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hiccstrxd · 3 years

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Kisses from the moon

Hello! I wanted to write shameless fluff with lots of kisses and this is exactly what it is. I’d like to believe that for a first timer in the kissing department, I did it okay lmao

It's rated t btw. You can find it in ao3 as well. Enjoy!

Summary: She didn’t know how it happened, the only thing she recalls is that they had meant to depart with one chaste kiss on the lips and somehow it had quickly escalated to unknown territory, though for sure not quite an unpleasant one.

It hasn’t been that long since the battle of the Storm Spire and relationships among the neighboring kingdoms couldn’t be any more restrained — the shifting alliances have been slightly worrisome but the newly pledge between the Dragon Queen and the young King of Katolis compensate all the arising uncertainties, if just a little.

Rayla doesn’t know that much about politics but she supposes that last bit gave enough solace to the kingdom. A bright occurrence amidst the cataclysmic disputes and deadly wars.

And since this was now her home away from home, she was very well informed — rather unwillingly — in its state of affairs.

Both Callum and Ezran (and Bait too, apparently) had firmly made her know that if she was one hundred percent sure and at ease with the idea overall, she was more than welcome to stay in Katolis, no matter if it was merely a temporary arrangement. It took quite a lot of arguments and counterarguments from both parties and even further persuasion from the two brothers (and frog) for her to concede to the proposition with an underlying hesitation.

She was fairly certain that her residency in the kingdom — and in the castle no less — will not be as gladly received. She’ll have to withstand many scornful looks and insensitive judgments left and right, her presence won’t do any good there. Plus, she would feel so out of place and a little bit too conscience-stricken for her liking. But then again she didn’t have anywhere else to go, nowhere to call home.

It was all very confusing and frustrating, rightfully so.

Later that night, with the moonlight casting shadows over the two lovers that were basking in the company of one another and with no impending death hanging in the air, a five-fingered hand was tenderly holding her four-fingered one, a warm smile on each of their faces. Lazy strokes were traced on her wrist, going up to her palm and finally detouring to each of her fingers, making careless doodles with the tip of his forefinger. She let out a sigh of contempt.

A murmured ‘I love you’ was softly said to the wind followed by an imaginary heart being drawn on her palm.

She looked over at him. His eyes had softened a great deal and he now sported the gentlest of grins, he redrew the heart for emphasis. Rayla intertwined their fingers together and gave his hand an affectionate squeeze.

She’ll never get tired of hearing it.

“I love you, too.”

And maybe that was the little push that she needed to make up her mind.

That’s how she got here. In Katolis, she meant. Definitely not with her back pressed slightly against the wall and a pair of gentle hands that held onto her with urgency, if just a little shyly.

She didn’t know how it happened, the only thing she recalls is that they had meant to depart with one chaste kiss on the lips and somehow it had quickly escalated to unknown territory, though for sure not quite an unpleasant one.

They were both expected somewhere else, the kiss was just a farewell gesture, something to get them through the day until they could be close with each other again — which was most likely to be late at night or early morning for how tight their schedule was today.

Rayla needs to break it off. They need to get going. She doesn’t.

She felt his hands that were once placed safely on her waist, slowly trail down to rest on her hips with a lose grip. Hers started their journey upwards, tracing his neck with feather-light touches to finally cup each side of his jaw. Their lips moved against one another at a deliberately slow pace, their noses brushing every so often with each gentle pull.

They have kissed before, of course, but nothing like this.

A loving peck on the lips, a quick kiss on the forehead, even a small brush of lips against each knuckle. They had definitely had some kisses that had lasted more than they should have but even those seemed to be cut short. No, this is new.

The gap between them came to be nonexistent, their breaths mingling together in their shared space. She felt warmth blossom in her chest as he pulled her even closer, his thumb slowly drawing small circles on her hip and when she felt him smile against her lips she couldn’t help but let a small smile out too.

Kissing him has always felt quite exhilarating, a rush of feeling that made her heart soar and her mind numb. A tingling sensation that extended from the tip of her fingers up to her very lips, a warmth that consumed her and spread like a wildfire within. Rayla has never kissed anyone before — she hadn’t felt the need to, having little interest in that sort of matter before— but she had seen Runaan and Ethari display little shows of affections every so often, and as a kid, her inherent curiosity had led her to wonder how loving someone felt like.

Ethari had said that it was like holding your whole heart in between your hands, so delicate and precious that the rest of the world blurs and fades away having no point of comparison with its beauty. Runaan, ever the pragmatic, said that it was a matter of sentiment — you feel everything more intensely.

She reckons that both are quite true, to some extent. Though, she might add her own contribution to the mix: it felt like a typhoon of emotions all at once; you feel weak yet strong, confused yet never more certain in your life, vulnerable yet empowered. It’s warm-hearted, a tender gesture. But then again, it’s something that she cannot fully put into words because the concept is so abstract and the action is so blissful that no notion will ever do justice to what she feels.

Soft kisses soon became frenzied presses of lips and their hands seemed to have a mind of their own, moving on their own accord and trying to frantically touch every patch of skin, clinging to the fabric of clothes in an attempt to be closer. His breath faintly tickled the skin beneath her nose, their heartbeats rhythmically pounding against their chests, and the almost inaudible sighs of delight, whenever their lips brushed against each other, was all she could hear in the secluded corner of the castle. Her senses were overflowed with his presence.

She couldn’t help the soft gasp she let out when he gently bit her bottom lip and pulled it in between his own. It was definitely something they haven’t done before and the action's intimacy promptly took her off guard.

And then he was frantically pulling away, eyes wide with horror and with eyebrows that seemed to reach his hairline, his lips the tiniest bit swollen from their whole encounter. His hands were still on her hips but if he was desperately trying to bring her forward before, he was now doing his best to hold her at arm’s length.

He was quite a sight and she would find it in herself to poke fun at his ridiculous countenance if she didn’t think he was on the verge of a mental collapse.

“I-I’m so sorry, that was not— and I just— I got carried away... Not that that excuses it! I — oh Gods,” Callum stumbled over his words, hand clasped over his eyes, and shifting uneasily on both feet. Rayla had trouble deciphering the inarticulate unfinished sentences that were being stuttered past his mouth but his body language could clue her in.

She raised a single eyebrow whilst fighting an amusing smile from breaking out.

With tentative fingers, she reached forward to lace their fingers together with the hand that was covering his face, his momentary flinch didn’t go unnoticed as she did so.

“Hey,” she softly said with a small smile on her face because leave it to him to straight-up freak out during one of the most intoxicating kisses they have shared so far in their relatively new courtship. She gently rubbed her thumb on the side of his hand as a silent way to reassure him that it was all good. He visibly relaxed a tiny bit, though still showing a little apprehension for his actions done in the spur of the moment. “I liked it.” She shrugged, not quite meeting his eyes and she wanted to smack herself for the uncharacteristic demeanor.

She felt a coy smirk tug at the corners of her mouth, “I really liked it.” Rayla relished the way his face went from rueful to downright embarrassed, a deep flush spreading all over his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. She couldn’t stop the heartening laugh this time.

“O-oh?” She heard him mumble. He rubbed the back of his neck with the hand that was not holding hers, and she playfully rolled her eyes at her dorky human prince’s antics.

“In fact, I wouldn’t mind tryin’ it out again.” She said while mindlessly arranging the scarf on his neck that has become rumpled by her own doing. She looked at him solemnly, this being a little unfamiliar to both of them and the uncertainty of how to approach was slowly killing her. With a clear of his throat and his forest green eyes thoroughly searching hers to silently confirm what she had put into words, he shifted forward.

“Well, in that case,” He brought one hand to pull her closer while he raised the other one to caress her cheek lovingly. His eyes stared earnestly at her as if he could find all the wonders in the world by solely looking at her. It was wistful thinking, but she’d rather not dwell into that right now. Not when the only thing that matters was the blitheness from her heart and the prince that was the cause of it all.

He drew her toward him as the space between them once again diminished and with half-closed eyes, slightly pursed lips, and with the erratic thumps of the heart filling the air, they slowly leaned in again.

He nudged his nose against hers and placed a small kiss in the corner of her lips. Callum smiled, he went to do the same on the other side but she’d have none of it. She looped her forearms loosely at the back of his neck and lunged forward — she took delight in the muffled hum of surprise.

Their lips glided lazily but surely against each other, and this time — with the self-consciousness fading away and the overwhelming feelings of adoration rising in its place — the kiss quickly took a passionate turn. Fervent lips searched hers and she returned the gesture in equal measure.

When they came to this corner almost hidden from any prying eyes to share a light kiss, one which swiftly became so much more, Rayla had been concerned they would get caught. They never seemed to get any privacy in the heavily guarded walls of the castle and sneaking around resulted in their last resort, something that both thrilled her and troubled her; there was always a crown guard just around the corner, a handmaid that not so subtly eyed them from afar, or worse, the High Cleric that without fail appeared around inopportune instances.

The number of times she had wished the earth to open up and swallow her whole were unimaginable.

But now, as she now pulled his bottom lip in between her own, that thought was dismayed and stored in the back of her mind because kissing Callum made all of those seem as insignificant worries as every kiss felt like the very first one — she was sure there wasn’t a greater feeling than being in his arms. She could stay here forever.

That was until a nervous cough could be heard behind them, a few paces away from the darkened corner. They jumped apart.

“Prince Callum,” Corvus gave a slight bow, eyes not quite looking directly at the couple, “your presence is required in the throne room.” He cleared his throat, posture uptight as always but shifting from one leg to another rather uneasily.

Oh, sweet primals.

Rayla could already feel the burning sensation on her face and ears and quickly disentangled herself from his embrace in an attempt to put some proper distance between them. He was not expecting her briskly move and promptly stumbled over his own two feet, arms flailing to catch his balance before he fell somewhat unceremoniously on the ground below.

“Corvus, hi! Yeah, I was just on my way. I was just telling Rayla about the... uh,” He trailed off, unsure of what to say that would be credible enough to somehow cover up their real deed. Rayla was sure she was just about to die from embarrassment.

Corvus placed both his arms behind himself and with a deadpan expression affirmed, “I assure you, your highness, I do not need an explanation. It is all good. Nevertheless, let’s not keep the High Council and the King waiting, shall we?” Rayla could have guaranteed the corners of his mouth lifted in the slightest — almost imperceptible — in what she could only assume was amusement. “And Rayla, Soren is waiting in the courtyard for your daily training session.”

With that last bit, she nodded in acknowledgment and went straight to where she was initially supposed to be nearly fifteen minutes ago. And she almost gave Soren the triumph of his life since the only thing on her mind was how much she had enjoyed their little rendezvous and the excitement of its reprise was as annoying as it was enthralling.

#rayllum #my writing #rayllum fanfic #callum #rayla #the dragon prince #tdp #tdp callum #tdp rayla #tdp rayllum #fluff #things get a little carried away but nothing serious #I wanted to write something happy pre ttm #i'm sorry for any grammar mistakes #a hiccstrid fic is in the works too

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fairytalesintheend · 3 years

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Punk Rock Ezra

Word count: 1520

Warnings: mention of suicidal thoughts, small mention of a suicide attempt, adult content, mentions of smut and cockwarming, language, I think that’s it but please lemme know

A/n: alright kiddos I have no idea what this is. Unedited, unbeta’d, barely revised, fully self indulgent Punk Rock Ezra. Inspired by the wonderful punk ezra hc’s from @rae-gar-targaryen’s beautiful brain. Loosely inspired by Punk Rock John by Neil Hilborn. Enjoy or tell me if it sucks😘 p.s. formatting might be fucked cause I copied from drive and pasted on mobile lmao

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The first time you saw Ezra he was crowd surfing up to the stage. You noticed the blonde streak in his hair and you watched it until it disappeared into the sea of people in the pit. At the next show the same streak caught your eye. Then the show after that and the one after that too. Ezra and that damned blonde streak were almost expected at any show you attended and you’d be kidding yourself if you thought it hadn’t become some sort of a comfort.

The first time you met Ezra, he’d pulled you up from the floor at a show. He’d asked if you were alright, brushed the dirt off your clothes then told you “Protect your face, birdie. If you get pushed, push back. You’ll be fine.” Then he threw you back into the pit.

One time he found you about to punch someone and grabbed you around your waist, pulling you back into the crowd. You were angry. At everything and nothing. You hated your life and the world and everything in it. You’d tried fighting him off of you but he held you firm against him. “Don’t start shit you can’t finish, birdie. You don’t know who their friends are, you’ll get yourself killed. Don’t be stupid.” He spun you around to face him but kept his grip on you. “We’ve all felt the way you feel, birdie. That’s why you’re here.” Ezra helped you protect yourself and let go at shows. Jumping and dancing and screaming your anger away instead of trying to take it out on some metal kid who wasn’t worth the time. He took your hand and showed you that this was a safe place. That everyone in the room had gone through shitty things and that you weren’t alone. That this was a place you belonged. He looked out for you and you looked out for him too. Which made falling in love with him all the more easy.

Ezra usually wore jeans that were cut off at the knee and ratty band t-shirts, most of which had the sleeves ripped off. His dirty black Chucks were the only shoes you ever saw him wear. He had tattoos of constellations and geometric designs that were scattered all over his arms. There were doodles and random pictures inked on his thighs that he’d done himself in high school. He also had a phrase in Latin on the left side of his neck. Astra inclinant, sed non obligant. “The stars incline us, they do not bind us.” He told you one day what it meant. “Fate can guide us birdie but we can’t let the stars do everything. It’s our job to be responsible for us and what we put into this world.”

He had a nose ring and his ears were pierced in three places. All he’d done himself over the sink in his bathroom. One time he offered to pierce your nose for you and while you declined at first, three weeks later you found yourself sitting on Ezra’s bathroom counter while he brought the hot needle to your face.

He had a scar on his cheek. Almost crescent moon shaped below his eye. The first time he told you how he got it he told you it was from a knife fight. Later on you’d find out he was trying to impress you when in actuality it was from falling off his skateboard when he was 17.

He’d ask you to touch up the blonde streak in his hair. He really could do it himself but he liked when you did it because he was convinced you did it much better than he ever did.

He talked all the time, about everything. Music, art, science, literature. He went on long rants about injustices in the world but they sounded more like monologues from your favorite play. You couldn’t do anything but stare, breathing him in while he strung together the pieces of his life for you. His voice wrote journal entries on your bedroom walls. He forced you to talk as well. “There’s a storm brewing in that head of yours. Can’t hide those eyes from me, Nightingale. They tell more stories than I do. Talk.” Sometimes you listened to him. You would talk about anything and everything or nothing at all. Whether you’d liked to admit it or not, it worked. Better than any other therapy you’d tried. Other times you’d turn away from him and cross your arms, curling into yourself. You’d hear him let out a long breath. Then he’d be at the stereo. He would pick a cd then turn up the volume almost as loud as it could go so you couldn’t hear your own thoughts anymore. He’d make you stand on the bed with him and sing. Scream the words as loud as you could until you felt better. “The church of punk rock is always open, birdie,” He told you once. “This is how you pray.”

You never thought you could love a sound more than you loved the sound of music until you heard Ezra moan your name against your neck as he moved inside you. The grunts and whines that fell from his lips creating a symphony that you wanted on repeat forever. The way he moved in you felt the closest to holy you were ever going to get. Oh how he worshipped you. And you him. You could spend hours here, the sanctuary of each other’s bodies. Hands, teeth, and tongues making their mark. He would stay inside you for a while after. Holding you, scattering soft kisses anywhere he could reach. Sometimes you’d fall asleep like this then wake up the next morning to worship each other all over again.

Ezra was a survivor. You knew that the first time you saw him. Everyone in that dirty basement was a survivor. Ezra talked about his entire life with you but you knew there were some things he kept hidden from the world. Not that you blamed him. You had your fair share of things you’d never told anyone. Of course, that changed over time. You both came to each other for confession. Whispered admissions of sin in the dark of Ezra’s bedroom. He told you things that made your heart ache. How could he be so gentle? So forgiving? When the world had done so much? Would you ever be? So forgiving of this world, so gentle toward yourself and this life? Or would this anger you held inside you always be there? You’d asked Ezra one night. “I am not as healed as you may imagine, Nightingale.” He said. “I do my share of praying more than you’d know.”

You took care of Ezra and in turn, Ezra took care of you. He’d saved you from yourself on more than one occasion. One night was particularly bad. You’d locked yourself in the bathroom with a kitchen knife. When Ezra showed up at your place he’d knocked on the door and you yelled at him to go away. To just let you do this. It would be better. So much better. But instead he broke the lock on the door when he kicked it open. He held his arms out to you with caution. Coaxed you to listen to him and let go as he moved closer to you. He’d pulled the knife out of your hands and pulled you into his arms. You fought him at first, wriggling in his arms until he backed against the wall and held you so you couldn’t move. The two of you sunk to the floor. You sobbed into his chest, hiccuping every few moments. Your breathing was still rapid. For the first time ever, Ezra just stayed silent. He ran his hand over your hair and held you tightly against him. He only spoke after your breathing wouldn’t calm down. “Shhh, shhh birdie I need you to slow down okay? Just breathe with me.” You stayed on the cold bathroom floor in his arms for what seemed like hours. Then Ezra picked you up, made you some food and sat with you on your couch. He didn’t try to get you to talk. He just put in a cd and turned up the volume. He kissed your forehead and then your lips. “One day we’ll leave this place birdie. I promise you. I’ll get you out of here.”

He kept his promise. Years after the first time you saw Ezra, he stands in your kitchen with your daughter on his hip. He’s making breakfast and singing to her while he stirs batter for pancakes. You’re not angry anymore. You take meds that work for you and you even have a therapist you don’t completely hate. Your life is so different than it used to be. You don’t need to pray as much as you used to but in times of trouble Ezra will still pop in a cd and turn up the volume and you can hear the first thing he said to you. “You’ll be fine.”

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Tags for fun: @rae-gar-targaryen @qveenbvtch @steeeeeeeviebb @zeldasayer @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @fleetwoodmactshirt @cinewhore @lokiaddicted @pascalplease @krissology @frannyzooey @mostly-megan @flightlessangelwings @voteforpedropascal @pettyprocrastination @artemiseamoon @justanotherblonde23

#this is trash but I like it lmao #Ezra #punk rock ezra #Ezra x reader #prospect au #prospect movie #Ezra prospect #fanfic

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adam-memeleri · 3 years

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Rainbow

Rosie’s always liked rainbows. Liked the beauty, the wonder, the ethereal, indescribable nature of the array of colours painted on the sky and clouds. She’s always liked the possibilities held within those colours, always liked what they meant, always liked the way the world seems to stand still when you find one after a storm, frozen for something so magical.

Hope reminds Rosie of rainbows.

okay so i actually really like this one and i think it shows. also thank you @bubblelaureno for proofing and fixing my feeble attempt at past tense you are so very lovely

tagging - @bubblelaureno @lookingforsomethingcuzimbored

if you wanna be tagged

Masterlists shameless self promotion lmao

T Rating (its mostly fluff, but there's sick if youre not cool with that)

Hope x MC (Rosie) or rope if youre chichi

~7k words this took an alarming amount of time to finally fucking finish, so take it for what it is

Like the sweater that blocked Rosie’s view of a lecture one morning, red. Like the tapping nails she couldn’t stop watching, red. Like the sensation of being mesmerized, hypnotized more deeply than when watching the sun slowly creep higher above the horizon, red.

Her eyes roved over the carefully organised materials - pens, notebook, laptop - all set in a specific place. She watched the nails halt their tapping, scribbling out notes in what she could only assume was perfect handwriting. She couldn’t imagine this girl doing anything less than perfect, less than meticulously planned, less than plain stunning.

Although her face was obscured, Rosie could picture the expression painted across it. Could picture a focus that could knock you down and heal your bruises all at once. And it intrigued her, left her wanting to see it for herself, and she angled her head to glimpse as much as she could.

The red sweater rose abruptly, just as Rosie was about to peek, and Rosie knew she should as well, knew that the drone of the professor had disappeared and she had another lecture not too soon, but she couldn’t manage it. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her, her stupid desire to see if she was right about this girl.

She turned, her eyes landing on Rosie’s, and Rosie could have sworn her heart stopped. She was surprised more than anything, to find eyes boring into her own so fiercely, her eyebrows knitted together in momentary confusion. Before she whisked herself away, with a bag thrown over her shoulder and Rosie left behind, simply gawking after her.

After all coherent thought had left her mind, Rosie jumped to her feet and scrambled to collect her belongings, haphazardly she shoved them in her own bag and scooped them in her arms before darting out the room. She found that red sweater as it exited the building, nearly lost in the sea of students.

Elbowing her way through the crowd, Rosie managed to nearly catch up, stumbling a little ways behind as she called out, “Hey, wait up!”

The girl’s eyes searched over her shoulder before she slowed, peering over at Rosie curiously as she fell into step beside her.

“Sorry, I, uh…” Rosie fumbled over her words, gesturing awkwardly as she sought to clear the air, a blush staining her face. “I didn’t - That wasn’t - I wasn’t staring.”

The girl side-eyed Rosie, lips quirked in a tiny bemused smile at her feeble attempt. Her fingers toyed with a ring, spinning it around one finger in a steady rhythm as her free hand held the strap of her bag.

“Really! I wasn’t!” Rosie insisted uselessly.

Her grin grew as she hummed teasingly, “Mmhmm.”

“Look, just -” Rosie’s shoulders sank in a sigh, shaking her head in exasperation, but with a smile of her own. “I’m Rosie.” She tried, her voice having steadied.

The girl smiled invitingly, in the type of way that drew Rosie in, left her wanting more as dazzling eyes crinkled enticingly. “Hope,” her sweet voice rang, with all the power of a declaration but none of the demand.

Rosie nodded mutely, her braids shifting with each shake of her head. She opened her mouth to say smoothing, but, at a loss, she clamped her jaw shut.

Hope didn’t seem to mind, her eyes adjusting forward as they walked side by side, the gap between them like a canyon to Rosie. She swallowed, fixing the book under her arm, “So, uh, have you always been in that class?”

“Yes,” Hope nodded coolly, “Someone stole my usual seat today, though.”

“That… That sucks.” Rosie’s lips purse to the side as she nods along.

“Actually,” Hope’s voice drawled as she peered up at Rosie out of the corner of her eye. “I seem to recall there was an open seat beside you.”

“Oh! Yeah, I keep it open for a special someone,” Rosie’s lips quirked in a crooked grin, her typical playfulness finding its way back to her.

“And who would that be?”

Bolstered by Hope’s own teasing, she winked, her cheeks dimpled from her smile. “I’m hoping I’ll find out soon enough.”

“Maybe you will.” The pair fell into a companionable silence as they walked, neither a word exchanged or a beat of awkwardness filling the space. Rosie’s eyes roved distractedly, sneaking glances at Hope every chance she got and darting away when she got caught.

And every time Hope smiled to herself, and every time Rosie’s cheeks heated just a little more. It was quickly becoming a game, to see how long it took for Rosie to get caught, and with each glance she found herself hoping they'd continue the game on a later date.

Hope paused in her tracks suddenly, turning to face Rosie more fully as she adjusted her bag on her shoulder. “This is my stop,” she gestured to the lecture hall they were standing outside of, students filing inside. “It was nice to meet you, Rosie,” she grinned, stretching her hand out in offering.

Rosie’s own eagerly clasped it, shaking the offered hand perhaps too forcefully. “You too!” She promptly dropped Hope’s hand, a flush on the back of her neck as she shifted from foot to foot, gaze dropping to stare at the floor. “Um, see you next week?” she tried, glancing up from beneath her lashes.

“As long as you keep my seat available,” Hope teased easily, as if this was a common occurrence in her daily life. And Rosie supposed it may be, that maybe there’s always someone following her around with wide eyes like a lost puppy.

In response, Rosie nodded vehemently, mouth curved in a barely suppressed grin as Hope laughed lightly, already turning away. She stalked inside, head held high and shoulders thrown back with a confidence that can’t help but catch your eye and one that Rosie couldn’t tear her gaze away from.

Like the sweater that disappeared into the hall, red. Like the heart that berated Rosie’s ribcage, red. Like the lips pulled into an impossibly wide smile, as much as she fought it, red.

Orange

Like the socks that covered kicking feet, orange. Like the setting sun outside, the watercolour of clouds, orange. Like the pen that scrawled on paper, jotting down notes and doodling when the words wouldn’t come, orange.

“Pop quiz!” Hope announced, flourishing a card and adjusting upright. Open textbooks, loose papers, a discarded laptop, and a dozen markers litter the bedspread around her.

Rosie groaned, faceplanting into her notes and sending a multitude of colourful pens scattering. “You’re incorrigible!” she whined into the paper, her hand that had been previously writing limp by the notebook.

“You asked to study! I’m studying!” Hope defended with a slight laugh, motioning with the brightly coloured flashcards in her hands.

Rosie’s head flopped to the side, cheek pressed into still-damp orange inked scribbles. “Clearly by study I meant halfarse rereading notes so we had an excuse to hang out.”

Hope paused for a beat, scrutinising Rosie from across the bed. “You needed an excuse to hang out with me?”

“Would you have agreed otherwise?”

“No,” she slowly answered. “But that’s just because I needed to study.”

“There is not a doubt in my mind that you were the most extreme teacher’s pet,” Rosie teased, pushing upright just to slump backwards, elbows positioned to support her weight. “I can picture it now, little Hope avoiding recess to do menial tasks.”

With a wistful sigh, Hope abandoned her flashcards, leaning back herself. “Oh, those were the good ol’ days.”

“Nerd.”

Hope clicked her tongue, fond exasperation etched in her face and soaked into her posture. “Well,” she drawled, climbing off the bed and popping to her feet. “Since we’re already taking an impromptu break, I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared out the door, leaving it wide open and lightly swinging on its hinges. A heavy sigh melts Rosie’s muscles as she stretched out on the bed in her absence, legs nudging the multitude of study supplies surrounding her.

She glanced about, eyes bouncing around curiously at the array of objects held in Hope’s bedroom. From the vanity, to the assortment of bottles and items splayed atop the dresser, to the meticulously organized bookshelf of textbooks and fiction, it was as if Rosie was getting a glimpse into the girl.

And somehow she felt there was more to uncover than ever before. From the tattered jacket full of memories draped over a chair, to the photo frames littering every available surface, to the picture book given prime shelf space, there’s so much life in the room that she’d never even heard about.

Hope stepped back into the room before her imagination could run truly wild, juggling a water bottle dotted in flower stickers and a few oranges. She dumps them all on the bed, tossing one of the small oranges to Rosie.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, catching it lightly.

“Mmhmm,” Hope hummed out of reflex as she jumped up to the bed, kicking her legs over the edge and toying with the lid of her water bottle. “You know, I don’t get why you of all people are a business major,” she commented, glancing up as she takes a drink.

Rosie chuckled, picking at the stubborn peel and pulling off chunks. “What makes you say that?”

“You just seem… not… businesslike? I don’t know,” she groaned, dipping her head to hide her face as Rosie laughed beside her.

“I think I’m plenty businesslike.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s cheeto dust on the edge of your notes.”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Rosie waggled her index finger, “Cheetos are made by a business, therefore, they are businesslike.”

Hope’s mouth curved in a grin, lips pressed together to try and stop it’s spread. “You should be an attorney instead.”

“Nah, it just wouldn’t be fair to the other lawyers,” Rosie’s tone was casual as she popped an orange slice in her mouth, speaking through it. “Like a pro athlete playing with a kiddie team.”

Hope snorted, her hand clapped up to her mouth as she fought a loud laugh. “You'd be a force to be reckoned with in a courtroom, I’m sure.”

“I’m telling you, I’d be unstoppable. Just sue everyone else before they can sue me!”

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“Well, you’re not a lawyer, are you?”

Hope’s hands raised placatingly, but the smile on her face was evident of her amusement. “Alright, alright you win.”

“What’s my prize?”

Hope’s face scrunched up as she considered, one nail rising to tap at her chin. “What do you want?” she finally responded.

“To not study.”

“Alright, I get it.” She closed the textbook she had been reading from and tossed it onto a nearby desk chair, sitting straight and peering about for a distraction. “You want to watch something instead?”

“Yes! No books! No words! No unreadable handwriting!” Rosie cheered, shoving her own notebooks and laptop across the bedspread in a dramatic show.

“That’s your handwriting that you can’t read.”

“Exactly!” her hands waved, eyes wild before her palms slapped down onto the duvet, “Do you see how mad this has driven me?”

Hope rolled her eyes, tossing a pale orange blanket over Rosie to quiet her, “Every day you get more over the top.”

Snickering, Rosie pulled the blanket off her head and scooted backwards until she hit the headboard. “Stick around and maybe you’ll find my limit.”

“Trust me, I don’t plan on going anywhere,” Hope joined her on the bed, tugging her laptop to rest before them. “Now here, since you’re sticking around too, let’s watch something.”

She started scrolling through a streaming service, clicking on random descriptions but never staying long enough for Rosie to catch up. She moved fast, but with more purpose than anyone Rosie had ever met. Every sharp action was backed by a precise thought, every decisive selection marked by careful consideration.

She finally clicked on some random sitcom, beginning to settle against the headrest and Rosie’s side. The blanket only exacerbated the heat between them, and Rosie found herself spending more time attempting glimpses of Rosie than she spent watching the show.

Like the scattered peels and smudged ink of abandoned pens, orange. Like the blanket draped over their laps, orange. Like the sensation of sunlight blasting away all your worries, orange.

Yellow

Like the sunshine on Hope’s skin as they laughed in the park, hours disappearing under the sun, yellow. Like the water bottles filled with too-sweet lemonade, yellow. Like the checkered blanket they lay on, sprawled across it and speaking softly beneath the sky, yellow.

“Ooh, look at that one!” Hope pointed at the sky, index finger outstretched toward a cloud floating in the distance. It was filled with them, the white blending with pale blue as they floated above the world, unbothered by the affairs of the ground.

Rosie’s eyes scanned futilely, following Hope’s finger to the expansive sky, “Where?”

“There!”

“Hope,” Rosie laughed, a lightness in her heart, “there’s like a hundred clouds, I need specifics.”

With a sigh, Hope’s hand wrapped around Rosie’s, their fingers tangled together as she gestured above and to the left. She angled Rosie’s finger, slipping closer on the picnic blanket to direct her line of sight. “That one,” her voice was quieter as she squeezed the hand in hers.

The breath left Rosie’s lungs at their proximity, at the gentleness always present in Hope’s voice, but especially so now. She tore her gaze from the warmth in Hope’s cheeks to search the sky, finally finding the shaped cloud. “A heart?”

“Mmhmm,” Hope hummed, squeezing her hand once more.

“Cute.”

“I know, right?” Hope turned briefly, her face still set in a bright grin before she was back to staring at the sky and all it held within it.

But Rosie wasn’t paying attention to the sky anymore, she hadn’t been for a while. Her eyes were glued to the smile on Hope’s face, the way her eyes flitted from cloud to cloud, the way her bottom lip slipped between her teeth, the way she refused to release Rosie’s hand.

“Do you come here often?” she supplied to fill the silence, breaking a tension only she may have felt.

Hope’s gaze flicked back to her, sparkled with amusement.“Is that a line?”

“Just making conversation.”

Hope chuckled beneath her breath, turning back to the puffs in the painted sky. “Not really. Used to when I was younger, but you know… Classes, work, responsibilities… They don’t really leave time for an afternoon of watching clouds float past.”

“Do you wish you could do this more?”

“Always.”

“Then I’m glad I could help, even just a little,” Rosie grinned, easy and relaxed as she nudged Hope’s shoulder with her own.

“Me too.”

Rosie settled back, letting the blues and whites and greys and yellows of the day fill her eyesight, a collision of pastel colours before her dark eyes. Occasionally, Hope’s hand would brush her own, or her elbow would nudge Rosie as she shifted, and every time it was like a shot of sunshine right into her veins, stronger than pure adrenaline.

“It’s getting kind of dark,” Hope mumbled after a long stretch of silence, a quiet only disrupted by the occasional murmur.

Rosie’s lashes had fluttered shut, the soft breeze and noise of the park enough to lose herself in. “The forecast said no rain,” she answered, followed by a groan as she stretched her limbs on the checkered blanket.

“You sure?”

Rosie shrugged, “That’s what the weather girl said.”

“Which weather girl?”

“That annoying one, Blaire or something.”

“You trust the annoying weather girl?”

“I trust science,” Rosie retorted. “Also that Swedish news anchor. He trusts her, and I trust him. He’s very trustworthy, I’ll have you know,” she elbowed Hope to accentuate her point.

Hope sighed, reluctantly mumbling out an agreement, “Alright.”

Everything stilled once more, their little corner of the park unbothered by the rest of the whirring world. Rosie’s arm rose to cover her face and block out the lessening sunlight, the day seeming to have spent both her energy and the available sunlight.

A drop pinged Rosie’s forearm as it lay overtop her face, a prick on her skin. Then another. And another. Until raindrops began to soak her skin, her clothes, the blanket that was beneath her and Hope.

“Shit!” Rosie sprung to her feet blindly, scrambling as the onslaught of water kept coming, and coming.

Hope was in a struggle to get to her feet as well, grabbing wildly at discarded water bottles, phones, a jacket - whatever lay in her reach. “Get the stuff! Get the stuff!”

“I am, I am!” Rosie grabbed the checkered blanket, shoved it into the backpack she had brought along as Hope piled up the little containers of snacks.

Digging in her own bag, Hope blinked up at Rosie in a brief panic, “Hurry!”

“Would you -?” Rosie swatted at her with the edge of the blanket, her words dying as she dissolved into laughter.

“Rosie!” she chided, waving away the swat as she finally found what she was looking for. She stood straight, shrugging her bag over her shoulder and fiddling with the object she pulled from it.

“C’mon!” the taller woman laughed, “This is funny! We get one afternoon to ourselves and it literally rains on our parade!” she gestured around, spinning to encompass the whole park in the motion, every drop of rain spilling down on it. “That’s funny!”

Hope’s lips pressed together in a smile as she stepped forward, opening an umbrella and bringing it up to cover their heads. The bright yellow fabric echoed with each falling drop, but it was enough to prevent their soaked clothing from worsening.

“A little late for that,” Rosie chuckled from within her chest, heaving her hefty bag up her shoulder.

“Better late than never.” Hope paused, pursing her lips to the side as her free hand rose, brushing off a piece of wet grass from Rosie’s chest. Her touch lingered, the heel of her hand resting lightly.

“Hmm?” Rosie questioned wordlessly.

Hope’s fingers tightened in the front of her shirt, determination sparking in her eyes. “You want to go out sometime? For coffee, or lunch, or dinner?”

“I thought we already did that?” Rosie teased with a small smile.

“We do… But I was thinking it’d be a little different this time.” Hope’s eyes shimmered as they met Rosie’s from beneath heavy lashes, rain still shining like diamonds on them, on every part of her face.

Rosie smiled at the suggestive tone of the words, her expression so wide and bright, brighter than the umbrella held over their heads. “That sounds nice,” she feigned a casualty that wasn’t there, the smile lines around her mouth a dead giveaway.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, wet hair framing her face.

Hope’s face broke out in a smile to match Rosie’s, unrestrained under the transparent yellow umbrella over their heads. “Come on, then,” her hand slipped into the other girl’s, and she tugged Rosie towards a nearby awning, hands swinging lightly between them.

Like the shirt plastered to Rosie’s skin, soaked and damp, yellow. Like the umbrella that sheltered them from the storm, a brilliant, shining safety net, yellow. Like the happiness in her chest, bubbling and pounding inside her, yellow.

Green

Like the smile on Hope’s lips, as lively as a budding flower, green. Like the backdrop behind her, the painted walls and masses of house plants, green. Like the nausea that swirled in Rosie’s gut, foul and unsettling, green.

She lurched forward, stumbling to her feet before she darted across the flat towards the bathroom, slamming the door shut just as she collapsed to her knees. She retched, fingers gripping the edge of the toilet as bile stung at her throat.

With a moan, she slumped against the seat, eyes fluttered shut as a pounding in her head drowned out most of the flat. The brief ordeal weighed down her limbs, left her exhausted and drained on the bathroom floor.

“Hey, Rosie?” broke through her haze, a gentle question from the other side of the door.

She sighed, groaning out a “Hmm?”

“You okay in there?”

“Just peachy,” she chuckled weakly.

There was a brief pause before Hope’s voice returned, hesitant but laced with a caring that warmed Rosie’s heart, cleared her head momentarily. “I’m going to come in,” she announced, the knob twisting.

Rosie groaned once more in response, slumped against the toilet with her hair spilled over her shoulder in a messy flow. Her shirt now hung off her body awkwardly, a thin sweat having begun to coat her skin.

A cautious hand found her shoulder, squeezing lightly as Hope settled beside her, careful not to jostle her. “Are you sick?” her fingers delicately brushed over Rosie’s face as she spoke, tucking a stray braid behind her ear, her thumb running lightly over her cheek.

“No, I’m healthy as a horse, that’s why I’m voluntarily sitting with my face in the toilet,” Rosie bit back, more heat in the tone than ever before.

Hope huffed, her hand retracting from Rosie’s face and the taller woman immediately regretting the harshness of her previous words. “Quit with that for a second, would you?”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, turning to press her cheek in the crook of her elbow.

“It’s okay, just…” a sigh drooped Hope’s shoulders as she softly pressed the back of her hand to Rosie’s forehead. “What happened? Did you eat something bad? Were you sick earlier?” Her hand brushed over Rosie’s face repeatedly until she was swatted away.

“I don’t know,” Rosie brushed her off, pushing upright and slumping forward. “I was fine, I swear.”

“Do you need anything?” the smaller of the two continued to fuss, eyes searching for a visible cause of the crease between Rosie’s brows. “Oh - I’ll get water, I’ll go -” She awkwardly jumped up, bouncing back and forth on her feet in uncertainty for the girl on the floor before darting out the door.

She returned a few moments later, dropping back to the tile floor with a bottle of water and damp washcloth in her hands. “Rinse,” she instructed gently, pressing the bottle into Rosie’s grasp.

And she did as told, taking a swig and swishing it around her mouth before she spat into the toilet bowl. She repeated it a few more times before she scooted away, her thigh brushing Hope’s as her head dropped to Hope’s shoulder.

With her palm softly tracing Rosie’s spine, Hope didn’t dare move for a long moment. “You okay there?” she whispered, exhale brushing along Rosie’s forehead.

“Except for the spinning…” her head rolled in a tiny circle gesture, “everything, yes.”

“Can you stand?” Hope shifted onto her knees, still supporting Rosie’s weight carefully.

“I vomited, I didn’t break a leg.”

“What did I say about the sarcasm?” she sighed, “I’m just trying to help.”

“I know,” a groan fell from Rosie’s mouth, from deep in her throat as she slumped forward, head landing in her hands. “And I’m being an arse. Yes, I can stand.” She finally opened her eyes, looking up at Hope with a strained gaze.

Hope stood fully, offering her hands with a wiggle of her fingers, “Come on, then,” she urged.

Rosie moaned again, but placed her palms on Hope’s all the same. She let herself be gently tugged to her feet and led back into the living room of Hope’s flat, let herself be pushed into sitting back down and laying back, her eyelids fluttering shut.

Hope’s palm on her shoulder was a steady weight, a warmth soaking through to her skin. “Stay put,” and all too soon that weight disappeared as Hope stepped away from the sofa.

“Can I just go home?” Rosie asked, knowing full well she would never be granted permission to leave when she could barely keep her eyes open.

“No, you live alone,” Hope called over her shoulder, striding in the direction of the kitchen. “If you leave I can’t take care of you.”

“I’m not a baby.”

“You’re right. Babies don’t complain as much.”

“Are you saying you’d trade me for a baby?”

“Oh, never. You don’t have snot running down your face at the very least,” her voice echoed from the kitchen, familiar and playful in Rosie’s ears. “...If I come in there and there’s snot -!”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Rosie!” Hope’s chiding voice rang from the kitchen, alongside a loud, panicked clatter, which only served to provide Rosie with a brief laughing fit.

“I’d never,” her laughter died, replaced by an amused smile grounded in the comfort of the situation. “I think you’d break my nose before I got the chance.”

“Don’t even think about it and you’ll never have to find out.”

“Mmm,” Rosie hummed in acknowledgment, sinking further into the cushions of the sofa as Hope’s pleasant voice occasionally called out to her, alongside clatters and thuds.

Her lashes flickered open, blinking to clear the fleeting sleep from them as Hope stood over her, hands on her hips. “I was trying to make you soup, but you’re going right to bed.”

“I don’t live here,” she murmured without a thought, the imposing woman above her having stripped her of them.

“I know. Now, up.”

Hope pulled her to her feet again, let Rosie lean her bodyweight against her in her sick and sleepy haze as she was guided to Hope’s bedroom and directed to the bed. Hope yanked back the neatly made duvet, allowing Rosie to slip beneath it.

The bed dipped as Hope joined her on the edge, tracing her nail over her scalp, the hinge of her jaw, the length of her neck. Over, and over again, until the sleep that weighed Rosie down stole her again, until she could only manage a mumbled, “Thank you.”

Like the soft explosion of colour on her shut eyelids, flowing in whatever direction the light is pulled in, green. Like the doting nails as they ghosted along her skin, sweet and full of love, green. Like the peace now swirling in her once foul gut, green.

Blue

Like the rain falling from the dark clouds outside, blue. Like the melancholy that permeated the air as Rosie opened the door, blue. Like the tears in the corners of Hope’s eyes as she fought against the pressure behind them, blue.

Hope shouldered her way into the flat and into the living room, dropping herself onto the sofa before she sucked in a deep breath. “You can’t move,” her voice cracked as it escaped from her, each syllable heavy with sorrow.

Crossing the room, Rosie collapsed beside her, gaze stuck to her hands as she felt Hope’s bored into the side of her face. “Why not?” she mumbled beneath her breath, one nail picking the woven bracelet resting on her wrist.

“‘Cause I’ll miss you.”

She sighed heavily, twitching beneath Hope’s piercing eyes. “I’ll miss you too, but I kinda have to,” she shrugged, everything feeling useless in the moment. Everything had felt useless since that morning, since she had first told Hope and they had first begun this odd dance.

“It’s not the same.”

“Sure it is.”

“No, no it’s not,” Hope insisted, a spark in her voice as her own hands fidgeted wildly, unease seeping in every corner of the flat. “You’ll - You’ll be doing your thing, without me there, and I’ll be doing my thing without you here, and we’ll be in our little worlds and won’t - won’t realise until it’s too late and we… you know.” She fell off at the end, her bottom lip slipping between her teeth to worry it.

“Hope,” Rosie sighed, a hand dragging down her face, “We’re not gonna break up.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“How? How can you possibly know what’ll happen if you leave?” Hope’s features crumpled, deep creases marking worry lines.

“Hope…”

“Rosie, look at me.” She took Rosie’s hands, thumbs nervously circling her knuckles as her eyes poured into the dark irises across from her. “I know you, and I know me. I know I’m not good at being apart, and I know you get caught up in the moment. I adore that about you, I really do, but it’s also the most annoying thing imaginable.”

“Wha - Hey!” A surprised laugh bubbled out of Rosie, a bright smile gracing her features for the first time in the night.

“See?” A small smile illuminated Hope’s own expression, “Now you can’t go ‘cause you have to stay to get back at me.” The smile dissipated, replaced by a tight grip on Rosie’s hands. “Please don’t go.”

“I have to. Seriously,” Rosie squeezed back. “My mum… she needs me back home right now.”

Hope sagged, disheartened, letting her forehead bump into Rosie’s shoulder. “You’re too stubborn.”

Rosie snorted, “Says you. You showed up at my door at three in the morning.” Her arm wrapped around Hope without a thought, unconsciously urging her closer.

“I’m not stubborn, I’m romantic.”

“Yeah?” a chuckle vibrated throughout Rosie’s chest, “Then romance me.”

Hope visibly brightened, turning her head to smile into Rosie’s neck. “I’ll buy you roses tomorrow. Roses for my Rose,” she giggled radiantly.

“Cute,” Rosie hummed, her palm circling along her partner’s back.

“I thought so,” she preened.

Rosie inhaled deeply, rolling her neck to crack it before she fell backward suddenly. She held out her hands, making a grabbing motion at a slightly confused Hope. “C’mere,” waved relentlessly, until Hope gave in with a grin.

She shuffled forward, collapsing atop Rosie with a contented sigh, her head on the taller woman’s chest, right above her softly beating heart. She dragged her fingers up and down Rosie’s ribs, every breath of Hope’s a whisper along her skin.

“I didn’t think you ever wanted to leave London anyhow?” she exhaled after they settled, inquiring with nudge to Rosie’s chin.

“I didn’t. Not for forever, at least.”

“So you’ll come back to me?”

Rosie stalled, avoiding eye contact as she stared up at the ceiling. “...At some point.”

A frown dipped Hope’s lips almost instantaneously, “I don’t like the sound of that. That sounds like - like…” she struggled for words, her features pinched. “Like a goodbye with extra steps.”

“Nope,” Rosie’s head shook adamantly, finally meeting Hope’s gaze with a resolve in her own. “We’re not saying goodbye, I promise you that.”

That quieted Hope, her lashes fluttered shut as her hand on Rosie’s abdomen stilled. The flat went still as well, undisturbed in the late hour as light, nimble fingers traced a circle around her hip.

“What if I went with you?” Hope’s voice cracked the silence in half, shattering it like glass and simultaneously freezing it deeper into her bones.

There was no response, and she glanced up to find Rosie gawking, blinking upwards in surprise. Her jaw hung open, mouth working to form words that won’t come, no matter how hard she may try. Finally, her voice squeaked out, breathless with her disbelief, “You’d… move cities… for me?”

“Yes,” Hope answered in a heartbeat, not a second of hesitation.

“Why?”

“You know why.”

At that Rosie exploded back to life, her crooked grin lifting her lips. “Nuh-uh, you gotta say it,” she teased, her eyes burning with excitement.

“You’re the worst, you know that?” Hope laughed, fond exasperation filling her as she shook her head.

“Say it,” Rosie urged, pestering Hope with pokes to her sides. “Say it, say it, say it.”

“The worst!” A full laugh spilled from her lips, and Rosie pressed for more and more of it, the sound addictive to her. Hope freed herself from Rosie’s grasp, from her playful jabs, and kneeled above her, taking her face in her hands.

Hope’s thumbs brushed over her cheekbones, caress delicate and soothing. “I love you and don’t want to be without you, okay?” she whispered into the space between them, a clash of brilliant eyes alighting the gap like metal sparking.

“I love you too,” she murmured back, rising to peck Hope on the nose before she settled back down. “But you don’t have to move.”

“But I want to.”

“Hope…”

“Rosie…”

Rosie shook her head, incredulous at the persistence staring her down. “You’re going to change your mind in the morning,” she warned carefully.

“I won’t.”

“And how could you know that? How could you possibly know that?” Rosie teased, repeating Hope’s previous words.

“How many times do I have to tell you I love you for you to get it?”

“I won’t complain if you say it a few more times,” Rosie joked, languidly relaxed as she danced her fingers along Hope’s skin wherever she could reach, noting the twist in the dance between them. It was as if they stuck the landing, poised and graceful, rather than on their arse like they had been earlier in the day.

“So it’s settled, then?” Hope livened, “I’m coming with you?”

Mumbling under her breath, Rosie rolled her eyes, “Incorrigible…”

The shorter woman stretched out, her body overlapping with Rosie’s as she buried herself in her side. “I’m coming whether you agree or not, you can just make this easier for the both of us.”

“Fine,” Rosie grumbled. “If you really, truly, absolutely want to move to Margate with me, I don’t think I can do much to stop you.”

“Damn right you can’t.”

Like the cushions their bodies have melted into together, blue. Like the rain streaked down window panes right outside, blue. Like the waves of calm rolling through the flat, a gentle rhythm to match their exhales as they were carefully lulled to sleep, blue.

Purple

Like the cardigan wrapped around her body, the slightest amount too big, purple. Like the sandals padding along sand, feet running down the length of the beach, purple. Like the sky as the sun sets on the horizon, fading watercolours painted across the clouds, purple.

“Slow down, slow down!” Hope lamely chased after Rosie on the beach, her shoes sinking into the sand with each step.

“Not my fault you wore heels,” Rosie called over her shoulder, walking quickly down the shoreline as she tugged her cardigan closer to her body. A breeze swept over the waves, cold grazing her skin.

Hope’s bottom lip popped out in a pout, her legs working to free the sharp heels stuck in sand. “I was trying to look nice for date night.”

“You always look nice, you don’t need heels.”

“Aw,” Hope cooed, grinning at the taller woman. “Wait, seriously, stop,” she forced Rosie to retrace a few steps, her hand gripped in Rosie’s sleeve for balancing. She bounced on one foot as she tugged her heels off one by one, burying her toes in the smooth sand when they were freed. “Okay, now you get to hold them,” Hope smiled, jutting her arm out as the shoes dangled from her fingers.

“What? Why me?”

“You brought me here, it’s your fault I can’t walk anymore.” Hope swung the shoes, imploring them to be taken from her grasp.

“I brought you here to be romantic and you’ve spent the whole time complaining about your feet,” Rosie grumbled, but despite her protests, she took the outstretched shoes in one hand and offered Hope her other, tugging her along as soon as their palms met.

With her feet bare, Hope matched pace, sidling up to Rosie’s side and linking their arms. “Thank you, by the way,” she sighed softly, her cheek pressing to the woven fabric of Rosie’s cardigan. “It’s gorgeous out here.”

Rosie grinned cheekily, her chest puffed out for a joke, “Not as -”

“Gorgeous as me?” Hope interjected, head tilted as she peered up bemusedly.

“I was going to say the heels, but you too.”

“I can’t believe I’m dating you,” Hope groaned, burying her face further in pale purple fabric.

“Yeah, that was a really bad call on your part,” Rosie laughed loudly, squeezing the arm looped in hers tightly.

“I guess you have some good moments. Like when you buy me flowers, or take me to dinner on my night off, or bring me to the beach,” Hope emphasised her point by kicking up a small cloud of sand. “And that was only tonight. Are you up to something?” she joked, squinting up in faux suspicion.

Rosie avoided her gaze, turning to the horizon and softly setting sun instead. It’s rays stretched as far as the eye can see, basking the world in brilliant colour and reflecting off the rolling waves of the sea.

Hope’s jaw fell open, eyes scanning Rosie for any semblance of an answer, “Oh my god, you are. What is it? What’s this all about?”

With a halfhearted shrug, Rosie feigned nonchalance, “Just… setting the mood.”

Hope planted her feet, burying her toes in the sand and pulled on her partner’s sleeve as she continued walking, yanking her back. “Tell me or I’m not moving.”

“I had this whole thing planned, and now you’re trying to blackmail me into spoiling it?” Rosie chuckled, letting herself be reeled in by her baggy sleeve.

“Yep. Now tell me.”

A sigh broke from Rosie’s lips, “And you always called me stubborn. Okay, just -” she shook out her shoulders, rolling her neck. “Give me a minute, I thought I’d have more time.”

With a slight frown, Hope crossed her arms over her chest, but she obliged nevertheless. She watched Rosie drop the heels in her hand and fidget restlessly, fingers adjusting her cardigan, her dress, her hair. Until they slipped into her purse, digging around for a brief second before drawing out a small box.

It’s rolled in Rosie’s palms, her hands never stilling as long as it's in her grasp. She takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “The day I met you was… honestly, it was pretty embarrassing,” Rosie grinned, as crooked as ever. “But you didn’t hold it against me. And… that’s probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Probably?” Hope’s eyebrow quirked, her hip jutting out to the side in objection.

The taller woman glared up from beneath her long lashes, “You want the heartfelt speech or not?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Hope’s hands waved placatingly. “Please, continue.”

“Right, okay,” Rosie nodded, rebuilding her courage. “You are more than I ever expected and more special than I first thought. Every day I’ve known you has been better than the last, and it’s like - like brighter? Like everything’s just more colourful now, and I don’t know what you did, but I love you for it,” she grinned, bashful for once, with a blush dusting her cheeks.

“And I know this is a long time coming, but better late than never right?” she chuckled softly beneath her breath, eyes trained on the sand as the flush in her cheeks grew. “So I just have to ask, if after everything, you’d be willing to stick around and keep making everything brighter?”

Tears glittered in Hope’s eyes, a shine coating them as she sucked in a trembling breath. Her fingers carefully covered Rosie’s, a thumb traced the small rock embedded in the ring as she watched it shine in the low light.

Rosie shifted from foot to foot, staring down at the ring with a miniscule frown. “It’s not much, but…”

“It’s perfect,” Hope cut her off before she could finish, voice as sweet as ever. “Perfect,” she repeated as she gently took it from Rosie’s hands, slipping it on her finger. She turned it over carefully, movements as graceful as ever to Rosie’s peering gaze.

Abruptly, Hope’s arms curled around her waist, face burying in her shoulder. Rosie reciprocated without a thought, squeezing tight. “You know, I think I need an answer,” she breathed into Hope’s skin, lips slowly split into a smile.

“Oh!” Hope darted backwards, hands aimlessly fumbling until they landed on Rosie’s jaw, cupping her face warmly. “Yes! God, yes. I’m - I’m here to stay,” she beamed. “Always.”

Rosie’s forehead bumped against Hope’s, arms wound around her torso. “I told you no goodbyes, didn’t I?”

“You are ever true to your word,” she tapped the side of Rosie’s nose teasingly before retracting, rubbing her arms to warm them. “Come on, let’s go; I’m freezing out here,” she bounced on her feet expectantly.

“Yeah, the beach was more romantic in my head,” Rosie chuckled, tugging her cardigan off her body to drape it over Hope’s shoulders.

Taking the gifted cardigan, Hope turned on her heel, leading the way from the chilling breeze sweeping over the sea. She hooked her arm through Rosie’s once again as they walked in silence, a comfortable silence. It’s carried along the breeze, relaxed as the lapping waves that grow more and more distant.

“I still appreciate it,” Hope commented as they came to a stop by their car, folding her arms as she leaned against it, lavender wool dripping from her arms.

“The beach or the ring?”

“I can appreciate both.

Rosie laughed brightly, hooking an arm around Hope’s waist to draw her in. Her smile softened, from a burning wildfire to a fireplace, there to keep you warm and safe more than anything. Hope’s arms snaked around her neck in response, their bodies melding in a way that was more natural to them than breathing.

“Look at you,” Rosie whispered in private awe, her breath ghosted along Hope’s lips as one nail traced the curves shaping them.

Hope’s own smile was serene, full of her own hominess, “What do you see?”

With her gaze filled with nothing but the face before her, tracing over every bump and dip in skin, every line and colour in gleaming irises, she breathed, “Everything.”

Like the deep of the creeping night, stars glittering within the gradient of the sky, purple. Like the future laid out before them, infinite possibilities but an amethyst sitting at the centre of it all, purple. Like the feeling of contentment, peace swirling in the pit of your stomach, purple.

#ignore that this isn't roy g big lmao #i couldn't be bothered to do the accurate version #litg fanfic #litg hope #hope x mc #rosie mwendwa #hdn #idk how to tag #but thats nothing new #i had fun with the tumble text colours lmao #also i feel like i’m really bad at writing hope but i’m just gonna roll with it

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twilightvolt · 3 years

Photo

Well....that was one way to start a new decade, i guess. > >’

Ok, from the death and destruction to the quarantine caused by viral disease to large parts of the world literally going up in flames, this year was like an ominous beginning that revealed the true ugly colors of everyone around us.

But there’s something telling me that that was just the universe releasing all of it’s built up rage from the last decade, so to think on the bright side, the only way to go is up now, right?

Regardless, pushing all the crap that happened this year aside, this feels like one of my best years yet in terms of art. i don’t think there’s any wedge of this clock that i wasn’t completely satisfied with and i had a TON of tough decisions on what to put in said wedges cuz i just luved almost everything i’ve created this year.

If you’re up to it, i’ll have my usual month to month reflection under the cutoff, but if you’re not, i hope to keep giving y’all even better art next year! ^ ^

So without further ado, let’s review!

January: ~ Days ~

Runner up: Team Solar Rises Again! (drawing in celebration of PMD finally returning with a remake of the first game)

Kicking off right where 2019 left off, i was hot on the heels of my Beastars phase, still cranking out countless drawings and doodles, mostly featuring Legoshi, and even hanging around the Beastars Amino and making some new friends there. this piece in particular i think encapsulates what i was mostly doing at the time, making up stories and stuff within canon to give myself more wolf boi content. which is something that i rarely do normally since i’ve mostly just done OC related writing before this.

February: - Sk8ter Wolf -

Runner up: Re:Hukaro (That thing i drew for Moon)

Ahh yes, the day i peaked with punk rock energy and created something in a highschool notebook sketch style. ngl, with the release of Beastars’ english dub on the way and the fandom quickly growing, i felt like i was on fire with the amount of stuff i was drawing. i felt so inspired and things can’t possibly go bad.

Or can it?

March: We Can Be Heroes

Runner up: One More Day, Emo Bird Boi Sketchies

Ahh yes, the month the worldwide quarantine started because they discovered the virus around this time. from this point onward, time pretty much meant absolutely nothing since i was stuck indoors for a majority of the year, only going out if i had to. on top of that, i tried a little attempt at a fandub and got picked on immediately by yahoos on Youtube. it...wasn’t fun.

I tried doing a little challenge i made up called Animarch where i drew a drawing representing anime i liked every day, but i only got about 5 days in i think? ehh, whatever. i did try, so that means something. lol

April: - ANOTHER SIDE -

Runner up: BEAST CROSSING ~Legoshi & Raymond

This was pretty much the final month i drew anything Beastars related as i slowly started shifting back to Pokemon due to the wait for season 2. but not before getting the new Animal Crossing and drawing a thing with Raymond and Legoshi that would blow up with hundreds of notes and interactions across every platform i posted it on. lmao

Regardless, i feel like Another Side was a perfect way to end that phase of my art journey. it’s like a nice finale to a long string of ideas that i will totally return to once season 2 drops next year.

May: - KOUJI -

Runner up: Fashion (that sketch of Alex and Jet in casual clothing)

What happened this month again? oh right, i went back to Digimon for a hot minute cuz i continued playing the copy of Cyber Sleuth Complete that i won from a giveaway on Twitter and created Alex and Jet, my latest Tamer and her Hawkmon partner. i should really do some more stuff with them.

ANYWAY,

June: - DOUBLE TROUBLE -

Runner up: “No Time to Waste! HENSHIN!” (AF attack against IonicIsaac on Twitter), Cafe Mix ~Ace, Yagami, Lance and Seliph

Art Fight. third year. and this time i kicked things up a notch and beat my old record from last year!...after uhh....cramming in 8 attacks at the very last night and totally going insane from the amount of sleep i lost. ^ ^’

But trust me when i say i will NOT do that again next year, i swear.

July: Squad Up

Runner up: Comin’ Out to Stun (Jet the Hawk sketches)

So after playing and beating PMDX, i started fleshing out Lance and Selpih’s characters and made more art and stories surrounding them and the rest of the team. one of those being a drawing for Mystery Dungeon Day, which happens the day after Odaiba Day. which is in August. why did i put this down for July then? some questions just don’t need to be answered.

August: - TOGETHER -

Runner up: In the Storm

You can tell by now just how uneventful life was this year cuz i have literally nothing else to talk about other than the art parts. no life issues, no big adventures like moving or something. just....indoor stuff.

It’s...kinda sad, now that i think about it. but hey, at least i was making the most of my time, trying new things and getting around a bit more.

September: Small World

Runner up: Rescue Together, PMD Forever!, Midnight Adventuring, Down Time

So this year, i turned 21, which a lotta people say is important. not really, if you can’t do much i guess. though, i did crank out a ton of art i’m super satisfied with as you can see by how hard it was to frickin’ pick one to use for this month’s wedge on the clock.

October: Feathers of the Shadows

Runner up: PAPERMOON - Final Mix - (not picked because it’s a touch up of an older drawing)

Hoo boi, this month was crazy. cuz i drew a whole lotta e d g e .....and a whole lotta Murkrow. lol

It was fun letting my inner edgelord out this month. even if nothing really significant happened in reality.

November: ~ One More Game ~

Runner up: UPokerap Project: Frogadier, - LEAF STORM -

This month....was actually kinda rough. it was basically me falling into a depressive episode after a scare at the dentist made me worry about my self image and insecurities again. but this time it really hit me just how much permanent damage i’ve done to myself in that aspect of my appearance. i know i shouldn’t worry so much, but it’s not great when people tell you to smile when the most i can do is grin since i’m just so....unhappy with my teeth.

But then around the end of the month, i stumbled upon a Pokemon themed Discord server with people that made me feel....not as alone as i suddenly felt i was. which i’m glad i could meet them even after only knowing them for a month now. if they’re reading this, i hope you know i’m thankful for raising my spirits when there’s still things i just can’t do due to financial issues.

December: Colors of the Heart + Happy Holidays! ~Grovyle ver.

Runner up: ~ After the Battle ~ (the two part KHII anniversary drawing), - XIII -, Sketchmon: Buizel

And now this month. on top of my insecurities, i’ve now been struggling with my frustration with not being noticed as much as i should, watching as some people quickly climb up in following when i’m going much slower. honestly, i feel like the months when everything started lightening up for the world....was when things started falling apart for me. yeah, i know. pretty depressing way to end, huh? i hit 300 before the year ended thanks to the support from my new friends though, so i’m actually pretty happy.

But that doesn’t mean i’m not still scared of the future. i mean i have my teeth to worry about and also my wisdom teeth are coming in. so next few months...might be kinda rough.

Though, that’s not to say i didn’t soldier through it. this month i pushed myself, plowed through as many commissions as i could get to raise money for my new computer and made some of the best drawings that to me, feel like a great accomplishment. even if a couple of them weren’t as grandiose as some of my previous work. it was a big step forward for me as an artist. at least in my eyes.

And i have a feeling....that it can only get better from here.

#digital art #art meme #summary of art #2020 summary of art #rambles

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7-wonders · 5 years

Text

Service With a Scribble

Summary: Duncan’s a dick to a cashier, and (Y/N) decides to get back at him with a healthy dose of kindness.

Word Count: 4063

A/N: This got way longer than I thought it would, so I made it a full-length imagine. Enjoy!

Based on this ask from Anonymous:

For the coffee shop AU: Duncan is a sourpuss in the mornings, the barista notices how he treats the cashier so they end up drawing cutesy things on his cup to “brighten” up his day (but also to tease him a bit). Duncan is about to complain but the drink was the best he’d ever had so he lets it slide and holds the drink in a way to hide the drawing. This continues for weeks, the drawings getting more elaborate until one day they stop and the drink is subpar. 1/3

Duncan asks about the usual barista and finds out they’re just out for the day. The next day there is no drawing but the drink is excellent. This continues for a few days and Duncan gets concerned, he’s formed a weird bond with this barista and sort of loves the weird stranger-ship they had. He asks to meet the barista and is immediately infatuated with them, but the barista seems subdued. 2/3

Then I would imagine Duncan doing everything in his power to brighten the barista’s mornings, and then of course they fall in love and happily ever after lmao. Sorry this is quite long, but I love coffee shop AUs

He’s not a morning person, at all.

Duncan supposes that most people don’t enjoy mornings, but that fact doesn’t really matter when it’s his morning that’s less-than-enjoyable. His routine is always the same: wake up, stumble to the bathroom and attempt to get ready without falling asleep again, and drink ungodly amounts of coffee until he starts to feel almost human again. The coffee at his office is subpar, which is the norm in all offices across the DC area (and in all offices around the world, but again--his problems only apply to him, at least in his mind). Since Duncan is incapable of making his own coffee without burning it, he has to wake up even earlier in order to get coffee at his favorite coffee shop on the way to work.

This particular morning is especially rough for the mogul, who drank one too many whiskeys at a charity event for the Shepherd Freedom Foundation last night. The expensive alcohol created a hangover that he hadn’t experienced since college, and Duncan prays that this isn’t related to the gray hairs he found speckling his facial hair last weekend. He refuses to take his sunglasses off as he walks in the undercast Metro weather, only folding them up into his coat pocket when the soft lighting of the coffee shop makes it bearable to not squint. The mere smell of roasting coffee beans acts like a drug for him, giving him the strength to make it to the front of the line. The indie music filtering softly through the speakers, the ambiance, the local artwork: none of it matters in this moment.

The cashier is new, or at least new to this shift. Duncan’s never seen this short man with bright blue hair before, and he’s not pleased that his order will not be automatically known as it is to the rotating door of familiar cashiers he’s seen before. The employee stutters his greeting, looking down at the register as he asks Duncan for his order. Sighing tempestuously, Duncan forces his eyes to not roll as he places his order.

“Large Americano, three shots.” Duncan doesn’t have time for flowery language and polite small talk, curtly speaking and already passing a crisp five to the cashier: he’s had the price of his order memorized for months, now.

“$1.45 is your change--oh no!” The cashier gasps, hands scrambling to pick up the change that he’s dropped on the counter. Duncan glares at him, nearly yanking his money back into his waiting hand.

“Thanks,” Duncan spits sarcastically, “your complete and utter lack of a brain has made my day so much better.” He knows he’s being unnecessarily rude to this person who already goes through enough shit while working in the service industry, but the anger floods through him quicker than he can count to ten.

The barista, who is also working her first morning shift after two months of being the afternoon barista, rolls her eyes at this stuck-up guy who thinks he has the right to talk to Zack like that after a simple mistake. That’s one of the things (Y/N) hates the most about this city: all of the rich white men who believe they’re so much better than everybody else solely due to their last names. An Americano is not difficult to make, so she busies herself with a different pursuit as the espresso steams. Uncapping the permanent marker with her teeth, (Y/N) decides that this man could use a little laugh to cheer up his day.

“Large Americano, three shots!” (Y/N) calls, setting down the coffee on the front of the counter. She’s a little disappointed that she can’t wait to see this customer’s reaction, but she’ll be in deep shit if she doesn’t get this order into the suppliers before 10, so (Y/N) disappears into the stockroom.

Duncan picks up his drink, ignoring the scalding of his taste buds as he takes a long drink of his long-awaited drink. His eyes widen, but not due to the sudden lack of feeling in his mouth. This, Duncan reluctantly admits to himself, is the best damn Americano he’s had in a long time. Examining the cup, his expression quickly morphs into one of confusion and burgeoning anger. His order’s written on the paper cup, but there’s also something else: a drawing.

It’s easy to tell that this was quickly done, a doodle with some thought behind it. There’s a little stick figure that Duncan assumes is meant to be him, an angry expression and what looks like a couple of dollars in his balled-up stick fist evidence enough for him. There’s a sun above the drawing of him, peeking out through the rain clouds that hang directly over the drawing’s head. A little note accompanies this Picasso’s masterpiece, the nice handwriting reminding him to “cheer up, it’s Thursday!”

Duncan grits his teeth, having half a mind to complain until he gets whatever barista fired, but another drink stops that thought. Although he’s never had a bad coffee here, this particular drink, by whichever particular barista decided to try and be funny, surpasses any expectations he previously had. Plus, the longer he looks at the cup, the more he has to fight the smile that threatens to fight its way onto his face. However much it hurts him, Duncan...supposes he could let the issue slide. For now, at least.

He can’t find whoever made his coffee, the only employee around being the cashier who is still warily watching Duncan out of the corner of his eye. Oh well; if they work here, they’ll be bound to make Duncan’s coffee again. On his way out, he pauses right before he opens the door.

“Sorry...about earlier.” He cringes at how the apology comes out, but the cashier nods slowly.

“Have a nice day.” When the door closes behind Duncan, the cashier scoffs and angrily scrubs the countertop. “Dick.”

Duncan’s visits to the little coffee shop three blocks away from Gardner Analytics only increase in frequency, the brunette sometimes finding himself there multiple times a day. He knew almost everything about this barista that had managed to captivate him from the first day that little cartoon had showed up on his coffee cup. Their shift, however long it was, always ended by 11; his coffee was just fine if he showed up in the afternoon. They were quick-witted, managing to create more and more elaborate drawings with each day that passed (Last week, Duncan had actually laughed when he turned the cup around to see that the logo had been turned into Batman--a topic the customer before him had been enthusiastically speaking to the cashier about).

Sometimes the drawings were funny, little jokes that only Duncan and his mysterious barista would know. Other times, they were quite beautiful. Miniature cityscapes of a dreary Washington, made vibrant by the multiple colored markers used to draw the scene. A silhouette of a bridge, a lone person standing on top of it while a little boat floats beneath. That had been a particular favorite of Duncan’s, the only pop of color coming from the red balloon the person on the bridge was holding. He had taken up the habit of saving these cups, carefully washing them out and displaying them in an empty cupboard in his empty apartment that greeted him with nothing but silence every night (fuck, he really is lonely).

The one thing that Duncan still does not know, however, is who this barista even is. Everyday he receives the best coffee he’s ever had along with a personalized cup, and everyday he can never manage to catch who it is that’s drawing on his cup. He starts to think that all cups have drawings on them, which would make sense if it weren’t for the few times his name had been included in the design. Maybe his barista designs them when they’re sitting in the back?

(He’s right, but he doesn’t know that it’s become as much a part of her morning routine as counting the tills and turning on the ‘open’ sign. She has a stash of Sharpies now, all in a variety of colors that remain tucked in her bag until she has the chance to use them on her favorite customer’s cups. She’s not sure why she’s become so invested in providing a smile to this man’s day; maybe it’s to spite him, or maybe it’s because, for that moment when his eyes light up and his gaze searches for the artist he’ll never find, the one who watches sneakily from the back as he attempts to finally catch her in the act, she feels her heart flutter in a way that it never has before.

He doesn’t know, and he won’t know, she constantly tells herself. He’ll stop coming one day, or get sick of the drawings and finally complain like he should have on that first day. It will stop, and so will the way her breath catches in her throat when the door jingles open and his bright blue eyes are revealed from behind his reading glasses--a new addition to his wardrobe, although she would never admit to knowing enough about him to have realized that he suddenly started wearing glasses.)

The sixth time this routine, this dance of Duncan looking for (Y/N) after (Y/N) presents his large Americano in a newly designed cup, has happened is when her coworkers start to tease her about it.

“He totally likes you, y’know?” Marina, a pastry chef who likes to work early mornings, asks. Her large brown eyes stare (Y/N) down as she becomes flustered, shaking her head and focusing intently on scrubbing the coffee grounds out of the bottom of the industrial sink.

Duncan had left maybe ten minutes ago, his search once again proving fruitless after she quickly made his coffee and then just had to go wash the dishes. It’s become a game for her coworkers, all of them giggling as they slyly watch to see if Duncan will ever catch her or, the more likely case, if (Y/N) will allow herself to be caught.

“Please, he’s just a customer. He doesn’t even know who I am,” (Y/N) says, shrugging off the possibility.

“Uh, are you blind?” Jeremy, another barista, chimes in. “He looks for you every single day, sometimes twice a day. He always comes in at the exact same time, and always looks at your drawing before trying to see who made his coffee which he never will, since we make the coffee behind the order window.”

“Plus, if he was ‘just a customer’ then you wouldn’t draw on his cups like you do,” Marina says.

“Did you two plan this out?” (Y/N) asks, throwing the rag in the towel bin and putting her hands on her hips.

“It’s only a matter of time before one of you gives in, and my bet’s on you.”

“My bet’s on Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome,” Jeremy says, placing a tea on the window and calling out the order.

“Yeah, well prepare to be waiting for a long time.” Grabbing two trash bags that need to be taken to the dumpster, (Y/N) sticks her tongue out at her snickering coworkers before opening the back door with her hip and disappearing into the mid-morning sun.

Every logical part of Duncan’s being screams at him to stop this odd infatuation with the person who makes his coffee and takes enough care to go out of their way and personalize a cup for him, but he just can’t. Nobody’s ever cared that much, which is a conversation for the therapist that he’ll never go to see. In a way, he feels like he knows this barista, like they understand him. It’s stupid, and Duncan’s sure the drawings are just a way for the bored employee to pass the time until they can leave, but all logic leaves him whenever his thoughts land on this person with no face. He can’t stop how his heart speeds up when he enters the coffee shop, hoping that today will be the day where the mystery finally unravels.

It’s Thursday, exactly a month after the first time Duncan found that little stick figure version of him on the back of his Americano. The date, this little ‘anniversary’ that Duncan wasn’t aware he had been anticipating, is not lost on him as he enters the familiarity of the coffee shop he’s come to know so well. After his less-than-stellar first impression last month, he had quickly come to know the cashiers extremely well. Still, none of them would divulge the name of his favorite barista, claiming that it wasn’t their place to do so.

He’s going to do it, he’s decided. Today will be the day that he finally asks to meet his barista (his barista, a misnomer he’s had to use whenever he thinks of the artist whose name it seems like he’ll never learn. It’s probably uncouth of him to be claiming this person who he’s never met, but he can’t help it.) Placing his order, Duncan stands next to the counter and tries to hide how impatiently he’s waiting for his coffee.

The first thing he notices is that there’s no drawing on his cup. He frowns slightly at this sudden deviation from the routine that’s been cultivated, but assumes the shop must just have been busy all morning. His barista, he surmises, likely just didn’t have the time to work on a drawing.

Duncan hadn’t realized how refined his taste had become to the large Americano that had been made for him daily by only one person, almost recoiling when he takes a sip of his drink. It’s not as if it’s bad, but it’s not the same as how he’s had it everyday for a month. Like it was before he got that first cartoon, his coffee is just fine.

Walking back up to the cashier, Duncan hardly waits for him to look up before he’s speaking. “The barista, the one who normally works this shift?” Duncan tries, and fails, to sound like he’s not that interested in the question that he’s asking, and it goes understood in the unsaid second part of his question. The cashier looks conflicted, like he’s not sure which information would be okay to share.

“She had to take the day off today, some sort of family issue.” Duncan’s chest warms at this small gift he’s been given, knowing now that he’s her (whoever she may be) customer.

“Oh...” Duncan trails off, not quite sure what to say.

“She should be back tomorrow? I’m not sure though,” the cashier offers helpfully.

“Thanks.” Duncan leaves reluctantly, only reassured by the renewed vigor to seek his barista out tomorrow.

The next day, Duncan’s on high alert for any sign of the woman he’s come to care deeply for. He’s not sure what he’s looking for; a ponytail, or a soft figure that’s utterly feminine? He doesn’t know what she looks like, but he’s sure that he’ll know who he’s looking for when he sees her.

For the second day in a row, there’s no design on Duncan’s coffee cup. He’s disappointed, sure that she must have had to extend her unexpected absence until he tastes his Americano and realizes that it’s his barista’s Americano. His heart starts to pound, and he tries to look as if he’s not going to jump out of his skin.

“Hi,” Duncan greets stiffly, the cashier hiding his smirk behind a cough. “Is...the barista that normally works, is she here?”

The cashier, who had his money in the work pool on Duncan cracking first, nods. “Yeah, I’ll go get her.”

Any coherent thought that Duncan may have had goes flying out the window when the door is pushed open and he finally comes face to face with his barista. He’s not sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. Her big eyes light up when she sees Duncan, lips curling into a smile, as she runs a hand through her hair nervously. Her smile is already Duncan’s favorite part of her. It’s the kind of smile that allows her radiant personality to shine through, warming anybody who’s lucky enough to be in its path.

“Hi,” Duncan says, the only word he can force out that isn’t stuttered mumbling.

“Hi,” she repeats. “Did you finally get sick of my little scribbles?”

“Yes--no, I meant no!” he assures. “I’ve actually really enjoyed your drawings, and they’ve become my favorite part of my day. You also happen to make the best coffee I’ve ever had, which is definitely a plus. But then you weren’t here yesterday, and it sort of threw me for a loop.” Her smile falters slightly, just long enough for Duncan to see the sadness that lingers in her eyes.

“I had...uh, a family emergency yesterday.” Her grandpa had fallen down a set of stairs at his home and broke two ribs that nearly punctured his lungs. At the hospital, he had also taken the opportunity to allow his doctor to explain the secret he had been desperately trying to hide from his family: Alzheimer’s Disease.

The disease had been caught early, during a routine checkup when his regular doctor had asked him how the newest great grandchild (barely a month old) was doing and he couldn’t remember the baby’s name. A few tests later, and the devastating diagnosis had been handed down. (Y/N)’s grandfather, ever the strong patriarch, hadn’t wanted to share this with his family until it started to become worse. That plan, however, flew out the window when he lost his footing at the top of his staircase.

“I can’t believe you actually liked those stupid drawings,” she continues. “I just started it to get back at you for being a jerk to Zack, and then I saw how happy you got when there was another drawing the next day. It just kind of snowballed from there.”

“I don’t think they’re stupid!” Duncan interjects. He’s prepared to launch a crusade, letting her know just how talented she is and how he doesn’t know what he’d do if she were to stop, ending it with the carefully-placed question of when her next day off is so that he can get to know her properly, when a voice from the back yells for her. Duncan’s stunned at suddenly learning her name; it fits her, and it’s a lot better than calling her ‘his barista.’ She looks over her shoulder, wrinkling her nose when she sees the delivery truck with the weekly stock fulfillment.

“Looks like that’s my cue.”

Before she goes to turn around, Duncan finally remembers how to speak once again. “(Y/N)?” She stops, looking at him. “That’s your name, right?”

“Yeah, it is.”

Duncan smiles genuinely, not one of the forced smiles he slaps on whenever he’s meeting with a client or donor. “I’m Duncan. It was wonderful to finally meet you today, (Y/N).” He can’t stop saying her name, the syllables rolling off his tongue smoothly and leaving behind a taste better than the finest coffee in the world.

“It was nice to meet you too, Duncan.” His heart nearly flips when she says his name, giving him a small wave before disappearing back into the kitchen.

Duncan remains frozen in his tracks, still staring at the spot she once occupied, as if blinking will wash away her existence like a shimmering mirage. His mind does loops, replaying the brief conversation in his head over and over again until her voice is all he can hear. Duncan can’t get her eyes out of his head, that brief flicker of sadness a problem that he needs to solve. He can’t watch this person, who’s given him so much happiness, feel anything less than happy. Strolling up to the counter, Duncan smirks at the wide-eyed cashier.

“Tell me,” he says smoothly, “what does (Y/N) like?”

(Y/N)’s stuck making drinks the next morning, the shop being too short-staffed for her to work on any of the other tasks she needs to complete. It’s a pretty steady shift so far, the cooler weather drawing more people to come in and get some warmth before braving the rest of their commute to work. She just wants to get through this shift, her mind on the problems she has to deal with while her muscle memory goes through the motions of creating the drinks she could now make in her sleep. She doesn’t even hear when Jeremy calls her name the first time, only hearing him when he gently bumps her shoulder. (Y/N) looks up at him with wide eyes, silently wondering if she’s messed something up.

“Shit, Jer, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to zone out,” she stammers out an apology.

“I wasn’t trying to get your attention because you’re in trouble or anything. Honestly, you can still make drinks better than I can even when your mind is a million miles away.”

“Okay, so what’s up?” Jeremy has a tendency of forgetting what he was talking about if he gets going on a different subject, and this seems to be the case.

“Oh! Your Prince Charming is back, and he’s asking for you again.” She looks at the drink she’s just finished making, seeing that it is indeed a large Americano with three shots. There’s no design on the cup; not because she’s decided to stop, but because she just hasn’t had the time or the energy.

“Should--should I take this out to him?” Jeremy looks at her with wide eyes, nodding slowly like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

“Yes! Go, or else I’ll swoop in and steal your man,” he threatens jokingly. She picks up the order, smiling when Jeremy shoots her a thumbs up before ushering her out the door.

Duncan’s cheeks are already pink as he stares down at his phone, trying not to look like he’s waiting for her. He’s holding a small bouquet of brightly colored flowers, most likely having forgotten his mother’s birthday or some other important event.

“Hey, Duncan,” she greets, setting his coffee down in front of him. “Sorry, there's no design today.”

“That’s okay.” Duncan holds the flowers out towards (Y/N), biting his lip and attempting not to show that he’s nervous. “These are for you.”

“For me?” (Y/N) takes the flowers from him, their hands briefly brushing against each other before she quickly pulls her hand back. She smells them, smiling brightly up at Duncan. “These are my favorites! Nobody’s ever bought me flowers before.”

“Why not? You deserve all of the flowers, and so much more.”

“Thank you, Duncan. This was really sweet of you.”

“You just...looked so sad yesterday. I wanted to brighten your day like you brighten mine.” (Y/N)’s cheeks heat up, and she looks down at the flowers instead of looking into his eyes for fear of getting more flustered.

“Duncan,” she nearly whines, not good at taking compliments.

“It’s true, and you should be told that everyday.” Duncan reaches across the counter and puts his hand on top of hers, making her stare at him with surprised eyes. “Listen, (Y/N), I’d really like to get to know you when you’re not wearing that cute apron of yours.”

“You do? My drawings impressed you that much?”

“Your drawings increased my interest in you, and meeting you has made it impossible for me to not ask to see you outside of your job.” He smiles at her, leaning in closer from over the counter. “So? What do you say?”

Instead of answering, (Y/N) holds a finger up and fishes a marker out of her apron. Uncapping it with her teeth like she did on the day that she first decided to draw on Duncan’s cup, she scribbles one last masterpiece for him before handing it over. He quickly scans what she’s written, smirking and letting go of her hand with a nod. ‘I’m off at 12; lunch?’ Her phone number directly follows the question, a smiley face drawn next to it.

“I’ll be here to pick you up at 12, then.”

“I’ll be the one in the apron.”

Tag List (I’m on a time crunch so I’m just tagging a few homies): @lvngdvns @wroteclassicaly @ccodyfern @cocosfern @langdvnshepherd @divinelangdon @1-800-bitchcraft @venusxxlangdon @mega-combusken @tcc-gizmachine

#duncan shepherd #duncan shepherd imagine #duncan shepherd imagines #duncan shepherd x reader #hoc #hoc imagine #house of cards #house of cards imagine #michael langdon #michael langdon imagine

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dopcmine · 5 years

Text

⋆ 𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑹𝑶𝑫𝑼𝑪𝑰𝑵𝑮 — * ⋆ ╰ hey , did you happen to see DAMON NAM on campus today ? you know , the JEON JUNGKOOK look-alike in our seven am class ? yeah , that SENIOR . ah , well they had their SILVER NECKLACE on their desk this morning and left without it . i wanted to return it … but i have to get to class in five minutes . wait , don’t you see them around at THE APARTMENTS ? oh , great ! can you bring it to HIM then ? ugh , thank you so much. you’re the best ! now i know they get the rep of being EGOCENTRIC but you don’t have to worry . they’re always MAGNETIC . and who knows , maybe you two’ll hit it off ! i know that they’re a INTERNATIONAL BUSINESS major too . well , i have to jet before i miss my exam but i’ll catch you at the frat party later , right ? oh , you should bring DAMON ! it’s always fun having the PLAYBOY around .

𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒔 :

fullname: damon nam

nicknames: none

age: twenty-three

d.o.b: april 15, 1996

zodiac: aries sun, leo moon, scorpio rising

gender: cismale

sexuality: bisexual

occupation: tattoo artist @ body electric tattoo and piercing

𝒔𝒐𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍 𝒎𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒂 :

twt & insta handle: p7ayboy

insta followers: 1.3m

twt followers: 1m

tik tok: 750k

𝒂𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄 :

cruisin’ around l.a with the windows down, drinking cold beers on a hot summer afternoon, old school music playing loudly from his apartment, late night kbbq dates with the gang, old childhood scars from fights and playing outside until late evening, silver jewelry around his neck and wrists, street racing, rolling blunts on the hood of his car, face smudge with oil and sweat working on his car, stumbling around the city on the lookout for his favorite food trucks, tattoos up to his neck and down his arms all the way to his back, a gold virgin mary necklace hanging from his rear view mirror, belting out to romantic spanish music drunk and slurring the words, always moving forward and never looking back, selfish tendencies, playing with people like a deck of cards, carrying a butterfly knife with him at all times

𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 :

born and raised in east los angeles, damon had to grow up a little faster than his peers. he comes from a working class family, his parents both public school teachers trying to get by like every other family. being one of the very little korean-american families in maravilla, damon used to get picked on and bullied to the point he refused to get out of bed in his early elementary days. but like any kid, he made friends with some of the neighborhood kids that went to the same school he did, and they stuck by his side. it gave damon the confidence to stand up for himself now that he had his little group to the point he repeated the bad words they taught him in spanish to the same little boys that would pick on him, not knowing what it meant but knowing it was something about their moms that caused one his many first fights to break out in the school yard. after that, damon and his little band of misfits became a little notorious for getting into scuffles with other students.

he stayed in maravilla up until high school, venturing north to a new house due to his dad being offered the position of principal at a junior high. damon went on to attend lincoln high school but it wasn’t hard to fit in, nor was it difficult to fall into step with a new group of friends ( some of which he knew from his earlier days when he used to sneak out of his house with his friend and venture off ). high school was a ride, even if damon had found a place where he belonged people still loved to talk shit and damon loved nothing more than confrontation. he got into fights behind grocery stores, there was fights in empty parking lots where groups of people showed up before everyone scattered the moment they heard cop sirens down the street. damon did get caught once for a misdemeanor the summer before sophomore year and his parents had to get him out which was a hell of a ride home, both his parents almost losing their voices taking turns yelling at him.

it was that moment that his parents made him attend mandatory after school classes, starting smack in the middle of summer. it’s safe to say he was very angry about it but found no outlet to get it out on when he was confined to the library. he started doodling instead of doing his homework while he was in there, soon off he started drawing more and he had talent. he could draw any picture you put in front of him just by looking at it, and soon he started to create his own. that very same summer, on one of the rare days his parents let him out to go to one his friend’s birthday party, he met their older brother, covered in tattoos from his legs to his arms. old english font and a portrait of a woman he later learned was his wife. he was entranced by the ink that decorated the man, asking him questions as the man grilled the carne asada, coughing every once in a while the smoke blew in his direction.

too keep it short, damon wanted to do that. he wanted to draw permanent drawings on people and he wanted his own. he drew more, filling more sketchbooks with his own ideas and interpretations of others. he started working odd jobs after school, trying to save up for his own tattoo gun and ink, even venturing off to tattoo shops to observe them before he got told to scram. at the age of sixteen he had his own set and it wasnt long before his friends lined up to get their first tattoos done by damon. just little small things that didn’t require damon to worry too much about safety and health. the first tattoo he made on himself was a lucky eight ball and a match, now faded on the sides of his fingers.

at seventeen his got his fake id not only for booze but to get a job at a parlor -- not tattooing -- but cleaning up after them, keeping the store tidy and clean. he had a car at the time, an old beat up chevy, and it took him thirty minutes to get to body electric. the owner new damon was underage but he let him work anyway. point is, he was taken under his wing and became an intern, an apprentice, and by the time damon hit eighteen and got his tattoo license, he was able to work a couple hours at first. from 18 to now, damon has been in the same place with a booming following on social media -- which is thanks to his good looks and talent.

he’s been wanting to drop out of ucla because of how in-demand he is now. he’s tattooed celebrities, from socialites to rappers to all sorts of people. he hooks up his old friends from where he grew up for free, and his close friends at school too. but overall, damon makes hella bank now. which is why he finds school pointless, however, the owner of the parlor he works out told him that if he didn’t finish his bachelors he’ll fire him. the owner definitely grew to treat damon as a son, and wants him to venture out and travel with his talent, but he wants him to be smart about it and learn the ropes of the business industry. it’s why damon stays despite not being too happy about it, but it’s his last year and he’s going to make it one shot of patron at a time.

𝒇𝒖𝒏 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒔:

damon is trilingual -- english, korean, and spanish ( considering he grew up in a heavily latinx/chincax neighborhood as a child, the language latched on to him ).

he’s very appreciative of the chicanx culture because he grew up around it, and they took him in despite not being chicanx himself he was still treated as family by his close friends. ( and also because i’m biased to my own culture and east los is heavily mexican/latinx )

he almost joined a gang but it was around the time he was forced into after school study where he found his outlet through art.

he knows how to dance pero like cumbias and shit, he’s hella good at it.

damon makes it his goal to be good at everything, it doesn’t even matter what it is.

he has a bmw he fixed up and uses it for street racing -- races which he wins most of the times ( just ask dae lmao ).

he can drive under the influence of weed but i do not condone this behavior !! but he can do it, but he’s beent doing it, don’t try this at home guys, or alone.

damon was a little heartthrob in high school though, going out with the girls and hooking up with some guys.

he was honestly one of the popular kids growing up, he was in THAT group that people longed to be a part of because they were always out mobbing, drinking, throwing parties and being out. they had fun, but they were also notorious trouble-makers.

his tik tok thing started as a joke because damon looked like the eboys that began to trend and now he has dae help him film them just for the hell of it, because why not. he’s got nothing to lose, it’s a good laugh in the end.

is a gym rat, he’s out there doing weights and bulking up and boxing because sometimes he just wants to procrastinate his homework and that’s valid, plus he’s gotta stay in shape with all that heavy drinking and weed intake.

patron is his best friend -- after dae of course lmao.

damon’s actually never been in love??? like he’s had maybe three s/o’s but it was never that serious? except maybe for his first one? but he’s never experienced something where he feels genuine care for a person and love, it’s mostly just lust and like the need to experience what it’s like being with someone but it never rlly takes off

𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔:

gang shit: this one’s already taken up by whoever’s in the no homo chat but like, let me plot out dynamics with you all cause ion know how damon is gonna treat y’all characters if we don’t talk about it lmao

enemies: damon could always use some tbh, those are fun because damon grew up around people that have given him a hard time and he isn’t one to back down from a good altercation

an ex: listen, damon isn’t that great of a person he probably cheated on them only because he didn’t know they were exclusive and frankly, he doesn’t really even remember agreeing to be something but they were and even if damon knew, he still went ahead and did it.

highschool sweetheart, THE ex: listen this one is...particular and super specific. must be a girl/nb but latinx because i picture this being the person who really really taught damon more than he already knew, from dancing to romantic spanish music, etc. perhaps they weren’t in love but they did care about each other, damon even still has a gift i picture she gave him ( a gold virgin mary necklace ) hanging from his rear view mirror. this is like...when we can take up more chars ig? idk just thought i’d write it down

flings: hookups ig? except not people involved with dae cause he isn’t about to fuck no sloppy seconds lmao, if not he venturing out to usc away from ucla lmaooo

idk what else to add im so tired and this is so late and i just want to post it, so if y’all got anything else just hmu tbh

#bruins.intro #im late lol

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whiteboymarklee-blog · 5 years

Text

˗ˏˋ MELLIFLUOUS ˎˊ˗ 『 L. CP 』

"a sound that is pleasing to hear."

; TEN / CHITTAPHON LEECHAIYAPORNKUL X FEMALE READER

; FLUFF

this was your favourite pass time.

yes, the coffee and pastries were unbelievably good, but another attraction kept you coming back.

a small boy behind a microphone. the one with cute glasses, a nervous smile and the beautiful voice. he kept you coming back.

and, of course, the owner, jaehyun. your step-brother.

taking your usual seat, the one near the front of the cute boys set up. the floor to ceiling windows illuminating your usually hidden features. your hair falling messily as you shift your head down. picking up your phone from the marble table.

baldie

good mourning, sweaty

hoe

morning*

baldie

no, I meant mourning,

i'm mourning your social life

cause all you do is stare at that chittaphon all fuckin day

hoe

i feel attacked

why you like this?

i just wanna be loved

baldie

lmao

then talk to him, honey

jfc

you rest the phone back on the table. kyungsoo's message echoing in your head.

talk to him.

"y/n? sister? father stealer?"

jaehyun waves his hand in front of your face, calling for your attention.

"hey, i didn't steal dad" you give him a stern look.

"yes, i know, but you're fucking hilarious when upset" Ignoring the annoyance on your face he continues, "anyway, your usual?"

you think. a sudden idea spills from your mouth.

"nah, can I get that mint & raspberry drink you were talking about the other day"

a look of surprise is left on jaehyun's face.

"a-are you sure?" he stutters.

you nod.

jaehyun walks away, waves of worry tumbling down on him. it wasn't like you to change you order. or anything in general.

you lean down, pulling a sketchbook and a few pens from your bag. you begin to draw. at first, it's hard. you can't think straight. till you feel a presence and a noise. you looks up to see chittaphon seating himself on a stool. a few tables separated you from the stage he'd set himself upon.

others lingering around the café aren't fazed by the disturbance. no one even looks chittaphon's way. except you.

chittaphon starts to sing, something you've never heard before. this one reminded you of a sweet dream you wanted to have. one with bright colours and happiness. something that made you question why you were unhappy before.

you look back down to your barely started drawing. Instead of continuing you decide to write. write the colours you felt at that moment.

red.

you guessed the red feeling came from the instrumental of the song chittaphon was singing.

alarming, yet primary. as if it was a needed feeling to have, like it was the start to almost everything else.

blue & white.

the lyrics.

an undertone of previous sadness, now taken away by a single person. the words expressing a begging and a promise.

yellow.

his voice.

it triggered a feeling of youth and innocence. something you'd never experience before. youth so pure and happy it made you question your true age.

you continue in your dream like state. just focused on the sounds surrounding you.

before long a song had finished. his third, but your mind had been immersed in thought of the music itself rather than keeping up with its changes.

"jesus, took you long enough"

jaehyun places a cup on your table. another follows.

"hey, what are you doi-?"

chittaphon pulls the chair opposite you.

"this is free, right?"

chittaphon asks with a sweet smile.

jaehyun winks at you and moves away.

"uhm, yes"

"good"

you look down to your sketchbook. avoiding eye contact.

"what are you drawing?" he asks.

looking down at the open book, he reaches to take it from your shaky grasp.

"no, i'm not very good"

you say pulling the book towards yourself.

you hold it closer.

he looks to your face.

"i'm sorry. i didn't mean to intrude-"

"no, no, i know. i'm just." you take a deep breath. "people don't usually take an interest, i'm used to keeping them to myself"

you admit, a small smile rests on your face.

your words come out naturally. though not knowing the person in front of you.

"well, i'm not most people" he says with a triumphant smile.

you give him a puzzled look.

"i'm chittaphon leechaiyapornkul "

you let out a giggle,

"see not like most, i'm almost certain you've never heard a name so?" chitta trailed off unsure of his words.

"funny?" you say, jokingly.

he pouts,"hey, that's my name you're talking about"

chitta leans across the table and takes a sip from his drink. his eyes widen.

"wow, this really good" he says.

"jaehyun, does try his best, i'm sure his ego would appreciate your compliment" you say, relaxing in your seat.

"will you let me boost your ego?" he say, holding a hand out.

for a second you don’t understand what he means. then it clicks. your sketchbook.

"oh, come on, please. i won't ask again, i promise" chitta assures.

you place the book on the table for him to pick up. nervously, you pull yout untouched drink to your lips, sipping slowly. chitta picks the book up excitedly. cautiously opening it up.

his mouth forms an O shape, admiring the beautiful pencil strokes on the paper. majority of them meeting together to make all sorts of small doodles. he flips through them letting out small gasps and giggling here and there. you sit focusing on his face and the way it moves in reaction to your drawings.

minutes pass till he reaches the last of your drawings, the one you were most interested to see his reaction to. the one you had only just finished as he had sat.

he lies it on the table, the last page open, his face perfectly portrayed along the paper.

your immediate response is to start apologising, yet he speaks before you can.

"you're amazing"

are his only words before he takes your hand in his and asks you about the doodles, going through each and every one. they stay this way for hours. you sharing the stories behind each drawing.

chitta sitting and admiring you, the only art he'd come to see.

FIN.

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pokemagines · 6 years

Text

future child. (michalis x reader)

anon asked: “I'm liking the idea of Michalis, meeting his future kid with summoner...whose not only a girl (whelp goodbye firstborn son and heir), but also rides a cute lil pegasus too and is ironically scared of wyverns. (it'd be nice if you could whip up a scenario/headcanon for this, but if not that's fine too..i just needed to get this off my chest bc its simply too cute)”

a/n: haha i’m glad y’all seem to like this... series of sorts ^^ the only difficult part is coming up w “fire emblem” names for the kiddos rip! --mod touko

also (i feel like i always put an ‘also’ on my posts bc i never shut up lmao!) i got fe: warriors this weekend and just finished the main story! it was aight tho the best part about it is unlocking f!robin she’s so pretty aaaa!!!

other “future child” stories: alfonse // sharena \\ fjorm & gunnthra // loki

you had always had a fascination with the stars. they were the one thing constant in both your world and in askr -- and despite the different constellations, you could always look up at the maps in the sky and make up stories for the different shapes you would pick out. of course, alfonse would tell you what each constellation meant, but you found the stories in your head were much more interesting then the actual explanation for them.

the one story you loved, though, was the story of the goddess of night, celeste. doomed to be forever separated from her lover, the goddess of the daytime, she weeps every night, the tears falling from her face and creating the beautiful formations in the sky to lead other lovers safely home, so they don’t suffer the same fate. it was oddly beautiful, in a way most tragedies are.

you’re thankful for your love of the night, as it let you meet her.

just as the goddesses tears light the night, so does she as she falls to the earth, hurtling towards it like a comet. you quickly jump up, going to help the girl who’s passed out inside of a crater on the ground.

“are you okay?” you ask, though the answer is fairly obvious. she just fell from the sky, of course she wasn’t alright. the girl, thankfully, can stand, and she gets up weakly, looking around as if in a daze.

“where am i?” she asks, holding her head, her voice barely a whisper. her clothes are torn, and she holds her arms close to her chest, her breath visible because of the cold. “w-who are you?” she scrunches her face up, and limps towards you. you lunge forward and grab her arms, making sure she’s fit to stand, inspecting her face closely.

you can tell she’s a bit younger than you, maybe by a few years, but there are dark circles under her eyes. her bright red hair is cut at her chin, [eye color] eyes dull and devoid of warmth.

“i’m [name], i’m the tactician and summoner of the army of askr... i could ask the same to you... what is your name?” she grits her teeth, looking to the left as if trying to rack her own brain of thoughts, but ultimately finds nothing. she grips onto you as if trying to steady whatever was going on in her mind. you wrap an arm around her shoulder, taking out breidablik and summoning a portal back to the castle.

“i-i’m not sure... i don’t remember anything.” you look at her, searching her eyes and seeing nothing but sincerity. you smile softly, making a stupid decision to trust this stranger who could easily kill you. studying the freckles on her face, you realize that some look like your favorite constellation.

“can i call you celeste?”

celeste quickly falls asleep under the care of the healers working the night shift, who just happened to be mist and sakura. they assured you that she would be fine in the morning, she only had a few scrapes and a dislocated ankle (nothing a stave couldn’t fix), so you could turn in for the night. despite their words, though, you couldn’t bring yourself to fall asleep when you had so many questions about this girl. so, you resign yourself to sitting by the door, waiting for her to wake up.

it’d been a few weeks since celeste crash landed in askr. she still didn’t have her memories back, but was quickly becoming very attached to you. not that you minded, she was a total sweetheart who loved animals viewed the world with wide-eyed optimism. she even got herself a pegasus and started training to become a pegasus knight, with some help from caeda. she seemed to be naturally talented with a lance. (you suspected that she might’ve been a pegasus knight before she lost her memories, but nothing was certain).

“isn’t she adorable?” you ask, watching her train from afar. michalis lowers his head, crossing his arms. “she’s growing into such a strong young woman already, despite only being here for week. i wish i had resolve like that.” you let out an airy laugh, the macedonian king seemingly listening to you, but his eyes focused straight ahead.

“children should not be utilized on the battlefield.” he says, eyes flickering down to look at you, “leave the fighting to the strong ones.” you hum, opening the small journal in your pocket where you keep notes on the units.

“you’re right,” you reply, flipping to a page where you had kept notes on michalis. “children have to grow up far too fast here, i mean, kana and sanaki are barely even teenagers and yet they have to fight. it’s cruel.” you doodle yet another drawing of the red-haired wyvern rider, this time smiling and happy with little flowers surrounding him. he takes notice, and doesn’t seem too amused, but says nothing of it. “did you train as a child, too?” michalis merely nods, obviously not wanting to share that part of him with you just yet. you knew not to press him, as he opened up to you little by little, and pestering only made him close up more.

“[name]!” you hear celeste call, bounding over to the two of you, with a grin stretching from ear to ear. she jumps into your arms, heaving trying to catch her breath, but still beaming nonetheless.

“i’m getting so much better! miss caeda is SUCH a good teacher! i think i’m almost ready to be on the front lines, what do you say, mother?” she says, so excited that the words come so fast you can hardly keep up.

“i don’t think you’re ready qu-- wait, i’m sorry, what did you just call me?” you question, and see michalis shift beside you. the first thing that comes to your mind is that this is probably just a slip up, like calling a teacher ‘mom’ on accident, but she just smiles in response, confident in her words.

“nope! as i was training, i think some of my memories came back to me!” she’s practically bouncing, shifting from heel to heel with nervous energy. “i saw a glimpse of you helping me get over my fear of wyverns, telling me something about how you used to fear them, then you met someone who helped you get over that fear!” she giggles, and you feel your heart hammer in your chest. you knew exactly who she was talking about, but your feelings for him weren’t up in the air yet. you glance at him, and his frown deepens, as he turns on a heel and leaves. your heart is telling you to follow him, but you couldn’t leave your daughter hanging.

forcing a nervous smile, you say: “please, tell me more.”

word travels fast around the castle, the news of celeste being your daughter being the topic of everyone’s conversations. chrom had offered you a few words of advice, as he was one of the few people who could relate to your situation, and you were grateful for that.

though, the speculations about who was the baby’s other parent were rampant as well. since celeste had red hair, it seemed every hero with a streak of red in their hair was rumored to be your “future spouse”. some heroes didn’t mind, such as the fearsome tactician saias and the candy thief gaius, but others, minerva, anna, and cordelia, quickly shot down these rumors, as though they did enjoy the summoner’s company, it was merely a platonic relationship between you two.

deep down, you knew who it was. it couldn’t be anyone else, you were sure of it, but you couldn’t seem to tell him. it’s only when celeste falls off her pegasus and bumps her head that she remembers herself.

“it’s michalis!” she laughs, almost maniacally. “my father is michalis! we have to tell him at-- ouch.” celeste winces, rubbing her head. you tell the girl to go to the healers while you took care of the matter yourself, (half because you didn’t know how he would react, and it would kill you if he denied her), and she acquiesces.

“michalis?” you knock on his door, anxiety swelling with each tap you make. you hear him respond with a quiet yes. “may i come in?” he doesn’t answer, and you know that means you can.

“what is it?” he responds sharply, not even bothering to look up at you as he scans through some war book at his desk. you clench your jaw, not knowing how to bring up the topic at hand. usually, you always knew what to say, but words often failed you when you needed them most. letting out a deep breath, you decide that it’s now or never.

“it’s about celeste, you--” he cuts you off mid-sentence.

“if it’s about who her father is, i couldn’t care less.” his voice is icy in a way you hadn’t heard since when you first met him.

“no, just--”

“oh, you haven’t found out yet? the list must be very long considering that you flirt with half of the army.” your eyes water, gods, he always knew just the right words to say to make someone hurt, you just never thought it would be directed at you. he didn’t mean it, your brain told you, he’s just hurt and trying to push you away like he does with everyone else, but it still stings that he would think of you that way. you hadn’t flirted with anyone but him for the longest while, he was just too much of a recluse to notice. it’s then he finally glances at you, noticing that you’re holding back tears.

“you’re such a dastard michalis.” you curse, tears flowing down your cheeks freely, “i was coming here to tell you that you’re her father.” you want to yell at him, want to make him hurt as much as he made you hurt, but you can’t bring yourself to. instead, you add in a small voice: “i should’ve listened to minerva about you.” and then you leave, slamming the door behind you.

michalis is left with the same feeling that he had after using his sister, maria for a bargaining chip. complete and utter disgust with himself.

“you!” celeste yells, flying her pegasus in front of michalis to block his path. she quickly dismounts, standing in front of him defiantly, chest puffed out and a stubborn expression on her face. even in the darkness, he could see the resemblances to you, as you always made when he would first tell you to leave him alone. “you made my mother cry! why would you do that you jerk!” despite the fierceness in her voice, her eyes look scared.

“i know,” he responds, voice barely above a whisper. “where do you think i was going, child?”

“i don’t think she even wants to see you!” celeste replies, her pegasus glaring at him behind her. despite her words, he continues across the courtyard to the hall where your room was. “hey! are you even listening to me!” she follows quickly, the only noise besides their voices being the soft flap of her pegasus’s wings.

“i don’t care, i need to right my wrongs.” he answers, ignoring her words of warning. of course you wouldn’t want to see him, he was utterly rude to the only person who cared enough to be nice to him despite his cold demeanor (save maria), but he had to see you. what he did to his family was unforgivable, and that damage could never be repaired, but he could mend relations with you, his one beam of warmth in his otherwise frigid world.

“i don’t know what you were like in my world, but...” she trails off, “i don’t want you to hurt my mother because you don’t want me.” he’s stunned into silence, the small girl looking towards the ground, eyes watering and sniffling as if to hold back a sob. michalis mentally curses, wondering what good deed he did in some previous life to warrant him this lucky of a hand, because he was sure that he’s done nothing good in his life to deserve the love of not only you, but of this angel, celeste, whom he’s never shown kindness to in the months she’s been here. he wishes he was maria, or even minerva who, though blunt, was much kinder than he.

“you think i do not want you?” he says, clearing his throat, trying for once to say what was truly in his heart. “nothing could be further from the truth.” celeste breaks, freely sobbing as she lunges at michalis, clinging to his midsection.

“oh father!” she says inbetween sobs, “i love you!” he’s frozen in place, not used to this type of affection except from maria. he puts a tentative hand on the top of her head, slowly patting her hair.

“yes. now, let’s go find your mother.” celeste quickly reels back, quickly wiping her face off and forcing a smile.

“yes! but don’t think you’re off the hook just yet!” she giggles, eyes puffy and red, “i’m still mad at you!”

#michalis #michalis (fire emblem)#michalis x reader #michalis x summoner #michalis x kiran #fe:h #fire emblem heroes #x reader #ficlet #fe friday #mod touko #future child #this is SO LONG but i have so many feelings for michalis!!!!#i love celeste i would die for her #q

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aggressivetapdancing · 6 years

Text

It had to be you

Fandom: Stranger Things

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Requested by: @interwebseriesfan24

“Hi. I'd like to request a fic where, remember my headcanons about Steve's friends all moving away just before high school? Yeah. Can Y/N be one of the friends that don't move away? And yeah. Anyway. Uh. idk is this how it works”

A/N: Hello again!! I kinda incorporated a bit of my own idea into the fic, and i’m hoping to make it into a kinda slow-burn series kinda thing... but i could always just turn it into a two part if that’s what the people want lmao

Still hope you enjoy it tho!! (even though it’s like a basic ass intro and it kinda sucks whOOP)

Warnings: Ew it’s school yucky, Some swears

Word count: 1.4k

(send me a message in my ask after reading this if you want it to be a slow-burn or a two part!!)

Chapter 1

Steve Harrington.

Five years ago, that name meant slushies at the arcade, bike rides in the park, horror movies that were way past your bedtimes, and “best friend”.

Five years ago, that name was an important part of your life, him being one of your main friends in your little group. It was always you and him and a bunch of other little children- but Steve made it clear that you two were the closest out of all of them. Little gestures such as arm-around-the-shoulder hugs, having the most play dates; anything you could think of- you and Steve had done it.

But you see, a lot of things change over the course of five years, and boy, did things change.

So tell me, what exactly did happen?

Well, since the majority of your old friends had moved away to different towns far from Hawkins, you had made some new ones; Nancy Wheeler to be exact. The two of you were as close as you and Steve had been, always at each other’s houses, giving each other advice and all that jazz. The two of you were practically joined at the hip, each one almost never leaving each other’s sides.

She had began to be your friend in second year, and continued to be your friend all up until now: Senior year. You were sad that you were going to leave her, but the two of your promised to stay in touch even until after high school.

Now, What happened to your so called best friend you may ask? Well, high school came along, and Steve had clearly moved on to a different path. He began to hang out with the wrong crowd and ignored you for the majority of freshman year. It was heartbreaking at first, seeing your middle school best friend pretend you didn't exist; but as the years went by, you learned to live with it, and him. Skip to senior year, Steve Harrington was the same douche from freshman year, no longer pretending you didn’t exist- but still an asshole for not even trying to at least have a decent conversation with you.

And you clearly gave no shits about him whatsoever.

Now it was another day in Hawkins High, the sun was shining much too bright for the morning, the birds were obnoxiously chirping, and the school (as usual) reeked of left-over lunches and jock athlete sweat.

Festive.

You made your way to your locker, quickly swerving and dodging incoming students left and right. Lost freshmen hung out over there, try-hard sophomores over there- and- Oh? The Douche isn’t here today?

Steve Harrington, usually seen picking at his locker, was absent. Or late.

You pinned your assumptions on the second option, as he’s been late before. Three times this week.

But why did you care? You didn’t- You shouldn’t.

Shaking your head and turning around, you unlocked your locker, took out your books and waited for your usual encounters with - 3.. 2.. 1.. There she is.

Nancy Wheeler, your best friend was making her way towards your locker. Her face was painted with a look of disgust as she watched two boys wrestle in the corner. You grinned at her expression, loving her mutual hate for the shithole you’d call high school.

“Morning” You greeted her, in a monotone voice. “I had absolutely no sleep last night.”

She smirked and looked you up and down.

“I can tell.”

You slapped her arm teasingly, slamming your locker door shut. “Oh shut up, you look like a mess yourself.” You retaliated, playfully pouting when she returned the gesture.

“See, the only difference is, I can pull it off.”

Morning retorts like this were a usual with you and Nancy, the two of you somehow finding some way to playfully point something out about each other. It was all jokes though, the both of you knowing when too much was too much.

You rolled your eyes and hugged your books to your chest, walking towards the hallways to your next subject.

“Oh shut up, let’s just get to class.”

The hallway was now empty, except for one lone schoolboy who- you guessed it- was Steve Harrington himself.

“What do I have? First period- English?” Steve murmured to himself, cursing quietly under his breath as he rummaged through his messy locker. The boy had woken up late again, that being the reason for his equally messy hair. He had stayed up late trying to cram in some study notes for an upcoming test later in the day, but he knew he’d probably bomb it. Steve was trying his best though, it was senior year after all, and he wanted to have some direction in his life. Any direction, really. He had to get into one decent college at least, and he couldn’t count on a basketball scholarship.

He continued to dig through his locker, but finally shrugged in defeat, hoping for the best as he bounded down the halls to his next subject.

“Good morning class!” Your teacher greeted you. “I have some news for all of you- today, we’ll be starting to work on our poet-

Before your teacher could finish his sentence, he was interrupted with an obnoxious, loud, proclamation- made by Steve Harrington. Of course.

You watched as the brunette scrambled into his seat, feverishly running a hand through his hair, in attempt to fix it from the current state it was in.

“I’m here!”

“No shit” You mumbled under your breath, bringing your attention back to your teacher.

The old man only sighed, ticking off a little box in the attendance, which you assumed meant “late”

He placed the folder down before turning back to the class.

“Alright Steve, May I continue now?”

The brunette nodded his head, slumping into a more comfortable position, and played with a pencil as your teacher explained the newest project.

“As I was saying, We’ll be working on our poetry unit, which means- another project! Woo hoo!” Your teacher proclaimed with false enthusiasm. “I’ll be letting you work in pairs.”

Eyes darted the classroom, a murmur of conversation filled your ears, as you began to doodle in your notebook. Each student made eye contact with the partner they’d choose to be with- before your teacher raised his voice again.

“I’ll be choosing.”

A low groan was heard throughout the classroom, as your teacher continued.

“I’m picking pairs to work on your newest poetry project- and Yes, yes, I know- Poetry is boring… So, That’s Why I’m letting you incorporate some photography or art involved with your project.”

Scowls were now turned into intrigued grins and smiles; some students already jotting down ideas on scrap pieces of paper.

“Um, Sir? What will the poetry be about?” You chimed, actually interested in this assignment.

“Ah- I was just getting to that Y/N.”

Eyes and ears perked up, your teacher grinning at the sudden attention he had gotten.

“I’ll decide on the poetry topic based on the art or pictures you hand in. Be aware that this will be a little bit of a challenge, as the topics I’ll be choosing to be a little difficult to write about at your age.”

You nodded, scribbling down some notes in your notebook, as your teacher continued.

“Now, without further ado, let’s start getting our partners now shall we?”

A good five minutes had passed, and the majority of students had already been partnered up, leaving you in a nervous state, dreading the moment when your name was to be called.

Now, you didn’t have a problem with anyone in the class, well- except Steve maybe. But those were for obvious reasons. It was three years ago, but it still hurt a bit knowing that he purposely pretended you didn’t exist for a good five months in freshman year. You couldn’t help but hold a long grudge against him, a grudge that probably wasn’t going to go away for long time.

Four words resided in your mind, repeating over and over again.

Anyone but Steve Harrington. Anyone but Steve Harrington. Anyone but Steve Harrington.

“Y/N L/N?”

Your head shot up, palms suddenly clammy at the thought of your project partner.

Anyone but Steve Harrington. Anyone but Steve Harrington. Anyone but Steve Harrington.

“I’m going to pair you up with… Steve Harrington.”

Your eyes darted to the brunette at the front of the class, his eyes similarly darting to yours. He gave you a small smirk, before picking up his books and plopping down to the desk beside yours.

“Y/N… We haven’t talked in a long time.” He stated, desperately trying to make conversation.

Your teacher only smiled at the two of you, before turning to his next pair.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #stranger things 2 #stranger things x reader #stranger things 2 x reader #aggressivewritingyeet

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tommyuni · 6 years

Text

Honey

Drarry smut fic

Written by Tommyuni

originally published on wattpad

"Harry fucking potter what the gosh heck darn fuck shit do you think you're doing!" Exclaimed Draco as he had just walked in on a horrid sight.

Crabbe his loyal companion and his mortal enemy Harry Potty were completely naked playing a game of pin the tail in the donkey.

Harry immediately covered himself blushing hard stuttering out what sounded like an excuse to a flabbergasted Malfoy.

"I- we were playing donkey on the pin I- I meant pin the tail on the Donny..." he blubbered nervously completely embarrassed but Crabbe however was smirking.

"Hey Draco" he growled like an angry hog that had watched his young getting shot by a hunter.

"What in the world is going on here!" Screeched Draco "my father will hear about this!" He spluttered, absolutely livid.

Crabbe sauntered over to Draco grabbing his tie "he doesn't really need to know..." he trailed off as he pressed himself closer to Draco letting his free hand roam.

"W-what the doodle ding dong do you mean?" Draco shuddered as he felt Crabbe caress his hip letting out a small whine.

"Hey Harry I think we've found our new Donny- I mean Donkey lmao" growled Crabbe.

Harry walked towards Draco nervously the timidness clearly being present on his features, fear glazing his green eyes.

Crabbe smirked "well Harry what are you waiting for" the boy stood nervously not knowing exactly what to do "cmon mate y'all should smishy smoosh each other's facey waceys nya :3".

The two boys faced each other looking into each others nervous stare, forest green meeting storm grey in a way that they never met before.

Draco then took the lead stepping forward and grabbing Harry's cheek and leant in to capture his lips in a deep smish smoosh :3.

Harry was surprised by the action what does this mean? Wait does Draco fancy me¿'thought Harry as he submitted to Draco's tongue well maybe I fancy Nancy him too.

"Who's your daddy now?" Asked Crabbe who was watching the whole ordeal unfold in front of him.

Draco broke off from the kiss momentarily to moan two names "Potter and Crabbe Sunbaenim" "I didn't hear you?" Draco groaned and turned to grabbe Crabbe's shoulders "I said Potter and Crabbe fuckin sunbaenim you son of a shirt wearing horse" and began to deeply make out with Crabbe.

"Clothes.off.now" groaned Crabbe.

Harry put on a Santa hat and got to work undressing Draco who at the time was wearing sliced yams as underpants "damn I love to literally eat people butts yummy yum I fucking hate yams" he the proceeded to lick said yams like a cow.

"Ho ho ho" groaned Harry.

Suddenly Draco felt something enter him IT WAS THE DONKEY TAIL OMGJXGVNG THERE WAS A FUCKING NEEDLE IN HIS BUTT

Draco screamed "What the dang!" But slowly the pain was replaced by pleasure... lmao jk it was more pain and he hated it.

Draco took out his wand and pointed it at the two boys "honey up my dudes!" he screamed as honey splurged out of his wand onto them covering them completely in the golden liquid.

"Oh alright" said Crabbe as he casually left.

Suddenly Hedwig flew in Snow White wings beating against the hair and landed next to Harry's now golden body and started pecking it trying to get the sweet substance all for herself.

Draco then left still completely nude with the donkey tail inside in a complete and utter huff.

Then Harry and Crabbe got expelled for indecent misconduct with a fellow student so kids don't play pin the tail on the donkey it's not good for your health.

#drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #dracoxharry #smut #oneshot #satire #crabbe #crabbe and goyle

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deepdickdaniel · 7 years

Text

Lai Guanlin | Soulmate!AU | Switch

prompt: you switch bodies with your soulmate whenever you feel like it for ten minutes.

note: a beautiful anon requested this! i hope you enjoy! :) and this is dedicated to my everyong fam: my beautiful children and the stars of my life. thank you for putting up with my insanity and i’m blessed to know all of you!

the first time you discovered you could switch bodies with your soulmate, you were in middle school

you were so confused to find yourself in a different classroom, in another country, learning in another language

even when you looked at the name portion of your soulmate’s notebook, it was in different characters so you couldn’t understand

from that point on, every so often, you would switch bodies with your soulmate to try to figure out who he was over the course of a few years

your friends suggested that you find his id to see his face at least

and when you finally did, wow, your soulmate looked like a B A B Y

but judging from the distance of his head to the ground, you gathered that he was tall

you also figured out that he lived in taiwan, which confused you because how were you guys meant to be soulmates if he lived in a completely different country and didn’t even speak the same language as you???

you shrugged it off, deciding that fate would work itself out somehow

eventually you saw his room growing emptier and emptier

it was filled with moving boxes at first and then those disappeared after a while, too

you wondered where he was moving to, because even with his family talking to him, you couldn’t make out any of the words

then one day, you switched bodies to find yourself in the airport, waiting at a gate for a flight

you looked up and saw south korea in big, bold letters - your heart stopped

ooh my goodness, he was finding his way to you

you didn’t switch with him for a while after that, not wanting to know exactly where he lived and lowkey wanting to be surprised

one day, during the new school year, your homeroom got a new student

“class, this is lai guanlin from taipei”

you didn’t know why, but your heart stopped hearing that name - maybe it was just a coincidence that the new guy came from taipei, too?

that was until you looked up and saw the face that resembled the one in the ID of your soulmate

but this guy...he was manlier...was the picture on his id old or something???

he finally looked up from his shy stare at the floor to share eye contact with you and suddenly he grew more confident

“what’s up guys, it’s guanlin, i really want to be a swaggy rapper in the future because i like hip hop” lmao i am so not sorry

you almost died on the inside - was this mess really your soulmate?

“oh and i like basketball, too, it’s nice to meet you guys”

he was quiet in speaking his newly acquired language, but he looked happy to be there nevertheless

and by the blush of his cheeks and the gumminess of his smile, you knew he recognized you, too

the teacher told him he could sit in any empty seat he wanted to

but get this, he walked over to the seat next to you which was taken and kindly asked the person if he could sit there instead

luckily, it was your best friend, daehwi, who has known since the beginning of time about your taiwanese soulmate

he practically j u m p ed out of his seat, offering it up with jazz hands and moving to sit next to the love of his life (jinyoung of course)

guanlin happily sat next to you and proceeded to stare for the rest of the period

you guys traded a few playful whispers throughout class and it was truly unbelievable that you acted like you knew each other for your whole lives

he followed you to lunch like a lost puppy and there, you introduced him to your friends

you were surprised to find out that he was actually quite shy and quiet around other people

“i feel really comfortable and at home with you, so that’s why i was myself right away” he had admitted

your heart mel---

“and you’re stuck with me for the rest of your life so you can’t make fun of my broken words or else i’ll make fun of your baby pictures”

“how did you---”

“someone always switched bodies while we were at home, sooo”

why was your soulmate such a savage?

but you guys went from friends to lovers really quickly, developing a close bond that even your upperclassmen friends were impressed to see happen so fast between soulmates

guanlin fit in well with your friends, even to the point that made you wonder if his soulmate was jihoon or you

after about half a year, he set in nicely and even became the star player of the basketball team

you hated how handsome he looked when he threw in a three pointer with one hand, smirking at you in the bleachers

but you loved how he ran to you first after the final buzzer of a winning game, scooping you up into a hug and giving you his gummy smile despite the crowd surrounding him

one time, though, you switched bodies with guanlin during a basketball game for fun - causing his team to put him on the bench because their star player wasn’t doing his best like normal

he had to do extra laps haha

to get his revenge, he switched bodies with you during a midterm and you wanted to kill him because when you returned to your body, you saw your test

(you would’ve failed if the switching bodies lasted any more than ten minutes)

you wanted to kill him more because you found out he wasn’t even truly trying to get revenge, he was just bored in his own class lmao

you got your test back - thankfully, you passed - but your teacher told you not to doodle anymore, smirking at you

not really understanding, you turned the test around to see the back covered with small little shapes and drawings

there were a few small hearts and words of good luck

and in the middle of it all was an “i love you!” written inside a circle

you were surprised - you hadn’t exchanged those three words yet, but here guanlin, the tsundere, was being soft and sweet

you ran out of class to find him and say it back, but he was already waiting outside

“i love you too!”

he smiled and hugged you, “i know you do”

“how could i not love my swaggy rapper?”

his smile dropped,

“ok i take it back, let’s break up”

“nope, you’re stuck with me for life”

#lai guanlin #wanna one #lai guanlin imagines #wanna one scenarios #lai guanlin scenarios #wanna one imagines #guanlin #everyong

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ukulelewrites · 7 years

Text

In Terms of Fire & Ice {2}

A/N: Part 2 is up! There are little hints in here regarding the other boys’ stories. If you catch them (I made them pretty obvious) which one are you most excited for? Tbh i really want to know! I’ll tag @smols-n-tols bc they’re just a great group of supportive people who yell at me whenever I lose sleep just to write lmao ily y’all

Pairing: Wanna One’s Seongwoo x Reader

Genre: Angst, fuckboi!seongwoo, rich!seongwoo, enemies to lovers!au

Word Count: Roughly 1k

Parts: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7

Bound in leather, yellow with age, the journal that sat on the third shelf of the southernmost bookshelf in the second library had been with the school since its opening in 1917. Inscribed on the first page, in cursive handwriting, were the words, “Welcome to the Cherry Pickers’ Club.”

The six boys lounged in Jonghyun and Minhyun’s dorm room. “So…who’s still a virgin at this school?” Jonghyun asked from his desk, cheeks flushing scarlet at his rather scandalous question. Daniel, who was laying on the floor flipping through one of Jonghyun’s manga, spoke up, “Well, Minhyun, Jonghyun, Jaehwan,” he stopped when Jaehwan chucked a football at his head. “He meant female virgins, smartass,” Jaehwan snapped, ears bright red. Seongwoo looked up from his phone, “Well, there’s that girl in Minhyun’s business administrations class,” Minhyun shot him a confused look, “The one who always wears that oversized sweater over her uniform and sits near the back of the class.” Minhyun let out a sound of realization. Seongwoo continued, “And then there’s that girl who’s always late to our math class, Jonghyun.” Jonghyun furrowed his eyebrows before a look of realization dawned on his face, “Ah! She’s the one who’s always doodling on her notes or sleeping in class…wait, but isn’t she kind of scary?” the other boys looked at him, begging for clarification, “She always shows up with bruised knuckles and stuff…And there’s a rumor going around her dad’s in the mafia or something…” The boys waved him off, of course Jonghyun would be the one to be scared of a girl. “Plus,” Seongwoo leaned forward so all the boys could hear as he dropped his voice ten volumes, “I heard the TA for the music tech class was one too.” The boys ooh’d at the newfound information. “And what about you, Seongwoo? Going for any of them?” Hyunbin asked from the floor. Seongwoo simply leaned back against the wall, “Too easy, I’ve got my eyes on a bigger challenge.”

“Go away, Seongwoo,” you snapped, not even looking up from your notebook. “How’d you know it was me, sweetheart? Obsessed enough with me to sense my presence?” he leaned down, sending you a smirk. You rolled your eyes and looked up, “Your ego made its presence; I was practically suffocating.” He placed his hands on your desk, leaning forward until his nose was almost touching yours; you felt everyone focus their attention on the two of you, and you glared at him with all the fury you could muster from your body. “You coming to the bonfire Saturday?” You narrowed your eyes at him; of course you were going, everyone goes to Daniel’s back-to-school bonfire, even if they barely knew the guy. “And why does that matter to you?” you asked, patience growing thin. He scoffed, placing his hand on his chest in mock offence, “Aren’t we friends, Y/N?” You shot him a look and returned your attention back to your notes. Seongwoo chuckled to himself, “Of course not, we’re something much more, right, Y/N?” He cupped your chin and tilted your head up to look at him, sending you a satisfied smile. You froze in your seat before remembering there were spectators, reverting back to your default scowl and swatted his hand away. “Pull that shit again, Ong, and I’ll have you suspended for harassment.”

“Any luck?” Daniel asked over lunch. The six boys sat together at their corner table, hunched forward and speaking in low whispers, just in case anybody walking by could overhear their conversation. “I’m too scared to talk to girls…” Jonghyun mumbled, mouth half full with food. Minhyun looked up from his textbook, “I sit next to her in math class now, doesn’t mean I’ll accomplish it anytime soon.” Daniel leaned back and turned his attention to Jaehwan and Hyunbin, who both just shook their heads. “Seongwoo, buddy, please tell me you were able to at least find a virgin?” Daniel pleaded, turning to his best friend. Seongwoo, on the other hand, was relaxed, peacefully chomping on his apple. “Boys, seduction is an art; you can’t expect a girl to simply hand her virginity over to you on a silver platter. You have to coax it out of her, makes sure she’s the one to give it up, not you forcing it from her,” Seongwoo stated matter-of-factly. Daniel snorted at his friend’s tone, “Dude, we know that. I’m just asking because you won’t tell us who your target is.” Out of the corner of his eye, Seongwoo caught you walking by with Nayoung; he leaned back and sent you a casual wave; you just rolled your eyes and continued to your table. Daniel’s eyes widened in realization, “Y/N? Ice princess, Y/N? You’re going after her?” Seongwoo just nodded, “I’ve always liked a challenge.”

“Nayoung,” you called in shock; she stuck her head out of the bathroom, hair dripping wet. “Yes, Y/N?” she said, pattering across your shared room to stand behind your chair. She leaned over your shoulder to look at the part of your screen that you were pointing at, water droplets landing on your shirt. Her eyes widened, “Oh my god! You did it! You got into the internship!” She instantly hugged you from behind. You beamed up at her, “I start next Monday, and there’s another intern there too, so I might make a new friend that doesn’t see me as an ice princess.” Nayoung walked over to your shared closet, rummaging around for an acceptable dress. “They don’t go to Evanson?” You shrugged, “Rivers & Martin rarely accept interns from the same school, so highly unlikely.” She had tugged on her red dress at this point and was now trying to find her flats. “Y/N,” you looked up from your laptop, “aren’t you going to get dressed?” You looked down to find yourself still in your pajamas, “Yeah, I should probably do that.”

Daniel’s family’s lake house was a ten minute drive away from the school. You and Nayoung stepped out of your car, thanking your chauffeur before heading towards the gate leading to the backyard. Daniel was standing at the gate, greeting guests. He shot you guys a warm smile before handing you a soda can, “I know you two don’t really drink, so I got a couple sodas for you,” he said. “Thanks, Daniel,” you said, giving him a small smile. Even though his best friend is an asshat, it doesn’t mean Daniel was. “No problem, enjoy the party!” You and Nayoung stuck together as you wove through the swarm of people occupying the grounds. “I’m gonna go see if I can find Dongho,” Nayoung shouted over the music. You nodded and waved her off, pointing towards the keg where Dongho stood talking to Minhyun. “Good luck,” you mouthed, giving her a thumbs up. “Well, looks like it’s just you and me.” You turned around to see Seongwoo in a red flannel and black jeans, and out of default, you scowled. “Tsk, don’t you know scowling causing wrinkles,” he said, a smile painting his tone. He ran his thumb over your forehead, trying to smooth out the wrinkles. “Makes sense since you automatically add ten years to my life,” you retorted, swatting his hand away. Seongwoo shook his head dejectedly, “I come over here to tell you that you look cute tonight and all I get are insults.” You looked down at your light blue dress. “After all, the dress really fits the whole ‘ice princess’ aesthetic you’ve got going on,” he gave you a thumbs up, and you instantly whirled around on your heels and stalked away.

“Can you believe the nerve of some people? He practically made me out as some untouchable ice princess. And here he is trying to make himself out as my friend!” Nayoung just cocked her head at your fury, “Nayoung, I can’t even get a boyfriend without the guy trying to cop a feel on the first date thinking he’ll ‘fix’ me,” you raged to your best friend as the two of you stood side by side in your bathroom removing your makeup. “Well, at least you’ll be at your internship every afternoon now, less chances of running to him on campus.” You smiled at the thought of not seeing Seongwoo; however your mood instantly darkened when you remembered your shared math class. “The fucker still has math with me; I’ll have to see his face and obnoxiously large ego for a good hour each day,” you groaned, rubbing furiously at your eye with the cotton pad. Nayoung just shrugged, finishing up and heading out of the bathroom. You finished and trailed after her. “There will always be the bad parts of life, Y/N. Just try thinking of the good things, like chocolate and Kang Dongho’s face,” she swooned. You laughed, “Or, ya know, my internship at the biggest law firm in the country, but Kang Dongho’s face is a good second.” Nayoung rolled her eyes at your comment, “Kang Dongho’s face is a gift from god, Y/N, a gift.” You crawled into your bed and turned off the lamp, “Mhm, you now what’s a gift from god? An internship that takes me far far away from Ong Seongwoo.”

#ong seongwoo #seongwoo #pd101 seongwoo #wanna one seongwoo #seongwoo scenarios #pd101 scenarios #wanna one #wanna one scenarios #wanna one imagines #pd101 imagines #seongwoo imagines #tcpc

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