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wincore · 5 years ago

Text

runway (m) | jung yoonoh

pairing: model!jaehyun x fashion designer!reader

words: 18.7k

summary: there are some things that come with dedicating your life to fashion: a taste for finer fabrics, a splash of love for art, and an appreciation of the human body. none of these are supposed to include the hottest model you have ever laid eyes on, or the fact that you completely, utterly hate his guts.

genre: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, light smut, comedy-ish

warnings: sexual content, mentions of anxiety

a/n: woohooooooo she’s finally here!!!! i cant believe this!! everything aside, i do not have first hand experience working in the fashion industry so please do take this with a grain of salt. i’m also going to pass out. good night <3

A list of things you appreciate: colours, satin, comfort.

A list of things you do not appreciate: Jung Yoonoh. Jaehyun. Whatever.

The hum of the car engine has little effect on you; you travel like this almost every day. Tall buildings, scorching pavement, the blare of traffic—it’s Seoul, after all. You sigh, more of a short expression of annoyance, scrolling down with your thumb and back up again. Since when did he get permission to post pictures from pre-fittings? And one of your works, no less.

His feed is so messy. You click your tongue. For a model, that is.

You open the story again and consider messaging him. It’s your cherry red coat, or rather the collar of it, golden thread sewn in swirls of patterns, and a sheer floral shirt extending all the way up to cover Jaehyun’s neck. You frown. It’s meant for showcase, not teasers. Even if the picture extends just from the curve of his shoulder to his parted lips, you can’t stand the sight of it on him. It’s not bias, you try to tell yourself. This is business. You tap your fingertips rapidly against the back of your phone. This is obviously business.

Seoul Fashion Week is the height of your anxiety, which means you have little regard for anything else decorated around you. With a new frenzy arising in every minute of your day—you don’t have time to think, a sense of madness in the way you keep busy. Your Elixir collection is more than what you had hoped for it to be, a twinge of satisfaction sitting at the pit of your stomach. It nicely puts together everything rich and extravagant, humanity’s first love—everything you despise really, so Jaehyun wasn’t a bad choice for a model.

You backspace on your text. Is this rude? Should you care if you’re being rude? How unprofessional, you imagine his voice saying. It wouldn’t be the first unprofessional thing you’d done.

The final text reads ‘Glad you’re enjoying my designs, but they were not meant to be publicly displayed before the official show, as common sense predicts.’

No, of course you’re not trying to be snarky. It’s perfectly formal. All that time writing professional complaint letters to companies for ripping off your designs paid off, you suppose.

You exit the Uber, thanking the driver quickly before you rush into the building, checking the time on your watch. It’s sunny, and hotter than you anticipated. You can only hope it’s cooler tomorrow so the heat doesn’t suffocate your models.

The company building is another madness in its own. Joohyun greets you with a quick smile, a bunch of fabrics being handed to her before she can make any conversation with you, and the rest of the workers bow in greeting before getting back to their own individual windstorms. You step over a few boxes on the grounds, beelining to your workspace so you can settle down your bag.

You’re team leader, you tell yourself, a short breath tumbling out of your mouth. Even so, you don’t do very well under several pairs of eyes on you at once. Some part of you is still the timid fashion designer, packing your entire identity into a small sketchbook.

The sunlight is blaring out of control in the place—it’s meant to be spacious and sunlit, of course, but the heat makes you adjust your collar before you can move forward. The bustle of the style and design team along with the production team in the same place is akin to a nightmare, and you trace your steps quickly.

“Guys,” you begin, fidgeting with the leather strap of your watch as you continue, “Firstly, good job.”

There’s a bunch of short cheers and clapping to interrupt before you can continue.

“As for tomorrow…stylists, I need you to touch up the collars in all the Western-style coats. The detailing needs to be kept clean and sharp. I want the audience to be able to see it.”

You pause, your tone still neutral. “And let’s not start again on the lacing. We had that discussion yesterday.”

There’s some nods and sounds of affirmation.

“Production team…I don’t think I can say much to you without Doyoung getting on my case.”

There’s collective laughter and you crack a smile. With a few more rapid words, you dismiss yourself, walking over to your colleagues to help them out. You’re team leader, the one with the final say in all the designs, but you can’t possibly imagine completing it without Joohyun or the others.

“Good pep talk there, (name),” Joohyun says, walking over to you as her hands sharp and steady as they go through the clothes rack.

“They think I’m an asshole,” you say, breathing out. You know your words are too direct. Drunk co-workers on a Friday night are not the best place to discover facts about yourself. Sometimes even you think you sound bossy. You check the key parts for each item, knowing you’ll be doing this once again before the show.

“We wouldn’t be going anywhere without direction,” Joohyun responds, laughing as if you’d said something silly. “We’re all glad you’re here, (name).”

Words like these are so easing for a mess like you, not that you’d admit it. Joohyun has always been a sort of mother figure to you after you entered this company, followed by Doyoung. A good few years senior to you, she started out as a model before she moved on to designing.

It’s her last year working in this place. But of course, it’s a given when she’s starting her own label (mom clothes and children’s apparel, she’d called her clothing line, rolling her eyes) and one of the most well-known names in South Korean fashion not having her own label is sacrilege (according to your colleagues anyway). She’d said to contact her when you start your own family, and maybe she’ll send a congratulations package for both you and your baby. You’d laughed. Out of all the insults you could ever receive, that was perhaps the loveliest one.

Ridiculousness aside, you’ll miss the comfort of her presence. You were still in school when your designs led you to a showcase in New York Fashion Week, your sponsor more than generous. You stepped into it too soon, too eager. It was breath-taking and awful all at once—and the first time you saw a world outside of your own. It was overwhelming. There are few people in this new world as kind as Joohyun.

The sound of your notification snaps you out of your thoughts. You swear you kept it on vibrate, a little irked at having to search for your phone when your hands are full. The notification itself brings on a stronger wave of vexation.

_jeongjaehyun:

My manager told me it was good publicity

But I could take it down for you

The ‘for you’ adds an unnecessary effect, you think as you hold back a scowl. And what does ‘could’ mean? A miscommunication with the sales team isn’t even on the list of things you need to worry about. Honestly, you don’t have time to fight him, quickly typing out a ‘whatever. it’s okay’ before looking back up.

You jump, the look on Joohyun’s face a little suspicious for what might come out of her mouth.

“It’s not a crime to text people.” She shrugs, shuffling through the rack one more time to take the clothes for transportation.

You’re quick to jump to your defence. “I have nothing to do with him.”

Joohyun looks at you, amused. “He’s not a bad person, you know? How long are you going to keep hating him for one thing he did?”

“It’s not one thing,” you groan, averting your gaze to the clothes so as to help her. “I just- he’s so- so- oh come on. You know how I feel about him.”

“I’m just saying you don’t have any reason to. Everyone’s different from what they appear to be. Especially in this line of work.” Joohyun balances the clothes you give her across her forearms.

“So he’s fake. I hate that even more.” You sigh, pulling out the blue silk overcoat, the colour matching Joohyun’s work dress.

“You mean unreal? Models tend to be that way—don’t be so harsh on him, honey.”

You simply shake your head, words entering one ear and out the other. Joohyun presses her lips into a line but lets it go soon enough. She knows you’re capable enough to separate professional from personal and that should be enough. You’re not keeping a tab on something as warming as spite.

You can’t believe you’d ever been within five feet of him without turning your nose. You can’t believe you’d smiled at his jokes once, even if it was just that one night. He was the godsent Prince Charming, just perhaps not yours. Paris surely had a distressing effect on you that year.

You don’t make the same mistake twice.

You walk back to your desk to take a seat and scavenge through your belongings, most of the people already outside. Fashion Week, which once upon a time was a faraway dream, now is part of life—exciting and exhausting. It’s almost always over in a flash, your love for it whisked in peaks of bittersweet. (“You work your ass off for six months and it’s, what, fifteen minutes long?” your mother had asked after you’d brought her to one of the shows.)

This line of work is a nightmare without mental preparation. You have a degree, you have experience and yet it doesn’t feel enough, confidence easier to drain in a person than blood. And you’re not very fond of pale cheeks.

It came to asking yourself if you really have it in you for a few months—a test of sorts everyone puts themselves through at least once in their lives. At that time, your favourite professor, a bald man nearing his retirement years with the wrinkliest face you’d ever seen, had asked you just one question.

Do you love it?

Of course you fucking do.

You couldn’t say that to his face, sure, but you know he saw it in you—either the effort you put out every day of the semester or the way your hands moved across fabric like a machine, your designs made with the persistence of nature. Your final year project landed you an internship at one of the largest clothing brands in Seoul and your internship landed you a job at the same. Your job, well, lead you to Jaehyun, among many other things.

You scowl at the image of his face that appears when you close your eyes, massaging your forehead—it’s hard to not see it everywhere already, from Cosmopolitan to Vogue.

While you were biting your nails in New York, Jaehyun had flown out to Paris with Saint Laurent, one of the younger male models to show his face for the first time. He’d taken the whole place by storm, you had heard from a friend. To say half the world had fallen in love—either with his dimples or his confident walk—would be an understatement. A privilege, to be gold-plated in a mercenary world.

You’d briefly made eye contact at the airport the first time you saw him, a year later, when you were arriving in Incheon and he was leaving it. It was London, that time. For him, Milan. As much as you couldn’t believe living a fashion student’s dream, Jaehyun’s face was truly, unironically much more unrealistic. Your classmates’ gabs and gossip in sewing class had suddenly made sense. You taught yourself to not be swayed by faces, even if they look like they’re stitched together by Aphrodite and Apollo with their bare hands—friendly advice from seniors at the orientation night ‘party’.

You’d met him formally in Paris, after you’d graduated from fashion school. He was certainly the most beautiful face in the room—and you weren’t the only one aware of it. The entire night you’d been starting conversations you couldn’t relate to, till he came along with his charming dimples and a faux connect. You were naive, and a little tipsy. The attraction was obvious, and it had been you by the bathroom pulling him in for a drunk kiss till he’d snapped out of the daze—as if it were some joke you’d been playing. He’d apologized before leaving, like it wasn’t a big deal, with silken lips parted in a gesture of remorse and a short, firm bow. It didn’t settle very well alongside the merlot in your gut.

You. You’re a big deal.

You were alone in a room full of painted faces and he sat atop the throne they worshipped. Why had you expected any more from him—in the understanding nods or the few kind words that escaped his lips? You felt stupid. He made you feel like smiling for the first time that night and you hated him for it—you’re sure he doesn’t care either way. Or maybe he does, with the wonderfully irked responses he graces you with.

Jaehyun made something out of himself in these nine years, just as you have. Runway supermodel to the face of South Korean men in fashion to an entrepreneur, he might as well have a documentary on him—and he would if he didn’t evade paparazzi and reporters like his life depended on it. Enigmatic, the articles wrote. You scoffed. Conceited, more like. After the initial years, he decided to settle in New York, frequently flying to Seoul and other fashion capitals for business and contractual events. Some of those occasionally include your shows.

Having Jaehyun gets more attention but it’s not like you’re a new, doe-eyed kid. Your works have been featured for popstars and foreign celebrities, and you’ve been invited to several interviews with big magazines. You’ve gone global (albeit under the brand’s name) and you’ve been to places you’d only seen pictures of in the very same magazines you looked up to. They can describe your work as unique all they want—and you don’t mean to sound fucking pretentious—but your job is nothing more than an expression of the self. It’s a part of you; you first started sewing patches onto things simply because your closet lacked colour. And eventually, you found yourself searching for more—colours, fabrics, dreams. You’re devoted to your job because you love it, you want to do it. You’re allowed to be a little arrogant about it.

If only trying desperately to be arrogant did something about your insecurities.

You hope your works redefine themes, your need to stand out contrasting with your fear of it. Eye-catching is always your forte; this time it’s fairy tales and royalty in a mix of East meets West.

D-1. Same feeling, new season.

The press is here, you take note. Photographers. Models. Students. Vloggers. It’s a burst of colours down there.

You hate running late, rushing down the stairs to the plaza through the crowds of people. Some recognize you, as they make their way to you but you end up walking a little faster to minimize your presence. You curse yourself for wearing the jacket. It goes nicely with the rest of your outfit and March isn’t supposed to be this hot. You wipe the sweat from your hairline, hoping the makeup is waterproof like it said.

You consider stopping at the café for a fix of coffee but stop when you notice Joohyun holding a bunch of cups by the venue. She doesn’t look too happy about the sun, or the burdening errand of fetching coffee. You adjust her little red beret at her request, smiling at her annoyance but trying your best to keep it hidden. You don’t want to get cussed out by Joohyun.

“Someone tell Doyoung to get his coffee,” Joohyun complains. “I’ve been waiting for half an hour.”

“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration,” you say, sipping your coffee. The taste fills your senses with a pleasant dose of energy and you hum out a satisfied note. “Why are there so many students out here? Influencers? Did we sponsor this many kids?”

Joohyun shakes her head. “Jaehyun just got here.”

You suppress an eye-roll. “Wonder why he still comes back for Seoul when he’s booked full for New York.”

“It’s his hometown.” Joohyun shrugs. “I’d come back too. Even if I’m paid more out there.”

You finish your coffee and duck into the fitting room, much to Joohyun’s displeasure as she’s left alone again. Doyoung’s in for an earful, you chuckle thinking about it.

It would look like a hell of a mess to anyone not accustomed to this. Everyone is a flurry by themselves alone but if you mix them with the eclectic crowd you find at a Seoul Fashion Week backstage, it’s more of a disaster. A colorful one, at the very least.

New York was worse. You were too young, in a world that was too big. It’s a miracle you even received an opportunity from so big a name. But, you suppose, it hardly matters now.

You no longer live in a world where Seoul is far from Paris. Fashion and art are things unmarked by place of origin.

It’s easy to spot Jaehyun in a corner, two people adjusting his coat for better fitting at the waist. His makeup’s done, you notice as you get closer. Good, you think. If any makeup were to get on the fabric, you’d go feral (although you do have full confidence in the makeup artists here and their choice of product).

“Jaehyun,” you greet. Your co-workers give each other a look before excusing themselves. You raise an eyebrow, too late to stop them. They didn’t finish the looping of the belt properly, you take notice. You wrinkle your nose. Sloppy.

“(name).” He responds with an equal lack of amusement.

You pull the belt at his waist, Jaehyun stiffening at the contact.

“What are you doing?” he asks, looking down at you with a raised eyebrow.

“My job? What do you think, genius?”

Jaehyun presses his lips together and lets you complete the altercations. The chiffon shirt allows you to see the hazed definition of his core, a rather flustering thing to be exposed to for anyone with eyes. When you look up in a moment’s mistake, you’re reminded of why his face is everywhere. Flawless, almost. You hate it. Averting your eyes, you fix the collar so the pattern stands out more. You can feel his eyes over your outstretched hand all the way to your face, subtle as ever. If Jaehyun thinks you’re bothered by it, he’s an idiot for believing so.

You take a step back to analyse the coat. The golden threads are flawlessly detailed, spiraling in patterns of different flowers and vines around the collar, gradually getting larger as they twine at the base of the neck. They meet the polished rhinestone buttons a little lower. You almost smile. You’d sewn each thread and each button in yourself the first time. It hardly looks the same now.

Bright red is an eyesore if you look at it longer than five minutes, you realize. The frown that’s been itching to show up finally does. Suddenly, you’re glad Jaehyun is modelling this piece. You shake your head and look back at his face, from his deep-set brown eyes to his full, tinted lips before pausing. The little Swarovski pearls line strands of his hair in a starry display, perfect in every angle of it. It’s easy to appreciate the human beauty when you see his face, and even if you claim your vehement dislike for him, you’re not a liar nor an idiot.

How infuriating it is, to let things be. Bad blood can only dry to an ugly, unusable brown.

You narrow your eyes at the thinning layer of glitter on his peach-blushed cheeks. He doesn’t exactly need much more of it but the unevenness bothers you.

“Your makeup needs retouching,” you say, frowning. “Did you touch your face? I thought you were a more...professional model than this, Jaehyun.”

“You walked in,” he replies, casually. “I was distracted.”

You feel your cheeks colour. “That’s- that’s not a reason.”

He smiles politely. “I suppose I’ll leave you then. You must have other work to do.”

You hold back a biting remark. His playfulness doesn’t sit well with you; he’s polite just enough to annoy you and straightforward just enough to make you want to throw something at him. He could’ve directly told you to fuck off maybe—but oh no, it’s Jung Yoonoh, seamless and radiant, with only the sweetest collection of words on his tongue. You think of the first time you met, something warm in the corner of your heart. You’d mistaken it, of course.

He didn’t care for you, or any of the people trailing after him and his silver flute, or the rest of the shallow carcass of a world so undeniably obsessed with him. It didn’t hit you till he’d left you hanging, mangled memories of something close to hurt. You’re glad you didn’t kiss him. You wouldn’t be able to get over the embarrassment, the blow to your pride had it escalated any further.

And of course, the one thing he did to make you absolutely certain of his distaste—was simply choose another designer’s work over yours when given a choice. It seems silly, unprofessional even, but the lack of response to your Fall/Winter ready-to-wear collection had been embarrassingly low, someone else’s designs sold out at an equally awful rate. You—your insecurities—wanted to blame your own failings—maybe it was the lining of the coats, or the colours maybe— the fabric? Perhaps, you hadn’t focused on comfort all too well. But it was clear, a word from Jung Yoonoh could change the minds of a fashion-forward youth as easily as his face and physique scored contracts with the biggest brands and labels. And it was clear he didn’t like you very much.

You walk over to the other models, eyes scanning down to the T. You glance over one of Joohyun’s designs, a modern men’s hanbok. The blood red paired with yellow is certainly easing on the eyes, though the shades vary from top to bottom, like a sunset. The dark grey chunky shoes fitted under dark tights complete the entire future oriental look you suppose she was going for. She’s only showcasing two of her designs this year and they’re just before the centrepiece. You shake your head, clutching the fabric of your jacket sleeve. You hate seeing other designs before a showcase, even if they’re a friend’s.

You turn your head to make eye contact with Jaehyun across the room. It takes a few seconds but you snap your head in another direction to break the spell.

How strange. You haven’t had nearly enough coffee to feel jittery under his gaze.

You’re forced to take a breather away from this jungle of liveliness.

The amount of people outside the venue gives you yet another headache. Excited college students and fashion vloggers stand outside expectantly, and you give a short bow and polite ‘hello’ to anyone who approaches. You desperately want to be left alone. Even if it’s for a few seconds.

You walk quickly, your feet soundless against the floor. Your mask performs considerably (and surprisingly) well in hiding you. You consider visiting the Design Market to enjoy a seat alone and charge your phone before it’s show time.

Open spaces. You need open spaces. Suddenly, the DDP seems to be suffocating you despite its tremendous size.

“Hey!” You’re greeted with a sudden force to your right side, an arm wrapping around you. You look up to see Johnny, a wide grin on his face and you let yourself mirror it, shaking your head.

“Big day,” he says. “Want me to take some pictures? I’ve got some time between shows—lovely outfit, as usual.”

It’s strange how Johnny’s the photographer and not the model—you’ve heard he receives a lot of requests to get on the other side of the camera though he always refuses. He doesn’t visit Seoul as often, but he has much to do in uplifting the mood with his strangely effective sense of humour. The coffee-coloured shirt he’s wearing goes well with the plaid grey coat, reminiscent of Fendi’s Spring collection, and sometimes you wonder whether a job as a fashion photographer ever had much to do with his style. Johnny has always been effortlessly impressive.

You politely decline, your mind still focused on the smooth running of things. Nothing’s ever on time when it comes to Fashion Weeks—yes, it’s called fashionably late but it just makes you annoyed. You consider ducking back to your venue, adding some final final touches and any more last-minute altercations. Years have passed and you’re still not used to it, fingers itching to do something about everything. You’re grateful the company gives you your creative space but it only makes you wonder just how far the limits are.

Johnny accompanies you to the charging station till he’s distracted by some of the children in the latest Fendi kidswear and you make a mental note to never bring your kids to Fashion Week, if you ever choose to have them.

You breathe in and out for a few moments, feeling lightheaded before the sense of reality touches on you. People walk in and out of the stores lining the pathways, a soft buzz of conversation in the air as your eyes follow their movement. You wonder if you’ll have your own stores opened in plazas like this—here, in Seoul, and on brightly lit streets of the world outside. After all, colourful dreams are the hardest to get rid of. You sit quietly till you get a text from Doyoung asking you to get your ass over there quickly with several exclamation marks. You smile to yourself. Joohyun might have had a sour effect on him.

You arrive back at the venue, trying to tear your eyes away from anything that might want to make you fix it. You avoid Jaehyun’s eyes even more so, like you’ll jinx something right before it’s showtime.

The buzzing reaches a peak before everything is drowned out.

The show finally starts. And it’s over. Twenty-two minutes, this time.

That’s the way it goes. You hold your breath till you’re sure it’s safe to let go, blind to everything that goes on in between. Sometimes it’s underwhelming, sometimes you can’t give a fuck when you love doing this anyway.

You breathe a sigh of joy when everyone gathers backstage, Johnny making all the models pose together for one giant group photo. It’s like a ritual for him, always finding time for a backstage picture with the models goofing off.

Jaehyun looks at you instead of the camera, a nervous shiver running through you. His gaze is not something of inconsequence, eyes piercing into you with words hanging in the air that you don’t care enough about. You think he sends you a smile, cockier than you’d like. Despite your efforts, you have to look away.

Now, what should your dear Fall collection look like? You exit by yourself, relief humming through your veins when you think of getting back to your apartment, papers to be sketched on in your hands, soft fabric to be sewn on your table. Maybe they’ll display your works in the front rows of the stores, maybe you’ll even have displays outside of Seoul. You’re not a student anymore and your job has taken you enough places.

Even so, Paris and Milan sneak into your dreams often. You used to dream of them so much that it was hard to consider them reality—finding yourself in those streets, in between all those beautiful picture-book monuments.

You prefer Seoul, you decide after conscious thinking. You don’t have to worry about the world outside.

Afterparties are not your thing.

You somehow still find yourself in them, hoping to catch a drunk video of Doyoung for blackmail or make eye contact with an attractive stranger only to stop at exchanging numbers because you never find the time.

It’s a social event. You’re supposed to be doing social things. It’s exhausting.

The last person you expect to bump into is Jaehyun, drinks in hand as he looks down at you with a greeting of surprise on his tongue. He’s wearing a simple dark Oxford button-down, two buttons at his chest undone, and tucked neatly into his pants. His hair looks untouched since afternoon, parted in messy waves, minus the pearls. The music changes to something with slower beats as you stare at each other for a few moments.

“What are you doing here?” You raise an eyebrow. There are other afterparties he could be attending. Big ones.

Jaehyun tilts his head, cracking his neck before smiling. “Charming, as always. I’m here because I want to be here, obviously. So does everyone, I’m sure.”

“Fucking narcissist,” you mutter to yourself. You think Jaehyun might have heard you because you get a dirty look thrown your way, masked with the signature apathy across his relaxed lips.

“That’s a little rich from you,” he mumbles.

The muscle by his mouth twitches but he doesn’t say anything more. This is probably the most emotion he shows, you think. Wouldn’t his lovestruck magazines relish seeing him riled up like this? They’d still find a way to fall in love with him.

You could have, too.

No way. You tell yourself that’s ridiculous.

You’re aware he’s booked for at least three other shows this week. It’s a miracle he agreed to yours, considering your mutual distaste for each other. You suppose it had more to do with his agency than himself but it wasn’t like you were the keener one. Jung Yoonoh is the face professionals look for and your company loves the publicity, although you keep telling yourself your designs would still shine without him.

Jaehyun excuses himself before you can get on with any unpleasant conversation you might have. At least you have something in common—that is, trying to avoid each other as much as possible.

A few minutes (and uncomfortably snaking through swarms of bodies) later, you find Doyoung, unfortunately sober and intending to remain so, people congratulating him with claps on the back for securing the position of PR Head. You think it was supposed to be a secret, but someone higher in the ladder must have spilled early. Joohyun never attends these, and honestly, good for her.

Afterparties are not your thing.

You shouldn’t have taken those shots but you’re on the dance floor now anyway—what more could happen? It’s easier when you’re not paranoid about all the eyes on you, dancing against a stranger with a lion tattooed against his neck. Maybe you’ll go home with him, maybe you’ll leave at the first signs of attraction. Romance isn’t quite on your to-do list, but an occasional intoxication with the skin works just fine. You could live like this for a few moments.

Your back runs into someone else’s rather forcefully and you turn around, apology bubbled up to your tongue already, mixing with the alcohol.

“Oh look.” You roll your eyes. “It’s the prince of high fashion. What can I get you today, sire?”

Jaehyun drives his tongue over his lips, quite definitely over your antics. Soft breaths leave his mouth in a rhythm irrelevant to this box of laughter and blaring music called a party. You love how he never knows how to respond—what new words will he choose to keep false dignity? If you think about it, he’s the embodiment of why you always thought everything was so out of your reach��big names, exclusive parties, not for kids like you. They were never for fashion students too honest to know their own worth.

“Jealousy isn’t a good colour on you,” he says, just loud enough for you to hear.

You scoff, a pang of annoyance sizzling through you. “Jealous? Of who? You?”

You sneer at the last part, Jaehyun’s frown deepening. Some days you just like to think you’ve won. A few moments pass between you two, the sound of pop music filling in the gaps.

Jaehyun presses closer to you, your chests almost touching as your breath hitches in your throat.

“Do you know what makes success?” he says, head dipping lower to look you in the eye. The smell of alcohol disturbs you for a second before your heartbeat gets loud enough to drown it. You try to not focus on how his mouth is so near yours—and perhaps if you were drunk enough, you might commit a mistake against the very core of your being, something you’d been dangerously close to once.

You stay quiet, the pulsing in your ears too loud in the shallow distance between the two of you. You swear it’s always the two of you pressed up like this once you’re drunk enough, the dislike growing stronger and stronger with every breath exchanged. You’ve intertwined each other into a strange garden of contempt, easy to forget when you're facing him. Jung Yoonoh has the prettiest face in the industry, and the only one you can’t bear seeing.

“It’s confidence,” he answers, as slow and steady as ever. “And there’s a thin line between confidence and arrogance I intend to keep. I’m not so sure about you.”

The rest of the night passes without conflict and you retire early, Jaehyun’s breath still hot against your face. Only when you collapse on your bed do you get an urge to shout, yell, anything that doesn’t make you call him up and scream at him. You have your precious dignity too, something he seems to look past. The effect he had on your breathing, the crawling over your skin—God, you hate him. You’re too stubborn to not continue doing it.

“What’s this?” you ask, your eyes darting in between the director of design and Lee Taeyong.

To say you were surprised to see him would be an understatement. You note the simple dark rimmed glasses in contrast with his light dyed hair, the mellow blue of his cashmere sweater sporting his own label’s logo—Lee Taeyong is a household name. You feel yourself shrink the tiniest bit.

This industry’s all about names, you think miserably. You meet people and you remember the ones who can get you ahead. It’s tiring.

Taeyong started his career even earlier than you did, and before he had changed his major to fashion. He’s a little older than you, though he doesn’t look it and he had begun with working exclusively on jackets. Several rejected designs later, he had popped up as one of the designers to look out for in Seoul Fashion Week. Now he has his own global label slowly turning brand, several worldwide stores and everything dreamers in the same place as you look up to. You think you’re fine here, you tell yourself despite that.

The director smiles at you, her hand gesturing rapidly at you to come forward.

“You’re going to be so happy,” she says, signalling Taeyong to continue.

“Uh, hi,” he greets.

A little awkward for a world-class designer, you think.

“I’m Lee Taeyong. You might have heard of me—”

“I know who you are,” you interrupt, ignoring the disapproving look of the director.

“Oh, that’s good!” He smiles. “I’ve seen your work—I’ve been following your work for a few years now…and, well, I’d love for you to work under my label—in a collaboration of sorts. You’ll have full creative freedom, of course! I’m just there more or less for supervision, really…”

You think you feel your heart stop for a few moments, Taeyong’s sudden stream of information fading out. The pinnacle of your career, you believe, had been Paris Fashion Week four years ago and you’d been dreaming of it ever since. This is a business contract, you’re sure, and you don’t know if you have a real choice but maybe you could take that step forward you’ve always wanted to.

“Isn’t that great, (name)?” The director interjects. “You get to work under the Lee Taeyong label. And…surprise! You’ll have your work presented at New York Fashion Week in September. They’ll hit the stores a week later.”

You freeze.

“New York?” you manage to squeak.

“Yep!” Her voice a notch away from annoying. She’s not the first person you’ve met who sounds so goddamn manufactured. “Pack your bags, darling. You’re flying next weekend.”

You must be looking like a deer caught in the headlights because Taeyong opens his mouth to say something, alarmed. You speak before he does.

“Okay,” you say, more to yourself than them. It should be a good thing. It’s supposed to be a good thing. Even so, you feel the anxiety in your ribcage threatening to overgrow into thorns.

“I’ll- I’ll do it,” you clarify. Looking from your manager’s bright yet stern face to the hopeful smile on Taeyong, you don’t think you have much of a choice.

New York, huh. How long has it been? You shudder at the memories, your focus a little off for the rest of the day.

Joohyun visits you a day before you leave. She places the box of chocolates on the coffee table, that Doyoung apparently sent for you.

“You know, I’m really happy you’re getting this chance,” Joohyun says, crouching down beside where you’re splayed, trying to count the travel essentials and everything else on your messy checklist.

“He gets promoted and now he can’t even come visit me, huh?” you say, shifting to grab the box and tear off the clear wrap.

Joohyun laughs. “He’s certainly enjoying his duties. I can’t wait to boss him around again after I leave.”

Your shoulders hunch, a sigh leaving your lips. “Great. You’re leaving. Doyoung’s too busy to annoy. And now I’m a part of this godforsaken project for almost six months.”

Joohyun softens a bit, running her hand through your hair. “I heard you accepted it. All by yourself. You’ll do just fine, don’t worry.”

You feel yourself turn pink, a feeling of warmth you’ve been missing for a week. It’s cozy in your apartment, always the right temperature with a tinge of happy memories. You wish you could find comfort in people as easily as others do. Everything happened so fast, you can barely remember the conversation you had with Lee Taeyong. A few moments pass, Joohyun and you picking out chocolates before you can rummage through your suitcase again.

“I hate New York, Joohyun. Just what else can you throw into the mix to make me hate it even more?”

She freezes for a fraction of a moment, pressing her lips together before clearing her throat. “Oh. Uh. I probably shouldn’t tell you what I was about to tell you then.”

You turn your head to her, eyes narrowing. “What?”

She shrugs, eyes not meeting yours. “You know. New York. Fashion capital of the world. Lots of things to love.”

“What are you not telling me, Joohyun?”

She sighs, defeated. “A certain someone might be on the same flight as you. I was about to give you his number in case you needed help.”

You pause to think, curling your lips. “It’s Jaehyun, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

You groan, dropping your head back and yelping when it hits the coffee table. Joohyun moves to rub your head and ease the pain as you let out a stream of complaints.

“You really thought I’d call him for help?” you yell. “Him? Of all people?”

“I think you’d rather have a known face there. Besides, he’s a good kid,” she reasons, looking you in the eye. “And stop yelling.”

You quieten a bit at her glare, gulping. She adds the number to your contacts, saving it with a professional ‘Jung Yoonoh’ before she helps you clean up, advising you on how to manage your finances abroad. You know she’s trying to ease you, but how could she—after dropping this awful news on you like it shouldn’t matter at all? She doesn’t even know what happened—almost happened in Paris, or the fact that your honeyed feelings had turned bitter so easily. She’s worked with him before, you know this, when he was a much younger model and she trusts him more than you ever could.

But maybe, just maybe she can’t see what you see—after all, she’s also part of the elite, crème de la crème of this industry, more so in this country. It’s frightening, and so vague what goes on up there, at the top of the chain; and whatever you have—it might never be enough.

You’re you. Sometimes, that isn’t enough.

You jump at the water rushing from the shower, too cold for skin and scramble to twist the knob the other way. This time, the water’s too hot and you yelp, shutting it off altogether.

You press your hand against the shower glass, breathing heavy. You’re trying—you’ve been desperately trying ever since you landed a week ago. Change is not something you can take lightly. You miss the dim lights of your apartment in Seoul that Joohyun always warned would get you some brand new prescription glasses. You miss walking down the streets to your favourite convenience store at three in the morning to get honey butter chips. You miss picking fights with Doyoung over which detail to scrutinise during your project discussions. This project seems to have torn apart several things that belonged to you.

You can’t seem to get your head into it either—even spacing out during the meeting you had with Lee Taeyong among several other things. You can’t remember a single design detail he’d specified or what the theme was even supposed to be—a bunch of bright foggy lights replacing whatever fuzz was growing in your head. A twenty-something-year-old shouldn’t be letting homesickness affect them like this.

You finish the rest of your shower with a heavy heart and a clouded head.

Taeyong booking a luxury suite for you was a bit…much. Not that you’re complaining, but it gives more fuel to the profound sense of emptiness you keep drawing. There’s no intimacy to this place, no love. It’s a little hard to create things without love, and comfort.

Still, you grit your teeth and get dressed into something more comfortable for the night. If not today, then tomorrow. Something will have to give, even if it costs you—whatever the hell your parents keep telling you when you’re going through problems. What if you don’t want to be cost things? Compromise isn’t as delicate as it sounds. You try to comfort yourself, rocking yourself on the much too large couch, hugging a pillow close and trying to think of things that don’t immediately make you want to throw up.

The memories of your first visit are a little less than pleasant. You think you cried after the entire ordeal because you thought you did a bad job of talking, socializing, the most ordinary things. There are some people who are good at wearing masks—good at making copper look like gold, good at shining under dim lights, and good at using words that don’t have much meaning to their existence other than being pretty.

You were not one of them.

The intense need for everything to be perfect was still there, even when you couldn’t possibly have achieved it. You wanted to make things and show them to the world—what was so wrong with that? Why did being there make you feel like you could never even touch your dreams? You were so out of place, feeling completely out of touch with yourself. There were people from the top there, established and famous. It felt out of your grasp. You felt fake.

The city lights twinkle with life but there’s no sound, the windows shut tight. The ambience of the room is kept to a caramel minimum—the best you can do to honour your sweet little home back in Seoul.

The hatred for everything pretentious was born with your first step into this place, into the game that the big boys play. It showed in your designs, your choice of fabric, your distaste for certain people. You wanted reality—you wanted a taste of life in your everyday clothes. You wanted that flavour you feel on your tongue in a room full of strangers or the one on a quiet night by yourself at your apartment rooftop. You didn’t want dignified fur coat ensembles, you wanted the naive chaos you feel every day and you wanted to make it look good. It’s driving you insane just how much you feel like you’re losing now.

You take out your phone after what seems a few minutes of contemplation.

Jung Yoonoh. Your finger hovers over the call button. What would he say if his night is interrupted by your voice?

You’d met at the airport after landing, though you were only two seats away in the plane. You’d made no error in acknowledging his presence, browsing through the inflight magazine half-heartedly. Truth be told, sometimes you couldn’t really seem to get over him. Sometimes the thought of him made you so pissed, you had no idea what to think of it.

“Welcome to New York,” he had said shortly after you’d exited, a giant crowd of people greeting out-goers, holding up placards with names of people, in numbers you’re unaccustomed to. Or, used to be accustomed to.

You hadn’t talked since—and really, you weren’t expecting to.

You press your home button, any lingering thoughts of him vanishing at the force with which you tell yourself it’s not worth it. How is Jung Yoonoh better than anyone else you know here? He might have been living in New York for quite a few years now, and he’s probably the only one you’d feel comfortable enough to swear at—that doesn’t mean you’d actually ask for help. That doesn’t mean he’d actually help. Joohyun must have had her hopes far too high to have convinced you for even a moment.

The couch feels colder all of a sudden, and you turn down the air conditioner. This place will never adjust to you, and your stubborn little self won’t either.

You think of Jaehyun from the afterparty, loose shirt and knowing eyes, and you wonder if he feels just the same frustrated agony, if not more. You think of his parted lips and breathing words close enough to be provocative, discomfort growing at the base of your stomach. Who does he think he is? He might have the airs and dignity of someone way up in the hierarchy of society but you know what people can be like. You know envy, you know malice, and you know lies. He has to fit in there somewhere—and perhaps you would have hated him less if he did.

Even if you’d scoffed at the idea of jealousy, that might very well be the closest to what you feel, what you keep hidden in the darkest corners of your locked chest. When you first met at that star-spangled dinner, you’d felt what it’s like to watch a fireworks show or a big musical opening; but the fireworks are being blocked by skyscrapers and you’re only the helping staff at the theatre, watching from a balcony at the very back. Jaehyun was impressive with barely any words. It annoyed you so much and somehow, the only solution you arrived at was the tremendous need to understand him, pick him apart and see what made him.

No. That’s wrong. You were annoyed because you still wanted to kiss him after he’d pushed you away, his dislike steaming clear. It strikes you as gently as lightning that the only reason someone would have to hate Jaehyun is being attracted so violently to him. God, you hate making a fool out of yourself.

You pass the night in quiet contemplation, promising yourself a better tomorrow. After all, no one else is going to do it.

You walk with your chin up as if you don’t feel the weight of the world on your shoulders. You picked out your black Harrington jacket to look at least a little more professional, but you might have miscalculated the size and the material in the equation because you look completely and utterly ridiculous in it. No one would look at you and think you even work in fashion, much less be competent in that line.

(To be fair, you wear the same beige sweater and black corduroy pants to work and if your coworkers choose to judge you, you wouldn’t blame them.)

It’s only been a month and somehow, it translates to forever to you. You think you’re adjusting better now, and you pat yourself on the back for it. It’s not raining today at the mercy of the skies, a tidal wave of sunlight splashing through the buildings every time you take a turn. The city doesn’t scare you all that much anymore. It’s a good day, for once.

You lean your head against the car window, eyes trailing up and down the reflective blue of each skyscraper. You can barely see any clouds, and the sky’s endlessly the same, comforting blue. Just like back home, you think for a moment. Your eyes move back to the sidewalk, people passing by—mothers with their babies in strollers, kids clutching the strap of their school bags as they run, men and women in all levels of professional clothing. No one stops in this city. Except the fucking traffic apparently.

You sigh, glancing at your watch. Only moments ago, you were moving and yet again, you’ve stopped. The cycle keeps repeating and you’re trying to keep patience focusing on things around you that you can appreciate.

Maybe you jinxed it when you said it was a good day.

You reach Taeyong’s studio just in time (not that you’d get yelled at or anything, he’s too nice of a guy). Your eyes fixate on the numbers that light up on the elevator one by one till it finally reaches the first floor.

You walk right into someone’s chest, an apology tumbling out of your lips as you bow out of habit.

“(name)?”

You look up to find Jaehyun in the elevator of Taeyong’s building, a casual white shirt clinging to his frame that’s tucked into his jeans to look somewhat formal. A pink overshirt hangs at his forearm and from the windswept styling of hair and his perfected dark locks, you’ll assume he’s here for a shoot—even without it, he looks like something from a teen magazine, someone people would see and instantly daydream of. Best known for high fashion, Jung Yoonoh is still a spectacle in casualwear.

“I can’t believe I have to see your face here too,” you mutter, getting into the elevator. You’ve had your share of moments with him.

“Good to see you too,” he says, bemused.

You make a sound of acknowledgment, taking out your phone to turn the damn notifications off so you don’t feel it vibrate in your pocket every few minutes. You feel eyes on you for a moment and snap your head to the side.

Jaehyun has his eyes focused on the door, quiet breathing fresh against his lips and you hesitate before concluding you might have been mistaken in your perception.

“You’re here for a shoot?” you ask, curious about his relationship with Taeyong.

“What else can I be here for?” He says nonchalantly.

“Sarcastic. Very nice.”

“It’s a little weird, you trying to make conversation with me. You’re usually raving about me too much to actually talk to me.” He smiles, the dimples provoking and eyes the familiar beguiling brown.

“I’m not trying to make conversation,” you hiss, crossing your arms. “I’m sorry, I forgot you’re only a person in front of cameras.”

Jaehyun takes a sharp breath before turning to you, a not-so-happy look on his face despite the calmness over his features. You’ve seen it enough times.

“How long are you going to keep up the pretentious this and pretentious that before you face it, really?” He looks at you with tight lips, poisonous implications in his question. “Why you love to get up in my case all the time?”

The words take time to settle in. You shake your head when you realize, a sardonic laugh leaving your lips. Of course he’d think that.

“Oh my god,” you scoff. “You’re so full of yourself. You think I’m interested in you? Don’t let what happened years ago get to your head.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Oh, what did you mean then? Pray tell.”

“First of all, stop cutting me off,” he says, taking a step towards you. A certain feeling of uneasiness runs through you when you detect annoyance in his quiet statement.

“Secondly,” he says, taking a another step forward just as your back hits the wall of the elevator, “Stop treating me like I’m the bane of your existence. I have nothing to do with you.”

He’s right, of course, but the words sting where they hit. Asshole, you think. He has no business telling you what to do and what not to do. But in this moment, you can’t fish for the correct words—you don’t have the strength to when you’re so close to each other like this, the scent of his cologne syrupy and sickening. His tall stature is intimidating, with his straight shoulders and proud jawline.

The elevator dings at the seventh floor, Jaehyun stepping away from you without a glance or care, striding out just as smoothly as on a runway.

You take a moment to breathe, unsaid words burning holes into your tongue. You wish you could’ve said something better, anything that didn’t make you feel so pathetic. Maybe you should’ve told him to stick his words up his ass, sounding vulgar being the least of your worries. You wait patiently to reach the last floor, each ding souring your mood little by little.

You are so glad you didn’t call him that night. To think he’d ever help you knowing it’s mutual, the whole hating each other’s guts. You just can’t believe the audacity of him—to accuse you of, what, romantic feelings? In an industry where you can’t tell apart gold from copper? Where all the people warming up to you are fair weather friends and competitors? He must have let all that attention get to his head. Runway faces aren’t as easy to fall in love with as he thinks.

“(name)! Come quick!”

Taeyong’s voice urges as soon as you enter and you settle your bag down, rushing to him. His smile drops when he sees your seething figure place your bag on the desk with a loud thud. You turn to him, without a hint of sweetened formality and ask him the day’s schedule.

Taeyong gulps before responding, undoubtedly afraid of your lips, a twitch away from a scowl, but he explains nicely nonetheless.

“Can you do a rerun of these designs for me?” he says, arranging the papers on the desk. That’s how he says these need improvement. No wonder the interns love him.

Taeyong’s in his usual attire, still too chic for you but strangely comfortable to look at. You nod, immediately scrutinising them, your (almost pointless) years of training trying to give you hints as to where you went wrong. You’re not really expecting to find big flaws or anything—just details you can enhance. You’ve learned enough about Taeyong in a month and it’s that his sense of style encompasses comfort, even in the most abstract of concepts. You respect him for that. It doesn’t change the fact that you think it’s a little overdone maybe.

Taeyong laughs, breaking you out of your daze. You raise an eyebrow.

“Is- Is something wrong?” You look at him, perplexed.

“It’s just that- It’s just you remind me a lot of the fashion students.” He smiles at you.

Your shoulders droop. Amateur. New. Unprofessional.

“Oh.”

Taeyong rephrases himself quickly, waving his hands about. “I don’t mean it as a bad thing! It just means you still…love doing it.”

It sticks with you longer than you’d expect, as you work throughout the day. You think Taeyong is too nice to criticize you properly but he eventually gets the point across—stick to the theme, written in Taeyong’s dainty handwriting and pinned to the softboard.

Secrets.

What an atrocious concept. Firstly, it makes no sense apart from sounding like a fucking lingerie collection. Secondly, when you went over Taeyong’s designs with the layers and patches, you supposed he wanted to focus on the inside of things because everything he’d drawn was inside out. Thirdly, when you heard him explain it, you were a little taken aback to hear it was going to be all about you, us. The designers, the models, the photographers, the magazine editors—there are millions and millions of people working to make sketches come to life, for a few items of clothing in someone’s closet. It feels nice to hear that from him. You promise you’re going to perfect it.

And perfection is your dear old friend.

It’s what you always strive for, but end up with something else that’s a little less beautiful. You take slow breaths, removing and adding details (after all, art is in the details). But perfection can easily grow tiresome. It makes you increasingly frustrated and you don’t think you have the heart to tell Taeyong everything in his studio stresses you out.

“So, you’re working with Jaehyun?” you ask, trying to look less antsy.

Taeyong blanks out for a moment before responding. “Yes. Why? Is he- Is he making you uncomfortable?”

Uncomfortable wouldn’t even begin to explain what he makes you feel.

“No,” you deny. “Just curious.”

Taeyong smiles. “We usually work on summer shoots together. It’s like tradition.”

“That’s…nice,” you say, trying to reciprocate his smile.

“Oh, but we’re having terrible weather so the shoots keep going longer than planned. That’s why I’m having to compromise planning time with you. Sorry about that.”

You try to keep your posture despite the mild annoyance brewing at the back of your head. Great. Now you have to see Jaehyun’s unbelievably annoying face every time you walk in. Maybe if you plead enough, you’d get permission to leave early and not want to throw some insults at him.

You decide to walk, despite Taeyong insisting his driver help you get home. He doesn’t act like it but he’s a busy man, with side projects and interviews coming up so often you lose count. It’s no wonder he had to, and you hate using this word, hire someone for the label’s next venture. You think articles like Lee Taeyong loses touch and hires designers instead of doing his job would make him upset but he seems to genuinely not let it bother him. It’s about ideas to him. His label, almost large enough to be a brand, is for ideas; what a pretty thing to base your business around. While you thought you were a big shot back in South Korea, you’re almost nothing more than Lee Taeyong’s co-designer—assistant here.

You feel drops of what you felt years ago trickling down your throat. Overshadowed. Powerless. Imposter. Something about New York makes you want to pull all your hair out. You wish you hadn’t been here in the first place, maybe then this would seem more of a fun trip than memories weighing you down. But then if you hadn’t been here, you might not have even started.

You hug yourself at the sudden downpour, clouds kind enough for it to be nothing more than showers but you’re soaked anyway. Kind, but still a little cruel. Running under the eaves of a store, you curse yourself for not bringing an umbrella the only day you needed it. You stand there for a while, just breathing.

Real life is never like movies, is it? Cameras lie. Pretty faces lie. Sometimes you end up stuck in New York rains without an umbrella or a friend to call or a lover to protect you. You end up getting an Uber, taking awfully long to arrive due to the traffic the rain had ensued and try your best to ignore the disgruntled driver mumbling about you wetting his seats.

You still don’t know how the goddamn shower works.

You manage to complete without either scorching your skin off or freezing it to Greenland and back—a feat much more successful than whatever you had going on for today. You slip into the absurdly soft mattress, pillows and covers swallowing you into a state of sleep.

You start the day almost pouring coffee onto Jaehyun’s spotless white shirt. And you might have were it not for immense self-restraint, and the fact that Taeyong’s eyes were trained on the two of you.

“So…are you two…a thing or something?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“No,” Jaehyun responds calmly while you sputter it out.

Taeyong apologizes, a laugh following. “You seem to have worked together before. Jaehyun, you never told me that.”

“I…I thought you knew,” he answers, leaning back against the tabletop.

“Ah, well,” Taeyong shrugs. “Thanks for helping me out with this, (name). Maybe- maybe we can draw some inspiration for the collection from outdoors.”

“Of course,” you say as you smile wide, trying hard not to break the coffee mug in your hand.

If you’re being honest, you had a gut feeling you’d be asked to help with Taeyong’s (apparently) infamous summer shoot. He walks into his studio every morning with hair in a disarray, talking to more people than he might enjoy and the entirety of New York weather against him. There’s only so much time a man can have and under pressure, he’s going to have to choose. It’s easy to feel sorry for someone like him.

This should be the stylist’s job. Jaehyun stands with his chin up as you adjust the fitting, smoothing out creases and making sure the cerulean shirt is pinned right, satin feeling cool and nice under your fingers. Sleeveless is back in trend this summer, and so are low-cuts.

“Careful there,” he says when you hand brushes a little lower, just below the full-grain leather belt.

You hope your face isn’t steaming from the rush of heat but you manage to limit your emotions to a sound of discomfort, remembering the horrendous accusation he’d thrown at you. “I don’t care about your dick, twit.”

Jaehyun laughs, bending a little to whisper. “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“You look like you’re having a wonderful time making me uncomfortable.”

“You’re just so easy to work up.”

His dimples are getting on your nerves. You reach up to button his collar, perhaps a little too harsh because he chokes, an uncharacteristic sound leaving his mouth as he winces. You suppress a smile, glad you managed to do something about the look on his face.

The sunlight over this park feels like Christmas come early, with the way Taeyong is flitting from model to model and stylist to stylist with the intensity of a five year old after an ice-cream truck.

“Is he- Is he usually like this?” you ask, eyes on the makeup artist getting directions from Taeyong.

“I just assumed all of you are this way,” Jaehyun, responds looking at the same sight.

You roll your eyes. “We’re not all crazy.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe a little bit,” you correct yourself, watching Taeyong almost trip over someone’s bag in order to greet the magazine’s style director.

Jaehyun chuckles, eyes meeting yours for a moment before the two of you go about your own business.

You like magazine shoots for the most part. You never find a glass of water anywhere, but some intern or the other will definitely be there to fetch you Starbucks. There’s at least three people fussing over each model and at least two exasperated photographers trying very hard to snap clean shots. The stylist and designer look as though they might explode any minute, although the relief on their faces after it’s all over is something worth looking at. The skies are so bright and blue, you think, for a cosmopolis. The trees and shrubs lining the park are in a state of tranquility compared to the chaos it encircles.

Magazines might not be as important in an age of social media advertisement, almost part of nostalgia now—but maybe some of you are not yet willing to deny kids the thrill of reading a magazine under their blankets in the middle of the night. It often gave hope to little boys playing dress up and little girls sewing their own clothes.

You’d forgotten just how exhausting shooting with magazines is. The models must be having it worse but their masks don’t come off easy. If you had ever underestimated their job difficulty, it comes back to throttle you at full speed every time you’re at a shoot.

Looking good in front of a camera is pretty damn hard.

They don’t even get to keep the clothes, unless some asshole of a designer decides to pay them in apparel instead of actual money. Most models leave New York in debt. Men are paid even less than women. You’re surprised Jaehyun is as celebrated as he is—or the fact that he was clever enough of a businessman in launching his own high fashion-themed restaurant. You’ve heard he barely visits it, like a careless afterthought. But you’re not one to get carried away by sketchy articles on the internet. All you’ve needed are more reasons to hate him.

You sip the iced coffee, its effect pretty much worn out during humid afternoons. It’s time for a break, but no one’s willing to break momentum. You find yourself feeling a little awkward, as nothing more than a guest with creative advice, and so you sit under the comforting cool of the giant green umbrella at one of the tables. You could sink into your chair were it not so damn uncomfortable.

Jaehyun takes a seat right beside you to your surprise, offering you a box of diced mango before you fervently decline. You still think he’s an asshole. It doesn’t make any sense—why accuse you of unsaid affections and then flirt with you like he never said it? It’s not like you’re even friends, how ridiculous. There are quite a few jerks you’ve met in your life, but Jung Yoonoh really takes the cake.

“What?” you snap when his gaze gets on your nerves.

“I didn’t say anything.” He raises his hands defensively, eyes still on yours. “You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“I enjoy the air conditioned suite Taeyong booked me more than this, yes.” You sigh, leaning back. “I don’t really have anything to do.”

“I’m assuming he booked you the luxury suite on the fifteenth floor,” he says, chuckling.

You furrow your eyebrows. It’s not impossible that Jaehyun knows Taeyong’s favorite suite to book for guests.

“The view’s pretty nice from there, right? Oh, and you must be enjoying the silence.”

“I actually like the outside sounds,” you defend. “It’s calming.”

“Not when you’re on the third floor,” he says, shoving a piece of mango into his mouth with a fork. “All you hear is middle aged men screaming.”

You rest your elbow on the table, placing your chin against your palm. The shade is separated from sunlight by a thin line against his chest, pale blue satin glimmering where the sun meets it. Jaehyun’s eyes shine a darker hue of honey under the shade, moving to the box in his hands occasionally before trailing back to the background noise again. Taeyong really does love pretty fits, but this might just be one of the most gorgeous pieces you’ve seen this summer (and you’ve already been through all the ready-to-wear lookbooks you possibly could). A thought passes you in a breeze, that maybe it's the model making it seem that way.

“You’re talkative today,” you note quietly, the sun harsher on your cheeks than before.

Jaehyun shrugs, hurrying to finish all the pieces. He suddenly pulls a face, one you don’t see very often in high fashion websites and Instagram pages. It’s almost cute.

“Sour.”

You find yourself laughing, a gentle influx of peace filling the inside your chest. You quickly recover, looking back up to see Jaehyun simply staring at you, breathing. He looks caught off-guard, no camera to warn him. You straighten, your cheeks flushing with heat.

“Is- Is something wrong?”

He immediately shakes his head, more to himself than you. There’s a pause before the two of you are happily distracted. The style director appears to be gesturing at him from the other side and Jaehyun responds with a curt wave.

“You’re doing two different concepts today?”

“Three, actually.”

You raise your eyebrows. Well, they’re definitely taking advantage of the good weather. They could just photoshop it, in your opinion, but authenticity is everything when it comes to magazines nowadays.

“Well, don’t let me hold you back,” you say, your tone dismissive. “Go get changed into whatever pretty shirt Taeyong has up next in his collection.”

“The next shoot doesn’t have a shirt,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirked upward.

You almost choke on your coffee, blaming the heat for your weak state of mind. You’re just having one of those strange days—just that, nothing else.

You finish the rest of the coffee, cup resting in your hand till you find the energy to get up and find a trash can.

Jaehyun was right. This time the shoot’s a little too wet and a little too much skin for you to enjoy. The only thing added to Jaehyun above the waist are a dainty red scarf knotted over his neck and a small, flat hoop earring on his left ear. The velvet fingerless gloves, although you’re not very fond of them, complete a rather rugged yet soft look. You didn’t expect Taeyong to come up with something like that.

Jaehyun’s well-developed physique, while you’ve seen it in other shoots and online articles, is completely different when you’re a few feet away from it. The dark blue cargo pants, silken, are a signature style of Taeyong but the details don’t distract you easily enough. Funny, this is the first time you’re feeling somewhat flustered in a place full of half-naked models.

You suddenly think of reds and oranges, lilac shrubs and a hint of Burberry men’s perfume. In a way, it reminds you of the strums of the guitar your roommate used to play while you stayed up late, coming up with concepts. Cherishing, soothing—and special, just enough. The corner of your lips twitch and you take out your pocket sketchbook. It’s never too late to add a design to the collection, right? After all, you have secrets too. Maybe Taeyong was right about the outdoors for inspiration.

Something sets into motion, subtle but sharp.

The next time you walk into Taeyong’s studio, you feel the sun on your face better. Everything seems to be fitting into place, as you smooth through designs at a pace your student self would be jealous of. When Taeyong praises your work, you feel a rush of pride smearing the inside of your chest and you finally feel like everything’s not falling apart. It feels good. It feels like you’re someone.

The days go by in what seems like barely seconds—you know what they say about New York minutes. The mustard cloth draped over your desk to the cottage blue of your curtains, the colours around you change as quickly as the wind. Sometimes they’re abstract—and other times, well, they have more to do with a stranger’s eyes, or the swirls within a coffee cup. It’s the way in which transition occurs around you, that you often forget it moves something within you too.

You’ve put together some samples with Taeyong, most of them by yourself; the process of making is ever comforting, fabric even more so. You’ve sent the revised designs for production, feeling giddy about whatever is to come like it’s something new. (It shouldn’t be.)

You fucking hate how different this is. Seoul is nothing compared to New York. The anxiety is nearly ten times worse, the streets are far more attractive when it comes to inspiration and the figure of Jung Yoonoh is no longer as easy to ignore.

Even after the summer shoot’s over, Jaehyun often comes by to hang out at the studio, dressed in what you would call the simplest fucking thing you’d ever seen and still managing to look just as gorgeous. He blends in well with university students, often wearing the ugliest baseball cap you’ve ever seen, and the look of his face feels much, much worse than ever before. It’s at ease, smug even, but never failing to smile at you when you’re trying to focus. You don’t care how good of friends Taeyong and Jaehyun are—you want to tell him to leave.

But you just can’t bring yourself to. It’s not that you don’t trust yourself, you certainly do, but whatever New York has done to you, includes making you feel a different way about him. Sometimes you find yourself pressing your legs together harshly, stiffening at any proximity with him and a pool of warmth at the base of your stomach you’d rather not feel.

It’s embarrassing to even think about it—the fact that he makes you feel that way, so hot and bothered like it’s your first time. You blame your lack of going out these few months because after all, anyone could fall in love with runway faces. It doesn’t have to mean it’s him you want. You carry on doing what you’ve been doing for the most part of your career, your best to avoid him. There are more pressing matters, and your head might just implode if you keep on worrying about things (a man, of all) you need not.

Time passes even faster when all your thoughts revolve around the same thing.

One month. D-30. Whatever the hell you call time before the end of the world.

Your palms sweat a whole lot easier here. It’s a little weird, considering you don’t find much difference in humidity between Seoul and New York. Your heart often catches up in your throat too. Not a great feeling, your heart choking the breath out of you, but you’re used to it. You cope and you learn, that’s what it means to be human.

You pull your hand down before it reaches your teeth. The day ended in a meeting with Taeyong’s production team—everything’s running smoothly so you need not worry, he said.

Why are those the words that make you worry the most?

You check the time on your phone. 23:05 and a whole month to go. You better get some sleep for all the meetings you have scheduled tomorrow. You close your eyes and for a while, everything falls quiet.

You dream of New York Fashion Week. People come here to feel included. Everyone wants to be a part of something they don’t understand.

The models walk down the runway in increasingly uncomfortable outfits. You didn’t design any of them. Where are the ones you worked on? You can’t move from your seat, or turn your head from the runway, anything at all. Something’s wrong, everything’s wrong. You don’t belong here. Thunder strikes outside the venue and you wake up with a gasp caught in your throat, and the clock on the bedside table flashing 2:14.

You’ve had enough. You swear you’ve had enough.

You get up out of bed, pacing the giant bedroom, the empty spaces making you feel more and more miserable. The city twinkles with innumerous stars beyond your window, curtains half drawn so they can comfort you whenever you need—but these lights don’t shine for you, or anyone else. They shine for themselves. That’s what it means to be in New York again.

What time is it in Seoul? Could you call your mother? Joohyun? Everyone must be busy right now—you don’t know what to do. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt so helpless. There’s a reason you’ve been avoiding New York for this long and now it’s come crashing down on you.

This was a mistake. All of it was a mistake.

You look down at your phone, the light hurting your eyes despite being set to the lowest brightness. You think a little, and then some more. There’s no one else you can call. Even if he’s busy charming all the other employees whenever you see him, even if half the world is in love with him, there’s no one else you can call. This time you don’t stop yourself.

You tap the call button beside the Jung Yoonoh saved neatly. Tapping your foot against the floor nervously, your mind goes blank for a few seconds or so. He answers when you’re just about to hang up, breath hitching in your throat at the sound of his voice.

“Hello? Hello? If this is a reporter—”

“It’s me, Jaehyun.”

The line goes quiet for a moment and your voice overlaps his before he can begin.

“I- I didn’t mean to call so late. Sorry…uh.”

You scrunch up your face at your own voice. This is not getting you anywhere.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, voice lower.

You fall silent, unable to answer without breaking down into tears. You did not call Jung Yoonoh for that.

“Yeah,” you choke out. “Fine. Completely fine. I just…”

You trail off, trying to get yourself to breathe.

“I’ll send you an address. Be there in an hour.”

You blink back tears, confusion adding to the burning pile of worries inside your head.

“What?”

“Address. I’ll text you. Be there. One hour.”

“I’m not stupid, Jaehyun,” you snap, strength refilling your voice. “Why?”

“I’m not answering questions, just be there.”

With that, the line goes flat and an embarrassing amount of ‘hello’s get you to realize that he hung up. A notification pops up a minute later and you’re too groggy to decipher it, logging it to Maps instead so you can follow. It’s fifteen minutes away, you realize with a sigh of relief, so you can at least present yourself within the given constraint.

You can’t grasp what you feel in the moment, the night air and warm streets beckoning you to leave the clamped apartment soaked in fear. You think this is unlike Jaehyun, what he’s doing, but you’re too shaken to care. You need some respite, even if it comes from somewhere you can’t picture.

“You…wanted to meet me at a Korean barbecue restaurant?”

Jaehyun’s ears turn red, as they often do when he doesn’t know how to respond to you.

“I-It’s not that I…Never mind,” he tries to explain, fidgeting with the cloth over his shoulder. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”

We? You think, eyes scanning his face in confusion. If you want? Where’s the uncaring Jaehyun you’ve known, foreign eyes and impassive lips? He hardly looks the part he’s meant to play—a billboard face with a confident jawline and nothing more behind it. Outside of work—you don’t even know what else to call this—Jaehyun looks hardly intimidating, or abrasive. He seems different, gentle almost, although the dark circles under his eyes might have something to do with it. Maybe he’s too tired to say anything more and that’s it.

But he still came all the way here.

“Aren’t you a little…overdressed?”

There comes the remark you were hoping to not hear. You just wanted to look nice; you’d hardly call this overboard. The loose, mustard-colored chiffon shirt cinches at the waist, paired with your nicest (only not faded) pair of light blue jeans and shoes that haven’t seen the light of day since you arrived here. You barely ever design clothes for yourself anymore but you thought you looked good in this.

“No,” you defend quickly, feeling your face grow warm. “You’re underdressed.”

You say that, but he clearly looks good in anything he wears. Could you expect any less of a supermodel? He doesn’t seem to have dressed in as much a hurry as you had. Clad in a plain black T-shirt that’s half tucked into skinny jeans, he’s added his hideous baseball cap and a pair of navy blue shades which looks just as ridiculous as it sounds. You really think he shouldn’t be leaving his house without the help of a stylist.

“I…I just mean you don’t wear anything other than the same sweater and pants combination to work, so… please excuse my surprise.”

Jaehyun's eyes flicker over your figure before masking it with an awkward cough. You reach out and pull the shades over his head, the look bothering you more than anything else. He doesn’t respond to it, at least not in a way that’s obvious, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do—you fixing his hair and unquestionably awful sense of style.

“There’s a soju place a few blocks ahead. Or if you’re not into that, there’s a noodle shop just at the edge of K-town,” Jaehyun rambles on, not meeting your eye. “If you’re looking for something inexpensive—"

“You came all the way here to give me directions?” You raise an eyebrow. You might even be enjoying this, although your inner voice bites back at you, denying it.

Jaehyun shakes his head, the red in his ears pulsing back up. “No. I…I needed some fresh air.”

“You…have someplace to be then?”

Jaehyun might not realize it, but the answers he gives always have room for teasing. Aloof. Vague. Yet somehow sweet.

“And you’ll go alone? At this hour? No, I’ll accompany you,” he says out loud, trying to play off the sudden vocal inflection. You sigh. Boys will be boys, as they say. Even if they’re twenty-six.

You let him keep you company. Though the first few minutes are painfully quiet, neither of you knowing quite what to say without starting a disagreement, you continue your walk through a city that never sleeps. It’s awkward even, being side by side without you seething at his charming, (undoubtedly) fake smile. He feels real, for once, and you don’t know how to react. There seem to be some gold-tinted cracks appearing in your reality, slowly but surely, and you’re not very good at patching anything other than fabric.

“You know, it’s actually a little relieving to see Korean letters here,” you say, sighing. You never thought you’d be so corny, but it really does feel good being here.

Or is it him?

“Thanks,” you add quietly, hoping he doesn’t hear. No, maybe you do. You can’t tell at this point.

“I…I know what it’s like,” he says, so softly that it almost gets carried away by the wind. He clears his throat, an ‘ah’ escaping his lips as he stops abruptly.

“We…We missed the turn,” he declares, a little sheepish as he scratches the back of his head.

You look at him in disbelief. “Jaehyun, how long have you lived here?”

“Oh, I was born here actually,” he says, tilting his face to look at you, blunt sarcasm evident on it. “How many times have you lost your way to the convenience store in Seoul?”

“Literally zero times.”

Jaehyun puffs a cheek before going back to normal and turning a hundred and eighty degrees down the street.

“Hey, wait up!” you huff at his increased pace, half jogging to keep up.

You reach the acclaimed noodle shop, your breath barely within your lungs and swearing at Jaehyun who looks like he wasn’t bothered one bit. He reaches his hand out to help you and you swat it away, chest still heaving with your hands on your knees.

“Dickhead,” you hiss.

“I don’t think I deserved that,” he responds with a widening smile.

“Asshole,” you say, standing up straight to glare at him.

“What would Seoul say hearing their beloved designer swear like this?” Jaehyun looks almost amused, as if you hadn’t shared an awkward time together, like two teenagers who were forced to walk home together from the bus stop.

“They can go to hell,” you retort. “As can you.”

Jaehyun laughs, a strange sound to hear and you blink a few times, unsure of what to do. You wonder if it’s the night playing tricks or if Jaehyun really is an actual person, not the basket of preprocessed insults you were used to. The cracks are widening—you’re not sure if they’re meant to be patched.

Perhaps you were a little eager to enter someplace warm, but you feel immense relief in this little shop, despite the smell of chili paste and noodle soup wafting through the air. It’s a little empty; in fact, you two seem to be the only people there apart from some students at the other corner, but you sit there in your own bubble, talking with Jaehyun of all people about which singer is better. He laughs occasionally, still managing to catch you off-guard with how honest it sounds and you wonder for a moment, how nice this feels. For the first time in a month, your heartbeat seems to have settled at a normal rate.

“What?” you enounce, a little offended. “What’s so wrong about my love life?”

“You just- You just don’t seem that type,” he explains, his ears as red as the bowl.

“I don’t have time for commitments, Jaehyun,” you sigh. “It’s what happens when you’re good at your job.”

Jaehyun nods, something akin to agreement in his response.

“So, your, uh, what is it? Training camp? What’s that about?” you ask, in between blowing your food.

“You could really Google things once in a while, you know?” he replies, bringing his chopsticks close to his mouth.

You roll your eyes. “I’m sorry I’m not one of your creepy stalkers, Mr. Jung.”

“Nothing to do with that,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s for kids interested in fashion, modeling, photography—stuff.”

“Oh? How so?”

“I just sponsor them. You know how difficult it is to get noticed in…this industry,” he explains, like it’s not a big deal. Nothing ever seems to be a big deal to him.

You nod, unable to help the smile. Maybe it isn’t a big deal, but you’re sure now that you were mistaken. Just a little bit.

“I was lucky,” you mumble. “I can’t believe they saw those ugly embroidered patches and decided to sponsor me, oh my god. That sweater was hideous.”

Jaehyun laughs loudly. “They saw me cleaning outside my school and decided to pick me up and ship me straight to Paris.”

“Nothing’s worse than the first day.” You take another mouthful, the taste savoury and filling.

“You know, I’m pretty sure they photoshopped my ears out in the first magazine shoot I had.”

You laugh, leaning in a little closer. “Your first year was rough, huh?”

He hums, his eyes flickering from your nose to your lips. It makes you a little self-conscious, blood rushing to your cheeks at an unexpected pace. Who knew Jaehyun could have such an effect on you?

Your eyes flutter over his face once again.

He’s handsome. But it’s the sort of handsomeness that tells you, you don’t know much beyond it. You look back at your bowl, sobering up and completing the rest of the noodles.

It’s still midnight blue in the faraway sky as you walk down the streets. Most of the people you see out and about are those drunk off their faces from club hopping or a particularly enthusiastic group of tourists. The watermelon soju, while better with budae-jjigae and arguably the best soju flavor, somehow had little effect on you with the bitter aftertaste still settling in. The crowds in other places would make for great people-watching but you walk in a lonely street that calls for proximity. Beside you, Jaehyun sneezes, the sound of it making you jump on the quiet sidewalk.

“Jesus Christ, Jaehyun,” you huff, wincing at the sound, “you sounded like a fucking tractor.”

Jaehyun laughs, looking down at the pavement. When he looks back at you, the circles underneath his eyes seem to have darkened and you wonder if yours are the same. Yours can’t possibly be as important as his, though, and you wonder if it’s appropriate to laugh at how dorky he looks.

You find yourself not wanting to walk back into the safety of your suite. Jaehyun has a look of calm across his features, drawing over the landscape around you. New York lights don’t faze him, they only reflect in his eyes.

The way his soft breaths fan out against his lips remind you that he is human, after all—he has a soul and body, thoughts and its beautiful intricacies. When he turns back to you, you feel those criminal feelings all over again, except this time it’s even louder. It feels so wrong, and yet you can’t help but think of the liberation that could come with his lips on yours.

You could swear out loud, all the colorful words ready at the tip of your tongue.

“Your collar’s…”

Jaehyun’s voice trails off, his hand moving to fix your flipped collar, and when the heat of his skin brushes your neck, you try to not think of where else his hands could be, his lips could be.

In fact, there’s a moment within where it’s perfectly reasonable for him to kiss you, the taste almost on your tongue. But Jaehyun moves away, an indecipherable look across his face.

“I should get going,” he says, “I have a- I have a shoot early tomorrow—today.”

You nod, cheeks coloring at your own unsaid thoughts. Just what have you done to yourself? Why is your skin searing, why does your stomach feel upside down and why were you so ready to give in to him? To Jaehyun? You’ve never felt want like this before, this need to press skin against skin in a manner so illicit.

You part with a short goodbye, the sudden loneliness in your path making you want to backtrack, ask if you can go somewhere else again—maybe there’s a club nearby so you can see him through a round of shots as you usually do. Maybe the bitter feelings will return then.

When you think of the words you exchanged over the course of so unusual a night—your former unforgiving words contradict you. You hate the realization but being so obscure in front of a camera doesn’t have to mean he’s pretentious. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe someday you’ll even admit it.

You feel a flash of heat in your face. You are not running to Jung Yoonoh—what an embarrassing thought. If the very core of your being isn’t repulsed by it, there’s something wrong with you.

There’s something definitely wrong with you, love.

You breathe sharply, trying to organize your thoughts. As if the paparazzi wouldn’t have a treat out of this meeting you had with him if they got to know. You’d better limit it to the only one.

You bite your nails out of force of habit. It’s not going to help. You know. But there’s hardly anything else to cool your nerves.

Front row tickets to New York Fashion Week—the most mortifying dream out of all the ones you’ve ever had. The way Taeyong fidgets, you want to believe he’s in the same boat as you—it makes you thankful even.

Even outside of New York, Lee Taeyong is known for booking out exclusively intimate spaces. There are some props for the pre-show photography, including inked sketches on giant vertical banners stuck to the walls and tables with a messy collection of coffee cans, pencils and a sewing machine. Diverse types of fabric roll off the table in long strips, gently lining the floor till they end midway to another table. It’s a mess—a mess you made look good.

You’d left that and the backstage behind now. All eyes are on the sparsely lit runway, your aspirations coating the air in a thick veil. Are you ready? You won’t know till the first model steps out and till you can elicit a response from the audience.

Jaehyun’s at another venue—career before friendship, or, heaven forbid, attraction. You’d seen the fitting, cape skirt doing daringly well with his long legs clad in black pants, and a classy vest over a ruffled white shirt. You hate seeing other designs before a show, but god, were you glad you’d visited Givenchy to meet Johnny.

But you’re relieved even, that Jaehyun isn’t here. You don’t have the strength to face him anyway, all your energy directed into this chasm of whatever you’d call six months of effort. You want to call yourself accomplished. You want to be proud of yourself.

So this time, you remember all twenty-six minutes of it.

God, they look so beautiful up there, when they’re being looked at, seen for what they are—you’ll never get over it. There’s still hardly much to remember, except this time you’re happy to do it all over again. Effort only exists if it’s acknowledged.

It settles in quite a while later, the weight of all you’d done. You could almost cry, but that’s better left to pillows and the unrelenting skies above a midnight-coated rooftop. This is your moment. For once, you’re anything but afraid.

Afterparties are still not your thing.

However, you had your nicest outfit picked out and Lee Taeyong’s fancy, themed afterparties are something notorious among your colleagues. You’ve heard designers tend to go all out, wearing the best things they’ve designed even if it makes them a little embarrassed to be wearing their own work.

You feel a sigh leave your lips as you finally find a place to sit, your earlier conversations leaving you drained of social energy. You don’t feel alien—it’s strange—and their compliments feel almost warm. The music playing over the speakers is something, you’re sure, from a 60’s American movie, and while it has its own strange allure, the champagne gives you a larger dose of relief.

In fact, if you’re not mistaken, it’s quite like the ballroom in Paris, although significantly smaller. Burgundy wallpaper and lit up crystals hanging in hexagonal shapes across the ceiling—it’d look lovely on a dress too.

Taeyong’s speech, of course, gives you a spike of anxiety with the sudden announcement of his label’s future, a brand now. He smiles on the small podium, everyone admiring his radiance when suddenly he gestures at you, the glass in your hand feeling hotter and hotter.

“…I couldn’t do this without the only designer I felt was up to this—the first designer to work under my brand, as of now…”

You try not to blush under all the pairs of eyes that turn to you.

“(name), thank you.”

Success feels good. Gratitude feels even better.

Everything feels natural, as if a dream gone right. You’re no longer afraid of the world you stepped into, or the accumulation of feelings that molded you into the person you are now. The confidence you so chased after as if it were morphine, you’re going to be keeping an eye on it before it can run away again.

There’s still one little problem to your night of triumph, though.

Jaehyun hasn’t taken his eyes off you ever since you entered, a conversation yet pending. You already know he looks good in the plainest of T-shirts, so it might be a no-brainer that he looks absolutely stunning in a suit. The crystals lining the lapels of his coat glimmer amidst the crowd he’s gathered. It’s hard to come in contact, however. He’s magnetic, almost formidable in the way he attracts attention, and you know it’s something that comes with being a man of few words.

“You’re not enjoying the party?” you ask, taking in Jaehyun’s figure on the veranda overlooking the garden. He sits on one of the mahogany chairs, swirling the glass of champagne with a look of indifference coating his eyes and lips.

“I am,” he says, turning to face you. “Needed a short break.”

“I suppose being the most attractive man in the room needs a break,” you say, taking a seat beside him.

A wry laugh leaves his lips, as he lays his eyes on you. “You don’t seem bothered by it though?”

“I believe that pretty is as pretty does,” you say, your lips twitching.

Jaehyun smiles, furrowing his eyebrows yet still. “You think multimillionaire companies are built on things like inner beauty?”

He’s right. What’s inside is beautiful—it’s too idealistic a phrase. You sigh, adjusting your sleeve. It’s a difficult life, walking the runway no one dares to step on.

I think you’d make that cut too, you want to tell him.

“You know the best thing I got told today?” you ask, diverting the stream of conversation. You think he’s a friend. Even if it could be the champagne talking. Even if you want something more than the innocence of friendship.

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow. “Did Cristóbal Balenciaga’s ghost show up to compliment you?”

“No,” you emphasize, laughing at his pronunciation. “It was this girl. A student. Said she wrote an essay about me.”

Jaehyun hums, dimples marking his cheeks. “I didn’t know a student could get you so giddy.”

You laugh, looking down at your hands before resting your gaze on him again. He leans forward in his seat, strands of hair falling over his face from the rest and a contemplating look over his features. He looks much, much different from when you first saw him, and even handsomer, if that were possible. He’s grown up from the awkward boy you saw in the press release pictures of the Saint Laurent Fall Collection—he looks sharp and valiant on front covers, his shoulders broad and his eyes darling. Jaehyun is still unironically the most breathtaking man you’ve ever met. He might even be one of the sweetest, inside out.

You look to his lips, full as ever. Perhaps you have something to confess. Secrets aren’t meant to be kept so long.

“Jaehyun,” you call, bringing his attention before faltering. It’s not like you’re the only one fawning over his smile. You get up instead, excusing yourself. “I’ll see you inside I suppose.”

“You know I like you, right?”

You turn around. “What?”

Jaehyun gets up, brushing his suit and fixing the lapels. The gentle night haze and the contrasting calls of the brightly lit party inside brush over an effect you’ve never felt before. “I…I like you. It’s pretty straightforward, I think.”

You deny it, or rather, some repressed little emotion inside you denies it vehemently. “Jaehyun, really. I admit I was a complete asshole to you and- and...it was…kind of you to accompany me that night but—”

“Stop. Don’t- Don’t call that kind. You’re not seeing the full picture.”

You stand there, unsure of what to do as you feel your chest grow warmer. Jaehyun turns his head upwards, letting out an audible breath. You can see conflict on his face, the struggle of someone still mulling over the perfect words.

“I don’t hate you. I never really hated you even if I wanted to.”

You suppose it wouldn’t be the right time to say that you might have indulged in that.

“I did,” you confess. “I hated you for a very, very long time, Jaehyun.”

“I know,” he whispers, looking straight at you. “I didn’t mean to leave you hanging—”

“Jaehyun, I don’t care about that,” you say, your voice rising, “You told me you felt suffocated in bow ties and laughed when I asked if you wanted to run away with me. I just ended up thinking you were a goddamn liar.”

“Fine,” he says quietly in his baritone timbre, sounds of the chatter from inside numbing away. “Then let me be honest.”

“When I met you, I thought there was someone like me doing just the same—so…suddenly in the midst of everything. Even if you were a complete asshole to me. You were still real.”

He phrases it delicately, lilting, as if that hasn’t been your whole purpose here. He’s only a breath away from you, but you don’t want to push him away this time. There’s a moment’s pause.

“Between work and myself, which is more important? For once, I thought I could answer that question.”

Your breaths are soft and shallow as they fall, trying to understand his words.

“And then you just fucking stopped. You stopped flying out and I’d barely see you outside of Seoul like you- like you gave up or something. I didn’t understand—what happened to you?”

Jaehyun looks at you with a hardened expression, ears turning red as if he hadn’t expected this outburst of truth. He gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. It’s not like him to open his mouth and let out words that are raw and honest; it makes you feel the weight even more. You were still kids that night. You’re not anymore.

“Jaehyun,” you whisper before reaching your hand out and placing it against his cheek.

It’s so hard to not take in the details. The prominence of the muscle by his mouth when he speaks, the fine lines by his nose which appear sporadically or the look of complete reverence in his eyes when he’s staring at you like this—everything those runway shots can’t possibly capture. Your eyes trail to his lips, your own drawn to it with a desire you don’t know how to comprehend—and don’t quite wish to, either.

You want to believe he made the first move but you give in so easy, it’s alarming. Your lips move against his in a rhythm new and frantic, his hands gripping you with full strength at the waist and you part your lips to allow a deeper kiss. Your hands are free to roam his perfectly styled hair, tousling it in a fashion that makes him groan, only to push you harder against the wall.

“I should’ve- I should’ve let you kiss me that night,” he mumbles against your lips. “Maybe I…I wouldn’t have made you hate me.”

“Maybe you should shut up and kiss me right now,” you respond, your mouth pressing against his, effectively doing the job.

It’s not difficult to see stars when his hips press against yours, his hand resting on one thigh to pull it up slightly. You feel the impact of it head-on, gasping out loud when his fingers press harder against the back of your thigh.

“Tell me- Tell me you want this,” he breathes out when he breaks the kiss.

You respond with reconnecting your lips, your tongue sliding against his in fervent affirmations. You’ve already forfeited your modesty, there’s no reason to stop.

You leave early, getting into the car you’d booked for the night. It would be far more embarrassing were it not for the separation between the front and backseats, when Jaehyun’s hands are up your clothes and his lips rough against your neck. The lip colour has smudged by the side of Jaehyun’s lips, a short giggle escaping you when you notice. It’s not enough to halt the kissing, or feeling each other up —something that feels long overdue. You try to keep your sounds to a minimum but Jaehyun seems to not care about things as worthless as shame, at least for the moment.

“Well, you’re about as graceful as a sea lion when you’re off the runway,” you hiss when Jaehyun’s teeth prick your skin.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” he responds in a low tone, the rest of his retort pushed away by his lips against your mouth.

You don’t have time to take in the details of Jaehyun’s apartment because he’s already carrying you to the bed, your legs around his waist and continuing to kiss you as if making up for something. All those years, you could have been doing this. Maybe you do have some regrets.

The material of his dress shirt feels expensive but clothes are not what you need right now. His phone rings once but he drags a finger over it to reject the call, his mouth still pressing against your collarbone. The only sounds you hear are rugged breathing and you fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as you pull it over his shoulders. The city lights below you reach through the drawn curtains, all the unrelenting complications left behind in those faraway streets.

Jaehyun makes a sound of annoyance at the phone ringing yet again. He breaks apart from you, receiving the call while his fingers massage his temple.

“Hyung, I’m fine. I’ll talk to you later—”

“I was just wondering where you disappeared and you don’t even grace me with a hello?” Johnny’s voice rings clear in the all too silent bedroom.

“Hyung—”

“Wait a minute.” There’s a pause within which Jaehyun seems to tense up. “Are you fucking? Like did you leave the party to get la—”

“Hyung. I’m hanging up.”

The coral pink spread over his ears is almost as pretty as the look of pure annoyance over his face.

“That—”

“Didn’t happen,” you complete, giggling. If someone were to tell you’d be seeing Jaehyun like this a few months ago, you wouldn’t know whether to be embarrassed or exhilarated.

You place your hand at the nape of his neck, pulling him into another kiss.

Sex is barely ever beautiful—even if it’s Jung Yoonoh over you, planting kisses from your mouth to jaw, neck to chest and whispering sweet, delicious words against each part. He certainly knows how to use his assets better than you’d expect from a boy so pristine.

It doesn’t matter if it’s not beautiful, when it’s just like a slow dance—in shared solace and love out of time. You bite your lips to stop smiling too often for it to feel as serious and indifferent as all the other times. Sometimes you feel Jaehyun grinning into the crook of your neck, the giddiness of love taking over the movement of your hips against his. The perfect anatomy of his, paired with his candied words makes you think that maybe you do fit together.

You let someone else take charge for once, his praising whispers of ‘that’s my baby’ or ‘you just look so good’ far too teasing but he follows through, your body barely able to respond apart from shaking and shuddering till you reach your high.

The sound of skin against skin dies down well into the night and you get cleaned, still blissed out from making the summit of all your senses. It’s warm inside, despite turning the air conditioner on.

“Jaehyun,” you call, lowering yourself to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“Hm?” He gives you a drowsy smile, arm under his head and hair sticking to his forehead funny.

“Did you really not hate me? Not even once?” You rest your cheek against your palm as you lie beside him.

Even under the dim lights, it’s not hard to spot the blush on him when he positively glows. Jaehyun reminds you of warm auburn and the touch of cool satin—it’s easy to make things, find inspiration in love.

“Oh my god, you were lying!” you accuse, sitting up straight. “There’s no way you didn’t hate me. I called your modeling as good as a coconut under spotlight!”

“As you so love to remind me,” he mumbles.

There’s a brief moment before the two of you crack up, his deep laughter perfectly mismatched with yours. There’s hardly many sounds on the eighteenth floor, but maybe you’ve always been yearning for this privacy—this proximity in shared laughter and warm touches.

“No, I didn’t,” Jaehyun answers your question after it’s quiet once again. “I thought...I think you’re…”

Jaehyun trails off, his eyes flickering over your face before fixing on your lips as his own tug into a smile. He gulps. “I think we’d be in trouble if the paparazzi saw us throwing choice words at each other, don’t you think? You were barely out of school then.”

“Me?” You laugh. “You were thinking about me?”

“And a little bit about me.”

You fall asleep against Jaehyun’s chest with the certainty of kinder tomorrows, a thing he teaches you through whispers against the pillow and fingers playing with your hair. There’s something private in the way he holds your face, something delicate and homely running from his long fingers to his flushed knuckles and the rest of his hand as it presses against your cheek. It’s warm here, and safe, and maybe home is where the heart is, after all.

“Really? You’re not even a little bit sad I’m leaving?” you ask, placing your hand over your heart. “Who’s going to help you when you’re getting bullied in the workplace now?”

Doyoung huffs in annoyance, placing the box down beside the moving truck. “You’re the only one who bullies me in the workplace.”

You adjust the ugly baseball cap on your head, the one Jaehyun had pulled over your head in an attempt to stop you from complaining about his messy apartment. You hadn’t realized you’d worn it all the way to Seoul till the articles about your questionable choice of accessories had surfaced.

“Your boyfriend’s calling,” Doyoung says, making a face as he picks your phone up from the box near him. “I can’t even believe this. All those years of flirting and—”

You snatch it from him, glaring at him for the choice of words. He raises his hands defensively, rolling his eyes at your sudden movement.

“Are you sure you don’t want me flying to Seoul?”

“Unless you’re planning to work in a truck rental.”

You hear Jaehyun laugh on the other side of the line. Is it normal to have blood rush straight from your chest to your ears at the sound of laughter? You hope that doesn’t change.

You’d visited him a day before your flight. It hasn’t been all that long but Jaehyun certainly makes it out to be, just so he can use his cheesy one-liners. You try not to smile thinking about how he had flung his hair band out, immediately tousling his hair back into a pretty mess and struggling to keep a straight face when you’d visited out of the blue. Jaehyun wakes up at one in the afternoon when his schedule is empty and it had appalled you enough to help him out with basic chores before you left. (It didn’t end well. He kept putting his chin on your shoulder and sneaking his arms around you while you did the dishes.)

“(name)? (name), are you daydreaming again?”

You sigh. “You can’t wait three more days, Jae? It’s, what, one in the morning there!”

“Do you want me saying something cheesy?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I don’t think I can sleep without waking up to your face.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, unable to grace him with a response. The dreamy languor in his voice is more than recognizable and if you’re not mistaken, he’s going to be saying something highly inappropriate.

“Do you know what dream I had last night?” he asks, the smile almost evident with how suggestive it sounds.

“Jaehyun, no,” you warn before lowering your voice. “I swear if it’s another dirty dream—”

“Come home and I’ll tell you all about it. With demonstrations.”

This time you can’t help the laughter, trying to mask it with a cough only to fail. You push the back of your hand against your cheek in order to soothe the involuntary blush. Your perfume smells just like him, and you realize suddenly why he’d gifted it to you.

“That definitely makes me want to leave faster,” you quip.

“I certainly hope so.”

It’s different now, especially if you remember your feelings just last February. Change feels easy for the first time in your life. You check off your list of items, counting the boxes as they’re lifted onto the truck. It took a good amount of thinking, and a bunch of fights before you could decide. New York isn’t so bad. Not when you have reason to be there. You’d like to call it love.

A list of things you do appreciate: Jung Yoonoh. Jaehyun. Whatever.

5K notes · View notes

fangirlovestuff · 4 years ago

Text

More Than Meets The Eye - Steve Rogers x reader

a/n - hey lovely people!! this one is for @s1utforfictionalcharacters, who asked for a Steve x reader enemies to lovers a while ago. thank you so much for bearing with me and being patient, and i hope you enjoy!!<3

Summary: Between figuring out what was the Tesseract doing at a Hydra base and if it even is the Tesseract, you need to navigate your relationaship with one annoying, broody Captain. Honestly, you might prefer the Hydra thing.

this isn’t set in the mcu timeline, but takes inspiration from a few mcu movies. it’s not canon compliant and everyone’s alive:)

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: lowkey angst and some tension, maybe a curse word or two? tell me if i missed anything!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Rogers!" you heard Tony's voice over the comms, "Where the hell are you?"

"Babysitting," you heard Steve's irritated voice, not only over the comms but also behind you, right before you saw him dashing past you to punch the Hydra agent you were fighting square in the jaw.

"Well, get America's ass over here, now," Tony grunted, clearly mid-fight himself, "we need backup."

"Go!" you yelled at him, spinning to take out another agent that was coming up behind Steve, "I got this!"

"You sure?" he asked, his tone sarcastically degrading, jumping while kicking two agents simultaneously. Showoff.

"Yes," you resisted the urge to roll your eyes, "I can handle them, go help the others!"

"Alright," he grunted as he pushed off another agent before running back in the direction he came from, towards the rest of the team.

"Cap, you coming or what?" Natasha spoke on the comms, calmer than Tony, but it was obvious she's just as in need of backup as he was.

"Coming!" Steve replied, before it went relatively quiet.

You finished up disarming the rest of the agents in your wing of the building. No one was calling for you on the comms yet, so you decided to make another round in the perimeter, make sure you didn't miss anything.

God knows captain know-it-all is gonna be on your ass about it if that's the case. And honestly, you have more than enough of that as is.

As you were walking down the hallway, you noticed a strange, glowing light coming from under the doors. Upon finding it was unlocked, you opened it to reveal a room that was entirely filled with the same blueish light you had seen, and it was all coming from a desk in the middle of it.

Approaching slowly and letting your eyes time to adjust, you got closer and closer, realizing the shiny object was a peculiar blue cube. A cube you knew well, perhaps even too well.

"Guys, if you're done over there, you might wanna come to my wing. There's something you're gonna want to see."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Okay, we have to keep looking, maybe they left some blueprints or anything that can indicate how they were planning on using it," Steve commanded, "or already have."

"Wait," you said before everyone split up to follow his orders, "as important as the why they got it is, I think the first question we should be asking is how the hell they got it. I thought it was locked away in the Asgard safe?" you looked at Bruce, who out of all of you had the most contact with Thor.

"It was, the last time I checked," he frowned. "I'll see if I can contact Thor, see if he knows anything."

"You do that," Tony interjected, "the rest of you, follow Cap's order while he and I have a little chat. Shall we Rogers?" he pulled a frowning Steve aside, while you all split up to try and find any information you could salvage.

In your search, you ran into Natasha. As you were both scouring the same desk for clues, working together like a well-oiled machine, you asked, "what did Tony want from Cap?"

"Probably to ask him where the hell was he when we needed his backup," she said matter-of-factly. "Or, you know, where the heck he was. We all know Steve's proper like that," she smiled, and you let out a chuckle at her words.

"Well, that’s good," you remarked, "since he really should've been there for you guys. I don't know what was that all about," you scrunched up your nose. "Nothing here," you added, closing the drawer you were looking through.

"Yeah, here too," Natasha closed her own drawer, "let's go."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that day, you were all having dinner together as you went over some papers the others found at the Hydra base. Since you were already in the same place, you split the takeout, taking caution not to spill any of it.

"Cap," you asked, seeing the saltshaker was too far for you to reach, "Can you pass me th-" your words were abruptly cut by him planting it in your hand, going back to whatever it is he was reading.

"Thanks," you muttered, going back to your paperwork as well.

This might be the place to mention that pretty much ever since you joined the team, Steve exhibited a certain… coldness to you. Arrogance, indifference, call it what you want – from day one, Steve Rogers made sure you knew he was better than you.

And considering he was literally Captain America, it's not like you thought you were ever better than him in the first place.

You blended in with the rest of the team seamlessly, fighting and training among them. I mean sure, there were jokes about you being "the new kid", but it was just that – jokes. No one, or at least no one but Steve, seemed to view you as inferior.

You still fought well together, it was your job. Hell, he just passed you the salt before you even finished asking for it. Being attuned to each other's actions and attitude in that way made it all the more obvious how much he seemed to covet his leadership position, his place of dominance.

It got on your nerves. So. Much.

You see, if he were like that to everyone else on the team, so be it. But the absolute majority of it was directed towards you – the new girl. And it was clear that's all he ever saw you as. A girl.

Even that salt thing – he handed it over so impatiently, so suddenly, like one would handle an irritating child.

You had hoped he'd get over it at some point, but so far, that didn't seem to be the case. Well, you're not planning on going anywhere, so you'll both have to get over yourselves at some point.

"Hey!" Steve snapped his fingers in front of your eyes, shaking you from your reverie. "C'mon, listen up. Tony found something."

Oh well, that "some point" is probably not today.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So, Hydra wanted to use this," Natasha gestured at the Tesseract, "To power up a weapon they've designed?"

"That's the gist of it," Tony confirmed. "But from the looks of it, this thing is a lot more powerful than it seems. They planned on powering up a whole armored aircraft, plus all of their rifles using this cube. If that's possible, and by the looks of it, it very well might be, it's a lot stronger than you'd think."

"Wait, what do you mean their rifles as well?" you asked, your brows furrowing, "like, split this thing into pieces?"

"No, it looks like they were planning to project its power somehow, like…" Tony trailed off, struggling to explain.

"Like… Bluetooth?" you suggested.

"Yeah," tony snickered, "pretty much."

"Okay, but they didn't do that yet, right? We stopped them?" you looked around to the rest of your teammates before looking back at Tony.

"Seems like we did," Steve answered instead. "Bruce, any update on how they managed to get it?"

"Didn't hear anything back yet," the man in question shook his head, "I'll try again."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Bruce ended up getting an answer from Thor, telling him to come to Asgard, you immediately volunteered to go with him. It was partially because you've never actually been there, and you were very curious as to why Thor would ask Bruce to come.

But also, you could use a break from a certain Captain.

You tried to ask Bucky and Sam what his deal with you was, several times, but they just shrugged and gave you vague, unhelpful answers. You even considered trying to convince Wanda to just tell you what he thinks about you, but you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of bothering you so much that you'd stoop that low.

So lately, you've been just trying to avoid him, which usually worked just fine, since it's not like he was that adamant about being around you either. That is, until you said you'd go with Bruce.

"No way," he immediately objected.

"Why?" you asked, "Bruce might need some backup, and I'd like to visit Asgard. Win-win."

"We need you here, going over the papers."

"C'mon Cap, I think we both know I do better out there in the field than I do with all the blueprints. Tony's way better with that, he's the only one who does it anyway."

"So what, you're just gonna go on a field trip?" he sneered.

"No, I'm going to look out for my friend and teammate." It took everything in you to keep your voice level.

"That's nice. Cause it would be a shame if Banner had to watch your back while you went on vacation."

You scoffed. "Where did you even get that idea? I said I was gonna give Banner backup. That's the first thing I said, cause that's the most important thing. End of story."

"Fine." Steve shrugged.

"Fine?"

"Yeah, if Banner's willing to take you with him, go."

"Good," you nodded.

"Great."

Somewhat awkwardly, you shuffled out of the room to tell Bruce to count you in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Natasha was the one to send both you and Bruce off to Asgard, the rest being otherwise occupied.

"Be safe," she told the both of you, holding each of your shoulders with one of her hands, before stepping away.

"We will," Bruce promised and you nodded, and just in time the Bifrost came down, taking the both of you where you needed to get.

Thor was the one to greet you, taking you both in for a warm hug before his face became serious.

"I didn't call you all the way here for nothing," he said, "come with me to the palace."

As you were on your way, he explained. "When you told me you encountered the Tesseract in Midgard, I immediately checked in our vault. Sure enough, there's still a Tesseract there."

"A Tesseract? I thought there was just the one," you frowned.

"We did too," Thor replied, "which is why I wanted you both to come see it for yourselves. Maybe you'd be able to point out some differences."

Getting to the palace, you wasted no time going down to the vault. And there it was – the Tesseract.

"How…" you trailed off. It looked completely identical to the one you had found on earth, the same blue tinted glint lighting up its surroundings.

"That's what I was hoping you might have an answer for," Thor sighed, his brows furrowing. "You said the one you encountered was previously in the possession of a group called… Chimera?"

"Hydra," Bruce corrected him. "And yes, we found it in one of their bases."

"Is it possible that the one we found was a fake?" you asked, lifting your eyes from the Tesseract. "Or maybe this one is the fake? Is there a way to know?"

"The only way to know is to try and use them," Bruce sighed, "but trying to wield the power of an infinity stone can be dangerous and destructive to the one who tries. It's something we should try and avoid."

"Okay," you thought, "can't we try and take this one to earth? See if maybe Tony could run some tests on them both, find us a lead as to which one's the real one?"

"That sounds like a good idea," Bruce agreed, "or at least the best one we've got. Can we take it?"

"Of course. I trust you to guard it," he looked at Bruce fondly.

"Thank you," Bruce's eyes and smile are sincere as he shakes Thor's hand.

You pick up the Tesseract tentatively, putting it in your bag and looking back up at Bruce, whose handshake with Thor was still lingering. You hated to interrupt, but you two needed to go back to earth to fill your friends in if you wanted to solve this mystery.

"Shall we?" you asked, somewhat softly.

"Yeah," Bruce shook his head slightly, "Let's go."

You trailed behind Bruce and Thor as you made your way back to the Bifrost, thinking it over.

If the Tesseract you found on earth was the fake, then why would Hydra have a fake? And if the one that was currently in your bag was the fake, then why would they just leave the real one lying around while the Avengers stormed their base? And at any case, how did they manage to make such an accurate replica?

"Thank you, Thor," you said sincerely once you reached the end of the Bifrost. "We're going to figure this out."

"I know you will," he said, and touched your shoulder affectionately.

You said your goodbyes, and then, you and Bruce started to make the journey home, until suddenly you felt a force push you out of the Bifrost, and before you knew it you landed on dirt, rolling a few times, Bruce landing a few feet away from you.

Hurriedly getting up, you helped Bruce to his feet as well, before the two of you looked around to find yourself in the middle of what seemed to be a desert, but it was like nothing you've seen before.

The sand was orange, red, much darker than it was in deserts you've been to. You and Bruce landed in some sort of valley, surrounded by large dunes of the dark sand, creating a perfect circle around you.

"Have any idea where we are?" you asked, trying to keep your cool, "Or how we got here?"

"I-"

His words were cut off by the sound of a gun cocking behind you. Instinctively, you crouched down and spun around, sending your leg out, taking the man down with a kick to his ankles.

But it wasn't enough. Before you could fully get back up, you and Bruce were already surrounded by agents, and the fight quickly escalated into a hand-to-hand one, having to take on multiple agents at a time. At some point, Bruce hulked out, but even then, you were still fighting them all simultaneously.

You barely managed to take in the glint of a knife from the corner of your eye before the felt the sharp sting of it on your ribs, your hand automatically going to hold the wound. The man started running in the other direction, which was when you realized you weren't the objective of this attack.

Your bag was.

"Bruce!" you yelled, trying to get his attention, as you started trying to run after the agent.

But before Bruce could even notice you, a deep rumble sounded through the air, the prominent crackling of thunder. You turned around just in time to see Thor coming down from the sky, Mjolnir clad tightly in his fist, sending bolts of lightning at your enemies.

You turned back and tried to keep running, but you couldn't do it fast enough, the wound in your ribcage still bleeding, and soon, the agent disappeared from sight.

You were panting when the battle died down, a mere few minutes after Thor's arrival. You didn't turn around, even as you sensed Bruce and Thor approaching you from behind.

"I lost it," you said, still unable to meet their eyes.

"They took it," Bruce said gently. "Now, let me take a look at that wound."

Well, you thought, that's not how Steve's going to see it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You lost it?" Steve asked, his disbelief clear. His eyes were trained on you, a frown on his face.

"She got hurt trying to protect it, Steve," Bruce answered before you could. "We'll get it back."

Steve's eyes didn't waver from yours, even as Bruce spoke.

"I'm sorry," you said, your voice coming out smaller than you wanted to. You cleared your throat, continuing stronger, "I did everything I could."

"I told you, you shouldn't have gone out there," he sighed, frustrated.

"Really, Cap?" you asked, "is this the time for 'I told you so's? for a hundred-year-old that's really fucking childish," you said through your teeth.

"Watch it," he snapped, "next time, maybe if you listen to me you won't get hurt."

"If I'm that bad of a soldier, Captain," you spat out, "am I not dispensable to you? Why do you even care if I get hurt? I bet it would've been just the same to you if I died but you still had the Tesseract."

Your words rendered him speechless, and you turned to walk towards the med bay. Bruce offered you his arm, but the look you sent him made it very obvious you weren't interested in company.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The wound healed well. You and Steve were… civil, to say the best.

You'd admit your words that day you were back from Asgard were harsh. You'd even admit that to his face, if he'd change his attitude towards you. Which he didn't, so really, maybe he deserved to hear them.

Anyways, a few days after the Asgard thing, the wound was fine, and you had an idea.

"Hey," you asked Tony, who happened to be next to you at the moment, "what if we go ask Strange?"

"What?" he looked up from the robot he was currently tinkering with.

"What if we went to Strange to ask him about the Tesseract?" you repeated, "he'd probably know more than us about this stuff."

Tony wasted no time in calling a team meeting, in which you told the others your idea about reaching out to Strange.

"That's a really good idea," Steve said.

Taken aback, you opened your mouth to speak, but before you could, he continued, "I'm coming with you."

Yep, it was way too good to be true.

"Why?" you asked, frowning. "I thought Tony would come, since he's already had a run-in with him before."

"Yes, but I think we can agree he's not the most diplomatic person out there," Steve smirked.

"I'm right here," Tony remarked dryly.

Steve paid him no mind and continued, "And besides, he's pretty much the only one except Bruce that knows enough to figure out Hydra's blueprints, and we still need all hands on deck in that front. So, I'm coming with you," he finished in a tone that left no room for argument.

You considered objecting anyways, but knew whatever you'd say would sound childish and tactless, so you simply nodded at him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Since the Sanctum Dr. Strange usually resided in was in New York, there was no need for Steve and you to take the Quinjet, but you did take a car from Tony's collection, which Steve drove. The car ride was filled with quite the uncomfortable silence, but at least it was better than arguing, right?

Small victories.

When Steve parked the car about a block away from the Sanctum, you both got out swiftly, blending right in with your civilian clothes, and making your way to the doorstep.

There, Steve knocked on the door hesitantly. You both listened, but there was no answer. You held onto the handle and managed to open the unlocked door easily. You exchanged a look with Steve, both of you on high alert, and entered through the door, Steve closing it behind you.

You both silently stood in the threshold, contemplating your next move. Eventually, you took a tentative step forward, and just then a red object whipped right in front of your eyes, making you stumble backwards, right into Steve. You quickly turned around to apologize, but before you noticed it the red fabric was wrapped tightly around your arms, holding them tight against your torso. Steve was in a similar predicament, and since the cape wasn’t that long, you two were left tied face to face and extremely close to each other.

You tried to wiggle out of the fabric's hold, but it was almost like it tightened with your every move, adjusting itself accordingly. You struggled against it, trying to move even the slightest bit, but it wouldn't budge. You sighed, looking up at Steve.

Oh my god, he was way closer than you'd realized. His wide frame towering over you, you swallowed dryly before you whispered, "What now?"

Before he could answer, the sound of footsteps carried through the halls, and soon enough, Dr. Stephen Strange was descending down the stairs of the New York Sanctum to greet you.

"Hello," he said, his face indifferent, "I wasn't expecting you."

"Well, we weren't expected to get so… tied up, so that makes three of us," Steve remarked, prompting you to chuckle.

"Hello, Dr. Strange," you introduced yourself to him, "the Captain and I were wondering if you could help us with some… Tesseract trouble."

"Sounds awful," he smirked slightly. "Follow me," he started going up the stairs again and you exchanged a look with Steve. "Oh right," he gestured with his hand, and the red fabric detangled itself from the two of you, and turned out to be a cloak as it wrapped around Strange's shoulders. "I almost forgot," the man chuckled, "Now come on."

You and Steve exchanged another look as you rubbed your arm where the cloak dug into it a little, before following Strange up the stairs and into the library, where he offered you two chairs to sit in before sitting down in front of you. In the air. He was sitting down while floating.

Still less weird than the cloak, in your opinion.

"So," he started, "what, uh, Tesseract trouble are you having, exactly?"

Steve and you took turns explaining the situation to him, from finding a Tesseract in a Hydra base to losing the one that was previously in Asgard. Steve, to your relief and wonder, said nothing about it being your fault, but just said it wasn't in your possession anymore.

"So," you summed up, "we were wondering if you knew how anyone could manage to replicate the Tesseract this well, and how can we tell which one's the fake one. Without using them, of course."

"Well, those are great questions. I don't know of another way to determine if an infinity stone is indeed real besides taking the risk and trying to use it, so I can't help you with that. But as for the fake, I believe opening the Tesseracts will provide a good enough answer. You see, the Tesseract isn't that hard to fake. Might be a little expensive, sure, but some lights and plastic and you're set, and from what I understand Hydra isn't exactly struggling financially. But," he sighed, "you can’t fake an infinity stone. For most people, once you'll come in direct contact with it, you'll feel its power, and also its destructive properties."

"So the only way to know if an infinity stone is real is to risk touching it?" Steve asked.

"As far as I know of, yes," Strange nodded.

"Thank you," you said, "for your help. We sure get back to the compound, but we'll let you know if there are any big developments."

When Steve and you got back to the compound, everyone was already waiting for you, and you told them what Strange told you. Together, you all went to open the tesseract you had found in the Hydra base.

"Be careful not to touch what's inside," you warned, and Tony put of his Iron Man arm before breaking the side of the glowing cube, opening it to find…

A bunch of wires and lightbulbs. They didn't even try to make it look like an infinity stone.

"Well, the one in Asgard could've also been a fake," Natasha shrugged. "This doesn't really tell us anything. C'mon guys, we'll continue the search tomorrow," she touched your shoulder comfortingly before slipping away.

You were about to do the same when you saw Steve fidgeting with his sleeve, around where the cloak was wrapped around him. You walked up to him.

"You okay?" you asked, expecting him to brush you off.

"Yeah, I just think this cape held on a little too strong," he chuckled, removing his hand to reveal a stain on the fabric of his right suit sleeve, on you knew all too well was blood.

"Oh my god," you frowned. "C'mon, I'll help you clean it up," you gestured towards the med bay.

The walk there was brief and silent, and when you got there, you told Steve to sit down before ripping his sleeve enough to see the shallow wound.

"You don't have to do this," Steve said, as you looked for some gauze pad and wet it with water.

"I know," you said, "but since I'm the reason we needed to go there in the first place, I am doing this."

"You know it's not your fault, right? You couldn’t have known he'd have a magical cape that ties up people."

"That's not what I was talking about," you mumbled, before cleaning the wound gently.

Steve sighed. "I guess I do owe you an apology for the Asgard thing. I acted like a jerk. I'm sorry."

"No, you were right," you chuckled bitterly, "it's my fault we lost what might've been the real space stone to Hydra. You were just the only one willing to admit that."

"Well, I hope you know what you said about me then wasn't true. I care. You know, if you get hurt. And I wouldn't want anyone to die so I can have anything."

"I know," you said dryly, "you're too perfect for that."

You finished cleaning the wound and started bandaging it.

"That's not- god, I really do have a way with words, don't I? you probably hate me by now."

"I don't hate you, Steve," you looked up from his arm to his eyes, and he smiled at you. "Relax, it doesn't mean I like you all that much either," you smirked, prompting him to laugh.

"Yeah, that's fair, I guess. Thank you," he gestured to his now bandaged arm.

"Sure," you sent a small smile his way before walking away.

Maybe Steve Rogers wasn't that bad after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay, scratch that, Steve Rogers was the worst.

The conversation actually started out civil. Nice, even.

"Hey, Cap," you started, "do you know if Bruce found anything on the wiring in the fake Tesseract yet?"

"Nope," he turned to face you.

"Oh. Well, thanks," you smiled, "I'll just…" you gestured at the exit, but he stopped you.

"Wait. Actually, I wanted to talk to you. Can you…" he gestured at the empty chair in front of him, and you sat down.

"About the whole Tesseract thing," he started, "I think you should consider sitting this one out."

"What?" you frowned.

"I just…" he sighed, "I think it might be better if you sat this one out."

"Steve, I found the Tesseract in the first place," you said, getting angrier by the second, "I'm not backing down from this."

"You found the fake Tesseract," he corrected, "and lost what might have been the real one."

"I thought you said it wasn't on me."

"It's not, but still."

"I don't get it, a few days ago you were telling me it wasn't my fault and now you're benching me because of it?"

"I just… you're clearly very invested in this-"

"Which is why I deserve to stay on this mission," you cut him off, fighting to keep your voice level.

"Which is why I think you should sit it out," he ignored you, "because you don't need to get yourself hurt for this."

"I'm an Avenger just like you," you snapped, "you might get hurt as well. So might everyone else. I don't get why I'm any different."

"I told you, because you're too emotionally invested," he insisted, his tone rising.

"Oh, you're benching me cause I'm 'emotional'? really? That's your excuse?"

"That's not an excuse, I-"

"No, tell me, Steve, what's your problem with me? Just spit it out, clearly you have one. What have I done to you to make you hate me?" you were yelling now, exasperated at his flawed logic.

"I don't hate you."

"That's all you have to say?" you scoffed. "You know what? If you're letting whatever your problem is with me to get in the way of the mission, maybe you're the emotional one."

The charged atmosphere was interrupted by Natasha's frame showing up in the doorway.

"Hey guys," she started, before looking between the two of you. "Is this a bad time?" she waited a second before shrugging, "Doesn't matter. There are sightings of suspicious activity midtown, we think it can be Hydra. We gotta move, be down in five," she stated, before walking down the hallway, leaving Steve and you alone once more.

"I-" he started.

"Let's go," you said at the same time, before simply turning away to go and suit up. You had a battle to win, no matter what he thought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So," Tony started once you were all on the Quinjet, "Here's what we know – Hydra is probably in the possession of the real Tesseract, since we just got word of people seeing a big aircraft over midtown. My guess, they wanted to test the new weapons out before using them on a larger scale," he said, "which is why it would be the best thing to stop them now."

You split up into groups, Tony, Wanda and Sam going after the aircraft, Bucky and Steve go one way on the ground, you and Natasha the other. Thanking every god you knew you weren't paired up with Steve, you and Natasha ran and turned into a large square, starting to point people away from the steady stream of Hydra agents that was coming your way.

You and Natasha were both fighting off the agents together, most of the civilians already cleared from the area, when suddenly, they just… stopped, all in unison.

"Avengers," a voice with a heavy accent boomed through the air, presumably from the aircraft, magnified by speakers, "I know what you're here for," the voice chuckled. "Come and get it."

All at once, the Hydra agents in front of you pulled out something from their bags, or the pockets of their jackets, and it took you a second to realize what it is – exact replicas of the Tesseract. Dozens of them, maybe even hundreds.

You looked over at Natasha, who was just as exasperated as you were. "We gotta break these things," she said, and you nodded in understanding, charging at the men and women with renewed energy.

Because this was your chance to fix what you broke, to make things right. To show Steve you're better than your mistakes.

That was the mantra that was going in your head, as you smashed Tesseract after Tesseract, even as you found nothing but wires, you kept repeating it – fix what you broke.

Slowly but surely, you and Natasha tackled and defeated more and more agents, moving closer towards where they were coming from – the aircraft, that was lowering more and more, sending out more agents, in a wave that seemed never ending.

Expect when you got closer, you noticed that there was a staircase going down from it. A staircase that at the top of stood a small an in old fashioned army clothes, holding, how not, a small, glowing cube in his hand.

Your vision zeroed in on him. You had a target.

Barely stopping to disarm the other agents, you quickly made your way through the crowd of agents surrounding you, until you were right at the bottom of the staircase. You looked up to see the man still standing on top, smiling at the chaos unraveling at his feet.

You decided to take advantage of the fact he hasn't seen you yet, and climbed the staircase from the bottom side, hanging on to creases and bumps, to keep the advantage. When you got to the top, you tried to swing yourself over the rails. You would've fallen down if a hand wouldn't have reached out, catching your arm and throwing you back on the staircase, right side up.

"Ah, the new kid," the man snickered above you, "I've heard about you. Were you really the one they sent here?"

"No one sent me," you hissed as you got up. "Now hand over the stone and it'll be much more pleasant for you."

"So much spite," he laughed, "but alas, I don't think I will, sweetheart."

"Whatever you say," you delivered a poignant kick to his knee, "sweetheart."

You tried to punch him, but this time he was quicker, avoiding your blow and landing one of his own on your shoulder. You shrugged it off and continued to try and pry the stone from his hands. The struggle was drawing attention, and Natasha yelled at you to watch out just in time before a Hydra agent from down there shot at you, only missing narrowly.

You continued to fight the man, who was stronger than he let on, considering he was fending you off with only one hand, but you also had getting shot to worry about, which was in his favor.

At last, you managed to knock the Tesseract out of his hand, and it fell to the ground in a shattering sound. Out of the broken pieces, there were no wires to be seen, only a stone.

Bingo.

You heard Steve shout something at you from far down, but you weren't paying attention, instead diving for the stone, grasping it in your hand, along with some shards of glass that cut you, but you couldn't care less, because this was it.

Fix what you broke.

You concentrated with all your might of the stone, its power almost physically throbbing in your hand, along with the excruciating pain, but you didn't care.

Fix what you broke.

Your breathing became labored, the pain near insufferable when you finally did it – opened a portal. You didn't know where it led, but the important thing is, it wasn't here. You threw the stone away with all the power you had left in you, praying it would reach so far you'd never see it again.

Fix. What. You. Broke.

Just in time, the portal closed, and you sighed gratefully. The pain was starting to take over now, your mind dancing on the edge of consciousness when you heard voices coming towards you. You wanted to tell them you were fine, but you found yourself falling to the ground, registering the pain of the fall before everything went black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you woke up, your first thought was that the light's too bright. It felt almost like a hangover, but way worse, and

"I didn't even drink anything," you said, before breaking into a dry cough.

In a second, Steve was there by your side with a glass of water, holding it to your mouth. You took some small sips until you calmed down enough to remember that while no, you didn't drink anything, you did wield the power of an infinity stone, which means it's a miracle you're even alive.

So really, you should be thankful all you ended up with is an awful hangover. Of sorts. A magical hangover.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked, breaking you from your reverie, and making you meet his gaze with yours.

"As much as I can be," you replied, your gaze falling to the blanket that was laid on you. "how long was I out?"

"About 18 hours," he said solemnly, "we didn't… we weren't sure if you'd wake up," he admitted, his voice dropping below a whisper by the end.

"Can't get rid of me that easily," you joked. Despite everything Steve put you through, for some reason you couldn't stand to see him this devastated.

"No, don't-" he sighed, "no one wants to get rid of you. Least of all me. Hell, thinking I'd lost you and it was my fault… hurt more than I could imagine."

"It wouldn't have been your fault, if I, you know," you shrugged, "that was my choice. I had to fix what I broke."

"No, you didn't," he insisted, his eyes snapping up to meet yours once more, "because you didn't break anything. None of this was your fault, and yet you fixed it, alone. You risked wielding the power of an infinity stone to keep earth safe, alone. You shouldn't have been alone."

"It worked out just fine. Besides, what difference would it have made, one more injured person?"

"If I was quick enough… I don't believe the stone could've taken both of us down."

"Us?" you smirked, "I didn't know we were an 'us'. But it's fine, I can deal with that, I guess," you shrugged, and Steve chuckled. You couldn't tell if you were imagining it, but it looked like the slightest of blushes was sprinkled on his cheeks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As a part of getting you back to normal, you started training again, moderately at first. But as you regained your strength, your training was almost as intense as it was before. Or maybe, even more intense.

You see, before that, you weren't training with Steve.

Since you didn't really get off to a good start, you'd always train with the others – Nat, Wanda, Sam… other non-super-soldier humans with a very human self-discipline, meaning that you could take breaks and chat in between reps.

Alas, those days were far behind you. I mean, not that far, that's just kind of dramatic, but you get it; you trained with Steve way more often and it was a nightmare.

You didn't know what standards Steve held for his other friends, but if he's like that with everyone then maybe it was better off not being his friend.

"What was that?" Steve asked, his eyes not moving from the timer, which looked comically small in his large hands.

"I said," you repeated between labored breaths and fast push-ups, "if you're like this with all your friends maybe I was better off not being one."

"Who said you are?" he shot back with a smirk, "and… time!"

You collapsed on the training room mattress, letting out a deep breath. "how much was that?"

"98 pushups in one minute," he stated, "not bad."

"Okay, Mr. captain super soldier," you breathed. "You know, maybe I should go back to doing these with Sam. A human being with normal people achievements," you sighed, faux-dreamily.

"I thought you wanted to get better?" Steve chuckled, extending his hand out to help you off the mattress.

"I'll tell him you said that," you smirked and took his hand, letting him help you up. Your touch lingered for the briefest of moments before you let go of his hand.

"Be my guest," Steve shot back, before taking a couple of sparring staffs off the wall, handing you one. An unusual technique in battle, but you found that practicing them with Steve provided a decent challenge to you both, since you were better with it than he was.

With both of you getting into a fighting stance, you started the match by dashing forward, trying to land one on his shoulder, but he quickly spun to the side, accompanied by a move of his staff that, fortunately for you, was a bit poorly aimed, thus only hit you in the arm.

You continued this back and forth for the next few minutes, one graceful move answered by a steady block from the other side, almost like a delicate dance. After a while, you felt yourself getting a little tired, and knew if you didn't end it now, he'd win.

And well, you just can't give him that kind of satisfaction.

You quickly planted your staff on the ground, using the momentum to jump up and wrap your legs around his neck, using your weight to push him down onto the mattress. You'll have to thank Natasha for that move.

His staff fell from his hand as he hit the floor, and you used your advantage to pin his arms above his head, making sure to lean enough of your weight on his torso so he couldn't move. You were both panting from the exertion of the fight, and you could feel a bead of sweat traveling down your back.

He smirked up at you. "Did Nat teach you that one?"

"Maybe," you raised your eyebrow in amusement. "But I executed it to perfection."

"You sure?" he asked, and before you could answer he broke free from your grasp, flipping the both of you so your torso was pinned below him, catching your arms the same way you did to him moments ago.

Breathing heavily, your tongue darted out to wet your lips. "Well, maybe not perfection," you murmured, "but I'd say I did pretty well. You're in nice shape for a hundred-year-old," you slowly grinned up at him.

"Just nice?" he mock pouted, not moving from his position above you.

"Yeah," you smirked, "from what I've seen."

"Well, maybe you've seen nothing yet," he suggested with a quirk of his eyebrow, his head lowering even closer to yours.

"Maybe," you said softly, standing your ground. His eyes were boring into yours, you could hear the shallow sound of his breath, feel it even.

Closing the distance between you was almost more impulse than an actual aware decision. Your lips met his soft ones, his momentum pushing you back against the mattress, your head hitting it with a soft thud you paid no mind to. One of his hands left yours, coming to cup your cheek as his tongue hesitantly entered your mouth, continuing eagerly when you let out a hum of approval, one of your hand sneaking around his neck and tangling in the hair on the nape of his neck, pulling slightly.

When you finally parted, your breaths were once again labored, but for an entirely different reason now.

"Okay, maybe you are in good shape," you rasped, shrugging as well as you could.

He chuckled before his eyes met yours. "You don't hate me," he stated incredulously.

"I already told you I didn't. I take it back, maybe old age is getting to you," you giggled.

He groaned lightly, making your laughter grow stronger.

Okay, so Steve Rogers wasn't the worst. Final verdict.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i’d love to hear your thoughts!!<3

Taglist: @horny-nd-bored @shannon124 @perfectlyharolds @wintersoldierslut @iceebabies @sleepingpapermouse @steverogerswasalwaysworthy @holtzkinnon @angelicl-y @stydia-4-ever @thatoneperson5000 @fangirlfree @kaitcordx25 @bequeening @steve-barry-damon-logan @itscrazycherryblossomcollection @hollandxmarvel @stargazingfangirl18 @readsreblogsfics @onetwo3000 @beritmetal @harrystylesholland @jazbot2000 @anobscurename @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @peggycarter-steverogers @evansphnx12 @starlightcrystalline @procrastinatingsapphictrash

Chris & co. taglist: @patzammit

if you wanna join / be removed from a taglist, comment/message me! much love <3

#chris evans x reader #steve rogers x reader #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x you #Steve Rogers x Female Reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers angst

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farm-witches-fic-recs · 3 years ago

Photo

"JANUARY: zero stars, would not recommend." - unknown

For some, January represents restarts and new beginnings. For others, January is the month that will not end. If you're the latter, GOOD NEWS, this is the last Friday of this month, and new days are ahead. We hope these fics help you to welcome February with all the love and light you can stand.

Take a look at this week’s recs and be sure to leave the creators some love!

Curly-Haired Patrick Brewer ( @clakearts ) *ART* “Let this gorgeous drawing of everyone's favorite button man distract you from the fact that we didn't get curly Patrick in canon. In the words of Adele, "We could have had it aaaaalllllll."”

Home (@trueillusion82) “Brewers, bonfires, and Patrick showing David off to his family. Travel back to Patrick's hometown in this post-canon wedding fic.”

The Kindness of Strangers ( The_Same_But_Different ) “Who doesn't love thinking about how David & Patrick's paths might've crossed before that fateful day at Ray's? In this one, the boys have technically already met. Twice.”

I was just an only child of the universe (and then I found you) (foxtails/ @ratchet ) “Take us back to Sapphic September! 30 perfect Stevie/Ruth drabbles ranging from soft to sexy.”

Your Scent's the Only Thing I Crave (@schittposting) “You'll never look at cologne the same way after reading this bit of delicious pre-relationship sexual tension while Patrick and David set up the store.”

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PEANUT BUTTER POTIONS

We always bring it back around to our one true (nutty) love. Add chocolate and toffee and we could not be more excited.

Creek Crack

One witch tells us this tongue tantalizing recipe is delicious and deliciously easy, though they recommends you measure everything out ahead of time because that minute in the oven goes fast. After this tasty treat cools, stick it in the freezer for best results before serving, but have some napkins on hand. messy desserts are the best desserts anyway.

You’ll need:

1 cup brown sugar 1 cup salted butter 1 sleeve saltine crackers 3/4 cup peanut butter 1 1/2 –2 cups chocolate chips Sprinkles of choice

To make:

1) Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Cover a 9×13 baking dish with foil. Spray with nonstick cooking spray or grease with oil. Arrange the saltines in one layer in the pan, leaving a little bit of room between each cracker, and set aside.

2) Melt the butter and brown sugar in a small nonstick saucepan. Bring to a boil and let boil without stirring for three minutes. Pour the hot mixture over the crackers and bake for 5 minutes.

3) Drop the peanut butter onto the crackers and toffee mixture; bake for another 1 minute to melt. Spread the peanut butter. Sprinkle with chocolate chips; bake for another 1 minute to melt. Spread the chocolate evenly and top with sprinkles.

4) Freeze or chill for 1 hour or until set. Break into pieces for serving.

#farmwitchfaves #schitts creek fic #schitt's creek fanfic #sc fanfic #sc fic rec #david rose #david x patrick #patrick brewer #stevie budd #ruth clancy #ruthie

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smol-and-grumpy · 4 years ago

Text

What I Want Most - Six (FIN)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean’s life has been all work and no play lately. When Gabe, his friend, coerced him into tagging along to a club, he couldn’t say no as Gabe has been pestering him for a while now. What Dean didn’t expect was that he’d meet his match in that club in the form of a stunning woman with underlying daddy issues.

Warnings: Daddy kink, butt plug, public sex, office sex, FEELINGS

Word Count: 2837

Beta’d by: @deanwanddamons <3

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

The week went by so fast and the execs said that there would be another week of competition since they were both doing so well, making it hard for them to make up their minds.

Dean didn’t know right then if he should be happy or sad about it.

There were more pranks being pulled, more inappropriateness shared in their office.

One time he woke up with her sucking him off, making him come right into her throat and he rewarded her with letting her sit on his face. He absolutely loved to be smothered by her pussy. He also totally forgot about the time or what day it was so he turned up late to his meeting only because he wanted to give her more orgasm than the last time he let her mount his face.

He once fingered her right in a meeting, had her gush and come around his fingers and when everyone was making an exit, she had to stay back and clean her chair. Dean couldn’t stop laughing once she got back into the office, which earned him another round of the silent treatment for the rest of the work day.

The next day, she did the same to him, rubbed over his clothed dick so good that she made him cum right in his pants while Garth was babbling about fucking stock markets. Dean had to go home to fucking change his pants and since then, he took some more pants and underwear with him, stashed them in his desk drawer in case of emergencies like these.

Y/N had spent the weekend with him, though. So there’s that. And they didn’t just fuck and that’s progress. They went on walks, went out for dinner, did some shopping for naughty things and he really bought her a butt plug. She said that she wants to try it, but he shouldn’t push her. He didn’t. Instead, he let her take it home but he asked her if she could send him a picture when she uses it. She just laughed it off, even though he wasn’t even joking and was dead serious about it.

Spending time with her felt good. It was familiar, it was like he had known her for so long already and not just a little more than a week. And the sex, Jesus, the sex was incredible. But aside of that fucking mindblowing sex, he really enjoyed her company.

The working week after their weekend together started just like the previous one ended. With some office rivalry to warm up.

Monday, she brought him coffee and poured salt in it. Dean spat it out all over his screen and keyboard, and it was ten minutes after that he finished, she finally stopped giggling like a goddamn idiot.

They still tried to keep the other one from showing up for work on time, but it didn’t really end well, and on Wednesday, they were both late.

Somehow, Dean really hoped that it’ll be over and done with by the end of the week because he doesn’t think that he can keep this up any longer.

It’s now Thursday and he’s fucking exhausted by the tension, but it’s also now that he realizes something.

He came back from a lunch meeting to see her standing by the shelf, holding a binder in her hand and reading through it. He doesn’t know what it is but he’s mesmerized by the level of her concentration and she’s wearing her glasses and absolutely looks like a naughty librarian with her pencil skirt and high heels. Definitely looks delicious enough to be devoured.

And Dean can’t stop himself from standing behind her, pressing his body to her backside, feeling her soft and warm in front of him. His dick grows uncomfortably fast, swells up with lust and the rest of the blood goes to his heart as it starts to pump faster.

He dips his face down, nuzzles his nose along her neck. It’s like the first night they met. His hand skims along her body down to her thighs and she fucking lets him, like the good girl she is.

“Dean,” She says, “We shouldn’t,”

“Why?” He mumbles against her skin, “You look so good, baby, want you so bad,”

It’s the truth. He’s so hard he could pound nails and she hasn’t done anything yet. He’s whipped. Dean knows that too.

“Because I don’t think you can be quiet,” She pushes the binder back onto the shelf and turns around. Her hands play with his tie, wraps it around in her hand to pull him down for a kiss.

“Why?” He asks again, breathing hot air against her lips and she chuckles.

It wouldn’t be the first time they fuck in the office and he’s been holding himself up pretty good when they do it.

“Because of this,” Her hands leave his chest to skim down the side of her body. She turns back to face the shelf and lifts up her skirt past her round ass.

And then he sees it and it’s like someone had punched the air out of his lungs. Dean’s not able to breathe right. Jesus, even his cock starts to twitch violently at the sight. She bends forward and spreads her ass with her hands, granting him a better view and possible access.

“Fucking hell, baby,” He mumbles, still can’t believe what he’s seeing. There’s a black diamond looking out of her asshole. She has used the butt plug he bought her. Dean swallows, “How long have you been wearing it?”

Y/N shrugs, “Since this morning,”

“My fucking god, Y/N, fuck,”

“You like it?”

“Like it?” He asks and he runs over to the door, locks it just to be fucking safe. When Dean’s back behind her, he gets down on his knees, using his hands to help her keep her ass spread as he dives into her cunt, licking and sucking at it. She hasn’t worn any panties, and has stopped wearing them to work for a couple of days now because she said that there’s no point if she’s going to ruin them every day anyway.

He trails his tongue back over her rim to her ass, the tip of his tongue tickles around the plug and she moans as she presses her body closer against the shelf.

“I fucking love it. That’s fucking beautiful, baby,” Dean coos, and he pulls at the plug just a little, sees her asshole widening before he pushes it in only to repeat it again. God, he could just spend his day doing this because it also elicits the sweetest fucking moans out of her, “You did that for me, huh?”

“Only for you, daddy,” She says sweetly, almost too sweet. His heart aches as much as his cock.

Dean's hands leave her ass to open up his belt and feels relief when he pulls down his zipper and releases his throbbing dick. He spits into his palm, jerks himself off to the sight in front of him. He bites into that ass too, can’t stop himself from doing it and she lets out a squeal, accompanied by a chuckle.

“Baby girl, I wanna fuck you bad, and I know that we should probably move this to the bed but fuck, I need a taste,” He jerks himself faster, is already leaking profoundly, “Can I, please?”

He looks up to see her nodding and Dean stands back up, leans over to her to kiss her properly. His tongue goes in deep, swirls around her own tongue in her mouth.

“I’ll be gentle,” He promises and there’s another nod of approval, “Spread your cheeks for me, baby,”

Her hand goes back to her ass, grips at her flesh and spreads it out for him. He groans at the sight and tries to hold himself together, tries not to lose himself before he even gets to be inside.

Dean spits into his hand, slathers his cock with his own spit before he guides the tip to her pussy, letting the head catch the rim and pushes in just a little.

“Fuck,” He groans, “It’s already so fucking tight,”

His hand goes to her head, making her tilt it to the side and he leans forward as he pushes in further, watching the reaction on her face before he presses a kiss on her temple and along her cheek.

“So good, baby, such a good girl for me,” He whispers low and has to stall when he bottoms out, “You feel fucking amazing. You were tight before, but fuck!” He moves out of her slowly, moves in again, “How does it feel for you? Are you okay?”

“God,” Y/N breathes out, “Full, feels so full… but it feels good,”

Dean chuckles as he noses along her temple, “That’s good, want it to be good for you too,” He whispers as he moves in and out of her unbearably tight cunt in a slow pace.

“Daddy?”

“Huh? What’s wrong, baby?”

“Can you fuck me harder and faster?” She arches her back for emphasis, drives her ass against his dick, making him go in deeper than before.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean growls, “I don’t know if I can last long if I fuck you harder, baby,”

“Please? For me? You can fuck me again later, but I want it hard now, daddy,”

“Goddammit,” Dean grits his teeth and he pushes his body away from her, smacks her ass before he digs his fingers into her hips and begins to fuck her harder, “You know I can’t say no to you, right? You fucking know it and you always use it to your advantage,” He pants and keeps fucking her hard, “Gonna spread you out tonight, baby, spank you for thinking that you’ll always get your way,”

He can feel her pussy clenching at the mention of the spanking. She is definitely something else and Dean would be damned if he’d let her go.

“You love it when I’m bratty,”

“Damn right, I do,”

Yeah, he does. Very much.

He spanks down on her ass again, making her yelp up and then he feels it, the tight squeeze, the wetness that surrounds his cock. She just fucking came from his cock and the buttplug alone. It’s the best fucking thing.

With a groan, Dean comes too. It’s impossible to hold out longer, not when her pussy’s so fucking tight. He might try that ass tonight if she’ll let him. His hands are on her ass, kneading it as he comes down from his high.

Dean chuckles when he pulls out of her and Y/N lets out a soft whine. His dick comes out with a blotch of his cum. They will need to clean the floor. Again. It’s not the first time.

He quickly walks over to his desk and pulls out tissues from the drawer, walks back with them to clean her up and himself before he cleans the cum from the floor. Dean places a kiss on each of her ass cheeks and one square on that black diamond head of the butt plug before he pulls her skirt back over her ass where it belongs.

When he tucks himself back too, he grabs her by the waist and turns her around, kisses her soft and long, “I have to be somewhere but you’ve gotta wait for me before you go home, okay?”

“‘K,” She says and Dean leaves a kiss on her forehead before he makes his way out.

Dean’s been gone for a long time, and it’s already past 6.00 PM. She’s finished with her task for today and is sitting at her desk, trying to sort emails and go over the tasks for tomorrow just to occupy her time. He said she should wait, but he’s taking so long.

After he left she had already opened the windows to get the sex stink out. She has also gone to the bathroom and cleaned herself thoroughly down there and pulled out her panties from her drawer, and even wears a pad. She hates to soil her skirt with his cum when she’s not wearing underwear

It’s 6.34 PM when Dean comes back.

“Uh,” He says, with his hands in his pockets, and he looks somber. Clearly, something’s wrong, “They are expecting you in the boardroom.”

“What?” She frowns, “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Dean shrugs as he walks back behind his desk, “I wouldn’t keep them waiting,”

“Okay?” Her heart starts to race and she wants to ask Dean more, but apparently, she’s wanted now and it seems to be important so she gets up, and before she closes the door, she sends him a glance, Dean nods with only the smallest of a smirk on his face.

The offices are mostly empty at this time of the night. Occasionally people would stay longer, but the majority already went home. Her heels click against the stone floor and her heart almost jumps out of her chest the closer to the boardroom she gets.

Mrs. Mills and Mr. Turner are already waiting.

“Please, take a seat,” Mrs. Mills says and points to the chair.

She takes a seat and notices that the chair’s still warm. Dean must have been in here. She can still smell the traces of his cologne. What just happened? Did he rat her out? Will they tell her now that he got the job and not her?

“Miss Y/L/N, let’s cut to the chase because we all would like to go home now. The reason we asked you to come in here is that we would like to offer you the job.”

Her eyes widen.

“I- uh, really?”

“Yeah, congratulations,” Mr. Turner chimes in, “You’ve done remarkably well for someone who just started two weeks ago. You were determined, you did your research well and you always had good arguments to prove your point. We are sure that you’ll be a great addition to the partner team.”

“Wow,” She huffs out, “But what about Mr. Winchester?”

“He was actually the one who told us to choose you and brought good points to the table,” It was Mrs. Mills who spoke, “He’ll be keeping his job, but you’ll move into your new office on Monday. We’ll get the contract on your desk by tomorrow,”

Dean did what?

Why?

Oh my god. And then it dawns on her. She got the job! She really got the job!

“Okay, thank you so much,”

“It’s our pleasure,” Mrs. Mills stands up from her seat and she does too. The two of them shake her hand before they disappear and she waits until they are gone but she’s too giddy and barely can contain herself.

When both of them were out of earshot, she runs towards the office she shares with Dean, hopes so fucking much that he’s still here.

Y/N’s out of breath when she opens the door. Dean looks up from his screen, but he knows because he’s grinning. He rolls his chair back, beckons her over with a hand gesture.

And she goes in willingly, takes off her shoes and sits into his lap, curls herself against his body as he holds her.

She feels safe with his arms wrapped around her. And as independent and strong as she may be, she enjoys that he’s taking care of her. Absolutely loves how he cares beyond the incredible sex they have.

“Why?”

“What?” Dean asks. The bass of his voice rumbles in his chest.

“Why did you tell them to choose me? They would have chosen you.”

He chuckles, “I don’t think they would have. You’re clearly the better candidate. You’ve shown that you can do anything when you set your mind to it and even though you didn’t know the company, you still did better than me,”

“Why did you give up the promotion? You didn’t want it?” She nuzzles her face into the crook of his neck, smelling the scent she’s grown to love.

“Not really, to be honest. My brother is moving into the city soon. We are going to try and open our own business one day so it isn’t bad if I have some money on the side until our business takes off. So, you know, I wanted the job, at least a part of me wanted it,” He pauses to place a kiss on her forehead, “But then I realized that I shouldn’t risk what I want most for something I want now,”

Pulling her head back she looks at him, sees him smiling.

“What do you want most?” She asks with a beating heart because she thinks she knows. She would just love to hear him say it.

“You,” He says, pulls her close by the back of her neck. He kisses her soft and gentle, “I want you so much,”

She can’t say she doesn’t want him either, because she does. So fucking much.

FIN

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I appreciated every comments, likes and reblogs. You are incredible! <3

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

#what i want most #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #nathalie writes

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nomadicadventures · 4 years ago

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Haikyuu Boys make Macarons w their gn s/o pt2

kita, suna, osamu, atsumu

Pt1

Warnings: fluff, atsumu’s has a tiny bit of suggestive in it ig

A/N: macarons but make it ✨Inarizaki✨

Kita

He loves your baking and asks you to make something for the team holiday party coming up

You had been wanting to try out a few new recipes anyway so took advantage of the opportunity to test them out on the team

You ask him to help because you were gonna try to juggle 3 batches and recipes in 1 day (stressed just thinking abt it lmao)

The flavors are orange, peppermint, and chocolate idk why holidays ig

Like Akaashi man is prepared to help

I feel like Kita likes the structure of baking recipes

Follows your lead and does everything you ask of him perfectly

Cleans as you go so the kitchen doesn’t become a disaster

We love an organized man ‼️

Helps keep all the different timers and batters organized so nothing gets forgotten

Likes the quality time of just doing something domestic with you

When you get a bit overwhelmed he’s right there to calm you down and take over for a second 🥺

We know this man loves routine and repetition so his piping skills are IMMACULATE ✨

Little bit of cleaning during the wait time but mostly cuddles

You arrange an assembly line which is basically him pairing up all the cookies, you piping the fillings, then him going back and putting the halves together

He smiles when you put some aside to bring his grandma later

Achievement unlocked! 🔓: Kisses from Kita 😚

Obv helps you carry all the platters into the gym for the party

Very proud of your amazing skills and sings your praises to the team

Blushes a bit when u tell the team he is also amazing

The team pokes fun at him but he is unfazed by their antics

100/10 I love Kita he’s such a sweet captain

Suna

Lazy mf 🙄

As his s/o you are already aware he will be of no help at all

Makes a flavor request anyway

He wanted chocolate

You say yes cuz you love him but force him to go the store for ingredients w you

He pushes the cart and snaps the twins pics of you holding random shit

Almost runs you over like 12 times, most of them were accidental

When you get home he plants himself on a stool next to you so he can watch

Hands you things like measuring cups when asked

Pulls you onto his lap while you’re waiting for the stiff peaks to form

Keeps distracting you by asking for kisses

Gets bored for a bit so he facetimes the twins

Osamu asks questions about baking that you happily answer from off camera

Atsumu asks if he can come over and try them and Suna says no

Suna talks you into napping on the couch w him while the cookies dry for 2 hours

You make sure to set multiple timers so you don’t accidentally over dry the cookies

When the timer goes off you have to pry Suna’s arms off of you

“No, stay.”

“Rin, babe, I’ll be right back. I just gotta put the cookies in the oven”

He whines when u leave but doesn’t get up

You go back to the couch and he drags you down to him

You guys lay there and watch tiktoks on his phone while the cookies bake

Whines again when you leave to take the cookies out and make the filling

Eventually returns to his stool beside you and continues scrolling through his phone

You demonstrate how to gently assemble the macarons and then have him do it while you pipe all the filling

Claims he won’t share with the twins but you set aside some for them anyway

9/10 bitch is distracting but we love him anyway 🙄😘🥰

Osamu

Cooking is more his vibe but he’s down to spend a few hours baking w you

You ask him if he wants a specific flavor

“Are onigiri macarons a thing?”

“Google said no but macaron-shaped onigiris are a thing”

Catch Osamu making those for you later

anyway

Osamu decides on caramel macarons

Insert mini argument over how to pronounce caramel 🙄

You guys are professionals so homemade salted caramel with vanilla buttercream and caramel meringue

He gets to battle w the sugar and candy thermometer

You lay out all the ingredients and measure everything out before hand to keep it easy

Halfway through the process Atsumu walks in

“Ya know, I could help ya guys out if ya need. This looks pretty easy.”

“Shut up idiot ya can’t even make a PB&J without the fire department showin up”

Ofc they start arguing and you have to intervene before Osamu burns the caramel

Atsumu leaves on the condition that he gets a macaron when they’re done

Other than that small event the process is seamless

During the 2 hour dry time Osamu makes some onigiris for a easy dinner

Cuddles and onigiris w Osamu 🍙🥺🥰>>

His piping skills are pretty good if not better than yours

Mans got steady hands

You guys ended up making a lot of them so you saved enough for the team to each get one

Atsumu returns to claim his macaron and starts a fight w Osamu

You get a video and send it to Suna for his blackmail album

After that you just grab the platter of cookies and escape before the twins accidentally ruin them

50/10 quality time w ‘Samu 😌✨😘

Atsumu

When you tell him what you’re gonna be doing this weekend he jumps at the chance for some quality time w you

Really wants to help but also cannot be trusted w out supervision

Macarons require a lot of focus and multitasking so he helps but also stays out of your way

He’s totally down to just vibe and be in the same room as you

You ask about his latest game and just watch him light up

Gets really into the story and accidentally knocks the bag of powdered sugar off the counter

“And then they spiked it over but Suna got a one touch so it went really high so I ran to get under it and-- shit” 😐

His ninja reflexes catch it before it hits the ground but it still puffs right in his face

You laugh when he starts coughing out clouds of powdered sugar

Get this boy a glass of water before he dies plz

Once he stops coughing he laughs along with you and then gets back into his story

Listening to him talk abt volleyball is therapeutic prove me wrong 😌

He hugs you from behind while you stand at the mixer and just watches you work

Steals some kisses cuz he claims he’s deprived

“I love ya babe, ya know that?”

“I love you too ‘Tsumu” 🥺🥺

He gives you the biggest smile at that

You give him some of the batter to try out piping when he asks to help

Little messy at first but gets the hang of it pretty quick

Pretty setter hands 🙌 ✨

You make a little fox one for him and it’s super cute 🦊

Watches a movie w you while the cookies dry

Neither of you actually watch the movie 😉

Helps make the filling cuz its easy

He definitely turns the mixer on too fast and gets powdered sugar in his hair

Gives you an excuse to touch his hair tho so that's a win

Now that he’s a Piping Master he helps fill the cookies

Takes pics of the cookies and brags to Osamu abt you cuz he’s a little shit

Saves some for his friends cuz ur gifts have to be shared w the world

10/10 I love Atsumu’s vibe 🥰😉😌

A/N: I had fun writing this and I hope everyone enjoys it! If anyone wants a part 3 w any specific characters plz send a request my way!

Once again each of you is amazing and beautiful and should go drink water 😌✨✨

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vintagedolan · 4 years ago

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hiraeth: initial concept

*this is a concept train!! in short, that means you all send in asks and tell me what you wanna see! so feel free to send me in whatever you want to see happen (it would be awesome if you guys send them kinda in order of plot like not jumping way ahead or anything if you know what I mean hehe. anyways, hope you enjoy, and here is my askbox for concepts!! love yah!*

---------------------------------------------------------------

1: The Valley Isle

“What makes Hawaiian shaved ice Hawaiian? Isn’t it just ice and syrup?”

“Well, every morning we go out and collect water from the waterfall in our backyard, and then we freeze it into ice cubes shaped like the islands, and then we shave each one special into our various menu sizes.”

“Really?!”

“No. Your total is $5.47.”

Koa looked up from the syrup station, reaching over and smacking Kahua’s arm.

“Dude. Do you want to get fired?” She kept her voice low so it didn’t travel past the window.

He just laughed and grabbed the banana syrup, finishing off the mound of ice and sticking a spoon in the side before passing it out the window to the woman who’d asked the question.

“Yes. My master plan is to get in trouble, blame it on you, get it put on your permanent record so you lose all your future jobs and have to stay here with me forever.”

“You act like you aren’t going to also be in LA in literally three months.”

“And you act like you aren’t leaving me here on this rock, alone, for three months,” Kahua countered, turning to switch out the withering ice block from the machine.

Koa looked out over the rainbow of syrups, taking in the view.

Her and Kahua had been calling Maui a rock for years - since third grade, to be precise. She didn’t say it often, and especially not to any tourists who were coming to visit. To them, Maui was paradise. Tropical, perfect weather, perfect beaches. Koa could see it. She understood the allure. But when she thought of her paradise, it came in the shape of a bustling city, of opportunities and new faces and places.

LA.

Kahua called it the haole’s dream. The white girl’s dream. Didn’t matter how many times he complained about being on the same island his whole life, he never really wanted to leave it. The fact that Koa wanted to was seen as borderline criminal by half her ohana, but she pushed their comments and insults aside.

There were only two opinions that she really cared about anyways.

First was Nahele; her older brother. She didn’t have to ask him what he thought - he’d moved to Texas as soon as he could, started up a food truck in Austin, named it 808 GRINDZ and brought every hawaiian cooking method he knew along with him. He’d been making a life for himself ever since then, and he was ecstatic when Koa told him she was moving. The thought of having family on the mainland, even halfway across the country, was comforting enough.

But the most important one? That was Amosa.

Amosa, who called her when he knew she’d be walking to her car after she clocked out.

“Hi Dad.”

“Kaikamahine, my girl. How was your shift?”

“Busy, but it was fine. They gave me a card for a free small everyday that you can have, but you gotta get the sugar free syrup when you use it.”

“Yeah yeah,” he laughed. Even over the phone, Koa could hear the waves in the background, and she knew where he was before he said it. “Come to the dock.”

“Did you book another tour?” She couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice.

“Come to the dock,” he said, his quiet way of saying no. “I’ll see you soon. Aloha wau iā 'oe.”

“Love you too.”

The drive to the boat dock was short, and the parking lot was busy as ever. Koa passed the bigger boats, with their names in fancy script screen printed on the side. Their buoys and extra snorkel gear, the bars nestled in the middle of the deck, an extra incentive for the tourists to book with them. Everyone loves a mai tai after all.

The Honu Nai sat at her spot on the dock, the farthest to the left. She had three years on any other snorkel boat out there. Her bow was worn, paint sanded off by the salt and sun over time and travel through the waves. But the little drawing of the smiling turtle still shone through on the side, despite the fact that Koa had painted it almost 10 years ago.

Over the edge, Koa could see her father. He was cleaning, like usual, organizing all of the extra gear that he had on the boat. The kids section was scarce again, all the smaller sized wetsuits, snorkels and fins barely taking up a rack. Koa knew why - if there was ever a kid on his snorkel tour who couldn’t afford their own gear, he’d ‘lend’ it to them. Every kid deserves to see the underwater world, he would say. It changes you, shows you what life is really about.

Koa had been in the ocean since before she could walk. If she wasn’t where she was supposed to be, she was one of two places; either diving under a wave somewhere, or writing in her notebook. Or, one of her notebooks at least.

“No book today?” He asked when she jumped aboard.

“Already packed them up.”

Amosa couldn’t think about the suitcases in her room without the tears starting to form. He blinked them away and looked out to the sea of blue.

“Did you pack your snorkel gear?”

“Dad. You know I’m not going to see shit in the ocean in California,” she sighed, moving over to him and putting an arm around him.

“I know, I know. They have sea lions I’ve heard. Maybe they’ll be friendly.”

“I’ve heard they stink.” She laid her head on his shoulder gently, closing her eyes when he kissed her head.

“Well. We have 5 hours until you have to get to the airport, and I say that’s just enough time for one more run, hmmm?”

Koa didn’t want to. She couldn’t think of many things worse than having salt all over her skin for a 6 hour plane ride. But the excitement in his eyes was irresistible, so she simply nodded and offered him a smile, letting go so he could get them on their way out to the reef.

She sat on the bow as they headed out to sea, closed her eyes and soaked in the spray off the waves. Her dad laughed when they hit a particularly big one, cutting through the crest so much that it splashed up onto the deck. He used to do it on purpose when she was a little girl just to hear her giggle and have her running back to him.

They made it to their favorite place quickly, and Koa didn’t hesitate to put her mask on and get to work. She took the line and dove over the side, tying it to the anchor hook under the water before coming back up. Amosa dropped the ladder for her on the back, but she didn’t need it. She was watching the reef.

Moorish Idols. That’s what she wanted to see. They were second only to green sea turtles - honu in Hawaiian. But they were the most beautiful fish, with their delicate top fin that tapered off to a tail. She was always excited to find one and show the kids on tours. All she had to say was look for Gill from Finding Nemo and they were able to spot them. She floated for a while, watching the fish dart around, even spotting a small reef shark about 15 yards to the right before she decided to climb back in to see her dad.

He passed her a towel and smiled at her as she sat down. All he could do was look at her for a moment, taking her in. His baby girl, on the boat she’d practically grown up in for the last time in a while.

He put on his brave face, and forced his biggest smile. “You ready to go out there?”

Koa sighed.

“I don’t know how to tell.”

“You’ll do great. You’re capable, and it won’t be long until you’re writing your own books instead of writing for these… whatever boys.”

“Dolan. Their names are Ethan and Grayson Dolan.”

“Well, like I said. Soon it’ll be your stories out there instead of someone else’s, with your name instead of theirs.” He said it with such certainty that she couldn’t help but believe him. Maybe it was the salt water left over in her eyes, or the glare of the sun off the ocean, but she began to tear up.

“Thanks for always supporting me dad. It means the world. I’m sorry I have to go so far away, I wish I could stay.” It was true - she just needed the money from the Dolan’s to get herself started, and then she’d come back, help her father.

Amosa smiled.

“Kaikamahine, it’s just an ocean between us.” He reached out for her cheek. “And we know the ocean, don’t we.”

“She’s an old friend,” Koa said, her heart tight in her chest.

“Exactly. Now c’mon, let’s get you home and on your way.”

Across the ocean and 3 hour time change, Grayson Dolan was pacing.

“It’s gonna be fine.” Ethan said.

“Shut the fuck up Ethan,” Grayson said.

That was the extent of most of their conversations over the last three days. Actually, that’s how all of them had been since Ethan had signed a deal with their agent for a ghostwritten book about their lives.

“It’ll get more people connected to us, the right people-”

“Has it ever fucking occurred to you that I’m tired of that shit? That I’m tired of people prying into my fucking life? What if I don’t wanna connect with anyone else, what if I just wanna be left the fuck alone? But no, now we’re gonna have some fucking stranger asking us a million fucking questions and digging for information in my own fucking house where I just wanna exist.”

Ethan didn’t have an answer for that. He’d fucked up, and he knew it. But he also knew that he signed a contract, and there was no backing out of it now. Grayson rubbed his hand over his eyes.

“When does the writer get here?”

“She flies in tonight.”

“Fucking fantasic. Can’t wait.”

With that, Grayson walked back to his room, leaving his twin alone in the living room with his hands in his pockets.

#hiraeth #IM NERVOUS

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tsuna-sora · 4 years ago

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Hi, yes hello. Good day all my gender and none gender darlings <3 This is gonna be a long winded salt post about the current state of mlb and the fandom and if that’s not for you feel free to skip this post as you please dear. I want your comfort as a priority and you do you. And for people who disagree with me I’ll kindly ask you not to engage on this post please keep scrolling and don’t let me have any bearings on your day. I will not interact to dispute this post cause I’m kinda tired of stuff if that’s alright with you. Love you. OKAY. *breaths* As someone who when it comes to Miraculous Ladybug fanfiction only goes into the Adrienette tag and never got the urge to see other ships in fics ever since the start of this show till now, I can safely say that I am indeed an Adrienette shipper.... yah know EXCEPT FOR CURRENT CANON. Because, this may shock everyone who likes this ship, the relationship they have in fanfiction and canon is not the same thing anymore. This series canon writing has been atrocious since the start of S3 (if not the middle of S2 where I could notice things were in the start of going in a weird /later confirmed bad/ direction)

So this is just a thing I wanted to say, hey like could y'all kindly not deliberately go into tags of your notp’s and harass shippers in their own tags/blogs? Cause that’s like, not raaad my dude. \(uwu)/ And tag stuff accordingly if you disagree? Please and thank you for being an amazing human being? And be polite if you wanna debate them? And if your not sure the poster is open to it please first ask/check with them for consent for that debate? :3c

Also can we like not dismiss someone’s extremely valid points and logical points that they wrote/pointed out as flaws and/or good points and well written parts just because *le gasp* they ship Adrienette or Lukanette and/or Adrigami instead of what you ship or is endgame in canon! Blasphemy!

Okay now for the serious note, Marinette is always punished for shit she didn’t do to the point her embarrassment and distress in Truth made me cry and have an attack that later made me finally quit the show. (if you want to see that distress post it’s here) One of my bff’s who writes Adrienette fics on AO3 also hates the writing and destruction of characters in this entire show at this point and agrees that the writing for the characters has been shit, Marinette is both a great person and then suddenly a freak for plot reasons, Adrien is a saint except he literally is not and him not learning lessons is the worst representation and image for young boys ever, every single character has been distorted to fit plot instead of providing it, but they keep watching for lore for their fic and have been explaining to me what happened since then. So yes I know about Lies through them and osmosis of bloggers I follow. And some of them holy molly are Lukanette or Adrigami and even Marigami blogs because that doesn’t matter to me one fucking bit because they’re freakin’ darlings of people who tag stuff properly and aren’t rude to others or have ever been rude to me and the points they make are valid. Just as I also follow a lot of dedicated Adrienette only blogs and in fact what all of these have in common is that when I interact with them or ask stuff they all have been nothing but fluffy bunnies I wanna kidnap into my home.

Just as some other people have also pointed all these things out even tho they are also Adrienette shippers.

( Tipo EU, e outras pessoas muito giras que só shipam Adrienette )

Who have been silenced by the other majority. If you don’t agree with me that’s FINE. That’s why I put that first part of the post informing you that if you read this till this point I don’t want to debate out my experience of Miraculous if it doesn’t mirror yours. And you don’t see the same things I did. That’s okay my dude. :c

IT’S FINE I LOVE YOU ANYWAY AND I WANT YOU HAPPY.

MY POINT IS *deep breaths* someone being a Lukanette shipper saying that Truth is a bad episode and presenting reasons outside their ship for it is valid. An Adrigami shipper pointing out that Lies is badly written and posting logical points that have nothing to do with the ship is valid.

You know what’s not valid?

Dismissing someone’s argument cause you went into their blog and noticed they shipped a certain ship even tho their debate/post had no ships involved as points of argument to begin with and then decided to harass/dismiss them and their post directly at them.

Guys we need to be kinder to each other. We need to respect each other. We need to understand that some people only like the shipping in a show. Some people only like to discuss writing of shows. Some people like to salt, others not at all. Some post things as an outlet not wanting different interaction/debate, others do want people to discuss and debate. ALL OF THIS IS GREAT AND FINE. BUT WE NEED TO RESPECT AND BE KIND TO EACH OTHER.

I have not been a perfect example of this and I am a mature person who can admit this. So if I unintentionally did this to you? I’m sorry. I will hear the person speaking to me and check myself and correct my behavior for next time. And so can you because I believe you are a good person.

I had proof of this very recently where me and someone else had a misunderstanding within a post and we ended up talking and we cleared up stuff. Turns out that person did not want to make me feel bad at all. We just had a case of me being a none English speaker and not being able to make my entire point super cohesive and them getting a wrong idea and it snowballing from there.

Which is also something I wanna point out. Please don’t forget that some people aren’t native English speakers and may not be able to explain themselves fully to you or cohesive enough. Be patient and before you think they are debating something without pointing out this thing or x forgot to point out something in their post ask them about it politely if they have an opinion on it or if maybe they forgot to mention? Jesus where am I going with this post at this point. Okay what I want everyone to take away from this is that we shouldn’t be fighting each other. We shouldn’t be dismissing and harassing each other. You know what we should be doing? Beating up Thomas Austruc and his writing team with sticks and DEMANDING BETTER WRITING FOR THIS SHOW AND ALL OUR SHIPS BE THEY CANON OR NOT ALL OF US TOGETHER---- Okay pitch fork revolution idea aside I just wanted to stop people from using a ship as a means to hurt each other. We all liked or still like MLB and I want us to be above this stuff. I believe in us cause I’m a stupid shounen protag whose hopes die last when it comes to people. I love you all okay? I seriously do. I’ve had a lot of fun when it comes to the fandom of MLB. I love seeing people post cute art of my ship. I love seeing cute art of Lukanette, I love seeing cute art of Adrigami and Nino and Alya, and Nino or Adrien and JuleRose. I love the gifs, the salt, the cute content, the mostly lore debated stuff etc. I LOVE IT ALL. And I’m not giving up on us. And I bet 100% that you aren’t either you stupidly beautiful human being. *kisses your cheek with your consent* This has been again a very rare self post. And I bid you all goodnight.

#miraculous ladybug #Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir #ml salt #ml positivity #personal post #All ships are valid #I love you #I believe in this fandom #We will get there #Don't let others dictate how you feel about this show and that includes myself #I have no idea what to tag and it's very obvious #Can yall tell this was written very poorly thought out cause my brain is fried?

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fortheloveoffanfic · 5 years ago

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Put Me In a Movie

Keanu Reeves x Reader(A/n- I’ve been meaning to post this since last week, but I’m lazy.)

Summary Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Warnings- Angst

Chapter 13- Hold Me Without Hurting Me

The pack had started warming in his hands, and eventually, Keanu couldn't bring himself to do much more than toss it back to the table and listlessly drag himself back to his trailer, which neighbored Y/n’s. Standing outside, between both metal contraptions; his on the right and hers on the left, he contemplated knocking on Y/n’s instead. He didn’t like the way their earlier interaction had ended; with her in tears, storming out and essentially ending their relationship.

It was his fault, he’d pushed her.

Keanu had almost made the trek up the steps, almost knocked on the door, almost begged her to take him back. He’d almost done a lot of things, like let himself fall. But alas, for everything he’d almost done, there were a dozen more that he'd done wrong and in the end, he’d just slunk back into the cold cocoon of his own trailer, flopping onto the sofa, groaning as he threw his head back. It hurt though the insistent throbbing, the slight pull of his stitches and heaviness over his left eye felt like nothing compared the new hollowness in his chest.

Truthfully, Keanu hadn't meant for things to go the way they had, it was never his intention to have her leave for good. But it was so foreign to him; it had been a while since he'd been with a woman who'd looked at him the way Y/n had, who's touch alone was enough to remedy physical pain. Who could make his lips tremble but slow his anxious heart at the same time. She was different in other ways too; usually, the girls he dated were willing to go with whatever he wanted, anything just to keep him interested. Sometimes, though more times than he preferred to admit, Keanu would find himself realizing that a woman only adored him for what he was, rather than who he was. But Y/n…….Y/n actually cared. Y/n loved him.

Even if he’d given her a million reasons not to.

Love.

The word made an unwarranted panic rise up in Keanu’s chest. He wasn’t sure if he felt that way, when you feel it, you should know right? But Keanu didn’t know. All he knew was that he wanted her back, unashamedly and quite selfishly, even if he wasn’t sure what his feelings were. Maybe they could patch things up with an emotional band aid, just enough so he could have her, though without letting himself get too submerged. Keanu wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment anyway. He wasn’t the type.

At least, that was what he’d told himself. Convinced himself.

But he was lying to himself. Keanu was always lying to himself

Maybe he really should make things right, heedlessly hold on until he could sort himself out, until he could find a way to to shift things, so if they ever did walk away, he could leave unscathed. Control. That was what he wanted, control. Control over their feelings, over the way everyone saw them, over the way he saw himself.

Control, he would find it.

Production had been halted for the rest of the evening, and by extension, the two days following Keanu’s accident, hopefully giving him enough time to grasp his bearings. It was without warning, though Y/n understood the circumstances and was immensely grateful for the down time, hoping that she too could manage to pull herself together before they’d face each other again.

Nearly a day had passed, going on twenty four whole hours since she’d left Keanu sitting on a plastic chair in an air conditioned trailer that smelt like Hydrogen-Peroxide and disinfectant, tossing a beady ice pack to his chest, earning herself nothing more than a surprised ‘omph’ in the process. Since then, she’d fluttered through a range of emotions; anger at his reluctance, gnawing sorrow because he couldn’t return her love and finally, frustration when Keanu hadn’t made the slightest effort to swing by her room and pretend to be sorry.

All she wanted was to get him back, so she could put aside the doubt, at least for a while. Y/n didn’t like the feeling that came with his absence, and even if being with him felt like she was sinking slowly, drowning in a whirlpool resulting from her own devices, being without Keanu felt like she was being pulled under ice cold water, suddenly and without the strength to swim herself to recovery.

By then her bed had become a haven, one that still held his scent, even if the sheets had been changed. Perhaps it was just her imagination. Y/n had spent far too much time there since she’d returned to the hotel, only ever leaving for lengthy showers or to get food. Not much else seemed appealing anyway and the rest of the hotel would just remind her of everything that she’d poured into Keanu. She ruined things with a good man for him, almost dismantled her relationship with her father for him, sacrificed half her sanity, just for him. And still, it wasn’t enough. She wasn’t enough.

Maybe nothing would be enough for him.

Yet, Y/n still clutched hope close to her chest; Keanu would knock on her door, tell her he was sorry and ask her to take him back. She’d do it in a heartbeat too, even if she was almost sure that he’d be lying. Believing his lies; it had already become her norm anyway. There was a toxicity that came with loving him, and Y/n could readily recognize it; you shouldn't have to swallow up lies when affections ran as deep as hers, you shouldn’t cry yourself to sleep or have to convince yourself that they care either. But she’d done it, and in the name of hope, she’d keep doing it, until she couldn’t any longer.

A fretful huff left her chapped lips and shoving the sheets away, Y/n aimlessly hoped that running her hands through her tangled hair would do something to dismiss the thoughts of Keanu; as much as she loved him, she really did want to stop thinking of him. It wasn’t like she could do much about their break up anyway, she’d broken up with him and he hadn’t really done much to stop it.

As she sat up, Y/n surveyed the room, dimmed by the incoming evening, merely the silhouettes of furniture remaining visible in the hazy room. The air conditioner ran on high, offering a chill to combat the thick, comfortable layers she’d sought refuge in and the remote to the television mounted to the wall remained her only companion. Her phone was somewhere around too, probably hidden away beneath the room service menu on the nightstand, Y/n could hear it buzzing every once in a while, but couldn't summon up the will to pick it up. She’d get back to whoever it was, at some point.

For a solid minute, she just sat there, immersed in the sea of fabric, wondering if she’d be spending the night the same way she’d wasted the day; sulking in between wine induced naps. Though, three brisk knocks on the front door interrupted her muddy thoughts, causing Y/n to groan as she tumbled out of the bed. On her way to the door, she finished a glass of red that had been sitting beneath her unlit lamp and once again ran her fingers through her hair, that time to vanquish any traces of telling bed head.

With a strained sigh, Y/n took the knob in her hand, pulling the door open, ready to tell whoever it was that she was busy. But at the sight of the offender, the words didn’t come, stifled by the hope pluming in her chest, “You’re…... “ With glassy eyes and quivering lips, Y/n tried to seem as cool as possible, though she knew the over sized sweatshirt and loose booty shorts, along with the redness in her eyes and flush in her cheeks would be a dead give away.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed sadly when Keanu found that Y/n probably wasn’t going to say much more. His lips were set in a deep frown and the bandage protecting his sutures had been recently changed and switched out for a smaller one. Keanu's hair looked almost as frazzled as Y/n's and she wondered if he'd been nervous about going to see her. "I never meant to hurt you," he carried on softly, exhaling as he shoved his fists into the pockets of worn jeans, "I just-"

Despite her mind's protest, a nagging thought reminding Y/n that she was making it too easy, she held the door open a bit wider, the fondness in her heart growing at just the thought of Keanu wanting her back, "Why don't you come in?"

He seemed stunned at first, eyes widening with confusion and jaw going slack, but eventually gave in and Keanu knew that it would be a lie if he wasn't secretly hoping that things could be that easy, "Okay," he nodded wearily, "Thanks."

Now standing in the living room, the orange glow from the setting sun washing the room through the glass balcony doors, casting a burnt hue on the furniture and floors, Y/n thought that the atmosphere felt choked and a little clumsy. She couldn’t tell if Keanu was being genuine or not, but she did know that she was going to believe him, just so things could go back to being okay for a while. He stood about a foot away, shoulders hung and head down cast, directed to their feet, still though, she had to look up at him, not meeting his gaze, but desperately searching for some truth in his expression. “What I said yesterday,” Keanu swallowed thickly, shaking his head, “I didn’t mean it when I said that you were smothering me, I just wasn’t expecting you to care that much.”

“I’ve always cared that much,” Y/n turned her face away, not wanting Keanu to see her feelings, he’d already hurt them so much. Her fingers toyed with the cuffs of her grey sweatshirt as she awaited more, eventually trying to propel it with; “Is that what you came here to say?”

“Yeah,” he sighed heavily, removing a hand from his pocket to run it through his tousled hair, scrubbing his nails through his salt and pepper beard before letting it fall haplessly to his side again, “And to ask you for a second chance. I want us to work on this,” finally, he looked at her, and Y/n let their gazes meet. She searched his eyes, only finding turmoil and swirling confusion there. It was nothing like what she offered him; love, admiration and adoration.

Maybe she could find it there though, one day.

“I……” Don’t do it, he doesn’t care as much as you do. Don’t do it, he doesn’t care at all. Nothing’s gonna change, don’t do it! But Y/n didn’t listen, logic was a dry pill that was too hard to swallow she wasn’t willing to believe that Keanu would hurt her again, even though she knew it was the truth. They had so much to work out before they could even think about being together, they were hurt people, who in the end, would inevitably hurt people, but Y/n didn’t care. She never did. She wanted what they had when he made her laugh, when he touched her and sparked life in shadowy depths of her soul.

She was selfish enough to want him, despite their brokenness.

“I want that too,” Y/n eventually nodded, dragging herself towards Keanu, thoughtlessly letting herself sink into his sullen embrace. His arms, circling her waist, felt warm, though not in the way she’d expected to. Instead, it was like being enveloped in hot, empty air. It was just a gesture, nothing more than the act. That was in actuality, but in her head, she could feel what he poured into it, convinced herself that this was what he wanted, that things were going to work this time.

But unless they learned to grow up, stitch themselves back together, they wouldn’t.

But she could hope. Hope that one day, there would be more than emptiness. Hope that at some point he’d change his mind and fall in love with her.

Y/n could always hope

******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @paanchu786 @thesadvampire @fanficsrusz @fickensteinn @ladyreapermc @babygirltaina @septimaseverina @snatchedbylele @omg-imagine @21stcenturyyfoxx @magnificentclodpiebanana @allie1804-fan @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves

#keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #john wick x reader #keanu reeves fanfic #john wick fanfic #fanfic #ff #keanu reeves fanfiction #john wick #put me in a movie #lana del rey #series #chapter 13 #angst #fanfiction

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shibereshu · 5 years ago

Text

come over — Lee Seungjoon [J-US]

[Part 1] | next >>

this is a little something i started writing for myself because i am unloyal to Hyojin and can’t help it and i hoped if i wrote something Seungjoon would leave me alone but this ended up not being a ‘little something’ anymore and it was getting so long that i had to split it in 3 parts! also I needed someone to represent your and seungjoon’s roommates that are dating and i decided to use my friend Kee and Joochan because she is unloyal to jibeom and sungyoon and can’t help it. anyways i hope you enjoy this and hope you look forward for the next part !! <3

Almost right after lifting your hand to ring the doorbell, you brought it back down with a short sigh that didn’t quite manage to let out the slight restlessness you were feeling. There wasn’t really any other choice anyway, it was either that or sleeping on the other side of your dorm’s door. Without giving yourself more time to dwell on it, you quickly pressed the button to ring the doorbell and felt your heart pick up its pace as you heard the steps that could only belong to one person approaching.

Seungjoon opened the door, his confused face probably wondering who could be ringing his doorbell at this time of the night before his slightly widened eyes met yours. Of course you weren’t expecting him to just step aside and let you in with no words exchanged, but perhaps a part of you had considered he would just assume and acknowledge what the situation was or even speak up first to ask you if you needed something. But instead, you two just stood with your feet planted on the same spot in complete silence for quite a few seconds, each more awkward than the last until you finally decided to ask him to let you in.

—”So, Joochan is staying over at my dorm with Kee…” —You started -even though he probably already knew that information-, and he nodded before his mouth took a small ‘o’ shape, now quickly comprehending what the gist was. As if compensating not guessing it from the start (even while seeing you standing on your pyjamas with the backpack you took with you to class everyday hanging from your shoulders) and instead of just stepping aside for you, he grabbed your hand and pulled you in, closing the door behind him. Kee was your roommate, while Joochan was his.

You thought he would ask why you didn’t go to your any of your other friends’ dorm, so you decided to answer the question before it was even thrown. However, he quickly interrupted you understanding of your decision.

—”Yeah, and it’s also really late so you shouldn’t be walking around at this time!” —He said, kind of sounding like he was lecturing you about how dangerous it is for to walk alone at this time of the night, when the streets were way too empty for anyone to trust that they were actually alone. You agreed with him and nodded. You wanted to let out a sigh of relief seeing how easily he understood where you stood, but you just smiled thinking of the fact that actually, that’s how caring Seungjoon usually was.

And after all, even if you two weren’t the closest of friends, he was still your friend so what was so different staying with him compared to staying with any of the other people you got along well with?

As he offered you a soft smile and asked if you had eaten or needed something, you were overly conscious of the way your heart beat inside your chest, the force of it possibly being almost scary if it wasn’t for the fact that you knew exactly what the reason behind the acceleration was. Seungjoon was your friend, but he was also the reason for your shy smiles when the topic of love was brought up by anyone, the cause of the blush coloring your cheeks as you stared at yourself in a mirror and wondered if he’d think you looked cute in that outfit you particularly liked so much, and the person you had entrusted your heart to without him even knowing. But you weren’t going to tell him that if he hadn’t noticed it himself.

This wasn’t the first time you had been over to his dorm, basically because your roommates were (not officially yet) dating, you lived on the same dorm building, and had more friends in common that had gathered the group at Seungjoon’s dorm for quite a few evenings of watching great movies or movies that are so bad that they are great. Or on other occasions just to play videogames and for everyone to take advantage of the fact that he and Joochan had a pair of game consoles with a good variety of games that they probably didn’t even get to make the most out of because the life of a college student didn’t give enough leisure time.

But it was the first time you were there alone, just you and him, without the sounds of your friend’s laughter filling the room but instead a faint echo of a series that he seemed to have been watching in his room before you showed up and the pounding of your heart almost resonating in your head. You remembered him saying that he had already done his last final of the year so now he could fully enjoy his summer break, while you still had one more to go as well as you also had a very considerate roommate that suddenly pretty much asked you to find somewhere to sleep that night because she wanted to sleep with her soon-to-be-boyfriend.

Seungjoon seemed to be having similar thoughts to yours and started talking as he made his way to his bedroom, you following behind him somewhat shily although you guessed that since he was talking to you, it would be a little awkward to just stay near the entrance while he walked away. Still, you decided to stop at the door of his bedroom and not walk in, as if waiting for permission.

—”Did she suddenly tell you to get out?” —He asked, and you nodded. When you started living with Kee, you two had connected with each other almost instantly. It was an incredible feeling and you felt that the previous years of trying so hard to survive coexisting with roommates you didn’t like at all but couldn’t bare to even complain about had finally paid off and fate had compensated you with not just a good roommate but also the person who would soon become your best friend as you shared more and more time with each other. However, just because of how nice she was, the way she had announced that Joochan was going to come over to stay the night and had asked if you could maybe sleep over at someone else’s dorm (concretely, Seungjoon’s dorm was her suggestion, and as much as it had embarrassed you when she brought the possibility up, there you were) had come as a surprise to you and apparently Seungjoon too. But you weren’t going to complain; Kee was nice and clearly in love with Joochan so deep inside you were actually happy for her. —”That’s a little mean, but it was about time those two got together for real” —He said, and you couldn’t agree more.

—”I mean, they could have done me the favor of deciding to spend the night together a little bit earlier than past midnight, but well… Yeah.” —You almost whispered, but knew he heard you from the way he nodded at your words and let out a short breath from his nose as if trying not to laugh at the slight salt in your words. Straightening his back again and looking back at you, he finally let out a chuckle and gestured at you with his hand to come in.

—”You can come in!” —You took a few steps towards him.— “You can sleep here if you want and I can sleep in Joochan‘s room.” —You were hearing him more than actually listening to him as you curiously took a look at the decoration in his room that you hadn’t had a chance to see ever before. At your lack of reply, he leaned to the side a little to get into your field of view and smiled playfully at you.— “Do you like it?” —He asked with a bit of enthusiasm and you giggled before saying that you did, and then you quickly remembered what he had said before the question and that you had ignored a little bit without realising.

—”Oh, it’s okay! I can sleep on the couch!” —Your quick words almost mixed together, but still you managed to get them all out, and Seungjoon refused to give in to your suggestion.

—”No!” —He exclaimed before he jokingly added a —”You need to rest well these days to get energies for your last final and that couch isn’t gonna give you that.” —

You couldn’t hold in another short laugh at his words, both because of the dramatism of it and maybe slightly out of nervousness yet anticipation for your last final. After it, you would finally be free to enjoy your summer break just like he had been doing already before you came here and interrupted the peaceful night alone he was probably having.

—”Thank you.” —You said softly, and he smiled at you before whispered that there was no need for that.

You finally let your backpack slip from your your shoulders, down your arms, to your hands and once you grabbed it, to the floor beside Seungjoon’s desk and next to his own backpack.

Contrary to how the dreams in your head could have gone, nothing much happened after that. You two talked for a little bit while drinking a glass of water and then softly whispered a good night to the other as each of you closed the door of the bedroom you were going to sleep in. Once the door clicked shut, you leaned your back on it and took a deep breath. Of course nothing was going to happen, but why were you still so shaken over sleeping at not just your crush’s dorm but his room? You scolded yourself in your mind for the childish thoughts you couldn’t stop of maybe something romantic happening between the two of you, but then quickly proceeded to just as childishly blame Seungjoon for the feelings you had and the way his voice alone could show just how caring he was towards you and everyone, making it seemingly inevitable to fall for him.

You laid on his bed and tried not to laugh too loudly at your own thought of how even the bed sheets were as warm and soft as Seungjoon himself. Despite the initial nervousness, suddenly you felt really relaxed and cozy as the faint sweet scent of the vanilla and orange flower perfume he seemed to use regularly carefully kissed you good night as you drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

A week passed since that, so simply and casually that it both felt like it had never happened and it had been an illusion, or like you had done it so many times that the experience came and left naturally, with no need to stop to think about it much after it. And you weren’t really bothered by it, after all, it was nothing special and it was never supposed to be. Also, your time was probably way too occupied with worries for your final exam and trying to study as much as you could to prepare for it, as well as daydreaming about what you would do when it was finally over.

Finally the day had come and the exam was over. It was the last day of this year of college and the first day of your summer break that you had good feelings too thanks to the plans not only you but your other friends had made all together. When you walked out of the room where you had taken the exam, Kee was waiting for you, sitting on an empty table in the wide corridor scrolling on her phone and then texting someone while you took the steps towards her.

Once she noticed your presence, she looked up from the screen of her phone and smiled after seeing your smiling and now relaxed face.

—”I take it that it went well? Judging from your expression.” —She said, and you nodded before explaining a little what the exam had been like and how you thought you had done quite well. She listened to you patiently and let out a few laughs when you reenacted your feelings and reaction when you read the first question of the exam and had no idea what it was talking about, your hope shaking for a second before you kept reading the following questions and saw you did know everything at least somewhat decently except for that first question. Once you felt like you had finished letting out the bits of stress remaining in you, you told her you didn’t really want to talk more about exams at least until you got back your grades and she nodded, coincidentally changing the topic when you just exited the building and she wanted to ask you to wait there with her for someone.

—”Who are we waiting for?” —You asked curiously, looking around but not seeing anyone at first glance. Kee had a slight smirk on her face which made you giggle.— “Is it Joochan or what?” —Quickly her expression changed and she protested shily.

—”No it’s not!” —Even when the two had started dating, she seemed to still be moving on from the phase of not being able to admit her feelings too loudly in case anyone -or Joochan himself- heard. You decided not to tease her any further. —”It’s Seungjoon!” —

—”Oh, okay- Wait, Seungjoon?” —She nodded and you noticed her looking somewhere behind you before she started waving her hand and obviously it wasn’t at you. Trying to stop the sudden heat from rising to your cheeks, you turned around and saw Seungjoon walking towards the two of you, a smile on his face and waving back with one hand while the other carried a small bag with what you quickly recognised to be your favorite coffee shop’s logo and name.

Once he was closer he greeted the two of you brightly and then asked you how your exam had gone. You didn’t want to repeat the whole explanation that you had given Kee so you tried to keep it short and just let him know that it had gone well and you could finally feel relieved from all the studying and working on projects. He chuckled and jokingly welcomed you to the temporary “freedom” before finally lifting the bag you were starting to get more and more curious about. He took one drink out and looked at it for a second before handing it to Kee and then took another one out and gave it to you.

You looked at it and knew that it was your favorite milkshake. It wasn’t really a surprise that Seungjoon would have known that information since you used to get the same milkshake every single time you had been there with him and some other friends of yours, but you were a little too happy that he remembered it and had done this for you right after your last final. Something on the back of your mind considered the possibility that it could have actually been Kee telling him to order that specific drink and flavor for you, but you’d rather think it was his own idea. You thanked him for the drink and after grabbing the remaining drink inside the bag that was for himself, the three of you started walking. You weren’t sure of where to, but guessed that it would be back to your dorms.

While you were walking and talking, jumping from topic to topic, you looked at Kee and concretely at the half-empty drink in her hand, apparently a cold one judging from the small droplets of water on the outside of the plastic that usually came from the colder layer of water starting to warm up and liquify.

—”What flavor is it?” —You asked, and Kee licked her lips after taking another sip before answering.

—”I don’t know the name of the drink because I just told Seungjoon to order this week’s special.” —She took another sip before continuing.— “But it tastes like iced melon tea. Wanna try it?” —She offered, extending her hand that held the drink a little towards you and you nodded before taking a sip from it. You hummed after swallowing and smiled at her.

—”Oh, I like it!” —You said, and then you turned to Seungjoon. Contrary to how natural it had come to you to ask her that same thing (and more or less obviously with the intention of her letting you try it), you suddenly felt flustered at the idea of asking Seungjoon about his, but you knew you had to not only because you told yourself you shouldn’t be shy with your friend despite him being the person you liked as well, but also because you were afraid it’d look like you were leaving him out. It was a little ridiculous, but at least it convinced you to speak up.— “And yours?” —

Seungjoon smiled and looked at his drink before offering it for you to try. You looked up at him for a second expecting him to tell you what it was before trying, but he made a gesture with his head signalling towards the drink which told you he wanted you to actually try it before he’d tell you. You decided to do it and take a smaller sip from his drink. You raised your eyebrows slightly in surprise at the taste and you looked back at him again.

—”This is so good! What is it?” —Seungjoon’s smile seemed to widen a little before he revealed it.

—”It’s red berries iced tea!” —You smiled and looked at the drink one more time. If it had been Kee’s, you would have jokingly asked to exchange it with yours because of how much you had liked it.

—”Maybe I will have to order that the next time I go there.” —You said, and your roommate gasped with fake exaggeration.

—”You ordering something that’s not your favorite milkshake? I won’t believe it until I see it.” —

Both you and Seungjoon laughed, and you thought asking him if he wanted to try your milkshake in return if he had never tried it before. You would have done the same for Kee, but you had been to that coffee shop so many times with her that not only had she already tried it from you before but she had also ordered one for herself in more than one occasion. However, before you could even ask him, he surprised you by asking you first.

—”Can I try yours?” —You gave him a small smile and nodded. After taking a sip, he looked at you and his eyes seemed to have a sparkle in them, perhaps it was just the illumination from the rays of the sun, but that combined with his excited voice as he expressed how much he liked it made him look especially cute and you couldn’t help but let out a wholehearted laugh, his joy making you feel joyful too.

Not having stopped your steps the whole time, you turned your head to look at Kee as you walked and she gave you a slightly teasing smile. You wanted to reprimand her for her expression, feeling a slight of panic over Seungjoon picking up on it. But looking back at him, you saw he was just drinking while typing something on his phone, probably responding to someone’s text. After he stopped and put the phone back in one of his pants’ back pockets, he turned to you and your roommate.

—”Joochan asked if I’m coming back already to play some videogames, so you guys can join too if you want!” —

You glanced back at Kee again as if looking for her approval. You clearly had nothing better to do now that you were done with your finals, and since she didn’t have any plans either, she smiled and nodded, already sounding excited about the little plan.

—”Wah, you sure got excited about seeing Joochan again! Are we gonna be third wheeling in this?” —Seungjoon asked as he made eye contact with you, you chuckled and played along.

—”I will ask Joochan for his violin to play you two a nice song and Seungjoon can hold the candles while you two enjoy the date, I guess.” —The boy laughed at the thought and although Kee clearly wanted to laugh too, she kept protesting with red cheeks that only made you and Seungjoon laugh a little bit harder at her reactions.

When you got to his dorm after stopping at yours first to drop the few things you carried with you, your roommate and Seungjoon’s were already sitting on the couch talking and laughing, so immersed in their own conversation that they didn’t even hear you open the door they hadn’t fully closed because they knew you’d show up less than a minute after them. You said hi to Joochan and after he greeted you back, you looked around. Apparently what you were looking at, or more accurately, who you were looking for, was obvious enough for Joochan to interrupt what he was talking about again to give you the answer you were looking for with your wandering eyes.

—”Seungjoon is in the kitchen.” —A little embarrassed about getting your thoughts read by him despite not really having done your best to hide them, you tried to act like you didn’t the information at all, trying to sound especially uninterested as you replied with an “Okay”, but it met no reaction and no response either so in the end you decided to just leave the two there and walk towards the little kitchen, placed in the same place yours was in your own dorm.

The closer you got to it, the clearer the voice coming from inside sounded, even when he seemed to be almost humming more to himself than outloud. But you could hear it, his voice that softly muttered the lyrics of a song you couldn’t really put a name to as he placed a pair of bags of snacks they had laying around the kitchen on a small tray and four empty glasses. He turned around to grab something else and jumped a little when he saw you at the door, but he quickly started laughing at his own reaction. You laughed too but apologised shily.

—”I’m sorry for not saying anything! I… I heard you singing and you have a really nice voice so I didn’t want to interrupt.” —He seemed surprised at your compliment, which made you wonder if maybe it wasn’t something he didn’t hear a lot. Well, you didn’t even know he could sing or that he even liked it, so maybe it wasn’t something he did often enough to give people a chance to see it and compliment him on it.

—”Thank you...” —He responded, and for the first time you thought he looked kind of shy; voice low and gentle, lips slightly pursed to contain a bigger smile from being drawn on his face and the poor lightning in the kitchen saving him from letting you know if mayhaps there could be at least a faint red on cheeks to confirm it. Just seeing him like that seemed to make you relate to his feeling and you looked away, clearing your throat before asking if you could help him with anything.— “Oh, could you ask Joochan and Kee if they want something to drink?” —

You nodded and quickly walked back the steps you had just taken before and approached the new couple again. They were now talking about something else. Well, more laughing than actually talking, seeing how they seemed to be trying to stop their laughter and regain their breath. You giggled at the sight and then let out a sigh.

—”So, lovebirds, do you want something to drink?” —You asked, and they were still so affected by whatever joke had made them laugh that much that they didn’t even protest against the little nickname. You didn’t even ask anything else when they replied with just water and went back to the kitchen.

Seungjoon was on his phone, leaning on the counter, and this time you cleared your throat before walking into the kitchen. When he looked at you, you passed on the other two’s message adding that you would also like just water, so Seungjoon took a cold water bottle out of the fridge and asked if you could carry it back to the others while he carried the tray.

Your roommates had finally calmed down and once you were all together, Joochan got up from the couch to turn on the TV and connect one of the consoles to it, later giving a controller to each of you.

After the game was on and Joochan asked if you and your roommate had ever played that game before (to which Kee said no because she hadn’t played that many videogames before), he pressed start and he pressed the ‘no’ button when the game asked if you wanted instructions before starting. Kee gasped.

—”Hey! You skipped the instructions!�� —She said, trying to sound offended but with laughter almost interrupting her sentence, the rest of you laughed too as Joochan quickly joked that he ‘’didn’t do it in purpose’’ and Kee complained that he had done it on purpose so that he’d have more advantage.

You laughed as you looked at them and could hear Seungjoon’s chuckles too beside you. You looked at him from the corner of your eye as you wondered if the two of you could ever be like them.

#onf #lee seungjoon #j-us #onf scenarios #onf imagines #onf j-us #onf fluff #kim hyojin #lee changyoon #e-tion #shim jaeyoung #wyatt #mizuguchi yuto #onf u #laun #kim minseok #Admin Berry

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thevintagebluebird · 4 years ago

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Unpinned - Seared Fish with Creamed Kale and Leeks

Hello everyone - it’s been a minute. And Allan has been frequently playing NPR podcasts out loud. So hey! Welcome to the end of the longest winter ever to exist! We made it! I lost my energy to cook for a while there but I’m slowly getting back into it, usually sans instructions - I also subscribed to the NY Times and so now y’all are getting a newspaper recipe. We’re full adulting now. Buckle up.

Seared Fish with Creamed Kale and Leeks! Ah crap, I’ve just realize this is two NY Times recipes in a row. I promise the next one will be a handwritten recipe straight from my grandma. She just bought me a new safety mandolin and things are about to get LIT in my kitchen as a result. Safely. Anyway.

Verdict: Is the Pintrest photo complete bullshit? Yes. But to be fair, this was a complete struggle meal for me that I did not adequately prepare for and I used freakin’ frozen cod so like what did I expect.

Is it crazy expensive/time consuming/confusing? I classify the NY Times recipes as ‘intermediate’; I found this to have what felt like more steps than necessary, and took a while. It wasn’t too expensive except that kale and leeks are on my shopping list maybe once every five years, and non-frozen fish would’ve been well worth the money.

Does it taste good? YEAH. Way better than it had any right to taste. You’ll understand why later.

Seared Fish with Creamed Kale and Leeks

INGREDIENTS

4 (5- to 6-ounce) Arctic char or other mild fish fillets, such as salmon

Kosher salt and black pepper

1 ½ pounds curly kale

3 tablespoons unsalted butter

1 large leek (about 1/2 pound), trimmed, white and pale greens quartered lengthwise then thinly sliced

6 large fresh thyme sprigs

3 garlic cloves, minced

1 cup heavy cream

1 ½ teaspoons Dijon mustard

1 teaspoon chicken or vegetable stock concentrate, like Better Than Bouillion

Cooked white rice or pearl couscous, warmed, for serving

2 tablespoons olive oil

Prepare your fish: Pat the fish dry, then salt the skin side to help draw out moisture. Set on a plate and refrigerate, uncovered.

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil over high. Prepare your kale: Pull the leaves off the stems and tear leaves into bite-size pieces. Wash vigorously, drain, then set aside.

In a medium saucepan, melt the butter over medium. Add the leek, thyme and garlic, season with salt and pepper, and cook, stirring frequently, until soft, about 7 minutes.

Stir in the cream and bring to a boil over high. Continue to cook on high until thickened, about 5 minutes. Using a fine-mesh sieve set over a liquid measuring cup or small bowl, strain the sauce, pressing to extract as much liquid as possible. (You should have about 1/2 cup sauce.) Set aside the solids and return the sauce to the saucepan. Whisk in the mustard and stock concentrate, and season with salt and pepper. Cover and set aside.

Discard the thyme sprigs and stir the cooked leek mixture into cooked rice, if desired. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Once the sauce is done, blanch the kale in the boiling water until just wilted, about 2 minutes. Transfer to a colander to drain and rinse under cold water. Once cool enough to handle, squeeze out the excess liquid. Add to the strained cream, then season with salt and pepper. Cover, and warm over low, stirring occasionally.

Cook the fish: Heat the oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium-high. Pat the fish dry a second time, then season the skin with pepper, and the flesh with salt and pepper. Add to the hot oil, skin-side down, and cook until the skin is crispy and golden, about 3 to 4 minutes. Carefully flip the fish and cook until the outside starts to turn golden, but the thickest part of the fish is still slightly translucent, about 3 minutes.

Divide the rice (if using), creamed kale and fish among plates and serve immediately.

So here’s what you need! Sort of! You’ll notice I have store brand yellow mustard instead of dijon, coconut milk instead of cream, frozen cod instead of fresh char, no fresh thyme, and I forgot to photograph my (brown not white) rice. Like I said, this one was an unprepared-for struggle.

Our beloved, trusty, 15 year old CVS rice cooker. Hasn’t failed me yet.

My sous chef rushing to help get the dishes unloaded so I can have some space in our new kitchen! It has counters mounted facing each other with just enough room for a Rew and an Allan to get precisely in each other’s way.

Do the ‘ol cold water dethaw on your bland fish. You couldn’t even remember to thaw the fish properly. You probably don’t deserve to be attempting a NY Times recipe. What were you thinking.

Pretend you have any idea how to make kale edible. The stem seems hard so shred the leafy bits off? The smug smile is a lie.

This kale will be edible right?! Definitely not curly, definitely not as much as the recipe called for.

Leeks! I actually LOVE leeks, I just never interacted with them growing up and don’t really understand which parts you’re supposed to chop/cook/eat and which are meant to be tossed. It’s easy with a carrot - cut off the green and eat the orange. But leeks are just ombre gradients of green then suddenly white? We eat it all? Are some parts better than others? How much is TOO much leek? Special appearance in the background by fancy chocolates from Salem.

Pardon my blurry photos, it is way past time for a new phone. They look like veggie clipped toenails. Delicious.

Ok now it’s time to share my real shame: my coconut milk had spoiled. I did not have any cream. I did not have any real milk. I frantically googled different cream replacements, NONE of which I had the ingredients for. So I made this absolute abomination. It is (forgive me): vanilla greek low-fat yogurt whipped into plain almond milk with a little bit of melted butter stirred in. It smelled like frosting gone bad.

OH WELL IN IT GOES. Things got vaguely...creamy. <eyebrow waggle>

Then it tells you to squeeze all the cream out of your beautiful leeks. Easier said than done. This process was messy and resulted in WAY less liquid than I had hoped - if I’d used real cream I would’ve just...added more. Instead I had leek-flavored vanilla greek yogurt almond juice. DO definitely save the leek bits for your rice!

Pour your pathetic amount of leek yogurt juice back into the pan and desecrate it with flippin’ yellow mustard and boullion. Push down the despair. Make sure to do this while hangry at like 9pm.

“Blanche” your kale, aka give it a day at the sauna. Boiling water for just two minutes then squeeze the ever loving heck out of it. Everything you’re cooking for this recipe ends up with tiny portions WHY.

YUM! Go mix your leek leftovers into your rice. Next time maybe just make leek leftovers and rice and skip everything else? At least this time you started the rice first, good job!

Mix the mustard yogurt juice with your wet leaves. How did all those ingredients shrink so damn much? You are so hungry.

Cook your fish. Remember at the very end you were supposed to, y’know, SEASON it. Absolute amatur hour over here.

Your warm wet leaf goo! It actually smells very good. This is my smallest saucepan, if that gives you any sense of what a tiny portion this made. Thank goodness for leeky rice.

Aaaaaaaaand plated! I told you it didn’t look anything like the Pintrest photo. It was promptly inhaled and while I know hunger is the best seasoning, Allan also agreed it was tasty despite him not liking any of the individual ingredients!

Final final verdict: I don’t have a ton of fish/seafood recipes in my repertoire, so I’m keeping this one around for now but would tackle it again with more kale and double the sauce ingredients, as well as, y’know CREAM and FRESH FISH. But for what a Frankenstein’s monster I made of it, it was pretty good!

#pintrest #recipefail #unpinned kale nytimescooking

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homogrimoire · 5 years ago

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Fun, Family, and Fishing

Fair Game Week 2020: Day 3 - Family / Weapons

Read it on AO3 here.

After months of planning, they were finally going on their camping trip, and boy did it take planning. It was a hard time to find a time where five adults were all free for a vacation. Eventually, they all decided to embark on their trip during the summer when Tai was free from his teaching job, and when fishing was in season. Qrow, Clover, Summer, and Raven just decided to use their sick days to get the time off. At first, it was just going to be them and Ruby and Yang, but then they begged their parents to let their friends Weiss and Blake tag along. They gave in quickly. They knew they could handle two more kids, and quickly met with the other kid’s parents to get the okay from them. To all the kids’ delight, they agreed. But then, all four of them ganged up on the adults to convince them to let their other friends, Jaune, Nora, Pyrrha, and Ren, join in on the trip. The kids were around so much they practically were family, but eight kids seemed like too much, so at first, they said no. Then they saw the children’s puppy eyes. Then they fell for the puppy eyes and pleas. Then they went to get permission from all the kids’ guardians. And then they modified their plans to include eight kids instead of four kids, which had first only planned for two kids. It was hectic, to say the least, but it all worked out. They ended up renting two RVs and getting more supplies than they could carry. After a day of driving and trying to keep middle school kids entertained, they reached their reserved campsite nightfall, exhausted and tired. They decided to begin their activities the next day. Tai and Clover were the first to wake, used to an early schedule.

“Morning Tai.”

“Morning Clover.” They both began unloading the supplies for breakfast, though most of the cooking would be done by Tai. Clover wasn’t allowed to cook after the time he burned soup, which no one ever let him forget. The only thing he could cook well was fish.

“So, how was your night?”

“Pretty good, all things considered. Team JNPR fell asleep pretty quickly, and Qrow too. He is pretty good with kids after all.”

“Team JNPR?” Tai questioned.

“It’s what Qrow calls Jaune, Nora, Pyrrha, and Ren’s group.” Clover clarified. “He calls the girls Team RWBY.”

“Hmm, I’m gonna steal that from him. If anyone asks, I thought of it on my own.”

“My lips are sealed.” Clover said as he motioned his lips shut.

“Anyways, my night was terrible. Try falling asleep while teenage girls giggle until midnight, AND, while Raven snores. I don’t know how Summer even fell asleep in the first place.”

“Damn. Well, at least we’ll have tents to sleep in tonight while the kids sleep in the RV.”

“Yeah, but I can only imagine what that’s going to do to my back.”

“Oh Tai, you say that like we're old men. We’re only barely fourty.” Clover shook his head at the silly notion.

“I do crossword puzzles on my lunch breaks and you collect vintage fishing tackles.” He deadpanned, looking Clover straight into his eyes. Clover opened his mouth to refute the statement, but realized Tai was right.

“Okay. I see your point.” Clover conceded. There was also the fact that he was starting to gray on his sides. He liked how it looked though, and so did Qrow, whose hair was already colored salt and pepper. As Tai started breakfast, Clover took out the tent equipment. The next to awake were Ren, Nora, and Qrow.

“Good morning Uncle Clover and Mr. Xiao-Long.” Nora greeted cheerfully. She and the other kids had started calling Qrow Uncle Qrow in elementary school when they started hanging out with Ruby and Yang and their cool uncle. He didn’t particularly like it at first, but soon grew accustomed to it. And when he married Clover, it was only natural that they would call Clover Uncle Clover. Needless to say, Clover felt honored and readily accepted the title, especially since he was an only child and therefore couldn’t have nieces or nephews. Ren, still waking up, had also given a respectful “Good morning as well.”

“Morning, and please tell me someone made coffee.” Qrow asked, his drowsiness evident. The drowsiness certainly wasn’t going to stop him from giving his husband a good morning kiss on the cheek though.

“Lucky for you, Tai did. I’ll get you some.” Clover went and poured him a cup of pure black coffee.

“Thanks Cloves.” He said as he eyed the cup as if it held the secrets of life. Graciously, he took a sip. “Ahh, that's the stuff.” He smiled as he began to feel the drowsiness fade away.

“Uncle Clover! Can I have some?” Nora asked with bright eyed innocence.

“Uhh,” he responded at first. He didn’t really know if he should give her any, but got his answer from Ren who seemed wide awake now. Behind her, he mouthed “no” and fearfully shook his head. “No.”

“Aww, why not?” she asked, deflated.

“Because …” she stared at him as he tried to think of a reason.

“It’ll stunt your growth. You want to grow big and strong like your uncles, don’t you? Of course you do.” He quickly said before she could answer. “Here, have some juice.” He tossed her a box of some juice, which she caught.

“Thanks Uncle Qrow!”

“No problem kiddo.” She then moved over to Tai to see what he was cooking. Clover let out a sigh of relief.

“Thanks you two.”

“No need to thank us. We just don’t want Nora to run off in the wilderness and come back with a bear slung over her back.” Qrow told his husband as he took another sip.

“If you think she’s hyper now, you should have seen what happened in fifth grade when she drank an energy drink.” Ren, nursing a box of juice as well, said as he looked into the distance as if reliving a war memory.

“I’m pretty sure it left poor old Tai traumatized. But hey, he’s still an elementary school teacher, so it obviously wasn’t that bad.”

“I do not envy Tai’s work.” Clover replied as he sat down next to Qrow to take a break from unpacking. Next to wake up was Raven and Summer.

“Good morning. my wonderful wives.” Tai greeted them each with a kiss as he held a pan of cooking food.

“Too. Energetic.” Summer was obviously not a morning person “Need. Coffee.” She still had her eyes closed Raven guided her to a seat. She poured herself and her wife a cup.

“Morning Raven. You look great.” Qrow teased. She had a serious case of bedhead, which Qrow could not help but make fun of.

“I will throw you into the river, and I will laugh when your eyeliner gets ruined, little brother.” She glared at him as she took a long sip.

“Jokes on you, I didn't bring any.” He laughed at her, as she could only scowl at him. “Besides, I’d just have my knight in shining armor rescue me.” He gave Clover another kiss, which caused him to blush.

“Aww, look at that. Qrow and Clover sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.” teased Summer, who had turned back to her usual self thanks to the coffee. Now Qrow and Clover were both blushing.

“Ha! Look at them! Nice one!” Raven exclaimed as she high fived her wife. Before anymore could be said or done, Tai announced that breakfast was done, and asked them to wake the rest of the kids.

“This isn’t over, Summer.” Clover mocked as he motioned that he would be keeping his eyes on her, his cheeks still flushed.

“Oh, I know.” she said as she smiled, excited for the antics that would follow, and went to wake up Team RWBY. While Clover went to wake up Jaune and Pyrrah, Raven and Qrow only glared at each other, occasionally taking a sip of their coffee.

With all the kids now up, the real party would begin. After eating and mingling with one another, they changed into their outfits for the main event of the day: a fishing contest. Tai had decided that he would stay behind to watch the stuff. Ren, Nora, Ruby, and Weiss had decided to stay with him, since Nora and Weiss didn’t like getting wet, and Ren and Ruby didn't want to leave their best friend behind. When Tai told them they could help with the tents, Ruby screamed “Yay! Child labor!” which had caused all the adults to laugh, except for Tai, who looked sad and tired already.

The last ones to change into their fishing outfits were Qrow and Clover. Everyone expected him to look the most prepared because the man had been fishing most of his life, and he did look the most prepared. A fishing vest, with his signature pin tacked on, cargo shorts, and shoes with good grip were all immaculate, despite years of use, save for the shoes that were recently bought. He looked like he was about to enter a fishing contest, save for one particular part of his clothing: his hat. It was a gift from his fathers on his twentieth birthday, much like his prized fishing pole that he lovingly monikered after his favorite bird, “aside from Qrow” he would often clarify, the Kingfisher. Naturally he carried the fishing pole and wore the hat with pride. What made the hat so unaligned with his outfit was the fact that it said “Men want me Fish fear me” on it. Stepping out of the RV with Qrow, Clover saw Raven do a double take. Once she was able to make out the words on the hat, she began to die of laughter, which caused Summer to turn to look at what had made her wife laugh so hard. As a result, she began to laugh as well, calling her husband over in between laughs. Soon, he was dying of laughter as well. Qrow took in a deep breath and exhaled.

“You’re lucky I love you.”

“I know, and it’s all thanks to my good luck charm.” Clover sing-songed as he kissed Qrow on the cheek. He tried to hide a smile, but failed miserably. “Come on Qrow, let's go win our fishing contest.” Raven And Summer began to laugh even harder.

“You hear that Rav! They think- They think they’re gonna win!” They continued laughing.

“Laugh all you want now, we’ll see if you’ll be laughing later when you’re eating the fish we caught.” Clover taunted.

“I hope you like the taste of defeat, ladies.” Qrow said cooly, as if he and Clover already won.

“I’m sure they will. Now, let's get going. It’s already noon.” With that, Clover led the way to the river, Qrow by his side, the kids in tow playing around, and Summer and Raven behind the kids, recovering from their laughing fit. Soon, they arrived at a place where the deep river forked, one path remaining deep, the other turning shallow. As the kids played in the shallow area, the adults set up their fishing rods and chairs, one of them periodically going to the nearby shallow area to check in on the kids.

“All set!” exclaimed, the first to finish setting up. He stood back and admired his handiwork, everything neat and orderly. With that, he cast out his line, and waited. Next to finish setting up was Qrow, but only because he had Clover help him. Immediately after was Summer. While she wasn’t nowhere as talented in fishing as Clover, she was still a force to be reckoned with. Lastly was Raven, who was decent at fishing with a pole. And so, they waited, chatting about current events, their jobs, and the kids.

“So thats where Ruby learned about child labor, huh?” asked Qrow.

“Yup.” Confirmed Summer. “Speaking of Ruby, she recently asked when she’s going to have some cousins, and frankly, I wanna know too.” The two men began stumbling over each other’s words, explaining that they talked about it here and there, but never really seriously.

“Now’s as good a time as any.” Raven spoke. “You’re both about middle aged, have stable jobs with a good retirement plan, and you have us to help you out if you ever need it. After this trip, think about it maybe.”

“Wow Raven, that’s ... actually some good advice. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Clover. I dragged it out from the kindness I keep in my heart.” Raven joked, putting a hand over her heart.

“You have a heart? I wouldn’t have ever known.” said a smug Qrow.

“Fine then, fuck you. I just wanted to have another person to tell all the embarrassing stories I have about you.” She angrily, almost comically, cast a line back into the water.

“Hey, watch you’re fucking language, there’s kids nearby.” Clover reprimanded, pretending to be serious. They all just laughed. The loud children were too far away to be able to discern their words.

“Eh, but seriously, thanks Rae, we’ll think about it.”

“If it helps, just know that I would make a great auntie.”

“I’m sure you would, Summer.” Qrow replied, mostly focusing on the fishing rod.

“You know, there is one thing we talked about.” Clover teased, immediately grabbing the attention of the two women.

“Oh, yeah! Names. We were thinking either Basil, or Bluebird.”

“Those are nice.” Raven replied.

“They are. I get Bluebird,” Summer stated, “but how did you decide on Basil?”

“Like my namesake, it’s another plant that can bring good luck.” Clover clarified.

“Ahh, I see. Oh! Clover! Look!” Summer shouted. His pole had hooked onto something, and after a bit of fighting, Clover reeled in a decently sized fish.

“Think you could top this?” Clover asked Qrow specifically, with a wink and a smirk on his face as he put the fish in a bucket of water.

“I mean, I have before.” He replied, unphased. It took a moment for the women to catch on to what he said. Once they realized, they made sounds of disgust and made sure it was known.

“Ugh! Gods have mercy on me!” Summer screeched in desperation, covering her ears.

“I wouldn’t waste my breath if I were you. Trust me, I know. You know how many times they didn't show me any mercy in college.” Qrow shuddered at the memories of him accidentally walking in on Raven, Summer, and Tai. They resumed their normal conversations and soon slipped into comfortable silence, each of them catching a fish now and then, except for Qrow. By the time lunch rolled around and the kids had eaten and resumed their playing, Qrow had still caught nothing. Currently in the lead was Raven, though Clover had wondered why the fish weren’t as big as they usually were. He just chalked it up to luck.

“Fuck it.” Qrow said. He rolled up his pants and waded into the river. Clover watched in curiosity as his husband stood still with laser focus in knee deep water. Soon, his curiosity was replaced with awe as the man shot into the water and resurfaced with a fish that put him in the lead. Clover wouldn’t have said it out loud, but seeing Qrow glistening in the river with a big fish in his hands was kind of hot.

“Qrow where the hell did you learn that!? That was amazing!” After Qrow placed his catch in his bucket, he was met with a kiss on the lips.

“Looks like I better catch more fish if this is my reward, huh?” Qrow asked, knowing the answer to his question. Clover whispered his answer into Qrow’s ear. Apparently, he did not know the answer. His face got visibly redder, and he quickly went back into the river.

“Don’t think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it.” Summer repeated to herself.

“I think I know how to help with that.” Raven walked over to Summer, gave her a kiss, then walked into the water. Needless to say, it worked. Soon, after Clover and Summer caught another fish, too small to dethrone Qrow, Raven striked, and reemerged with two fish in hand, one big enough to take the lead. “We learned lots of things back when we were a part of that traveling tribe. Some of us learned better than others.” Suavely, she tossed the smaller fish back into the water and replaced the fish in her bucket with the bigger one as Summer cheered her on.

Sibling rivalry mode was in full swing among the pair. Mostly in silence, they continued their contest. Qrow managed to catch a bigger one, but was dethroned by Clover, which he didn't mind. Meanwhile, poor Summer remained in last place. She was starting to lose hope, until something that seemed particularly big got hooked onto her pole. By then, Raven and Summer had left the water and had packed up most of the stuff. She fought with it, slowly but surely making progress. However, as she was fighting the fish standing up, she slipped, sending her into the center of the river, where it was deepest. Summer had lost her rod, but had fortunately felt someone tug her back to the surface. As she broke the surface, she gasped for air.

“Oh Raven, my love, you saved me. That’s what a real knight in shining armor is like Qrow!” Her eyes still closed and cradled in a set of arms, she moved to give her savior a kiss, but felt something that something was off, and stopped. “Wait a minute…” she reached for the chest area and gave a light squeeze. They were thick, nowhere as plump as Raven’s, but thicker than Qrow’s. She knew that it could only mean one thing. She rubbed her eyes and opened them to face Clover.

“A real knight in shining armor huh?” he asked smugly. She gave a small scream and squirmed about, falling back into the water.

“None of you saw or heard any of that!” she yelled, pointing a finger at all of them. Her heart dropped when she saw Qrow on shore, holding his phone, the camera light on. “Oh gods no.”

“I did say it wasn’t over, remember? This’ll make for a great video to show everyone.”

“You monster!” she yelled as she pretended to try to drown the man, though that would be difficult, considering he practically grew up in water. Meanwhile, Clover was laughing and Qrow was laughing as he ran from Raven who was trying to steal his phone so she could protect her wife’s honor by deleting the video. However, their antics were interrupted.

“Mom! Uncle Qrow! Look what Blake caught!” Yang shouted from down the river. In the distance, they could make out what looked to be a large fish.

“Holy fuck...” Qrow stated in awe.

“Don’t tell me...” said Raven, also awestruck. “Hey!” she shouted at Clover and Summer. “Meet us down the river with the kids. You’ll want to see this!”

“Oh boy...” Clover knew that with this family, it was bound to be something interesting, to say the least. He and Summer swam over, seeing the figure Blake had dragged in becoming clearer and clearer. They could also see Raven checking Blake to make sure she was alright as Qrow untangled the line from the caught fish.

“No. Way. “They both said in unison. Once they reached shallow enough water, They ran to confirm that Blake was alright, and that she had indeed caught the fish that threw Summer into the water. Blake’s shyness was evident as her friends showered her with praise.

“Blake! Where did you learn to do that!? That was amazing!” asked Yang, proud of her best friend.

“That, its nothing.” she shied away, pushing her wet hair out of her face and turning her head to hide a blush. “I’ve been doing it with my mom since I was young. Really, it’s nothing spectacular.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short kid, that thing’s half your size. That’s nothing to sneeze at.” said Qrow. He had had low self esteem for a long time, and wasn’t about to let any of the kids put themselves down.

“That is very incredible Blake, but try not to do that again without letting us know. We just don’t want anything bad to happen.” clover explained.

“Yes, of course, I’ll be sure to let one of you know next time.” she stated.

“You do know what this means, right Blake?” asked Summer.

“Uhh, no?”

“It means you won our fishing contests silly! You caught the biggest fish! You Win!” Blake was confused at first when she was picked up by Raven and placed on her shoulder.

“That also means you get to lead the victory parade, little champion.”

“Ooh, mom, pick me up too!” Yang exclaimed. She wasn’t going to refuse. She had seen how close the little champion and her daughter were getting. It brought her comfort to know her daughter would be with such a strong person. Once the equipment and dinner packed and ready for transport, they marched back to their campsite, the children shouting Blake’s name as she was carried in front.

“Damn, what are the Belladonnas feeding her?” Clover wondered.

“Pure protein, by the looks of it.” Summer replied.

“Well, at least she’s alright.” Qrow said.

“Yeah.” agreed Summer and Clover.

The sun was beginning to set by the time they returned. By then, they were all beginning to feel tired and hungry once more. Tai and Clover made sure to make the fish mouth watering delicious. The served the first piece to Blake, whose mouth was watering at the sight. While the kids ate and Yang retold the story of how her bff caught the beat, the adults chatted some more. After dinner, they all roasted marshmallows and told scary stories. If anyone had asked Clover if he had yelped and grabbed onto his husband’s arm when an ominous howl coincided with the climax of Tai’s scary story, he would say it didn’t happen. Everyone else would beg to differ, especially Qrow. As it got later, the fire died and the kids who wanted to sleep outside retired to a tent, while the kids who wanted to sleep inside retired to the RVs. While there was room for the adults in the RV, they wanted to appreciate the cool air and beautiful night sky.

“Hey, Clover?”

“Yes, my Lucky Charm?”

“It’s been a nice day with you, and them.” Clover hummed in agreement.

“It has. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” They laid together in comfortable silence for a moment more, taking in the starry sky through their clear-topped tent.

“Beautiful view, isn’t it?” Qrow asked. Clover turned to face him. His deep crimson eyes shone a unique brilliance that was incomparable to anything else. Qrow had just looked so serene in the light of the moon and stars and the darkness of the night. Clover found himself enamored.

“Most beautiful sight in the world, if I must say.”

“Clover, I swear, if you’re─” he stopped mid sentence as he turned his head to see Clover staring right at him, obviously caught up in admiring his dark-haired husband. Qrow softly smiled back. Together, they silently admired each other.

“You know, I do think of you and your family as the best thing to ever happen to me. Never had a big family, and I’m pretty much all I have from my side of the family now. I guess I just appreciate you and your family a lot.”

“Our family, Lucky Charm.”

“Hmm?” Clover said, surprised.

“Our family. You’re as much a part of it as anyone else here, and we all love you just the same too.” Bewildered. Clover couldn’t think of a response. He was so used to the loneliness that he hadn’t really considered he could be a part of a family again. He moved closer to hug Qrow, who readily accepted him. He buried his head into the crook of his shoulders. And Clover wasn’t going to lie. He was crying a little. However, Qrow’s scent helped comfort him, as well as Qrow stroking his hair and the knowledge that he had a family.

“I love you Qrow.” Clover’s voice came out a tad strained, though it was almost undetectable.

“I love you too Clover.” With Qrow humming a song, Clover fell into a peaceful sleep. Soon after, Qrow fell asleep to the calm rise and fall of his husband’s chest. In this sleep, Clover had a dream, though he only remembered an image from it. Tai, Summer, and Raven were in it, as well as all the kids, albeit slightly older. Qrow was standing right beside him, their hands intertwined. In between them were two children who he could not discern. Yet, he felt happy, he felt like he was where he belonged, he felt love.

#fair game #fairgameweek2020 #qrow branwen #clover ebi #rwby

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