mind the chipped nail polish

Quit, Calum Hood.

Requested: No.

Summary: Calum Hood and Y/N dated for years, but because of their frantic schedules things weren’t working out and they were drifting apart. The pair concluded that the best thing would be to break up. Slightly over 6 months later, Y/N is invited to Luke’s engagement party and she can’t let him down. However she may just bump into the one person she prayed she wouldn’t.

A/N: If any of you have been following me since around December time, you might remember I had a series called Terrible Love, or something like that, that I deleted. This is kinda based upon some of the events that happened in that.

 

*Gifs aren’t mine*

Originally posted by hotdogcliffo

It all happened so quickly. Y/N and her date had pulled up at the Nice Guy and clambered out, giggling to themselves when Y/N’s date nearly fell face first out of the car. She squealed when her date wrapped his hand around her waist and placed a cold and calloused hand on her bare waist. She glanced up at him with sparkling eyes and offered a sweet smile.

The paparazzi snapped multiple pictures of the couple, already conducting an article to go with the picture. They imagined the rumours that would blossom about the couple, what drama would occur when people saw them together. No doubt in their fickle minds that it would cause hell to break loose. After all, Y/N was the ex-girlfriend of Calum Hood; bassist of 5 Seconds Of Summer.


Y/N’s eyes flitted across the extravagant room, her eyes almost simultaneously falling in on the person she was hoping to avoid. She gasped slightly when she noticed his chocolate brown eyes were already on her, tracing her curves in the slightly skimpy and revealing dress. His tongue darted across his plush lower lip.

Y/N’s eyes squeezed shut, she didn’t want to see Calum and she sure as hell didn’t want him seeing her, but that all went to shit, didn’t it? Y/N whipped around and shuffled towards the organised bar. Her heels agonizing. She slumped down onto a stool and ordered a lemonade with ice.

She picked at her slightly chipped black nail polish. Her mind drifting off. She knew coming tonight was going to be a bad idea, but she couldn’t let her friend Luke down.

It was his engagement party and although he was painfully aware of the tension between Y/N and Calum, he wanted nothing more than both of his closest friends to be there to witness him propose to his soon-to-be fiancé. He was also aware that neither Calum or Y/N would miss it for the world, even though they both hoped the other wouldn’t show up to spare them the awkwardness.

Y/N’s eyes ripped away from her nails when the barista placed a glass of lemonade in front of her. Y/N smiled gratefully at the busy girl and picked up her glass, taking a long sip through the straw.

Her eyes widened when she felt a presence next to her, she turned her head slightly and regretted it almost instantly. Her eyes met the captivating brown eyes of Calum Hood. He smiled, although the smile didn’t reach his eyes like it used to, Y/N had known Calum well enough to know it was forced and strained.

“Hey.” He muttered when the barista handed him a JD and Coke. He smiled at her and lifted the beverage up to his plump, rosy lips. He took a sip, his eyes shutting when the bitter drink slide down his throat, leaving a dull burning sensation in its path. Y/N couldn’t help but be entranced by his movements, watching as he placed the half empty glass back on the table and licked his lips of any remains of the alcoholic beverage.

“Not drinking?” Calum finally spoke again, causing Y/N’s eyes to snap away from his face and back onto her hands. Y/N shook her head, not trusting her voice to answer him. “Let me guess, Michael got you pregnant.” Calum snickered, causing Y/N’s cheeks to flush red.

“No, Calum, you know I wouldn’t fuck Michael. We’re just friends. You know that, Cal.” Y/N squeaked, her voice breaking, it had been so long since she’d said his name. “I’m not that cruel, Calum. I wouldn’t fuck your best friend to spite you and I sure as hell wouldn’t have been so reckless as to get pregnant. I thought you knew me better, clearly not.” Y/N hastily got up from her seat and staggered through the crowd, needing some fresh air.


Y/N was hunched over the balcony, watching the hassle below her. She kind of pitied Luke, he wanted a sophisticated party, but from what Y/N had witnessed it was far from it. Strangers were making out whenever they got the chance, drunk people were littered around the area.

She felt a presence behind her, but she already knew who it was. She could smell his cologne that was mixed with the JD on his breath.

“Why did you run off, Y/N? Listen, I’m sorry if I upset you. I know you would never fuck Michael, I was just angry. I loved you and you seem like it never happened, like your long over me and truth be told, I don’t think I’ll ever be over you.” Calum husky voice lowered an octave as the final sentence slipped past his lips. He crept up beside Y/N and lent over the balcony too.

He shoved his hand into his back pocket, his slender fingers clutching the cigarette pack. He ripped the packet, flipping open the lid and pulling out the slender object. He brought it up to his lips, his teeth catching onto the end. He shoved the packet back in and fished around in his other pocket for the lighter. He ignited the flame and lit the cigarette

Y/N glanced at Calum in the corner of her eye, he seemed troubled. She looked back down, the sight of him still so painful.

“I thought you quit smoking.” Y/N uttered, not removing her eyes from the people below.

“Had nothing to quit for.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, still not having to courage to look him in the eye.

“I only quit because you wanted me to, but then I didn’t have you, so I didn’t have a reason to quit.”

anonymous asked:

do you think we could maybe, possibly, hopefully have that morning after scene from maya's pov? i'm dying to know what was going through her head! pretty pls! <3

She is tucked in his arms and wrapped in his legs and she fits nicely into the arch of his body’s positioning. She feels his cool breath blowing strands of her hair against her face as he breathes and she can feel the quickening of his heart slowly come to a steady beat. He is asleep and she draws arbitrary lines on the blades of his shoulders with her fingers. She takes no mind to her chipped nail polish and instead focuses on the way his arms unconsciously pull her in closer whenever she runs her fingers down his neck. She thinks of her own neck, the pale skin around her collarbones bitten and bruised and a pretty shade of violet.

The ceiling fan is swaying when she wakes up first. It’s barely light outside, the sky a shade of a graying blue. She contemplates whether or not she should get up and detangle herself from the mess of their bodies. She doesn’t want to wake him up, she doesn’t, but she’s hot with all this heated skin and she really needs to pee so she moves swiftly out of his grip, all slow and careful. Before clothing herself, she presses her lips to his. She can’t help it; he’s really fucking cute when he’s sleeping with his messy hair and the barely-there light freckles across the bridge of his nose.

She tiptoes around his clean, carpeted floor that’s avalanched in a medley of his and her attire. Before collecting her apparel, she decides on an undergarment and his shirt—the last thing she wants is him thinking she’d left. Hit-it-and-quit-its happened way too often these days and she refused to be like her mother. (a mess of lust and boy after boy, position to position, and “late night shifts”—like yeah, okay, mom, the diner closes at one, not five a.m.—and sneaking back into her own home with constant walks of shame masking her one true heartbreak)

After bathroom check-ups and post-sex happenings, she waltzes her way into his empty marble kitchen and helps herself to whatever he has in his fridge before getting to work. She spends twenty-seven minutes watching (and replaying and pausing) youtube tutorials on how to make pancakes and after horribly burning her first batch (that she forces herself to eat—think of starving children or hungry puppies or the really? face Lucas will give you if he sees this in his garbage) she starts to get the hang of flipping the honey-toned batter at the right time.

She loves Lucas’s kitchen. It’s heavenly and has everything. From marshmallows to ice cream to frozen steaks and avocados and popcorn; she imagines future movie nights where they can make crepes and have bonfires with s’mores and social barbecues they can throw. Her thoughts are endless and fun, her eyes continuing to glow when she finds bacon to fry. She gets carried away in the amount of food he has—she’s more used to shortages and living off leftovers her mother would bring home for her.

She dances and sings as she cooks, and when he wakes up, they eat between blood rushed faces and stupid smiles from remembering the night before.

(Maya Hart’s never really been one for love—)

And when he says that he’s going to take a shower, she asks him if that’s an invitation.

(—until Lucas Friar.)

by: monique

WANTED: Under thirty and profound. Amazed by sunflowers. Able to keep houseplants alive. Aware of, but not paralyzed by, the mystery and sometimes meaningless of life. Aware of, but not overly-convinced of, the miracle of humanness. Fond of the feeling of fingers grazing over one’s shoulders. Un-annoyed by the sound of fingers drumming wooden surfaces. Nostalgic of certain college courses but not really the college campus experience as a whole, if applicable. Not nostalgic of high school, but somewhat nostalgic of that sixteen-seventeen peak of youthful exuberance and angst. Kind. Willing to participate in hours of binge television show watching, at least once a month. Unafraid of being pursued by the FBI for streaming movies online. Natural sense of loyalty that’s slightly less than a dog’s but much more than a cat’s. Taste for all things mint-flavored. Almost eclectic. Maybe completely eclectic. Maybe even a little mundane. But absolutely must smile. Must laugh, even if it comes out as a muffled whisper. Laughter mustn’t groan, unless the joke entirely warrants it. Gentle. Mostly kind and gentle. Able to cope with long periods of silence and solitude. Not outrageously long, but substantial. Honest. Willing to step into a space of vulnerability. Even if skeptical, or afraid. Willing to try. But not too soon. Wise. But mostly kind. Kind and gentle. Hopeful. Firm. Doesn’t mind chipped nail polish, or chewed up nails. Or stray hairs. Or leg hair. Owns and shares warm sweaters. Interested in the prospect of children. Finds candlelight romantic. Creative. Goes to plays and such. But mostly — I mean really, most importantly — I mean knock the all of the other bits if these ones don’t apply — kind and gentle.

SQW2.0. Day 1. Blind date.

title: You always looked so harmless walking

author: darkersky

rating: T

words: 3263

summary: When Emma Swan meets Regina Mills and Regina Mills meets Emma Swan they both realize you should be careful with the people you meet on the internet.

a/n: So, technically, it’s not exactly a blind date, but it also kinda is. Anyway, this is the story that wanted to materialize today so what the hell, right? (By the way, I don’t know what’s up with the narrative voice. I really don’t.)

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