#I’m not sure I’m comfortable watching a show that cares so little for my identity | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heymeowmao · 6 months ago

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2024.06.28 - https://weibo.com/l/wblive/p/show/1022:2321325050344135590145

bgm: 唯一的回答 (No Matter), Men in Love OST

LYN: It’s lagging? If it’s lagging, close the window then come back in. It’ll probably be fixed, then. LYN: Hallo everybody, good evening. I am Modern Brothers Liu Yuning. Welcome! LYN: Long time no see. I haven’t streamed for a long time, right? Actually I am a little tired today, but I still wanted to come stream, more or less, and to give you some comfort.

C: Have you recovered from your cold yet? LYN: I was over it a long time ago! I was sick a while ago, but I’m fine now. Is the nasal tone too heavy? I’m just a little tired, but it’s okay. I’ve come to play. LYN: I need to keep up my KPI, otherwise I won’t have streamed all month. That’s a little inexcusable. I still have to stream. Just because I’m an actor and singer now, doesn’t mean that I can give up on streaming. I should at least keep my quota. LYN: I’m afraid that when the time comes Weibo won’t give me my Livestream King title. I’ll ask them, “Why was I passed up for the title of Livestream King this year?” and they will tell me, “You didn’t stream for the month of June.” There’d be nothing I could say to contest. So, since this title is mine, no one else should think of taking it away from me. ~There will come a day when I take back what’s mine. That’s right- the 2024 Weibo Livestream King (award)!”

bgm: 我只愿朝着光 (I Only Wish to Face the Light), BYOL OST

C: Is it raining daily in Hengdian? LYN: Not every day, but it’s the season for it so it starts to pour every so often. Lately I’ve been filming when it’s pouring rain, though. It comes and goes and comes and goes. It’s quite humid. C: Is it hot? LYN: Of course it is. Shooting a guzhuang drama in the summer is asking for punishment. Hot is one thing, but it’s also stuffy and humid. If you’re standing outside in those clothes, I guarantee that not even a minute later you’ll have sweated through the under layers. It’s that hot.

C: Lao-da, I’m still watching KSTLB. LYN: Ok. I took some time while I was eating to take a look, because I always watch the variety shows that I’ve taken part in. LYN: Friends- don’t spoil it! I’m sure there are quite a few who are watching my stream that still haven’t watched the 9th episode yet. You can’t expose my identity! Wouldn’t that negatively influence everyone’s viewing experience? If they haven’t finished watching or haven’t started yet, but already know the result, that will influence their enjoyment. It won’t be “fresh”. If you aren’t watching (or reading the spoiler comments) it’s okay.

C: I’m listening to YOLO. LYN: Very nice. Listen to what you want to listen to.

C: Pick up another variety show for later. LYN: It should be a music variety. I have a music variety for later, so I will still have a show. It’s about time for me to pick up a music variety, so.. Let’s just wait. LYN: I feel like I don’t have enough experience anymore. When I first debuted I was young(er) and full of energy. I didn’t care about a lot of things. But now I feel like my body can’t keep up. I can’t keep up, mentally. My brain is working much slower than it used to. I keep wondering- did I get dumber after having contracted Covid? I keep trying to find excuses for myself. After I got Covid, I became stupider and it feels like I can never get enough sleep. It’s been a long time since I recovered from it, but I still feel slow. C: You’re getting older. LYN: Did you think that could hurt me? Let me tell you- I am hurt. /laughs/ No, I’m sure it has something to do with my age. Your Ning-ge- /coughs, old man mode activated/- Your Ning-ge is getting old. I’m not the young boy I used to be. I’m not the young man who debuted in 2018, full of youthful energy anymore.

- /singing along to his OST, but coughs from the effort/ LYN: I was originally planning to come here and sing some songs, but I’ve found that my voice is not in the best condition for it.

C: Lao-da, make a heart if you see me. LYN: I can’t stand the people that come into my stream and try to exchange signals. My stream is for the general public, not for you alone. If you want to imagine that my stream is a one-on-one service, that’s okay, but don’t make me send you any signals.

C: Ning-ge, will your drama air in the second half of the year? LYN: I don’t know. When it all comes down, I’m just an actor. The broadcast schedule of a drama is not something I can determine, and it’s not something I am worthy of knowing. It sounds a bit cruel, but it’s the truth. Often times the actors don’t even know if or when their drama will air. We might only be notified a few days in advance, and told to record some promo video to post. We don’t normally get much advance notice. So.. wait. LYN: There’s that methodology isn’t there: “Your only job is to keep working hard, and the rest is up to Heaven’s will.” Was that cheesy? But the logic is that you just keep on shooting dramas, and people are bound to like one of them.

C: I’ve been in the midst of “archeology.” (looking up LYN’s past history) LYN: Ok. You can… but the workload is a lot. Jiayou. You work hard.

C: Ning-ge, I’ll see my test results the day after tomorrow. Can you wish me well? LYN: Of course, I hope that you will get a good score. I hope that your scores are high. Jiayou. I hope you can go to the school of your choice and that you can achieve everything you wanted. Jiayou. (x2)

C: Can you say something in English? LYN: OK. How is it? Didn’t that sound perfect? O-K. LYN: Very good. You are so beautiful. Very good.

C: What does that mutual stabbing in SJYM mean? LYN: What does it mean? It means that- what’s it to you? You can watch it when the drama airs. Are you expecting me to give you drama spoilers?? Ask, ask, ask. Do you think that’s something you should be asking?? You think I look forward to seeing a headline that reads, “LYN reveals the whole SYJM script online”?? How could I do that?! C: You’re so mean. LYN: Sorry. When people are tired and have low blood sugar they might tend to be more explosive. Excuse me. Allow me to reply to that question again. Someone asked, “What’s up with the three of you stabbing each other? Can you tell us about it?” My reply was perhaps a little abrasive, when I said, “What’s it to you?”. Let me reply properly, now… - /prepares/ LYN: What business is it of yours? :) LYN: Look, I’m asking with a smile. How gentle. LYN: What business is it of yours? If it doesn’t concern you, please don’t ask. C: Isn’t it the same??

C: Release more pictures. LYN: I rarely take selfies anymore, so there’s nothing in the storage to post. Let’s revisit this when I have an opportunity to save up some more photos.

C: Ning-ge, you were touched at the airport? LYN: Last time I went to Changsha to shoot for a show, and a fan at the airport touched me, a little. It’s okay. I’m a grown man, a small touch would not lose me a piece of meat. But my “it’s okay” does not mean “it’s okay to touch me”. That is, try your best not to make contact. No, not ��try your best not to” but “don’t attempt it at all.” What I meant by “it’s okay” was that the incident has passed, so I’ll let bygones be bygones. I don’t need to find out who that person is, in order to attack them. LYN: I was thinking about it on the way home and I came to a conclusion. I really don’t like people touching me; I don’t think it’s very resepctful. But I was thinking that maybe when I walked in front of her something else floated by. My hand”some”ness. So this person smelled (?) my handsomeness and couldn’t help themselves. That’s what I was thinking when I was home and lying in bed. That’s what I was thinking, so I have forgiven that friend. Because it’s because of me, that they could not control themselves. So I’ll let it go, but give a strict reminder when I’m streaming. LYN: I’m joking, joking. But I hope that the next time we see each other, we can communicate with manners. Okay? Don’t touch me. If you touch me next time, I’ll report you.

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C: Wish me a Happy Birthday! LYN: Many of you are celebrating your birthday today, yeah? Ok, then Happy- Let me record a voice message for you. Let me close the captions. You can turn on your screen capturing program now and record this video message. You can save it to your phone so that when you’re celebrating a birthday you can just play it. Today, for all of you in the stream, I will record my well wishes. I’ve already turned off the on-screen captions. Let me fix my hair- oh, it’s even uglier. /fixes it again/ Okay. Let’s go. LYN: Hello, everyone. I am Liu Yuning. I’d like to wish the friend in front of me a Happy Birthday, and I hope you can be happy every day and that all goes smoothly. LYN: Was that okay, friends? C: No, it wasn’t personal enough. LYN: Is that so? Then, I’ll record all the other versions too. “Hello, I am LYN. I’d like to wish-” /moving his mouth/ I’ll make the shapes with my mouth and then you can go and dub it yourself. “- a Happy Birthday!” Okay? 3, 2, 1. Start! - /Birthday Wish Video Message V2 (fill in the name ver.)/ C: It was too fast! LYN: What do you mean “it was too fast”! Is your name four to five characters long? My mouth moved four times, that should be about enough! C: It went too fast, I could’t record it in time. LYN: There’s the playback. When we’re done you can go back to find it. - LYN: Friends, let me also record a wedding one for you to use when you get married, because many of you aren’t yet. Okay, ready? 3, 2, 1. Record. LYN: Hello everyone, I am Liu Yuning. I’d like to congratulate ZZZ and YYY on their wedding. I hope you are blessed with children soon and may you live a long and happy life together. LYN: Perfect. - LYN: Look at that. Usually when you want a video like this from an artist, you have to rely on your connections to get you a chance but here I just give it to you directly. When you get married, you can play this clip from me and tell people, “This is my friend.”

C: Ning-ge, can you record one for my successful grand opening (of a business)? LYN: Friends, it’s like this. Many people will ask me for such video messages, but most of the time I don’t record one. Especially for businesses, I pretty much never agree to record one, because I don’t think that these messages should be used for marketing. A message for your grand opening would turn this into business. In that case, we’d need to discuss collaboration and a contract. LYN: We don’t do business messages here. But if it’s for something between friends like a birthday or wedding, that’s okay. If it’s for business then at the very least you should be transferring me 200rmb before I’ll record one for you.

C: Record a wake-up call. LYN: … I think I have, before? I think I went on some show and they asked me to record a wake-up call for my fans. I’ve done this before.

C: Then just record another one! I don’t want the old one, nor do I want to try to find it. LYN: How lazy you are! You just want everything handed to you. You want too many things.

C: Are we making video messages today? LYN: No, someone earlier is celebrating their birthday. I won’t joke anymore. LYN: I wish everyone present in my stream- if you’re celebrating a birthday today- that you can be happy every day. Also, you’re one year older now, so… learn something. LYN: I meant that in a good way!

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bgm: 陽光總在風雨�� (Sunshine After the Rain) > 热辣滚烫 (YOLO), YOLO Movie OST

C: Have you decided on your next drama? LYN: Why did you have to bring up such a sensitive topic? Well, it’s not that sensitive, because I have been seeing what people are posting so I did want to talk about this the next time I streamed. But then I couldn’t figure out how to say what I wanted to say. Sometimes when I need to say something relatively stricter, I always think about how I should say it. I want to make sure I’ve thought it through first. Usually when I touch upon a topic, I’ve already thought of about 70% of what I want to say. LYN: Sometimes people take my content out of context. Maybe if you spend ten minutes listening to me talk about the same topic, you wouldn’t misinterpret what I’m trying to say. But just one wrong word can trigger something which makes the whole thing sensitive. Do you get what I’m saying? You only focus on the few seconds, but don’t get the concept of what I’ve spent ten minutes to explain. It creates ambiguity. So that’s why… when I haven’t thought something through all the way I don’t particularly want to talk about it.

LYN: But since we’re on the topic, let me share my thoughts. What I’m saying now has nothing to do with other artists, and it is especially not directed anyone else’s fans. Right now, I am speaking to my own fans. In reference to what dramas I will pick up: I won’t say, “I’ll pick up what I want to, you don’t have to worry about it.” That’s not what I mean. But I do want to say that I am a 30+ year old grown adult- approaching 40. Every decision I make in my life in regards to my work has undergone careful thought or there are reasons behind my choices that you are unaware of and I cannot tell you. It might not be the ideal choice you want me to make, but they are choices that I’ve made after careful deliberation and reflection. Also, I’m sure that I would understand better than about 90% of you watching- how to be an artist. You have to admit that, right? I used to just be a street busker, who somehow went viral, established himself as a singer, and is now an actor. Right? I’m sure that I know better than 90% of you what things I should be doing and what dramas I should be accepting. Before, too, many of you wouldn’t acknowledge the decisions I made. When you look back you should realize that there must have been a reason I had made my decision. LYN: You need to trust me. Of course, there were times that my choices were a mistake- that’s a given. Rather than a “mistake”, they were the best choice I could make at the time. Looking back on those decisions now might leave you with regrets, but they were the best choice could have made at the time. They were choices I made after consideration of my position at the time. You just need to trust me. No one can tell what the results will be, but I have my reasons for making the decisions I do. That’s what I wanted to share with you.

LYN: Also, I won’t… how do I say this… I won’t just numbly do something without considering it first. I’m getting older, so there’s no way I would blindly do something. Every variety show I participate in, every song I release, my concert, and the dramas I accept- all decisions are made after making careful considerations. I won’t accept something just because it pays me more. Honestly, a few years ago when I was marketing, I made a lot more than I do now. But I don’t do that anymore. If there’s one thing you can trust me for, it’s that I will never make my decisions based on profit.

C: Got it, Ning-ge. I understand. Ning-ge is someone who “considers money as trash”! LYN: Are you trying to kill me? That’s anti-fan talk, right there. What artist in this world would dare to say that “money is no object to me.” Who dares?? Stop putting labels on me. LYN: I’ve said before, that I don’t think of money as money. I think of it as my life. If it’s supposed to be mine, then it’s mine. If it’s not mine to make, then so be it.

C: Ning-ge, you’re right. Looking back, 90% of your choices were the right one. LYN: They’re… not necessarily “right.” I just feel like… when I am looking at projects… I’ll filter it through a bunch of miscellaneous thoughts before I make my decision. When I receive a project, of course I am honored to have received notice of it in the first place. Secondly, I will look at it from different angles: 1. The Script, 2. The Production Company, 3. The Platform, 4. [???] - there’s no ranking to this!- 5. Director, 6. Actors. I will consider all these factors to look at the project comprehensively before making a decision. I don’t only look a the script, think it’s good, and make my decision. Or think, “Wow, this actor is a big name. I should collaborate with them.” or “This Director is amazing, I should accept.” I don’t only look at one factor, but look at the project collectively.

C: You’re really talking in depth about it. LYN: I won’t anymore. It’s just something that I wanted to share. My decisions aren’t made in jest. There’s a reason behind the choice I make for the work I choose to do. I choose it for a reason. I hope that you can… respect- no, trust me. I don’t think I can ask for your respect, but at least trust me. Trust in my choices and we’ll be ok. LYN: Additionally, don’t tear down anyone I work with. This is something I keep repeating. Don’t fight about anyone I’ve worked or collaborated with. At this point I have a clear understanding of the tricks of “how to be an artist”, but I don’t want to use them and I don’t advise any of my fans to implement them either. I hope you can do that for me. Let’s just play among ourselves. C: What if other people come to start fights with us? LYN: Just… don’t fight back. This is the nature of fighting. You can… How do I say this? When you fight back, that’s when we start hurting each other. Do you get it? At first it’s a favorable condition, but once you start fighting back then you’re just mutually hurting one another. It’s that simple. LYN: I don’t know. Let’s not talk about such a sensitive topic anymore. LYN: Just block them. Pretend you didn’t see anything and block them. If you see something you don’t like, just mark the post as “not of interest” and leave it at that.

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LYN: Also, I see that a lot of you care a lot about me- a bit like my mother. 1. Like my mother, and 2. Like my manager. You’ll say, “Your wig, Ning-ge! The wig is too low! What’s wrong with your drama crew? Can’t they see that they’ve put your bangs too low?? If you keep on like this, it won’t do at all.” “You don’t respect Ning-ge! How could you put his wig on so low???” /sigh/ I’ve seen those posts, and that you’ve even tagged the director in them. I really don’t know where you learned this behavior. You can’t learn the good things, but you sure can pick up this type of thing quickly, one after another! You’re either attacking wardrobe saying, “The clothes you made for my idol don’t look good. They’re too ugly! What the hell is that?? What’s with the texture? Why is the color like tomatoes and eggs?” or “This wig is on too low, why don’t you just start it at his nose??” Actor-fans can’t learn one good thing, but they sure can learn the bad without missing a beat!

LYN: I want to tell you something, my friends. In regard to my wig being too low: you shouldn’t judge whether the wig is low or not just based on leaked photos. This thing (the placement of the wig) is based on where the camera is stationed. First of all, we’re not recording from an angle that looks like we’re filming sneakily. If you’re looking at it from where the paparazzi are- they’re either very high or very low, or in some weird place trying to catch a glimpse of us as we spend our days filming. The angles at which they are taking these pictures are quite strange and deceiving. DO YOU KNOW?? They aren’t shooting at the right angles because 1. since they’re not close enough the dimensions get skewed and 2. if I’m shooting at ground level and they’re 10m up, looking down at me- do you think the angle of that sneakily taken picture will come out well?? That’s why I want to say, that the high or lowness of my wig and whether it looks good or not depends solely on where the camera is. Because in the end it’s going to be recorded, edited, and turned into a drama for your viewing based on the location of the main camera. LYN: Let me tell you about it from a different angle: you can’t tell with your eyes whether the wig is on high or low. You might think that the placement is just right when looking with your eyes, but through the monitor it’s higher or lower. Everything- low or high, makeup, wardrobe, color, texture- all of it is based on how well it appears on the monitor. Friends, that’s the way it is.

C: You’re getting worked up? LYN: No- this is not how I act when I’m agitated. This is a purposeful performance persona that I’m using to tell you about these things, so that you don’t think I’m actually angry about it. I’m executing this as a performance, to tell you about it so that you find it interesting. C: Do you have other personas? LYN: What type of persona do you want to see? 🙂

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LYN: Of course, there could be times where you sometimes pretend that you understand the visual of the historical drama wig. You could understand it, you could know, and you could THINK that you know. You can pose it as a question- “Do you think Ning-ge’s wig looks a little low?”- and share it with others, but don’t just directly start pointing fingers at the hair and makeup artists and demanding, “Do you know how to do your job??” This is their profession, so I’m sure that they know better. What I’m trying to say is: try not to create friction. In the end all of these elements are optimized to look best based on the final recording and how it looks in the monitor. Right? Otherwise why would the phrase “on camera” exist? If everything were made to be seen with your naked eyes or in a photo, then we wouldn’t be having this discussion. The standards are made for the main camera, okay? Listen to me.

C: The YNGS wig was low. LYN: Honestly, I’ll admit to that. That was a tiring drama to film- we had some very long days of shooting. Once you move or sweat, the seal releases and the wig starts moving. If we’re still in the middle of filming, all they can do is glue it back down so that you can continue. The more times they glue it back down again, the lower it becomes. If you put it too high to begin with, the whole thing will just slide off the back. It’s true that in YNGS, you’ll discover that some scenes are very good but others are low. It’s because we took many shots that day. Whenever the seal starts to open, we’ll pull and glue it back down. The more we pulled, the further down it ended up.

LYN: This time though, we’re quite strict about it. This time, there’s a standard of measurement for the positioning of my wig, too. That is, I’ll use my beads to measure the length. This is how I do it- I’ll take this strand, start at my hairline, and count the number between my hairline and the point of my nose. It’s twenty beads. I start to count… “1, 2, 3, …. 19, 20. 21?!” “No, this won’t do, laoshi. It needs to be twenty. Look.” - /puts the beads back to his hairline, counts, and tells them where it needs to be/ LYN: “This is the highest it should be. Okay, nice!”

LYN: That’s what I do, now. Why did I start to play with beads? It’s because it’s a string of beads- it may look like a stress relieving tool, but it has another function as a measuring tool for the height of my wig. C: Ning-ge, but what if you have a jingang bodhi today, but fengyan tomorrow? LYN: On a fengyan, it’s 18 beads. I have a standard of measurement for every strand I own. // Xinyue bodhis are 28 beads, because they’re smaller in size. LYN: I carry these beads around everyday, but it’s not a sure thing what I’ll use them for. So friends, you don’t have to worry. My wig is placed at the same height every day. You might think it’s high today, but by tomorrow you won’t think it’s low. [??] The logic is that I’ve used these beads to measure. I’m not kidding. C: I can’t believe people are buying this. LYN: I’m being serious. /unconvincingly/ I’m being serious about this, at least. This one is really true. C: /doesn’t believe him/ LYN: You think I’m bluffing and joking?? I’m being serious~!! FOR REAL!! LYN: I’m saying that we do measure it, but we don’t use the beads to do it. Friends, honestly, we use a measuring tape. That’s strict enough, isn’t it?

C: Ning-ge, when you measure it tomorrow take a picture as proof. LYN: …? You- /laughs/ There are two angles to this. 1. Why should I take a picture, just because you told me to? And 2. If you don’t believe me, why don’t you find the proof? How is it that you don’t believe I use a measuring tape, and you want me to prove that I do? I have to provide the evidence myself?? Fine then, when I’m finished with makeup tomorrow I’ll grab the measuring tape and snap a photo for you.

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C: Can you talk about 618? LYN: They day that I sang? 618 is a Hunan Satellite TV event. Actually, when I’m already in a drama crew I will rarely accept invitations to events like these because I feel like it would split my attention. I’ll be focusing on shooting the drama when they want me to stop and do something else. What I mean by that is that I have limits- my mental capacity has a limit and I don’t really like to go out. But sometimes when I’ve been in the drama crew for too long, there are moments when I do want to get out and wander around and take a breather. Even if that’s going to the market and eating some crayfish. It’s still feels relaxing. You need that balance between work and rest. So I went to Changsha.

LYN: At the start they had asked me if I would do a set of songs. I asked which ones, and they mentioned three. I said, “Okay, but the problem is… these songs are all from last year or two years ago.” I was thinking that they’re making it seem as if I’m not prolific enough- that’s what I was thinking! They found my best OSTs from the previous years. But I was- :(. I CAN do it, since they’re songs that people have acknowledged, but the fact that I would be singing songs from previous years and not this one gives me the feeling like I haven’t done much this year. I feel like I am being eliminated by time. So I didn’t want to sing them, since it made it seem as if I hadn’t made any breakthroughs this year. But there’s YOLO- it counts as this year, right? and Offer- even though it’s from last year, but it’s special to me. 1. It was my first lead role and 2. I sang it. It means a lot to me. So we agreed on these two songs, and I went.

LYN: Six days before I was set to go, I started catching a cold. Those days I was wearing the armor, with the mask and hat- you know the look. We were shooting fight scenes, and after I would be soaked with sweat- you know how hot Hengdian was- and I would head straight for the air conditioning in that state. At first I thought I was fine- it just felt really great. When I was standing under the AC I would think, “OMG, this feels great~” I thought I was going to die, I couldn’t catch my breath, but the AC felt great. And then I got sick. I gave myself a cold. LYN: I felt terrible. Because normally I rarely get sick during the year- maybe only once or twice. But this time I got sick. If you look at the leaked photos, you can see me blowing my nose. I was blowing my nose or sneezing every other minute. I was in it. But the weird thing about this cold was that even after a week I still hadn’t recovered. Because I knew that a week later, I would have to attend this event. In my recollection, if you’re not well in three days, you be well in four. If you’re not well in four days, you should be more than fine by five. But it was seven days and I was not fine yet. It was getting to the deadline and I was dumbfounded. LYN: I couldn’t speak without sniffling, and I had this event to attend. As a singer I hold myself to a standard that I must sing live. If I went, I’d need to sing live, but I was sick. Also, it seems that audiences have higher standards for singers. Because of a certain variety show, now audiences have high standards for singers. Because they like to take the singer’s raw vocals and put it through some software to see how accurately they’re singing the notes. It’s not as if I was afraid of singing live- I like it. I enjoy singing live, and it’s when I’m recording that I don’t feel anything. But I was thinking, “I’m done for.” I- Liu Yuning- have spent the past month and a half shooting a drama and finally got the opportunity to go out and attend and event to show my face, take some nice pictures, and look handsome. To go on stage and sing some songs that myself and everyone else likes- my own songs- so that I can leave behind a wonderful stage and beautiful image. How nice is that? But I was sick.

LYN: I felt terrible. Deeply pained. What could I do?? What if the time came and my voice cracked? I would be trending at No.1 with the topic “LYN_SoundsTerrible”. It would be the end of me. What do you think would happen- do you think I would still be able to keep business in the OST industry? How was I going to keep getting jobs? Would I still be the “Bodyguard of Love”? I started thinking all sorts of things. I was terrified. I’d arrive in Changsha on 6/16 and perform on the 17th. I woke up at 8am on the 16th, went into makeup and shot a whole day of scenes. After that I headed straight for the airport, flew to Changsha, and went straight for rehearsal as soon as I landed. And then… - /preps/ LYN: Normally, everyone has to go rehearse. The first thing you do is to test the mic- you have to listen to the ration between the in-ears and vocals, because you’re singing live. It needs to be tested. I went like this- -- 奉上 (purposefully singing poorly every once in a while) LYN: That’s how I sounded during rehearsal. Because first, I was sick and second, I was up all night so my condition was the worst it could be. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to control the high notes, but I had to pretend that I could handle it. I said, “Sorry, laoshi”- I used the mic to tell them- “Sorry”- I was giving myself an out- “Let me try again. Maybe I haven’t been on stage in too long. Let me try that again. /coughs/.” I purposefully coughed so the mic would pick it up. /coughs/ To secretly tell them that I was sick. “This is not reflective of LYN’s actual skill. Please don’t regret inviting me.” So the first rehearsal was done. The second time around director came and asked me if I wanted to do another run, and I said yes. “I want to try that again. /cough/.” Ok- LYN: The second time I only had five words in my head: pretend it’s the real performance. I had to do it seriously this time, because honestly the first time I wasn’t trying that hard. Because the purpose of it was to test the mic levels, to make sure the audience is hearing well and that my in-ears are working right. The second time around I have to give it my all. “Even if I ruin my voice, I will not crack this second time.” I’m sure that there are fans in the audience who spent money to get a seat. Every time I rehearse, there are always these fans who use alternative means to get through the back door. If they hear me sing badly, they’re going to stop being my fan. Usually, the people who can afford to spend money to get into the venue- even though as artists we do not condone this behavior of using improper means- it proves one thing: they either have money or have connections. They’re fans with a different type of skill. Of course, all of my fans are important to me! I’m just afraid that you’ll think, “Ning-ge sound like THIS live? Forget it. UNSTANNED!” So for the second time I was thinking that even if I ruin my voice tonight and I can’t speak tomorrow, I still have to sing properly. Let’s do it. -- 奉上 (take 2) LYN: /interrupts himself to say/ I think I was wearing this exactly, that day. This hat and these shades.

LYN: People need to find their confidence. After the first high note, I was much more relaxed for the rest of the song. After that I didn’t crack too terribly. But honestly, I wasn’t the best. I was thinking the next day I wouldn’t do ANYTHING. I would go home, shower, and just lie on the bed and have a good sleep. I needed to sing live for the performance, and I didn’t want to be laughed off the stage. It wasn’t worth it. I had enough ridicule as a singer five years ago. Maybe three years ago. But in the recent three years very few people have attacked me for being a singer. This is the truth. Five years ago, everyone just thought I was “internet famous” so when I was singing and called myself a singer they said, “What “singer”?? You’re just internet famous is all.” But in the recent three years very few people have questioned my identity as a singer. Because they’re rejecting my identity as an actor instead. So I don’t want to sing this song poorly and destroy my image as an actor- I mean- as a singer. Because I’m on the “actor” stage of my life now. If you take away my identity as a singer, the next thing they’ll be saying is, “LYN, you aren’t worthy to be a streamer.” They won’t even let me stream. They don’t think I’m worthy enough to be anything.

LYN: I wasn’t quite satisfied with my performance that night, because I didn’t sing well. In Offer, the first two high notes of the chorus weren’t very stable and I was noticeably off-key for one of them. There were a few places I was outrageously off key. For YOLO, it was my first time singing it live. I really was nervous that day. Usually I’m not nervous when attending these types of events. But I was really nervous that day, because I knew that I wasn’t in the best condition. I knew that I didn’t sing the first song as stably as I could have. I didn’t sing it well. So then for the second song, I wanted to find that stability back. I tried. And then- I started the song too early. I started the song a beat too early. - /plays the song/ LYN: In this part (the vocalization) I was supposed to be melancholy. I was supposed to be walking towards the rear of the stage, because they had told me “Ning-ge. When you finish Offer, walk back towards the stage.” I was planning it all out. I would walk, and when it reached the end I would open up my arms as if I were embracing the light and embracing the future. I was thinking that since I didn’t sing my first song well enough, I should at least pull off the second. The arrangement started and it went to my head. - /playing it out again/ LYN: I jumped in too early. /holds a not to get back on beat/ I was dazed. I was thinking “It’s over.” I made myself look cool for nothing!! I messed up and it’s a flop. I entered the song too early. That’s such a basic thing, too!! So I was wondering how I could make up for the slip and pretended it was okay. In the later part of the verse I purposefully dragged it, to see if I could trick the viewers. Only the viewers watching live- I can’t trick anyone watching the playback later. /reenacts/ I forgot exactly what I did, but I was thinking that since I came in too early, I would drag out the end and it would look like that was all part of the plan. It would only work to trick anyone who was watching the performance at the time, but not for anyone watching the playback.

C: Ning-ge, I thought you forgot the lyrics. LYN: I didn’t forget the lyrics. I was just too excited, that day. Excited, nervous, and most importantly because I knew that my condition wasn’t the best because I was sick. I was really afraid of cracking, so I wasn’t relaxed. But from the moment I made my first mistake I started relaxing because I knew it couldn’t get any worse than it already was. From the moment I entered too early, it took me 3-5 seconds of nerves before I just let go completely and finished off the song.

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C: How was the fan support? LYN: It was nice. But maybe it’s because lately I’ve just been shooting in the crew and haven’t gone out much, but you shouted so loud you gave me tinnitus. I was thinking it was a but too loud. You all were shouting too fiercely. I usually finish up my business and come out side to greet you, right? But this time when I went out your shouting gave me tinnitus. When I got on my car I felt like my ears were ringing.

C: Were you afraid? LYN: Afraid? What’s there to be afraid of? No, why would I be?? If I were walking along and you quietly came and held out a letter to me, then I would be afraid. You’re very welcoming, so there’s no need for me to be afraid.

C: Ning-ge, you sang the wrong lyrics at 618. LYN: You just came in didn’t you, kid? Did you just arrive now? I already spent about 15 minutes talking about my experience at the 618 event. I talked about the whole process and what I was thinking. I already finished talking about it, and NOW you come in to tell me that I missed some lyrics?? You came late. You can watch the playback later.

C: When are you streaming until? LYN: I’ll stream for a while then leave because I’ve got a day of filming tomorrow and I have to go over my scenes. I have quite a lot of them in this drama. Every one of them is a challenge to shoot. It’s very complicated. But of course, I believe that- as with everything- as long as you put in enough hard work you will be rewarded. How much is unknown, but there is a reward. So that’s why even if it’s tiring to shoot this drama, I still think it’s okay.

C: Ning-ge, when will Cicada Girl air? LYN: They’ve asked me to go do the voiceover recently. I don’t know where it is in the censorship process, but they’ve asked me to supplement the voiceover. From the actor’s perspective, I’ve been asked to redo lines that weren’t executed well or need to be changed. I really don’t have a lot of scenes in this drama. Maybe only 200 or so. It only took be a month and a half to finish all my scenes. I have very little scenes, and the whole show only has 24 episodes. All you need to do is watch and support it when it airs. LYN: A couple days ago when Ziwen-jie was doing her voiceover, she sent me a message. She asked me if I had done my part yet, and I told her that I received the notice but haven’t gone to the studio yet. She said, “It’s good! I almost laughed myself to death, it’s very amuding.” I replied, “Is that so? How is it- my acting?” She’s seeing the edited parts already, since she needs to do her lines, so I just asked her how my acting came out. “Is it okay?” She said, “Uh- okay. Let’s talk later! I need to finish my lines!” XD LYN: I’m joking. Don’t take that seriously. The content of my stream is a joke. Please don’t take it seriously. LYN: I asked her, “How’s my acting?” and she replied, “It was very good. I think it’s very amusing and it was funny when we were filming it, too.” She meant that it was fun even while we were shooting it. I let her go, since she needed to finish her lines. I’ll see it in any case, when I go to record mine.

C: I’m not a fan, I just happened to scroll by. LYN: It’s fate that brough you here. Everyone is a guest. With so many people in China, among the vast sea of people the fact that you and I are able to meet is fate. An encounter is centuries in the making, and millenium makes a marriage. In a decem-millenium (10,000 years) you scroll across my weibo. Think about how cruel fate is. You can only come across my weibo after 10,000 years! That’s fate. So, if you haven’t yet subscribed to my weibo, please do so. Thank you. - [t/n: the original quote is decade & century. 十年修得同船渡,百年修得共枕眠]

C: I’m your antifan. LYN: You’re here to turn yourself in? That’s great. Antifans are… Forget it- I feel like if I say the same thing I did the last time it won’t have any meaning. There’s a promise I made with my antifans in my last stream- you can go watch it. C: The 30-year promise. LYN: Right. I said in my last stream that as long as an antifan can continue to do so, within 30 years there will come a day where they realize they actually love me. Believe it. Let’s wait and see.

C: Lao-da, you’re trending. LYN: It’s not a hate-topic is it? I didn’t say anything! D: I didn’t say anything wrong today, did I? bgm: 世世 (Lifetime) - Legend of Shen Li OST LYN: Friends, you said- There’s a problem, which is- do you know why it’s taking me so long to look? Because I can’t find any trending topic. LYN: /is sad/ bgm: JVKE - Golden Hour LYN: /singing & “sobbing”/ LYN: See friends, people always say that LYN has ulterior motives. He’s so conniving- all of his projects are gained by drinking and chatting with people. Look at me now, though. I can even be tricked by netizens in my own stream. I’m someone who’s easily tricked by scammers. The phone scams can even trick me sometimes. So how could I have the brains to pull myself resources and work?? That’s why, you should never try to understand a person based on what others say about them. How should you understand them? From the heart. Use your heart to understand them. LYN: I had a line that went: “If you want to understand a person, don’t use your eyes.” No- the line went, “Let me tell you. If you really want to understand a person, don’t use your ears. Use your eyes.” … But I don’t think that’s accurate either. You should use your heart. Because what you see might not be the truth.

LYN: My shoulders are a little sore. I’m just exercising my back so I can relax the muscles. bgm: 万��盛开法则 (The Law of All Things in Bloom) - Zhang Dawei

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C: When will you release your album? LYN: I don’t want to discuss this topic. /sigh/ An album is really hard to make. It’s really not easy… Let’s not rush it! You ask me, “When will you release your album?” and I shall reply, “Let’s not rush it.” - [t/n: In Chinese, it rhymes: 专辑 (album - zhuānjí) & 着急 (worry/feel anxious - zháojí)]

C: You still won’t release it yet? LYN: I haven’t completed it yet. Honestly, a bunch of songs were done 2-3 years ago but I never released it because I don’t have enough. I want to release the album when I’ve collected 10 songs. I haven’t collected enough. When I listen to songs now, I kind of want to puke. I’m talking about the demos. There are just too many, and I can’t pick out which ones I like. It’s nothing to do with my style, it’s just that I’ve heard too many and now I’m numb. (recites lyrics to Jay Chou’s 世界末日 (End of the World))

C: If you don’t release one, it’ll be expired. LYN: You’re not wrong. /sigh/ I really want to let you hear some of it. Because once you do you’ll know that these songs are timeless. What I mean is that they are not bound to this era, so they won’t “expire.” C: Let’s hear some. LYN: There’s no way I would let you hear it. If I were to release it tomorrow or the day after, I would let you hear the starting rhythm or something. But you want me to play my album during my stream?! Then, who would buy it?

LYN: There’s someone in the chat who is constantly spamming what number topic I’m trending at. If you continue, and I find out you’re tricking me, I’m going to kick you out. The logic is that I can do without trending, I can just muddle my way through. But you can’t trick me. Okay? Don’t trick me. I don’t need to be popular, but I need you not to trick me.

C: Ning-ge, release a few more copies of your album, otherwise I’m afraid I won’t be able to get one. LYN: I don’t have any plans to make a physical one right now. My plan is to make a vinyl later, though like I did for my previous album. Just listening though, there’s no way you’ll need to pay- it’s going to be free. I made a promise to you before, that you would always get to listen to my music for free. My album will be free, so all you have to do is listen to it. If I do end up releasing a vinyl later, you can go buy that. But honestly, I’m not counting on it to make a profit. I don’t need it to. I haven’t reached that point. Otherwise- nevermind. I’m just not relying on these things to make money, is all. C: Can you not release a limited number of vinyls? LYN: We’ll see. It’s- if it’s not a limited number, then we have to predict how many to make in the first place. It’s actually not that much different from having a limit.

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C: Lao-da, why won’t you talk to us at the airport? LYN: I did, didn’t I? “Move to the side.” (x3) /laughs/ Didn’t I tell you to move to the sides? I’m kidding! I was saying, “Don’t squeeze. Okay, I know. Don’t squeeze!!” I did talk to you! Wasn’t I very sincere? I was saying it from the heart: “Please, don’t squeeze.” How many other artists can talk to you sincerely like that, using their heart to tell you the truth? How many can do that? I can. I said, “Don’t squeeze anymore. D:” It was truly words from the heart. No airs- just a shout from my soul. “Stop squeezing!”

LYN: Because right now I’m spending most of my time in the drama crew. If I wrap up the day at 12a, and I have to go attend some even the next day, I still have to wake up early. I have to get into hair and makeup early, and shoot a day of scenes. It’s a lot different from how you would go about a company job. I shouldn’t say that. That’s just how /I/ work. If I am shooting some scenes tomorrow, then I have to do some homework the night before. I’ll go early to get my hair and makeup done, then start filming. You need to be focused on the drama during this part. After that, I turn in to wash up and then head for the airport. Why do I always use the VIP route when I fly places? It’s not because I have money or that I’m trying to show off. It’s that I really want to use that time to take a nap. Because as soon as I’m off the plane I need to go to rehearsals. I’ll wake up and start makeup at 12p the next day- very early. Because we need to snap the promo photos that you see my studio post. I’ll wake up two hours earlier to get get made up and shoot those photos so that they’re ready before the event. Later in the evening, it’s time for me to perform. Most of the time as soon as I’m done, I catch a flight back to Hengdian and it’ll land around 2-3 in the morning. I’ll be working again the next day.

LYN: I’m not saying this to tell you that I’m tired. I’m not afraid of being tired. I AM afraid of not being in the best condition I could be, and going to shoot my drama. This face of mine has to face the camera, and it was ugly enough to begin with. I’m already just average-looking. If I wake up the next day looking haggard and messing up my lines, then that would agonize me. (He doesn’t want to delay the filming because of his personal reasons.) LYN: That’s why I want to get a good rest on the road. I’ll sleep on the car, get to the airport drowsy, take a nap on the plane, then get off my flight and be ready to go to rehearsal. I’m giving myself a period of rest.

----- Break #1 LYN: I’m back. They (the neighbors) weren’t fighting. They were watching TXJ. - /thanking all the fans who make content for him: video edits, fanart, etc./ LYN: There are people who draw for me- I won’t comment on whether they draw well or not- it’s all good to me, because I can’t draw. But there are some people who are constantly making content. For example, right now. I’m streaming now but by the time I’ve finished they will have posted a drawing of me already. It doesn’t matter if it’s cartoon, sketch, manhua, or whatever style. Most of the time when I’m streaming, by the time I’m done that art is already posted. It’s nice. I just think that every drawing is- - /sets up his bgm > 내 마음 들리나요 (Can you Hear My Heart)/ LYN: - is full of love. Every video is full of interest ans respect. So right now I’d like to thank every good friend who creates content for me. You’ve worked hard. LYN: What is this? When someone is willing to put in so much effort for you- what is that called? I think this feeling can only be described in two words: team spirit.

C: Are you logging off now? LYN: You wish. On a night when I appear like this, how could I so easily let you go to sleep? Stay up!

C: Xiao Ning, being loved by so many people, you must move forward carrying a heavy burden. LYN: I suddenly realize that I have a long way to go in my future. I’m carrying so many people’s hopes… and disappointments. So I do not feel like I am alone. Right now, it’s possible that I am carrying many of my fans, or those of you who are watching whose wish was to become a celebrity’s dreams. Right now I represent all the hopes for the future you had when you were young. And I will continue to carry that heavy burden and move forward. C: I’m on the heavier side. LYN: And you still have the nerve to say so? That’s why it’s called “负重前行” (fu zhong qian xing), because I have to “扶” (fu = support) you in walking forward. C: Ning-ge, I am a 100+ kg soul. LYN: Your soul alone is 100+ kg? And what about your physical body? It’s okay. A girl like you is... stable.

C: When did you start? LYN: The stream? Around 9p. It’s been about an hour and a half now, let me look at my timer. I’ve been streaming for 1h, 43m. What’s wrong- you missed it, didn’t you? :) That’s why. If you haven’t yet subscribed to my weibo, please do so. I don’t always announce when I’m going to stream. Sometimes I do it when I wrap up work early. After today though… it’s probably going to be a while before I stream next. Because as of now I still owe: 5 OSTs and the supplemental voiceover for Cicada Girls. If I finish work early in the next weeks, that will be the work I have to make up for.

LYN: I forgot something earlier- That’s right. You are now listening to the drama Follow Your Heart (YXJ) OST opening theme song, called 心悠悠 (Longing Heart). Oh- excuse me- I misspoke! It’s not the opening theme- it’s the interlude! Sorry. Let me say that again. - /repeats himself, but correctly/ -- 心悠悠 (Longing Heart) - Follow Your Heart OST - /singing along, but not syncing up/ LYN: Friends, it’s like this- it’s not that I am unfamiliar with the song, but that in the recent year, this is the most mysterious OST I’ve sung. The three chorus verses are all different. I can’t remember which melody comes first. If there are detailed friends tuning in, you can focus on that- the three choruses are all different. So I’m a little confused. Let me re-familiarize myself.

C: Stop swaying. I’m dizzy. C: You’re singing this song with a strong sense of thievery. (KSTLB2 reference, bc he was rubbing his hands together) LYN: Friends- let me explain the “dizzy” thing later. First, if you don’t have any drama to watch lately you can check this one out. It’s called Follow Your Heart and there are some friends of mine in it. Including LYX-laoshi, who I’ve worked with (sung OSTs for his dramas) a few times already. The drama is pretty interesting; I’ve watched a bit. Wang Chengsi (ZY, SJYM) has also cameo-d in a couple episodes. I thought it was quite a good watch. So if you have some time you can go watch this new drama, okay? Please support it. LYN: Now let me tell you why you might have been a bit dizzy earlier. Some people just have that disposition- like carsickness. Some girls might have a weaker disposition, and when they’re on the subway or if they see something that is shaking too much they can get a sense of vertigo. But let me teach you what to do when I’m singing. - C: Once I get carsick, I’m vomiting enough to fill the car. LYN: … How much you vomit doesn’t have to do with being dizzy, but with how much you’ve eaten. If you don’t eat for a day, I’m sure you won’t have enough vomit to fill the car. It’d just be a puddle, probably. You must have eaten too much and thrown up as a result. That’s not to do with carsickness. Just eat less and you won’t vomit enough to fill the car. Maybe just half the car. Also, I don’t think you’re throwing up at just the slightest jiggle or sway of the car, right? Just eat a little less. LYN: Are you that friend from earlier who had a soul that was 100+ kg? - LYN: Anyway, what I wanted to say was- I’ll sing another song in a bit to let you test it- but sway along! If you don’t trust me, then try. Hold your phone and sway as you watch. You won’t be dizzy. If you don’t trust me then just try it. You have to follow my rhythm and sway with me. Then you won’t feel sick. Okay? And now I will sing. Let me see which song will make you move.

- /vocal fry/ LYN: Suddenly, a vocal fry register. (气泡音 - qìpào yīn) * [Vocal fry is the lowest register (tone) of your voice characterized by its deep, creaky, breathy sound] LYN: What do you mean~ I should sing a song now~ How about~~~ LYN: /laughs/ I saw a comment once that read, “What’s so good about LYN’s streams? One time I happened to click in and found he was speaking with the vocal fry register. How greasy!” LYN: Don’t you think… How could this be greasy? Don’t you think- it sounds very nice?

LYN: Someone wants to hear “一个人的北京.” I won’t be singing that. What should I sing… how about… I haven’t actually found one. C: 传承 (Inheritance) LYN: I’m really just afraid of cracking, because I know I’m not in the best condition. I don’t want it to influence any future work. I still have five OSTs I haven’t recorded yet. What if a producer or director is watching my stream and they watch me crack while singing a song and then think, “We don’t need LYN anymore.” “We don’t want you to sing this song anymore. If there’s a chance to work together next time, we’ll talk.” It might influence my future development and income.

LYN: There’s a song called… what’s “等风来”? Oh, the song is called “天空之外” (Beyond the Sky), right? I heard this song recently, and I quite liked it. // Is there an arrangement for the male key? No? -- 天空之外 (Beyond the Sky) - Gank Your Heart OST LYN: Songs are so hard to find! Why is it so complicated. Hold on, let me check my “arrangement warehouse.”

LYN: Oh, this I haven’t sung in a long time! -- 乞丐 (Beggar) LYN: Hold on- it’s been a long time since I last sang this and I’ve forgotten how. Sorry. I always sing this at my concert, though. C: It lagged. LYN: It didn’t lag, the mic broke. There was a small problem with it. It’s okay. // It’s not broken. // Oh, you lagged? What a coincidence. The microphone forgot the lyrics, lol.

LYN: Oh, 熬夜 (Stay Up All Night)... I will sing this song for everyone tuning in, and you who are currently staying up tonight. - /missed the timing to start singing/ LYN: What do you think? You, who are currently staying up at night- this song 熬夜 is for you. Let’s stay up together. I don’t know how the sound equipment is working tonight, but let’s just sing. If you start to feel dizzy, remember to sway with me. -- 熬夜 (Stay Up All Night) LYN: That’s about enough. I don’t have any strength left. Thank you. LYN: I’ll open another bottle of water. It feels a bit hoarse. Excuse me, sorry.

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bgm: 莫问前程 (Don’t Ask About the Future) - White Cat Legend OST LYN: I won’t sing anymore, let’s just chat. I don’t have enough strength left.

C: Ning-ge, why hasn’t Daimi been to work for four days? LYN: She’s been in Hangzhou for a few days. We’re had her get a check-up, because she hasn’t been feeling well lately. But we found out it was nothing big, so she came back. Today she was at work on time.

C: Is she pregnant? LYN: No!

LYN: /to Daimi/ Daimi! Come here. Your fans want to see you. LYN: ?! You stepped on my headphones, hey! [t/n: OMG, I almost thought he said something… different. >.>] LYN: Hold on. Let me find some appropriate bgm for you. Alright? Wait a bit. bgm: Neon Sweetheart LYN: Okay. Say hello to all the brothers, sisters, uncles and aunties out there. They’ve been thinking of you the whole time.

C: Daimi plays with beads, too? LYN: No, I put it on her so she can play it for me. Because her oils and fur are suited for polishing them. Also, as an artist you have to have something special, right? You’ve seen dogs sit and dance, but have you ever seen a dog polishing beads? You haven’t right? So if we want to make some space for ourselves in this vast world, you have to be unique. I’m sure no one’s ever seen a dog polishing beads. So I’ve given her this image.

LYN: Look- she’s gotten so chubby. I’m just having her stand on my leg for a big, but she already can’t keep herself up. She’s panting. Listen- She’s so fat she can’t even sit!

LYN: I’m going to recite the spell now. Friends, you can observe how her modd changes. How- about- a sausage? C: There’s no reaction. LYN: No- can’t you see that she keeps licking her lips?? She’s already imagining what it will be like when she eats it. Let’s go. Hold on a sec while I get her one.

C: Ning-ge, I want to watch you feed her. LYN: My dog can’t do much else, but if you give her a whole sausage she can peel it herself. I don’t need to serve her. C: Show us. LYN: What, you even want a performance? Hold on, friends. - /shows off all the peels/ LYN: She ate all of those.

C: Ning-ge, are you sure you didn’t eat them? LYN: I… wouldn’t. Because this is a sausage for pets.

C: She didn’t peel it today? LYN: No- she’s over in her house. When she’s done eating it she’ll leave the peel there. That was probably two or three day’s worth. She eats 5-6 sticks in a day. LYN: Every morning she goes to the makeup room- she’s in a rush every morning. As soon as I wake up and start washing my face, she’s already waiting by the door. I’m washing my face, and she’s already waiting to go. She plans on just running out and onto the elevator as soon as I open the door. When we’re at the makeup room, the first thing my makeup artist does is give her a sausage. She won’t eat this first one, but hide it instead; because I have my own room. Then she’ll go to the bigger makeup room and do her rounds. She’ll come back with an egg and some bread. Then come back and eat them all together. That’s her breakfast. LYN: Most of the time she won’t eat that first sausage yet, and go fishing for bread. Sometimes there’s an egg, and she’ll eat that on the spot. If there’s no egg, she’ll bring some bread back. Then she’ll eat them together.

-----

- /smacks a mosquito and shows it off/

C: Ning-ge, the Shanghai subgroup of fans is meeting, will you come? LYN: I won’t be attending, thanks. You eat and play amongst yourselves. I know a lot of locations are gathering for a group dinner. It’s quite fun and happy to be together. I won’t be going because I don’t want to have to pay for the meal. If I had the money, I could just buy something to eat at home. But you all have fun. I won’t be going. LYN: Jilin is also gathering, is that right? Dalian as well? Nice, have fun together.

C: Ning-ge, if you come you’ll eat for free. LYN: For example, there’s a place where my fans are gathering and they’ve bought out a restaurant to hang out. If you invite me and I go, then that means I don’t have to pay for my share, is that it? Erm… I’m not someone who’s greedy to take advantage of such situations. The reason I’m not going is really because I don’t want to take advantage, not because I don’t want to go. I really do want to go, but I don’t want to take advantage. So I won’t be going.

C: Then come to foot the bill. LYN: I could. That’s no problem. You all know that Ning-ge is not stingy when it comes to these things. I treat my fans well. But I won’t be going. I don’t even want to go when it’s a free meal, let alone go when I have to pay the bill. What do you think I am? Many friends call me “Ning-bao” don’t they? Now you want me to go make payments- do you think I’m Alipay (zhifubao)?

C Ning-ge, where’s your team spirit?? LYN: /laughs/ I could chat about “team spirit” with you on a normal basis but once it comes to fan-gatherings this “team spirit” disappears. Is that what you mean to say?? Are you provoking me? You’re calling me out?! LYN: This trick is called “moral kidnapping”. It’s okay- when it’s about treating fans to meals I’ve already given up on my morals.

C: You sure are stingy. LYN: This isn’t being stingy. This has nothing to do with money. It’s my life on the line. LOL, no. Let’s make an example: I go to any random fan-gathering, let’s say Beijing. They say, “Ning-ge, we’re having a fan-gathering!” and I go, “You’re meeting up? Okay- the bill’s on me. Ning-ge will treat you.” At this time, Shenyang’s group is calling it quits. “What’s the meaning of this, Ning-ge? Fans in Beijing are fans, but us in Shenyang aren’t?” So I say, “Okay. Liu-gongzi will pay the tab in Shenyang.“ After that, the Dandong fans are calling it quits. If it continues on like that, it would be fairer for everyone if I don’t pay for anyone. You all can pick up your own tabs.

LYN: Sometimes it’s hard to be fair, but I’m trying hard to keep it even. One time I wanted to do something fun for my stream- I was thinking I could connect with fans. Because I needed content, but also because I thought I had the ability to communicate. Even if the person I connected with happened to be an antifan. If I randomly pick a user today to connect with, and they end up being an antifan. If they come in cursing, then I would kick them out immediately. But if they came in wanting to debate, I have the confidence I would be able the go for half an hour (or longer) and ultimately turn them into my fan. I’m confident I can do that. LYN: The problem is that I’ve thought about connecting with fans, but then you all complain and tell me not to. Why? Because I’m connecting with someone that’s not you. Now they’re unhappy. For example, I’ll connect with Fan A, and now Fan B is upset. “Lao-da, I’m telling you. I bought four cases of yogurt because of you. What? Is that not enough to be a fan?” Fan C didn’t get to connect either, so they say, “Yeah, Lao-da. I bought a Pomellato necklace. What is this, favoritism? Okay. I won’t be buying any more.” There’s this sense of rebellion, so I want to be fair: I won’t connect with anyone. If there comes a day when this sense of revolt can lessen, then I would select a few lucky guests and chat with them during my streams. LYN: We can chat about anything like if you need life advice, or if you have any opinions/suggestions that I should take, or your thoughts. We really can talk about it. It could be fun!

LYN: I think even with streaming or- if you are an artist- not yet a celebrity, but at least someone in this industry: singer, actor, it doesn’t matter- I always think that you should always love what you do. I even remade my streaming room- the next time I stream, if it’s all set up, you’ll see how serious I am about streaming. There’ll be new room. But I want to make the content fun as well. So I think of connecting because interaction is the charm of livestreaming. I think I can do it. C: I want to interact. LYN: See? There’s someone who’s posted that they want to interact. At this time, they are very excited to be chosen to interact with. But if I don’t choose them, do you think that they would be extremely disappointed? Would they be sad? Because of this, would they stop being my fan and start destroying me instead? In the entertainment circle there’s a methodology: it doesn’t matter which artist, if they start doing well the fans wil stop being fans and start tearing you down instead. Let me tell you, there is not one artist in this circle who isn’t afraid of this happening to them. It doesn’t matter how big of a celebrity you are, or whether you’re an actor or singer. Everyone is afraid of this technique.

LYN: Let’s not talk about anyone else but use myself as an example. When I am shooting a drama, there are people taking sneaky pictures of me and selling them online. Let’s say they’re sold at 10rmb per photo, and someone spends 100rmb to buy ten photos. Let’s say it’s 2024.06.28- and they like LYN. When they’re looking at the photos it’s under the filter of beng a fan. They can PS or use some filter to make the photos look nice and pretty. White and shining. Young and handsome. They post those edited photos online or onto some short video platform. Okay. LYN: Let’s say on 06.29- or- today, I am looking for five fans to connect with on my stream, and I do not end up choosing the girl who bought ten photos of me. She gets angry. “I want to connect with LYN, because I have so much I want to say to him!” Of the five fans I choose, I don’t choose her. Tomorrow, on 06.29, there will be 10 raw (unedited) photos released. Maybe super unedited. She’ll put the edited and unedited photos next to each other and post, “This is the LYN you all know.” It’s not worth it. C: The unedited photos also look good! LYN: That’s why I’m saying, you have the fan-goggles on. Let me tell you something- in this industry there is not one artist who doesn’t have ugly photos. Name one. Let’s say you have a name in your head, and you’re thinking, “This person is so good-looking!” then you search this person’s name with “___ ugly photo” at the end. See what the results are. You don’t need to type people’s names into my chat! Just think of a name and search it yourself. There’s not one person who doesn’t have them. That’s why when fans tell me that they think I’m handsome I want to reply that it’s because of the fan-goggles. I’m not handsome. I’m afraid, too. So let’s not connect next time.

LYN: I hope, though, that those of you who are watching my stream right now- most of you, about 80% are my fans. 80% of you are my fans, so starting today could we swear a sacred oath (歃血为盟 - smear the lips with blood when taking an oath)? If one day you stop being my fan, could you not destroy me on your way out? Can you promise me that? Let’s sign an agreement today June 28, 2024, that one day if you stop being my fan you won’t step on me on the way out. Can you do that? You can leave, but not at my expense. Can you? LYN: I have blood on my hand- it’s mosquito blood. The scared oath. I’ve got the blood. LYN: That’s the first thing, not to step on me on your way out. The second is, many of you probably go online to buy leaked photos. If one day you stop being my fan, could you format your storage disk? Format your storage disk for me. Can you do it? Promise me. Thank you. You can do it. LYN: It’s a gentleman’s agreement.

C: Ning-ge, where can I buy leaked news and photos? LYN: The fact that you’re even asking me this question now means that you should never go to buy them. I see you typing those words from through the monitor and can see your innocent eyes! If you go outside, you’re likely to get scammed by others!! Don’t go online trying to buy these things and end up getting scammed! I can tell how innocent you are from the fact that you’ve typed that questions. Your eyes still shine with light and you can see the word “INNOCENT” in them. Don’t even think about it. If you’re scrolling your phone and come across what others have bought and posted, you can look. But don’t even think about purchasing them for yourself. You don’t need to spend your own money for it. There’s no need.

C: Ning-ge, if I had bad photos of you I wouldn’t erase them. I’ll sell them to you. LYN: That’s a little bit illegal. Are you a criminal? Are you blackmailing me?? “Ning-ge, I have a BUNCH of ugly photos of you. Send me 200rmb immediately or I’ll post them all online.”

C: Ning-ge, will you still stream in ten years? LYN: I don’t think I would still be acting in ten years, but I’m sure that in ten years I will still be streaming. Whether as an actor or a singer, there will always come the possibility that you will be struck out or replaced over time. But streaming is something that I personally want to do. It is not influenced by outside factors. As long as you give me a platform, as long as Weibo allows me to stream, I will keep streaming. That’s all there is to it. I only need a platform and I will stream willingly. But for acting, it’s other people who find me to act- it’s passive.

C: Do a few magazine shoots. LYN: Magazines… I don’t have the time to do them. I also think… I’m too ugly and I’m not worthy to be in magazines. [t/n: He’s also said before that he doesn’t want people to pay for something like a MAGAZINE, just because he’s in it. He wants people to spend money on things that can be of use.]

C: Do you want to be Weibo Livestream King for 10 consecutive years?? LYN: Livestream King is a great honor to me. I’ll try hard to make it happen. I’ll do my best. C: Start a live-streaming industry. LYN: No, I should just do my own stream well. I can’t be involved in any sort of industry.

C: Ning-ge, in ten years become a streaming-type yxh. LYN: …? For what?? I already said that when I was 60- was it 60 or 70? I forgot.- that I would share everything I’ve encountered in this entertainment industry with you. LYN: Was it 60? Then when I’m 60.

C: Lao-da, could I take your raw photos and trade them for an autographed one? LYN: … LYN: “Ning-ge, in this card I have 10 unedited photos of you. Could I trade them for a personalized autographed photo? Okay? I hope that you can write: “___ is the most beautiful.”” LYN: The way they’ve done this has avoided punishment under law. Because it’s true that they’re not doing it for profit or anything, not that I understand it very much. That is- I don’t think it’s worth suing you over… But this underhanded tactic does make me a little uncomfortable. LYN: But let me tell you- everyone’s words can create an image of your face. Through the words you’ve typed, I can imagine your face and the tone of your voice. For example, for the person earlier I’ve already described their face: two big round eyes, full of clarity. “Ning-ge, where can I buy leaked news and photos?” They were like that- I’m sure they’re as I imitated just now. Now this person, I’m sure, looks like this: “Xiao Ning-ah.. If I were to have your unedited photos and I wanted to exchange them for a personalized autograph… Can I?” They must be like that! Cunning and wicked. Friends, I’m sure they’re like that. How terrifying! LYN: The friend who asked this question, you can go look in the mirror. Tell me I didn’t look just like you.

C: Ning-ge, you’re on my glasses case and my teacher saw it. Should I cower? LYN: Through this comment, this friend has already got me figuring out what they look like and how they speak. /repeats the question/ You must look like this- /puts on a pair of round frames and makes himself a little… nerdy looking and innocent, I guess/. Go look in the mirror, do you look like this? It’s… innocent, but sincere. Sincere, but also a little cute and naive. That’s you. Go look in the mirror.

C: Ning-ge, why don’t you go on Call Me by Fire? LYN: /laughs/ CMBF is… is that the sisters or the brothers? The brothers, right? The thing is, a while ago Yizhe was (going to be) on it. I think he was on it. That’s what I heard- or rather, he had sent me a message. If I call him Yizhe, you might not know- it’s Qian Zhao (YNGS). If I am NYZ, he is QZ. You get it if I put it that way, right? So, QZ went to attend CMBF, I think. He wanted me to record a short video for him, to cheer him on. I asked him, “What am I supposed to say?” and he said, “Just cheer me on. We’re friends, right? So you can say, “I heard WYZ is going to be on this show, and I hope he gets a good ranking.” It’s just like supporting you for the gaokao. LYN: But I was thinking- If I’m going to record a message for him, I want to be different from the others. I need to record something like, “Hello, everyone. I am Liu Yuning. In CMBF, I hope my good friend Yizhe can show off his charms, get a good ranking, and debut in the final group!” That’s standard, right? But I wanted to be different. I wanted to record something that would make people remember WYZ and remember LYN. Maybe even hate me. Because I also have a good friend called Fang Yilun- that is, Yu Shisan (YNGS). I’m saying it this way so you can better put a face to the name. YSS. He was on CMBF last year (actually, 2022), but he only went for one round. (一轮 - yī lún). So… his name was not very auspicious. Fang Yilun, who was only on the show for one round (yī lún). I was thinking of recording one for WYZ, “Hello, everyone. I am Liu Yuning. I’m YZ’s friend and heard he would be attending CMBF. We have a good friend in common, FYL, but he came back after the first round. Therefore, since your name is Wang Yizhe, you- might only be there for one part.” But I was thinking about it and came to the conclusion that wasn’t quite appropriate. One’s Yilun and the other’s Yizhe… that’s not good! So later I thought this joke wouldn’t fly. My friends would have a falling out! So then I just recorded a standard one for him. LYN: I just shouldn’t have thought in that direction in the first place. I don’t know how the competition is going, and I don’t dare to ask him. Of course, I don’t mean to belittle him! When I was on Singer 2019, I came back after one round too, didn’t I. That’s why I’m called… Liu Yining (一宁). I went and very obediently, very serenely (宁静) came back. I went, kept introducing myself- “I am Liu Yining” and came back. Only one round. It’s the same. We’re all the same. Our names just aren’t auspicious. We aren’t suited for competitions.

LYN: Alright friends, it’s about time. I hope you had a relaxing, happy, and wonderful night. It was great to have you and I hope you enjoyed yourself. Let’s meet again in the next stream! If you haven’t yet subscribed to my weibo, please do so. I am Modern Brothers Liu Yuning. I hope we can meet again in the next stream. LYN: I’ll go wash up quickly and review my scenes for tomorrow. Goodnight, everyone!

#Liu Yuning #lyn livestream #(2:44:24)

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frostycatblr-fandom-files · 1 year ago

Text

Comforting Little Brothers

Warnings and Information: Scruffy's story continues on in the fourth installment of the NTMY,B universe. Canvas is not having a good time since Scruffy's brush with death, so Scruffy's paternal instincts are on full display. Are there recreation rooms on a Venator class starship in canon? Maybe not explicitly mentioned, but we can pretend chances are good given the size of and the multiple purposes these ships serve in SW canon. Some more minor expansion of Faro, Gunnar, Cryfar and Fluke's story with more emphasis on Stick and Scruffy, and my takes on some softer aspects of Clone Culture. The Clones are artistic AF because I say so (*gestures at their armor designs*). That bird exists in SW because I say so [there's only so many times I'll open Wookiepedia for species that probably have one or two lines of Canon/Legends information]. No Mando'a here. Star Wars and real-world swearing. My usual use of italics.

Word-count: 5,324

He felt, in a word, just terrible, really. Canvas had been doing so well since finding his identity, getting his Name from one of their COs, but since Scruffy’s brush with death - only a matter of two agonizing minutes for this little brother - he’s… regressed. Canvas has regressed badly in the week and half they’ve spent aboard the Venator class ship that’s been stationed above the planet while Scruffy recovers to the satisfaction of the medical crew.

Scruffy can’t blame the lack of sleep he’s been getting, sleep that would accelerate his recovery and get him combat-ready sooner, on poor ‘Vas…

Poor ‘Vas who’s been having nightmares about the tripwire and detonation. The feeling of the brother who took care of him fading away under his hands, and the chest compressions Stick performed on Scruffy failing to bring him back. The detonation was Scruffy’s fault in the first place. If he’d only watched where he’d put his damn foot, his little brother wouldn’t be having these nocturnal terrors about losing more brothers close to him.

Nightmares that were only getting worse, leading to a devastating and vicious chain reaction of consequences. The worse the nightmares, the less he slept, and the less he slept, the more paranoid he would become. Paranoia that worsened the nightmares.

Nightmares where Gunnar hadn’t just tried to race across No Man’s Land to selflessly provide cover-fire for a trooper who wasn’t dead after all, but he had triggered the landmine nearby instead of the CIS battle droid. Where Cryfar hadn’t just fallen backwards into a deeper pit and presumably broken his neck or his skull after losing his footing on the soil softened by the rains, but had either drowned or been swept away in a flash-flood. Where Faro hadn’t just been shot by the BX commando, but had his spine broken over the clanker’s knee, too. Where Fluke hadn’t just been effectively poisoned by his spoiled rations and died in his sleep, but he’d been… Maker, poor Canvas couldn’t even say.

And now, he, Scruffy, was showing up in these nightmares. The more the medics said he recovered and got closer to battle-ready, the more Canvas seemed to regress.

Scruffy couldn’t let his little brother go on this way, but he wasn’t sure how he could break the anxiety spiral this time. All the worry stones in the galaxy couldn't help him right now. Sedatives just made him fitful and sick to his stomach. They'd tried; many times. It was hard to think at 0300 in the morning as he listened to Stick trying to coax Canvas back to his bunk while he feverishly messaged the CO back.

“Hey, do… you want to try one of those strategy games they gave us as cadets, Canvas?”

“No.” Canvas snaps back, squeezing his knees tighter under his chin, thin GAR-issued blanket draped around his shoulders as he sits, hunched, in a corner of the room.

Sir, please, with all due respect, I’m not sure the sedative is the best call. Yes, I know he needs sleep, believe me. But he was sick for an hour afterwards the last time we tried it. He’s not eating regularly again.

Placating hands are raised to chest level, trying to show the lack of threat. “Okay-okay. What about walking around the ship to tire you out?” Stick suggests gently, trying to buy Scruffy time to find or outsource a potential solution.

“We’re not supposed to leave our quarters,” Canvas drones in a flat intonation, “we’d get in troub-”

“Well not if a CO said it was okay!” Stick blurts in interuption, a wide-eyed look thrown Scruffy’s way. He remembered the warning from his batchmate that this brother of a different batch was once pretty tight-fisted about the rules and regulations as a Shiny, because they offered comfort and stability to a cadet with a higher than typical obedience before he learned that the regulation manuals couldn’t teach you everything. The reg manuals couldn’t teach you about the effect losing your brothers has on a soldier. Canvas stopped being quite such a stickler for the rules when Gunnar disobeyed the order to retreat to the natural cover provided by a ridge before returning fire and-

> Good idea, see if walking around the ship will help him. Permission granted.

Thank you, Sir.

He pitches the communicator onto his bunk and strides across the private quarters suggested by the medical crew that was mercifully signed off on by the COs. “We’ve been granted permission. C’mon, you two.” Scruffy declares, hoisting Canvas up to his feet by the wrists. “Let’s go stretch our legs, little brother.”

Canvas slumps forward, fatigue weighing down his every limb. He’s so tired. He’s so paranoid. He’s so traumatized. “O-okay…” Scruffy supports him on one side, Stick the other, and the three Clones leave their temporary quarters to walk the ship aimlessly. Scruffy didn't have anywhere particular in mind, just anywhere else away from the room Canvas has effectively made into a foxhole.

I should thank the brothers in Laundry for sneaking us all these extra blankets, soon, Scruffy thinks to himself, tucking the blanket Canvas had essentially swaddled himself in back over his shoulders when it slips.

“Hey, Scruff? I thought of somethin'. You know where the replacement armor depot and rec rooms are on this level, right?”

Scruffy gives his batchmate a quizzical look. “Yeah… why?” He'd already gotten the parts of his armor that couldn't be repaired after the detonation replaced and repainted in their unit's color. He'd had to make several secretive runs to collect more paint after he kept knocking over the containers in his haste to rescue Canvas from yet another panicked awakening several nights in a row. Had to send several sets of sleepwear to Laundry after hastily smearing paint on them to clean his hands. Clean hands Scruffy needed to clean up his brother's tears or hug him or pull him out of bed to settle him down.

"Back so soon, Scruffy! This is the second time tonight. Whaddya need?"

"Clean set of sleepers, please… Got paint on em, don't want the stain to set."

"Uh oh. Canvas again, yeah? Poor kid. Here… Fresh set of sleepers for the three of you. Blankets, too."

"Thanks… appreciate it. Off to the armor depot to pick up some paint remover."

Stick scratches behind his left ear to think. “Well I uh… heard a rumor that if you ask someone in the depot for it, they've got a bad batch of armor paint they're trying to find uses for. Say it's too thin and runny to properly adhere to plastoid but it'd probably be better suited for wood or something."

It has turned out that more Clones than just Carver, and Stick, as Scruffy had come to find out, had a penchant for finding and collecting the odd scrap of wood here and there as little tokens from this ongoing campaign. Or as art material. The General has joked fondly on more than one occasion that they must have cut as many logs as they have battle droids with their lightsaber in the name of their men so the troops have more manageable sized pieces of wood to work and create with.

"How beautiful it is that so many of these men desire to breathe creation into this galaxy, each work of art as unique and distinct as them all."

"So… that's a 'yes, I nicked myself with my own lightsaber and would like my team medic to check the wound' because you got excited rather than tired, then, General?"

"Hah, I suppose so."

Disposable canisters of paint and brushes from the depot, some whittled token for Stick to work with and paper-like material for Scruffy in case he doesn't care for the wood he's selected from the scrap pile, they find an empty, circular table in the unofficial rec center and "make camp", so to speak. Scruffy is flanked by Canvas on his left, Stick his right, to allow him to keep Canvas close in the way that's most comforting to him while keeping his more dominant hand free. In the matters of painting, Scruffy found his right hand was better suited for controlling the brushes, while he felt he was better with a blaster in his left.

They were trained to be dual-handed, ambidextrous, on their mother-world of Kamino. But brothers tended to favor certain hands for certain tasks. Stick always ate with his left hand, and shot primarily with his left, too. However, when he creates, like Scruffy, he's right-handed. Canvas is the inverse; primarily right-handed when it comes to how he eats and fights, but left handed for most other matters. Scruffy was more balanced, equally comfortable using either hand for anything at the end of the day.

Canvas doesn't want to do anything but watch, too tired or too uninterested, arms stitched tightly around Scruffy's waist with his head laying over his brother's heart. Stick is more interested in rifling through the colors the crew stationed in the depot gave them for their creative efforts; decided on what carved item he wishes to paint, at least.

He's not sure what he wants to paint yet, but Scruffy knows that he should at least get started on something to keep himself calm instead of actively fretting. If Canvas's ear was just above his heart, then he was probably using this organic timer to measure out his own clarity and calm. "Hey, could I borrow the blue?" Stick requests in a soft voice. By following his batchmate's lead, maybe, hopefully, Stick hopes Canvas will be kept calm enough to decide to test his luck and sleep.

"Sure. Whatcha paintin'?" Didn't look like anything Carver made to his memory, so it must have been one of the friends his little brother made during his time as a Shiny. Looked to be some kind of livestock from some far-flung corner of the galaxy.

Stick shrugged. "Uh… I forget what he called it. Just remember he said it was mostly blue."

"Fair enough."

"What're you painting?"��

"Mm," Scruffy hummed in thought, laying down a washing of white paint as a base coat on the wood square in careful, steady strokes, "thinking about that still. Maybe an Aiwha. Or a bird. Or… something." Just needed something to keep him busy, keep him engaged and focused on something that would keep Canvas's mind occupied on anything else. Anything else than the memory or thought of the dreams he's been having about losing his brothers. If silent observation was what he wanted, found comfort in, Scruffy would give that to Canvas.

He'd go so far to give the armor with the collar of paint around the neck off his back to a brother in need. Whatever it would take to uphold that oath to Faro.

I'll protect our little brother.

I'd do anything to comfort him, too.

So yes, we're now sitting in the rec room at nearly 0400 after spending half an hour walking around aimlessly before we got the paints, and-

"You've gotten really good with a brush, Scruff."

The compliment throws him off track for just a heartbeat, the break in the comfortable silence only punctuated by the soft inhale and exhale of breath between the wet sweeping of paint-laden brushes unexpected. "Thanks, Stick." There's a muted hum of agreement from Canvas that he can feel through his brother's chest. "Thank you too, Canvas. How're you feeling right now? Sleepy?"

There's no reply, verbal or otherwise, and the soft patter of his heartbeat Scruffy can just barely make out being held so close, like he'd drift away with the tide if Canvas relaxed his arms even a fraction, changed only slightly.

"That's okay, brother. You don't have to answer. Only wondering." Scruffy assures him, the arm draped around his shoulders constricts softly to give him a comforting squeeze. "Like… have you been told why his name is Stick, yet?" Scruffy feels the answer, a gentle bumping of Canvas's chin against his chest as he shakes his head no.

His batchmate chuckles quietly. "It's silly. I scratched my CT number into a stick I found nearby and used it to hold my place in line for receiving our evening rations because I desperately had to, y'know, "help a thirsty tree"... One of the COs was wondering why there was a gap in the line and asked why there was a stick in line when he went to inspect things, asked what a stick was doing in line right around the time I came back. Looked the CO straight in the eye and said "Oh that's me, Sir!", completely serious-like. I accidentally named myself Stick."

"And… you didn't want to change it?" Canvas asks in a small voice. It's the first he's spoken since he suggested he believed they'd be in trouble if they were out of their room after-hours on this part of the massive Venator-class ship.

Stick smiles brightly, surprised just like Scruffy that Canvas was actually talking. "Nah. The look on the CO's face was too funny and the joke got away from me quickly. Took on a life of its own so fast that other soldiers actually kept using that placeholder I made to keep my spot in line several times. I just decided to lean into it; claim it for myself."

"Do you… still have it?"

Stick nodded, blotting the smallest brush clean for Scruffy so he could use it next. "Yeah. It's in one of the lockers with the rest of my things back in the room, actually. Here, trade with you so you're not trying to use the edge of such a thick brush to paint such thin lines, Scruff."

"Oh, thanks…" Scruffy murmurs, finding the tiny tip much easier to control to properly convey the shape of his subject. A little bird sitting in cupped hands.

"Is that a… uh, what'd the General call them again? Spearoos?"

Scruffy chuckles, amused by the mispronounced attempt. "Sparrows. Little birds they'd see at the Jedi Temple, apparently. They sounded cute." he admits with a shrug. The more he learned from Canvas about the various birds of the galaxy, the more he could understand why they fascinated this brother from another batch. There were just so many. So many fascinating evolutionary niches, adaptations, colors, sizes, even types of plumage. There was no shortage of information to learn about avian life of the galaxy outside their rainy mother-world.

"What kind of…?" Canvas yawned halfway through his question, head drooping a little deeper.

"Oh… I dunno yet." Scruffy suddenly had an idea. He'd come back to working on the sparrow. Hands cupping the sparrow now found themselves at the ends of bent arms encircled in armor. "You'll get to decide once I'm done painting you."

"... me? You're gonna paint me?" Canvas stubbornly blinks away the fatigue steadily tugging his eyelids shut the longer they're in this quiet recreation center. Every Clone who comes in from the outer halls of the ship, initially bursting with exuberant laughter, falls silent when they see the three brothers sat around the little table, one of them slumped so far down in his chair while draped in a blanket, practically sharing his brother's shadow. The rumors have gotten around fast.

If for any reason you see a particularly anxious trooper huddled in the hall outside the infirmary, that's not a Shiny scared about his check-up. Please seek out Scruffy or his batchmate Stick immediately. They'll be the only ones who can settle Canvas down.

The permanent crew has heard of the ordeal just a week and a half ago, and they've made sure to advise all brothers and batchmates to show Scruffy, Stick and Canvas some extra support and patience because this "I'm having too many nightmares to sleep properly" cycle has been going on for four days, at least. Those entering the room become hushed with one quick glance at the trio.

Scruffy waves in return to those entering to be polite. At last, he answers Canvas with a "Yeah, why not?" paired with a little shrug and gentle nod. "Would be good practice, too."

Thank Kamino's steady rains and her endless, yawning seas…

Canvas was actually asleep.

This whole time, Scruffy just needed to hold Canvas close and sit in relative quiet in order to coax his brother into sleeping. With any luck, a sleep that was not burdened with pain-soaked memories of how he'd lost his batchmates to this galaxy. Hopefully that sweet-tempered, tiny smile was brought about by dreaming of happier times with those brothers. Maybe he was dreaming of Faro holding him and maybe all his brothers close during one of the rare times they had no training, no studies to complete. Or remembering a time he perhaps straddled Gunnar’s shoulders to reach or see something on a high shelf, maybe even racing down the halls pretending they were riding on the back of an Aiwha, instead. Maybe he was hand-sparring with Cryfar for fun, throwing sloppy punches with the intention of making a brother crack and break down into peals of laughter that lasted until their sides ached and their heads felt light. He could have been fantasizing with Fluke all the planets they’d see once they were shipped off to fight in the name of the Republic, the name of their brothers, their homeworld.

Fantasizing and brainstorming their Names. Their paint patterns. If they’d get brave and step outside the uniformity of the regulation haircut and get wild with it. If they’d be lucky and survive long enough to no longer be Shinies, but be the seasoned, experienced soldiers they’d been bred for, bred in the after-image of a late bounty hunter. Wishfully thinking they’d outlast the war.

Similar things Scruffy had done himself with his own batchmates.

“Who’s scuff mark is that?” Stick mumbles, whispering in a sleepy voice as he points to the scuff that spans across the split in the chestplate that denotes the “pecs” of the armor, just under the chin of the Phase II helmet.

“Faro’s…” Scruffy whispers back, carefully dabbing his brush to gather a miniscule amount of black paint to mix into the white on the makeshift mixing palette to make more of the light gray. “His scuff mark is above ‘Vas’s… almost like he’s…”

Looking down on his little brother.

Oh how poetic.

“Kriff…” Stick murmurs, thinking the same exact thing, bottom lip quivering. He’s heard what Scruffy experienced in those two minutes, heard the dreamscape he wandered through, heard the promise made to a fallen brother. “Do you… think he is, if he’s able to?”

Scruffy never had the time to ask Faro questions like that. Questions he wished he’d thought of at the time in hindsight. “If Faro can, I hope he does…” Could Faro see how confident and self-assured Canvas had become after adopting a name from the words of a CO? Did Gunnar feel honored that his bravery inspired Canvas to offer support to their brothers in the middle of a firefight? Would Cryfar laugh knowing that Canvas would take a deep breath to settle himself if he got overexcited or stumbled over his words? Could Fluke find it in him to be glad rather than guilty that Canvas inspected his rations for signs of spoilage no matter how tired, how hungry, he’d be to avoid preventable sickness?

Would ‘Vas’s batchmates never doubt for a moment that they’d asked the right person to take the task of protecting their little brother?

"Wow… it really looks like him so far." Stick whispers.

Scruffy needs to give the work more color still beyond the shading of the white armor and the paint of their unit. He'd done all the linework and painted Canvas in his armor and his six little scuff marks. But now he needs to take care to mix up the paints available to him to get the skin tone just right. There had been no basic brown in the depot to build off of, so he'd have to create it himself.

Let's see… complimentary colors could make brown in most cases. And Canvas… in natural light, in perfect health, didn't he have more red undertones to that bronzed skin? Almost a less saturated mahogany? Hmm. He'd have to play around with the color mixing for a while to make sure Canvas didn't end up looking so light and pale, or too dark.

After a painstaking process of getting the shade perfect, Scruffy could finish capturing his brother's likeness. The jaw and broad nose looked less flat and stiff with the color introduced by his brush. Carefully building up that color, Canvas's face on the cut of wood became softer, rounder, more humanized.

Human. They were all human. Their General told Scruffy when he first found his name that they, the Clones, the sons of Kamino, all of them felt unique in the Force. Cut from the largest bolt of cloth the galaxy had ever kriffing seen to anyone else, but distinct to the Force-wielders.

"There is a protective nature to you, son. You might make a fine leader for your brothers in this war. I can feel it; how many of them feel safer with you watching out for them. Perhaps… even the ones who don't want to admit it. But especially to that brother who I came to assist in his descent from the treetops, just the other week."

"M-me, a leader? Oh, uh… Thank you, General… I don't know what to say."

"You are very perceptive, Scruffy; it has been hard not to take notice. And I can sense that you have questions. You are welcome to ask."

"Do you still hear the fluttering? When talking about our brother we're all worried about, I mean."

"I do. The sound has… gotten slower, less frantic. But I do not feel it means he's giving up. I sense it means something else for him."

Scruffy has to pause for a moment, giving the paintbrush to a half-asleep Stick so he can adjust his support on Canvas, carefully sit him up so he doesn't strain his neck with an uncomfortable angle or lack of support after he's practically doubled-over since sitting at the table. "Easy… please stay asleep…"

Stick gives his batchmate the brush again, murmuring that he's just gonna lay his head down on the table and rest his eyes. The sun is slowly peering over the horizon on this side of the planet and it's getting in his eyes. It's almost daybreak.

"Go ahead, I'm almost done. Just need to… paint one last… thing, then we can see if we can carry him back to the room before this side of the ship officially wakes up."

The little sparrow. Scruffy just needed to finish the little sparrow, but Canvas was likely in a deeper sleep now because shifting him didn't cause him to stir in the slightest. So he wasn't available to say what kind of sparrow Scruffy should try painting. But at least Scruffy knew his brother's favorite color.

Orange. He could make the little sparrow orange.

Not just any old shade of orange, either. A very distinct orange.

Saffron.

A beautiful surprise sometimes found in the middle of golden and blush-pink sunrises. Dramatic and demanding in the red and purple sunsets. Canvas hoped to try something with Ithorian saffron in it one day. And as far as oranges went, to Scruffy's recollection, it didn't show up in many birds and their plumage across the galaxy.

Stick yawns and tells him not to be a perfectionist about it. Just paint the bird orange, add a few details and call it good. Scruffy carefully hums in agreement, saying it shouldn't take long. He should be finished soon.

The CO strides down the hall, hearing the chatter through the Clone rumor network that the trio from his unit could be found in the rec center. There's been a lot of chatter.

"They've been in there since almost 0400. It's nearly time for the mess to start serving breakfast for this side of the ship. You think they're okay?"

"I dunno. You've heard how Scruffy's brothers have been since the guy got himself blown up and came back from the dead; Stick actually wants to talk to him again and the other one… what's his name again? Vas?"

"Canvas."

"Ah, got it. Well Canvas has been inseparable from Scruffy ever since-"

Why were so many troops of a different unit stopped in the hallway, slowly peeking into the doorway of this level's rec center in groups before moving on to get some sleep? "Boys, you know what safety protocol is for the halls." Too many brothers lingering in the halls made for dangerous bottlenecks. Too many lives to potentially lose in one place if they were to come under Separatist fire. There's a mixed rippling of apologetic sorry sir-s and we'll go-s and you should see it for yourself-s that makes the CO sigh gently. "That's what I'm here for, trooper. Get yourself to bed and sleep well."

"Yessir." The reply comes with some salutes.

The CO finds the three young soldiers of his unit, his brothers, slumped at the table together, asleep, save for one. Head propped in his hand, elbow firmly on the table, Scruffy was just teetering on the edge of consciousness, his left arm curled around Canvas. Almost all Clone brothers have the same rich, brown eyes, but there's something that is profoundly, simultaneously doleful and calm when Scruffy looks up from the table to politely acknowledge his superior officer.

"Good morning, Sir. Sleep well?"

He can tell Scruffy hasn't gotten so much as an hour, or even half, of sleep since granting "permission" to roam the ship to ease Canvas's paranoia. He wonders whose idea it was to stop by the depot for the bad batch of armor paint and come into the recreation center on this level.

"Well enough, I suppose… Have you gotten any sleep, soldier?"

"No, sir. But…" Scruffy glances down at Canvas, still fast asleep, still bearing that tiny, tender smile, "...that's okay. I'll get an opportunity later. I think… I think this is the way to help 'Vas, though."

The CO is slightly surprised. Holding him while he sleeps, like a little nat-born child? Was it really that simple in the end?

He has to check,"Did you get a sedative from Medical?"

Scruffy shakes his head. "No sir."

"Huh. Well, if it works-"

"-don't kriff with it." his soldier closes out the saying held close to the heart of many a battlefield medic. "Should… probably get back to our room so others can use the rec room without needing to walk on their toes. Stick. Wake up, brother. C'mon…" Created and trained for war, but so perceptive and kind, Scruffy is telling his CO indirectly that he'll get the three of them out of everyone's curled hair.

Scruffy will have his hands full carrying Canvas back, and Stick is bleary-eyed as he stumbles to his feet, swearing sharply under his breath when he drops the whittled farm animal. (Hmm, he's curious as to who made that; it doesn't seem like Carver's work.) The CO stoops down and reaches under the table, "Here, just follow your brother, Stick. I've got it." He collects the other item that bears evidence of importance to his brothers, and with relief finds the paint is long dry. He'll return to clean up their table later.

"Thanks, sir…" Stick yawns, trying to clear his vision. He nods simply, hand on Stick's shoulder to better guide him after Scruffy back to their room.

As they walk in relative silence, aside from Scruffy's soft-spoken "conversation" with himself, seemingly.

That's been a new quirk for this soldier, since the detonation. Since his batchmate brought him back from the brink. Talking to himself.

Except just as they reach the quarters temporarily assigned to the trio, the CO catches Scruffy drop a name for the first time. "Wish I knew what your favorite color was, Faro. Maybe I could've made your brother's portrait even more symbolic by making your scuff mark your favorite color instead of the color of Our unit. Really make Canvas look like a painter's pallet or something; wouldn't that be funny?"

Scruffy was talking to Faro. That was the third batchmate Canvas had lost not long into his first campaign off of Kamino. He remembers Faro for his stoicism and a fond eye he only seemed to hold for his batchmates, for whatever the reason. Sadly the COs and the General never had the opportunity to get through to this soldier before he was forever lost to the galaxy not long after finding a Name.

For the first time, before he'll have to give it to Scruffy, the CO takes a closer look at this thin sheet of wood he picked up off the table.

It's a face that millions, maybe billions of Clone troopers bare, but it's still undeniably Canvas. The portrait has his gentle, coal-dark curls of hair and the dark, doe-like eyes that exaggerated his emotions. He remembers seeing Canvas, then just a number, a plastoid puppy, when he disembarked the gunships full of reinforcements. The kid had such an expressive face. And here, it was captured in a perfect expression of serenity.

Canvas has been painted in his Phase II armor, save for his hands at chest level; lacking the gloves and gauntlet plates. Cupped in his hands is a little orange bird, backdropped by his gray-ish scuff mark. But his scuff mark near the plackart is not glazed over in Their color. It's completely barren of paint.

The scuff marks of his batchmates are coated in paint, however. Faro's above Canvas's. Gunnar's is on the left shoulder bell and part of the shoulder on the chestplate. Cryfar's is on the left, on a lower part of the chestplate just before it touches the seam where chest and backplate meet. Fluke's is on the right side of the chestplate, near the space the arm comes through.

His batchmates' scuffs surround his own with color to frame Canvas's gentle hands, carrying a little orange bird, and the CO can see with each deliberate stroke of the brush that this entire portrait has been carried out with the sentiment of another brother's love for him.

Bacta, nysillin, both were some damn good stuff in the way of medicine out in this galaxy, but love…

It didn't matter the type. Romantic. Platonic. Familial. Love was some of the best medicine to soothe a troubled mind, a fearful heart, a struggling brother. It was far from Canvas's fault something in him was so fearful, so frightened again; like he had been from the very first step off the gunship.

It was far from Scruffy's fault as well, the CO hearing the thin GAR-issue mattress creak with the additional weight as two troopers sandwich Scruffy once Stick joins them. They were young. These three were more experienced than when they had been Shinies, but they would all have their slip ups. Even him, and his other commanding officer who he worked with regularly due to the nature of this campaign.

The General blames themselves for trying to warn Scruffy too late about the laser trip wire. Each CO individually blames themselves for not looking out for his brother better. They'd just rather Scruffy not take the blame while he's focused on trying to take care of a slightly younger brother once again because he has so much love for his brothers.

That was a good thing.

"Sleep well, boys." He sets the portrait of Canvas down near the bed, pulling one of the many, many blankets he finds on the floor up and over Scruffy and his little brothers.

A brother's love could be such a healing thing.

[FFF Masterlist] [Clone OC Masterlist]

Tagging @stardust9905 just to make sure that you see this, since you had asked if there was going to be more. 🩷

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#frostfics #Comforting Little Brothers #star wars #star wars the clone wars #swtcw #sw tcw #tcw #star wars tcw #the clone wars fanfiction #tcw fanfic #star wars headcanons #tcw headcanons #clone oc: canvas #clone oc: gunnar/faro/cryfar/fluke #clone oc: scruffy #clone oc: stick #clone oc: commander juke #clone oc: captain law #jedi oc: caelen

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flfverse · 2 years ago

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TRANS KIRI RIGHTS!!!!!

Oh my god I read it last night before bed and it’s ALL I could think about!!! And it’s STILL all I can think about!!! I’m so in love with this concept and so glad you ended up writing this. The slow realization, the denial, the imposter syndrome, the perceived selfishness—it’s all soooo good and really speaks to what I feel like is kind of this internalized orientationism that exists unconsciously in the greater society of your worldbuilding from which a lot of the trans issues or Hawks’s internalized subphobia (is that a thing? Is now) kind of stem insidiously. Kirishima is like “I’m a dom! It’s my job to protect ppl and I’m a hero anyway so it all works out!” But that’s a trap he doesn’t realize he’s stuck in until he’s really forced to confront it, and I’m soooo in love with how you handled him avoiding the issue until it blew up in his face (because I’m an angst/hurt/comfort lover). Got all the swoopy feelings in my stomach about it and even when I go back to read it again I still get em 🩵

Kiri’s evolution is something I’m so excited to read further about… I really hope you’ll explore him trying to hide it from his friends, who are so used to using him as a dom sounding board when they need help. I can’t imagine he’ll find it easy to give up that role easily, since he cares so much for his friends and wants to support them in any way he can, and also because I wonder if the weight of their expectations will be hard to get out from under without outing himself? Like I can just see Sero torn on the sidelines watching Kirishima do things that hurt himself but not knowing how to intervene in a way that respects Kirishima’s boundaries but also is healthy for him?

Which also makes me wonder about our dear, beloved, hyper vigilant Aizawa-sensei… because I’m an ever-guilty Aizawa lover…….!! But that aside, my excuse for bringing him is that I think he would at least notice something off with kirishima and his dynamic w the class (unless he’s not their teacher at this point? Tbh I’m admittedly not sure how school is looking for these kids at this point in your story ehehe). But I can also picture sero going to him like “girl help! My bf is (redacted) and he’s hurting himself over it and idk what to do!” Or also kiri showing up in the office like “Sensei help! I’m (redacted) and idk what to do!” And Aizawa being like “well I can’t help if I don’t know the root of the problem but also I respect boundaries so….”

Sorry got carried away a bit. But the point is! I loved this fic and CANT wait to see where you’ll take it next.

Enjoy your hiatus! You’ve more than earned it. Until the next update, I’ll be lurking on old chapters and poking you in your asks 🩵

—V

TRANS!!! KIRI!!! RIGHTS!!! 🩵🩵🩵

oh yeah, i definitely want to explore him hiding things from the others. we loveee that angst. i don’t know when i want him to come out…in Cross the Line i did write a little throwaway convo about him and sero both being doms before i decided to hit him with the trans beam, and i’m still undecided on what to do about that. they’re all around 23 at that point, which is a pretty long time to hide, so i might change it. i can definitely see him only coming out to a few people for the sake of his hero career….we’ll see.

aizawa is definitely still around! in my head they keep the same homeroom teacher bc i loveee dadzawa and it makes sense?? right?? if he’s training them?? yeah.

i lowkey forgot he would be around noticing all of this but yeah, he would definitely notice the dynamic was off and be like, waiting for the right excuse to poke at the issue. and sero would absolutely come to him well before kiri would :(( ack i’m making myself sad thinking about him now

i like this version of kiri (and all versions of trans kiri) bc he has this kind of comedic level of emphasis on manliness and being the steady unwavering rock for his friends, which is very wholesome, but also BUDDY. you need to base your identity on more things than that. i think it is very genuine, which is why i love him, but also you could play it like he’s compensating, like if he just says it enough it’ll be true.

augh. enough sadkiri thoughts. let’s think about puppykiri again and ask the REAL question which is: why does his costume have a psuedo-muzzle, hm? what’s happening here

thank you for coming to my ted talk. i think the next little edition of this mini saga will just be focused on kiri and sero and puppy play (and some trans feelings), but after that it’d be fun to do some angst. or before. depends which i finish first, i guess?

#asked and answered #anon v #kirishima eijirou #wrong side of the fence #ish #possible ideas

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5sosfanfictioncatalogue · 2 months ago

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2k Masterlist

Better Here (ao3) - insideimasadrainbow luke/calum, michael/ashton N/R, 2k

Summary: Whenever Ashton drags Luke to some gathering or party that includes other human beings, Luke is left alone. He doesn’t mind, or tries to think he doesn’t mind since he doesn’t know how to keep a conversation with another being who is not Ashton. However, at some beach birthday party for someone he doesn’t know, Luke is approached and the guy actually sticks with him. In more ways than one when he drags Luke off to go cuddle.

better than anything you’ve tried (ao3) - mercutionotromeo luke/ashton E, 2k

Summary: “Good puppy. Want you to shake that pretty ass for me. Show me what I’m missing, hm? Show off for me.”

Ash bites his lip as he thinks about gripping Luke’s hips, about leaving nail marks on his ass, about slapping one of his soft thighs just to hear him squeak.

“Perfect. My perfect, pretty puppy. You want to touch yourself, puppy? Would that feel good?”

Birthday Things (ao3) - mariawritesstuff (orphan_account) luke/calum, michael/calum, michael/luke/calum T, 2k

Summary: Michael’s been a shit best friend and didn’t come to Calum’s party. Naturally, the birthday boy isn’t pleased and demands some compensation.

Or, it’s Calum’s birthday and he wants it all.

Butterfly House - @daydadahlias (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) michael/luke G, 2k

Summary: Luke and Michael go to a butterfly house for their anniversary.

come on, tell me boy (ao3) - merlypops luke/ashton E, 2k

Summary: Luke just wants to hear Ashton beg and it’s better than he hoped.

Confront Me (ao3) - jadedperspective michael/ashton G, 2k

Summary: Ashton tells Michael they can’t be friends anymore and Michael, without anyone else to turn to, seeks his best friend for comfort.

Drunken Nights & Trying Again (ao3) - iamfrenchy michael/calum T, 2k

Summary: After a drunken night, Michael and Calum wake up next to each other, naked and confused. Things get awkward but it isn’t that bad and they try to ignore it but then Calum can’t stop thinking about Mikey and he wants more.

Or the one where they are idiots who actually like each other a whole lot

Hey, I Love You (Cuddle?) (ao3) - clearsummerstars T, 2k

Summary: Luke’s proper mad and Calum tries to cheer him up.

Oh, You Make Me Complete (ao3) - DearDevotedDelicate luke/ashton N/R, 2k

Summary: Luke Hemmings is a solo artist who needs to find inspiration for his new project, he also needs a love life. A little-known cafe is the perfect spot for his dreams to come true.

only memories, fading memories (ao3) - lifewasradical michael/calum T, 2k

Summary: “Hello?” he says into the microphone, extending his legs out in front of him, making tiny dust angels from the thickness on the hardwood.

“Mike? Where are you?”

“Broke into the old apartment,” he answers softly, eyes shutting as he basks in the golden rays.

Only Time You On The Net Is When You Google My Ass (ao3) - senioritastyles michael/luke E, 2k

Summary: Michael checks and rechecks his angle, making sure that Luke is perfectly framed the way he likes to be: from just about his mouth down. They’re always careful not to show their full faces on camera, not ashamed in the least but wanting to keep their identities hidden especially when they know what some people around the school campus watch their sessions. Michael checks the screen again, looking at Luke’s naked body kneeling on the rough carpet of their dorm room floor and smiling.

Or: Michael and Luke are college camboys.

Only You (ao3) - FayeHunter Michael/Luke E, 2k

Summary: Michael misses his date with Luke and has to watch him have fun on his own.

Play With Me More (ao3) - converse_luke luke/calum E, 2k

Summary: “Luke, can you look at me?” His eyes open slowly, the love in Calum’s eyes makes him want to cry. “You are so beautiful yea? And remember last time, they love you baby.” Luke doesn’t give a verbal reaction but Calum can tell he wants to dig his face back into the crook of his neck. Calum lets him for a moment, picking up the mask before lifting Luke up. “I’m gonna change our game plan for tonight baby, you okay with that?” Luke nods against his neck as Calum softly sets him down on the bed. “Good, just relax okay?”

seeing color for the first time - @sup3rbloom (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) michael/calum, luke/ashton T, 2k

Summary: Michael finally meets his soulmate, but his soulmate runs off in such a hurry before Michael can even know who he is, so Michael goes to his roommate (and best friend) for help.

Speed It Up Baby Make Me Sweat (ao3) - converse_luke luke/calum E, 2k

Summary: Luke finally joins Calum for a camming session.

stay stay stay (i’ve been loving you for quite some time) (ao3) - nothingliketherain (39_killer_queen) michael/ashton T, 2k

Summary: A soft, lazy morning that ends with Ashton asking Michael a very important question.

the future with you - @sup3rbloom (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) michael/ashton T, 2k

Summary: Ashton and Michael have a disagreement when Valentine's Day is just around the corner. Ashton and Michael have never fought in the six years that they've been together. It's a horrible time for everyone involved.

This Could Be It (ao3) - The_girl_of_the_fandoms_18 luke/ashton M, 2k

Summary: It may have already been theirs but Luke never asked before tonight.

Or,

Luke finally asks Ashton to move in with him and they end up having sex in their bed again.

took my foot up off the brake, it’s not an accident (ao3) - deserteyes michael/luke E, 2k

Summary: It was quieter in the kitchen. Here, the music’s bassline could only be heard through the walls, and without the crowd, the atmosphere was less tense.

“Want some?” Luke asked, lifting the bottle of wine at Michael.

He shook his head in response. “No, thank you. How much have you had?”

Luke replied, “Second glass,” and tapped his rings against it with a clink. “First was tequila.”

Michael hummed and leaned against the counter. The cool marble surface was a relief to his skin. The light dancing on Luke’s shirt with every movement was distracting, like a star exploding each time he moved.

Tu boquita (ao3) - valiantneard (arareads) Luke/Ashton E, 2k

Summary: Luke and Ashton go to a date at a latin club.

#5sosfanfictioncatalogue #5sos fanfic #5sos #5 seconds of summer #masterlists #2k #2k masterlist

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sweetmusingss · 6 months ago

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Oscar pouts at you a bit, narrowing his eyes as he looked between you and Lando. He loved his friend dearly but he didn’t exactly have a whole lot of trust that he would take good care of you. He wasn’t exactly the most mature or responsible one in your friend group. He felt immediately let down when seeing you cuddle up to Lando and put the plate of fruit in his lap instead. It was just the reminder that he needed that he was reading too much into things. He wasn’t special to you like he had always wanted to be. That was the motivation he needed to walk away and get ready for his date. When it came to you, he lost all common sense and he looked at you with heart eyes instead of seeing the harsh reality. He didn’t want to end up alone though. He was tired of feeling lonely and his longing for you was starting to get a little pathetic. He couldn’t blame you though. He was just your friend and that was all he would ever be. “This apartment better be in one piece when I get back,” he said, going to the fridge and getting your juice, putting it in front of you without a word before going to get ready for his date.

Cuddling with Lando didn’t feel as good as cuddling with Oscar. With Lando, it was fine but it lacked something. I didn’t know what, but I didn’t feel as content with my head on Lando’s shoulder as I did when I was nuzzling my nose against Oscar’s shoulder. Lando and I both look up at Oscar with identical innocent looks, nodding. “We’ll try... no promises. But honestly, I’m too tired to move. And you can’t blame a sick girl for being messy.” I watch as he walks away, there being some sort of tug in my chest to follow him, always wanting to be near him or next to him or talking to him. He was just my best friend and that was totally normal behavior... I push those thoughts away easily, focusing back on the show with Lando. We both look up when Oscar comes out in his date outfit, watching as he grabs his keys and makes sure he has everything. “You look nice, Osc. Just be yourself, okay?”

Lando scoffs, shaking his head. “Don’t listen to her. If he’s himself, he’ll rant on and on about koalas or something because he’s Australian. Just let her do most of the talking, Oscar. Don’t get all in your head and rambley. Be mysterious and leave her wanting more.” Lando throws his friend a thumbs up, not aware that his advice was some of the worst for someone like Oscar.

“Oh my god. No.” I push off Lando, using all the energy that I had left in me to walk over to Oscar, still wearing his hoodie. “Don’t listen to him. You’re great, Oscar, and any girl who has a solid head on her shoulders will see that. Your rambling is charming and I’d personally love for a guy to talk to me about koalas and kangaroos instead of their gym regimen and favorite sports team. You’re already quite mysterious so can’t help you there, but in a cute sort of way. You’re gonna do great. And if you need me to call with a fake emergency so you can get the hell out of there, you know I can cry on command.” I smile up at him, rapping my arms around his middle as I hug him close, burying my nose against his chest. “Have a good time.”

I smile fondly at you before taking your hand and standing up. “Okay, sounds perfect. But don’t think I am putting any clothes on because you would be sorely mistaken then,” I say, pecking your lips gently before going up to our shared bedroom. I turn on the television, flipping through the channels before landing on Friends. It was one of my comfort shows and I might have overheard Chris talking before about how it was the show that helped you learn English after you moved to the US from Romania. I get cozy under the blanket as I waited for you to come join me.

“Did I say to put clothes on? Nope, I did not. I expect you to be naked until we leave this house.” He winks at you before going into he kitchen dang grabbing ice cream and two spoons and some napkins. He makes his way back to the bedroom and crawls into bed next to you, handing you a spoon and opening the pint of ice cream. He glances at the screen and smiles fondly, “Aw, Friends. My life is pretty much The One Where Friends Taught Me English.”

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huge-enthusiast · 4 years ago

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Miraculous fic recomendations!!

This is just an excuse to show all my bookmarks? Yes. Yes, it is. I'm pretty sure most of this fics are really popular, but try see if you find something you didn't knew about!

All of the fics will be rated Teen and up audiences or lower. Also if I don't put the author's tumblr is because they didn't put it in the fic or/and I couldn't find it.

Pairing: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug

knowing you by emsylcatac (they are not really the author of the fic but that's the account that says in the fic, the actual author doesn't have an account).

After dropping their transformations months ago, Marinette and Adrien see each other for the first time after being apart. They've both left too much unsaid and have to work to pick up the pieces of their confused hearts.

Chapters: 1/1

Post-reveal but mostly ladynoir, light angst with happy ending.

the last day on earth by Reiaji

The first time Marinette sees Chat Blanc, she's fourteen years old. The second time, fifteen—the third time, seventeen.

The closer she grows to Adrien, the harder it is to save him.

Chapters: 1/1

Post-reveal lovesquare, kinda heavy angst, hopeful ending.

tell me something i don't know by carpisuns (@carpisuns here on tumblr)

Do you think it still means something? To love someone, even if the universe said you had to?

The odds of having a soulmate are about negative one billion (or something like that). But somehow, like they always have, Marinette and Chat Noir find themselves together. They’re ready to finally tell each other everything, but it turns out that even soulmates have to keep secrets, and while their bond draws them together, duty forces them apart.

Chapters: currently 17/28 (WIPs can be exhausting but this one is 100% worth the wait!)

Mostly marichat but almost all of the lovesquare sides make an appearance, soulmates au, mostly fluff but it can get angsty if it wants to.

One Thing After Another by SKayLanphear

Marinette notices that, sometimes, Adrien acts a little out of the ordinary--like the time he stood in a cardboard box for no reason, or when he actually hissed at Nino. It's only when she starts to notice the similarities between Adrien and a certain feline that she begins to get suspicious.

Basically, Adrien acts like a cat when he probably shouldn't.

Chapters: 15/15

Mostly adrienette with one sided reveal by Marinette's side, miraculous side effects (by both sides wich is really cool!), it's fluff with a lil tiny angst for drama.

This would take some getting used to by Codango (@codango here on tumblr!)

Adrien peeked out from behind the chimney even as the magic of his own Chat Noir mask fell away.

She was still visible, her dark hair bobbing under the street lamps a couple blocks away.

“Marinette.”

Adrien blew out a confused breath. His fiery Ladybug… was the quiet little mouse who sat behind him in class?

“What. The.”

This… would take some getting used to.

Chapters: 8/8

Adrienette with one sided reveal by Adrien's part, awkward flirting, just fluff, nothing to worry about.

comfort food also by Reiaji!

In Marinette's house, cooking is a language of love, and Marinette loves Adrien more than most.

Chapters: 1/1

Adrienette with a little of ladynoir, super super fluff, a lot of insight into Marinette's chinese heritage.

The right side of his face by walkingonthestars (@hamsternamedmarinette here on tumblr!)

Marinette and Adrien are able to remain in their new seats in the back of the room at the end of Chameleon.

Chapters: 1/1

Adrienette, fluff with light angst.

it's a long way forward so trust in me by aloneintherain (@captainkirkk here on tumblr!)

“You’re not the only strong one around here, Chat,” Marinette said. She looked a little winded, but she wasn’t struggling to hold him up.

This close up, he could see the freckles on the bridge of her nose. He could see how that smug smile lit up her eyes. He could feel the strain of her arms—and wow, okay, he really wasn’t the only person around here with muscles.

Six times Marinette carried Adrien (plus one time he carried her).

Chapters: 1/1

All the sides of the lovesquare! Fluff with LOTS of mutual pining.

a fight that you were born to lose also by aloneintherain

When the prosecution starts throwing around the word victim in reference to Adrien, he has to stuff his hands under his thighs to keep himself from bolting out of the courtroom.

Adrien had felt unsafe during those last few weeks, but, until he had woken up and seen Father silhouetted in his bedroom doorway, that had only been paranoia. Father was controlling and cold, but he wasn’t hateful. Adrien was isolated. He was often hungry. And some weeks ago, when he had snuck out to visit Nino, sitting thigh-to-thigh on his bed while Adrien cried in that silent, crumbling way of his, he hadn’t argued when Nino put a hand on his shoulder and said, tentatively, That’s abuse.

But Adrien remembers being small and Father touching his hair after he’d aced another test; Father holding his scribbled drawings like they were something precious, and framing them around his office; Father, dressed as Hawkmoth, his eyes wild behind the mask, lashing his sword against Adrien’s baton; Father, collapsed against Mum, crying into her ashy hair.

Adrien finds out Gabriel is Hawkmoth, and Gabriel gets to bring his long-waited plan into action.

Chapters: 1/1

This one doesn't really focus in the ship that much as is an Adrien character study and an exploration of his relationship with his father, but they're still there so I put them here. Really heavy angst (this is one of this fics that haunt me in the middle of the night) with a happy ending. ❗TW: parental abuse, eating disorders❗

Supercut by LNC

Marinette loves her friends and Adrien can't deal.

Chapters: 1/1

Post-reveal lovesquare, again light angst, an exploration of Adrien's insecurities, Marinette Dupain-Cheng deserves the world, happy ending.

Madame Snare by jettiebettie

“Sounds like a lot of work for nothing. She should take this as a sign to have a relaxing weekend with no responsibilities.”

“It's a lot of work she put her whole heart into. It wouldn't be right for it to go to waste,” Adrien whispers to him. The look on Marinette's face is enough to cause Adrien's own heart to ache. If anyone deserves the satisfaction and pride from a job well done, it's her.

“Too bad there isn't anyone else who can walk in those death traps,” Plagg says. Adrien hums in thought, tapping his chin.

“I could.”

Chapters: 1/1

Marichat, episode-based, Chat Noir in a dress!!!, light angst but it's mostly just idiots being idiots and a lot of fun.

in the same sun by peachcitt (@peachcitt here on tumblr!)

"It’s hard to believe that I saw you last at the peak of summer, when the sun was close and warm - and so were you. It should go without saying that I miss you. I miss you something terrible."

"It’s been seven months to the day since I’ve seen you. I wish you were here more than anything else."

Two letters, signed with initials instead of names, found in Paris, France.

Chapters: 1/1

Ladynoir, just angst, that's it, written like letters. No ending, just pain.

an uncurtain discovery by Missnoodles (@ladyofthenoodle here on tumblr!)

When he returns from school on Wednesday afternoon, Adrien discovers the darkness in his own home. He struggles to come to terms with it. To his utter mortification and delight, Ladybug is nearby to rescue him.

(He does not discover that his father is supervillain. That will happen on a different Wednesday.)

Chapters: 1/1

Ladrien, it says it's crack, and don't get me wrong, is super funny, but I also found it sad as fuck?

An Open Secret by Kasienda

Adrien whirled around toward Marinette. She smiled at him.

He couldn’t smile back. He stared at her like the dumb blond model that he was often accused of being.

Something shifted in her expression. And her warm open Marinette smile transformed into Ladybug’s grin. He was looking at Ladybug right now.

He knew Ladybug’s name!

Her name was Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

And he couldn’t say anything! Not to Marinette! Not even to Plagg, who had confided two weeks prior that Master Fu was growing increasingly paranoid since the location of his home and hideout had been compromised. Their master had apparently decided that Chat Noir and Ladybug would have to give up their miraculouses if they ever discovered each other’s identities.

It wasn’t fair!

...

A fic where they both know, but can't openly talk about it.

Chapters: 4/4

Post-reveal... but is it? Mostly adrienette and ladynoir, fluff with light angst and them being absolute idiots at hiding their secret identity.

golden (like daylight) by okayanna (@anna-scribbles here on tumblr!)

Friendship, Adrien decided, shaking off the mental image of Marinette’s hurricane eyes and hesitant mouth, parted in a small, careful “o.” He had a very strong friendship with Marinette. That was all.

Adrien thinks a lot about words, love, and Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Chapters: 1 + epilogue

Adrienette but has lots of ladynoir, another Adrien character study because I hate myself, it tries to not be angst but the writing will punch you in the guts and make you cry, it's so good.

Strangers in the Bright Lights by poodles (@ladybeug here on tumblr!)

Adrien is about two drinks in when he sees a girl at the end of the bar wearing black cat ears. It's kind of weird, so he watches her, and although it's crowded he can see her face when she turns around. She’s wearing a Chat Noir mask. He takes a quick look around- nobody else is wearing a mask. Just her.

Adrien finishes his gin martini and heads over to her. He could use some company tonight anyways, he hasn’t told anyone he’s back in Paris and Nathalie won’t arrive in town for another month. And it’s been a rough day, okay? A rough move! He’s not sure he wants to be back yet, and he spent most of the day in the Agreste mansion sorting through some photographs of his father he found in the study. Maybe he wants a drink and some stranger to tell him he’s pretty! That’s not a crime, is it?

Chapters: 1/1

Adrienette but it's also ladrien??? I think??? It's super super angsty but they're both drunk the entirety of the fic so it's also really funny.

Pick-Up and Chase by also SKayLanphear

After she accidentally trips into Adrien and apologizes about "falling for him," Marinette learns that he's no match for cheesy pick-up lines--whether they were unintended or not. And while she finds it flattering that he turns into a flustered mess with only a few words, Marinette comes to regret making him uncomfortable. That is, until she learns he's Chat Noir. At which point the phrase "just deserts" becomes a permanent fixture in her everyday plans.

A story in which Adrien is flustered, Marinette is smooth as glass at dropping lines, and Chat Noir gets the romance he was always asking for--even if he doesn't quite know how to handle it.

Chapters: 10/10

Adrienette with one sided reveal by Marinette's side, it doesn't say it in the tags but I'm pretty sure the characters are much older than they actually are in the show, so much fluff and so much flirting.

Pairing: Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe

Nino Has Done Nothing To Deserve This by GuardianKarenTerrier (@guardiankarenterrier here in tumblr)

It's nothing, really- just an innocent comment, a joke. But when they hear it, Nino and Alya come to a realisation.

There were, in retrospect, dozens upon dozens of hints. Now that they're suddenly aware of all their friend's flimsy excuses and rushed explanations, they're not only sure how they've missed it, they're not sure how anyone else has either. They realise that it had to be magic protecting their friends- and that same magic has ceased to work on the two of them.

Well, this means they'll just have to start watching over their friends themselves.

Chapters: 7/7

This is more a found family fic than anything else, Alya and Nino are the mom friend, has light angst but it's mostly identity shenanigans in the most bizarre way. ❗TW: eating disorders❗

christmas lights by demistories

Nino checks up and down the street, checking to make sure there’s no raging akuma headed his way before he crosses quickly and ducks inside the small café. He closes the door quickly before the icy air can blow inside and tugs his beanie down over his ears. He spots Alya sitting alone in the corner.

Chapters: 1/1

Just fluff!! Really short but really sweet.

hold on, i still want you also by Missnoodles!

Written for the @thedjwifizine ! Wich I also recommend if you wanna binge a lot of djwifi fics while also looking at amazing art!!!

Five times Alya ran into her ex, and the one time he stopped being her ex.

Chapters: 1/1

Light angst with a happy ending! I don't really like the ex-lovers to lovers trope but this one is the only exception.

I will continue to expand the list in the future! But by now I hope I was helpful in the search of new fics!

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soulmate-game · 4 years ago

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Curiosity Killed the Exorcist

“And then, see here? You have to be on the lookout for subtle signs like these. This indicates that he’s…” Marinette nodded as Tim continued explaining, pointing out various body language and other clues out on the Batcomputer. It had only been about six months since the Batfam collectively adopted the little ladybug into their menagerie of heroes, and started teaching her deductive habits and skills. She would not allow them anywhere near Paris on pain of death (some of them had already tried, and Bruce was still recovering from the bruise to his ego. The bruise on his ass from being teleported out of the city and onto the stone of the Batcave was gone, though) but she welcomed any help they could give from within Gotham’s city limits.

Usually, at least in the beginning, they did their mentorship at a distance over video call. But then Tim found out her identity, and Marinette made the excuse of wanting to meet with them in person to gauge their trustworthiness for herself and erase their memories of her identity if they failed her test— and, well, it all snowballed from there until she was teleporting to the Batcave every few days for detective lessons. She was practically a Bat herself, if not for her out of theme codename. And she found herself surprisingly comfortable with the thought of them being a… very eccentric extended family.

Tim was flipping to another saved video in the Batcomputer archives to show another example of his current lesson, when Tikki flew up to Marinette in a hurry. She was holding Kaalki’s glasses. The little kwami whispered something in Marinette’s ear, instantly making the teen blanch and force on the glasses.

“Sorry Timmy, gotta cut this short! I’ll come back tomorrow to make up for it! Okay? Okay! Awesome, you’re the best, bye!” She ignored all of Tim’s protests and rapid fire questions, instead opening up a portal and jumping through it as fast as humanly possible. The portal has barely disappeared before an all-too-familiar voice rose up from behind Tim.

“Maybe I’m still drunk, ‘cause I could’a sworn I just saw a portal closing in the damned Batcave, of all places,” the British-accented drawl was accompanied by the flick of a lighter and accompanying fizzle of a flame. Tim groaned, mentally making a note to ask how in the world Marinette had known that John “Annoying asshole” Constantine was showing up soon, and if he could be in on the warning next time. Bruce, cowl still off, walked over from where he had been sparring with Damian and crossed his arms. He had also heard Marinette’s hasty exit, and made a few mental notes of his own before focusing on the exorcist in front of him.

“What do you want, Constantine?” he grumbled. Any time the blond brit showed up, things only got far more complicated than he ever enjoyed. And he always gave Bruce a migraine, to boot.

“Two things actually, Batsy,” John held up to fingers as his free hand tucked his lighter away in his pocket. His unlit cigarette stayed in his mouth though, probably just for the familiar feel of it. “One; I’m gonna need you to tell me why there was a portal closing when I walked in, because I’ll be honest. The implications there are way more interesting than what I came here for in the first place.”

“None of your business. What’s the second thing?” Bruce immediately shot him down, but John was not one to be deterred. He never fucking was.

“But you hate magic! You make sure I know that all too bloody well every time I pay you a visit, so why the sudden change in heart? Huh?”

“Drop it, Constantine. What. Do you. Want?”

“Fine, fine. I need your help with…”

— * — * — * — * — *

A week later, Marinette was sitting with Jason and Damian in one of the manor’s sitting rooms, the three of them just minding their own business and silently enjoying one another’s presence. Even if two of them would never admit it. Jason was reading Jane Eyre for the millionth time, Damian was leaning against Titus on the ground as he sketched, and Marinette was embroidering a sunhat. Unfortunately for her, Alfred the Cat was currently asleep on her lap and thus holding her hostage.

Even as Tikki flew up to her ear in a panic and whispered, making Marinette prick herself with her needle. She hissed for a second but shrugged off the familiar pain, much more concerned with whatever news Tikki had given her. Damian and Jason were already on high alert from the second that a whispered curse had left her lips, and were staring straight at her and her kwami and Marinette frantically tried to find a way to get up without awakening the cat sleeping on her.

“Uh, what’s wrong?” Jason asked, feeling thoroughly confused and left out. On one hand, he knew that if they were in physical danger she would have moved Alfred the Cat without hesitation. On the other, he did not like the sheer amount of anxiety he could see her experiencing. Marinette’s frantic eyes shot over to him, pupils mere pinpricks and hands mouth agape as she tried to form some sort of plan.

“Uh— “

“Ah! You must be the fair maiden that the Bats are comfortable with using magic around them,” John goddamned Constantine threw the door to the sitting room open wide, making it bounce off of the wall and lightly smack back against his shoulder. He ignored it as he grinned at the three younger people in the room, waltzing in casual as anything. He wagged a finger at her playfully. “I’ve been awfully curious about you, ya know? Brucie boy knows a shit ton of magic users, but he never likes seein’ any of us do our thing. And to not only allow you to teleport without any apparent discomfort but to actively protect your identity from me? Now that’s a damn accomplishment and I really gotta applaud you for it,” he mockingly clapped his hands a few times. “So what’s your secret, huh? I won’t tattle.”

“No thanks. Kaalki, a little help?” Marinette carefully pushed Alfred the Cat off of her lap before diving into the portal that Kaalki whipped up for her, the entire process happening so fast that Constantine couldn’t even get out a proper “hey!” before she was gone and the portal closed. He just nodded, hooking his thumbs in his pockets.

“Ya know what? Fair. That’s fair.”

“Goddamn it, Constantine!” Jason threw up his hands in frustration. “Why the fuck do you have to scare away one of the only sane people in this family?”

“Part of my charm, little red riding hood.”

— * — * — * — * — *

“You know, I’ve been pretty damn nice not teleporting right over to you whenever you disappear. So why don’t you just tell me why you’re avoiding me now that we happen to be in the same room by complete accident, huh?” John asked from where he sat in one of Bruce’s lounge chairs sipping on a beer. Marinette mimed choking him, clearly fed up. He had been trying to have a conversation with her for the past three months, ever since that one time he caught the tail end of her portal closing in the Batcave. Three. Long. Months. And he hadn’t given up, because something about this little Parisian teenager intrigued him. She was sixteen, that much he had gathered from the Bats. But to be sixteen and not only in possession of the Horse miraculous but also clearly the Ladybugs, since he had seen Tikki more than once as well, now that was interesting.

Anybody being in the possession of more than one Miraculous was already cause enough to be keeping an eye on them, which was why he had been keeping an eye on the Paris situation and had pieced together on his own that the presence of Tikki meant that this little parisian teenager was none other than Ladybug herself. Now, that? That was a whole new level of concerning, especially since he knew firsthand that the old Grand Guardian was gone and passed his title down to— yeah, Ladybug.

After that deduction, his interest in Marinette had swiftly switched from curiosity to fuck-I-need-to-know-what’s-going-on-here. Because no kid should have to deal with that kind of weight, and Constantine always looked out for kids when he could.

But right then, Marinette was glaring at him. She had been just coming over for a normal “family” dinner with the Waynes, which she attended from time to time. And apparently they had decided to have Constantine already over so that they could chaperone a meeting between them that would hopefully appease the stupid british magic user enough that he left them all alone again until the next time he needed help.

“Believe me when I say, you’d rather not know,” she replied sharply, glaring Dick. He was the one who had convinced her to come despite her recent close calls with Constantine in the past few days. He studiously avoided her gaze. “I just would rather not cross your path, and there’s no reason for us to interact. Why do you care, anyway?”

“You see, now that is an excellent question!” he chugged the last of his beer and gestured to her with the empty bottle. “Normally, I wouldn’t give a flying rat’s ass. But I’ve put two and two together, since I know who Tikki is,” he nodded to the red and black Kwami. “And maybe I just wanna keep an eye on the new Grand Guardian to make sure she’s doin’ alright. That’s an awful lot of magic and responsibility that you don’t deserve, but I’m not about to try to take it away. Keepin’ an eye on you is the next best thing.”

“Try again,” Marinette shot back, crossing her arms. “You were interested in me before you learned about me being Ladybug.”

“I’m nosy, what do you want me to say? I saw a portal in Batman’s man-cave, I get curious. Sue me.”

“Well. I have Bruce and everyone else already watching out for me, so you can leave me alone now. If I need your help, I’ll make sure to ask every other magic user first before contacting you.”

“Woah, now what’s all this venom for?”

“Uh, maybe we should go and actually eat dinner?” Dick tried to step in, hands up. Constantine had stood up from the chair he was in, which was usually a cue to change the subject as fast as possible. “Before Alfred has to come get us?”

“Maybe I’ll be less venomous if you let the subject drop and leave me alone!”

“Context would be nice, though.”

“Seriously guys, let’s go! Food!” Dick was once again ignored.

“Context is the last thing you need in this situation,” Marinette’s voice was suddenly soft, her arms dropping to her sides. “We’ve had this conversation so many times in so many now-deleted timelines. Just drop it this time.”

“If those timelines are now-deleted, then I obviously don’t remember what’s so bad about telling me why you’re acting like I’m some hated family member you’re avoiding!”

Silence.

Pure. Fucking. Silence. As they all watch with front row seats as Marinette flinches at the word ‘family’.

Pure silence as Constantine’s shoulders drop at the sight of her flinch, realization slapping itself on his face.

“No.”

“See? I fucking knew you would— that this would happen. This always happens, you always hate finding it out, but you’re so— so stubborn!” Marinette was blinking away tears, digging in her pockets and bringing out Kaalki’s glasses. “You’ll drop it now, at least. You always do.”

“Now what is that supposed to mean?” Constantine rubbed his forehead, still trying to sort through his amalgam of emotions. Marinette just shook her head, turning to Kaalki.

“Do you mind showing Monsieur Constantine the way out, Kaalki? I’ll grab you a load of sugar cubes afterward.”

“No, wait, hang on a second!”

A portal opened up under him, making John “Stubborn Idiot” Constantine drop ten feet down onto the hardwood, polished floor of his house. His bruised tailbone would take a while to heal, but his frazzled mind was by far the more concerning development. He staggered to his feet, reaching for the nearest bottle of tequila.

“Ugh, fuck my damn life.”

— * — * — * — * — *

“Marinette..?” Damian nudged the girl with his shoulder, frowning. It was after dinner that same day, and as much as he hated to admit it he had grown to actually like having her around. She was a good friend to have. And seeing her slumped back on one of their sofas, sketchbook covering her face and not a single rambling conversation to be had or heard? It was very concerning. She just made a groaning sound to answer him, prompting his frown to deepen. “Are you alright?”

“I just can’t believe that such a sweet, adorable thing like you is half made up of Constantine’s genes,” Jason mused bluntly from the opposite couch, where he tossed a rubber ball up and down out of boredom. “But now I see where you get all of your Disaster Bi-ness from.”

“Shut uuuuup,” She groaned, chucking her sketchbook at him. He caught it in midair, replacing his rubber ball with it and tossing it up and down in the air. “I’m just frustrated. This timeline is still perfectly stable, so I can’t erase it. And I can’t exactly ask ‘hey, can someone commit a horrid atrocity that makes this timeline split from the main one so that I can erase it and we can start over from four months ago?’ because that would be horribly irresponsible of me. But seriously, Jason. If you’re gonna ever commit, like, city-wise arson? I’d probably condone it right now if only so I have an excuse to use time travel to get out of this situation.”

“Not committing arson unless you give me a better reason for it, Pigtails.”

“Damn.”

“But are you okay?” Damian asked again, seeing as she had completely ignored him.

“I’m fine, Damian,” she finally sighed. “And I know how this is gonna go. He’s going to totally ignore me now, until we meet during some magical crisis and he only interacts with me when necessary. Then he pretends we never met, we have a private little one-sided whisper-argument about how he will never make a good father figure and I would be better off leaving him alone, blah blah blah. Avoidance is a coping mechanism I guess I inherited from him.”

“Guess it’s a good thing I’m trying to bite that in the bud then, eh?” Marinette startled out of her sitting position, seeing John stumble into the room…

Drunk off his ass. But apparently still at least mildly coherent.

“I agree with deleted-me’s, I’m not gonna be a dad. Not me,” he tripped, landing on his still-bruised ass and hissing in pain before continuing from the floor; “So if you’re looking for another Daddy dearest, that ain’t me.”

“See, I knew this is how you’d—”

“Let me finish,” he interrupted. “I don’t know how long the booze is gonna last and I need it’s courage here. ‘Kay? ‘Kay. Where was I? Right. But I know magic, ya know. The kind that doesn’t rely on little bobblehead gods to do. I got— like, a million books. Shit ton of books. At my place. Ya can read ‘em. My books. At my place. But I ain’t gonna parent, but I can lend ya books. Maybe give magic advice. Teach a little. Little bit. Didn’t think I’d have a child, but apparently I do and she’s the fuckin’ grand guardian and a damn hero, and I don’t know how the fuck I was able to help make someone like that. But whatever, it’s not like the world’s ever fuckin’ been easy on me,” He pulled out a sample-sized bottle of whiskey from one of the pockets on the inside of his trench coat and chugged it. After a brief wince and hiss at the burn, he kept rambling. “My door’s open, is what I’m tryin’ to say. No guarantee I’ll be in any state to talk to when you walk through it, but it’s open.”

Deciding to steadfastly ignore the tears streaming down her face, Marinette just swallowed thickly and nodded.

“I, uh. I think I can work with that.”

John barely made it to the nearby bin in time to vomit into it.

— * — * — * — * — *

I hate my imagination sometimes, guys. I started imagining a convo between Mari and Constantine at like 4am and it wouldn't leave me alone until I got it down. but by the time I wrote it, I kinda forgot like 60% of the original convo and just winged it. And this was born. I 100% blame @multifandomscribette because their Bio!dad John Constantine headcannons are amazing and even though this isn't in that universe, those headcannons are exactly what inspired this. So blame them, lol.

#dc x mlb #ml x dc #mlb x dc #maribat fanfic #maribat #maribat fic #miraculous ladybug x dc #bio!dad John Constantine

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dreamwritesimagines · 4 years ago

Text

Twisted 30 - Epilogue [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: Omg here it is my loves, the final chapter! ❤ Thank you so much for your wonderful support throughout the series, you made me so happy and I hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I did! ❤❤ I love you! ❤❤❤

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Mentions of sex and drinking.

Word Count: 4100

3 Years Later

The deep comfort of sleep surrounding you as you snuggled deeper into the covers slowly disappeared as you felt yourself being pulled back, a smile curling your lips. You heaved a sigh as you felt soft kisses on your neck, making you giggle.

Both of you had gone to sleep quite late thanks to your…late night activities, and you were nowhere near ready to face the day, but this was a nice way to wake up.

“Hi,” you said without opening your eyes and felt his breathy laugh warming your neck.

“Hi.”

You whined into your pillow as his arms tightened around you and he buried his face to the crook of your neck while you ran your fingertips over his arm.

“Don’t start what you can’t finish, professor.”

“Who says I can’t finish?” Spencer murmured into your skin and you opened your eyes to turn your head.

You were one hundred percent sure that you would never get tired of this view. Spencer’s hair was a mess, quite literally the meaning of bedhead while he watched you with a smile on his lips, his hazel eyes gleaming with mischief.

“I can think of two people who might disagree with you,” you said and as if on cue, you heard the pitter-patter of little feet along with some gleeful squeals echoing through the hall. Spencer let out a chuckle, dropping his head to your shoulder and you grinned.

“In three, two…”

“Mowning!”

“Open? Open?” you heard the sweet babbling overlapping with each other and you grabbed your dressing gown off the floor, then put it on and went to open the door but as soon as you did, a little figure wheezed past you to climb to the bed while the other one clutched to your leg, looking up at you with bright, shining eyes.

“Hi Daisy!” you cooed and bent down to pick her up while she held her plushie tightly and you turned to see Spencer lifting Laura in the air, making her let out a screech which turned into a giggle.

“Whoa, did you get bigger in a night?!” Spencer asked Laura who nodded fervently, babbling something with only a couple of words clear. You approached the bed to drop Daisy on the soft fluffy covers, making her laugh happily before she scrambled to give Spencer a big kiss on his cheek.

“Where did my kiss go?” you wondered out loud and in a second, you were attacked by two overly enthusiastic toddlers. You burst into laughter and pressed a kiss on top of their heads, then stood up again.

“Okay, who wants to come downstairs with me?”

“Me!” Laura jumped in bed while Daisy bit on the ear of her plushie before she shifted closer to Spencer, obviously still sleepy.

“Daisy?”

She shook her head and rubbed at her eye with her small fist, and Spencer reached out to push back a curl falling over her eyes as she yawned.

Your mother had a point, even if they looked almost identical, their personalities were way too different. Daisy was quite possibly the calmest toddler you had ever seen, she barely cried when she was focused on something, and especially when you put one of her picture books in front of her for her to color them. Spencer had said she most probably took after him.

But Laura? Laura definitely took after you, and your mother and Mina swore by it.

She was a tiny hurricane, completely unstoppable once she had decided to cause chaos. She had even started walking two months before Daisy, and you could barely take her eyes off of her without her sneaking off to somewhere to hide and “scare” you.

But even if they couldn’t be more different, there was one thing for sure. You loved both of them so much that it surprised you how full your heart felt whenever you looked at them.

“Alright then,” you hoisted Laura up, “Let’s go, little monkey!”

“Go!” she repeated, her voice full of excitement and you made your way downstairs, walking past Spencer’s study, then your study before you reached the huge living room with the open kitchen. You put Laura down, then opened the fridge.

“Okay Lulu, which one do we want today, milk or juice?” you asked but met with silence. You frowned, then closed the fridge door to look around, but she was nowhere to be found.

“I looked away for one second,” you muttered to yourself, then peeked your head around the doorframe to see the flash of a familiar mop of curly hair disappear into your study in full speed.

“No no, that’s mommy’s work, that’s mommy’s work!” you rushed to the study and lifted her up before she could touch the board, standing on her tiptoes. She let out a whine, still trying to reach the board and you shook your head.

“Nope, we are not messing up this seating chart, it took me days to complete it,” you said and turned around with her in your arms, then pointed at the two pieces of sample napkins on your table, “Want to help me?”

Laura nodded fervently, “Yes!”

“Which one is pretty?”

Laura looked at you, then looked at the napkins before she pointed at the one on the right.

“This.”

“Oh the pink one?”

“Pink one.” she repeated and looked up at you, “Good job!”

You let out a laugh,

“Yes baby, good job!” you said and walked out of your study with her, closing the door behind you just in case, then entered the kitchen again to find Spencer putting Daisy in her seat. Daisy gave you a big smile, letting you see her baby teeth and you blew her a kiss, then sat Laura down next to her.

“Was she in your study?” Spencer asked as he pulled you closer and you nodded.

“I’m telling you, she can teleport.”

“I doubt that’s the case,” he laughed, handing you a cup of coffee before sipping his own and you inhaled the scent of the coffee as you checked your e-mails.

“Oh babe, dinner tonight at my mom’s place,” you looked up from your phone, “You didn’t forget, right?”

Spencer shook his head, nuzzling into your neck. “Nope. At 8.”

You giggled, running your fingers through his curls, “You’re going to be late for work, professor.”

He heaved a sigh and nodded before he pulled back almost hesitantly and pointed at the twins with his thumb, “Do you want me to drop them off?”

“I got it, no worries.” You stood on your tiptoes to peck him on the lips, “Go. Don’t be late tonight!”

“Cross my heart,” he smiled at you before he kissed both Daisy and Laura, “Hey, you two behave for mommy, deal?”

“Hm?” Laura asked, blinking up at him as she grabbed Daisy’s toy from her and he let out a laugh before he grabbed his satchel.

“See you later!”

“Bye time!” Daisy waved her hand and Laura’s head shot up,

“Bye bye!”

“Okay,” you clapped your hands together as Spencer closed the door behind him, “We will have breakfast, then we will go and see grandma, how does that sound?”

***

The best part of having your own company was that you could pick and choose your own clients while letting the rest of the clients to the others. Especially after the twins, that had made things so much easier.

Your business was flourishing and you got to choose your working hours and the couples you wanted to work with.

“I know you guys said you wanted something small,” you said as you walked through the doors to the wedding venue, “But I wanted to make sure you know you have other options.”

There was no answer for a moment and you looked over your shoulder to look at the couple.

“Garcia?” you said and Luke let out a whistle.

“I mean it looks… it looks good.”

“It looks like something out of a fairytale.” Garcia whispered and turned to you, “But Y/N-“

“I know, you have a budget.” You snapped your fingers, “The thing is, the owner of the venue is a good friend of mine, so I’ll talk him into lowering the price a lot. Besides, he owes me one after I got him so many weddings.”

“Wait, are you serious?” Garcia stared at you, “We could have this venue?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “I have four other venues to show you, but if you want this one after seeing those, yes. Oh and, before I forget—“ you grabbed your phone and tossed it to Luke, “How would you feel about this car for the wedding?”

He looked at the screen and blinked a couple of times. “You’re joking.”

“Not really.”

“Let me see,” she said and took a look at the screen, then turned to you, “Whose car is this?”

You shifted your weight, “Uh- mine.”

“No it’s not, your car is outside. I know that because Luke stood there and watched it for a whole minute.”

“Well,” you cleared your throat, “Nolan bought twins ponies the other day and I guess while he was at it, he decided to throw in a car for me. But I’m not much of a bright red car person, I prefer mine in black. So?”

“Penny?” Luke turned to Garcia, “Please?”

She held up her hands, “I don’t care about the car, I care about the venue.”

“Yes!” Luke pumped a fist in the air and turned to you, “You sure about this?”

“It’s just there in the garage man, I’m more than happy to let you drive it whenever you want.”

Luke pulled you into a tight hug, making you let out a laugh and he pulled back when his phone started ringing.

“Sorry, it’s Emily.”

“Oh tell her I said hi!” Garcia said and he pecked her on the lips, then answered the phone and walked out of the hall.

“I’ll never get tired of being right,” you motioned at her, “Told you.”

“I know, I know…” she let out a squeal, “This is so pretty though, Y/N! I mean I knew you were good at your job, I just didn’t know you were this good.”

You fixed your hair in an exaggerated smug manner and winked at her.

“Seating chart is ready too,” you said, “Laura almost crashed it today, but…”

Her smile widened, “Aw, how are my Lulu and Daze?” she asked, “You should’ve brought them with you!”

“Trust me, we wouldn’t get anything done,” you said with a laugh, “I can’t really focus on anything else while they’re around. And you know how they get when they see you.”

She pressed a hand on her chest, “I swear, you and Reid made the cutest babies I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

You grinned at her as Luke walked into the hall again, flipping the phone in his hand.

“There’s a case,” he said almost apologetically and Garcia nodded.

“Go, I’ll handle this.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah!” she said and kissed him, “I won’t decide on anything without you, I promise.”

“I fixed a pre cake tasting for you guys at this new pastry shop but she can try them first,” you told Luke and he let out a whine.

“You know, in times like these I get why Reid quit.”

“Right, because he quit over pastries,” you deadpanned and he heaved a sigh.

“I’ll see you two later.”

“Be careful!” Garcia called out and he nodded, then walked out of the hall. You threw an arm over Garcia’s shoulder, then turned to her,

“So, cake tasting?”

“God yes.”

***

You unbuckled your seatbelt as Spencer pulled over in front of your mother’s house, then turned to you to peck you on the lips.

“See, told you we could make it.”

“We’re half an hour late,” you giggled as you ran your fingertips over his stubble and he tilted his head.

“That’s not completely my fault.”

“Oh it isn’t?”

“You were the one who joined me in the shower,” he reminded you, and you shrugged your shoulders, playing coy.

“Still doesn’t make it my fault,” you stated, “And if my mother asks, you were—“

“Grading papers,” he finished your sentence for you and stole a kiss from you again, “Got it.”

You opened the car door, then got out of the car and climbed up the marble stairs with him until you reached the front door. You rang the doorbell and soon enough the maid opened it, the cheerful laughter and squealing reaching you. You and Spencer stepped in, and Daisy and Laura rushed to you as Spencer crouched down to hug them both.

“Finally!” your mother walked into the hallway as you pressed a kiss on top of Daisy and Laura’s heads, then straightened up to hug her, “You’re late honey!”

“Spencer was gradi—” you were cut off as Daisy came to hug your leg again, tugging at your sleeve, “Daze, baby-“

“Lulu!” she corrected you, pointing at herself and you let out a laugh, then hoisted her up.

“Aw, I’m sorry!” you said as you set her on your hip, and made your way to the dining room.

“Spencer was grading papers,” you told your mother as you entered the room and put Laura down, then she and Daisy ran to Lily who was sitting in their playground but as soon as she saw you, a smile warmed her face.

“Hi!”

“Hi there bug!”

“I’m teaching them animals, see!” she said as Daisy and Laura sat down and she opened the big book, pointing at a page.

“What is this?”

“Coo!”

“Cow, yes! What does the cow say?”

“Moo!” Daisy said before Laura could, looking up at Lily and she nodded.

“Exactly!”

“Good job!” Laura said quickly and Daisy nodded, clapping her hands together as if clapping herself. You could swear your heart melted and you smiled softly, keeping your eyes on them.

Soon enough, the dinner was ready and the nanny took the twins and Lily to the play room because they had already eaten and insisted they wanted to play there. Your mother had renovated the house around the time they were born so now they had a huge room filled with toys and games which the twins loved.

“So is everyone okay for Venice?” your mother asked as you sipped your wine, “It will be beautiful, we already made the arrangements.”

“Next month works for me,” you held up a hand, “Spencer?”

“Sure thing, it works for me too.”

“Kenz?” you asked and she bit on her lip, stealing a look at Mina and you tilted your head.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m good with next month,” Kenzie said quickly, “But um…”

“I might not be.” Mina said and your mother groaned.

“Mina, come on. Even you need a vacation.”

“It might not be the best idea at this time,” Mina said and you turned to Kenzie,

“What’s going on?”

“I’m not saying anything, it’s her news.”

“Mina?” Nolan said, “Is everything okay at work? Do you want me to make a call?”

“No no,” Mina shook her head, “It’s good- great, actually. I just didn’t want to tell you guys on the phone the other day, I was waiting for this dinner.”

You raised your brows and she entwined her fingers with Kenzie, shooting her an excited look.

“Two days ago, I was called into a meeting,” she said, “With Bradley and Paul. They…. They want me to be a partner.”

“Oh my God!” you covered your mouth, then pushed your chair back to rush to hug her. She hugged you back tight, a giddy laugh escaping from her lips.

“Honey!” your mother said, joining you “Finally!”

“You deserve it, Mina.” Nolan said, “Ditch the wine glasses everyone, we’re opening the champagne!”

“Congratulations!”

“You traitor, why didn’t you tell me?” you pointed at Kenzie who held up her hands,

“She bribed me.”

“She’s your wife!”

“Exactly, she knows what to bribe me with!” Kenzie exclaimed and you went to sit beside Spencer, still smiling as your mother took her seat as well.

“Did you know?” you turned to Spencer and he shrugged, grinning.

“I knew they were hiding something.”

Kenzie gasped, “Spencer!”

“I’m sorry Kenz but you have a terrible poker face.”

“He does have a point, babe.” Mina said as Kenzie pouted.

“Whatever.”

“So,” Spencer cleared his throat and turned to your mother and Nolan, “Speaking of people with terrible poker faces and something to say…”

You sat up straighter, “Wait, what is happening?”

“What is he talking about?”

“Spencer?”

“I’m not saying anything,” Spencer said, a look of mischief crossing his face, “They might, though.”

Your mother tilted her head, “When did you notice?”

“When I walked in.”

“Told you,” Nolan said, and your mother smiled slightly, pointing at Spencer.

“You, young man, are dangerous around announcements.”

“What is it with everyone betraying me tonight?” you asked, looking between them, “What’s going on?”

“So, Mina isn’t the only one who didn’t want to give big news over the phone,” your mother said as Nolan held her hand and squeezed it, and it dawned on you.

“Wait a minute…”

Your mother let out a laugh and held up her hand so that you could see the huge diamond ring on her finger, “We’re getting married!”

Instantly, there was an uproar. Spencer cheered while Kenzie let out a small scream, Mina lunged out of her seat to rush to them and you gawked at them, your jaw hanging.

“Jesus Christ,” you said as you made your way to your mother while one of the maids brought the champagne and your mother squealed like an excited girl and pulled you into a hug, making you laugh.

“Congratulations, you crazy kids,” you said as you pulled back “You deserve to be happy. And you-“ you pointed at Nolan, then smiled and hugged him, “The original deal still stands.”

“Wouldn’t dream of anything different,” he pressed a kiss into your hair and grabbed the champagne before he opened it with a loud pop, making everyone cheer. He quickly filled your glasses and you made your way to Spencer who wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer.

“I wanted to ask sooner,” Nolan announced, “But you know, you two got married, and then the twins…”

“We figured we would need to find a time you weren’t as busy,” your mother pointed at you, “To plan the wedding and all.”

You heaved a dramatic sigh, “Well unfortunately, my client list is-“

“Not full!”

“Lies!” Kenzie and Spencer said at the same time and you let out a laugh, then raised your glass slightly.

“I was going to say available,” you winked at them, “I’ll send you the plans tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” your mother asked and you grinned.

“I’ve been planning your wedding for the last three years,” you said, making her gasp and Nolan laugh, “You guys seriously didn’t think I’d let someone else do it, did you?”

***

By the time you got back home, the twins were way too sleepy. You and Spencer put them to bed as silently as possible, then you went to check the plans in your study while Spencer changed his clothes. You ran a hand through your hair and left your study to make your way to the living room before you put some music on and walked to the window to take a look outside.

The city was really beautiful at night.

“Thinking about the plans?” Spencer’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts and you looked over your shoulder, then a smile warmed your face.

“Something like that,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck and standing on your tiptoes to kiss him, “You know it’s gonna be chaos, right? That wedding?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he said and caressed your hair, “You got this, though.”

“Do me a favor,” you said, “Remind me that a lot in the future, at least until we send them off to their honeymoon.”

He let out a small chuckle, but before he could say anything, you felt small footsteps coming closer and you looked around his arm to see Laura peeking around the doorframe with a look of excitement.

“We have a fugitive!” Spencer said, making her squeal and run back to the hallway.

“I’ll be right back,” Spencer pecked you on the lips, making you laugh and you watched him leave the living room, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw a mop of curly brown hair behind the couch, along with a giggle.

“Oh well, I’m sure Daisy is sleeping!” you said loudly, walking around the living room, “She wouldn’t be here, would she?”

The giggles got louder and you found yourself smiling,

“Or is she….here?” you checked behind the curtain, and put your hands on your hips, “Not behind the curtain. Hmm, I wonder where she is?”

“Hewe!” Daisy jumped from behind the kitchen, and let out a gleeful scream when you lifted her up.

“Here she is!” you said, “What are you doing up baby? It’s sleepy time.”

“Lulu hewe too!”

“And she’s going to sleep too,” you tickled her stomach to make her giggle.

“Mommy, love you!” she said and you could feel your heart skipping a beat before you smiled at her brightly.

“I love you too baby,” you kissed her cheek, “Now let’s go to bed, hm?”

“Mkay!” she said and rested her head on your shoulder as you made your way to their bedroom.

“Hey, I was wondering where she was,” Spencer whispered as you put Daisy to bed while Laura hugged her teddy bear tighter. You pressed a kiss on Daisy’s head, then went to Laura’s bed and kissed her head too.

“I love you,” you said, “Now sleepy time, okay?”

“Love you mommy!” they both said and Spencer turned their nightlights on before he switched the light off, and both of you left their room to go to the living room, where the music was still playing. Spencer went to kitchen to get two glasses of wine and you pulled the curtain a little to look outside.

“I swear they get more energetic every day.”

“It’s normal,” Spencer said, handing you your glass and you took a sip as he wrapped his arms around you, nuzzling to your neck. “You know your mom will make them flower girls, right?”

“You say that as if I don’t already have their dresses in mind.” You mused, making him chuckle.

“Of course you do.”

“I’m telling you, that trip to Venice will be a nice break from the future chaos,” you said, “That is if you are ready to listen to my ranting about the wedding venues on a holiday too. Are you sure you want to go there with me?”

A small smile pulled at his lips and after all this time, it still managed to make your stomach flip pleasantly,

“I’d go anywhere with you,” he said, “With or without you talking about what color the napkins will be.”

“I’m torn between ivory and pearl,” you told him “Knowing my mom, she will want to put seashell into those options and spend a month trying to decide.”

“Should be a fun month,” he said, “Do you want me to tell her the percentages of those shades used in weddings? It could help.”

You scoffed a laugh and turned around in his arms so that you could look up at him.

“What does it say about me if I said I find that incredibly romantic?”

He clicked his tongue, pretending to be deep in thought, “That you have a strange understanding of romance?”

“Maybe. But you still love me,” you tilted your head, “In fact, one could say…”

“That I have a lot of oxytocin for you,” he finished your sentence, making you giggle.

“Very romantic, professor,” you said, and heaved a sigh as his fingertips caressed over your neck.

“You know I’m so in love with you, right?” you asked him, making him smile and nod before you stood on your tiptoes and brushed your lips against his, wrapping your arms around his neck, the warmth spreading through you.

This, right here.

This was happiness.

The End.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid imagines #spencer #reid #spencer reid x you #twisted

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technowoah · 4 years ago

Note

i just really want jack manifold fluff if you’re taking requests like the reader joins jack for laugh and the stream ends idk you can do what you feel is best :]

Free Content Darling

Jack manifold my beloved ♥

Im so behind on requests yall forgive me 😪

Literally sorry in advance-

Jack Manifold x gen neutral! reader (established) blurb imagine

⚠︎ slight swearing, petnames, and a lot of fluff, a little bit of writers block from me :( I didn't proofread LMAONSK HELP-

Masterlist

"Darling! C'mere!" You heard Jack yell from his recording room. You were currently curled up on the couch scrolling through twitter. The trending page had "JACK" and "TRY NOT TO LAUGH" on the top. The tweets under the trending topics was filled with comments about Jack's stream and other streams happening.

You had heard him laughing and yelling in his recording room before. To be completely honest you dont know why he invited you over his house in the first place. You showed up at his house wanting to just relax and have a fun time with Jack, but after a couple minutes he had told you he had a stream already scheduled today and left to you to your own devices.

Thats how ended up on the couch looking at tweets that talked about your boyfriends stream.

You lazily rolled off the couch and onto your feet. You had the fluffy socks Jack had gotton you as a small gift. You both ended up getting the same socks and slipped around the house because of the hardwood floor. It was a fun activity until you were both mimicking ballroom dancing untill you both slipped and fell on the hardwood floor. It was a small moment but then after you both were more careful around his house.

Opening the door to his recording office you peaked your head inside now knowing if he wanted you completely inside or just wanted to quickly tell you something. The door was in frame when he streams so you couldn't be discreet.

"Hey-"

"Hey! Y/N! Guys it's Y/N!" Jack exclaimed showing you off to the stream. "Come over here love." He waved you over while rolling his identical gaming chair for you to sit on.

You smiled and made your way over to sit beside him in the broken chair.

"Why'd you give me the broken chair this time?" You smiled as you questioned him.

"I mean they are identical, no one would've noticed."

"We'll you told everyone who sat in it that it was broken." You said matter of factly.

"Do you want to sit in this one?" Jack asked pointing to the chair underneath him.

"Yeah I do." You said while putting your hands together in a prayer position. "You wanna switch with me?"

"No, not really Im quite comfortable in my own chair love." Jack said with a smirk leaning back in his chair.

"You sure?"

"Yeah pretty much." Jack's smile widened as he saw your frustration grow.

"Dickhead." You said under your breath.

Jack started to laugh. "What did you say?" He swiveled his chair to face you.

"Nothing. You're hearing things." You smirked.

Meanwhile the chat was freaking out about your interactions. You werent a stranger to Jack's fanbase. A year ago you were just Jack's roommate, but then he slowly introduced you as his significant other. He started flirting with you on stream and on twitter, then after a couple months of that he titled a stream "MEET MY S/O!!!". It was weird for you to be on stream for the first time, but you became accustomed to it.

"What did you want me to do again?" You asked. Jack probably forgot the reason he called you in there in the first place.

"Oh yeah! I wanted to do a stream with you! A you laugh the stream ends type thing. Also the chat was asking for you, they missed you apparently."

"Oh of course they did, I think they love me more than you."

"Yeah I think so! And its not right!" Jack exclaimed and you laughed along with him.

"I think we already lost the challenge, cause we've been laughing for a while haven't we?" You brought up.

"Well the challenge hasn't started. And if we laugh you have to get bonked in the bead with this pillow." Jack had gotton up and walked around the room searching for something to become a punishment. "We have 3 lives each and if we use up all of our lives the stream ends."

"And I have you all to myself?" You asked slightly serious. You still were irked because of tbe fact he invited you over and left you, I mean you are here now next to him, but you wanted time without a camera and monitors in your face.

"Yeah love, of course. But you have to laugh!" Jack exclaimed.

Thinking about the situation, you wanted to laugh and lose all your lives on purpose so you two could have alone time together.

"Fine let's go!"

"Alright then!"

"You suck at this game dont ya?" Jack laughed as mutiple short videos from fans kept popping up on the screen. "You have one more life and I only have two."

It was 30 minutes into the stream and youve been hit with the pillow on Jack's lap more times than you could count, at least that what it felt like. You were on your last life and actually trying to stay in the game after realizing how much fun this was. Maybe you were being selfish, because you were right next to him doing things that you two were going to do alone.

"You have no sense of humor babe." You replied back.

"I do have a sense of humor! I could say my sense of humor is broken even."

"Well mine is too when we compare how many lives we have left."

"Good point."

"YOU LAUGHED!" You stood up confronting him trying to pry the pillow out of his hands to hit him with.

"NO! I did not! Let go!" Jack said still sitting down struggling to keep a good grip on the pillow. You successfully took the pillow out of his hands and started repeatedly hitting him with it as he tried to shield himself.

"Augh! Stop!"

"He laughed! He laughed, you guys saw that right?" You bent down into frame reading the chat while they spammed "YES" and "HIT HIM"

"See, they agree with me Manifold." You said confidently.

"They're just want to see me lose. I'm too powerful." He shrugged.

"Anways! 1 to 1! Loser!" You hit him with the pillow again.

"Stop!"

The stream continued on and the both of you were begging eachother to keep your one lives that you both had left. Everytime you snickered a bit Jack would catch it and vice versa. The stream went on longer than Jack planned, but it seemed like he was having fun. Finally after an hour of streaming and bickering between you both You ended up laughing at this stupid vine from long ago.

"YOU LAUGHED I WON!" Jack threw his hands up in victory. "Holy shit we can end the stream, this took forever."

"You wanna end the stream?" You asked after calming down.

"Well we could just chill and talk to chat, but I would've thought you wanted to chill without.." Jack gestured to the monitors on his stream. "All that."

"How'd you know I wanted to do that?" You asked with a small smile.

Jack shrugged. "Well I kind of left you here in my flat and went to go stream for a while. That was a dick move."

"Well thats what I wanted at first but then you called me in here. I was trying to get all of my lives down, but then I realized how much fun I was having." You explained. For a second you forgot that he was still live until you saw flashing text across a screen out of the corner of your eye.

"It was selfish of me-"

"It wasnt selfish bub! I feel that was valid, but you could've told me." Jack said reassuringly grabbing your hand.

"It was fun though! I wouldn't have it any other way Manifold." You smiled at him and he smiled back.

"Me either."

Jack ended up ending his stream and both of you said your goodbyes to the people watching his stream. He closed everything off of his computer and leaned back in his chair immediately relaxing when the camera was turned off.

"Thanks for inviting me Manifold." You said as he got up to put the pillow back in it's place.

"Of course love." He pressed a kiss to your forehead as we walked away for a second.

"Hey! Why did you invite me anyways?" You asked.

He walked back over to where you were standing and pecked your lips and winked at you. "Free content darling."

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softscummymammon · 3 years ago

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€Male Hashira React to Their MALE S/O Coming Out As Asexual€

••Part 1 ||→ Giyu, Rengoku, Obanai

••Part 2||→Sanemi, Gyomei, Tengen

→+*:;;:*Demon Slayer Headcanon*:;;:*+←

Sorry if it's bad. This is kinda the first time I made something like this. I hope you guys like it. I want to be inclusive, and since I'm trying to find my own identity at the moment, I wanted to make a little something. I hope I portrayed asexuality correctly. If I made any mistakes, please let me know and I'll fix it accordingly.

←Tomioka Giyu→

This poor boy was so confused. Please give him a chance to take in what you confessed. His silence isn't rejection, it's comprehension. Please give him a few minutes, then he'll ask what it means.

Yes, you're gonna have to explain what being asexual means.

He'll look at you for a second then mutter, "I see. " Nothing else. But to be honest, Giyu would point at himself and ask, "Does that make me asexual, too then? "

God this confused bean. You'd have to ask if he somehow felt similar feelings. He describes how after so many of his loved ones were killed, he'd never really thought about sex. It was just a waste of time to him, an unnecessary need that would get in his way of protecting people.

Please be nice to this man. He is just now putting a word to an emotion he's been battling with for almost his whole life. He'd ask if he's ever made you uncomfortable, and if he needs to change anything. Reassure him that if anything is too far for you, you'll let him know. With this new revelation about himself, he's unexpectedly more calm about giving soft touches.

He's less uncomfortable when you scoot up to his side in the middle of the night when he doesn't have a mission to carry out. A candle lit for warmth and light as you and Tomioka hold each other with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. He wouldn't ask for anything more, but he can be selfish and wish for the moment to last eternity.

He'd bop anyone that would get too close or is making you uncomfortable. When on missions together in the city or populated areas, you two attract unnecessary and sometimes -mostly- unwanted attention. He's not against getting in between you and someone else and not so gently pushing them away.

All in all, you're both very comfortable around each other. Giyu isn't afraid he'll go too far in trying to make you feel sexually happy, and cuddles are exactly what both of you need after a long day of fighting.

←Rengoku Kyojuro→

The perfect time to do this is when he's partially distracted. You want his attention, but you don't want all of it at once. So, the best time to do it is during a meal, specifically dinner, so he has time to process this and get back to you.

But really, any time would be particularly nerve wracking. It's still the early stages of your relationship, as you didn't want to feel like you were leading him on and you didn't want to live to expectations you couldn't reach.

When you tell him, he'll pause. If the situation wasn't so tense, you'd probably laugh since he had a piece of meat hanging out his mouth. He'd finish his mouthful and home. He's swore to have heard that term before.

Rengoku would as you to elaborate, just so he isn't mistaking anything. You tell him you're asexual and have a lower, or therefore lack of sexual drive and desire. You can still have sex, but it isn't ideal to your comfort.

Kyojuro would hum, then smile and take your hand. He would; so unlike him, gently say that yes, he did once hope for an heir to the name of the fire hashira, he gave that up once he fell in love with you.

He'd be overjoyed that you felt comfortable enough to tell him about this. He knows how tense and worried you must have been. Rengoku felt the same way when he realized he fell in love with a man, you in fact, were that person he saw himself with for the rest of his life. No matter what his father says, he wanted you.

Rengoku makes sure that whenever he touches you, you're comfortable with it. He'll hold your hand, wrap his arm around your torso, and run his nails through your hair. Kisses on the forehead, back of the hand, cheeks, and even on the nose.

When you do it to him, though. Kyojuro's eyes would go wide, then a bright smile would break over his face. He'd laugh and wrap you in a high before picking you up and twirling you around. Late nights wrapped in each other's arms while chuckling about jokes and Rengoku's tales about training with Tanjiro.

Kyojuro's protective nature skyrocketed after your confession. He'd keep you close, and would absolutely be clingy if it drove the people who were making you uncomfortable go away. Rubbing his cheek against your's, and proudly showing anyone your intertwined hands with a beaming smile.

←Iguro Obanai→

Kaburamaru, his snake friend, senses something is wrong before you confess to him. You smell like stress and anxiety. Iguro would get worried you wanted to break up, so he'd get ready for you to come to him to tell him you were done. But when you didn't bring anything like that up during dinner, he asked you straight up if you wanted to break up while getting ready to sleep.

Awkward silence follows for a long stretch of time. You ask him if that's what he wanted, but he accused you of being the one that wanted to break up.

Getting a little angry now, you ask him why he would come to that conclusion. Obanai explains that Kaburamaru senses your stress and anxiety through the day, and how you seemed to he avoiding him the entire day. So, how could he not come to that conclusion.

You have to sigh heavily and thoroughly explain that you had no intention of breaking up with him. You know how he is, and you were willing to love him no matter what. You just hoped that he'd love you after everything too.

He'd ask you what you ment by that, of course he'd love you, you're one of the few that actually will. You have to tell him that you were planning on confessing you were asexual in the morning, since you had to build up the confidence.

He'd pause, then asks you what you mean by that. You playfully ask him what he thinks it means, but he grumbles and crosses his arms. You explain what you feel, or lack of feeling. You have little to no desire for sexual activity in general, and no, it's not because of him.

Oddly enough, well not really, he takes a little bit to think it over and then expresses that he'd support you in anything. You sagged in relief and watched as he walked up to you and set a careful hand on your arm. You smile and set your hand over his. He'd sigh and flop into your chest, humming when your arms wrap around his waist.

He'd demand cuddles for worrying him so much and you'd gladly hold him close. In comfortable silence, he'd ask if he ever did anything that made you uncomfortable, and of course you'd say no. Actually, you wanted him to touch you a little more then he has. You know that he's hesitant about his appearance and used to people shutting him out, but you want to embrace him and hold him.

Tearing up, Iguro nods and snuggles into you more. Kaburamaru curls up around your shoulders and flicks their tongue to your cheek. You lean forward and kiss Obanai's forehead. Chuckling when you hear him grumble.

Since that night, he's more willing to give you touch. He's still hesitant here and there, and rarely ever touches you in public, but it's more than before. He's so protective, this short king will glare at anyone who's eyeing you. He never forgets that times you'd stand up to people who make fun of his appearance or stature. He's off to the side cheering his bf on while they punch a dude in the nose.

You get in trouble, no doubt, but his love for you gets even more solidified. At home, he'd be a little brat and demand cuddles or hugs. If he's feeling particularly selfish, which he's getting more comfortable feeling around you, he'd ask for kisses too. He isn't at the stage of taking off his mouth cover yet, but head kisses and cheek kisses do just as well.

»»————>➹♡➷<————««

#anime headcanons #kimestu no yaiba #demon slayer headcanons #kny hashira #giyuu tomioka headcanons #giyuu tomioka x male reader #rengoku kyojuro x male reader #iguro obanai x male reader #male character #male reader #asexual #asexual headcanons #x asexual reader #x reader #x male reader #kny x male reader

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leviathans-watching · 4 years ago

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hii! can i request some headcanons about reader / mc comes out to the brothers as nonbinary? i'm really confused with my whole gender identity and it's really frustrating but your works keeps me grounded.

ʕ ̳• · • ̳ʔ

/ づ♡ =͟͟͞͞♡

coming out to the brothers as nonbinary

includes: the brothers x/& nonbinary!mc (no pronouns specified)

wc: .7k | rated g | m.list

warnings: implications of transphobia (NOT from the brothers), threats of violence (NOT towards you)

a/n: thank you for requesting and i’m glad my blog is a safe space! i myself am a cis female so please correct me if anything i wrote blatantly harms or misrepresents the trans/nonbinary community. homophobes and transphobes dni. my inbox is open to chat or request!

pls reblog :))

➳ lucifer nods, tapping his chin. “thank you for telling me. i’m glad you feel comfortable enough to confide in me. i’ll do my best to use your preferred pronouns from now on.” you’re still a little nervous, and he notices. taking your hand, he squeezes it softly. “hey. i’m sure everyone else will have the same thoughts on the subject as i do. if you don’t want to tell them and keep this between us that’s fine too. and if you don’t know yet, that's perfectly fine too. i’ll be here for whatever you decide whenever you decide.”

➳ mammon accepts it pretty easily. “nonbinary, huh? that’s cool. if i mess up and misgender you punch me or something. i’ll try my best though, so i hope it doesn’t happen.” nudging you in the side, mammon grins. “am i the first one you told? oh that’s awesome! i knew i was your first man!” even with all of his celebration he doesn’t miss the way your shoulders untense, the way you let out the breath you were holding in. for once, mammon chooses to be tactful and doesn’t mention it, simply carrying on with his bragging.

➳ levi literally could care less. not like that though, ok? he’s just online quite a bit so he has more experience in LGBTQ+ spaces than his brothers do, meaning he’s pretty used to people coming out or questioning their gender or sexual identity. “that’s really cool! that’s for telling me! this is just like a show i watched called ‘my favorite person came out to me and i still love and support them wholeheartedly’!” he tells someone in his headset to hold on a moment, he’s busy, shooting you a grin while he does so. “what pronouns do you want me to use, again?”

➳ satan has heard of this nonbinary thing, of course, but hasn’t really had any actual experience with someone who identified as it. he wants to be as respectful and accepting as he can be and resolves to do some in-depth research the moment he gets a chance. “thank you for telling me, mc. i’ll do my best to use the right pronouns and refer to you as you wish to be referred to, so please, do not hesitate to correct me if i get it wrong.” looking over at you, he has an idea. “do you have any websites or anything i can look at? i want to be the best ally i can.”

➳ asmo just rolls over to face you, tracing a finger down your cheek. “that’s cool! thanks for telling me.” at your confused expression (you had expected more of a reaction), he laughs, flapping a hand in the air. “what, you think you’re the first person to come out to me? i’ve had countless people i’m close to over the years experiment with their identities. gender is such a fluid thing, and it changes so much with each new decade. i’m glad to see people becoming more accepting than they have been in the last few centuries, though.”

➳ beel is serious about the situation, cutely so. “thank you for telling me. i’ll do me best to support you and use the right pronouns.” pulling you into a warm hug, he holds you for a moment, soothing all of your frayed nerves. you lea into his touch, grateful for it. “and,” he whispers lowly in your ear, “if anyone gives you a hard time over it let me know. i’ll take care of it. and them.” a moment passes, silently, and then he’s pulling away from you, smiling like he hadn’t just threatened to do… something to people who wouldn't respect you.

➳ belphie admits he’s a little out of touch on current human matters like this. cheeks red, he has you explain in greater detail, nodding when he finally gets it. “oh that’s fine. thanks for trusting me enough to tell me. i’ll do some looking into it and educate myself. and i’ll definitely try my best to use the right pronouns and stuff from now on.” for once he’s fully alert, normal sleepiness abnormally gone from his expression. “correct me if i get wrong though, okay? and this doesn’t really change anything between us, so don’t worry about it.”

leviathans-watching’s work - please do not repost, copy, or claim as your own

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wincore · 4 years ago

Text

runway (m) | jung yoonoh

pairing: model!jaehyun x fashion designer!reader

words: 18.7k

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

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

warnings: sexual content, mentions of anxiety

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s some nods and sounds of affirmation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_jeongjaehyun:

My manager told me it was good publicity

But I could take it down for you

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t make the same mistake twice.

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

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

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

Do you love it?

Of course you fucking do.

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

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

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

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

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

You. You’re a big deal.

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

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

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

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

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

D-1. Same feeling, new season.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My job? What do you think, genius?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The buzzing reaches a peak before everything is drowned out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Afterparties are not your thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could have, too.

No way. You tell yourself that’s ridiculous.

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

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

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

Afterparties are not your thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, hi,” he greets.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You freeze.

“New York?” you manage to squeak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you not telling me, Joohyun?”

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were not one of them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“(name)?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sarcastic. Very nice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not what I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“(name)! Come quick!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your shoulders droop. Amateur. New. Unprofessional.

“Oh.”

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

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

Secrets.

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

And perfection is your dear old friend.

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

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

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

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

“No,” you deny. “Just curious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re just so easy to work up.”

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

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

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

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

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

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sour.”

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

“Is- Is something wrong?”

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

“You’re doing two different concepts today?”

“Three, actually.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something sets into motion, subtle but sharp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s me, Jaehyun.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You trail off, trying to get yourself to breathe.

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he still came all the way here.

“Aren’t you a little…overdressed?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You…have someplace to be then?”

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

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

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

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

Or is it him?

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

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

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

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

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

“Literally zero times.”

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

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

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

“Dickhead,” you hiss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jaehyun nods, something akin to agreement in his response.

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

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

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

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

“Oh? How so?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes flutter over his face once again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your collar’s…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s something definitely wrong with you, love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Afterparties are still not your thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“(name), thank you.”

Success feels good. Gratitude feels even better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know I like you, right?”

You turn around. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hyung—”

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

“Hyung. I’m hanging up.”

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

“That—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And a little bit about me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want me saying something cheesy?”

“Absolutely not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I certainly hope so.”

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

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

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bokutoslittlebird · 4 years ago

Text

The Perfect Family

Alpha!Bokuto x Beta!reader x Beta!Akaashi

Author’s Note : If you’ve read the little drabbles and asks with the fluffy BokuAka family, then you’re in for a surprise. Those were not canon to the actual works I created, it was just something nice to write and think about. This will not start off fluffy at all. This will also include the pregnancy process, so be warned of that ; This is a sequel to my Kinktober piece, Threesome with Bokuto and Akaashi ; I’m so sorry it took for fucking ever

Warnings: Omegaverse, noncon/dubcon (explicit use of the word r*pe), gun play, choking, water torture (attempted drowning), gaslighting, manipulation, watersports (briefly, kind of), mindbreak, dumbification, pregnancy, creampie(s), asphyxiation, lactation, knotting, breeding (technically), degradation

Kōtarō’s rut had finally ended, pumping you full and fucking you into a stupor, all while Keiji made sure to have him give you a break. It was the week for you and Kōtarō to catch up, after all. You were bonded to Kōtarō and Keiji now, you were their mate, so you had to be taken care of. With the stinging pain on your shoulder from Kōtarō’s mark, you were only missing the legal document to bind you to Keiji the normal, Beta way. Keiji was currently thinking about which ring to get you, since Kōtarō had already decided on his “proposal” gift. Keiji figured you’d need time to adjust, however, as he was laying on the couch with Kōtarō’s arms wrapped around him, you missing. There was a cute show that they were watching, Keiji was sure you’d like it. You weren’t allowed out of the bedroom yet, so he would have to show it to you another time.

Once Kōtarō had been satisfied and Keiji had recovered, both got to work on making your stay permanent. You attempted to leave, but Keiji was quick to cuff you. Kōtarō held you down, forcing you to struggle until there was nothing left to do except lay there. Kōtarō had to go back to Osaka soon, so he was trying to enjoy his last few days in Tokyo.

“That was a fun show. Cute, too,” his yawning interrupted his sentence, cutting it short. Keiji nodded in response, snuggling closer to Kōtarō. The Alpha was warm and comfortable, it gave him a sense of home. “I gotta go back tomorrow, Akaashi,”

“I know, Bokuto-san,” Keiji sighs, knowing he’d have to work on their new pet by themselves. It was going to be a struggle. At the beginning of the week, you were so pliant and easily coerced into things. Now, you wouldn’t look or talk to them. Kōtarō threw a fit yesterday, screaming and crying because you weren’t the same person, you were much more distant. It’s the same when it comes to Keiji, however. You only looked at him with betrayal and sadness, even then only looking at him briefly. You exhausted yourself, but you were fighting them. Distancing yourself and giving them the silent treatment. It made Kōtarō not want to leave, you being so upset at him, but he didn’t have a choice.

Kōtarō needed to find a new place for everyone to live, of course. With the high probability of you becoming pregnant, you couldn’t be living in Tokyo, hours away from your alpha. Knowing you would be carrying his pups without him around had Kōtarō growling, Keiji gently patting his arm. Kōtarō calmed down at that, indulging in the calming scent of Keiji. Keiji has already been bonded to him, so it wouldn’t be as stressful if he wasn’t bonded — you were both his mates and therefore, you could be trusted in Keiji’s care. It was still hard to go. He didn’t want to leave with the state you were in.

“What place were you thinking about?” Keiji mused, running his finger in a pattern on Kōtarō’s arm. Just something to do as he mentally planned for the upcoming weeks. The type of house would determine how long those weeks would be.

“Some place big, but close by the gym and practice gym. Maybe traditional? I’ve always wanted to live in a traditional, zen kind of house,” Kōtarō’s eyes lit up as he talked, images and scenes of a large house full of his lovers and his children, playing volleyball in the yard. Keiji smiles at that, knowing it would be at least a month. Enough time to have you positively pregnant and to get you settled into your new role. It’d take effort, of course it would, but he could do it.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Bokuto-san,”

“Ya know, we really gotta get used to calling each other by our given names. You’re gonna be a Bokuto, aren’t’cha?”

“Well, of course I am. Just like [Y/N]. We’ll be the Bokuto family,” he sighs, closing his eyes as the name settles in his mind. The Bokuto family has a nice ring to it, he thinks.

Kōtarō spends his last night cuddling you to sleep. You want no part of it, lying stiff as a board as he presses kisses to your neck and rubs his hand over your stomach. It’s a sickening thought, the possibility of getting pregnant. If you really had been ovulating during the rut, you most likely were pregnant. It’s not like you’d know or not, you barely leave the bed to urinate. It’s disgusting to have to deal with, but even when you do get the bathe and do your business, Keiji is right next to you, ready to intervene if necessary. Although Kōtarō is often in there with you, lathering up your body as his touches become less innocent, Keiji’s stone-cold gaze forces you to not attempt anything silly.

When the morning comes, Kōtarō is desperate to keep something of yours until he can see you again. In order to keep him happy, you acquiesce to his demands and let him take your used clothes, yet to be washed. As if the lingering scent of the morning sex isn’t still clinging to his skin. You can’t smell it, nor Keiji, but you know it’s there as you watch him dress himself, tucking himself away as he rambles on about his plans for the future. Three kids for him, two for Keiji, a nice big house, just the ideal lifestyle for anyone. It’ll never happen, though. His delusions will soon shatter when you stay distant and refuse to love him or Keiji.

Keiji waves goodbye to you, saying he’ll come back when he’s done with work. He plans on taking Kōtarō to the train station and then going to work, so you’ll be stuck for the next few hours. Until dinner time, that is. After an hour, you hear a ping from your phone and reach over to look at it. You can still use your phone, of course, but any possibility of calling for help is useless. In this society, nobody would help you. Not only that, your phone is bugged and linked to Keiji’s. He knows when you unlock your phone, what you do at what time, and how long you’re on it. You’re almost positive he can shut it off if he wants to.

The noise is a message from Kōtarō, telling you he misses you already. A roll of the eyes as you lock it, setting it beside you again. You’re able to barely reach the table beside the bed, but none of the drawers. One hand is secured to the headboard, wooden and strong enough to withstand Kōtarō’s ruthless rut. You feel restless as the day has only begun, the next time you will be able to move out of the bed, if at all, will be when Keiji comes home.

The doorknob to the apartment jiggles, making you jump. Keiji should’ve gone to work, so the sudden noise was unexpected. When it finally turns, you expect to see the familiar hair of your former friend, the tousled raven hair and the broad build. Although the man has the proper stature, the hoodie covering his head and the cheap-looking mask covering his face prevent you from properly identifying him. You can’t tell if he’s smirking or not, the intense feeling that he’s giving off tells you he is. With your hand secured to the bed, you really don’t have much in the way of options. The phone is still an option, but you doubt you could get to it in time.

The man lunges towards you, spurring you to attempt to grab the phone. Your fingers brush the metal device before your arm is forcefully gripped and twisted. You scream as your body twists, attempting to lessen the pain. It’s useless, but you still try. When your mouth opens, he quickly shoves something round and hard in it, your tongue pressed against the barrel of the gun.

“Don’t move a muscle,” his voice was low and hoarse, as if he was adjusting it to hide his identity. It was still unfamiliar to you, your brain unable to register what was going on. The man easily overpowers you, using his weight to keep you pinned to the bed. Fear prickles your skin, the chill setting in deep into your bones despite the lingering warmth of the fading Summer heat. It’s a horrible feeling, frozen in fear as your mind races, unable to do anything except stay still. It’s horrible, the fact you listen to the stranger’s demands despite wishing you were dead and out of Kōtarō and Keiji’s grasps. The gun is removed from your mouth, but the knowledge of it being in his possession is enough to keep you compliant, barely acknowledging the man’s hands moving to slip under the dress you were kindly given.

To keep yourself ready and easily accessible to both Keiji and Kōtarō until they had to part, it was best to slip you into a plain and simple white sundress. It was a present from Kōtarō, a small way of saying you were his now. With the lack of panties or other undergarment, you were essentially naked to the intruder as he sat on his heels, dark eyes scanning over your form. You were shaking from the fear, the unknown, but you weren’t attempting to move or thrash about. It was so easy to take advantage of you, you already nice and wet for him, too. The slick buildup from the morning session with Kōtarō lingers, as well as the creamy substance of his seed fucked into you. Unless the intruder was an Alpha, he couldn’t do much damage, but the thought of leaving you alone without a touch, a taste, was too unbearable.

It didn’t take long for the feeling of something hard and thick to push against your folds, collecting slick and teasing, your sensitivity making you whimper at the touch. It was a sudden plunge, forcing himself deep into your cunt as he groaned, your walls clenching around him. You thought the groan sounded familiar, but there was no more time to think on it when he put his hand on your throat, effectively shutting off proper access to your lungs. Your walls tighten again around him, him finding it hard to retract his hips but thrusting back in. His pace isn’t too fast, but his thrusts are brutal as he continues to drive his cock into your sensitive and abused pussy. He’s not an Alpha, you can tell by the lack of an inflating knot, but it still remains that you’re being violated by an unknown man. The whimpers coming from your throat are all you can release, barely sucking in air to stay conscious. When your vision starts to fade, the man and the walls of the room slowly blurring together, you start to panic.

The gun is still beside you, but it’s not your concern. The bullet in the chamber can’t threaten you unless the barrel’s against your head, but the hand currently cutting off oxygen is threatening your life. Attempting to dig your nails into the fabric of the hoodie is useless, his work gloves keeping his hands from getting any marks, either. Your lungs burn from lack of air and your vision slowly fades to black, a heat and chill settling over your body at the same time as you continue to feel his body pinning you down. The brutal fucking is the only sensation you still have, the stinging of your skin as he snaps his hips to meet yours and the squelching sounds from your sloppy pussy, cum and slick spurting and coating his cock as he chases his own high. You don’t know if he finished inside, your sensations dying out as you slip into unconsciousness.

When you wake up, your lungs ache and your face feels wet. When you flutter your eyes open, you’re faced with the creamy beige walls of Keiji’s bedroom, the lamp and phone on the bedside table. A presence is beside you, a large hand gently brushing your hair. Your eyes widen as you jolt, Keiji gently shushing you as he holds you. It’s comforting, someone familiar beside you after the experience you just had. You don’t know what happened after everything went black, but the smell of Keiji’s morning coffee and his cologne calm you down, tears spilling out as your fists bunch up the fabric of his shirt.

“I had a bad feeling, so I immediately came back home. I didn’t expect you to be completely unconscious, what did you do?” He asked, oblivious to what had really transpired. It was painful to recall, the fear from before rising again as you remember the man’s stature, looming over you as he pinned you to the bed. Another fit of tears come, the droplets soaking the white of Keiji’s shirt. “Darling, you need to tell me what’s wrong. What-“

“A stranger,” a hiccup interrupted you, red and tired eyes looking to his face. He looks confused, so you need to press on. “He broke in. Violated me. He— he ra-“

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. If I had known something so horrible would happen, I wouldn’t have left you all alone. You could’ve come with me, but you’ve been so naughty, you know,” his voice is gentle, but there’s a certain chill in his voice that has your fear spiking. His hands are warm, caressing your back as he speaks. “But, you know, you cheated on Bokuto-san and I. I have to punish you,”

“I— I didn’t do it on purpose!” Why were you defending yourself? Your mind had to momentarily adjust itself, the feeling of helplessness from earlier now back. Once the cuff had released the headboard, it was nothing for Keiji to force you into the bathroom. No amount of strength you had could compare to him, nor height. He wasn’t afraid to hurt you either, almost smashing your fingers in the door frame because you wouldn’t let go. “Akaashi, stop!!”

“Akaashi? Now, we can’t have that. You should address me properly, dear,” he grips your face, smushing your cheeks together as you find yourself practically flung into the tub. It’s already full of hot water, almost scalding, as he holds your head under. Struggling once more, it’s futile. His strength far surpasses yours, stature looming over you. Under the water, his image is distorted, but the way he looks down at you feels familiar. Before that thought can continue, you feel your lungs burning as you thrash again, thoughts only focused on surviving. When your head is pulled up, you gulp air as you cough, water sputtering as you do. “You need to be punished.”

“Let me go, I didn’t do anythi-“ your head is once more under the water, nails digging into the flesh of Keiji’s arms as he holds you still. You didn’t get a good gulp of air, so you’re quickly back at the previous feeling of helplessness as your lungs burn, vision blurring. Before everything goes black, you’re once more pulled from the water. Your face is hot, either from lack of air or the heat of the bathroom and water, you’re not too sure. But Keiji is sure of one thing and that’s the way you’re clinging to him. You were digging your nails into him, squirming and attempting to leave, but now your nails were digging into his as your grip tightened around his forearm. You were clinging to him, unconsciously seeing him as your savior, as he was the one who controlled your ability to breathe, therefore your life. He could drown you if he wanted to, but Kōtarō wouldn’t like that. No, he just needed you to depend on him, change your stance on how you saw your lovers.

Keiji also couldn’t help how delicious you looked, drenched as steam rose from the water, your white dress floating around you as if you were an ethereal being. You looked angelic and untainted... an urge to corrupt you washed over him, compelling his body into the steaming water. It was a tight fit, but he managed. With his sweatpants on, it was easy for him to simply push down the waistband and pull out his cock. “Now I have to cover up that man’s scent, or do you want everyone to know you’re a whore?”

“Akaashi, enough, this isn’t any diff-“

“Are you saying I’m a rapist? That’s what you’re implying, right? If you really think that, then I’ll be that. I would never purposefully hurt you,” his words contradict his actions, his hard cock pressing into your walls as he speaks. Sensitivity still lingers, your legs twitching as he sinks down to the hilt. “You’re saying I’m the bad guy, aren’t you? Well, how about I be the bad guy? Let’s recreate the scenario,”

“Akaashi, please, stop!” You cry out, weak limbs attempting to push him off. Hot, fat tears stream down your cheeks as Keiji licks them away, kissing their trails as you continue to sob at the feeling. It was a horrible feeling, being helpless, but a part of you knew you were safe. Keiji wouldn’t let you die, the only thing that prevented you from putting more effort in. Even with the splashing water, he kept one hand on the back of your head to prevent you from going under. Keiji’s pace is always the same — slow strokes, but deep and meaningful as he rocks his hips into yours and makes sure to roll his hips. It’s a completely opposite of Kōtarō’s, brutal and relentless, but Kōtarō fils you out more. Keiji has to make sure you feel every ridge, every vein, every pulse from his cock and have it completely engraved into your mind.

When Keiji gets close, he holds you closer to him, kissing your neck as your hands grasp at the tub’s edges, mind reeling from the force of your orgasms. Your nerves are on fire, your walls constantly clamping around Keiji’s cock like a vice, all while he rides out his own high. He presses a sweet kiss to the mark on your neck, where it meets your shoulder, right where he sports a matching mark on his own skin. It’s Kōtarō’s bond, what links him to the two of you forever. With a final thrust, Keiji spills deep inside you as he kisses you deeply, forcing you to swallow his moan of pleasure as he swallows your mewls. You’re still tight around him, walls fluttering pathetically around his girth as he relishes in the way you feel, keeping his seed locked inside you.

When he breaks the kiss, you’re both panting heavily, chests heaving for different reasons. “There. Now he’s gone,” a gentle kiss on your temple. With those words, a silence settles over the room. Although the stranger may be gone, in his place stands Akaashi Keiji.

The next day, Keiji is home.

“Just a precaution, dear,” he had said. “So nothing else bad will happen to you when I’m not here. You wouldn’t want that, would you?” With those words, he convinced you of his intentions. The previous day’s events had you rattled, the fear of being alone subconsciously rooted into your mind. A small whimper of Keiji’s name, his given name, had him smiling and cooing at you, taking you anywhere in the apartment you wanted to go. It was nice to finally leave the bedroom and bathroom sections, seeing the front room and kitchen, able to hear and see people outside the windows. You dare not let your eyes linger too long on the windows, covered completely with only shadows passing by, nor on the door. The door which had a recently newly installed lock, to take extra precautions. A passing thought of how it seemed to be so quickly enforced comes by, leaving as you become hyper aware of the blank gaze Keiji gives you. It’s not blank, per se. It looks blank to many bystanders, but to you, you know he’s focusing. He’s watching you and analyzing what you do. It’s a test.

A test you seem to have passed, when he calls you back for a bath. He doesn’t guide you there, no threats, just a simple “Come along,” as he walks towards the same bathroom he almost drowned and violated you in. The fear and anxiety of going back has your flight or fight response kicking in, the seemingly easy option of flinging the door open and leaving has your legs moving. But Keiji is quicker, stronger, and smarter than you. Before your fingertips can even graze the lock, your face is slammed into the floor.

“You were doing so well, too,” his feet are planted on either side of you, one moving to plant itself on your back. With a bit of force, you’re screaming as he has his heel pushing into your spine. “You deserve to be punished.”

“Fuck you, Akaashi!” You spit, squirming and wriggling to get him off. When his foot moves, you attempt to get up, but soon he drops down and fists your hair in one hand, the other pushing your cheeks together.

“I should wash that dirty mouth of yours,” he growls, shoving your face against the floor. By shoving, he essentially drops you into the floor. With a burning sensation in your nose, you feel a vaguely familiar liquid trickling out, a small red dot beneath you. He does it once more, making sure to keep his hand on your head to prevent you from getting up. “I trusted you to listen to me, [Y/N],”

“I’ll never listen to you,” you declare, hands balling into fists beside you. “I’ll never forgive you and Bokuto for what you did. I’ll never forgive or forget how you raped me, either!”

“I did no such thing. You enjoyed it, whore. You clamped around me like a vice last night, just as you probably did the stranger that violated you. Can it be consider violation if you were wet? What about when you started to enjoy it?”

“How would you know that, unless-“

“I know how much of a slut you can be, sleeping around with Alphas in high school and other Betas. You probably got off on being raped,” He sneers, putting more force in his hand, making it uncomfortable as your cheek is smushed against the floor.

“Fuck you,”

“I’ll take that as a yes. As a punishment, you won’t be leaving that bedroom for some time,” he finally lets you free, a large breath of air inhaled as you realize he was putting his weight on your lungs. “Come here,”

Wrenched from the ground, you find yourself dragged, kicking and screaming, back into the bedroom where Keiji cuffs you to the headboard. He’s huffing, but he manages to get both wrists cuffed to the headboard. Back to square one, with you refusing to acknowledge him while he tries to talk. Well, he does talk, you’re forced to listen.

When dinner time comes around, you expect some plain chicken broth or maybe even water, but instead you’re given nothing. Keiji doesn’t come in the room at all. The water running let’s you know he’s washing dishes, but where’s your meal? When his humming enters the room, you know he’s coming down. When he opens the door, in his hand lays a plate with bread crust and crumbs, along with some pocky sticks. Just two, however. Barely considered a meal. “Dinner!”

“You’re kidding me,”

“Dear, you know I don’t joke around easily. You were naughty this afternoon, so you’re going to eat my leftovers. Bread crust and some stale pocky sticks is the only thing on your menu,”

“I’ll starve instead,” a glare sent his way does frazzle him one bit, instead almost makes him... chippier. As if you’re falling for his well hidden trap. A nod and he’s gone, your only source of food with him. He won’t enter to room again until nighttime, so you’re left to wallow in your own solitude, something you used to take for granted.

When Keiji does finally come into the room, you’re excited to see him before remembering you don’t like him. Instead of taking the key and releasing your restraints to sleep, he grabs his pillow, his blanket, and his phone charger. “Where are you going?”

“Well, since you obviously hate me, I thought it’d be best that I leave you alone. After all, that is what you wanted, yes?” A small smirk is on his face as your eyes widen, thoughts running through your head as he takes his leave. Without a bid goodnight, Keiji leaves you alone in the room. With no possible entertainment except your mind, you feel uneasy. Unsteady. The world is suddenly dropping you off in an empty room with nothing and you can’t think of anything to keep yourself entertained. The television set buzzes to life outside, while the popping of popcorn fills your ears along with the melted butter smell. An urge to move flits around, but you decide it is best to not.

The next day, it’s a similar situation. Within three days of Kōtarō’s leave, you’ve found yourself craving his company more than ever. Keiji is ruthless and merciless, entering the bedroom for clothes and then leaving for work. He doesn’t talk to you, he doesn’t look at you, he barely enters the room anymore. You feel your stomach grumble at the thought of food, your mouth dry from the lack of fluids in your system. A pathetic way to die, one would think. With the lack of nutrition, your body will eventually decay or fall into an unstable state. Keiji isn’t a dunce, he knows this — at least, he should. Why then, you wonder, is he allowing this? Not only are you completely attached to the bed, but you haven’t been able to get up at all, even for bathroom use. The urine has stained the sheets, turning the pristine white cotton into a grimy yellow color, the ammonia stench covering the entire bedroom. You felt like a helpless child, in dire need of your parents to come home.

In a way, that’s what it was. You were helpless and needed someone else’s help. You need Keiji’s help. You can only go so long before you end up breaking, and you’ve reached a limit. The disgusting liquid under you was the final thread, the squelching and squeezing every time your hips move to a different area to attempt to leave the spot resulting in a failed attempt. The white dress was soaked, first from the bathroom incident and now it was dyed yellow due to your own fluids. Kōtarō wouldn’t be happy with those results.

When Keiji finally comes home, you hear him. You hear the door close and a sigh. Waiting for him to enter the room is quickly disregarded as you call for him. With no hesitation, he arrives at the room, looking at you. “You called, darling?”

“Keiji, please. I’m sorry I was bad. I need you, please don’t leave me,” you cry out, pulling on the cuffs. Shushing you, he quickly attends to your wrists, red and raw from the tugging, pulling, and twisting you’ve done over the past day. Once one hand is free from the restraint, he’s happy to feel it grabbing his shoulder, a silent beg to not leave. “Kei-“

“I know, I know. I won’t hurt you,” his words calm you down, sobs turning into hiccups as he guides you off the bed. Your legs are weak, unstable from lack of use, so he bridal carries you into the bathroom, not caring about the urine. After setting you on the toilet, he strips you of your dress and starts the bath. Trusting you to not move, he leaves. Another test, to see if you’ve really shaped up after the last attempt.

Keiji stands in the bedroom, pulling the sheets off the bed and removing the pad. He puts them aside, but waits. No movement from the bathroom, not even the toilet seat squeaking or the shutting off of the water. Continuing to put the sheets and dress away, he picks out a set of panties — new and clean, a treat for being good — to go with the pastel pink sundress. It looks exactly like the other one, except the color. After getting a towel and a change of clothes himself, he leaves.

You’re still sitting on the toilet, looking at him as he enters. Perking up, you push into the hand the caresses your head, brushing the tangled hair. He stops the water, guiding you into the tub. Once you’re settled, he strips down and joins you.

“You’re not going to hurt me?” You ask, voice dull.

“Of course not. When have I ever done that?”

The next day is such an improvement, Keiji can’t help but let Kōtarō know how well you’ve adjusted. You’re compliant out of fear rather than love, but Kōtarō doesn’t know that. He’s so excited to see a picture of you cooking in the kitchen, he probably wouldn’t care. The picture doesn’t capture the longing look at the knives, the fleeting glances at the door, the rigidness of your body as Keiji wraps his arms around you. It’s small gestures, but you never move to accomplish the action. Your finger might twitch, a gulp as you see the unlocked door, but you continue on. You make the noodles, you bring the tray to Keiji, you sit in his lap and allow the arms to secure your place. The food is something you’re ever thankful for, the lack of food spurring your resilience into breaking. With a gentle blow, Keiji feeds you the ramen you dutifully prepared for the both of you all day.

You never looked at the door again. You never looked at the knives unless you were cutting something. Even with Keiji breathing down your neck, eyes focused on your hands, you didn’t twitch or move to hurt him. You went to the bathroom and didn’t complain when he joined you. Even when he had to do his little daily checkup, you didn’t complain. The first time, you mentioned it tickled and questioned what he was doing, sticking his nose between your legs as he pried them open. He just smiled and said he needed to know if you were healthy, to which your questions easily stopped. Although he occasionally swept his tongue over your still wet folds, you never told him to go away and leave you alone. Even when he went further and had put you on the bathroom’s countertop before diving between your legs once more, your fingers thread themselves through his hair as you moaned.

When the news of Kōtarō coming back reached your ears, you didn’t know how to feel. Keiji was the one to help you, give you comfort, so you didn’t feel too excited to see Kōtarō. Keiji knew this would cause problems, as Kōtarō was expecting you to be as loving to him as you were to Keiji. After an explanation of the situation, you promised to perform appropriately for Kōtarō. With a whispered threat of locking you up again, you easily complied with everything you were asked to do. When Kōtarō came through the door, he was easily able to catch you as you jumped on him. “Welcome back!”

“Aw, [Y/N]! I’m glad to be back!” He nuzzled into your neck, indulging in your scent. You could easily pretend to be in love with Kōtarō, but your scent would tell him if you were feeling off. With his superior senses, you had to be forced into a mindset where you did love Kōtarō. Threats and memories of the past had could nodding along, situating yourself into his life easily. “I missed you, a lot,”

“Well, we won’t have to be gone for so long again, right?” You ask, a pout forming. “Or are you going to leave me?”

“Oh, no! You’re gonna live with me,” he grins, a closed eye smile. Your eyes widen as the information is processing, Keiji coming from the kitchen.

“It was a surprise for you. We’ll be moving to Osaka to be close to Bokuto-san,” he’s drying a knife, one he recently finished washing, but it’s also a silent threat. Kōtarō didn’t see the horrified look on your face, but he sure did.

“O-Oh. Okay! I can’t wait, when are we.. when do we move?” Twiddling your fingers, Kōtarō wraps his arms around you once more, effectively picking you up. No hesitating, your legs wrap around his waist as he looks up at your face, love flooding his eyes.

“You’ll move in with me tomorrow. Once Akaashi’s boxed everything up, he’ll join us. Our room is all set up, and there’s lots of rooms for kids. Speaking of-!”

“Another time, Bokuto-san,” Keiji harshly whispered, Kōtarō’s eyes widening before smiling, nodding. You didn’t know what that was, but you then focused on Kōtarō moving to the couch.

“Let’s eat, I’m starving! Maybe I can have something special for dessert, if you know what I mean,” with an added eyebrow wiggle, you shyly smile and nod. It’s what Keiji told you would please Kōtarō. It’s what Keiji told you that you need to do.

The dinner itself is fine, but when you ask to use the restroom, Kōtarō points out the red splotches on your white dress. Panicking, you attempt to locate the spot as your face heats up in embarrassment. Keiji then points out the bit of blood on Kōtarō’s pants, making you think your cycle has started. At that mention, Kōtarō’s growling in anger as you seize up in fear, unsure of what to do. Keiji tells you to change while he deals with Kōtarō, you immediately obeying and going to the bedroom.

“I thought ovulating meant she would get pregnant. Why isn’t she pregnant? Were you wrong?” Kōtarō asks, still angry. He knows he scared you, your lingering scent of fear in the room and around him. He thought he could smell another scent on you, but he didn’t know what it could be.

“Bokuto-san, I know this is frustrating but it’s possible she didn’t get pregnant. However, spotting is a sign of pregnancy. It was only a few drops. If she has anymore blood leakage that gets heavy tonight, we’ll know,” Keiji is able to calm down Kōtarō, who rolls his shoulders back and lies against the back of the couch. “Do you want to change your jeans?”

“Nah, it’s barely noticeable. Plus,” a thumb runs over the denim, Kōtarō licking his lips as his eyes darken, “this is like she’s claiming me, right?”

Kōtarō does not force himself on you that evening. Instead, he just cuddles you that night. It’s a differing touch than Keiji’s, who ends up rolling to the other side of the bed in the night. Kōtarō holds you close and tightly all night, snuggling closer to you, as if it was possible, and nudging his nose in your neck. It’s sweet, you think, as he caresses you like you’re made of glass.

The next morning, Kōtarō has you properly dressed to leave with him. A set of panties, sweatpants, t-shirt, and a hoodie. It’s a casual set of clothes, but they are all you came to Keiji’s house in a week and a half ago. Kōtarō says he’ll get you better clothes once you’re settled in, but you feel uneasy as you bid goodbye to Keiji. He worries about your mental state once you’re alone with Kōtarō, but he just has to hope you’re able to seem stable enough for a day.

In Osaka, you feel like your life is beginning anew. It’s not much different from Tokyo, but as Kōtarō guides you through the streets, it becomes known that Osaka has a lot more greenery. It’s very beautiful, in your opinion. When he stops in front of an old house, you glance at him. “Our new home, sweetheart!” He cheers, kissing your cheek as he picks you up. Carrying you inside the house, you notice the security. The gate is only opened via pin entry, which the gate itself is roughly 2 meters tall. Even the door to the house requires thumbprint access, a very modern and technological touch in an older, traditional house.

He shows you to your room, which is also his room, but yours too. It has its modern touch, with the remaining aspect of futons to lay on. The cameras in the hallway also are in your view, the one in the bedroom and the hallway. Looking into each room, you notice they are containing cameras, but one room is different. “What’s this?”

“Oh? This is our nursery! So, when you have a baby, it’ll be in here,” he chirps, pointing out things in the room. Scanning the room, you notice the lack of camera secured.

“Where’s the camera?”

“What— what camera?” Rubbing the back of his neck, he fakes confusion. You see right through it.

“I noticed the other cameras. There’s not one here,”

“Oh, well, that’s because this room has baby monitors!” He gestures to the white device. A nod of understanding has the tour moving on. Showing you to the kitchen, you notice the pantry and fridge are stocked. “Would you make me dinner?”

“Of course. What do you want?”

“You, served hot and steaming in the bath,” he grins. Eyes widen as you realize what he wants, you sheepishly laughing as you acquiesce.

Kōtarō is much rougher than Keiji, you knew that, but the way he fucks you with fervor as he hasn’t seen you in almost five days is something akin to his rut. Sinking his teeth into your skin, remarking his territory as he spurs you into your first orgasm of the night. Your nails are digging into his broad shoulders, the only thing you can use to keep yourself grounded. The setting wasn’t in the bathroom, but rather the bedroom where he claimed he wanted to “seal the deal” of you coming home. Legs tighten around his waist, back arching as he continues to drive his cock into you and litter your neck with less painful marks, claiming already claimed territory. As he presses a wet, sloppy kiss against your lips, you scream as you tighten your walls, feeling his knot force its way inside you.

A warm hand rubs the side of your body as your walls convulse around him, squeezing as he pumps you full of his cum. It’s a memory to you, but it feels so warm and fulfilling, you immediately relax in his hold as he continues to pepper kisses along your body. It’s a comforting feeling, being praised and cared for, a drastic difference from the way Keiji treated you a few days ago. Well, how you think he treated you a few days ago. He said he never did it, but your body said differently. With Kōtarō’s eyes of love looking down on you, you didn’t think it mattered. That was in the past, this was the present. You felt comfortable here, that was what mattered.

When Keiji arrived with a bunch of boxes, you were told to make them lunch so they could eat when they were done. Kōtarō said he didn’t want you straining yourself after last night, so you agree to his demands. Deciding to make some udon for lunch, you get to work as they lug in the boxes. The boxes aren’t large nor heavy, but watching Kōtarō easily lift three of them with no effort, while Keiji brings in two at most with also no effort, you feel yourself get wet at the thought of them hot and sweaty afterwards. With a possible treat in mind, you work more diligently, mentally preparing yourself to ask them.

Keiji mentioned he’d be looking for another job while Kōtarō was at the gym. It would be the first time you would be alone and free to roam. You begged Keiji to not leave for too long, hands grasping at the fabric of his shirt as he pried your hands off. Kōtarō gave you a sweet kiss before he left, telling you he’d try to hurry back, but you knew Keiji would get back first. Sitting in the large house, you didn’t know what to do except cook and sleep. Your phone screen lit up with a message from Kōtarō, a picture of him blowing you a kiss with a message of ‘I miss you!’ under it. You smile at that, sending back a message that you miss him, too.

Before you lock your phone, you look at the many games you have on it. There’s one game you don’t remember being on it, it looks like a tracker app. Clicking on it, it welcomes you and it shows how far along you are in.. pregnancy? First reaction is to panic, how do you know if you’re pregnant? Going into the internet app, you search up symptoms of pregnancy. One that jumps out to you is the spotting, only a little bit of blood as the sperm fertilizes the egg. It is most likely what you did on Kōtarō’s lap, the day he came to Tokyo. Another surge of panic comes as you think of your lovers, your mates. With Keiji looking for a new job and Kōtarō being busy with being a professional athlete, they don’t have time to take care of you and a baby. You decide to not tell them.

Although you decide to not tell them, the next week is excuses of your recent symptoms. You find yourself more exhausted than usual, not even getting out of bed to bid goodbye to Kōtarō and Keiji. Not only that, you end up in the bathroom as you feel sick, but only half of the times does something come up. It’s when you have another episode of morning sickness does Keiji pop the question. “Should I get a pregnancy test?”

“N-No! I’m not pregnant, just some bad sushi!” When Keiji’s grip on your arm gets tighter, you whimper. “Keiji, stop hurting me,”

“I’m not hurting you, I just need you to tell me the tru-“ the door shutting cuts him off, his attention to the door of the bathroom where Kōtarō is, panting.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it? I could sense it,”

“I’m just a bit sick-“ “She’s pregnant-“ You both speak at the same time. Your eyes widen as Keiji looks at you.

“Pregnant? Now? Really?” Kōtarō is ecstatic, but you don’t take it that way.

“I’m not, I promise! I’m sorry!” You beg. Kōtarō’s mood turns sour, the anger directed towards you. Keiji stands back, but he doesn’t interfere.

“Why are you lying to me? If Keiji says you are, then you are! I know you’re lying!” He kneels on the ground and grabs your shoulders, digging his meaty fingers into the flesh. You yelp in pain, attempting to get him off. “Why are you doing this?! You were doing so well!”

“Stop, Kō-chan, stop! You’re hurting me!” A call out of his childhood nickname has his rage quelling, as you brush his hands off and rub the stinging skin. “I don’t want to be pregnant,”

“This isn’t about what you want. It’s about what we want, do you understand that?” Keiji speaks, voice low and threatening. You quickly nod your head, attempting to explain yourself.

“I- I thought that you wouldn’t want a baby because you’re both busy! I don’t- I don’t want to burden you more than I do,” with your words, the anger and rage suddenly evaporates as they understand.

“Burden us? Baby, we love you and do everything for you. You’re going to be carrying my pups and Keiji’s babies, we want this. This is all I ever hoped for,” Kōtarō coos, taking your hands and pressing a kiss to them. A fit of sobs escape as you wrap your arms around him, hiccuping into his chest. Keiji sits and smiles, knowing you have completely adjusted into the proper role.

With the news of your pregnancy, Kōtarō is able to get off a lot more to be there for you. You’re no omega, so it’s not as if he has to take off for 9 months, and Keiji is there to take care of you. Keiji takes care of any appointments you need to do, signing you into a private hospital nearby where Kōtarō’s teammate’s omega gave birth. A list of what was normal was given to you and Keiji and what would be a cause for concern, so you made sure to drill into your head about the possible problems. It was vital that you were able to give birth, being able to give Kōtarō and Keiji what they wanted all you needed to take care of yourself. Keiji prepared your meals, making sure you were eating properly even before the bump showed.

When the bump became prominent, you were glad that your wardrobe consisted of dresses. The dresses you had were all loose-fitting and easy to move around in. With the upcoming winter months, you had lots of blankets and an oversized jacket, bearing Kōtarō’s MSBY number and logo. Kōtarō couldn’t keep his hands off of you, always rubbing your bump and pinching the extra fat you were putting on. Worry over the added weight was a brief concept that quickly evaporated as Kōtarō voiced how much he loves the extra meat to fondle and love, tickling you as you giggle afterwards. Keiji couldn’t say he disagreed with Kōtarō, the added weight adding to your cuteness charm as you did the most basic and minuscule things. He could disagree with Kōtarō on the obsession with the pregnancy milk, however.

Lactation was painful, the way your boobs ached as they were full of creamy milk. Although they ache, Kōtarō encouraged you to let him drink from them. Hesitation was in the beginning, but once his lips had secured themselves on your nipple and started sucking, it was quite relaxing. The tender ache in your breasts were gone as Kōtarō drank from them, but he often had to drink from both of them due to Keiji’s aversion. He didn’t see the appeal, he rather enjoyed teasing your nipples when the sexual appetite of yours had risen, but he didn’t see the appeal in drinking the milk. Keiji did oblige Kōtarō, however, in looking into lactation cookies, which would increase milk production and could even make it taste better. It was worth a try, as it would help the children to develop as you breastfed them.

The lactation cookies Keiji made looked awful, but tasted amazing. You would have eaten all of them had it not been for Keiji stopping you. Kōtarō seemed excited, immediately begging for another go. He’d have to wait until nighttime, since he often took naps after you breastfed him during the day.

At night, you often slept completely naked, able to easily feed Kōtarō if he woke up in the middle of the night. Your sex drive had risen exponentially in your second trimester, to the point Kōtarō had to request off to take care of you. He made sure to keep his promise, stuffing you with his thick cock and plugging you up with his cum or lapping at your folds until your fluids splashed against his face. With the third trimester underway, your libido has decreased while your milk had increased, but that didn’t deter Kōtarō from getting frisky. Even as Keiji bathed away from you two, he couldn’t help but touch himself to your whines and mewls.

Kōtarō has been riding a cloud since your pregnancy came about. Even before the milk, he found it hard to resist fucking you, especially with the added sensitivity. Your breasts were larger now, bouncing with every thrusts as he tweaks the nipples, watching the cream dribble from them. He can’t help himself, really, as he goes to attach himself to one of your perky buds. When Keiji enters the room, he chuckles at the sight.

“Should we worry that there won’t be enough milk for you and the baby?” He muses, sitting on the futon next to you. Your hand grasps at his silk shirt, bringing him down to give you a kiss. Even as Kōtarō drills into you, you want more. A wet pop resounds around the room as Kōtarō laughs, groaning in your ear as he plugs you with his knot, pumping you full.

“The pup can have those bottles, and with help of those miracle cookies, we should be fine. You sure you don’t want to at least try a bit? It feels nice for her, doesn’t it, my little Beta?” He coos, pressing kisses to your cheeks as you come down from your high, walls fluttering around Kōtarō’s cock.

“It relieves some pain, I’ll admit that,” you smile at Keiji. “You can try,”

“Well, how can I say no to that?” He smiles back at you, brushing hair out of your face. Kōtarō massages your breast, holding it so Keiji can attach his lips to the nipple. His eyes focus on the creamy liquid dripping from the bud, only to become transparent as it follows gravity. When he does get a taste, he knows he’s in trouble. It’s as delicious as Kōtarō said, creamy and full that makes you want more. As he sucks with fervor, you giggle and Keiji is joined by his other lover, suckling any milk he left behind. It’s such a strange thing to happen, both grown men sucking on your chest as if they had been born only recently. With the swell of your stomach, you knew they’d have to share their milky mine.

As your due date drew near, you found yourself unable to do anything alone. Kōtarō was off completely until you delivered and Keiji was no longer looking for a job, as it was decided Kōtarō made enough for everyone to live comfortably. He knew he’d have to find another job soon, as more children were born and needed to be fed, but that was a well ways off, at least 9 more months.

What started as a normal day soon turned to chaos as preparations for delivery expedited when your water broke. The hospital had your room prepared already, but it was for your week stay as you were three days away from your date. Kōtarō was in a frenzy, unsure of what to do but desperate to do something. Keiji has to drive to the hospital, while you were doing breathing exercises with Kōtarō in the back seat. It was the birth of their first child, so even Keiji was panicking, but he was also excited.

Once settled into the room, the nurses had to check to see how far along you were dilated. Kōtarō was anxious, his scent permeating the room as he started to pace. The doctor had come in, spurring him into a fighting mentality because the doctor was another Alpha. Keiji and a nurse had to get him out of the room, with a promise he could see the children once they were born, but he would have to wait in the waiting room. Weakly calling out his name and telling him you were fine, he obliged as he left, punching the wall once as he felt his emotions boil over. Keiji was by your side, holding your hand as you squeeze it, pushing when the doctor told you to.

When the room was filled with screaming, the clock chiming as 12:15 had arrived, signaling the date of birth of your first born son. With his stubby arms and legs, you laughed as you held him, Keiji getting the honor of cutting the cord. The baby still needed to be cleaned and checked over, so the doctor and nurses took him while Keiji went to get Kōtarō. By the time Kōtarō and Keiji has come back, you were holding a small, but still big, baby boy swaddled in a thick blanket. Kōtarō immediately raced over to look over both of you, his scent out of control as his emotions mingled together. He didn’t know what to think.

“It looks like it’s yours, Kōtarō,” Keiji says, hand resting on Kōtarō’s shoulder. He smiles in response, looking at the baby’s golden eyes blinking open at him.

“Sure does, Keiji. I guess the next thing we should work on is proper marriage, right?” He watches as the baby grasps his finger, the small hand even smaller compared to his large one.

“A proper marriage, yes. The ring, the dress, the ceremony, you would like that, wouldn’t you dear?”

“Of course Keiji. Anything you want.” As you look up to him, he sees nothing but love in your eyes. He smiles, nodding in agreement.

“Well, as well as making sure the next one’s mine. We should start on that as soon as possible, don’t you think?”

1K notes · View notes

arvandus · 4 years ago

Text

The Sound of Silence (18+ Aizawa x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Aizawa x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: After once again being stood up for a date at your favorite jazz club, you decide to give up dating entirely in favor of watching and fantasizing about your favorite jazz musician, Aizawa Shouta. You had assumed you’d never meet him face to face. You had assumed that he didn’t even know you existed. You’re about to learn that your assumptions are wrong.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY/NSFW; reader wears a sexy black dress (minimally described); minor sexual harassment; slow build; praise kink (if you squint); hand kink (probably); fingering; ‘baby’ petname.

Special Note: A few days late, but here’s my contribution to the BNHarem January Collab ‘Making Beautiful Music’ posted by @kingexpl0sionmurder. It was supposed to be a oneshot, but this particular piece got a mind of its own and will at least have a sequel. If we’re all really lucky, it may become a multichapter series in the far and distant future, when my life is less crazy (I have ideas, ok??). In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this fic!

Word Count: 9486

Recommended Song: No specific song at the moment, but this was what I listened to while writing this.

Lesson 1

It was crowded tonight, the air of the small club Midnight hot and heavy with the scent of cigar smoke and booze. The noise of conversations and laughing voices filled the air like the buzzing of a hive, as bodies mingled about like busy bees, each looking for their own bit of nectar. Some looking to win romance. Some looking to win money. While others were simply winning by enjoying the company of friends. Their movements were carried on the music that filled the space, upbeat jazz played by a three-person band. It was comforting in its familiarity, developed over multiple visits – some with friends, some with coworkers, and some with potential love interests.

You sat at the bar, a drink held protectively in your hand as your eyes searched. You checked your phone for messages but found none. It’d been a full twenty minutes and you were pretty sure by this point that your date wasn’t going to show up. It was supposed to be your first date in over a month, and you’d had high hopes for it - you’d clicked well with the person on your dating app (or so you thought), talking over the course of a couple of weeks before finally deciding to meet. So tonight, you’d put in a little extra effort into your appearance, donning a black dress that showed off your curves and putting careful attention into your makeup.

Damn. You were genuinely interested in this one.

You sent them a quick text in the hopes that you’d get a response. Give them an extra ten minutes… You thought. Maybe they were caught in traffic or something.

But by the time you hit the 45-minute mark with no messages, you’d officially given up. A half-hearted sigh fell past your painted lips. You weren’t really too surprised by this point. You’d been having terrible luck in the dating scene for a while now. Sometimes it was them. Sometimes it was you. But for whatever reason, each attempt ended in failure.

Oh well. It was likely for the best. At least you would be able to enjoy the rest of your evening in solitude instead of enduring a potentially disastrous date. And as for your attire, it certainly didn’t hurt to feel sexy, even if you had no one to share it with.

You loved this place. The atmosphere, the music… you’d even managed to make friends with the bartender Hizashi to the point that he’d walk you to your car on the nights that you stayed until closing.

Your eyes scanned around the room, observing. Wooden tables littered the main floor, where small lit candles cast yellow light on observing faces, eyes trained on the musicians. Booths lined along the far wall, filled mostly with men who puffed cigars over a game of cards, their raucous laughter carrying through the din. Closer to the bar was an arrangement of tall, round tables with matching bar height chairs. A group of women, likely on a ladies’ night out, filled the table closest to you, taking shots and laughing, their heels perched on the rungs. Waiters zigzagged their way through the crowd with expert precision, platters held high with drinks and snacks, while patrons milled about, waiting for an open table.

And, of course, there was the stage itself, where the jazz band finished their final piece before collecting their instruments and leaving the small stage. All that was left from their departure was a black baby grand piano, property of the club. Your pulse quickened as you checked your watch. Was it that time already?

Not a moment later, there he was. Long, black, wavy hair pulled back into a half ponytail, the hint of a 5 o’ clock shadow dusting his jawline and framing his lips. He was dressed in simple clothes, as always… a black v-neck shirt with the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms and dark jeans. He entered the stage without so much a glance towards the busy room, instead making his way to the piano with his hands in his pockets. He sat down and from your position at the bar, you could barely see his long fingers arrange themselves at the keys, gently curled.

As soon as he began to play, the mood in the club shifted slightly from buzzing to relaxing. The flow of his fingers across the keys drew a lazy melody reminiscent of rainy days and hot coffee; of snuggling under warm blankets, feet intertwined with a lover who danced their fingers across your skin, gently tickling your flesh the way his fingers tickled those keys.

Aizawa Shouta.

Of course you knew his name. The first time you’d heard him play, you’d felt weightless, your body going numb as every sensation coalesced into your chest like the forming of a star. The question of his identity had fallen from your lips before you’d even realized it, and it had been Hizashi who’d answered you, a chuckle on his lips.

Fuck. It felt like he was making love to you through the notes, each key meticulously selected like a carefully-worded love letter. It made your palms sweat against your glass, your breath hitching in your throat as that familiar sensation took you over, holding you hostage.

This. This was probably why none of the people you dated ever seemed to work out. You’d tried… God, you’d tried… some of them were nice, good people. But you couldn’t help but search for that feeling – this feeling – each time you met someone new. And every single time it fell short. It was an impossible standard, an invisible bar that no one was able to jump. Deep down you knew this, yet you couldn’t figure out how to let it go. It was just music, right? Played by a handsome man who didn’t even know you existed. But you didn’t want to let go of this feeling, to settle for someone that made you feel only an inkling of what he made you feel. Or worse, to let it go and be left with emptiness.

You had no solutions. You were trapped in Aizawa’s maze of music, unwilling to find your way out as his notes weaved a cage around your heart.

You lost yourself to his melody, the club around you fading away. Time lost its meaning as you watched his hands dance along the keys, his fingers nimble. His half-lidded eyes were fixed on the instrument before him, his expression neutral. To anyone else watching, he would look almost bored; but you’d seen him play often enough that you’d grown accustomed to reading the nuances of his body language, even across the smoky haze. You knew his look of boredom was really a look of focus as he submerged himself in his art, his hands playing on instinct, a direct link between what he felt and what he expressed.

He loved what he did.

And you loved watching.

Hizashi’s voice interrupted your hypnosis. “Another night solo, huh?”

You took a look at the bartender as he prepped some cocktails for some waiting patrons. He had his wire-framed spectacles on again, the orange tinted ones, the color visible from the white backlight of the bar. His long blonde hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and he wore a pinstriped shirt adorned with a black waistcoat.

You chuckled and took a sip of your drink. “It wasn’t supposed to be.”

“You got stood up again?” You shrugged and Hizashi shook his head slightly. “If they ain’t willing to show up, then they ain’t worth your time.”

“Probably more like the other way around, don’t ya think?” you replied wryly.

Hizashi scoffed. “Don’t let them get to you. They don’t know what they’re missing.”

You grinned and set your glass down. “Are you flirting with me, Hizashi?”

He grinned back and winked at you through his spectacles. “Always, darlin’.”

You chuckled and returned your eyes to the stage. “It’s okay…” you said thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s time I stopped trying.”

“Mhm…” Hizashi watched you stare at Aizawa and he raised an eyebrow. “Y’know, I can get you an introduction if you’d like…”

“What??”

“Don’t play coy with me, darlin’. You know who I’m talking about. If you want to meet him, I can introduce you to him. We’re good friends, he and I. Known each other for years.” He commented.

You weren’t surprised by this news… you’d seen Aizawa join Hizashi at the bar on rare occasions after his performance was done. But you’d always been occupied at a table with company when it happened.

Watching him from a distance was one thing. But actually meeting him? Up close? Where you couldn’t hide your girlish infatuation?

You felt your pulse quicken with dread, heat flooding your body. “No, it’s okay. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience him.”

Hizashi gave you a skeptical look over the rim of his glasses before he shrugged. “Suit yourself, darlin’.”

The blonde stepped away, a new group of customers hollering for his attention. You took a large gulp of your drink hoping it would quell your nerves at the thought of meeting the man on stage. No. You definitely didn’t want to meet him. The last thing you needed was for your interaction with him to be a dud just like it was with all the others, destroying your own secret little fantasy. He was handsome to look at. And you fantasized about his skilled hands when you were in the quiet of your bedroom. But that was all it was; just harmless daydreams over someone you didn’t really know or plan to get to know. Besides, if you’d ever thought you had a chance with him, you certainly wouldn’t be trying to meet people through a dating app.

Gradually the time ticked by as you enjoyed watching the dark-haired man play, Hizashi stopping in to check on you from time to time and place fresh drinks in front of you. You were content for the time being, enjoying the steady buzz you were maintaining as you enjoyed the ambiance. Occasionally you people watched or engaged in conversation with Hizashi when he wasn’t busy… but for the most part, you relaxed as you observed the raven-haired pianist, letting his music ease the tension in your shoulders as the alcohol warmed your bones.

A few hours later, as you were busy talking with Hizashi, the final note on the piano rang out, signaling the end of Aizawa’s shift. The sudden silence hit you like a bucket of ice water, and your eyes darted towards the stage, your heart pumping panic through your veins. You had planned to leave just before his shift ended, just to make sure you didn’t run into him. Maybe it was the daydreaming, or the conversations with Hizashi, or the alcohol... but you’d lost track of time. Now you could only watch and wait to see where he’d end up, hoping beyond hope that he’d disappear like he usually did. Only rarely did he linger for a drink. What were the odds, right?

Tonight was one of those rarities, and you held your breath, your posture going rigid, as he sat himself a mere two seats away from you. He never once looked at you, instead, addressing Hizashi.

“Old Fashioned.” He requested, his voice deep. It sent a shiver down your spine as the blood in your veins turned molten. You knew instantly that that sound was now committed to memory.

“Do you even need to ask?” Hizashi replied with a grin as he slid the drink to him.

You disciplined your eyes to stare at your own drink as if it’d open up a portal for you to escape through. But as much as you struggled to control yourself, the simple gesture of Aizawa reaching for his drink made you break eye contact with your own. Your eyes caught how his fingers circled around his glass, long and surprisingly manicured. You couldn’t help but watch as he brought the drink up to his lips to take a sip, and from there your gaze followed the curve of his mouth, the stubble that framed it, his jawline, his eyes…

Your eyes made contact with his briefly and you quickly looked back down at your drink, your heart pounding in your chest.

Shit. He caught you staring.

You took a couple of deep swigs, forcing the alcohol down your tight throat, letting the burn of it act as a punishment for your violation. This. This was why you didn’t want to meet him. No words had even been shared yet and you were already making a fool of yourself.

“Long night?” Hizashi asked him. In the background, the next performer entered the stage and began to play, and you couldn’t help but strain your ears over the music to listen for Aizawa’s answer.

“I’ve had worse…” Aizawa replied. “You?”

“Busy, but I’m in good company at least.” Hizashi replied. Your heart pounded in your chest as your fingers tightened around your glass. Your eyes darted up to lock with the bartender’s and you caught him smirking at you, his small, pointed mustache following the curve of his upper lip.

He wouldn’t…

Suddenly another customer called for him from the other end of the bar. “Duty calls, friend. Be back in a sec.”

And just like that, you were left alone with him. Aizawa. Your mind froze as it warred with itself between actually talking with him or grabbing your things and running away. Surely Hizashi would understand, right? And you could always pay back your tab later. You took another deep gulp of alcohol in the hopes that it’d burn away some of your cowardice.

Before you could so much as open your mouth, the unwelcome sensation of an unfamiliar hand on the curve of your back made your body go rigid, every muscle poised to fight. A second later, the scent of hot breath laced in the stench of alcohol choked the air around you as an unfamiliar man slid into the open seat between you and the object of your affection.

“Hey there beautiful…” he slurred. “You’ve been by yourself all night… you in need of some company?”

You covered your hand over your glass and shifted away from him slightly, your demeanor cold. “No.”

“Aw, c’mon doll… don’t be like that…” he grinned. “You don’t come here dressed like that for no good reason…”

The man’s hand was still on your back, its presence making your skin crawl. It made the fog of your buzz lifting slightly, your senses suddenly heightened in the presence of a potential threat. Your eyes searched frantically for Hizashi. He had a way of handling drunken idiots. But he was stuck at the other end of the bar still, a drunk woman trying desperately hard to flirt with him.

You were on your own, and this creep clearly wasn’t taking no for an answer. Your brain started to fabricate worst-case scenarios and planning for them, a million options running through your mind. Screaming. Throwing your drink in his face. A well-placed kick to his shin. Your pepper spray.

Your free hand slipped into your purse, fingers closing around you’re the plastic cylinder. The feel of it gave you a sense of security, even if it might be a last resort. You didn’t really want to use it, especially with Aizawa sitting behind him… you never had to use it before, and you couldn’t guarantee your accuracy, especially in such a tight space.

You watched from the corner of your eye as the man’s free hand reached forward to grasp your own that covered your drink, and your grip around the cylinder tightened, a warning beginning to fall from your lips. But your words were cut short as the man’s hand was suddenly grabbed by familiar, long fingers and bent back at an uncomfortable angle that made the drunk cry out.

“Hey! What the hell?!” the man demanded.

Aizawa took a casual sip of his drink with his free hand while maintaining his grip on the offender, before pinning him with a dangerous glare. “She said no.”

The man’s hand left your back as he struggled to free himself from Aizawa’s grip. “Let go!”

“First you will apologize to her.” Aizawa ordered.

The man sputtered. “For what?!”

You watched in shock as Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. His thumb positioned itself on a digit and began pushing it slowly backward.

“For touching her without permission. For insinuating that her attire makes it acceptable for you to ignore her boundaries. For being a disgusting pig.”

With each statement, he pushed the finger back farther and farther, until the man was buckling to his knees under the pressure in an attempt to alleviate the pain and prevent the digit from breaking.

“Ow ow ow! Okay! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” The man begged.

Aizawa held him for a moment longer before finally releasing him. “Good. Now get out.”

The man scurried away until he was out of reach before turning around to glare daggers at him. “Hey, fuck you man!” He shouted. But for all of his drunken bravado, he stormed out of the club clutching his sore hand to his chest, as heads turned to watch him leave.

The hum of voices within the club fell silent for a moment, with only the band continuing their music. After the front door closed, the noise of people chattering slowly returned, countless sets of eyes turning back to their tables. Aizawa turned his gaze back to you, the lethal look gone from his dark eyes.

“You okay?”

You nodded mutely, swallowing the dryness in your throat as your sweaty hand released the pepper spray in your purse. Sensations warred within you, momentarily leaving you a confused mess. The speed at which he came to your defense and his willingness to resort to violence on your behalf fueled a carnal need you didn’t even realize you had. But even as hot arousal pooled deep in your gut, your heart still raced from the threat that had been quickly neutralized.

His eyes caught the movement of something over your shoulder and he cursed. “Shit.”

“SHOuTA!” Scolded a feminine voice.

He turned back to his drink, hunching his shoulders. “I told her not to call me that in public.” Aizawa muttered under his breath.

You spun on your stool to see the owner of the bar, Nemuri Kayama approaching, clad in a deep purple business suit with a dangerously low-cut black blouse. She was next to you in a matter of seconds, a cloud of strong perfume enveloping you as she snatched Aizawa’s drink from his hand as he began to raise it to his lips.

“What the hell was that?!” She demanded. “What makes you think you can attack my customers like that?”

“Your customer was harassing this customer.” Aizawa pointed out.

Nemuri looked at you with her lavender eyes as if seeing you for this first time and paused in her verbal assault.

“Is this true?” She asked you.

She had a presence about her that instantly made you find your voice again.

“He was being handsy and wasn’t taking no for an answer.” You confirmed.

“Can I have my drink back now?” Aizawa asked.

She stared back and forth between the two of you for a moment before slamming the glass down in front of him, half of the contents spilling over the side. “Ugh. Fine. But next time ask for one of my bouncers. Or Hizashi. Or me. Anyone but you.”

Aizawa’s mouth curled with a sly grin as he wiped at the spill with a napkin. “And why is that?”

“Because you scare away customers.” She growled.

Aizawa stared into his drink, swirling its remaining contents. “Well maybe you need better customers.” He took a sip.

“I’ll take whoever is willing to pay. Unfortunately for you, this club doesn’t survive off of chivalry.” She crossed her arms. “Besides… it’s less about losing that drunken idiot and more about losing those who saw you almost break his hand.”

“I wasn’t going to break his hand. I was going to break his finger.” Aizawa said.

You stifled a chuckle with a bite of your lip.

Nemuri rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Don’t try to make it sound like that makes it any better. And you!” She pointed at Hizashi, who had conveniently shown up not a minute before. “You know better than to leave him alone like this!”

“I can either be a bartender or a babysitter, love. I can’t do both.” Hizashi replied as he polished a glass.

Nemuri grumbled under her breath before turning her gaze back to you. “I apologize for Aizawa’s violent behavior.” “Oh I didn’t mind…” you confessed with a small smile, and you could feel Aizawa’s eyes flicker to you briefly.

“And I apologize for the inappropriate customer. Alcohol is no excuse for harassment. I guarantee he won’t be returning to this club any time soon.” She looked at Hizashi. “Get her a fresh drink.”

“Already on it…” He replied, sliding a new glass to you and removing your old one.

She looked back at you. “And your drinks are on the house tonight.”

“Thank you.” You replied.

Nemuri gave a satisfied nod. “Now I need to go schmooze the rest of our frightened patrons, which is exactly how I didn’t want to spend my evening.” With a final glare at the two men, she stormed off, her pointed heels clicking on the hard floor.

You stared at your new drink for a moment, the desire for it lost now. “Hizashi, can I have a glass of water?”

“Sure thing, darlin’.” Hizashi replied and placed a chilled glass in front of you.

You thanked him and took a sip followed by a long, deep breath. Aizawa moved into the now-vacant seat next to you, and you welcomed the closeness. The gesture felt protective, a warning to anyone else who was dumb enough to try their luck with you after that display. Noticing the closer proximity between the two of you, Hizashi quickly made himself scarce again.

“Thank you…” you said to Aizawa as your finger traced patterns into the condensation on the glass.

“It was nothing…” he replied. There was a long silence before he spoke again. “I hope I didn’t scare you.”

You looked at him with surprise then. Scared? No. Aroused? Definitely. The dampness of your panties were evidence enough of that, but he certainly didn’t need to know that.

“Not at all.” You confessed. “I actually really appreciate it.”

Aizawa’s shoulders relaxed slightly, as if a weight had been lifted.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” you asked. “You were so fast…”

Aizawa gave a small grin. “Piano isn’t the only thing I’m good at…”

You had no difficulty believing that…

“Were you a bouncer or something at one point?” you asked curiously.

Aizawa chuckled. “Yeah, something like that…” he took a swig of his drink, the ice in it clinking. The amber colored liquid was nearly gone now.

His response only gave you more questions, but you forced them down. There was a fine line between being curious and nosey, and you were too worried of crossing it, thus ending your conversation with him.

“You’re a regular here.” He commented.

It wasn’t a question – it was a statement. He recognized you. You averted your eyes away in embarrassment, feeling suddenly exposed, your anonymity blown. How long had he noticed you’d been coming here? Did he know how closely you watched him?

“Yeah.” You confessed, as you took another sip of water. The alcohol next to it was calling to you, promising to ease your anxiety, but you refrained for the moment. You wanted to keep your wits about you while you talked to him.

“No company tonight?” he asked.

Oh. He watched you more closely than you ever realized. You weren’t sure whether you were feeling embarrassed or aroused. Was it possible to feel both?

“Not this time. I got stood up.” You replied.

“Sounds like you dodged a bullet there.” He said, looking into his empty glass.

You gave a dry laugh. “True. I’ve dodged lots of bullets lately.”

Aizawa chuckled. “I believe it…”

Contrary to his outward aloof demeanor, he was nice. You could feel the tension in your body start to dissipate as words came easier.

“If you ever think you want to try a dating app, don’t.” you commented. “It makes for good stories, but sometimes it really makes you want to give up on humanity.”

That earned an honest laugh as he looked at you with a grin. “Well now you’ve piqued my curiosity.”

You couldn’t help but smile back. This actually wasn’t so bad…

With amusement, you began to recount some of your more outlandish dating disasters with him, letting him in on the world of online dating from a woman’s perspective. Aizawa listened with quiet interest, making the occasional wry joke or, for the more serious cases, wearing a deep frown of disapproval. He was a good listener, and the conversation flowed easier than you had expected, words falling from your mouth without a second thought. It felt natural. Comfortable. And for the first time in a while, you felt like yourself. After you ran out of stories, Aizawa offered a couple of his own, and you found yourself laughing at his own tales of dating woes. As Aizawa talked, Hizashi stopped by to quietly replace his empty drink before disappearing again, a pleased smile on his face. His brief presence reminded you of your own glass pooling condensation on the paper coaster beneath it, and you returned to sipping its contents, once again finding the buzz you had been enjoying as you listened to Aizawa.

The time passed by as the two of you talked about the stress of dating and relationships. You’d learned that Aizawa rarely dated, but would occasionally have to endure awkward matchups thanks to Hizashi and Nemuri. You learned how much of a private person he was, how he generally avoided dating culture entirely in favor of letting life play out on its own. Everything about him exuded a man of experience and maturity, a man comfortable in his own skin and content with his life. You couldn’t help but admire him as you soaked in every little detail that you’d wanted to know, committing every little bit of information he offered up to memory. He was everything you’d imagined; kind, respectful, and serious with a sly sense of humor that he only shared once he was feeling comfortable.

Once the topic was exhausted, you sighed. “I think I’m done with dating.” You confessed. “I’ll just resign myself to my singlehood.”

Aizawa pinned you with a pensive look. “Is that what you want?”

Something about the tone of his voice made your pulse race with excitement.

“Well… It’s better than being repeatedly disappointed.” You gave him a side glance as you took sip of your drink. “But if the right guy comes along, I wouldn’t say no…”

“Hm… the right guy…” Aizawa muttered as he returned his gaze to his glass.

Your statement was a bold one, filled with invitation. You hadn’t exactly planned for it to come out that way, but it was too late to take those words back now. You quickly tried to turn the topic back to him. “How about you? Any special someone for you?”

He chuckled. “No. No special someone. Not yet, at least.”

The words fell from his mouth like breadcrumbs leading to a secret as he eyed you over the rim of his glass. You felt lightheaded and warm, the tips of your fingers buzzing with numbness. Maybe it was the half-finished drink in your hand. Or maybe it was the look in Aizawa’s eyes that made you feel drunk, the Earth spinning under your feet as you mentally struggled to find some sort of purchase to keep from falling.

Was he…?

Hope held you captive and you suddenly became acutely aware of how close you were to him. Your eyes traced the scruff on his jawline, the stitching of his shirt, the slope of his neck as his Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow. A stray strand of hair had come loose from his half-ponytail and was hanging over his forehead, begging to be touched. Your fingers twitched. If you reached out to tuck it back into place, would he let you?

You couldn’t muster the courage and averted your eyes. You were filled with alcohol and infatuation, you reasoned. Your defenses were down, your judgment potentially impaired… what if you were reading into something that wasn’t there? What if you were wrong?

You watched Hizashi close out a tab for an older couple as you took a sip of your water.

Warmth pressed against your forearm and looked down to see Aizawa’s arm resting against yours. All of your attention honed in on the softness of his shirtsleeve and the warmth of his skin as his hand fiddled with a paper coaster, flipping it over and over with each tap on the counter. The contact was intentional, calculated in its subtle intimacy. It was a silent question… a tentative invitation, absent of assumptions or expectations. Your doubt evaporated like mist and you understood.

He was interested. In you.

Your heart did a somersault in your chest as you sat there, stunned. Time froze as everything that’d transpired throughout the evening flitted through your mind. It was a perfect amalgamation of circumstances, leading to this single moment, giving you the one thing you wanted most. You held your breath as you stood on the precipice, uncertain if your next step would make you fall or let you fly.

You stared at the contact and carefully… slowly… brushed your pinky along the back of his hand. It traced the vein that stood out there, following it to the knuckle. His own hand let go of the coaster his was holding, his own pinky linking with yours in affirmation.

You couldn’t help the elated smile that spread across your face in that moment and when you looked up at him with a shy glance, he had a smile of his own, small and secretive as he stared at your linked fingers. Slowly the rest of his fingers followed, twining themselves into yours until he held your hand, his thumb brushing sensually against your skin. That single action alone was enough to reignite the fire in your loins, your blood racing through your veins from the epicenter of his touch.

Hizashi’s voice crashed through your private, titillating moment. “We’re closing up, lovebirds…”

Your hand pulled away from Aizawa’s on instinct as you looked around the now empty club. Only staff remained, finalizing the last bit of cleanup and arranging the furniture for the next day. How had it gotten so late so fast?

“You want me to walk you to your car?” Hizashi asked, a knowing grin on his face.

In all that had happened that evening, you’d forgotten about that little arrangement. But you weren’t ready to leave just yet…

Aizawa’s voice answered before yours could. “Leave me the keys to the place. I’ll walk her tonight and lock up when we leave.”

“Suit yourself.” Hizashi replied with a shrug. He placed a set of keys on the counter. “Don’t tell Nemuri, though. She’ll kill me.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, friend.” Aizawa replied.

With that, Hizashi gave a small salute, grabbed his coat, and left. You watched, your heart pounding as the door closed behind him, leaving a deafening silence in its wake.

You were alone with Aizawa. Completely and utterly alone.

Your turned back to face him and froze. Aizawa still sat on his stool, but he faced you now with an elbow propped against the counter, and that simple distinction made his presence fill your space. He stared at you, the look in his eyes unfettered now, deep and hungry. “You really do look beautiful tonight.” He complimented.

With the way the words fell from his mouth and curled warmly into your chest like a cat, you believed him. You felt beautiful.

“Thank you.” You said with a soft smile. “You look handsome yourself, Aizawa.”

He took your hand again and slowly began to lean forward, closing the small distance between you. “Call me Shouta.”

You swallowed. “Shouta.” You whispered, feeling the name on your lips.

His dark pupils dilated and you felt his other hand on your jawline, warm, long fingers wrapping towards the back of your neck to pull you into a kiss.

His lips were warm and soft as his stubble tickled your skin, and you leaned into it fervently, your hands finding their home on his chest. You could feel his toned muscles beneath the black cotton and a purr found its way to the back of your throat. Shouta took it as an invitation, coming off of his barstool to stand between your now parted legs, his arm wrapping itself around your waist as his tongue slid along your lips. You opened your mouth eagerly to taste the bourbon there, to feel the wet muscle dance and slide against your own. Every touch, every taste, every smell enveloped you further and further in the essence that was Shouta until your entire body was singing, teetering on the edge.

Oh God… you were not going to let yourself cum just by kissing him.

You pulled out of the kiss slightly as your hands pressed gently against his chest, and he retreated from you just enough for his eyes to search your face, a silent question in them.

“I-I’m sorry, I just…” your words fell pitifully from your flushed, wet mouth, your voice shaky with pent-up arousal.

One second longer. One second longer is all it would have taken…

Shouta’s hand on your back began to rub soft, slow circles. “Would you like some water?” he asked, a small smile on his lips.

You nodded, and he kissed your forehead before handing you your glass. You drank greedily before handing it back to him, half-empty.

“Have you ever been kissed like that?” he asked curiously, as he placed the glass back down onto the counter.

You gave a small laugh and shook your head. “No… not like that.”

Your confession left you feeling embarrassed, even as your chest felt it would burst from this latest turn of events.

You kissed Aizawa Shouta.

Actually, he kissed you.

You needed a moment to collect yourself, to process everything you were feeling.

So, you completely changed the subject.

“How long have you been playing piano?” you asked.

Shouta didn’t miss a beat, returning to sit on his stool to give you the space you silently needed. But his hand still held yours, resting on the counter as his fingers twined with yours. It gave you a sense of reassurance, that everything was okay, despite your awkward hesitation.

“My grandpa had one when I was a kid. Used to mess around on it.” He explained. “He finally got me lessons from a guy he knew, and I’ve loved it ever since.”

You smiled as you watched his thumb trace across each of your fingernails. You returned the gesture, tracing the details of his own hand. It was like living a dream, to see them up close and feel them, every fingernail, every vein, even the pads of his fingertips. The number of times you’d fantasized about these hands…

“I always wanted to learn how to play, but my family could never afford lessons.” You confessed. “But my mom used to have all of these old jazz albums, and I used to sit in my room and listen to them for hours.”

“I can teach you.”

Your fingers stopped their tracing. “What?”

“I can teach you.” He repeated.

You shook your head. “Um, no it’s okay… I’d probably be a terrible student anyway.”

“A student can only be as bad as the person teaching them. Follow me.”

Before you could protest further, Shouta’s hand closed around yours and pulled you from your seat. He led you up the steps of the stage and across it until you reached the black piano sitting forlornly in the empty space.

It felt strange being up on the stage, especially with the club being completely empty. The stage light was bright and warm on your shoulders, and the silence sounded different there, affected by the difference in acoustics.

Shouta sat at one end of the black bench and pulled you down by your hand until you were sitting next to him. The bench was small, meant for only one person, so you had to press yourself against him to be able to sit without feeling like you were going to fall off. Even then, it wasn’t the most comfortable arrangement, but you endured, if only to be close to him.

He released your hand and began his instruction.

“First thing you should know is how to find middle C. Everything else will center around this.” He pressed the white key with the thumb of his right hand, the note singing out into the empty space. “Then, it’s D, E, F, G, A, B, which brings you back to C. That creates an octave, also known as a scale.” He played each note as he spoke.

“What about the black keys?” you asked curiously.

“Those are the half notes. Don’t worry about those right now.” He arranged his hand back how he initially had it, his thumb on the middle C key.

“Now,” he continued, “First, you must learn how to move your fingers along the keys. Like this.” Shouta demonstrated the motion again, his fingers playing each note slowly in a steady rhythm. “The switch of the fingers is important. It will help you flow quickly and easily without having to watch where your hands are, which will be important for reading sheet music.” He repeated the motion again, the sounds once again ringing out. Then, he removed his hand. “Your turn.”

You bit your lip and placed your hand how you’d seen his arranged and tried. The notes were clumsy, lacking in rhythm and falling together as you forgot in your nervous haze where the switch of the fingers happened. Embarrassment flooded you and you withdrew your hand.

“Don’t expect to get it right on the first try.” He reassured. “Let’s try it again. Try to keep your fingers loose, curved like a bowl.”

Shouta modeled it again. You watched, but your focus was muddled with anxiety, attraction, and likely alcohol. It was a poor recipe for learning, but you knew he was trying to make you feel comfortable, and you didn’t want to turn down his kindness. You arranged your hand back on the keys again and tried again, with little improvement.

“I’m sorry, I…” you stuttered as you clutched your hand in your lap protectively.

His hand covered yours and you looked up at him to see him staring at you with warm patience. “It’s okay. If you don’t want to do this, we can stop.”

You stared at him, mouth slightly open as you thought about it. You knew he wouldn’t hold it against you if you wanted to quit. And sure, you felt silly being so poor at it when sitting next to someone who’s skills you idolized.

But did you really want to stop? How often would you get an opportunity like this?

“No, it’s okay. Keep going, I want to learn.” You replied.

Shouta watched you for a moment longer before he placed his hand back on the keys. “Place your hand over mine.”

You followed his instructions, your hand looking small compared to his. His skin was warm, and it calmed the shaking in your fingers.

“Watch where the fingers land. Feel how they move.” He played the notes, and you could feel the tendons of his hand tense and shift, his fingers rising and falling like a wave.

“It’s like they’re dancing.” You said. “You switch to your thumb on this key… E?”

“Yes.” Shouta replied in approval. “Your turn.”

This time you focused, remembering the feel of how his hand had moved under yours as you played the keys, switching your fingers at the right time. The improvement was noticeable.

He smiled. “Good. Now, for the other hand. You’ll start one octave lower. Can you find it?”

Your arm crossed Aizawa’s chest to press the white key, letting the sound ring out.

“Perfect. Only this time, your pinky will sit on this key, with the others following after.”

You placed your fingers across the white keys. “Like this?”

Shouta nodded. “Now you’ll try the same progression with your left hand. The middle finger will follow after the thumb plays the G note.”

You removed your hand so he could place his own and demonstrate it for you. You followed after him, imitating his actions, but this time your attempt was worse than your first, your hand angled awkwardly due to limited space as you pressed yourself against him.

“That was terrible.” You laughed. “I can’t reach very easily.”

A small mischievous smile formed on Shouta’s lips and he slipped his hand around your waist.

“Come here.” He said.

You didn’t fight him as he pulled you into his lap. His right hand settled itself against your stomach as his legs parted slightly to make room for yours, your knees drawn together between his. The heat of his touch seeped through the fabric of your dress, weaving a tight knot of desire deep in your core that made your body go rigid as you tried to keep yourself from melting against him.

“Is this okay?” He asked, leaning slightly to see your face from his position behind you.

You licked your lips and swallowed, giving a nod. “Y-Yes…” you answered shakily. “Are you okay…? I’m not too heavy?”

Shouta gave a soft laugh. “No. Not at all.” His breath was hot against your skin and you could feel the scratch of his stubble as he spoke, sending goosebumps over your body. “Let’s continue.”

He placed his left hand on the keys again with ease, regardless of how poor his view of the piano was with you in front of him. He knew this instrument like the back of his hand; could probably play it with his eyes closed and never miss a note.

He played the simple notes again, C through B, fingers tip-toeing across the keys as he said their names out loud, helping you to remember them. You watched carefully for where the shift in finger arrangement happened, the middle finger following after the thumb just as he’d described.

“You try.” He instructed, his right arm still wrapped around your waist, holding you close against him. You could feel the warmth of his chest against your back now, feel the strength of his body beneath you.

You loved this. The lap-sitting, the lesson, the praise. Each time Shouta praised your improvements it sent a thrill through you from your head down to your toes. To be complimented by him, even for something as simple as pressing a few keys… it only made you want to please him more.

You played the progression of notes with renewed motivation, once again showing improvement from your first attempt.

“Good.”

Your spine straightened against him slightly. The thumb of his hand caressed your abdomen where he held you.

“Now you need to learn to do the same but in reverse, until you’re back where your fingers started.”

You moved your hand away to let him demonstrate and his right hand left your stomach, leaving an ache in its wake. You watched both of his hands play the simple notes up and down, working together with ease. But you knew it was all a ruse… he made it look easy, but if you tried to do the same, you’d fumble clumsily.

“I don’t know about this…” you chuckled.

“It takes practice,” he replied, “until it becomes muscle memory.”

Shouta demonstrated it again, up and down. And again.

You placed your hands over his, wanting to feel the touch of his hands under yours more than the actual pressing of the keys. All you wanted was his arm around your waist again, his hand on your lower abdomen. His touch was tantalizing, and you wanted more of it.

He completed the simple scale progression two more times with your hands on top of his.

“Do you want to try?” he offered.

His hands left the keys to hold you again, his arms wrapped more tightly around you this time. You leaned against him, reveling in being held in his arms.

“I’m going to mess up.” You warned.

“Just take it slow.”

You shook your head a little and let out a small breath, shifting your position in his lap slightly as you leaned forward to focus on the keys. His arms loosened around you, his hands shifting to your thighs.

It was likely an innocent action, intended to give you the freedom to move as you made yourself comfortable. But as soon as the tips of his fingers touched the bare skin below the hem of your dress, that sharp zap of arousal tingled the ends of your nerves, causing you to suck in air and part your knees slightly, your walls throbbing in hopeful anticipation.

It wasn’t intentional. Your body just… reacted. But Shouta noticed instantly.

There was silence at first, his hands still on your thighs, waiting. Finally, he spoke. “Y/N….” his voice was huskier now. “How long has it been since you’ve been cared for?”

Embarrassment flooded through you. Embarrassment at your sensitivity to his touch, embarrassment at the answer to his question... You hesitated a moment before words fell clumsily from your mouth. “I, um… a long time.”

A low hum rumbled from Shouta’s chest as his fingers brushing gently along the inside of your thighs until they dipped just beneath the black fabric. The action was experimental, a testing of the waters, and it brought immediate results. Your thighs widened the slightest bit more as you failed to fight back a whimper, your hands grasping his arms in need. Not a moment later you could feel the growing firmness of his cock begin to press against your backside, despite the restriction of Shouta’s jeans. Shouta’s hands halted again their movement, waiting. He was miraculously under control despite his obvious arousal, and you envied him.

“Do you want me to touch you?” he asked, his voice low.

Of course you did. It was obvious you did. Why else would your legs be parting like the red sea as if he were Moses?

But for some reason, your body language wasn’t enough for him. He needed to hear it. A sense of urgency filled you, desperate need driving you. At this point, you’d give him whatever he wanted…

“Yes.” you begged. “Please, Shouta... Please touch me.” You leaned back against him, allowing the angle of your hips to tilt as your hands guided him further beneath the skirt of your dress.

With you draped onto him, your head tilted back, Shouta kissed the curve of your neck as his hands gently gripped the insides of your knees, pulling your legs apart until they were draped over his own. You were open for him now, your skirt hiked halfway up by the spread of your legs.

Your heart pounded in your chest with so much excitement that you could feel your own pulse in your neck and between your legs. This was happening… This was really happening… How many times had you fantasized about this very thing? How many times had you longed for this man, whispered his name on your tongue only to be met by the empty silence? And now here he was, freeing you from the shackles of your loneliness in the best way possible.

Shouta’s hands pushed the fabric up the rest of the way until it was pooled around your hips, exposing your panties. The thin cotton fabric did little to protect your aching cunt from the cold air, and you sucked air through your teeth at the sensation. His fingers traced invisible lines up the inside of your thighs, leaving nothing but singing nerves in their wake that cascaded into a shiver that rolled over your flesh, leaving goosebumps. Your body was already moving of its own volition, hips rolling, eager for Shouta’s fingers yet simultaneously attempting to grind down onto his restrained cock. Your breaths were already coming in hot and ragged, every inch of you frantic for the release that it had been denied all evening.

Shouta gave a low growl, his left hand holding down your hip, halting your movements. “You better stop that…” he warned.

No doubt your girating was making things difficult for him on his end. But you didn’t care. You were an unfettered, horny mess now.

A whine escaped your lips at his restriction. In response, Shouta’s left hand trailed up the length of your body, caressing over your breast before finding its home on your neck. His palm was against your voice box now, his fingers long enough to wrap around your throat and reach your jaw. There was no force in his hold, but it still held power over you, ushering your body into stillness while your chest heaved with heavy breaths.

“Patience.” He whispered. “Let me take care of you.”

Shouta followed up his words with more gentle kisses along your neck, your shoulder… wherever his lips could reach with you on his lap. The feel of his hand on your throat was a reminder of who was in control. But it was also a promise - a promise to ensure your needs would be met.

Once Shouta was sure he had your compliance, his right hand travelled the remaining distance of your inner thigh to arrive at your panties, where moist heat greeted him.

A low hum of approval rumbled in his chest, vibrating against your back. “You’re so wet.”

A pitiful “yes” was all you could muster before the tips of his fingers brushed gently against your clothed sex, stealing your voice and replacing it with a gasp.

Slowly Shouta pet you, his fingers stroking gentle circles over the wet cotton, teasing the sensitive flesh beneath. With his hand still on your neck, you kept your body torturously motionless as he gradually increased the pressure of his digits, reducing his speed as he passed over your clit to drag the pads of his fingers over the bundle of nerves.

You swallowed the pooling saliva in your mouth, the action causing your throat to press against his hand. “Please…” you begged. “I can’t…”

Shouta was strict, but not cruel. He obliged, slipping his fingers beneath the cotton to swim his digits into your juices, never breaking his circular, rhythmic motion over your slick entrance. The scent of your arousal surrounded both of you, thick and heavy.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he growled against your skin.

Two of his fingers dipped into you then, slow at first, allowing you to stretch around him as your walls quivered. Your thighs tensed at the intrusion, welcoming the stinging pressure as your core burned with fire. He withdrew his fingers slowly and you lifted your head to watch in carnal fascination to see his fingers shining wet down to the knuckles. He pushed them into you again, curling his fingers towards the sensitive, spongey tissue along the top of your walls, his thumb pressing down on your wet clit. A zap of stimulation fired from your core before fizzling away, a teasing warning of what was to come.

“Oh-Oh fuck…” you gasped as one hand reached back and grabbed a fistful of Shouta’s thick, dark hair.

He picked up his pace then, his thumb driving firm circles around your swollen pearl as the sounds of your wet hole being finger-fucked filled the silence of the empty stage. With each pass of his thumb, with each curl of his fingers, the heat grew hotter, your cunt swollen and burning with the need for release. Your thighs were tensed so tightly now that it made your legs lift and you had to brace your feet against the piano, discordant notes ringing out to join the sounds of your heavy pants and wet squelching in a lewd song. Shouta’s hand left your throat to hold you under your thigh to keep you steady as his other hand worked fast and hard to unravel you. With the absence of his touch on your neck, you were free to move your hips, grinding hard into his hand, his lap, whatever part of him you were touching. Your grip on his hair tightened, mirroring the tension building within you, clinging to him like the boughs of a tree knowing that any second the flood would come.

Shouta was your lifeline, your rock, your destroyer. You were the waves and he was the shore, and your body tensed to prepare itself to crash against him.

“Come on, baby…” Shouta whispered gruffly. “I’ve got you. Cum for me.”

You came with a cry, loud and frantic as your walls clamped down on his fingers. The ball of heat that you had been carrying like a stone exploded within you, incinerating every nerve from the inside out, leaving nothing but sweet, sharp, euphoria in its wake. Your walls spasmed repeatedly, sucking greedily on Shouta’s drenched fingers, as you cried and moaned, bucked and arched. Shouta’s arm was around your waist, holding you against him to keep you from sliding off of his lap as you rode the high of your orgasm, tumbling like a waterfall over and over again to finally become a puddle in his strong arms.

Shouta held you silently against him as your body twitched with aftershocks of pleasure. Once your spasms subsided and he was sure you wouldn’t fall from your perch, Shouta released his hold around your waist to draw his fingers up and down your arm, creating goosebumps under his gentle touch. His fingers were still in you, his hand cupped between your legs. The warmth of his touch on your tired cunt was comforting, and it brought forth a content moan from your parted lips. Shouta smiled as he planted another kiss on your shoulder.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that with him. But you finally made yourself sit up when you felt sleep starting to drag you down into its murky depths, your limbs feeling heavy.

Finally, Shouta spoke. “Better?” he asked.

You gave a laugh. “Much.” You looked down at yourself in amusement. “You made a mess of me, though…”

Shouta gave a satisfied hum and stared at his hand that held you. “I like you messy.” He stated.

“So, you’re just gonna leave me like this?” you teased.

He laughed and withdrew his fingers, wiping the slick coating them onto his jeans. “As much as I like that idea, no.” He adjusted your ruined underwear and the hem of your dress back into place before turning you around in his lap. His hands were planted on your rear, keeping you securely and comfortably in place. “It’s late. We should get you home.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him. “What about you?” you asked, your eyes glancing down to his lap. Your hands began to trail down his chest to reach the button of his pants, eager to reciprocate.

Shouta smiled at you and grabbed your hands, bringing them back up to plant kisses on your palms. “Tonight was about you. There’ll be more opportunities for both of us later.” You pouted and he chuckled. “Don’t give me that face.”

“It hardly seems fair…” you muttered. You were looking forward to enjoying more of him… you didn’t want tonight to end.

He hummed as he began to trail kisses along your jawline and you arched your neck to allow him better access. “We both… need sleep.”

Sleep? With his mouth on your skin, sleep was the last thing on your mind. Shouta pulled his lips away to look into your eyes again and you could see the fatigue there, dark circles framing bloodshot eyes. He really did look incredibly tired, and you couldn’t help but wonder how late it really was. You brushed the errant strand of hair off of his forehead, tucking it behind his ear.

“Okay...” you softly agreed.

“You should come back tomorrow night.” He mused, the mischief back in his eyes. “We can continue our piano lessons.”

“I’d like that.” you smiled.

You couldn’t wait.

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