#Looking at the menu items at the cafe and squinting hard

[azuresins]

.

[darlink-xoxo]

MESMERIZED BY YOU pt.2!

in which, the students of classes 1A and 1B take it upon themselves

and matchmake their fellow classmates..

GIF by ikludde

─ͥ─ͦ─ͮ─ͤ➼♥

inspired by this lovely asker<3

read pt.1 here to understand a bit better:]

Warnings: slight ooc todoroki, mutual confession, fluff, set up date, puppy love 🫶... and spelling mistakes

edits: so i took a break from writing and may have lost my touch, so i apologize in advance if this doesnt meet your expectations. I'm also sorry this is so late, i've been busy but i hope you enjoy reading.

❥ · ﾟ₊ you glanced around for a bit, sighing as you rested your head in your hand, "y'know, i almost think we got tricked."

shoto nodded numbly, "i also suspected that much."

glancing to the side, you started to recall how you ended up here. it was your classmates who'd invited you to a study session in a nearby cafe. dispite not finding any of your classmates, you did however, find your dual haired crush sat alone in one of the booths.

turns out, he was also invited by his classmates to a study session, at the same cafe. you joined him at the booth to make waiting less awkward, the both of you had been here for around 15 minutes, and it was clear no one else was coming.

you watched as he glanced at the small menu card, which sat against the sugar and salt packet rack. calmly taking it and sliding the other one to you, he slowly started to gloss over the one in his hand, before looking back at you when he noticed your stare.

"aren't you also going to order something? i mean, we might as well."

you blinked at the slight absurdity you found yourself in, letting out quiet huffs of laughter through your nose, "you seem awfully calm about this," finally starting to glance at the menu he slid to you.

he just shrugged, "well, now that i know i'm not allergic to you, i find our predicament rather nice."

that caused you to pause, uhm.. what??

you sat there for a moment, almost wondering if you'd heard him correctly. i mean, how else does one respond to their crush, claiming you had once made them feel sick???

was this his way of rejecting you? by associating you with the terrible after effects of allergies??

okay, well. let's calm down.

you allowed yourself to take a deep breath, staring at nothing in particular with slightly narrowed eyes. letting the more logical side of yourself take over, you didnt realize how tense your shoulders were until they relaxed. first of all, you were sure shoto was unaware of your feelings for him. your classmates might be nosey, but they weren't snitches.

so this may have been an overreaction on your part, but you weren't too sure if he had worded his response right. unless he was joking. wait, was he??

if that was the case, then that was actually pretty funny. that also meant you'd blown this way out of proportion, and nearly started to spiral down a rabbit hole because of it.

gosh, you sighed, why was it so hard to think coherent thoughts around this man?

the sound of someone clearing their throat caught your attention, "y/n? did you hear what i asked?"

being abruptly pulled back to the present, caused you to perk up in alarm. before slouching when you registered how embarrassing getting caught daydreaming was.

you shook your head, attempting to rid yourself of any shame, "no i didn't, sorry. could you repeat the question?"

he just looked at you, amusement flickering in his eyes as the ends of his lips seemed to quirk up, "i asked if you were ready to order?"

you squinted your eyes a bit, somehow seeing a flowery aura around him. he was cute when he smiled.

".. thank you?" his ghost of a smile melted into something bashful, turning away to hide his slightly flushed face from you, "i think you're pretty too."

widening your eyes at the sudden realization you'd said your thoughts out loud, his later comment didn't quite seem to reach your ears in your panic. you coughed a bit in your hand, pointing at one of the items on the menu, if only to give yourself a moment to properly dig yourself a hole and jump in.

"...this one, please..."

his eyes seemed to brighten as he nodded, picking up both menu cards and walking up to the counter. as he walked away, you softly rested your head on the table with a low thud. internally, you were screaming, crying, throwing up. but externally, you were still dying out of embarrassment.

why'd he have to be so cute.. why'd you have to say that out loud?? why'd he have to compliment you right back??? AND WHY IS YOUR HEART STILL RACING????

you didn't even notice when he returned, too busy with your inner turmoil. yet as you looked up at him, all rationality seemed to have evaporated away.

he placed the food on the table, nudging yours a bit closer to you, and started eating, blissfully unaware of the heartache he was currently causing you. he just, looked so peaceful.

you shook your head, sitting up straighter and was about to start eating as well, when one of the cafe workers walked over with a drink in their hand.

"hello!" they bowed to the both of you, "sorry, you walked away before we could give you this," they placed what you assumed was some type of milkshake in the middle of the table, "this is our new couples special, its a tester at the moment, so consider it free of charge!"

you almost choked on your food, "nono wait! i think you're mistaken but-"

"thank you for the drink."

the worker nodded with a smile, walking away with a bounce in their step. murmuring about how, 'it felt good witnessing true love in real time'.

your eyes shot to his, admiring the way he tilted his head at you, before regaining focus, "what was that?"

".. a milkshake?"

you deadpanned, "no, genius, about what you said?"

shoto only seemed to be more confused, "and what did i say?"

you lifted a hand to rub the bridge of your nose, "it's more of what you didn't say."

you sighed as you laced your fingers together, resting your chin on them, "about the 'couples special', why didnt you say anything?" you tried your best not to sound harsh, you didnt want him getting the idea you were opposed to wanting him.

shoto seemed to nod in understanding, lightly chuckling as if being mistaken for a couple was suddenly the best joke ever told.

"i think you've misunderstood my intentions about continuing our time here," he softly took one of your hands in his, holding it gently as he formulated his next set of words.

his determined gaze pinpointed to yours, faltering for a second as if he was pleading you not to turn away, "i like you y/n, maybe even too much. but although we were most likely set up by our classmates, i want to take this opportunity to start courting you."

his voice became more hesitant the longer you stayed quiet, "only if you'd allow me to, that is."

you stared at him, watching as his face slowly descended to deeper shades of red as time went on. his right hand beginning to rival the temperature of a simple candle.

you decided to spare him from waiting any moment longer, letting a big smile grace your warm face.

"i already have feelings for you, shoto," you softly brushed your lips against his hand, "so, could we skip the courting, and go straight to where i finally call you mine?"

the way his eyes instantly lit up, had your face burning up even more, "that's easy," he pressed a small kiss to the back of your hand, "for i was already yours."

the two of you beamed at each other, unable to wipe the love struck expressions you both shared.

later that night, shoto laid on his futon, his classmates blowing up his phone and asking about how the date went. a small smile full of adoration made its way to his face once more.

he typed out his response, before turning off his phone and setting it aside, ready to sleep after what he considered to be the best day of his life.

class 1A read the one word response, letting their own happiness flood through them at their success.

his reply?

perfect.

border credit to @saradika

special tag to @michikatsutsugikunigirly

[bbugyu]

hi can i request a wonwoo friends to lovers!!

abso-fuckin-tutely! since you were a lil vague, i asked my friendly neighborhood wonwoorideul for a prompt and she shouted out the song nothing by bruno major (aka one of the sweetest songs on wonwoo's spotify playlist)!

nothing + jeon wonwoo

moving in with your best friend was the best idea you ever had, even if he claimed it was his.

wc.3707 | fluff, angst, roommates/friends to lovers au, gn reader, like one swear and it barely counts bc it was hoshi, slowburn pining, wonwoo sees you and his mind is full of poetry, happy ending! (jp ver.)

thank you so much for my very first request! i tried to post this quickly, so i’m sorry if it’s not as polished as my other pieces. i was so impatient to get this out hahah. i love me some domestic wonwoo

*

wonwoo wasn't just your roommate, to be perfectly frank. the lanky guy had wormed his way into your close circle when you had worked part time together at a grocery store fresh out of high school, and when you both decided you needed to be closer to the big city, it just made sense to go together. you had never lived alone before, and your mother had said she would feel better if you had someone she knew around, someone to take care of you for her, even though you insisted you would be fine. she tried to get you to move in with your auntie, and while eating her food would be a definite plus, you absolutely despised the idea of living under the same roof as your chaotic cousin. so, when wonwoo mentioned wanting to get out of your podunk village, you excitedly told him you wanted to move to seoul.

"okay," he had said, looking at you over his comic book as he lounged on your family's couch. "let's go, then."

two months later, his dad was helping the two of you move into a tiny two bedroom apartment in a neighborhood of seoul that housed mostly old married couples, but you liked that it was a little more quiet than downtown. it felt more like home, but busy enough to give you your fill of the city. you could walk down the street to a cafe every morning on your way to the station, headed to your shitty temp desk job that you had just to pay bills. wonwoo was able to transfer to the main seoul office of his existing job as a software engineer, and was even able to work from home most days. you were forever jealous that he could hop onto remote meetings wearing a tie and button up over a pair of sweats. on days that he had to go into the office, though, he would walk with you and point out shops that you had yet to visit in your few months of living in the city.

"since when are you a flowers kinda guy?" you asked, gaze following his finger to the florist shop he pointed out.

he shrugged, adjusting his backpack straps over the blazer he wore. "might be nice for the apartment."

you eyed him. despite knowing him for years, sometimes he still surprised you.

on days that he didn't ride the subway with you, you would come home to find him sitting on the couch, swinging around a digital new york city from a web on the tv. you noticed the potted plant on the kitchen counter when you dropped your keys off in their designated tray. they were red, with tight round petals. you thought they almost looked like roses, but you knew that wasn't right. peonies? begonias? you didn't know enough about flowers to recognize them, but you figured he went to the florist in your neighborhood while you were at work.

he paused his game after landing on a roof somewhere. "how was your day?"

"good," you said, pulling off your light jacket and standing by the couch. "what's with the flowers?"

wonwoo looked around you to the yellow ceramic and red blooms, both colors that suited the other few colorful items in your minimalistic (mostly from having only lived there a few short months) white kitchen. "camellias. i thought they looked nice."

you nodded, thinking that he had more to say, but decided not to press. "have you eaten?"

he stretched on the couch, hands falling to the back of his beanie clad head as he let out a strangled noise. "do i ever eat without you?"

that made you smile. "any thoughts on dinner?"

wonwoo shook his head, settling back into the couch. "what do you feel like?"

"i'm craving pizza."

wonwoo pushed his glasses up his nose and adjusted to fish his phone out of the pocket of his favorite track pants. "go take a shower, i'll order."

you grinned. "you are such a good roommate."

"correction, i'm the best roommate. oh, also," he pointed towards the fridge in the kitchen. "soonyoung came by with side dishes from your aunt."

"oh, thank god," you said, walking over to wash your hands quickly and check the haul. "i was worried we were gonna have to buy kimchi this week. he wasn't annoying, was he?"

wonwoo shook his head, chuckling at the way you talked about your cousin as he tapped through menus on his phone. "he was fine. complained that you weren't here."

"doesn't he have a job?" you opened a plastic container and popped a sweet braised potato into your mouth. your voice was muffled as you chewed. "he knows i get off at five. if he wants to see me he should come when he knows i'll be home."

the small smile on wonwoo's face never left as you rambled about soonyoung, then your fantastic chef of an aunt, and then the new guy that sat at the desk next to you that microwaved fish for lunch. seriously, who microwaves fish? in an office?

wonwoo commiserated with you, then told you to hurry and go wash up, because he had just submitted the pizza order, to which you responded "okay, okay, i'm going. i'll be back in a minute."

after a steam filled shower, you left the bathroom while toweling your damp hair, sporting a plain black v-neck with your, similar to wonwoo's, favorite track pants.

wonwoo looked up and laughed, tugging on the hem of his shirt. "we match."

you eyed one of the several black muscle tanks wonwoo sports regularly and giggled, pulling at the stripes down your pants. "we do. you want wine?"

"hell yeah. friday night, baby."

you laughed, returning to the bathroom to hang your towel before making your way to the kitchen, pulling a couple of stemless wine glasses out of your cabinet. they were the only glasses in the apartment because, as wonwoo had said, your priorities are notoriously bad. but, you reminded him, they worked just fine with water too, so you convinced him that buying real glasses could wait until you were both slightly less busy. you grabbed the bottle of red wine off the counter and looked at the seal. "wonwoo."

"yeah?" he paused his game and looked at you over the small kitchen cart that acted as an island. you held up the wine.

"new bottle."

he sighed dramatically. "what would you do without me?"

you grinned happily as you got the wine opener out of a drawer, holding it out for him. he snatched the bottle and opener from your hands and made a face, but began twisting the corkscrew into the cork nonetheless. you planted your elbow on the wood topped cart and watched him as he tugged out the cork, decidedly ignoring the fact that he was wearing a sleeveless shirt and he definitely looked like he had taken a trip to the gym today. 

"you pour, i always miss."

you laughed, pulling at the shrapnel of the seal that wonwoo always refused to cut away before removing the cork. "maybe if you didn't make the neck such a mess it wouldn't go everywhere when we pour it."

"unnecessary step," he retorted, watching you as you poured the wine into the two glasses. he took the one closest to him as you finished. "cheers."

"cheers," you repeated, clinking your glass against his and taking a gulp. you let out a noise of approval. "happy friday."

wonwoo was smiling as he took a sip. "happy friday."

"where's the pizza?"

"uh," he patted his empty pockets, then put down his wine glass to retrieve his phone from the couch. "down the street."

wonwoo had to shove his feet into a pair of slides to meet the delivery person at the entrance of your building, and when he returned, you were giggling into your glass at your sns feed. the wine hit maybe a little too hard, but you hadn't eaten in too long for you to have almost polished off a glass already.

wonwoo gestured for you to join him on the couch, so you grabbed the bottle of wine and tucked it under your arm, carrying the two glasses over to where he was shutting off his game.

you ate merrily, and then you talked. about nothing and everything all at the same time. this happened more often than you ever thought it would, but a week into living in the city, wonwoo had come home from hanging out with some old friends to you crying on the couch with a show on that was far too comical to be the source of your tears. that night, he stayed up with you until the sun was peeking up over the buildings, listening to your worries and struggles. he shared his own fears. you were a blubbering mess. he kept sniffling his nose, acting like the tears welling up in his eyes weren't there when you laughed, despite yourself. wonwoo and you had always been close, or as close as past coworkers that had the same friend circle could be, but this was different. you couldn't remember the last time you had cried like that in front of anyone, much less someone who wasn't your mother.

when you woke up on the couch past noon, your sunday to a late start, your arms were wrapped around wonwoo's torso as he slept, one hand tucked behind his head and the other on your back. his face was inches from yours. your cheeks were pink and you suddenly felt hot, trying as gently as you could to escape without waking him. he stirred, but only to readjust as you snuck away.

he said nothing about the cuddling when he woke to the sound of you closing the front door, and you smiled as you held out the iced americano you got him at the cafe down the street. he squinted at you and scratched his head, taking the drink and sipping it before even testing his voice.

"thanks."

he looked at you, eyebrows furrowed. "what? you bought coffee. thank you."

you sat next to him and swirling the straw in your own drink. "no, i mean for staying up with me. sorry i was a mess."

there was a pause, and your heart almost stopped when he put an arm over your shoulder. "you weren't. and i'll stay up with you whenever you want."

wonwoo sipped at his drink again, giving you a light squeeze when a tear fell down your cheek.

living together meant you saw a side of him you had never seen before. the little things he did throughout his day, when he wasn't even particularly conscious that you were in the same room as him. he always bit at his thumb when he was working, and he had a habit of leaving the milk carton open in the fridge. he always made you smile when he emerged from his room with his headphones loud enough for you to hear them from across the room, and he cluelessly bobbed his head to whatever he was listening to while he refilled a water bottle, waving and smiling before he returned to his room. when your mom asked you how living with wonwoo was, you told her he was great. clean, respectful, and quiet. that you had never been closer. that he made you feel safer so far from home. you didn't, however, tell her that you discovered that he liked running home from the gym at 2 pm on the weekends, laying out on the floor with his shirt over his head before he convinced himself to take a shower.

you had always thought wonwoo was cute. how could you not? he was a handsome guy, but you had accepted your place as a friend to him and happily let it progress no further. but, now that you spent your afternoons off arguing with him on whether or not showering was even worth the trouble, you couldn't help but stare at him. watching his toned chest rise and fall as you thought about how he had admitted his crippling fear of failure to you at three in the morning when your face was puffier than a padded jacket.

you never noticed, but wonwoo watched you closer than he did anything in his life. that night, when he found you crying, he felt his heart clench as you told him all your insecurities. when he had pulled you into his chest and held you tight as you questioned whether moving so far from home was a mistake, he patted your hair and told you that it was going to be fine. you had him, afterall. he had you. the two of you could make it out here. and if you still wanted to go home when the lease was up in six months, he would be there to help you move back.

he didn't stop holding you until your breathing settled, your shoulders stopped shaking. he leaned back into the couch, bringing you with him, and you didn't protest when he ran his hand up and down your back, coaxing you to sleep.

since then, every time you spoke to him, he couldn't help but stare at you intently. he watched your eyes light up while you talked about something you loved. he watched you scrunch your nose as you talked about your new desk neighbor. he watched your lips push into a pout when he said he should go get some work done. he wondered if anyone else noticed the way you sucked on your teeth while you thought up a witty comeback, or the way you carded your fingers through your still wet hair. or the way your eyes creased into a laugh, your hand coming up to block your open mouth. or the way you chewed on your red wine stained lip while he tried to form a sentence in response, when all he wanted to do was put those lips on his.

wonwoo had been stewing with these feelings far longer than he thought bearable, but stuffed it down in fear that he might lose you altogether. he didn't want to lose you altogether. he had gone on a walk halfway through his workday at home, feeling antsy for no particular reason, though if he thought about it long enough he would have realised it was because you had said something about feeling lonely lately that morning. he saw the florist he had pointed out the week before, and his feet brought him through the door.

"hi!" he looked up from the colorful display by the door to the person behind the counter and smiled politely. "did you need help finding something?"

"um," wonwoo blinked and looked around for a moment, then moved towards the counter. "i need a gift, i think."

the florist's eyebrows quirked curiously. "you think?"

he nodded, eyes flicking down to the nametag on his chest. he wondered if he was a foreigner with his three character name, but didn't mention it. "yeah. housewarming. for my, uh-" wonwoo paused, catching himself not knowing how to describe his relationship to you. roommate? wannabe lover? he bit his cheek. "my friend."

joshua nodded slowly, watching wonwoo's eyes as he worked his way through the sentence. "just friend?"

wonwoo stared at a flower arrangement to his right. "something like that."

"got it." joshua walked around the counter and gestured for wonwoo to follow him deeper into the store. "since it's a housewarming, how about a potted plant? something to brighten up the space for a long time. they'll think about you every time they see it."

wonwoo nodded, not saying anything about how funny he thought it was that he said he was getting his own roommate a housewarming gift. "that sounds nice."

"now, i'm not gonna claim to know you," the florist started, putting up his hands to exaggerate his words, they kept moving as he pushed and pulled pots, looking for one in particular. "you've said, like, maybe a full sentence to me, but those were some complex emotions when you called them a friend, so i'm gonna assume i know the situation. i think you should get camellias. specifically red ones."

wonwoo looked at the sunshine yellow pot in the soft featured man's hands. the petals of the flower were round and delicate, and he thought about how you said the color yellow made you happy. "why's that?"

"i think you should look up the meaning when you give them this," joshua said, and for some reason, wonwoo trusted him.

he came back to the apartment thinking about how he might have just gotten scammed into buying the potted flowers in his hands, only to find soonyoung about to hit the buzzer to call your unit, a far too large cooler bag sitting on the bench by the entrance of your building.

"is y/n around?" soonyoung asked, trailing behind wonwoo as they walked up the stairs, struggling slightly with the overpacked bag. "they didn't respond to my kakao."

"they're at work," he replied, flipping his keys over in his hands to find the one for your front door. "they'll be home around six."

"ah, shit," soonyoung laughed. "i always forget you guys have adult jobs. i would kill for a monday through friday."

wonwoo almost laughed, but left the smile on his face. "weekends are kind of overrated, anyways."

the shorter hoisted the bag of dishes onto the kitchen cart while wonwoo closed the door. "who're the flowers for?"

wonwoo stared at the pot in his arm as if it was the first time he had seen it. "oh, uh. just the place."

"for y/n?"

he looked at soonyoung, who had his chin in his palms, elbows planted on the counter as he smiled. he knew he was right when wonwoo didn't respond.

"i think they'll like them," he said, unzipping the top of the bag and starting to unload his mother's packaged dishes for his cousin. "they like the color yellow."

wonwoo just said "i know," before he opened the fridge and started rearranging things to fit the new food.

according to soonyoung, wonwoo was painfully obvious. when he had come by a couple weeks prior, you were arguing with him about some ridiculous childhood memory at your grandparents' home, and while soonyoung laughed, he noticed the smile on wonwoo's face when he watched you. he also noticed the way he instinctively put a hand on your back when you sighed about your newest temp gig, and soonyoung pulled on his ear as he looked at the ceiling, leaning against the kitchen cart much like he was today as he told wonwoo about how oblivious his cousin must be.

you pulled your knees to your chest as you sipped at your wine, the pizza box almost completely polished off by the two of you sitting on the floor in front of your couch. you stare at the pot of flowers.

"they're pretty," you said finally.

you too, wonwoo thought.

"camellias, right?" you turned back to him. "i like them."

i like you, wonwoo thought. "i went to that place down the street. the guy working was nice."

you nodded, sipping again. "any reason in particular?"

"i-" wonwoo paused, staring at his glass. he finished the last gulp in it and put it on the floor next to the pizza box. "you said something about being down recently," he said, folding his fingers together as he leaned back against the couch. "i wanted to get you something, i guess."

you watched his fingers as they pushed his glasses up his nose again, and your heart fluttered at the idea of wonwoo thinking about you when you weren't around. "really? that's so nice," you pouted, shoving his knee.

he laughed, pulling his knee onto the couch to face you. "the guy there - the florist, i guess? his name was joshua. he seemed to really know flowers." he knitted his brows together when he realized he was procrastinating on saying what he was nervous to. he put his arm on the back of the couch, rubbing his eye with the heel of his palm before continuing. "he said i should look up what they mean when i give them to you. red ones, specifically."

you perked up, heart racing. "what they mean? they have meaning?"

"y-yeah, i guess so," wonwoo said, then cleared his throat. 

"hey google!" you looked over to where the device sat by your tv. "what to red camellias mean?"

wonwoo stared at your profile as you watched the device think before its automated voice piped up.

"camellia flowers are available in white, pink, and red, with each color having its own unique symbolism."

you looked over to him, excitedly putting your glass to your lips as the voice continued.

"pink camellias symbolize a longing for someone, and is given to people who are missed."

wonwoo swallowed hard, fingers fidgeting against his temple.

"red camellias symbolize love, passion, and a deep desire."

your eyes widened slightly as the device shut off, glass still to your lips and eyes still on wonwoo's. he stared back at you, and you wondered if he meant it. but he never claimed that he didn't feel those things for you.

before you could think, you clumsily put your glass on the floor and moved. you didn't stop moving until your lips were on wonwoo's, pushing him back into the arm of the couch as you practically crawled into his lap.

his hands found your hips and he helped you settle into him, your fingers tracing his jawline as it worked against yours. you sighed into his lips as his hand slid up under your shirt, placed gently on the small of your back. pulling you into him. when you paused for a moment, you thought about waking up to this exact same view, that day after you had cried all night. but this time, his other hand pulled your jaw back to kiss him again, and you happily complied.

[girls-scenarios]

To Meet You

Idol: Sooyoung (SNSD)

Prompt: maybe a sooyoung scenario where she and the reader meet while snsd is having promo in another country and sooyoung sees the reader in a coffee shop or something cliche like that and they hit it off even with the language barrier? i'm not sure if this prompt makes a lot of sense but anything similar to that would be fine. thanks for warning me early enough☺️

Writer: Admin Kiwi

A/N: I have a midterm due tomorrow but instead of studying for it I’m doing this... Oh well. Also Sooyoung can speak pretty great English but I didn’t want to specify one country so I didn’t mention what language it was. I did take a couple liberties with the prompt but I hope you all still enjoy!

♡ Tip Jar♡

Getting to rest while in a foreign country was the best. Sooyoung had come to promote her new movie, but one of the interviews had been cancelled and moved to another day, leaving her with one day to just relax and explore. And she couldn’t be happier. After letting her manager and coworkers know she’d be going out for a while, she left with a skip in her step, enjoying the warm summer air as she walked through the streets, taking in the sights.

It didn’t take her long to realize that she was hungry, though, and she quickly pulled out her phone to look up nearby places to eat. Although she loved Korean food, she wanted to try something new, so she scrolled until she found a cafe that caught her eye. Colorful photos of the inside of the cafe caught her eye first, but then she saw the food and immediately, her mouth began to water. It was brunch, and she loved brunch. Even more, the unique coffees and teas on the menus looked great as well, and she didn’t hesitate: the address was in her GPS and she was on her way to eat some great brunch food.

The inside of the cafe was cute. A huge, light-up sign with the words “eat” was on the wall, and plenty of tables lined the inside, as well as a bar area. The light fixtures were metallic and blue balls, which matched the colorful blues on the walls. The green of the plants near the windows and behind the bar acted as another pop of color, while white bricks made the bar itself stand out. The tables and chairs were all made of a purposely-faded wood, and little vases with small sunflowers and daisies sat in the middle of each table. The windows let in enough natural light that it felt bright and alive, and Sooyoung couldn’t help but smile as she sat down at one of the tables and looked around, loving the decorations.

It was the perfect place for an Instagram photo or two, so she pulled out her phone to begin snapping a few photos before turning her eyes to the menu. Oh, right. Of course the menu wouldn’t be in Korean. She squinted at it, trying to read the best she could. Thankfully, the menu had photos beside the items, and she knew how to say “this one, please” so she should be able to survive with her limited vocabulary.

“Hello and good morning! My name is (Y/N) and I’ll be taking care of you today! What can I get started for you?” At the sound of a voice and a glass of water being sat on the table, Sooyoung quickly looked up. And her heart skipped a beat as her breath caught in her throat. Were all servers here so attractive? She hoped her face wasn’t heating up as she cleared her throat and turned back to the menu, trying to remember all the vocabulary that had just disappeared at the sight of you.

“U-um, this one, please.” She pointed at one of the brunch sandwiches before flipping the page and pointing at one of the espresso drinks. “And this one.” You smiled at her, and she felt a bit faint as she handed you the menu, trying to get a hold of herself.

“Alright, I’ll get that going for you!” You walked away and she watched you go for a moment, mouth dry until you disappeared into the kitchen and her breath finally came back to her. Surprised by her own reaction, she reached over to take a sip of her water to cool herself down. What was that?

You’ve never seen a server that attractive, her brain said, but she tried to dismiss the thought, too nervous to let it stay. How would a relationship like this even work? Shaking her head, she pulled up Instagram to distract herself, quickly editing and posting her photos before beginning to scroll through her feed.

As she was looking at her (secret) favorite Harry Potter fan page, you walked up with her coffee and laughed softly. “Oh, you like Harry Potter too?” You asked as you placed down her coffee, making her cheeks color slightly.

“Oh, um. Yeah! Harry Potter is cool!” She gave you a thumbs up for a lack of anything to say, but you didn’t seem to mind.

“Sorry to look over your shoulder! Um, I like that account.” You pulled out your own phone to show you that you were following it too, and she smiled, happy to at least understand half of what you said.

“I’d like to dress up one day, too,” she said, almost wistfully as she peered at one of the cosplay photos.

“Me too!” Smiling brightly (so bright that it made her heart jump around) you slipped the phone back into your pocket. “I’ll be right back with your food, okay?”

“Okay!” As you walked away, she quickly looked up Google translate and swallowed, putting in the phrases that she wanted to know how to say, heart beating a little faster than usual. What was she even doing? Did she really think this was going to lead anywhere? You were probably just being nice.

But it didn’t hurt to try, and she knew that. So when you came back, she tried out one of the phrases that she’d learned, hoping that Google translate hadn’t screwed her over.

“Here’s your sandwich,” you said, placing the plate on the table, and she gave you her prettiest smile.

“Thank you! Are there any other accounts you follow?”

Your eyes lit up a little bit and you glanced around to make sure your other table was okay before pulling out your phone again to show her. There were a few more you followed, some art accounts, and a few she followed herself, giving the two of you something to talk about. Even though the two of you communicated through a language barrier, she found that it wasn’t hard to talk to you. You knew a little bit of Korean, and although your pronunciation wasn’t perfect, it felt nice to see you try and communicate like she was trying to do with you. She asked if you were in school and if you liked serving, and you asked her in return what she did. Upon hearing that she was an actress, you gasped and asked to follow her on Instagram, making her laugh and follow you back.

The two of you ended up talking so much that it would have been bad if there was another customer there, but your other table had left, meaning that Sooyoung didn’t feel bad about monopolizing your time. It also seemed like you liked talking to her, too, so she was happy with how things were going. Time just flew by as she talked to you, and before she knew it, she was done and her manager was asking where she was.

With a sheepish smile, she looked up at you from her phone. “It looks like I’ve taken up a lot of your time.”

“No, no! It’s okay! I’m having fun talking to you. I’ll be right back with your check if you need to go.”

“Yes, please.” As you left, she wondered how she should go about getting your number.

It was only when she opened up her KakaoTalk to answer a friend that she remembered: it had a translation feature! Trying to hold in her excitement as you walked back over, she put on her best smile once again, thanking you for the check. Then, as she was about to leave, she took a deep breath and turned to you one more time.

“Do you have a KakaoTalk?” She raised up her phone, just in case you didn’t understand, showing the app. Your eyes widened a bit and you pulled out your phone, nodding your head.

“I do! My friend had me get it!”

“Good!” She smiled brightly. “If we add each other, it can translate!”

Your mouth dropped open and you looked down at the app curiously. “Wow, really? Let’s add each other, then!” You held out your phone to her, and she felt like her heart might jump out of her chest as she added you to her friends list, smiling when your name popped up.

“There, we’re friends now.”

“How exciting!” You laughed, and she felt giddy inside for the first time in a long time. “I can’t wait to text you, Sooyoung. If you can, stop by again, okay?” Your smile was still bright, but it was different than the customer service smile you’d given the other customers, and she knew this meant that she had a chance.

“I will. I promise!”

As she walked away, texting her manager to let them know she was still alive, she couldn’t help smiling like a weirdo, even humming to herself as she walked with a slight skip to her pace. Once again, she looked at your name in her contacts before slipping her phone into her pocket and looking up at the clear sky. This was a place that she might not have ever come if she wasn’t promoting, but here she was. Acting had led her to this place, and to you, with your bright smile and now-familiar laugh.

And she was so glad she’d decided to become an actress.

[ellstersmash]

Three: Fourteen

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Solas x f!Lavellan (Modern!AU)

Rating: E for Explicit

A/N: references the setting from A Chance Encounter by @kittlesandbugs​ and check out that zesty new cover graphic by @bearly-tolerable​!! 😍

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--

It's morning. She hasn't opened her eyes—isn't ready for that yet—but the window's not quite closed and it sounds about right. Feels right, too, in that familiar way the sun stretches across her bed and over her hips, idle and intrusive, lazy and warm.

Any other day, she'd roll over. Find a cool still-shadowed place, go back to sleep for a few more hours. But she is wrapped up in another body, her cheek pressed to a broad expanse of skin and there are fingertips brushing along her ribs. They dance toward her waist. The anticipation alone makes her twist away with a giggle.

“Oh, good, you are awake.”

Athi shakes her head, but can't stop smiling.

“No? You must be having an excellent dream, then.”

She nods. I really am.

“Am I in it?”

She nods, and her smile grows wider.

Then Solas’ arms tighten around her and his lips brush her ear. They're stretched tight with a smirk of his own as he whispers, “Am I naked?”

She laughs and squints up at him, sliding a hand down his abdomen to lift up the single sheet that somehow stayed when the blankets went.

“You tell me,” she says, and her voice sounds rusty but he looks at her so tenderly that her train of thought derails.

He looked at her just like that, just last night, out in the kitchen. Right after she said she wanted him and right before she kissed him. For real this time; she remembers every bit of it.

She remembers the leap. You, and it was out. Hanging in the open between them and for an instant she was exposed. Bare, utterly and absolutely, until the slow bloom of his smile.

And she remembers the free-fall. Drawing him closer, his belt brushing against the insides of her knees. Remembers how well they fit together, how meeting his lips was coming home and feeding an addiction all at once: everything, and not nearly enough. It was at first a gentle thing. Feather-light and fleeting like the skim of his hand at her side, but then she pulled back and he followed. The taste of him—her wine and his mouth—and the small sounds he made as their hands and bodies had so quickly grown impassioned and needy.

She remembers every word he said between then and now, not that there were all that many. Yes to her Bedroom? and her name more than once, and also Should I— to which she answered No, then held him inside her as he came.

The first time, anyway; he did not bother to ask after that.

He kisses her again. Now, here, in her sun-spotted bed in the morning. She's exhausted, up way too early but too happy to care, spent and sore in that definitely-satisfied way, hair a disaster though he probably can't tell with his hands all swept up in it.

And even if he can, judging by the fervor with which he moves to kiss her neck, he doesn't give a single shit.

“Athi,” he says, honey in her ear, “do we need to talk about last night?”

But he's already shifting, pressing her back into the pillow, bracing himself on his forearm as his voice hums into her skin. He brings his leg up to the crux of hers and Athi squirms, shudders with the sudden rush of pleasure.

It's not easy, making words under such circumstances, but she does her best. 

“I don't know,” she manages. “Kind of busy right now.”

“Yes, as am I.”

“Maybe we could”—she gasps. He's made it down to her breasts; his tongue laps at the hard peak of her nipple—“reschedule?”

“Mmm.”

She had him fast, the first time. The classic trail of clothes likely still strewn down the hall, lips locked to make up for lost time, plenty of breathless I-can't-believe-this-is-really-happening laughter, and then it was over. Quick and desperate and perfect. And in the in-between, he called her beautiful and she believed it. He needed time so she took hers, exploring his body with unhurried hands and a reverent mouth until he was ready. Until she could sink onto his cock and ride him slow and feel every inch.

It didn't last, of course. Slow has never been her style, but it was worth it to watch him watching her with those heavy-lidded, lustful, hungry ocean-colored eyes. Worth it to see them darken. Worth it to feel his grip on her tighten as he lost his composure.

They went again, after, but in a might-as-well sort of way. Nothing special. Just fucking because they could, because they wanted to, because he wanted her and now she knew it, and he knew she wanted him, too. Nothing special except everything about all of it.

And then this. This something new. Soft, and drenched in daylight. 

Painfully aware of reality closing in, she doesn’t think she ever really climaxes. And yet it’s good, and she is happy to drift with the tide of sensations as his body mingles with hers. Of him buried inside her as she clutches him ever tighter, nipping at his jawline, coaxing him toward his release, all to the sounds of life happening outside this short-lived oasis. Traffic and birds and the wind in dying leaves and kids going out for school.

The sun is up, and he still wants her.

She lightly scrapes her nails up his back—he seemed to like that last night—and he can’t hold out. He comes in a rush of heat and labored breaths, and she holds him through it. Kisses his cheek, his chin, his lips. A reminder: I still want you, too.

A terrific understatement.

They spend another twenty minutes there. Locked together and drifting, with his head up by her shoulder and her toes sliding along his leg. Talking in whispers and long, lingering looks.

“I should go home,” he eventually complains, “and get ready for work.”

“Don't.”

“Just like that?”

“Yeah. Let's go out. Get some coffee.”

“Coffee,” he repeats, and his lips twist up into a smirk that means yes . “All right, then.”

Athi wriggles out from under him. It feels strange to be upright, but stranger still to be untouched. Hard to believe it’s only been a handful of hours since she’s last done either.

She showers quickly, detouring on the way back to collect their discarded clothing and a fresh towel from the closet. He showers even quicker, and he’s back in her room bare-chested and barely dry before she’s even tamed her hair.

A kiss on her shoulder, and he smells like her soap. Another to her neck.

“Better cut that out,” she warns when he continues.

“Or what?”

“Or we’ll have to shower all over again.”

“Is that supposed to dissuade me?”

She laughs. Calls him insatiable, but knows the feeling. Still, somehow, they manage to get dressed and downstairs before entirely undoing the morning’s efforts.

Out on the steps of her building, she pauses. He makes it to the sidewalk before she does, realizes he’s alone, stops, turns back, holds out his hand. His eyes are bright steel blue. This is the morning person’s world, and she’s not made for it but she reaches out anyway.

It’s not a very long walk to the coffee shop. A couple of blocks, and she beats him to the door because he waits at the crosswalk for the sign to change. Doesn’t go in without him, though. He catches up and she pretends that she’s been waiting for hours and their fingers, magnetic, entwine into their new resting position.

He asks if she wants to sit, to stay and listen to the eclectic music and rambling conversations, and the table where she once shared a scone and a story with him is open. But no. They take it to go—her coffee black, his barely coffee at all. She’d rather be out in that morning person’s world, letting every one of them see how he still wants her.

--

They end up at a small cafe. She’s passed by it before; they’re only a mile or so from her place, and the park across the street is on one of her running routes. Athi orders another cup of coffee and an omelette, tells the server to surprise her with the ingredients. Solas opts for blueberry pancakes; she’s starting to suspect he has a sweet tooth.

“Have you ever eaten here?” he asks.

“No. Considering the target clientele”—she gestures at the dogs stenciled at the top of the walls and the predictably mabari-themed artwork strewn across the rest of them—“I thought it was just for people with dogs.”

“Well, they have yet to kick me out. And the pancakes are excellent.”

She lifts her eyebrows in a dramatic show of skepticism. “Think I’ll be the judge of that.”

“I thought we trusted one another.”

“Not when distrust gets me pancakes.”

“Ah. You are assuming I’ll share mine.”

“And you’re assuming I’ll ask.”

They grin at each other, stupid and smitten, as she kicks her feet against his. The server sets her coffee down with a tiny pitcher of cream.

“So,” she finally says, chuckling at her own joke, “you really do come here often, then?”

“Not as often as I used to, but yes.”

“For the pancakes?”

“Among other things.”

“Like what?”

“The people.”

Anticipating a list of menu items, she is caught off guard. Glances around the tables and booths, then back to him.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“I draw them.”

“Draw them?”

“Yes.” He takes a sugar packet from the square dish by the wall and plays with it as he speaks. “I sketch their hands, their faces, their movements. Whatever I can take down before they finish their meal, and I lose my reference.”

A new revelation. She wonders how long he’s been doing it. If he paints, or sculpts, or sticks to sketches. If he’s any good.

“I’m people,” she says. “Draw me.”

“Right now?”

She shrugs. “Got something better to do?”

“I did not think to bring my sketchbook out dancing.” 

He thinks for a moment, then sets aside the sugar and flags down their server.

“Excuse me,” he says. “Might I use your pen?”

The server makes him swear to return it, then hands it over. Solas unrolls the napkin from around his silverware, pressing it flat to the table.

“It will undoubtedly not be my best work, but . . . how would you like to be drawn?”

Athi turns sideways in the booth, feet propped up on the bench. Taps her index finger to the tip of her nose.

“Very well.”

“Do I have to sit still?”

“Relatively.”

“For how long?”

“Until I am finished.”

Athi gives him a weary look. The borrowed pen is pressed to his napkin already and he chuckles. 

“A few minutes.”

She grabs the drink menu, sweeps her hair to one shoulder and reads, but doesn’t really. In her peripheral, she can see the movement of the pen, of his hand and his arm. Slow and deliberate, then sweeping and light. The server returns with a pitcher of water and fills their glasses, makes an expression of curious approval at Solas’ work, glances at Athi, and glides away to another table.

At the counter, a young boy has one foot up on the neighboring stool. Shoelaces that may have once been white dangle downward until his father ties them up into a neat little bow.

An elderly couple are seated in a booth tucked into the corner with a large shaggy dog warming their feet. One woman doesn’t ask but the other gives up all the strawberries from her tiny bowl of fruit.

One of the cooks flashes a million-dollar smile at their server when she goes back with another order. Two days ago, Athi might have rolled her eyes at their youth, at their shameless flirtation, but today is a different kind of day.

“There,” Solas says and sits back.

Feet forward and her fingertip to one corner, she rotates the napkin and pulls it back across the table. It is good, not that she’s much of a critic, and a tiny burst of pride swells in her chest. To be honest, she half-expected it to be a caricature, but then that’s what she would have done. Solas is too sincere.

Pride and something else, something softer. There is an intimacy to it, she thinks. To the shapes that make her up being captured and turned into a whole and lovely thing. She stares at the elegant lines of herself on the clumsy eight-by-eight square, at the seam of her lips and the point of her ears and the uppermost petals of her tattoo, all rendered so delicately by his hand. 

This is how he sees her.

“Do you approve?”

Yes seems lacking as an answer, but she says it anyway.

Solas smiles, stirs his ice water with the straw. “I am glad to hear it.”

“You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

His smile grows. “Good ones, I hope.”

“So far.”

Their server returns with a tray full of breakfast and promises a refill of coffee. Solas douses his pancakes in syrup and slides the plate closer so she can take her bite. He’s right. They’re divine. 

Part of her wants to bring up tomorrow. Wants to ask what they are to each other, now that they’ve kissed and fucked and held hands in public and been on three dates, counting coffee and breakfast. Wants to ask what happened to the others; if she’s a singular affection or one of many. Wants to ask if he can put it into words, this fluttering falling feeling, because she can’t. 

But the rest of her is not ready for that particular conversation. Not ready for his answers.

She keeps his sketch of her on the table while they eat, far from the plates, then pockets it when they go despite his assurances that she can leave it. That someday he’ll draw her a real one, a proper one, one on good paper with good pencils, one not scribbled on a napkin in a hundred heartbeats’ worth of time, and she hopes he will. But this one is real too, if not proper or careful or drawn on good paper. Real in a way a portrait couldn’t be.

It’s messy, made with a shitty pen on a napkin in all of three minutes. But this is the one she wants.

[ionica01]

A Cup of Magic 4

Opening the door to the cafe is like walking through a portal to a different dimension: the buzz and chitter-chatter, along with the sound of spoons stirring the honey in the tea mugs instantly surrounds Momo, replacing the isolation of the bathroom with the warm feeling of belonging. Sometimes, she feels like the cafe is a living organism, just as alive as the cells she studies every day, just as prone to evolving as they are.

Spotting Shouto is easy- he’s always sitting at the same table, and his bicolored hair isn’t exactly unnoticeable. He’s drinking his Calm Blitz, part of the cafe like an organelle- maybe he’s a mitochondria, Momo reasons.

She can’t deny the pang of disappointment she feels- she wasn’t there to take his order, which means she didn’t get to talk to him today. However, simply observing his focused look as he deciphers the notes is rewarding- he has this way of swirling his pen between his index and middle finger while he’s thinking that almost hypnotises Momo.

Perhaps he feels her staring, but he looks up and meets her eyes. He nods in greeting and tilts his head in an invitation for her to sit next to him. At least that’s how Momk interprets it- and he doesn’t look weirded out as she closes in on his table, so she’s most likely right.

“Is Uravity okay?” he asks as soon as Momo is within hearing range, sparing the barista in question a worried look. “Her face seemed very… red earlier,” he adds, to Momo’s concern. Ochako seemed just fine at the start of her shift- what has happened?

“I’ll go check and let you know,” she tells Shouto and leaves, the concern for her friend outclassing the interest for her customer.

Momo schools her face into that of a pleasant barista doing her best, and avoids the ‘worried friend’ look. Time has taught her that displaying your emotions made some feel uncomfortable, especially when it’s their health that put the wrinkles on your face in the first place.

So Momo slides behind the counter as per usual and picks up a cup from Sato’s hand to join Ochako near the cupboards brimming with herb mixtures. She fishes the vanilla and rooibos tea, without needing to read through the labels- after all, it was her that arranged them in the first place, and some mixes, such as the Rooibos Whisper, are her creation from scratch.

Momo steals a sideways glance at her friend, but notices nothing out of the ordinary. Ochako’s cheeks are their usual rosy colour, and she even hums a small tune as she filters the herbs out of the steaming hot water and lets the tea stream into a paper cup.

“You seem in a good mood,” Momo remarks, trying not to let her curiosity leak and sliding the pot out of Ochako’s hands to wash it. “Did something good happen?”

Ochako hums out of her little bubble of joy and smiles brightly. Her cheeks redden, and she presses both palms against them, covering her eyes half-way.

Momo tilts her head, giving up on keeping her curiosity in check. “What is it?” she pushes Ochako, poking at her shoulder. “Come on,” she grins when Ochako flushes even redder. That sounds like Mina, Momo catches herself thinking and pulls her hand from Ochako’s shoulder, but she talks anyway.

“You know that necklace Deku-kun gave me?” Momo nods- Ochako was absolutely ecstatic when her boyfriend gave her the silver necklace with a heart pendant. Momo’s eyes dart to Ochako’s neck and catch the sparkle of the item that hasn’t left the nape of her neck since her last birthday. “That half-and-half guy said it suits me! And when I told him it’s from my boyfriend, he said ‘Well, he has good taste.’”

Momo can imagine Shouto saying that with a stoic look, and understands immediately why Ochako’s face was flushed. A smile curls about her lips.

“So you’ve been reminded of Midoriya?” The wild red that covers Ochako’s cheekbones is a loud enough answer. “How long has it been since you last saw him?”

“He couldn’t make it to the Halloween party, so… two weeks?” The grin on Ochako’s face dampens. “He’s busy with his project and my training sessions are insane,” she deadpans. “But we talk daily!” Momo’s smile withers and she gives Ochako a friendly rub on the back. She smiles gratefully, but fails to keep in an ever-growing sigh. “It’s just- I miss him.”

“I’m sure he misses you too.”

“I know,” the woman sighs again. “Autumn is just so hectic, you know? And exams are coming up soon, so we probably won’t get to see each other until December. So this-” Ochako touches her necklace with a faraway look “-is really important to me. And it’s nice that strangers see it as part of my look, because that’s like saying that Deku-kun is part of me.”

Momo can’t help but hug her friend, ignoring the fact that she’s holding two hot cups of tea. Ochako awkwardly nuzzles her nose against Momo’s hair, unable to move her hands without spilling the drinks.  

“Thanks, Momo.”

Creati just hums in return.

***

“Uravity is okay,” Momo assures Shouto after she chats with the customer sitting at the table next to his, delivering his order.

“That’s good,” the man agrees, stealing a glimpse at the bar. He squints, as if his eyes are focusing in on Ochako. “She looks somewhat… refreshed?”

“She is,” Momo chuckles. Shouto gives her a baffled look, oblivious to the consequences of his compliment, and Momo changes the subject swiftly. “By the way, Sato wanted you to name the mousse.”

“Name it?” Shouto repeats, as if the words haven’t sunken it just yet. “Me?” His mind obviously doesn’t label the association as possible.

“Yes. He says you played a part in the making, so you should name it.”

Shouto seems lost in thought for a few moments. “How do you name a dessert?” he muses, and Momo isn’t sure whether he’s talking to himself or to her. His eyes dart to her lazily, and they linger there, aimlessly searching for something. It seems like forever until he mutters, “Onyx.”

Momo’s breath catches in her throat, and she wonders whether she heard him right. “I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing,” he says and Momo thinks he must have just been thinking up possible names for the mousse. She doesn’t understand how onyx could have anything to do with it, though.

***

Shouto looks very tired when he reaches the counter the next day. There aren’t bags under his eyes, but a misty fog is courtaining the intelligent glint in his mismatched eyes, as if his sleep has been troubled.

Momo begins to fill in the usual when he stops her, “Actually, I’d like Hot Chocolate today.”

“Oh?” She ticks accordingly and throws him a somewhat intrigued sideway glance. “May I ask what caused the change?”

There’s a pause, and when Momo looks up to him, he’s biting his lower lip thoughtfully. The gesture fits his image so perfectly that she finds it hard to unglue her eyes from his lips- it’s as if he’s literally munching over his thoughts, tasting his words before he spits them, filtering them before letting them leave the prison of his mouth.

“I’ve been thinking of the name-thing, and I figured that tasting something different will give me an idea? I mean, I want to see why the Molten Enigma is a Molten Enigma.”

Momo hides a small smile. Has that kept him awake? “Well, I hope you find your inspiration.”

“Isn’t this where you say something like ‘The magic will come to you?’” He raises an eyebrow and thins his voice. His eyes betray both amusement and genuine curiosity.

Momo is on the boundary between laughing out loud or feeling insulted by his awful impersonation of her. However, the exchange caused the fog in his eyes to clear a bit, so she decides to take it seriously.

“Magic won’t solve your problems, Shouto. Only hard work can get you anywhere- magic just cushions your path.”

She sees him deflate, yet his eyes flicker, as if he’s achieved something. She doesn’t question it as she gives him back his change, along with a warm smile. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

***

Being subtle proves to be hard when your last customer doesn’t seem to realise that the sound of the broom brushing against the sparkling clean floor is a clue to leave. Momo steals the tenth exasperated glance at Shouto, who is intently staring at his hot chocolate mug, and finally gives up. With a sigh, she abandons the broom next to a wall, pretends not to hear Ochako’s chuckle, and sits down in front of Shouto. He doesn’t jerk when the chair screeches against the floor, nor when Momo leans her forearm on the table.

“You look troubled,” she states the obvious.

He lazily looks up to her and his shoulders slump. “It’s impossible,” he whispers, and his eyes widen slightly, as if saying it out loud makes the weight of the truth suddenly fall on him. “How do you guys name these things?” He sounds absolutely horrified- well, he actually sounds just a bit unarmed, but anything other than stoic is an extreme reaction for Shouto.

Momo reminds herself that laughing at one’s problems, no matter how trivial, is rude, yet the way he takes this so seriously is endearing. A small part of her mind registers another chuckle from Ochako, who’s cleaning up the bar, but she dismisses it, far too occupied with trying not to laugh at Shouto’s dejected expression.

“Usually, we think of something fun.” His face remains blank. “We try to figure out what was involved in the process of making that dish or drink and then we kinda code it.” His face still doesn’t betray any “enlightenment”, so Momo points to his cup.

“The Molten Enigma is Uravity’s. When she first started working here, she made a bet with Mina that she could make better hot chocolate than the powder we used. Fifteen minutes later, Mina called me saying we needed to get this on our menu. It was indeed delicious, but when I tried asking Ochako how she did it, she said it was her little secret.”

“So… Enigma.”

“Exactly. The molten part is more of an allusion to the hot chocolate.”

“Well, it is pretty dense,” Shouto hums, tracing the mug’s outline with his finger. “That’s a fitting name. I thought it was more like-” he stops himself all of a sudden, and his eyes lose their focus into the brown mix.

“Like?” Momo encourages him.

His voice is uncertain when he speaks again, “I thought it was something that went deeper, like the feelings you get when you drink the hot cocoa and this strange fuzziness spreads from your stomach to your guts and then floods your system.”

Momo covers her mouth with a hand so that Shouto can’t see the smile she can’t suppress. She has no right to think that him opening up like this is her achievement- it’s probably the Molten Enigma that did it.

“That’s what’s great about names,” she says in return. “Everyone finds their own meaning in them, and it doesn’t have to be the intended one, as long as it makes the moment special to them. It’s just like art, I think- everybody brings a part of themselves into their interpretation, and that’s truly meaningful.”

She doesn’t notice Shouto staring at her until he speaks up, and his voice is so soothing that it makes her search for the warmth in his eyes again. “Adventure,” is the only word that leaves the gates of his parted lips.

Momo says nothing, because she knows he’s searching for his own meaning in her eyes, and she lets him roam around until he finds it. He eventually regains his composure and dares a faint smile.

“I think I got it.”

***

“Creamy Adventure?” Shouto nods, gulping as he waits for Sato’s verdict. His eyes dart from the customer and newly initiated cook to the dessert, and his head bobs as he considers it. Momo wonders if he’s just putting up a show or if he’s really thinking, until the small creases around his eyes betray him.

Sato eventually meets Momo’s look for approval. She nods gravely, as if they are treating a matter of utmost importance. Ochako nods with them, stiff as a board when Shouto glances at her, but hiding a thumbs up when Momo winks. “It passes,” the cook eventually declares.

“Really?” There’s a flicker of excitement in Shouto’s eyes as he checks for honesty in the three baristas, and Momo can tell with a single glance that they all find his reaction adorable. Momo steels herself for the squeals Ochako will doubtlessly give her once they’re alone, and smiles at the thought.

“Really,” she says out loud, masking their game under a serious tone. “It’s A Cup of Magicish.”

“We are proud of you,” Uravity adds and can’t help patting his shoulder.

“You have gotten into the spirit!” Sato also praises him.

Momo notices Shouto stealing a glance at her and smiles encouragingly. She’s never seen him so needy or… vulnerable. If it was anyone else, she’d say it was just normally asking for recognition, but like this- he looks like he wants confirmation more.

“Thank you,” the boy bows all of a sudden, startling everyone.

“What are you doing? Get up!” Ochako awkwardly says, she and Sato fussing over the boy as they weaver between pulling him up and bowing themselves- they end up doing both.

Momo doesn’t, however, because her mind is busy trying to understand that last glimpse of his face that she caught. There was something hidden in his features, a feeling that he certainly didn’t display often because his mouth was crumbled into a clumsy smile and his eyes were bashfully looking for an escape, but not because he didn’t enjoy himself- rather, it seemed like this was new for him.

When he looks up again, something clicks in Momo’s mind and the word she was looking for pops up: gratefulness.

“Stop being so polite,” Ochako says and playfully jabs at his shoulder. “You’re part of the family now!”

Shouto’s lips part and his face softens into an unasked question. “Family?” he finally asks when he realises the word was so natural for the group that they didn’t need to explain it.

“Yes of course! Once you step behind the bar you’re one of us! Even more so if you’ve named a dish!” Ochako’s smile appears to be dazzling for Shouto, because he blinks as if she’s the sun, but his cheeks also warm with a dust of blood as if she burnt him, and he smiles like a kid that proudly smashed his first watermelon with his eyes closed.

If anything, his smile seems to have even more of an effect on Ochako, because she backs away a few steps before launching herself towards him and yelling “Family hug!”

Sato and Momo know it’s their cue to follow her and tangle their hands around each other, awkwardly sandwiching Shouto between them. For a moment, Momo’s afraid there’s too much affection for Shouto, but the grateful smile he wears on his face and the way he strangely wraps his hands around Momo and Ochako’s shoulders, drawing them closer as he gains confidence is enough to tell her otherwise.

Family- it’s probably something he has been longing after for a long while.

[shonen-boy]

this was (the start) of ota’s xmas present

AU OF MAURCILLIO AND MIHAIL IG!!

i wrote this in december (squints)

--

Rizio's grip loosened from his sides, steps easing from a small, timid scuffle to that of a thoughtful stride. Less grandiose than its central wing, the boy found this part of the museum refreshing and intimate-- an oasis of paintings and sketches displayed against walls of understated wood and velvet. Above the doorway, the copper plating noted the collection's status as both temporary and private.

His birthday was celebrated the week prior to his parents leave to Milan. A dinner at home for three and a fair-sized allowance; the latter of which he'd used for the actual day of his birth.

He readjusted his pass as he made his way to the first of twenty images.

For personal reference, he penned the contours of its lights and shadows. Though reference for what, Rizio didn't quite know; the boy hadn't consider himself an artist aside from these passing flights of fancy-- and it showed in the fuzzy, unsure quality of his charcoal strokes. The man within the portrait peered downward with cat-like contempt whilst his less handsome, poorly rendered twin scowled from his journal, eyes shinier and rounded than they should have been. Noticing the differences was a matter separate from knowing how to fix them. This he thought with little self-condemnation.

He did what was to his ability and moved to the next of twenty.

As he attempted the long, spindly blonde hair of portrait six, Rizio'd begun to realize the gallery's theme-- at least, his interpretation of it. In the primitive sense, the man must have been an angel. In paintings 1, 3 and 4, the angel held a lyre and wand, ink staining his hands and wings. In 2, 5 and 6, a sword and chalice, blood splattered at the feathers in place of ink. Rizio pressed hard into the paper to mimick its effect. "You've taken quite a liking to this man. But, he had an exquisite temper-- or so my research went. That's his lover's blood..." The boy shut his sketchbook over his pen.

"Ah... Well, that's unfortunate," Rizio said. "...B-but, also interesting! There must be a lot to these paintings."

"More than meets the eye. But, an artist is drawn to creation and intuits inspiration to the material world. Everything else is pretention-- including 'knowing.'" The stranger motioned toward Rizio's book. "You're quite good. And, he is beautiful, isn't he?"

Like an apology, it was handed over.

The stranger held its spine with a flat palm, his pale, manicured fingers spread across the covers. He was tall, broad-shouldered and bespectacled. When the light caught his face just right, Rizio noticed those eyes were green and sharp behind those glasses just like the angel's. "But, you don't draw often, do you?"

Rizio shook his head.

"And this is your first time at the museum?" "N-no. I come here every summer. For my birthday."

He let out a short laugh which made Rizio's ears ring even hotter. His nails curled back into that small, tight grip as the stranger turned another page.

"Ah? I didn't mean to embarrass you. It's just-- I'm here so often that it feels like a second home. Just the thought of someone spending his most precious day here. It's... refreshing. I forget how novel museums can be for those who can't--" Rizio guessed at the sentiment though the stranger caught himself. "--well, I must insist that I treat you to lunch. It's the least I can do as a patron of the arts.

And, of course my bad manners.

It's Micha, by the way."

The stranger returned the apology, patting Rizio's hands over the covers. He flushed, pulling them back with his sketchbook.

"Rizio. And, it's fine. Really, I can't impose."

"Then I will insist, my dear Rizio." --- The two walked alongside the other toward the museum's cafe.

Micha'd watched the boy unnoticed since his arrival to the collection, a little bird drawn inward by the hands of fate. To greet him immediately would warrant an awkward conversation, the sort of reception afforded to park strangers and salespeople. But, to be more forthcoming in his motive would prove even stranger.

Creepy, even.

And, whatever editorials lambasted his ego or dismissed his tastes as 'pedestrian' 'shallow' or 'pretentious'-- Micha considered himself a gentleman of good social graces. At the very least.

He congratulated himself for those graces and his timing as they seated Rizio and himself across the other over an elegant table. The waitstaff presented a laminated menu and a plain, paper one that outlined the seasonal dishes.

"I'd recommend the latter. But please, order whatever you like."

Rizio obfuscated his bewilderment with a flatlined expression. His fingers gave it away though, the adorable way in which he thumbed at the tablecloth. Micha smiled reassuringly.

"...No pressure at all."

"T-thank you." Micha's hand cradled his jawline with a retired ease. The image of an idle date.

On the way over, Micha spoke at length about the paintings in his collection, the best ones hidden from public view. The man'd inherited the portraits from a distant relative and was immediately taken by the technical merits as well as the austerity of their subjects. 'It was the angel I found prettier. But, the more I looked upon his student, the more I understood his attraction...'

Rizio nodded. His eyes squinted over the menu-- the items of which were worth more than his birthday dinner for three.

Something simple, then.

"...The piadina," he said.

"The chef is from Ravenna, so it's as authentic as one can find outside its borders." Rizio sensed Micha's attempt at conversation-- a piece of trivia about himself to exchange for the trivia he'd prepared.

But again, Rizio only nodded.

There was some guilt each time he did this; each time he failed to respond with something more than "Ah" and "I see." But, what could he say to someone like Micha? And, conversely, what did Micha even want from someone like himself? The other man was handsome, eloquent and worldly. Rizio thought himself plain, boring and untalented. Of all the real artists the he could have approached, Micha chose an imposter.

He opened his mouth to repivot when Rizio blurted out instead:

"I'm sorry.

...For being so uninteresting." The collection was quiet. The piadina was cheap.

He hung his head as the servers brought a bread basket replaced their glasses for water.

Micha yawned cheerfully, shaking his head. He offered the first piece to Rizio.

"Rizio. Please, your presence is in itself enough. But, if you must know the reason for my interest, well..."

He smiled a small, cat-like smile. "...Perhaps it is for the same reason that angel took to that student."

-- His gaze shifted from the table to the large cloud patches as they drifted over their view of the townscape. A political move on the committee's part, the main street was named for the mayor's nephew's wife, the general's daughter. The alley within it was named for their cocker spaniel.

Tangentially, his mother and that general were sweethearts as children amicably married to other, more strategic alliances. He had connections similar to this throughout the city-- people and histories just six degrees separated. His latest collaborator'd gone to school with an investor's cousin, his supplier was the same as the great Bellisario's.

[scene switch to mihail's townhouse btw yes]

[davidastbury]

September 2017)

Swam in the sea today - didn't go too far out but far enough to get away from the noisy lot in the shallows. I thought I was alone but something surprising happened. One by one a school of underwater divers came to the surface - a mixed group of young people with (the last one to appear) a sea-dog of an instructor. They were like a group of happy seals, all shiny and toothy - having spit out their mouthpieces. Their were all shouting at the same time - it was all about ‘did you see that amazing….!’ I watched their excitement and they didn't even notice me.

What I liked best was their pleasure in being guests in the underwater world. I am certain that if they experienced an attack - by any sea creature, jellyfish, octopus, even shark - their respect and wonderment would not be changed.

El Conserjie

El conserjie sits at his throne in reception. Suave as silk but with an undercurrent of innuendo. Not fooling me one bit. I can see him preening and cooing - about to slide into professional mode at the arrival of two three European beauties. All shiny face and cuff-links and lust in seven languages.

Horst

Horst P Horst did fabulous portraits of women; he was one of the best. His camera was middle-format, tripod, lens wide open, black and white, no flash. He wanted his sitters to look serious but affected by pleasure - because that pleasure would make her fascinating.

His trick was his deep voice; all women were affected by his voice even if they didn't understand his language. Gradually his voice went lower and lower and he waited for signs that she was beginning to shiver - and at that moment the shutter would click.

Majorca #2

In the bay of Sant Vicente, overlooking the sea, there is a crumbling ruin of a hotel. I’ve been told that when the proprietor died, thirty years ago, he surprised everyone- not least his family - by leaving his hotel to a baby. It was clearly stated in his will that he wanted this baby, the daughter of a friend, to be the new owner.

Over the years the trustees failed in looking after the maintenance and quality of service - and the hotel eventually closed. The little girl lost her inheritance.

But …this part of town has become fashionable; land prices have fantastically increased and the woman - who is well known and well liked by the locals - has sold the plot for big money.

I know someone who sent her new SUV back to the showroom because she wasn't happy with the driver’s seat.

I once saw a girl, loaded with Selfridge’s yellow bags, kick shut the door of her car.

I know someone who insists that her entire families bed sheets are changed daily (she doesn't do it herself).

What conceits people assume when they get a bit of money.

Japanese Beauty

She has skin as white as Fuji, dramatically crisscrossed with the black straps of her dress. No longer young, majestic and unapproachable - a porcelain face and finger-tip courtesy- crossing the dining room - protected by perfect manners, weightless, purposeful, her feet twinkling like a bamboo curtain.

An uncle, or a grandfather, should always be immaculate - so that the child will always remember him with a smile.

Cafe - Pollensa

A plate of croissants and coffee so strong that you can stand a spoon in it. Noisy, clanking, squeaking, hissing, banging Spanish cafe. TV on top of ‘fridge - endless replays of football. Girl opposite sucking on a thin roll-up, squinting through the smoke. Her baby has green eyes and intermittently thumps the tabletop as if calling for quiet.

A Few Sharp Words

Today we called in at a hotel we had stayed at in 1975. Basic shape unchanged. I stood pensively at the base of the ‘Gone with the Wind’ staircase and remembered how, wearing flares and platforms, I had tumbled down half of it.

Pat was at the front desk telling the receptionists about this incident; she was describing how I fell and rolled down the steps! I could hear them all laughing.

I decided to put a stop to this levity and approached the desk with a very pronounced limp. I announced that after 42 years I have finally found the right lawyer who will take my case for compensation and that they will hearing from him shortly.

The Booksellers Flip - 1964

Bella was tall and thin and wore polo-necks and long tartan skirts fastened with a big pin. She was old fashioned and out of time. About three years older than me, which seemed a lot at that time. She worked in the bookshop, and was good at it, but everyone knew that she wouldn't be around for long. The others didn't speak to her much; Bella was serious and wasn't interested in who-was-going-out-who and all that.

However, she liked me. In my first day she said she knew a place that was good for lunch. The two of us went, she knew her way around the menu too - I paid the bill, leaving me short of money for the remainder of the week.

But dear Bella taught me other things too - and one of them was the Bookseller Flip - a technique of aligning books neatly along a shelf. Every bookshop I visit I watch out for someone doing the Bookseller Flip - and I have never once seen it done, not by anyone.

My initiation into the skill took place after closing time. I could hear the cleaners buckets rattling upstairs as Bella guided me into an alcove in the bookshop - mathematics and statistics I think - and told me to stand facing the wall of books. I felt her unbuttoning the cuff of my shirt and she stroked my wrist with both her hands. She said it was important that I relaxed and let my hand go limp. She took her time squeezing and kneading my wrist and then told me to half-cup my fingers and place them, like hooks, on the spine of a thickish book facing me - those at a comfortable height, that didn't involve me stretching or bending. Using her own fingers to guide me, she pressed my tips over the edge and then downwards - all done quite purposefully. The book leaned over at a 45degree angle - in fact at the point of slipping over and falling to the floor. She then demonstrated the next movement - which was to let the book slide by quickly drawing back her fingers and as the book toppled she smacked it hard with the heel of her palm. The book sort of wobbled and jerked neatly back into place - the spine perfectly in line with the edge of the shelf.

Bella gave me one of her rare smiles and said - ‘Now you do it David. Do it for me.’

W Somerset Maugham was the perfect dining companion. Despite a bad stammer he was a brilliant raconteur. Most of these dinner table stories are lost, by here's a belter told by Ruth Gordon.

An acquaintance of Maugham’s, an elderly gent, had fallen in love with a young man. He showered the young man with gifts, mostly items to beautify his London flat. One such gift was an antique French cabinet - a Louis something-or-other - no doubt looted from an unfortunate aristocrat. The old gent also, unwisely, showered the young man with affectionate letters, detailing the depth of his emotions. The young man said that he treasured them - tying them with ribbon and storing them in the beautiful French cabinet.

But… as sometimes happens, things went wrong. They started to quarrel and the young man, in a fit of petulance and pique, threatened to circulate the love letters among his friends. Understandably, the old gent was devastated - remember that at this time such a liaison would result in social ruin, and possibly a spell in prison.

And then, at the peak of this misery, the old gent was propped up in bed eating his breakfast, when he saw a photograph of the young man on page 2 of the ‘Times’. The young man - his young man was dead - he had been killed - tragic accident and all that.

He made a few quick phone calls, hastily dressed and then rushed through Belgravia to the young mans flat in Chelsea. He was admitted into the house of mourning. Several members of the family were there, all white-faced and tearful. The old gent introduced himself as a dear friend and admirer of the deceased. The mother was touched by his eloquence and sincerity. She dabbed her eyes, put a hand on his arm and said - ‘You dear, dear man.’

With perfect timing the old gent tactfully, discretely, gently mentioned that her son had said that should a tragic misfortune occur, he wanted the cabinet (he pointed with a gloved finger) to go to his dear friend.

Puzzled, the mother nodded and muttered - ‘Of course…anything.’

The assembled family watched in amazement as the old gent tugged back the curtains and heaved up the sash-window and leaned out. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly - a Harrods van, which had been waiting down the street pulled up and a couple of burly men in aprons clumped up the stairs and took away the antique French cabinet.

Diving in the sea.

A thought that didn't even last for a second, but rich with understanding. And in that second the sun was never so bright and the sky so blue - and then everything lost in the shock of cold water -the cold forgiving amnesia of the sea.

Hotel in Mallorca

At odd times during the day - I suppose when the mood takes her - a little girl goes out onto her balcony and sings. She sings songs that she makes up as she goes along, and the charm is how pleased she is with the sound.

I have never seen her - I’ve listened for her voice down at the pool, but no luck - and her balcony isn't visible from ours.

When we leave I’ll miss her singing - the odd times - when the mood takes her.

Mallorca

I would like to paint the hills and bays of Mallorca, and most of all the sea! I’d paint the sea in water-colours and to catch that winking sparkle of the waves, that twinkling mosaic, I’d rinse the little glass dishes and dilute my paint with champagne.

Good manners is taking care not to spill wine on the tablecloth.

Perfect manners is pretending not to notice when someone does.

My Town

Stanley came home from the war with an twisted right foot and a scrambled mind. The local authority gave him a stiff-bristled brush and instructed him to sweep the pavements. His allotted area was a two mile stretch of Ainsworth Road (both sides).

One of the effects of his war experiences was that he would have fits of violent convulsions. His eyes would bulge and he would swing his brush over his head, as if fighting off a swarm of birds. People would cross the road - sometimes he would fall down, and for a few minutes be furiously punching an invisible opponent.

Of course, as children, on our way to and from school, this was very amusing. I must have felt a twinge of conscience when, a few years later, I saw Stanley in the street. He was wearing a suit and no longer carrying his brush. I asked him about his fits and he said that he now ‘took pills’. I also asked him did he know what the convulsions were all about. He replied that when the attacks came he was fighting the Germans - he was defending the town from invasion.

He was defending my town and we had laughed at him and no one had helped him.