#Classic denim overalls

[mashaly1986]

Jordache Denim Jean Overalls Girl's Size XL (14/16) Pants Stud Embellished Med/

The Jordache Denim Jean Overalls for Girls (Size XL 14/16) are a stylish and practical addition to any girl's wardrobe. Made from durable denim fabric, these overalls feature a classic overall design with adjustable shoulder straps for a customizable fit. The medium wash gives them a timeless, casual look, while the stud embellishments add a touch of flair and uniqueness to the outfit. These overalls are perfect for everyday wear or special occasions, offering both style and comfort. The versatile design makes them easy to pair with different tops, making them a go-to choice for any fashion-forward girl.

[c-rose2081]

Ella Norwood (thoughts)

—

“Midnight, gettin' uptight, where are you? You said you'd meet me, now it's quarter to two…”

“I think of you every night and day. You took my heart, and you took my pride away…”

—

More D4 but make it 80’s thoughts. I didn’t like young Ella’s outfit in the movie at all! It didn’t even look like anything. I know it was supposed to be patchwork but you can’t match that to gold accessories if she’s literally coming from poverty. There was no shape or flow, and it just looked bad.

Ella’s doll actually has overalls without the weird top—which was a perfect fit for her so I went with that. I added a striped blouse with the classic big shoulders, and of course had her pant legs chinch at the ankles so they don’t catch on stuff while she’s working. The patchwork stays, natch, and I like the braided belt just not gold (maybe a straw or fabric belt).

I think, when she’s chilly, Ella wears SO much denim and has a huge patchwork jacket that she wears that absolutely dwarfs her and makes her look extra tiny.

I wasn’t originally going to keep Ella’s blue hair, but I wanted her to match Bridget so the color stays. And yes, it’s still poofy and curly cause the style works here because it’s the 80’s lol.

[meazalykov]

two worlds collide

emily fox x WNBA!liberty!reader

summary: going on a date with a soccer player, especially an arsenal player, was not what you expected to do during the WNBA break

you sit at the corner table of a cozy restaurant in new york city, your fingers idly tapping against the wooden surface.

the glow of soft yellow lights overhead casts a warm shimmer over the room, glinting off polished silverware and the dark, gleaming wood. 

it’s early evening, just the cusp of sunset, where the streets outside hum with the mingled voices of commuters, tourists, and the occasional street performer.

sabrina had sworn that this was the perfect spot. 

“trust me,” she’d said with a sly grin, eyes glinting with a playful mischief. 

“you two will hit it off.” you remember the way she had nudged your arm weeks ago, barely holding back a laugh when you asked for details.

“wait wait wait– who’s emily? what team does she play on?” you had asked, leaning back in the locker room after practice, beads of sweat still rolling down your neck from drills. 

the name was unfamiliar, and your mind scrolled through every possible wnba roster. nothing.

sabrina had raised an eyebrow, tying back her ponytail. 

“not an emily in the wnba. she’s a soccer girl. arsenal’s defensive player, plays for the uswnt, too.”

your breath had caught in a laugh. 

“an arsenal player? you know i’m a chelsea fan.”

“and yet,” sabrina said, crossing her arms with that knowing smirk, 

“you’ll survive. she’s nice. you’ll see.”

you glance at your phone now, the screen lighting up to show the time: 6:47 p.m. 

emily’s supposed to be here at seven. the soft murmur of voices around you doesn’t distract you from the nervous thrum in your chest. 

on the court, your playstyle might say you’re fearless on the court, storming and crossing up the other team without hesitation, but sitting here waiting for a first date feels like stepping up to the free-throw line with a championship game on the line.

the door opens, letting in a quick gust of cool air that makes your shoulders tense slightly. your eyes shift instinctively, and there she is—emily. 

she’s wearing a dark denim jacket over a white t-shirt, dark brown hair pulled back in a casual ponytail that still somehow looks effortlessly styled. you’re wearing a blue sweater with blue levi jeans, somehow casual. 

emily is scanning the room, eyes bright and clear, until they land on you. she smiles, a small curve that softens her sharp, athletic features, and it’s enough to make your heart skip.

“y/n?” she asks, voice smooth, accented just slightly in a way that tells you she’s been overseas for some time.

“that’s me,” you reply, standing up and offering your hand, which she takes without hesitation.

“nice to finally meet you,” emily says, slipping into the seat across from you. she moves with the ease of someone who’s spent her life in motion.

you both take a moment, the initial rush of introductions settling. you order drinks—her, a classic gin, and you opt for your usual. 

as the server walks away, emily leans forward, resting her elbows on the table.

“so,” she starts, eyes sparkling with curiosity, 

“sabrina tells me you’re a chelsea fan. should i be worried?”

you laugh, the tension in your shoulders easing at the playful jab. 

“don’t worry,” you say, smirking. 

“i won’t hold arsenal against you—at least, not tonight.”

“sounds fair,” she replies, and there’s a moment where you both smile, the warmth between you growing.

the conversation flows easily after that. you share stories about your college days at uconn—the relentless practices, the roar of packed arenas, the thrill of being drafted third overall for the liberty. 

emily’s eyes light up as she tells you about growing up playing soccer until the sun dipped low and her mother would call her home.

“and after some time in north carolina–arsenal came calling since caitlin really wanted me to play with her,” she says, sipping her drink. 

“wasn’t even sure i’d say yes. london felt like another world at first.”

“but you did,” you say, nodding, already picturing her on a pitch, stopping forwards with ease.

“and i did,” emily confirms, eyes catching yours with a look that lingers.

the night stretches on, the restaurant’s bustle slowing as patrons leave, and yet, you barely notice. 

you talk about the upcoming olympics, how emily’s gearing up for it, and she asks if you’ll be watching.

��i’ll be cheering louder than anyone,” you say, meaning every word.

she asks why you weren’t on the basketball team representing the USA in the olympics, you said it was due to an injury scare on your wrist. she understood as a girl who had many injures herself.

by the time the server brings the check, neither of you are in a rush to leave. 

outside, the city’s lights twinkle like a sea of stars, and when you step onto the sidewalk, the air feels cool against your skin.

“thank you for tonight,” emily says, and you catch the faintest hint of nerves in her voice.

you smile, hands slipping into your pockets. 

“anytime.”

“next time,” she says, with a hint of mischief, “don’t wear chelsea blue.”

you look down at your sweater, noting that the blue did match chelsea’s colors. 

“deal,” you laugh, already thinking about when the next time will be.

whenever the american girl comes back from london. 

masterlist

[venusianpulp]

Rising Sign & Your Perfect Festival Outfit

Here are the perfect any music festival outfits for each of the 12 zodiac signs and Ascendants, with details on color schemes, materials, accents, and overall aesthetics:

PSA: Images and descriptions are both complimentary, so they may not be entirely identical, but everything is relevent.

Aries Rising: Bold and daring, an Aries rising would rock a fiery red crop top paired with high-waisted denim shorts. Accessorize with a black leather choker, combat boots, and a statement belt. The outfit screams confidence and adventure.

Taurus Rising: Earthy and sensual, a Taurus rising would opt for a flowy, bohemian-style maxi dress in shades of green and brown. Pair with a leather fringe vest, ankle boots, and a wide-brimmed hat. The outfit exudes comfort and laid-back elegance.

Gemini Rising: Playful and eclectic, a Gemini rising would mix and match patterns and colors. A graphic tee paired with a colorful, patterned skirt, fishnet stockings, and high-top sneakers. Accessorize with layered necklaces and quirky sunglasses for a fun, youthful vibe.

Cancer Rising: Soft and feminine, a Cancer rising would choose a vintage-inspired, pale blue sundress with delicate lace details. Pair with a cozy, oversized cardigan, ankle-strap sandals, and a small, cross-body bag. The outfit radiates comfort and nostalgia.

Leo Rising: Bold and dramatic, a Leo rising would make a statement in a metallic gold romper with a plunging neckline. Accessorize with a chunky, gold chain necklace, oversized sunglasses, and platform heels. The outfit screams glamour and confidence.

Virgo Rising: Clean and practical, a Virgo rising would opt for a crisp, white button-down shirt tucked into high-waisted, black denim shorts. Pair with a black leather belt, minimalist jewelry, and comfortable, low-top sneakers. The outfit is polished and effortlessly chic.

Libra Rising: Elegant and balanced, a Libra rising would choose a flowy, pastel pink maxi skirt paired with a white, off-the-shoulder crop top. Accessorize with delicate, gold jewelry, strappy sandals, and a woven clutch. The outfit is feminine and harmonious.

Scorpio Rising: Mysterious and alluring, a Scorpio rising would opt for a black, lace bodysuit paired with high-waisted, faux leather leggings. Layer with a sheer, black kimono, and accessorize with a choker, ankle boots, and a dark, smoky eye. The outfit is seductive and intense.

Sagittarius Rising: Adventurous and free-spirited, a Sagittarius rising would rock a tie-dye, cropped t-shirt paired with distressed, cut-off denim shorts. Accessorize with a woven, multicolored belt, layered anklets, and gladiator sandals. The outfit is playful and adventurous.

Capricorn Rising: Classic and sophisticated, a Capricorn rising would choose a sleek, solid & colored co-ord with a structured, cinched waist. Pair with knee high or thigh high black boots or dainty shoes, minimalist jewelry, and subtly refined look. The outfit is timeless and powerful.

Aquarius Rising: Unique and unconventional, an Aquarius rising would opt for a holographic, iridescent bodysuit paired with high-waisted, flared pants. Accessorize with a chunky, silver choker, platform boots, and a brightly colored, faux fur coat. The outfit is futuristic and eccentric.

Pisces Rising: Dreamy and ethereal, a Pisces rising would choose a flowy, sheer, pastel purple maxi dress with delicate, floral embroidery. Layer with a soft, crochet cardigan, and accessorize with a flower crown, layered, beaded necklaces, and strappy, barefoot sandals. The outfit is whimsical and enchanting.

[daddykinkkinard]

! crossposting from my twitter !

bucktommy costume analysis 👔

hi ! i'm a fashion student and am really interested in costume design so i wanted to do a (long) post on tommy's style and how i think buck might be influenced by it in s8 as seen in "buck's britches." :))

[about tommy]

tommy's wardrobe is entirely functional and indicative of his dedication to his work. it's practical, useful, and speaks of his can-do attitude.

all his signature clothes (henleys, shackets, canvas jackets) have historical traces to being used as workwear.

(1) henleys - this one, ironically in the philippines it has its own term in our local language. it's called a camisa de chino and is used by laborers. although i live in a different country, i'm sure its use case is still the same for other countries as it's historically deemed the workman's undergarment.

also: yes. tommy is technically right. there were henleys in the 80s. even in the 1880s. so what we're learning here now folks, is that he's a smartass little shit.

(2) shackets - historically, also an item used by the working class. they were mostly worn to prevent any possible stains on inner clothes from their work (i.e. dirt, grease, grime, etc.)

(3) canvas jacket - although this was only seen in 7x04, it's more likely that he still owns a lot more. (waxed) canvas jackets are traditional workwear often used as weatherproof outerwear or heavy duty rainwear.

as a form of fun speculation, i'd like to think some of these items are also in his closet:

contrast collar canvas jacket

an authentic flight jacket

overalls, but only for when he fixes up the car

denim trucker jacket

if anything, who better to listen to when talking about tommy's clothes than tommy himself !

here's lou's cameo for me describing tommy's closet as rugged, practical and useful :))

[about "buck's britches"]

now to the "buck's britches" post. two notable items of clothing:

the famous flight jacket

baker pants.

now here's the thing about buck:

buck doesn't wear utilitarian clothing. in fact, he doesn't wear woven clothing all that much. he wears knit. knit polos. sweaters. hoodies. he is not a workwear person. in fact: he's a comfort person.

that's his primary reason for style that's a testament to his own character. buck is widely recognized as the more radiant and funny character. he has charisma and is very inviting, which is accompanied by his choice in clothing.

soft, warm, comfortable.

which goes back to the photo ostark posted on his instagram story.

(1) flight jacket - here's where i have to go and burst everyone's bubble for a bit. this is only a flight jacket because it's labelled as such. but categorically, it isn't. flight jackets are the classic term for bomber jackets.

bomber jackets (and flight jackets) were workwear used by the military, characterized by garterized cuffs and hems and short bodices. for pilots, they were interchangeable. but modernly, they have some more definable features.

characteristically, flight (or aviator) jackets are leather with shearling or sherpa collars. bomber jackets are the modernized version taking the silhouette and cuff designs and making them more accessible through material choice (linen—like buck—nylon, silk)

(2) baker pants - as the name suggests, it's a piece of kitchen workwear often in twill (which i'd assume is what oliver is wearing), denim, cotton or linen. it's characterized by the topstitching to outline the pockets and diagonal pocket openings (vs. the usual curve).

so very evidently: buck has been influenced by tommy's style. he's wearing woven material versus knit for one. if i were hopeful, i'd say they're exploring one another's style because they're sharing a closet.

[character analysis]

woven fabric as a material is sturdy. it's more structured and does not stretch. think: cotton, linen, rayon, wool, denim. what this means for buck is that, by virtue of being tommy's boyfriend he is introduced to structure, groundedness and maturity.

tommy's closet is filled with utilitarian clothing and workwear. he, as a character, is known to be emotionally grounded and mature and it translates to his clothing.

buck adapting the defining features of his wardrobe shows how much tommy has helped him get off his hamster wheel.

in fact, even the inverse can be noted. when buck asks for a second chance and practices communication towards tommy. he's wearing a woven buttondown. and in emphasizing tommy's desire to make buck comfortable, he's in a hoodie. neither of which are common for one another.

buck and tommy, even through subtle clothing choices are becoming part of one another's world and that makes me so soft as someone whose love language is fashion.

[wishful thinking]

perhaps maybe we could see tommy in a fully casual sweat set? i know that they might be protecting lfjr but man. if i see a hoodie on him. (nqueso, if you can sneak me a photo of him in knitwear ill love you forever i just want to prove my theory right i wont even post it)

if they are putting buck in this sort of attire, my guess (or hope) is that they have tommy ease up too.

it would be nice to show buck's effect on tommy as much as tommy's effect on buck because tommy's an established character and has a backstory that the writers could explore.

so if the 9-1-1 costume designers ever see this:

please put tommy in a sweat set. or a hoodie. (not a zip-up one, im talking real hoodie). i'm willing to compromise with overalls. i see what you're doing with buck's wardrobe, and love it. maybe tommy's could soften up too :))

thanks for reading ! 🫶

[skzdarlings]

07. sharing a bed series ; skz ; seungmin

masterlist.

sharing a bed series part 7/8. because it’s the cheesiest most classic trope and it’s FUN. -

pairing: kim seungmin/reader content info: sexual content. enemies2lovers, sharing a bed trope. sassy bad girl reader, sassy good boy seungmin. handcuffed together trope. sex toys, blow jobs, strap-on blow jobs, handjobs, dick piercings, fake sex. lots of bickering, lots of moaning, lots of evil smirking hehe.

-

It takes about ten minutes to get through the doorway because neither you or Seungmin will concede ground.  With your right hand handcuffed to his left hand, your shoulder-to-shoulder breadth is too big for the doorframe. 

After some arguing, you face each other.  You are glaring the entire time but you manage to force your way into the bedroom. 

You can’t change clothes with the handcuffs so you head straight for the bed where you proceed to stumble around clumsily.  With some cussing and your failed attempt to put him in a headlock, you and Seungmin manage to get in bed. 

You lay on your backs with your handcuffed hands between you.

There is a minute of silence.   Everyone else went to bed hours ago so the vacation house is silent.   It’s just you and the most annoying man on earth, forcibly handcuffed together, stuck in the same bed.    

“My life is a joke,” you say. 

“Yeah,” Seungmin says.  “Your life is a joke.  Ow!”

He slaps your hand when you pinch his thigh and you smack his chin only for him to chomp at your fingers.  You both roll your eyes and look away from each other for all of ten seconds, then you glare at him and he gives you a judgemental stare. 

“How are you going to sleep like that?” he asks. 

You raise your joined hands, the chain jingling.   

“Wow, Seungmin, whatever do you mean?” you say dryly.     

“Wow, Seungmin, meh-meh-beh-beh,” he mocks your tone then uses his free hand to smack your arm.  It makes a crinkling sound when it collides with the leather jacket you can’t remove.  “I’m talking about the skinned cow on the cow.”

“Funny.”

“The skinned cow is the leather jacket.”

“I know that.”

“And you’re the other cow.”

“I got it, Seungmin.”

“Just checking,” he says with that blithe, shit-eating grin of his. “You’re just not very smart so I wanted to be nice and check.”   

This fucking guy.  

Kim Seungmin is the mouthiest smartass you have ever met.  A friend of your friends, the acquaintanceship has been forced on you for the sake of the overall friend group.   You two are like oil and water, completely incompatible in every way.  You are the denim-and-leather bad girl and he is the blazer-and-tie good boy.  Equally sassy, but astronomically apart in lifestyle.   You clashed from your first introduction. 

You can usually manage an hour or two of civility, especially if you stay out of each other’s way, but this vacation has pushed that strained dynamic to its breaking point. 

Changbin’s family owns a vacation house near a ski resort so your whole friend group is spending the winter holidays at the luxury cabin.  This means you and Seungmin have been forced to interact for much longer than a few hours. 

You expected some annoyance but Seungmin is an even bigger brat than you remembered.  You have already spent three days at each other’s throats.  Tonight you went to a party at the resort and the few hours away from him did wonders, but it only took one stupid remark for you start fighting all over again. 

You didn’t even have time to remove your boots or jacket.  With Seungmin, it was on sight. 

Fed-up, Minho leapt off the couch and disappeared into his bedroom.  The others were just groaning or slouched in their seats, shaking their heads at you and Seungmin.   You couldn’t stop if you wanted to, every dry remark needing a comeback, every insult escalating. 

Then Minho returned.  He yanked Seungmin out of his seat and practically threw him at you.   You should have let his stupid face hit the ground but your reflexes kicked in and you caught him in his flail.  There were a few seconds of confusion before Minho clasped the handcuffs around you.   The whole room went silent, you and Seungmin staring at the cuffs then looking at Minho. 

Minho dangled the keys in your face.  

“I will let you out of the handcuffs,” he spoke as if speaking to particularly stupid children, “when you overcome your differences and decide to stop ruining the holiday.”

You and Seungmin both sputtered in protest, but neither of you were brave enough to physically fight Minho for the keys.  That kitty has claws, mean ones.  Not even you mess with Lee Minho. 

Now you and Seungmin are stuck sharing a bed.  You are still fully dressed, in jeans, shirt, and leather jacket, whereas he was already dressed down in pyjama pants and a t-shirt.  All he has to do is remove his glasses and he’s fine to sleep. 

You, however, are dressed for a whole different kind of evening.

“Trust me,” you say with an aggrieved sigh, “the jacket is not the most uncomfortable thing I’m wearing.”

He pinches his glasses at the stem, wiggling them up-and-down like it will help him see better. 

“What do you mean?” he asks.  “Wait, you’re a freak, right?  Is it something kinky?”

He asks it mockingly but you smile and turn your face to him, lifting an eyebrow.  You get some satisfaction from the way his face contorts with realization.

“Wait, really?” he asks.  “What the hell.  Why?  What is it?”

“You sound curious.” 

You really can’t help but tease him, anticipating he will snap back with equal verve.  You are surprised when his remark gets tangled on his tongue, his mouth open with no reply.  The tips of his ears are faintly red. 

“Oh, you are curious,” you say.

“Gross, no way.”  He comes back to himself and scrunches his whole face with revulsion.  “Keep it to yourself.  Pervert.”

“Proudly.”

“Wow.”

You feel satisfied with the silence that follows, feeling like you finally won a conversation and sent him into a mute stupor.  But then he looks at you and you brace yourself for the incoming wave of irritation. 

“It’s not gonna suddenly go off or something, is it?” he asks.  “I don’t want to wake up to you thrashing around like a fish on a boat deck.”

“It’s a hard packer.  You know, a strap-on for wearing out?  A ready-to-go, signed-sealed-and-delivered dick?”  You list everything with the same pleasant smile.  “Big one too.” 

His face is perpetually frozen in a state of prepared ridicule so he still looks marginally judgemental, but more confused than repulsed. 

“Right now?” he says.  His eyes drift down to your jeans.  “You wore… you wore it out?”

“Brave new world, Seungminnie,” you say, the nickname making his eye twitch despite the sarcasm in it. 

“You’re lying,” he says.  He doesn’t wait for you to argue; he reaches with his cuffed hand to feel for extra weight between your legs.  It drags your own hand along with it, too surprised to react fast enough to stop him.  He finds what he was looking for, his brow furrowing when he closes his fist over the hard bulge under your fly.   “Whoa, wait, seriously?” 

“Dude!”  You pry his hand off, though he doesn’t go without a fight, patting it like it’s puppy.  “What the hell, man.  You can’t just grab someone’s dick like that.”

“Why not? It’s not real.”

“It is in a way!  I can still feel it!”

“You can?”  He pokes it.    

“Yes.” You swat him away.   “Depending on position.”     

“And you wore it to the party?” he says, then whistles low and shakes his head.  “Wow.  You have a high opinion of yourself.  Thought you were gonna get lucky?” 

“I did very well for myself, thanks.”

He holds up your cuffed hands with a sarcastic look of his own. 

“Not that well,” he says.  “Or you wouldn’t be here.” 

“I don’t tend to stay the night,” you say. 

“Love ‘em and leave ‘em,” he says.  “I should have known.”  He sighs as if disappointed in you. 

You barely register his retort, your brain jumping ahead a few paces.  

Walking around with ready-to-play silicone in your pants does have a tendency to leave you teetering on the side of horny, so maybe that’s why your brain is incapable of supplying another type of plan, but a plan begins to form nonetheless.

“I have an idea,” you say. 

“Breaking your wrist so you can slide out of the handcuffs?”

“Kim Seungmin, I’ll let you know that while I might have one hand out of commission, I am still capable of shoving your slipper in your mouth.” 

“Kim Seungmin, meh-meh-meh, beh-beh-beh.”

“Why do I even bother?”  You sigh.  “Do you wanna get out of these handcuffs or not?”

“Fine.”  He fiddles with his glasses and glares at you.  “I’m going to regret asking this, but what’s your idea?”

You sit up and nod your head towards the wall behind the headboard. 

“Minho’s room is on the other side of this wall, isn’t it?”  you ask.   

“Yes,” he replies, warily.  “Why?”

“Let’s pretend to have noisy sex.”

“What!”  He sits upright too, the cuffs jingling again.

“We can bang the headboard against the wall,” you add.

“What the hell is that supposed to accomplish, you idiot?”

“Two things,” you say.  “One: that we have clearly resolved our differences through the release of sexual tension.  And two: if we are exceptionally noisy about it, it will piss him off enough to want to separate us again.” 

“That is a terrible plan,” he says, which is not a rejection.  “Besides there’s no sexual tension between us.  There’s no way he’d believe it.”

“Well then,” you say, leaning closer to his face, “you better put on a believable performance to make up for it, hm?” 

You expected him to lean back but he didn’t move, so you find yourself nose-to-nose and locked in a staring contest.  It is so quiet that you can hear every intake of breath.   His gaze goes from your eyes to your lap and back again, jaw clenching.

“Fine,” he says.  “I’m only willing to try because I’d rather chew off my hand than spend the night with you—”

“I mean, you can try that too,” you say. 

“Shut up.”  He grabs the collar of your jacket and jerks you around.  “Just get down.”

“Uh, get down?” You push when you realize he is trying to wrestle you onto your back.  You lift your joined hands off the bed so he loses his balance.  “You get down. I’m on top.”

“Can you relax?” he says, scrambling back upright.  “We’re not actually having sex, you uptight weirdo.”    

“Yeah, but do you think those skinny arms can push this headboard against the wall?”

“I think these skinny arms can push you off the bed.” 

“I think those skinny arms will find themselves following.” 

You tussle for a good minute, pushing at each other’s faces and tugging each other’s shirts.  Your physical strength overpowers his but he isn’t hindered by a stupid leather jacket.   Already a bit sweaty and exhausted, you surrender with an aggravated huff. 

“Fine, try it then,” you say, flopping on your back.  You stubbornly cross your arms, trapping his cuffed hand in your arm. 

“Let me go,” he says, trying to wrest his arm back. 

“I’m not doing anything.  Ahh, stop that!”

He tires to lick you.  Tongue out, he dives at your head.  He only stops when you snatch his glasses off his face, at which point he climbs on top of you to try and grab them back. 

“Stop it. This is so immature,” he says, stretching to reach your own outstretched arm.

“Immature?” you ask, aghast.  “You were trying to lick me!”

“That was different.”

“How?”  

“Because you suck,” he says. 

He manages to get his glasses back.  He sticks out his tongue as he puts them on his face. 

You tussle a little more, shuffling around and swiping at each other.  Eventually you get to the middle of the bed with him still straddling your hips.  Your cuffed arm lifts when he grips the headboard with both hands.  He strains for one pitiful push.  His hair bounces but the headboard barely hits the wall. 

You lift an eyebrow. 

“Shut up,” he says.

“I didn’t say anything,” you reply.

“I can hear your ugly face.”

“That’s a you problem.”

He ignores you and braces himself to push on the headboard again.  All the beds are extravagantly woodworked pieces, the headboards dense and heavy.  Despite the proximity to the wall, you are not surprised it takes effort to actually make the bed bounce.  

Seungmin, to his credit, does not give up easily.  He braces his shoulders, but this time when he pushes he rocks with his whole body.  

Unfortunately, this does drag almost all his weight against the toy in your pants.  You are wearing the kind of underwear designed to support a toy, the base of it separated from your clit by only a strip of fabric.  When he rocks against you, it grinds there, and your hands instinctively fly to grab his hips.

It knocks him a bit off balance because your cuffed hand drags his down too.  He puts that hand over yours, cupped around his hip, and glares down at you. 

“What the hell was that?” he asks. 

You let go of his hips immediately. 

“Nothing,” you say.

He looks at you with a scrutinizing eye, then looks down, then up again.   You hold his gaze unflinchingly, at least until he rocks again and a little spark of heat goes off inside you. 

“Can you feel that?” he asks.  He asks it matter-of-factly, peering down at you from behind his big round glasses, sitting comfortably in his stupid pyjamas. 

“Yes,” you speak in as steady a voice as you can, because you will not show weakness first.   “There are only a couple positions where I can feel it strongly.  This… is… one of them.” 

“Wow,” he says.  He looks genuinely reflective for a minute, then he grins one of his evil grins.  “So… you can feel when I do this?”  He puts his free hand on the middle of your chest and leans forward so he grinds against you at a different angle, his own bulge pushing against yours. 

“Ohmyff—”  You grab his hips again, freezing him while he snickers above you.  “Dude.” 

“Just checking,” he says.  He grabs the headboard and pushes again.  The thud is a soft one. 

You clench your jaw, annoyed and wound up.  You grab his waist and roll over in one fluid motion, knocking some wind out of him when you thump him on his back.   His thighs clench instinctively to hold onto your hips, his legs still around your waist when you grab the headboard and shove it several times in a row.  

His cuffed arm is above his head, hand dangling under your grip on the headboard.  His glasses are askew from the flip, his legs still open around yours.  He stares at you, however crookedly through the tilted glasses.  Your breathing is heavy in the quiet room.  He swallows.

You break the silence with a pointed, “Well?”

“Well, what?” he asks just as roughly. 

“Moan or yell or something.  Whatever you normally do in bed.”

“I’m normally quiet.”

“I find that hard to believe,” you say dryly.  “Since that mouth never stops.”  

“Why don’t you moan?” 

“Because I’m in charge of bed pushing.”  To make your point, you rock the bed some more, pushing slightly against him with the motion.  The headboard hits the wall for a few rhythmic thumps. 

He fixes his glasses with his free hand, still frowning at you.  That hand freezes on his glasses when you shrug your coat off your free arm, too hot to keep wearing it.  It will only get caught on the handcuffs if you push it down the other arm so you leave it hanging off your shoulder.  You put your hand back on the headboard, muscles flexing with the next shove.   His eyes go to your arm. 

“Well?” you say.  

He looks at you.  It’s a cold, unfeeling stare, followed by an annoyed puff of a breath. 

Then he makes a sound, a small, rough moan in the back of his throat.   You are certain only you can hear it.   He looks right at you while doing it, legs still accommodating your shape, on his back with an open mouth while glaring at you despite the noises.

It is, in a word, hot.  Hot as fucking hell.  Oh god.  You are not getting turned on by Kim Seungmin.  Absolutely not. 

He moans again, closing his eyes and shifting with the next push, as if he can really feel it.   He cants his hips and falls back again.  He moans one more time.

Ah, you think.  Fuck. 

You stop shoving the bed for a second, breathless and not from exertion. 

You clear your throat.  Seungmin is still staring at you.  You stare back, then your gaze drifts.  The leather jacket starts to slip down your shoulder so you tug it back up.  You gulp. 

“You’re hard,” you say, a very basic observation.  His soft pyjama pants leave little to the imagination.

He drops his legs from around your waist, but you are between his thighs so he can’t quite close them.  He plants his feet on the bed and glares up at you. 

“So are you,” he says.

“Mine’s not real,” you say.  

“Ohh, so now it’s not real?”  He rolls his eyes.  “Sorry, I can’t keep up with Schrodinger’s dick.” 

“You know what I mean, smartass.”  

“If anything yours is more real,” he says.  “Your dick is more deliberate than mine.  I can’t control my hard-on but you put one there on purpose.” 

That logic is a weirdly difficult to argue.  You try to think of a witty comeback but your brain is more than a little fried. 

“So,” is all you say, at a loss. 

He stares up at you for another second, then pushes himself upright.  You let his cuffed hand lead yours, at least until you realize he is bringing his hands to the button of your jeans.  You seize his cuffed hand and tug it away. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask.

“What do you think I’m doing?” he asks contemptuously.  He even snarls. 

Despite the viciousness, he dives in without waiting for an answer.  He uses his free hand as a guide, but otherwise he leans forward and clamps his teeth around the button.  He works it open quickly, then takes the zipper in his mouth and yanks it down. 

You let go of his hand, surprised.  He uses both hands to fish the toy out of your pants. 

He balks at it. 

“You walked around with this all night?” he asks, looking up at you. 

Fuck.  It is literally right by his face.  It looks obscene.  Your figures twitch with the urge to cup his chin. 

“Yes,” you answer in a low voice.  “It’s my preferred method of, uh, action.”

“Action,” he repeats, smiling like the word is a hilarious punchline.  He even cackles a little.  “Action,” he repeats.  “Not ‘making love?’”  His tone is drole. 

“Not really the making love type,” you say. 

“Wow,” he says.  His eyes flick to your toy dick, just millimeters from his face.  He pushes his glasses up his nose.  He glances up at you with that evil smile.   “Same,” he says. 

Then suddenly he has his mouth wrapped around the end of it, looking up at you as he sucks on it. 

For a second, you think you have gone completely insane, because you swear you can feel it.  Your clit and pussy and every other body part rears to life with sudden, unbidden arousal. 

“Jesus fucking—” you start.

He pops off your dick with a wet sound.   He licks his lips. 

“Hmm,” he says, eying it thoughtfully.  “Tastes funny.   Could you feel that?”

“Kinda,” you squeak.  “In a way.”

“Got it.” 

Is this even turning him on?  His dick is filling out his pyjama pants so you think so, but he is also approaching the entire thing like it can be hacked through a scientific algorithm.   He studies the toy with a lot of scrutiny, as if he is calculating the mechanics of it. 

“You don’t have to—” you start, but then suddenly his mouth is back on the end of it, his free hand is in the middle of it, and he is pushing it back against you, clearly having figured out you can feel the part against your clit.  He grinds it there, up and down, bobbing his head and staring up at you. 

It is usually fairly difficult to reach orgasm this way but he takes you the edge in an almost terrifying speed run, then abruptly stops.  He takes in a deep breath, a huge wad of spit connecting his lips to the end of the toy.

“Did that do something?” he asks, wiping his mouth. 

Your jacket slips down your arm and catches on the handcuffs.  You stare at him.

“Uhhh…” you say, voice guttural.  “Yes.” 

He grins, looking immensely satisfied with himself. 

“That wasn’t so hard,” he says.  “I thought it would be more complicated.  I’m guessing gravity works in your favour when someone sits on it?” 

Yes, that is your brain spilling out of your ear in a big, mushy goop. 

“Uh, yeah,” you say.  “Yeah.”  What the fuck else are you supposed to say? 

He suddenly narrows his eyes at you, his regard suspicious even while he starts jerking the toy with his free hand. 

“How do I know you’re not lying?” 

You show him the only way that makes sense, leading his cuffed hand to your pants and nudging the toy aside so he can slip his fingers past it.  He freezes completely when he feels how turned on you are, looking up at you as he returns his now wet fingers to himself. 

“Oh,” he says.  He looks at his fingertips.  “I see.” 

Then he grins at you and puts his fingers in his mouth. 

“Right,” you say.  “Got it.” 

You grab him and put him on his back again, reaching immediately for his waistband.  You have barely grasped the material when you are suddenly shoved back, his foot planted squarely in the middle of your chest. 

“Slippers first,” he says.  

He is just being difficult.  You know that, but you indulge the little brat anyway, glaring at him while removing his stupid slipper.  You toss it behind you and he switches feet, shoving his other one in the same spot.  He smiles at you, leaning back on his elbows at tapping his slippered toes against your heart.   You shake your head but remove that one too.  Before he can try any more funny business, you grab him under the knee and push his knees back to his chest.  His glasses slip a little again.  His cuffed hand can’t leave yours, hooked under his knee, so his free hand awkwardly reaches up to fix them. 

“Careful,” he says, like you’ve been the unreasonable one in any way, shape, or form. 

“I’ll try,” you say dryly, then reach for his waistband. 

You get the material barely shuffled past his hips when your jaw falls open. 

“Hold on,” you say, fingers reaching for his twitching dick.   “No way.  No way.” 

Kim Seungmin.  Blazer-and-tie good boy.  Pristine socialite.   Arrogant snob.   High society darling.   Spoiled brat.  Good boy.  Good boy.   Good boy. 

He has a classically beautiful piercing on the head of his dick. 

He opens his mouth to speak, his expression revealing it is about to be some mouthy retort, but it turns into a gasp when you run your thumb up and over, teasing at it, gathering a not-inconsiderable amount of precum and stroking the whole length of him. 

“Aren’t you pretty,” you say, circling the most sensitive cluster of nerves with your thumb.   It makes his thighs twitch and his shoulders shake. 

“S-surprised?” he asks. 

“Honestly, yeah,” you admit. 

He looks very satisfied with that, grinning at you.  That evil smile drives you crazy so you flash a grin of your own then dive down. 

His fake moans were pretty close to his real ones, but his real ones are louder as you expected.  He has to bite his fist to keep the sound down.  You rise, wiping at your mouth and glaring at him. 

“Louder,” you say.  “Remember?”

“Oh, right.”  He drops his hand.  “Your stupid plan.  Okay.  Continue.”  He waves you onward like a prince, thumping his head back on the pillows. 

He is so annoying.  He really does have a pretty dick, though.  Drawing real moans out of him is more fun than arguing over fake ones, and he makes some exceptionally lovely sounds when you put your mouth on him.  He starts gasping when he gets close, his face scrunching up, but he grabs your head and stops before he gets there fully. 

You look at him with a questioning eyebrow lift but move when he nudges you.  He gets on his knees so you are kneeling in front of each other, then he guides your hand back to his dick at the same time he curls his fingers around the base of your toy.  

Your eyes are heavy-lidded and your mouths are close together but not touching.  It feels like another contest, to see who will give in and kiss the other person first, even while your hands are way past that stage. 

Fuck it, you think when he gets a bit whiny, breathing hard against your lips.  You clasp your free hand around his neck and drag him close for a kiss.  It makes him come, his back locking and mouth opening under yours.  He wouldn’t be Seungmin if he didn’t try and turn a kiss into a fight, licking at you with messy intensity.  The rapid back-and-forth of his tongue coupled with his skilled hand takes you over the edge too. 

You get a bit euphorically giggly when you come, smiling against his mouth. 

Seungmin turns unexpectedly clingy, putting his free arm around your neck and burying his face in your shoulder.  He holds so tightly that you fall, flopping onto the bed with him still nestled against you.  

You lay there for a bit, him still hiding, your heavy breathing slowing to a more normal cadence.  Eventually he lifts his head and exhales.  He adjusts his crooked glasses then grins. 

“I won,” he says.

“You can’t win at sex,” you reply.

“Yes you can, and I just did.  Don’t be a sore loser.”

“Oh my god.” 

Your exchange passes with far less animosity than usual.  You still side-eye each other while dealing with your respective dicks.  It’s a little easier for him to pull up his pants one-handed than it is for you to wrestle a toy out of an O-ring, but you do succeed.  You let it roll off the edge of the bed, watching and listening as it thumps onto the floor. 

You look over Seungmin who was watching too.  When you make eye contact, you both start laughing.  It turns the whole scene into an unusually affectionate one.  Figuring you might as well commit, you hold his cuffed hand in your own.  He rolls closer, eying you with those perpetually mischievous eyes.

Then suddenly the bedroom door flies open.  It smashes into the wall, startling both of you. 

Minho walks up to the bed and chucks the keys at you, glares, then turns and leaves the room.  He slams the door shut behind him. 

You and Seungmin look at each other then down at the keys. 

“Told you,” you say. 

“Don’t rub it in.”

“Don’t be a sore loser.”

He licks your cheek unprompted, then unlocks the cuffs while you complain and wipe your face.  It has you so distracted that you are a second too late realizing he has another dastardly plan in mind. 

Your wrist is still cuffed.  He takes the now empty half and clasps it around one of the intricate loops in the headboard.   You tug on it then look at him. 

“Kim Seungmin,” you say. 

“Kim Seungmin,” he repeats in that mocking voice, grinning as he climbs up over you. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask, trying not to smile at his wicked grin as he starts kissing under your chin and down your chest.

“What do you think I’m doing?” he asks.  “I’m winning.”

You decide not to argue for once.   It goes without saying you both won this round. 

[theostrophywife]

style | the slytherin boys.

author's note: just a silly little post about what I personally think each boy's aesthetic would be.

TOM is dark academia.

blazers, houndstooth vests, tweed jackets, oxford shoes, classic white button ups, plaid trousers, tortoiseshell glasses, and tailored coats.

REGULUS is light academia.

white billowy shirts, wingtips, slim fit trousers, uni jumpers, suspenders, silk button downs, argyle vests, and family heirloom necklaces.

MATTHEO is soft grunge.

tattered band tees, classic chuck taylors, faded flannels, shredded black denim jeans, leather jackets, cargo pants, beat up doc martens, and chunky rings.

THEO is indie skaterboy.

oversized patterned jumpers, carhartt jackets, vintage graphic tees, baggy jeans, chunky chain necklaces, high top vans, beanies in every color, and tote bags.

DRACO is old money.

tailored suits, perfectly pressed dress shirts, italian leather shoes, silk pocket squares, neutral turtlenecks, expensive wristwatches, dark dress pants, and family heirloom rings.

BLAISE is preppy athleisure.

rugby shirts, cricket sweaters, new balance trainers, fleece sweatpants, puffer jackets, monogrammed socks, functional fanny packs, and bucket hats.

ENZO is cottagecore.

chunky knit sweaters, floral print button downs, denim overalls, pastel vests, gingham shirts, corduroy pants, crochet scarves, and homemade friendship bracelets.

[ashstfu]

How would you describe the way you dress?

i stick to the classics: tailored blazers, crisp white shirts, cashmere, and perfectly cut trousers. also lots of denim, simple tees, slip dresses and statement accessories. i always aim for a sleek, polished, and slightly moody vibe. a look that’s both commanding and subtly alluring. overall i would say that my style is effortlessly elegant, versatile and exudes a quiet confidence :)

[overalls4all]

Harry was running a little late meeting up with his friends Mike and Jack. They were volunteering to help out at an Overalls for All meeting, setting up chairs and the catered dinner. Harry entered the meeting hall in his denim shirt and classic blue denim overalls. He waved towards his friends, already working.

"Overalls for All, guys!" Harry shouted, pulling at his bib.

"Overalls for All, Harry!" Mike and Jack shouted back, returning the gesture as well. Mike was wearing duck brown overalls with a flannel, and Jack was in blue denim overalls and a red shirt.

"Sorry I'm late. I was finishing chopping some firewood," Harry explained.

Jack laughed, "Only you would be late for being too damn manly, Harry!" He clapped Harry on the back, his fingers lightly grasping at the straps playfully.

"Well we got most of the place set up already," Mike added. "We just need your help hanging the banner."

The three men pulled up some ladders to hang a hug banner behind the speaker's podium. The banner was all-too familiar to Harry. He remembered the first time he saw it set up in the park. A group of strong, broad-shouldered men were speaking with me in the park, all of them clad in overalls. It struck Harry as odd at that time. Little did he suspect one day he would only wearing overalls and supporting that same group, Overalls for All.

The banner hung in the meeting hall featured an image of men, all groomed conservatively and wearing classic denim overalls. The words OVERALLS FOR ALL were written above them. Harry couldn't help but smile at the banner. He used to feel so lost in life. But Overalls for All offered something to him - a purpose, a chance to make change in his life and his community.

Jack stood next to Harry, chest full of pride, "It's amazing isn't it?"

Harry turned to his friend, "Huh?"

"Amazing how much has changed. Overalls for All started as a small grassroots movement. Now we have chapters all across the country from big cities to small towns. Our brothers are changing this nation," Jack explained as he grabbed his overalls straps with clear pride.

Mike patted his bibs, "I know it changed me! Remember me before overalls? I was so lazy and unmotivated."

"Totally," Harry said. "You could hardly hold down a job!"

"And now I'm working down at the shop, like a real man!" Mike beamed, happy to mention his new job at the auto shop.

"We're really doing something meaningful here," Harry said. "I finally feel like I'm a part of something bigger than myself. If it all it takes is wearing overalls, I am happy to do so."

"I can't wait until every man has to wear overalls like us," Mike was quick to add.

"We're getting there, brothers," Jack reminded them. After all, membership in Overalls for All was increasing by thousands every week across the country. Whole families and even small towns of men were wearing overalls. A few of those small towns even passed overalls ordinances requiring bibs for all men. That is the ultimate goal of Overalls for All. All men are meant to wear overalls. Overalls instill masculine values and remind us all to work-hard and conform to traditional masculinity. It's our duty to wear overalls and spread Overalls for All to all men!

[hinamie]

hi hina! if you were yuuji, megumi, and nobara's personal stylist (you already kind of are 🙂‍↕️) what's an outfit you would pick that represents their casual style and one look that represents fancy attire? and what's an absolute No for each of them?

SORRY FOR GETTING TO THIS LATE i have . fashion opinions and need 2 articulate them Properly. gomen ik this isn't /exactly/ what u asked this is moreso just. my style headcanons fr each of them but i think it more or less gets the point across gFGHDSHFGJ.

will get long btw :')

yuuji:  casual: 

i loveloveLOVE him in jean jackets . since a hoodie is a staple for him that + a jean jacket i think is The Go-To fit for him hands down i think he pulls it off so well. u can even ditch the hoodie to opt for a baggy graphic T shirt but the jean jacket carries the fit.  it’s so casual n classic which helps it be ~versitile~ and it's just boyish enough to rly suit yuuji’s character. I have him in distressed jeans (grey or dark wash blue, as long as it’s a different shade of denim) whenever i can bc i think it looks good but athletic pants (think like adidas jogger-shaped) work also . add red sneakers of choice accessorize that boy with a gym bag or backpack Bam yuuji fit. 

formal: 

i feel very strongly about yuuji in a dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up. no suit jacket fr him but definitely a tie and a waistcoat + straight leg trousers. i want to keep a pop of red on him so the safe option wld b to make his tie red but i think maybe he could pull off a maroon dress shirt + black everything else combo. important thing is He Wears Red :)

no’s:

honestly I can picture yuuji in most anything but i don’t think he wears long structured jackets, even fr fancy outfits. he’s too stocky of a build and i think a long jacket makes him look shapeless in a bad way i think mid-thigh is as long as i’d be willing 2 go for his outerwear, though im sure with the right fit i could b convinced otherwise

megumi:  casual: 

tl;dr: loose sweater over turtleneck/over collared shirt i feel SO strongly about megumi in loose straight silhouettes. HEAVY on the grey/black neutrals with the occasional cool jewel tone (green or teal u know how it is) though i do also like him in a chocolate brown! it is important 2 me also that whatever pants he wears r not too baggy since his top will have a lot of that Chunkiness to it and u need some shape n slimness 2 the leg 2 balance it out. this overall silhouette on megu >>>>>>>

formal:

unlike yuuji i Do think megumi could pull off a suit jacket or maybe even a blazer but whatever it is u best bet this boy is in All Black . I also like him in a turtleneck instead of a dress shirt but if we button him up Completely i think it achieves more or less the same look 

no’s: 

ok i have a couple but my biggest one is Fushiguro Megumi Does Not Wear Shorts end of story no further elaboration. also, this is slightly more forgiveable but like w yuuji i would avoid him in long jackets Also, altho fr the opposite reason . it’s not tht he’s too stocky for it rather i think he’s too lanky n a long coat runs the risk of drowning him — again situational tho !!!!! he would probably look good in a black wool coat so i will entertain the possibility . 

also listen. this is a personal headcanon and ik it likely puts me in the minority and i may even get flack fr this . but i do not think fushiguro megumi would have piercings. i know ive drawn him with earrings before but listen those were for Me . those were for the fit. he was an acting mannequin. but just him??? his personal feelings?? i just have a hard time thinking that boy is th type 2 put metal in his face sue me :’/ 

nobara:  casual: 

this is so hard because a. women’s fashion has SO many more options b. nobara is 100% the type to have a different style every week and c. she looks good in all of it. I think though i like her best in long skirts and layers so something along these lines is a Hard yes from me, though possibly with a brighter colour palette

formal:

i had Other ideas but god just spoke to me through pinterest by showing me this dress and this is all i want to see nobara in actually. 

(((real talk tho in terms of fancy dresses I like her in black/gold/red/pink for colours, either baby doll or bell skirts, strapless sweetheart necklines,, etc etc etc)))

no’s: 

similar to yuuji, I don’t have many things that i picture as off-limits for nobara fashion-wise bc she seems the type to experiment :’) I think any faux-pas i can name r just my own fashion icks so i’ll just go with those: no low rise and no full skin-tight fits (ik i said she seems down for anything but i think she draws the line @ athleisure). also maybe a pocket pick but i don't think she would wear orange or hot pink on account of her hair

[kosije]

a/n: never have unprotected sex with strangers! only read about it <3 also this is a old work i just added a bit onto...

cw: mdni, mechanic!hawks x fem!reader, use of doll/ma'am/miss, unprotected sex, missionary, pretty vanilla, simp behavior by hawks, reader calls him keigo, corny dialogue, horrible capitalization (im so srry), probably wont edit this lol...

It's been hours. It's been hours and you're dripping sweat despite the multitude of cold drinks you've ingested from the vending machine in your local auto care. You just took your car in for an oil change and regretted not getting a bus ride back. The more the round clock above the register desk clicked, the more impatient you're getting and the smell of gasoline was hurting your head. After bobbing your leg up and down a little more, you decide to just go out and check on your car.

"Hey! Uh, my car was scheduled to be done 30 minutes ago. Is there any way I can check on it right now? Do you have an ETA of some sort?"

The receptionist, a dark-haired boy with a red choker, looks up empathetically before clicking his keyboard.

"Sorry miss, I dunno much about that, but let me call up your mechanic. What number are you?"

"3389"

"3....3....8- oh Hawks is working on that one! I'll call to see if you can get buzzed in, but no need to worry. He is our fastest and most skilled mechanic, so your car will be good as new as soon as he's done."

The boy's voice becomes the slightest bit animated and you feel your annoyance tone down. But you didn't care if it was "good as new," just as long as you could get home safe.

"Okay, thank you."

His fingers quickly punch into a corded phone before a voice comes on the other line.

"He said it should be done in 2, but you're more than welcome to go in."

You nod and thank the teen before stumbling past wired gates and stray cigarettes before finding your car. It looks damn good. Originally a somewhat hand-me-down from your mother to yourself, it was always beautiful on the outside. The silhouette was a classic thing. real sleek and "real groovy" according to your mother. But the upsides stopped at the exterior.

The ac was loud, and the radio was spotty. Even the leather seats were chipping, despite the multitude of repairs you've paid for out of pocket.

But now the car looks brand new. The shell of your car is clean and shiny. When you open the door, you're pleasantly surprised by the smell of musky cologne and your clean linen car freshener, and even more surprised when you can't see where the patches of missing leather are. you almost let yourself smile before realizing this might be a scam to force you to pay for the advancements.

You're too busy peeking into your interior to notice another person walking up.

"Is this ya car, or you lookin' for a ride to jack?"

You flinch slightly but recover yourself well enough to turn to face the deep voice and a rush of heat flushes over you. Sharp amber eyes run over your figure as you busy yourself with getting a good look at the man leaning against the bumper of your car. messy blonde hair, healthy tan, scruff, and muscular. All things you like, except (so far) his personality.

"And you are?"

"The mechanic, doll," He replies in a "duh" voice, slipping his arms out of his dirtied blue denim overalls and crossing them over the other. You don't miss how his biceps flex slightly at the gesture.

"You got anything else to ask, or are you jus��� gonna keep checking me out?"

"I wasn't checking you out."

"Whatever makes you feel better," He laughs, walking up only to lean on the steel table behind you.

"Look this is my car-" He cuts you off by reading your name off a stray paper that has dirt and oil on it, raising an eyebrow and you nod a confirmation.

He offhandedly purrs something about the name being pretty, and you have to consciously ignore the burn in your cheeks.

"Just tell me how much the repair is gonna cost," the question comes out with a sigh, and now it's your turn to cross your arms. It's done out of attitude, but when his eyes lower to focus on your chest, electricity trickles down your spine.

"You gonna answer or keep checking me out?"

coughing and readjusting himself on the table, he tells you $110.

"Are you kidding? The oil change was 60!"

"I did a whole lot besides an oil change, doll"

"without my consent! This has got to be illegal!" 

"Well, how about this?" he says, moving closer to you, and you can now see just how much he dwarfs you in size. "You pay $40 bucks, and let me take you out to dinner."

well... that wasn't something you were expecting.

"I don't know you."

"I know."

"You don't know me."

"Let's change that then." He says. The smirk he has is toothy and could almost be seen as sweet if he didn't just try to scam you out of $50. After another beat of silence, he talks again.

"Don't be brutal, doll. You know you're just as excited to see where this goes."

"I don't usually date scammers." You finally say, but it's meek and you instantly regret it because all he does is smile wider.

"There's a first for everything."

... 

You don't know why you agreed and gave him your number and address. But you did. You also don't know why you're wearing such an expensive dress and perfume. Or why you're putting on makeup. But you are. It was all too elaborate for a one-off date with a random man. Nevertheless, here you were, crouching down to put your bobby pins in your hair because your dress didn't allow for enough movement.

There are three quick knocks at your door before you hear Hawk's voice. 

"I'm starving, doll. Don't leave me like this." 

Bastard

You quickly give yourself a one-over and head to the door. When you open it you see Hawks, except he looks different. His hair is neatly brushed back, and he swapped his stronger cologne for a much more elegant one that matches even better with yours. simple suit and tie with square-cut earrings.

"you look good" he looks better than good, but you don't wanna say anything that'll inflate his ego more.

"you look perfect," and he punctuates it by saying your name instead of 'doll' and you like the way it sounds more than you thought.

Hovering over you now with one arm on the doorframe. He stretches out a hand with a small grin.

"May I? " You place your hand in his.

"You May."

...

5 things you've learned about Hawks Keigo so far

1. his real name is Keigo, hawks being a nickname he got in his youth because of his speed and eyes

2. his hand is much larger than yours

3. he has great taste in restaurants

4. his favorite food is yakitori (a new favorite of yours too)

5. he's ready to go back to your place

"How was your food?"

"It was actually... great"

"C'mon, don't act all reluctant! This restaurant has never done me wrong!" He says as you shift the air conditioner to fan your face and turn the radio up a bit.

"Right, yakitori connoisseur. I can see why you'd take your dates here."

"You're the first." He says emphasizing the last part with a sly look over to your spot in the passenger seat of his Mercedes. It's an admission that has a smile threatening to find a home on your lips, but you turn your head to face outside the window and he chuckles knowingly.

"Or are you saying this should now be the spot? Cuz I could make that work."

"You sure know how to ruin a mood." You're laughing at his feigned hurt expression as he steers with one hand while the other goes over his heart.

"How rude!" He says before the hand over his heart falls to your thigh and suddenly you're hyperaware of how warm he is. "I'll make sure this spot is special to just you."

If the hand on your thigh wasn't enough, the sincerity of his tone has you reeling and reaching over his middle console to kiss him. Soft, short, and sweet on his cheek. You can hear his breath hilt and the smell of his cologne is stronger. When you pull back, you can see the mark of your lipstick on his cheek. And his hand squeezes your thigh tighter.

"You're driving me crazy, doll."

"...was that a pun because you're driving?"

"What?"

"I said-" 

he dramatically turns up the radio and you roll your eyes when he excessively mouths 'I can't hear you!' 

"YOU'RE LUCKY THIS SONG IS GOOD!" you yell into his ear and he laughs, drawing circles onto your thigh with his thumb. The ride back to your apartment is shorter than you'd like, but at least he walks you up to your door, right?

"I don't usually invite scammers into my house."

"yeah?" he asks, hands already on your waist and head tilted.

"but there's a first for everything, isn't there?"

"id like that," he says, smiling down at you as you walk backward into your living room.

His lips are feverish on yours, tongue exploring as deep as it can into your mouth until his and your lips are purple and swollen before drawing purple bruises all over your neck and chest, just over your tits. Your body is hot and you hurriedly pull your arms out of your dress and shimmy it off-eliciting a pleasured hum when he finds that you're not wearing a bra- as he quickly tosses his button-up and jacket before his lips are back onto yours. Your hands wrap around Keigo's neck and his hands cup under your ass and lift you up.

"First door on your right." 

Following your instructions, he walks with you to his arms to your room and tosses you on the familiar sheets of your bed.

"Do you want this?" he asks, hands working on his belt

"Please."

His jaw clenches, and in a second he's bare in front of you.

And big. Much bigger than you think you can take. Thick veins wrap around his cock and you can tell he shaved just for tonight. He runs a finger up and down your clothing slit. Your lips part and a soft sigh rolls off your tongue.

"Don't be a tease."

"Yes ma'am," his finger hooks on the edge of your lace panties and slides them off before running his cock up and down to gather your slick with a quiet groan. Without warning, he slides into you, and you're both vocal. after letting you adjust to his length, he slowly starts moving inside of you, then faster and you're whining around him.

"so pretty," comes out a gasp when his hands pull your legs over his shoulders.

"yer so pretty. And yer the tightest lil' thing I've ever had. Why don't we make an h-habit of this, hmm?" 

"The sex or–fuck–dinner?" You ask, trying to slow the coil in your gut with deep breaths.

"Both."

"That sounds like dating." 

"It's not–shiit"

"How so?" You ask, moaning into the back of your hand when he switches his angle and hits that spot that has you seeing stars.

"You don't date scammers," he says and you would laugh if you didn't have drool sliding down the side of your mouth. His eyes flicker to it and when he licks it up, only to kiss it back into your mouth, and your nails find his back and rake over the skin in an attempt to ground yourself.

"So...what...' bout...it," he asks between kisses and you roll your eyes. When you don't answer, he grunts and stalls all movements.

"What-"

"Answer me and I'll move." 

His eyes widen as he watches you move up and down on your own.

"Stubborn," he whispers out, still wide-eyed when his lips split into a grin. "you won't be able to fuck yerself the way I do it. So just be good 'nd-"

"Yes." you bite out. Your pride feels robbed, but you can tell he's right when you feel your stomach ache.

"Yes, what?"

He's moved again, but it's too slow for your liking and leaves you irritated. You're exactly where he wants you, and so—reluctantly — you mutter:

"Let's make this a habit!" 

An uncharacteristically soft hand cups your cheek and your stomach twist.

"I knew you could be good for me," he says, lips pressing into the side of your mouth and you're writhing. 

Speeding up again, you feel that familiar flame of pleasure ignite within you and tangle your hands into his blonde strands. The room is filled with slaps and moans and if you weren't so fucked out, you might've been able to hear your headboard knocking against the wall and how the mess of your nightstand slightly bounces from the source. Praises are whispered in between messy thrusts and you try your best to focus on the sweat running down your back to let the feeling of him inside you last longer, but your toes are curled and can taste blood from how hard you’re biting down on your lip. 

“Don't shy away now, I love that pretty voice of yours,” and his face looks so much in ecstasy that when his tip hits that spot in you again a pornographic moan leaves your lips, and the flood of pleasure hits you is as foreign as it is blissful. You almost gave no control of yourself. barely hushing yourself, barely able to unravel your legs from around his hips, all too consumed in your high. But Keigo is no better. When your legs ease the hold around his hips, he hurriedly pulls out, but not fast enough, and globs of white spray onto your pussy and all over your chest, even up to your neck. He can only pump himself a few more times before he's falling on top of you with a huff, knocking the air out of you. 

"U-P!" you gasp out, hitting his chest until he rolls over with a sheepish look.

"'M sorry," is all that he says before narrowing his eyes when you giggle.

"Didn't know nutting took that much energy out."

"me neither," he says, joining in on your giggles with a squawk-like laugh that makes you laugh even harder. "I've never come that hard."

"I'm flattered." You purr, smiling up at the ceiling. "I don't think ill be able to walk for a couple of days myself."

And you were joking, but when he laughs and hoists himself up with a hand on your thigh, the soreness humbles you and you realize there's more truth to that statement than you care to admit. You point to the bathroom and he nods, disappearing and reappearing with a damp rag and cleans you up. 

"How do you like your baths?"

"Warm." you twitch when he wipes over a sensitive part, earning a reassuring kiss on the cheek.

When he's done, he moves back into your bathroom and you can hear him turn on the faucet, and you stretch to your legs until the water is turned off and he's scooping you into his arms. When you've finished, he offers to carry you back to bed, but you insist on getting back on your own, even if your legs felt a bit wobbly. You slip into something comfortable while he puts on what he had on before, only now it's wrinkled. You expect him to leave immediately after he's dressed.

"what are you going to watch me sleep?"

"just waiting for you to invite me to stay the night"

"not gonna happen," you say and laugh at the way he pouts. "next time, maybe." And now you're laughing harder at how quickly his expression changed to a smile.

He leans down to kiss you long and slow, pulling away to leave a peck on your cheek. 

"Same time next week?" he asks, giving you another peck, this time along your cheek. You mumble an affirmation, eyes blissfully shut as his lips move to our neck.

"and the one after that. " And he's grinning against you again when he says this.

"Overzealous, don't ya think?" not missing the glint in his eyes when they meet yours again. Same gold that seems to shimmer close up.

"Just makin' a habit of it." Is all he says, same beautiful eyes looking down at you, same lopsided grin, now pretty purple marks on his neck. 

And all you can do is say,

"okay, same time next week."

[myobsessionsspace]

Who is Kim Young Jin?

The man behind the looks, bringing BTS' vision to life, from photo-folios, to music videos to high fashion magazine photoshoots.

Kim YoungJin and his team have worked with the members as a group and as individuals on their concerts and everything in between.

“Seoul-based stylist Youngjin Kim has been obsessed with fashion since he was a child, saving up his pocket money to buy magazines. “It was so special to me,” he remembers. After majoring in photography at college but leaning into the looks just as heavily, somebody suggested he give styling a go and well, the rest is history. These days, he’s working with BTS, but can also be found dressing the likes of NCT 127, Super M and Daniel Kang for cover features, campaigns and album artwork.”

ID Magazine - VICE Interview (March 2022)

👤What was your entry point to styling?

“I worked as an assistant to [Korean actor] Jin Oh Jeon’s stylist for about five years and came to understand the overall system of the Korean fashion scene. Looking back, that time was so precious; time that brought me to this moment, I guess.”

The man himself, Stylist @kimvinchey on IG

Kim YoungJin styled BTS and Bang SiHyuk for their TIME Magazine 2022 photos.

Kim YoungJin has been head stylist for MVs such as 'My Universe', styling Jimin for 'Vibe', j-hope for 'On The Street' to name but a few MVs

👤Tell us about the type of work you do.

“Styling for albums and projects such as “My Universe” by BTS and Coldplay is receiving tremendous attention on a global scale. Whenever I style an idol group, I think of a designer creating a collection. I mix and match clothes from different Japanese brands such as Comme des Garçons and Yohji Yamamoto, and I express my own aesthetic with styling to fit each concept. I also style various editorials for fashion magazines. I consider myself a fashion stylist, and when I first took on the role of an idol stylist, I was proud of demonstrating what kind of visuals could be created if a fashion stylist takes on an idol.”

Kim Youngjin has worked with the members on the brand ambassadorship endeavours, such as styling for mag shoots like the Valentino photoshoot with SUGA

👤Of course, a stylist doesn’t just ‘style’. You’re often a bridge between celebrities and brands — a look you introduce to an idol could quickly become a trend.

“Exactly. In many cases, celebrities or models with good momentum are recommended to brands or magazines, and if the celebrity is an ambassador of a fashion house, they communicate more closely with the fashion brand.”

👤What do you think is the most important thing in styling?

“I try to combine the latest fashion trends with classic items. For instance, I like pairing Levi's denim and casual sneakers with a Saint Laurent blazer. As details are crucial for men's clothes, the overall outfit is often impacted by details such as perfect length and sleeves.”

In Chapter 2 of BTS' journey, Kim YounJin has been part of many of the members solo projects that were even released post enlistment for some, such as j-hope LV campaign and styling for Esquire Magazine

👤Do you have a favourite brand or designer?

“I’ve always loved Givenchy by Riccardo Tisci, which has had a huge impact on me as a stylist. I have such respect for a person who has accomplished what they’ve wanted to do for a long time — I think Miuccia Prada and Raf Simons are both great in that regard too.”

“I’m 32, so I was in elementary and middle school in the 1990s, which was when I started getting into fashion. Since I was really young, like 10 years old, I used to go downtown to buy clothes by myself. In elementary school, I wore baggy sweatshirts and jeans like this Balenciaga ensemble. I liked hip-hop and K-pop even back then and would dress up like this and dance at school festivals. Retro fashion is back in style, so it doesn’t at all look out of place or time to dress like this again.”

Mr Porter - The Journal Interview (Oct 2020)

💜

Special Mention:

**Though Taehyung has worked with Kim YoungJin with group projects the Head Stylist for Taehyung (V) during Chapter 2, in particular his Layover Era has been @HIJIBIN, Taehyung's personal stylist.

Info on Kim YoungJin:

https://www.mrporter.com/en-sg/journal/fashion/youngjin-kim-contemporary-fashion-classic-style-k-pop-1445414

[uloelu]

🖼️ Jordyn Padgett 🖼️

Aspiration: Renaissance Sim

Ethnicity: Irish and Black British (Simlish)

Traits: Snob, Sporty, Art Lover (custom traits)

Age: 24 (young adult)

Current world: San Myshuno

Likes: Writing, wellness, mixology, media production, fitness, skiing, dancing, painting, photography, red, black, white, yellow, brown, classical music, new age music, hip hop, preppy and polished fashion, discussing interests, deep thoughts, stories, idealist Sims,

Dislikes: Handiness, gardening, cross-stitch, cottage-core and pop music, nature enthusiasts, basics and country fashion, gossip, small talk

Potential Profile

Jordyn Padgett (she/her) spent 18 long Sim years in her sleepy farming hometown of Henford-on-Bagley. As soon as she was able, she fled to the bustling city of San Myshuno, rooming with 3 other Sims in the Fashion District. One of those Sims was a woman by the name of Penelope Puri (Penny Pizzazz by default), a Simfluencer who skyrocketed to stardom through her videos reviewing celeb style fails and budding fashion trends. Penelope taught Jordyn the tricks of her trade, and now Jordyn has a following of her own--though she only makes content related to movies, TV, and the art world. Her ultimate goal is to become a world-renowned art critic, attending shows/ galleries around the world and leaving her mark on the industry. She knows she'll have to compete with the juggernaut that is Diego Lobo, but she greatly admires him and hopes they can collaborate one day.

She likes to go out and have fun, but Jordyn isn't a huge party animal. She's just as likely to prefer a night in with Netflix to a night out at a bustling bar. She's got a tight-knit group of friends with eclectic interests, and she prefers it that way. Jordyn has been on her fair share of dates with guys, but it's only recently that she realized her lack of attraction to them. Though she's not out to anyone, she's excited to explore her newfound identity as a lesbian.

Jordyn cares greatly about her health and personal style. She's seen enough denim and overalls to last her a lifetime--it's high quality clothing only from here on out. When she's not working or hanging out with her friends, you can find her shopping online, at a yoga studio, or a gym. Jordyn wishes she could eat healthier, but her notorious sweet tooth prevents her from cutting sugar out of her life altogether. She doesn't do dieting, either--she believes it can lead to unhealthy relationships with food.

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

I hope you enjoyed this off-the-cuff profile! I'm thinking of creating roommates for her. Let me know if you'd like me to post them as well!

(Note: I don't currently own the Cottage Living EP [that or Cats and Dogs, Horse Ranch, and For Rent]. I'm trying to see if I can find a coupon/cheaper way to purchase it, but if not, I'll have to wait until the next sale. I'm not paying EA 40 whole United States Dollars for just one pack lmao. So if I make Jordyn available for upload before then, just be aware that she'll be missing those official aspects of her backstory. Sorry about that!)

[skzdarlings]

08. sharing a bed series ; skz ; i.n.

masterlist.

sharing a bed series part 8/8. because it’s the cheesiest most classic trope and it’s FUN. -

pairing: yang jeongin/reader content info: sexual content. enemies2lovers(&friends2lovers?), sharing a bed trope. reader is older than him but exact age difference is not mentioned. reader was previously married and the ex-husband is described as bad to her, though there are no detailed specifications of exactly what went on. reader going thru some growth, being rude to jeongin, resolving it. the sex is playfully rough, reader mentions "mafia" style romance novels for inspo lmao but it stays pretty tame considering that.

last chapter of the series :)

-

Of course it’s raining.  On top of everything else that went wrong, of course a torrential downpour would hit your party.   

There is a large expanse of wood on the vast acreage behind your house.   To break some of the social tension, someone suggested playing hide and seek in the woods on the property.   It wasn’t part of your plan but seeing as the party’s awkward tension was your fault, you agreed that an outside game sounded like fun.  With the springtime sun beaming down on you and your friends, it seemed like a fine afternoon diversion. 

You were already deep into the woods when the storm started.  You strayed farther from the main path, confident in your familiarity with the terrain.  It did you little good when the weather took a turn.  The rain was not slow-coming but an immediate sheet slamming into the ground like blocks of solid concrete.  You could barely see in front of you and the uneven earth quickly turned to a muddy sludge.  Unsurprisingly, you slipped and twisted your ankle.

Now you are stranded, alone in the forest and far away from everyone else, shivering in the pouring rain as your wispy white dress was not designed for such fickle weather. 

You seldom let your emotions get the better of you but today you let yourself cry.  The tears come as rapidly as the rain, leaving you gasping and shuddering.  You stumble towards a tree and slouch against it, trying to take the weight off your hurt ankle.   You doubt anyone would hear you screaming over the storm and from this far away, and you don’t have a phone because this stupid dress doesn’t have pockets so you left it behind. 

You are crying against the tree when rescue comes in the form of the last person you want to see. 

You lift your head to Jeongin.  He is also drenched but the thick denim of his overalls covers most of his body and his heavy-duty sneakers are marginally better than your flats.  His glasses are streaked with raindrops and his black hair is a mop on his head.   Still, he sees through the foggy glass and the messy bangs, his expression one of surprise and concern. 

“Are you hurt?” he asks without hesitation, because of course he does.  Jeongin is a good person.   You have never met anyone as genuinely sweet as him.  The guy is all dimple, his eyes constantly scrunched up with glee, always ready with a humorous comment and a steady hand on a friend’s shoulder. 

He also has every reason in the world to hate you.  You have done everything in your power to push him away, treating him like an enemy, no doubt convincing him of it.  

He never stooped to your level.  You are older by a few good years but you have undoubtedly been the immature one.  You wouldn’t blame him for abandoning you now.    

He doesn’t do that.   He rushes toward you, leading with his hand outstretched. 

“Where does it hurt?” he asks loudly over the rain. 

The emotional parts of you are especially vulnerable right now.  When he asks that, you stupidly want to gesture to your heart.  Ridiculous and sentimental, you know, you know, but true regardless. 

You point to your ankle and he dutifully looks down.

His bangs split unevenly when his long, ringed fingers push through his hair.  He shakes his head like it will clear his vision. 

“Okay,” he says.  He opens his arms.  “Come on.”

You hesitate.  You have no reason to distrust him but he should distrust you.  He should hate you.  You want him to hate you.  You know what to do when someone hates you.  You know what to do when someone treats you badly.  You do not know what to do with Jeongin, someone so sincerely himself, sincerely kind, sincerely good.   He looks at you with nothing but concern, his arms open with a desire to help. 

You suck in another unsteady breath. 

“Come on,” he says again, a little more forcefully but not unkindly.  He seems more perplexed than angry. 

You make a slight motion towards him, still hesitant.  He accepts it as an invitation and crosses that last step to swing his arms around you.  Your hands find his shoulders as his arm slides under your legs.  He hoists you into a bridal hold, so secure that you choke on more tears. 

You want to apologize.  You want to say so many things.  You just hide your face as he carries you away from the tree.

There is a moment of shared panic when he stumbles in the mud, but he finds his footing again.   He stops for a second under some thicker foliage, looking around, out of breath. 

Your tears have subsided.  With the pain alleviated from your ankle, your senses are slowly returning to you.  You recognize where you are in the woods: far from the main path and even farther from home, but close to the old hunting lodge.  You don’t hunt but your ex-husband did.  When you took over the property after the divorce, you turned the little lodge into a cozy getaway.  You haven’t visited in a while but it will provide a roof over your head until the rain subsides.    

“Turn up past those bushes there,” you say, pointing ahead.  “We can get out of the rain until the storm passes.” 

You can’t raise your voice too loud, still blocked by residual tears, but you are close to his face.  He hears you and does as told. 

You crest a small hill and the single-room cabin comes into view.   You swear it has never looked so warm and cozy. 

He puts you on your feet once you are under the awning.  Only when you are at the door do you remember you don’t have any keys on you. 

“Fuck,” you say, welling up with exasperation.  You slouch against the doorframe.  “I don’t have the key.  What was I thinking?”

Jeongin takes off his glasses and wipes his forehead.  He blinks at the door.

“Um.”  He looks at you sheepishly, raking his fingers through his messy hair again.  “Do you mind if I—”  He gestures with his shoulder to the door.   “I don’t want to break it but you’re hurt and—”

“Yes,” you say, cutting him off and looking away.  Those dark eyes are brimming with concern and you think your guilt might overflow.  You don’t want to cry again.  You wipe your nose on the back of your arm.  “That’s fine,” you say, steady as you can.  “I can get the locks fixed after.  Just get us inside.”

He nods and folds up his glasses then awkwardly looks around.  He gives you another sheepish look before handing them to you.   You take them and hold them against your chest while hopping back on your good foot.  You get out of his way, watching him roll up his wet sleeves and mutter something encouraging to himself.  He cringes when he thumps into the door and it doesn’t give. 

Much as you want to get inside, you don’t want him to hurt himself.  After the second heavy thud, you reach out.  Before you can stop him, he determinedly throws himself against it. 

The lock finally gives.  It takes one more shove for the door to fly open.  He kicks the broken pieces of the shattered lock aside, too focussed on his task to notice how startled you are by the display.  You are still processing it when he scoops you up again.  He carries you across the threshold and kicks the door closed behind himself. 

It is blessedly dry inside the little lodge but it is also freezing cold from lack of use.  You are both soaking wet and the chill wastes no time stabbing its way to your bones. 

There is a small couch that folds out into a bed and Jeongin sits you on it.  He goes down on one knee as he gently places you down, mindful of your shivering.  You look at him, his face not far in this position.  

He ducks down, taking your hurt ankle carefully in hand.  You hiss, instinctively withdrawing, but he holds you in place. 

“How bad is it?” he asks. 

“Not too bad,” you say.  “Just sore.”

“Are you sure?”

You would say yes even if it wasn’t true.  Jeongin kneeling in front of you, holding your foot in his lap, looking so attentive and concerned – it’s all a bit much. 

You nod.  Satisfied, he moves onto the next thing and reaches past you to hit a light switch.   The room stays grey, lit only by the overcast light outside the windows. 

“Of course,” you say bitterly, groaning.  “Oh, of course the power’s out. Why wouldn’t it be?”

He snorts, his dimples deepening as he looks at you.  Your gut instinct is to recoil from the flicker of heat under your skin, to look away from his smile.   You let yourself hold his gaze a little longer than usual. 

“You’re funny,” he says with another smile.   He looks over his shoulder at the same time a shiver crawls up his spine.   He shakes his shoulders and looks back at you.  “Is that electric or will it work?” he asks, pointing over his shoulder to the unlit fireplace. 

“It will work,” you say.  You are about to explain how it works when he gets up and goes over without further preamble.  You are watching him work when you realize you still have his glasses.   “Jeongin,” you say. 

He looks back at you, those silver-ringed fingers once more raking through his hair.  His face is open as always, attentive, brows lifted.  He really is very handsome. 

“Yes?” he asks when you are quiet for too long. 

“Oh, uh, sorry,” you say and hold out his glasses.  “You probably need these.”

He smiles, his eyes crinkling up in that delighted way. 

“Thank you.  They’re just for distance,” he says.  “I can see everything in here.” 

He turns back to the fireplace and resumes his work.  It only takes another second for the flames to sparkle then roar, an orange glow flooding the room.   He smiles and claps his hands with satisfaction.

“Not bad,” he says.  He is still smiling but his eyes look glassy with faraway thought.  His breath of a laugh is not very humorous, smile softer when he says, “I’m not totally useless, I guess, right?”

You close your eyes.   You don’t want to see his face.  You don’t want to know if he feels good about throwing that at you.  You definitely don’t want to know if he feels bad for saying it, because he shouldn’t feel bad.  He did nothing wrong. 

Jeongin has been nothing but kind to you from the day you met him.   You have a mutual friend in common so at first you only saw him in other people’s company.   Then your husband hired a team to do some renovations in the kitchen and, by sheer coincidence, Jeongin was one of the crewmen.  You started seeing him a lot more often, and in your own home at that.   

He was respectful and distant, at first, as was appropriate.  Jeongin is nothing if not polite. 

Jeongin is also undoubtedly a young man with a strict internal code.  The better he knew you, the better he knew your husband.   Your husband’s moral compass skewed considerably contrary to the kind-hearted Jeongin.  You had thus far survived a bad marriage by pretending the worst of it away. Jeongin’s sudden affection and sympathy – his sudden acknowledgement of your situation being bad – was too much for you to handle. 

You reacted badly.   He only ever tried to help you but you were not good at accepting help; it meant admitting something was wrong.  Even when you finally got around that stage, you still recoiled from his kind eyes and gentle words. 

Jeongin likes you as more than a friend.  He liked you from the start, when he was puttering around the worksite and you brought him lemonades and laughed with him about nothing. 

You liked him too.  You still like him.  But Jeongin is young and sweet and hopeful and you…

You know it’s silly, but your heart feels used up.  Someone like him should be with someone younger and full of equal hope, not you with your mess and baggage and nonsense. 

You resented his kindness, his youth, his hope.  You didn’t know what to do with his love. 

You tried to convince yourself you actually hated him.  When that didn’t work, you tried to convince him and everyone else.  If you couldn’t hate him, maybe you could make him hate you.   Maybe if he hated you, you could both move on.   But Jeongin isn’t like that.  He just kept moving along, just kept smiling, just kept looking at you like he could see right through your nonsense. 

Today you went on a little tirade to your friend.  You complained about feeling obligated to invite Jeongin to your party because you shared a friend group.  You complained about Jeongin in general, describing things that weren’t true.  You claimed he was naïve and annoying and always in your face, but that for all his pestering he never actually did anything useful. 

You weren’t exactly careful about who was listening.  Apparently, most of the party overheard you. 

It was that foolish, twisted feeling: you wanted to be heard because you were bursting inside, but then you realized that was the wrong release.  It brought no satisfaction, only shame.  You embarrassed him and yourself, and for what? 

“Jeongin,” you say in a small voice, already knowing that any and all words will fall woefully short of rectifying the situation.  Still, you have to say something.  With your eyes still closed and arms still crossed, you sigh and say, “I’m so sorry.  You know you’re not— You know I didn’t—  You know I don’t—”

You open your eyes.  He is illuminated by the fire, all traces of his smile dissolved.  He shivers and it seems to pull him out of his trance.   He rubs his forehead, then he turns to you and smiles politely. 

“It’s okay,” he says with a forced smile.  “I’m sorry.  Um.  Miss.  I shouldn’t have said—” 

“Don’t apologize,” you say as firmly as you can.  “Or speak formally.  It’s fine.  Jeongin, you—  Me—  I mean—”

Your stammering is half emotion, half the cold.  His expression changes as he seems to recognize that.  You are shivering so much your teeth start to chatter.  You haven’t even dropped his glasses because it would mean uncrossing your arms. 

He gets to his feet so quickly that he almost falls, slipping in the puddle caused by his own dripping clothes. 

“D-do you have a phone?” you ask, to which he nods and retrieves it from the front pocket of his overalls.  “C-can you call or t-text one of the boys and t-tell them we’re okay?  We just need to w-wait out the st-storm.  Sometimes th-they last a while.”  You can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, your gaze on the middle of his chest, but you can see he is shivering too.  “We n-need to w-warm up so we don’t get s-sick.  There’s sh-sheets— there—can we m-make a bed—”  You nod your head vaguely in the right direction. 

You close your eyes and rock a little, trying to warm up.  It’s useless with your soaking heap of a dress clinging to every wet inch of you.  

You can hear Jeongin bustling around, doing everything you asked.  When you open your eyes, you see he has made a makeshift bed out of blankets and pillows near the fire.  

He is facing away from you.  A proper little burst of heat sparks inside you when he takes a breath and starts unclipping his overalls.  He kicks off his shoes at the same time.  You look away as he strips down his outer layers, sensibly removing his soaking wet things and laying them out by the fire.  You open your eyes at the same time he turns to look at you, his hands on the waistband of his briefs.   His ears are very red, chest and cheeks likewise dusted pink.  

You think your mutual shyness might be providing more heat than the fire.

“Sorry,” he says, grabbing a blanket and covering himself.  “It’s just—we should probably take off—”  His voice squeaks and he clears his throat. 

You find yourself smiling in spite of yourself.  You nod. 

“No, you’re right,” you say.  “S-sorry for, um, looking.” 

“That’s okay,” he says with a relieved laugh.   He smiles and says, “You can look if you want.” 

Jeongin has a remarkable ability to flicker between shyness and confidence.  The sparkle in his eyes tells you that his comment was not a thoughtless blunder.   Especially because he doesn’t wait for you to look away before tying the blanket around his hips and reaching under to shuffle out of his last article of clothing.

You look away and back again.  You suppose he works a fairly laborious job and is in good enough shape to haul you up a small hill, but still.  You find your breath stolen by his lean, subtle musculature, an effortless elegance to the long lines of his body.  

He smooths down his hair.  Your eyes are on his hands when you realize he is looking at you.  You look away quickly. 

“Haha, um, here,” Jeongin says.  He holds up a sheet in offering and turns his face away, eyes closed.  “You should change too.” 

You stand slowly, arms still crossed though you finally drop the glasses on the seat. 

“Thank you,” you say.  “For everything.”

He looks at you, probably supposing it is appropriate because you are still dressed, but your thin white dress has soaked completely through.  It is plastered to every inch of skin, the vaguest sheen of translucent white pulled over every dip and curve from your neck down. 

His gaze jumps, surprised, dark brows lifting as he looks down the whole length of you.  His mouth falls open and he looks away with the tips of his ears flaming red.  He holds up the sheet again. 

“Sorry,” he says.  “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” you say.

“No, sorry,” he says again. “I know you don’t… always like me…” 

You lower the sheet but he still doesn’t look at you.  You say his name and he replies with a hum. 

“Jeongin,” you say again, heart pounding.  “You can look too.”

He fumbles and drops the sheet.  He leaves it on the floor and looks at you with surprised eyes. 

Despite your words, he awkwardly covers his eyes when you reach for the straps of your dress.  Your laughter is breathless from the cold, but he still paints a charming sight with his red ears and hand over his eyes, contrasted to just how lovely those big hands are, to the shape of him, to the flattering shadows cast by the fire. 

You peel the dress down and let it hit the floor with a splat.  You feel better to have it gone but you are still cold.   You instinctively cross your arms again, rubbing your biceps.  

“Jeongin,” you say. 

“Hello,” he replies, eyes still covered.

“C-can you help me?” 

“Oh.” He pauses for a second.  “Help you… get undressed?” 

You really are too old to act like a little girl with a crush, but you feel that way.  You don’t remember the last time you felt like this, if you ever have.  It’s nice, a little scary.  You feel vulnerable and it has nothing to do with the amount of skin showing. 

“Yes please,” you say.  “I can’t reach behind me to unclasp my bra.” 

“Oh,” he says again.  “Oh.  Okay.” 

You turn around.  You give in to your smile, helplessly charmed by his sincerity.  Then he is touching you, his proximity radiating warmth, and the next shiver feels like the cold leaving your body all at once.  He fumbles a little with the clasp but that might be because his fingers are still stiff, but he gets it undone.  He steps back while you remove it.  When you turn around, he is already holding the sheet in offering.  He doesn’t cover his eyes though he does make a point of only looking at your face. 

“Thank you,” you say, taking the sheet.   

Despite his undoubted gentlemanly politeness, you catch him sneaking a peek before you wrap the sheet around your body.  You tuck it under your arms and tie a little knot.  Like him, you shuffle out of your underwear from under the sheet. 

He gathers your wet clothes and lays them beside the fire with his own.  With a little limp, you approach the nest of blankets and pillows, all arranged cozily on the thick, fluffy rug not far from the heat.   Even though it is obvious you will have to share the makeshift bed, you still hesitate just outside it.  Jeongin is kneeling in the centre, stretching out the clothes so they will dry faster.   He looks up when he sees you waiting. 

He holds out his hand. 

“You should rest your ankle.  And warm up,” he says.  “You’ll get sick.” 

With only a little struggle, you manage to overcome your hesitation.  You take his hand and step onto the rug. 

You swear more heat alights under his gaze than from the fire. 

He shuffles back, making room for you between him and the fire.  You would try and argue, to offer him the warmer space, but you doubt he would let you and you are still so cold.  You sit down gingerly, minding the sheet.   Your movements are mutually stilted and awkward, but then you smile at each other and relax a little.   You lay down so you are stretched in front of the fire, Jeongin sitting upright behind you.   You gaze up at him, watching him look around the room. 

“This place looks different,” he says, an understatement.  The ugly little lodge has been redone, stripped of the hunting gear and tables and replaced with a little library and reading nook.  There are plants under the window and little paintings on the mantlepiece.  It is a lot more welcoming than before. 

Perhaps it is that gentle coziness that makes you suddenly braver.  This space feels safe.  You do not hesitate in raising your hand, in stroking a few fingers softly down his arm.  His skin does not feel cold anymore so when he shivers, you don’t think it’s from a chill. 

He looks down, blinking those dark eyes at you.

“It’s still a little cold,” you say.  You already know your next words are going to be so blatant and so cheesy, so you have to bite your lip to stifle your own amusement at them.  “Maybe we should cuddle up for warmth?” 

“Oh.  Yeah.”  He smiles, dimples deep again.  “Good idea.” 

There is some embarrassed, breathless laughter as you shuffle around.  He pulls up a thicker blanket to cover you both.  Even with your explicit invitation, he is clearly still uncertain about what you want.   You show him, taking his arm and pulling it around you, laying down with your back to him, pressed close and separated only by your individual sheets.  

You look into the fire, taking a few deep breaths.  You feel him settle around you. 

“Okay?” he asks. 

“Mhm,” you say.  “Definitely.” 

“Good.  Good.”

You smile, biting your bottom lip again. 

You lay there for a while, listening to the fire crackle, letting the heat wash over you.   He doesn’t budge an inch, as if scared jostling you will disrupt the peace.  His arm is slung over your middle and you touch his hand.  You trace your fingers over a ring.  He exhales. 

“Can I ask you something?” he says, his voice low.   “It’s a little serious.” 

Your heart races as you know there are a million serious questions he could ask you, but you nod.  “Of course,” you say. 

There is a breath of a moment.  His hand turns under yours, fingertips brushing yours. 

“Why,” he says slowly, “would you ever pick that wallpaper?”  He points to the far wall.  “It’s dark in here and it’s still so ugly it’s hurting my eyes.”

You burst out laughing, caught off guard.  Your laughter makes him laugh, his hand catching yours when you lightly slap at him. 

“Jeongin,” you say with a little whine, “don’t torture me.”

“I’m not!” he says.  “It’s a serious question!”

“Ahh!”  You laugh some more, rolling onto your back and covering your face with both hands. 

He laughs, tugging at your wrist to uncover your face.  You pout at him and he just smiles back.  He lays on his side and props his head in his hand, grinning down at you.  You take his free hand and trace the shape of his ring again, looking up as his goofy expression softens. 

“You’re funny too,” you say.  “I’m sorry for being an idiot to you. I was wrong and you didn’t deserve it.” 

“You’re not an idiot,” he says softly, looking down at where you are fiddling with his ring.  “You were going through a lot.”   

“Still,” you say.  “I’m a grown woman and I’ve been acting like a child, bullying the nice boy I like because I don’t know what to do with my emotions.”    

You thought that would be hard to say out loud, but once it’s out there you feel a lightness in your chest.  You take in a deep breath. 

“That’s not being an idiot,” Jeongin says after a moment.   He curls his fingers around yours and squeezes lightly.  “Maybe just a little stupid,” he adds.  

You laugh again, rolling to face him and his silly grin. 

“I really am sorry,” you say.  “I know it’s not enough to say it, but—”

“It’s enough,” he says.  “You know, I followed you when you came this way because I wanted to tell you that.”  When you cover your face with your hand, he moves it.  “Also,” he says, “you were running too far away from everyone else.  They wouldn’t have found you if you hid so far out here, you know.” 

“That’s the point of the game,” you say.  “It’s hide and seek.”

“Yeah, but…”  His free hand finds yours again.  He looks into your eyes.  “I don’t think winning like that is actually fun?  If you’re alone, and never let anyone find you again.” 

Oh.  Of course Jeongin would ask ‘a serious question’ to spring a joke on you, then sneak the truly serious topic in a discussion of hide-and-seek. 

You drop your gaze to your joined hands. 

“I guess,” you say.  “I guess also it’s… um, well.”  You figure you might as well drop the metaphor as it isn’t fooling anyone.  “You don’t get hurt when you’re alone, Jeongin.  And the happier something makes you, the worse it feels when it hurts you.”

“I would never hurt you,” he says, completely serious.  He squeezes your hand. 

You look at him, smiling gently.  You know that promise is a big one, and nearly impossible as people can hurt each other without trying.  The declaration is innocent but also heartfelt.  You understand what he means. 

He seeks your gaze to ensure you understand him, so you look at him and nod.  You feel a bit watery again. 

“I know you would try,” you say.  “Is it stupid how that scares me even more?”

“Oh,” he says, separating his hand from yours so he can cup your face.  You think he is going to say something tender when he just smiles and nods and says, “Yeah, probably.”

You snort with laughter, grabbing his hand and moving it off your face.

“You’re terrible,” you say.

“Maybe,” he says, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.  “But… you’re the one who likes me, or so you said…” 

“I take it back,” you say, starting to roll away. 

He grabs your shoulder and pulls you back, giggling.  “You can’t take it back,” he says.  “We’re sharing a bed so… that’s the rules.”

“Oh, really.”

“Yes.  Sorry.”

You find yourself endlessly charmed by him.   His cocky smile is cute, especially because the tips of his ears are still red.  You find yourself tracing the curve of that ear, his blush darkening with your attention.  His smile turns affectionate, his eyes creased with happiness.   The unremitted pleasure draws you in and grants you access to the more confident parts of yourself.  You let your body lead you, experience fueling instinct as you guide him onto his back and lean over him.

You touch the side of his face, fingertips tracing his jaw.  His mouth opens and he blinks away his surprise.   

“What?” you say.

“Nothing.”  His smiles widens.  He raises a hand to touch the side of your face too, surprising you in turn.  “You’re pretty.”

The simplicity of the compliment makes you a little shy.  You smile, leaning into his touch. 

“You’re cute,” you say, only for his face to scrunch up with theatrical displeasure. “What?” you say, laughing.  “You are!”

“Puppies are cute,” he says dryly.  “Babies are cute.  I’m not cute.”

“You are.”  You can’t help but tease, his smile encouraging you.  You poke his dimple.  “Soooo cute.  The cutest.”

You laugh until he slides one hand around the back of your neck.  With his hand protectively cradling the back of your head, he flips you over so it’s you laying under him.   You find yourself looking down the length of him, his chest and abdomen, the place the blanket parts.  You look up when his nose nudges your chin, tilting your head back.   You realize you were holding a breath and swallow one down, shaky. 

He laughs but gently. 

“You’re cute,” he says, voice barely louder than the crackling fire.

“I’m not cute,” you say, tipping your chin up.  “I’m older than you.”

“Sooo cute,” he copies you.  “The cutest.” 

You realize this game of one-upping each other could quickly turn into a torturous teasing session – each of you just looking, daring, goading the other into more without fully surrendering. 

You smile and tip your head, sighing in a feathery-soft voice and wetting your lips. 

“Am I?” you ask, lifting a leg so it separates your sheet.  You can see his breath catch. 

You have butterflies inside you, fluttering away like never before. 

You undo the knot of the sheet.  You watch his eyes lower as you slowly peel the whole sheet open.  All the playfulness leaves his face, his jaw gone slack, surprise once again taking over as he stares. 

“Wow,” he finally says.  “Wow.  You’re— wow.” His expression shows he means it. 

“You’re exaggerating.”  You turn your face aside. 

“I’m not,” he says.  His hands move to either side of your head as he holds himself over you.  It draws your gaze back to him.  “Stop hiding, okay?” he says softly. 

“I think I’m doing the opposite of hiding right now,” you say, a gentle joke that he answers with utmost seriousness: swooping down and kissing you. 

It is not a soft kiss, burning and wanting, his mouth a hungry thing against your own.  It feels like a kiss he has thought about, a kiss he can’t help but hurry towards. 

Just as desirous, you fall too, the kiss so hard that you find it hard to slow down.  He eventually guides you to a gentler press, closing his lips against yours, letting them linger. 

A breath passes between you.

“Remember when you hated me,” he says, smiling, “and you tried to convince me we were incompatible?”  He kisses you softly.  “I think you were wrong.”   

He doesn’t leave room for a reply.  He kisses you again, just as hotly as before.  This time he rests more of his body against yours and you can feel where he is already hard beneath the blanket.  You can also feel it is more than substantial, drawing a gasp from your lips as he presses against you. 

“Jeongin,” your voice comes out breathless.  It is still more coherent than his reply, which is just a grunt as he starts kissing down your throat. 

It is dizzyingly hot.  You have to close your eyes to stay grounded, arching against him, running your fingers through his already messy hair. 

You are still able to giggle when he struggles to remove the blanket.  He laughs back.  You can’t remember the last time you laughed during sex.  It makes you feel like you are floating, light and carefree, driven by pleasure and nothing else. 

He gets the blanket off but before you can look down, he is sliding his hand between your bodies.  Your eyes close again, head falling back as his fingers stroke your inner thigh.  He teases there for a long time, making you strain and buck and chase his fingers.  Finally you whimper and grab some of his hair, pulling his face close to yours.

“Are you trying to make me hate you again?” you tease.

He smiles against your lips, his fingers just barely brushing between your legs.  Your thighs part, making room, but he waits. 

“You never hated me,” he says. 

Your reply gets caught in your throat when he finally slides one finger against you.  It is torturously not enough. 

“Jeongin,” you say again, running your fingers to the back of his neck.  “Please.”

“Tell me you hated me,” he says, even while proving you very much do not hate him: gathering so much wetness on his fingertips, lightly circling them up and over the most sensitive part of you.  “Can’t you?” he asks.  “Let me hear you say it.” 

“I—I—”

“Hate me?”

You shake your head, opening your eyes to look at him imploringly.  You gasp against his lips when he slides that finger inside you.  There is a ring on the one beside it, the smooth ridge gliding against you.   You cant your hips up, wanting more while he teases you. 

“You don’t hate me,” he says, to which you shake your head again.  He kisses you, licking into your mouth at the same time his fingers sink deep inside you.   He is good with his hand, his fingers long and steady, working you up until you are soaking him and clawing at his shoulder. 

“Please,” you say, dizzy from the stars bursting in every place his fingers reach.  They curl inside you as if telling you to come.  Your head falls back and his lips go down your throat as he brings you over the edge with his touch.  

He doesn’t stop when you come, drawing the whole thing out so the peak seems to last minutes.  Tears of pleasure spring to your eyes.  Only when you are gasping does he carefully withdraw his hand.  

He looks at you with a smile then kisses your cheek.  With a smile, you lean in to kiss him, then he suddenly ducks.  His hands dive under your thighs and then his face is right there, tongue taking a swipe at your still distended clit, making your whole body shudder.  You dig your fingers into his hair, holding on and closing your eyes.  It feels so good but you are still sensitive and not good at coming multiple times in a row, so after enjoying his very adept movements, you tug on his hair to lead him back up your body. 

You grab his face and kiss him hard, tasting yourself all over his wet mouth.  He moans into your mouth and presses hard against you.  His hands cradle your hips.  You spread your legs around him. 

You feel lighter after coming.  Relaxed, not just physically.  Suddenly words are easier too, spoken thoughtlessly in such close proximity to his lips. 

“I wanted you so much,” you admit.  “For so long.  Even when I was pretending to hate you.” 

“I was here,” he says, kissing along your jaw.  “I’m still here.” 

“I know.” You tug on his hair, tipping his head back so you can kiss his face too.  You nip under his jaw, his neck, luxuriating in the sound he makes.  “This is going to sound silly, but I used to fantasize—no, never mind.” 

“Wha—”

You roll him over before he can ask, taking a turn to work your mouth down his body now too.  It sufficiently distracts him as your mouth dives down, down, down.  You pause for a moment just to look at him, your gaze one of admiration and maybe slight intimidation.  You haven’t slept with anyone since before the divorce and that was a while ago.  Jeongin is bigger than most of your toys.   When you put your mouth on him, you barely get past the head before you have to use your hand for the rest of him.  You try to take a little more but you are very out of practice, choking a little and drooling all over him. 

It used to confuse you: the idea anyone would enjoying giving pleasure this way.  For the recipient, it made enough sense, but not as the giver.  You realize now that difference in desire was partner.  When Jeongin moans and curls his fingers into the rug, thighs parting to make room for you to comfortably sit there, you understand.   Messy as it is, you eagerly dive back down, wetting him with your mouth and working him in your hand. 

When he closes his eyes and drops his head back, he misses the pillow.  The rug is plush and softens his landing, but you still hear a very heavy thump when his head hits the ground.  He hisses, his face scrunching up in pain as he reaches to cup the back of his head. 

“Oh my god,” you say, sitting up and wiping your mouth.  You try not to laugh.  “Jeongin, are you okay?” 

He gives you a thumbs up with his free hand.  Then he curses and sighs in exasperation. 

“My hand is stuck,” he says, jerking the arm that is folded under his head.  “My ring—is in my hair—”

“Oh nooo…”  You are laughing properly now, in a fit of giggles as you climb up beside him to look behind his head.  You help untangle the hair from the ring, though a few strands still get yanked out of his head.   The sudden swing makes his head bounce, thunking into yours.  You both groan in pain.  You grasp your forehead and sit back on your heels. 

“This is not how I pictured this going,” he mumbles. 

“Which part? The storm, the threat of hypothermia, or the multiple injuries?” you ask. 

He grins at you, then moves to kneel in front of you.  He kneels upright while you are sitting back, putting you close to eye level with your previous task.  You look there, reaching, but he takes your hands in his and holds them. 

“Actually,” he says, “the part that surprised me most was you saying you thought about us,” he smiles here, “and it was so bad you couldn’t even admit it.”

You try to cover your face but he holds your hands, still grinning.  You throw back your head and groan. 

“It’s not bad,” you say.

His hand runs up your arm to your neck, thumb stroking your chin as he gently pulls you forward.  You go up on your knees too, following his angle for a kiss.  He leans close but doesn’t seal it, saying, “You know if you don’t tell me, I’m going to imagine the worst.”

“It’s nothing,” you say, hiding your face in the crook of his shoulder.  He pats the back of your head, still giggling to himself.  You lean back to look at him again, pouting just a bit, then reaching between your bodies to take him in hand.  You smile sweetly at him.  “Can we fuck?” you ask, watching the flicker of surprise and desire cross his face.  “Birth control, so I’m good if you’re good.  Come on.” 

You go to lay down but he catches the back of your neck, pulling you back to him.  He lifts one eyebrow. 

“You’re not gonna let this go,” you say dryly. 

“I would never force it out of you,” he says, “but the curiosity is killing me.” 

“Well,” you say, tingling under the attention of his intense gaze, of his hand so strongly holding your neck, of his nonchalance.  He isn’t even trying.  You take a deep breath.  “It’s sort of what you just said.”

“What… killing me?  You wanted to kill me?” 

“No!”  You smack his chest.  “I hate you again.  No.   I just…  Not that I wanted to the truth forced out of me but…”  You look at his face, his expression curious but not judgemental yet.  “You know all those cheesy romance novels?  Like… mafia leader stuff?  That.”

“You wanted me to be Italian?”

“Genuinely gonna kill you.”

“I’m kidding, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, continue.”

“You know what I mean!  The button popping and bodice ripping stuff.”  You mime tearing his nonexistent shirt open.  “I liked you and I wanted to do something about it, but I also didn’t want to do something about it.  So I wanted you to do something about it.  No one needs to tell me what it’s like for a shitty guy to take advantage of you, so that’s not what it was—  I just—”  You sigh.  “I wanted it to be easy.  I wanted it to be you.  Because you aren’t a shitty guy.  You’re the best guy I know.  So I would’ve let you have anything, because you would be taking what I wanted to give.  And there would be no need to talk about it or work it out.  It would just be… easy.”

“I like talking,” he says, tipping his head as if studying you.  “But I think I get it.”

“Mhm?” you ask, a little dryly.  You quirk an eyebrow at his cheesy, dimpled grin.  “Sure about that?” 

“Yes,” he says, smiling so bright it goes right up to his eyes.  “I’m sure.” 

His grip tightens on the back of your neck, pulling you right up against him.  Your chests press together and you gasp, shivering when his lips graze your ear. 

“Like this, right?” he speaks lowly.  He threads his fingers into your hair, close to your scalp so there is a controlled, gentle burn when he tugs.  “Just take.” 

“Yes,” you say, rasping.  “It’s already yours.” 

“You’re mine?” he asks. His other hand is suddenly between your legs and this time he doesn’t tease, his knuckle parting your wet folds.  Two fingers curl inside you.  “Or this is mine?”  

He tugs your head back, looking in your eye as he finger-fucks you, all the playfulness gone from his expression.  His sharp features look suddenly more severe: the cut of his jaw, his cheekbones, his brow.   You swallow hard. 

“I can’t say,” you speak in a husky voice.  “My husband would be angry.  You should go before he finds you.”

His fingers move out of you, your thighs shaking in their withdrawal.  The hand in your hair stays steady.  Then he squints, looking almost cartoonishly fierce when he says, “I’m in the… mafia.  I killed your husband?”

“Oh.”  You bite back a laugh.  “You don’t literally need to be in the mafia.”

“You did say—”

“That was just, like, a genre example—”

“Oh, okay, I get it now.”  He nods his head.  “I’ll stop if you say stop.”  He clears his throat.   “You don’t want a guy like that.  And you don’t want your husband.”  He puts a hand on your lower back and tugs, sweeping you over.  His arms hold you safe as he spills you onto your back.  One hand skims your body, hooking under your knee to bring it up around his hips.  “You want me,” he says.  

The gleam in his eye seems very genuine. 

“That would be inappropriate,” you say, not needing to fake your breathy voice when he moves against you, the length of him hot and hard and close to where you want him.   You clench around nothing, your heart picking up in speed with anticipation. 

He smiles, not quite his usual smile. 

“It would be very inappropriate,” he says. 

Then his hands are on your hips and he is turning you onto your front.  You sprawl with some genuine surprise, getting your arms under you only seconds before his hand is back in your hair.  You lift when he pulls, his grip careful but strong.  He holds you there, up on your hands and knees.  He goes up on one knee behind you, careful when pushing inside you, then sliding in all the way and staying there. 

Oh, you feel him.  Not just because it’s been a while.  You let yourself enjoy it, happily sinking into pleasure with the secure knowledge he will listen if you ask to stop, that his pleasure is tied to yours.  So you let your mouth fall open and eyes close, let the heat of the flames brush over you, let him hold you how he wants.  You take as much as he does, soaking in all that sensation.  He fills you up and fucks you deep – fast then faster.   You squeeze around him, practically singing with how you moan and sigh. 

“Yes,” he says, pulling you back into his arms as he moves to lay on his side.  He stays inside you, drawing your leg up and fucking you like that. 

You look back at him and don’t mind at all when he breaks character, yet again, this time to kiss you sweetly. 

“It doesn’t hurt?” he asks in a whisper, slowing down.  “You’re so… small.”   

“I’m not,” you say with a little laugh.  “You’re just big, baby.” 

“Baby—okay.  That’s good.  I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“I know, Jeongin,” you say, hiccupping a little because he is still fucking you hard despite his gentle words.  It makes you feel a little insane in a good way, him so very nonplussed as he screws your brain out.   “Thank you,” you say. 

“For what?” he asks. 

“I don’t knooow,” you say, reaching behind you to hold onto him.  “Just thaaank you, auugh, it’s good.”

“Oh, I get it,” he says.  “For this. Okay.” 

How he’s simultaneously cute and insanely sexy, your brain will just never compute.  But he wraps an arm around you and puts his hips to use, fucking you until you can feel an orgasm building without even rubbing your clit.  You think to try but all you can do is cling to him, letting your worries fly away as he pants and groans and holds you steady in his arms. 

“Like that, like that,” you say, your last coherent sentence until you fall apart, repeating his name as he follows you over the edge. 

He holds you tight, kissing whatever he finds first.  He rocks you through the end of it, easing you into rest.  When he pulls out, you shiver, and it has nothing to do with the cold. 

You roll over in his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck.  He kisses your cheek and temple, then rests his forehead against yours. 

“I’m not cold anymore,” you say, making him laugh lightly. 

“Me too,” he says. 

“Thank you,” you say, leaning back to look at him.  “For everything.” 

He smiles that smile you love, cupping your face. 

“Thank you,” he says, “for showing me your hiding place.  Can I come here again with you?” 

Joking right after sex was never a habit before, but you find yourself bursting into a silly grin and saying, “Baby, you already know you can come wherever you want—” 

It makes him laugh too, the unexpectedness sending him over.  You laugh at him laughing so much, curling up close to him with the heat of the fire at your back. 

The cabin is warm.  Your clothes are probably long since dry.  The storm stopped a while ago and you only notice now. 

[lee-sanghyeok]

Anon, you asked for a discussion and ranking of the Buzzfeed x BOYNEXTDOOR video, so here it is!

First of all, I really enjoyed the video! They seemed comfortable and had fun with it while still respecting the format. Especially Jaehyun seemed keen on interacting with Lindsay, which was super cute to see!

A thing I was surprised by were their fashion icons. Tyler The Creator made sense, but I was very surprised to hear Pharrell Williams was a style inspo for Riwoo and Taesan. I don't see that in their looks at all. It's also evident in a later question that Woonhak's style inspo are literally his brothers. He wears Riwoo, Jaehyun and Leehan's clothes, which I knew from just seeing their pictures, but it was nice to have it be confirmed.

Regarding the looks, I knew beforehand Riwoo and Taesan would kill it, given that they care a lot about fashion, but Jaehyun and Woonhak pleasantly surprised me with their looks as well!

Here's the ranking:

1) Jaehyun's Monday Stroll Outfit

As he said himself, Lindsay has great proportions and he really picked the right garments to highlight that. It's simple but effective and the pop of red is very on trend. The denim trousers with the black bows is a cool textural element without being in your face. It's just a really cool look.

2) Riwoo's Airport Outfit

My boyfriend was in his element and I sort of freaked out, so obviously I'm a bit biased. But! As the members said, it's an outfit he'd pick for himself and you can really tell. He often wears outfits similar to this. The proportions are a bit awkward but the silhouette of the fit is just right. Leather and denim are classic combinations and the light blue really suits her blonde hair and pale skin.

3) Woonhak's Party Outfit & Taesan's Coffee Outfit

Tied in third place are Taesan and Woonhak's outfit. They're both third because I feel like they have the same issues. Taesan's look lacks accessories and detail, whereas Woonhak's outfit has too many elements going on (such as the three handbags lmao). I don't feel like the shoes quite worked with Taesan's look and Woonhak's look chopped up the presenter's body in many parts. Neither are bad, but they aren't great either.

4) Sungho's "Gossip Girl" Outfit

Sungho's outfit is cute, but very very simple. It's not really styled and he uses the basic sandwich technique of dark-light-dark. It's definitely wearable and effortless, but it's unmemorable. He tried to make a "Gossip Girl" type of outfit, but that didn't really hit the mark either. However, the outfits reflects Sungho's personal style, which is very chic and classic. I could see a lot people wearing this.

5) Leehan's Free Day Outfit

To quote Jaehyun: "Leehan is Leehan-ing." That's it.

Overall, I really liked what they did and it was great getting a little insight in how their view fashion.

[drifthail]

a basic breakdown of emo, punk, and goth— a character resource for writers and artists by someone who is emo :] (under the cut!!)

the most important thing: emo, punk, and goth are all music-based subcultures. you cannot be a part of the subculture without listening to the music.

this is a basic guide and won't be going into subgenres (like screamo, hardcore, etc etc). this is what this guide covers:

the five waves of emo (with a focus on midwestern emo and 2000s emo) and emo fashion

punk rock and punk fashion

gothic rock and traditional goth fashion

i've listened to the majority of bands and songs i mention here!

i'm going based off what i know, so if any info is incorrect, please lmk!! :]

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emo

emotional hardcore (emocore or just emo) formed in the mid 1980s from post-hardcore and hardcore punk

there are five waves of emo music (w/ bands):

1st wave (1980s) - rites of spring 2nd wave (1990s) - the get up kids, cap’n jazz, american football 3rd wave (2000s) - my chemical romance, paramore, fall out boy 4th wave (2010s) - the world is a beautiful place & i am no longer afraid to die, the front bottoms, you blew it! 5th wave (2020s) - home is where

specific songs to listen to:

1st wave: for want of by rites of spring

2nd wave: oh messy life by cap'n jazz

3rd wave: thank you for the venom by my chemical romance

4th wave: match & tinder by you blew it!

5th wave: yes! yes! a thousand times yes! by home is where

midwestern emo fashion vs. 2000s emo fashion

midwestern emo: its hard to find any pictures, so i’m going based off of pictures i was able to find, as well as an explanation by madeline pendleton (an alternative content creator who was a part of the subculture during the 90s).

looking at pictures, denim jeans, striped sweaters, and plaid jackets were popular. very classic loser/nerd vibe.

according to madeline pendleton: black dyed spock rock cuts or karen cuts were popular. clothes: low rise flare jeans, small banti shirts, plaid cowboy snap ups, track jackets, and white collared shirts with ties. accessories and shoes: flower clips, white belts buckled to the side, cowboy hats, low top converse, and saucony jazzes. eyeliner was also common. her video with pictures!

2000s emo: 2000s emo often features choppy, jet black or colourful dyed hair, band tees, studded belts, stripes (especially black and white stripes on arm warmers), spikes, checkers, kandi bracelets, black jeans, and shoes like converse, vans, and doc martens. the fashion is similar to scene. however, scene and 2000s emo aren't the same thing, because scene has different music (and emo has a darker aesthetic overall).

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punk

punk rock (or just punk) formed in the mid 1970s from garage rock

a counterculture; rebels against the mainstream. punks are non-conformists

very politically-driven subculture— generally left leaning, acab, anti-establishment, anti-capitalism, and value individual freedom

punk has a diy ethic (a lot of punk fashion is made of readily available materials that the wearer customizes with things like patches, studs, spikes, paint, etc etc)

several subgenres (anarcho-punk, horror punk, hardcore punk, queercore, riot grrrl, etc etc)

punk bands: sex pistols, dead kennedys, the clash, the misfits, x-ray spex, green day

specific songs to listen to:

god save the queen by the sex pistols

london calling by the clash

art-i-ficial by x-ray spex

punk fashion

punk fashion often features safety pins, patches, spikes, studs, and chains as accessories. leather and denim are common materials for jackets. common hairstyles include mohawks and liberty spikes. many punk outfits are made out of readily available clothes that are accessorized or altered by the wearer. (hence punk's diy ethic)

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goth

gothic rock (or just goth) formed in the late 1970s from post-punk

several fashion types (trad goth, victorian goth, mall goth, cyber goth, etc etc)

goth bands: the cure, sisters of mercy, switchblade symphony, bauhaus, depeche mode, skeletal family

specific songs to listen to:

clown by switchblade symphony

disintegration by the cure

dominion by sisters of mercy

traditional goth fashion

traditional goth fashion mostly uses black and white in its look. the makeup generally consists of white foundation with thin eyebrows, black lipstick, and heavy black eyeliner. hair is teased and worn up. fishnets, lace, flowy dresses, leather jackets, chains, spikes, studs, crosses, and corsets are common clothing and accessories.