoo asks, his voice rushed, waiting for her to correct herself.

“You will go live to New York. I will stay here. I don’t know if—” She cuts herself off, looking up to the ceiling and biting down her bottom lip. She has always been the one to break relationships up, but with this one, she can’t do it. Her eyes flicker, her tongue twists and she has to grab his hands stronger for her to gain some power. “I don’t know if it will work, truthfully.”

“Is that what you think?” His eyes flutter with endless blinking, trying to process exactly what she is saying and she feels her heart being ripped when she realizes what is happening—

She is finally speechless.

And in the worst of ways.

“Tell me why.”

“I can’t…I can’t leave, you can’t stay.” She tells him, shaking her head. “And I will never forgive myself if I stop you from being the poet that you always wanted to be.”

And even then, when anger overtakes his features along with disappointment, Hyunwoo is the most beautiful man she has ever met—inside and out. Her fingers trail through his hair, her lips leaning forward to seek a kiss out of him but when they join in the sweet gesture, his lips capture her strongly, as if needing more of her, as if letting go hurts him as much as it hurts her. His soul is trying to engulf hers, to down her in the most gorgeous of memories that started with poems about her, spoken insecurities, healed hearts, too much time to waste and of course, an ending.

His arms wrap around her tightly, her lips unwrapping from his to breathe out against his shoulder, her eyes closing tightly when she repeats: “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Love isn’t enough in most situations. This is one of them.

###

Her uncle would have probably loved to see the scenery in front of her.

The bustling city, the flickering lights, the people that join and walk alongside each other, the cars passing by and the extreme comparison to the winery. Perhaps, he would have not liked it as much—but who is she to know. Instead, she tries to make her way towards the café near her hotel room, desperate for her caffeine intake before her visits to the endless museums that she had looked up online. It’s difficult to move, much more when people press to her side, but she manages.

What catches her attention is the old looking library that passes her by as she walks on the sidewalk. The windows are huge, perhaps more than one floor in the place, showcasing the newest of releases or the most classic of pieces. Her feet retract the slightest, smiling at the sign that reads poetry and looking for a certain pen-name that she knows better than her own. The simplistic cover is enough to have her eyes widening, looking around as if caught by destiny—because Hyunwoo is there, by his penname, of course, but he’s there.

With persistence, she moves inside the library, grabbing one of the copies of the book that had caught her attention—the first one, one that she had been too fearful to ever look for, but now blinks at her almost mockingly. Or proudly, really, this would not have happened if only she had been selfish and snatched the notebook away from her uncle’s hands.

Some decisions are good on the long run.

Her fingers flick through the pages, recognizing some of the poems, even tutting at the fact that some of them are edited but his being still is exuded in his art. A little bit after, however, she is surprised to see an outline that she recognizes immensely—that one drawing that she done of Hyunwoo, more of a sketch, that he had kept with him, now plastered on the edge of the first book he released. Years later, and she had never noticed this.

The poem surprises her, the words ‘her’ its title, reminiscent of how she had always wondered if it was her that he was referencing. The more she reads, the more her smile widens…because nothing has been edited, not even a single syllable, and that is enough to press the book to her chest, closing her eyes to match the tightness of her chest.

He will always be the best rhyme for her poems, but it’s time for her to start a new one.

It’s time to let go.

That doesn’t mean she lets go of the memories, buying the book and pressing it to the depths of her purse, pushing the door open to go have her caffeine intake.

#shownu scenarios #shownu #monsta x scenarios #monsta x #kpop scenarios #writing #monsta x au #monsta x angst #monsta x fluff #shownu au #shownu angst #shownu fluff #the anti-love club #heeeey one more to go #thoughts on this one?#poet!shownu

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monomonomagines · 4 years

Note

Could I please request scenarios with a female ultimate poet s/o with the THH girls (and Tenko, if you’re okay with that) where she writes them love poems! Thank you!

Sorry, anon! As much as I wanted to include Tenko, the limit for characters is 8 at a time. However, if you'd like to request the same scenario with Tenko individually once we reopen the ask box feel free to. I’m sorry again for this and if the Junko scenario isn’t the best. I tried to make these as happy as possible but with Junko it’s a little difficult.

Anyways, I hope you still enjoy it and if I goofed big time feel free to tell me.

Sayaka

Before dating Sayaka first though the poems she received were from some huge fan of hers.

Because of wanting to focus on being an idol though she'd try not to get too attached to those words that captured her heart.

She was an idol. That was her dream. She'd do anything to reach her dreams and now she was being grounded by your words.

It wouldn't be until she approached her locker and found a love poem slipped in that she'd know there was no denying it.

She was in love with you and the words you wrote for her.

She'd be determined in finding out who exactly you are if you didn't leave a name and would have an easy time with doing so by using her charm and intuition.

Once she'd find you she'd confront you, wanting to know if you really meant every word and when you'd confirm she wouldn't be able to blush as she replies with her own confession.

She'd love your poems so much she'd be the one to ask for you to make more about her.

Celeste

Celeste would be one of the few girls to know about you from your published poems already.

She'd be a huge fan of any that fit her elegant gothic vampire style and would desire for you to write one for her.

She's a huge fan of being revered so what better way than with a poem that fits her aesthetic perfectly.

Once she'd receive it in writing though she might not be able to contain herself.

Still keeping her usual poker face she'd excuse herself for the time being until she'd become more rational with her thoughts. However, she wouldn't be able to stop rereading your words over and over.

You knew her too well it felt. Maybe it was just the powers of being the ultimate poet but she ended up falling in love with each line and so much more.

She'd make you hers at any cost. Immediately calling for you to meet her at a discreet location so that she could confess.

She like Sayaka wants more poems about her but would be a lot more pushy about it. It wouldn't sound it but her sweet words would still have a hidden edge to them.

"Dear, I know you have other poems to work on but would you write another one about my likeness to a "beautiful vampire queen" as you put it?"

Sakura

Normally pure strength and kindness was the way to Sakura's heart and yet your words held so much within them that she was blown away.

She wasn't used to many people treating her like a woman but there on her desk was a beautiful poem and rose laying in wait.

At first, she was sure it was simply a mistake. None of that was meant for her and then she saw the name on the envelope, "Sakura Oogami".

She felt her eyes widen and her hands tremble as she processed each word, realizing that somehow it felt like her defenses were down.

She wanted to treat you in a romantic way as well but she thought that she could focus on that once she told you that your words won her over.

"Your words give me strength, S/o please allow me to protect you with this new feeling. I promise to keep you safe."

Aoi

This bright and cheery girl easily wins people over with her winning personality and smile but it isn't always as easy to win her over.

Yes, she's very trusting and friendly but she doesn't just fall in love with anyone.

You'd be one of her friends actually before anything else when she'd start liking you.

She just is the type to let someone else notice and will get a bit frustrated when you don't.

It's good she's quick to forgive you or else there'd be issues.

She wouldn't realize you'd feel the same until she'd happen to pick up a poem you were working on that fell to the ground and her eyes happened to pick up her name on the page.

Were you writing something dumb about her or?

She'd immediately read it and refuse to give it back, immediately hugging you to her when she realizes.

"Awwww! S/o, why didn't you tell me sooner!? I've liked you for like forever!"

Toko

The way to this girl's heart is great writing or being a rich aristocratic douchebag so you have the first as an advantage.

Maybe you weren't a literary genius in the same exact sense as Toko but you knew she'd fall in love with your romantic poems once she read them.

It was another day that Toko allowed you to ask her for her opinion on some poems that you decided to slip in the one confessing your feelings and once she encountered it you could visibly tell.

She got stiff, her hands trembled, and her face turned red. It was cute but it also made you worried.

The poor girl looked like she was ready to faint when her normally shaky voice croaked out an, "You like me? Are you t-trying to screw with m-me!?"

It'd take quite a few explanations before she'd believe but once she'd know you're serious she'd get all giggly and bashful.

"F-fine...I guess yo-you're kind of cute in an ugly way."

Her vulgar tongue would not change but she'd still be nicer.

Mukuro

Mukuro wasn't used to a lot of kindness being shown to her with Junko being her sister so she'd have fallen for you as soon as you helped her out with some assignments in class.

She loved how kind you were but even with her feelings for you would be unsure of how to approach them.

Regardless she'd try to be close to you even if it was just as acquaintances or friends.

She didn't expect you to like her back so when you asked her to listen to you practicing reciting some new poems of yours she nearly choked when she realized that one of them was about her.

It was about her and you in a romantic sense, and she couldn't have been happier as soon as she put the pieces together.

She'd immediately embrace you quietly thanking you and telling you that she feels the same.

Junko

Junko has always been a bit eccentric you could say, but it never really bothered you.

You'd normally just bounce off of each other whenever you spoke so you'd immediately attract her attention.

You didn't seem like anyone else. You had feelings for her obviously, she knew that but it wasn't the same as any other person that did.

She wanted to know how you'd act. She wanted to see how you'd confess.

She had her own hunch about what you'd do so when you sent her a love poem to her in her shoe locker she wasn't surprised. She knew that this would happen but it made her so happy.

She was planning on rejecting you to make herself feel more despair but for some reason, before she could even comprehend her own actions she instead ran to find you and confess her own feelings.

"I knew you liked me from the start, S/o."

She would tease you but the gears in her head would still be going long after you two start dating. Why couldn't she bring herself to throw you away in the name of despair?

Kyoko

Like most of these girls, Kyoko would have to already have feelings for you for a confession to work.

She’d have been your friend for a while when you’d set up a mystery for her to solve.

The reward, being a poem of yours.

As soon as she’d first lay on eyes on it she’d assume it’s just another clue in your mock investigation and start reading it.

However, as she gets through more and more of the lines she ends up turning bright red.

She would be so embarrassed but would quickly recover telling you her own feelings.

“I love you S/o. You’re always so kind and passionate. I don’t know why everyone else doesn’t feel the same way I do but I’m glad that they don’t and that you chose me.”

As kind as her words are she won’t emote too well but you will catch sight of a rare smile on her face.

#danganronpa #danganronpa imagines #dr1 #danganronpa trigger happy havoc #danganronpa x reader #x reader #sayaka maizono #celestia ludenberg #sakura oogami #aoi asahina #toko fukawa #mukuro ikusaba #junko enoshima #kyoko kirigiri #ask #mod toko

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gryffindorcls · 5 years

Text

More Than Just a Friend: Chapter 1

——————————————————————————————

Hello, lovely readers! Thank you for taking the time to read!

This fic was inspired by @gale-of-the-nomads ‘s chat post. You can find it here.

——————————————————————————————

After patrol, Adrien face planted onto his bed and groaned. Plagg watched as his holder mumbled incoherent ramblings into his comforter. There was only so much a Kwami could take, and he was really close to reaching his limit. This kid needed help.

“Adrien,” Plagg called out in a sing-song voice.

“Hrrrrmmm,” his chosen responded without removing his face from the bedspread.

“You okay there, kid?”

“HRRRRRrrrruuuuGH!”

“So...is that a no?”

Adrien breathed deeply and pushed himself up into a sitting position. “I’m frustrated, Plagg.”

“Yes,” Plagg responded, nodding his head, “That much I can tell.”

“I JUST DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!”

“Are you going to make me listen to you talk about it all night?”

The visibly distressed teen ignored the Kwami’s question. “It’s just...why couldn’t Ladybug be someone I know? It would make all of this so much easier!”

Plagg shook his head and sighed. “I will take that as a yes. I guess I should get comfortable.”

“You don’t understand.”

“To be perfectly fair, I rarely understand you.”

“She feels so unreachable and yet strangely...close? I don’t know anymore. If only she was someone like...Marinette...you know? That would be great!”

Plagg choked on air. “Woah...wait? Why bakery girl? What’s so special about her?”

Adrien scrunched his face in thought. “Well, I guess it’s because she’s already an everyday hero. She’s always standing up for others and making sure that everyone feels included. Marinette may get nervous sometimes, but she’s also brave, smart, kind, and helpful. She’s pretty and super talented. It would be great if Ladybug was someone like her...or even if it was her.”

“Are you sure it would be great if it was her? Didn’t you tell me that she liked Luka?”

“Plagg, I’m not saying that Marinette is Ladybug. I’m saying it would be nice if Ladybug was someone close to me like Marinette.”

“Kid…”

Adrien walked over to his window and gazed off into the distance. He rested his head against the glass and released a shaky breath.

“Regardless of Luka, it would never work if she was Ladybug. I can’t date Marinette...she’s just a friend,” he said softly, keeping his eyes glued on the Parisian cityscape.

“I’m going to be completely honest with you,” Plagg began, “You sounded pretty sad when you said that just now.”

His chosen turned around and looked at his Kwami with a befuddled expression. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Adrien,” Plagg cleared his throat, “hear me out. What if...and stay with me on this...what if she wasn’t just a friend?”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Okay...let me try to explain this differently. You are miserable all the time because you can’t capture Ladybug’s heart. How am I doing so far?”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “You’re not completely wrong, but I would like to point out that I’m not miserable all of the time.”

“Kid, that was a yes or no question.”

“Just continue explaining.”

“Fine. You wish that Ladybug was someone you knew in real life, and you just gave Marinette as an example, and not someone like...angry sword girl.”

“Kagami?”

“Yeah, that one.”

Adrien huffed. “You and I both know that Kagami definitely isn’t Ladybug. She was Akumatized and we fought her...twice!”

Plagg threw his paws into the air. “Still, you said you wished that Ladybug was someone like Marinette. You never said you wanted her to be someone like Kagami.”

“I’m still not getting your point.”

“What if you tried going out on a date with bakery girl?”

Adrien’s eyes grew wide. “No! I can’t date Marinette!”

Plagg crossed his arms. “And why not?”

“Because she’s just a friend!”

“You obviously have a crush on her.”

The black Kwami carefully observed his holder’s reaction to his last statement.

Adrien’s cheeks were bright red. “No, I don’t.”

“The fact that you’re blushing tells me otherwise,” Plagg pointed out.

The teen buried his face in his hands. “I can’t have a crush on Marinette! I like Ladybug.”

“Did you not just say to me that it would be great if Marinette is Ladybug? Why not give it a shot and see if you’re right. Even if she’s not your partner and you wind up falling for her, would it be the worst thing in the world? You might even be happy for a change.”

“But Marinette is just a…”

Plagg cut him off. “I swear, kid, if you say ‘just a friend’ one more time, I’m going to lose it...and the last time that happened Krakatoa erupted.”

Adrien fell silent and sat down on his bed. He hung his head low and folded his hands in his lap.

The Kwami decided to try a gentler approach. “Look, for just a moment...I want you to pretend that there’s no Ladybug and you’re not Chat Noir. Just imagine that you’re a normal boy with a normal life. Now, think about what it would be like to date Marinette. She’s nice, and she smells like bread. I know she enjoys making things, and her parents seem to like you. You’ve told her that she’s amazing on multiple occasions, and you just told me that you think she’s pretty.”

Adrien looked up and stared off into the distance. Plagg could see the wheels turning in his chosen’s brain, and he really hoped that something would click this time. Suddenly, the teen groaned loudly and doubled over onto the couch.

“Adrien?” Plagg asked after watching his holder moan in anguish for a solid minute.

“No!,” he exclaimed, “I can’t have a crush on Marinette. I CAN’T, BUT I DO! Why did you have to point out all that stuff to me! She’ll never agree to go out with me. She hasn’t started a relationship with a single person who’s shown interest in her all year, and I’m pretty sure half the class has a crush on her. AND NOW I DO, TOO!”

“I hate to break it to you, but I think you’ve liked her all along.”

“Oh my God, Plagg! I can’t like Ladybug and Marinette.”

“Sure you can. You were still in love with Ladybug when you took sword girl out on a date...right?”

“I HAVE A CRUSH ON THREE GIRLS? What is wrong with me?”

“Nothing,” Plagg shrugged, “You just have a type.”

Adrien sat down in a huff. “I can’t ask Marinette out on a date. She doesn’t think of me that way. She likes Luka.”

“Does she have a boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Then you are more than welcome to ask her out.”

“I will be humiliated. I don’t think I can handle rejection from Ladybug and Marinette.”

“Isn’t it worth exploring though?”

Adrien shook his head and started walking towards the bathroom. “I can’t do this right now. I’m going to get ready for bed.”

The tiny, black being chased after him. “Can I at least have some cheese before you go to sleep?”

“PLAGG!”

“What? Giving life advice makes me hungry!”

***

Two hours after Adrien fell asleep, Plagg phased through the window and flew into the night. He zipped down the quiet roads and around the corner towards his holder’s school. If memory served him correctly, bakery girl was right across the street.

Once he found the bakery, he flew to the top window and phased into the attic room where Marinette lay sleeping in her bed. Plagg scanned the room until his eyes fell on a small red mass curled up in a heap of fabric on a desk.

“Tikki!” he whispered loudly from the other side of the room.

Plagg zoomed over to his counterpart and tapped her with his paw.

“Tikki!” he said with more force while still maintaining an appropriate volume.

The red Kwami began to stir in her sleep. Plagg poked her again, and she finally opened her eyes.

She gave him a confused look. “Plagg? What are you doing here? Are you okay? Is your holder okay?”

“I did something,” he said plainly.

Tikki glared at him. “What did you do, Plagg? Don’t tell me another species went extinct. First, it was the dinosaurs. Then, it was the dodo birds, and you completely crossed the line when it came to the unicorns.”

“You and I both know that those unicorns were a bunch of lying thieves. They had to go.”

“They were cute.”

“They were monsters.”

Tikki took a deep breath and massaged her temples. “We’re getting off topic. Please just tell me that the squirrels are still okay.”

Plagg rolled his eyes. “Yes, the squirrels are fine...for now.”

“Just explain to me what you did.”

“I may have convinced my boy that he has a crush on your girl.”

“Chat Noir has never been quiet about liking Ladybug.”

“No,” Plagg said, making eye contact, “I made him realize that Adrien likes Marinette.”

“Oh,” Tikki responded.

“That’s it?”

“Does this mean that he figured out Ladybug’s identity?”

“No. He came home from patrol and started going on about how he wished that Ladybug was someone he knew ‘like Marinette’. I then questioned him on why he chose her out of all his friends, and then I told him to try asking her out.”

“How did he take that?”

“He had a full-blown existential crisis. Adrien thinks that Marinette doesn’t like him romantically and that she’ll turn him down if he asks her on a date.”

“Are you kidding? The girl is obviously in love with him.”

Plagg shook his head. “He’s going to need proof. He’s that kind of guy.”

Tikki paused before answering. “The Valentine.”

“What about it?”

“Marinette wrote it.”

He curled his lips into a smile. “I knew it! But we don’t have any concrete evidence that it’s from her. I’m telling you, he’s not going to believe me unless I have something irrefutable to show him. Not even a sample of her handwriting will be enough.”

Tikki formed her own mischievous grin. “Do you really think that the Valentine he got was the only draft?”

The red Kwami zoomed over to the trunk on the opposite side of the room. She phased through the top, cracked open the lid, and slid a slightly crumpled paper onto the floor. Plagg flew over to the chest and began examining the paper. He saw that it had three different drafts of the Valentine poem, “Marinette Agreste” scribbled in the margins, and a drawing of a smiling hamster.

Plagg looked up at his counterpart. “This is perfect.”

Tikki gave him a serious look. “Now, I have nothing against them finding happiness and starting to date each other, but we will need to make sure that they are careful when it comes to their identities. They can’t know.”

“What if...just try to follow me here,” Plagg began, “what if they did?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if they knew each other’s identities? Would it be that bad? Fox Girl and Turtle Boy learned each other’s identities, and they’re doing great.”

“But Master Fu…”

He cut her off. “Doesn’t have to live with them. He doesn’t see what I see. You asked me if my holder was okay when I came here tonight. You want to know the truth? No, he’s not. His dad sucks and he’s always alone. Here we have two kids who love each other and they don’t even realize it! Do you know how much better their relationship will be? They’ll become better partners and heroes.”

Tikki softened her expression. “You really care about him.”

“I always care about my cats, but that doesn’t mean that I won’t have fun with them along the way.”

“Maybe...maybe you’re right.”

Plagg grinned. “What was that, Sugarcube? I didn’t quite catch that.”

Tikki rolled her eyes and sighed. “I said that maybe you’re right.”

“Finally! You admit it.”

“I’m not saying that you’re always right. You just so happen to be right this one time.”

“Come on! There were plenty of other times that I was correct! I was right about Archduke Franz Ferdinand.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“Oh, yes I was.”

“You started World War I.”

“Agree to disagree.”

“Fine,” Tikki said, making a dismissive gesture, “So, what are we supposed to do now? Are we just going to let them figure it out on their own?”

“No, we nudge them. They need help,” Plagg explained, “I will give this paper to Adrien tomorrow morning, and I will try to convince him to ask out Marinette.”

“How is that going to help them figure out each other’s identities?”

“We’re just going to have to improvise when opportunities arise. It’s not like we haven’t done that before.”

“Okay. I’ll do my best with Marinette. I’ll try to figure something out.”

“Just think, once they’re a couple, we’ll get to spend more time together.” Plagg nuzzled Tikki as he spoke.

“I’ve missed you, too, Stinky Sock.”

With the paper in hand, Plagg flew over to the window that led to the balcony. Tikki followed behind closely.

Before phasing through the glass, he turned to the red Kwami. “Just one more thing. Adrien feels like he can be himself when he’s Chat Noir. There are very few people in his civilian life who see that side of him. Ladybug has turned him down more than once. I have to ask...how does she really feel about her partner?”

Tikki smiled as she responded. “She values his friendship and cares for him deeply. While she gets frustrated by his recklessness and when he jokes around during a fight, she has a soft spot for the cat. She won’t admit it, but I think she’s starting to fall for him.”

Plagg beamed. “Good. We might just be able to make this work.”

Next ----->

AO3

Fanfiction

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Thank you to everyone who has been reading and following my other stories. Now that “Chat for a Day” and “Please Tell Me I’m Awake Right Now” are both on their last chapters, I have started to write new fics! Let the fluff-train continue!

Any feedback is greatly appreciated. Seeing all your responses fills my heart with joy! You are all wonderful!

——————————————————————————————

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fic #ml fanfiction #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #adrien x marinette #adrienette #fluff #tikki and plagg #ml plagg #ml tikki #More Than Just a Friend #Chapter 1 #fanfiction #ao3

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babaweeen · 4 years

Text

Faith and Numbers

Korrasami

Chapter 5

“He’s really still not talking to you?”

Korra sighs, obvious indifference spread across her face. “Nope.” Is all she offers the other girl as she relocates supplies from her locker to her backpack.

Asami offers a solom smile from where she leans on the locker next to Korra’s. “I’m sorry, it’s my fault.” She turns away to watch the rush of students coursing through the hall.

Korra looks up before flinging her backpack over her shoulder and slamming her locker a little too forcefully, drawing her attention back. “No. None of the blame is on you, It was my decision to ditch them three weeks ago.”

“Yeah but it was my idea.” She replies, looking down at her feet.

Korra’s face softens as she steps closer to the raven haired girl. “That you only had..” She pauses slightly as she takes Asami’s hand, “To make me feel better.”

Asami opens her mouth to counter but is soon taken aback by Korra’s lips meeting her own tenderly. Korra lingers for a moment before pulling back to continue, “He’ll get over it.” She finishes with a comforting smile.

“Spirits! You’ve known each other for three weeks and you’ve already gotten to PDA?!”

Both girls turn to see Bolin covering his eyes. Korra rolls her eyes, stepping away from Asami, who chuckles at her new friend’s antics. Over the past couple of weeks the two of them have gotten to know the taller girl pretty well.

Mako had been M.I.A since he ran into Tenzin on his way out of Narooks, finding out the girls had lied to him. He even stopped giving Korra and Bolin rides to school, leaving every morning before Bolin could even wake up. Asami gladly stepped in, taking any excuse to both be away from home longer and to see Korra more often, plus she liked Bolin.

“I’m sorry to do this, but it’s time for me to steal Korra away for practice.” He says, dropping his act.

Asami chuckles once more, giving Korra a peck on the cheek before making her exit. “I’ll be in the library.”

“Love you sweetie!” Bolin calls out in a high pitched voice. He turns to Korra with an exaggerated lovey dovey expression, “Ugh! I miss her already.”

Korra punches him lightly on the shoulder as she chuckles. “Shut up Bo.”

“I’m serious! She’s awesome, I may just need to take her for myself.” He says, bumping shoulders as they begin walking down the hall.

Korra spins around, walking backwards in order to watch as Asami continues to walk in the other direction. “Sorry Bo, you can try but she’s all mine.” She continues to watch, entranced by the elegance the other girl effortlessly emits.

“Psh, don’t underestimate me avatar.”

To this, Korra merely rolls her eyes at her friend, knowing he’d never really do anything to hurt her. Once the girl rounds the corner Korra spins back around.

“So, is Mako still giving you the silent treatment?” Bolin asks, irritation evident in his voice.

“Yup. You?” She responds.

“Yup.”

Korra sighs. “I’m sorry Bo, it’s my fault.”

“Honestly, I don’t blame you for lying. I realise we kind of imposed on your guyses first date. Plus you apologized multiple times!” He offers.

She sighs again, bringing her hand up to the back of her neck. “I still shouldn’t have lied.”

“Even then, it doesn’t excuse his behavior in the slightest. He’s left us hanging for weeks, he didn’t even care if we found another way to school or not. I mean we don’t need him but it’s still uncool!” Bolin huffs, adjusting his duffle bag up his shoulder aggressively. “He’s also been a complete dick during practices, ever since he was officially named captain he’s been taking it all out on the team. Like, I get wanting us to work hard but he’s been downright mean.”

Korra’s eyebrows knit together with worry. “What do you mean?”

“Well, last practice a freshman was late because he got held back in class and Mako made him run laps for the entire practice.” Bolin exclaims in his usual dramatic fashion, throwing his hands up. “It was brutal!”

“Coach Beifong just let that happen?!” Korra inquiries incredulously.

“Sometimes she lets Mako run practice on his own, she’s had family business lately. Something about her sister moving to town soon.” He answers, shrugging.

“Well, this is all getting out of hand. We’ve never gone this long without talking, not even after the whole Jade situation.” She says, chuckling slightly at the memory. “I’ll get him to talk to me, I can smooth this all over.”

Their conversation is drawn to a close as they reach the entrance of the locker rooms.

“Alright, catch you later avatar.” Bolin says before disappearing into his locker room.

Korra sighs, deep in thought about how she was going to get Mako to listen to her, let alone offer up his own feelings. Korra felt horrible for letting the situation get this out of hand, Mako was mad at her, not Bolin and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let him take out his frustrations with her on his brother. She wasn’t entirely sure how this whole thing started but she was sure that the blame was all her own. And even then, she knows it was her who made the whole thing worse by lying to the boy.

The younger girl wasn’t usually the type to seek out forgiveness, she wasn’t even really the type to go out of her way to apologize. She was someone who held her pride close to her heart, resenting the feeling of vulnerability but the boys had always been the exception. She thought back to the aforementioned situation with Jade.

Back when the three were still in middle school they found themselves all developing feelings for the same girl at their soccer camp. This was still at the beginning of their friendship, maybe a year in. Jade was someone who began to make her way into the threes friendship slightly, spending time with the three more often than not. She was gorgeous and sweet, beautiful fair skin and glowing apricot colored hair, it was no surprise that they’d all fallen head over heels for the girl.

Once they’d all become aware of the feelings the three had developed they made a pact that none of them would act on them. Both because they didn’t want to lose the girl as a friend and because none of them wanted to be rejected by the beautiful girl. Though, of course, as you may have predicted, none of them actually followed it. Mako was probably the least shameless in his attempts at courting the young girl, always insisting on paying for her meals, finding every reason to grab her hand, offering an extensive amount of help on her drills to which she was all apathetic towards.

Bolin was more sweet and innocent in his attempts, always complimenting her outfits, holding open doors, leaving hand picked wild flowers at her bunk. He’d even written her a fair amount of love letters and poems. She was always sweet with Bolin, always letting him down as gently as possible, not wanting to hurt her friend.

Korra was perhaps the only one of the three who really tried to keep her pact. After everything she’d gotten away from in the Southern Water Tribe, she didn’t want to ruin it. She didn’t want to mess up the real connections she’d finally managed to create. Her and Jade were extremely close, she was the first person to ever open up to about her past, the first person she’d ever let herself cry in front of. The bond the two shared was special, it was effortless.

Korra knew the boys had gone back on their pact but she didn’t care, she found it quite amusing to watch the two climbing over each other to win the girls affection to no effect. She knew the boys wouldn’t let it get between them, they’re brothers after all. She felt that things were okay the way they were. Well, until they weren’t.

It was late at night, Jade had managed to convince her once again to sneak out and practice their techniques on the empty, dimly lit field.

“She weaves right! Weaves left! Runs right through the other team's star player!” Young Korra shouts as she runs right by Jade. “And she shoots all the way from center field aaaand……”

Korra pauses her monologue with a huff as she shoots the ball. The two watch the ball intently, with great anticipation as they wait to see whether or not it goes into the goal. The ball goes straight in the center of the goal with a loud swoosh and Korra jumps.

“And she scores!!! The crowd goes wild! Ahhhh.” She shouts, mimicking the sound of a screaming audience.

Jade watches the girl admiringly as she dances happily across the field. “Alight alright, settle down superstar. Games not over yet.” She says with an amused smirk

“Au contraire, I’ve practically got you beat!” Korra replies as she retrieves the ball from the net.

“Confident are we?” Jade says smugly as she gets into position.

Korra doesn’t provide a verbal response, instead she tosses the ball starting the next round. This time, Jade manages to get control of the ball, attempting to juggle passed Korra. Though the other girl is making it extremely difficult, blocking every attempt the girl makes to get the ball passed her. After a few good minutes of the two fighting for the ball Jade decides enough is enough. She begins her attempt at some complicated sike out but miscalculates, ending up entangling her legs with Korra’s, bringing them both down.

The two laugh as they lay on the ground. “Nice one peaches.” Korra says through the giggles. Though the giggles soon die out as they realize the position they’re in. Jade had managed to fall straight onto Korra, legs still slightly entangled, leaving the two face to face.

They lay their still for a moment, blush creeping up on both of their cheeks, staring into eachothers eyes. The two look away, faces burning, laughing awkwardly but still, neither girl attempting to move.

Jade looks up, locking their eyes once again, this time with a new found confidence. She leans in, capturing the other girls lips into her own. It was messy and awkward and quick but to be fair, neither of them really had any experience. Jade pulls away quickly after, moving to stand and ready to apologize but is quickly stopped by Korra pulling her in once more. This time the kiss was deeper and filled with purpose, and it was all consuming for both girls. This is how they stayed for about an hour, until they heard Toza’s cabin door open.

The next day Korra felt terrible. She had feelings for Jade but she just couldn’t go through with something she knew would hurt both boys, and that’s exactly what she told Jade. She was completely understanding, agreeing it was best for them to just remain friends. But again, they couldn’t go through with it. They managed to keep things platonic for about a week but found it getting harder and harder as time went on. After that week the two made their late night makeout session on the field a regular occurrence. And once again, things were good, until they weren’t.

About a month into their loosely defined relationship, the two were out late at night, in a heated make out session on the bleachers of their field when they’re interrupted by a heartbroken Bolin. He had been out chasing his fire ferret Pabu, who had gotten out. Before either of them could stop him, the boy ran crying back to his and Mako’s bunk.

Mako of course was furious, he didn’t talk to either girl for days. Avoiding them at all costs and dragging Bolin with him. Bolin couldn’t even look at either of them without tearing up. Korra however was able to patch it up quickly. She managed to corner the two before practice one day and of course, they fought at first, very fiercely, but soon they all admitted to how much they’d missed each other in their time apart. The two boys got over their heartbreak and the two girls were able to finally make it official.

They dated for the rest of summer but ended up saying goodbye on the last day of camp, knowing they had no way of staying in touch due to the fact that Jade was only in republic city for the summer. Once camp was over it was time for Jade to go back to Ba Sing Sei and the four ended on good terms.

Korra sighed, wishing that this time would be as easy but she knew it wouldn’t be. She knew it had to be really bad for him to shut Bolin out as well.

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

“Alright girls! Great hustle today, go get cleaned up and remember, if you need extra help with anything just come talk to me! I’ll be happy to schedule extra practice hours one on one!” Korra shouts as the girls begin to run off the field.

Once she sees all the girls have cleared out she begins to gather her own things from the bleachers. “Hey Captain, I think I need a little one on one training of my own.”

Korra smiles as she hears the sweet voice from behind her. She laughs as she turns to face the girl. “I thought you were going to be in the library.”

Asami laughs as she steps closer to Korra, leaning in for a kiss. Though she’s disappointed when Korra steps back, avoiding the girl. She frowns, confused, afraid she might have overstepped.

Korra senses this and quickly explains. “I don’t think you want to do that, I’m really sweaty.”

The girl steps back and feigns disgust before speaking again. “I was but I knew you and Bolin would most likely be starving so,” She pauses as she reveals the bag of take out from the diner down the street. “I went out and got us all some burgers.”

Korra dramatically holds her hands over her heart and gasps. “You are too good to us Asami Sato.”

Asami laughs, rolling her eyes at the girls playful antics. “I got an extra meal just in case Mako wants to join us.” She says slightly bashfully.

“Oh awesome! I was planning on ambushing him before he leaves, this makes the perfect peace offering!” She says excitedly, kissing her cheek quickly and gratefully before rushing passed. “I’m gonna go get cleaned up, I’ll meet you in the quad?” She says, turning to face the girl as she continues to slowly walk backwards in the direction of the locker rooms.

“I’ll go get Bolin.” She adds in agreement, walking off in her own direction.

Korra smiles, turning around and heading toward the gymnasium to get changed. Once she’s finished washing off in the school showers she begins to pack her gym clothes and cleats into her duffle bag. As she packs her things she can’t help but rack her brain, trying to figure out what it was that she’d actually done to hurt the boy enough to shut out the only family he has left. This whole attitude shift started around the time her numbers shifted but that information seems arbitrary.

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

“Bo!” Asami yells after seeing the boy walk into the courtyard.

The boy's smile grows as his eyes land on Asami sitting at a table, take-out bags in front of her. “‘Sami!” He shouts in response, plopping down onto the bench across. “Ooo! Whatcha got there?”

“I figured you guys would be hungry after practice so I went and picked up some burgers.” She explains as she pulls out a meal for Bolin.

Bolin gasps as she hands him his meal. “Extra meat, extra cheese, extra pickle, no onion?! You know me so well!” He exclaims as he reaches to accept.

Asami laughs as she watches the shorter boy stuff as much food in his mouth as humanly possible. “I got one for Mako just in case, but I'm sure if he refuses you’d be happy to take it off his hands.”

The boy nods frantically, cheeks puffed to 3 times their normal size.

Asami just rolls her eyes, amaused, as she takes one of his fries. “I don’t understand how you could eat so much and still be so scrawny.”

“Excuse you! I’m slim, not scrawny.” He says as he runs his hand over his stomach. “And what can I say? It’s a gift.”

A moment of silence falls as Bolin continues to eat and Asami opens up her robotics text book, starting on homework as she usually did when they hung out after school.

“So…” Bolin says, pausing briefly to swallow his food. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Why is it that you and Korra are keeping this whole thing quiet? If I was the first to find my match I’d be screaming it from the top of the building…. Quite literally.”

The raven haired girl shrugs, “I don’t know. It’s not that we’re keeping it a secret or anything, I guess we want to focus on getting to know each other before we’re thrown into the schools spotlight.”

“But everyone will be so excited for you guys! This is the biggest thing to happen to this school since… well, ever!” He says excitedly. “Most people don’t even get their numbers until senior year, if at all! You guys will be all anyone can talk about for ages!”

Asami sighed, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “I think I’ve had enough of people talking about me. It’s refreshing having someone want to know me instead of thinking they already do. I don’t want to ruin that.” She pauses for a moment, cracking a smile before continuing. “Besides, I don't think I was born for the spotlight like you.”

Bolin spits his food out dramatically, causing Asami to flinch as a chunk of lettuce lands on her shoulder. “You’re ASAMI SATO! You were born IN the spotlight! But I understand, I do have that mover star charisma.” He finishes with a pose.

Asami carefully picks the lettuce off her shoulder carefully as a smug voice picks up behind her.

“Asami Sato? As in billion dollar heiress of the Satomobile empire?” The two turn to see a tall green eyed girl with coal black hair tied up into a loose ponytail. Asami turns to Bolin, slightly annoyed by the boy's announcement of her full name. Bolin on the other hand is too busy scowling at the girl in front of them.

“What’s it to you Kuvira, shouldn’t you be off kicking puppies or something?” Bolin says, taking his raven haired friend by surprise as she’s never seen him anything but sickeningly happy.

“Well I am the sophomore class president. I should know who my loyal subjects are shouldn’t I?” She retorts, moving closer to the pair, taking a seat next to Asami.

“You’re class president Kuvira, not the freaking queen.” Bolin spits.

“My my, little Bolin has really grown up hasn’t he? I remember when I had to stand up to the bullies for you.” She replies with a laugh. She smirks as the boy blushes, then turns to face Asami, looking her up and down before reaching for her hair. “Well aren’t you a pretty one? Perfect posture, beautiful features, silky hair…”

Asami scowls slightly, pulling her hair away from the other girl. “Thanks, but I’d appreciate it if you’d refrain from touching me.”

“My apologies your highness.” She replies in an exaggerated tone, bowing her head before getting back up out of her seat. “You should be more careful with that attitude Asami Sato, people might think you’re a little too entitled.” She says more venomously as she begins to walk backwards, then turning around to make her exit. “If they don’t already.”

Once the girl had disappeared into the profanity covered doors of the main corridor, the two let staleness she brought with her dissolve out of the air. “Wow. Now I see why Korra decked her with a soccer ball.” Asami says, turning to Bolin. “Can she do it again?”

Bo chuckles. “Yeah, she wasn’t always such a jerk.” He pauses looking back at the corridor she disappeared in uncomfortably. “Or such a creep.” He finishes with a dramatic shiver.

“Talk about Republic City Psycho.” Asami retorts, catching Bolin off guard.

The boy perks up at the reference, almost knocking over his soda in excitement. “You know that mover?!” He exclaims.

“Are you kidding me? Of course I do! I’m kind of a nut for all those old classic movers.” Asami says, matching the boy's excitement. The two begin to exchange their analysis of their favorite movers as they wait for Korra and, hopefully, Mako to arrive.

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

Once Korra had finished up in the locker room she bee lined straight for the door, knocking down a couple duffle bags on her trail. She was too eager to go confront Mako to slow down, throwing apologies over her shoulder. Her teammates simply rolled their eyes in amusement, already knowing the nature of their captain.

“Hey Korra, wait up!” Izumi calls out as the girl rushed past.

Pulling her hand away from the door knob, she turns to her teammate with a patient smile. “What’s up Iz?”

“I’m sorry, I know you’re in a rush but I was hoping I could talk to you about the game next thursday.” She says a little nervously. “I know I’m not in leadership or anything but I had some ideas that I wanted to talk to you about and maybe even help push into motion -”

“Izumi!” Korra interrupts amusedly, placing her hands on the other girls shoulders reassuringly. “I’d love to hear them. Why don’t we go talk in Coach Miyuki’s office?”

Stepping into the office, Izumi is taken aback by all the historical looking relics spread all through the room. The office is small, just about what you’d expect from a girls soccer coach. The walls are painted a deep red, worn out tapestries hanging all across them, each one painted in what looks like ancient japanese prophecies. There were bookshelves placed on both the east and west sides of the room, filled to the brim with old books and collectables. A beige couch and coffee table set placed directly to your right as you enter.

Korra notices Izumi's look of awe as she makes her way to the very back of the office, where Miyuki’s desk sat. She took a seat behind it as she addressed the girl still standing at the threshold, “First time in Miyuki’s office I see.”

Izumi chuckles as she’s snapped out of her thoughts. “This is definitely not what I was expecting,” she says as she takes a seat across from Korra. “Are you allowed to be behind her desk?”

“Oh not at all. She’d kill me if she saw me on her back here but it makes me feel so official.” Korra says with a laugh. “So, what did you wanna talk about.”

Izumi shifts in her seat, “Right so, I know we’re a pretty good team already. I mean I heard last year you guys actually made it to the semi-finals, mostly thanks to you and Kuvira.”

“Oh stop it, flattery will get you everywhere.” Korra interrupts jokingly.

Izumi laughs along before continuing. “ But we can always be better. I really think we need to get to know eachother better as a unit. You know, like the way we all think, I really feel like it would help us know eachother better on the field.” She finishes unsurely.

Korra thinks for a minute. As much as she hates Kuvira, she does know her very well from their time as friends, and Izumi’s right, it really does help her while they’re on the field.

“I think you’re right. We're all great players on our own but I think it’s time we become great players together.” Korra pauses for another minute to deliberate. “I’ll start drawing up some ideas for some group exercises and maybe t-

“That all sounds great but I actually have an idea on how we can start.” Izumi says quickly, cutting off her captain.

“Oh, what did you have in mind?” Korra asks.

“A party.” She replies quietly.

“A... party?” The taller girl says, contemplating. “ I love it!”

Izumi instantly visibly relaxes at this, chuckling slightly at the other girl's excitement. “A party makes perfect sense. The girls would be a little reluctant at the idea of bonding exercises but this will definitely open them up.” Korra continues.

“Yes exactly! It’s actually why I came to you and not coach, she couldn’t legally condone underaged drinking but I think it's just what we need. I read somewhere that breaking the rules together boosts team morale while at the same time bringing us closer together.” She says excitedly.

“It isn't much of a party with just us tho is it?” Korra contemplates out loud.

“Which is exactly why I think we should invite the boys team as well. They need this as much as we do and it would be pretty cool if we were more supportive at each other's games since one of us is always there waiting for the field.” She replies.

Korra laughs for a minute. “This is gonna be such a cliche.”

“Cliches are cliches for a reason right?” Izumi replies.

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

“Korra!”

Korra laughs as she sees Bolin jump out of his seat when she comes into view. “Settle down Bo, we don't want you throwing up that heart attack of a burger I assume you just swallowed whole.” She says as she walks up to the table.

“Who’s your friend?” Asami asks, smiling politely at the smaller auburn haired girl standing behind her girlfriend.

“This my raven haired goddess, is Izumi. She’s one of the girls from the soccer team.” She says dramatically as she introduces the younger girl. “And she is here, to help us plan a party.”

Bolin instantly perks up at the mention of a party. “Lets freaking goooo!”

The three girls chuckle at his antics, “Why don’t you take a seat next to Bolin Izumi. We have an extra burger with your name on it if you're hungry.” Korra says as she takes a seat next to Asami. Izumi instantly perks up as the raven haired girl places food in front of her and Korra.

“So it didn’t go well with Mako then?” Asami asks after giving Korra a peck on her cheek as Korra takes a bite of her burger.

“I didn’t actually get a chance to talk to him.” She replies once she’s swallowed her first bite. “But thanks to Izumi and this party idea, We’ll all have the perfect opportunity to talk to him.”

“What is this whole party about anyway? I mean don’t get me wrong I’m always down for a party, I’m just wondering.” Bolin says, turning to Izumi.

“Basically we’re just hoping it’ll boost morale and get the teams closer together.” Izumi replies, setting her burger down to speak. “It’ll be just the two soccer teams and dates and lots of alcohol.”

#legend of korra #avatar korra #korrasami #korra and asami #korrasami fanfiction #korrasami au #soulmates au #soulmate au

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365days365movies · 3 years

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February 9, 2021: Doctor Zhivago (Review)

Note: WHOOPS! This one went out so late, it’s a day behind! My bad, guys. Next review is still coming tonight! Check out the bottom to see what it is!

Russia, man. It’s got one hell of a history, and while this movie definitely isn’t purely historically accurate, it definitely feels true to the time period. At least it does to me. Feels about as Russian as this:

And a pigeon photoshopped to look like it’s saluting Vladimir Putin definitely feels Russian to me. Honestly, this was going to be a longer joke, but...c’mon. Look at that. That’s perfect.

Anyway, the ironic thing is that this movie isn’t Russian at all. The book, of course, is Russian, but the movie definitely wasn’t. Then again, this came SMACK DAB in the middle of the Cold War, so...yeah, wouldn’t be Russian, would it? Makes it even more interesting to me that the movie was as popular as it was. Also interesting that, again, it inevitably came in second that year to another movie starring lovers in a country embroiled in a World War.

By the way, made a bit of an error in the Recap posts. This movie DID win 5 Oscars, but lost 4 to The Sound of Music. So, really, it won out more than I thought in the end, huh?

OK, so what did I think of this movie? Well, let’s get into it, huh? Check out the Recap (Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3) for more about the movie itself!

Review

Cast and Acting: 9/10

Without fear of pretense, I can say that both Omar Sharif and Julie Christie are fantastic as the main couple of the film. Their chemistry isn’t quite as sizzling as some of the others from this month, but it’s still there, and feels like a whirlwind romance as much as that of a seasoned couple who rely on each other to get through hardships, whether together or apart. And, hell, that’s some good chemistry right there, to be able to pull that off. Individually, of course, the two are quite stellar as well.

This cast, overall, is restrained in their emotional performances, which seems deliberate. Alec Guinness, though barely in the film, is still quite memorable for his role. No wonder he and Sharif are some of the director’s favorite standbys, also appearing in Lawrence of Arabia. Rod Steiger’s turn as Russia’s biggest asshole is also quite good, and contains some palpable realism to temper out his qualities as a villain that is extemporary to the film’s main conflict: war and politics. Speaking of villains, DAMN, Tom Courtenay! Pasha’s the most interesting character in the film for me, solely from a character standpoint, and I DESPERATELY want to know what happened to him after the war, and why exactly he was wanted. And Courtenay’s turn, from sweet and soft protestor, to determined revolutionary, to FUCK MY FAMILY COMMUNISM FOREVER is quite well done, and weirdly believable. So, yeah, props all around. Oh, and Geraldine Chaplin and Ralph Richardson should also get some of that credit.

Plot and Writing: 8/10

Once again, like preceding films, this is one of those films based on a book, by Boris Pasternak in this case. The film is apparently mostly faithful to the book in terms of plot, with certain elements and characters having been dropped out. Haven’t read it, but let me know how crazy the differences were, and if it hurt the film at all. Now, here’s the funny thing about the plot: I originally thought that this may have been a little...overdone. After all, this came out during the Cold War, and anti-Russian sentiment was pretty high in the USA and the UK at the time. But, apparently, that didn’t factor in as much as I thought! I mean, sure, it was still banned in the Soviet Union, but that’s not exactly a surprise, now is it?

Anyway, what did I think of the plot and writing? Both were good! Not exactly groundbreaking, but it was definitely a pretty great screenplay. Robert Bolt wrote it, and he won an Oscar for it for good reason. If I have a single criticism, it’s this: why couldn’t we have heard any of Zhivago’s poems? They’re real! Pasternak wrote them out and everything; check them out right here, if you’re curious. No other massive comments here, so moving on!

Directing and Cinematography: 9/10

Yeah, uh, holy shit, this cinematography is EXTREMELY good. Full stop, it’s legit some of the best I’ve seen. Some of that credit is funneled into the production and art design as well, but...LOOK AT THAT SHOT, GODDAMN IT. Shot composition throughout this movie is gorgeous, and this is just one example. The lighting is used in a clear narrative sense, especially when looking at someone’s eyes as they look at someone else. I mean, godDAMN, Freddie Young, you’re a rock star! And director David Lean is obviously no slouch either! I don’t think it’s as good as his other most famous film, Lawrence of Arabia, but it’s still fantastic.

Production and Art Design: 8/10

Hey, fun fact for you! This movie’s gorgeous winter landscapes and cinematography actually helped to inspire the look of Disney’s Frozen! Neat! And I’m not surprised, because this movie LOOKS fantastic. It’s quite good at capturing the splendor of Russian upper class lifestyle before the Revolution took place, as well as the dour aftermath of the Russian Civil War. It’s an iconic looking film, that’s for sure. The most iconic? Ehhhh, no, not really, but it’s definitely one I’ll remember for a few key scenes.

Music and Editing: 9/10

Has there ever been an instrument more Russian than the balalaika? And honestly, this film’s score is STILL stuck in my head with Zhivago’s theme, played on that very same balalaika! That instrument serves as the core of Zhivago’s leitmotif, representing his past in poverty, the inheritance of his mother, his forced-but-willing return to a more pastoral existence, as well as the symbol of connection with his child by the end of the film. And that musical symbolism is good, but the music itself is quite memorable as well! Seriously, as I type this, it’s still paying in my head, it’s incessant. Credit goes to Maurice Jarre for that little earworm.

Editing, too, is great! A lot of interesting scene transitions that I noticed, some of which are quite good. Norman Savage, another of Lean’s favorite guys, does some serious flexing of his skills, and somehow makes what should be a 3.33 hour slog into a surprisingly smooth watching experience! So, yeah, lots of editing talent needed to do that.

86% for the good Doctor and Lara!

Is it odd that I’d willingly watch this again, maybe with some friends next time? Might be a long movie, but I surely did enjoy it!

Might want to sew up the historical films soon, though. Let’s do another one, probably the last. But this time, let’s have it set in the same country that made it, and not the United States...hmmm...take place in a later time period, less touched by war...what else...probably going to have some infidelity, I can’t seem to avoid that this month...not based off of a book this time...and by a famous director.

OK, I think that settles it! Y’know, I think I’m enjoying this month, romance and all. I guess, after all this, I’m...

February 10, 2021: In the Mood for Love (2000)

#doctor zhivago #david lean #omar sharif #julie christie #geraldine chaplin #tom courtenay #alec guinness #rod steiger #romance february #user 365 #365 movie challenge #365 movies 365 days #365 Days 365 Movies #365 movies a year #my gifs #mygifs #tuserjulian

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himbowelsh · 4 years

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valentine's day with Eugene Jackson or Henry Jones, pls ♡

valentines day alphabet ( accepting! )

yo what’s up can you hear me screaminggggg i had no idea how to do this!! they’re both such minor characters, but i went with jackson because i’d already written a few headcanons on him already. hope this is okay, love!!

A : AFFECTION. how does your muse show affection?

Physical affection all the way, baby --- Jackson’s the kind of guy who doesn’t think twice about it. He loves touching as much as he loves being touched --- a hand on someone’s arm or clutching their shoulder is a great way to let them know that they aren’t alone. (It helps that he’s a hugger.) When he really cares for someone, he’s prone to teasing them as well --- always in good humor, but his sharp-witted jokes underscore a deep affection.

B : BOUQUET. does your muse like flowers? which ones are their favourite?

Lol nah. His mama was passionate about her flower garden, and Eugene was basically forbidden to go near it when he was little (being the type of kid who caused carnage without even trying). He’s developed a natural distaste for flowers ever since. Not a fan of bouquets at all, and tries to avoid them.

C : CHOCOLATE. does your muse like chocolate? which one is their favourite?

All chocolate is good chocolate --- which is why he should just be given all the chocolate.

D : DATE. what is your muse’s ideal date? where / who with / etc?

He’d love something daredevil-ey, like jetskiiing or parasailing; even an amusement park date, as long as his partner’s willing to ride all the giant coasters. He craves that shot of adrenaline, but also to see how his partner reacts under intense circumstances. Nothing’s sexier than steel nerves.

E : EMBRACE. does your muse like hugs? what are their hugs like?

I’ll reiterate --- Jackson is a hugger, and he’s not ashamed of it. Part of it comes from growing up in a big family, when sometimes in the winters you just had to dogpile each other to stay warm. He loves being held, but especially loves getting to hold someone else; just feeling another body presses against his summons a tranquility within him that’s not often seen. His hugs tend to last a few seconds --- and god forbid he sits down to hold someone, because then he’s in it for the long haul. Half-assed snuggling? Not here, no sir.

F : FLIRT. is your muse good at flirting? how do they flirt?

Lots of winking; he’s got an arsenal of pick-up lines, ranging from really corny to really dirty, and he’ll whip them out according to his mood. No champion flirt, but he gets points for trying. Also very liberal with buying people drinks, so that helps.

G : GIFT. is your muse good at gift - giving or do they struggle to get it right?

No! He’s horrible at it! The absolute worst! Which isn’t to say he doesn’t try, but he’s not intuitive when it comes to what the people in his life want... so if he tries to get them something, it’s always exactly the wrong thing. His mother doesn’t need a new potholder, she already has five! What does his sister need a geometry textbook for, she finished school last year! Just go with gift cards, buddy, it’s your safest option.

H : HEART. is your muse quick or slow to give their heart away?

Jackson rushes into everything, and falling in love is no exception. As soon as someone strikes his heartstrings, he’s all in. However, it’s harder than you’d think to get to that point; he’s not easily moved emotionally, so for someone to capture his heart they’d really have to make an impression.

I : I LOVE YOU. does your muse find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

It’s not something he really gives much thought to. His partner would probably have to say it first --- it’d give him pause for a moment, just enough to stop and realize, “oh, that’s pretty cool”, followed by, “huh, should I have said that first?” immediately succeeded by “ah, what the hell, I’m saying it now”. Once that barrier’s been crossed in a relationship, he says it enthusiastically and often.

J : JEALOUSY. does your muse get jealous in a relationship?

Extremely. He’s not ashamed of it, either --- in a relationship, a fella’s got certain rights, and those rights include not seeing some other guy cozying up to his partner. Jackson will make a scene about it, and if they choose not to take the hint, isn’t above throwing a punch. While his partner might be a little embarrassed, he doesn’t have any shame

K : KISS. is your muse a good kisser? why / why not?

He uses a lot of tongue. Like... occasionally too much tongue. He’s a biter, too, bit is more careful with that, and it works to his advantage. When he takes his partner’s lip into his mouth, allowing his teeth to bare down on the skin just enough to get them moaning, he means business. Loves to have his hands on his partner’s ass while kissing, feeling it up like a prize ham at the fair. Definitely a grinder; even though he gets ahead of himself quickly, his kisses are a whirlwind, definitely worth the price of admission.

L : LOVE. who does your muse love?

He’s a bit of a Momma’s Boy, even if he won’t admit it --- she’s always got prize place in his heart, and the last thing Jackson would want to do is hurt her. (Unfortunately, impulsive sons have a talent for hurting their mothers.) He’s very fond of his siblings, had a few teachers in elementary school that he’ll still sing the praises of today, and is very, very attached to his buddies.

M : MOONLIGHT. is morning or night a more romantic setting?

Midnight is where it’s at. At least, that’s when he’s always in the mood, every night, without fail. “Romantic” is one word for it.

N : NAUGHTY. what is your muse like in bed?

He’s got so much energy, man. Where does he get it? Where does he keep it all? Where does it go as soon as the deed’s done, and he’s passing out in minutes? Jackson’s a very physical lover; he likes it rough, just because he loves grabbing his partner and keeping his hands on them for as long as possible. Nails on his skin? Hell yes. Doing it in weird places --- somewhere they could be discovered easily? Sign him up. He’s got a thing for flexible partners, plus partners who use teeth. Leaves love marks like they’re going out of fashion. If he hasn’t completely worn his partner out by the end, leaving them too exhausted and satisfied to sit upright, something went wrong.

O : ODE. does your muse have a way with words?

Definitely not. He’s plainspoken, quite blunt, and couldn’t string together a poem if you paid him --- but he always says what he means. When something’s on his mind, Jackson’s the type to just blurt it out.

P : PARTNER. what does your muse look for in a partner? looks / personality?

Jackson wants someone entertaining, someone not afraid to have fun; a down-to-earth person who’s not afraid of a challenge. Super competitive people are a kink for him. Someone with a tough side. They have to have a good sense of humor, and understand his, even if his humor is... offbeat at times. They must be a dog person. He’s got a thing for dark hair, and would love a partner who knows how to move it on the dance floor.

Q : QUESTION. would your muse ask the big question or expect their partner to?

Like... he’ll do it. Eventually, he’ll do it. He’s in no rush to do it, but if his partner wants to, he’ll give them the best damn proposal they’ve ever seen. So long as he doesn’t trip and drop the ring.

R : ROMANCE. is your muse a romantic or a cynic?

He doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body, unfortunately. Some romantic veins, a few romance-inclined nerves, but other than that, he’s not wired that way. Candles and roses go way over his head; Jackson shows his love in different, more physical ways. But if his partner wants romance, and they make that known to him, he’ll put every ounce of effort into it --- Jackson’s ride-or-die til the end, and he won’t stop until he’s made his partner happy.

S : SWEETHEART. did your muse have a childhood sweetheart?

From the age of four to the age of fourteen, Jackson was very set in his “girls are gross” phase. He had no desire for a childhood romance whatsoever, even if he’s sure one of his sisters’ friends was a little dewy-eyed for him.

T : TRUE LOVE. does your muse believe in true love?

It’s genuinely not something he’s ever given much thought to. He wouldn’t even consider it ‘til he found someone who might be the genuine article --- someone he could conceivably spend the rest of his life with. Then... yeah, true love might be real after all, if it’s real enough for him.

U : UNREQUITED. has your muse had their heart broken?

Nah. Never let himself get that far. Jackson is scarily durable, and bounces back from emotional/physical injuries like a ping-pong ball. It would take something absolutely devastating to break him.

V : VALENTINE. how does your muse feel about valentine’s day?

He’s never given it much thought before, just been sort of annoyed at how his sisters fuss over who gave them flowers at school, and who’s going out with who. A Valentine’s Day novice. If his partner wanted to do something romantic, he’d be completely at a loss, but try his damn best.

W : WEDDING. would your muse get married? why / why not?

It’s something his Mama really wants, but Jackson’s in no hurry. Life is long, he’s young and healthy, not planning on going anywhere anytime soon... before he tethers himself to anything, he wants to live. If a partner comes along who’s eager to live with him... well, they might just be the one. He’d marry, but it’d take a while, and only in a long-term relationship.

X : XOXO. does your muse use / like pet names?

Not often, but sometimes he’ll make up goofy ones, just to get a smile out of his partner. All his younger siblings have nicknames that he uses religiously, though.

Y : YOURS. does your muse get protective easily?

Oh, god yeah. He’ll get feral about it. 200% not afraid to clock a bastard if they threaten someone he cares about. He doesn’t even need a reason, he’ll just fight for funsies.

Z : ZZZ. how many people has your muse slept with?

He didn’t get many opportunities back home, but in the army he’s gone a little wild. Lots of going out with the boys, lots of picking up ladies --- paid company of otherwise. There have been a few legendary whoring binges in Easy Co’s history, and Jackson has been on all of them. Probably about... 8-9 partners?? He wracks them up fast.

#Anonymous #eugene jackson #headcanons

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parkeraul · 5 years

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boyfriend — prologue | s.m & t.h

warnings: cursing, smut, angst, drinking.

prologue | part 1

The term that describes exactly what’s in between the boys is quite a mystery.

They’re far from being friends, but they’re also not declared enemies. Well, that’s what Harrison or Brian would probably answer if you ever ask them what’s the problem between your best friends?

Around the college, it’s rare to see them actually arguing or coming for each other by the corridors or in the few classes they have together. But if you want to see things heating up, make sure you attend to the ‘friendly’ football match the guys from the Empshire University every friday after 5pm — when classes are over and the pitch is ready. It sounds childish, just like any regular boyish action if you may, but the atmosphere gets immensely heavier whenever both of them are playing in opposite teams. With that, you cannot say that Tom and Shawn aren’t exactly very similar, actually. Both competitive, both popular among people in college, both intelligent and passionate about art and its different forms. Oh, both annoyingly handsome in a way it gets most of the girls angry for not having a slight chance to trap them up onto a tightrope and call them boyfriend. They both love going to the beach, having two or three bottles of beer and spend the rest of the day watching random sports on the TV when the day is free.

But there are certainly lots of things that drifts one away from the other.

Tom is a golf stan while Shawn is head–over–heels for hockey, for example.

Shawn is a helplessly romantic type of lover, might show up at your door and promise your parents he’ll drop you back home by 9. Long walks by the seashore under the moonlight — after buying you your favourite ice cream and complimenting your beautiful sundress, how amazingly well it fits you and highlights the colour of your skin. Shy touches, random love quotes and mentions of beautiful poems. Talks with you about dreams, about life and family, plans for the future. Wanna know the bands you like and what’s your favourite song ever. ‘Where’s your last name from?’ ‘What’s the class you like the least?’ ‘Do you love what you study?’. Timid & indirect flirting phrases — so he knows if it’s mutual by the way you either melt or step away — and wears his best cologne, hoping it’ll spark something inside of you. Typical Shawn Mendes.

Tom, however, seems to be a lot more direct. If he wants you, he’ll sure let you know — probably through a joke, with a playful tone that carries all the sincerity. Festivals and crowdy — yet cozy — hangouts where you can both have an amazing time. Wants to get to know you better, making sure you know he’s paying attention to every word that comes out of your mouth by the way he looks at you so deeply, eyes shining as his irresistible smirk draws his lips. Laughs and happiness are priorities; soft but assertive touches on your hand as he walks beside you so you can notice he wants to hold hands with you; takes you to watch the city lights and goes crazy with you as your favourite song plays on his car’s radio. Stares at your lips intensely and dies inside whenever you poke your tongue out to lick them. Such a sucker type of lover, but you’ll only find it out if you stay long enough for him to trust you. Will make up dramatic scenes out of random situations to earn a laugh and wave you goodbye at your door, watching you disappear inside as he hopes your perfume is stuck on his cloth. Typical Tom Holland.

In between so many similarities and differences, there’s still a thing that connects Tom and Shawn more than football games and college classes.

Her.

When her frame crosses the rooms, it’s game over for both of them. It’s ridiculous the way that she gets two grown–up men drooling for her effortlessly doing nothing more than just being herself. Call her a liar, but she swears she doesn’t sway her hips more intensely whenever she walks in front one of them. But it doesn’t matter, she could walk steady like a rock and it’d still light up a fire inside their boxers — to avoid saying heart because feelings aren’t part of the deal. It took a good while for her to surrender and stop messing around, finally step up and give them a try. She always found funny the way they’d always try to impress her or melt her heart with their most incredible skills and stronger personality characteristics during the parties, or outside class begging to walk her home — getting nothing more than just her number, and then getting nothing more than a quick single response.

No wonder why Tom enjoys reliving so much the day she finally softened up.

“I’ve never imagined you’d be like this.” “Like what?” Tom asks, moving tortuously slow as his grip strengthens. “Kinky.” She’s smiling so devilishly that he can’t help but do the same, squeezing the back of her thigh as he bends it more until the front part clinges to her boob. Like this, he gets more space to thrust into her deeper while he does his best to move closer, eyes glued on hers and lips brushing together with every push of his. “Does that mean you had wet thoughts about me?” Tom whispers, feeling his mouth tickling hers as he rolls his hips unhurriedly. She gulps, enjoying the sensation of taking him inch by inch easily, once he’s getting soaked by her wetness and it makes his cock slide in and out deliciously. Everything’s so deliberately intense that he can feel her core gradually swelling more, his length completely tightened inside of her warm heat holding him so delightfully. Even in his wildest dream, he’d never pictured this moment so perfectly with her looking so messily gorgeous under him. He’s sure amazed by her beauty, and now it seems to increase more his crush for her, if that’s even possible. She’s taken by surprise, noticing her throat going dry and chills taking over her entire body even though the temperature is hotter than hell. Tom never thought he’d see her weakening, but it’s not only real. It’s also priceless to watch her lips parting and eyes widening softly, pleasure mixing with the awe as he hits her g-spot with a forceful shove — which makes their skin slap together so loudly that it wouldn’t be unpredictable to get a knock on the door soon after. “You’ve never answered my question, darlin’” He says sexily, capturing her bottom lip in between his teeth and sending her another hard stroke. She moans desperately, feeling the knot forming deep back in her pussy already supplicating for relief as it pulsates vigorously. “Fuck, Holland,” Closing her eyes, she exhales sharply and takes a handful of the hair right above the nape of his neck. The other hand flies to his chest, scratching his flesh as it gets embellished by burning stripes of red. The strands of his chocolate hair are already a mess, making him look even more wrecked and sexy and his eyes are so dark that it matches with the atmosphere of the bedroom. “I just—” “Just what?” And the bad thing is that his accent makes it all even worst. It’s impossible for her to resist the unmistakable sound of his voice — so unique and so sweet, but now washing her with desire as his tone falls one or two octaves and becomes low, raspy. Tucked deep inside of her, he makes quick and strong movements, knowing that he’s massaging her sensitive spot mercilessly by the way she starts squirming helplessly. Her moans turn into frantic cries, and Tom follows her because he can’t control himself and because he knows she loves when guys are loud also. He feels his cock throbbing just like her soaked walls around him and her hands instantly grab the headboard, while his fingers release her leg to curl around her throat. “Can’t even form a decent sentence, can ya?” He laughs under his breath and she swears she’s seeing stars beneath her eyelids. “Open your eyes, I wanna see you while I make you squirt all over my cock,” Tom demands, pressuring her throat a little bit more and as soon as she opens her eyes, it’s authomatic: they roll to the back of her head and flutter close again. “Open. Up.”

With a huge effort, she does it lazily and finds his eyes already glancing at her. The moonlight breaking through the window is enough to illuminate their features enough for them to watch each other insanely dissolving in pure pleasure. There’s a glisten of sweat highlighting his defined abs and his hairline just like it’s also showing up on his lips, and she wonders if his tongue never gets tired of licking those pieces of plump skin everytime she clenches around him suddenly. Unexpectedly, Tom kisses her with a fiery craving and proves her wrong. From afar or licking inside her mouth, his tongue won’t ever get exhausted of teasing her. And she’s thankful, because the taste of sex stuck on their lips is insatiable.

“Want to cum?” Tom breaks the kiss to ask through gritted teeth, feeling her gulping underneath his palm and she looks so damn beautiful all fucked like this. But she only nods. And he shoves his dick strongly at a point she thinks she’s never been hit this deep before, consequently letting her jaw fall in a silent scream. “Betta use your mouth before I do.” “Yes, daddy.”

That was such the perfect way to start the summer vacation, and that’s something they both know for sure. The bikini marks on her body contrasting with the rest of her tanned skin would remind her daily of a steamy week on the beach, definitely warmer in bed than on the sand.

But by the end of the hot days — not naughtily speaking this time — the summer rain came to say and brought her a calming mood. A calm someone.

She’s barely audible with the heavy rain pouring outside, drops hitting the ceiling harshly as she shivers totally overpowered. Shawn’s tongue is lapping at her cunt devotedly, massaging her clit carefully, but not less intense at all. He’s savouring her like she’s his last meal, not believing his own eyes and, well, mouth too. It had never ocurred him that she’d taste this sweet and when he tries to reach her eyes, they’re closed and her face is serene. She’s got a defeated smile adorning her pretty face and her chest heavens beautifully, her hips moving delicately towards his wanting lips.

It was hard to adapt herself to the softness at first, considering the feverish beginning of the season. But Shawn knew all too well how to ease her nerves with his skilled mouth, eating her out slow and passionate. She opens her eyes slightly to see Shawn’s lips moulding her pussy smoothly, taking her aching clit into his mouth and he looks like an angel down in there — flushed rosy cheeks under his hazel eyes, completely compelled by the sight of her splayed all over the bed so fucked for his mouth sucking on her now. Letting out a louder whimper, she takes his curls in between her fingers and rolls her hips provocatively. It obviously sparkles something inside his briefs and inside him, which leads Shawn to put one of her legs above his shoulder and circle her entrance with the tip of his forefinger.

“Please, Shawn,” She begs under her breath, immersed in pleasure as her pussy swells under his control. “I need more.”

And he can’t even pretend he wants to deny such a graceful requirement.

In seconds, he inserts his finger all the way until it’s disappeared inside of her. He watches closely, forgetting to lick her purposely so he won’t miss this amazing moment.

“More, baby.”

He pushes the finger back and replaces it with his middle finger. She thinks he might’ve probably understood it wrongly, but it’s just pure care. He alternates fingers, one by one thrusting inside her soaked heat individually and she’s in the merge of losing her mind for fucks sake. Every move is too much and she’s not sure how long she can wait.

When she considers sitting up to take the goddamn control, Shawn shoves the two fingers in a swift movement, making her back arch and a cry escape past her lips. This makes him smile, and he pumps the fingers with a certain strength as it gradually increases the wet sounds filling up the room. Every shove echoes throughout the space with smacking sounds and if she had ever felt her legs before, she doesn’t even remember. They’re trembling unstoppably as his mouth goes back on her sensitive bud, applying a heavier suction and flicking it with his tender, wet tongue.

“Gon’ make you cum so good for me,” Shawn mutters against her, eventually switching from suctions to licks — from licks to suctions — from suctions to kisses — from kisses to pumps. “So fuckin’ pretty taking me this well, eh?”

And a lifetime would never be sufficient for him to compliment her enough. Even though he’s speechless to the view of her tanned body shaking more and more as she gets closer to her so–wanted high.

The thing though is that none of them had a single idea of what happened before the college days were back. And it’s true that the walls do have ears. Well, not all walls are made of concrete or bricks. Sometimes they’re ginger and tall, sometimes they’re blonde with blue eyes and a british accent.

“Dude,” Haz elbows Tom as he holds his beer still. “Don’t you think that there’s something wrong?” “Nah,” Tom scoffs, taking a sip of his drink as they both watch her on the dance floor of Eryka’s party. By dance floor, it means large living room filled to the raftors. “She said ‘no strings attached’, so what? All the beginnings are fucked like this.” He explains, shrugging his shoulders like he’s got nothing to worry about. “I’m not talkin’ ‘bout this,” Harrison says close to his friend’s ear and Tom follows his sight when he tilts his head back, catching the sight from all the way across the room. “A blue little bird told me she’s been seeing someone else too.”

“If you keep staring they’ll know we’re talking about him,” Brian jokes, taking a single mouthful of his tequila shot. “So what?” Shawn asks absentmindedly, toying with the empty beer bottle hanging in between his long fingers. “Maybe I’ll ask him to join us on some beer pong shit and finally check if what you said is true.” “Wait, I didn’t say anything,” The ginger lifts his open hands in defeat. “Osterfield told me that. He could easily be fooling around.” “Guess we’ll have to see, right?” This time, Shawn laughs. Maybe he doesn’t believe it at all. Maybe he doesn’t want to believe it might be true.

In between, there’s Eryka dancing with her to the beat of the music as she notices the fixed glare of the guys switching between her to each other. “Don’t you wanna clear this up for these guys?” Eryka asks, grabbing her phone to check a message as she takes the last gulp of her drink. “You know what do I really want?” She responds with another question, feeling the alcohol shoot some dirt and honesty to her intentions. “Hm?” “I want to suck him,” She comes closer to her friend and points to the left. “While he fucks me.” Pointing now to the right, she winks at Eryka and takes the empty cup from her hand, walking to the kitchen and hoping to be stalked by a very specific british guy and a very specific canadian boy.

𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀: @lostinspidey — @goldenmndes — @shawnsunflower — @jawnjendes — @itrocksmysocks — @emilyxkate — @itrocksmysocks — @tell-me-when-ur-ready

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