#Another fashion rumble

[algerian-lady]

The reason I went back to read the old chapters is bcz my two adhd brain cells decided it was completely normal and essential to go through all the chapters to analyze Genos wardrobe and his fashion evolution (at midnight instead of sleeping).

I thought it was only in the anime, but in the Manga too, we see Genos style was more simple at first then it gets more sophisticated. At first he's wearing simple tank tops/sleeveless shirts with jeans, pretty smart casual, then he's into fashionable sporty and street wear, which is a quick reminder of his age. This makes me wonder if 1, they had planned this from the start or 2, they just realized they could make this character stand out even more.

From one side, Genos never stopped wearing the first type of smart casual clothes, but from the other...

I feel like Genos was a strong asset of OPM from the start, he's the first character I saw on screen when Opm was broadcasted in a French channel called Game one (it's the best dub for me, mind you I don't always like French dub.) and I was automatically hooked, not that I'm into handsome cold blond characters or cyborgs, but idk his design was just it, I changed the channel at first (I had no idea it was a parody anime) but then I quickly came back for him, only to discover this is so much more than a cute blond cyborg anime, and more like a completely insane top tier shounen anime. Still, putting aside the fact that we all know how amazing Opm is, the first season was pretty slow paced and there weren't many characters to flaunt around, I mean ofc besides Saitama, Still back then when I showed Saitama around to my friends they'd laugh at my tastes and only consider Genos the decent looking character (I loved them both I didn't mind). What I mean to say is for a while, Genos was the runway model in opm before more characters were properly introduced.

So maybe just maybe, the producers were really like oh wow that's our trademark hottie, what if we upped the game with him? What then? And everything, from his cyborg parts, his hair and clothes were meticulously designed to look effortlessly more sublime every time.

Maybe I'm biased bcz I love characters who change clothes in shows which is tightly linked to me as a person ig, (they feel like my dressing dolls with all their accessories and variable wardrobe options) I love that Genos's body (?) isn't just a super powerful weapon but it's also breathtakingly gorgeous, I like thinking that Dr. Kuseno wanted to give that to Genos at least, again reminds me of his young age, he probably thinks 'young ppl like looking cool and mysterious, right?.'

I can't realistically tell tho, I haven't consulted One webcomic and I don't know how the planning of the Manga goes, either way it's just fun to think of how fashion works in Manga and any type of media.

[fushiguho]

❦ nanami kento stumbles upon you outside of the office for very the first time and he can't believe it, nor can he ignore the opportunity at hand.

content warnings pining, nanami is lowkey possesive with a filty mouth

based on this ask.

“hey, you.”

the familiar rumble of a voice is pulling your dull gaze away from the glass that you lazily nurse in your hand. ah, nanami kento from accounting. the blonde cracks a beautifully unfeigned grin, looking as handsome as ever.

“didn’t think this was your kind of scene.”

you feign a little smile, exhaling a breath somewhere between fleeting relief and utter embarrassment. nobody was meant to find you here—other than your date who strung you high, desperate and abandoned. it’s one thing to be to be ditched, but another to be ditched in a bar you wouldn’t otherwise be caught dead in, but alas.

“hey, yourself,” you murmur as you take an indulgent swig of your long island. “wasn’t really my idea.”

nanami is aware that this shouldn’t concern him, really, but he can’t fight the terrible sense that it must be him who makes it up to you. he hums, nodding once. while rocking back onto the heels of his feet, he stuffs his balled fists into the pockets of his tan slacks. the clock nearly strikes midnight and the man is still clad in his cerulean button down shirt; his speckled, yellow tie hangs uncharacteristically loose from his neck.

“i see,” he motions toward the empty chair beside you. “may i?”

you push the wooden stool toward him with an idle foot and he takes a quiet seat beside you, ordering a drink of his own. friendly words are exchanged between the blonde and the bartender. he must be a regular you think, watching curiously as he laughs with the handsome, raven-haired barman.

keenly, you leer around the bustling bar. a jukebox thrums and tipsy souls dance and sway. the dimly lit atmosphere is uncomfortably muggy and smells of alcohol and date night perfume. it’s overwhelming in a sense, and ironically, it doesn’t truly seem like his scene either, so why is he here?

“is this like… your spot?”

he shrugs noncommittally, a soft smile crinkling his eyes.

“sometimes i find myself here,” peering around as well, he takes a liberal sip of the amber liquor that sloshes in his old fashioned glass. “a good friend of mine works here. he made our drinks,” he nods to the handsome barman he had been chatting with earlier. “otherwise, i don’t think i would be here.”

“oh, of course,” your face grows considerably warm and you laugh softly but you don’t know why. he didn’t say anything that was particularly witty or humorous. are you flirting? nervous? “yeah, me either.” you finally mumble, consciously casting your gaze away to take another sip from your condensing glass.

some sick part of nanami is almost grateful that it was him who found you instead. he thinks you look beautiful, all dolled up for some loser. really, it’s a shame, but stumbling upon you tonight is nothing short of a blessing. there is static in the office that neither of you can dissent from, its gravitational pull indisputable.

you feel the heat of his lingering gaze during quarterly meetings. the trail of his dilated eyes watching as you saunter around like an angel in flesh. too often have you met his stare over the screens of your desktop computers; perilous, amber eyes peering over the golden rims of his glasses. those same eyes are reading through you right now and they can see your dismay.

it has to be him. nanami has to make this right—make you his.

“it’s a shame. you look beautiful tonight.” he admits, watching as you blush and turn away.

“god, don’t do that.” you groan, dropping your head into your open palms as you ward off the embarrassment that brews all over again.

the blonde laughs—rich and a bit puzzled.

“i mean it, he’s a loser.”

you shrug, not disagreeing.

a silent beat passes and then another.

“come home with me,” he then blurts, those golden eyes so soft and hankering. “please?”

all you can think is yes. your brain and heart scream in unison, pleading for you to nod your head and spend the night with your colleague—something that flaunts the reputation of being so foolish, yet somehow, all that you can ponder is the idea of leaving this stupid fucking bar with a man who actually gives a damn.

a sweet smile graces your lips and his heart throbs.

you nod. “okay.”

not even an hour later, you’re sluttily bouncing up and down the entirety of his cock on the expensively plush rug of his luxurious living room, failed date long forgotten. big, greedy hands encage your waist, guiding your crazed movements. his warm thumbs caress the even warmer skin of your stomach, committing your softness to memory.

“hic—he’s a f-fucking loser,” nanami hiccups, indulgently rolling his hips to meet yours in deep, deliberate thrusts. “yeaaah, he’s a fucking loser, huh?” he expels an unstable breath, nostrils flaring. “doesn’t matter, you’re all mine… mine, mine, mine.” the timber of his voice pitches progressively lower, trailing into something of a growl. “say it.”

“i’m yours.” you gasp, collapsing onto his chest from the force of his bucking hips.

he draws you closer, soft lips ghosting. “what’s mine?”

“my pussy, fuck.”

“what else?”

“my mouth, m-my tits, my body—everything!”

nanami groans, dragging you unbearably closer, slotting his lips against yours in a deep, filthy kiss. he’s gone, completely unabashed as he sloppily sucks on your tongue, glittery webs of saliva tethering you as one beautiful mess. he whimpers into the honeyed depths of your mouth as that pretty pussy swallows his cock the way it was always meant to.

your head spins when he’s drunkenly flipping you over, pressing you into the carpet with nothing but unfiltered lust. longing. firm, assertive hands are splaying beneath the underside of your quivering thighs, brazenly prying you apart as if you’re the last meal he’ll ever have. god, and the warm, pleasureful stretch that follows threatens to split you in two; it has you reeling.

“he wouldn’t fuck you like this,” he rasps, honed hips drawing back slowly, methodically. “don’t even know the fucking guy ‘n i could tell you he wouldn’t hah– fuck you like this, would he?”

you shake your head pathetically and nanami coos, whispering all of the horrible things he’s been waiting to do to you. he reaches an eager hand between your searing bodies, feverish fingers latching against your swollen clit and rubbing. you let off the prettiest cry, back arching into his touch like a whore.

“fuh— fuck me h-harder,” you’re so fucking pretty, brows furrowed as you pout for him, begging. nonsense tumbles from your pretty, parted lips and it makes his cock throb. “please… please. you feel soooo fucking good.”

obliging, nanami adds a little more of his body mass, fucking you with intention. the thick, pumping veins adorning the hooked length of his shaft twitch against the walls of your cunt and fuck, he feels it. he can feel the way you tighten up around him, sucking him in deeper and deeper and deeper. can feel how your clit pulses beneath the pad of his thumb, wordlessly begging for more. can even feel the way you’re about to make so much of a mess that it drips all the way down to the fat of his swollen balls.

“suuuch a p-pretty girl, fuck,” he babbles, messy brows knitting in his ever growing pleasure. woozily, his head is slumping to one side, something irrepressible overcoming him. “knew this perfect cunt would take allll that fucking cock… every fucking inch, huh?”

all you can manage is a slack jaw, a breath of incredulity leaving your lungs as you squeeze down the length of his cock. arousal pools in the lower half of your belly, creeping up the depraved arch of your spine in something heinous. nothing that leaves you makes sense anymore, only inaudible cries of how close you are and how good his cock is making you feel.

“i wanna cummm,” it’s whimpered between little your gasps of air as you tighten around him once more, swallowing all of his languid thrusts like your life depends on it. “please make me cum… wanna cum on your c—cock, goddd.”

a high-pitched wince falls from his mouth as he fucks you deeper, warm thumb dragging over your clit so tenderly that it makes you buck. you will be the death of him, he’s sure of it—if it’s not the way you’re crying out his name like he’s the only prayer you know, it’s the way you’re creaming down the entire length of his fat, glistening cock like you own it.

“yeeeah, cum on it… m-make a mess all over it—all over my cock,” deliriously, his lips are finding yours again, consuming the beautiful cries that tear from your sore throat. “soooprettysofuckingprettyfuuuck.”

like a gentleman, he’s fucking you throughout your entire orgasm, nursing you through it all before reluctantly sliding out with a groan. your hand finds fist as he desperately pumps his aching shaft. the sensation of your much smaller fingers attempting to match his pace is what has him emptying the contents of his sticky balls all over your cunt, your beautiful name on the tip of his tongue.

warm, syrupy ribbons of cum dribble between your swollen lips, your pulsing hole greedily sucking in his arousal as it creeps lower and lower. nanami watches drunkenly as you heave, plush thighs trembling in your overstimulation. he huffs an audible breath, wordlessly admiring you in this new, salacious light.

“you really do look beautiful tonight,” nanami smiles, fingers brushing your chin. “i mean that.”

n/a i absolutely got carried away

[screampied]

gojo fucking you in your sundress bc he likes easy access and can’t control himself when he sees you. thanks for listening!

gojo fucking you in a sundress ★

cw. fem! reader, dirty talk, praise, unprotected, whiney gojo, premature ejaculation, breeding, mdni.

“uh huh,” gojo hums, listening to you ramble about your day. he slings a beefy arm around you, holding you close before planting a kiss on your forehead. you looked so pretty today—you always looked pretty, but today was a bit different. you were wearing a new sundress he bought you. with that fact alone, gojo sucks his teeth, relishing on how good you looked. it fit you perfectly, showing off every part of your sonsie curves. his eyes roam and dawdle everywhere, slowly peering down at every inch of your body before he clings onto your hips. groaning, he cuts you off. “baby, did i tell you how gorgeous you look today?”

“yeah, like five times—” you giggle, gasping once you feel him rub against you. pressed up against the kitchen counter, you feel the hardened print of his bulge poke out of his sweats. it’s hard, and as he rubs against you, you suddenly lose your train of thought. “mhm, s- satoru. are you hard?”

sibilating out a single hiss, he grunts. “maybe just a little. your thighs look so pretty. i— i just wanna,” and he buries his face into the crook of your neck, taking a second to suck against your tender skin. oh, you tasted so sweet. too sweet, your skin had a bit of a syrupy flavor to it. to him, you were simply glacé—candied, gojo satoru’s always had a sweet tooth. his tongue enticingly curls its way against your neck in a circular fashion and you let off a moan. his touch was staticky like electricity. each pad of his fingertips running against the edges of your sundress felt like dozens of little shockwaves coursing through your veins at once. “i want you s- so bad.”

“so take me then,” you tease—yet he’s serious, and the moment you say those four words, he lifts it up with a single hand, giving your ass a mean squeeze.

“i plan to, a- angel.”

as you’re still hunched over the counter, he wastes no time to spring out his cock.

it’s so cute at how soaked you were. your pretty cunt all exposed and sopping wet. between your thighs, you were nothing but a mess—drooling with heated arousal. he can smell the scent, it makes him needy for more of your taste. for more of how you feel from the inside. with an eyebrow raise, he murmurs underneath his breath. “huhh,” and a thumb of his strums straightly down your sobbing slit. “so soaked. you been playin’ with yourself, baby?”

“just a little,” you inhale honestly, biting back a moan once he drags his dick toward your opening. your beloved cunt that was dribbling with your own slick was growing impatient, his reddened tip was just aching to be inside. it’s as if the air suddenly grows substantially thick. another low groan rumbles out of him before he aligns himself. at your cute answer, it makes his snowy brows arch together in frustrated rapture. “couldn’t help it. missed you, ‘toru.”

“don’t like when ya play with her when ‘m not here, angel,” he tsks, purring against your earlobe. a thumb still spreads against your opening folds. warm breath of his ghosts against your ear and it’s enough to make you moan.

with the way your pussy’s drooling, it’s enough to make his mouth salivate. you looked appetizing, especially in this point of view. that’s right when he smears his fattened tip against your greedy little hole.

“mhm, but that’s okay. pretty girl jus’ can’t help herself sometimes,” and his voice grows low.

the rasp was hoarsely deep—you whine incessantly once he starts to slowly insert his way in, the girth of his cock clamping against your walls and it drives you to the first street of insanity. as your goopy, stretchy walls happily accept his pulsating length wholeheartedly, you bite down on your lip harshly. “look at this ass. all for fuckin’ me.”

and he spanks you, a swatting palm goes against your skin. the smacking sound rings through your ears and you whimper from the brief sting that follows for a few seconds. it almost rings through your ears like bells on a wedding day before he sinks more inches inside. after a while, he caresses your ass cheek to soothe it. gojo’s lengthy, long inches seep into your core before you whine. it doesn’t take long before he bottoms out, already having your eyeballs roll and knock to the depths of your skull. “s- satoru,” you moan, clinging onto the granite made kitchen counter.

it’s slick and clean—cold, you wriggle your ass against him and that only tempts him more. a hand of his yanks on the back of your sundress, and he’s fully in. “fuck me, ‘toru. f- fuck me.”

“your voice alone ‘s gonna make me c- cum,” he groans, and within seconds he’s fully in. you hang onto the railing of the counter, chewing down on your lip.

whimpering loudly, gojo’s so vocal against your ear. he’s smelling you—your scent, your aroma. it makes him go crazy. to think all this was because of your pretty little sundress. “fuck,” he swears, rough hands of his gripping onto the fabric sticking against your skin as he’s rutting his cock in and out of you.

prying your legs open a bit with a little pressure, a hand of his wraps around your throat gently. meanwhile, another snakes between your parted thighs. “you should wear more sundresses around me, b- baby.”

“you should buy more for me then, ‘toru,” you sweetly mewl in response. there was a bit of playfulness in your voice. his throbbing tip mashing against that same spot to make your toes curl.

you’re tasting nirvana—it’s salty, ethereal and perfect. his strokes against you was deep but thorough. gojo never misses a spot— he knows the layout of your cunt, he knows the exact areas to strike his tip at to make you weak. you’re babbling, digging your nails into the edges of the counter before gasping for air. gojo gives your spasming cunt a brief squeeze with his whole wrist before he starts whining into your ear.

“i’ll buy you anythin’ you want, angel,” and his bottom lip quivers. his sweet melodic sounds against your ear grows louder, causing your limbs to spike. his rhythm was rough but sensual and precise. “ugh,” he tilts his head back, white flimsy strands of hair falling near his naturally arched brows. your warmth, its suffocating his dick entirely. swallowing a single gulp, his adam’s apple bobs and gojo’s eyes start to roll into the backs of his head. “s- so wet inside, i missed you. i missed my wife.”

“w— wife?” you reply, but due to the shakiness under your tone, it’s more of a whine.

a grunt rumbles from gojo and a hand of his then squeezes against your thigh. taking in all of your curves was his favorite. “yeah,” he lowly whispers, bringing a single kiss against your collarbone. “gonna make you my wife someday. give you a few babies, i- i want you.”

“satoruuu,” you moan, reaching down to toy with your clit but he stops you. with quick reflexes, he grabs ahold of your wrist before pinning it back. with a sharp piston of his hips, his base thwacks against your ass before he hisses. gojo’s about to finish—he knows and you know it too. he starts to gradually slow down, yet he’s still going in deep, going in hot. “you’re right, wanna be your wife ‘n bare a few of your kids.”

“i’ll be sure to make this tummy,” and he pauses, rubbing a hand against your stomach—his palm was frigidly cold.

feverishly hot bodies clash and grind against each other in pure harmony, pure sync and it was pure bliss. “. . . . extra plump ‘n round,” he concludes his sentence, and right as he’s finalizing his single pumps, he bites into your neck. a grunt chokes from his throat, and he succumbs to the sweet euphoric sensations. the friction of your cunt sloshing and sloshing against his cock makes him whine right into your ear. “oh, f- fuck, ‘m gonna fill you with so much. take it baby, pleaseplease.”

once gojo finishes— it’s so much. it comes out in stringy ropes, velvety,

with a gripping grip clinging onto the back of your sundress, it’s almost being torn into two. once he shoots into you raw, it spurts and spurts to where you can almost hear it. just about— it sounds wet, just like you were. you jitter a bit as he’s still inside, feeling him emit such volumes of seed into you. it’s smiley and thick, gooey and goopy.

languidly, he pulls his limp cock out, watching as his hot own cum ooze out of your achy pussy. it looked so pretty that he takes a mental picture. he wanted to savor this moment—savor you being arched over like this, savor the exact color pattern of your sundress, savor everything. gojo’s dizzy, a thumb of his drags in a zigzag rotation toward your sopping entrance. you’re saturated between your thighs by now. bedaubing a digit against your opening, it coats on the pad of his finger with so much filth and he can’t help but bring it towards his mouth. doing so, he takes a quick lick, truly unfazed and unbothered, not caring he tasted his own. as you stand there on shaky legs, you moan once he smears his fat tip against your cunt— watching it try to instinctively swallow his shaft back in. it’s hardly to any avail though.

“s- satoruuu,” you pout, feeling against the back of your sundress. “my dress is ripped.”

with an airy laugh, he leans against your neck to create a slope of wet kisses near your tender skin.

“awww,” he purrs, a hand grasping onto your hip. gojo feels against the curvature of your physique before humming. “don’t worry, angel. i’ll buy ya as many sundresses you want. you’ll be the perfect mommy.”

[deadsetobsessions]

“I ate paint once,” Danny nonchalantly threw out in the middle of game night.

The entire table stopped. Heads whipped towards Danny.

“Yeah, me too. Cardamom yellow was my favorite. Ugly as hell but the chemicals just tasted right.” Tim replied, using the distraction to nab some of Bruce’s money. Monopoly money, that is. Everyone’s heads snapped towards Tim, only Cass and Danny (who was part of the scheme) caught him cheating.

“Really? I think mine was those spray can blue cosmos paint. But that might have been more my thing for space than the actual taste.”

“WHY WERE YOU EATING PAINT?!” Dick asked, looking like he wanted to lunge over the table and shake Danny until he puked out paint. Bruce looked like he was about to have a heart attack.

“Yeah, what the fuck, Tim?” Jason snickered.

“In my defense,” Danny grinned. “I was left unsupervised. Also, Steph, you owe me $24 in rent.”

“Ugh! I’m almost out of money! Can’t you loan me some, Alfred?”

“I am sorry, Miss Stephanie, you are not qualified for another loan. In fact, one of your properties is about to be confiscated as per the collateral agreement.”

“Noooo!” Stephanie made dramatic dying noises.

“What was your excuse, Timothy?” Damian asked, eyes glued to the board and determined to win the game.

“Hey, I was probably less supervised than Danny was.”

“Yeah,” Danny perked up. “My parents brought us down to their lab all of the time. Taught us a lot of stuff.”

“Really? Like what?” Duke asked, casually slapping away Tim’s sneaky hands.

“Oh, like what a rocket launcher sounded like up close! And how to build a laser gun! Oh! And what human organs looked like when they’re fresh!” Danny chirped, collecting his money from a stunned Stephanie’s hands. He looked up.

“Oh, don’t worry! I at least learned what not to do when it comes to lab safety. And we wore hazmat suits to protect ourselves from the radiation.” Danny smiled in a ditzy fashion as the table fell silent in a horrified manner. Cass tapped his arm amusedly, but allowed his bullshit to stand. After all, it’s not like he lied.

“Radiation?” Duck’s voice raised a couple of octaves. Oh yeah, Danny’s going to laugh about that pitch for a long while.

“Organs?!” Jason’s hands closed around the plastic house he was holding rather forcefully.

“Do you even know what basic lab safety practices are, Danny?” Damian demanded, finally looking up with brows furrowed. He rolled the dice and grabbed a mystery card. He gets $100 from Alfred.

“How old were you??” Duke asked.

“Like… 8, when they first brought me in?”

“Eight.” Bruce rumbled, slipping into a more Batman like persona. When Danny sent him a confused look, Bruce straightened back into his Bruce persona. “Wow, they must have trusted you a lot!”

“Sure?”

“What were their names again?” Stephanie asked sweetly, Cass nodding at him.

“Jack and Maddie Fenton.” Not that they’ll find them here, considering his parents are dead and in another universe.

“Cool, cool, cool!” Stephanie blinked, beaming as her hands formed lethal fists underneath the table.

Danny blinked and tilted his head in an unassuming way, pretending like he had no idea what Stephanie was thinking of. He sneakily handed over $600 to Cass in order to complete his monopoly on his side of the board.

Danny stood up and spread his hands out, one hand clutching his new found victory.

"Well, lady and gents, you've all been floundering against the inevitable tide of capitalism. I am here, as a reminder that you can never win against the hopelessness that will be your financial ruin! I, Danny Fenton, have obtained a quarter of the board and therefore have won against even your best efforts!" He cackled, holding up his fan of properties triumphantly. He shot a mischievous grin at Cass, who held up a solemn thumbs up in support for his monetary takeover.

"... Danny, are you... planning on a career in villainy?" Bruce asked, after a brief and total wave of shocked silence. Damian looked like he was having a conniption at having been bested, unknowingly. Yeah, Danny was disarming like that.

"Yeah, that was concerning." Tim piped up, nabbing a ten from a shell-shocked Damian.

"Hey! The Riddler gives surprisingly good monologues! And he's really loud, so it's hard not to pick up on things. Duke, your turn." Danny sat back down, pouting. The villainy comment was a little too close to his fears.

"Damn it." Duke, who had rolled, landed smack middle of Danny's territory. He handed over a sheaf of bills to a grinning Danny.

"Wait a minute! You have cheated!" Damian bolted upwards from his seat, finally done running through the purchases he remembered Danny making. "You acquired that property not within the games' rules!"

"Okay, first of all, the rule book is a suggestion, like lab safety rules," Danny saw the others open their mouths to protest, but he quickly shut it down. "Second, there's totally no rules about selling and buying places from a private owner so suck on it. And thirdly? Cass sold it to me, so you all can take it up with her."

"Diabolical!" Damian muttered indignantly.

"... Dammit." Dick sighed, falling back into the chair and balancing on its two legs. He couldn't say anything, considering his current of bankruptcy.

"Danny. Danny, I'll buy a property from you." Jason said, eyeing one of Danny's other properties near his own cluster.

"What do you have that would interest me?" Danny asked, falling back into his Vlad-like imitation.

"Ew, don't do that," Steph reached over to jab him in the arm.

"Yeah, Jason, what do you have?" Duke said, the lovely subtle instigator that he is.

"Red Hood's signature."

The others blue-screen, gaping at the actual audacity Jason had to offer up something that would take him no effort. Danny, prepared with a poker face that came with lying straight to Jazz's ever perceptive eyes about whether he nabbed the last of her ice cream or not, was prepared.

"Red Hood? The condom guy working out of the... um. Upper East Side?" Danny asked, pretending to hesitate. He knows where Jason operated. That doesn't mean he couldn't simply pretend otherwise. For science, of course.

...

...

...

The table howled with laughter, Jason's indignant spluttering unable to say anything against Danny's wide eyed look of innocence. Cass leaned against the table, chuckles falling out of her mouth and eyes crinkled in mirth. Dick had fallen out of his chair, helplessly wheezing on the floor. Duke is hiding his face in his hands, mirroring Bruce's pose as they both shake from silent laughter. Damian is smirking, wicked and sharp as he smugly stared at Jason. Stephanie and Tim are leaning against each other, repeating "the CONDOM GUY" in alternating and increasingly louder voices. Alfred had a smile on his face and a tight grip on the bills in front of him that betrayed his amusement.

"He's a crime lord!" Jason exclaimed, indignant.

"Uh, okay. Well, I mean, why would I want a crime lord's signature? I don't want to be on his radar. Or echolocation or whatever. He's... a Bat, right? That's what you guys call that group, yeah?"

"How do you know the Rogues better than the vigilantes?!" Jason glared at his unhelpful family. Those assholes better prepare for a load of rubber bullets the next time they're on patrol near Crime Alley.

"Hey, it's not my fault the vigilantes here are unsociable. Maybe if they monologued more, I'd know who they are."

"Wouldn't- wouldn't that make them more villain like?" Tim asked, stuttering from his laughter.

"I dunno?" Danny replied, enjoying his the family's unabashed joy. "I mean, they're pretty legit and they help people already so I guess they don't need to be sociable... but still I swear I haven't heard anything about Batman other than that he grunts and is mean towards criminals."

Is mean towards criminals, Duke mouthed at a recovering Dick who was in the process of heaving himself back up. It sent him careening back down to the floor with restrained giggles. Cass tapped Danny, reminding him to eat some food.

"Tt. Of course not. They're efficient at their jobs and have no need to be seen as welcoming to criminals." Damian puffed up.

"Yeah, but they've gotta feel safe, right?" Danny shrugged as he plucked a cookie from the cookie platter. "The... one with the sword, what was it?"

"Robin." Damian supplied, eyes narrowed and trained on him.

"Yeah, the baby bird. The kids think his swords are cool so they trust him. But like, the others? The flippy blue one? Not so much."

"Wait," Dick said from the floor. "They don't trust Nightwing?"

"Nah, they trust him to protect them, but he has a history of bringing the kids to the police, you know?"

"What's wrong with that?"

Danny shrugged. "ACAB. But also because everybody knows that half the guys in the GCPD and CPS are child traffickers."

"Wait, what?" Jason and Tim straightened.

Bruce piped in, the emotional whiplash of amusement to concern to amusement to concern visibly making itself known on the man's baffled face. "I thought Batman and Commissioner Gordon took care of that?"

"Sure, the obvious ones." Danny hesitated. Well, he's pretty sure they think he's a meta so... "There's... a meta trafficking ring that they're a part of. That's. That's kind of what I was running from."

Danny looked up pleadingly. Cass placed a hand on his arm in comfort, not knowing that he was fibbing about running from them.

Danny was on the streets helping his own Alley metas to run from them.

Danny is as feral as she was, and that meant he could hide just as much as she could read off of him. Cass was the best and he felt kind of bad about lying to her, successfully or not.

"Uh. Some people said you know Batman, Bruce. I know- uh, that might not be the case but if you do, could you ask him to look into it?" Danny made his eyes tear up. "And maybe he wouldn't care about me much, I mean, I know he doesn't really like metas but if he helps out, I could totally like, leave the city once the kids are safe, promise."

Ooh, Danny put a little too much sincerity into that. He could practically hear the hearts breaking in the game room as everyone glared at Bruce.

"You won't have to leave."

"... Promise?" And Danny's voice was a little too desperate, too hopeful, because Bruce's eyes tugged down in sadness.

"Promise." He rumbled, all Bruce Wayne and all Batman. Danny's core warmed. Danny also saw the rest of the family's faces darken in pure agreement. And partial wrath.

"Yeah! We'll kick Batman's ass if he even thought about kicking you out!" Stephanie proclaimed.

"He's far more proficient in combat than you are, Brown." Damian immediately leapt to Batman's defense and that was that.

Well, later, as Danny was "sleeping" and Phantom was hovering in the cave, invisible and intangible, he got confirmation that his Alley meta kids were going to be safe, soon.

After all, the entire Batclan was suiting up and baying for blood, with Oracle's all encompassing presence behind them, fingers reaching for their enemies' weak points.

[cybertron-after-dark]

Average transformers g1 episode:

Megatron is attempting to black out the entire sky across a hundred mile radius and funnel all the sunlight into one, concentrated solar death ray to target a heavy duty solar panel he's having soundwave and the cassetticons build in order to convert it to energon. Then he plans to hit the autobot base with the death ray just for funsies. Starscream plans to push Megatron directly into the death ray, also just for funsies.

Optimus sends Wheeljack and Spike to deal with it, along with two bots you're pretty sure have not been in this show before this point, but you're kind of past asking how many of these fuckers were on the ark offscreen when it crashed. One of them has the worst fake Canadian accent you have ever heard, and the other's name sounds inexplicably dirty.

Starscream tries to get Megatron to stand in the spot he told Skywarp and Ramjet to direct the death ray, but is interrupted when Rumble asks why Starscream stuck him with extra work (a task Megatron assigned specifically to Starscream). This vexes Megatron. The autobots show up and try to figure out what the point of the blacked out sky is while Starscream attempts to talk his way out of it. Then the death ray goes off two feet away from Megatron, which only pisses him off further.

The Canadian bot yells "AH BINARY-BEAVERS!!" because the death ray caught him off guard and completely gives away the bots' position. Soundwave immediately fires on them. Gratuitous robot violence ensues. Spike is generally useless and tries chucking rocks at Rumble. Megatron is too busy trying to almost-murder Starscream to bother with the autobots and just lets Soundwave handle it.

Probably-an-innuendo-name-bot is luckily a flier and takes the chance to see what's blocking the sun now that their cover's blown anyway. He gets up there and the seekers are sticking tinfoil on the clouds to make the tops reflective. The writers are really just hoping you don't think too hard about it.

Skywarp starts firing on dirty-name and calls him a nerd. Dirty-name takes evasive action. Skywarp runs out of ammo and starts just chucking tin foil at him. Dirty-name calls him dumb and says his processor is made of spare toaster parts. Then he crash lands and canada-bot asks if dirty-name's wings are spare toaster parts as well. Wheeljack yells that they'll all be spare toaster parts if they don't focus on the decepticons. The death ray goes off again and barely misses the autobots. Wheeljack corrects himself to Melted spare toaster parts.

Dirty-name gives Wheeljack the rundown on the tinfoil clouds so he can figure out a way to get rid of them while Canada-bot fights Soundwave and the cassettes in the background. Spike is kind of helping too sort of almost. Those rocks hes chucking sure are damaging. Ravage gets straight up drop kicked. It cuts back to Wheeljack whipping up a good old fashioned Device™️.

Starscream flies up past the tinfoil barrier while Megatron shoots at him. All the holes he's shooting in the blackout barrier are just making more, slightly shittier death rays and the main one is losing concentration. One of them hits Megatron right in the optic and he keels over with an over the top screech. Starscream descends, breaking another hole in the tinfoil to see a golden opportunity.

"MEGATRON HAS BEEN BLINDED!!! I, STARSCREAM AM NOW YOUR LEADER!!!"

Wheeljack finishes his Device™️: A grenade that makes tinfoil entirely invisible, thus rendering the whole weapon unusable. The writers are hungover, please do not think about it too hard. Pretty please. Dirty-name doesn't know if he can throw it into one of the holes in the barrier on his own since he can't fly in robot mode and he cant throw in altmode. Spike offers to get on his back and throw it in for him if he can get close enough. And he's just SO good at throwing things. The other two agree he's their best shot, they're so happy spike is around, couldn't do it without him.

Starscream is hovering in the air as he gives his Decepticon Leader Acceptance Speech he's prepared for this very occasion, golden light streaming in from the him-shaped hole in the barrier. Dirty-name and spike zip past him and spike makes the best goddamn throw of his life. Before starscream can properly question the Fucking Audacity of these autobots interrupting him while he's trying to have a moment, the invisible explosion goes off that the animators are just happy they don't have to put that much effort into drawing. Starscream gets knocked out of the air and crashes directly onto Megatron. This vexes Megatron.

Sky's normal again. Don't worry that there's still tinfoil there, don't even fuckin worry about it dude. Spike and Dirty-name touch back down. Round of applause for spike for throwing super good. Wheeljack comments that he's just happy it blew up the way it was supposed to. Cue uncomfortably long laughing. Megatron manages to roll starscream off him and calls for a retreat.

Back at the decepticon base, Megatron has an eyepatch and is skulking. Starscream yaps about how it makes him look like a proper tyrant, brooding and battle scarred, and, dare he say, darkly handsome? This vexes Megatron.

[sweetinsaniiity]

Closer To The Edge

► 𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 - sexworker!Wooyoung x fashiondesigner!reader ◄ ► 𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎/𝙰𝚄 - slow burn, eat the rich, Wooyoung really dislikes wealthy people, heavy angst, slice of life, emotionally heavy, existential crisis, reader! is desperate and lonely, eventual smut (more lovemaking than anything really), star-crossed lovers, eventual reunion, open/ambiguous but happy ending ◄ ► 𝚁𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐/𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 - PG-18+ so MDNI!!! depression, connotations and talks of self-harm (not described, but be warned!), sex work/prostitution (consensual and not forced, but I just thought I’d put it here just in case), smut, lots of kissing, fingering, cowgirl, cumshot, no protection (do not do this!) ◄ ► 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 - 26.5K words ◄ ► 𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 - You've always led a very lonely and unfulfilled life where you were always alone. This isolation gets worse when you were sent into a remote office branch temporarily for a project. It wasn't until you met Jung Wooyoung, who you didn't know at first was a sex worker, and your fleeting encounter with him that changed the trajectory of your life and your views forever. It all starts when he found you one night on a rooftop. ◄ ► 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜 - I haven't written Wooyoung in a while, and I also haven't written anything simple, but extremely angsty, in a hot minute, as well. I figured I'd combine them both here. Personally cried while writing this. Enjoy! Title from 30 Seconds To Mars.◄ ► 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - @0rangemilk @ginger-mingi @ruubyrubes @oddracha @jaytheatiny @roxannecos @juicy-red @cheolliehugs @sunnysidesins @jjongbearshoney @midnightrebel1028 @mallielovssyou ◄

You didn’t choose to live like this, didn’t choose to lead the melancholic and mundane life where you were all alone with nobody to lean on or trust to catch you if you fell - which was always and never.

But there you were, looking wistfully outside and taking in the scenario as the train you sat on rumbled on. It served to prove your point; you were also alone in the private cabin your work company had provided for you when they decided at the last minute to send you to another city that was literally situated on the opposite side of the country.

It wasn’t a difficult decision for you, after all, you really did want to advance in your career, but the sting of being alone just always caught on to you. Your co-workers were all pleasant and amicable, but they all had lives to lead. As for you, you were there to work, not to mingle. And maybe that’s why you couldn’t afford to wallow too much in your pity. You knew to yourself that this was a you problem. 

The train rolled to a stop and you got down with just a light luggage. People began to disembark with you, and one by one, they disappeared into the arms of their loved ones, voices rising with giggles and promises of catching up with one another. It was a painful reminder of what you did not have.

You smiled morosely. Indeed, you were no stranger to being alone, but that never meant that you liked being alone.

You were only human, after all. You craved the companionship, the intimacy, the late summer nights by the campfire roasting marshmallows in an open fire with someone, the drunken adventures that led to trouble and something to laugh out with friends, and the days where all you needed was a comforting presence.

You had to look away. You had to cut off that sinking, ugly feeling rising up in your chest called longing. You could not want what you could not have. This would be a hellish three months for you. 

The house you’d be staying at was a lot bigger than you thought, and a lot more luxurious even on the outside. It checks out, you thought. You did work at the biggest and most-well known fashion industry company as a director, after all.

You didn’t bother to explore, you had time for that, but you could tell that the interior was already suited to your tastes. It was bigger than you’d like. You didn’t mind it at all. All in all, the stay wasn’t going to be too bad. However, you have to start working as soon as possible. Even though you hated it and wanted to avoid it as long as you possibly could.

You loved your job, you really did. Being a director meant you had certain privileges that only you could exercise, but sometimes, you felt used.

Subject: Runway Project Help I hope this email finds you well, Y/N. The initial report is to be finalized by the end of the week. The resources you will utilize have all been provided for your leisure.

A humourless laugh heaves upon your chest at the callousness in which that email had sounded. Straight to the point, not even an attempt to ask if you had safe travel. 

You were aware that it wasn’t personal. You were one of the people that worked for something bigger; the one that made the rich even richer. Still, the lack of encouragement, follow-ups, questions about your well-being stung more than you’d like to admit.

It was just business. Just numbers on a report, a deadline to meet. You reached for your mouse, clicked the ‘reply’ button, and typed a simple acknowledgment. Subject: Re: Runway Project Help I will have it at your disposal within the desired time.

Before you could shut your laptop close, another email pops up from the other side of your screen. Begrudgingly, you clicked it, and the moment you do, regret fills your chest.

You shouldn’t have read it. You had totally forgotten that there was a company dinner to welcome the other employees who have travelled from other branches to help out the newly opened branch, such as yourself.

Disgruntled, you forced yourself to put on a decent outfit, not even bothering to accessorize that much, and you hailed a cab to the venue. The drive was only ten minutes away, but it felt like a lifetime of overthinking on your end. You didn’t even bother researching beforehand where you were heading, the intention was to come, mingle, and go.

It turned out to be a hotel, a fancy one fitting of your company’s reputation. You already felt sick as you began to walk to the front desk area. From where you were, you could already see a variety of people huddling to socialize, and you knew then and there that this would be a bore. You felt like you were going to get sick. You didn’t belong here.

“Y/N? Is that you?”

Your attention was caught by a deep and gruff voice from behind you. He was tall, effortlessly stylish, with a crisp black jacket that hugged his frame just right . His dark hair was immaculately styled, and his posture was confident. "Mingi?" You asked in surprise that you had actually seen him. “Song Mingi?”

His eyes lit up with remembrance, his lips spreading into a friendly smile. "The one and only." 

You whispered a small thanks to the receptionist before following Mingi into one of the function halls. “Looks great, Director Song,” you complimented as you looked around. “Well done with the theme…”

Mingi was one of the interns sent to your branch for training a couple of years back. He was a fresh-faced kid back then, not knowing how brutal the fashion world was, but you could tell he was passionate about it, unlike his superiors who were in it for the cash.

Before Mingi could reply, a group of people started to make their way towards you. A suppressed groan sounds from the back of your throat, drowned out by the chatter. You knew these people, in fact, you knew virtually everybody in attendance today, and you weren’t interested in what they had to say.

“Oh my, Director L/N sure is a gem in the industry,” one of the people perked up, making the people around you nod in agreement.

“I suppose so, yes,,” you let out, jaw locked with tension. You might be a loner, but you weren’t oblivious to hypocrites when you encountered them.

Either these people were plain stupid, or they’re just ignoring the fact that you were clearly uninterested and disengaged. Thankfully, the speakers overhead blare up, instructing everyone to take their seats to get started. 

It was the most boring and uncomfortable time of your life, and that was saying a lot. You ran your fingers over the edge of your complimentary champagne flute, watching the alcohol slosh around inside. It looked like sweet nectar, but it tasted like disappointment.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You could slip away quietly, slip into the night like a shadow. No one would care. “Excuse me,” you placed your hand on Mingi’s arm to get his attention, your voice firm despite the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. He looked at you worried, but nodded anyway.

Without waiting for a response, you got up and  turned, heels clicking sharply against the polished marble floor. You could see people watching and eyeing your every move, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t stand the environment you were in.

As you reached the door and stepped out, you allowed yourself a small, triumphant smile. You didn’t know where to go from here, but at least you were out of there.

With a sigh, you began to walk aimlessly to nowhere in particular. Come to think of it, you didn’t mind exploring the hotel. Despite your initial inhibitions, you actually did think that the venue was really pretty. 

And it was that aimless walking that led you to trouble. Just as you were about to make a sharp left turn to the lobby, a sudden collision jolted you out of your thoughts. You hastily tried to maintain your balance as you accidentally bumped into someone. “I’m sor—”

“Watch where you’re going,” the man you stumbled on hissed, his face twisted in annoyance as he also tried to gain his balance back.

You were taken aback at the vehemence in his voice. It was as if you had dangled this man’s puppy by its foot and shot it point blank in front of him. You didn’t know what to do, so you tried to apologize once more.

“I am so sorry, I really didn’t mean to bump into you,” you spoke up, trying to sound as sincere as possible to appease him. “It was purely accidental on my end, I understand that’s bothersome.”

He harrumphed obnoxiously, his eyes narrowing as he stared at you up and down in contempt as he tried to collect himself. It was so uncomfortable to be on the receiving end of whatever this was. “Typical,” he scoffed. “The types of you always seem to be too busy to look where you’re going most of the time.”

What the hell did that even mean? You blinked owlishly, temporarily rendered speechless at whatever you just heard. “E-Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” his voice dripped with disdain before it dropped into a quiet grumble. “Jesus, do rich people get away with shit like this on an everyday basis? Unbelievable…”

You froze. Rich people? Is that what this was about? Still, that didn’t make any lick of sense. You understood where he was coming from - even though you picked your most minimal outfit, it was painfully obvious that you were decked out in clothes that the regular consumer couldn’t buy on an everyday basis.  But that stung, though, because you designed these, yourself. 

“I-I'm really sorry. It was an accident,” you reiterated, trying to keep your voice steady, but this man just wouldn’t give you a break.

“Sure, it was,” he said sarcastically. "Maybe if you spent less time with your head in the clouds and more time assessing the people around you, you'd be less of a problem."

You were, once again, taken aback by the hostility. Your pulse quickened, you hadn’t done anything wrong. Nothing. You had simply wanted to leave that suffocating event. But, despite this guy’s clear distaste for the wealthy, you were inclined to agree. You had enough clientele in your career to attest and support his claims, but still.

“I don’t think the punishment is befitting of the crime,” you frowned, an unspoken connotation that referred to how mean he was being to you and you didn’t appreciate it. 

He scoffed again, though this time it was more of a weak exhale and it held less weight in it. He shifted his feet to start walking forward, but he paused, his face holding a small grimace, clearly not meaning for you to see that.

It hit you then and there. The exhaustion in his eyes was undeniable, as though every word he said drained him more than he cared to admit. His body was swaying unnaturally as he stood in front of you, and you bumping into him must have exacerbated whatever he was already going through.

He wasn’t just angry at you; he was angry at everything. Maybe it wasn’t about you at all. Maybe it was just about his own tiredness, his own frustration with the world around him. Against your better judgment, you opened your mouth. “You look tired,” you said  gently. “It’s been a long night, hasn’t it?”

His expression faltered in surprise, only for a second, before he quickly masked it with a scowl. “That’s none of your business,” he muttered, but the anger in his voice was quieter now.

You didn’t reply. There was no need for further words; you understood to a certain extent what he was feeling and he knew that you weren’t going to relent.

You mustered up a small nod, a finality, as you turned around to leave, but not before glancing back at the man once more. “Good night, I hope you feel better.”

You didn’t look back to see if he was going to say something nor did you stay to hear if he was. As you walked away, you couldn’t help but take in his features, imagine them without the scowl that overtook his face.

Being in fashion allowed you to see physical features in depth. He was young, looked about to be your age. His features were a delicate harmony of sharp angles and soft curves, his eyes, dark and intense, were very reminiscent of an angry fox. You reckoned that his fox-eyes would look marvelous had he been smiling.

You shook your head, continuing to walk towards the direction you intended to in the first place. You had no idea where it led, but you didn’t really care anymore. You just needed to walk that experience off.

But that was before you realized that it was restaurant, a nice looking one. As if on cue, your stomach started rumbling. The function provided dinner, but there was no way you were going back in there.

It was nicer on the inside than the outside. However, you were a bit surprised to find the entire place empty, the tables all wiped clean with the corresponding velvet seats tucked in, save for one, lone waiter who was on their way to approach you.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he began to apologize profusely, bowing slightly to emphasize his point.  “We had just closed the daily restaurant to get ready for our overnight bar.”

“Oh,” you faltered, resisting the urge to deflate on the spot at the information.

The disappointment must have been apparent on your face. The waiter perked up to get your attention, clearing his throat. “Would you like to get a table or sit by the bar to wait for the opening? I reckon we’d be able to do so in less than thirty minutes.”

“A-Are you sure?”

He gives you a shrug in response. “It’s just me for now, anyway.”

The next thing you knew, he was beckoning you over with a small wave of his hand. You chose to sit by the furthest corner of the bar, thanking him with a small whisper that carried the biggest gratitude you could offer for tonight.

You were getting a bit dizzy, when was the last time you ate? It didn’t matter now, a drink or two - or maybe, ten - was what you currently needed.

As if on cue, the distinct clinking of glass sounds from your ear and the familiar slide of it nears your direction. It was a strawberry fizz, you reckoned, the mixture of said fruit and vodka with a hint of tang in it wafting up your nose.

You frowned, looking up at the bartender in palpable confusion. “It’s not much, it was the only thing I could make given my time constraint,” says the waiter, who was apparently also a bartender,  who shrugged in nonchalance.

“Uhm, thank you. I would have been fine waiting, me sitting here was enough of a bother for you,” you softly replied. You took the cocktail, sipped on it, your face lifting up in a pleasant surprise. “It’s good, but why?”

“You looked like you needed it,” he said. His voice was calm, like the sound of rain against a window. “Don’t worry about it, it’s on the house.”

Maybe you really did look that downtrodden. Shame started creeping up your cheeks, the fact that you were obvious even to someone who you haven’t even been around for more than five minutes was very telling on your end.

He leaned forward, elbows on the counter, and tilted his head toward the stairs. “The rooftop’s empty tonight,” he said casually. “Good place to clear your head.”

He didn’t push. Didn’t say anything else. Just wiped down the counter like he hadn’t just handed you an escape. It was a no-brainer -  the open air, the city stretching out beneath, the weight of your thoughts carried away by the wind. Without a word, you stood, drink in hand, and made your way to the stairs.

Indeed, the rooftop was remarkable, by far the most breathtaking thing you’ve ever seen in a while. The stars were twinkling bright tonight, and you were one of the only specks in the world that have been blessed to stare at their beauty all night long. Though, you had a feeling that people aren’t to stare at the stars.

You liked it much better up here. Not a single person to be seen, noise drowned out by sheer distance. This is what you wanted. Distance. To be away. To be gone. And then, before you could stop it, your chest tightened. Tears brimmed your eyes, blurring the beautiful glitter of the stars above the skyline. You covered your mouth to quiet your sobs, but the rooftop was empty and there was nobody to hear your distress.

You felt pathetic. It was everything bottled up inside you - the lonely train ride, the empty house you’d be residing at for three straight months, your stuck-up supervisor who sent you to this God-awful place knowing that nothing and nobody was going to hold you back, and the people you left at the function being happy while you were by the rooftop railing bawling  your eyes out.

It was everything. You didn’t know how long you were there for, the cocktail long forgotten on a random table somewhere while you leaned towards the railing, just taking in the wind while more tears flowed from your eyes. 

You leaned against the railing, your fingers curling around the metal. As you did, you realized that there was an extra step you could take to get closer to the edge. And so you did. It was a risky position, but everything looked much different up where you were. Your tears lose themselves to the breeze. The city sprawled beneath you, indifferent, endless. This was a distraction, nothing more.

“Hello?”

The thought wasn’t even dramatic, nor was it frightening for you. It was just there. And for a moment, the weight inside you lessened.

“What the hell are you doing? Don’t you know that’s fucking dangerous?”

Maybe you could run away. You had enough money to literally start over anywhere you wanted. You could take an extended vacation, and even if you never worked again, you’d have a good chunk of money still left. The thought of it made more tears in your eyes.

“Hey!”

You were startled out of your thoughts by the sudden voice that cracked through the air. Your hand darted out, gripping the edge of the rooftop to steady yourself. “What,” you flatly said, not bothering to turn around, mostly because you still felt slightly disconnected from reality.

“I think you should step away from the railing,” they said. 

You hummed, annoyed. That voice sounded awfully familiar. “I think you should stop telling me what to do,” you replied sarcastically.

There wasn’t a reply for a second, only the shuffling of shoes and the creak of a closing door. “I just think it’s a very risky position you’re in,” he clicked his tongue. “It’s not worth it.”

“Yeah,” you let out a shaky breath, almost laughing, though it came out more like a sigh. “What, can’t a girl admire the view without being criticized now?”

“Cut the crap. You didn’t come here for the view.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You obviously came from that godforsaken party in the hall down the lobby. Why aren’t you down there having the time of your life?”

Your death grip loosens from the railing. You turned sharply, breath uneven, ready to mouth off to whoever was behind you, and you were faced with the last person you ever expected to see in a setting like this.

It was the attractive, fox-eyed man you had bumped into earlier. His face was calm, devoid of any panic at seeing you so close to the edge of the rooftop. He didn’t lunge toward you, didn’t bark orders or plead. He just stood there, arms crossed, watching you with an unreadable expression. It was such a contrast from his scowl when you encountered him.

“That’s none of your business,” you gritted your teeth angrily, more tears starting to form in your eyes, looking up to stop them from falling. “I don’t need to hear how snooty my kind of people are from you. Earlier was enough.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t push. Just stayed. “So, what are you doing here, then?”

“Does it really even matter why?” You snapped, your pulse slamming against your ribs, anger flaring before you could stop it. “I don’t want to be there.”

He shrugged, his observing eyes not leaving yours. “Alright, that’s fair.”

You wanted to scoff, but all you did was avoid eye contact, looking back to your sides to hopefully catch anything but his eyes. “That’s it? You’re not going to ask for more?”

He exhaled, the sound barely audible over the wind. “No,” he said. “Not my place, though I can’t say I’m not curious.”

You raised your brows ever so slightly. You obviously didn’t know this man, but based on the minute encounter you’ve had with him, this seems to be on par with his personality. There were no lectures, no false concern, no sweet nothings to convince you otherwise.

He shifts his foot, his hand slipping in his pocket to retrieve what seemed to be a small packet of cigarette. “Listen, I don’t smoke, not at all,” he said casually. “But there’s a first time for everything. You either do it downstairs with me, or I could stay here with you until you’re done being dramatic.”

That should have made you mad, the way he said was so callous and indifferent, but instead, you couldn’t help but let out a breathy chuckle. You liked this, you decided. Slowly, you stepped off from the edge and chose to sit down on the concrete below it, instead, your back leaning against it, not caring if your dress got dirty.

Certainly not caring at how he would’ve been annoyed had you not listened and how his face softens a little bit, the most miniscule of emotions peeking through at the sight of your tired body and your teary eyes.

Without waiting for your response, he sits down next to you, plopping his ass so close to you that your knees touch each other. He waves the packet of cigarettes in front of you. “Here, take one. Hell, take them all. A friend gave them to me.”

You shook your head, pushing them back. “I stopped.”

“Wonderful,” he hummed. The next thing you knew, he threw the whole packet away, off of the rooftop, to never be seen forever. He only raised a brow at your flabbergasted face. “I wasn’t going to give you one, anyway. Just wanted you to get down.”

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t say anything. The both of you didn’t speak for what felt like an eternity, just the two of you there, each caught in your own thoughts. There was something in the air that kept you from feeling entirely alone.

“I don’t know what you were assuming, but I wasn’t going to jump,” you mumbled after realizing that that’s what it must’ve looked like from his perspective. “I genuinely just wanted to enjoy the view.”

His expression was still unreadable. “I know,” he raised a brow, side-eyeing you for good measure. “You don’t look like you have what it takes. No guts.”

You scoffed, not knowing if you wanted to be amused or be offended at his dig towards you. One thing was for sure, though - whatever he did, it was an effective way to get you out of your head without making you feel worse. You sniffled, embarrassingly so, before you decided to change the topic so as to not make it awkward for the both of you. “Are you here for a drink, too, or something?” 

“No,” he replied. “Yunho’s a great friend of mine. Said something about giving this sad girl a fruity ass drink and was worried that you were taking forever to come back downstairs.”

You scoffed, you didn’t even realize that you spent so long in here that the bartender had even noticed your extended absence. He stared at you, watching your expression, before he let out a small chuckle. “I guess you really did need that drink,” he expressed.

You narrowed your eyes, feeling annoyance creeping up your chest at his tone. “You think you’re funny? I’m fine.”

He titled his head towards you. “Your tears are telling me otherwise.”

Your jaw tightened, fingers twitching at your side. You hadn’t even realized you were still crying until he pointed it out, and somehow, that only made the frustration burn hotter in your chest. “Is this a thing of yours? Judging everything you see at first sight?”

Suddenly, he frowns. “Look, if this is about earlier, I do admit that the things I said were way out of line.”

You clicked your tongue in annoyance. “What an inspiring apology.”

“I’m not apologizing,” his tone was blunt, almost irritated, like he didn’t want to be having this conversation in the first place. “Nothing personal.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Still,” he sighed, “It doesn’t feel right leaving someone up here looking like they might just let the wind take them.” You rolled your eyes at that. “And I’m not an ass. Not entirely, anyway.”

“I told you,” you let out a frustrated sound from the back of your throat. “I just really needed air. Been a shitty day for me, is all.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

You weren’t even surprised at the casualness of his voice anymore. He sounded almost careless, like he wasn’t used to talking to people like he was doing right now. Still, you were perplexed when he asked. “Personal crap, especially work, the usual suspects,” you shrugged, cryptic as possible. He wasn’t the only one who wasn’t used to talking about certain things. “So, do you work here?”

He peers at you. “Something like that. Occasionally, yeah. Usually, I do drink here but my mood was kinda ruined when someone bumped into me earlier.”

Well, two can play this game of being cryptic about work. You narrowed your eyes, but before you could respond, he cleared his throat. “Anyway, tell me what’s up with work, then. Might make you feel better to talk about them.”

You raised a brow, skeptical. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He stared at you dead in the eye. His fox-shaped eyes looked so intense that for a second, you faltered. “Try me,” he deadpanned.

You had nothing against this man, but you were still wary. He was a stranger, after all. “I did come from that party down the hall. I, uhm, it was just suffocating,“ you said carefully.

“Interesting. I thought those bullshit events are supposed to be fun and all. All the dickheads that come out of there always brag about them,” he murmured. You raised a brow in question. “There’s a huge ass banner above the hall,” he explained. “Not social, I suppose?”

You took a second to think. “No,” you admitted. “Not really.”

“Then why the hell are you even there, then?” He raised a brow sarcastically.

“Because that’s kind of my job? I don’t know how else to tell you,” you frowned, though you couldn’t argue back with that one since you do get his vision. You didn’t know how to tell him that it wasn’t that simple.

He begins to shake his head as if disbelieving the things that were coming out of your mouth. If you were a douchebag, to be crass, you would’ve socked his pretty face immediately. He was lucky that it was you he was encountering. Or maybe someone else has already done it. Fox-eyes to you was such an interesting character.

“That can’t be it,” he scoffed. “You’re telling me that you were crying because you can’t put your big girl pants on and suck it up?”

You blinked owlishly at his bluntness, but he wasn’t finished. “So fucking quit then,” he chuckled sarcastically. Then, he mumbles something under his breath, something you were pretty sure you weren’t supposed to hear.

“I swear you rich people always have something to cry about.”

It was definitely a stark reminder of the things he had told you earlier when you bumped into him. You understood him, you really did, because things like those never come out of nowhere. You were positive that he probably experienced something that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“You wouldn’t understand, then,” you shook your head.

Just then, he laughed. That caught you more off guard than anything he’s done so far tonight, if you were being frank. You have to admit, he had a very pretty laugh, sure it was a little bit pitchy and squeaky than you’d like, but for some reason, it did suit him.

“You’re right, I won’t, and to be completely frank with you, I don’t want to. I wish I had your problems because I know I won’t be such a pussy about it,” he sighed, long and hard. “But you’re the one moping right now, not me. I can’t stand people like you, but lay it on me, anyway.”

And he was very crass, too. Such a contrast from the overly respectful and polite environment you were used to. It was very refreshing, regardless of his mean and underhanded comments. One thing you absolutely detested was false positivity, and this man was able to provide you the opposite in less than thirty minutes of you knowing him. 

There was absolutely no sympathy in his tone, none at all, and in a way, you liked it that way. You didn’t need sympathy. It suddenly dawns on you why - it all came down on the supposed wealth he thought you had. You lived in luxury, and you got everything you wished for immediately, so to him, that must mean that you had no reasons to be down.

“My job sucks,” you muttered, half to yourself. “It’s just miserable. I’m required to be in the presence of people I don’t care about to make a profit with their money that I won’t even get to touch and impress some big kahuna I don’t even care about.”

He hummed, nodding his head to indicate that he was listening. “So, an existential crisis disguised as work complaints?”

You snorted. “I suppose so, yes.”

“How tragic,” he lets out a short, unimpressed breath, barely sparing you a glance. “Must be hard.”

You closed your eyes to contain yourself, just when you thought that maybe he was showing some sympathy, but you get it. You were one of the few lucky ones out there. You were willing to bet that you earned what he did in a full week within half the day.

So yes, in a way, you understood, and even though his hostility isn’t making you feel any better, you welcome it with open arms. You exhaled the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “You sound like you hate your job, too.”

“Oh, a thousand-fucking-percent,” he didn’t hesitate to supply, spitting on the ground to make his point stronger. “I fucking hate it with every inch of my life. But it works.”

You wanted to ask what it was he did, but you held back. “So, you understand where I’m coming from, then?”

He gave you a look, something unreadable flickering behind his expression, but then he just shook his head. “No. We’re different. It’s not about whether I like it or not,  it’s about whether I can survive doing it. The same should apply to you.”

You frowned. “That’s a really depressing way to look at life.”

“Yeah, well,” he leaned his face closer to yours. You didn’t move an inch, mesmerized at how prettier his eyes were up close. “Tears can’t pay my bills. You’re probably getting paid right now as we speak.”

For the first time ever since you had this conversation, burning shame encapsulates your insides, a trailing fire in your pit that didn’t cease to be put out. He was right, and he knew it. He scoffed, leaning away. The silence stretched again, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just heavy. Shared.

After a while, he spoke again, his tone quieter. “You quitting?”

You shrugged. “I’ve gotten to a point in my career where I wouldn’t know what to do if I did.”

“So, all of this was for naught then? Wasted tears?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

He hummed like he understood. He didn’t question it, didn’t argue, didn’t say anything at all for a long moment. His face was unreadable, his posture relaxed, but his fingers tapped absently against his leg. He leaned his head back on the railing, closing his eyes.

“Find something,” he mumbled, eyes still shut.  His voice was so low that you didn’t even realize he was talking to you at first. “Then start figuring out how to get there.”

“If it were that easy,  I would have done it,” you sighed.

He sighed back. “I never said it was. We have only one life to live, but it doesn’t mean that we only have one life to lead. You’re in a position to be anything for yourself, one that won’t drain you mentally and emotionally. Heaven knows that some people don’t even have that option.”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. Like he wasn’t just talking about you. You stayed silent, internalizing what he said. Just who was this man you had encountered tonight?

He was right. You had witnessed it first hand. The amount of people you’ve known and lost who have experienced a burn out so bad that they had pretty much lost their minds over it and it never recovered. They were the reason you were still here; you didn’t want to be like them.

You watched him stand up, raising your head to look at his towering figure as he looked down on you. “You want another drink?” He asked softly.

You hesitated. Then, with a quiet sigh, you nodded. He nodded back, turning toward the rooftop door. “Alright,” he said, as if that settled something. “Wipe your tears and freshen up. I’ll tell Yunho.”

And just like that, he had disappeared from your sight. It was as if nothing happened, like your encounter with him was a fever dream.

When you were sure that you looked at least presentable, like you didn’t just cry over your job in front of a total stranger who disliked you for your money, you made your way back downstairs, pleased to see that the bar had picked up and that the bartender earlier was busy with the patrons.

But the fox-eyed man was nowhere to be seen. Not on the bar stools, not on the tables that were spread out.

Your heart sank as you sat in the exact spot you were at before you went to the rooftop, waving your hand subtly at the bartender who immediately walked over you with a questioning look. Your mouth suddenly went dry, and then, you wanted to hit yourself. You didn’t even get fox-eyes’ name.

“He’s gone, sorry. He’s not really one to stay for long because of his job,” the bartender - Yunho - explained with an apologetic tone, reading the look on your face. “He did leave you this, though.”

Déjà vu settles over you from head to toe when Yunho hands you another drink, the very same drink. Only this time, he has a genuine smile on face as gave it to you. “He already paid for it, says his apologies for not staying,” he leaned over the table closer to you with a smirk. “So, how’d you know each other?”

“We don’t,” you supplied truthfully. “We bumped into each other tonight.”

“Ah,” he sounds out an acknowledgement. “I’m sorry you had the displeasure, then. He, uhm, can come off as very strong,agree  personality wise. As his friend, I hope he didn’t offend you.”

You think about the sound advice he left you before he disappeared and shook your head. “Don’t be, I do agree that he’s, uh, quite assertive, but he seems like a very insightful person.”

He raised a brow in amusement. “You sure about that? I remember wanting to throw him off the rooftop when I first met him.”

You nodded, laughing. “I’m sure. He has a refreshing personality.”

Yunho stared at you with a very inquisitive look. You squirmed in your seat, his eyes were quite sharp, now that you were up close and personal with him. What was up with you encountering very unnerving people tonight? Were fox-eyes and his friends really this daunting?

“Hold on a moment, please,” he murmured, finally leaning away, only for him to open a cabinet you didn’t know was there and grab a sticky note, scribbling something quickly on it before handing it to you. Confused, you took it, and gave him a questioning look as your eyes settled on the pad. It was a phone number, that you could tell.

“Look,” he began awkwardly, avoiding eye contact as he scratched the back of his neck. “I’m not supposed to do this, and this is literally a violation of my job, but that,” he pointed at the paper. “Call that number if you ever need a companion. You really look like you need it.”

“Is it his number?” You blurted out, gripping the note.

Yunho shook his head. “No. I would never do that, he would butcher me on the spot. But it is directly related to his job.”

“That…does not sound sketchy at all,” you trailed off, your frown getting deeper as you felt more unsettled.

He shrugged, turning around for you to think about it, and coincidentally, another patron from the bar flagged him, anyway, so he would have left regardless. Tonight was definitely the weirdest night of your life. 

You put the now crumpled note in your purse as you finished your drink fast, intending to forget about it even though it was given to you in good will.

You knew that called companions did exist for lonely people. It was a whole new meaning to ‘call a friend’. You’d occasionally hear your co-workers gush about it every lunch break, that the experience was life-changing. 

Regardless, you thought it was pathetic to resort to doing it. Being alone sounded more appealing than being so desperate to be with someone that you’d pay for their time. You would never, ever call that number.

You called the number the next day.

But not without doing a little bit of research, of course. While you were browsing, you were genuinely surprised to see that called companions were a booming business, a billion-dollar one, even. 

In a way, you understood, especially for the wealthy. Lord knows that you know plenty of people who’d rather die alone than have people around them only for their cash. Paying for comfort sounded logically sane even though the concept seemed uncomfortable for some, even for you. 

You pay for a temporary friend and when your time is up, it’s like it never happened. No strings attached, no worries. You paced the living room back and forth as you chewed on your nails anxiously as you waited for the other line to pick up, the prolonged ringing echoing in your ears grating, and for a second, you were concerned that Yunho had played a mean prank on you.

The conversation with fox-eyes made you realize how truly lonely you were, that maybe you really did just need someone to talk with. You hoped that you could see him again, you wished to talk to him once more, but you knew that was wishful thinking on your end.

We only have one life to live, but we have only one life to lead. That never left your mind, repeating in your head like some sort of gospel like it was the answer and solution to all your problems.

You didn’t care anymore, you were at an all-time high desperation. Besides, you weren’t staying here. You’d be gone in three months by the time that the company branch would be good to stand by themselves.

“Thank you for calling The Wonderland of Desire and Utopia where your hands aren’t the only thing that’ll be busy tonight, and where there’s no small talk, just big conversations. Our lines are open, but so are we. My name is Kang Yeosang, would you like to set an appointment?”

Your foot stopped halfway from taking a step, still in the air, as your jaw dropped at what you had just heard. Your eyes were wide with disbelief, especially at how deep the voice was on the other end. Well, that was certainly one way to begin a phone call like this.

“I know, right? Most of our clients say the same thing!”

You yelped, audibly startled. You mentally cursed, you must’ve said that thought out loud like a blithering idiot. But more than that, what in the hell did you just call? Was Yunho really playing a mean prank on you?

“Uh, h-hi, uh, I’ve never done this before,” you laughed nervously. “Can you explain how this works and how…discreet it is?”

Yeosang hums thoughtfully, his voice taking in on a cheerful note as he lets out a merry laugh. “Our services are very discreet, rest assured. We make our workers sign an NDA that our clientele can set up, if need be. Our companionship requires a certain level of respect and vice versa.”

“I see,”  you murmured, sitting down on the couch to get your footing. Something tells you that this will permanently change the trajectory of your life. “So, how does this work? Like I said, I’ve never done this before…”

“If I may, you seem to be the shy type,” Yeosang said. “Usually, almost all of our clients are repeat customers, so that means they have their go-tos. Our rates are by threes and are extendable, of course. Would you like me to send a list of companions and call back?”

That didn’t sound too bad, three hours seems like a very reasonable time for you, especially if all you’re looking for was a friend who you’ll hopefully click with and take a liking to.

“No, no need,” you denied politely. “Would you be able to pick out one for me? I-I’m not really fussy.”

There was a pause on the line, the discernible clicking of the keyboard filling in the silence. “Are you free by nighttime?” Yeosang asked. You made a small sound of agreement. “I have someone perfect for you. I can vouch for him, he’ll make the entire experience very comfortable for you.”

Your chest heaved as Yeosang talked about the rate and the payment as well as the paperwork he was to send you in a bit that details your companion’s details. You did like this bit of the process - hell, if you were about to pay someone for their time, as sad as that is, you did want to know things about them, at least.

Before you knew it, you were being thanked for your payment and you were thanking Yeosang for the help. A file was sent to your email so you quickly opened your laptop.

It didn’t really hit you what you’ve done until you’ve hung up and the only thing around you was silence. “Oh my God,” you muttered in horror as you opened the file and read the contents.. “Did I just do that…?”

Recipient: Kang Yeosang - Wonderland of Desire and Utopia Subject: Companion Information (Important!) Name: Jung Wooyoung Birthdate: November 26, 1999 Current Residence: Busan, South Korea Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius Blood Type: A+ Height: 173 cm (5’8”) Allergies: None Tattoos: Four Piercings: Four Green: soft touches, massages, bondage, exhibitionism, blindfold, degradation, age play, biting, spanking, corruption Yellow: multiple participants, feet, breath play, wax play, CNC, voyeurism, somnophilia Red: knife play, furries, assault, food play, uncommon roleplays, blood, other bodily fluids besides arousal, watersports

You blinked repeatedly, frozen on the spot. You even went as far as rubbing your eyes before re-reading the entire thing. Did Yeosang send you the wrong information? This was a bit too oddly specific for just a called companion.

You could feel your face heat up as you soaked the information one by one. And blood? You practically gagged, that certainly something you had no interest in knowing, but now, there was no way to unread all of this.

“Jung Wooyoung,” you mouthed silently, feeling and testing the weight of the name on your tongue. It had a nice ring to it, you thought it was a very pretty name. There was no picture attached to the file. Not that it mattered, appearances definitely don’t mean a single thing to you.

It was when you were done eating and were currently washing the dishes when the doorbell rang. Another thing you fancied with this house was that there was an intercom in the kitchen so you didn’t have to go directly towards the door. You were suddenly reminded of fox-eyes, wondering what he would say about rich people and their toys. You could picture the sneer on his face and it brought a smile to your face.

“Come in! I already unlocked the door for you. Go straight and you’ll see me in the kitchen,” you talked through the intercom, hoping the crackling of it hid the nervousness in your voice.

The telltale sign of someone entering the house made your nerves shoot up. You were still washing the dishes and putting them on the rack, you didn’t want to break anything, but you were just very nervous. Your back was turned from the new incomer and it was when you heard the shuffling of feet from behind you.

“J-Just a m-moment,” you stammered pathetically. “L-Let me just wash my hands…”

Your heartbeat thrummed in your ears, drowning out everything else. He was here - right behind you. You could practically feel the subtle shift in the air. A faint, amused chuckle sent a shiver down your spine.

“Take your time, dollface. I have all the time in the world to make you relax,” the newcomer’s voice was smooth, it was husky and had a teasing edge to it that literally made your knees want to buckle.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, and turned around. That was a mistake. The polite, neutral greeting you had prepared died in your throat the second you saw him.

Apparently, he was just as surprised as you. The cocky smirk he had on his face as he was leaning on the dining table fell down in slow motion to be replaced with shock as he took your face in.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” the fox-eyed man you wanted to see again scoffed in disbelief, shaking his head as if this was a nightmare he couldn’t wait to wake up from. “You? You’re L/N Y/N?”

“And you’re Jung Woooyung,” you drawled out, biting your lips after saying it out loud.

“Why?” Wooyoung asked, tone snappy, challenging you, it seemed. “Did you have something else named for me in your pretty little head? What is it? Asshole? Jerk? Doucheface?”

You hesitated, holding the edge of your skirt in a tight bunch in your fist. The gesture doesn’t escape Wooyoung’s attention, but he doesn’t make a comment on it. Finally, you shook your head and shrugged. “Fox-eyes.”

His brows twitched. “Excuse me?”

A sharp exhale heaves from your chest. You turned your head to avoid eye contact with him, a deep crimson coating your cheeks. “Fox-eyes. Your, uh, eyes. They reminded me of a fox.”

You caught the way Wooyoung’s eyes were trying to decide if he should just walk out now or endure the rest of the night. He crossed his arms, staring you down. You shifted your feet, uncomfortable at how intense his eyes were.

“Unbelievable,“ he muttered under his breath, but due to how silent the house was, you were able to hear it. “It’s like this world is forcing us to meet at every turn.”

You couldn’t agree more. Here you were, literally thinking about how you didn’t mind it if you saw him again, but now that he was not only in front of you but literally in the house, you didn’t know what to do.

He began rounding the table until he was only a couple of feet away from you. Instinctively, you stepped back. He narrowed his eyes irritatingly. “I’m not going to eat you.”

You frowned. “Could’ve fooled me.”

His lips twitched into a small smirk ever so slightly, it was very reminiscent of what you told him last night and you were pretty sure that he was thinking the same thing. 

“Anyway,” he continued. “Were you really that lonely? You were many things, but the last thing I expected was for you to call a service so you wouldn’t be alone. Money really isn’t everything, huh?”

And there it was. You purse your lips, deciding to ignore his last statement. Nothing good was going to come out of it. 

It certainly wasn’t helping that you were able to look at him up close and personal now that your tears weren’t clouding your eyes and it was brighter than the rooftop. My God, you thought. He was more attractive than you initially thought. His eyes were sharper, his nose more upturned, and his lips were plumper and juicer.

Wooyoung started to massage his temples as if he was already tired before the conversation even began. “Let’s discuss boundaries, both for you and me. Let me know anything, and I mean anything, even if it’s just as simple as turning the lights off or not.”

You crinkle your brows in confusion, but he continued. “I also want to know your pain tolerance, and especially your safe word. This is my job and I do take it seriously. If there’s anything you’re looking for, I need to know before we begin.”

“H-Hold on, what on Earth are you talking about?” You blurted out, your entire face completely scrunched up in visible confusion. “Why do we need the lights off? And pain? What—”

He scoffed, eyes darkening as his jaw locked in impatience. “Y/N,” he deadpanned, voice devoid of any emotion. His tone sent shivers up your spine once more. “This is already humiliating for me as is, and if this is your way of getting back at me for last night, don’t.”

“I really don’t know what in the hell you’re talking about, seriously,” you said exasperatedly as you slowly got more and more aggravated at what’s happening.

Wooyoung stopped talking, his eyes lighting up with something like he just realized something. He narrowed his eyes, his head tilting slightly as he studied you in a way he hadn’t before. 

Something in his expression shifts into an even deeper realization and his eyes widened, a startled gasp leaving his lips. Wooyoung looked so shocked that the way his entire body stiffened honestly scared you. 

“You don’t know,” he whispered, his voice taking on a horrified note. “Holy shit, you have no idea.” A dry laugh escaped him, short and bitter. "Unbelievable."

You blinked. "Know what?"

His expression didn’t change. He just kept staring at you, unblinking, his breathing slow and measured. Your pulse kicked up. "You’re freaking me out," you admitted, forcing out a nervous laugh.

Still, he said nothing. His silence stretched too long, too unnatural, until finally, he let out a sharp exhale and raked a hand through his hair. "No fucking way."

Your stomach plummeted. "Okay, what is going on?”

“I need to ask you something,” he said slowly, voice eerily careful. “How did you wind up calling the number you did?”

For a moment, you thought about lying, but there was no point. “Yunho gave it to me,” you admitted. “Said to call if I need a companion.”

Wooyoung exhaled sharply, his fist lightly bumped the table. His jaw tightened impossibly more than you thought possible. His intensity was honestly worrying you. “That motherfucker,” he hissed, gritting his teeth. “I’ll kill him.”

Something in your stomach twisted as you watched him rub a hand over his face in frustration. “Listen to me, dollface,” he muttered. “I have to refund you your money.”

You were confused. “What? Why?”

“Because,” he snapped, his eyes widened in anger. “I’m not here to be your friend. I’m here for a different type of job. I want you to think really, really hard right now. Use that noggin of yours, think.” 

But how were you supposed to do that? You were the director of the biggest fashion chain in the country, pressure was one you were used to, but right now, you couldn’t think straight. You swear you’ve never been so confused in your entire life.

“I still don’t—”

“I’m a sex worker, Y/N. A male prostitute, if you will. I get paid for sex. To fuck.”

At first, it still didn’t hit you what he was saying, but when it did, everything clicked all at once. The weird conversation with Yeosang, the overly kinky information sheet, the boundary talk, the lights, pain—

“Oh my God,” the blood on your face disappeared and you paled.  "Oh my God."

How could you be so stupid? You quickly turned to him even though you wanted the earth to swallow you whole. “I didn’t know, I swear to God I didn’t know. I wouldn't have called, I swear.”

His jaw clenched. "Yeah. I figured that out about five minutes ago."

“B-But Yunho,” you blurted out. 

“He didn’t know,” he sighed exasperatedly. “Called companions do exist, but I wasn’t exactly going to tell my friend that I fuck people for living now, would I? He gave you the number in good faith, because I told him I was a regular companion.”

It all made sense now. All that conversation of him hating his job and why he looked so forlorn about it, why he didn’t want to talk about it, everything made so much sense now. 

A long silence stretched between you, thick and crackling with something unspoken. You tried very, very hard not to think about the actual reason why Wooyoung was technically here. If you blushed now, it would be very obvious to him what you were currently thinking.

Amidst that, you couldn’t stop the ache in your chest. You were an idiot, he did say that this was humiliating for him, and now you knew why. You thought about all of the things he said on the rooftop.

He gave you a look, something unreadable flickering behind his expression, but then he just shook his head. “No. We’re different. It’s not about whether I like it or not,  it’s about whether I can survive doing it. The same should apply to you.”

“You’re in a position to be anything for yourself, one that won’t drain you mentally and emotionally. Heaven knows that some people don’t even have that option.”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. Like he wasn’t just talking about you. You stayed silent, internalizing what he said.

You didn’t want to assume, one blunder was enough for tonight, but it would greatly explain his aversion to, as he would put it, rich people and their drama.

“Stop that.” 

You swiveled your head towards Wooyoung’s direction, confused if he was even talking to you. “What?”

“Stop that,” he repeated through gritted teeth. He pointed at you haughtily with his index finger. “That look in your face, that pity. I hate it, I don’t need it. Certainly not from you.”

You tilted your head. “I’m not, though. I think you’re quite resilient.”

It was true, but of course, he wasn’t going to believe anything that comes from your mouth. “Really?” Wooyoung scoffed sarcastically. “Is this rich people lingo? Anything that deviates from what’s proper is seen as quirky and shit? Or is it because my job is seen as dirty?”

A frown settles on your face. You knew what he was doing, he was trying to pick a fight, just like he did when you met him for the first time. “Wooyoung,” you said slowly, the weight of his name heavy on your tongue this time. “You know I don’t have a problem with what you do, right?”

He stilled, and for the first time since this whole mess unraveled, he actually looked surprised. Not angry, not disbelieving, just surprised. Like he genuinely wasn’t expecting you to say that.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, turning around to open the fridge nearby before looking at him from behind your shoulders. “I was about to help myself with dessert when you came. I believe I made too much of it.”

It was an open invitation, one you hope he’d take. He narrowed his eyes at you and you could clearly see the simmering anger in them. He shook his head, still looking at you like he wasn’t sure what to make of you.

But then, he exhaled softly. “Where can I wash my hands?”

You perked up, your chest feeling lighter. “You’re staying?”

Wooyoung gave you a look. “Don’t make me change my mind.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I might as well. You paid for my time, and plus, if I’m going to be pissed about this whole situation, I might as well get pissed off eating dessert. Now, can you please tell me where the bathroom is? I’m not particularly interested in eating with dirty hands.”

It's how you found yourself trying hard not to stare at Wooyoung as he helped himself with the cheesecake you whipped up quickly for yourself this afternoon while you were passing time. You swallowed, how can this man be this attractive by just eating?

“Damn,” he mumbled, nodding in approval before he looked at you impassively. “This is pretty good. You could just quit your shitty job and do this, it’s lucrative.”

Your heart just did a flip-flop then and there. Looks like he still remembered what the both of you talked about.  “Hmm. I’m not as good as you think. I bet you could do better.”

Wooyoung raised a brow, a small smirk playing on his lips. “What gave it away?”

You leaned forward, your elbows leaning on top of the table. “You don’t just suggest someone to switch careers. Only someone who makes food, themselves, knows what tastes good enough to sell.”

That actually got a real laugh out of him - not bitter, not forced - just tired, a little exasperated, but real. “You are, by far, my strangest client, dollface,” he shook his head. “And that’s saying a lot.”

Your lips twitched, fighting off a smile. “I’m serious,” he said. “When I get called over, it’s usually not to eat cheesecake with my clients.”

You hummed, mostly to hide how nervous you were to ask your next question. But when you tried to open your mouth and ask away, nothing really came out.

Wooyoung rolled his eyes at you. “Just ask,” he said. “It literally doesn’t bother me anymore. Were you going to ask how I got into sex work?”

You blushed beet red, nodding sheepishly. He scoffs, but it wasn’t out of malice, it was more of teasing disbelief. “Lesson one, Y/N. If you want something in life, all you have to do is ask.”

“Anyway,” he took a big bite out of the cheesecake. “It’s quick money. Out here, there aren’t many opportunities for people with lesser education. I have a younger brother depending on me. This is my only way to make a decent living while making my own schedule.”

“I see,” you nodded in understanding. “What about your parents?”

Wooyoung’s face darkened, and for a second, you regretted even asking in the first place. “Mum passed from giving birth to my brother, dad can’t hold a job to save his skin so he relies on me. Make this the last time you ask about him, though, I detest him.”

“Yeah, that makes two of us,” you mumbled more to yourself, but of course, that doesn’t escape Wooyoung’s attention.

“Huh. So not only are you so lonely and desperate that you resort to seeking comfort with a prostitute, but you also have daddy issues,” he said flatly without missing a beat.

You snorted at that. As insensitive as it is, when he puts it like that, it does make a lot of sense. You couldn’t get mad at Wooyoung for that, if anything, it puts things into perspective and it eases your mind a little. “Thanks,” you smiled.

He huffed out a laugh. “You’re thanking me for being an ass to you?”

“For being real,” you gently corrected. “As unsympathetic as you come off, it’s not like the things you’ve told me weren’t true.”

He hummed. “You are an oddball.”

You didn’t reply, staring down your plate that had the unfinished cheesecake. You just realized something and your appetite started to wane down, and you almost felt bad. He noticed this and raised his brow at you. “What?”

“When I bumped into you yesterday,” you mumbled, poking your cheesecake with your fork absentmindedly. “No wonder you looked tired. Did you just, uhm.”

You didn’t know how to say it, you didn’t know what to say without sounding like you were prying, especially when you said that what he did didn’t bother you. For a moment, he didn’t say anything - just stared at you like he was trying to decide if he should be amused or annoyed. You both knew what you were trying to ask.

“Yeah, I just finished working that night,” he admitted, leaning back on the chair with a deep sigh as he stared up at the ceiling. Somehow, he looked even more tired than before. “Client was an asshole. Gave me those nasty cigarettes as half of the payment.”

“And you sort of took it out on me,” you said slowly.

He huffed a dry, humourless laugh. “Yes.”

For a second, you thought he might say something more. Maybe an apology for snapping at you, or maybe a thank you for the night, just something to acknowledge whatever had just passed between you two. But nothing. Something in his face changed. Wooyoung pushed the plate away from him as he glanced at his wrist for the time. “I should go.”

You blinked in surprise. "Y-Yeah, sure," you tentatively stood up from your chair and he did the same. He didn’t even look back, just walked straight to the door and held the doorknob.

Wooyoung paused, rolling out his shoulders like he was resetting himself.  When he looked at you again, his usual smirk was back, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’ll see you when I see you,” he said, his voice light, almost dismissive.

You weren’t sure why that made your stomach sink a little. But, you had to let him go. He technically had no reason to be here. You let out a small huff, shaking your head to yourself. "Yeah. See you around."

And with that, he was gone. You stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space where he’d been, the weight of the night pressing down on you in ways you hadn’t expected.

See you when I see you. Somehow, you got the feeling you would.

The next time you saw Wooyoung again, it was a by-chance. It was a week after, an entire week where you couldn’t stop thinking about Wooyoung.

You had just gotten off of the phone that morning when you decided to get out and cool off. Your boss was already on your ass about the oncoming project, and you did try to protest, but you were quickly shut down without a single hint of patience.

It took everything in you not to chuck your phone out the window. One of these days, you could just envision yourself snapping, but for now, you were going to take it one step at a time.

There was a nearby cafe tucked in a corner that you wouldn’t even have seen at all had you not decided to take a walk around the neighbourhood. The moment you opened the door, you knew you were going to like it there. You were the type to make coffee at home, but a little trip here and there didn’t hurt anyone.

You distracted yourself by grabbing a smaller version of the menu that held pastry options lying on the table as you watched the barista make your coffee delicately. That would have been fine, but it was when you saw him.

Wooyoung took over making your cappuccino as the other barista took another person’s order. Your mind just about exploded by then, it was like he said the other week  - that this universe was trying to force you onto one another lately.

You cringed, anxiety flooding you, so you lifted the menu and covered your face with it so Wooyoung wouldn’t see you. That didn’t really do anything, you still peeked from behind the menu to glance at Wooyoung as he worked on your coffee.

You let out a small whimper when your eyes landed on Wooyoung’s arm as they flexed while he worked - there was a medium-sized tattoo of a thorny rose displayed on his veiny arms.

Holy hell, you thought. If that wasn’t attractive enough, his unfairly thin waist kept distracting you from the task at hand and while that may be so, it was pretty obvious that he was built despite all the features mentioned.

As if this world was against you, Wooyoung began to make his way to your table, cup in hand. You didn’t even have time to react and by the time you thought about it, it was too late. He had seen you.

“Well, blow me the fuck down,” Wooyoung smirked as he placed the cup in front of you before crossing his arms. “You’re alive.”

You scoffed, putting the menu down, your head rising to meet his teasing eyes. “Didn’t think you’d even remember me, let alone care that I’m alive, or something.”

Wooyoung narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms tighter against his chest, stepping closer to your table. “Cut me some slack here, dollface. I’m not that much of a dickhead,” he rolled his eyes. “Just surprised to see you, is all. Last time I saw you out, you were an inch away from falling to your death.”

Somehow, your chest warmed at hearing his voice again even though he was definitely the most insensitive person you’ve ever met. “I thought you couldn’t stand me because I’m rich?”

“You’re right,” he agreed flatly. He gestured to your drink and the laptop you had set up while waiting for your order. “Well, carry on doing your rich people thing, I guess. I’ll get back to work.”

You waved him off, pretending that you didn’t care what he said as he walked away. Work was calling you, however, so it was easier to get back in that groove.

But after half an hour of staring at the screen, frustration twisted in your chest. I snapped the laptop shut, pinching the bridge of your nose as you cursed your supervisor to death in your head. You pushed back your chair a little too hard before walking off, grateful to be sat next to the door, but you were held back by a firm hand wrapping around your arm to stop you.

Wooyoung’s eyes met yours when you turned around in irritation. Damn it, he was even more attractive up close. You shook your arm off of him harshly before glaring at him. “What the hell is wrong with you? Let go.”

“Easy, dollface,” he tried to placate you, making a move to hold your arm again. “You need to calm down. I don’t want you walking off when your emotions are all over the place. I could practically feel it behind the counter.”

“So, what?” You hissed, looking around to see if there were people to see the spectacle, but when there were none, you raised your voice a bit at him. “You’re going to keep me hostage now because you’re scared I’d go crazy on the streets?”

“Yes, actually,” Wooyoung answered sarcastically, nodding to emphasize his point. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do, Y/N.” 

He grabbed your arm again to pull you and sit you down back on the chair where you just were. You were taken aback when he put his hands on your shoulders firmly as he looked down to you. “My shift will be over in ten minutes,” he began. “You will sit here and wait for me and then we can take a hike somewhere so you can let out whatever’s bothering you.”

You stared at him, completely thrown off. “Why would I do that? Why the hell do you care?”

His face softened, just a little, like he wasn’t playing some game. “Make no mistake, I don’t care about you, not in the slightest,” he sighed. “But, again, I’m not an ass. I’m not about to ignore somebody who clearly needs to unwind.”

You purse your lips, not replying, but not ignoring him. “That look on your face on the rooftop, I can’t. I know what it’s like to be on that deep end.” 

"This is ridiculous," you muttered annoyingly. “You’re ridiculous.”

He gave you one last look before turning around, but heaved a sigh of relief when he saw that you were going to stay put. "I’m serious. Whatever’s bothering you, you don’t have to figure it out alone."

You didn’t know what to say, his genuineness caught you off-guard. Just as he said, he really gets off in ten minutes. Wooyoung haphazardly throws his apron on the counter, not caring where it landed, before he cocks his head towards the door. “Let’s go.”

You had no direction in mind, and apparently, neither did Wooyoung. “Where are you taking me?” You asked.

He paused from walking the moment you were both a couple of blocks away from the cafe. “Give me your phone,” he demanded, putting his hand expectantly in front of you.

You blinked, confused. “Why?”

He curls his fingers impatiently, gesturing for you. “Come on, I don’t have time all day.”

Not knowing what else to do, you tentatively hand him your phone, to which he snatched it rather rudely from your hand. He tinkers for it for a moment, his eyes widening slightly in surprise before he glances back up at you. After a while, he gets his own phone and also tinkers with it.

“Here,” he hands you your phone back. He didn’t even look at you and just continued to type on his phone. “I just cancelled another client. We have three hours until I have to go again.”

Oh, you certainly weren’t expecting that. You hurriedly checked your phone and indeed, Wooyoung had just set up another “companion” appointment for you. You reckoned he was surprised because when you looked at the payment option, you had eight different cards that were all filled with cash and he saw.

You blushed hard, your face so hot to the touch that you reckon you’d get burned if you put a finger on your cheek. You knew you weren’t supposed to feel like this, that if you were going to be frank, you two weren’t going to have sex, but the implication was there and you couldn’t help but think about them.

You resumed walking and it felt like it was the most normal thing ever. It wasn’t supposed to be like that, but you followed him, anyway.

“So, what do you do for a living, anyway?” Wooyoung asked good-naturedly the moment he put his phone back in his pocket and looked at you.

“Oh,” you sounded out in surprise, not expecting the question. “I’m a director of something.”

He shakes his head. “No, that’s working to earn money. I asked you what you for a living.”

You blinked at him, momentarily thrown off by the distinction. "What’s the difference?”

Wooyoung scoffed, like you had just said something completely ridiculous. "One is just surviving. The other is actually living."

"I mean, I do work," you tried again, feeling oddly self-conscious under his expectant gaze. "And then I go home. Sometimes I watch something. Sometimes I read. That counts, right?"

Wooyoung tilted his head, unimpressed. "So, you exist."

"Wow, okay, rude," you muttered. “Do you even have a hobby?”

"Relax," he chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "And yeah, I swim sometimes. I’m just asking what actually makes you feel something. Like, what’s the thing that makes you want to wake up in the morning?"

You faltered. Because, honestly? You weren't sure you had an answer. “I don’t know,” you admitted shamefully, avoiding eye contact with him. “I actually don’t know. Well, what about you, I guess? I didn’t know you worked here, either.”

“Well, there are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Y/N,” he chuckled. “Watch your step. I won’t catch you if you trip.”

You wanted to glare at him, but the hotel entrance held your attention instead. Your mouth went open, it was the same hotel you had the event at. You stared at him in disbelief, the blush now traveling from your cheeks to your ears and neck.

He seems to have realized the same thing you did and rolled his eyes. “We’re not here for that, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he scoffed. “I needed a drink, I figured you wanted to tag along. Yunho is working tonight.”

“Fine,” you grumbled, following him to the same resto-bar. Wooyoung looked pleased with your reply.

Just like the last time you went, the daytime restaurant was already closed, the bar part of it getting ready to be in full swing. It was certainly a repeat of the very same night.

“Wow, you guys sure got along better than I initially thought,” were the first words you hear upon entering the empty bar.

Yunho was wiping the counters on the farthest part of the bar, but looked up to comment when he saw the both of you enter. Wooyoung laughed and raised his middle finger up. “You almost fucked me over, too,” he said cryptically. He sits down on one of the barstools and gestures for you to do the same. “Come on, Y/N—”

“Yah, Jung Wooyoung, you absolute bastard, you! You left me with that old bitch tonight—oh, who’s that?”

You winced, a bit startled at the new person’s loud voice that came from the back door. He was wearing a fancy suit, the types you’d see your bosses wear, and my, you thought. He was a pretty boy. Much like Wooyoung.

“Hello, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung said dryly. You cringed when he pats your shoulder once. “Watch it. This one’s my client. A friend, you could say.”

Hongjoong raised a suspicious brow. “A friend? You? You don’t make friends, Wooyoung,” he looks at you up and down in slight distaste. “Certainly not with the rich type.”

“Hongjoong,” Wooyoung warns with a slight edge on his voice. He points at the bartender watching the scene unfold. “Why don’t you tell Yunho to make us four drinks? On this one,” he juts a thumb on you.

You scoffed when Hongjoong left and turned to Wooyoung. “So you took me here to pay for the drinks? Should’ve known you’d only use me for my money.”

Wooyoung laughed, genuinely laughed. His high-pitched voice echoed through the bar, his eyes crinkled up in pure happiness as his mouth split open as he let out that beautiful sound. “You’re funny,” he said. “But no. It’s to appease him. He has a clear distaste for people like you, too.”

“I can see that,” you replied dryly.

“He’s not that bad. A bit straightforward, but he means well. He’s my longest friend.”

“He does what you do, too?” 

“Yes, don’t tell Yunho, he doesn’t know either,” Wooyoung said. “Though he does it full-time. I pick my own schedule because I have my job at the cafe and then I have another during the mornings. I unload trucks for that big ass grocery store downtown. You know that one right?”

Your eyes widened at that. “Three jobs?”

"What, you thought this was it? You thought I just fucked people all day, all night?" Wooyoung gestured vaguely to himself. "No. I have to survive. Though you wouldn’t get it, you earn what I earn in those three jobs within a week, probably."

You blinked, unsure how to react to that information. He always carried himself with such infuriating ease, like he didn’t have a single worry in the world. But three jobs? That wasn’t just busy - that was barely surviving. "You’re a hypocrite, then,” you mumbled. “You and I are no different. You have no living either.”

"Gotta do what you gotta do," he shrugged like it was nothing. “Though, I wouldn’t say we’re the same. I’m merely doing it to put food on the table.”

You knew it, at the back of your head, that there was more to Jung Wooyoung than you initially thought, but now, that thought was sprinkled with utmost respect. It was a dangerous thing to feel.

Just then, Yunho approaches where you were seated as Hongjoong chooses to sit beside you and places four shot glasses on the table - one for each of you.  

Wooyoung didn’t even get to taste anything, his phone suddenly rang, the shrill of it loud against the empty space of the bar. He takes one look at it and closes his eyes in concealed frustration.

“It’s Seonghwa, fuck,” he cursed, looking at Hongjoong, who looks at him in worry. “Shit, I gotta take this. I’ll be right back.”

Wooyoung runs to the rooftop, not even bothering to see what you’d say about the matter. You watched him go, flabbergasted, and not knowing what to do now that you were basically left with his two other friends.

“Seonghwa’s our boss, you could say. Anyway, what’s a person like you doing with the likes of Wooyoung?” Hongjoong suddenly quipped, downing his shot with a grimace on his face. “Fuck, Yunho, what you put in here? Gasoline?”

“You’ll find out if you suddenly drop dead,” the taller man deadpanned.

You turned to Hongjoong’s direction, frowning. “Believe it or not, this is purely coincidental.”

“I don’t know about that,” Yunho shook his head, downing his own shot without any reaction, which pisses Hongjoong off. “Wooyoung’s a busy person. He doesn’t just bring friends around.”

You couldn’t help the snort that comes out from you. “We’re not friends. He tells me he doesn’t like me all the time.”

“No, no, you don’t understand. It’s one thing to get paid to do…you know,” Hongjoong gives you a look, one that Yunho doesn’t seem to notice. “But it’s another thing to hang outside of that bubble. I’d say he’s fond of you.”

You should have laughed it off, but instead, you sat there, rooted in place, heart stumbling over itself in a way that made you feel unsteady. “Seriously, it’s not like that,” you reiterated. “This is a purely transactional relationship. Nothing else.”

“Doesn’t look like it to me,” Yunho smirked.

Turns out, Wooyoung was right - Hongjoong wasn’t all that bad. If anything, he was equally as wise and insightful as Wooyoung was. You realized it might have been because of what they’ve gone through in life. Makes you really think about the other side of this life.

As it turns out, Yunho and Wooyoung’s mothers were close friends. Life was good until Wooyoung’s mother passed away. On top of that, Wooyoung’s father was a raging alcoholic who had no incentive to look for a job, so that left Wooyoung to fend for his little brother’s needs. It’s no wonder why Wooyoung looks and sounds so tired all the time.

“Sometimes, Wooyoung doesn’t even want to go home,” Yunho said quietly, glancing up the stairs to see if Wooyoung was there. “If it weren’t for his brother, he wouldn’t even. His dad is getting worse everyday. God, I hate that freeloader.”

“His pride is higher than the sky,” Hongjoong pitched in, his expression crestfallen, his eyes laced with hidden pity for his friend. “Sometimes, we don’t even know where he sleeps, or if he even sleeps. I’m so scared that one day he just won’t show up to work because he’s worked himself to death with his other jobs.”

You understood why Wooyoung feels such hostility towards you. You really did. He works himself to the bone and gets virtually nothing. You had everything you wanted.

“He’s a good person,” Yunho said softly. “You’ve seen it yourself. He’s a certified asshole. Him still hanging out with you is a proof of the opposite. He just doesn’t want to admit it.”

“I’m sure he is,” you said. You just found it difficult to imagine Wooyoung warming up to you.

“He is, and to be fair, it’s not every time a rich person acts normal around these parts of the country,” Hongjoong scoffed. “All they do is step on us. Feed the hungry, feed them shit, feed them bones and politics type of a thing, and in a way, I’m definitely on his side. Trust me, he’s taken a liking to you. Maybe he’s trying to understand.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” you counteracted.

“Listen, Y/N is it? He’s been through a lot with the cards he’s been dealt with. Even if he doesn’t understand, he’ll try. You have to cut him some slack,” Hongjoong eyed your shot, the one you haven’t touched. “You gonna drink that?”

Wooyoung leaned back in his chair, eyeing you like he had officially deemed you a fascinating case study, as he crossed his arms comfortably in front of his chest. “Your turn,” he smirked. “I told you something about me. Tell me things about you.”

The first time you called him again, you told yourself it was just because you had nothing better to do, and maybe Wooyoung didn’t have other clients.

The second time, you told yourself it was out of convenience. As blunt as he was, he was easy to talk to, someone who could distract you without trying too hard.

By the third time, Wooyoung stopped knocking on your door and just let himself in every single time. To be fair, you stopped locking your doors on the nights you knew he was coming.

And by the tenth time, you stopped making excuses. It was an unwritten rule between the two of you at this point - you were lonely and in need of a friend, and he was trying to pass time.

“Well,” you shrugged. “What do you wanna know? There’s not much I can tell you, as you said, I do lead a lonely life.”

He thought about it for a moment. “You aren’t close with your parents?”

“Next question,” you said a bit more hastily than you intended to. They were the last thing you wanted to talk about, you didn’t want to ruin your good mood.

Instead of questioning it, Wooyoung nodded. Your chest almost caved in on itself. He didn’t push, nor did he look remotely disappointed about being denied an answer. “What’s it like?”

“What’s it like to what?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, pulling his knees to his chest as he sat comfortably on your couch. “What’s it like to have a lot of money? To never worry about the next day or your next meal?”

You stayed silent, contemplating on what you should say. In the end, you decided to be truthful. “Though I do make a lot of money now, I spent most of life with my parents’ money,” you admitted softly. “The saying is true. It doesn’t buy you happiness.”

“Oh, come off it,” Wooyoung hissed, banging his fist on your coffee table, taking you by surprise. He seemed actually mad - his face was contorted into a grimace, reddened with emotions. “I can’t stand you people, but you know what I can’t stand more? It’s when you people say that bullshit.”

“Wooyoung—”

“No, you listen to me,” he barked, breathing hard. “You get whatever you want, get whoever you want. Money is the world’s oyster, and you have plenty. Why the fuck aren’t you happy?”

You sighed, watching him centre himself and not saying anything to anger him more. You understood where he was coming from, and in truth, you understood more than you’d ever tell him. But no matter how much you explain, Wooyoung will never understand you.

You inhaled deeply, steadying yourself before speaking. “You think money solves everything,” you began, voice measured. “And I get it. It makes life easier. It gives you options. But having money doesn’t mean you automatically have happiness.”

Wooyoung scoffed, leaning back against the couch, arms crossed as he watched you talk. “Money gives you access, not fulfillment. Comfort, not peace. In this world, in a material sense, all of those are true. I never worried about my next meal or my next rent money. ”

You watched Wooyoung’s jaw tense. He licked his lips, turning away from you.

“However,” you continued when you saw he wasn’t going to say something. “It doesn’t buy what’s real and important. It doesn’t buy purpose, love, meaning. If anything, having those makes things harder to find. I don’t have a Yunho or Hongjoong in my life because they’re usually after my money.”

His expression flickered, and you can see the contemplation in his face, but you didn’t stop. “The worst part is I can’t complain. People like you look at people like me and say exactly what you’re thinking. This isn’t my first rodeo, Wooyoung.”

His jaw clenched. “Because it’s true.”

“To you,” you shot back, trying very hard to stay patient despite his biting tone. “This might sound ungrateful, but I didn’t ask to be born drowning in money. What if I was never given the chance to figure it out because everything was always there before I even had the chance to want it?”

Wooyoung just stared at you, something unreadable in his gaze. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand,” he admits after a while. “But, I appreciate you telling me.”

You hummed, accepting the response. He motions to you, and then to himself. “So there’s no point in all that wealth then, because clearly, we both have the same mental issues.”

“You could say that,” you laughed dryly, turning on the TV on the most random channel as background noise. 

“I hope it gets easier on you eventually,” he says softly, so softly you almost didn’t hear it if it weren’t you concentrating on his presence. “I hope it also gets easier on me.”

You let out a small smile. “Yeah, me too.”

There were nights you called him just to sit in silence, his steady presence somehow anchoring you. It was to the point that Yeosang memorized your number and their boss, Park Seonghwa, would personally book Wooyoung for you at a discounted rate. That was naturally disgusting for you to think, but it was what it was.

"You really have no one else to bother, huh?" Wooyoung would say the moment he’d enter through your door. Sometimes he brought coffee, sometimes doughnuts, most of the time with nothing but himself.

You’d roll your eyes. "Shut up."

And he would. Not because you told him to, but because he knew when you needed silence. You were getting attached, and that was a very, very dangerous concept to think about. Maybe it was, and perhaps you were, but it never stopped you from booking him.

But the most terrifying thing of all? He never once turned you away.

Granted, you were literally paying him for his time. Of course, he was guaranteed to show up. It was fucked, everything was fucked. You were calling a sex worker not to have sex with them, but for their presence.

Right now, you were at the bar waiting for Wooyoung to finish working with one of his regular clients. Yunho and Hongjoong would keep you company most of the time, and you were beginning to genuinely like their presence as well.

“Come on, why even get a pet, Joong?” Yunho asked exasperatedly as he gave you your free drink, putting his hands on his hips. “That poor animal, you’re barely home.”

“Humans ain’t shit; animals won’t betray you or let you down,” Hongjoong rolled his eyes. He grinned at you. “Isn’t that right, rich girl? Bet you can relate, people usually only want you for your cash.”

You were inclined to actually agree, and you voiced that out loud, much to Yunho’s chagrin. “Sure. What were you planning to get anyway?”

“A dog, a real cutie, I’ll go to an adoption centre,” Hongjoong said proudly.

“For Christ’s sake,” Yunho pinched his nose bridge, before he smirked and looked at Hongjoong teasingly. “Isn’t one bitch in the house enough?”

Your eyes widened, especially at Hongjoong’s appalled face. You had to admit, that was good. “You don’t get it,” Hongjoong pouted. “You hate animals.”

Yunho rolled his eyes. “I don’t hate animals.”

“You hate fish,” Hongjoong counteracted.

“Hate is a strong word. I don’t know how to take care of them.”

“You have an aversion to cats.”

“The fuck? I love cats,” Yunho genuinely looked scandalized by that.

“You hate roosters and cocks.”

“What? I love co…” Yunho trailed off, the smirk on his face slowly fading. “Bastard.”

Indeed, you really did like these two. They made you feel less alone. Now you knew what it felt like to have friends, and it felt great. While those two were bickering, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Wooyoung cocked his head with a small smirk. “Leave ‘em,” he chuckled. “They could keep going all night.” He holds his hand out and curtsies mockingly at you, not the bad kind. “Ready to go, Your Highness?”

True to his words, Hongjoong and Yunho were still bickering when you walked out. They didn’t even notice that Wooyoung had arrived and was now leaving with you. 

You had no direction in mind this time. It was only nearing four in the afternoon, much earlier than the time you would usually see Wooyoung. A nice walk in town wouldn’t hurt for a change. You didn’t want to go to the house this time, you were in a horrible mood.

Your co-workers from your own branch had their getaway without you. Sure, you were technically on the other side of the country, but you weren’t the only one. Some of your co-workers who were sent to other branches went as well. 

You were snapped out of your brooding thoughts when Wooyoung elbowed you. “What are you thinking about?”

“Crappy co-workers,” you said, not even bothering to sugarcoat what you really thought.

Wooyoung chortled, sitting down on the park bench that overlooked the entire greenery. You chose to sit with him. If you weren’t tied to your work in Seoul, you wouldn’t mind living here permanently.

“Still don’t like me?” You teased him.

He scoffed, side-eyeing you sarcastically before his eyes returned forward. “No.”

“But you’re here with me,” you shrugged, pulling your cardigan closer to your body as the wind picked up.

“Doesn’t mean I like you,” he pointed out. “Plus, you’re paying me. It’s literally my job to be with you right now.”

“Right,” you chuckled, leaving that conversation for another day. “Can I ask you something?”

Wooyoung hummed a go-ahead answer, a permission for you to ask what you wanted. “You said you have a brother?” He nodded his head once. “May I ask how old he is and what he does when you’re…working?”

“Interesting question, dollface,” he raised a brow. “But it’s oddly on brand with you.”

You shrugged. “I have nothing to lose.”

“I admire the audacity.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, his usual smirk nowhere to be found. There was something almost vulnerable in his expression. “He’s twelve. When I’m not around I drop him off to his babysitter. I trust Jongho with all that I have to take care of him.”

Wooyoung hesitated, running a hand through his hair before he continued. “He knows,” was all he said.

There was a beat of silence. You waited until he continued. “My brother knows that I do sex work,” he said, a hint of pain laced in his voice like it has always been there. “He knows, but at the same time, he doesn’t understand. I want to keep it that way for as long as I can.”

You have talked about his father before. You never asked, Wooyoung would just talk about him out of the blue, however, this was the first time you talked about his brother. 

Every single time you meet with Wooyoung, you learn things about him little by little and you can’t help but look at him differently each time you do. He likes to pretend he isn’t afraid whenever the topic about his family arises.

Behind all that cockiness and bravado, is an exhausted little boy who grew up faster than the world should have let him. You want to imagine you understood.

“He used to be good, you know?” Wooyoung clicked his tongue, putting his hands in his pockets. “My father, I mean. It wasn’t until my mother passed away that he started turning into the alcoholic bastard I now know him to be.”

Somehow, that stung more than you’d like to lead on. The fact that there was a potential in this lifetime for Wooyoung’s life to have been the other way around, only for his own father to snuff it out of him.

“It doesn’t hurt as much to remember, that I could have had what a normal person could have had, but it still fucking sucks,” he said. “This might be cheesy, and I don’t say it often to their faces, but this is why I cherish Yunho and Hongjoong in my life.”

“How so?” You asked, though you had an inkling as to why.

“They’re my chosen family, wouldn’t trade those motherfuckers for anything,” he chuckled, a fond smile spreading through his face. “There’s not a lot of things I believe, not anymore, but I do believe you choose the people you want in your life. Hell, I would have dropped my father a long time ago if I could. It’s the only way I’ll ever get to be free.”

“You will be,” you muttered automatically before you could stop yourself. Wooyoung stared at you expectantly. “Being free, I mean. Time will grant you that right.”

He laughed incredulously, and for a second, you wanted to berate him for putting himself down. “Seriously,” you tried to convince him. “This might be difficult to imagine right now, but this will pass. You never know, maybe you’d get to take yourself and brother away and be your own person eventually.”

“You think I haven’t thought of that?” Wooyoung sighed. “This is all I’ve known all my life, it’s difficult to not get stuck in this rut when all I want most of the time is to kick my father to the curb or to bash my every client’s head who pays me to suck my dick. It’s a cycle; I think, I sulk, I work, because if I don’t, we’ll starve.”

“Well, you’re alive, aren’t you?” You raised a brow in response.

His lips curl in obvious distaste and irritation. “Don’t get me started on what it means to be alive, Y/N.”

“There’s your answer, then,” you shrugged. He tilted his head in confusion. “You’re a fighter, Wooyoung. As long as you're breathing, you keep fighting. You hold onto that vision of your perfect future, and no matter how painful the steps, you keep moving toward it.” 

Wooyoung stared at you like you had all the answers to his questions. If you couldn’t read him before, you sure as hell couldn’t now. His expression morphs into something you couldn’t explain, yet it made your heart tremble. “I rely on myself, just making sure that was clear,” he said. “And I want what I know I could have, but goddamn it, why does the thing I want so fucking bad always out of my reach?”

He leans back on the bench, tilts his head up to stare up the sky with the most faraway look in his eyes. “I want to get the fuck out of here,” he swallowed. “So fucking bad.”

“And you will,” you assured him. “You deserve freedom, Wooyoung. Just like me, just like the rest of us. It might not be today, might not be tomorrow, but you will get there someday.”

“God, you really are the strangest rich person I’ve met. It’s like you’ve seen more shit than I have.” He shifts his head in your direction. “Will you get out, too?”

You didn’t know the answer to that. You shrugged.  “You asked me before if I wasn’t close with my parents,” you said, instead, the wind carrying your voice for you. “Are you still curious?”

The sharpness in his eyes had softened, just a little. He doesn’t say anything, but he turns his body ever so slightly in your direction to indicate that he was ready to listen. You had to smile at that.

The last thing you wanted to talk about were your parents, but it was time. “I didn’t exactly have the best relationship with my parents, if not, ever. I had no siblings either, so I pretty much grew up alone,” you began, sighing afterwards to brace yourself.

It already pained you to remember these, but your mouth wasn’t going to stop now that you had started. “My mom was the classic narcissist that literally questioned everything I did with all the hours that God had made everyday,” you chuckled bitterly. “Nothing was ever good enough for her.”

“If I’d get an A+, she’d tell me it wasn’t enough since A++ still existed,” you continued, your voice hardening the more you spoke. “I had to lose more weight, I had to act classier, I had to have this, that, and be everything that I already was even though I knew to myself I was good enough.”

You hadn’t meant to rant. Wooyoung titled his head, his entire body shifted fully to your direction at this point. “Your father?”

“He’s a different story,” you let out a dry laugh. “I love him, by God, I still do. But the love he held for my mother blinded him to my suffering and need for comfort when she berated me over nothing. To this day, he still doesn’t believe me when I tell him what mother did.”

“To be quite honest with you,” you spoke. “I don’t know who is the worse between the two.”

Wooyoung was quiet, watching you carefully as he listened to you. “You know what the kicker is?” You shook your head in disbelief. “They’re miserable. My mother stopped loving him a long time ago. But they have to stay together, it would be a disgrace to divorce in our world. It’s utter madness, I tell you. I have to be in the middle of that because I carry the family name.”

It wasn’t much of a secret that this is where your need for isolation started. You’d rather be alone. You already had a lifetime of baggage and weight you didn’t want to pass to anyone.

The silence between you stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that felt like understanding, like an acknowledgment of something that didn’t need to be put into words.

“I give a quarter of my total earnings to my father,” he said after a while. “Unfortunately, at the end of the day, I do live under his roof. If I didn’t give him my money, he wouldn’t hesitate to not only kick me, but also kick my brother out. His sons.”

He shrugged, exaggeratIng the move, as if he was proving to himself that it didn’t bother him, but you could clearly see through him. “At the same time, he can’t do that,” he clicked his tongue. “I am his only source of income, after all.”

You would consider yourself to be a very sympathetic person, but all the sympathy in the world cannot encompass what you feel for this man sitting beside you. Jung Wooyoung was everything you wished you'd found earlier in your life.

And you wished he found you earlier in life so that maybe, he wouldn’t be alone dealing with all of this. He’d have you even though he didn’t want you.

He stretches his limbs with a small groan before turning back to you with a bright grin on his face. “Both of our families suck ass, huh?”

You thought you were used to how crass he was, but still, he never failed to surprise you. “Yeah,” you laughed. “Yeah, they do.”

The topic just changed from there. You had no idea who started it, but all you know was that right now, Wooyoung and you were talking as if you weren’t his client and you weren’t paying for his time.

The sun was almost setting in the horizon, but the conversation carried on. You had no idea how long you two had been sitting on that bench, it was to a point that you were sure that your butt had imprints on it, nor had you any idea what time it currently was.

Usually, you would check your phone, but you didn’t bring it today. You had no reason to, you didn’t know you’d spend time with Wooyoung outdoors. But it was good, you didn’t want to be interrupted. You were too busy being with Wooyoung. 

You wanted to remember this day. You could forget everything that has ever happened to you, but not today. It was the first time Wooyoung had completely let his guard down to talk to you. His gestures were more animated, his face brighter than you’d ever seen it.

“When I was a kid, I loved climbing that big ass tree over there,” he laughed, pointing at the big tree across the park. “Always fell flat on my ass, too.”

He laughed the way he did when he was with Yunho and Hongjoong. Wooyoung said you had money, but you were pretty sure you wouldn’t have enough to pay to see even a glimpse of young Wooyoung back then, before everything.

You probably looked like a fool staring at him the more he talked. You wished Wooyoung could see his own face right now, and all you did was wonder how he used to spend his days and how many more stories of his life he had to tell you.

Tell me all of them, you thought. So I can stay alive for a little while longer.

It was when you felt it - the first fat raindrop that splashed against your cheek. You looked up just as the sky darkened. It startled you a bit, you could have sworn it was still a bit sunny earlier.

"Great," you sighed, getting ready to stand up. "We should go before this turns into a downpour."

But, Wooyoung only grinned. He held your arm to stop you. "Or," he said, tilting his head towards the sky with that irritatingly smug expression. “We could stay.”

A drop landed on your nose. Then another. But that wasn’t what got you, it was when Wooyoung’s hand dropped from your arm to your hand. You stared at him, horrified. "And get soaked?"

“Listen to me,” he began. “What if we forget everything just for tonight? No work, no shitty parents, just us and the rain.”

In your peripheral vision, you could already see people running to get cover, but your eyes never left Wooyoung’s.

“We’ll sing like we’re alone. Just imagine, Y/N,” he laughed so carefree, it hurt your heart. “We could literally be a force that could shake this whole damn world if we stood up to it, but only for tonight.”

"You're impossible," you sighed, but deep inside, you could already feel that fire inside you rising.

“You still have a lot to learn, I’m telling you,” he said excitedly, bringing his palm up with his other hand to feel the raindrops hitting his skin. “This is what it means to be alive. Don’t take for granted these little things,” he squeezed your hand tighter. “Because these little things are all that we have.”

The rain started to pick up, and it poured down so hard, the both of you were already soaked from head to toe within five minutes. 

“Everyone gets their freedom, it’s just a matter of time,” he said over the rain. “But right now, let's pretend we’ve reached the finish line.”

There you were, holding Wooyoung’s hand as you let the rain pour over you. It was so ridiculous, that you started laughing. It triggered Wooyoung’s own laughter, but the rain was so loud that it only carried your laughter over it, to be unheard to nobody else but the two of you.

You couldn’t remember the last time you laughed like this - breathless, uninhibited, real. You weren’t even cold, and your clothes didn’t feel heavy on your body. There was just peace around the two of you, and strangely, that was all you needed.

The rain, you, and Wooyoung. That was all you needed.

You got slammed with so much work, you were surprised that you even had time to eat and shower. Phone call after phone call, Zoom meetings after the other, it was hectic. 

But, you were slowly beginning to realize that this trip wasn’t to help the other branch that they’d opened - it was just so they could have an excuse to have you out here doing something else. You’ve always been true to your work, working with clients for their utmost satisfaction and not their money. Well, your co-workers didn’t function like that. It was their loss, really.

These times were the moments you wished Wooyoung was here with you, but you haven’t booked him. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to - it was that you couldn’t. You chose not to.

Sometimes, you’d catch yourself wondering what he was doing, if he noticed your absence, if he even cared. You’d tell yourself that it didn’t matter, but then you’d be lying to yourself.

You decided to go to the bar, hoping to pass time or have a drink. Wooyoung wasn’t the only company you have, but as you entered the empty space, you knew that he was the only person you wanted.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, rich girl,” Hongjoong greeted you the moment he saw you, surprise flickering in his eyes. He pats the barstool beside him as Yunho nods his head at you in greeting as well.

“Wooyoung won’t be coming tonight,” the bartender said apologetically. “Were you here to wait for him?”

“Has he been busy lately?” You asked, automatically biting your tongue the moment the words came out. 

“He hasn’t been at our job for days now, ” Hongjoong cleared his throat, side-eyeing you again as if to tell you to not say a word about the job. “But he’s been taking extra shifts at his other jobs. I think he’s piling them up so he’d have more free time with you.”

Oh, that certainly caught your attention. “What does that even mean?”

Yunho smirks, temporarily leaving his station to humour you. “You know damn well what that means, aren’t you rich people educated on shit like that?”

You raised a brow. “I didn’t know you thought the same.”

“The point is,” he waved his hand. “We’ve never seen this excited to be with someone in a while. He looks so…what’s the word?”

“Alive,” Hongjoong supplies. “He’s never looked more alive than he does now, and it’s all because of you.

You blinked, the weight of Hongjoong’s words settling deep in your chest. Alive. They weren’t joking. They weren’t exaggerating. They both meant it.

“I mean, not to be callous about it, but I do pay him a hefty sum,” you shrugged, trying to tread the topic carefully. “He’s probably always been like this?”

“Has he?” Yunho raised a brow, leaning forward. “Because the Wooyoung we know doesn’t let just anyone in. He doesn’t show up for just anyone. Money be damned, if he doesn’t want to, don’t even expect anything. He doesn’t give a shit.”

“You’re what he looks forward to at the end of his days, Y/N,”  Hongjoong pauses, hesitant to say his next words. “Which is why he’s been in a horrible, horrible mood when you stopped booking for his time. It’s been almost two weeks now, what’s going on?” 

“No, but to be fair, Wooyoung hasn’t really showed up either, now that I think about it,” Yunho frowned. “Jongho says he hasn’t been going home, either. Just calling to check in on his brother.”

That was the thought that kept circulating in your head as you walked to the direction of the park. You were certainly worried now, was it a mistake to not seek Wooyoung this time?

And just like before, it also started raining. This time, though, you brought an umbrella with you as you were aware that it was going to rain before you went out today.

And just like before, you found yourself heading towards the park, towards the bench where you last saw Wooyoung. But, the bench wasn’t empty.

Wooyoung. The tears have left a blur in your vision that you couldn’t explain. The pain of seeing him sitting down the bench just staring out into nowhere has left a hole in which your heart should have been.

And just like before, his clothes were also soaked under the pouring rain. Only this time, his laughter wasn’t present in the air.

Not like this, you thought. Not like this.

Without hesitation, you quickly strode towards the bench, stopping short behind it and covered Wooyoung’s soaking form with the umbrella. If he noticed that the rain had suddenly stopped pouring where he sat, he didn’t react to it.

“I don’t reckon your umbrella is big enough for the both of us, dollface,” was all he said. He sounded calm, calmer than you’ve ever heard of him.

How he found out it was you, you were never going to know. You huffed, shifting the umbrella slightly so that more of it covered him than you. “I don’t reckon you care whether you get sick or not.”

Finally, he looked at you, and if it was possible, your heart broke even further. Wooyoung looked even more exhausted than you’ve ever seen him. His cheeks were more gaunt and hollow than you remembered, his eyes more sunken than the average person.

Then again, Wooyoung’s life wasn’t normal. You couldn’t even begin to imagine all the things that kept him awake at night. “I don’t,” he admitted. “Not really.”

You made a small noise, gripping your umbrella so hard, your knuckles turned white. “I hope you know that there wouldn’t be enough rainwater in this world to drown you no matter how long you stay here. You might as well seek shelter.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “I know. My demons came to take me to hell, but I’m already there. Plus, they know how to swim, anyway.”

You didn’t argue, there was no point, letting the silence stretch; just standing there behind him hoping to shield him from the rain even if you couldn’t save him from his demons. You left the house to go to the bar at six in the evening, and an hour later, you found yourself standing in the rain with Wooyoung.

Another hour later, the two of you were standing like idiots in a small boutique to find some spare clothes for him. By midnight, he was laying in bed next to you after he had showered and changed his clothes.

You didn’t question why he was out there. He hadn’t questioned why you haven’t called for him in two weeks. You didn’t offer him your bed. He didn’t leave a single space in between you as he laid down next to you. You didn’t push him away.

You just stayed there, listening to the rain against the window, to the sound of your own heartbeat, to the quiet presence of Wooyoung beside you.

And for reasons you didn’t quite understand, you felt like a brand new person. You felt normal, like you were just another person on this planet.

“I’m tired,” he suddenly whispered, his voice cracking through the darkness as his hand mindlessly played with your hair. “I’m so exhausted.”

“Go to sleep,” you said, not acknowledging the hidden meaning behind his words. You know he’d hate you for it.

“Thank you,” he said.

You didn’t bother looking at him, didn’t bother opening your eyes as his fingers traced your cheeks. “For?”

“The bed. Usually, I don’t have one to come home to.  Thank you.”

The indication was there. He hasn’t gone home in days when you saw him in the rain, and even if he does go home, he never stays long enough because even in his sleep, peace doesn’t visit him.

Humans have their limits, and you had always hoped that Wooyoung would never, ever reach his. The moment that fight left his eyes, would be the moment you would stop fighting, as well.

“You’re welcome,” was the last thing you said before you both fell asleep like everything was going to be okay the next day.

And for a moment, it would be. The both of you woke up to Wooyoung’s phone ringing incessantly. You watched him closely as he spoke with whoever else was calling him at seven in the morning.

You watched as his expression changed from annoyance, to surprise, to genuine relief. You could have even sworn there were tears in his eyes. But they’re happy tears. You would take those over the other kind any day.

“That was my mother’s lawyer when she was still alive,” he explained the moment he hung up the phone. He tried hard to keep the excitement off of his voice, but you’ve been spending enough time with him at this point to know.

“Is everything okay?” You asked.

Wooyoung nodded. “Apparently, my mother signed a will that when I turned twenty-five, which I did two months ago, I’ll receive a lump sum of money to put into my little brother’s future. She knew she would pass soon before she even gave birth.”

His smile grew like the rising sun that rivaled the horizon outside your window right now. “My brother’s set for life even after college, Y/N. I can take a break from working too much for now.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread all over your face as well. A break. You deserve one. Heaven knows you do. That night, for the first time in your life, you didn’t have to watch the sunset alone.

Over the next few days, your closet would slowly be filled with Wooyoung’s spare clothes and belongings. It would be the first time in your life that you had to make space in your closet for someone else.

“This is a fuck ton of clothes you don’t even need, Jesus fucking H.,” he grumbled in annoyance when you asked him to shover your clothes on the other side of the drawer one day.

You rolled your eyes, but kept a smile on your face. “Most of these are my designs, I just keep them for layout purposes.”

He picked a particular piece that you hadn’t seen in a while - a blue, loose, lace crop top. It was when you were dabbling with genderless concepts. The fit was masculine, but the material was feminine. He didn’t even wait for you to say anything, he just shoved it in his space along with the rest of his clothes. Wooyoung would come and go to your place more often than not. Sometimes, you’d be surprised that he was already sleeping beside you, his face more peaceful than you’d ever seen it. Most of the time, it was the nights where you didn’t even book him. He would just do as he pleased.

As you watched him, this feeling that had quietly crept into your heart began to grow. It was something new. Something delicate and real, like the soft glow of the sunset outside your window.

You couldn’t help but wonder when this feeling had started, when the lines between just sharing space and something deeper began to blur. Was it the laughter you shared during late-night conversations, or was it the way he made everything feel so much more possible?

“I was actually going to do it that night.”

It certainly wasn’t the best way to start what you hoped to be a normal Wednesday morning. Your statement catches Wooyoung off-guard. There weren’t many things that made Wooyoung freeze, but sometimes, it seemed like you really never failed to surpass his expectations. It was fascinating.

He sighed, putting the spatula down on your sink so he could wash his hands, the pancakes he was making for the both of you for breakfast in your kitchen temporarily forgotten as he took the apron off to cross his hands over his chest and stare you down.

He knew exactly what you were referring to, you didn’t need to elaborate which night it was.

Still, you tried to tread the topic lightly. It wasn’t because you were trying to appease Wooyoung into liking you, but it was more because you didn’t want to make even more mistakes. Avoiding him for two weeks was a huge mistake on your part.

You tried to convince yourself it was the safe option. You only had less than two months left before you had to go back. You both knew that. At the end of the day, you knew that Wooyoung was afraid and uncertain, and he was especially fragile despite all the walls he built upon himself.

Wooyoung blinked at you, unmoving. “I know,” he said flatly. “I’ve seen and experienced too much shit to not know the look in someone’s eyes when they want to transcend wherever.”

Two simple words, spoken so flatly, so matter-of-factly, that it made your stomach twist. It was so Jung Wooyoung of him. The way he looked at you right now, though? It was the kind of certainty that you’ve never seen from him before. Still, you didn’t miss the way he shifted from foot to foot as he tried to keep his composure.

“That’s bullshit,” your voice was thin, almost unsteady, but you pushed through it. “You told me I didn’t have the guts to jump off of that railing that night. I know you did.”

You remembered that night vividly - the cold bite of the air, the way your hands had gripped the railing so tightly they ached, the way he had stood there, just close enough to reach if you lost your balance, but far enough to agitate you.

“So, I lied,” he closed his eyes before sighing and opening them again to look you deep in the eyes, as if he was trying to convey something without fully saying them. “It wasn’t a risk I was willing to take, dollface.”

The breath you had been holding slipped out shakily. You felt dizzy, off-kilter, like the universe had shifted and left you struggling to find your balance. “If I told you the truth,” he murmured, “I don’t think you would’ve come down.”

You’ve been alone all your life, so you were used to being invisible. The last person who you thought would actually see you was a tattooed sex worker who disliked wealthy people. Maybe it was the confusion talking for you, but then, you said something you shouldn’t have. Maybe you were no different than all the people that had made Wooyoung the way he was.

“I don’t understand,” your voice was sharp, cracking under the weight of everything you’d been holding back.

Wooyoung’s eyes darkened, his posture stiffening. “You don’t understand,” he deadpanned, his voice twisting into something angrier by the minute. “You don’t understand. You know what I don’t understand?”

You watched and held your breath as he harshly pulled a chair to sit down on it, closer to you. “The things I’d do to get what you have, they’re almost non-human in aspect,” he said, low and seething. “I still think that, and that’s never going to change. Not now, not ever.”

“You have nothing to escape from, absolutely nothing,” he continued, glaring at you. “God knows you have more than enough, surely you can’t be greedy and take what’s not yours to take, Y/N? Don’t be an idiot.”

Life, is what he’s trying to say.

You stared at each other for a lifetime. Wooyoung still looked exhausted. His chest heaved, his eyes dry, and you could practically see his collarbones peeking through his skin and the veins that marred them because of how transparent his skin was. Still, you couldn’t help the rising pride in your chest that overtook your shame because Wooyoung went through everything, yet he’s still so brave.

If Wooyoung can be brave, then why can’t you?

“I’m sorry,” you put your head low, looking down at your lap where your hands laid still. 

“You better fuck off with that, Y/N. I’m warning you,” he growled venomously, and suddenly, he was scooting closer to you. He takes his fist, that one where the thorned rose lay, and hits his chest.

“You’re not the only one who wanted to check out a long time ago. You know how I feel here? Everytime I take a fucking breath, there’s something inside me that feels like I’m breathing in sulfur. ”

You sighed. “I just want to live the way I want, you know? I don’t want everything, I just want to be happy.”

“So do I,” he replied.

You knew he wanted to say more, and you did too, but just like him when he holds back on talking smack about the type of people you belong to, you hold your tongue. It wasn’t because you couldn’t stand Wooyoung and his status, but it’s because you know you have no right to say anything about it.

Then again, maybe you were assuming things, maybe he was fine, maybe Wooyoung does sleep well at night, or maybe he was afraid despite not showing he was.

You didn’t notice Wooyoung’s chair scoot even closer to yours when you began to talk. “I mean, I get it,” you said. “We’re not the same and you’ve drilled that in my head so many times, but it really doesn’t have to be that way. Maybe we are the same, we just want to be happy.”

Wooyoung nods once, not looking like he even understood a thing you said. “You’re not doing shit,” he mumbled. “You can’t do it. Not in front of me. Not while I’m still standing.”

He puts his hands behind your neck before he pulls you and puts his lips against yours. His eyes were still open, tentatively watching you. He doesn’t move his lips, just meeting yours in a modest touch, his hand still holding your head tenderly like you were fine glass. There was no warning, it was as if he was trying to silence the raging storm between the both of  you.

You froze, your body short circuiting as both your mind and your surroundings dissolved into static. You didn’t kiss him back, not because you didn’t want to, but because you didn’t know how to do it with him properly.

You pulled away, your eyes widening ever so slightly as you caught your breath. Wooyoung leaned his forehead against yours, his face blank except for his small pout and furrowed brows. 

“W-Wooyoung?” You tried to say, but it ended up sounding like a squeak.

“Hmm?”

“You just k-kissed me.”

He completely pulls away from you, his face back to that indifferent look you knew him for. “Yeah?”

Your entire just shut down at that moment, your lips tingling because you could still the imprint of his on yours. “W-Why? What the hell—”

He shrugs with an incredible amount of nonchalance that you couldn’t decide if you should be amazed or offended. “Does it matter? I wanted to do it, so I did.”

You were so flabbergasted, your face blushing as you blinked at him repeatedly. You were surprised your heart hasn’t leapt out of your chest yet. The only reason why you haven’t really tumbled down is purely because of the sheer adrenaline pumping through your bloodstream by the buckets. It felt intoxicating yet dizzying at the same time.

Wooyoung lets out a small laughter, his fingers lifting to flick your forehead softly. “You’d think by now you’d know that I just do whatever comes to my head,” he said, fondness in his eyes.

“It doesn’t work that way, and you know it,” you frowned. But how does that work, exactly? You could barely think of anything right now.

“How does what work, dollface?” And just like that, he was able to render you into silence. You don’t know how he does it, but it’s making you panic. You decided to shut your mouth, you knew that you’d fumble if you spoke.

He barked out another laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “What, cat got your tongue?” He tapped his own lips. “Or is it me?”

The heat rose to your face so fast you swore you felt it burn. Wooyoung stood back up and walked away from you, his hands slipping into his pockets like none of this had just happened. He motions towards the clock overhead the kitchen door.

“I have to head out,” he said. “I got booked by this tourist who wants a pretty boy to fuck.” He clicked his tongue, nodding towards you. “You should eat before you go to work, too.”

You stifle the smile that threatens to break from your lips. “Didn’t know you suddenly cared about my well-being.”

“Debatable,” he replied nonchalantly, but that was accompanied by a solid bite of his bottom lip to stop his smirk from showing.

“I’m just saying,” you chuckled, getting up from where you were as well to grab your purse and work folders. “I’m more than the lonely office worker that hires sex workers for the company. Just like there’s layers upon layers under all the sex work you do.”

Wooyoung’s smirk, or what’s little of it, completely drops. He tilted his head at you, curiosity filling his eyes. You blinked at him repeatedly. “You do…realize that, right? We are always more than what meets the eye.”

His lips curl into distaste. “Sure, I guess,” he shrugged.

“I mean, I know your revulsion is for my background and not me, specifically, and you’re biased, so I understand,” you said, hurriedly grabbing a couple pieces of pancakes on a small napkin to take. “It’s just you, Wooyoung. I’ve never disliked you. I’m not sure if that counts for something.”

Wooyoung’s lips parted, his forced guise of cynicism cracking. There was something else in his expression now - something softer, something fragile, beneath the bravado he always carried.

His direct eye contact wavers. “It does.”

Somehow, that admission settled into your chest like a quiet ache, a warmth you didn’t know what to do with, but you knew the weight behind those words, and he was aware of that. “My God, you’re strange,” you joked, trying to lighten up the situation. “It’s fine, really.”

Wooyoung hummed, stepping past you. “And you’re a fucking weirdo. That balances us out.”

Just before he reached the door, you stopped him by calling his name. He pauses, but doesn’t acknowledge the callout. “Wooyoung,” you said. “Will you be here when I come back from work?”

Then, without turning around, he asked, “Not sure. Why?”

“So I can order extra dinner,” you shrugged, holding your breath without knowing. “I, uhm, booked you for nine hours this time, but you don’t have to. You’re free to do what you want, as usual.”

Last night, not only did you tell Yeosang that you’re tipping extra, but you had to steal Wooyoung’s reservation from someone else. Admittedly, it did cost you a pretty penny, but you knew it would be worth it in the end.

Sometimes, you’d book Wooyoung when you weren’t even home. That would prompt him to do whatever the hell he wanted, regardless if he was with you or not. He wouldn’t tell you, but Yunho would. Wooyoung would crash at the taller man’s place to rest and sleep. 

Wooyoung’s eyes met yours and you found that his face was filled with more than its usual heaviness. There was something subtle in there - determination. There was a hint of hope and gratitude. There was something other than pain.

“I’ll see what I can do, dollface,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

It wasn’t a promise, but you were going to take what you can get.

He walks off, not bothering to close the door since you had to leave as well, but barely. Wooyoung would pause and hesitate, because he kept looking back and sneaking glances at you constantly, knowing that he has to go but not wanting to leave at the moment.

It’s okay, you thought. We still have more time.

The office felt suffocating today. You had to re-introduce yourself to the newer employees for this other branch, and so far, it wasn’t all too bad. From the looks of it, you were hoping that this environment wouldn’t be just like yours in the making.

Fabrics upon fabrics met your eye, new designs from fresher perspectives that genuinely impressed you. You missed this, you spent most of your time here with only Zoom meetings to go off of, and it felt great to be back in the scene in an actual office where you could review potential projects in person.

You were staring at a new recruit’s portfolio, which was admittedly quite good since they knew how to match colours with patterns, trying and failing to focus, when Mingi’s voice pulled you out of your haze.

“You look different.”

You blinked, turning to him. “Pray tell, Director Song.”

His head tilted slightly as he studied you, eyes sharp but unreadable. “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “There’s just something different about you today.”

You hesitated. You wanted to tell him. Some of it, at least. But the details felt too complicated, and plus, you had always tried to separate your personal life with your professional work.

But Mingi was your long time friend, both of your parents were acquaintances - it was how he became an intern at your company - so if there was anyone who might understand your dilemma, it would be him. You picked your words carefully, skimming the surface of the truth without diving too deep. “I met someone,” you admitted.

Mingi’s brows shot up in shock.  You could tell he wasn’t expecting that. “Oh?”

You gave a small, almost self-conscious nod. “Yeah. He’s, uhm, quite complex. Very curious.”

Mingi scoffed, smirking. “Aren’t we all?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I would suppose so. Our circumstances are very unconventional. I can’t even put a label on it, there’s no precursor for it, if I’m being completely honest.”

Mingi laughed, but then he caught the way your voice softened at the edges. He exhaled through his nose, a small, quiet sound of understanding. “I’m happy for you,” he said. “People like us…it’s hard to find something worthwhile to hold onto. You know how it is. Love is almost unheard of. Laughable, even.”

Your chest tightened. People like us. What is worthwhile? You had no idea. Neither did Mingi. He could relate; his family was just like yours, after all. You were both born on a different standing and calibre, and it was just an unspoken and unwritten rule that apparently, with high economic statuses comes along a complicated life.

He patted your shoulders affectionately, speaking low enough for you to hear. “Regardless, I’m happy for you, Y/N. It’s a privilege to feel the way you do in this world,” he said. “You deserve to be happy, too. We are not our parents, remember that.”

Mingi dismissed you afterwards, something he might get in trouble for. You were relieved.

Coming back to the house was the most anxiety you’ve ever felt in your life. You’ve learned not to expect Wooyoung to be there. You wanted to give him his freedom, something this world had seemed to have forgotten to give to him.

But there he was. He sat on your couch like he belonged there, like he always had. His phone was in his hands, but the second he noticed you, he locked the screen and tossed it aside.

“Took you long enough,” he mused, tilting his head at you with a smirk.

Wooyoung looked exhausted. It showed in the dark circles beneath his eyes, his usual sharp gaze dulled by something you couldn’t name, and his smirk that usually looked so smug, now looked hollowed.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Wooyoung stretched, his shirt riding up slightly, exposing a sliver of skin before settling back down. “Neither did I.”

You furrowed your brows. “Then, why are you?”

He shrugged, as if the answer should’ve been obvious. “Misery loves company, I guess.”

Wooyoung pushed himself off of the couch. He didn’t say anything else as he stepped closer to you, just tugging your shirt a little to pull you to him so he could lean in and slot his lips against yours in a serene kiss - another one you couldn’t return.

Wooyoung’s younger brother looked just like him.  And when he looked at you, something in his gaze lingered. It was very curious but knowing, like he already knew exactly who you were to his brother.

You wished you knew because you had no idea and if you were being honest to yourself, maybe you didn’t want to know. The house was quaint and a bit neglected, but it was home to Wooyoung, who was currently outside with Hongjoong and Yunho.

Wooyoung’s little brother was seen loitering around cold and hungry by Hongjoong, who took him straight to Yunho at the bar to call Wooyoung. Their father had left the poor child to go get blackout drunk somewhere else. You followed an understandably pissed Wooyoung there.

Luckily, Jongho was free tonight. He had come straight to the house to spend the night since Wooyoung’s schedule lined up with his other job after his time with you.

“He talks about you a lot when I’m done putting this one to sleep,” Jongho gave you a glass, a cracked one, of water. “But never the full story. Like he was keeping something safe.”

You looked away. Maybe it was safer this way. You gripped the glass hard, indescribable anger coursing through your veins at the unknown man who has supposedly fathered him.

“Ready to go?” Wooyoung’s voice suddenly filled the small living room as the other two followed him. He nodded at Hongjoong, who took it as his queue to distract his little brother.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jongho,” you smiled warmly at the babysitter, giving him a small hug. 

Wooyoung, whether it was subconscious or not on his end, held your hand in his as he started to walk away. It was a challenge ignoring Yunho’s smirk and wiggling eyebrows.

“I owe you one, man, big time,” Wooyoung spoke quietly towards Jongho. “I mean it. I’m not in the mood to see my father after this.”

“What ‘ya want me to tell him if I do see his sorry ass tonight?” Jongho asked. 

Wooyoung’s hand squeezed yours. “Tell him that he can take anything he wants, but he better not take it from me,” he flatly said. “I’ll give you an extra hundred bucks if you tell him he can go fuck himself.”

“Deal,” the younger man grinned. “Where are you going to stay, then?”

Wooyoung opts not to answer, instead patting Jongho on the shoulder once before dragging you with him to your car. As you drove, you didn’t need to ask him either. You knew what the answer would be.

The moment you get into the house, Wooyoung showers, presumably to cool off. You get it, you really did. You were left standing in the hallways, staring at the shower door, your mind replaying a specific moment you shared with Wooyoung one time. 

“Nightmare?” Wooyoung asked in concern, pulling your head to his chest. When you nodded, he asked, “What do you usually dream about?”

“Something to kiss the demons out of my dreams,” you mumbled, your voice muffled as your face was pressed on his firm chest. “You? What do you usually dream about?”

He doesn’t say anything at first, his fingers tracing your back lazily. “Water,” he said.

“Water?”

“I dream of water that can wash the weight of the world off my shoulders.”

You were so drawn to him. It was silent, unseen, hard to ignore. No matter how often you told yourself to walk away, you never could. 

Walking away was lost on you, because the truth was, you’ve started to look forward to ending your days with him. Wooyoung’s ghost haunted every corner of the house now, especially now when he was trying to temporarily wash away all his burdens.

You didn’t even notice him get out of the showers, your mind very much preoccupied with thoughts of him and everything that's happened so far. 

So when he tilted your chin upwards, you were startled. Your breath got caught in your throat, your body stilling as Wooyoung started to lean in, his lips almost touching yours.

But just when you thought he’d close the space between you, he stopped. “For someone who doesn’t return my kisses,” he murmured, voice low and heavy. “You sure always expect it.”

You looked down, shame filling your chest. You swallowed your words like it might poison you if spoken aloud. Wooyoung sighed, pulling you to the bedroom and sitting beside you on the bed.

“There’s not a lot that I can choose for myself, given my line of work,” Wooyoung began. “It’s an entire process, dollface. When the sun comes down, all the filth run free. I have to be the finest specimen of filth for a living so some daddy’s little angel would get dirt on her knees. I get paid, I go home.”

His words catch you off guard. Wooyoung doesn’t talk about his profession, if not, ever. And you never really asked, but you wouldn’t mind listening. He had a faraway look in his eyes as he continued.

“Then I get so blind with rage to the point that no matter what I do, I could never shake the feeling out,” he chuckled bitterly. “I hurt much more than anytime before, and sooner or later, I have no options left again. Rinse. Repeat. All I know is that all I want is to feel like I’m not stepped on.”

Wooyoung was so calm and collected while your heart felt like it wanted to explode. You hated that he seemed like he accepted all the unfairness that’s been happening to him.

“This might be my job, but sometimes, I feel disgusted with myself. I feel used. Dirty.”

You snapped your head to stare at him in horror at what he said, but you found that he was already staring at you.

You didn’t know what hurt more - the way he said it so plainly, or the fact that he truly meant it. He puts a finger against your lips, parting them slightly. “This. I chose to kiss you. I’d rather do it than not do it at all,” he finishes off. 

He pulled his hand back, just enough to let you breathe again, but you stopped him, holding onto his bicep for dear life. His gaze lingered, steady and unwavering.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Wooyoung asked, a hint of insecurity audible in his voice.

When you nodded enthusiastically, Wooyoung wore the most honest and brightest smile, as if all the heaviness that’s weighing him down had slipped off quietly away from him at your answer.

And then, he leaned in - slowly, deliberately, as if every movement was meant to linger. Kissing Wooyoung was like standing on a cliff where you were just a heartbeat away from falling, and for a moment, you felt weightless, caught between fear and the exhilaration of just being with him.

He deepened the kiss slightly, testing the waters, his hand finding the small of your back, pulling you closer. It automatically sends shivers down your spine. You felt the warmth of his body against yours, the soft, steady beat of his heart in sync with your own.

His lips parted from yours just enough to let the air in, but his forehead stayed pressed against yours. Both of your eyes stayed close.

You held his face in between your shaking hands. “You’re not alone and you never will be,” you swallowed the emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. “Thanks for finding me that night, Wooyoung.”

He doesn’t respond, kissing you again. This time, it was more certain, more of himself. If this world fell apart, the both of you wouldn’t notice, if only for this fleeting moment.

The kiss was never brought up ever again after that night, even after another week. You both acknowledged that it happened and moved on.

A bubble of frustration was beginning to settle in your chest. Only the clicking of your keyboard could be heard around the room as the night settled. 

Wooyoung was next to you, his legs stretched out, head resting lazily against the headboard. You were hunched forward, eyes fixed on the glow of your laptop screen, fingers moving without pause. You felt the bed dip when he inched a bit closer to you.

“That looks nice,” he suddenly murmured as he pointed at the design you were currently working on. “You’re good at what you do.”

“Hmm?” You hummed noncommittally,  not looking away from your screen.

“Whatever you’ve been obsessed with since this lunch time, you’re decent at it.”

It was a rare praise coming from Wooyoung. You smiled, certainly happy because you genuinely needed to hear something good right now. “Thanks. It’s a work in progress. ”

He shrugged, trying to look indifferent, but then, you felt his leg touch yours as he scooted even closer. “What’s it for anyway?”

You didn’t respond right away. “Portfolio,” you replied robotically, your mouth doing your work for you. Your mind just wasn’t there; the words, notes, and deadlines loomed upon you.  It was easy to get lost into this rhythm and forget your surroundings, including Wooyoung.

Until your laptop was suddenly shut down. You looked up, startled, to see Wooyoung’s hand still on the lid of your laptop, having just shut it close. His face was unreadable, but his eyes were fixed on you. “You’re not busy right now,” he said, tone flat but final. “You’re with me.”

He wasn’t asking. You wanted to argue, mostly because you really wanted to get some work done. It was what set you apart from your co-workers, it was what made you ahead of the curve. 

You sighed, setting your laptop aside on the bedside table. “What are you trying to tell me?”

Wooyoung shifted, one knee bent lazily, head tilting toward you. “I’m just saying, you’re so tense,” he makes random gestures with his hand. “You need to get laid, or something. Blow off some steam, you know?”

You choked on your own breath, turning sharply toward him. “Excuse me?”

Your face went up in flames as your heart began to fumble. You could feel the heat blooming in your chest, crawling up your neck, painting your cheeks in something unforgiving. It felt criminal, the way your body reacted. The way the suggestion rooted itself somewhere deep inside you, unsettling and uninvited, curling like smoke around the idea of him.

Wooyoung leaned closer, peering at you with exaggerated curiosity. “This is so entertaining. I say one thing about sex and suddenly your whole system reboots.”

You lifted your head just enough to glare at him, face still on fire. “Be for fucking real, Wooyoung. You can’t just lay that on me.”

He raised a brow at your crude language, but shrugged anyway. “Come on. Don’t be two-faced, you’re acting like you’ve never used someone as a means to make yourself feel better at one point. ”

“Kinda hard when nobody has ever finished you off once,” you gritted your teeth. You hadn’t meant to say it, but it was too late. You slapped your mouth so hard it stung. Oh, you wish this Earth would swallow you whole.

Wooyoung’s eyes were so widened to the point that he looked like his soul had momentarily left his body through his pupils. “That has to be some bullshit,” he began, sounding uncertain, himself. “That has to be—”

“It’s not like I’m broken or anything,” you added quickly, like you were trying to defend something you weren’t even sure you believed. “I-It’s just the men I’ve been with have been selfish. They, uh, assume I’m fine. And I don’t really speak up, so…”

You trailed off, biting the inside of your cheek. “I guess I just got used to faking it.”

There. You said it. Might as well set the whole house on fire. You glanced at him, ready for the smirk, the joke, the playful jab you always braced yourself for, but Wooyoung was quiet. 

His silence felt intentional. He was thinking. His eyes didn’t leave your face. They flicked down to your lips for a second, then back up, like he was scanning every inch of you for a crack in the surface. 

You watched the muscle in his jaw twitch, barely visible, but there. His fingers curled into the blanket between you, slow and restrained, like he was grounding himself. You saw him eye the way your hands clasp together so hard, your fingers turn pale and white.

“That’s not right, Y/N. That’s not normal,” he finally said, his voice low, barely above a murmur. “May I?”

You found yourself scrambling backwards the bed as Wooyoung started crawling forward, his entire body encasing yours as he got on top of you, his hands holding the entire expanse of either of your waist. He was looking down at you with such fondness in his eyes that it momentarily stole your breath away.

“I’m trying really hard not to say something I can’t take back,” he added after a beat, voice a little rougher now. “Because right now? I kinda want to prove every one of those assholes wrong.”

Your breath hitched. He didn’t move, but the way he looked at you felt more intimate than anything else could’ve in that moment, like he was offering something without saying it outright, and he was giving you the chance to take it or walk away.

It was a no-brainer for you - you’ve never wanted anything this bad in your entire life.  It wasn’t difficult to pinpoint why - Wooyoung and the way he moved that made him who he was, the things he’s experienced, his voice and the way he told his stories, the way your heart just clung to him.

You thanked him a couple of nights ago for finding you, but you should have thanked him for far more than that. After all, as many times as Wooyoung made it clear he doesn’t like rich people, he still stuck around you and he let you stick to him as well. He didn’t have to say it outright, it wasn’t very difficult to figure it out on your end.

“Don’t think too hard, dollface,” he whispered. “I promise to make it good for you. And I want you to know that I won’t treat this like I treat my clients even if you’re technically still paying for my time for it.”

That didn’t even cross your mind, but admittedly, you did completely forget that this was his job. “Remember when you asked me what my hobby was and I told you it was swimming?” Wooyoung softly asked. You nodded and his eyes softened. “I won’t let you sink. Not like this.”

“I don’t doubt it,” you said softly. “How do I know that, though?”

“Well, for one,” he whispered. “I’ve never kissed my clients. Ever. Not once, and I’ve had people offer me a fuck ton of money.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. You lifted your head to meet his lips even though you were quivering. He was surprised at first, but he soon fell into a rhythm when he groaned softly in your mouth as his hands started to roam under your shirt. Your breaths came in short gasps but he had no problem swallowing those sounds from you.

“You sound so pretty,” he murmured in between kisses, the trail of saliva connecting your lips serving to turn the both of you on as evident in the way his hardness started pressing onto your clothed core. 

You hummed, never having felt an arousal like you did at this moment. Heat courses through your veins, especially when he started to move down your neck, kissing and sucking on your most sensitive spots.

“Feels good, Woo,” you mewled, wrapping your arms around his neck, your hands finding their way onto his hair to mindlessly tug on them. You didn’t dare open your eyes, afraid that if you did, this dream would suddenly vanish from your sights.

“Yeah?” Wooyoung mouthed against your skin, his kisses not once stopping as his hand lifted your back slightly so his other hand would fiddle on your bra until it came off. Only for him to freeze when he realized you were wearing none.

“Oh, W-Wooyoung,” you gasped in surprise when he suddenly lifted your shirt up to your chin to expose your ample breasts, the cold air automatically stiffening your sensitive nipples. 

You covered your face with your hands, ashamed and embarrassed of the way Wooyoung was drinking the sight of your naked chest up with so much lust. Compared to him, you were highly inexperienced in this regard. Not the sex part, you were no longer a virgin, but in the foreplay aspect. You’ve never had a man do it to you before.

“Don’t,” he coaxed softly, his hand prying yours away. “Don’t shy away from me now, baby.”

“I’m not the best in the looks department,” you blurted out. “You’ve been with better looking women during…you know.”

“You might be right,” he said, both his hands palming your tits and kneading them expertly. You had to bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning out loud, especially in the way he relished your expressions with a small smirk. “But, none of them are you.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, the tension in your chest loosening just a little, but his words lingered, settling somewhere deep inside you.

Wooyoung leaned down to, once again, kiss your neck until he slowly moved down to your chest, sucking and biting the skin between your tits. You moaned loudly when his tongue slid out to sensually lick your hardened nipples, not hesitating to push your chest up towards his warm mouth, almost begging him to suck on them harder.

“So pretty, baby,” he growled, his mouth closing around your aching nipples, his tongue lightly flicking over it back and forth, making you squirm against his hold. “Too much?”

“N-No, keep going,” you gasped when he grazed his teeth on your nipple. “J-Just overwhelmed.”

He hummed, pausing as he looked at you through his lashes. The sight was so erotic, it made you hiss in pleasure, bucking your hips more to his touch. 

Your heart felt a rush of excitement, it kept you craving for more. Wooyoung latches his lips back to yours, deepening this kiss immediately by parting your lips with his tongue, coaxing you to play and intertwining your tongues together. You felt feverish, your lust for this man spiking higher towards different heights.

You almost didn’t feel his fingers toying with your underwear, but when you did, you took the initiative to take all the barriers that stopped him from touching your core. Wooyoung sighs in approval, not breaking the kiss. 

His fingers don’t hesitate to brush against your clit. The sensation was electrifying, your body almost giving out all at once with just one single touch. However, you tense when his fingers start to dip down your hole. He senses your hesitancy and moves on to kiss down your neck, nibbling the skin to calm your senses.

“Shh, it’s okay, I got you,” he whispered as you felt him circle around the outside of your quivering hole. “I promised you, dollface. I got you, you believe me, right?”

You draw in a deep breath, whimpering an answer since your tongue seemed too tied to even speak. His other hand continues to caress your hips, further calming your body down until you feel yourself release all the tension. It was all it took for Wooyoung to breach inside you.

Wooyoung’s fingers were gentle, taking his time to stretch you out slowly. You moan loudly, he was very considerate about it, too, but the pleasure he was giving you was immeasurable. You’ve never felt like this before, never had someone reach that specific spot that had you writhing in satisfaction.

You could feel his smirk against your neck, his teeth biting and nipping you at random places, eagerly leaving you with love marks you hoped wouldn’t fade for a while. Each mark said one thing, and one thing only - you’re mine.

“W-Woo, mmm, I-I feel weird and tingly,” you whimpered as you closed your eyes tightly instead of the one thing you wanted to tell him - I’m yours.

“Relax, baby, breathe,” he instructed, suddenly bending his fingers up to hit a spot so sensitive, it had you crying out against his hold. “Let it go for me.”

That was how you got your very orgasm from just foreplay. Your mind exploded, a searing, lightning-like pleasure erupting behind your eyes. It left every muscle in your body spent and worn out.

You were a panting mess when he pulled his fingers out. He grabbed your head tenderly, peppering your faces with little kisses, all the while whispering ‘good girl, good girl, good girl’ over and over again in between the kitten kisses he was giving you.

While you were still recovering, Wooyoung shifted, his strong arms lifting your back as he lifted you up with ease so now you were situated on top of him. You gasped, settling your hands on his chest like you’ve always belonged on top of him like this.

You blushed when he tapped your thighs twice, prompting you to sit up a little so he could take his pants and boxers off. You swallowed, feeling his hard cock pressing up your wetness when you sat back down, his arousal coating your labia and mixing in with yours. 

“Take me,” he whispered, his hold on your hips tightening with unspoken tension. “This is your justice, dollface. Take your pleasure for me for all the ones you’ve never gotten before.”

Your breath caught, your fingers curled into his shoulders, and for a second, you couldn’t move, not because you didn’t want to, but because something about the way he said it bloomed fire in your lungs.

There was that familiar burn behind your eyes. Wooyoung wasn’t offering himself just for the sake of it - he was giving something back.

You bit your lip when he lifted you slightly, his other hand guiding his cock to your entrance. His gaze stayed on you, unwavering, almost reverent. “Let them take, but let me give,” he murmured, finally lowering you onto his cock.

“Oh, fuck, Wooyoung, fuck,” you gasped when you felt his cock reach all the way up. He felt good, divine even.

He started thrusting up and down, with you matching his pace after as you rode him, your feelings lost as your mind started to go blank at the feeling of his cock dragging along your walls.

“Oh, Y/N,” Wooyoung says, like it’s the only word that’s ever mattered - drawn out, cracked at the edges, reverent in its ruin. The sound lands on you like heat and thunder, blooming into shivers that tear through you without mercy.

You arched your back, Wooyoung’s hands keeping you in place, your hips and tits bouncing up and down along with the motion as you impaled yourself on Wooyoung’s cock over and over again. There was no holding back for you, not anymore, your moans filling the entire room as you kept pushing yourself further, moving faster.

“Look at you,” he groaned, gazing up at you with impassioned eyes and the little sparks of affection through them. “You're heaven sent, Y/N. My God, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my fucking eyes on. Fuck me, keep going - yes.”

All the things that matter that you wanted to say die in your throat. There were so many things you wanted to tell Wooyoung, your chest overflowing with feelings you’ve never dared name, let alone think about. It’s all too much yet nothing because not once in your life had you had someone make you feel like this before.

Not until some sex worker walked through your door by mistake one day then everything shifts and gives your life what it was missing.

You felt your thigh muscles getting tired, but you kept pushing, riding his cock, even though the way you ground your hips to him felt more uncoordinated than anything. As if he was taking mercy on you, he braces himself and with one strong push of his hips, he began fucking up onto you.

“Wooyoung!” 

“I love the way you say my damn name,” he growled as he continued to thrust up at you, and all you could do was whimper while his throbbing cock was all you felt.

Your tits bounce with every, almost painful thrust while your pussy clenches and flutters around his rigid erection. Your eyes roll back, and your moan is hoarse and breathless as you say his name just the way he liked it. The effect was immediate and you could tell that he was close to chasing his own orgasm with you.

“I-I think I’m g-gonna come,” you whimpered pathetically, giving up and letting Wooyoung take control.

“Are you?” Wooyoung smirked, having the audacity to chuckle at your predicament.

You whined, your pleasure clouding your judgment as you started to feel annoyed with him. “W-Wooyoung, please—”

“Relax, baby,” he chuckled. It quickly turned into a snarl when he pulled you down on himself and you started to flutter and tighten against his aching cock. “I’m not gonna last long either, dollface, come for me, I wanna see you.”

Your body tensed up, your back arching like the string of a bow, then suddenly, you released, stronger than your first, the pleasure overtaking your shame and you screamed Wooyoung’s name so loud, you wouldn’t be surprised if someone heard your voice from somewhere in the distance.

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re beautiful,” he panted, tapping your thighs again. “Off, baby, off. I’m gonna come, fuck.”

You watched as he stroked his cock, all in its perfectly curved glory, until cum shot off from it, landing on his chest as he moaned loudly, his voice louder than you’ve ever heard him. “Ah, shit, shit, shit, Y/N…”

You both lay there, side by side, suspended in the hush that only comes after something intimate has unraveled between two people.

The sheets were warm, tangled somewhere around your legs. His fingers, calloused but careful, brushed faintly against yours, until he pulled you and kissed you deeper than any silence that’s ever tried to swallow you whole. 

He sighs deeply in contentment, embracing you. It was tighter than any fear you’ve known, and it was suffocating yet somehow freeing. You just held onto him, grounding yourself in the rhythm of his heartbeat. “Was it everything you wanted?” Wooyoung whispered.

You hummed an answer, staying quiet as you didn’t want to tell him what you really thought in your head.

You were everything I wanted.

Just as the silence thickened, your phone rang, sharp and intrusive, slicing through the stillness between you like an unwelcome guest. The sound was jarring, you had to pull away from Wooyoung’s warmth and get your phone, but your heart stilled when you saw Mingi’s familiar number on the screen.

“Hello? Mingi?” You asked tentatively. Wooyoung’s brow raises, his arms tightening around your waist.

“I am sorry to interrupt your night, Y/N,” Mingi said, voice audibly tired. “Can you come to the office real quick? We have an emergency, it’s about your branch.”

You frowned. It was odd. Your branch hasn’t really contacted you, so why did Mingi? He was a director of another branch, it didn’t make any sense. 

“I’ll be there,” you said before hanging up and looking at Wooyoung with a deep frown. “You heard that, I think. I’m sorry, Woo.”

Wooyoung’s gaze flicked to yours, unreadable for a heartbeat. Then he nodded, slow and steady, but the way his jaw tensed told you more than his expression did. “You gotta do what you gotta do, it’s fine.”

He watched as you got dressed, but it didn’t feel right. You had no desire to go, but he was right - you had to do what you had to do. Despite yourself, you rushed towards the bed, grabbing Wooyoung’s face urgently, and planted a deep kiss on his lips. You had to let him know. “I’ll come back to you.”

He stared at you for a moment. “I believe you,” he simply said. 

You never had an attachment to that house, not at all, but tonight, it was difficult to leave. Not when you could feel Wooyoung’s lips attached to your lips and his hands imprinted on your skin. You couldn’t wait to go back, especially since he will be waiting for you.

But it all came crashing down when you met Mingi. You will never forget the feeling of devastation from all the high when he told you that your branch will be firing every single employee and higher ups, minus you and some others to rebrand and weed out all the people that have been tanking your company’s sales.

That meant that you had to go back a month earlier than planned.

You don’t remember the journey back to the house. When you opened the door, Wooyoung was still there, sitting on the edge of the bed with that unreadable look in his eyes, just waiting for you. You couldn’t look him in the eye - you didn’t want to see his reaction.

But when you do, the look in your face told the both of you everything you needed to know. You looked at him, and he looked at you, and you both saw it.

Wooyoung does something differently this time when you book him. Instead of going with what you want, he asks you to go with him - to the tattoo shop. You don’t know what he gets, just patiently waiting in the lobby, until you go back to the house and he lets you see it.

I’m not alone and I will never be. Your fingers were shaking as you traced the words that now laid at the back of his neck, careful not to disturb the protective wrap around it. You were pretty sure he could feel it.

There was a thin, unspoken thread that wrapped the entire room. You knew those words from weeks prior as you were the one who said them. Your heart thudded unevenly against your ribs. “Thanks for taking me, it suits you,” you complimented him softly.

He finally turned around, eyes meeting yours, holding all the things you couldn’t bring yourself to ask him. “Thanks for coming with me, I guess,” he shrugged.

A sudden silence ensued, like the seconds were stretching just to hold off what was coming. How could you even begin to say anything? How do you wrap finality in a sentence? How do you make something sound casual when your throat is tight and your time is running out?

All you could do was stand there and memorize the shape of him - his beautiful tattoos, his dark hair that covered his forehead in a complimentary way, his boyish charm, the curve of his hand that fit well with yours. “What changed?” You asked, barely a whisper. “You didn’t like me.”

“I didn’t want to like you,” he said finally, voice low and rough. “You were everything I didn’t have room for - hell, you were everything I wasn’t in this life and I still resent that.”

You let out a trembling breath. Wooyoung purses his lips, combing his hands on his hair. “People like you felt too much, yet nothing at the same time. And you were just like me. In essence…it really is just you as a person, Y/N. You hear me?”

He holds your chin, tilting it up to meet his obscure eyes. “It’s just you,” he repeated softly.

You smiled, a little crooked and cracked around the corners. “Just me.”

For you, it was just him, as well, and perhaps, that was the hardest part. It was one of the things that you admire about this man; he was very resolute in everything he said, like he already knew things before they happened. Like right now, the look in his eyes shone with acceptance.

Wooyoung smiled back, pushing your chin higher to meet his lips in a soft kiss. “The truth was,” he murmured. “Everytime we kissed, it felt like we were practicing how to let go.”

That pierced your heart like an arrow lodging deep in your chest, but you couldn’t get yourself to disagree. Kisses with Wooyoung never felt like beginnings - they were echoes of an ending you were too afraid to name.

“Did you know?” You asked, your smile wavering as you tried not to hold on to him, the shaking of your hands too much to feel even for you.

Wooyoung nodded. “I did.”

“So why’d you still do it, then? Why, when you knew?”

Wooyoung sighed, holding your face in his hands tenderly as if he was afraid that you’d break down if he didn’t. “Remember when I told you about my choices? The things I choose to do rather than not do?”

You nodded, gritting your teeth so hard to control yourself, Wooyoung had to massage your jaws to make you stop. You brought your hands to him and he held onto them without leaving your face. “I’m glad to have known you, Y/N,” he squeezed your hands. “I’m glad you proved me wrong in every aspect possible.”

Your lips parted, but the words got stuck in your throat. Instead, you just let your eyes speak for you, and he understood. “This is it for us, this is all we’re going to get, but regardless, I’m glad I met you.”

We’ve always been on borrowed time, anyway.

You intertwined your fingers with his. “I’m glad too, Wooyoung. I’m very glad to meet you.”

“You have your life, and I have mine,” he shrugged, his rigid shoulders betraying what he truly felt. “And we have to live with that. It’s the one thing all of us have in common whether you’re dirt poor or filthy rich - we just have to live out the consequences of the life we choose for ourselves. There is no way around it.”

You snorted, adoration coming through since it was such a him thing to say. “You make it sound so simple.”

He half-shrugged again, this time with the ghost of a smirk. “Maybe because it is. It’s just how the world turns, Y/N. And you,” he tilted his head, eyes sharp with meaning. “You know that better than most.”

You wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, because only Wooyoung could say something like that with such maddening certainty - as if the world was some fixed machine with gears we were all doomed to turn, no matter how loud we screamed beneath the grinding. 

But he wouldn’t be wrong. You did know better than most. The world never stopped for anybody, and it certainly wouldn’t stop for the two of you.

“There’s, uh,” you paused, clearing your throat. “There’s a huge possibility we won’t see each other again, Wooyoung. My company is having a do-over, I might get shipped somewhere else.”

He nodded, eyes elsewhere. “It is what it is, Y/N. It’s something you have to live with. You and I both.”

“So that’s it?” You asked quietly, the words trembling like they’d walked barefoot over every memory you’d made with him. “You just live with it?”

His eyes met yours again. “No,” he said, softer now. “You carry it. Every day. In the silence. In the in-between. You carry it until it stops hurting, or until you stop noticing the weight.”

Right.

You watch Wooyoung, the way the light catches in his eyes. There’s hope in it, but there’s hurt too, layered and quiet, like a secret he doesn’t mind being seen but refuses to say out loud.

It wasn’t anything dramatic; it’s just how life worked sometimes. You meet someone, sometimes they don’t stay, and you both keep living. Most of the time, your paths cross only once and never again. You bit your lip, deep in thought. “What are you going to do then, Woo?” 

Wooyoung smiles, the kind of mournful fondness that almost breaks you. “Let live, and let die. I’ll do what I do best, and that is to keep moving forward. The process will be painful, but I’ll have to make do with what I have and work around it.”

He leaned his forehead to yours, closing his eyes. It prompts you to do the same. “I’ll try my best to fight what I can control, and then learn how to surrender to the ones I can’t. This is one of those moments, my little doll. It was very easy to go along with this, but it was very difficult not to surrender to the race against our clock.”

He plants a gentle kiss on your forehead, his lips staying there as he speaks. There was a sick part of you that wishes he’d leave a permanent mark on your skin somewhere.

“I don’t want to fully know every part of you, and I know that sounds unfair,” Wooyoung began. “Doing so means watching every piece of that knowledge walk away when you go. It’s easier this way, because if I did learn everything in the span of the three months you were here, I’m not sure I’ll survive watching that all go away in an instant.”

“I’ve already been through a lot in this fucking lifetime,” he said. “I’m through, you know? Maybe it’s better to leave some mystery. Maybe that’s how I’ll keep a part of you, even when you’re gone.”

His lips travel down, kissing both of your eyes this time as if he was searing this moment directly in your brain. “If somehow the odds are in my favour, I’ll find you again.”

A tightness gripped your chest, a weight pressing down, suffocating and relentless. It felt like every piece of you was unraveling, each thread pulling at the seams of your composure.

Your throat constricted, as if a flood was gathering the very same eyes he kissed. “Are you telling me to wait for you?”

“No,” he instantly rejected. “Absolutely not, Y/N. Never wait for something you are unsure of, please. Do yourself that favour. Do me that favour. I can’t have you waiting for me when I’m not even sure I can deliver.”

So, what do you want?

His grip on your face tightens ever so slightly. “I don’t know if I’ll get out of this city. Hell, I don’t even know if I’ll make it out alive, not when every day here feels like a losing fight.”

“So,” he continued. “Let me remember you how I remember you right now, because if your memory is the only thing that’ll keep me going for the rest of my life, I’ll do it. I will always remember you, Y/N. Even if we don’t see each other again.”

Your fingers twitched, curling into fists, as if you could stop the feeling by holding yourself together. “What if I end up falling for someone else along the way?”

Wooyoung pauses, and for a second, your heart rate picks up. “If you've found someone else that will make you happy, then I will be thankful for it. I don’t want you to be alone.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you don’t, and if it doesn’t work out, then you move on. See where that takes you after.”

You understood. Not all souls were meant to cross paths in this lifetime. There was only so much you could learn about Wooyoung, and even then, you feel like you still didn’t know him at all. Heck, there were people who have been together for far, far longer and they still learn something new about each other every single day. And while you believed that to be beautiful, you didn’t know where that left you with Wooyoung.

You knew he couldn’t answer all the questions you were throwing at him. Life was unpredictable like that, even the most realistic person out there like Jung Wooyoung didn’t have the answers for everything.

Now that you thought about it, you didn’t want to learn everything about Wooyoung, either. If anything, you wanted to begin to forget him as soon as possible so if destiny does move in the funniest of ways, falling back into him would feel twice as sweet and more so emotional on your ends.

Or maybe you wouldn’t even remember who he was anymore down the road. It was another part the both of you didn’t know yet. 

But alas, you’ll just have to see where life takes you because for now, the both of you didn’t have any room for love to grow. If Wooyoung finds you again like he did that night, then you’d go from there.

After much deliberation on his end, he gives in, his lips finally touching yours with a kiss that holds unspoken promises. He coaxed out the three words that laid on the tip of your tongue with his. They ached to break free, to give him the truth he deserved to hear from you.

Would that be the right thing to do, though?

It would be very selfish on your end, to leave him with those parting words, but damn it, if you haven’t been selfless all your life. 

Fuck it.

But before you could get the words past your lips, he raised a hand, a gentle but firm stop. He pulled away, his eyes meeting yours with a depth that made your heart stutter.

“Don’t say it,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, yet carrying the gravity of a thousand unspoken emotions. “Not yet. Please.”

It was what he said that had the dam that contained all your emotions break and spill all the tears you’ve been trying to contain all this time. Wooyoung didn’t hesitate to wipe them with his thumbs.

“If we see each other again in the future and you still feel the same, then you can say it. But until then, keep it.” he continued. His eyes softened, filled with a quiet plea. “Give me a chance to turn my life around. Let me make it out of here and be someone I’m proud to be.”

Of all the things you’ve talked about today, that was the one thing that truly made fear settle deep in your chest. “But, I’m already proud of you,” you said, voice unyielding.

Wooyoung’s jaw tightened. "But, I’m not," he whispered, the finality in his words like a door slamming shut.

The sound of Wooyoung’s phone ringing breaks through the stillness, harsh and jarring, like a stone tossed into a quiet pond. Your heart sank, it wasn’t a phone call - it was an alarm. He had another client waiting for him somewhere.

With a quiet sigh, Wooyoung began to pull away from you. Just like that, the moment had already begun slipping like sand through an hourglass. 

For a moment, you couldn’t move, your whole body frozen in time, but when you saw Wooyoung turn around, you quickly moved to hug him from behind, pressing your face on his back. “Y/N,” he said, his hand holding yours and squeezing it.

Don’t go, please, I don’t know what to do.

Wooyoung turns around, cupping your face once more. “I know, baby, it’s hard for me, too. I have to go, but you listen to me, okay? And you listen to me well because this might be the only time I’ll ever get to say it.”

You nodded, pressing your lips together in an attempt to get a hold of yourself. “Run free and wild, Y/N. You don’t belong here. This world is yours for the taking, all you have to do is make it yours. Make it worth your time when you move on to whatever the hell is next and know that you went in the end without a single regret.”

All you could do was nod again. You wanted to reach out, to scream into the silence, but all you could do was stand there as Wooyoung tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“You gotta do what you gotta do,” he smiled, bittersweet. “Give your company hell while I picture you in places I’ve never seen, meet people I’ll never know, live stories I won’t be a part of, and shape your own destiny in ways I won't be able to see.”

We have to fall, fall apart to work.

“And I’ll live my life wondering about what you’ll do next, here,” he takes your hand to place it where his heart was. “Even if I spend every single night doing so, just like when I spend it with you to end my days here. I don’t mind doing it for the rest of my life.”

He lets go for the final time, opening the door to walk outside, possibly forever. But, you couldn’t let go, not without giving him an option. “Choi San,” you blurted out before he completely walked away.

He halted his steps, tilting his head towards you in a way you once found endearing but now left you a finalized image of him before you parted ways. “Remember that name. He’s my new supervisor,” you swallowed a wave of new tears. “When you find yourself, please let me know.”

“Choi San,” he muttered, repeating the name as if he was marking it in his head already, training his lips to say the name over and over again for one day.

“Goodbye, Wooyoung,” you choked, the words burning through your throat.

For a second, Wooyoung’s gaze softened, and you saw the vulnerability there, the rawness of the goodbye. But then, without another word, he nodded once and turned, walking away from you, each step a little heavier than the last. 

He didn’t turn around once to look at you and you didn’t wait to see if he did, you wouldn’t be able to stomach it. You closed the door behind you, but you didn’t cry, didn’t scream. You just stood there, devastation filling in your chest, down to your feet, all without ever making a sound.

Run free, Wooyoung, so we can both start living.

You never really see each other after that even though you didn’t have to leave for another two weeks. You never went back to the bar nor did you book Wooyoung again. When you did try to call just to ease the pain, Yeosang wasn’t the one who answered. You immediately hung up.

And now, you were back on that train that took you here in the first place - the one that led you to a destination you never thought in a million years would alter the course of your life. 

There you were again, sitting alone in the train cabin, completely alone as you stared out the window and watched the passing scenarios fly by like they were nothing. You didn’t dare watch the city behind you get further and further.

It wasn’t something you were used to, you’ve always been alone all your life, but this was the first time you felt truly, utterly alone. It was some sort of poetic justice on your end; you came here alone, and therefore, you were also completely alone as you left. The only difference was, there was now something missing that you had left behind in that fancy, luxurious house - your heart.

You couldn’t bear to bring it - you didn’t want to -  hoping that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t hurt as much without it. But even without it, the emptiness remained, lingering like a ghost in the corners of your soul.

The only way was forward at this point, the regrets would prove to be fruitless. The idea of embracing whatever comes, living fully, yet knowing that the end will eventually come for everything was daunting, but you had to do what you had to do. 

You will live fully, knowing that one day, you’ll let go. But until that moment comes, you embrace every second, because those moments, no matter how short or long, are the only things truly within your control.

To live and to let die. That was what you were going to do.

You bowed respectfully towards the people that surrounded the round table as their claps filled the meeting room. Another smile later, the meeting and presentations for the future designs in collaboration with a sister company was fully conducted.

“Great as always, Y/N,” your boss grinned at you as he began to approach you, setting your portfolio and tucking it under his arms so he could give you the handshake you deserved. “I don’t know how you do it, I really don’t. It never did feel right that I was your boss instead of the other way around even after all these years.”

You shook your head, jokingly rolling your eyes. Thankfully, you had a wonderful enough relationship with your supervisor that you could get away with this. “Oh, stop it, San. You know that’s just untrue. Your ideas have always been trend-setting. I just so happen to know how to make those come to life.”

People who were passing by from the meeting room bowed to both of you and San, but more so, they’d either praise you, or they would just use that as an excuse to ogle at the wonder that was Choi San. You understood, you really did. San was one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen. Hell, it took you a while to get used to the fact that he was, indeed, your supervisor and not one of the company’s models. It didn’t really help that the man was humble and kind.

He tugs on his shirt sleeve, peering at the time attached to his wrists in the form of a watch. “Company lunch to celebrate with everyone, on me, in thirty minutes downtown at that new restaurant,” he clicked his tongue. “Go this time, yeah? I need my best designer to unwind and be well fed.”

You scoffed softly, about to say something, when he interrupts. “I’m serious, Y/N,” San said, his voice dropping to whisper. “We won’t launch the portfolio for another month. Take a break. You’re good at what you do.”

You’re good at what you do.

You froze, the statement echoing in your head. The sound of those words, they sound so familiar. The memory teases you, just out of reach, like a shadow too fast to catch.

“Oh, by the way,” San stopped you before you walked away. “Come see me at my office after. There’s a package that came that’s addressed to you.”

You nodded, pushing the thought away, as you always did. It was easier not to think about it, to keep moving, to keep working, to bury the feeling under a mountain of new ideas. But it never quite went away. 

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, a text from one of your coworkers, confirming the time and place for lunch. You read it, typed a quick reply, and shoved the phone back into your bag. The noise, the movement, the busyness - none of it ever filled that void.

Lunch wasn’t bad at all, your coworkers were great company after all, but you couldn’t concentrate. You were supposed to be here at the moment, but you just can’t. You had made a name for yourself in the fashion industry after three years of working hard, but none of it ever mattered to you.

“When do you think they’ll close the restaurant for the bar tonight?” You absentmindedly asked your nearest coworker, who was sitting across from you.

They looked at you confused, even going as far as to wait for you to reiterate your statement. “Uhm, I don’t think that’s a thing around here, if not ever,” they frowned. “That would be great, though, do you know a place like that?”

You blinked, caught off guard, embarrassed all of a sudden. “N-No, I think you’re right. I don’t know where that thought process came from. I apologize.”

Yeah, maybe San was right after all - you definitely needed a break. Maybe it was just a side effect of being a designer. You were constantly moving and evolving, after all.

As promised, when you got to San’s fancy office, there was a package waiting for you. You held it curiously in your hand, tossing and shaking the box around to gauge what was inside it. There was no sender name written, only yours and the office’s address.

“Any idea what it is?” San asked with one brow raised, work phone on the other hand while the other paused from signing multiple documents.

You shrugged. “Not really. Anyway, I’m going home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He waved you off dismissively, not even bothering you look up as he began to speak to whoever just called him. Fine by you. The package was probably the fabric you ordered a while back for your new piece to add to your portfolio.

The apartment was quiet when you got there. It was heavy with the hum of a long, restless afternoon. You’ve been living in this studio apartment for only a year, but you love it. It was definitely an upgrade from your old apartment, but the biggest reason you loved it here was because you had plenty of space to sew and design a lot of things.

And you were excited. You’ve been waiting for this new fabric for a while now, but when you tore the package open, you were confused to see that it wasn’t the vibrant red you were anticipating. No, this was a faded blue.

What’s more was that it wasn’t a slab of fabric. You gingerly took it out, even more confused when you saw a lace crop top. Odd, you thought as your fingers brushed over the top. It was nice, very genderless in concept, but why was it sent to you?

Had you made this? You closed your eyes shut, a memory just beyond reach plaguing your head. You had designed countless pieces over the years, each one blurring into the next, but this one? This one was different. 

Maybe it was the forgotten details that seemed to belong to someone else. You couldn’t remember the last time you'd seen it, let alone made it. Your style had changed so much over the years, but there was something about this piece, something familiar.

When you lifted it up to inspect it, something fell out from the seams. You picked it up, surprised to see that it was a neatly folded piece of paper - a note, it seems.

‘If this reaches L/N Y/N, please call this number - XXX-XXX-XXX. If not, return to the sender.’

Your heart skipped. There was an urgency you couldn’t explain. Without thinking, you grabbed your phone and immediately dialed the number. The ring felt like an eternity, the seconds stretching into the unspoken, until a voice finally picked up.

“Hello. If you have a tattoo appointment, I’ll redirect you to your artist. This is the owner speaking, how may I help you?”

You were thoroughly confused now, you don’t have tattoos and you don’t see yourself getting one in the near future, but your chest tightened, that distant familiarity stirring in it.

“Uh, hi. I got sent a package that said I had to call this number,” you mumbled, walking to the windowsill of your apartment that overlooked the moon and the stars. 

There was silence on the other end, long and deafening. It was to the point that you had to double check if the call was still connected. The only reason why you knew it was was that there were external noises on the phone, assuming that whoever was on the other end was moving. “Hello?” You tried again.

The movement stopped, the call completely silent this time. Then, there was a quiet inhale, sharp and uneven, like whoever was on the other end had just remembered how to breathe, before it was followed by a sniffle and a low chuckle.

“It’s you,” the voice, a man, said softly. “I didn’t think you’d call.”

Your breath hitched. That voice. It was the one you kept hearing whenever you’d remember something. You knew there should be a face attached to that voice in your head, but nothing. The hollow ache grew a little deeper, a little more urgent, until it was almost unbearable. You could feel it pressing against your chest, like a hand reaching out to you, demanding attention. 

You exhaled slowly, trying to calm yourself. “Who is this?” 

The man lets out a low chuckle again, only this time, it sounded more affectionate. It caught you off guard. By God, you wanted to remember so badly, but you didn’t know where to start. You began to wrack your brain for something, anything.

You didn’t know what you were searching for. However, through these years, you’ve always had this sinking feeling that someone, somewhere was out there waiting for you; somewhere in the quiet spaces between the thoughts you’ve tried to bury deep down.

The feeling was there. It was always there. You couldn’t say what you’d lost - only that something was missing.

“Tell me, my little doll,” he clicked his tongue. You could almost picture it. “Did you get to do what you were meant to do all these years?”

That was another blow to your chest. Doll. Little doll. Dollface. Your blood rushed to your ears, the voice starting to curl into your memory now, like smoke filling in every crack of a closed room.

“I suppose so,” you shrugged. Without thinking, your mouth blurted out that first thing that came into your head. “You? Did you manage to find yourself?”

You could hear the way he exhaled. It was slow and careful, like he was trying to keep himself together. “I did. It took me a while, but I did.”

There was something about the way he said it; the way his voice dropped slightly at the end. You stared outside to the twinkling stars. Something about them pulled you. And then suddenly, you could see visions of him.

The way he stood on the rooftop, hands in his pockets, staring at the same sky. A smirk would follow, one that felt like home and like something you’d never really gotten to fully know all at once.

You could picture him now - not just the shape of him, but him. The tired lines around his eyes. The tattoos that were etched beautifully on his skin. The way he’d tilt his head when you were speaking. His nonchalant and indifferent attitude towards things.

“I can hear your thoughts from where I am, you know? I really could,” he murmured. His voice felt too much now that you’ve pulled him out from deep inside you where you stored him in hopes of preventing all the hurt all these years. “You still remember the quiet parts of me.”

“There was a point in my life where I forgot your face,” you said, your voice shaking. 

“That’s okay. You used to close your eyes and trace it with your fingers, anyway.”

Your eyes stung, not even realizing tears were forming until one slid down your cheek. You inhaled sharply but you  didn’t speak. You knew. You knew what was coming next.

“We lived and let die, Y/N. We made it,” his voice was gentle, coaxing you out of the shell you’ve crawled into for safe haven. “The question is, do you still feel the same? Because I do. I never forgot that feeling.”

A soft, breathless laugh escaped you. It was shaky and wet with tears and it caught you by surprise. You tried to suppress it but the relief bloomed too fast. It was the sound of a weight lifting off your chest after years of carrying it in silence.

“Yes, Wooyoung. I still feel the same about you.”

On the other end of the line, there was no reply. Just the sound of him exhaling, quiet, and disbelieving, like hearing his name from your lips was all he’d been waiting for.

Then Wooyoung laughed. It was warm and raw and full of something that sounded like finally. You could hear him wiping at his face, hear the way it caught in his throat.

“What now?” You asked after a while. Your voice was still raw, but it was also lighter at the same time.

There was a pause, just long enough for you to wonder if maybe Wooyoung hadn’t heard you. Then he spoke, his voice as steady and sure as ever. “You could look down.”

You were confused at his request, but you did as told. You pressed your hands and face by the glass window and peered down. At first, all you saw was the busy road and some cars passing by, but then, your entire world stopped when your gaze landed on the sidewalk. Wooyoung.

You could tell it was him even from this distance. The same posture, the same silhouette. But he looked different. More polished, more alive, somehow. His hair was shorter, styled neatly, and his face was more refined, like time had carved away some of the youth and left something more certain, more grounded.

He held his phone in his ear as his eyes found yours through the reflection of the glass. And there was a smile on his face, so subtle, but it was there. 

“Oh my God, Wooyoung,” you choked out. More tears found their way up your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile that tugged on your lips. 

Wooyoung wasn’t faring better. From this distance, you could see his eyes gloss out, his unshed tears audible on the other end.

He smiled, wider this time, up to you, his gaze never leaving yours. Wooyoung’s eyes twinkled like the stars did when he found you three years ago on the rooftop. “I guess the odds were in my favour, after all.”

You covered your mouth, torn between laughing and breaking apart entirely. You must’ve looked crazy. “Yeah. Yeah, they were.”

Your chest tightened, the simplicity of it all striking deeper than you expected. He wasn’t asking for anything. He wasn’t begging you to come down.

He was just there, looking up at you from the sidewalk like he had been waiting for you for quite some time now.

And it was enough.

𝙽𝚎𝚝s - @keopihaus @dove-net @othersideoutlawsnetwork @hiraya-m @illusionnet @pirateeznet

Dividers by: @enchantings-a

[coffee-and-geto]

BE MY VOICE AND I CHOOSE YOU TO FILL THE VOID

“Why a second chance when the first one didn’t work?” “Because we’re too stubborn, love.”

pairing: fashion designer! suguru geto x supermodel! reader

summary: after you broke up with suguru a few years ago, you swore you’d never have anything to do with him ever again… until new york fashion week arrived and you found yourself forced to take part in the event with suguru geto — aka your ex and one of the most famous personalities in the fashion world, as your fashion designer. but perhaps the latter will take advantage of the event to do his utmost to regain your heart.

warnings: +18 only, smut, modern au! (no curses), exes to lovers, geto is your ex-boyfriend, fluff, (light) angst, hurt/comfort, anxiety attack, bossy! reader, nobara is the reader’s assistant but also plays cupid, only one bed/second chance trope, jealous! geto, gojo makes an appearance because he’s a fashion designer too, switch! geto, oral (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, handjob (m! receiving), body praises, fanart by @ / hiikeu.

wc: 15,257

“He wants you among his troupe.”

You nearly spit out the sip of your drink through the straw. “Excuse me?” you laugh out loud.

But even in front of the serious expression of one of the employees of the agency you work for, it’s hard to keep your own. A fit of giggles takes over your stomach, releasing uncontrollable laughter that echoes throughout your dressing room.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Nobara — your assistant — squeezes her planner against her chest — a nervous tic that has never been trivial to you. Silence finally returns to the room, and neither of the other two women utter a single word. The corners of your lips fall. “This is a joke, right?” you whisper breathlessly.

Nobara pulls her phone out of her pocket and scrolls for a few seconds before showing you an announcement from the official website of New York Fashion Week. She is followed by the employee who hands you a tablet screen displaying an email signed by someone you had erased from your life years ago:

Suguru Geto.

°°°°

“Next.” Suguru’s sharp tone cracks like a whip as another model steps onto the casting studio podium. His fist clenches nervously around the handle of the megaphone, resting its bell on the foldable wooden table.

In front of the silhouette of yet another candidate, Suguru’s gaze scrutinizes the model’s fine features that adorn her refined face with prominent cheekbones. A defined jawline. Hazel eyes and a slender body.

“Next,” Suguru repeats mechanically — perhaps because his eyes are desperately searching for your form? With each new woman, he hopes to meet your captivating gaze. And he almost systematically dismisses everyone when it’s not you?

“Mr. Geto, maybe we should—”

“Silence,” he cuts off without a glance at Manami, his assistant.

She sighs and offers an apologetic smile to the model who leaves the podium with a look of icy disappointment. Suguru’s right leg starts to twitch slightly in his chair—a sign of anxiety gradually eroding the calm he tries to maintain in his troubled mind.

“Night Skies: The Illuminated Darkness.” 

A relatively inspiring theme and quite easy to design. So why has no inspiration come to him since the announcement? Why do his thoughts constantly drift to outfits that only you deserve to wear, making him prefer to withdraw his participation rather than let someone else wear them?

Fuck.

After the next four hours, Suguru and Manami leave the casting studio for a break in the lounge. He leans against the counter, letting his obsidian eyes fix on a void, swept away by his overwhelming reflections. In the background, the coffee machine rumbles.

You had to join his troupe. Even though he already envisions a firm refusal from your agency. But he is ready to try anything for you — even risks that could endanger his career.

Manami clears her throat slightly and takes a hesitant step towards him. “Mr. Geto? Out of the three hundred top models proposed by partner agencies, we’ve only shortlisted four…” She fiddles with her nails painted in vermillion red, bites her lower lip, and adds, “And that’s under my insistence. At this point, I seriously doubt—”

“Write a letter to this agency,” Suguru cuts in once again without listening to a word of what she tried to explain. He hands her a business card from your agency and mentions your name. “You must know her. I want her among the models for my collection. Otherwise, I’ll cancel my participation,” he declares in an uncompromising tone.

Manami carefully takes the small card and studies it. She lets out a perplexed sigh and nods. “Alright.”

°°°°

“No, absolutely not! I refuse! Reply to him that it won’t be possible!”

“Miss, please—” Nobara tries to calm you and prevent you from committing murder against the top model manager of the agency.

“We’re talking about Suguru Geto! THE internationally renowned designer!” the manager yells with such vehemence that it surely carries well beyond your dressing room.

“I don’t give a fucking damn! There are thousands of models in the world! No one knows, so reply to this email with a fucking refusal!” you yell back just as fiercely. Your usually well-groomed hair is slightly disheveled by a few rebellious strands as agitated as your anger.

There is no way you’re participating in New York Fashion Week or any other event involving Suguru Geto. Not after everything that happened. 

Not after he abandoned you. 

No.

“But are you aware of what you’re saying—”

“Shut up! If you’re not happy, I’ll quit this damn agency right now! Do you think you’re the only one who wants me? I have hundreds who will be at my feet as soon as I’ll leave!” you spit after a bitter laugh.

Nobara’s soothing hands rest on your shoulders and force you to sit in a chair. Assured that you won’t attempt another assault on the manager, who has turned pale at your declaration, your ginger-haired assistant easily pushes the manager out, whispering to her not to set foot back in here until the refusal is sent to Geto.

She tries to argue one last time, her voice a bit more pleading and less aggressive, but Nobara slams the door in her face. She leans against it, sighs deeply, and closes her eyes for a moment. “Phew…”

As for your own state, ‘fury’ is the perfect adjective. Hair in disarray, cheeks flushed with anger, chest heaving with irregular, harsh breaths, and a vein throbbing along your neck; it’s as if you could turn your dressing room upside down at any moment.

Nobara heads to your automatic water dispenser and pours you a fresh glass. After ensuring you drink every drop, she notices you seem calmer.

Your bloodshot eyes meet her gaze, and she offers you a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll personally make sure everything is sent properly.”

You nod and run a hand over your face to wipe away your overflowing emotions.

It’s crazy how just the mention of that cursed name can set you off. But the final straw was when your manager was informed of Suguru Geto’s request for you to join his models for New York Fashion Week. She insisted relentlessly despite your patience for a no.

She said she didn’t understand. 

Of course, no one could understand when no one knew that one of the world’s greatest designers had been your boyfriend before your careers took radically different paths. But how could you explain when he was the one who pushed you to break up with him, leaving you alone, lost, and broken with only an unknown fate to face without anyone’s help?

It was without anyone’s help that you built yourself into who you are today. 

Even less your international career.

All the agencies are at your feet, but the only person you wanted to see there wasn’t. 

So there was no reason to pay attention. 

You will not participate in New York Fashion Week. As long as it involves Suguru Geto, anyway.

°°°°

Mouth agape in shock, Suguru thinks what he sees before him is a prank. 

But it’s indeed a clear refusal from the agency you work for. 

No, no, no, no, no. 

NO.

Suguru storms out of his design office and rushes upstairs to his luxurious bedroom to rummage through his personal belongings. An old photo album is hidden under the piles of clothes in his dresser. He scatters his things carelessly, paying no attention to the mess, and with trembling hands, he drops to his knees, flipping through the album.

On each page, a plastic film covers photos of you and him. One — the most painful — is the first one he took at the beginning of your relationship with him. Both of you standing next to an ice cream vendor, radiant smiles on your faces with sun rays illuminating both your faces, you had your arms around Suguru’s neck. Another one, as he turns the pages. You, lying in his bed one morning. He had taken it the night you had your first time with him. Your figure, which he worships, is covered with his sheets, and your mouth is slightly open as you sleep. A cute little drool escapes from your mouth.

All these photos hold real memories. Proving that nothing was imagined by him when, in his moments of madness, he wondered how he could have ended up here if it all was real. His heart twists in his chest when his eyes catch a photo of him with a bouquet of flowers in his hands and your lips pressed against his cheek. Those flowers were the first Suguru had ever received. He had never received flowers — not even from his own family. You were the very first to give him any.

Suguru pinches his lips, lost in reflections that lead him to check your Instagram page. On your profile, your posts are often collaborations with luxury brands, your body wrapped in fabrics showing your silhouette in its best light, some old videos of you as a child that you wished to share with the world, or random photos of you in pajamas in front of your mirror or with your daily makeup.

He couldn’t help but watch your stories, your posts, your interviews, and your shows in the shadows, never intervening as much in public as in private. 

Suguru is obsessed with you. 

And he has never stopped being, even after you broke up with him years ago. He never wanted to end things with you. 

He pushed you to do it so as not to hurt you more than you would be.

It was when you announced the breakup that he felt all the accumulated resentment he had caused in your heart, and he was nostalgically happy for you. 

You no longer had to endure the pain of canceled dates, missed calls, his constant absence.

He knew, at the time, that he was hurting you. He knew you hid your wounds behind forced smiles and excuses you found for his lack of involvement and neglect without him even having to make them when his career started to take off in the fashion world. He understood that he didn’t deserve you.

Yet today, Suguru burns for you. 

He is ready to risk his career to find you and seek your forgiveness. 

He is ready to lose all his dignity, let you use him like a mere pawn, humiliate him, and break him. 

All that, just for you.

Even if he doesn’t deserve you, Suguru wants your forgiveness at all costs. 

Even if he doesn’t deserve you, Suguru wants to redeem himself to you. 

Leaving your Instagram page, he opens Twitter and tries to find a way to force your hand to participate with him in New York Fashion Week, to meet him, to allow him to do everything to deserve you again and no longer have any regrets. 

He taps the ‘New Tweet’ icon and writes words that may place his reputation on an unsteady platter that could fall at any moment.

°°°°

The grip around your phone threatens to make it explode between your fingers. Your knuckles whiten, your hand trembles, and your eyes burn as you read the few words on a Twitter post where you’ve been tagged. It’s as if this time, you’ll actually turn your dressing room and even your agency’s headquarters upside down.

“@reader’sagency. @reader, would you do me the honor of participating with me as a model at the next New York Fashion Week? :)”

Your eye twitches, and you robotically lift your head toward your assistant. “Nobara, I beg you. Pinch me, hit me, slap me, but tell me this is just a nightmare.”

She looks up from your phone and sighs with a forced smile. “It’s... a nightmare?”

You grab a cushion from your red velvet sofa and bury your face in it to muffle a long scream from the depths of your soul. Nobara chuckles and places a hand on your shoulder. “You can just refuse. I’m sure everything will be fine. A public refusal should calm him down,” she whispers.

“Have you seen the comments, retweets, and reposts?” you murmur in a small voice, your brain numb.

Nobara frowns and shakes her head before taking out her own phone. But you stop her by handing her yours without lifting your face from the cushion. “No... Already? But... He posted it less than twenty-four hours ago!” Nobara breathes out in astonishment, covering her mouth with her hand.

Indeed, even though Geto’s tweet is less than a day old, it hasn’t stopped an overwhelming number of internet users and fans worldwide from reacting strongly to the news. You could very well refuse publicly yourself or through your agency — even humiliate him by posting a screenshot of the initial private request that was rejected, making him look desperate and creepy. But that’s not the issue.

By daring to renew his request publicly as if the previous one never existed, he’s putting your reputation and your fans’ hopes — whom you cherish so much — at risk.

If you refuse, you risk disappointing many and tarnishing your image as an arrogant and condescending supermodel for refusing to participate in such a globally anticipated event with one of the best-known designers in the world — despite the fact that no one knows about your past connection with Geto.

The reactions are so hyped, so excited and amazed at the possibility of you and Geto forming a partnership that would result in something beyond imagination.

Suguru Geto has just forced your hand, hovering a threat over both your career and reputation, as well as his own. But you need to make a decision.

You lift your head from the cushion and take a deep breath to brace yourself for what you’re about to do.

“Nobara?”

°°°°

With one foot in a pair of shiny white stiletto sandals and an outfit of the same color, one of your bodyguards helps you step out of the black sedan with your first step onto the ground. You stand up elegantly, wearing dark sunglasses. You are escorted in front of a huge building — one familiar to you from the pages of fashion magazines you usually read — and the immaculate sliding doors open for you.

You stand in the middle of the enormous hall, head held high and one eyebrow raised. “Weren’t the other models supposed to be here at the specified time?” you ask Nobara, who hurries to join you at your side.

“That’s what the email indicated…” she sighs, busy arranging the white fur draped over your arms, framing your long strapless dress in the same color as your heels — a tribute to Marilyn Monroe. Nobara lifts her head with a worried frown. “He couldn’t have stood us up or changed the address at the last minute—”

A confident and cheerful female voice calls your name. In a synchronized movement, you and your assistant turn toward an elevator entrance where a fairly tall woman with a slender and elegant figure, dressed in a long sleeveless Byzantine purple dress, stands. Your two bodyguards follow you and Nobara to join the woman, but she raises a firm hand.

“Your assistant will suffice.” She smiles professionally, and you nod, entering the elevator with the other two women. Like Nobara, she holds a clipboard against her chest and almost looks at you with admiration. “It’s an honor to meet you in person.”

You offer her a polite half-smile, and the elevator begins to climb its endless floors.

“My name is Manami Suda, Suguru Geto’s personal assistant and one of his executives,” she continues, glancing at Nobara. “And you are?”

“Nobara Kugisaki, her personal assistant,” Nobara replies with equal seriousness, and a hint of pride fills your chest. “But since you are Mr. Geto’s assistant, that answers our question. Why are we the only ones to arrive at the agency on time? Where are the other models?” she asks, tilting her head to the side, skeptically.

A small chime announces the arrival at the very top floor, and the doors open to let the three of you out.

Manami doesn’t lose her smile and leads the way down a corridor with an immaculate gray carpet. Her black heels make muffled sounds with each step until reaching a door where she knocks three times. “Everything will be explained by Mr. Geto himself,” she assures, opening the door after a ‘come in’ is heard from the other side.

The voice, though muffled by the door, is easily recognizable. A bitter pang grips your heart, but you shake it off within seconds with a blink.

Manami steps aside and introduces you as you enter.

At the back of the office stands a black swivel chair facing away from you — masking the already known identity of the owner and adding palpable tension.

Manami discreetly leaves, closing the door silently, leaving you to face one of your worst nightmares. The chair turns to face you and Nobara, and the face of Japan’s most popular designer and couturier lays his dark eyes on you.

You remain secretly frozen a few meters away, back to the door, your eyes coldly staring at your ex.

Suguru Geto has always had a reputation for being a man of style, in his behavior, his language, and his way of dressing. While the basic suit he wears contrasts with the extravagant outfits that the wealthiest designers can afford — in this field, they are certainly experts, and some can wear clothes as expensive as the series of Picasso’s “Les Femmes d’Alger” paintings — his perfectly sculpted body and charm embellish the slightest thing he wears, even if it was straight from an old supermarket. But if there’s one prominent feature of his face that can match his advantageous physique (his body), it’s his hair. Being a chic, elegant, and refined man, Suguru is also known for his iconic long raven hair. With strands cascading down his back and bangs framing his temple, the half-bun at the back of his head has always earned him numerous compliments and collaborations with the most well-known brands for their haircare products.

Suguru’s piercing eyes narrow as his lips stretch into a smile. Your name rolling off his tongue gives you goosebumps. “Welcome. Please, have a seat.” With a broad gesture of his hand, he indicates two cocoa-colored leather chairs at the end of a ridiculously long glass table.

You take a seat without looking at Suguru at first, and Nobara seems to read your thoughts as she immediately asks, “Where are the other models?”

Suguru places his forearms on the table in a measured gesture, but as he responds, his gaze never leaves yours. “None are at this agency, it seems.” And it all feels as if asking such a question is stupid.

“That’s what was written in the email,” you reply in a dry voice.

“That’s what was written in the email,” Suguru confirms with a strange softness. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? If I hadn’t said that, you would have refused the meeting.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

Suguru’s smile widens even more as he continues, “Aren’t you happy to see me again?” And for a nanosecond, you thought you saw his irises darken.

Nobara alternates her gaze between you and Suguru, completely lost.

“Mr. Geto,” your tongue clicks against your palate, “I came here to discuss the initial progress of the collection you will present at New York Fashion Week. Nothing else.” You pause. “If it’s for any other subject, please address my manager, and I can leave right now.” Your frozen facial mask doesn’t falter at all.

“Awwww… You’re breaking my little heart, love—”

“Enough.”

Nobara looks dubious. “You… you already know each other?”

“We…” You pause, torn between the idea of confessing everything to Nobara or pretending nothing happened. “In the past. Before we became known,” you reluctantly admit. “But it doesn’t matter. I have nothing to do with anyone now.”

Suguru’s gaze darkens and never leaves yours. Yet, he doesn’t say a word, and an uncomfortable silence sets in.

Nobara decides to break it by clearing her throat and speaking again. “I— I see. I won’t say a word,” she murmurs.

You sigh and straighten slightly in your seat. “Fine. Let’s discuss the proposed theme.”

Suguru’s Adam’s apple moves as he swallows, and during the next half-hour, neither of you brings up your past relationship with Suguru again. The choice of the leading model was quickly settled on being you — because among all the proposals from partner agencies, no other model in Japan reaches your level of fame.

Suguru also doesn’t waste time revealing that he has selected very few models since the theme announcement. The delay will potentially impact the preparation and organization for New York Fashion Week, but he hasn’t bothered to explain why. He simply asked for your help with the rest of the selection.

You hesitated before accepting, finding it strange that someone like him is so behind. But how could you know that you are Suguru’s muse — his source of inspiration, the purpose of his existence? He is much more confident than a few weeks ago since he finally saw you again and ensured you decided to work by his side. It’s only a matter of time before you settle the score with the low blow he dealt you — something impossible to do with witnesses like Nobara around.

The agreements also included a trip from Tokyo to New York. The group will be accommodated in a secure, comfortable, and luxurious hotel until Fashion Week ends and preparations allow access to dressing rooms for each model.

This means being much closer to Suguru than expected...

°°°°

“What do you think?” 

“I’m not a stylist.” 

“That’s true; you’re more than that.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Come on… Don’t be so rude! I need your help!” Suguru grins, and you roll your eyes, noting the name of a model who just walked past. 

On the runway where hundreds and hundreds of models from all over the world are parading, you, along with Suguru — much to your dismay — are perched on a high platform giving a panoramic view of each model. Of course, he had to move his two-seater table just to spend time with you — a detail he didn’t hesitate to hide from you. What’s the point? he muses with amusement, glancing at you; from the side, he gets a view of your hair falling like a curtain along your cheeks, your nose bent over your clipboard as you jot down names of models that would be interesting to keep for Fashion Week. This poses no problem in itself, especially for an event like this.

If only your partner wasn’t Suguru Geto. 

Ugh.

“Help you? While I’m the only one noting names while you harass me with your pathetic attempts at conversation? Don’t pretend to ask my opinion when you’ve barely looked at more than ten models,” you retort irritably. The ballpoint pen rolls over the paper with obvious frenzy.

“‘Harass’ is a bit harsh,” Suguru comments, his lips pursed in a mockingly offended pout — just to hide his predatory smile. “I’d say I’m trying to have a conversation — something you, let’s be honest, avoid like the plague.” A smile curves his thin lips. “And then, why bother looking at what doesn’t interest me when I already have what I want. I’ve never bitten, you know,” he whispers, his eyes softened by a tenderness he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

“You don’t have me,” you respond immediately. You raise your eyebrows and, without looking at him, you continue, “Oh really? You do have quite a resemblance to dogs,” You wrinkle your nose to sneer mockingly as he takes offense. It’s strange because you haven’t laughed in front of Suguru for years. But as expected, the laugh is not joyful; on the contrary, it’s meant to hurt him because you still can’t stand his presence — even less when it’s forced.

“Hey! You’re insulting me!” he frowns and wipes away a laugh. Suguru shakes his head and sighs. “How cruel.”

Your lips turn downwards, and you roll your eyes yet again (you could have won an award for the record number of eye rolls in such a short time). Ignoring the feeling of vice and hatred gnawing at your heart, you refocus on the runway several meters below. The blinding spotlights brilliantly illuminate all these models eager to participate in the highly anticipated Fashion Week alongside Suguru Geto, the internationally renowned stylist, and you, a supermodel equally famous — while you both are plunged into the shadows of the upper floor that looks more like a hallway where stage technicians usually come to secure and manipulate high-up equipment, rather than anything else. Especially when the provided table is just foldable wood and almost fragile to abrupt movements.

Your eye catches a rather tall model with long ebony hair and golden, radiant skin. Her silhouette seems almost ethereal, and it’s at this moment that you don’t regret for a single second having taken your life into your own hands when you were alone just to admire the beauty of all these women of various beauties, shapes, and ages. The female body is beautiful.

No, magnificent.

“That one…” you murmur, noting the candidate’s name announced by Manami below. You bite your lower lip in a concentration tic. “She’s perfect. We’ll keep her for later.”

Suguru nods, but his gaze hasn’t once rested on the model whose name you just mentioned. His irises don’t leave your features, which he has missed so much, especially at this distance. “Hmm…” he hums simply. He gets lost in his contemplation.

You haven’t changed a bit.

Even if your hair is styled differently, your makeup meticulously done, and your chic and luxurious fashion sense, to Suguru, you left him in the same state you are now. He knows your body by heart — not thanks to the photos he kept of you — but because your existence has marked his so much that your simple face is forever etched in his retina.

When Suguru says he is obsessed with you, he goes to the end of his words.

Of course, he regrets his past actions and seeks the right moment to ask for your forgiveness, but he couldn’t hold back.

It was stronger than him.

°°°°

In the spacious studio typically reserved for smaller fashion shows (the irony noted), today it is being used to give Suguru a first taste of what his final troupe was proposing. With your help, Suguru has finally moved on to the next stage just before the outfit creations begin.

Manami, who is backstage, is managing the music and the secondary effects. She sends a message to Suguru to indicate that the line of models can begin their walk before returning from the runway.

The music starts with a rhythmic tempo suited to the steps the models are to take. You are the last to go, which annoys you immensely. Your supermodel status is far more valuable than that of a mere model. Every aspect of your profession is a relentless effort; so seeing these poor models advance with such banal and mediocre strides makes you want to vomit.

Did you accept this for that?

Already, you’ve had to endure disdainful looks from the other models in the group regarding your popularity. It’s quite audacious for them to act so confident when their steps resemble those of a penguin, you can’t help but ponder.

When it’s finally your turn, you waste no time.

The music resumes, and you begin your first steps with a feline grace, almost silently gliding down the runway. Your high heels strike the ground with a hypnotic regularity, syncing with the pulsing beat of the music and its rhythmic cadence: a perfect synchronization. Each step is a demonstration of confidence and control, shoulders straight, chin slightly lifted, eyes fixed straight ahead.

Each step brings a breeze that lightly lifts your hair from your face, like a halo enhancing your display worthy of a true model. At the end of the runway, you pause gracefully before turning on your heels with impeccable precision.

As you return, it’s even more captivating as you continue to walk with palpable assurance, your hips swaying slightly, capturing everyone’s attention.

Your turn finally ends, and the desired effect has certainly been achieved: everyone’s eyes have been glued to you from start to finish. You also didn’t miss Suguru’s gaze fixated on you, his lips parted in captivation. This, of course, earns you the disdainful looks of the other models in the troupe, but a triumphant smile adorns the curve of your lips.

This is what it means to be a model.

“Very well, very well! Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for your very pleasant and… captivating performances,” Suguru announces energetically, standing in front of his chair with his arms open towards his official troupe.

Unsurprisingly, his gaze does not leave you and remains fixed on your silhouette as you move towards the backstage, back to him.

°°°°

You knock on the door, and Suguru’s muffled voice invites you in.

For a stylist and designer as popular as he is, Suguru’s sewing workshop is… more unconventional than you would have thought.

Indeed, several spacious tables are littered with sketch sheets—some colorful—fabrics of all colors, lengths, and textures. Crafting materials are scattered here and there, cluttering the passage along with open boxes on the floor, making it nearly impossible to take a step without brushing against piles of stuff that threaten to collapse. But at least the workshop isn’t filthy and retains the same aesthetic touch you’d find in TV shows or fashion serials.

At the far end of the room, a single chair is occupied by Suguru, who is sitting with his back to you. Hearing your approach, he turns towards you, his eyes fixed on a bright yellow measuring tape and a metallic needle wedged between his teeth, with a fuchsia pink thread running through the tip.

“Come closer,” he murmurs, moving towards you with the help of the wheels on his chair.

Feeling self-conscious, you take another step closer, and when he lifts his eyes to you, it feels as if you are naked before him: less than a step away, you are wearing a delicate sport bra that barely covers your chest, dreading any shiver that might reveal hardened nipples, along with a pair of equally revealing bicycle shorts in the same color. You had insisted to Manami on a firm refusal to wear any underwear in front of Suguru, without providing a reason.

Even though he has seen far more intimate parts of your body before, the current situation with him challenges everything.

A faint blush colors your cheeks, and without a word, Suguru extends his arms, his long, slender, pale fingers wrapping the measuring tape around your waist first. You can’t gauge the meaning of his gaze. How is he reacting internally right now?

But his mischievous remark answers you the moment after, “You okay? Are you still breathing?” The sarcastic tone immediately irritates you.

“And you’re taking the opportunity to enjoy the view, aren’t you?” you retort venomously. You’re about to continue spewing your hatred towards him when his hands gently — but with some firmness — grasp your hips and make you turn around. You stifle a moan at his touch, which sends a shiver through your body and, as you feared, your nipples harden. You step away from him abruptly when his breath grazes your side. “What are you doing?” you ask sharply, your arms futilely trying to cover your chest.

Suguru sighs. “Are you done acting like a kid?” He grabs you by the elbows and forces you to turn your back to him. He wraps the measuring tape around you again. “So no, I’m not enjoying the view, I’m doing my job.” He kneels to measure your hips, and with a glance downward, you see his amused smile. “You should have refused to work with me if it bothers you so much to be measured.”

“Ah, as if I had a choice?” you retort abruptly.

“You did,” he whispers as he stands up, brushing your hair away from your back, and for a moment, his warm breath caresses your shoulders. All you want right now is for him to place a tender kiss on the side of your neck, but the resentment towards him always takes over.

“No, you know that’s not true.” Your tone is harsh as a whip. “By the way, have all the other models been through here? I saw assistants with all this gear. Why am I the only one alone with you?”

Suguru grins. “The others went through with my assistants,” he replies with a chuckle before taking your bust measurements. “You’re the first I’m measuring, and the only one.”

“What game are you playing?” you murmur after a pause.

“None.”

He continues with the rest of your measurements — bust, thighs, legs, and finally arms. During this part, he takes an unusually long time to scrutinize you, and his head tilted close to your skin makes your heart race uncontrollably.

The final straw is when his lips accidentally brush against your arm.

“Stop that,” you warn him all of a sudden, stepping back. Your furious gaze seems to want to kill Suguru on the spot, and he loses his smile.

“I—”

“Stop pretending to be clueless, Geto.”

He already knows it will be hard to win you back, especially with this reaction he had long feared. But it had to explode sooner or later.

“If you think I’ve forgotten the past, you’re deluding yourself. The jerk you were is still the same in my eyes,” you seethe.

Suguru takes a step towards you in an attempt to beg you not to avoid him as you continue to back away. He murmurs your name in a plea. “I know you’re mad at me, and you have every right to be, but I did all this for you. I knew you wouldn’t be able to refuse a second time with—”

“I don’t want you to try to make up for it, not after all these years. Is that really why you asked me to come back? Because I’ve reached your level of popularity? My money? My body?” Your throat tightens further, and you squint your eyes to hold back your tears. “I will never forgive you, Suguru. I’m no longer the naive girlfriend who waits like a fool for someone who didn’t give a damn about her!”

“I— It wasn’t— Please, let me explain… I still love you as much as I did before, and I know I’ve been unworthy of everything you’ve put up with for me, but—”

You bitterly laugh in his face. “Liar! You’re lying, and you always have, even when you said you loved me! Your babble about what you were and what you are now is just the typical crap an toxic ex says when they want to win someone back. Did I really have a choice to come back to you? Do you think it’s a good method?”

With those words, you turn around and walk away towards the workshop door.

Suguru’s heart screams at him to follow you and beg on his knees for you to listen, but he knows your stubborn temperament. The only words that come from his mouth after his first failure are enough for him to know you’ve heard them, even as you fling the door open and rush out.

He knows you heard him.

“You will always have a choice with me.”

°°°°

“What do you mean, ‘the camera isn’t working’?” Suguru thundered with severity.

The entire group waiting for the final shoot (including you) turns towards the back of the studio to face a visibly agitated Suguru. He is handling the camera in every direction and then turns towards you.

You’re ready, dressed in the latest collection from the luxury brand you’re working with for Suguru’s troupe’s Fashion Week. There’s no problem on your end.

So why is he talking about a camera that isn’t working?

Especially when it’s your turn?

You take a hesitant step towards him, and Manami quickly avoids your questioning gaze, stepping away from her superior.

A few other models follow you, whispering incomprehensible things not far away to your ears, but all you care about is hoping you’ve misunderstood something.

“Find me another camera,” Suguru orders, violently throwing the one he had against a wall. The sound of metal shattering on the floor startles everyone.

Manami follows him out of the studio at a brisk pace. “Wait! Mr. Geto! Did you forget that this isn’t our studio? It’s the only camera we were able to borrow!”

“SO?” Suguru retorts acridly. “She’ll be the only one not photographed while she’s the star of MY troupe?” His tone rises significantly towards Manami. But he doesn’t spare a glance at you, even as everyone listens to their conversation intently. “Don’t forget that tonight the magazines will be prepared, and we won’t be here but at Gojo’s reception!”

All the other models turn to you in unison, watching you with astonishment.

“Too bad, I’m sorry but she won’t be in it!” Manami resigns with an even tone. “We need to leave in an hour, and the reception starts then!”

“Absolutely not! Find me a fucking camera so she’s in the magazine for tomorrow!” With those final words, Suguru opens the studio door and storms out, slamming it shut behind him with a loud bang.

Silence envelops the room, and you find yourself at a loss for words, your lips sealed and your voice stuck in your throat.

Manami sighs and finally turns to you, her face showing sincere regret. “I’m sorry… I know it’s really unfair, but I think you won’t be in the promotional magazine for the brand partnering with us…”

“I—” Your face falls completely, and you look in dismay at the broken camera on the floor from a few minutes ago.

“I’m truly sorry…” Manami murmurs, lowering her head in genuine remorse.

A few hours later, you’ve resigned yourself as well. The luxury brand partnering with Suguru’s agency had lent outfits from their latest collection for advertisement in fashion magazines. The models and the brand were to be highlighted, but this preview was unfortunately ruined by the delay caused by Suguru, who couldn’t complete the photo shoot in his own studio. On the same day — at a time too close to the reception hosted by his friend-rival Satoru Gojo, a stylist of equal renown—the weather and equipment decided to turn against you.

According to Manami, the camera borrowed from a nearby photo studio was sabotaged right after photographing all the other models. So, despite your star model status, you won’t appear in the magazine coming out. The lack of time also prevented photographers, as well as Manami and Suguru, from finding another camera in time, as everything was prepared at the last minute.

Your troupe isn’t the only one participating. Those of other stylists — like Gojo, for example — will also be featured in a fashion magazine with their partner brand and all their models. The shame will fall upon you as the one not included.

And it will be a scandal — you couldn't make it up.

But Nobara has been far more helpful than you would have thought. She learned the news that evening while helping you prepare in your dressing room for Gojo’s reception and was outraged by the situation. Most of all, she was scandalized to learn that someone had attempted to sabotage your photo shoot.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Your name rolls off Satoru Gojo’s tongue as he bows respectfully and takes your hand, brushing his pink, thin lips against it.

“Likewise.”

Your raise eyebrow and small, sly smile don’t escape him, and he responds with a laugh that makes your heart flutter. Through his signature round sunglasses — Gojo’s trademark — his cerulean eyes sparkle with mischief. He gives you a wink, then releases your hand and offers you his arm. You take it without hesitation, appreciating the touch of a man like him.

The reception hall is packed with models and stylists; some are Japanese, while others come from different corners of the world, ‘passing through’ before heading back to New York. Indeed, the trip is fast approaching, and this evening is one of the last things you’ll need to face before traveling to the other side of the world.

Chandeliers light up the marble floor with tiny reflections that resemble stars. Tables lined against the walls overflow with dishes and canapés — along with chocolate fountains and desserts. Small groups are gathered in every corner of the room, and the dance floor is filled with couples or partners dancing amidst the exceptionally chic ambiance.

“I’m meeting you in the flesh,” Gojo murmurs, casting a flirtatious glance at you. This man has always had the reputation of being exceedingly handsome and tall. Today, you confirm it.

In his immaculate tuxedo, Satoru Gojo walks with you through the room, maintaining a perfect conversation without awkward pauses or questionable vibes. He is exquisite, charming: everything a woman could dream of.

“Few people get to meet you up close,” you add with a light giggle. You adjust your hold on his arm and look up at him. “I heard you’re also participating in the New York Fashion Week.”

“Indeed.” He takes a glass of champagne and hands it to you. “It would have been a pleasure to work with you, though,” he murmurs with a wry smile.

“I would have loved that.” Your gaze sweeps across the room as you take a sip of champagne. “It’s a shame I went with Mr. Geto.”

“Oh yes, Suguru. My eternal rival. I was surprised by that Twitter post. A model like you… should be among the best, and unfortunately, Suguru is one of them.”

“Do you think so, Mr. Gojo?”

He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you a bit closer as he stops near a table with canapés, not far from a window. “Call me Satoru,” he says, looking at you over his sunglasses and taking a mini macaron.

You pick up one as well, and Suguru’s figure passes by you, too quickly for you to understand what’s happening but close enough to notice his gaze on you and Satoru.

“Would you be interested in working on a future collection with me after Fashion Week?” Satoru asks, his attention completely focused on you.

Your blood rushes in your ears as you feel his breath on your lips and you hold back the urge to lean in and kiss him.

“With pleasure, Satoru,” you respond with a smile as playful as his.

“Perfect.” His face lights up, and he is about to say something when he is interrupted by a trio of models approaching you.

“Excuse us, Mr. Gojo,” one of them coos with a sugary voice, batting her eyelashes.

“Can this wait?” He rolls his eyes without any shame. “I’m busy.” He pulls you closer to him with a firmer, more possessive embrace.

Without wasting any time, he takes you out of the reception hall, where a few people are lingering and chatting in a slightly more intimate setting. Thick crimson velvet curtains adorn the various entrances, and Satoru leads you further in.

Your cheeks flush in reaction to the pleasant situation you’re in. Your mind even begins to compare him to Suguru...

“Have I told you how beautiful you are, especially in that dress?” Satoru whispers near your ear, his voice low and warm.

“No,” you murmur, dazed by his hand resting on your lower back, his thumb making gentle circles.

Satoru leans in and his lips brush against yours. “May I?”

You nod, aware of what’s to come as his lips slowly capture yours in a soft, needy kiss. Your lips respond immediately, and Satoru’s two hands join behind your back to guide you into a room that looks like a luxurious bedroom.

Without breaking the kiss with its wet sounds, your back meets the soft surface of a mattress, and you’re already panting. You know that with him, you won’t regret doing anything.

Satoru’s heavy breathing moves away from your pink, swollen lips to approach your bare collarbone and kiss it with those same lips. With his hand gently caressing the back of your thigh, which you lift and drape around his waist, Satoru uses his nimble fingers to slide down the thin strap of your dress. Your chest rises and falls with the sensual tension descending upon you. Your fingers help him lower your dress, first revealing your bare breasts, and a flush colors your face.

“Beautiful, sweetheart,” he purrs in your ear, taking pleasure in depositing a line of soft, affectionate kisses along your neck and down to your chest. Satoru stretches his lips into a smile against your skin and lightly touches the swell of your breasts. He takes one nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue.

A moan escapes you, and you arch your hips to rub against him desperately. His bulge becomes more prominent and presses against your own underwear, adding friction that makes your core sensitive. “Satoru…” you pant softly, stroking his snow-white hair as he lavishes your breasts with wet kisses. “More…”

He grins and returns to your lips, whispering “Adorable…” while sliding your dress down further.

But the door to the room suddenly opens, revealing a frozen Suguru standing before the scene. You and Satoru immediately turn your heads toward the intruder and pull away from each other abruptly.

But it’s already too late, as neither of you have time to say a word before Suguru turns and leaves as quickly as he arrived, his face as pale as a sheet.

An unusual pang tightens in your chest, and you sit up from the bed, overwhelmed by a sense of guilt. But why? Why feel this way?

You sigh, and Satoru shakes his head. “He won’t say anything,” he reassures you, reaching out a hand to stroke your cheek.

You don’t push him away, but he understands that you wouldn’t want to go any further with him tonight.

°°°°

“Here… Lift your chin…” Suguru takes a photo with a sharp click. “Perfect…” he murmurs to himself, his tone filled with admiration.

Sitting on the floor of Suguru’s photography studio in yet another outfit from the luxury brand partner, you give him a profile shot, your chin lifted in a dreamlike expression of devotion. For another photo, you lie on your side, your eyes fixed directly on the lens.

Suguru, for his part, doesn’t hesitate to give his best effort to capture the most beautiful photos he’s ever taken in his career. He insisted on handling it personally — despite what happened less than two days ago at Satoru’s reception. He even came up with an idea to make up for the consequences of his delay with the magazine published for all the participating Fashion Week troupes in New York. The scandal over your absence, despite being one of the featured models, had shaken most social media, and indeed, enough for Suguru to come up with a plan that would do justice to you.

What better way than to discuss with the luxury brand partner to release an entire magazine featuring you as the sole model? You would showcase the clothes that weren’t worn due to the lack of time. The success and attention would be all focused on you — spotlights fixed on you.

Because you deserve it.

No matter how long it takes Suguru.

He vowed to do everything to make amends.

So that’s why you find yourself alone in the studio with him, posing in outfits that shake him so much that he’s suggested taking a break twice to calm his trembling hands.

Two days later, the magazine is finally out, with you as the star, once again shaking up social media and causing a wave of appreciation from fans. At your finest, every page shows only you.

You, the heart’s desire of Suguru Geto.

“Have you seen the reactions?” Suguru asks as he approaches you while you’re busy admiring the sky and the skyscrapers from one of the agency’s balconies. Suguru slides the glass door closed and joins you. “Am I bothering you?”

You sigh.

“Come on, at least thank me for doing such a good job. You look stunning in all the photos.” He has a smirk and nudges you in the ribs as he leans his forearms on the glass railing. “And you always have been.”

You give a subtle smile but don’t immediately respond. You leave a small silence between the two of you. For the first time in years, Suguru’s presence doesn’t bother you as much.

“Thanks, I suppose,” you murmur. Without looking at him, you continue, “It’s nice of you to do this.”

“I did it for you,” Suguru breathes, his heart tight.

You nod. Lately, it feels like you don’t quite know how to react. All these compliments, the fact that he hasn’t changed his behavior after catching you with Satoru (he’s even become even more gentle)... It’s a lot to take in.

You eventually clear your throat. “Well, I think—”

“Wait.” He turns his head toward you. “Please.”

The note of pleading is the only detail that brings your feet back to the railing.

He lets a light silence linger, not saying a word. A breeze brushes both your faces, like cool water on a tired face.

Perhaps it’s this that makes Suguru speak up, saying your name.

“You’ve become someone since then,” he whispers with a faint smile. “I’m proud of you.” And oh, how you wish you could erase the blush spreading across your cheeks! “I don’t want to pretend like nothing happened anymore.” He turns fully toward you, the wind whipping his long raven hair and his obsidian eyes scrutinizing you. “I haven’t forgotten you. I’ve never forgotten you, actually.”

His sudden declaration catches you off guard. Why is he saying this? You already knew it. And your behavior towards him gives an unspoken response. You simply turn your head towards him without moving your body, with a forced nonchalance. He mustn’t see what he still evokes in you after all these years.

“Not a single day has gone by that I haven’t thought about you. I know I hurt you, and coming back now is probably not the best way — especially after I pushed you away.” He takes a step towards you. “And I want to win you back.” You prepare to retort, eyes narrowing, but he cuts you off immediately. “I know. And it’s not because you’ve become a famous model. Far from it.”

He repeats your name once again.

But this time, his tone is different.

His voice returns to what it was so long ago. The voice he used to whisper in your ear in bed, when you were standing in a supermarket line, and on the phone.

The thorny brambles of your heart wrap painfully around you, reminding you of what he became later.

“I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

Your lips press together, and you start to pull away from the glass railing.

“Give me a second chance, I—”

“No. There’s no point.”

Your steps move closer to the glass door, but Suguru grabs your hand.

“Please, let me at least explain—”

And your hand tears away from his grasp with an insensitivity hidden beneath its opposite in your heart. “We were perfect, Geto. Incredibly perfect. But now, I really wonder if you ever truly loved me,” you admit without any warmth.

“I did, and I still—”

“No. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been increasingly distant, avoiding our dates as your career took up more and more of your life.” You take a trembling breath meant to chase away the tears from your eyes, but it’s in vain. Your voice quivers. “At least you didn’t give up on your dreams for someone. Even less for love. And for a love that only brought you pain after it left you…”

“Love,” Suguru pleads in a heart-wrenching whisper. He takes another step towards you, arms outstretched, but you shake your head.

“But at least, I can thank you for what I’ve become today. I’ve become the person that little me always dreamed of being. Thanks to your departure from my life.”

The words slap and scratch him violently.

You turn on your heels and open the glass door, casting one last glance back at him, tears streaming down your face, smearing your mascara.

“So don’t ruin it all.”

°°°°

As scheduled, the private jet successfully dropped Suguru’s entire troupe at a New York airport less than a week before Fashion Week, where a luxurious van awaited your arrival. As soon as you stepped inside, fuchsia purple LEDs assaulted your eyes, and a multitude of leather seats were lined against the vehicle’s walls. At the very back, there was a mini-bar stocked with alcoholic beverages and spaces near the seats featuring multifunctional drawers: a retractable coffee machine, a selection of accessories and makeup products, as well as blankets, sleep masks, and other handy items. Near the driver, who greeted the troupe with a nod, a tablet fixed to the wall allowed you to change the background music at will.

Without delay, everyone rushed to the seats and chatted merrily over drinks and snacks as the journey finally began. All the models’ assistants were allowed to join the trip, which meant you found yourself laughing with Nobara about the different shades of blush provided in one of the drawers.

She took out her phone and suggested doing an Instagram story, which you accepted without hesitation. You were soon joined by the others, and a group photo was taken by Suguru. To your great surprise, you participated with a small pose. It was also posted on Suguru’s agency’s Instagram, and Nobara quickly showed you the reactions. For the past three weeks, she has almost been gushing on your behalf over the wave of positive responses you received following your appearance in the latest leading fashion magazine in the United States — even despite the success that Satoru Gojo’s own troupe has also enjoyed.

But it has also been three weeks since you last spoke to Suguru following your conversation with him. Throughout the journey to the hotel — where you will stay with your troupe for the rest of Fashion Week until its end — you couldn’t help but have unintentional eye contact. Fortunately for you, he didn’t make any attempts, and somehow, you would have liked to have Suguru in your life once more — just one last time.

But your bitter past with him still haunts your dreams, so that’s out of the question.

A few hours later, the van drops the troupe off in front of the famous hotel, but to everyone’s great surprise, a crowd is packed around the entrance. Security is pushing back some people protesting that they’ve been queuing for hours, and Suguru steps outside to observe what’s happening.

“They were right. The hotel is packed.” Of course, all due to Fashion Week taking place just a few kilometers away. Celebrities, high society, and tourists alike, the gigantic hotel promises not to be easy for the model troupe and Suguru himself. He signals the driver, who contacts security agents and bodyguards via his walkie-talkie to approach the van so that the troupe can either queue or simply navigate through the crowd.

So, with further delays and heightened security, a decision was made regarding the group: it was divided into several smaller groups so everyone could pass without issues. Some models have already gone to the reception and are enjoying their rooms, while you find yourself paired with…

…Suguru.

And last in line.

Neither of you speaks a word, and you are engrossed in your phone, trying your best to ignore him. On the other side, your assistant with ginger hair, Nobara, has asked if it bothers you that she takes a trip to do some shopping in New York— a rare opportunity for the young woman. How could you refuse her? How could you say that you don’t want to be alone with Suguru, even if it’s for the sake of organization? Being stuck in a line with him is uncomfortable?

You finally sigh in relief when your turn comes after forty minutes of waiting while other customers check in.

Bodyguards step aside, both of your luggage in their arms, waiting for a word from you.

The receptionist clears her throat and squints at the screen of his computer. “I apologize, but... I think there’s a reservation issue with your rooms.”

“What do you mean?” Suguru and you ask in unison.

“Um... There’s only one room reserved for both of you.”

The response hits your ears like thunder. You blink, the embarrassment of the situation rising to your cheeks. You don’t even dare to glance at Suguru. “Then book me another room,” you request in a measured tone.

The receptionist discreetly elbows her colleague, who looks up at you. “I— Miss, you are the last guest with Mr. Geto for the coming weeks, and there are no more rooms available…”

For the next five minutes, you try every possible way to avoid being alone in a single room with Suguru. But it’s in vain, as you end up in the infamous room with the receptionists offering a myriad of apologies, blaming their oversight regarding the reservation.

In the room, you stand, boiling with anger as the bodyguards set down your luggage and leave. One of the women tries to divert your attention from your ready-to-explode gaze by pointing out an undisturbed sofa — of course — where one of you might sleep.

But a single glance is enough to see that even your own feet wouldn’t rest on it. The receptionists leave the room in their little heels, and you sit on the firm sofa. You grimace and massage your temples while Suguru has not said a word since entering the room.

He takes a few steps towards the bed and places a hand on the mattress, so soft and comfortable that his fingers almost sink into it. “You can take the bed if you want,” Suguru offers with a calm and kindness that makes you grit your teeth. “I can take the sofa.”

Your body is in such turmoil that if you stay one more second in the room with him, you might explode — literally. So, you don’t respond and rush to your luggage, driven by the need for space. You pull out some comfortable clothes and retreat to the bathroom.

A small sigh of exasperation from the main room still reaches your ears.

You lock yourself in and collapse on the floor, groaning with frustration.

Damn it.

Why does this only happen to you?

If a shower seems to have calmed your nerves a bit, you would have preferred not to have decided to shower right away because, barely dressed in a loose t-shirt and pajama shorts, hotel staff members are gathered around the sofa and start carrying it out of the room.

In shock at the realization of the situation, you call out to them. “Hey! We need that sofa!”

One of them turns his head towards you nonchalantly. “There’s been another reservation issue. We need this sofa for others in a much more urgent situation than yours, miss.” He adjusts his hat as a gesture of apology and leaves the room as if nothing happened, taking with him the only thing that provided a slim chance of escape — however slim — to avoid Suguru.

Suguru stands there, arms hanging, too stunned by what’s happening to react. He blinks several times without saying a word.

This is all just a nightmare.

°°°°

“I’m not going to break my back sleeping on the floor, and neither will you. Or is that what you want?” Suguru nearly barks as he slips under the covers.

“There’s no way I’m sharing a bed with you!” you retort in the same tone, arms crossed over your chest.

“Stop being so prissy for two minutes, will you? It’s not like we haven’t done this thousands of times before.” He rolls his eyes and finally lies down.

The comment hits your chest like a sharp arrow. The already horrifically awkward situation combined with Suguru’s reasonable demeanor, which only seems to make things worse, makes you look simply ridiculous for not cooperating out of pride.

So, you find yourself under the covers, forcing as much space as possible between you and Suguru, trying to stay as far away as you can. Both of you have turned your backs to each other, nerves too frayed to say anything without igniting yet another argument.

But Suguru closes his eyes with a smile on his lips that night, noting in the back of his mind to thank Nobara as soon as he has the chance for agreeing to his ridiculous plan of deliberately booking a single room for both of you.

°°°°

That night, your sleep is much more restless than usual. You have sleep troubles, but this night they seem to intensify despite your peaceful breathing, which Suguru uses as a lullaby to fall asleep. You toss and turn from time to time, with your leg carelessly hanging out of the bed or an arm too close to him. A dangerous position where you might easily slip off and fall.

When Suguru feels the sheets pulling away from him as he’s about to fall asleep, he turns around and catches you just before you fall. With a pounding heart, he pulls you a little closer to him and finally lets you go.

Unaware in your sleep, you roll towards him and your fingers cling almost desperately to his t-shirt. He freezes and doesn’t dare move, hoping you won’t wake up so he can extricate himself from the embrace you’ve claimed. Your arms drape around his shoulders and your legs seek to wrap around him like a koala.

“Sugu…” you murmur in your sleep. Your face contorts into a small frown.

His nickname is a purr to him. He’s tempted to push you away, but your slight frown, seeking comfort, makes him relent, and he holds you completely in his arms. Your nose nestles into the crook of his neck and you hum before letting out a small snore.

Maybe Suguru is dreaming — amidst the dim light of the room and your two blurred bodies. Nevertheless, he rocks you gently in his arms, holding the most precious thing to him close.

°°°°

Your dream continues where you’re alone, nestled in your bed — yes, it must be that. Finding yourself in the same bed as your ex is just a nightmare.

Or maybe a dream.

Warm, sweet whispers envelop you in a comforting embrace.

“Forgive me, love. I’m sorry… I love you so much.”

These distant words soothe you enough when your sleep is half-awake, with Suguru’s body and voice surrounding you. You should push him away, but everything around you feels so dreamlike. So why not give in for once when you can’t in real life? After all, it’s just a dream for one night.

Nothing can happen to you.

Especially at a moment when your heart wants to accept these pleading whispers of forgiveness that will probably never happen in real life.

°°°°

A warm ray of sunlight tickles your cheek, and you hum as you bury your head against something firm and comfortable that envelops you. Arms rub your back, and you smile, deciding to give in to the warm embrace. Something places a gentle kiss on your temple, encouraging you to stay in bed a little longer.

Before a knock at the door jolts you from your comfort.

Nobara’s voice is heard from the other side. “Are you awake?” she asks out loud. “Almost everyone is already ready!”

You open your eyes at the same time as Suguru, and your noses almost touch. It’s a close call not to scream and almost jump out of your spot. Dazed and still groggy from sleep, neither of you says a word, only muttering a few curses about the alarm not going off.

You rush to do your makeup and put on your outfit, as by 11 a.m., at the very place where the last preparations for the show will be made, hundreds of fans, journalists, and paparazzi will be lined up behind barriers or security ropes, shouting for autographs or even a smile. So there’s no time to waste; you need to cover your tomato-red complexion with foundation.

Downstairs in the hotel, the rest of the crew is waiting for both of you, and others arrive at the last minute — some even with their poodles. To your great relief, no one seems to suspect anything about Suguru, whom you carefully avoid even after arriving at the Fashion Week preparation area.

As you step out of the black sedan, piercing fan screams ring out, eagerly waiting for you to approach them: banners with names written in capital letters, notebooks, and hands outstretched almost desperately.

On the red carpet and under the bright morning sun, female fans call out your name, and you turn with a smile to approach them behind the security barrier. You spend about ten minutes taking selfies and signing autographs with the rest of the crew until one girl, after you’ve signed her autograph, speaks to you again. “It’s incredible that you’re working with Suguru Geto! I never thought I’d see this day, so I’ll be here to watch you walk the runway!” she exclaims with stars in her eyes.

Your smile freezes at the mention of Suguru, as you’re constantly reminded that no one but you and Suguru know what happened between you two. You swallow and regain your composure. “Oh, honey, you’re adorable. I’m glad you’re coming. I hope we’ll run into each other again.” You then give her a final wink and rejoin your group.

Nobara catches up with you a few minutes later in your dressing room with a smile and quietly closes the door. You collapse onto a couch and sigh, hiding your face in your hands.

°°°°

“You’ve measured me before.”

“I lost them.”

“Liar.”

Suguru lets out a small laugh and grabs his measuring tape before approaching you. “It’s just my job, love.”

“You’re playing around,” you accuse with a pout, and he kneels in front of you to measure your legs and waist.

His movements are precise, slow, meticulous, and attentive. Even his gaze doesn’t fall inappropriately on you, a look of respect filling his entire being, guiding him gently with that eternal mischievous smile that reminds you of Satoru’s.

“Don’t give me that pout, now,” Suguru whispers as he stands up with a sigh.

Today, he’s wearing a simple white shirt under a pair of black pants and a matching blazer — perfectly tailored, of course. An unfair perfection. Among all the exes you could have had in your life, it had to be Suguru Geto—the man with a beauty almost impossible to rival, and who clearly shows a refusal to let you go. And the worst is the still-fresh memory from the night before with the image of a half-asleep Suguru against you — you in his arms. If you loathe yourself for what happened, why does his embrace comfort you so much? If you truly hate Suguru, why do you show such weak resistance to both his gentlemanly behavior and his irresistible charm?

“And there we go,” Suguru announces softly with his notepad in hand. “Lovely as always,” he adds with his eternal smile. “Hey!” You punch him in the bicep, and he steps back, laughing.

“Don’t mess with me,” you grumble, still pouting.

When was the last time this kind of situation happened?

When you two were still together.

And is forgiving him a good idea after all?

“I wasn’t messing with you, love,” Suguru replies quietly. He locks his eyes with yours to capture all your attention. “You’ve always been beautiful. And that will never change, even if you turn into a slug.” He grins at your comical look of disgust.

"A slug? You’d still choose me even if I were a slug?" you repeat, not convinced at all by his promises.

Suguru scoffs and moves closer, facing you directly. “No matter what you are in any lifetime, it will always be you that I choose, again and again.” He slowly lifts his hand and places it on your cheek. His thumb caresses your cheekbone, and your guard weakens. His words, spoken with sincere tone, float like clouds in the dressing room-turned-sewing workshop.

You remain as vulnerable with Suguru Geto — despite years of building a fortress to avoid falling back into the state you were in years ago. Yet, you are in a massive denial, giving a semblance of change in your life. You haven’t erased all feelings for Suguru. You’ve simply buried them in a corner of your heart and forgotten where—neglecting the risk they might resurface someday.

You look up at him, your lower lip trembling. “Then why didn’t you in this one?”

The question seems to catch him off guard, as his lips part and an equally vulnerable look appears on his face. He’s about to respond when someone knocks on the door.

“Mr. Geto? Are you finished?” Manami’s voice calls from the other side, sounding slightly concerned.

You both immediately step away from each other, and the tension between you dissipates, replaced by the usual coldness.

Suguru clears his throat, runs a tired hand over his face, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Uh, yeah, yeah. You can come in, Manami.”

°°°°

Less than two hours before the main moment, you are practicing breathing exercises to calm the stress of a runway show. You’re wearing one of the luxurious outfits designed by Suguru himself, and if that alone isn’t overwhelming enough, an invisible vise is tightening around your chest, making your breathing heavy and your lungs congested.

You grimace at the sensation and groan as your heart beats more erratically than expected, and tremors run through your limbs. You can’t have a panic attack now.

No.

Not when Nobara isn’t by your side to help you relax.

Staying locked in a stuffy dressing room won’t help, but the very idea of stepping outside paralyzes you. You need to wait patiently for the makeup artists to finalize your look, and it only makes you more impatient and on edge.

Someone knocks at your door and asks to enter.

Suguru.

You open your mouth to utter even a sound, but anxiety wraps around your throat and chokes you. You gasp for air, your hands sweaty and cold, slipping from the back of the chair you’re clinging to, and you collapse to the floor.

The noise is enough for the door to burst open, and Suguru rushes in, dropping to one knee and taking you into his arms.

“Love, what’s happening?” Suguru murmurs as you cling to him as if your life depends on it.

The panic attack gradually overwhelms you, and you start crying in front of him. Thank God your face is only covered with skincare, but tears are streaming down your cheeks, mingling with your grimace and your difficulty breathing.

“I…” Then a hiccup takes over. You try to inhale, but as soon as your lungs fill, the air cuts off and doesn’t pass through. You keep trying, but all you manage is to cry without stopping.

Suguru frowns. “You… Wait.” He slides one arm under your knees and back to lift you easily and place you on a sofa. “It’s going to be okay, my love… Everything will be fine… Do the same thing I do.”

You sniffle and wipe your eyes to prevent the blurred vision from making it even harder to see Suguru helping you. He places his hand on his chest and does the same for you. “I’ll count to three and you breathe in very slowly, okay? Same for exhaling,” he murmurs with all tenderness and patience. His chest rises slowly in sync after he counts to three. The air flows more smoothly now. Encouraged by this, he smiles and holds his breath. He nods for you to do the same, intertwining your fingers with his and exhaling at the same slow pace. The icy air leaves your lungs at the same time as your racing heartbeats.

For the next five minutes, a silence punctuated by controlled, rhythmic breathing fills the dressing room. You eventually manage to regain a normal breath and quell your panic attack, leaving only a few residual hiccups.

Suguru leans toward you and kisses your sweaty forehead. With your still-trembling arms, you grip his to keep him close and draw him against you, the tip of his nose brushing against your neck. The unexpected action makes him freeze, and up close, you can see goosebumps spreading over his skin. With hesitant movements towards each other, you both hold each other gently in a comforting embrace.

“Suguru…” you whisper, your voice hoarse from the recent panic attack. You take the opportunity to bury your head in the crook of his neck.

He immediately welcomes your touch and affectionately kisses your cheek. “I love you, love. Do you feel better?”

His affirmation reaches your heart so strongly that, once again, tears well up and you force yourself to blink them away. Suguru notices and a worried crease forms between his eyebrows. For a moment, his chest against yours allows you to feel his racing heart. “You—”

“I’m better,” you interrupt weakly. “Thank you…”

He sighs in relief and gently caresses your hair absentmindedly. His fingers weave skillfully through your strands, bringing back a memory that hits you hard: him comforting you for various reasons when you were together, that same hand resting and caressing the same spot on your head. So for once in years, you let yourself indulge in this nostalgic feeling without pushing it away.

However, you can’t prevent a burning question from crossing your lips. “You love me?”

Suguru reacts immediately. He carefully pulls away from you and helps you sit up on the sofa, wiping the dried tears from your beautiful cheeks. He smiles at your flushed face and bloodshot eyes. “Of course I love you. I’ve told you. I’m sorry, and even if you don’t accept it, I’ll do everything to make you forgive me.” He kneels in front of you. “I didn’t want to break up with you because it would have broken my heart, so when I saw that my career was starting to affect our relationship and I couldn’t take care of you as you deserved, I thought it would hurt less if I let you detach from me.” His shoulders shake with a sigh. “Forgive me, my love. I want to make amends and—”

“But why a second chance when the first one didn’t work?”

“Because we’re too stubborn, love.”

His words, spoken with such sincerity, reach your heart directly.

You take his face in your hands and press your lips against his. Suguru gasps slightly in surprise but quickly follows your lead, his hesitant hands sliding to your waist to deepen the contact.

Fuck.

How he missed you…

With every kiss, you reclaim Suguru’s lips as if one moment without them would take away your life. They are so soft and warm, as alluring as they are addictive, making it almost impossible for your body to pull away from him. It’s only when you feel that time seems to be passing a bit too quickly that you finally pull away from him.

“I…” A semi-horrified expression pulls at your face as you’ve just initiated a kiss with your ex—the one you’ve been avoiding for months. You shake your head and back away, stammering, “Sorry… That was a mistake, I—”

Suguru utters your name in a pleading tone. “Please… I’m begging you. Give me another chance. I only need one word. One word, and I’ll stay. One word, and I’ll leave and never come back to your life.”

“You…” If you’ve never been short of sharp retorts for Suguru, today is a new experience.

One word from you, and Suguru will accept your choice. For any other ex you might have had, you wouldn’t have even attempted to participate or do anything that involved them. But with Suguru…

“S-Stay…” you murmur in a broken voice, almost throwing yourself into his arms. He wraps you in his embrace and rocks you, his breath quick. “Stay, Suguru…” You break down, tears returning with a vengeance, flooding your face.

“I love you, sweetheart. Forgive me…” And he continues to repeat these words until someone else knocks on the door.

He prepares to pull away, but you hold him back, not wanting him to leave you once more. With a swift move, he crouches and rests his forehead against yours. “I have to go. You’re going to do great. I have no doubt, and you have no reason not to, understood?” His breath, as warm as his hands around your head, brushes your nose, and you sniffle one last time, nodding. “You’ll be perfect. I’ll watch and wait for you at the show. You’re going to shine.”

°°°°

The lights in the hall dim, plunging the audience into darkness. A bright spotlight illuminates the runway as the music begins to resonate throughout the fashion studio, amplified by the speakers.

“Here we go… In three… two… one…” Manami makes a frantic arm gesture to signal the lineup of models to step onto the runway.

The first model makes her entrance, wearing a spectacular outfit that instantly captivates the audience, with audible “oooohs!” reaching even backstage where you await your turn with a suffocating pressure. You are among the last to walk, but the distinct sound of heels clicking in rhythm with your heartbeat still reaches your ears.

But there is no room for panic now that you no longer carry the weight of your past relationship with Suguru.

He will be there to admire and reassure you from afar.

Manami gives a final signal and your lineup thins, giving you the space needed to step onto the stage.

The outfits parade down the runway, each one more impressive than the last. The theme of the collection is clear: dark silhouettes adorned with sequins and stars, reminiscent of a starry night sky. Your own outfit, the centerpiece of the collection, is bound to captivate the awed spectators. The black, sparkling dress catches the light with every step, creating an illusion of a moving firmament. Murmurs of admiration fill the room first, followed by camera clicks and cheers as you appear at the first quarter of the runway.

Taking a deep breath, your heels glide as elegantly as ever down the runway. One foot in front of the other, the sole firmly planted but almost silently advancing on the runway, chin up, and a neutral expression on your face; if anyone had never heard of your modeling career, your impression answers immediately.

Your hips sway slightly from side to side in the same entrancing rhythm as the powerful beat of the music, giving an unmatched grace to your walk. Reaching the end of the runway, your gaze falls on the front row where recognizable men have their eyes fixed on you, feeling the palpable energy of the room.

The scene lasts only a second, but it feels like an eternity.

Satoru Gojo, with a smirk, hands in the pockets of his dark stylist suit, stands with his legs spread in a posture highly unflattering for a personality like his. But then again, he exudes a carefree attitude, so who would be shocked? You manage to keep your mouth from stretching into a smile thanks to Suguru Geto, whose eyes are glued to you. His obsidian irises shine with admiration, professionalism, and also pride. He gives you a knowing wink that sends a warm, pleasant wave through every corner of your abdomen.

You snap out of your trance and pause, striking an elegant pose under the camera flashes before gracefully turning around. The shimmering fabric of your dress captures the lights with every movement, creating a shower of stars around you.

As you return backstage, the music shifts, signaling the grand finale. The crowd is buzzing, applauding enthusiastically as the spotlights sweep across the stage to accentuate the dramatic effect of the starry collection. The show comes to an end several minutes later, and you notice the applause intensifying. Suguru seems to have taken the stage and begun speaking — his voice reaching every ear — and you listen intently near your pairs.

“Thank you all for coming tonight. This collection has been a true labor of love, and I am honored to share it with you. Thank you also to all the wonderful people who made this possible, especially our incredible models,” Suguru declares, a wave of shared pride resonating through his speech.

The applause erupts once more, louder than ever.

°°°°

“Really?” you murmur softly, the tone as warm as Suguru’s hand on your hip. “If I did so well in the show, don’t I deserve a reward?”

He kneels in front of you, sliding his large hands along your thighs. “So beautiful, so magnificent…” Suguru continues to whisper as if in a prayer. “I love you… Ruin me… Use me and hurt me, love…” he pleads before placing a long, sweet kiss on your inner thigh.

The effect sends waves of goosebumps across your body, and desire burns in your eyes as you lower them to your desperate lover.

What better place to want to fuck your ex than during a festive reception hosted by Satoru Gojo, in one of the luxurious corridors of his many mansions? The same heavy, thick, velvet burgundy curtains brush against your back as he nuzzles between your legs like a little boy.

The gesture might seem funny and cute, but not when he slides his head under your evening dress and presses his nose against your panties. You gasp in surprise and place your hands on his head. “Sugu… Not here…” you whisper, alarmed.

He grumbles like a displeased child, the vibration of his voice against your core increasing your sensitivity. “You— Ah…” you moan as he plants a kiss on your already swollen clit.

“I love you, sweetheart… I love you so much…” Suguru keeps repeating these words that make you melt. He shifts your underwear with his index finger, finally gaining access to your core. He starts with a chaste kiss on your damp folds and hums in contentment, as he catches the first drop of your juices. “Tastes s’good, baby…”

Your moans intensify under his agile tongue as it licks and laps at your swollen, wet folds. Your teeth sink into your lower lip, forcing you to gasp. “Suguru…” You groan as he focuses on your throbbing bundle of nerves this time. He gently sucks on it, coaxing more juices from you, and this has the effect of drawing whimpers from your lips. If you were already struggling like mad to keep quiet, Suguru always loves to tease you and he gently inserts a finger into you. Your walls clench around it as if afraid he might pull it out. Unfortunately, pleasure comes far too quickly. With only a few long, slow thrusts inside you, your fingers find their way into his dark strands. “I’m going to—”

“Cum for me, my love,” he murmurs between flicks of his tongue.

You pray that no one can see or hear you, letting the knot in your stomach that was holding back your orgasm finally release. It bursts onto Suguru’s mouth, who doesn’t waste a single second in collecting your juices until the last drop, all while you moan in pleasure.

He finally pulls his hands and head from under your dress, panting in the same ragged rhythm as you, a satisfied smile on his lips. “I love you,” he murmurs for the umpteenth time.

A slightly exhausted smile from the intense sensation lights up your face, and before you can even respond, Suguru scoops you into his arms and nearly runs to one of the luxurious bedrooms in the Gojo mansion.

He locks the door and gently lays you on the mattress. Within seconds, you take charge, removing Suguru’s pants and teasing his bulge with the tips of your fingers. You smile mischievously and giggle.

Suguru shivers at your touch and props himself up on his elbows, weak as he is for you. “Sweetheart—” But you catch him off guard by pulling down his boxer, exposing his twitching erection. “Oh God…” He almost rolls his eyes as your hand administers a few gentle strokes. “I love you… I love you… I love you… I love you…” he repeats in a plea in the dim light of the room.

Your fingers wrap around his base as you lower your head just to kiss his sensitive, reddened tip. “What, baby? Is it too much for you? You’re already so hard f’me…” And he doesn’t have time to protest as you go slowly, for he might not last. He smiles slyly as you lick the bead of pre-cum that escapes his length.

“Damn, princess… I’m not gonna last…” he hisses, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace. He lets out a sigh, his muscles tensing under your hands. You run a thick band with the flat of your tongue along his dick, and he grits his teeth. “Tease…”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh really? Let’s see about that…” Your lips part around him, taking him fully into your mouth. As soon as his tip hits the back of your throat, he lets out a groan. “Sorry…”

Your hands slip to graze his balls and caress his thighs. With a motion of your head, you suck him, your tongue swirling around his tip and veins. “Love, I—” And with a twitch of his cock, he signals that he’s about to cum. He shudders and groans, moaning your name. His cheeks flush, and you take the opportunity to tease him. He gives in and lets his release paint your mouth white. Without wasting any time, you swallow the warm substance and pull his cock from your mouth, a string of saliva mixed with his cum linking your lips to him.. The sight of your lover in a messy, submissive state sends a shiver down your own spine.

He regains his breath, rising onto his knees, unuttons his white shirt, and tosses it into a corner at the foot of the bed. Suguru’s hands settle on your hips, pulling at the fabric to undress you completely. Your panties are just as damp as when he ate you out. Your bra quickly joins his discarded clothing, and he seals his lips with yours as if it’s the last thing he needs to do in his life. He gently flips you onto your back on the bed.

Your hands move sensually across his chest to settle on his shoulders, maintaining a grip, while Suguru’s hands grasp the back of your thighs and slowly detach his lips to press them against the side of your neck where your pulse races. He marks a hickey in that exact spot and revels in the moan you produce.

“Suguru, please… I need you…” you plead into his ear, you aching clit grazing his hard cock, and he clenches his jaw to avoid holding you too tightly in his arms. Hasn’t he dreamed for years of having you like this, in his arms, begging him to please you?

“Anthing for my princess,” he coos, his lips curling. Gently, he wraps your legs around his waist and maintains eye contact with you. One of his hands grabs his dick and teases your needy cunt with the tip to collect droplets of your wetness. “Still so wet?” Then your blush is enough to make him burst into laughter. You pout, and he purrs. “Awww… I’m going to give you what you want…”

With utmost care, his tip parts your folds and slowly pushes into you, finding its way deep inside your hot, dripping pussy. Breathing between his teeth, Suguru closes his eyes for a moment and hisses. “Damn, you’re so fucking tight…” He pants for a few seconds before resuming his movements as you moan for him to go further. “Fuck, princess… taking me so well… Like you were made for me since start…”

“Suguru…” You moan, your nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders. The pressure his cock exerts makes it hard for your pussy not to react and tighten with each of his slow thrusts as you adjust. “That’s it, my love… You’re doing so well…” He whispers in your ear. His hands grip your hips, helping you find the right space for both of you as he sinks into you, your pretty walls clenching around him deliciously. He lets out a whimper of your name and hits that sweet spot deep inside, making you twitch beneath him.

"Again… Please… Sugu—” But another sound of pleasure escapes you as he slowly increases his pace inside you. His length twitches between your gummy, tight walls. “So deep… So good…” you murmur with a pleasure-filled wince. “I love you… I love you…”

Words hit Suguru like a punch to the stomach, and he almost has tears in his eyes. He doesn’t stop bucking his hips into you and nuzzles his head in the crook of your neck. “Baby…” you whisper, your fingers tangled in his hair, pleasure all for you now. He nods, and his hand snakes to your clit, rubbing it in circles. “Suguru… I’m close…” you squeal as he continues to pound into you until you see stars and your cunt contracts around his length, your toes curling.

His seed paints your walls white, a warm, gentle sensation spreading through your lower abdomen, Suguru groaning into your neck, his teeth biting into the flesh of your trapezius. He slightly lifts his head, panting heavily, and presses his lips to your ear. “I don’t want to see you on anyone else’s arm, okay? Not even Satoru.”

You nod and giggle, trying to catch your breath, your eyelids closed and exhausted from the aftermath of intense pleasure. “Jealous, hmm?”

“Yes. And very possessive, love,” he affirms in a strained voice. “Will you forgive me?” he adds with a glimmer of doubt in his eyes. He withdraws from you and lies down beside you, attentive to any signs of discomfort.

“For a long time, Suguru,” you affirm, yawning.

“Oh.” He raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Can I ask since when?”

“Since the hotel.”

Suguru buries his head between your bare breasts and closes his eyes with a sigh. “I see. I owe that to Nobara. What do you think would make her happy?” he asks in a casual tone.

Suddenly, it’s like gears are turning in your brain, and your fingers, which were caressing his hair moments ago, freeze.

“WHAT?”

And Suguru’s laughter echoes throughout the room.

a/n: finally! i'm relieved that i've finished this fic (promised from far months now...) well, i hope you'll enjoy it! <3

tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @alwaysfreakingout @mutsu422 @lymsfm

[shouyuus]

direct continuation of this; part of the apt neighbor!vi au

apartment neighbor!vi who disappears, or at least tries to -- no more weekend visits, no more tuesday night movie dates -- you still see her, or rather, catch glimpses of her here and there, but she's always ducking away or off somewhere before you can catch her, and for a someone who's so conspicuous, she's more slippery than you could've ever imagined. and at first, you're angry -- hurt, confused -- but the pain dulls after a week, two, and soon enough, there's only the barest flinch whenever you see her silhouette slipping down the hallway when you catch her coming back from the gym, or in the mail room --

once, you catch the bright chime of powder's voice as vi opens her door, and you could've sworn you heard your name, but the next second, the door's slamming closed behind her, and powder's voice cuts off like an old record.

apartment neighbor!vi who still goes to the gym, and it's the only real place you see her, but she's always got her headphones banded over her bright red hair, her eyes narrowed -- the bandages around her knuckles are tattered, stained with what looks like blood. there are new cuts and bruises scattered along her arm and what looks like a fresh scab at the corner of her lip.

you don't ask; you figure that if she'd wanted you to know, she would've told you by now.

apartment neighbor!vi who is not there the first time you let curiosity get the better of you and maps the way to her family's pub -- it's a divey kind of place, but spacious and well-kept, with dartboards lining the walls and an old fashioned jukebox in the corner. the man behind the counter glances up with a grin, a slight dip between his brows, an old pipe between his lips.

"bit early for a girl like you to come wanderin' in here," he says, with a voice that rumbles through you, even from a distance. you clear your throat and check your watch -- yeah, 2pm on a wednesday isn't peak hours for a bar like this but it's what you were hoping for.

"oh -- sorry, are you guys not open yet?" you glance back at the door, afraid that you'd missed some sort of signage but the man just laughs and shakes his head.

"nah, we're open. c'mon in," he gestures to the empty bar top, and sets down a glass with a heavy hand.

you eye it for a second before skittering over and sliding up onto one of the barstools, glancing around to take in the scene.

"lookin' for vi, i assume?"

you jump at the sound of vi's name, your eyes slingshotting back to the man, who breaks out into a loud bark of laughter, pouring you a full glass of water.

"h-how did -- has vi said something?"

the man shrugs, pushing the water towards you; you grab it for lack of anything better to do, taking a tentative sip as he eyes you with beady, beatle-black eyes, shining with mirth.

"you pour people drinks for long enough and you start to get a knack for puzzlin' out what they want when they walk in -- kinda person they might be, why they're comin' in -- gets to be a kinda game if you get good enough at it," he leans in with a conspiratorial wink that sets you at ease. you feel your own shoulders drop a bit as you set the glass back down on the counter and lick your lips.

"so you must be vander," you say, the name ringing back through your sifted memories -- vi on a tuesday night, after a movie about race cars or something, chattering about the bar and how her stepdad always gets on her about flirting with the customers too much.

vander nods, taking a soft puff of his pipe and leaning back.

"and you must be the neighbor girl that vi's not been able to shut up about," he muses, making you gag on your next sip of water. he lets out another booming laugh and reaches behind the counter to hand you a stack of napkins. you mop at the water dripping down your chin, feeling your cheeks burn.

"sorry, sorry -- forgive an old man his good time," he says with another good-natured wink before his jovial expression flattens, "but if you're here wonderin' what she's been doin'... then you're fresh outta luck, darlin'."

you frown, cupping your fingers around your half-drunk glass of water.

"i'm just... worried about her."

vander grunts, shrugging up a single, massive shoulder.

"standing room only on that bus, i'm afraid."

you let out a soft scoff of laughter, nodding.

"it's sweet of you to come knockin', but... she's a stubborn one, and if she doesn't wanna tell us then..." another shrug, another sigh, "no one's gonna be able to force it outta her."

you nod again, feeling rather wilted as vander reaches over to pat your shoulder with a large hand. he chuckles.

"tell ya what, here -- have a drink -- on the house."

he grabs a wine glass and sets it in front of you with a tiny flourish. as second later, a deep red liquid fills your glass and you stare up at him as he grins.

"i figured you were a cab sav kind of girl -- but tell me if i'm wrong, and i'll swap it out for anything else you might like."

you shake your head, laughing as you tug the wine glass closer, "nope. you're spot on."

apartment neighbor!vi who shows up hammered, with no preamble, banging down your door a on friday night (though it really is late enough to be called saturday morning) -- you answer with a frying pan clutched in one hand, a hissing sigh whistling through you the second you see who's on the other side. the pan drops and you're about to be angry, but your eyes catch on the fresh bruises blooming across the high of her cheeks, a bump the side of a golf ball swelling up above her right eye.

"o-oh my god, vi! what happened?!" you jump back as she nearly collapses into your doorway, barely catching herself against your shoe-rack.

"jus... missed you, sugar! can't a girl... miss... someone she likes?" she slurs, shaking her head as she pushes herself up; you blink rapidly at her, your chest a tight whirlwind of questions and concerns. it's all eclipsed, however, by alarm, as she lurches into your apartment and nearly smashes into your hallway wall, looping an arm around your shoulder -- you stumble beneath her weight, struggling to keep her upright.

"vi? vi -- you're drunk --"

"nah this ain't nothin' -- just wanted a few after -- after getting beat up, ain't that normal? damn -- got so fucked in the ring -- that match was fixed -- shoulda known smeech couldn't be trusted -- that slimy, money-hungry bastard --"

you somehow manage to half-drag vi into your living room and dump her on the couch, fluttering around for a large glass of water and a first aid kit.

"what -- what're you saying?" you ask, even as you force her to take a large gulp of water (she makes a face as if it's vodka before downing the rest in a few long gulps -- a few beads of water trickle passed her chin and into the collar of her stained tanktop). but in between the fragments and incoherent mumbles, a slow realization starts to coalesce inside you as you inch closer to her and convince her to sit still.

"vi...?"

"mm." she hiccups, flinching slightly as you dab at a cut on her cheek with an antibacterial wipe.

"are you... in some sort of... fight club, or something?"

vi makes a grumbling noise, her eyes fluttering closed; she sways a little as you continue to gently clean out her wounds. her breath carries the sharp, turpenic smell of cheap alcohol as she lets out a long sigh.

"somethin' like that... kinda like a boxing ring -- i'm pretty damn good at it, most nights," she adds, hissing again even as you jerk back, pursing your lips. she crinkles her nose before wiping a hand across her mouth, staring blankly down at the fresh blood smeared onto her skin.

"and... i'm gonna go out on a limb and guess that this boxing ring thing... isn't legal, right?"

vi tries her best at one of her usual, charming, lopsided grins, but it just ends up looking something like a grimace instead.

"legal's not where the money is, sweetness."

you lean forward with a fresh sanitary wipe and motion for her to hold still again. she does, offering you her other cheek, her eyes now startlingly clear as they flicker over the planes of your face. you wonder how drunk she really is, or if she's just gotten terribly good at hiding it.

"but... i thought that you guys were in a rent-controlled unit? what'dyou need all this money for?"

vi scoffs, her eyes lowering.

"pow's university tuition isn't gonna pay for itself."

her voice is soft, low, her words steady. you pause, frowning slightly at her as she sighs and leans back to cast you a sad little grin.

"ah... now that i've told you, 'fraid i'm gonna have to killa ya," she winks. you don't smile, only turning to discard the dirty wipe for another fresh one.

"i thought the bar --"

"it doesn't make enough -- and powder -- she --" vi sucks in a long breath, her eyes fluttering closed. when she opens them again, it's the eyes you remember, the eyes you'd spent so many afternoons and evenings staring into -- there's light and laughter, a fire that can't be extinguished, a light that can't be dimmed, a hard-lined conviction that makes them shine even on the darkest of moonless nights.

"she deserves every opportunity. that girl --" vi lets out a helpless little scoff, "she's gonna change the world one day, i just know it. if we can only --" she makes an abortive gesture with her hand.

you nod, reaching out to wipe away a small smudge of eyeliner beneath her eye. she stills beneath your touch, the cool of your skin against her burning cheek makes her shiver.

a thin tendril of tired, incredulous laughter slithers up your chest; vi's eyebrows kick up as you let out a giggle -- the only warning she gets -- before you're toppling into a fit of truly stomach-clenching laughter, leaning back into your sofa cushions, clutching your belly.

"a-are you alright?" vi asks, blinking at you with mild alarm as you shake your head, flapping your hands at her, unable to form any kind of coherent thought. you wipe at the tears forming at the corner of your eyes, and somewhere between one breath and the next, your laughs turn into frustrated sobs, and you shove vi reproachfully as she stares at you, totally nonplussed by this strange turn of events.

"y-you're such an idiot!" you say between heaving breaths, rubbing at your eyes. you feel lightheaded; the clock on the microwave blinks a bleary 4:42AM at the pair of you.

vi stares, completely nonplussed as you sniffled and reach over to snag a few tissues, daubing at your eyes.

"there're so many things you can do to get money -- you don't have to --" you gesture at her, "get yourself killed in an illegal fighting ring -- and you don't --" you jab a single finger into her chest, hard enough for her to flinch back, "have to try to do it alone."

she blinks, once, twice --

"uh..."

you sigh, rolling your eyes, "god, you're so stupid -- for someone with a genius sister --"

vi makes a slightly affronted noise, "i got good grades in school!"

you tear open a packet of neosporin with perhaps more savagery than necessary, nearly dropping it. you glare at the tiny packet before squeezing a large dollop onto your finger and motioning for vi to lean in. she eyes you for a solid three seconds before slowly leaning forward.

you lave the gel onto the cut on her cheek before peeling open a bandaid to cover it up.

"there. that's waterproof, so it won't come off when you take a shower."

"when i take a shower?" vi asks, her head cocking to one side.

you cast her a sharp look, "you're so gross right now, of course you've gotta shower."

vi hiccups into her fist before shooting you a sheepish grin.

"i could just shower at home."

you narrow your eyes, "it's 5am -- and i'm pretty sure powder's got a massive midterm tomorrow. you're staying here tonight."

"ah. yes. of... course," vi says, biting back an amused chuckle before looking around at the couch beneath her.

"well, i've always liked this couch."

you close the first-aid kit with a sharp snap.

"if you shower within the next --" you glance back at the clock on the microwave, "10 minutes or so, you can sleep in the bedroom. but if i'm asleep when you're done then you're gonna have to sleep out here -- i don't like being woken up." you try to sound stern, though it might have just come out sounding petulant.

vi grins, the expression so familiar to you it singes a line of heat down the center of your spine.

"oop -- guess i'd better shower quick then!" she pushes off the sofa and jogs for the bathroom, swiveling around by the door to give you a soft smile and a -- "hey... thanks."

you roll your eyes at her and flap your hand, "go. shower!"

you slip into bed, listening to the shower water run, a twist of something collecting in your gut as you hear the sounds of the water turn off and the unmistakable noises of vi toweling off. you burrow further into your blankets as her footsteps thump through the apartment, the slight creak of your bedroom door swinging open as she slips in, the shape of her limned in moonlight as she slowly makes her way to the other side of the bed.

"hey sugar... you still awake?"

you crinkle your nose, and for a second, consider feigning sleep. but the next second, she's slipping into the blankets next to you, her skin warm to the touch as she shuffles closer.

"yeah," you answer, a second later.

she shuffles just a bit closer; you flip around to face her, gasping as you realize how close she is -- your noses almost touching. her eyes widen as they meet yours, and you could swear that even in the pre-dawn dark, you can see her cheeks rioting with color.

she clears her throat but doesn't make to pull away.

"y'know, usually when i get invited into someone's bed... it's a lot sexier than this."

you puff out a breathy laugh, "yeah? i'm sure. why don't you tell me about it tomorrow, when we're compiling all the scholarships that we're gonna help powder apply to?"

vi falls quiet, her gaze going startlingly liquid, and for a second, you wonder if she's going to cry too. but then, she's leaning in, pressing her forehead to yours --

"god... sweets... what the fuck did i do to deserve you?"

you snuggle in closer, your heartbeat a livewire thrum at the back of your throat.

"nothing... you were just... you."

vi lets out a shaky breath, her eyes falling shut.

"shit, sugar... what the hell, man... it wasn't supposed to be like this."

you laugh as she sniffles, tugging you closer, her palm warm along your waist, her fingers pressing into your skin.

"yeah? did you have it all planned out? help the new girl move in? watch movies and make food with her on the weekends till she falls in love with you?"

vi's breath hitches. you bite your tongue.

still, she doesn't refute you. finally, she manages --

"i just... never thought it'd... get this bad..."

you sigh, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead.

"y'know, for a smart girl, you're really dumb sometimes."

vi pulls back, sighing, "yeah... i -- i know. and i know that powder and vander probably know too -- they just -- they just... knew me too well to try and --"

"force it out of you?" you supply. vi nods, her hair tickling your skin as she burrow in against you, her body curling in till she's in a fetal position, her face pressed into your chest, her breath fanning hot against your collarbones.

"well, lucky for me --" you say, reaching up to run a hand through her hair, caressing at the still-damp ends, "i didn't have to -- you came knocking all on your own."

vi's quiet for another few beats before --

"i wasn't lying y'know... i really did... miss you." her voice catches, the words cracking over one another like river stones.

you graze your lips along her hairline, nodding, "yeah, i know... i missed you too, vi."

she wraps her arms around you and pulls you in, pressing you to her so completely your chest almost starts to sting with the pressure.

a few minutes later, she relents, releasing you just enough for you to suck in a long, steadying breath.

"did you really mean it? that thing about... the scholarships for powder?"

you nod, "course i did. and we can look up loans too! i had to take one out when i went to college too, so i'm pretty familiar with them. it's alright -- we'll figure it out -- together."

vi nods, chuckling softly against you.

"mm... before all that though..." she tugs back just far enough to look at you, her voice husky as she leans in to brush her nose to yours --

"d'you think... you might allow me the honor of making you breakfast?"

[moonlight-prose]

this one from the touch-starved prompt list w logan 😩🫶:

when the other holds onto their waist briefly as they're passing by and it just send chills down their spine

don't mind me

a/n: i need you to know this is pure softness and i am swooning at the thought of how sweet it is. logan is such a gentlemen (cue his words in the wolverine about being old fashioned) and just this thought of him being gentle with the reader, but also respectful. i'm dead. i'm also attached af to this dynamic and would be so open to exploring more with these two. i see the logan here as dofp!logan (especially at the end with that shirt).

summary: you refused to admit that you were smitten with the man who melted your otherwise intelligent mind. you were however...horrible with subtlety. luckily the same could be said for him.

pairing: logan howlett x reader

word count: 1k

warnings: none, fluff, logan howlett is a tease, blossoming of a relationship.

Chaos remained the baseline state when it came to life at the mansion. You couldn't find a way to escape something so natural—a piece of your existence that settled in close to your heart. You liked hearing the children's voices raise in pitch the more excited they got. You liked being showered in hellos as you passed through the halls.

You'd even grown fond of the way you always somehow found yourself stuck in this particular situation. Standing in the kitchen, searching for food, as Logan attempted to make his way through the busy environment.

Few things made you smile the way seeing him in the mornings did. Mussed hair, eyes glazed in partial drowsiness, as he sought for the largest mug tucked in the back of the cabinets. A gag gift from Scott with the claim that the Wolverine needed a cup that could handle him.

(Neither of them would admit it, but the gift remained Logan's favorite piece in the house. A staple in his usual rushed breakfast.)

"Have a nice night?" you asked, attempting to keep your gaze from dropping to his chest.

The white beater he wore never seemed to get old; you absolutely didn't mind seeing him in it at the start of your days.

He grinned, polite and gentlemanly and never anything more. There came days where you wondered if the tension you felt hanging in the air was merely a figment of your imagination. Possibly a delusion to help you cope with such early time slots and late night papers to grade.

"I heard you down here last night."

A grunt rumbled from deep in his chest as he took a sip of coffee large enough to scald his mouth. Screams filtered in through the open doors, quickly followed by a group of kids ready to rummage in the cabinets you both occupied. Which meant your short allotted time with him would soon come to an end, forcing you to pick it up tomorrow morning.

"You want something to eat?" Nodding to the stove with a pan coated in leftover burnt bacon (Scott's attempt at cooking for the kids), you watched Logan's face screw up slightly.

Who could blame him. You wouldn't eat it either.

"Coffee's fine," he mumbled, pouring another helping before small hands were shoving open the door to a variety of cereal. "Gotta get to my class."

You nodded. "History. Right."

He hummed, entirely aware of what occurred inside your chest. How you fidgeted slightly with the watch on your wrist, your eyes unable to remain stuck on his for longer than a few seconds at a time. Logan wasn't an idiot. He understood the tells long before you would dare to admit them out loud.

Clearing your throat, you set your now empty mug in the sink—shifting out of the way to give the students more room. Though the mornings began with enough chaos to keep you on your toes, it was seeing Logan that put you on edge.

The emotions that rifled through your mind mere moments after stepping into his proximity. You began to wonder if there was a way to fix this. Put a stop to how you pined (rather pathetically) over a man who clearly held no interest. You had half a mind to ask Charles for assistance—knowing full well you'd never get over the sheer mortification.

He might laugh—ask if you were in your right mind—but he'd never hold it over you like the others.

But that predicament would have to be settled at a later time. As of two minutes ago...you were late for your first class. The lecture notes were still buried in a stack on your desk; you made a mental note to pick them up on the way.

"Have a good class." Offering a smile, you moved to step out of his way.

Only for the timing (and quite possibly the universe itself) to lead towards you stumbling back from three students barreling towards the kitchen.

His hands latched onto your waist, steadying your movements with a soft grunt, and you tried your best not to choke on your spit. That sound. His touch. You wouldn't make it through the day without those small aspects of him entering your mind—distracting any viable insights you might have had on astronomy as a whole.

Did he have any clue what he did to you?

Or was he merely toying with you on purpose?

Glancing over your shoulder, you caught the small grin that appeared on his face. Barely there yet bright enough to punch a hole right through your chest. He stood tall behind you. A wall you could very well fall into without any worries. That alone left you clutching for some bits of your sanity—whatever remained now sparse enough to be considered laughable.

You tried not to think about the skin you caught small glimpses of in training last week. The sight haunted you for a week—fraying the edges of your mind and turning you to mush. For fucks sake you were a professor. You held enough intelligence to keep Charles Xavier on his toes when wrapped in conversation.

Yet Logan fucking Howlett managed to undo everything that made you the person you were before him now. He muddled what aptitude you had and rendered you entirely dumb.

Some days it left you seething—desperate for a chance to get back at him.

Other days you longed for its familiar warmth.

"You alright there bub?" he rasped, hands still pressed to your hips.

Fighting against your own mind, you plastered a smile on your lips—hoping he might ignore the flutter of your heart. "I'm fine! Thanks for that."

"Have a good day," he replied, his palm brushing the base of your spine as he stepped around you.

Chills clashed with a bewildering heat and curled around your stomach, teasing you with the prospect of his touch somewhere else. You watched his grin deepen, eyes dark with something you'd never before witness from the Wolverine. Want.

"Yeah..." You sucked in a breath, flustered beyond what you could contain in your own body. "You too."

He ducked out towards the hallway long before you had a chance to melt into the floor. A small chuckle resounding in the small confines of the kitchen. Slamming into your chest with enough power to leave you winded.

On your rush to the classroom you finalized your decision.

You'd make that meeting with Charles after all.

[rafes-slut]

Warm you up

Disclaimer: 18+

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: It's a freezing winter day, and even though you're wrapped in Rafe's oversized hoodie and cuddled under a thick blanket with him, the cold still seeps into your bones. He notices the slight shiver running through you and, in true Rafe fashion, decides to take matters into his own hands. His solution? Warming you up in the most intimate way possible—by pulling you onto his lap and letting you ride him, using body heat and passion to chase the cold away.

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up in real life), strong language, slight dom/sub undertones, praise, teasing, possessiveness, explicit content, temperature play, and semi-public setting

---

Snow blanketed the ground outside, thick and untouched, stretching endlessly beneath the silver-gray sky. The windows of Rafe’s house were slightly fogged, a stark contrast to the icy wind rattling against them. Inside, wrapped up in a heavy knit blanket and nestled into Rafe’s chest, you should’ve been warm. But even with his body heat radiating into you, even with his oversized black hoodie swallowing your frame, a chill still lingered in your bones.

A small shiver betrayed you, and Rafe noticed immediately. His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, as if sheer proximity could erase the cold. His lips found the top of your head, pressing there for a moment before his voice, low and knowing, rumbled through his chest.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured, one of his hands slipping beneath the hoodie, fingertips grazing your stomach. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” you admitted, though another shudder ran through you, betraying the truth.

Rafe clicked his tongue, displeased. “Can’t have my girl shivering like this,” he mused, his hand now resting on your thigh, rubbing small, slow circles. His touch was warm, but it wasn’t enough. He knew it wasn’t enough. And, judging by the way his blue eyes darkened as he glanced down at you, he had something else in mind.

His fingers tightened around your thigh as he shifted beneath you, coaxing you up until you were straddling his lap, the blanket sliding off your shoulders and pooling around you both. The shift in position sent a flush up your spine—not from the cold, but from the sudden heat in his gaze, the weight of his hands gripping your hips.

“Got a better way to warm you up,” he murmured, voice husky now, laced with something deeper, something primal. His lips found yours, stealing your breath with a slow, heated kiss that made your stomach flip. The warmth of his mouth, the way he sucked your bottom lip between his teeth before soothing the bite with his tongue, had nothing to do with the temperature outside and everything to do with the fire building inside you.

You whimpered against him, and Rafe took that as permission to take it further. His hands slid beneath the hoodie, pulling it up slightly, fingers ghosting over bare skin as he teased, tracing circles over your hips. His lips left your mouth, traveling down your jaw, along the curve of your neck, hot breath fanning against your skin.

“Still cold?” he whispered against your throat, his tone full of teasing arrogance.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, holding onto him as his hands found your ass, gripping it firmly as he rolled his hips beneath you. You gasped, eyes fluttering shut at the friction, the sudden reminder of just how hard he already was beneath you.

“Not so much,” you admitted breathlessly, making him smirk.

“That’s what I thought,” he chuckled, hands making quick work of the waistband of your shorts, dragging them down along with your panties. The rush of cold air against your bare skin made you shiver, but before you could protest, Rafe was lifting you up slightly, just enough to free himself from his sweats.

And then, with agonizing slowness, he pulled you down onto him.

A gasp ripped from your throat as he stretched you, the sudden, overwhelming fullness forcing your fingers to tighten around his shoulders. Rafe groaned, head falling back against the couch for a second before he looked up at you, lips parted, eyes burning with need.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasped, one hand gripping your hip, the other pressing into the small of your back to hold you flush against him. “You feel so fucking good.”

You could only moan in response, overwhelmed by the way he filled you, the way his hands guided you into a slow, teasing rhythm. He let you set the pace at first, his fingers gripping your waist as you rocked against him, warmth spreading through your body with every movement.

But patience was never Rafe’s strong suit.

Within minutes, he was taking control, hands moving to your thighs, gripping tight as he helped lift and drop you onto him, picking up the pace. Each thrust sent shocks of pleasure spiraling through you, heat pooling low in your stomach, replacing every trace of the cold that had been there before.

“See?” he murmured against your lips, breathing heavy, voice thick with pleasure. “Told you I’d warm you up.”

His mouth was everywhere—your lips, your neck, your collarbone. His hands gripped your ass, guiding you harder, faster, until the room was filled with nothing but breathy moans, the sound of skin on skin, the overwhelming heat of him pressed against you, inside you.

And when you finally fell over the edge, warmth exploding from your core and spreading through every nerve in your body, Rafe was right there with you, arms tightening around you as he groaned into your skin, following you into bliss.

The only thing keeping you upright afterward was Rafe’s firm hold, keeping you pressed against him as you both caught your breath. His fingers traced lazy circles on your bare thigh, his lips pressing soft, lingering kisses against your shoulder.

“You warm now?” he murmured, his voice still rough, but laced with amusement.

You let out a breathless laugh, nuzzling into his neck. “Yeah. I think I am.”

Rafe smirked, clearly satisfied with himself. “Good,” he muttered. “But if you get cold again…” He kissed the corner of your mouth, grinning against your skin. “You know where to find me.”

[mariasont]

GOOD LUCK CHARM - A.H

a/n: this came to me yesterday and i sat my ass down and WROTE

that should be me fr

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

summary: reader is gone for the morning and leaves hotch a couple sticky notes

warnings: just my babies being so infatuated with each other it literally hurts, hotch is a pining fool, i love him, i need him, i want to kidnap him to my basement

wc: 0.8k

Hotch was having a rough day. He had never put much stock in the idea of luck, favoring the belief that a path was carved from the choices made. However, if he were to entertain the notion of luck, he would concede that today, he seemed to be rather out of it.

A lot had gone wrong. For starters, he had stained his favorite white dress shirt with coffee this morning. This undoubtedly set the precedent for the day, he was sure.

As soon as he arrived at his office, he was greeted not by the familiar click of the lock but by a stubborn door that refused to budge, his key sitting on the side table in his apartment. This then led to him reaching out to the custodian for a spare, only to be intercepted by Chief Strauss, who, in her usual fashion, had a litany of critiques ready for the BAU.

The day had been steadily unraveling, and the realization that you wouldn't be in until lunch because of a doctor's appointment was the tipping point. Normally, all these minor irritations could be overlooked, but in your absence, he could truly grasp just how much he relied on you.

You handled a lot on his plate, if not everything. You planned out his schedule, answered his phone calls, you double-checked his paperwork. You consistently shouldered more than he ever asked, despite his repeated warnings about overloading yourself--warnings that he, admittedly, never listened to.

Time seemed to crawl at a snail's pace. He found himself unwittingly watching the door, anticipating the bright burst of pink and the shimmer that accompanied you, but unfortunately that did not happen. Lunch couldn't come quick enough.

His vision began to waver, the words on the page melting into an indecipherable stew as he pressed a long finger into his temples. The lamp at the edge of the desk flickered capriciously. A mental note to replace it was quickly overshadowed by the more pressing need for an aspirin, prompting him to reach for the left drawer.

His eyes widened imperceptibly, fingers reaching into the space as he pulled the flimsy object from the drawer. It was a hot pink sticky note, its surface alive with glittery ink, smiley faces, and hearts. The corners of his mouth lifted, the tension in his back easing just a hair.

Aspirin isn't in this drawer silly! First one to your right! And don't take more than 2, okay? Between that and your scotch drinking habits your liver is screaming!!!!

He couldn't suppress the laughter that rumbled through him as he pressed the note to his desk. He turned to the drawer on his right, pulling it open to find, much to his satisfaction, the aspirin. Attached to it was yet another sticky note.

You found it!! So proud!! Hope your day is going amazingly! Don't miss me too much! :)

His heart thumped louder in his chest, a wave of heat blossoming across his neck as he carefully folded the sticky notes, tucking them into the pocket of his suit jacket.

When you finally came ambling into the office--your ponytail swaying, a pink ribbon securing it in place--he felt an instant lift in his mood. His jaw relaxed, fingers instinctively straightening his tie--a needless act but one that gave him a moment to admire you. You looked beautiful. You always did, but as he fingered the note in his pocket, he could feel his chest constrict just looking at you.

"Hi there, Mr. Boss Man," you sang out, voice as sweet as syrup as you glided towards him with an ease that defied that height of your heels. "The office didn't burn down without me, did it?"

"It came close."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," you giggled, the bracelets on your arms tinkling like wind chimes as you wrapped them around your notebook. "You look stressed. Are you stressed?"

"I'm fine, just a headache." He paused, his hand absentmindedly reaching again for the sticky note. "How was your doctor's appointment?"

"Squeaky clean bill of health." You beamed at him, shifting your weight to your toes. "Did you see my note?"

"I did. Thank you." A grin was vying for control of his features while his hand found its way to his neck, pressing lightly in a vain effort to steady his racing pulse.

"You're so very welcome," you chimed, sending him a smile that nearly made the air evaporate from his lungs. "Also, I fixed a couple issues in your calendar, and I ordered you a new lamp, I noticed yours was broken. I hope that's okay."

More than okay. You were perfect. If he were a man who believed in luck, he would be inclined to think you might be his good luck charm.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253 @broadwaytraaaaash

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Handle With Care 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your work blurs the lines between professional and personal.

Note: I'm on a Bucky kick and can't stop myself.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The caller ID flashing on your dashboard display makes you groan. What the hell is Sam calling for? He should be patiently waiting at the venue.

You know even before you answer what the issue is. It's the same as it always is. It can never be about anyone but him.

"Wilson," you answer matter-of-factly, "I know I'm not late."

"Never are," he confirms. "It's not you."

"Oh, I know," you put your blinker on and check the traffic behind you, "you're really going to make me pull a U-ey."

"I know, I'm sorry. Again."

"You know, I never had another job where I had to make sure my co-workers got their asses out of bed," you spin the wheel and your tires squeal on the tarmac.

"Co-workers... dang, I thought we were more than that." You can hear his pout through the phone.

"Me and you, maybe," you drone.

"Hey, he's been trying," he argues.

"Yeah, I know. You think I don't try, Wilson?"

"Look, I'll make it up to you."

"You say that a lot," you shake your head at the road.

"Look, I gotta go. It's my big day," he intones.

"Please, do. Stop worrying about the old man." You insist. "Might not be in the job description, but I'll get it done. As always. See ya soon."

"See ya." He hangs up and your music comes back on. Not for long. You idle at a light and dial out another call.

Bucky's name flashes as you wait for a pick up. Of course, he can't be bothered. On this day of all. You sigh and try two more times as you get closer to his place. Nothing.

You get out and nearly trip out of the strappy heels. Wilson owes you indeed, for more than the personal house call. You teeter up over the curb and grab onto the railing. You climb the concrete steps and pound on the front door of the townhouse.

"Barnes," you holler through. "I know you didn't forget."

You hammer again. You only stop when your fist throbs. You shake out your hands and huff. You stomp and feel the skinny heel bend dangerously. Fuck.

You don't got the tech on you to unlock the keypad, looks like the old-fashioned way will do. You shift your clutch and pull out your nail file. Bastard. You better not break a nail for his reclusive ass.

You go around back and use the file to latch the kitchen window. You know Bucky is his own security but he really should get a proper alarm. You punch the screen in and grab the frame. You haul yourself into your waist and balance there, the ledge pressing on your stomach. The smell of coffee greets you in a bold waft.

You look up as Bucky leans his vibranium palm on the counter and watches you. You snarl and reach out. "A little help?"

He keeps his coffee to his lips and nears, grabbing your forearm to leverage you inside. Your knees touch the counter and you kneel there as you catch your breath. He lets go, watching you over the brim.

"You coulda knocked," he says.

"I did," you slip your legs out from under you. "Loud."

"I was in the shower."

"Great, at least you got that done," you chide.

"Coffee?" He offers as he points to the french press.

"Barnes," you warn with a point. "Please."

You stare at him. He's in a pair of sweats and a tee shirt. His slippers are the sort of plaid that you find in a nursing home. You hold back a growl.

"You know what today is."

"I don't think I should go," he grumbles.

"Are you serious? Don't be a sour puss--" A sudden white flash lands beside you and the rattling purr rumbles against your leg. You pause to pet Alpine as if she heard you deriding her breed. "Not you," you assure her.

"I don't want to ruin it--"

"Barnes, you can put a suit on and sit pretty," you push off the counter and your ankles turn to noodles as you barely keep from a sprain. "Look at me, all dressed up like a prize pig, so go put an apple in your mouth."

He rolls his eyes, "he doesn't need me--"

"Bull," you interject.

You march past him. This is how it is. You can deal with it on missions. That's just how it goes. Most men you work with are obstinate to the point of being another adversary on their own. But outside the job, it's a bit too much.

You go down the hall and slow. It takes a moment to get your bearings. You've never been much further than the front door. You ignore the clutter across the front room floor and charge upstairs.

"Hey, what're you doing?" Bucky stands at the bottom as you stomp up.

You don't answer him. You go into his bedroom. You stop and look around. The bed is made, possibly unslept in. The room doesn't look used much at all. You go to his closet and slide the door open. You find a pair of slacks and a jacket. Tie, shirt, all presentable enough.

He appears in the doorway. You lay everything on the bed.

"Get dressed," you demand.

"I'll call Sam--"

"No, Wilson is busy. It's his day. You wanna know how you're going to ruin it?" You approach him and cross your arms. "By going AWOL. Not today, Barnes. Now, get yourself together."

You strut out and shut the door. You stop outside and call through. "Five minutes."

You continues down to the stairs and idle there. You check your phone. You can make it. Easy. He just needs to get his ass in gear.

When the door opens, you turn to him. His tie is undone. You go to him and grab it, knotting it roughly, not that he would notice.

"You couldn't shave in the shower?" You huff.

"Hey, I can do it," he tries to bat you away.

"Then why didn't you do it twenty minutes ago?" He shrugs and you pull his tie straight. You tug his lapels and straighten his jacket. "And the rest." You flick your fingers toward his face.

He shakes his head and goes into the bathroom. He grabs his comb as you linger and you see him in the mirror dragging the teeth through his thick hair. It's to his collar now. You told him to get a hair cut. He never listens. Not your problem. Well, only for today.

"Damn..."

"Here," you dip into the bathroom and grab the comb. "Just--"

You reach for the tin of gel. You just need him to look somewhat presentable. You part his hair neatly and comb it back behind his head, moving around him to check nothing's out of place. He stares at the floor. You don't want to embarrass him but goddamnit.

"Okay," you pop the cap on and wipe your hands on the towel hanging in the loop. "Let's go."

His eyes stray to the wall and he mopes. You take a breath.

"Barnes, it's for Sam," you say.

"I know," he croaks and heaves. He lifts his head and puts his shoulders straight. "I'll do my best not to fuck this up."

[diamonddaze01]

HEYYY. I read your off the record jeonghan's fic and OH MY GOD. IT WAS SOOOOOOOO AMAZING AND GOOD. CHEF'S KISS MWAH

I was wondering if you can do jeonghan 75 drabble. I would really really appreciate it. thank you and love you mwah

off the record

pairing: jeonghan x reader | wc: 1.3k prompt: "guess who's going to be a father!" au: f1 au | warnings: mentions of pregnancy a/n: hello hello nari your asks always make me smile <3 // this is a continuation of [on the record] bc ferrari!jeonghan lives in my head rent free (highly recommend you read on the record first for some context)

The atmosphere at the Australian Grand Prix was electric, the roar of the crowd still echoing as the last of the race cars pulled into the pit lane. Jeonghan had just secured yet another win, and the sea of Ferrari red flooded every corner of the paddock. The team was in chaos—cheers and hugs, champagne spraying everywhere, mechanics shaking with excitement—but Jeonghan’s gaze was fixed on something else.

You stood just outside the frenzy, leaning casually against the barrier, your camera poised as you snapped a few final shots. You’d been here before, a part of this circus. But today, you had a story of your own to deal with, one that Jeonghan was certain would find its way to his attention.

Jeonghan peeled off his helmet and flashed a grin at the crew as they crowded around him. But his eyes were still searching for you.

A few weeks ago, you'd written something that had the entire paddock talking. 

"Guess Who’s Going to be a Father!" 

Yoon Jeonghan, Ferrari’s golden boy, had been linked to a famous model, Sienna Hartley, the stunning up-and-coming fashion icon known for her work with luxury brands. A few months ago, the paparazzi had caught the two of them together at a private event. The photos were casual enough—Jeonghan with his arm around her waist, a smile that seemed too comfortable—but it was the following week’s headlines that sent the media into a frenzy.

The shots of Sienna taken at an upscale café, her baby bump unmistakable under a form-fitting dress, had people running wild with speculation. Was Jeonghan going to be a father? Had he been keeping a secret relationship? The rumors only grew when neither Jeonghan nor Sienna commented on the speculation, leaving fans and gossip columns to fill in the blanks.

The rumblings were only growing louder, and of course, you had jumped into the fray, teasing the possibility of Jeonghan becoming a father. The headline had been coy but suggested a connection between the two, leaving just enough room for interpretation. And now, here he was, stepping out of the car, knowing exactly who was responsible for the chaos.

As he walked toward you, the crowd parted around him, but his eyes stayed locked on yours. He could practically feel the mischievous energy radiating from you, even from a distance. The subtle smirk tugging at your lips was all the warning he needed.

Jeonghan approached with slow, deliberate steps, his face a mixture of amusement and challenge. "So we write fake articles now, do we, sweetheart?" he called, his voice carrying across the pit lane.

You didn’t even flinch. With a calm, collected posture, you raised an eyebrow, offering him a half-smile as you lowered your camera. "Just reporting what people are saying," you replied smoothly, voice teasing. "You know, about you possibly becoming a father this year."

"People are saying that?" Jeonghan asked, a slight chuckle escaping his lips. He stepped closer, clearly enjoying the tension building between you two. "Maybe you’ve been spending too much time with the gossip columnists, huh? Could’ve sworn the last time I checked, we were talking about race wins, not baby bumps."

You shrugged, not missing a beat. "Well, Jeonghan, it’s not my fault your personal life keeps getting more interesting than your driving. You really should be more careful with who you’re seen with."

His eyes darkened playfully. "Careful? You think I care about rumors?" he quipped, leaning in just a little bit closer, his voice dropping to a lower, more flirtatious tone. "But if you wanted to get my attention, sweetheart, there are far better ways than a headline about some fake baby."

You tilted your head, smiling in that way that always left him unsure whether you were teasing or challenging him. "Who says I want your attention?" you replied with a hint of challenge, crossing your arms as if daring him to press further.

Jeonghan’s smile only widened. "You’ve got my attention now, don't you?" he teased, his fingers brushing against the barrier you were leaning on, his proximity making it hard to ignore the way the air between you two shifted.

You glanced up at him, keeping your expression casual, but the spark in your eyes was undeniable. "Oh, I don’t know," you said nonchalantly, "maybe I’m just here to enjoy the view of a guy in red doing what he does best – reckless maneuvers that still somehow let him win, y’know?" You paused, letting that sink in. "Though if you really wanted to shut down those rumors, maybe you should take a different approach."

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

You gave him a sly smile. "I don’t know. Maybe just come out and say you’re not the father. Or, you know, get more specific about who you’re spending time with. The fans love a good love story, after all."

The way his expression shifted made it clear that he wasn’t quite ready for this conversation to take that turn. His jaw clenched, a hint of frustration appearing under the surface, but it was quickly replaced with his signature smirk. "Sweetheart, you sure talk a big game for someone who's so quiet when it counts."

You leaned in just a little, enough for your words to linger in the air between you. "I could say the same about you," you shot back, eyes glinting with mischief.

Jeonghan paused, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth, but you had him on edge in a way that he didn’t expect. "Listen," he said, his tone dipping lower, his voice now laced with more than just flirtation. "There's only one girl in the paddock I have eyes for, and it sure as hell isn’t Sienna Hartley."

The tension between you two was palpable, a spark igniting in your chest at his words. You met his gaze head-on, not backing down. "And who says I’m interested in your attention, Jeonghan?" you shot back, smirking. "Maybe I just like watching you squirm under pressure."

He leaned in a little more, his breath coming out a little sharper. "You really think you can get under my skin with a headline like that?" he murmured, his lips dangerously close to your ear. "I’m not the one with something to prove, sweetheart."

You could feel his breath on your skin, but instead of feeling intimidated, a thrill ran through you. "Then why do you look like you’re about to lose that smug grin?" you teased, lifting your chin just slightly, making sure the challenge was clear in your words.

Jeonghan grinned, his teeth flashing. "Oh, I’m not losing anything," he said, the playful tone returning. "But if you really want to get my attention, there are better ways than headlines."

You smirked, standing your ground. "Oh? Well, if you want to do something better with your mouth than argue with me, you know where to find me." You shot him a quick wink and began to turn away.

Jeonghan's eyes widened for a moment as he processed your words, and for the briefest second, he was completely thrown off. His confident swagger faltered, and it was then that you realized: you’d left him flustered.

You glanced back over your shoulder with a smug grin. "But I’ll be honest, Jeonghan," you called out, "I’d much rather see you focus on keeping your title than keeping up with rumors."

And with that, you turned and walked off, leaving Jeonghan standing there, still processing your bold departure. His pulse was racing, but not because of the race. This time, it was because of you—your words, your attitude, and the way you had him on edge in a way no one else could.

"Dammit," he muttered under his breath, but the smile on his face betrayed how much he appreciated the challenge. “I should’ve asked her to dinner.”

But knowing you, this was far from over. And next time? He might just have something to say about it.

send me an ask for my drabble game!

[slutoru1207]

Stranger in a Strange Land 

Continued… Now with More Chaos!

Mark vs. Modern Technology

Dating Mark came with a lot of challenges.

For one—he hated technology.

Like, genuinely could not figure it out.

"Why does your phone talk?" he frowned, holding it upside down.

"It’s Siri, Mark."

"Who is Siri?" His eyes narrowed. "Should I be concerned?"

You sighed, grabbing your phone back. "No, she’s—she’s not real. It’s an AI."

"…Then why does she know the weather?"

"Because—just trust me, okay?"

Mark still didn’t trust Siri.

(He also definitely tried to fight your Roomba once because he thought it was "a hostile machine.")

Mark, the Clingy Boyfriend

Viltrumites didn’t do space.

As in—they didn’t give space.

Mark didn’t see why he had to be any farther than three inches from you at all times.

"You know, you don’t have to fly me everywhere," you pointed out as he casually scooped you up bridal style before heading out the door.

"Yes, I do," he said simply.

You sighed. "Mark, I have legs."

"And yet," he smirked, "you let me carry you every time."

…Okay, maybe he had a point.

Mark vs. Your Coworkers

Being Invincible’s girlfriend meant everyone at your job had a crush on him.

You knew it. Mark definitely knew it.

I mean woman would whisper when ever he would come and pick you up or drop off some lunch for you.

Which is why, one day, when your coworker was very obviously flirting with you, Mark suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

Like, literally. He just landed right behind you, arms crossed, eyes glowing.

"Hey, babe," he said, pointedly ignoring your coworker.

"Oh my god—how long have you been there?" you yelped.

Mark shrugged. "Long enough."

Your coworker scampered away.

Mark just smirked. "I like your job. I should visit more."

"You should not."

Mark and Human Food (Again)

Mark loved human food now.

A little too much.

"I can eat forty burgers," he announced proudly.

"That’s not a flex," you deadpanned.

He ignored you, shoving another burger in his mouth.

The waitress stared. The couple next to you whispered.

"Mark, people are watching," you hissed.

"Good. Let them witness greatness," he said, stuffing another fry in his mouth.

You sighed.

This was your life now.

Mark’s “Jealousy” Issues

Mark had zero chill when it came to you.

One time, a guy got too close to you in a crowd, and Mark—in the most dramatic fashion possible—just lifted you into the air.

Like, casually. As if that was a normal thing to do.

"MARK!" you yelped.

"What?" he said, completely unfazed. "I don’t like him near you."

"THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU CAN JUST TAKE ME."

He frowned. "…It doesn’t?"

You groaned. "Oh my god—PUT ME DOWN."

Mark pouted. Actually pouted.

But he did not let you go.

Mark’s “Soft” Side (That He Swears He Doesn’t Have)

You found out Viltrumites could purr.

And Mark absolutely did not know this.

One night, after a long day, he crashed onto your couch, snuggling into you like a giant, overgrown cat.

And then—you heard it.

A deep, low rumbling.

You froze.

"…Mark?"

"Mm?"

"You’re—you’re purring."

He lifted his head, genuinely confused. "What?"

"You’re PURRING," you repeated, grinning.

His entire face went red. "I—Viltrumites do not purr."

You smirked. "Babe, you sound like a big, happy cat right now."

Mark groaned, burying his face in your neck.

"Forget you ever heard that."

Yeah. Not happening.

Conclusion: Dating a Viltrumite is Pure Chaos but you love it.

Mark was clingy, overprotective, and entirely too powerful for his own good.

But he was also sweet, ridiculously loyal, and secretly the softest thing ever.

You wouldn’t trade him for anything.

(Except, maybe, a little more personal space.)

Not that Mark would ever allow that.

[short-honey-badger]

Lipstick Stains

Another lil quick blurb cause Law has a hold of me right now. Enjoy!

Summary: Law's crew keeps laughing at him, so he goes to the one person who can't lie for shit. You.

Masterlist

Law didn't understand why his crew was laughing at him. Even Bepo had giggled at Law the moment his captain strode into the cafeteria on the Polar Tang. He'd frowned at all of them and demanded if he had anything on his face, which every one of them had assured him No. Nothing at all there.

His day continued in a similar fashion, and to say he was annoyed by the end of the day was an understatement. Trafalgar was downright pissed. So. He went to the one person he knew couldn't lie to him, You.

Not from some sense of loyalty, but because you were shit at it.

Law hadn't seen you since this morning when you'd kissed him goodbye in his office before you'd slipped away to begin your own duties aboard the submarine. He finds you in your own office, sitting behind your desk and filling out paperwork that he would no doubt look over at a later date. He stalks forward, his frustration plain as day on his face, and slams his hands down on your desk, making you jump and glare up at him.

“Do I have something on my face?” Law nearly shouts at you and searches your face for any hint of deception. He catches your eyes flick over his visage, and then lands on his mouth, lingering there before you look away. He watches your cheeks go dark, and you avoid his gaze as you say in the most unconvincing tone imaginable.

“No.”

“Bullshit,” Law snaps immediately and leans in, eyes narrowing as you lean away from him, though your chair prevents you from escaping him, “Tell me the truth, _.”

You break within seconds and reach forward to dig through one of your drawers. You produce a compact mirror that you hand over to your boyfriend.

Trafalgar flips it open and looks at his reflection, expecting to see something far worse than the dark lipstick stain that covers the left corner of his mouth. There is another on his forehead, though this one is smeared from where he'd rubbed his brow at some point.

Law's shoulders slump, and he lets out a loud, drawn-out sigh and gives you a narrowed eyed look, though his lips have twisted into a fond smile.

“Troublemaker,” Trafalgar rumbles and then reaches forward, his hand wrapping around your jaw as his lips press into yours. When he pulls away, his lips are stained with the shade you wear.

[draqu1a]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ A DANGEROUS DELIGHT . . .

— what kind? : SMUT — warnings : sexual&suggestive content ahead , viewers discretion is adviced , MDNI .

The silk of your dress feels impossibly smooth against your skin, a stark contrast to the way your nerves are buzzing tonight.

You smooth it down again, even though you know for a fact there's not a single wrinkle in sight. Tonight is a big night for Chris. A gala, making alliances with investors, potential partners and enough champagne to float a small yacht.

And you're here, glued to his side like a particularly fashionable parade.

"Just smile and nod, babe," he'd told you earlier while making final touches to his tie, it already being perfectly knotted. "I'll try not to leave you stranded for too long."

Liar.

He's been working the room for the last hour, a whirlwind of handshakes and forced smiles. You've lost count of the insufferable conversations you had to encounter.

Something about leveraged buyouts, something about quarterly projections, something about… you honestly tuned it all out after the first fifteen minutes of attending the event.

You’ve mostly been smiling, nodding, and trying not to spill your red wine on anyone important and possibly face a petty lawsuit.

You catch his eye across the crowded ballroom. He offers a strained smile, a silent apology etched onto the features of his stupidly perfect face face.

He’s trapped, you can see it. Trapped by obligation, by ambition, by the relentless demands of his empire and carrier path. A wave of frustration suddenly washes over you.

You knew what you were getting into when you started dating him – the late nights, the constant travel and business trips, the never-ending stream of social events and meetings.

But knowing it doesn't make it any easier when you're standing alone at an event filled to the brim with people important to the business society, feeling like nothing more than a decorative accessory for people to just gauge at.

Another blonde woman in a ridiculously expensive designer dress latches onto Chris, her laugh an annoying high-pitch, grating sound that sets your nerves on fire. That's it. You're done.

You turn and head towards the edges of the room, your heels clicking against the polished marble floor. You need air. You need a break from all of the socializing.

You need… Chris. But the real and genuine Chris, not the all polished, performative version he’s projecting for the benefit of the room.

You find yourself in a dimly lit hallway, lined with portraits of stern-looking men in powdered wigs. Perfect. You lean against the cool wall, close your eyes, and take a deep breath to cleanse your mind.

"Lost, darling?"

The voice is a low rumble, instantly familiar. You open your eyes to find Chris standing before you, his tie softly loosened, his eyes dark with something that looks suspiciously like hunger.

"I was starting to think you’d forgotten I existed," you say, your voice sharper than you intended.

He steps closer, stepping inside of your personal space. "Impossible," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw. "Besides, I always pay my debts."

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "I've been thinking about getting you alone all night."

A shiver runs down your spine. "Is that so?" you breathe, trying to sound nonchalant, but your pulse seems already be racing.

"Oh, you have no idea," he whispers, his hand sliding down your back, pulling you against him. The heat of his body seeps right through the thin fabric of your dress. "I'm going to make it up to you. Right now."

He glances down the hallway before going back to you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He grasps your hand and leads you down the hall right before stopping in front of what appears to be a heavy oak door.

He pushes it open, behind it revealing a small, empty room – probably a storage room.

He pushes you inside and shuts the door, the sound softly muffled by the thick wood. The room is dark and slightly dusty, the air thick with the scent of old wood and disuse. Perfect.

He doesn't waste any of the delicate time. He backs you against the door, his body pressing right against yours. "God, you look incredible tonight," he rasps, his hands roaming over your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"Chris," you gasp, your head falling back against the cool wood.

He kisses you hard, possessively, his tongue plunging into your mouth. You moan into the kiss, your hands clutching at his shoulders. He pulls back slightly, his eyes clearly blazing with desire.

"I want you so fucking bad," he growls, his fingers fumbling with the zipper of your dress.

"What about your guests?" you manage to say, your voice completely breathless.

"Man, fuck the guests," he says, his voice thick with lustful unsaid words. "Right now, it's just you and me."

He lowers his head and begins to kiss your neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin. You arch your back to grant him better access. His hand slides under your dress, finding the sensitive skin of your thighs. You gasp, your legs almost threatening to buckle.

He chuckles, a low, throaty sound that vibrates right through your body. "Easy, darling," he murmurs lowly. "We don't want to cause a scene now, do we?”

He continues on with his actions, his touch becoming more eager, more demanding. You're hanging off the edge of something dangerous, something delicious.

But just as you're about to lose yourself completely, he pulls back, his breath ragged and features softly disheveled.

"As much as I want to keep going," he says, his eyes still dark with desire and hunger mixed together, "we can't risk being gone too long. People will start to wonder."

He kisses you one last time, a quick, sharp kiss that leaves you wanting, pleading for more. "But trust me," he whispers, his lips against your ear. "This isn't over. Not by a long shot."

He straightens your dress, smoothes down his tie before he opens the door a crack, peering out into the hallway to make sure no one was around.

"All clear," he says. He takes your hand and leads you back into the glittering chaos of the ballroom, leaving you breathless, flushed and utterly desperate for more of his touch.

The rest of the evening passes in a complete blur of polite conversation and strained smiles, but all you can think about is the promise of what's to come when you two return home . . .

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹🃜 . yappin claudia : i’m still figuring out how to work this app proper so don’t bash me 💔 @strnilolover taught me some cool tricks and the gradient text thingy, anywayy first fic here just dropped like a mic bitch .

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹🃜 . empty taglist for now ;(