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blooming-cecilia · 2 years ago

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secret valentine ft. diluc and venti

today’s date is something that becomes even more painfully obvious to you as you walk the path towards your first class of the day. there are more people scattered around the campus grounds, peers and couples alike exchanging gifts, the spirit of love and giving in the air.

you smile to yourself as you glance down at the extra bag of gifts you brought with you today. it’s valentine’s day today, and while you might not have a special someone in mind to spend the rest of the day with, you did plan to hang out with your friends after classes today, and you might have prepared a little something to give to each of them too. you don’t care much for the occasion itself, but it’s always nice to put smiles on the faces of people you hold dear to you, and give a little thanks for their companionship.

you continue walking to your classroom, the small smile still on your face at the nice weather and the lighthearted mood. when you arrive, you greet your classmates with a good morning! and a happy valentine’s!, thanking those who hand you any presents. you turn to your desk, finding some of your friends surrounding your desk, chattering amongst themselves at what seems like a present sitting on your desk. curiously, you approach, and they part to let you see the mysterious gift.

diluc

all of your classmates have been wondering about the big wrapped gift on your desk. your friends were anxiously waiting for you, waiting for you to finally get to the classroom and open that giant gift.

you were immediately dragged into the room and to your desk once they saw your head peeking out from the staircase, and when you finally opened the gift, everyone gasped.

it's a basket full of your favorite food, the really expensive kind. those pricey chocolates you'd only get as gifts from wealthier relatives? imported snacks from various countries? there’s several of those in the basket. some of them are even unfamiliar to you, which makes it all the more exciting.

you can tell that whoever this mystery person is, they took great care in ensuring the snacks they give you are ones you really liked, or at least for the unfamiliar ones, they thought hard to think if the snack would be up to your taste.

you can also tell that this person wanted to provide you with only high-quality items. the packaging does not have any sort of damage, each of them carefully arranged to look appealing and to avoid damage in transit.

there is no sender or any sort of indicator as to who this mysterious person is. they're careful to cover their tracks, as the card that comes with it is a simple printed graphic for valentines. included are well wishes of, i hope you enjoy my simple present. have a wonderful day., as well as your name at the end, still printed at the back. no handwriting to be seen.

despite you not knowing who this stranger is, part of you is sure that this person’s intentions are truly genuine, to only share what they could with you—despite it being more than you’ve ever been given by anyone—it was not a show of wealth as some of your friends have suggested. after all, if it was, why is their name not plastered all over the gift?

your friends bounce off students they know of in school that may fit the bill of a mysterious rich admirer, to which you mostly tune out once they became annoying, focusing instead on the yummy snacks this person sent you. you're curious as to who this is of course, but with how many students there are in this school, it's going to be like finding a needle in a haystack.

still, you hope that one day they find the courage to reveal themselves to you. it's only right that you give your personal thanks, and perhaps, a little something of your own to gift to them, too.

(you and your friends fail to notice the red haired man sitting at a table farther away from yours, discreetly peeking towards your seats to see you munch on your treats. he smiles to himself seeing you so obviously delighted by the tasty treats, and his mind starts to plan for yet another basket of treats…or perhaps, this time, he can give you trinkets that remind him of you now, too?)

venti

your eyes look down to your desk to find a small but quaint gift box. it’s a cardboard gift box that's dyed in your favorite colors, and has a rather elaborate design all over it. it’s secured together by a ribbon, tied into a rather complicated and intricate bow, a small tag on it with the valentines greeting, your name, and nothing else.

whoever this person is, they’ve got an eye for style and aesthetics, and clearly paid attention to the kinds of designs you liked.

you delicately untie the bow, almost a little sad to ruin their work. you take off the lid of the box to see…

…a mixtape?

well, no, not literally of course. nobody owns a functioning cassette player anymore these days. but this person seems to be rather old-fashioned still, to gift you with two cds, along with what seems to be a worn notebook?

you shift your focus to the two cds, setting down the notebook for now.

you observe the cd cases, the doodles and hand drawn typography on it immediately catching your attention. it seemed to have been drawn on with permanent markers, in a variety of colors too. the cds are also written on with what each cd contains.

each case also comes with a little handwritten letter inserted in the inner part of the case. you find that there’s no name written on those letters either, just some sweet notes (perhaps the sweetest you’ve ever gotten in your life! quite the poet this one is…), and a tracklist scribbled in for you.

you safely tuck away the cds into the box when your professor walks in, the rest of the class rushing to settle down into their seats, and you try not to let your curiosity take over your mind as you turn your focus onto your professor.

you were, in fact, unable to keep your curiosity at bay.

and neither could your friends, as they crowd around you and your ancient laptop at your usual spot outside your building. they urge you to insert the first cd into your disk drive, and you mumble to yourself about how thankful you are to yourself for keeping around the same laptop you got when you were sixteen—or rather, for being too broke to afford an upgrade.

a folder pops up when your pc processes the contents of the cd, and a list of mp3 tracks pop up, matching the tracklist written on the note in the case.

the first cd is a collection of songs that remind this person of you. it turns out to be quite a lengthy playlist, the first couple of tracks make you think that it's just some kind of prank with how generalized the songs are, but the more you listen to them, the more you find yourself in them, lyrics that apply to you and melodies exactly the way you like them.

your friends giggle and nudge you as they listen too, singing along to ones they are familiar with.

(“hey, is this admirer of yours too broke for spotify premium? is that why they went with a cd—hey!” “c’mon it’s sweet someone did that for them! you’re just jealous your girlfriend won’t do that for you!”)

the second cd is a bit more special, as it's an album of songs this person has personally written for you, and about you. you find it a bit hard to believe that a stranger can make this many songs about you—especially when you're sure you don't have the slightest clue as to who they are. however, you're once again proven wrong when you listen to the songs. each one blows you away with how beautiful the melodies are, and the lyrics touch you so much, you can hardly believe someone even thinks of you as such.

(this of course, causes your friends to tease you even more… you’re rather flustered by both the thoughtful songs and your friends’ jokes.)

you all part ways soon after, and you only get the chance to take a peek at the notebook that comes with the cds when you get back home. you observe the worn notebook and skim through it, feeling the paper creases and indentions from the writing on each page. you quickly note that this notebook is actually your secret admirer’s thoughts and insights, both for their playlist of you and the album they wrote for you.

each track has commentary. they truly have a way with words, and you already feel so connected with this person by the stories they share about their song choices and their song writing. you smile and laugh at most of them, and even manage to tear up at some of the behind the scenes of the songs they’ve written for you. this mystery person is able to drag out such emotions from you despite the fact that you’ve never met… and now you’re certain you’ve fallen for them. or at least, you’re definitely much more intrigued by them now; you want to know more about them.

so you spend the next weeks listening to both cds over and over again. no, i’m not obsessed, you tell your friends when they notice. i’m simply enjoying the thoughtful gift this mystery person put together for me. they have good taste in music.

you import all the songs into your phone to listen to them wherever you go, and on days you do bring your laptop, you still listen with the cds in the drive, as if it makes any difference. you constantly checking the cd’s folder like a new file will just pop up, perhaps a notepad file of more details about them…?

you feel sillier the longer this goes on. you really hope this isn’t just some ridiculously elaborate prank. the sheer audacity of this person to just drop you the most thoughtful gift, writing such wonderful stories and melodies and omit their name, aka the most important detail of all?!

you're going to find this person and give back everything they've done for you, if it's the last thing you do!

but for now…

perhaps you'll relax again and listen to that one song from their album. it's the perfectly calming track for a quick lil nap in between classes...

(you fail to notice a head peeking behind a tree a little bit away from the one you lean against. eyes full of mirth and mischief, he giggles and coos to himself seeing you nap to one of the songs he's prepared just for you. with one last look at your peaceful sleeping face, he smiles and saunters away, slipping away before you can wake and notice him there. he's eagerly awaiting the day you'll find him, but for now, he enjoys sneaking around you and watching you pine for him.)

happy valentine's everyone! hope you enjoyed diluc and venti's gifts for you <3 if you'd like to give me a present too, perhaps a reblog would be nice? 👉👈

#tulip writes #venti x reader #diluc x reader #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #venti the bard #venti genshin impact #diluc ragnvindr #diluc genshin impact #i would like to apologize to the diluc likers for such a short part #you can clearly see where my bias lies #DFGSJH #another round of dm brainrots i just polished and actually posted for once #valentines is actually over for me but it isnt for half of the world so it still counts #also put images at the last minute #i dont have the energy for more polished and nicer looking ones but the dividers i found were cute and simple :D #this is also inspired byyy my vague memories of valentines at school #i didnt really give to my friends nor did i get that much #but sometimes i did get a couple chocolates n trinkets from classmates #which is always nice #i wish something like this^ happened to me though #i want a super special gift from a super secret admirer :(

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firstelevens · 9 months ago

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we can follow the sparks, I'll drive

sam/bucky | au | rated t | 2k words

An extremely fluffy alternate epilogue to the Sam/Bucky Formula One AU, midnight driving with the windows down.

( also on AO3 )

Back when he and Steve were still at the racing academy, one of the trainers used to say that most of Bucky’s mid-race overtakes happened because he was such an annoying presence on the track that other drivers would fall back just to get away from him.

He eventually figured out more effective maneuvers than pure persistent irritation, but he’s never been opposed to bringing back a classic, which explains how he’s chosen to spend his morning.

“Barnes,” growls Sam, for the third or fourth time, and Bucky feels it rumble through his chest where it’s pressed against Sam’s side.

“Sorry, did you need something?” he asks, as mildly as possible. (It’s a little muffled: when he opted to flop down on Sam and go fully boneless, he ended up with a face full of Sam’s pecs, and turning his head hasn’t fully solved that problem.)

“What I needed,” says Sam, “is to have left this hotel room twenty minutes ago, but I was stopped by an overgrown toddler.”

Bucky would feel bad, except that in spite of his complaints, Sam has made absolutely no effort to extricate himself from Bucky’s hold. He’s been idly playing with Bucky’s hair for at least the last ten minutes, and it feels so good that Bucky’s regretting all the years that he kept his hair short and missed out on the way Sam’s fingers feel running through it.

“You’re the one who got back in bed,” he says. “It’s almost like you didn’t even want to go to that brunch where you can’t eat anything and you just have to smile awkwardly in selfies with celebrities until you feel like your face is gonna get stuck that way.”

“I literally just sat down to put my watch on.”

“Who puts on their watch before they put on a shirt, Wilson?”

“People whose partners have no concept of getting places on time, that’s who.”

Bucky snorts. “You were already late before you ended up here.”

“And whose fault was that?” asks Sam drily.

“I guess we’ll never know,” says Bucky, whose first instinct when Sam’s alarm went off at six this morning was to say, ‘Absolutely fucking not,’ and shut the phone inside a drawer.

He can feel the slightest tremor of Sam’s shoulder as he tries not to laugh, but Bucky doesn’t bother to bite back his own giddy smile when Sam turns and presses a kiss to his hairline. “I guess we won’t.”

“Anyway,” says Bucky, “there’s no point in going down there now. All those Hollywood people? You know that pressed juice line is going to be a nightmare, and how are you going to start your day without a pineapple-tumeric-ginger juice?”

“And is being trapped here in this bed somehow an effective alternative to that?”

“It is if your favorite person ordered your juice from room service.”

“Man, I can’t believe Steve went and ordered me room service, and from a hotel he’s not even staying at,” says Sam. “What a great guy.”

Bucky pushes away from Sam so he can level a glare at him. “You’re not as funny as you think you- hey!”

There’s maybe a reason why Sam is famous for his maneuvering around tight corners. The second that Bucky pulls away even a little bit, he wriggles out from underneath him, disentangling their legs and smoothly rolling off the bed in a single motion.

“That was a dirty play,” Bucky says, slumping against the pillows and frowning.

Sam just grins at him, triumphant. “Three months out of the game and you’re already losing your edge, huh, Barnes?”

Bucky doesn’t have a response, mostly because Sam always looks stupid attractive when he’s like this, all cocky and teasing, and it doesn’t help that those tailored linen pants fit him like a dream. He’s saved from being called out for gawping when there’s a knock at the door and Sam moves to answer it.

He can hear Sam chatting with whoever stopped by, so he grabs his phone off the charger and checks his notifications, heart-ing the photos that Steve just sent of Ellie and the new baby and sending off a text to Olivia to tell her how much he approves of Sam’s outfit today. Then he swipes over to the group chat where he’s got more than fifty notifications and scrolls all the way back to where he last left off, reading through the messages like he’s skimming the headlines.

He’s still catching up when Sam comes in wheeling the room service cart—a good call, given that Bucky is neither dressed nor technically supposed to be in here—and subsequently steals a strawberry off of Bucky’s waffles.

“I’m going to let that slide because I know strawberries are the closest you’re getting to dessert until this race is over,” says Bucky, only glancing up before turning back to his texts. “No Rihanna at the brunch, by the way. Just a bunch of TikTok stars and actors from CW shows. Are you sure you want to go to this?”

Sam raises an eyebrow as he pours a cup of coffee. “What are you, running surveillance on the dining room?”

Bucky holds up his phone. “Hope said she didn’t recognize anyone there, and then Tandy was keeping an eye out for Rihanna but apparently she’s not making an appearance because it would be too busy with the press, so-”

“Hang on,” says Sam. “You’re in a group chat with Hope and Tandy? Why?”

“Not just Hope and Tandy,” says Bucky. “Colleen, too, obviously, and Gert, and Olivia Walker, and–”

“Are you talking about the WAGs? You’re part of that chat?”

He nods. “Colleen said the invite was my retirement present.”

“But…why?”

“It’s for the partners of active Formula One drivers,” says Bucky, shrugging. “And last I checked, I was the partner of an active Formula One driver, unless this is your way of breaking up with me for making you late to brunch.”

“Yeah, I’m real upset that I missed my chance to let all my food go cold while I pose for selfies with a bunch of actors I’ve never heard of,” says Sam, his voice flat. He steals another strawberry and furrows his eyebrows after he takes his first bite. “Wait, is this group chat where you get all that insider gossip that you’ve been sharing? Like Quill retiring? Or the new merch releases?”

“Obviously,” Bucky says, moving to the end of the bed and pulling the plate of waffles closer to himself. “You think they’d just give that kind of information to a retired driver?”

Sam snorts. “I should have known. Back when I was dating Leila, I swear she knew about every one of the FIA’s moves weeks before it was going to happen. Sometimes I think she was more in the know than Rhodey was.”

“Dot was the same way when we were together,” says Bucky. The waffle is proving a little stubborn to cut one-handed and he wishes he’d just ordered pancakes instead. “I should have listened to her more, honestly. I didn’t realize how good the intel was.”

“What about the year that you and Steve started racing together again? At Scuda? I met some of those models you dated; they knew everyone worth knowing at the FIA. Tell me they didn’t have insider knowledge.”

Bucky looks up from his breakfast with a smirk. “We weren’t exactly talking race strategy all night.”

“Too bad for them.” Sam grins back at him, wolfish now. “They never saw you get all worked up about speed control on hairpin turns.”

Sam’s been making Bucky blush long enough that he knows there’s only more teasing around the corner, but this time around, he’s armed with the perfect distraction. He holds his carefully-assembled forkful of waffle and strawberry and whipped ricotta in front of Sam’s mouth, giving the fork a little wiggle like he’s trying to entice a three year old and not a whole adult.

There’s a beat where Bucky assumes that Sam is weighing his options, and then he opens his mouth and takes the bite.

While Sam is busy chewing, Bucky seizes the opportunity for a counter-argument: “You’re the only person in the world who thinks that’s attractive, you know.”

His only answer is an unimpressed look, made a lot less intimidating by the slight chipmunk face that Sam has going on at the moment. Bucky just laughs.

“One,” says Sam, after some furious chewing, “there are thousands of thirsty instagram comments about you that prove otherwise.”

Bucky opens his mouth to protest, but finds that he doesn’t really have anything to say to contradict that.

Sam looks satisfied as he moves around to the closet and opens the door, disappearing from Bucky’s line of sight. “And two,” he calls out, “none of those matter anyway, because I saw you first.”

He feels his face go hot again, and suddenly all Bucky can think of is the first time that he saw Sam: not in race footage or in a crowded room, but out by the track at one of Bucky’s first races out of the academy. He’d had his helmet under one arm, head thrown back with laughter at something Steve said, and Bucky had taken one look at how fucking pretty he was and felt every last brain cell fizzle out.

Maybe that should’ve been a sign, but Bucky had resolutely ignored it, made his way over to the cute boy who was hanging out with his best friend, and immediately said something snotty about getting cozy with the competition. It had ended up completely backfiring, he remembers. Steve had looked absolutely appalled and Sam had just given Bucky an appraising once-over, then turned that maddening grin on him and said, “I mean, if you want to call yourself competition.”

He’d walked away before Bucky could think of any sort of comeback, and an infuriated Bucky had spent the entire subsequent race chasing him.

It only took twenty years to catch up, he thinks, and has to hide his dopey grin behind his coffee mug when he hears the closet door click shut.

When Sam comes back around the corner, he’s still bare-chested, but he’s swapped the tailored linen trousers for what Bucky recognizes as his favorite of Sam’s many pairs of sweatpants.

Bucky only processes what that means when Sam drops onto the bed beside him and plucks the coffee out of his hands. “You’re not going?”

Sam shrugs, taking a sip of Bucky’s coffee when he’s got his own cup literally six inches away. “Couldn’t let that pressed juice go to waste, could I? Not when my favorite person ordered it for me.”

Just to have something to do that isn’t grinning at his boyfriend like a fool, Bucky turns and reaches for his Nets hoodie, dragging it over to them from where it was balled up by their pillows.

He’s expecting Sam to protest that he’s fine—he’s not; Bucky can already see the goosebumps on his arms—or crack some kind of joke about Bucky not wanting to warm Sam up himself.

What he’s not expecting is to turn back and find Sam’s face caught between interest and alarm, staring fixedly at Bucky’s thighs.

“What?” asks Bucky, following the line of Sam’s gaze to his new boxers, down to where the number 25 is printed just above the hem. “What’s wrong?”

Sam is quiet for a long moment. Then, with an impressive amount of gravitas for such an absurd question, he asks, “Am I hallucinating, or do your boxers have my name printed across the ass?”

Bucky’s eyes go wide with understanding. “Oh, right. About that…”

“About what?”

“So you know the new merch release that the other WAGs told me about so I could impress you with all my insider knowledge?”

“Oh my God,” says Sam.

“Yeah.”

“They’re selling boxers with my name on the ass.”

“They’re pretty comfortable, for what it’s worth,” laughs Bucky, letting Sam pull him in close and peer over his shoulder to get a better look at the lettering.

“I’m gonna kill Parker.”

“Could you at least wait until next month? Because he promised to get me some of the pairs from the other teams’ merch stores, and I feel like the Leone colors would look pretty good on—”

“Absolutely fucking not,” Sam all but growls, just like Bucky did earlier, and tackles him to the bed to prove exactly why Bucky won’t be wearing any colors that aren’t Sam’s.

(The pressed juice, regrettably, does go to waste.)

#sambucky #sambucky f1 au #this is just So Silly there's zero plot but I do think they're cute all the same #a total of three people expressed the vaguest interest and I was like WELP IT'S WHAT THE PEOPLE WANT #this is a little rough but to be fair that's why it's not the official epilogue #'hey zainab did you spend time polishing this instead of working on your valentine's day fic' no comment #my fic

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