#I love this godforsaken sketchbook | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

catxsnow · 4 years

Text

DRAW ME D.W.

Summary: Damian never knew his drawings could lead to something so great. Older!Damian

Warning: the cringiest reference but I couldn’t help it, fluff

A/N: I’ll say it once and I’ll say it again, Damian’s skills are not showcased enough

Gif not mine

Word Count: 2.3k

Everyone knew how amazing of an artist Damian Wayne is.

He would sketch whenever there was a pencil and paper in front of him no matter if he was supposed to be paying attention to something or not. He loved to draw, to paint, it was the easiest way for him to express himself since words and actions didn't come out as easily to him.

Damian would draw anything and everything. He drew his dog, batman, even the gargoyles that he would perch beside in the dark of night. Drawing was his escape and not to brag about it, but he was pretty damn good at it too. Bruce was always impressed by his son's skills.

He began to challenge himself more - drawing things that were more realistic. He had nearly perfect Titus and was almost there with his father. However, when it came to drawing you? Damian had dozens of sketches of you, each one not coming near to how perfect you really were.

You and Damian had been friends since he stepped foot in Gotham - at least you considered him a friend for that long. You met him at school, first day of class and bumped right into him. Damian yelled at you - calling you dumb names for being so careless. Lucky for him, you were on a good day.

Rather than some snarky response that surely would have gotten you a one way ticket to the principals office, you smiled at him. Damian was taken aback by your response, he wasn't used to this kindness. You had apologized to him, asking if you could make it up to him by buying him lunch that day.

For some godforsaken reason, he agreed.

The two of you had been best friends ever since. It had been years since that day, the two of you were older now - fresh out of high school and awaiting university that fall. You planned to spend as many hot summer days with Damian was you could. He did just the same.

Over the years that the two of you had been friends, Damian had gained these... feelings, for you. At first, he was unsure of what they meant but after a talk with his brother, Dick, he had confirmed them. Damian had a crush on you, and for the first time in his life, he was scared of something.

He didn't want to tell you that after all these years, he had fallen in love with you. There was no way that he was willing to risk your friendship, you were his closest friend besides Jon. Besides, with him being Robin, it was way to dangerous for you to be involved anymore in his life. It was easier for him without you knowing his secret.

So, he kept his feelings hidden. He hid his blush every time you would touch him or kiss his cheek. He hid his desire to hold you in his arms. He hid his endless drawings of you, each one trying to perfect the happiness that was in your eyes.

"Whatcha drawing?" It wasn't very often that someone could sneak up on Damian - rare, in fact. However, he was so engrossed on his sketchbook that he didn't even hear you walk into his room. Damian nearly jumped out of his chair at the warmth of your breath against his cheek.

You rested your chin on his shoulder and wrapped your arms around his upper body from behind. Damian wanted to lean back into your touch, he wanted to turn his head just enough that your lips would touch. Instead, he stayed still, twirling his pencil between his fingers.

"My mother," Damian responded. He had the upper half of Talia drawn and was just starting on the details of her lower body. It was excellent work so far, especially being from memory. It was rare to ever see him talk about his mother, you never really asked about her in case it was a sensitive topic.

"She's beautiful," you commented. Damian nodded his head. He set his pencil down on his desk as you pulled away from him. "I was wondering if you wanted to go to the art show with me this afternoon. They have some new pieces I've been dying to look at and you're the only one that's going to appreciate them."

"I'd love to," Damian agreed to your plans.

"Perfect, you didn't really have a choice," You grinned. "Now get dressed, it starts in less than an hour and I want to be the first ones there."

"Get dressed?" Damian raised an eyebrow. You chuckled and looked him up and down once before meeting his eyes again. He looked down at himself, just to realize that this whole time he had been in nothing but his boxers. A blush crept up his neck - he hadn't left his room all morning and had completely forgotten to put on clothes.

"I think you some how got more fit since the last time I've seen you half naked." You didn't think that it was possible for that to happen, but here you were. Damian was in impeccable shape, and you never could understand why. He never did it to impress woman and he wasn't narcissistic enough. Either way, you didn't complain about the view.

"I'll meet you down stairs," Damian avoided your compliment.

"I think I like the view too much to leave," you leaned against the doorway. Damian stood in the middle of his room, obviously feeling uncomfortable under your gazing eyes. After all this time, he still wasn't used to your flirting. You did it a lot, which had made him realize his feelings for you even more. It also made him a hell of a lot more confused about how you felt about him.

"(Y/N)."

"Okay, short-stack," you finally agreed. Upon first meeting Damian, you had been much taller than him. Now, he towered over you after a massive growth spurt. He hated the nickname even more than he did when you were in fact taller.

"I'm taller than you now!"

Damian had never felt his heart flutter more than he did at that art show.

You looked so effortlessly beautiful as you admired the paintings. The way your eyes lit up as you talked about a certain piece to him made his breath catch in his throat. He didn't even care about looking at the art, he was too distracted by you the whole time. You were the only art he ever needed to admire.

The whole time you nearly dragged Damian around by his hand. You wanted to see everything, to appreciate ever stroke of the paintbrush. It was incredible just how talented these people were. You never acknowledged art until meeting Damian, he had been the one to get you into the history of it all.

By the time that you left the show, you were nearly skipping down the street with excitement. The most beautiful smile wouldn't leave your face. Damian wanted to see you like this all the time. He wanted you to be happy and never to be tainted by the darkness that was in his life.

Damian had offered for you to join him back at his home. You agreed, of course. The number of hours in the day couldn't compare to the hours you wished to spend with him. Damian was the one person that you didn't think you could ever get tired of seeing. You just hoped that he felt the same way.

It was raining as you came back to his home. The short walk from the car to his front door had left you both soaked to the bone. You hair stuck to your skin and your clothes were nearly see through. It was pouring out, but that was nothing new for Gotham.

Damian offered you a set of his clothes, which you happily accepted. He left the room while you could change into his sweats and hoodie. They smelt like him - an intoxicating scent that always lingered on your body from being with him so much.

A cold gust from his window sent a chill down your spine. You closed his window and wrapped your arms around yourself in hopes to warm up.

The sketch book that he had been using that morning was still opened. However, instead of the drawing that he was doing of his mother, it was on a page of you. It was incredible how he had perfected this drawing of you. From every flaw on your face, to the mixed colors in your eyes. He had done an excellent job.

You carefully grabbed the book from his desk, flipping through the pages of everything that he had done in the past several weeks. Damian was never particularity excited to show you his work, but he didn't hide it from you either. As you turned the pages, you realized just how many times he had drawn you.

They were beautiful. Damian had come back into his room, assuming that you were dressed. His eyes immediately went to the book in your hand and his eyes widened. The last thing that he needed was for you to think of him as a creep for drawing you without your knowledge.

"Dames, this is incredible," you gawked at his work. "Like holy shit, this looks like you just took a picture of me, of everything in here! Why have you never showed me these before, I love them."

"You do?" Damian asked. He didn't realize how much your praise of his work would mean to him until hearing it.

"Yes!" You exclaimed. The smile that Damian loved grew and grew on your cheeks. You sat down on his bed, gesturing for him to sit next to you as you went through each page of the book. You complimented each of his drawings and expressed how good of an artist he was.

It wasn't until you reached one of the more recent drawings of yourself did you pause. You could feel Damian tense next to you as you stopped on the page. He had forgotten the drawing. It was of you - just like every other one in this book - however, around it were dozens of tiny little hearts. The corner of the page read 'my beloved' in the most beautiful calligraphy you had seen.

He had drawn it on a day that he found particularly difficult to hide his feelings for you. Drawing it out had been the only reason he hadn't blurted it out.

"I love this one," your finger tips outlined one of the larger hearts on the page. Damian let out a breath of air that he didn't realize he was holding. You looked up at him, trying to figure out what was going through his head in that moment. He was always a closed book and as much as you had gotten used to it, he still frustrated you.

"I love you," Damian blurted out. His eyes widened at his words and you could see the panic growing on his face. He didn't mean to say it out loud - it wasn't like him to just admit how he was feeling. "Fuck, I didn-"

You didn't let him finish whatever kind of bullshit excuse that he was going to come up with. No, Damian Wayne was a once in a life time kind of person and there was no way that you were going to let him talk himself out of whatever the hell was thinking. So, you did the first thing that came to mind.

You grabbed Damian by the collar of his jacket and pulled him in so you could kiss him. You kissed him with more passion than you ever had for art, with more love than you could have for yourself, and with more confidence than you had ever given off. You kissed him like you had been waiting for this moment since the first time you saw him.

It took Damian nearly too long to pull himself out of his shock and kiss you back. His hands went up to the side of your face with more tenderness than he thought he ever had. This was the kiss that he had been waiting for, for years. Just as he had imagined it, it was perfect - just like you.

"I love you, too, Damian," you confessed. It had been just under a year since you realized your feelings for him. The yearning for him never went away until the second your lips touched. "Fuck, do I love you."

"I should have shown you those drawings earlier," Damian chuckled. He brought you in for another kiss. Without pulling away, you set the book down on his desk once more so you could crawl up his bed. Damian didn't miss a beat and hovered over you. His legs trapped you below him and his arms caging you in even more.

You threaded your fingers through his hair, tugging right at the roots to elicit a quiet groan from him. Damian trailed wet kisses down your neck as his hands slid up the sides of your shirt. He pulled it over your head, and took in even more of your beauty.

"I think I've got a new drawing project for you," You offered, playing with the hem of his shirt. You had just seen him without it that morning but the small taste of it wasn't enough. You needed more, you needed him. A coy grin threatened your smile as you continued your plan for him.

"Draw me like one of your french girls."

#damian wayne #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne oneshot #damian wayne x reader #older!damian #dc imagine #dc one shot #dc #batfam imagine #batfam one shot #batfam #fluff

636 notes · View notes

lilbabycee · 4 years

Text

sundown // steve rogers 🌇

↳ summary: steve’s little ray of sunshine isn’t shining so bright.

↳ relationship: steve rogers x reader

↳ word count: 2.5k

↳ warnings: angst angst angst (i was in my feelings with this one), hurt/comfort and some fluff

↳ author’s note: hi! i wrote a kind of sequel to daybreak today! i’ve been stuck in a writing rut for like two weeks but then @pinksdaydream inspired me to write some more for this! 🥰

READ DAYBREAK

A year later and Steve still hasn’t learned his lesson. Every day, he stares for hours at the brightest light that he’s ever had the pleasure of seeing in his many years of life. He can’t believe how close he is, how easily he’s able to touch and feel something- someone so precious. It’s a wonder that he hasn’t been burned yet, but he knows that it’s because this light doesn’t pose a physical threat to him - emotionally, perhaps, but rather, it’s much more the contrary. He basks it in, soaks in its warmth and revels in its brilliance all because he’s allowed to. He’s allowed to because this light is his.

It’s you.

You’re not perfect - you tripped on the fluffy white rug in the living room and subsequently ran into the sharp marble corner of the kitchen island this morning alone - but you’re still his. However, this time you’re awake and standing in the kitchen - too far away from him. One of his grey Henley’s shields your entire upper half from his eager gaze and he silently curses himself for throwing you that shirt when you’d asked for one - if he was smarter, he would’ve just insisted that you walk around naked. He knows that your legs are completely bare, but his vivid imagination has to be the one to conjure up the image of those miles of exposed skin because his view is obstructed by the kitchen counter. For now, he’s stuck admiring you from the waist up. He bets that he could rip the counter right out of the tiled floor if he tried hard enough, but he knows that as of right now, he has more restraint than that.

No matter what time of the day, not once in any of those twenty-four hours for the past one-thousand-one-hundred-and-eighteen days has he failed to be amazed by how you can make him feel like the asthmatic man he was all of those years ago by simply walking into a room, no matter whether or not you even know that he’s there. You’ve been quieter than usual lately, running endless back-to-back sprints as opposed to marathons inside your brain that wear you out because you refuse to take a water break. He knows what this is - he’s seen it before, watched you run so far only to drop the baton in the relay race at the most critical moment. And as much as he can coach you to not push so hard and pace your running, in the end, you’re the only one who can really make those decisions for yourself.

Of course, you always take his advice in stride, using it to propel yourself those last few meters to the finish line. But time and time again, he’s watched you fall short, letting all the different facets of your overactive and often noisy brain speed past you to snap that finish line tape in half much like the way that they break your soul. Your aura dims considerably in moments like these, despite the glow of the late afternoon sun swallowing the white walls of your apartment and spitting out rays of golden light. One shines right on your face and Steve almost laughs - it’s as if the sun itself knows how deserving you are of the limelight - a star in his eyes having taken center stage in the production of his life.

He’d let you take all of the attention any day. But you’re not like that - as much as you can be his little social butterfly, the taste of pink lemonade and cherry lollipops in your speech, there are still those days when he can both physically and emotionally see you sink in on yourself, the words you speak stinging him in a way that makes his entire body shudder just thinking about it. They always taste like copper to him.

He knows that you don’t mean it. It’s the way you’ve always been and who is he to think that he’s entitled to make you change it? But the way that you deal with what goes on inside your head isn’t healthy. He knows that. You know it, too. And you’re trying. That’s all he can ask for.

And so here he sits on the floor of your living room, large body wedged in the sizable space between the coffee table and the couch that his back rests against. You’re directly in his line of sight - still too far away - but that’s okay because even though you haven’t spared him a glance or uttered a word to him in the past hour, at least you’re together.

Sometimes he regrets the mantle that he carries around - Captain America. True, it is such an integral part of him but he can’t help but resent it some days. It keeps him away from you all too often. Time and time again, people have chased him just to meet the man in red, white, and blue. They’re not interested in the man behind the shield and honestly, he doesn’t know if he is either. There have been plenty of times where he’s spiraled into an identity crisis, unable to separate Steve Rogers from his superhero persona.

But every single time, you’ve been there to work through it right alongside him. You’ve dealt with him at his very lowest - when he was in a hole deeper than rock bottom and couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed in the morning. So there has not been even one moment when Steve has thought about leaving you alone when you get like this. He now knows not to pry just as well as he knows that you don’t want to be by yourself in times like these. You may not explicitly vocalize it, but in the seconds when you do meet his stare across the dinner table or right before you fall asleep, he can see the love housed in the depths of your eyes and that’s more than enough for him.

His own eyes haven’t left you for the better part of the hour. His favorite black leather-bound sketchbook is open to what was once a blank page at the beginning of the day but is now an almost complete sketch of the angel in front of him. The luminosity of the sun on your body reveals your halo, usually hidden during the day but in rare moments like these, he’s able to appreciate your otherworldly presence casually standing in the middle of his kitchen with a hand propped against the edge of the counter. A notebook is set in front of you and Steve never thought that he could be so jealous of an inanimate object before - it’s held your undivided attention for hours.

His eyes widen as you shift, leaning forwards to rest both of your elbows on the counter top to type something on your open laptop and giving him a clear view of your breasts through the gap in the front of your shirt. Your lips have been wrapped around a ballpoint pen for virtually the whole day which is how he knows you’ve been working hard because sucking on the ends of pens always helps you focus. He, on the other hand, can’t seem to focus at all as soon as you whip out one of those godforsaken pens. Steve swallows hard - almost immediately regretting wearing grey sweatpants as he adjusts the crotch as subtly as he can - and tears his eyes away from you to flip to a new page, sketching profusely so as to immortalize this moment in his sketchbook before his mind can even dare to forget it.

In his haste, he doesn’t even realize when the silence is broken by the chime of your voice.

“Steve. Steve.”

His hand moves fast and he’s squinting at the page in concentration, willing his brain to hold onto the picture of you bent over the kitchen counter as if he doesn’t have the real thing standing right in front of him-

“Stevie,” you call out, your brow furrowing slightly in concern. This makes his head snap up - finally - and you can’t help but notice how blown his pupils are and how strategic the placement of his sketchbook seems to be. You can pinpoint the exact moment that he starts to panic. For someone who is usually so stoic, he wears his heart proudly on his sleeve. Realization quite literally dawns on his face but it does nothing to alleviate the dusting of light pink across his cheeks.

“I’m sorry, baby,” his unused voice is raspy but he doesn’t bother clearing his throat, as if he knows exactly how it makes you clench your thighs together where he can’t see them. “I was just really invested in- uh,” he hesitates, gesturing vaguely at the page that you can’t see, “the sketch. What’s goin’ on, doll?”

And the flower of your heart blooms at the look in those eyes that remind you so much of April showers, those eyes that are filled to the brim with the rain that has watered all of the dead and decaying blossoms that line your stomach, crawl up to your ribs and up your throat, their vines climbing up through your skull to wrap around your brain. That look alone, framed by those insanely long eyelashes, has extended a helping hand to your beaten-down spirit, telling it to dust itself off and keep going.

“You’re staring, sweetheart,” Steve’s sinfully pink lips quirk up into a demure smile as he teases you, his thick beard shielding the brief flash of white teeth. You decided a long time ago that the beard has been the best thing to happen to you, as is the long hair that he’s currently running his hands through.

“Sorry,” you say but continue to stare unabashedly at his beautiful face because you don’t mean it. You can’t help the way that your eyes trail down his chest that has woefully been covered by one of his too-tight black t-shirts, though you don’t miss the way that it strains against his bulging biceps, nor the way that it’s slightly rucked up at the bottom which gives you an eyeful of the dark blonde wisps of hair that travel downwards towards one of your favorite parts of his body.

Steve, always so perceptive, doesn’t miss where your gaze has traveled, and he can’t help the self-satisfied smirk that grows on his face. It’s easy to forget that you’ve been down for these past few days when you have seconds like these in between those tired hours when you oversleep and he hasn’t slept at all because he’s too busy watching you.

“See somethin’ you like, baby?” he hums, continuing his sketch absent-mindedly because he knows that the image of you standing in front of him like a dream will forever be ingrained into his memory.

Heat ignites your veins and blooms in your cheeks; you can’t help it when you look away, smiling shyly to the side. Steve has resigned himself to the fact that you won’t answer, going back to tracing careful lines with the point of his pencil.

“In fact, I do,” you murmur, knowing that if it was anybody else, they wouldn’t have heard you. Steve’s eyes meet yours and you can almost taste the saltiness of the ocean on your tongue as he drowns you in their depths. He stands abruptly, casting his book to the side carelessly and taking long strides to get to where you are.

Once his hand lands on your hip, the warmth seeps in through the cotton of your shirt and melts your entire body; it catalyzes the small eruption of the volcano in your chest, causing the burning lava of the breath that you didn’t know you were holding to spill over and out of your mouth in an audible sigh. His other hand soon joins the first, framing your body and pulling you back into him. You stare down at the dusting of hair on his forearms when he slips them around your waist and you squeal when he turns you around in his hold, meeting your eyes with a softness that you weren’t expecting.

“Do you wanna talk about what’s goin’ on with you, sweetheart?” he probes lightly in that same low voice, recognizing your deflection and not wanting to cause that volcano to explode. You bite the inside of your cheek, avoiding eye contact because you don’t want him to worry (you don’t know that he worries about you every second of every day because you’re almost his entire heart) but he grasps your jaw in his right hand. He ducks his head down a little, trying to catch your darting eyes. When they finally rest on him, he thinks that he’s dying because your stare is glassy and your lip is trembling.

“Baby,” he coos, tugging you into his chest. You relent, releasing your hold on his forearms to throw your arms around his middle. It’s hard to hold back the tears anymore: Steve’s concern has kicked down the fragile floodgates of your emotional control. Pressing your head into his chest, he says nothing while your body shakes but it’s better this way. You know that you’d only cry even more if he started speaking. Instead, you inhale gasping breaths between babbling as you try to explain why you haven’t been yourself recently. He listens attentively, rubbing circles into your back and dropping frequent kisses on your forehead.

The room is more orange than yellow by the time you can finally speak coherently.

“M’sorry,” you sniffle into his shirt, fists clenching the material tightly. He pushes you away from him so there’s just enough space for him to lift his hands to your face. Slowly, he wipes any residual tears from your cheeks and underneath your eyes with this thumbs.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, baby,” he speaks softly, your face still in his hands when he presses a kiss to your nose, both of your now mostly dry cheeks, and then right on top of your lips. It’s chaste, only lasting about a second but it makes your soul sing nonetheless.

You stand in silence for a beat longer, merely staring into each other’s eyes before something flashes in Steve’s eyes. You squish your face to his body again, feeling his chest rise slightly, signifying that he’s about to speak.

“What did you need before, sweetheart?”

You’re confused.

“What do you mean?

“When you were calling me before - what did you need?”

Now you get it.

“Oh- I was just going to ask what you wanted for dinner...”

Your voice falters at the end because - and you have no clue why - this makes Steve throw his head back as he barks out a surprised laugh. You frown, narrowing your eyes at him slightly.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing - I just love you, that’s all,” he clarifies, casually throwing the sentiment out there because it’s so easy with you. It’s always easy, even when it’s not.

“I love you, too,” you place a lingering kiss on his jaw before pulling back to stare in his eyes with a grave expression on your face. Now it’s his turn to frown in confusion. “But seriously, what do you want for dinner?”

576 notes · View notes

hetahonda · 4 years

Text

hetalia college AU headcanons

North Italy/Feliciano Vargas:

Fine Arts

Considered joining his brother Lovino in culinary arts, but wanted to try something outside of the Vargas family restaurant business, so here he is now

Feliciano’s favourite thing to draw is people, so his sketchbook is usually filled with drawings of his friends, family, and the occasional cat

Likes watching conspiracy videos on Youtube before bed, but scares himself to the point where he has to camp with Ludwig for the night

His Spotify playlist for when he’s working on coursework ranges from Monteverdi to songs from the Veggietales soundtrack

He’s usually really chatty, but is radio silent whenever he falls sick (which is pretty often, his immune system is terrible), and it’s unnerving as hell

Tells his professors that he’s ‘resting his eyes’ a lot to cover up for the fact that he can’t stay awake in class

Somehow, he’s friends with everyone on campus

Germany/Ludwig Beilschmidt:

Mechanical Engineering, because he’s a nerd like that

Ludwig’s notes are a work of art. He meticulously colour codes and binds all his material, and often receives offers to buy his notes during exam periods

Tends to forget to eat, so he eats a lot whenever he has the time to. His roommate Feliciano’s usually kind enough to share, his brother Gilbert not so much

President of the Student Council, and uses his Council privilege to get away with bringing his dogs into his dorm room

People call him a square - he’s a rigid, straight-edge rule follower to a t, but football season is when Ludwig is really in his element. That’s when he and Gilbert bust out the jerseys, beer, and go absolutely ham in front of the TV

Secretly wants to quit Council to join the football team

Japan/Kiku Honda:

Kiku deliberated between Digital Animation and the more ‘traditional’ route of engineering before deciding that if he was going to suffer for three years he was going to suffer doing something he liked

He only has the motivation to study at night, so he games all day and mugs all night. He lives off a diet of Red Bull and cup noodles

Roomies with Alfred. The both of them throw the sickest gaming parties every Friday night, just so that they can trash their guests at Super Smash Bros

Has a whole bunch of anime keychains and pins hanging off his bag that probably weigh more than the actual contents of his bag. Kiku’s cousin Yao’s hair got caught in it once and it took a lot of screaming before they managed to pull him free

Somehow manages to maintain that 4.0 GPA with that shitty sleep schedule/diet of his? How does he do it

America/Alfred F Jones:

ASTROPHYSICS ALL THE WAY BABY!

Al really loves his course but he also really loves putting work off until the last minute. You can usually spot him camping outside the printing room trying to print an essay minutes before submission time, but it doesn’t matter because he usually gets by with a B anyway

Overloads the fuck on extra-curriculars and clubs, so he’s quite well known around campus. He’s in the football team, track team, is Vice-President of the Student Council, and President of the anime club

He’s the poster boy of the school. College website? Alfred. College pamphlets? Alfred. Anti-smoking advisory that’s hung up in every godforsaken toilet in college? Alfred. What can he do? He’s just too damn handsome.

The biggest Halloween fucker on campus. He shows up to class every Halloween without fail in the exact same Captain America costume as last year’s

England/Arthur Kirkland:

Literature with Creative Writing

Tends to come off as snobby, but is actually really nice when you get to know him better. He’ll show up to your dorm armed with a kettle and a box of teabags if you need a study buddy or just someone to talk to

He’s also a terrible chef. The student dorms have had 6 fire scares in the past term, and they’re all Arthur related incidents

Talks big about only reading fine literature but writes fanfiction in his dorm room every night. It’s a secret he’ll take to his grave, especially since TheSlytherinGentleman is one of the biggest Harry Potter fanfiction accounts on AO3 right now

His room smells like tea and regret, because he opted for a four person dorm and now he’s living with Francis, Antonio and Gilbert for the next two years

Argues that his half brother Alfred’s GPA is higher than his because “Literary arts is subjective”

France/Francis Bonnefoy:

Film student

Francis’s favourite past time is renting out old movies and watching it on the library’s old VCR. Netflix just doesn’t have that same a e s t h e t i c

Among the four of them in the same dorm, he is the only one with a skincare routine and a 10pm bedtime

The mom friend of the house. He’s the one to call for hangover remedies (Antonio), or if something gets broken (Gilbert), or if something’s on fire (Arthur)

Resident heartthrob. Receives the most amount of chocolates and gifts every Valentine’s Day, and is always happy to share

Francis, Gilbert and Antonio have a “bully Arthur day” every year to commemorate the day Arthur moved in with them. It’s Francis’ favourite day of the year (apart from Christmas)

Goes all out on decorations for Christmas. The whole dorm is like a palace once he’s done with it

China/Yao Wang:

Business student, though everyone says he should’ve taken culinary instead (jokes on them, he’s starting his own restaurant empire after college)

Yao’s stuffed toys take up 80% of his bed space

Irregular sleeper, and wakes up at really odd hours of the night. There’s nothing to do until daybreak and it’s hard to fall back asleep, so he just wanders aimlessly around his dorm and scares the living hell out of Ivan from time to time

Listens to music at max volume. Likes to start his day with aggressive death metal in order to help himself stay awake for morning classes

He destresses by cooking. There’s always tupperware boxes of fried rice/egg noodles stacked in the dorm kitchens during exam season

Always has backache. He claims that the chairs in the lecture halls suck, but his kid brother Leon tells him that he’s just an old man with back problems

Russia/Ivan Braginsky:

Medical student, but doesn’t look like it

Ivan keeps really gross photos in his phone to help him reference back to the stuff he’s learning in class, and it tends to scare unsuspecting friends

Has so many stories from his time as a hospital intern. It grosses people out, that’s why he loves to tell them

“Did I tell you about the time I had to help sew a man’s fingers back one by one after his hand was crushed by a steamroller”

Likes the sun, but doesn’t really like sports. He’s the medic for a bunch of sports teams, and he likes to sit and watch the games

There’s also never a week that goes by where Alfred doesn’t get hurt. Seriously, can that Jones kid chill?

Roomies with Yao. They’re the most functional room in the entire campus. No noise complaints, no dirty dishes, no undone laundry, and they PRIDE themselves on it

1K notes · View notes

geeky-writes · 4 years

Text

The Phoenix Project Chapter 8 Preview

Behind? Catch up HERE 😊

Gorgeous moodboard created by Stella @therollingstonys thank you so much! 💖

********

Grabbing Steve’s discarded t-shirt from the night before, Tony slipped it over his head before padding over to the tiny half-bathroom to pee and brush his teeth. Next to the sink sat a brand-new toothbrush and razor still in their respective packages, just as Steve had told him, and Tony couldn't help but smile as he helped himself to some of his man’s toothpaste and shaving cream as he tried to make himself at least a little more presentable before Steve came back.

“Eh, guess it’s not too bad,” Tony said to his reflection once he was done. He’d try to squeeze in a shower later, once the simulator sessions were done and before he headed out to visit Peter. The cadets’ locker room was usually pretty quiet during that time of day.

There were still about ten minutes remaining before he expected Steve, so Tony decided to crawl back into the bed, propping the pillows behind him before reaching for his glasses that were resting on the bedside table, on top of what looked like a sketchbook. With a rather wry grin, Tony picked up the sketchbook and began slowly flipping through it, noting that Steve seemed to be just as talented at drawing as Peter, something that Tony hadn't thought was possible.

Steve also seemed to love being outside, judging by the various drawings in his book, yet another thing he had in common with Peter. There were several drawings of various trees and flowers, a couple of the ballfield where they’d had most of their picnics, a few of the X-301 and X-302 aircrafts, and one portrait of an older woman whom Tony guessed was Steve’s mother. Tony’s smile widened as he pictured the two of them sitting there on the bank of that lake that he loved, their two heads bent towards each other as they sketched whatever caught their fancy, while he worked on whatever project caught his.

He had just turned the page a bit beyond halfway through the book when a particular drawing caught his eye, one of a bird perched on the side of a large nest while three small chicks poked their heads out, eagerly awaiting the fat worm caught in the mother bird’s beak. Tony’s heart began to thud as he studied it, his belly swooping violently as he realised where he’d seen it before.

There were a few minor differences, but other than the smaller size and slightly different shading patterns on the mother bird’s wings, it was almost an exact carbon copy of the drawing that Tony had tacked to the corkboard in his office, behind his computer. The drawing that Peter had given him.

Which could only mean that—

“Oh fucking hell!” Tony rushed out as about a thousand different emotions began warring inside his mind and body, leaving him so nauseous and dizzy that for a moment he felt as though he might actually pass out. With shaking hands he dropped the sketchbook onto the bed like a hot potato, his legs nearly tangling in the sheets in his frantic attempt to get to his feet.

Steve had lied to him. The whole entire thing had just been one gigantic lie, and like a complete and utter fool Tony had fallen for it. Hook, line, and sinker.

No wonder Steve had told Tony so many times that he couldn't wait to meet Peter. It was because he’d already met him.

How could I have been such a goddamn fool!

Apparently the Air Corps was not only holding Tony hostage with their ridiculous demands on his time and intellect, they were also apparently sending their pilots in to stalk and harass his boy.

“Oh gods,” Tony murmured as he scrabbled with Steve’s t-shirt, finally ripping it over his head and launching it across the room. He searched the floor for his clothes, finally locating them halfway under the bed and nearly tipping over in his haste to snatch them up. His chest was so tight he could barely breathe, his limbs barely functional as he tried to push his legs into his pants and locate the fucking arm holes on his shirt, not even caring as he jammed his feet into his shoes that in his haze of betrayal and rage he’d managed put the damn thing on backwards.

All Tony could think about was that he had to get out of there, somehow had to get Peter out of that godforsaken hospital and somewhere else, where he could be safe. He’d heard various reports over the years of a few people who’d managed to defect over to Meridia, so maybe somehow he and Peter could—

The sound of an electronic lock clicking open stopped Tony in his tracks, and he looked over at the door in a panic as Steve stepped inside, obviously fresh from the shower and carrying a loaded tray of food in his hands.

“Hey,” he said, the smile dropping from his face as his eyes swept across Tony. “Tony? Is something wrong?”

Tony could only shake his head, his tongue refusing to cooperate as he pointed an accusing finger at Steve, who immediately set down the tray, hurt and confusion marring his blue eyes.

Damn those fucking blue eyes! Tony screamed inside his head. Damn every single part of him to hell! Oh gods, how could I have been such a goddamn idiot?

“Tony?” Steve said as he took a step towards Tony, halting in his tracks when Tony immediately backed away. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“You!” Tony finally choked out, bumping into the bed and nearly falling backwards. He sucked in a deep, shaky breath as he righted himself, his heart threatening to pound right out of his chest. “What in the goddamn hell have you done to my son?”

“Tony, I haven't done anything! I swear it!” Steve exclaimed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped. He took another step towards Tony, halting again when Tony raised his palm.

“Don't!” Tony yelped. “Don't you dare come near me! Just tell me what you've done to my son!”

“Tony, I swear I don't know what you're talking—!” Steve broke off as his eyes flicked over to the abandoned sketchbook. Almost instantly his shoulders sagged, his cheeks completely draining of colour as he squeezed his eyes closed, shaking his head.

“Tony,” he said, low and tight. “I’m not—I don't—please, Tony, it’s not what you think.”

The full chapter will post on Monday, May 18th 😊

#the phoenix project #superfamily #stony #iron dad and spider son #superhusbands #superfamily fanfiction #stony fanfiction #iron dad fanfiction #tony stark #steve rogers#peter parker #parent tony stark #kid peter #alternate universe #science fiction #chapter 8 preview #geeky writes

37 notes · View notes

thatanonwiththeoc · 4 years

Text

The Taste Of Coffee Ch. 1

A Lukagami fic. Read on AO3

I guess I’m cross posting on tumblr now lol

Part 2

Of all the places the universe could’ve landed her, it turned out to be here.

Staring her right in the face.

Kagami instantly recognized the boat in front of her. It was the Couffaine’s residence that she’d visited a few times before with Adrien, ever the same familiar clashing colors bearing into the eyes, screaming as loud as the music it played. Kagami sometimes wondered how they only got in trouble with the police once out of the many times they’d been playing on the deck. She could absolutely testify to how the music they played shook even her own inner being.

But anyways, that was irrelevant to the reason she was here in the first place.

After telling her closest (girl) friend that she’d taken an interest into playing guitar, Marinette brightened and almost instantly scratched down an address into her sketchbook. It was a wonder to Kagami how the paper still held intact by the violent way she ripped it out. Still, she’d be lying if the way Marinette winked at her didn’t send a sneaky suspicion through her.

‘This person’s a great teacher.’ Marinette beamed. A little too friendly and innocent even for Marinette, but she just chalked it up to not having much experience in the ‘friends’ department, ‘Plus, they’re pretty cute too if you’re into that.’

Kagami made sure to give her a good whack in the arm for that last comment.

A deep sigh escaped her lips as she realized who would probably be teaching her. “Of course that’s what she meant by ‘cute’.” She said to herself.

However, she wasn’t one to be defeated by a little shyness. Or even the godforsaken emotion of hesitance. She asked for guitar lessons, and she was going to get it. No matter how painfully awkward it would’ve been if it was coming from her sort-of-ex’s new girlfriend’s old sort-of-ex. Kagami was on a mission, and she was determined to complete it.

Kagami knocked on the door. Three times, as she was taught to do since she was little.

It was a sort of bitter reminder of what her and Adrien was. Of course she was happy for Adrien and Marinette, she loved them both in her own unique way. But the sting of seeing him happy with someone else that wasn’t her still didn’t sit well with her even weeks after their relationship began.

Okay, it hurt a lot, but she’d be damned before she let either of them know that.

They deserved that much happiness, and Kagami wouldn’t dare intrude on that.

Her mother’s voice rang in her ears.

‘Second place is never a spot for us.’

Kagami shook her head, trying to forget about her mother for once. It definitely wasn’t what she needed to hear right about now.

Thankfully, reality came back to her when the door gave way to a familiar, friendly face.

“Hello.” Kagami greeted. She mentally ran through her to-do list on Social Interaction 101.

Luka shot her an easy-going smile that showed his teeth. Kagami had to admit, she was in a way, envious of how easy he held himself around others. Should she smile back? “Kagami! Come in, please.”

Discarding her previous thoughts, she instead decided to simply bow her head and avoid words altogether. Actions worked better for her than words anyway, they always came out more clipped and harsher than she intended it too.

As was expected from his proposal, she made her way inside to the common area of the ship-house. In her mind, a thousand different questions roared about how she should walk, how she should handle herself, when would be a good time to speak up or let him lead the conversation. It was a wonder how she even made it to the sofa in one piece. Kagami sat upright with perfect posture. It was probably the right thing to do, wasn’t it? Keep the legs together, and the hands on the lap. Perfect. She was going to make the most of this new path and relish in the glory of talking to people like a winner.

Luka leaned over the counter from across the room, as calm and hospitable as ever. “So, what brings you here onto my humble ship?”

Right, of course. Point of contact. Classic social connection basics.

“I’ve heard you teach guitar lessons.” Kagami stated, more than asked. “I was hoping that you’d teach me how to play.”

Luka chuckled lowly. “Funny you say that, actually.” He stretched his arms over his head. “Marinette convinced me to start teaching yesterday, as it would turn out. Consider it fate.”

Kagami coughed.

So Marinette put him up to his, huh?

She shook her head. What was her quirky friend up to?

“Everything okay?” Luka asked, and Kagami had to resist the urge to lose her composure right then and there. If not for her sake, then for the boy in front of her from across the room who was looking at her with a bit of worry in his eyes. Kagami held up a hand in front of her, straight up towards the ceiling. Ordered and proper, like she always knew herself to be.

“It’s fine.” She said. A little more dismissive than she meant it to be. “It’s just a coincidence, is all.” A really funny coincidence. In the broadest definition of the word.

“Alright then.” Luka turned around and opened a cupboard behind him, bringing Kagami back to attention. The wood squeaked a high note as he did so. “Do ya want some coffee? I’ve been learning how to make some.”

Kagami furrowed her eyebrows. From her experience, coffee was never really something she liked to begin with. The bitter taste it always left in her mouth made her want to gag sometimes. She’d much preferred a nice hot cup of tea over the brown bean juice any day. It was familiar, reminded her of her relatives distant in a land she hadn’t visited in a while. Green matcha was her favorite. Flavorful, yet still enough room for the senses to breathe.

Still, her mind flashed through the countless online articles she’d studied on how to make friends. Kagami could recall one in particular.

‘If you want to get to know a potential friend better, it might help to talk to them over a nice cup of coffee.’

Kagami conceded. Seemed like fate had different plans for her.

“Yes please.” She said.

“Great!” Luka chirped, already grabbing two round mugs. “How do you want it?”

Her mind blanked at the unexpected question. For the first time in a while, she wasn’t sure what to do. There was more than one type of coffee?

Thankfully, she was as quick as ever to come up with a quick answer.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having, thank you.”

Ha! Operation: Converse with Luka is a go.

He seemed unphased. “Alright then. Two mochas, coming right up!”

At that, Luka got straight to work, pulling out a choice few instruments that Kagami couldn’t recognize at first. It was as if he was in his own world as he created their drinks, pacing to and fro between stations with a grace that she only saw in her own fencing. But it was slightly different, as if he didn’t have as much of a system, and more of a flow; a rhythm that no one could hear but himself. It was entrancing, in a way.

A short burst of hope bloomed in her chest when he made his way towards her with their finished drinks.

When he set them off the table, she was almost caught speechless. On the top of the mugs, there were illustrations of a brown and white heart, outlined by streaks that surrounded its outer edge. It was beautiful, really. How did he manage to create something like this using nothing but a bit of steamed milk? Must’ve been the dexterity that stemmed from being a skilled guitarist, she figured.

“It’s beautiful.” She commented. Her eyes were still fixated on the drinks before them.

“Thank you.” Luka smiled as he offered her one. She took it gracefully, and took a nice warm sip. Surprisingly, it wasn’t as face-scrunchingly strong like she expected it to be. It still had the richness of coffee that Adrien liked to rant to her about. She was made aware of that much thanks to him, but there was also a thick, blissful layer of sweetness that she didn’t know coffee was even capable of! What was his secret, the madman?

“Excuse me.” She asked. “This is really good. I’d like to know what you put in it, if you may.”

Luka laughed lightly and gave a small shrug, careful not to spill his drink. “I don’t know. It’s nowhere near as well as I’ve seen. I just used a little bit of pre-ground, chocolate syrup and some steamed milk on top.”

“But the hearts?” Kagami asked.

Pink suddenly dusted his cheeks, which she wasn’t expecting at all. Kagami was quite sure she’d never seen him flustered. Ever! “As for the hearts, well… it’s the only thing I know how to make when it comes to latte art, so you’ll have to excuse me for that-”

“It’s okay.” She interrupted, holding the mug close to her lip. “I like the hearts.”

“Oh.” He blinked, unsure of what to say. “Okay then.”

As Luka took another, longer sip of his coffee, Kagami had to resist the urge to jump out the window and into the Seine. What the heck did she even just say? And why so sudden? Damn her inability to talk properly like a normal person! Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this whole thing after all.

No, she told herself, this interaction could still be saved. The right opportunity just needed to come, and this time, she would make sure to cease the opportunity as soon as it arrived.

And it came when Luka spoke up again.

“Kagami, if I may so politely ask,” he said, as if trying to muster up all of the properness he could, “what made you want to learn guitar in the first place?”

Nope, forget that. She was just going to have to deflect that particular question.

Kagami cleared her throat awkwardly. “No reason.”

“C’mon, you and I both know that’s not true.” He teased, leaning on his fist as he propped an elbow onto the back rest of the couch. “Why does Kagami Tsurugi of all people want to learn the humble six-string?”

She mulled over her possible options to respond appropriately to the conversation. Maybe she’d just have to learn to roll with it if their future lessons were going to be anything like this. Was this a test? Hopefully, she’d pass with flying colors. That’d show him.

“I like how it brings people together.” Kagami stared at her cup of coffee, now half-finished. The slight swirl of it inside the mug reminding her of the ebb and flow of those around her that always seemed to elude herself. It was true what she said, she’d made it her mission to make more meaningful friendships ever since that fateful day she managed to become a friend to Marinette, of all people. She was amazing, in all senses of the word. She made her wonder exactly how much she was missing out on in the world. “I’ve seen how happy people are around Kitty Section, and it makes me want to try doing something similar.”

Not only that, but she also wanted to do something outside of her mother’s knowledge for once. Her heart ached for something novel, a new path that would reap some results that wasn’t from the request of her mother, but of her own initiative and being. Was that so wrong?

It wasn’t until Luka leaned in closer beside her that Kagami realized she was hunching in on herself and slowly leaning towards him. Since when did she lose her posture like that? She fixed her posture before she could do something stupid like talking about her feelings. There was a sudden distance between them that suddenly felt a bit empty to her.

“That’s really flattering of you, actually.” He tilted his head. “I’m honored to have been the one to inspire you to learn.”

Kagami raised a brow. “Really?”

“Really.” After setting his drink on the table, he pulled out an acoustic guitar from behind the couch. Since when was that there? “So, what are you interested in learning?”

“Isn’t that your job?” She quipped.

Luka started tuning the guitar, his eyes on the head while still listening to her. “True, but it helps to know what you like.”

Kagami hummed. “I’ve only ever been exposed to classical music.” That, and the fact that she’d never gone out of her way to develop a palette for the art medium. Not that she’d ever admit to it, though. She’d come to learn that normal people actually listened to music for fun and not to one up each other in an arms race to prove who had the better, more acquired taste.

Yeah, normal people were a bit different than what she was used to.

He whistled low. “That might take a while.” He said, strumming a chord. To her, it sounded fairly in tune but he proceeded to fiddle with the pegs anyway. “Classical pieces are a bit tricky.”

She straightened and held his gaze. “I’m more than willing to dedicate myself to it.”

“I definitely don’t doubt that.” Luka nodded, getting her point. “Alright then. It’s settled.”

He began playing absentmindedly and looked back at her, not even looking down at his hands. “What times work for you?”

At that, they were able to work out a time in their schedules for both of them that would work. A surprisingly easy feat, since it seemed that other than his part-time delivery job, his schedule was pretty much free. A bit of a contrast to her own weekly plans, but it wasn’t like she was going to voice her complaints. Kagami was eager to get as much practice done as soon as possible. She was going to learn this instrument. She was determined to.

“I’m glad we were able to get an arrangement down.” She set her coffee down and held out a hand, just like she’d read. Palm directly forward to the recipient, with her forearm coming up at a 45 degree angle. Luka eyed her hand, an unreadable expression on his face. “It’s a high-five.” She said, hoping he’d follow. “You see, you smack it with your own hand. A casual gesture to demonstrate our agreement.”

Luka nodded with an amused smile on his face. “I know what a high-five is.” He high-fived her hand with just enough force to emit the sound of a light smack. Good, they were able to seal the deal with a good natured high-five. Kagami dared thought she was getting pretty good at this ‘talking to people’ thing.

“I’ll see you next Saturday, then?” Luka placed his finished drink back on the table and stood up, all while towering over her. Kagami always wondered why the universe made her so small and short, when people like Luka seemed to be given the luck of the draw in that department. She just supposed she had to make do with what she got. Flexible, her mother would say. Flexible and adaptable.

“That’s the plan.” Standing up, she brushed down her blazer and skirt, trying to smooth down any wrinkles in the fabric before fixing her posture so she could try and at least look taller than she actually was. “Thank you for having me, but I’m afraid I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

Luka put his hands on his hips. “You’re always welcome here, Kagami.”

Oh?

“Sorry, come again?”

“I said, you’re more than welcome down here on good ol’ Liberty.” He gestured to the room around them, and as if to illustrate his point, the boat rocked the slightest bit. “And besides, don’t worry about ‘overstaying your welcome’. There’s no debt among friends after all.”

Kagami felt a familiar warmth bloom in her chest at the word. A warmth that she’d been hoping to chase for a while.

She lifted her chin up towards him in question. “As friends?”

Luka smiled warmly. “As friends.”

Kagami couldn’t help the smile that crept on her face.

Yes! They were friends now! To think, all she had to do was speak to him over a cup of coffee.

Kagami rummaged through her research to find an appropriate way to thank him. Any way to express her gratitude for his kindness.

One of them only sounded more appropriate, but it was a little sudden.

But then again, Kagami was never one to hesitate.

So, she stepped forward and raised her arms.

And wrapped them around his torso in a hug.

Hugs weren’t something Kagami was all that acquainted with. What with having the little friends she had, and a mother that didn’t give them at all, for that matter.

But now, she had to admit that hugging felt sort of nice.

It was made even better when Luka wrapped his arms around her head and pulled her in close. His own warmth enveloping her into a bliss that Kagami wanted more of. The smallest scent of denim tickled her nose, and for the first time in a while, she liked the silence of the room more than anything before. It wasn’t awkward, even though it should’ve been. Her own (failed) first kiss with Adrien was a hot mess that she wanted to completely forget about for even trying. But for some reason, Kagami could never imagine herself ever coming to regret hugging Luka.

Maybe this would run deeper than she thought.

Kagami pushed away, not expecting the sudden thought to arrive. The sudden heat in her cheeks were not a welcome addition, either.

She tried to fix her stance before walking out. “I-I should get going.”

What the hell was that? She never stuttered. Ever! That was Marinette’s thing!

“Wait!” Luka stopped her in her tracks. “Aren’t you going to finish your coffee?”

Kagami paused, unable to answer. The coffee was pretty nice actually, and it’d be a shame to decline the gift of her host.

He seemed to be able to read her expression, because he made his way towards the counter. “I’ll put it in a to-go cup for you.” The scent carried all the way through to her nose as he poured the coffee into a bright blue plastic mug. The same color as his hair. “Here, you can give it back on our first lesson.”

The kind, disarming smile he sent her was enough to make her heart clench. What game was he playing on her?

Kagami was fairly sure that the heat in her cheeks was about the same temperature as the drink in her hands, but she hoped that it didn’t mean whatever she thought it did. This was absolutely no time to be crushing on her new mentor. Nope, no way. That would be absolutely disastrous for her efforts in learning the new instrument. He’d just be another distraction, no matter how sweet he was.

A voice in her head piped up despite all of the orderly, logical reasoning that she’d been trained upon ever since she was an infant.

But would a new distraction be so bad if it came with something; someone new?

As she stood outside the boat, she gazed up at the blue, blue sky. It reminded her of new opportunities to come, more stories to be told, new events that fate was going to put into her hands, of opportunities that awaited her on the other side of whatever this new feeling was. It was similar to how she felt around Adrien, but new. New and different. It wasn’t the same, but different. In a good way, she felt.

Kagami looked down at the drink she held in both hands, close to her heart.

It was a promise.

She smiled.

Maybe she could learn to love the taste of coffee after all.

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #lukagami #the taste of coffee #anon's writing #but anyways i guess im crossposting now

3 notes · View notes

lovlieziam · 5 years

Note

Hi, my lovely Brooke! 22. if you're up to, for my poor soul 🌻 Bonus points and my unconditional love if it's said by Z to Liam 😁 ly ❤❤

Mara, I’ll probably do anything you ask tbh. Your wish is my command 💜💜

22. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

It was nearing midnight, and the party was in full swing. Zaynhad been roaming around for the past couple of hours, forcing fake smiles andpolite conversation, all while wishing desperately that he was anywhere buthere.

The friends he came with had disappeared a while ago—he’dbarely been here fifteen minutes before they all scattered, leaving Zayn tomingle with people he barely knew. He had seen a few familiar faces, but he hadyet to see the one face he wanted to see.

Liam had said he was coming, yet Zayn hadn’t caught so muchas a glimpse of him. It was a little irritating, if he was being honest.

Zayn did another quick sweep of the room, hoping desperatelyto catch a glimpse of those short, messy curls. He came up empty handed againand was just about to give up and head outside for a smoke break when he caughtsite of Louis chatting someone up across the room. Zayn hurried over, pushinghis way through the throng of people and not caring if he was being a littlerude—he definitely was, there was no polite way to shove someone out of theway.

If anyone knew where Liam was—if he was even at this stupid fucking party—it would beLouis.

“Louis,” Zayn panted, interrupting whatever flirting washappening. Louis turned an annoyed expression Zayn’s way, obviously more than alittle peeved at being interrupted. Zayn was past caring.

“What?” Louis spat out. “’m a little busy here, mate.”

Zayn rolled his eyes—he was well aware, thanks.

“Have you seen Liam?”

Louis’ eyebrows shot up his forehead, his face morphing intoutter disbelief. “You interrupted me…to ask about Liam’s current location?”Louis’ voice rose towards the end, high enough that he practically squeaked outthe last couple words.

Zayn heaved a sigh, running a hand through his hair. Hereally didn’t have time for Louis’ dramatics. He was just flirting, for Christsakes. He could do that after he answered Zayn’s question.

“Yeah, yeah,” Zayn said, huffing out an impatient breath.“Y’know, the quicker you answer my question, the quicker you can get back toflirting or whatever—”

Louis let out a squawk, but Zayn continued nonplussed.

“Louis, seriously. Have you seen Liam?”

Louis rolled his eyes before crossing his arms. “No,” hereplied. “I haven’t seen lover boy since the start of the party.”

Zayn shot Louis a dirty look at the nickname, but Louiscontinued before Zayn could comment.

“If I had to guess, though, I’d say he’s up pouting on theroof.”

Zayn’s glare dropped off his face, a look of confusionslowly slipping over it.

“Why’s he pouting?”

Again, Louis raised his eyebrows in Zayn’s direction.“You’re kidding, right? You’re not seriously asking me that question?”

It was Zayn’s turn to roll his eyes, so he did beforehuffing out a short whatever andturning around, heading towards the stairs. Liam had always had a habit ofdisappearing at parties, but normally he took Zayn with him. This time hedisappeared before Zayn had even gotten a chance to see him. He was decidedlynot thinking about why that made something unfamiliar and bitter rise in histhroat.

Zayn jogged up the steps, pushing through the door to theflat roof of the building. Liam had always had a habit of sneaking up onto anyrooftop he could, sitting and sketching the city in front of him. Part of Zaynunderstood it—the city was something breathtaking at night, and even Zayn’s ownhands twitched with the desire to put the sprawling lights to paper—butanother, bigger part of Zayn was terrified at Liam’s habit. It was always sofucking high in the air. It made Zaynmore than a little jumpy, made his pulse more than double.

Still, he always found himself on these Godforsaken things withLiam. The things he did for his best friend.

Zayn found him sitting cross legged a couple feet from the edge,his sketchbook open in his lap and his hand idly tracing over something on thepage with a soft smile curled on his lips. Zayn was pretty sure Liam hadn’theard him come up, too lost in his own thoughts to be too aware of hissurroundings.

Zayn would probably yell at him for that later—it was dangerousenough up here, so high above the city—but for the moment he used that to hisadvantage, sneaking up on Liam.

He got right behind him, about to put a hand on his shoulder, whenthe open page in Liam’s lap caught his eye. The outline was achingly familiar,and Zayn felt his breath catch in his throat.

Liam wasn’t sketching the city, he was sketching Zayn. His pencil formed around Zayn’sjawline, darkening it so carefully, and Zayn felt an involuntary noise escapehis throat.

Liam jerked around at the noise, slamming his sketch book shutbefore Zayn could fully take in all the details Liam had included. He turnedhis startled gaze to Zayn’s face, his shoulders forming a tense line as herealized who it was standing behind him.

“Zayn,” Liam said, his tone impossibly tight. Zayn hated that tonea lot.

“Um, hi, Li,” Zayn murmured, still practically frozen to the spot.His brain was still trying to process the fact that Liam had been sketchinghim, unprompted and so focused—that soft smile curved over his lips as heconcentrated on the page, like thinking about Zayn, sketching him, made Liam happy somehow. It was mind blowing, iswhat it was.

“What are you doing up here?” Liam’s voice was still strained, hisshoulders not having relaxed the slightest bit since Zayn’s sudden appearance.That, more than anything, kicked Zayn into action, propelling him forward tosit next to Liam, close enough that he could feel the warm press of Liam’sthigh against his own. Liam relaxed slightly when Zayn nudged his shoulder withhis own.

“Was lookin’ for you,” Zayn began. “You disappeared. Couldn’t findyou.”

Liam let out a long breath, finally tearing his gaze away fromZayn’s to stare at the skyline in front of them.

“Yeah,” Liam muttered. “Sorry, I just. I needed to escape for abit, clear my head.” Zayn nodded as Liam spoke, turning his own eyes to thesight in front of them. It really was something.

“I get it, Li,” Zayn said. “It’s always ridiculously peaceful uphere, even if it is ridiculously dangerous.” Zayn couldn’t stop the grimacethat filtered across his face as he thought about how high they were right now, no walls to prevent them from hurtlingoff the edge. Never mind the fact that they weren’t even by the edge of thebuilding.

Zayn kept his head turned forward as Liam’s eye fell on him again,but he didn’t miss the way Liam was looking at him. He could still see the softexpression, the way his eyes crinkled up—not from the size of his smile, butfrom how much fucking affection wasin it—the slow, upward slope of his mouth as he smiled at Zayn. Those lookswere intoxicating, Zayn knew, but there was one problem with them: Zayn hadnever seen them directly. They were always fleeting—given out in moments whereZayn isn’t looking at him, but every time he turns to study that expression upclose, Liam either turns away or masks it in the blink of an eye.

It’s frustrating because Zayn has a feeling he knows what thoselooks mean, but he can’t ever catch Liam looking at him long enough to fullyprocess them. And maybe at first they had terrified Zayn—the thought of hisvery best friend having feelings for him? There was more than a littlepotential for disaster there, especially since Zayn had convinced himself hedidn’t feel the same—but it didn’t take long for Zayn to realize that thoughtwas absolutely ridiculous. He didfeel the same; he’d fallen for Liam a long time ago, it just took him a whileto pull his head out of his ass.

Zayn took a deep breath, finally turning to look at Liam. Justlike he’d expected, Liam turned his head back to the city, his expressionslackening into something less soft, less affectionate.

Zayn felt that familiar rush of frustration surge up his throat,threatening to spill out in a rough growl.

Well, maybe it was time for Zayn to take matters into his ownhands.

“I’ve seen it, y’know?” Zayn murmured.

Liam tensed up beside him, his eyes dartingnervously to the sketch book by his thighs, and Zayn wanted to laugh. He wasn’ttalking about the sketches—though he had definitely taken notice of that,too—he was talking about those fucking looks.

“Seen what?” Liam gritted out, his jaw clenchedso hard it had to be painful. Fuck, but Zayn was fucking this all up. Liamwasn’t supposed to be this tense, he wasn’t supposed to look like he was fivesecond away from bolting for the door. Zayn wanted to take it back, to sayanything besides what he was about to say. He wanted to erase that look fromLiam’s face—the panicked, painful expression that had Zayn’s heart aching inhis chest—and pretend like maybe he hadn’t seen the sketches, the looks. But itwas too late to back down now.

“I, um,” Zayn started, trying to force his nervesdown by shaking them out. He looked down at his laps, his own nervesthreatening to clog up his throat. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when youthink I don’t notice.”

If possible, Liam tensed up even further. Zayn was pretty sure hewas going to tear something with how tight his shoulders were bunched up, howstiff he was holding himself. He looked absolutely miserable, and Zayn wantedthat look to go away more than anything.

“I’m sorry,” Liam whispered, his expression still so hopelesslywretched, and—what?

Why was Liam sorry? Zaynwas so hopelessly confused in that moment that all he could do was squeak out aweak—

“Sorry?”

“Yeah,” Liam croaked out as he dropped his face into his hands andhis shoulders slumped. When he spoke again, his voice was slightly muffled fromhis hands. “I didn’t realize I was being so obvious with them.” He let out ashort, humorless chuckle. “I figured they would make you uncomfortable, and,well, obviously I was right.” Liam scrubbed his face in quick, rough movementsbefore dropping his hands back to his lap. “I’d make them go away, if I could.”His statement was followed with a self-depreciating shrug, and, well—

Liam was still refusing to look at him. And Zayn, well, Zayn wasstill a bit confused.

“The…looks?” Zayn asked, voice perplexed. “You’d make the looks goaway?”

Liam looked up at Zayn then, his own confusion clouding over hisfeatures. “What?” Liam gave a slight shake of his head before, “No, Zayn. I-Imean, yes, the looks, but I meant my feelings. For, um,” and Liam looked awayagain, picking at his own fingers as he continued. “For the feelings to goaway.”

“Liam,” Zayn started, “I don’t want—”

“I know,” Liam interrupted. “I know you don’t want me like that,Zayn. I do, and that’s why I’ve tried so hard to keep a lid on all this shit. Ididn’t want you to find out, to make things weird between us by going andfalling in fucking love with you.” Liam turned to Zayn again, his eyes wide andpanicked. “I promise I’ll work on it—o-on the looks, on making sure that I’mnot doing anything dumb with my face, just please don’t stop being my friend.Please, Zayn.”

Liam turned towards Zayn more fully, his legs coming mostlyuncrossed and his hands reaching forward until Liam immediately drew them back,holding them to his chest like he’d been burned.

“Please, Z,” Liam croaked, his voice trembling. “I-if you needspace, I get that, I really do. I’ll give it to you, just please. The lastthing I want is for my stupid feelings to take away my best friend, and I knowthat they have to make you uncomfortable, but I promise I’ll do everything Ican to make sure that they don’t show ever again and I’ll—”

“Liam,” Zayn cut in, his heart breaking as Liam kept talking. Liamcut off immediately, his mouth snapping shut and his posture slumping. Probably preparing for rejection, Zaynthought.

“There’s nothing stupid about your feelings,” Zayn continued. Zaynkind of wanted to laugh—Liam was so insistent on his feelings being stupid, soset in his belief that Zayn didn’t return them or want them, that he’d never even stopped to consider that maybe Zayndid. Even if his own revelation hadbeen recent, it didn’t mean it was any less powerful. “Not unless that meansmine are stupid, too.”

Liam’s eyes widened, his jaw slackening a little as he processedZayn’s words.

“W-what?” He asked, and Zayn couldn’t help the small, slightlygiddy chuckle that escaped him.

“Li, you’ve been giving me those looks for months, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I haven’t exactlybeen complaining about them.” Zayn shrugged, leaning forward to wrap Liam’shands in his.

“I kind of, um, actuallyreally like them,” he murmured, lowering his gaze to their joined hands. “I,um, I think I’d like them more if you stopped hiding them from me?”

Since Zayn wasn’t looking, it took him by surprise when Liampressed forward, connecting their lips in a breathless kiss. Zayn felt hisshoulders tense, trying to process what was happening, before he melted intothe kiss, untangling their hands in order to grip Liam’s shirt and keep himcloser for longer.

Maybe Liam had been in love longer, maybe Liam had been lesssubtle, and maybe Liam was the only one who was awful at hiding his feelings.All that just made Zayn love him a little more.

#I hope you like this Mara ily!!!#you no longer have to worry about any teasers :)#ziam #ask prompt #my writing #ziam fic

46 notes · View notes

enchantingkittengaditor · 5 years

Text

The MCU’s Daughters Prequel: Loser In Me

A/N: This is a Prequel, to my new story The MCU’s Daughter, inspired byBrie Larson’s album Finally Out of PE. Loser In Me was merely the inspiration for this piece and if lyrics are seen it’s probably just me listening to the song about 100 times writing this and editing it.

Summary: Long before she was the MCU’s Daughter. Before they were the Internet’s Daughters. They were just teenage girls trying to fit into a new system, a new country and a new school. Before all the fame and success two teens first became friends and teammates.

Warnings: Mentions of Depression, Anxiety, Epilepsy, Violence, Extreme Angst, THE FIRST HALF OF THIS TAKES PLACE IN A THERAPY GROUP. Extreme Fluff in part 2 though to make up for it, after an anxiety attack.

Master List

February 14th, 2016

Tegan

It was that time of the week again, no not the weekend. Therapy day. I’m meant to be looking forward to today. But I don’t. I mean, I sit in a room with 9 other depressed and anxious teens and an overly enthusiastic adult trying way too hard for 2 hours. Where’s the fun in that?

The way I knew it was therapy day was simple my alarm went off, my cat jumped on my face and my sister yelled breakfasts ready from the kitchen downstairs. I’ve gotta get up and out of bed, but why so I could talk about things people think I make up to a bunch of kids around my age. I know I shouldn’t have but I turned my alarm off and tried to go back to sleep grabbing my cat to use as a teddy bear in the process.

“TEGAN!!!” Alex yells again, this time from the other side of my door. I groaned getting up knowing my attempt failed and if I didn’t get up now my sister would enter my room. The one place I had left.

Dragging my brush through my tangled hair to make it look semi-presentable and grabbed a clean shirt from my draw and my leggings from my desk putting them on, not caring that they didn’t look good together. Because I don’t care. I would much rather be in bed or be somebody else because I’m getting really tired of myself.

I put on some mismatching socks and my teddy bear slipper and running downstairs to join my mother and sister for our traditional heart-shaped pancakes and fruit Sunday breakfast. One of the few things that hadn’t changed in the past 15 months. One thing I could hold onto. One thing that kept the memory alive. I know people behave like I do when a loved one dies but that’s not my story. My story’s worse because I was the one who died. Well not literally but figuratively for sure.

We chatted about meaningless trivial things. Until I noticed the time and said I should go pack my bag for therapy. The bag I had to pack for therapy contained my sketchbook, my writing pad, and my book. The writing pad and sketch pad were to show I was making progress and not just drawing and writing the same old memories. The book was a form of entertainment as my mum always dropped me early and picked me up late at the Library where these sessions were held due to my sister’s tennis lessons.

After the process of packing my bag, I shoved it onto my shoulder, turning to say goodbye to my cat. That was when I saw the photo frame. The photo frame that contained three of the most important photos in my life. One was of me and my best friend at my 4th birthday party laughing while eating cake on my Dora the Explorer map which for some reason was of Russia, Mongolia and China. One of the others was of me and my two best friends at one of their 7th birthdays with my arm in a sling. The last one was of me, my classmates and our teacher from the last place I lived. I could feel myself begin to cry as the memories began to flood my already drowning mind.

“Tegan, Vamos!” My mother yelled at me from the door so I grabbed my shoes and threw the photo frame down onto my desk careful not to break it.

On the short twenty-minute journey to the library, we laughed trying to sing along to the music on the radio. Or at least I tried. It wasn’t the same. Nothing ever will be. And they don’t seem to care. I know they do but I haven’t seen it.

Once at the library I said goodbye to mum and Alex, walking through the door I was met by the warm embrace of the library air and take a deep breath of the book scented filled air letting it fill up my lungs. This was one of the few places I could feel at home in. But everything good in this world has to be ruined by people, doesn’t it?

“Come in Tegan we were just about to start,” Madison, the human in charge, told me as she walked past me holding a takeaway cup, most likely filled with Irish coffee to help her get through these sessions that I could tell were just as unbearable to her as they were for me.

When It was my turn to share what I did this week I shared the news of becoming ‘friends’ with the new girl at school and everything I’ve done to improve my mental health, although none of it worked. They then asked me questions about the new girl, which lead me to say, “She’s been through similar things to me, well closer than anyone I’ve met outside the people I would call if anything went wrong.”

To which, much to my dismay, Julie told me the cheesiest thing I have ever heard in this cheese-fest of therapy, “Maybe you went through it,” referring to the moves I had endured 13 and 22 months ago, “so you could help someone else survive it.”

“Maybe, or maybe the world is a cruel heartless bitch, who can’t handle that some people were made for more and decides to shoot them down. Like Malala or Martin Luther King Jr or Ringo. The world destroys the souls that only want to do it good and sadly I fall into that pile. I may have had what all of you call the dream life, but it’s a living hell. A combination of amazing until about 5 minutes later when I get shot in the heart over and over and over again until I decide to give up or till the world gives up on me and I don’t know which one is worse. I have never seen myself age past 20. I don’t know why. Even in the before, the before everything went fucking wrong. And it went wrong spectacularly. It always does. My life from the outside might look good but my mind. My mind is slowly trying to kill me. Even on all my meds. My mind is poisoning itself because it always had, from a young age and it will until I’m six feet under and probably after that. If you believe in the afterlife,” I yelled in frustration at Julie and all of her positivity nonsense. She was the eldest person here and the only one of us who doesn’t have to come but she still does, because she thinks of us as her family. In fact, her positivity was so infuriating to me that I got up and walked out of the room towards the bathroom ready to cry my heart out. That’s what I needed. And that’s what I did.

February 15th, 2016

Simone

It was my second Monday at school in New Zealand. And it wasn’t going that well. So far I had walked in on Indy and her boyfriend Lachie kissing, my friend Tegan had been bullied by Scarlet, I had been lectured about Harry Potter by Alexandra, someone in year 6 had been punched, and I had been told off by the principal for not wearing a hat outside. Not a good start to the day especially considering we had just gone out for ‘fitness’ which happens at 11:30 in the morning.

That was when it first happened. The first time I saw Tegan for who she was under all of her layers.

In the middle of our class game of basketball, I noticed her starting to lag behind where she had been. Then she started becoming short of breath, her face started to drain of colour as she stood still in the middle of the court. I looked around the court only to notice that no one else was seeing her break down in the middle of the school.

So, I went over to her.

“Are you OK?” I asked her squatting down so I could look up at her and look her in the eye.

That’s when I noticed how hard she was struggling to breathe. I ran. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me over to Miss G who was reffing the game.

“Tegan can’t breath and I don’t know what else is going on, but I know she can’t easily breath,” I spat out in about 3 seconds flat pointing my index finger over to her almost colourless body standing in the middle of the court. Except she was gone.

“She seems fine Simone, she just went to the bathroom,” Miss G told me in a condescending tone.

“Well then, can I please go to the bathroom?” When she nodded her head in response and faced back to the game I walked back over to where the toilets were.

I raised my fist to the grey stall door and knocked.

“I’m fine. Really, but thanks for checking!” Tegan yelled from the other side sniffling.

“Just come out, please. You really looked like you needed a hug out there and I would love to give you one because I think of you as my friend. So please just come out here and talk. It’s only me.”

“And me. Tegan, I want you to come out here so we can talk. We can all just lean against the door while you tell us what happened so no one else can enter if you want,” Alexandra said as she walked into the bathroom.

“Only if you give this up.”

“What up?” I dared to ask.

“Trying to make me better,” She opened the door to reveal herself, “I’ve been trying for years to fix myself. I’ve been trying since I was 7 to fix whatever the hell is wrong with me. There is a giant loser who lives within me and currently in control and I am fine with that because it’s better than the giant demon that’s in there. I… I am just a shell of a broken child who will never be able to grow up. I’m so scared for her and her future because everyone is telling me to let her go but I can’t because she’s the me I only let a few people see. She is what is at the centre of all my thousands of walls and there’s a good reason for those walls. I’m broken. Defective. People only want people you fit perfectly with themselves. I don’t. I don’t fit with anyone unless their pieces are broken too and then we can become a beautiful mosaic. But, then again, nobody in this godforsaken country seems to realize you don’t have to put your pieces back in the same places to become whole again. And putting yourself back together exactly the same is hard, especially when you don’t know how the broken pieces fit together because you’ve been broken for too long. I… I was just having a panic attack that’s all. It happens all the time and nobody has ever reacted how you did and it scared me if I’m honest. Nobody ever really cares normally,” by this point we all had our backs to the girls’ toilets on the floor. Me and Alexandra had our arms around Tegan’s shoulder comforting her as she cried/talked to us about whatever was on her mind, “For the longest time all I’ve wanted is to have someone else’s puzzle piece and be compatible with others. All I want to do is order in and stay at how with my TV and guitar, and waste the day, crashing at home, without people. But I can’t because my sister or mum is always with me. I just want to run away from my so-called life. No matter how hard I try I keep losing my head and it keeps happening again and again and I can’t stop it.”

“Have you tried therapy?” Alexandra asks with the best intentions but I could tell by the way Tegan flinched that it was a touchy subject.

“Yeah, I go once a week to a group session for 10-18-year-olds who have dealt with loss. It’s on Sunday at South Library, but I hate it. It does nothing except make me want to punch a bunch of teenage girls in the face,” she responds in a post tear voice, I’ve come to know all too well.

“Well, I’m sure it’s good for you and it’ll get better. All of it,” I said with a smile, “After all, who’s going to show me how to get through moving away from everything they’ve ever known to here? Not Indy or Scarlett or Saskia. They all seem lovely but they don’t know what it’s like and you do. And that makes you special.”

“Ok. But should we head back out there?”

“I’ll go and tell Miss G that both of you are just going to stay in the classroom and I’ll come back and we can find some cat videos to watch together. Ok?” Alexandra said to Tegan’s question.

“That sounds good Bob.”

“Bob?”

“Her nickname,” She smiles to me as we get up and walk into the classroom and sit at the jelly bean table waiting for ‘Bob’ to get back.

Tags: @hollandarling, @wazzupmrstark, @hollandroos, @keepingupwiththeparkers

#the mcu's daughter #writing #finally out of pe #loser in me #the prequel

1 note · View note

ohthathurt · 6 years

Note

"a hopeless romantic and a horny beast are set up on a blind date" pleaaase💕💕

i hope by ‘horny beast’ this implies someone of a surly nature because otherwise that is a whole other style of genre im not even capable of lmao

Birds chirping in trees, a breeze ruffling his wavy hair –the best conditions for a blind date to go well, as they say. Well, not really,Liam thought, he wasn’t exactly sure philosophy even touched on the topic of blinddates. Speaking of which; after having pestered Harry about his (lack of) lovelife, his zen-like friend had nearly lost his temper with him until he finallyagreed. Harry had someone in mind for Liam, but it had to be a blind date.

“Maybe he’s ugly?” Niall had offered, one night after anobscene amount of pizza and beer.

Liam had scoffed immediately and dismissed that thought, “Ifhe’s a genuine person that I have something in common with, I wouldn’t mindfalling in love with him.” He finished, a dreamy smile gracing his softfeatures.

Niall paused for a heavy moment before snorting violently,lips pursed in an attempt not to burst out laughing. Liam scowled at him, “Shutup, you’ll see what I’m talking about. I’m telling you, mate, this one is gonnabe different.”

Niall immediately sobered his expression, his voice losingthat teasing lilt, “Li, mate, I love you man but maybe you should slow downyeah? Enjoy life for what it is, Payno!” Liam was given a friendly slap on hisshoulder but he barely paid attention. His mind was whirling through what Nialljust said.

He knew he was hopeless. In love with love, as Harry hadwisely once said. Liam had only laughed and shrugged it off but lately he feltalmost too desperate for a connection. When he saw his parents together, evenafter all these years, when he saw his sister finally fall for the one man whostuck it out with her and even when he saw Harry’s distant gaze and a lovingexpression whenever he mentioned his boyfriend, Louis. Of course, he had yet tomeet this Louis, he still hadn’t doled out his shovel talk yet.

He sighed deeply, maybe the beer was making him toomelancholic, but he decided then and there. This was it, this was the lastblind date he’d have in a long time. Then he’d just have fun, like Niall said.Fun - which included going to bars, getting piss drunk and dancing with blurredbodies with wandering hands and a little more than groping in one of thebathroom stalls.

Yeah, sounds a blast, he thought sarcastically. But maybe heneeded that, a bit of recklessness in his system. Goody two shoes Liam Paynebecoming Party Animal Payne?

Enough rambling, he shook himself off and trudged off to hisbedroom, Niall having left his flat a while back.

***Being the responsible one in most of his relationships, Liamwas never late to his dates. In fact,he was mostly early, like today. He never minded waiting for his dates toarrive and it gave him the opportunity to reflect on his thoughts and maybeeven settle his nerves before his date arrived.

All Harry had given him was a name: something like Zane? Orwas it with a ‘y’ like his own last name? Liam had only nodded and followedHarry’s directions to a quaint little café round the city center road, theweather was pleasant and he had soon taken a seat on a table overlooking thestreet.

So far his date hadn’t seemed to arrive, the only occupants of the caféwas himself, a kid bent over a sketchbook and the wait staff fluttering aroundthe café readying for lunch service.

He took a deep breath and dug for the little notebook in hisjacket. Whipping out a pen to go with, he soon started scribbling and scrawlingin it, whatever words coming from his mind onto paper. That was his basicwriting process, and so far he had penned about six complete songs, and foundthe melody for at least two.

He was startled out of his flow with a very rude scoffcoming from the kid on the couch in front of him. Liam looked up and almostswallowed his own tongue. He was gorgeous and most decidedly not a kid. Noteven close, going by the thick scruff he was sporting along with the delicatesilver nose ring and several ear piercings.

Liam licked his lips unconsciously, as he took in thelow-necked white tee showing off chest tattoos paired with a studded leatherjacket. Had he not known any better, Liam would’ve thought he was a famous rockstarof some sort. But being in the industry himself, he knew he didn’t recognize thatface or those beautiful amber eyes.

He quickly averted his eyes and trained them back onto hisnotebook. His ears soon picked up what startled him in the first place.

“Excuse me? I asked for another coffee like the longest timeago yeah?” He all but barked at a poor teenager working there, his awkwardstance scurrying off to the kitchens. Yeah, typical jerk: good looking but anarsehole.

Liam tried to focus back onto the notebook in front of him,absently noting that his date was about five minutes late when a shrillringtone startled him yet again out of his reverie.

It was the leather jacket douche’s cellphone; Liam physicallyrestrained himself from rolling his eyes.

“Hey, mate!” Admittedly, even though Leather Jacket Douchewas a jerk with no manners, he had the best voice Liam has heard in the longesttime. It reminded him of a glass of whiskey on a stormy day and the smell ofrain – what was that called? Ah yes, petrichor.He wrote it all down in his notebook, you never know when little notes could becrafted into a beautiful ballad.

He tuned back into Leather Jacket Douche’s conversation –

“Mate, I’ve been here for hours… No he’s not – No! Lou, don’tyou dare! I’m not nervous Yes, I’msure! No, listen look okay it’s just me here and hang on lemme check…”

Liam kept his gaze fixed on his notebook, not even breathingas he felt eyes rove over his figure, and he bent further into the table untilhe felt he was being silly and sat up straight. He made the quick decision tolook up at LJD, into those beautiful, stormy, amber orbs, before a flush wasalready rising up his neck. LJD, he noticed, had paused in his conversation,his entire face blank as he stared at Liam. He noticed him gulp and purse hislips before turning his back on Liam and continuing his conversation, this timetone hushed.

“Okay look Lou forget about all this, maybe even call thatLiam guy and cancel because there’s this absolute beauty sitting in front of mein this godforsaken café and he’s got these soft brown eyes and Lou have I mentioned he’s gorgeous?”

Yeah, now he was blushing with the force of a thousand suns.Forget suns, he was pretty sure his face was on fire. LJD called him gorgeous.Okay, so still he was a douche but Liam would be dead if he said he hadn’t consideredit.

Before he could let any of his thoughts consume him, LJDapproached his table. He stood there with soft, black hair ruffled masterfully,an apprehensive look marring his serene features.

“Uhm, hi? I couldn’t help but notice you were here alone andwas wondering if you wanted to get a drink?”

Liam stared at him blankly in shock. It only made LJD fidgetuncomfortably under Liam’s stare before he continued, “M’name’s Zayn, with likea ‘y’.” He ended his statement with a tiny laugh, eyes crinkling up gently and oh god was that a nose scrunch? Yup,Liam was screwed.

It was only a few seconds later that he registered his name.Zane with a y? Zayn? His blind date,Zayn?

He was pretty sure he sat there with his mouth open in a gobsmacked expression. He jolted up with a start and introduced himself, “M’ Liam.”

He cleared his throat and managed a tiny smile which hehoped didn’t look nervous. But Zayn was already ducking his head, a shy smilespreading across his face in realization.

“You’re Liam, yeah? Like myLiam?” Zayn inquired, his eyes widening at his own words before he wasawkwardly trying to stutter his way through an explanation. But Liam wasn’t listening.He was too caught up on the way those lips curled around his name, a heavyaccent sounding out “Leeyum”.

Yeah, he had stars in his eyes, maybe even hearts.

Maybe after all this time, a higher power was smiling downat him. Because soon he was shaking Zayn’s hand in introduction and alreadyfalling in love at the first question, “So, do you like comics?”

Send me AU prompts

#ziamfanfiction #ziam #fanfiction #au prompts #hope you like it anon!

93 notes · View notes