Summary: It’s raining and Namjoon has forgotten his umbrella, like always.
A/N: H A P P Y B I R T H D A Y N A M J O O N!!!
The threat of a storm had been looming over the dorms, dark clouds lay on the horizon and there was no wind stirring up the dead leaves outside. You knew the boys had gone to the studio today, and when you heard the door slam shut followed by the sound of laughter and shouts, you sat up from your bed and slipped on your slippers before shuffling into the hallway.
Your eyebrows raised in amusement as you looked at the boys, umbrellas wet and shaking their heads like a pack of wild dogs and moving to the side to see if you could see your tall dimpled boyfriend you let out a sigh when it turned out he hadn’t come home.
✾ you should have known confessions with Seongwoo was going to be cliche
“Yah, you idiot, how can you burn pizza rolls?” you laughed at your best friend as you watched him try to savage what was left of the pizza rolls.
“At least I didn’t poison myself by eating expired hot cheetos” Seongwoo shot back, giving you a playful glare causing you to laugh more.
Movie nights at Seongwoo’s did not always go as plan. They actually almost never go as planned. Either you run out of snacks, someone breaks something, the movie sucks or something happens causing you two to do something else instead.
“So what are we doing this time Ong” you asked as you popped a piece of candy in your mouth waiting for him to give up on the pizza rolls. It’s actually quite funny watching an almost grown man screaming over pizza rolls and how they were too hot to hold but you were a good friend, knowing that you should stop him from burning himself with pizza rolls.
“Run to the convenience store to get more pizza rolls, duh” he replied making an ugly face that only he could make look cute. Wait, you take that back, he was not cute he was Seongwoo. Aka your totally not cute, meme lord best friend. Psh, not your crush or anything.
Being the logical, sane and great best friend you were, you kindly pointed outside to the stormy clouds and the sprinkle of rain. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
“Since when did I ever have good ideas” Seongwoo shot back grabbing two of his hoodies and throwing one at you. You gave him an ‘are you crazy look’ before deciding that it was best not to argue with him now, especially if he was hungry for pizza rolls
“Come on loser, we’re walking to the store together” he said dragging your ass out in the cold. You looked up in the sky and prayed for the rain not to come down any harder but since you had the worst luck, the sky rumbled even louder causing you to sigh. Stupid Ong and his stupid ideas. Stupid you for actually following his stupid ideas because of his handsome face.
By the time you actually got to the store, your hoodies were wet but at least you weren’t soaked yet. You grabbed three bags of pizza rolls for your dearest Seongwoo since you knew that idiot was going to burn the first batch, eat the second batch and repeat the same process over again a few hours later.
“Anything else you want Ong?” you asked as you approach the cash register to pay. As you said that, a wild Seongwoo appeared with multiple bags of chips and cookies. You swore if this was an anime you would have the huge sweat drop on your forehead right now.
“And that will 35.69” the lady behind the cash register said and you’re just like ‘damn pizza rolls are expensive’. While you were about to take some money out to pay as usual, Seongwoo slipped his card to the lady and paid causing you to look up at him impressed.
“Wow the great and cheap Ong Seongwoo actually paid for food” you praised sarcastically as you clapped for him. He let out a dry ‘haha’ before grabbing the bags and walking away. Before he could leave you pointed out the obvious that Seongwoo could not see for himself.
“It’s still raining idiot”
“Your pizza rolls are going to get soggy and we’re gonna catch a cold”
“Oh yeah, wait here” he said handing you the bags and running to the back of the store to grab something. Like you could go anywhere. You were too smart for that shit.
“Ta-da” Seongwoo said coming back with a yellow umbrella. The two of your proceeded to walk back to his place with a umbrella so you two weren’t absolutely soaking wet. It was a comfortable silence until you broke it a block before you got there.
“You know, you could have saved 15 dollars if you had grabbed a umbrella before we left” you pointed out while looking up at him. He shrugged.
“And do you know that life would be easier if you just returned my feelings” Seongwoo said unconsciously making you stop dead in your tracks. You heard a little scream and a wet Seongwoo coming back by your side since you held the umbrella.
“What did you say?” you asked.
“I just basically said that I like you dumbass” he responded casual. He was trying to play it off cool but you could tell by how red his ears were that he was embarrassed.
“So you’re meaning to tell me that we could have been something more a long time ago while ago”
“Well yea- wait are you admitting that you like me too?”
The two of you stood there staring at each other while the rain fell. The tension that built up broke when you dropped the yellow umbrella and Seongwoo wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you in for a kiss.
The bright yellow umbrella laid there on the ground as you two made out in the rain. You nasties. The first words you heard after the kiss was broken were “god damit the pizza rolls wet”.
“You idiot, there’re safe inside the bag”
“But why did you say they would get soggy”
“Because I didn’t want to walk in the rain duh”
“Hey, if we didn’t then we couldn’t have had a cliche kiss in the rain right now”
As night falls, protestors settle down on pavements and roads, bathed in the glow of street lamps. They are surrounded by umbrellas, flowers, banners, clothing, placards, tents, all a bright yellow. Yellow has been the symbol of pro-democracy protests in countries like Hong Kong and Malaysia, where I live, in the past ten years. Though change is often frustratingly out of reach, and the barriers to better and more egalitarian governance may seem immovable, seeing people come together is still a cause for hope.
Summary: You find yourself caught in the EXO gang even though you had just finally reached some form of freedom from your family. Will Sehun ultimately destroy your little bit of peace? Or will you join in his gang to find the place that you truly belong?
Scenario: Mafia/ Gang AU, Sehun Leader
Paring: reader x Sehun
Warning: Language - Possibly smut later on
Word Count: 2912
Author’s Note: this is my first fanficiton, please leave comments and tell me what you do/don’t like. I have already written the second chapter, but will edit based on comments! I think that this will be a long one, so be prepared for a slow burn.
With my hand cramping and straining to finish what seemed
like the thousandth signature of this particular evening, I finally was done
with work for the week. Placing the last piece of paper that needed my
signature onto the three inch thick pile to my right, I sighed. I was
relieved yet annoyed. Relieved that the pile that seemed to never end had
surprisingly ended, annoyed because my boss had forgotten that these papers
needed to be signed and ready by Monday morning. And as much as I enjoy working
weekends for free, I decided to stay until they were finished.
Looking at the phone, I realized that it was late. Another
sigh escaped my lips as I pushed myself away from my desk and stood up,
stretching my arms above my head to try to rid the ache of sitting in one
position for too long. Making sure that everything in the small office was
closed I made my way to the door and took out the spare key my boss had given
me so that I could lock up if anything like this were to happen.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my boss. He’s just, well, to be
frank, old. He forgets a lot of things, which often results in me having to
remember them or trying to figure out what he has forgotten. I do feel bad
though, he was supposed to retire a couple years back, but his son ran away,
leaving an 80 who had started this business 60 years ago with the option to
sell or to keep on going. It seemed the later had won out. Though I feel bad
about Mr. Reilly’s circumstances, I can’t complain too much, it’s probably the
only way I would’ve gotten a job.
Genre: Fluff (I guess?? it’s a bit short so is this a drabble?? im dumb af)
Pairing: Stylist!reader x Idol!Suga
“You look nice today,” Yoongi mumbled, eyes shut.
“Are you saying I don’t look nice any other day?”
You chuckle, giving him a sly smile as he rolled his eyes. Your hand softly lifted his chin, “Look
up,” you murmur as you tapped the small brush along his lower lash line.
The air conditioner filled the dressing room as you
hovered around Yoongi. Soft jazz music played from his speaker. He sat
quietly in the chair, watching you through the vanity mirror as you shuffled
around him. It was the type of mirror you had liked. It had enough space for
all your supplies and yellow light bulbs surrounded the edge of the mirrors frame. The idol never left his eyes off of you. Brushing this. Applying that. Your
hands were constantly on him and he loved it. “You look good every day,” he
said as he switched off his phone and slipped it onto the desk in front of him,
“I’m saying you look better than usual today.”
Chills sprinkled through Yoongi’s body as your hand
held his onto his jaw, your fingers sending warmth through his pale skin. A
soft golden hue from the mirror lights had illuminated your eyes. Your brows
furrowed slightly in concentration. Stepping back to assess his eye makeup you
mumbled, “I’m meeting an old friend today,” you explained as you leaned in to
swipe a finger across his eye lids.
Yoongi closed his eyes again, a curious pout appearing, “An old
You nodded with a small smile as you tugged onto the
sleeves of your top, pulling them up to your elbows. His eyes fluttered back
open to see you rummage through a bag of lip products. Breaking the silence, the
dressing room door swung open as another stylist, Do Hee, peered through the
gap. “(Y/N) they’re on in twenty minutes,” she said hurriedly before closing
the door. You bit onto your lip, scratching your neck. Leaning across Yoongi to
grasp a tube of lipstick, your chest pressed unbearably close to Yoongi’s face.
You missed the lingering glance he had stolen at your chest before turning back
to him. The smell of his cologne that had stained his satin dress shirt filled your
senses. He smelled sweet like honey.
“Old friend from Tokyo,” you said, holding Yoongi’s
chin with a gentle thumb and forefinger. His eyes never left yours as you
leaned in closely, minty breath fanning his face. He parted his lips softly as
you dabbed the colour onto his lips. Turning momentarily to pick up a small lip
brush, Yoongi peered up at you through his lashes. You felt his eyes on you as
he analysed every inch of your face. “He helped me out a lot when I was in
Japan,” you said, motioning Yoongi to gently press his lips together. You smile
with satisfaction as you begin to softly brush the product evenly onto his
The first time you had done Yoongi’s makeup would
always be remembered. It was only a few months after you had become a hair and
makeup stylist. Living in a small apartment in Tokyo, your days consisted of styling
the local grandmother’s hair in a small studio salon in Shibuya. You were
younger then, bright and shiny like a new toy on the shelf. On a rainy Tuesday
afternoon you were alone, packing up the salon. Your hair was tied up messily. With your
hands aching you pulled onto the ties of your black apron, sighing. The Tokyo
rain poured heavily as people ran around with bright coloured umbrellas. Polka
dots of yellow, pink and blue hurried pass the studio’s window. Soft jazz music
played from the small speaker on the register counter as you began sweeping the
hair off the floor.
You almost missed the small chime of the door.
A tall girl with pink hair walked through the door.
Dressed in a clear raincoat, she pulled off the hood and stepped inside. “You
won’t believe what just happened,” she sang. Busily cleaning up the studio,
Minami sat down on the blue sofa by the window as she watched you excitedly.
“How long have you been working?”
“Since 9 o’clock,” you sighed, emptying the dust pan
into the trash.
Minami let out a long sigh, “Ah, you work too hard
for such a low paying job!”
You chuckled at your friend’s choice of words.
Tucking in each chair you turned towards your pink haired friend, “Don’t remind
She grinned and for a second you could have sworn to
see a tail rapidly wagging behind her skirt. She shifted on the couch, tucking
her legs under. “I ran into Yuya this morning!” she yipped, “He wanted to know
if you’re available next week Thursday.”
You wandered over behind the register, hooking your
apron onto the wall beside it, “Next Thursday? Chiharu booked an appointment
“He wants you to help out style an idol group!”
Minami blurted, her arms waving out in the air. Your eyes widened and you
It didn’t take another second for you to agree to
meet up with Yuya the following Thursday. You stood in front of the studio in a
white t-shirt and jeans. Minami had strictly told you to dress more fashionably
on the day as she held up thousands of skirts and dresses the night before to
which you had protested relentlessly. Jeans and a white t-shirt is fashionable
“(Y/N)!” a voice hollered.
Looking over, Yuya made his way towards you, a piece
of paper in his hands. You smiled at the sight of him and bowed softly, “Yuya
thank you so much for this opportunity!”
The elder boy laughed as he ruffled your head, “Don’t
sweat it! You’re too young to be styling my grandma’s hair every morning,” he
said and you blushed, letting out a laugh. The streets began to bumble as the morning
grew. Businessmen and school kids began flooding the streets, walking pass the
two of you. “Listen,” Yuya said, “I need to grab a couple of things before I
go,” he said as he held out the small white piece of paper, “Can you go to the
venue first and then I’ll meet you there?” he asked.
You had felt your chest cave in. Going alone to meet
an idol group? Clenching your teeth you didn’t want to lose the job you had
been dreaming of. You nodded, “Okay.” The venue was at a large hall in Tokyo.
You had taken the train and walked around for ten minutes before finally seeing
the large building with a bunch of teenage girls wandering around it. Intimidated
by the large amount of people, you quietly made your way to a side door which
Yuya had drawn on his little map he had given you.
“Door 3,” you mumbled, glancing at the number before
pushing onto the handle and slipping inside. The hallways were long and curved
in every direction. Various people had walked passed you. Stage lights and
moving men seemed to wheel across the hallways with complete disregard. Women
holding up multiple piece of clothing along their shoulder. Men with headsets
ran past like no tomorrow. You had felt the tension build in your chest at the
hectic atmosphere surrounding your small frame. Another girl walked pass before
catching your gaze. She stopped in her tracks, “(Y/N)?”
You nodded, crumpling the piece of paper in your
hand, “Yes, um, Yuya sent me-“
The girl sighed in relief, “Follow me.”
You were led to another hallway where even more
staff ran around frantically. You couldn’t help but feel a surge of adrenaline
grumble in your bones. “Yuya will be a bit late,” you explain as you tried to
keep up with her pace. You were surprised by how fast the small girl walked.
Only the back of her short dark hair was in sight as she weaved her way around
the crowd. You squeezed pass them, bowing every time you made eye contact.
Coming to a halt she turned towards you, “Suga is in
here,” she said, pointing to the white door behind her. A piece of paper stuck
onto the door with tape as a makeshift sign. Written in messy ink it read ‘BTS:
SUGA’. A curious expression read on you face before the smaller girl opened the
door. You watched as she popped her head through the gap, “Sorry,” she said, “Your
stylist is here.”
“Okay.” A deep voice said, “Thank you Kira.”
You entered the room, your back facing the idol.
Your softly let the door click shut before making your way to the vanity.
Pulling the backpack off your shoulders you let it fall on the table counter as
you turned towards the figure in the chair.
“I’m (Y/N) your stylist for today,” you explained,
taking a bow, “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Are you new?”
Straightening your back your eyes locked onto the
boy sitting in the white chair. Dressed in black jeans and a white button down
you couldn’t help but drink in the sight of him. He was insanely good looking,
his eyes staring through his dark tousles of hair. You gulped, turning your
back towards him as you quietly unzipped your backpack, taking out various
makeup bags and setting them on the counter, “Yes.” The room was small and
filled with an awkward silence.
“My Japanese isn’t good, sorry,” he chuckled in
indeed, broken Japanese. Looking over your shoulder you gave him a soft smile, “That’s
okay.” Turning back to the counter you begin to spread out all of your
After a few minutes of unbearable silence, Suga
decided to break the ice. “Do you like BTS?” he asked. He felt you fingers
graze his skin and heat sparked against him. You ignored his question for
a moment as you began applying small amounts of foundation onto his cheeks. You
gawked at the sheer paleness of his complexion. It was as if he was a porcelain
doll brought to life before you. His hair was clipped back with small metal
pins and his eyes were shut as you pat his face firmly with a small sponge.
You shook your head as you pat more product over his
forehead, “I don’t know BTS.” You said, blending the makeup down his neck. Immediately
his eyes opened and you couldn’t help but look down to meet his gaze. His eyes
were dark, an unfamiliar feeling clouding his pupils. Without saying anything further
in fear of offending him, you returned your focus back to his makeup. Kira had
mentioned that Yoongi doesn’t like to wear much makeup products and that he
prefers less makeup than any other member. You noted the fact that today was a
fan meeting event for his group so the makeup concept was on the more natural
end anyway. Nevertheless you had turned back to the desk to retrieve a black
“Look at me, please,” you mumbled and he immediately
did so on command. You hesitated for a second before gently pressing your thumb
onto his eyelid, lifting it gently. Suga looked down, already used to getting
his makeup done. He sat quietly as you began to gently run the pencil along his
lash line. You leaned down, your face inches away.
“What kind of music do you listen to?” he asked
after a few minutes, fiddling away at his phone. Craning your neck, you massage
the tension away from your shoulder before shifting your position to apply
eyeliner onto his other eye. Your sneakers squeaked against the floor as you
“Jazz?” you pondered aloud. You recalled the amount
of times customers admired the jazz melody that you played back at the Shibuya
studio. Minami had commented the artistic coffee house vibe it gave off. You
did enjoy the soft hum of the piano seep through the air. Suga nodded as you added
the finishing touches to his makeup. He was surprised by how relaxed you were
and how fresh he had felt. Making your way around him left and right, picking
up various bits and pieces. He admired the way strands of hair let loose from
your ponytail and how you would neatly tuck them back behind your ear. You looked so pretty, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.
“How old are you?” he asked, turning off his phone
and turning his attention towards you.
“Old enough.” You mumbled and he laughed.
Twenty minutes had gone by and you had just finished
styling Suga’s hair. Bending down you reached underneath the table to unplug
the hair curler. Suga looked in the mirror, tilting his head in every
direction. You had managed to make small waves in his hair, creating a rugged
and relaxed look. His lower lip pouted out as he hummed in a satisfying manner,
“It looks really good,” he commented before watching you fish through your
black leather backpack. With a small victory sigh you pulled out a small green
tub of hair wax.
Turning to Suga you held it to your face with a
smile on your lips, “Found it.” He chuckled at the sight of your grin as you
waved the tub in the air childishly before unscrewing the lid. Standing behind
Suga, you scrunched up his hair with your wax coated fingers. His eyes watched
yours as you meticulously placed each and every hair in a way which satisfied
you. After a few minutes of tousling and scrunching, you stepped back and gave
him a smile through the mirror, “Good to go.”
Suga leaned in from his hair and assessed his
reflection. Everything you had done looked so neat. He noticed how light his
skin had felt as if there was no foundation at all. The black eyeliner along
his eyes looked seamless and as natural as he liked it. He smiled and you let
out a sigh, relieved at his reaction. The door clicked open and Kira walked in.
You both turned towards her and she stopped, “Wow. Suga you look great.”
He grinned, “Thanks Kira.”
The small girl quipped a smile of gratitude towards
you before glancing down at her pink clipboard, “Alright, it’s time to go on
Suga stood up from his seat and you noticed how his
frame instantly loomed over you. A small tinge of heat rushed to your cheeks at
the sight of him. Suga smiled at you, “It was nice meeting you (Y/N),” he said,
a thought still lingering within him. However he restrained himself and made his way
to the door, following Kira. You watched his back turned towards the hallway
and you begin to pack up your products.
You looked over your shoulder at the sound of Suga’s
voice. His head popped out of the door frame with wide eyes. His eyes darted
towards the hallways before turning back to you. He stood by the door, taking
in the sight of you. Nerve had started to bubble within you, cursing at
yourself for not wearing one of Minami’s skirts. “Yes?” you asked softly.
“How would you like to come to Korea?”
“All done Suga!” you chirp.
Yoongi scrunched up his nose, “I hate it when you call
me ‘Suga’,” he frowned, “It’s like we barely know each other.” You let out a
sigh as you made your way to the small couch behind him, melting into the
leather completely. Yoongi made his way over to you, sitting next to you
comfortably. He was dressed in the same black jeans and white button up shirt.
The memories of the first time you had met flooding back to you instantly. A nostalgic
smile crept onto your face as Yoongi shifted closer to you, his hands fiddling
with your fingers.
“What are you smiling about?” he asked. You shake your head
and let him play with your tired hands. Looking up at you he pouted cutely, “Tell
me (Y/N),” he cooed and you couldn’t help but cringe at the sight. You laughed
at his offended frown.
“I was just thinking about the day we first met.” You
said, resting your head on top of his shoulder. You let your eyes close for a
moment as you felt all the muscles in your body loosen. Yoongi let out a soft “Ahh,”
before gently laying his head on top of yours. He smiled, fingers still
intertwined with yours. Without a second thought Yoongi brought your hand up to
his face, pressing his lips against the back of your hand. A small giggle
escaped your lips.
“I wish I could thank the stylist who called in sick
that day,” he said.
“Why?” you mumbled, eyes still closed. You were relishing
every second you have. If you had it your way, you would keep Yoongi all to
yourself and never let him go on stage. You missed him too much. Nevertheless
you tucked yourself under Yoongi, letting the warmth of his body seep through
Yoongi’s grasp tightened around yours, “I wouldn’t
have met you if it weren’t for that person,” he explained. You hear him suck in
a breath as he wondered, “I think his name started with a Y?” he pondered, “Yuri?
A/N: Thank you so much for the love and support of ‘Notice Me!’ !!! Part 3 will be coming very soon (I’ve been having exams so it’s going to come probably next week??!!)
Characters: Hagakure Tooru, Iida Tenya, Uraraka Ochako, Tokoyami Fumikage, Asui Tsuyu, Midoriya Izuku, Ojiro Mashirao Other tags: Manga spoilers, but only about the living situation
Art by Kumi. Words by Red. Read it on AO3! Please, do not repost anywhere.
パラパラ、じゃぶじゃぶ para para, jabu jabu
Fumikage was having trouble concentrating, which was weird. He was usually able to tune out all sounds and focus on whatever task at hand was - in this case, it was the insane amount of English homework Present Mic had asked them to hand in on Monday.
It was Saturday afternoon, and those who wanted to have some semblance of a weekend had decided to join forces in the living room and tackle as much as they could in one sitting.
It had been working fine, until Fumikage’s ears picked up another sound besides the typical pitter-patter of the rain outside. He raised his head and noticed everyone else was focused. Maybe he shouldn’t interrupt them…
Zen brings you back to your apartment and before you could shut the door,
“MC, can i get a hug?” He asks. You smile, giving him the biggest hug ever.
But then, he pulls away.
In his head, he had planned it all, chosen the words, the perfect thing to do, but in the end, nothing.
With an awkward smile, he sighs, “Just know, I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.” he says, then heads to the elevator.
Zen gives you warm feelings, he’s always always ALWAYS there for you.
You fix your school things for tomorrow, grab your bag, and open your laptop.
Upon opening the laptop, your phone vibrates.
Good morning, MC. I have to request your presence tomorrow afternoon, at the milkshake place at the corner of 6th avenue and emerald street. Please? I hope to see you there.
You reply, sure thing, i’ll meet you at around 4pm :)
Resuming your school work, your journal article homework, writing about absolutely anything. You brainstorm, trying to think of topics. Taking a deep breath, you start typing. The words, ideas, they never ended, you just kept typing.
It was time for lunch, you take two socks of different patters, slip on your black and white converse chucks, take your wallet, phone and head out.
Before leaving the building, you ask Shane, the receptionist at first floor if you had anything delivered.
“None that I know of, sweetie.”
“Oh.” You say. Were you expecting anything? “Okay, thanks.”
“Where you going hon?” He asks.
“Get some lunch.” You say. “Want me to get you anything?”
“You’re going out like that?” He changes the subject.
You were wearing an over-sized purple shirt, shorts, socks that don’t match, low-cut converse, holding your wallet and phone
“Yep.” You say blankly.
“You do you, I guess.” He sighs. “I’ll have coffee.”
“The usual?” You ask, and he gives you a nod.
You head off to the all-day breakfast place and order a take-out of bacon and eggs, proceeding to go to the coffee & fruit shake place, you order Shane a large caramel macchiato and a pesto-chicken sandwich, and a mango fruit shake for yourself.
On your way back, waiting for the stoplight to go red for you to pass, your head starts to go back.
“MC!” You heard a familiar voice, turning back, you see a bright yellow umbrella running towards you. “Its pouring, you might get sick. Let me bring you home, please?” You couldn’t help but smile, you felt butterflies in your stomach. He holds your hand and you two walk under a yellow umbrella in the pouring rain, to your apartment. “Thank you.” You tell him, making him smile. “Anything for you.” He replies. “Stay safe going home.” You tell him, as you walk to the building doors. “I will.” He looks back with the big grin on his face.
“Lady, its a red light, might as well go.” A small girl passes by, snapping you into reality. “Right, sorry.” You apologize and hurry across the street, passing a few blocks and getting to the building.
You could still remember that smile on his face, you miss it, don’t you?
You make your way inside, give Shane his order and go back to your flat.
The next day, you pass in your article and everything else that was due that day, go to your second class and end at around 3pm. You change into a nice navy blue dress and white jack purcell sneakers, taking your small brown sling bag, that fits only your phone and a few dollars.
Walking to the milkshake place, you notice a bunch of people with cameras and microphones crowding the place, you take a looks inside, scanning for Jaehee, and there she is.
Surprisingly, you made your way inside, walk to the table Jaehee’s at and sit down.
“Good afternoon.” She smiles. “Is there anything you want to order?”
“Oh yeah, just a strawberry milkshake.” So you call the waiter, and order.
You two catch up on work and school, as more people came to the shop.
“Why are there so many people?” You ask.
“There’s a photoshoot.” She answers. “I’m on a day off but Mr. Han asked me to go.”
“Jumin?” Your eyes grow big.
“Yes. He’s being shot right now.” She points at that corner occupied by a photography team. The lights were bright and your eyes searched for Jumin.
There he was.
“Mr. Han asked me to bring you here actually.” She blurts out.
“Me? Why?” You ask.
“I’m not entirely sure. He told me to contact you and bring you here.”
“Its for Mr. Chairman’s friend’s clothing line. All their shops have a diner interior and vibe, so they decided to shoot here. Even if the history of the clothing line has no connection to diners or the 1940s. Strange.” She explains. “He’s not the only model today, but so far, all the shots taken are all him.”
“I wonder why.”
Jumin comes out of the bathroom wearing a different outfit, and same after a few minutes, another outfit after the other. He changes into another outfit, but a girl wearing a pretty black dress, a white coat and heels. She was gorgeous. Jumin sat on the stool by the counter and she sat infront of him, on the counter table. They looked like a couple.
You don’t know why, but for some reason, it made your chest heavy.
They changed into a bunch of outfits and took so many shots together. They took a shot where he posed standing straight, while she was clinging on to him, her hands were travelling his body and her face was close to his. And Jumin looked at you, his eyes locked with yours find a place to have dinner?” Jaehee, being an amazing friend, took your hand and lead me out to the street. You two had dinner at a nearby cafe. On your way back, you were walking with Jaehee, you pass by a theater.
And the most cliche thing ever, Zen comes out. He looks around and sees you and Jaehee. He stops, your eyes travel to his, which were locked on you. It felt softer and welcoming, different from Jumin’s. “Hey.” He smiles.
You all head in the same direction, since you all lived in that direction, until you reached this street, where Jaehee and Zen were to go straight, when your apartment was a few blocks away, going left. You hug both of them goodbye, and you continue walking.
The wind felt cold, and the skies filled with clouds. You knew you had to hurry up, but your feet were killing you.
“MC!” Someone calls out. You look behind you to check. Your heart dropped. You turn to face him. And he walks towards you.
“Hey.” His raspy voice greets.
“Hey.” You reply.
“How are you?” He asks.
“Good. You?” You answer.
“Terrible.” He smiles. You stay silent. He looks at you. “I’m sorry.” He says. Your heart felt heavy, you look down. “MC, say something please.” His voice sounds broken. But your heart felt broken.
“Jumin.” Your eyes start watering up. “Why are you like this? You make me feel like you love me and then you break me like I’m your toy. I don’t know why you’re still coming after me. You have a thousand girls waiting for you.” Your eyes stream tears down your face, and the rain starts pouring. “I’m trying my best. Why do you always hurt me? W-why do you always do that? I do love you Jumin, more than the world, but I’ve spent so much time crying myself to sleep, hoping you’ll love me again, and when you do, you break my again. What did I ever do, Jumin?”
His eyes grew big and his face looked shocked. “MC,”
“And now I’m here, with you, standing in the rain. Where’s your yellow umbrella now? Where’s the Jumin that told me he’ll never leave me? Where’s the Jumin that held my hand? Where’s the Jumin that I wasn’t afraid to love?” Your dress was wet, your shoes were soaked, you face was stained with rain and your tears. You wipe your eyes and look at Jumin. You’ve never seen that face he was making. He looked like he didn’t know what he was going to do.
He looked at you, and his eyes looked tired, different. You sigh and lick your lips before speaking, “Maybe we should just stop. Let’s break this for good.” Your eyes continue pour, so does the rain.
“If that’s what you want.” He sighs, turns around and walks away.
You couldn’t help but drop on the floor. That was it.
You walk back home, in the rain. And when you get to the apartment, Shane calls your attention.
“Have you seen this?” He shows you an article on the internet,
“JUMIN HAN AND GIRLFRIEND, MC BREAK IT OFF.”
The article was filled with lies, and harsh comments about you. It was as if they were scolding you, they were criticizing everything about you, upbraid.
This is the last one I swear it just came to me and I had to ask, could you do Elriel + "Did you really just ask me that? Of course I do!"
This stupid non-canon ship will be the death of me dammit.
Azriel didn’t mind working at the cafe. They were flexible with his class schedule and his meager salary was just enough to pay for rent, a few groceries, and drinks with Rhys and Cassian every month.
The cafe was split into two parts: the actual restaurant and the coffee bar. The restaurant side served basic deli sandwiches and some soup options, and the coffee bar had all sorts of fancy drink options that were a real hit with the college students.
One of those college students was Feyre’s sister, Elain. He had met her while at Feyre’s birthday party last month held at his shared apartment with Rhys and Cassian.
He’d never seen Elain before in any of his classes, so she certainly didn’t run with any of the engineering majors. When Cassian mentioned something about Azriel’s job at the cafe, it hadn’t escaped him that she had started listening pretty intently.
So he wasn’t too shocked when she showed up the next week.
She was a pretty girl with a unique style. Her skirts and sweaters were always bright colors and soft material. Some days she would wear flower crowns and they somehow suited her even in the middle of winter. She was a bright contrast to his dark style and jet black hair.
When she had first started coming in she would always sit in his section on the restaurant side.
Azriel was uncomfortable with all the customers, but none more so than Elain. At least at first.
His hands would fidget on his notepad, shaking when he wrote down her order - the same thing every time: a BLT with extra pickles and a lemonade. As soon as she said it she would smile at him brightly and he would mumble something about the food being out soon before vanishing to the back room.
She stayed forty-five minutes every day. She would eat, read, glance at Azriel every two minutes, and then leave as soon as he caught her eye long enough to give him a goodbye wave.
It was routine. Azriel could handle routine. And he didn’t dislike Elain, not by any means. She just… intimidated him. She was so bright and smiley and sunshiney and nothing that he understood at all.
But… he liked her. He liked her visits. After a few weeks he found himself anticipating her arrival every day, making sure to keep her table open and the pickles stocked.
And then he got moved to the coffee bar.
It was the most popular part of the cafe, and they had more than enough waitresses on the restaurant side. And according to the manager, Azriel’s “mysterious aesthetic” matched the coffee shop culture they were trying to advertise… whatever that meant.
So when Elain stumbled into the coffee shop side on his first day as a barista with wide eyes at the crowd full of beanie wearing, script writing hipsters, Azriel finally forced himself to recognize that she came to the cafe every day for HIM.
She had smiled brightly at him the same way she always did, cutting her eyes over to him every few seconds while waiting in line. When she finally reached the register and he went to take her order, she froze.
“Ummm… what do you suggest?” She had asked innocently. Azriel had to bite back a laugh.
“Well I drink an Americano almost every day.”
“I’ll have that then,” she had said brightly, standing up on her tiptoes excitedly.
After he had made her drink, he kept his eyes on her while serving the other customers. A guy ordering a mocha frappuccino had looked at him like he was insane when he laughed suddenly after seeing the hilarious face Elain made at the first sip of her drink.
It was clear she hated the coffee, but she stayed the whole forty-five minutes like she always did. He wasn’t able to look over at her or talk to her hardly at all since the coffee bar was constantly busy, but he knew she was there.
He did make a point though to catch her goodbye wave through the crowd.
This continued for a week. Every day he suggested her a new drink and she agreed immediately. And every day she could barely swallow it down and threw it away without another sip.
Then on Friday, there was a horrible thunderstorm that closed down half the bridges in the city. So on Saturday morning when Azriel was working, the coffee bar was - for once - blissfully quiet.
And there she was. In her bright blue raincoat and a yellow umbrella stumbling through the door with a huff as she pushed her wet hair out of her face. Azriel leaned against the counter and laughed.
“Nice umbrella,” Azriel called out. Elain jumped, the umbrella in question slipping from her hand and clattering to the floor.
“Oh shoot,” she murmured, making Azriel laugh as she bent down to pick up the umbrella. She whipped her head up at the sound of his laughter, whacking herself in the face with her wet hair. “For goodness sake,” she huffed as she finally pulled herself together.
Azriel was still chuckling as she hung up her coat and umbrella and walked over to the counter.
“It’s quiet in here,” she said, a blush blooming on her cheeks. “I’ve never seen it not packed before.”
“That’s because most people aren’t crazy enough to come to a coffee shop when half the city is shut down.”
“I’m not crazy,” Elain bit back. Azriel’s brow lifted in surprise. “I just like… coffee,” she said carefully.
“Elain,” Azriel deadpanned, narrowing his eyes at her. “Come on. Do you really like coffee?”
“Did you really just ask me that? Of course I do!” Elain shot back incredulously.
“Okay.” Azriel stood to his full height. “If you love coffee so much…”
He reached out and grabbed a small cup, filling it halfway with their traditional house blend. He sat it down in front of her smoothly.
“I’m sorry, what?” Elain’s eyes were huge.
“You like coffee, right? Then plain coffee shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Right,” Elain said slowly, nodding her head. “Coffee. Plain coffee, of course I like plain coffee. I drink plain coffee all the time, it’s like my lifeline you know? Can’t study without coffee, am I right?”
Her nervous fake laughter was the most adorable thing Azriel had ever heard in his entire life.
“Oh for sure.” He nodded back to her, biting his lip to keep back his smile.
“Okay. I’m just gonna… drink this now.”
Azriel propped his chin in his hand and watched as she lifted the cup to her lips. She winced when the smell hit her and his shoulder started to shake with restrained laughter.
Closing her eyes tightly, Elain threw back a decent amount before setting the cup down in front of her.
“Good job,” Azriel said. “You still haven’t swallowed it yet though.”
Elain nodded, her face red in pain. She squinted her eyes back shut as she forced herself to swallow the drink in full.
She took in a deep breath, licking her lips.
Azriel kept it together for about two seconds before he burst into laughter. Elain groaned, pushing the coffee away from her and putting her head on the counter.
“Is it really that obvious?” She moaned.
“Oh painfully so,” Azriel said. In a rare moment of confidence, he put his index finger under Elain’s chin and lifted her face to his. “You know you could’ve just ordered water.”
Elain blushed profusely, dipping her eyes away from his gaze.
“I know, but… I thought that would make it even more obvious why I come here every day.”
“And why do you really come?”
“You know why.”
“Yeah. But maybe I want to hear you say it.”
Elain took a deep breath, biting her lip.
“I like being around you,” she whispered. “You look at me like… like I matter. You don’t make fun of the bright colors in the middle of winter, or the flower crowns. You just seem to see… me.”
Azriel stared at her, his mouth parting at her words. Instead of saying anything though, he leaned across the counter and pressed his lips to hers.
He felt her sigh into his mouth, her lips so soft under his own. She tasted like peppermint chapstick and…
“You taste like coffee,” he said with a laugh.
“So do you. If we’re going to do this more often you need to start carrying around a toothbrush.”
I actually don’t know what inspired me to write this I just thought it would be cute :)
The streets of London were pouring with rain. It could be seen flooding down the streets and pavements of the busy city; it could be heard pitter-pattering on the window sills of the tall skyscrapers and offices.
The door of one of these particular offices had just swung open. Out of it stepped Phil Lester who, having already been made to stay at work late, was not at all excited about the walk home.
Phil hated the rain.
He also remembered as he stepped outside that he’d forgotten his umbrella again (sigh) and his coat (double sigh), this really wasn’t a very good day. As he roamed the streets of London surrounded by workers and tourists, all of whom held varying patterned and brightly coloured umbrellas suspended above them, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of envy and longing. Phil kept his head down low, as though that would somehow shield him from the water that had already drenched him. No one payed any attention to him, they all seemed to have places to go and people to see and certainly didn’t have any time for poor little Phil. Or so he thought.
He wasn’t sure what had made him do so, but Phil looked up suddenly. Only to see that a path had been cleared for him, the people seemed to have side stepped out of the way leaving a clear walkway…
Well it was almost clear, in fact Phil had thought that it was until he had seen him. He was wearing a long black raincoat that was much to long for him as you could barely see the skinny jeans he wore underneath. His feet were adorned with bright yellow welly boots that matched the umbrella in his hand, it was overall a pretty strange look (but hey, at least he’d been more prepared for the weather than Phil had) and somehow he seemed to pull it off, Phil thought he looked quite attractive actually.
Phil had spent so much time looking at him that he hadn’t even noticed that the boy was walking straight towards him. Even his walk seemed so graceful and angelic while Phil thought he was probably looking the complete opposite. As the boy reached Phil he stopped for a second, blushing and looking Phil in the eyes, he then held out his arm in which the umbrella was being held and spoke.
‘Here… have this, I don’t need it’
‘I um…’ Phil mirrored the boys blush and hesitated, he thought of a million things to say such as ‘but it’s raining, of course you need it’ and ‘oh no, really it’s okay’ but for some reason he went with:
‘Thank you’ and took the little yellow umbrella. The boy smiled. His eyes seemed to light up, which Phil didn’t think was possible especially for someone with brown eyes as this boy seemed to have, but they did and Phil’s heart jolted as it happened.
He was so beautiful. Phil could see, now that the umbrella wasn’t shielding it, his brown curly hair. It was messy and unkempt but Phil had a strange desire to run his fingers through it.
No. Phil was just being stupid, this boy was way out of his league, he wouldn’t want Phil, Phil didn’t even know if he was gay and this boy might… oh for goodness sake he had only just met him what was he doing? He thanked the boy once more and turned to leave when…
‘Wait!’ The boy called.
'What? Do you want your umbrella back?’
'No silly, I wanted to know your name’ he giggled.
'Oh. Phil… my names Phil.’
'Well you’re very pretty Phil’
'Thank you’ Phil blurted out in surprise, was it his mouth that had just said that? 'And your name is?’
'Dan’ the boy blushed.
'Well you’re very pretty too Dan’
Phil replied, looking at Dan whose hair was becoming a little less curly now that it was exposed to the rain.
'Hey, I know you let me borrow this umbrella and all’ Phil said thoughtfully, 'but I was thinking that maybe… we could, we could share it?’ For a moment neither of them spoke, they only looked at each other, both unsure of what was happening.
'I… I’d like that’ Dan said. As he placed his hand back onto the umbrella his hand brushed against Phil’s and Phil had a sudden urge to kiss him.
He wasn’t sure what had given it away. Maybe it was the look on his face, maybe he’d said something without even realising, but Dan seemed to have had the exact same thought.
'Can I kiss you?’ He said, shyly. Phil didn’t speak in reply, instead he leaned in and brushed Dan’s lips with his own. Although Dan had been the one who had asked he still seemed a little shocked as the warmth of Phil tingled against his lips. As Phil kissed him the rain trickled down their umbrella but none of it reached them, they were completely transfixed, despite being in public they felt as through they were alone in this moment. Dan leaned in closer and wrapped his arms around Phil, who placed his hands in Dan’s hair ran his fingers through it. They were both soaking wet from the rain but neither of them cared. As Phil pulled away he starred back into Dan’s eyes, he had completed forgotten his day at work, the fact that he’d forgotten his coat, the inconvenience of the rain…
pairing: artist! namjoon x reader (?) it’s like 3rd person pov…
word count: 1.5k
summary: Namjoon finds a new muse for his trilogy of flower paintings.
The first painting was the color of her lips.
It wasn’t a surprise that Namjoon was at the pier at promptly 8:30 am, in fact, he would often wander the outskirts of the water every Thursday morning. Although it was the only day he didn’t have a morning class, he still found himself up at 7 am sharp. Something he never did quite understand, considering the earliest he would ever fall asleep was never before midnight. His mind would be wide awake, running with several different thoughts, stopping him from returning to his much-needed slumber. It was on his early morning strolls Namjoon would find time to sketch or plan a painting. As much as would love to pursue his artistic talent, it was completely unrealistic, hence it simply remained a hobby. Namjoon glanced at his watch, 9:03 am. He sighed, staring at his empty sketchbook as if the blank pages would somehow cover themselves in drawings if he stared long enough. He was restarting a sketch for the fourth time when he saw her from the corner of his eye.
He glanced at her, only for a split second, but her lips peaked the young artist’s interest, the pink hue refusing to leave his memory.
Maybe it’s because Namjoon was there every Thursday morning and has never seen the mystery girl before or maybe it’s because he hasn’t had contact with a girl in well over a month, whatever the reason, he couldn’t get the girl with perfect lips out of his brain. Namjoon ran to his apartment that day, the perfect image in his mind for his next painting, and he refused to let it disappear due to his short term memory and lack of athletic skills.
Waterlilies. The color of her lips deeply resembled the aquatic flower. The rosy tint of the lily is the first thing to catch a spectator’s attention when observing Namjoon’s painting, just like her lips were the first thing he noticed when she caught his eye.
Namjoon could ever rarely begin and complete a painting in one sitting, usually taking an hour, day, or even a month long hiatus from a single painting. He never thought he would pursue painting as a career, there was no doubt that he was talented, constantly praised by his professors and peers, but he was never inspired. Yet, there he was, staring at the watercolor painting he had finished in only a few short hours, influenced by a pair lips he has never even heard speak.
It had been 3 weeks since he saw her. Even if it was only for a brief moment of time, Namjoon couldn’t brush her away from his mind, she was forever imprinted in his memory. He would walk around the pier twice a week, hoping to catch a glimpse of her once again, but he had no such luck.
The second painting was the color of her umbrella.
It was a cloudy Tuesday afternoon, Namjoon sat on a picnic table bench, a sketchbook on his lap, but his eyes wandering over every bystander at the lake, hoping to find her. He was ready to call it a day when he noticed a raindrop fall on the open page of his sketchbook, slowly, then suddenly all at once. Namjoon murmured obscenities under his breath as placed his book over his head, creating a makeshift umbrella. As he shoved the rest of his belongings into his bag, something in his peripheral vision caught his attention. A bright yellow umbrella. He squinted, trying his best to make out the petite figure under the umbrella, but, somehow, he already knew it was her.
Sunflowers. Well, one sunflower, to be exact. It was one singular flower that covered the entirety of the canvas, its vivid petals taking up most of the room on the tiny tarp. He started and finished the painting exactly one week after seeing her, unlike his last painting, Namjoon didn’t sprint to his cramped apartment the moment he was inspired by his mystery girl, rather, he marched right up to her. Upon walking towards her, Namjoon quickly realized his rookie mistake, he had absolutely no idea what to say to her. However, he had no time to panic because, by the time he figured all of this out, she was already in his presence, wide, confused eyes boring straight into his. They stayed like that for a minute or two, almost as if they were reading each other’s thoughts. She broke the silence first, “Your journal’s getting wet. All your fan fiction is gonna become illegible.” To say Namjoon was caught off guard was an understatement, he blushed furiously and sputtered out nonsense trying to reclaim whatever dignity he had left. “It’s a sketchbook, not a journal. I draw, I’m an artist, not an author.” She chuckled, “I know, but you walked up to me and didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes so I figured surprising you like that would force you to say something, and look, it worked.” Namjoon didn’t know what to say, instead, he just stared at her grinning figure. “So are you gonna at least let me under your umbrella so my sketches don’t get ruined?”
The last painting was the color of her rosy cheeks.
It’s been two months since their first encounter in the rain, and it most certainly wasn’t their last. Namjoon made it his mission to visit the pier twice a week in order to talk to her. It turned into a routine, every Tuesday and Thursday at 9 am and 3 pm respectively, one would see the young duo sat on a picnic table, chatting about their week. Namjoon would always have his sketchbook in hand, doodling as she explained yet another conspiracy theory. Namjoon wouldn’t dare tell her he didn’t believe in such things, seeing as he relied on science and logic to solve the world’s mysteries. He admired the way she spoke with such confidence and rigor, he could tell she was passionate about everything she did, even silly things like presenting 17 facts debunking the first moon-landing.
The two grew close as the days, weeks, and even months ticked by. Namjoon would find himself drawing her in his busted sketchbook, some days it was the outline of her eyes or the shadows on her face or even a doodle of her hands, Namjoon was fascinated by her. Everything she did intrigued Namjoon from the way she would chew on the inside of her cheek when she was nervous to the way she tied her shoes.
When he walked to their usual picnic table a chilly Tuesday morning, he knew something was wrong, she was chewing the inside of her cheek and had a faint blush on her cheeks, Namjoon figured the crisp autumn air was the cause. Although, after a few moments he realized the weather had nothing to do with her strange demeanor. In reality, she was nervous to tell her new found best friend about a guy she recently met. She beamed about her new love interest, the more she spoke about him the brighter the twinkle in her eye became, and the lower Namjoon’s heart sank. He stared at her, paying no interest in her drone on about the guy from her physics class, they way she talked about him, was the same way Namjoon spoke about her. How he wished she spoke about him in that manner, but that’s all that would ever be, a wish because she had no interest in Namjoon the way he did her. He realized he, unknowingly, created a fantasy inside his wild imagination. One were their lives would always be like the past few months, where she would only be his, even if it was only two times a week, and during those days he could be selfish, keeping her only for himself. As he continued to hear about her new found love, he discovered he couldn’t be selfish because she was never his to begin with. He couldn’t keep her to himself because she wasn’t his to keep.
Namjoon paused his thoughts as he turned to face her. He noticed the blush on her cheeks didn’t fade, in fact, the more she spoke about him, the more color that rose to her cheeks. Namjoon quickly feigned a stomach ache and promised to finish the conversation the next time they see each other. He bid her farewell and rushed to his messy apartment.
Tulips. Tulips bloom in the spring, their lovely red petals cover many meadows and gardens, their presence creating a serene and delicate environment. Namjoon met her the first days of March, she brought a light into his life, she was his muse for many of his paintings and drawings, even if she was completely unaware the entire span of their friendship.
Two lone tulips in a green vase decorated Namjoon’s canvas. They sat on a blue and white checkered tablecloth, a gray wall behind them. However, it was one of the few paintings he left unfinished. He never bothered finishing the red tint on the tulips, there was no use when he could never be the person who made her face flush crimson. Namjoon would never be able to make her turn red, so he found no point in painting the tulips scarlet either.
Every Tuesday morning James Potter loads the work truck from the florist shop to head over to the local farmers market. His stand usually sat snug in between a pottery stand and a tea display with a bright yellow umbrella marking his territory.
James had been working at the flower shop for nearly two years post graduation from business school and he had grown to love working in the shop with the neat little greenhouse right out back. He had developed a routine of bringing stock and supplies to the nearby farmers market for Tuesdays and weekends along with a folding chair and a crime novel to catch sun with.
Hey I really love your writing! Honestly I've re read through all of your Saitama head cannon thingies and?? Idk it just makes me really happy and all mushy feeling. Is it okay if I ask for what Saitama and his s/o would do if they were stuck out in the rain?
rainy days are the worst
at least that’s what his s/o thinks, complaining loudly so that Saitama knows with explicit detail
he doesn’t mind much on the other hand, but that may be because he’s not in his hero costume
he’d be yelling at nature itself if his costume got messed up, his s/o was sure
moreover, without hair the water just slides right off the top of his head, and he has to constantly blink liquid out of his eyes
his s/o laughs excessively at that, pointing
he ‘accidentally’ nudges them into a puddle
fortunately on their way home a kind old lady offers the two an umbrella
(thank god nobody recognized Saitama without his bright yellow garb)
the two are already drenched straight through so the action is sort of useless, but kind
“Ah we don’t really need-”
“Say thank you, Saitama, or so help me”
“Thank you madam”
they are close together underneath the tiny pink, borrowed umbrella, skin brushing, hot puffs of breaths into the cold air intermingling
the rest of the walk home through the abandoned ghost town is quiet sans the white noise of rain all around them
Imagine Enjolras going to his favourite coffee shop every day, in a rush because he has to go to work and he’s already late and he isn’t a morning person, not at all, and he just needs his caffeine. And sometimes, he caches a hint of colour in the edge of his vision, but he never pays attention to it. Until one day.
It’s a sunday so he was able to sleep in and now he’s supposed to meet Combeferre at the coffee shop around lunch time. His friend is not yet there when Enjolras arrives so he looks for a table and sits down, really looking around for the first time since he comes to this coffee shop. And his eyes widen more and more.
There are paintings at the wall - the Eiffel tower at night, a full moon shining above it, a lady with a bright yellow umbrella in an otherwise grey and empty street, a close up of a violin, a field of flowers in soft colours… Enjolras looks at all of the paintings, and oh, how he loves them. It is as if the artist is sharing their way of seeing the world, offering the viewer to see a glimpse of it through their eyes, and Enjolras is amazed. He finds extraordinairy beauty in every one of them, but he quickly has a favourite: it’s a drawing of the Seine covered by one of her old stone bridges, soft outlines hinting at the city of Paris in the background, everything illuminated by a soft spring sun.
“You seem quite interested in the paintings”, a voice suddenly says and pulls Enjolras out of his thoughts. He turns around in his chair to see a man looking down at him; unreadable grey eyes, wild dark curls.
“Yes, I love them!”, he answers enthusiasticly.
The stranger raises an eyebrow, shakes his head and fixes his gaze at his shoes.
“Nah, they’re not that good.”
“Excuse me? They are amazing!”
Enjolras does his best to not get angry; he wanted to have a nice calm sunday morning, and he discovered some beautiful drawings, that’s good, he should be happy, but really, who does this man think he is to critizise these pieces of art?
To his surprise, the stranger is smiling now.
“Thank you”, it’s barely a whisper and Enjolras gets even more confused. His missing understanding must be showing at his face because the stranger opens his mouth again.
“Well, they’re mine, you know. Like, I painted them.”
For a moment, Enjolras is speechless; he’s just looking at this person who created such beauty, and then they’re talking, and somehow, he realizes that he wouldn’t be too angry if Combeferre would be a few minutes late for their meeting…
earlier this week i was tagged by @mirkwood131 to share 10 facts abt myself, and to tag 10 followers ♥ let’s gooo !
1. i can speak french and japanese on an elementary-middle school level, and i’m currently teaching myself korean
2. i have a mild obsession with tea
3. i’m currently writing a chansoo college au fanfic partly based off of my own relationship’s dynamic… more details soon sldkfjs
4. for almost my entire life i considered myself an artist but recently i’ve seen myself as more of a designer than an artist.. rather than coming up with my own ideas i work best when following a prompt / directions
5. depending on my level of comfort with people i can slip into a childlike persona (my bf sees this the most)
6. when i walk on campus i carry a bright ass yellow umbrella
7. i also walk across campus in heels bc i go to work right after and i’m stubborn
8. despite suho being my ult bias i don’t have any wearable merch for him
9. i really really miss using bath bombs every week but its EXPENSIVE and i’d rather have one expensive hobby / obsession at a time
10. if u see me reblogging thigns in a spam-manner it’s bc i saved them in my likes
Hufflepuff: playful laughter, the warm sun beating down on your face as you look to the sky, cloud watching, letting a handful of soft sand sift between your fingers, the smell of bread baking, handfuls of colorful flowers, long and tangled hair, a shy smile, warm woolen mittens, the feeling of a forgotten word slowly coming back to you, daydreaming, chasing butterflies, a basket of clean laundry, tall grass rustling in the breeze, the smack of flip-flops on pavement, cuddling in a nest of blankets, blank paper, chirping birds at sunrise, spinning in circles until you feel dizzy, bright yellow umbrellas, a lullaby, a small footpath wending through the forest, the shine of lip gloss, bendable straws, the creak of old wood, holding hands on the first date, gentle kisses, telling the truth, ripping a piece of gum in half, the clack of marbles, scribbling hearts in a notebook, afternoon tea, sweat cooling on your brow, lit candles, sliding your tongue across the inside of your cheek, popping the last bit of candy into your mouth, mismatched socks, uncomfortably long hugs, little shoes lined up in a row, scuffed sneakers, untying the bow on a present, a partially visible rainbow, a rose-colored blush, and a patchwork quilt sent from home.
Slytherin: life in the big city, the numbness of diving into the ocean, blood-red lipstick, black lace, a half moon at midnight, the tingling scent of pine needles, black and white photographs, nails tapping on the desk, a symphony of crickets, the edge of a blade, ornate mirrors, empty rooms, jewel-toned ballgowns, the flash of lightning during a rainstorm, loose change, seeing your breath on a cold day, a strong hand upon your shoulder, family heirlooms, a bottle of alcohol, brushing the dark velvet stage curtain before the show begins, the fluid stroke of a paintbrush, 3 am, touching cold marble, dancing shadows, a pair of dice, closed doors, effortlessly brushing through silky hair, a thin layer of frost, perfect handwriting, twinkling stars above your head, spilled ink, silence, dark chocolate, hitting the bulls-eye on a dartboard, mahogany tables, a wax seal, the Cheshire Cat’s grin, slippery fish scales, unsolved mysteries, tracing a name with your finger, hooded cloaks, what you hear but cannot see, stiletto heels, the sweet satisfaction of a lie, eyes adjusting to darkness, blackberries, ear piercings, and the dull whisper of secrets.
Ravenclaw: swaying branches of a willow tree, old parchment, cathedrals with stained glass windows, ticking clocks, the slender tip of a pencil, a game of chess, a coffee mug filled to the brim, abandoned buildings, the final math problem of the exam, tightly woven braids, a full calendar, the hum of a computer, steampunk decor, written correspondence, glue dried upon your fingers, a sigh of content, motionless rocking chairs on a porch, fingers caressing bare skin, a mass of sticky notes, rusty springs, putting on a new record, the sound of a doorknob turning, sewing needles, speaking a poem aloud, witty banter, a pile of antiques, elaborately spun cobwebs, waking up before the alarm goes off, eating sushi with chopsticks, unspoken words, undoing the clasp of a necklace, a telescope, bent paperclips, a pair of glasses folded neatly, half-completed crosswords, saying the right thing at the right time, calligraphy, cats scratching at the windowpane, overcoming a rival, shortbread cookies, maple syrup, extra buttons, arms wrapped around a textbook, white chalk, skipping stones across a quiet lake, puzzle pieces fitting into place, incense, and the orchestral vibration of string instruments playing in unison.
Gryffindor: the bustle of a lively marketplace, skydiving, riding a roller coaster, the crackle of a campfire, singing off-key, a gilded throne, finding a lucky penny, swing jazz concerts, the moment before you break into a sprint, the crisp autumn air burning in your lungs, requited love, screaming until your throat hurts, the height of a raging party, making a bet, open windows, crossing the finish line, the climax of a novel, a rush of adrenaline, pricking your finger on a thorn, cherry pie topped with whipped cream, passionate staring contests, stepping inside a new home for the first time, speeding trains, blindfolds, hanging upside down from a tree branch, heat pouring from an oven, brick walls, riding your bike downhill, traffic jams, hot buttered popcorn, carrying a friend on your back, cracking knuckles, saying the first thing that comes to mind, glowing with happiness, static electricity, the feeling of Christmas Eve, horror movie marathons, chasing frogs in the backyard, tattoos, fairy tales, standing on the roof, pulling an all-nighter, the sting of a high-five, a pair of scissors, and the deafening blast of fireworks.
omg can you pls do "It’s pouring with rain and there’s space under your umbrella au" with sterek???
The rain is coming down in droves. Stiles is late to the stakeout, something about getting all the supplies they needed. He’s still magic training with Deaton, so Derek presumes there’s some sort of thing Stiles wants to practice while they’re making sure the brownies aren’t up to anything nefarious.
The pack is alternating a watch, a buddy system that Scott came up with, and Derek isn’t sure he should be appreciative or frustrated that he’s paired up with Stiles. Ever since Stiles got back from his first year at college he holds himself a little differently, a little more confident in his step, body filling out a little more, smirk a little more self-evident in the way he described his multitudes of dates with guys and girls and just– many times, many positions, making Derek grit his teeth and wait for the subject to change.
It’s fine. It’s summer, it’s raining, a bit of humid soggy wet just coming down and down and a thunderstorm in the distance, crackling in the forest and Derek just wants this night to be over.
He smells Stiles before he sees him, all bright cinnamon and excitement, and then hears him, loudly stomping through muddy puddles as he makes his way to the hideout spot.
“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Stiles says.
He’s holding a luridly bright umbrella that’s yellow and has cartoon clouds on it, and no sort of emissary materials in sight. The rain makes gentle plop plop noises as it slides off the umbrella, and Stiles looks delightfully warm and dry underneath.
“Dude, have you just been sitting here in the rain?”
“No,” Derek says. “I’m keeping watch in the rain, there’s a difference.”
Stiles snorts. “Whatever you say. Here. There’s enough room for the both of us.”
Inspired by @mitsouparker ’s beyond beautiful art :)
Hopefully you’ll like this, doll
It’s absolutely pouring and I am the only one outside.
I love the rain, the pattering song it sings against my blue umbrella and how it washes away all the dirt, makes everything grow anew.
I jump from puddle to puddle, humming a tune and grinning like a child as the water splashes against my yellow rain boots. They look like two small Suns on stilts wading trough the mud.
Sometimes this is the way I relive the childhood I never really had.
Splashing through puddles is also a not so secret guilty pleasure that I happily indulge in every chance I have.
A car rushes past me and I deftly jump aside, almost tripping, but then someone grabs me and an oddly musical voice admonishes me gently to please be careful.
The body behind me is warm and soaked by the rain. I smell cedar and sandalwood, undeniably posh and feel hard lines, long lines.
A very pretty guy, I decide, as I turn around. Soaked and grumpy-looking and very pretty.
His, slightly longer than chin-length, hair is plastered to his face, looking like wet, black ink and the wings of the murder of ravens I saw at the Tower last year. Some of it, especially the tips, is curling around his ears and his pale, aristocratic face.
And I should probably stop staring because he is watching me with eyes as dark and mercurial as the hide of a jungle snake.
I fumble with my words as I usually do and they try to dance around my tongue and evade to be properly spoken, especially as he raises one slender, inky black eyebrow at me.
“Si… Simon.” I manage to blurt out before my tongue and my brain give up on me.
“Enchanted, I am sure. Baz.” he drawls, honest to goodness drawls and clutches a bundle of sheet music to himself.
I shuffle sheepishly and then get onto my tiptoes as he is quite a bit taller than me, draping my umbrella over both of us.
He watches me incredulously and dripping, then something like a smile dances across his lips and I come to a decision.
“I’ll walk with you wherever you want to go.”
This day started perfectly shitty as usual.
As soon as left home to drive to my violin lesson, the car broke down and a downpour of almost biblical proportions started.
I had to take the public transport and then the bus had to get stuck in the mad traffic caused by the heavy rain which urged me to get out and walk.
Then I met this guy with the hair like sunlight, with those ridiculous yellow rain boots and his blue umbrella.
He’s walking beside me, struggling to keep pace with my long strides and bopping his head to some unknown tune that only he knows.
I am holding the umbrella now just for logistics and proportions and the handle is still warm from his touch.
He drops me off at my tutor and lets me keep the umbrella and a crumpled note with his name and his number before he skips off, his rain boots winking at me, shining through the dreary grey.
It is weird, I muse as I blink and clutch the umbrella. I have always dreamed of a white knight on a noble steed rescuing me from the darkness I was spiralling towards, the edge I was blindly dancing on.
But apparently my knight is no knight but a small young man with messy hair the colour of sunlight and butterscotch, eyes that look like small specs of the sky on a sunny day and he doesn’t have a noble steed but a blue umbrella and a pair of bright yellow rain boots.
This little ditty came about a few nights ago when I decided to give Google Docs Voice Type feature a go. All I did was ramble at the computer to see how it worked [omg, it was awful. so many words misinterpreted, grammatical errors, you name it…I will not be using that feature again.] The resulting story was kind of adorable so I sent it off to one of my favorite writers @lenny9987 and my ever vigilant beta @outlandishchridhe for several thorough editing look throughs. I hope you all enjoy this unknown universe of a Modern AU. It has zero correlation to Mo Chridhe and is completely a stand alone piece. Should I continue this piece and see where it goes? Let me know! And as always please let me know what you think!
“Hello,” she said. “I believe you were looking for me.”
Jamie didn’t know what to think of this brazen English lass. She was right he didn’t know it but he had been looking for her, he had been searching his entire life and never knew what he was searching for until he met her.
“I’m sorry lass, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Have you been looking for me as well?”
Claire smile and look down blushing furiously. “No, but if I was, I only realize I had been now.”
Jamie smiled and reached out a hand beckoning her forward. She tentatively reached out her hand and grasped his. The heat and electricity that shot through her at his touch surprised her. No one had ever made her feel this way, not even Frank. Who was this man?
Jamie’s insides felt like they were on fire and simultaneously doing somersaults. This strange woman made him feel like you could do anything.
“Can I buy you a cup of coffee or tea…or…if that’s not your thing something else?” Jamie stuttered.
Claire nodded, “I would love a cup of tea. do you know a good café where we can find some? I’m afraid I’ve just arrived and I’m not familiar with this place.”
Jamie grinned from ear-to-ear happy to help, “Oh, aye, Sassenach, I ken a place just fine that will be perfect for a shared pot of tea. It’s down the road a little ways,” he hesitated not wanting to assume she’d be willing to walk in the rain. “ Are you okay with that? It’s maybe two kilometers, but I ken if ye’d prefer to drive than walk…”
“I don’t mind walking,” Claire said squeezing his hand tight. “The rain never really bothered me. Besides I have an umbrella and perfect company to escort me. You don’t mind walking do you?”
Jamie squeezed her hand back, “No, mo nighean donn, I think a walk is exactly what I need.”
The couple walked down the dreary lane, hand-in-hand, smiling and laughing the entire way. The inhabitants of the small town walked about with knowing smiles. They watched the couple with intense interest, waiting to see if the lad would try to steal a kiss. They could already tell that these two had more love between them than most couples do. They didn’t know the young couple had only just met that day for the very first time, but it didn’t matter because the love shared between them was palpable and plain as day for everyone to see.
The young couple arrived at Mrs. Baird’s Books and Tea Cafe. The rush of hot air that escaped the building when Jamie opened the door felt incredible to the frozen pair. They both shook themselves off and deposited the bright yellow umbrella in the umbrella stand beside the door. Jamie quickly ushered Claire to his favorite spot in the corner nook squeezed in beside a big bay window and a cozy bookshelf. The chair was a big blue crushed velvet plush love-seat perfect for two. Claire blushed again as Jamie quickly rushed off to the counter to order his favorite pot of tea and plate of biscuits.
She gazed longingly out the window, a secret smile across her face. She couldn’t believe what she had done when she packed up all of her bags and just left… everything! Frank, her job at the hospital, London, and the future that it held—a future she did not want.
Something told her to go to Scotland, so she took a risk and went with her gut. So far her gut had not led her astray. The charming red-headed Scot, whose name she still didn’t know, was worth it all. He was the first person to treat her with kindness and not expect anything in return. She’d only known him a short while, but that was all the time she needed to know this man was different.
Jamie fumbled his way through the small cafe back to where the beautiful Sassenach sat waiting for him. Him. He couldn’t believe his luck or the blessing he had been given. He didn’t know her name; nor did he care, she was his Sassenach, his nighean donn. He smiled as he grew closer to her, her own smile soft, tugging at the corner of her lips. He felt his heart race.
He sat down beside her and grabbed a cup of tea, presenting it to her. She blushed and accepted it, their fingers brushing up against each other. He nearly dropped the cup at the contact.
“I—” He cleared his throat. “I hope ye don’t mind, but I had them put a spoonful of honey to the pot.”
Taking a sip, Claire smiled at how adorable this man could be. “It’s perfect.”
He smiled, a boyish grin that made her insides flutter.
“I feel silly asking this,” she said nervously, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. He nodded in encouragement. “What’s your name?”
He let out a laugh. “It’s James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser.” He said with a cheeky wink. “But ye can call me Jamie.”
“Well, Jamie, I’m Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. Normally I would say call me Claire, but I quite like what you’ve been calling me.”
Jamie flushed from chest to forehead. “Aye, well would ye prefer mo nighean donn or Sasseanch?”
“Both.” They both smiled.
The two young, soon-to-be lovers enjoyed the rest of their tea and biscuits with laughter and perfect conversation.