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#national handwriting day
ami-ven · 2 months
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Happy National Handwriting Day!
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subby-sab · 2 months
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Today is 23rd of January.
Today is National Handwriting Day, National Pie Day, International Sticky Toffee Pudding Day.
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nade2308 · 1 year
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For National Handwriting Day I attempted to write Jim's and Arte's names in a fancy way. I still have to perfect my technique, but I love how it turned out.
National Handwriting Day - January 23rd
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murderousink23 · 2 months
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01/23/2024 is Parakram Diwas 🇮🇳, Measure Your Feet Day 👣🌎, National Handwriting Day ✒️🇺🇸, National Pie Day 🥧🇺🇸
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ranilla-bean · 5 months
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culture tips for writing asian settings: calligraphy (pt ii)
in my last post i talked about calligraphy more generally, but here i want to talk about the calligraphy from atla. all of the calligraphy from the show is written by dr siu-leung lee and i'll be using the artbook as my reference.
if you're a writer or artist approaching written chinese, you can think about how script and handwriting might tell us something about a character. dr lee certainly did, and he even tailored writing styles to who he thought might've been writing that text: "If it were a highly cultured royal attendant, he would use a refined, elegant style, but if it were a low-level clerk, he would use a more pedestrian handwriting style."
first thing: modern standard chinese coming out of mainland china uses simplified chinese. this system was developed in the mid-20th century, so it's pretty anachronistic to use this for atla. instead, you should be using traditional chinese as dr lee does (which is still used in hong kong, taiwan, and many diasporic communities). i usually use google translate to switch between the systems.
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note the use of simplified 门 (door) instead of the traditional 門 from the aang's unfreezing day comic.
next i'm going to take aang's wanted poster as an example of three different chinese scripts we see in the show. the "title" is in clerical script, the body of the text is in regular script, and the seal is in seal script.
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regular script is the standard way you'd learn how to write chinese nowadays. you can see (as i mentioned in part i) how the text is meant to be read up -> down, then right -> left.
clerical script is characterised by fairly compact shapes and a kind of "roundness", and was developed in the late warring states period. this is the script used for the chinese title of the show! in the context of atla, it implies to me that the writer has more specialised calligraphic training than the average person (who, if they can write, would be using regular script). you can compare the difference in styles for the same words between clerical (L) and regular (R):
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seal script is the most archaic form of chinese on display; this one wouldn't have been written by the calligrapher, but carved into a seal by a craftsperson and then stamped onto the page.
what's also really interesting is dr lee implies a difference in script between the nations. some of the characters used to write water tribe-related concepts:
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this is an adapted form of oracle bone script, the one of the earliest forms of chinese writing. this fascinated me because this script was—as the name suggests—written on bone, and perhaps reflects something about the material of what the water tribes were using to write. (you can input modern characters into this website to see examples of their older forms.)
finally, some cool differences in handwriting! this is from the fire day festival poster:
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this uses regular script, but in contrast to the excerpt we saw before, the formation of the characters is more haphazard (excitable?). it's also written left -> right! this suggests to us the writer is a commoner, as opposed to a royal scribe.
these are some things you can keep in mind when you're writing or drawing in this universe—while you're probably writing in english, the characters would be steeped in the writing systems we've been talking about. if a character's sending a letter, what might the recipient notice about the handwriting? what does it tell them about their social status or education? could the shape of the letters signal something about where they come from, i.e. water tribe characters write a more curvy script?
disclaimer | more tips
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hihello-pinky · 4 months
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varsity crush
atsumu miya x afab reader
some fluff, i guess
i originally wanted to write a full fic based on pixie labrador’s song (hence, the title) but somehow i ended up with this drabble. ALSO i know it’s a sapphic song but damn, the first time i listened to it and heard the lyrics about volleyball, haikyuu was my first thought
miya atsumu who has been your classmate since sixth grade; who you always only thought of as osamu’s loudmouth brother who once lent you his jacket when it was cold and you forgot to bring yours.
atsumu who was your partner for cleaning duty at seventh grade; who would almost always miss the task because he made it a habit to rush to the gym after last period.
atsumu who made your heart skip a beat when he passed you a note asking you to the eighth grade dance; who raises an eyebrow at your questioning look and says the note is from osamu.
atsumu who was your seatmate during ninth grade; who would distract you during class with the sound of his pen scraping against his notebook as he sketched volleyball plays.
atsumu who surprises you when he enters the classroom on the first day of tenth grade with his blonde hair; who you couldn’t stop looking at because his lightened hair made him more handsome.
atsumu who, one night, dropped by your grandpa’s convenience store looking for an onigiri; who told you as he reached the counter that he had a fight with osamu and he wanted to give it as a peace offering.
atsumu, who somehow made it a habit to drop by the convenience store after practice to buy energy drinks; who always buy one of those candies displayed at the counter and conveniently “forgets” them, sending you a quick message to just keep it.
atsumu who approached you after class one thursday afternoon in eleventh grade; who shared he needed help in his studies in order to stay in the volleyball club and asked you to tutor him.
atsumu who began sharing a table with you at lunch under the pretense of having more time to discuss about lessons but always made it a point to just talk about random stuff; who in time recruited his brother and suna to your lunch table.
atsumu who lovingly accepts gifts from his fans at your lunch table; who smiles so sweetly at the girls as it makes you inwardly frown, confusing yourself.
atsumu who, at the first month of twelfth grade, excitedly tells you he made captain as he walked you home; who grinned at you as he showed you his jersey and jacket with his last name.
atsumu who became much busier due to volleyball but would always somehow find time in his calendar to stay with you either in a coffee shop or library as you studied for college entrance exams; who would force you to take a break as he snatches the pen from your hand (my old captain, kita, would scold you!)
atsumu who gets surprised once you tell him you’re going with them to the nationals; who teases you for volunteering to cover for the school newspaper; who is actually secretly happy that you’re coming.
atsumu who gives you his jacket before their first game “in case you get cold”; who makes the girls beside you at the bleachers squeal when he smiles at your direction once he sees you wearing his jacket and cheering for him.
atsumu who lets you see his tears for the first time as you comfort him when inarizaki places second; who listens to your gentle voice as you sincerely tell him that you believe there are lots of greater opportunities for him in the future once he goes pro.
atsumu who passes you a note before class with prom? written in his messy handwriting; atsumu who receives a note from you saying is this from osamu again?; atsumu who bites back a smile as he passes back the note, so the bastard told you?; atsumu who doesn’t notice his ears reddening until suna points it out but he doesn’t care at all as he reads your note: yes, and yes i’ll go to prom with you.
atsumu who surprises you at prom because as athletic as he is, he sucks at slow dancing; atsumu who makes you blush as he tightens his hand around your waist as soon as you two finally find the rhythm; atsumu who leans to you closely and whispers in your ear how beautiful you are; atsumu who plants a soft kiss at the top of your head after you tell him to shut up and accidentally step on his shoes.
atsumu who runs to hug you at graduation, wrapping his strong arms around your smaller figure and lifting you in the air; who attends your class’ afterparty with you where you end up playing truth or dare.
atsumu who chokes on his drink as your bottle ends up on him and you ask him on when he plans to ask you out; who, after composing himself, gives you a cheesy smile and asks you to be his girlfriend; who blushes so hard, making osamu and suna laugh, when you say yes and kiss him on the cheek.
miya atsumu who you never thought would capture your heart; atsumu who somehow also fell for you; atsumu who you would be cheering on for the rest of your life.
it doesn’t matter whether you’re wearing his jacket or not; he already gave you his last name, anyway.
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bitchimasnake-sss · 5 months
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the monster trio (but make it highschool!au);
basically, what if these mf weren't illiterate?? highschool!au headcanons for the monster trio!!
luffy:
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- the class comedian (and doesn't know it) - like this man is out here just going about his day, doing stupid shit. he doesn't know why the class is laughing when the teacher asks him what he's doing and he says "eating. want some?" through a mouthful of doritos and a shit-eating grin - everyday, atleast once, he gets sent to the principle (the principle is garp lmao) and garp sends luffy back to the teacher because even he doesn't wanna deal with this precious himbo
- he runs track (and he is actually so good at it) - he's that one kid that has adhd and the whole school knows but he doesnt "adhd? what's that?" "you, luffy, that's you" - his homework? never complete; his handwriting? so shit it feels like ants crawling on paper; his uniform? something has to be missing always whether it's a button on his shirt, tie, belt, something. - one time he pulled up with one sock missing and when asked, he shrugged and said "sometimes things happen" - why did he say it like that??? - somehow, despite it all, he manages to pass (nami tutored him forcefully and made him pay her later) - best friends with the martial artist!zoro and cooking prodigy!sanji - nobody knows how these three are friends??? but they are ig - also, i headcannon him as the guy who is like 4 feet and after one summer comes back stretched out (hehe, pun intended) - always so kind to others even if he doesn't know them, always willing to help freshmen out and run errands for you if you need help - nobody knew he is related to his older brothers (ace, sabo) "how are you their brother??" "idk? how am i??" - just the bestest boy ever, golden retriever energy all day every day no matter what universe it is
zoro:
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- you take one look at this mf and you think, ah here is the classic delinquent, stick-up-his-ass martial artist and you couldnt be more wrong - he is never dressed right but that's cause he doesn't know how to tie a tie and listen if he had the willpower to find the right socks at 7 in the morning, he will - he is just an incompetent fool, trust me 😭😭 - gets late on the regular cause he always takes the wrong turn - the one "jock" who isn't anything like a stereotypical jock? like he hangs out with soon-to-be valedictorian nami, idiot luffy, theatre kid!ussop and cook!sanji - nobody can understand how this friend group was formed??? - actually gets asked out a decent amount of times and always says "nah, im good" and walks away to his friends - people are starting to suspect if he's dating luffy from how hard their bromance is going "zolo!!! gooDMORNING!!" luffy yells as he launches onto zoro in the middle of the hallway at 8:03 am on a random tuesday zoro casually drops his backpack to catch luffy "morning" zoro replies as if it's casual behaviour - the amount of trophies the school has in his name is insane (nation level martial artist, roronoa zoro) - he is actually decent at school, he is just average and he's fine by it he doesn't give all that much of a shit in the academic sphere - casually pulls up to the parents-teacher meet with thE FUCKING WORLD REKNOWNED MARTIAL ARTIST, DRACULE MIHAWK??? "i see he passed in all his exams. how wonderful, zoro. let's leave now." "aight" - he doesn't even think twice when asked if he knows mihawk, he's just like "yeah that's my dad what about him?" - a certified dumbass in every universe
sanji:
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- listen to me this mf went to masterchef junior and fucking won and people only know this cause the school hyped him up and not because he wanted people to know "omg sanji did you actually win-" "no that was my twin brother sanjo, please leave me alone" - actually prim and properly dressed, shows up at time everyday and gives in all of his assignments and submissions well before the due date (he is partially responsible for keeping zoro and luffy on track) - he was the one making cupcakes when nami was organizing a fundraiser for a nearby orphanage, he was the one who baked cookies cause sabo wanted to hand them out on his last day of school, he was the one who baked cakes for his classmate's surprise birthday party - rumor has it if you get on good terms with sanji, a mysterious box of homemade chocolate will be there in your locker the next day - despite all the hype he has, mf still gets no girls - like luffy, he is insanely kind to those who need help - has gotten almost suspended once for beating up a senior year kid for bullying a freshmen (luffy and zoro just stood by and laughed as that kid got his ass handed to him) - he is the son of THE FUCKING OWNER OF BARATIE, A FIVE STAR MICHELLIN RESTAURANT THAT IS FREQUENTED BY CELEBRITIES ALL THE TIME "omg omg sanji is it true that the rock visited your restaurant last night?!" "yeah, his daughter wanted to eat my tiramisu, she's really sweet" - so chill always (but simultaneously losing his shit) - the kinda person you'd love hanging out with - as i said, in any universe, he is still single (feed him the rizz rizz fruit pls)
a/n: tried something new tell me do you like it or love it?
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beomie3 · 8 months
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pretty in pink - choi soobin
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pairing: boyfriend!soobin x fem!reader
word count: 2.5k
summary: your boyfriend soobin treats you on national gf day <3 but what he doesn't know is that you have a small surprise for him as well; showcasing your new lacy pink lingerie set ;)
content/warnings: established relationship, fluff, smut, reader surprises soobin with lingerie, heavy kissing, riding, nudity, cursing.
a/n: i wrote this on a bit of a whim, just thinking about cute & cuddly bf soobin that treats you like the princess you are <3 enjoy! ^_^
soundtrack ♫ what would i do? - strawberry guy ♫ pink bubblegum - lavi kou
ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ɞ
national girlfriends day was arguably one of soobin's favorite days. in theory, it was kind of tied between today and your birthday because they both excited him to no end; getting to plan out the perfect day that you deserved more than ever, filled with little presents and treats left and right.
and with that you awoke to the scent of pancakes and maple syrup, aware of the door pushed open by his shoulder as he walked in with a wooden tray, displaying three different colorful plates and a tall glass of orange juice.
you kissed the soft skin of his bicep when he set the tray on your lap, still groggy under the warm sheets. you thanked him for the beautiful array of fruits and the most delicious-looking plate of pancakes and bacon that you just couldn't wait to dig into.
when he came back in to take your dishes, he also surprised you with the prettiest bouquet of pink roses, making you jump up onto your feet on the bed, wrapping your arms around his neck in a big hug, smothering his adorable face with kisses.
after some soft morning cuddles and unplanned wrestling matches with soobin, you readied yourself for the day, dressing in a cute pink outfit that matched with the bubblegum pink of your boyfriend's sweater.
you couldn't help but fawn over the way his blonde hair and clear-framed glasses complimented him so well, along with the soft fuzzy sweater you would probably be wearing if he didn't currently have it on.
before leaving the house, you pressed your lips to his cheek as he sneaked in a mirror picture to capture the cute moment, his large hand around your waist as he adorably smiled at the camera with a scrunched nose. what a cute couple you two were; his gigantic stature almost too tall for the mirror by the front door, which he set at the perfect height for you to check your outfit every day. 
it was a sunny and special afternoon. soobin took you out without you having a single idea of where you were going, surprised to arrive at a small jeweler's shop. he let you pick out the cutest dainty necklace with a small diamond heart, one that you decided symbolized your diamond love for him. he made sure to save just enough money for this day, happy just to spend it all on you.
your fingers were interlaced with his the entire day, like always, so freaking proud to walk next to such an amazing man like him as he gazed down at you fondly, a gentle smile on his lips the entire time. 
the day seemed it couldn't get any better until he treated you to a romantic dinner that outlooked the beautiful view of your town, watching the clouds together and pointing at one that looked like a bunny, telling him how much it reminded you of him.
he smiled, his eyes creasing into half moons, almost shut like always when he grins, his adorable teeth glimmering in the light. your stomach rushed with the swirl of butterflies, absolutely mesmerized with the way he shyly laughed, but how he also loosened up throughout the night and became progressively goofier. 
although it was girlfriends day to him, it was nothing boyfriend day in your heart because of how much you were reminded of his love, falling even deeper for him. 
~
after a long, fun day, you returned home to find the last of his presents; a big box of your favorite candies on the bed with a sweet note in the handwriting you so loved, a small drawing of a bunny decorating the outside of it.
what soobin didn't know was that you also had a small surprise for him; showcasing the new lacy pink lingerie set you bought, and what better time to show him than now? it was the cherry on top to such a perfect day. and he definitely deserved it after making your life so wonderful.
he lay on the bed, sprawled out across white sheets just scrolling on his phone, dropping it immediately when he saw your figure emerge from the bathroom.
"hi binnie," you gently leaned on the doorframe, a small smile on your rosy cheeks as you sucked on one of the lollipops he gifted you; sensing his gentle eyes travel everywhere imaginable.
his lips parted, simply speechless at the sight of you looking drop-dead gorgeous in the light pink, sheer lingerie that hugged your body so beautifully, biting his lip at the way your nipples were visible through the lace.
"oh wow- hi," he pretty much mumbled, eyes wide as he stared in awe, a pink tinge warming his cheeks. he burried half of his face in a pillow as he got more and more flustered the longer you stood there. "so beautiful," came out muffled from under the pillow.
you walked over to him, reaching to touch his feather-soft hair that was slightly disheveled from the sheets. your stomach twirled with the thought of your fingers intertwined in his hair; tugging at it as his name left your lips, wanting to melt at the sheer thought of his skin on yours.
he looked up from the pillow, his cheeks so flushed under his now crooked glasses that you gently pulled off to reveal his glimmering eyes, slowly tugging up into a pretty smile as he melted into your soft hand on his cheek. 
he situated himself to sit up on the bed, back against the headboard as you crawled over him, taking a seat on his thighs as you straddled him.
taking the lollipop out of your mouth, you slowly lowered it to his mouth and he took it, never taking his eyes off of yours as he enjoyed the bubblegum flavor. his long fingers immediately found their way to the pink lace of your waist, thumbs soft over the thin material and paying mind to your body heat seeping past the fabric. 
he searched your eyes, trailing down to your lips and then to your neck and chest, admiring the way one strap hung loosely off of your shoulder.
you slowly removed the stick from his mouth, abandoning it on the bedside table as you pressed your lips to his in a gentle kiss, gliding your tongue over his bottom lip to taste your favorite strawberry chapstick he always wore; also enjoying the subtle bubblegum flavor of his tongue.
he couldn't help the deep noise that escaped his throat as you shifted around on his hips, the rock-hard tent in his sweats obvious through the thin material of your panties. he brought his hand to your hair, softly petting the strands as he settled it to the nape of your neck, deepening the kiss. you ground on him with a subtle pace now, inviting small moans to escape your throat as his boner felt amazing against your now throbbing clit.
"soobin...you feel so good," you whispered against the shell of his ear, making him practically melt at the praise and sound of his name in one sentence. he hummed, pressing small butterfly kisses around your neck as he settled his hands to your waist, guiding your hips to rock back and forth against himself.
he was absolutely overtaken by pleasure, not knowing how he would possibly be able to contain himself when he’s actually inside of you. he rested his head on the headboard, simply looking up at you in awe, eyelids half closed as his mouth fell slightly agape; his hot breath fanning on your chin.
you slipped your fingers past the elastic of his sweatpants, using it as his cue to slightly lift his hips up as you helped undress him; skin growing hotter the moment his sweatpants landed on the floor and he could feel your wetness squishing against his bareness; even through your underwear.
you tugged his shirt over his head, the last article of clothing before he was completely naked under you. skin hot and utterly delectable under your touch. you just wanted to kiss and lick every square inch of his body, give yourself to him completely; because you knew he always took amazing care of you, your body, and it's needs. 
your make-out became so messy that you had to come up for breaths with how you practically devoured one another's lips, strings of saliva connecting the two of you with every breath.
"i need you so bad," he practically begged against your neck, licking and sucking love bites on the soft skin. and with that you lifted off of him, moving your panties to the side with the help of his two fingers, infatuated with the wetness that coated them when he lightly brushed them along your folds. 
you both watched his tip slowly disappear into you as you slowly lowered down onto his throbbing hardness, wincing at the sheer stretch.
"you're taking me so well angel," he cooed, rubbing slow circles into your clit as you bit your lip at the pleasure and slight discomfort as you sunk down even more, eyes locked as he watched you in awe.
your warmth now engulfed him as you sat down entirely, your bottom flush against his thighs, his breath husky as he grunted against your neck. you were already a moaning mess before you could even begin to ride him, still adjusting to his size through a whimpering, messy makeout.
soobin always had the utmost patience with you, he never ever rushed you and always let you take it at your own pace. what mattered to him most was that you were getting the pleasure you wanted, needed, and deserved.
he kissed down to the soft material over your nipple, licking your hardened bud that prodded through the lace, your skin buzzing at the heat of his tongue seeping through to your skin. your moans echoed through the bedroom as you began to slightly pick up your pace, a subtle burn in your thighs as you kept a slow and steady up-and-down motion.
he couldn't help but fiddle with the loose strap on your shoulder as your boobs began to bounce in his face, fingers drawn to gently tug at the elastic. you reached down, helping the other strap off of your shoulder so that your top hung loosely.
he peeled the lace over your chest, watching attentively like he was opening a present as your bare tits became exposed to him in all of their beauty. although he had seen them countless times, something about seeing them through the pink lace of lingerie had his heart doing cartwheels.
he took your nipple into his mouth as you rode him, increasing your pace at the overwhelming pleasure of his warm mouth on the sensitive skin of your chest, the fullness of his cock inside of you, and his fingers perfectly circling your clit.
he knew your body so well that you felt you wanted to explode any second at the brain-melting pleasure he provided. his gentleness and sweetness outshined everything, though, always treating you like a princess and nothing less. 
he almost wanted to drool at the sight of you enjoying yourself, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you bounced on him, hands on his chest to keep your balance. what got him was the sound of his name repeatedly leaving your lips, mixed with some profanities and lewd noises, telling him how good he was making you feel, how fucking perfect he is.
your praise always meant the world to him, making his face heat up as a small smile grew on his lips. "you're perfect," he whispered into the thick air, making your lips tug at each corner, uniting your lips with his.
suddenly, you reached back to grab a hold of his calves, perching up on your feet so that you could have more precision with your movements. he licked his lips through a deep moan because in this position he got the best view of himself disappearing in and out of you, watching the way you stretch over him and how your clit throbs when his tip hits your g-spot. such a lewd sight, he could almost come on the spot. but he wanted to last as long as possible for you, holding back his urge for as long as he physically could.
you gasped when he began to circle your clit quickly with his thumb, throwing your head back at the warm tingles that darted across your spine, your stomach tightening with an oncoming orgasm, just wanting to come undone.
"right there soob- i'm right there," you moaned through a clenched jaw, tears pricking your eyes as your legs began to give out with how tired they were. he helped guide your hips with one hand, circling your clit with the other.
suddenly, he began rubbing your clit up and down because he knew the slight change of motion would push you right over the edge, and it did. he sent you spiraling into what felt another dimension as you unraveled completely around his bareness, feeling him lift your hips up as he shot his warm fluid all over your stomach, accidentally getting some on your new set.
"oh no!" he gasped out of breath, a hand over his mouth; worried he may have ruined the delicate lace with the fluids he didn't think twice about releasing all over you. 
you laughed, appreciating his concern, but not giving a care in the world; it was always bound to get a little messy. you cupped his face in your hands, kissing him sweetly before rubbing your nose against his.
"its okay, soobie," you reassured him with a grin, all of his worries melting away at the sight of your pearly smile, finding one of his own form on his face instinctively. you two sat there for a moment, foreheads pressed to one another's as you caught your breaths. 
he suddenly wrapped his hands around your waist, picking you up and gently laying you on the soft bed, tugging your lingerie off of you. he was determined to go to the bathroom and scrub it clean, making you giggle at his silliness when he jogged over to the bathroom in a hurry. deep down he didn't want it ruined because of how perfect it looked on you, wanting to see it on you again, over and over. every night, if he could.
"i'm running a bath for my beautiful girlfriend!" his voice echoed through the bathroom which made you laugh, your chest undeniably filling with warmth at his kindness. yet you also buried your burning face in a pillow, knowing damn well you would probably fuck again the moment you entered the tub together. and then cuddle the night away, simply enjoying one another's warm skin and smiles. 
your cheeks burned with how much you smiled, so, so happy to be his girlfriend. so much so that you began plotting boyfriend day, wanting to also give him the best day ever. you already planned on getting another set of lingerie because of how much he loved it. one that would make him melt even more.
“have i ever told you you look so pretty in pink?” his voice rings out from the bathroom again as he’s busy washing the pretty lace.
“not as pretty as you!” you reply, burying your head back under the pillow. you don’t know what was more pink, your flushed cheeks or the hearts that floated around you with the love you had for choi soobin.
<3
ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ɞ
a/n: thank you sm for 300 followers!!! <3 i hope you enjoyed <3 ^_^ remember that you always deserve someone as caring as soob!! :) love u all!
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duckprintspress · 2 months
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Alright, now for something completely different. Today is National Handwriting Day! So we thought it'd be fun to do a classic handwriting meme, you know - the style where the meme asks a series of questions and you're supposed to answer them by hand-writing the replies.
A Very Duck Prints Press Handwriting Meme
Rules: answer the following questions by handwriting your replies then posting a picture to Tumblr (or the platform of your choice). Then, tag five friends to do the same!
Questions:
Write your url.
Write the name you write under.
Write "The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog."
Copy out a favorite book quote.
Write anything you want using your non-dominant hand.
Draw a duck!
Tag five friends.
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GO!
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yaeshima · 6 months
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𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐞𝐚 ˚☕·˚ ⋆₊˚ˑ༄ؘ
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𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐟𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞! ˗ˏˋ☕ˎˊ˗
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•°. *࿐ Your cafe is claimed by your regulars to be a precious gem in Fontaine. with a plentiful assortment of only the finest brews and ingredients imported from other nations, it isn't hard to attract the attention of those strolling by the streets of Quartier Lyonnais.
You specialize in not just selling homemade pastries and jam or coffee, but tea. From simple Inazuman matcha to pungent and earthy pu'er from Liyue, you can brew up just about any variety. Your carefully hand-picked blends, fresh and luxurious, tend to be more favored amongst your customers rather than the ordinary servings of coffee. Now, everyone demands your tea, and normal cappuccinos and expressos are pushed to the side, forgotten.
There is something different about your small business that is just incomparable to other cafes on the same street. It's very welcoming, with all of the little pots of sweet-smelling, colorful flowers growing at the front door, the cute menu propped outside the window with all of the week's special selections printed in neat, loopy handwriting, and the tantalizing fragrance of rich baked goods.
Inside, wooden shelves with extending rows of packaged bags tied up with pink ribbon and labeled jars of dried tea leaves line the wall behind the counter and your workspace where you conjure up every single beverage by hand.
Each day, the smell of the store seems to change.
One Monday, refreshing mint and sugary fruit, Wednesday is reserved for the mouth-watering scent of buttered bread that you whip up to restock the glass displays, and Fridays are sometimes rainy, and when waves of chamomile crash onto the front doorstep nothing but floral notes of rose and warm apples fill your nostrils.
Recently, the past few weeks have gone by steadily. The mornings are the busiest, when the heavy curtains are pulled away and the open sign is hung up on the door, most of your usual customers rush in for a to-go bag of berry scones and their favorite blend poured into paper cups with decorated lids stuck on top.
You work assiduously and to show what makes your tea, well, yours, you take extra care when it comes to the orders you receive.
Each cup always includes a special sticky note with either a little individual message for most of your frequent patrons who enjoy chatting with you no matter the time of day, or messily scribbled smiley faces and stars and words of encouragement. It's your unique trademark and you can only hope that your purple-inked notes can make someone's day just a bit better.
Surely, one of your customers must have spread the word about your distinctive way of preparing your tea, because one day, when you least expected it, crowds of people were grouped outside the door while you had temporarily closed for your lunch break. It was overwhelming, with all of the new faces to greet and welcome inside, and the enormous amounts of custom beverages you had to make. A rush of excitement overcame you on that unforgettable day. It was hard getting through everyone all by yourself, and while you wished you had someone else to lend a hand, you felt a sense of accomplishment and took pride in your hard work.
The bustle died down over the next couple of days, and soon, you were operating back at a more consistent pace you could easily deal with without breaking a single sweat. But your business has definitely gained popularity since you've been having more customers than you did several months ago.
The people weren't just your customers, but many have been made your friends. The elderly of Fontaine who come in for a cup of jasmine and your scrumptious pound cake are very fond of you and your sweet personality, finding your company as bright as sunshine. They were kind, always sitting at the table near your brewing station, and you enjoyed conversing with them back and forth as you took orders, always welcome into their daily gossiping sessions.
The success brought you a sense of happiness you had once been separated from, and you felt as though everything was finally moving down the right path.
It's Tuesday, and Tuesdays are more of a relaxing day. The soothing aftermath of the tumultuous storm Monday was.
Early afternoon, the clock ticks, and the hand points to three twenty-seven. there are no customers currently dining in and Fontaine has stopped at a peaceful rest. It's just you and the comfort of your shop.
To indulge in the serenity, you make yourself your favorite blend. Popping open the lid of the jar of shriveled matcha leaves, you dig into the green blend with a measuring spoon and place it in a tea strainer. It falls to the bottom of your glass with a meek clink! and you pour in the scorching hot water from your kettle.
A fresh batch of scones is baking in the oven of your workspace, it's a new recipe you decided to test out. Dried cranberries and chopped almonds, a simple combination that you think will work well for when the cold arrives.
Sitting at the counter, perched on a tall chair, you blow at your green tea and drink prudently, fearful of somehow managing to burn your tongue. Even as an expert with your magical tea-making hands, you have not mastered the art of comfortably drinking cups of liquid flames. The bottom of the cup, wet with moisture from when you washed it not a long while ago, sits comfortably on a pink fabric coaster you knitted up, and you stare down at your reflection in the murky tea while listening to the ticking of the oven timer.
Boredom strikes once the clock hits three thirty, and you crank up the music on the radio. It's soothing, the tune that switches on, and the beat in the background reminds you of the pitter-pattering of rain against the window.
The bells hung at the top of the front door jingle merrily and the startling sound jolts you out of your absentminded reverie. You crane your head to peer at who is entering. Another new face. An intimidating one, at that. Most people would recognize the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide, but you, who had only arrived in Fontaine a few months before to start your business again from scratch, hadn't a clue who the mysterious man could have been.
Your spoon that you were previously stirring around in your tea is dropped back in with a light splash, staining the countertop as you try to clumsily muster up the words to welcome the customer and reach for a napkin to clean up your mistake.
Wriothesley watches you struggle from the front door before making his way inside. His first impression of you, when you were staring off in the distance and daydreaming, has completely changed. You seemed so peaceful when your mind was elsewhere, yet you were a total klutz when it came to reality. It's slightly amusing to watch, how much you fumble to properly clean up and stammer over your words, but he manages to keep a straight face.
"Welcome...!" You squeak from the counter, not even noticing that he was quickly approaching. Your voice trails off as you quickly glance down to wipe away the spill on the counter and toss the napkin off to the side.
You keep your head low and count inside your head for five seconds to both regain your "professional" composure and scold yourself. Wriothesley barely has the time to return your greeting.
"What can I get for you?" When you lift your head up, you're met with the sight of his stony eyes examining yours, and you pull back, startled. When did he even sit down?
The only thing that comes to mind when you eye the stranger is that the puffy dunes in his hair resemble pup ears, and the thought makes you stifle a laugh. An intimidating face paired with strange hair...
He seems to notice the way you falter for a moment and he awkwardly clears his throat, stiff expression softening a bit.
"What do you recommend? I'd like to try a cup of tea, any variety would be fine,"
"Hm, alright then,"
You ponder for a bit, turning around as you scan the tea shelves. Seeing how he wasn't familiar when it came to the vast world of tea flavors, you chose something simple.
"How does white tea sound? It's very subtle," You offer kindly, stretching up on your tippy toes to grab the jar of white tea leaves from the tall shelf.
You open the lid and tilt the container over in his direction, showing him the long wrinkled buds.
Wriothesley, a man who loves drinking tea, has never tasted actual high-quality tea, let alone made a cup for himself. He wants to, of course, as he is aware of all sorts of tea there is, but to experience the finer end of tea is something he has never done.
With his line of work, he's busy. When he wants tea, all he does is go out and buy a couple cheap tea bags of his favorite brand, bring it back home, and toss one into a cup of hot water. Making loose-leaf tea, from what he has heard, is a tedious process, the hardest part being the tea leaf picking. Tea leaves are expensive. The cost to enjoy upscale things, he supposes.
Even if he had enough to purchase some for his own, it was hard to find them, which must have been why your store was so well-liked since you weighed and sold tea leaves by the pound with your own homespun stamp and branded label.
Fascinated by the sight of freshly harvested tea leaves up close, he nods eagerly, "That sounds lovely. I'll have a cup,"
Another thing that Wriothesley notices about you is that you are certainly clumsy, but not when you're working.
Your back is turned to him while you try to settle down your workspace (which is untidily strewn with several used tea strainers, slips of paper with squiggly writing and doodles that are illegible from his sight, and bits of tea leaves), but he can tell by the thorough manner your hands move that you take each cup of tea very seriously. There's a perfectionistic glow in your benign eyes, a visible glint of determination that somehow enthralls him.
You call out to him after arranging a precisely measured amount of tea leaves on a strainer as the kettle is bubbling on the small stove, "Would you like anything else in your tea? Perhaps extra lemon or honey...?"
"Both, please,"
"Good choice! Coming right up. It's nearly done,"
A spritz of lemon juice from a slice you just cut mixed with a dash of honey, and it's finally finished. As you set down the white mug of piping tea, you peel off a little sticker mark with your cafe's name from a notepad you were carrying and stick it onto the front of the cup.
"Please enjoy," You present it to him with a coaster underneath and a soft smile.
"Thank you,"
Wriothesley waits for it to cool a bit, eyes lingering on you longer than they probably should as you wait for him to try it. You notice how handsome his weary features really are and anticipation gnaws away at you as he gingerly blows at the steam.
The dinging of your oven timer breaks your gaze away from him and scurry over to check on your scones that were long forgotten. A wave of relief washes over you as you pull out the dessert tray and from the awkward eye contact, you find your hands to be slightly shaky and your cheeks warm as you let the scones rest on the counter.
The corners of Wriothesley's lips turn up a bit and he chuckles at your embarrassment, a sound that is far sweeter than you would have ever expected to come from the man. When he languidly takes his first taste of the tea, you don't think he's as frightening as he first appeared.
You find yourself panicking a bit and you aren't sure why you care so much about his opinion, but you're rambling and spouting nonsense before you can fully register it.
"How does it taste? Is it to your liking? I may have added too much lemon, and I know some people don't like their tea too sour. I can make you a new cup, if you want me t-"
"It's perfect," He reassures you with a warm grin and you instantly close your mouth.
"It tastes even better than I can make myself, which is probably expected since I just use cheap tea bags. The lemon adds the right amount of citrus. It's wonderful as is, I promise,"
He drinks about half of it before adding a charming, "Thank you very much,"
The racing of your heart relaxes and you can't help but return his smile with an eased sigh, "Phew, you had me worried there. You're very welcome... as long as it tastes good, that's really all I can ask for,"
Your eyes travel back to the scones that are now mildly warm and you light up.
"Would you like a scone with your tea? It's a new recipe I'm trying, and... I could use a taste tester," You try to say slickly, bringing over the tray.
"Of course, you don't have to if you don't want to-"
"Count me in," Wriothesley says, somewhat enthusiastically, and the way you perk up happily is the best possible way to repay him.
You eagerly slide to him the nicest shaped scone out of the batch on a small brown napkin, and he realizes that he can't stop himself from smiling. To pull himself together, he coughs into his hand and holds back the idiotic grin threatening to spread on his lips.
He picks up the scone, inspecting the cute homemade sort of look it has, "What's inside of it?"
"Dried cranberries and almonds. I wanted to release a new version to see how it would do with the customers, and I had those ingredients left in my pantry so I whipped something up," You explain bashfully, poking at one yourself.
"They're a bit lumpy, though... I think I've been losing my charm at, erm, shaping things recently. I'm too used to making cakes with those fun molds,"
He gives a small laugh, "They're special in their own way. Gives them more character," He insists, breaking off a piece to eat.
It's moderately sweet, having more of a bread-like taste than a cake or cookie. The cranberries pop nicely and are delightfully tart, while the almonds give more texture.
He lets out an approving hum as he chews before you can even ask for his feedback.
"Delicious," He says with a nod, taking more bites, and you huff a bit, narrowing your eyes at him, a far contrast to the usual kind look you always have.
"Hm, I have a feeling you're just saying that to make me feel better..."
Another chuckle escapes him as he shakes his head earnestly, "I'm being honest. It tastes good. Why don't you give it a try yourself?"
And so you do. It's a bit dry, could use more cranberries maybe? But it really isn't as bad as you were expecting.
Wriothesley sees the surprised widening of your eyes, "See? Perhaps you're just underestimating yourself. I'd buy these any day. I think your customers will love them,"
He pops the last of his scone and finishes it up, wiping his fingers on the napkin.
"I'll take your word for it," You murmur, rosy pink rising to your cheeks as you look off to the side with hidden frustration.
Loads of people applauded your success. New friends you had made ever since coming to Fontaine complimented how delicious your tea was, customers who tried your desserts for the first time praised you greatly, and the elderly ladies who regularly dined in flattered you and made several comments about your beauty. All of which you responded humbly to.
Not once did they make you nervous, more so grateful. So why was it that you were getting all giddy over some random man? Because he liked your scones?
As you fall silent, Wriothesley downs about half of the rest of his tea. He really wasn't lying when he said yours was better than any cup he's brewed for himself.
He clears his throat, noticing how engrossed you were with the window.
"May I have some more honey?" He asks.
You look over at him, dismissing your useless train of thought. At his silly question, you're back to all smiles in no time and he prefers that more than when you're distraught.
"Yes, of course. How much would you like?"
"A spoonful would do,"
You hand him a spoon with more of the same honey you originally put into his tea and he thanks you for it, stirring it around to his liking before he's back to sipping.
Surprisingly, the rest of the time he spends with you is not as awkward as before. He's an expert at making small talk, it seems, nearly as much as an expert you are at tea. His voice is comforting, rich, and a little cheeky, you realize, when you learn he has a slight teasing side to him. It could put you to sleep, you think to yourself.
It doesn't feel like he's a simple customer, but more of a companion. Like someone you had known your whole life, and you don't think you've ever had a conversation go as smoothly as this one. By the end of it, you're genuinely laughing and it's a real laugh, not the sheepish ones you make when you're talking to any other customer. He does and doesn't make you nervous at the same time.
Nearly an hour passes by in a flash, his tea is cold when he downs the last of it. You're a bit upset when he says he has to leave.
"Thank you for..." You try to search for the right words, just like you were when he first entered.
"For talking with me. I enjoyed it very much..." You admit shyly, "-Wriothesley," You added quickly, testing how it officially sounded on your tongue.
He grins at the use of his name, "Of course. The tea was amazing. Perhaps I'll visit soon, to help you taste-test again,"
You really hope he does.
"I'll be sure to have a new recipe for you to try then!"
Once he's gone, you clean up his cup of tea. Recalling how he had been scraping his spoon against the bottom, some moments he was intently fixated on whatever was going on. Curious, you peek into the mug, nearly dropping it onto the floor by what you see.
The tiny bits of tea leaves leftover, like a trail of ants, curve into the small shape of a heart.
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part 2!!! (just a short continuation for december)
(kinda rushed bc i was so excited to release this, my first full length fanfic!! wrio's kinda occ, but he's still cute and silly. my only thoughts for the ending: rizzley.)
(ignore any mistakes im too tired. all forms of interactions such as reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!! i hope this doesnt flop)
also yes, i headcannon wrio drinks cheap tea fight me
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ami-ven · 1 year
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Happy National Handwriting Day!
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Secret Notes and Misunderstandings - Sugawara Kōshi x Reader
Pairing: Sugawara Kōshi x Reader (can be read as any gender, no pronouns used) Genre: fluff Word Count: 3 420 Warnings: Use of y/n, Tanaka and Noya Summary: You receive secret notes from someone. If only they were from your crush Suga A/N: I’m not really happy with the style of this one…
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It had to be every schoolgirl’s dream, receiving cute notes written by a secret admirer, pushed into her locker every morning. And the notes were cute, they really were. Never creepy or offensive, just sweet.
It had started almost a month ago. One morning you had opened your locker, only to find a small note fluttering out. Not recognizing it, you had unfolded the paper that seemed to have been ripped from a Kanji exercise book. In an unfamiliar handwriting, using what seemed like a fine 0.3mm black ink pen, a few words had been scribbled down, making a smile pull at your lips.
“I’m too shy to tell you this in person, but your presentation on the United Nations yesterday was crazy good.”
You had folded the note back together, and placed it in your pencil case, where it made you smile every time you glanced at it.
“You’re in a good mood today,” Sugawara, your classmate, had grinned when he had passed you during lunch break on this way to the sink.
You had shrugged, your heart beating faster when you had realized that Suga had addressed you. The feeling that ran through your body at every interaction with him was so different from the feelings the note had sparked, so much better.
The notes had started that day, and there had not been one day of school since then, that there hadn’t been one shoved into your locker in the morning. Over time they had gotten more personal, leaving less and less doubt about the author’s attraction to you. He (and you knew it was a guy by the words he used), was never offensive or creepy, just plainly sweet, complimenting the hair clip you had worn the other day, or sometimes even admitting how he wished he would be brave enough to talk to you normally, without these notes.
And the more he revealed his own thoughts, his own insecurities and wishes, the more he revealed of his heart, the worse you felt. The notes were cute, sweet, and normally you would have been dying to know who went through all the effort just for your sake. Maybe you would have been trying to find out who it was and asked them out, just because you felt like after all the effort he had made, he deserved you take a risk too.
But no matter how much you wanted to feel excited and honoured by these notes, there was still Suga. Suga who was in the same class as you and your mysterious admirer, Suga who was working hard in every subject, who helped the other students when they struggled, who laughed loud and unashamedly in the breaks, who’s smile was warm like summer sun beams, even when it was only late February. So really it was Sugawara’s fault, you thought to yourself, that you couldn’t reciprocate the feelings these notes conveyed. If it weren’t for your stupid, stupid, unrequited crush on him, you’d have tried to get into contact with the author of these notes weeks ago. But your heart was hopelessly hung up on someone else, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself to let these feelings go.
So, when you stared down on what had to be the boldest note yet, you felt a little sick.
"I've been trying to work up the courage to ask you to sit with me for lunch for weeks now, but every time I think about getting up and asking you, I get so nervous that I can't even think properly anymore. Maybe I’ll ask you tomorrow. I want to make salmon onigiri, I know you like those. What do you think?"
The nervousness of the author as he had written these words and then pushed the note into your locker was basically seeping out of the paper into your hands, pleading you to be as nervous about him as he was about you. But instead, you knew he was just setting himself up for heartbreak. This had to stop. Now. You had allowed this boy to bring up his hopes for far too long now. You had to end this. Even if it would hurt him. Even when you would feel awful for breaking his heart.  But it was better to end this now than to have him work up the courage to face you and then tell it into his face.
Although he did deserve a gentle let down, he didn’t deserve to torture himself before it. So, after your last class, you ripped out a page of your notebook and grabbed one of your pens. During class, between paying attention to the teachers’ words and the way Suga was bouncing his leg under the table on the other side of the classroom, you had mentally prepared what you wanted to write.
“Dear friend, thank you very much for all the notes over the past weeks. I have enjoyed reading them, but I’m sorry to tell you that I can’t reciprocate your feelings. I already have someone I like, and it wouldn’t be fair to let you keep hoping I will return your feelings. In fact, I should have told you this a lot sooner, and I’m sorry for the pain I’m causing you now. Let this be the last exchange.”
You had been tempted to add words of reassurance or comfort, but you were worried they might make him hope against hope that you would eventually return his feelings. When the last class was over, you used a thin strip of washi-tape and stuck the note to your locker so it was blocking the little gap in the door. This way the note couldn’t possibly go unnoticed by whoever had sent you the others.
The next morning rolled around, and you were almost nervous, when you took off your shoes and placed them in the rack, going to your locker to grab your books for the day. The note you had stuck to its door the day prior was gone, and you already feared someone else might have removed it, but when you opened the locker, no new note came sailing out. You were almost a little disappointed. But you had asked him to stop writing, so you had gotte what you wanted. This was for the best. Let him be disappointed or maybe even a little heartbroken, and by next week he would have moved on.
When you entered the classroom, you found, much to your surprise, that yesterday’s note hadn’t been the last. Instead, someone had placed two wrapped onigiri on your table, and a note underneath. Up until now, the paper had always been torn neatly out of notebooks, the signs evenly paced and written with precision. This time, even though it was the by now familiar handwriting, the page seemed to have been ripped out in haste, the words smeared over the paper, smudging the ink.
“I already made these, and I thought you should have them. If you don’t want them, leave them on the desk during lunch break and I’ll take them back. This is my last note. Thanks for your honesty.”
You bit your lip, staring down at the paper. You could tell his hand had shaken when he had written this note. While nervousness had seeped out of the other notes, this one seemed to ooze pain. He’ll get over it, you thought to yourself, over me.
Quickly you crumbled the note in your hand, pushing the onigiris to the edge of the table, not intending to eat them. With a few steps you made your way to the paper basked, discarding the final note of your secret admirer. On your way back to your desk, your eyes skipped over to where Suga was sitting, as always when you got the chance.
He sat backsided on a chair, arms crossed over the backrest, chin propped on his lower arm. He had taken off his jacket, leaving him in the short sleeved, white button-up of the uniform. Warm spring sunlight flitted in through the window, catching in his silver hair and making it gleam like star light. He looked angelic, you thought to yourself. Even though Daichi was telling him something, and laughing at his side, Suga barely seemed to listen, his gaze absentmindedly directed into the distance. He looked pale, you realized, pale and tired. Hopefully he wouldn’t get sick in the last weeks of the school year.
Suddenly his gaze drew away from wherever he had stared of to, and directed itself to you instead. You felt like your heart almost stopped at the way his coffee brown eyes bore into you, and feeling your cheeks heat up, you lifted your hand to wave at him with a smile. Instead of returning the gesture, he only seemed to tense, before tearing his eyes away from you and sitting up, saying something to Daichi instead.
Confused at his unusual reaction, you walked back to your seat, sitting down. The onigiri in front of you seemed to mock you, and far more frequent than usually your gaze flickered over to Suga during the day. His mood didn’t seem to better though, and in fact it grew only grimmer when he caught you staring at him once.
You were not the only one who seemed to pick up on his unusual behaviour, because as the bell rang for lunch break, you overheard Daichi ask him if everything was okay. Suga only answered he was fine, even though he sounded upset and annoyed, but the rest of the conversation got drowned out by the voices of other students.
Like every day, you left the classroom at the beginning of lunchbreak to refill your bottle at the water fountain in the hallway. Today you made sure to take an extra few minutes; hopefully giving the author of the notes you had received enough time to retrieve the onigiri from your desk. And sure enough, by the time you returned to the classroom, they were gone.
The rest of the day went by without any other incidents, unless one counted Suga’s terrible mood. Even across the classroom it seemed to rub off on you. Originally you had wanted to pay closer attention to the other boys, trying to see if anyone’s behaviour differed from usually which might give them away as the author of the messages, but instead your focus was entirely on Suga and what you could do to cheer him up.
When the last class ended, and you still hadn’t thought of anything useful to say to Suga, you just opted for a wave and a smile, as you usually did, bidding him goodbye before heading off to your club. But unlike all the other days, he ignored you completely, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth and your heart heavy.
It was already growing dark outside when you hasted through the corridors of the school again. Your club had finished only a few minutes ago, when you had remembered there was a book you needed for homework, so you were on your way back to the lockers. You had almost reached them, when suddenly the voices of two students made you stop.
“He explicitly said not to get involved,” the one nagged.
“But have you seen him? Can you really just stand by and watch him suffer like that,” the other voice replied.
Carefully you snuck around the last corner, finding two boys standing in front of your locker. Even in the dim light you could make out the one’s buzzcut and the other’s unruly hair. They were both in the year below you, you realized, and members of the volleyball team, teammates of Suga’s. The one with the unruly hair was trying to push a piece of paper through the gap below the door into your locker.
You were about to ask them what they were up to. After all, neither of them couldn’t have been the one writing the notes you had received; that person was in your class. You knew that from the references to your classwork he had been making.
“You know, he’s gonna hate you when he finds out you got involved.”
“So what, let him hate me! As long as he gets his girl! (Y/n) just has to give him a second chance!”
“Who am I supposed to give a second chance,” you asked out loud, stepping out from behind the corner.
The two boys jumped in surprise as your presence, the one with the unruly hair, quickly hiding a piece of paper behind his back.
“Well, you see, the thing is our set-,” he started, immediately receiving a harsh nudge from his friend.
“And what were you trying to push into my locker,” you added. Usually you were not very intimidating, but being a year older than them had its perks: they had to respect you. Demanding, you held out your hand.
The boy with the blond streak in this dishevelled hair shot his friend a side glance before stepping forward and dropping the paper into your outstretched hand.
“Have you been the ones putting notes into my locker,” you asked.
“Yes, well, no. Maybe. Sometimes,” the boy with the buzzcut answered. Tanaka, you remembered.
“What is it now. Have you or have you not?”
“Sometimes,” the other one – Nuka? Nayo? Noya? Oh yes, Noya was his name – answered. “Sometimes we delivered them for our friend, when you had club late and there was the chance of you running into Su-“
He got interrupted by another shove between his ribs. He coughed.
Biting your lip, you twirled the paper between your fingers. You could find out who had sent you all these notes, you realized. You just had to ask now. Tanaka would probably be quiet, but Noya seemed eager to make you like whoever had sent them to deliver them. But did you want to know? Did you really want to go to class tomorrow, look at the person who had written these notes and pretend you didn’t know?
“Please,” Tanaka interrupted your thoughts. “Can’t you give our friend a chance? We know you like someone else, but you’ll forget about that guy in no time, I promise! Our friend is like- he’s the best guy there is really. He’s smart, and patient, and funny-”
“Charming, good-looking, athletic,” Noya continued. “A little chaotic sometimes maybe, but he has like the biggest heart-”
You shook your head. “Listen guys, Tanaka-kun, Noya-kun. I appreciate your effort and I know you just want to see your friend happy, but as I already wrote him: there is someone else I like, and it wouldn’t be right to let your friend hope that my feelings will change eventually. That’s just not fair.”
“But you should’ve seen him today during practice,” Noya continued. “He was not himself! He was devastated! And Suga’s ready to let you walk away because he respects you, but I- we think-”
“Wait, wait,” you lifted your hands in the air, signalling him to stop talking. Your heart was racing. “Say that again.”
“He respects you and-”
“No, you said his name,” you disagreed.
The boys exchanged glances.
“He’ll kill you,” Tanaka mumbled to Noya.
“Did you say Suga,” you asked.
Their silence was answer enough.
All this time you had wanted Suga to notice you and all this time it had been him who had sent you these notes? And then you had rejected him? Was that why he had been so pale today, why he hadn’t smiled at you today? Because you had rejected him, not even knowing who you had rejected? Your heart dropped and the floor felt like it was giving way beneath your feet. You had to fix that. Somehow you had to fix this stupid, stupid situation.
“Do you have a pen?”
Tanaka rummaged around in his pocket, before handing you a blunt pencil. You took it anyway. Unfolding the paper you had taken from Noya, you placed it against the closest locker, flipping it to its empty side.
“What’s Suga’s favourite onigiri filling,” you asked, glancing at Tanaka and Noya from over your shoulder.
“Salmon,” they answered at the same time without hesitation.
You furrowed your brows. “Are you sure?”
“We talked about it just the other day,” Tanaka assured you.
“He said, he likes them because you like them,” Noya added. You exhaled slowly, trying not to laugh. This sounded so much like something Suga would say.
Putting the pen down, you began writing.
“Noya and Tanaka ranted you out. Don’t be mad at them, I made them tell me. Let’s eat lunch together. I’ll make salmon onigiri, I know you like those. We can eat outside under the plum tree. The blossoms are your favourite, aren’t they?”
Quickly, before you could change your mind, you folded the paper, and pushed it into Suga’s locker, making the two boys exchange wide eyed glances.
“What did you write,” they asked excitedly as you returned to your locker to retrieve the book you had come here for.
“Are you giving him a second chance?”
“You’ll see,” you answered with a smile.
The next morning, Suga was already sitting in the classroom when you entered, like he did every morning. When he saw you sitting down behind your own desk, he quickly exchanged a few words with Daichi, before walking over.
Pink was dusting his cheeks, the colour almost matching that of the plum blossoms outside. He was nervous, you could tell, fiddling around with a piece of paper between his fingers. Watching him walk over, your own pulse spiked. Yesterday you had been filled with confidence when you had written the note, but today it all seemed unreal. That was until he dropped the small piece of paper on the desk in front of you, leaning against the table.
For a moment you looked up at him, his chocolate brown eyes nervous but also filled with warmth as he glanced down to you, then you reached for the paper. He had rolled it into a tight scroll, probably an act of nervosity while he had waited for you. For the first time the note didn’t contain any words, only a doodled Smilie. The smile on your face was instantaneous, and quickly you looked back up to Suga, who was full on blushing now.
“I know, I said I’d stop it with the notes, but…” he shrugged bashfully, making you laugh quietly.
“No, that’s okay,” you let him know.
“I do gotta ask though- not that I’m complaining, just curious – what changed your mind?”
He’s still smiling, but you could hear the insecurity in his voice as well.
Inhaling deeply, you settled for the truth. “Turned out the guy I rejected was actually the guy I was rejecting him for.”
Suga just furrowed his brows in confusion.
“What I mean is,” you shuffled in your seat a little, wondering if the words would come any easier if you sat differently or if Suga weren’t nailing you to the chair with the intensity with which he was considering you now. “You’re the guy I was talking about in that note, the person I like. I didn’t know you were also the person sending me these notes.”
Finally, the last bit of hesitation seemed to melt away from Suga. “Lucky then, that I like you, too,” he teased, making your heart stutter and his cheeks tint an even deeper pink. “Sooo, are we eating lunch together?"
You nodded. “I made onigiri, like promised. Is salmon really your favourite filling?”
Suga laughed. “Yeah, it is. Always has been, since I was little.”
He was about to say something else, but was interrupted by the teacher, calling the beginning of the class.
Quickly he pushed away from your desk, winking at you mischievously. This Suga was so very different from the disappointed, heartbroken Suga from yesterday. You knew exactly which one you preferred. He turned around and hurried back to his desk, but not before dropping another note to your table, this one folded several times.
As the teacher began the class, you quickly unfolded the paper under your desk, reading the few words Suga had written down. This time they were a lot neater than the note he had left with the rejected onigiri the day prior.
“I mean it. I really like you too.”
And underneath he had drawn a tiny, almost hesitant doodle of a heart.
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peachdues · 3 days
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STRESS RELIEF — TEASER
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Anyways, Stress Relief (my Sanemi-gets-topped one-shot), is next up on my completion list — so have a sneak peek!
I love writing from Sanemi’s POV
CW: none really for this snippet • Sanemi trying to be a good malewife and Reader not having it • this fic will be highly NSFW though so MDNI
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Sanemi had seen his girlfriend in various states of being, and he prided himself not only on being to identify what mood she was in, but how best to handle her when she was in said mood.
If she was sad, Sanemi knew she needed comfort, but enough space to not feel suffocated.
When she was angry, Sanemi knew she needed to vent, so he would put aside anything that could distract him in order to give her his full, undivided attention.
When she was sleepy, Sanemi had come to accept Y/N would never willingly put herself in bed, instead preferring to be babied. After several rounds of him telling her to go to bed and Y/N lazily insisting she was not sleepy, and was “one hundred percent awake,” she would invariably fall asleep wherever she had managed to park her ass. So Sanemi would gently gather her into his arms and carry her back to their shared bed, taking care to ensure her phone was plugged in so she wouldn’t miss her alarm come morning.
But when Y/N was stressed?
Sanemi knew to stay the fuck out of her way.
In stark contrast to himself, Sanemi’s girlfriend was not a hot-tempered person by default. Nor was she meek by any means; rather, she was quick to laugh, and an all-around easygoing woman.
However, all that calm rationality went right out the fucking window whenever she was under immense pressure, just as she was now.
Y/N was currently studying for her licensing exam. Apparently, seven years of schooling was still not enough for her to advance in her field if she didn’t pass some stupid national exam that re-tested her on everything she had already demonstrated competency in while at school. Personally, Sanemi thought it was just another excuse to make money off the poor saps who had the misfortune of pursuing her chosen career.
For the past three weeks, Y/N had lived, breathed, and (not) slept for the exam. Sanemi found himself having to constantly remind his girl to eat, stretch, take care of her basic necessities. If she wasn’t clacking away on her keyboard as she made color-coordinated outlines, she was watching review videos, and if she wasn’t watching review videos, she was handwriting flashcards until her body finally gave into its exhaustion and she slumped over at her desk.
Last week, she’d been up so late studying that Sanemi had fallen asleep before he could drag her ass to bed. When he had finally jerked himself awake well after midnight and realized that his girlfriend’s warm body was not cuddled up next to him in their bed, he had found his girlfriend in their tiny living room, still at her desk.
Y/N’s head had been resting on her upper arm and her eyes were closed, but still clutched in her hand was her pen, twitching against the paper of her open notebook. When Sanemi had moved to gently pluck the pen from her loose grip, he had peered down to see scratchy and disjointed inky lines on the paper, he had realized that her hand had continued to move even well after she had lost consciousness, as though taking notes had become mere muscle memory.
The sight had made Sanemi’s heart clench, and he felt an inexplicable urge to lock her in bed for a day just to let her rest. Sanemi knew she was doing this so they could have a better life, together, but he hated to see her put so much pressure on herself. He had thought himself smart for deliberately leaving Y/N’s phone — and thus, her alarm — in the living room, discarded between the cushions of the couch (“so it won’t bother me,” she had snapped when he’d raised his eyebrows in question at her earlier). He even thought she would be grateful to him for letting her sleep in.
What a stupid, naive fucking notion that had been.
Because when Y/N had shot up in bed the next morning, disoriented with her hair in a wild, tangled mess, and she saw sunlight streaming through the window, she promptly freaked the fuck out.
“Do you want me to fail?” She cried, storming around their room, digging frantically through a pile of her clothes as she hunted for a pair of leggings to pull over her bare legs.
“You’re not going to fail because you slept an extra fuckin’ hour,” Sanemi groaned from his place in bed, dragging a hand down his tired face. “You’re gonna run yourself ragged if you don’t take care of yourself. You need sleep, babe.”
She let out a derisive laugh, a slightly crazed look in her eye. “I’ll sleep when I pass this stupid test or when I’m dead. Whichever’s first.”
For the rest of the day, Y/N had been snippy, huffing at every slight noise Sanemi had dared to make. She’d only grown more and more irritated as the night went on, and when he had sighed at the prospect of cooking dinner, she lost it.
“Can you stop breathing so god damned loudly?” She snapped, throwing her pen down in annoyance as she whipped around in her chair to glare at him.
Sanemi stared at her in disbelief for a moment, but he’d never been one to keep calm and cool, so he bit right back.
“I’m sorry that I’m just here, existing, and tryin’ to fuckin take care of ya, Princess. My mistake.”
Her eyes narrowed into slits. “And I’m trying to make sure I get my damn license so I can take care of you,” she simpered right back at him, anger swimming in her eyes. “But I guess that doesn’t fucking matter, does it? No!”
A blush began to creep up Y/N’s neck, a telltale sign she was about to start yelling. “No! Because you think taking care of me means not letting me focus or hiding my phone so that i don’t hear my alarms so I can’t wake up on time, and if I can’t wake up on time, I can’t study for as long as I need to, and if I can’t study I. Won’t. Fucking. Pass!” Her voice had become shrill by the time she stopped for a breath, chest heaving.
Sanemi watched her for a long moment as she caught her breath. “Are you done?”
In the span of a nanosecond, Y/N went from an angry, possessed-looking harpy to a sniffling, teary mess. She slumped back down into her desk chair, lower lip trembling pathetically as she tried and failed to hold in a hopeless wail.
“Okay, okay.” Sanemi murmured, moving across the room to kneel next to his sobbing girlfriend, feeling a slight sting of guilt as he watched her shoulders curl in on themselves under the weight of the pressure she undoubtedly felt.
He had spent the night trying to console her, though without much success. She had alternated between despairing over “the impending doom of her failure” and hiccuping angrily at him for continuing to distract her.
Nonetheless, everything about their future was currently riding on Y/N passing her upcoming exam in a month’s time and his girlfriend was currently one belt-loop snag on a door handle from a full fucking meltdown.
So Sanemi knew the best thing he could do was to steer clear and leave her to her own devices. He could do that for her.
But god damn if the sight of her ass in those shorts wasn’t killing him.
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banner credit @ cafekitsune
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murderousink23 · 1 year
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01/23/2023 is Parakram Diwas 🇮🇳, National Measure your Feet Day 🌏, National Handwriting Day 🇺🇲, National Pie Day 🥧🇺🇲
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kivino · 7 months
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Platonic!Task Force 141 x Eastern European!Reader
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Word Counter – ~1.9k
Summary – a compilation of headcanons about how reader’s Eastern European background would affect interactions with Task Force 141 during an undercover mission together.
Tags/Warnings – Gn!reader, Eastern European!reader (obviously), Platonic!TF141, fluff, mostly.
A/n – RUSSIANS DNI (this is a personal boundary, so I ask you to respect it, if you don’t like it just scroll past this post). Very self-indulgent. Just showing more love to my fellow Eastern European readers. Since it is mostly based on my own experience growing up as a Ukrainian, I’m sorry if certain things don’t resonate with you! This whole thing was made for fun and fun only.
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So, let’s assume our beloved Task Force needs to go undercover to get some information on Makarov and his merry band of goons. Obviously, they can’t do it without at least one team member, who is familiar with the way of living in Eastern Europe. So, naturally, Laswell introduces you to them – born and raised there, ready to help them and stop your sworn enemy from escalating an already pretty shitty situation.
“So, allow me to introduce your new team member for the duration of this mission” Laswell nods to the door when you walk in, saying your name and callsign, already catching some looks full of curiosity from Task Force 141.
First thing they noticed about you? Resting bitch face for days. Who needs a mask when you have a death stare that will give the heebie-jeebies to most if not all of your teammates? However, they feel even more taken aback when you suddenly greet them with a warm, welcoming smile and a firm handshake, not a trace of that sour expression on your face.
One would think that you’d spend hours preparing four of them for the mission by teaching them language, helping to memorize names and faces of contacts, Makarov’s trusted allies, and potential targets. Naturally, you did your job, but those precious hours were also spent with you standing next to a whiteboard, ranting about the politics and societal issues of your country, explaining certain national jokes, and teaching them swear words or poetry you studied at school. But hey, they’re not complaining (maybe a little).  
They were skeptical about this whole deal at first. However, there was a shared understanding between the four of them that they needed to do whatever it took to stop the spreading of Makarov’s influence and diminish his resources in other countries. With time, however, they’ve found things that made their life in a completely new environment a bit more enjoyable and interesting.
Soap would pick up on your native language the fastest out of the Task Force. Under all these jokes and goofiness Johnny’s a smart guy, inquisitive as hell too, which makes a pretty good mix. He’d try to write down how you pronounce things in his sketchbook, dedicating pages upon pages to making a small vocabulary of what you say, searching up the translations of words any chance he gets. Convinces himself that it just helps him to get more into his new way of life, and not at all because he likes seeing you all excited when he slips a word in your language somewhere in the conversation.
“So how do you say it?” he points to the sentence, messily scribbled on the page with the ballpoint pen he slipped from Gaz. There is a slight frown between your brows – the word looks unfamiliar, more like gibberish than something in your language. You can practically feel the gears in your head screech and come to a halt as you drill Soap’s handwriting with your eyes.
“Oh, wait. You made a mistake here. No wonder I have no idea what this is.” You quickly take the pen and scratch the right version of the word on the paper, while Johnny chuckles at your brutal honesty. He doesn’t say anything though. Some time passes and you’re already correcting other words he wrote down, explaining the right way to say them. And you can feel a pleasant warmth spread in your chest when you can see Soap’s utmost attention directed at you.
Johnny can’t help but feel that moments like these were somewhat of a way to bond for you two. He’d jokingly offer to give you some Scottish classes each time you playfully flick him on the forehead for a word he pronounced wrong. He never expected you to take him up on the offer until the five of you got stuck in a countryside safehouse and essentially had nothing to do while waiting.
On the topic of Eastern European countryside, Price is not an old man by any measure, man’s not even forty yet, but it would grow so massively on him that it’s concerning. When you finally got a good, reliable contact that gave you some useful information you had to lay low for some time in a safe house not far from one of many Makarov’s places where the next weapon deal would be held. And while you waited several days for his people to show up there, obviously almost all of you were bored out of your minds. Not Price though. The man went exploring. Of course, taking you with him (he only wanted company on his small journey through the cozy countryside, don’t blame him).
Soon enough, during your walk you two come across the abundance of berry bushes and fruit trees everywhere, and while you pick something to munch on from them constantly, Price only scolds you. You smirk in response, giving him a handful of ripe mulberries, your lips and fingers now a dark red color from the juice.  
“It’s going to rot if nobody eats it. People who plant these trees would rather someone enjoy them instead of fruits just falling on the ground, getting squished, and going to waste.” And Price takes note of that with a small smile. Soon enough the two of you find a spring the whole village uses, a willow standing tall beside it, providing shade for you two to rest, chat a bit, and cool yourself off with fresh water. The fact that there are not many people around also doesn’t miss him. It’s quiet and peaceful, Price finally feels like he has room to breathe with his whole chest.
“You know, I could get used to a life like this.” Price finally mutters, enjoying your simple, comforting presence, walking along the river shore, and hearing the distant sounds of a train passing through the village. You look at him with understanding in your eyes, as you see the tension in his shoulders finally slipping away. Your captain relaxes, which is a pleasant change of pace from the frown on his face that you got used to.  
All five of you had to live in the same apartment in an old panel building closer to the edge of town. Not the best place to live, but a good opportunity to blend in with the locals and find leads on Makarov’s criminal “friends”. More than once you’ve found yourself sitting together with Ghost on the balcony that creaked with each blow of the wind, in complete silence while he was smoking some cheap cigarettes that smelled more like burnt paper instead of tobacco.
“Can I join you?” Your voice is a quiet rasp, as you lean against the doorway, pushing the mosquito netting to the side. You couldn’t sleep. Not when the whole world will go down the drain if you fail your mission. Not when it’s been a month already and it felt like you were still right where you started.
“Knock yourself out” the man shrugs, patting the stool near him. You shuffle your bare feet on the newspapers that were laid out on the balcony floor, plopping down on the seat, your eyes immediately getting glued to the view, enjoying the breeze that seeped through the open window. You two sit in silence for so long, but it doesn’t feel awkward, quite on the contrary – weirdly calming and serene.
After that night these nightly smoke breaks became a sort of tradition for you two, a way to wind down after a long day. Ghost would nod towards the balcony, a silent invitation reserved only for you. Regardless of whether you’re a smoker or not, occasionally he would offer you a cigarette from his pack or a hit from the lit one. A gesture of camaraderie.
“Thought you’d be more talkative.” Ghost’s voice sounds gruff after the whole day working your asses off just to discover the lead that you had was absolute bullshit.
“And I thought you weren’t a type for small talk.” You grumble in return, just as annoyed about coming back to this dingy apartment with nothing.
“That I am” He lets out a low chuckle, flicking his cigarette into an ashtray in his hand, avoiding eye contact with you.  
Kyle found himself liking your cooking above everything else. The way he would eat anything thrown together in a hurry by you was quite flattering. So soon enough you offered to teach him how to make some of your favorite national dishes, and he couldn’t say no to your offer. So, you decided to start easy – picking out the fresh ingredients. And where do you go to do that? Not a grocery store, no way in hell. The market filled with tons of people is the place you need. A lot cheaper than your usual supermarket too.
The number of times you got discounts for fruits and vegetables on the market from older women just for Gaz’s pretty eyes was insane. He would just blink at you with confusion written all over his face anytime you glanced at him with that smile and refused to explain why you spent a lot less money than expected on the fresh vegetables. At some point, Gaz even questioned his ability to count before you told him just not to worry about it since you got a “very special bargain”. And, obviously, Kyle was the one carrying the plastic bags filled to the brim with fresh produce.  
“You know, your version of the dish is not half-bad,” You say, licking the spoon and giving Gaz a wide smile, which he immediately returns to you tenfold. Spending time like this with him was a pleasure. Each minute spent together made you loathe even thinking about the time when you’d have to part ways and you won’t be able to teach him your cultural cuisine like this anymore.
“Well, I have a great teacher to thank for that.” Gaz gives you a charming smile, so glad to finally have a distraction from the constant looming presence of Makarov in his thoughts. Right this moment he caught himself thinking that he was happy they had you here with them. It would be a lot harder if not for you supporting and guiding them through everything. He felt…thankful.
You’d bring the whole Task Force to different cafes that serve your country's most famous dishes, but Kyle would be the one to enjoy these outings the most, barely raising his eyes from the plate to participate in the conversation.
“Wow, are you in a hurry or something? The food won’t run away from you.” You chuckle, while Kyle ignores the odd saying coming from you and continues to eat with the huge appetite he had ever since this undercover mission started.
However, nothing lasts forever, so after finishing their business with you, getting all the information they needed, and “cleaning up the mess” Task Force 141 bids you farewell, returning to their usual duties. Saying goodbye is never easy, even if you knew each other just for several months you still got attached to them, just like they grew very fond of you (as much as some of them hated to admit that). But hey, they promised to visit you after they finish up with Makarov. They promised. And the four of them keep the promises they make.
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taglist - @mockerycrow @stridersdiner
check out my masterlist for more fics or send me a request!
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achenetype · 1 month
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loser! luke who sees aphrodite!reader with tons of gifts and letters from admirers and gets a bit insecure about his crush on her but all reader really wants is for him to man up and tell her his feelings 🥹🥹🥹
loser!luke nation rise UPPPP. pathetic men are the best
pairing: luke castellan x aphrodite!reader
content: some suggestive themes, luke being so whipped for reader it hurts, daughter of aphrodite reader, mutual pining, first kiss (let's go luke you finally did it!)
listening to: right here by chase atlantic
you knew he liked you. he wasn't exactly subtle about it, but then again, no one was subtle to you. you were aphrodite's daughter. the goddess of love had blessed you with, among other things, the ability to sense feelings from a mile away. and luke's feelings were strong.
they changed depending on the day. every now and then, talking to him, you'd catch a tiny flicker of love from him. when you'd helped him look over strategy for capture the flag, his emotions rung out companionship, shot through with striations of the kind of love you have for a comrade in battle. mutual respect, and care. so much care.
now, when you're sitting shirtless next to him in the apollo cabin, squeezing his hand as one of the medics stitches up a wound on your arm, his feelings are dark. they're murky, as if clouded by something else. his eyes flick up to yours as you suck in a breath through your teeth, but they don't stay there for long; his gaze falls over your body; your chest, your stomach. the band of skin between your bra and your waistband.
you realize, a little slowly, that what he was feeling was lust.
so yes, you knew luke liked you, as much as any other guy did at least.
other guys at camp would give you gifts, ask you on dates. sometimes, they would write you letters, pages of messy, cramped demigod handwriting about how much they loved you. how they would do anything for you, how they could see themselves kissing you or fucking you or starting a family with you.
luke wasn't like that. he was your friend before he was anything else, and he didn't posture for your attention or try to impress you.
plus, you actually liked luke back.
he squeezes your hand again. "hey," he says, leaning over to look at your injured arm. "it's not too bad. only a few more stitches left."
you nod, biting your lip. luke's thumb rubs tiny circles over your knuckles, little concentric things that ground you to the world.
you wish, not for the first time, that he would lean in and kiss you. at least brush his lips against your hand, the way you can feel that he wants to.
you wish he would do a lot of things.
when the two of you are walking back to your cabin (because luke insists on being a gentleman, and you aren't going to refuse him when he smiles at you) he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled envelope.
"i was going to give this to you when we won capture the flag," he says, "but you...you got hurt, and i figured it might have been a bad time."
his eyes search your face as he holds out the letter. it's addressed in curving, fluid script to you, and as you open it luke's emotions flicker with uncertainty, with fear.
[Y/N], I think I'm in love with you.
oh. oh.
You're one of the only people who I can really be myself around. I could explain every reason why I love you, but that would take a lot more paper, and I already think this letter is going to be embarrassingly long. I've thought about you-
this sentence is scribbled out, but you can make out the faint outlines of the words even though you probably never give me a second thought imprinted into the paper. you look up at luke, who flushes a soft red.
You make me feel real. You're like a planet, and I'm just a moon orbiting you. Every time I see you, I feel like I can do anything in the world. I want to treat you right, better than anyone else ever could.
"luke," you say.
he looks up, and you swear his eyes are shiny with tears. "c'mere," you murmur, and pull him into a hug. "gods, you took long enough to tell me."
his arms wrap around you slowly, as if he's expecting you to be ripped away from him. when you pull back, one hand draped over his shoulder, he cups your face in his hands and thumbs over your cheek.
"can i kiss you?" he whispers.
I love you, and you are everything. You're the whole world. I would be honored to have you. — Luke.
"yes," you say back.
his lips meet yours, and you feel luke bloom with reddish-purple love. he kisses you like he's waited an eternity to do it, hungry, sloppy.
"i love you too," you murmur, and he laughs against your lips before kissing you again.
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