Summary: He was your biggest competition, the one you could never beat. You were not just another tennis competitor to him, you were the girl who he wanted to know more about. He wanted to uncover just what you were behind your tennis racket.
You tapped your foot impatiently as you sat on the park bench. You checked your phone, waiting for Kihyun to show up. You’d already postponed your afternoon training to later on in the evening and didn’t need Kihyun making you late for it. You won’t even miss one day of practice no matter how much you’ve been told to loosen up.
“Hey, I’m here!” Kihyun panted as he ran over, a basket in hand. You cocked your eyebrow as you noticed the pink hair at the nape of his neck peeping out from under the hat, its hiding place proving unsuccessful.
“You’re late,” You said, rising to your feet and tilting your head to the side to take a better look at the bright bursts of bubblegum, “and your hair’s pink.”
“Oh wow, I knew I could count on you to state the obvious, Y/N.” Kihyun shook his head, blushing slightly as he adjusted his cap, attempting to conceal any sight of pink. “I made a bet with my friends. They said I’d have to dye my hair pink if I lost to you at Wimbledon.”
“Do you go around your everyday life making bets with everyone?” You asked, amused at the reason for his new appearance. “Do we need to hold an intervention?”
btw whenever I go to the uk I cry. because of their bread. it's like toast-bread. they don't have like.. the TRUE BREAD
It makes me mad that some people are dumb, cause I have to deal with them.
FUCK THIS SHIT
I feel like people our age are pressured too much to be sassy and sarcastic and all that and tbh isn’t it kina a promotion of the rudeness and hoeness among the youth. Shouldn’t we all be above that tbh... * continues for another three hours *
I'm a basic hoe
I bought a new cream today and I just applied it so tomorrow I’ll be glowing *flawless *
So the thing was this: saying Enjolras is sort of good-looking is the same thing as saying he’s sort of amazing, which is patently wrong. Correct answer: Enjolras is beautiful. That’s the best way to describe him. “Attractive” is too vague, “gorgeous” is too corny, and “cool” is a gigantic lie because Enjolras is a nerd. An intensely passionate, terrifyingly brilliant nerd. But still a nerd.
Bottomline and absolute truth: Enjolras is beautiful. And he was Grantaire’s boyfriend. And when Grantaire tentatively asked him to be his model for a couple (a lot) of his pieces, Enjolras said yes. So like, Grantaire shouldn’t be blamed at all for drawing him. Or painting him. Or sculpting him.
He dares anyone with half an ability to produce any kind of art to not be inspired when they look at Enjolras’ face. Or hands. Or thighs. Or everything.
Grantaire always knew that Enjolras would bleed into other aspects of his life, and for the most part it was expected, because they’ve known each other for a long time. Their lives were already intertwined way before they got together.
He just never thought that its effects would be something like this.
When i met him at the airpot, i almost cried because eventhough V is my bias and all Bangtan member are so damn flawless (like seriously they are all look exactly the same with the picture/video you guys see everyday) , JK is too damn flawless to be real - im not even kidding. I only saw them like for a really short time but because they were close (especially JK) they looked so not real to me. Their face arent soo soft or like the pic we usually see (except Suga i guess lol his skin are too great >_<) but they looked like every man you guys imagine, kinda tan skin (their skin not soo white like you guys see on pic that have been edited), tall and looked so caring like they could even hug you when you cried and i saw everything mostly on JK :’)
It was so dark. That was the first thing Beca noticed as she
stepped into the club. She could barely see the rest of the Bellas, let alone
anyone else. The rest of the group split off to go dance out on the floor, some
with each other, some plucking random strangers from the mass of sweaty, drunk
humans. Chloe tried to get her to come out on the floor, but after Beca refused
–five times, in fact– the redhead left her alone to find her way to the bar,
calling over her shoulder that she needed her “jiggle juice.” The brunette
grinned at that. Chloe was still Chloe.
Large social gatherings weren’t really her thing. When she
was singing with the Bellas, it was different. That had a purpose, and she just
lost herself in the music. It was harder to do that in a club. Rather than
embarrass herself or, god forbid, give herself an anxiety attack, she picked
out a nice, relatively secluded booth to watch everyone else in, and relaxed. After
ten minutes, the bartender came over to ask if she wanted something, and ended
up giving her a root beer after she had declined.
“Keep an eye on your friends, ja?” he asked hopefully. Beca nodded amiably and he grinned at her
before moving away.
Worlds were over, but the Bellas had decided to stay a bit
longer and take in the sights and sounds. Apparently Copenhagen did a lot of
fishing. Like, a lot, a lot. Beca was
pretty sure she had never seen or smelled this much fish. It was ridiculous.
Two weeks in Denmark. It was a pretty fascinating place, but
Beca always had a thing for other countries. And accents. And—oh, fuck no. This thought train was not going there.
And of course, by some stroke of luck or misfortune –she wasn’t
sure which to blame right now– Das Sound Machine was here. It may have been
dark, but she could make the giants out with minimal light.
That, and she could hear the Kommissar’s voice. It sounded
like angels and cotton candy and oh my
god what is wrong with you, Beca?
And yet, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. The German was entirely in her
element here, and though she exuded confidence by nature, her showy attitude in
the U.S. didn’t compare to this.
Part of her wondered why Kommissar (was that seriously her
name? It literally meant inspector…) wasn’t somewhere mourning the loss of the
Worlds. She seemed like the type to brood, plan, and then possibly kill those
who stood in her way. And damn if it
wasn’t the sexiest—
Whoa, Beca, no. “I
have a boyfriend, for fuck’s sake,” she muttered, trying to talk herself out of
being attracted to the blonde bombshell. Deep
breaths. “I have a boyfriend, my life is great, I have an internship waiting
at home, I have Jesse and if I was
going to be gay for someone wouldn’t it have been Chloe…?”
She rattled off a huge number of excuses before finally
getting frustrated and heading for the bathroom. It seemed like her skull was
pulsing and that was probably a bad sign. So determined to reach the bathroom
before running into anyone she knew, she made a beeline for the bathroom,
charging through the doors like the madwoman she possibly might have been.
She collided with something that felt like a brick wall,
except in human form, and dropped everything she was carrying – drink included.
Root beer splashed over her blouse as well as the one of the person standing in
front of her, and she swore vehemently. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, I’ll pay for a new
outfit or for this to get cleaned or something, shit I’m really–”
She had spilled root beer on the Kommissar of Das Sound Machine.
going to die. Fuck.
“—sorry.” The last word ended on a squeak, and she
immediately pulled her phone out to text Chloe, only to ditch her mission when
the tall German chuckled under her breath.
She was smirking, probably thinking up ways to torture the
American. “Perhaps I should call you Clumsy Maus,
ja?” When Beca gave no reply, Kommissar tilted her own with a smug smile. “What
is wrong, Kleine Maus? Has the… was ist der begriff… cat got your
The Bella glared at her. “It’s not my fault that I’m awkward
and you’re gorgeous… wait, what?” Shit. “I mean, you’re just too flawless
and it’s messing with my head!”
Kommissar laughed, a real laugh, not the mocking kind. “Tiny
Mouse, you are so funny… your voice is angry but your words are quite
flattering. What is it that you try to accomplish?”
In what must have been the cutest pout she had seen yet,
Beca pouted. She flat-out pouted, and Kommissar laughed again. “Such a tiny,
feisty, clumsy maus!” she teased, but
a moment later smiled. “Congratulations are in order, as well… for your
victory. It was clever to bring your previous members to perform with you.”
“… I’m sorry, is this a trap? I’d be good with being trapped
by you but – you know what, I give up on words,” Beca grumbled, rolling her
eyes. She got this way every single time in the woman’s presence. Kommissar
made her go weak in the knees, weak in the head, and weak in–
Not going there…
“Arme kleine Maus.
You are so stiff. Loosen up. Worlds are over. Why are you not enjoying
“Because I can’t think straight around you?” … Was that an
innuendo? Oh god, it was. She
literally could not think straight around
this incredible Amazon woman. She had always suspected she might be bisexual
but god, did it have to be this particular person to make her question every
sensible part of her.
If Beca was the mouse, Kommissar was definitely the cat. She had taken a step closer, backed Beca
against the wall. The brunette had to look up just to see her properly, and a
soft hand cupped her cheek, Kommissar rubbing her thumb across the Bella’s
cheek. “Seriously, do you wash your hands with unicorn tears or something?
Nobody should have hands this soft, this is illegal – what are you doing?”
Kommissar had brushed a strand of hair from her face and
studied her now. Under such scrutiny, Beca felt suddenly self-conscious. What
the hell was the DSM leader studying? Probably assessing exactly how many
superior qualities she had. Because, seriously, how was anyone this flawless?
“My name is Luisa.”
Beca blinked. “Is… um? Why are you—”
She didn’t get to finish the question before the Aryan
goddess leaned down to catch her lips. Every possible sensible part of her
brain short circuited and she couldn’t resist the urge to wrap her arms around
the goddess’s neck, dragging her closer, kissing her harder… if it had been
possible to take part of Kommissar –no, Luisa– from her through this kiss, Beca
would have accomplished it.
Somehow Beca ended up seated on the counter. Somewhere in
the back of her mind it occurred that Luisa had lifted her up, as it couldn’t
possibly be comfortable to lean down to kiss someone a full foot shorter, but
she had no memory of anything but this kiss. And fuck did Luisa’s lips feel incredible. As if they had been dipped
in honey and then formed into clouds. Warm clouds.
The German was the one to pull away, a smug grin on her
face. “I thought it appropriate to introduce myself properly before I did that.”
She leaned closer, her mouth a hair’s breadth from Beca’s. “And, as much as I
enjoy my title, I would rather hear you scream my name, Beca.”
She noticed the Bella’s openmouthed, wide-eyed –what adorable
doe-eyes; perhaps Luisa should change her name– and only smirked before
catching the younger woman’s mouth again.
“We’ve had a lot of horrific deaths that I’ve read through … before I’ve seen the show,” says Clarke. “And this was one in particular. I’ve never gotten crazy emotional reading them, but then that finale was the one that had me genuinely in tears when I read it. I called Kit and then called (showrunners) David (Benioff) and Dan (Weiss) and being like, ‘Are you f—-ng kidding me?’ - Emilia Clarke interview with New York Daily News