#Men's linen designer suit

[samkkshopping]

The Power of a Perfect Fit: How Men's Designer Suits Have Evolved

Introduction:

The men’s designer suit — a timeless symbol of power, sophistication, and style. But its journey from horseback riding attire to the red-carpet runway is a fascinating exploration of fashion journeys, designer menswear, suit fashion history, and the ever-evolving two-piece suit. This blog delves into the rich tapestry woven by the suit, tracing its evolution from its classic roots to the contemporary suit designs that shape it today. We’ll explore the influence of iconic menswear designers, the enduring appeal of a well-crafted suit, and the innovations that continue to push the boundaries of menswear, with a special focus on the versatility of the two-piece suit.

From Doublets to Dandyism: The Birth of the Suit

The origins of the modern suit can be traced back to 16th century Europe. Back then, men wore doublets and hose, a combination of a short jacket and fitted leggings. The evolution towards the suit began with the jerkin, a sleeveless jacket worn over the doublet. By the 17th century, the jerkin had elongated into a coat, paired with breeches (knee-length pants). This two-piece ensemble, the forerunner of the modern two-piece suit, was primarily worn by nobility and upper classes.

The Sartorial Influence of Tailoring

The 18th century witnessed the rise of the tailor, a skilled craftsman who created bespoke Outfits for individual clients. This era saw the development of key tailoring techniques, like padding shoulders and shaping waistlines, which gave birth to the structured suit silhouette we recognize today. The iconic three-piece suit, featuring a jacket, waistcoat, and Kurtas, also emerged during this period.

The Beau Brummell and the Birth of Bespoke

Beau Brummell, a British socialite of the early 19th century, became a legendary figure for his impeccable taste and influence on men’s fashion. He championed a clean-lined, tailored look, favoring muted colors and emphasizing high-quality fabrics. Brummell’s sartorial choices set the standard for bespoke tailoring, which focused on creating suits, including two-piece suits, that perfectly complemented a man’s physique.

The Industrial Revolution and Ready-to-Wear

The 19th century saw a major shift with the Industrial Revolution. The invention of sewing machines led to the rise of ready-to-wear clothing, making suits, including the more affordable two-piece suit option, more accessible to the middle class. However, bespoke tailoring remained a symbol of luxury and status for the elite.

The 20th Century: A Catwalk of Innovation

The 20th century witnessed a dynamic evolution of the suit, including the two-piece suit. The early decades saw bolder patterns and looser fits, reflecting a changing social landscape. World War I spurred a preference for more practical styles, with wider lapels and double-breasted jackets gaining popularity. The post-war era brought back a focus on elegance, epitomized by the sharp, single-breasted suits favored by Hollywood icons like Cary Grant and Fred Astaire.

The Rise of Iconic Designers and the Two-Piece Suit

The mid-20th century saw the rise of iconic menswear designers who revolutionized menswear, including the two-piece suit. Coco Chanel, known for her pioneering women’s designs, also influenced men’s fashion with her boxy jackets and relaxed silhouettes, impacting the design of the casual two-piece suit. Christian Dior, on the other hand, introduced the “New Look” in 1947, featuring a cinched waist and fuller skirt for women. This concept translated into a more fitted and accentuated suit style for men, impacting both three-piece suits and two-piece suits.

The Peacock Revolution and Beyond: A Celebration of Two-Piece Suits

The latter half of the 20th century saw a further diversification of the suit, including the ever-popular two-piece suit. The “Peacock Revolution” of the 1960s brought vibrant colors, bold patterns, and wider lapels, reflecting a more flamboyant and expressive era. This movement particularly embraced the stylish two-piece suit as a canvas for self-expression. Italian tailors like Armani and Versace championed a softer, more relaxed approach to tailoring, impacting the design of the modern two-piece suit. Meanwhile, designers like Yves Saint Laurent blurred the lines between masculine and feminine styles, even influencing the design of the two-piece suit.

The Modern Suit: A Blend of Tradition and Innovation in Two-Piece Options

Continuing our exploration of the suit’s evolution, let’s delve deeper into the world of modern designer and men’s designer suits, with a particular focus on the versatile two-piece suit.

Classic with a Twist: Timeless Appeal of the Tailored Two-Piece Suit

Classic styles with subtle updates in fit and fabric continue to hold their own. Modern tailors understand the enduring appeal of a well-crafted tailored two-piece suit. By incorporating high-quality fabrics with a subtle sheen or a modern weave, designers elevate the classic silhouette. A touch of contemporary flair might come in the form of a narrower lapel or a slightly slimmer fit through the body. These designer two-piece suits are perfect for formal occasions, business meetings, or special events, offering a timeless elegance that never goes out of style.

The Rise of Comfort and Innovation: Modern Two-Piece Suit Trends

Modern trends lean towards slimmer cuts, offering a more contemporary aesthetic. This doesn’t necessarily mean sacrificing comfort. Many designers are incorporating innovative materials like technical fabrics that are breathable, wrinkle-resistant, and offer a comfortable stretch. These advancements allow for a slim-fit two-piece suit that still allows for freedom of movement, perfect for the modern man on the go.

A Canvas for Individuality: The Stylish Two-Piece Suit

The beauty of the two-piece suit lies in its versatility. It can be a canvas for expressing your unique style. Play with bold patterns for a statement look, or opt for textured fabrics for added visual interest. A well-chosen designer two-piece suit can be dressed up with a crisp dress shirt and tie for a formal event, or dressed down with a knit sweater and loafers for a more relaxed look. This adaptability makes the two-piece suit a valuable addition to any man’s wardrobe.

Finding Your Perfect Fit: Affordable Two-Piece Suits and Bespoke Tailoring

Men’s designer suits can be a significant investment, but there are options for every budget. Many brands offer a range of affordable two-piece suits that are well-made and stylish. However, for the ultimate in fit and personalization, consider bespoke tailoring. A skilled tailor can create a custom two-piece suit that perfectly complements your body type and style preferences.

A Tailored Journey: The Evolution of Men’s Designer Suits, Including the Timeless Three-Piece Suit

The men’s designer suit — a timeless symbol of power, sophistication, and style. This blog delves into the rich history of the suit, tracing its evolution from its classic roots to the contemporary suit designs that shape it today. We’ve explored the influence of iconic menswear designers and the ever-popular two-piece suit, but the story isn’t complete without acknowledging the enduring elegance of the three-piece suit.

The Three-Piece Suit: A Symbol of Elegance

The three-piece suit, featuring a jacket, waistcoat, and trousers, emerged in the 18th century as the epitome of formal menswear. The waistcoat, also known as a vest, added an extra layer of sophistication and formality to the ensemble. This three-piece suit was primarily worn by nobility and upper classes, signifying status and wealth.

The Power of Three: Maintaining its Relevance

While the two-piece suit has gained popularity in recent years for its versatility, the three-piece suit retains its power to command attention. Here’s why:

Undeniable Formality:The three-piece suit remains the undisputed king of formal attire. For weddings, black-tie events, or important business meetings, the added layer of the waistcoat elevates your look to a whole new level of sophistication.

Structured Silhouette:The waistcoat helps create a clean and structured silhouette, making the wearer appear taller and more statuesque. This is particularly beneficial for men who want to add some definition to their frame.

Endless Refinement:The classic three-piece suit offers a platform for refined details. From contrasting waistcoat fabrics to subtle pocket square additions, you can personalize your look while maintaining an air of timeless elegance.

Modern Interpretations: The Three-Piece Suit Evolves

The modern three-piece suit has adapted to contemporary sensibilities. Designers are experimenting with slimmer cuts, lighter fabrics, and even bolder patterns for a more fashion-forward approach. However, the core principles of formality and structure remain, ensuring the three-piece Georgette Jodhpuri Suit stays relevant for the modern gentleman.

Choosing Your Perfect Suit: Two-Piece or Three-Piece?

Ultimately, the choice between a two-piece Italian Tuxedo Suit and a three-piece suit depends on the occasion and your personal style. The two-piece suit offers a versatile and contemporary option, while the three-piece suit exudes undeniable formality and timeless elegance.

No matter your preference, a well-crafted suit, whether a two-piece or a three-piece, is an investment piece that will elevate your wardrobe and leave a lasting impression. So, embark on your tailored journey, explore the world of designer menswear, and discover the perfect suit that reflects your unique personality.

Samyakk Clothing: Your Destination for Exquisite Two-Piece Suits

For those seeking high-quality two-piece suits, Samyakk Clothing offers a curated selection of designer and men’s designer suits. We understand the importance of a well-tailored suit and offer a variety of styles to suit your needs. Whether you’re looking for a classic silhouette or a more contemporary look, our team of experts can help you find the perfect two-piece suit and three-piece suit to elevate your wardrobe.

Freuqnely Asked Questions (FAQs)

1: What are the different types of designer suits?

A: Designer suits come in a wide variety, but some key categories include:

Classic suits:Timeless styles with subtle updates in fit and fabric.

Two-piece suits:Jacket and trouser combinations offering a more relaxed feel.

Three-piece suits:The traditional ensemble with a jacket, waistcoat, and trousers.

Modern suits:slimmer cuts, innovative materials, and a focus on comfort.

2: What are some important considerations when choosing a two-piece suit?

A: Here are some factors to consider:

Fit:A well-tailored suit should drape comfortably on your body without being too baggy or constricting.

Fabric:Choose fabrics that suit the occasion and climate. Wool is a popular choice for its breathability and drape, while technical fabrics offer comfort and wrinkle resistance.

Style:Consider your personal style and the message you want to convey. Classic styles offer timeless elegance, while modern cuts can add a contemporary edge.

3: Where can I find a designer two-piece suit?

A: Designer two-piece suits can be found at various retailers, but for a truly exceptional shopping experience, look no further than Samyakk Clothing. We offer a curated selection of designer and men’s designer suits, with a particular focus on the versatile two-piece suit.

Why Choose Samyakk Clothing for Your Two-Piece Suit?

Exquisite Selection:We understand the importance of choice. At Samyakk Clothing, you’ll find a diverse range of designer two-piece suits catering to various styles and budgets. Whether you seek a classic silhouette or a modern, slim-fit look, we have the perfect suit to elevate your wardrobe.

Unmatched Quality:We partner with renowned designers and tailors who prioritize exceptional craftsmanship and high-quality materials. This ensures you receive a two-piece suit that not only looks sharp but also offers superior comfort and durability.

Expert Guidance:Our knowledgeable staff is passionate about men’s fashion and can guide you towards the perfect two-piece suit for your needs. They’ll consider your body type, personal style, and the occasion to ensure you make a confident and stylish statement.

Visit Samyakk Clothing Today

Don’t settle for anything less than the best. Browse our collection of designer two-piece suits online or visit our store to experience the Samyakk Clothing difference. We’re confident you’ll find the perfect suit to make a lasting impression.

4: What are the benefits of bespoke tailoring for a two-piece suit?

A: Bespoke tailoring offers several advantages:

Perfect Fit:A skilled tailor will create a suit that is custom-made to your exact measurements, ensuring optimal comfort and a flattering silhouette.

Personalized Style:You have complete control over the design of your suit, choosing the fabric, style details, and finishing touches to create a truly unique piece.

High-Quality Materials:Bespoke tailors often use superior quality fabrics, resulting in a more luxurious and durable garment.

5 : How can I care for my two-piece suit?

A: Proper care will ensure your two-piece suit maintains its shape and appearance for years to come. Here are some tips:

Hang your suit properly:Use a wide hanger with padded shoulders to prevent wrinkles.

Brush your suit regularly:This removes dirt and dust particles that can damage the fabric.

Get your suit professionally cleaned:Depending on the fabric and frequency of wear, professional cleaning a few times a year is recommended.

Store your suit in a cool, dry place:Avoid storing your suit in direct sunlight or damp conditions.

In Conclusion: The Enduring Legacy of the Suit

The evolution of the men’s designer suit, including the two-piece suit, is a testament to human ingenuity and the ever-evolving relationship between fashion and function. From its humble beginnings to the red-carpet spotlight, the suit has served as a canvas for designers and a symbol of power and style for men. As we look towards the future, the suit promises to continue evolving, reflecting the changing needs and desires of the modern man. Whether you choose a classic or modern two-piece suit, a well-crafted suit is an investment in style that will never go out of fashion.

The Final Word: A Timeless Investment

The men’s designer suit, especially the versatile two-piece suit, boasts a rich history marked by innovation and adaptation. From its origins as practical wear for horseback riding to its current status as a symbol of power and style, the suit has never been a stagnant garment. It has constantly evolved, reflecting the changing social landscape and the desires of the modern man. Today’s designer two-piece suits offer a compelling blend of tradition and contemporary flair. With a wide variety of options available, you can find a suit that perfectly suits your taste, from classic elegance to modern, slim-fit styles. Whether you choose a timeless silhouette or a more fashion-forward look, a well-crafted two-piece suit is an investment piece that will see you through countless occasions, leaving a lasting impression of confidence and sophistication.

[mulloey]

hundred bands

student loans, a sugar daddy website, and johnny suh. three things you never thought would find you in quite this way.

part of my february festival

join my taglist

words: 8.4k

warnings: bdsm dynamics - dom!johnny x sub!reader, degradation, slight humiliation, discussion of pet play & master/slave play, slight corruption, titles (daddy/sir), paddling, face slapping, subspace, brief moment of insecurity, face fucking etc

—

You wonder if this is how it usually starts; a broke college student, an overeager friend and a last resort.

It’s not like you wanted or planned this; your final year of university and your tuition fees were piling up by the hour; your loan had already run out and all your applications for more money had been shot down about as delicately as a war plane. You’re pretty certain you’re on the loan office’s blocked callers list now.

It was your friend’s suggestion. You already knew she had a sugar daddy—a man named Mark who she never let you meet and seemed way too young to be doing this but, based on the flashy clothes she’d started wearing recently, clearly had enough money for it. And contrary to your expectations of sugaring as she called it, he actually seemed very nice; she was constantly gushing about how well he treated her and he appeared extremely respectful and affectionate towards her on the phone calls you’d been privy to. So fuck it, you thought, and you signed up for the website she’d given you as soon as you were drunk enough to bring yourself to do it.

While this was undoubtedly a sex-focused service, she’d emphasised to you the classy nature of the site; no lewd usernames, no nude pictures of any kind; just a clothed photo that showed your figure, basic information about you, and the type of arrangement you were looking for.

PLEASE SELECT ONE:

Sugar daddy/sugar baby

Straight/gay/bisexual

Top/bottom/vers

Dominant/submissive/switch/vanilla

Your blush ran deeper as you made your way down the list, arranging yourself into categories that felt a little like being sold at auction. Sugar baby. Straight. Bottom.

At the final question, you hesitated—you thought about putting ‘vanilla’, a little afraid of what these rich, anonymous men might expect to be able to pay for, but the words of your best friend rang out in your head. “Be honest with what you want,” she’d told you. “Just because you’re doing this for money doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get any fun from it.”

She was right, as usual. If you were going to get fucked for money, then you at least deserved to fucked well; even so, you had to close your eyes in shame as you clicked the little box titled ‘submissive’. That was a side of you that had only ever existed in your fantasies.

The rest of your profile was simple; you almost backed out when they asked for your ID, not wanting to give yourself away, but visions of loan sharks and withheld diplomas squashed those doubts pretty quickly—you were going to do this. You were going to get some rich man to pay your tuition, and that was the end of it. You had no other choice.

To be fair to the site, it was pretty well and, considering what it was for, non-pervertedly designed. You were matched with partners based on your preferences, but no one could message you until you’d liked their profile. You spent a few minutes clicking through the profiles, haphazardly liking or disliking as you felt like it, until one made you pause.

The picture was of a man in a suit, cropped at the neck to conceal his identity; but you didn’t really need to see his face to know that this man… well. He was certainly an option. Just from that one picture, taken from below, sleeves rolled up and linen straining against his chest, you felt authority emanating through the screen. Yeah, this could work very well.

You clicked nervously on his profile, hoping not to find anything crazy or gross in his bio to turn you off of him, but it was, well. Normal. For this place at least.

Sugar daddy. Straight. Top. Dominant. A good start—perfectly aligned with you.

From his bio you found out he was almost 30–a decent bit older than you but not over the line; he worked in the entertainment industry, and he valued discretion. Likewise, you thought.

You clicked like without a much more consideration.

The message came through an hour later, just as you were sitting down for dinner; you couldn’t help but grin when you got the notification, opening it nervously.

Hey. Hope you don’t mind the intrusion, but you’re nearby and I’d be interested in getting to know you. Would that be ok?

At first you were a little taken aback by how… polite the message was. How normal. Given the nature of the site you were half-expecting something perverted and disturbing, but this man was taking you by surprise already.

You typed your reply with your bottom lip held painfully between your teeth.

Hi :) that sounds great! I’m free next weekend if you are?

Great. Saturday evening? I’ll take you for dinner, if you like?

Perfect.

The nine days between then and your first meeting pass surprisingly quickly; you keep in regular contact with your faceless friend, you both having agreed to keep things anonymous for now, and though neither of you dance around the reason you’re both here, you find it easy to have normal, friendly conversations with him too. You tell him about your degree, and he gives you small details about his life and work—a singer, he says. He offers nothing more and you don’t press; from the way he talks about it you get the sense he may be some level of well-known, and you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. You’ll find out who he is on Saturday anyway.

On Monday night, just as you’re finishing up an assignment, your phone lights up with a new notification. You have his KakaoTalk now; it’s easier and more inconspicuous than the site and feels a lot less intimidating. The cartoon kitten on his profile picture makes you giggle as you open the message.

Now that we know each other a little better, would you be down to talk more about what our arrangement would look like, if it went ahead?

Yeah, of course. What are you thinking?

Can I call you?

Your stomach tightens and your palms tense nervously; you’ve called him before, but as you quickly found out, his voice makes it very difficult to concentrate on what he’s actually saying. You’re not exactly sure why; maybe it’s the deep, masculine lilt to it, but it sets your nerves on edge—still, you imagine this would be a better conversation to have on the phone, so you type your agreement with shaking hands.

Almost instantly the call comes through; “Hello?” You say softly.

“Hey, honey.” His voice is warm and familiar but still intimidating and the pet name he’s been using the past few days doesn’t make it any easier to keep a clear head. “How you feeling?”

“M’ good,” you mumble and he chuckles softly.

”Great. Well, I suppose we’ll just jump into it, yeah?” You make a noise of agreement and he continues. “Your profile said you’re a submissive. Can you tell me a little about that?”

You blank a little, already feeling out of your depth. You never thought this was a conversation you’d be having with someone, let alone a near stranger. “About that?” you echo. “Like, in what regard?”

“Well, do you have experience in that area?” His voice has a slightly deeper edge now; it’s focused and a little stern—clearly this is something he takes extremely seriously. “Have you submitted to someone before?”

“Um.” Your mind flashes with images of your previous partners; the varying experiences you’d had them but none of it seems to fit what you feel like he’s asking. “Not really.”

He hums. “So, if I had to guess,” he says, “you’ve been choked a few times, maybe spanked a little bit, and I’m assuming at least one of your partners wanted you to call him daddy?”

You can’t help but flush; that’s… exactly accurate. “Yeah,” you mumble. “How’d you know?”

“When people say ‘not really’, that’s usually what they mean.” You hear the smile in his voice and you wonder how many people he’s had this conversation with. You also wonder why the thought makes you a little bit jealous.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I assume you’ve gathered by now that I’m looking for more than that?”

Your stomach turns and you nod; it’s silent for a moment until you realise he can’t actually see you and you mumble a reply, embarrassed.

He laughs a little, seeming to realise what you’ve done before continuing. “There’s a lot I want to do with you, but I’m not going to dump it on you all at once, so we’ll start with what you’ve done already, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You said you’ve been choked,” he said. “So you’re comfortable having things on your neck.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’d certainly choke you during sex, if you’re comfortable. But I might use my arms rather than my hands. And at some point, I’d like to put a collar on you. How does that sound?”

“Um.” Fucking fantastic, you want to say, but you’re too embarrassed and still determined to play it at least a little bit cool. “It sounds nice.”

“Good. The next thing we mentioned is spanking, correct?”

You know you’re blushing now, shifting uncomfortably in your seat and trying to relieve some of the pressure between your legs. Something about the way he speaks so calmly and professionally about these things is really doing it for you, apparently. “Yeah,” you breathe.

“If I had to make a guess on that, I’d say they slapped your ass a few times during sex. Maybe a little foreplay, too. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, again, I’d do that too, but it’d be more than that. If you become my sugar baby, you become my submissive as well, which means you’d submit to my rules and discipline. Ya follow?”

It’s not a massive shock; he’d mentioned BDSM before, and you weren’t surprised given his profile—but hearing it out loud, in that voice, is a different feeling. “Yeah, I follow,” you say. “So you’d punish me? How?”

“Well if we’re talking about spanking…” He pauses for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I’ll give you an example. Say you broke a rule, like if you talked back to me or I caught you touching yourself when I’d told you not to, then I’d put you over my knee, pull your panties down and spank you til I feel like you’re sorry. How does that sound?”

“Oh.” There’s an undeniable pressure in your stomach and you try not to let the arousal seep into your voice. “That’s… wow.”

“Is that good or bad?” He asks. He’s laughing, but he sounds cautious too. It makes you feel safe, the way he’s genuinely concerned about your feelings on this; it’s the bare minimum, sure, but you expected worse from that website.

“Good,” you breathe. “Really good.”

“Oh?” He’s teasing now; you practically see the grin on his face despite the fact you don’t actually know what that face looks like. “Does someone want to be spanked?”

“I think… yeah.”

“That’s good,” he laughs. “I bet you’ll look really cute kicking and squirming over my lap. Don’t you think?”

“Hopefully,” you mumble.

“I’m sure. And the last thing we mentioned. You’ve called someone daddy before, you said. Did you like it?”

“Yeah.” You answer quickly; you figure there’s no point in shame now.

“I see.” He pauses again. “I usually prefer sir, but I’m not opposed to daddy, either.”

“Oh.”

“Speaking of.” There’s a playfulness to his voice now; a teasing lilt that makes you bite back a laugh. “You should get to bed, young lady. Why are you even up?”

“Assignments,” you say. “And what’s your excuse, sir?”

You hear the sharp intake of breath through the phone; the soft, strangled sound that dies in his throat and you feel a twinge of satisfaction. Yeah. I can play this game too.

He clears his throat, releasing an exasperated sigh and there’s a rustling sound before he speaks, voice dipping slightly. “My excuse,” he says, “is that I’ve nowhere to be tomorrow. Unlike a certain little brat.”

The final word is drawn out, teasing and warning at the same time and your chest tightens in excitement and a million other things. You don’t even know what this guy looks like, but fuck, he’s so good. You want to push his buttons and obey his every word simultaneously.

“True,” you mumble. “Okay, I’ll sleep.”

“Good girl.” The satisfied smile is audible in his voice. “See you Saturday, pretty.”

—

This man is gorgeous.

That’s your first thought when you see him Saturday evening; he’s waiting for you when your car pulls up, calling your name with a smile and wrapping an arm around your waist as he helps you out. He introduces himself as Johnny, and his voice sounds even better in person.

Your second thought follows not long after; you recognise him. You’d figured by now that he was probably some level of famous, but you weren’t interested enough in the whole idol culture to have recognised him from his voice alone; in fact it’s only when he tells you his name that you finally place him. You wait until you’re seated, in a private room you’d rather not know the cost of, before asking.

“I don’t wanna be too weird,” you say, “but you’re an idol, right?”

He laughs, nodding with a soft smile. “I am. Do you know me?”

“I’ve heard of you,” you mumble; you’re not sure why you’re so embarrassed to know who he is—that’s the whole point of celebrities, after all. You chuckle dryly, trying to ease the weight of the awkwardness you feel in your chest. “I recognised your face but I couldn’t figure out where I knew you from til you told me your name.”

“Ah.” His posture is relaxed, tone jovial but you see a surety and intensity in his eyes that makes you cower instinctively. “Heard any of my music?” He asks, and you can tell from his voice that he’s teasing you again.

“Maybe. I wouldn’t know.” You shrug. “I mean, I’m not really into that stuff but like, I’m obviously gonna look you up when I’m home now.”

“I figured,” he laughs. “Shoot me a text once you’ve decided I’m your favourite.”

“If I decide that,” you say, and he laughs louder. You feel yourself relaxing a little; his open, friendly demeanour could make anyone ease up and you can’t help but feel comfortable in his presence. Only his dark eyes, which scarcely leave you but to call over the waiter and order, keep you on edge.

You don’t know what any of the words on the menu mean, so you let him order for you—he seems to like that; choosing for you, making small, simple decisions on your behalf. You see it on his face.

As it turns out he’s very good at choosing, too; the beef dish they bring out is something your friend had told you about, when you’d mentioned coming to this restaurant and she realised she’d been there with her own sugar daddy. It tastes amazing and the champagne that flows with it is even better.

“Food good?” He asks with a smile.

“Yeah,” you say. “Is yours?”

“Perfect,” he says. The weight of his gaze on you is unavoidable and you twirl the spaghetti around your fork nervously, just wanting something to do to avoid his eyes.

“So, um.” You clear your throat, trying to think of something to fill the silence but nothing comes. Johnny watches you with a small smirk; all-knowing.

“Don’t be nervous,” he says finally. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

You hold back a laugh, biting your lip and he notices. “Well, I mean…”

“Yeah, okay, I am going to hurt you a bit.” He’s grinning, and you realise he chose his words intentionally; though whether to ease the tension or tighten it further you don’t know. “But I do want you to be comfortable with me.”

“Yeah. I am, I think.”

“Great. May I ask you something?”

You motion for him to speak and he smiles; you think you see the first hint of trepidation in his eyes before it quickly dims into the usual cool intensity.

“Obviously it hasn’t been long enough to make a firm decision,” he says, “but just so I have an idea, are you open to the idea of coming home with me tonight?”

You swallow; your stomach tightens at the proposition and the visions it provokes and your response is whispered like a scandalous secret. “Like… to play with you?”

“Yes,” he says. “It doesn’t have to mean the start of a dynamic, and we won’t have sex; just think of it as a taster session.”

That doesn’t seem so bad, you think. And he’s careful, not rushing you into a dynamic or even pressuring you at all; that’s a good sign, right? “So what— um. What would we do?”

“Depends on your behaviour.” He winks teasingly at you from behind the glass in his hand and your head is in overdrive with the images he’d given you on the phone a few days ago; of being choked and collared and spanked by those impossibly large hands resting so tantalisingly close to yours.

You clench your thighs, swallowing dryly. “Yeah. I’m… open to the idea.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

The evening passes surprisingly quickly; the tension in the air has all but dissipated, but for the subtle movements he makes every now and then just to see your reaction; a quirk of an eyebrow, a knowing smile, a perfectly timed touch that sends electricity rushing through your veins.

You know he’s toying with you, studying your natural responses to small hints of dominance so you react with similarly small, playful acts of submission in return; cowering under his gaze, bowing your head—allowing him the first taste of the control you may soon surrender completely to him.

“So,” he says, once the waiters have removed the last of your dessert plates. “Would you like to come home with me?”

—

Five million won lands in your bank account as you’re taking the elevator up to his apartment. You make a noise of shock, staring dumbfoundedly between him and the notification, but he says nothing; just smirks ever so slightly as he guides you out of the elevator with a hand on your lower back.

Johnny’s apartment is pretty much as you pictured it; everything a successful man on the cusp of his thirties would go for—black, white and grey themes, a large TV, low, atmospheric lighting and a stunning view of the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows that loom over you when you step inside. He removes your jacket for you, pausing to take in the outfit you’ve chosen once again before helping you remove your heels. He’s careful and gentlemanly, touches feather-light on your legs as he slides your shoes off. You’re not sure if the image of him on his knees in front of you like this contrasts or enhances the feeling of his dominance over you. You think it’s the latter, somehow.

When he stands up you see that without the few inches your heels provided you, he’s even more imposing—and in his own house, on his territory, you feel smaller than you ever have before.

“Come,” he smiles. He’s removed his suit jacket now, but the dress shirt, slacks and shoes are still on; the soles click against the floor as he guides you down the hallway by the hand.

You stop at the end of the hall, hovering outside a varnished wooden door. For a moment you stand there silently and his demeanour seems to shift a little; he stands a little taller and his face takes on a new solemnity as he looks you up and down. You feel like you’re being inspected, scrutinised; studied.

Your gaze flickers towards the door—is this where he does it? Where he… dominates people? Dominates you? Are you about to walk into a room full of whips and gags and contraptions you’ve never heard of?

“Hey.” Johnny’s voice is calm and soft and stops your spiraling in its tracks. His lips quirk in an amused smile. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s not a red room.”

“Oh.” You don’t know why you’re so embarrassed—anyone would have assumed that, given the circumstances; still, you avert your eyes awkwardly, face heating up. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says. “I’m not offended. It's reasonable to assume I’d have one. But it’s just my bedroom, nothing too scary.”

“Oh. So you don’t… um.”

“I don’t have a red room?” You nod a little ashamedly and he chuckles. “No. I don’t need one. D’you know why?”

“Why?”

A large hand clasps around your wrist, making you shiver. “Because if we do this, you don’t submit to a room. You submit to me. Wherever we are, whenever I tell you to.”

You flush. “Oh.”

“Mhm.” His voice drops, veins bulging against his neck and he cuts a more and more intimidating figure by the second. You’re so ready.

”Do you remember the conversation we had about safewords?”

Of course you do; it was the first one you had once the pleasantries were over. “Red for stop, yellow for slow, green for go.”

He makes a noise of satisfaction and there’s a ghost of a proud smile on his lips. “Excellent.”

You watch as his hand grasps the door handle, pushing it down but not opening it. He pauses for a moment, gaze flickering back to you and you tense, nerves multiplying by the minute.

“Couple things you should know,” he says. His voice is calm and collected and it makes your head rush. “First thing. When you play with me, you’re on your knees, on the floor. You don’t stand or walk or do anything I do because we’re not on the same level here. Understand?”

Your stomach flips, arousal gathering in your chest and your voice is strained when you squeak out a pathetic “Yes.”

“Good,” he says. He’s smiling knowingly, all too aware of the effect he’s having on you. “Second thing. It’s ‘yes, Sir.’”

Then the door is pushed open, and within a few seconds two things become abundantly clear; first, Johnny is true to his words—you don’t manage a single step inside his bedroom before you find yourself forced to your knees, kneeling with your head bowed beneath the pressure of his hand on the back of your neck. He holds you firmly in position but there’s little force behind his grip; there doesn’t need to be. He told you early on that he has no interest in subduing you or compelling you to submit—you’ll submit to him because you want to, and he’ll give you everything you need in return.

The second thing that becomes clear is that when Johnny said he didn’t have a red room, that was only technically the truth—because sure, it’s not a strictly-sex-only room, and it’s not red, but there’s absolutely no mistaking what happens here.

A glass cabinet displays an intimidating selection of toys; whips and paddles and dildos and things you couldn’t even begin to guess the use for; a bar is fixed to a lower portion of the ceiling, and the ropes hanging from it tell you he doesn’t use it for pull-ups; but most noticeably and unavoidably, there’s a large dog’s cage filled with blankets and soft pillows sitting directly at the end of his bed.

He catches your gaze lingering on the cage and laughs softly; the hand on your neck travels up to rest in your hair, caressing you gently and you hold your head exactly where he left it despite your desire to nuzzle into his touch. You have something to prove today, after all.

“You like my cage?” You hear the grin in his voice, feather-light touches tickling against your skin.

“Is it… for humans, sir?” The size of it makes the answer obvious but you need to hear it from him; the confirmation that this is really as batshit and delightfully insane as it seems.

He hums, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger. You feel his presence above you as he crouches down a little, voice dropping to just above a whisper. “It’s for very, very bad girls indeed,” he says. “But you’re not bad, are you, precious?”

“No, sir,” you mumble. “I’ll be good.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He stands back up, towering above you again before walking over to the bed. He takes a seat, staring at you for a moment before his he lifts his hand and beckons you towards him. “Come.”

You hesitate for a moment—are you really about to do this? Are you really going to crawl on your hands and knees towards this man whose face you’d never even seen before today?

Yeah. Apparently you are.

Your breathing stutters as you make the first movements; one hand in front of the other, then your leg, over and over until you’ve somehow made it, you’ve crawled across the room and settled on your knees at his feet. He looks elated.

For a moment, he says nothing; he stares you down with a calm, collected expression that screams control and you try desperately not to shrink under it. The first touch of his hand on your face is electric when he gently grips your jaw, stroking your skin with soft fingers. You feel—and are, to him at least—tiny.

“Sweet thing,” he mumbles. “I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

You can’t help but mewl in response, every cell of your body reacting to him, nerves standing on their ends. It’s a completely new feeling and utterly overwhelming. You want it to last forever.

“Can I hit you, angel?” His voice is low, gentle, the opposite of the way his grip on you tightens with want.

You feel yourself throb, nodding dumbly. “Yes sir.”

He smiles for a moment before his face darkens; the impact of his palm against your cheek would be enough to knock you down were it not for his still firm grip on your jaw. You cry out at the sting, unable to stop yourself and he can’t help but smile. “So responsive,” he tuts. “I’m gonna love training you up.”

You bite your lip, holding back a grin. “I hope so, sir.”

“You know,” he says. “This is my favourite part of having a new sub. Figuring out what type they are.”

You pause. “Type, sir?”

He hums; a low, pleasing sound. “No two submissives are the same, but there are general categories you could fit most of them into. Some fit in all of them, in fact.”

“What are they?”

He tilts his head, eyes glinting and you see the way he settles further into his headspace, back straightening as he stares you down. Your lack of experience seems to do something to him—and that definitely does something to you.

“Well,” he says. He speaks slowly and carefully, every word chosen with thought. “You have your puppies. They like to be on their knees. They like to whine and bark. They like to hump.” His grip tightens on your chin, tilting your head upwards. His thumb pushes past your lips and into your mouth and you accept it greedily. “And if I told them to open their mouth for their master’s spit…” He parts your lips, pushing your mouth open; he hesitates for a moment, as though he’s waiting for you to object but you don’t; you just open wider. His lips twist into a smirk before you feel a wad of saliva land on your tongue. “They’d slack their jaw and swallow it like a good dog.”

He watches with a smile as you obey, letting the spit slide down your throat. Your head feels fuzzy and floaty and all the sensations in your body, from the feeling of the carpet against your shins to the arousal that twists painfully in your gut, feel distant and separate. The only thing that feels real and complete right now is Johnny.

“Seems you like pet play,” he chuckles. “I’ll have to get you some ears. A tail, too.” He strokes your cheek and you keen into his touch unconsciously. “Would you let me plug your ass with a little puppy tail, baby?”

“Yes sir.” The words are coming out on their own now, your body responding for you before your conscious can catch up. He smiles.

“You’d be a lovely kitten, too,” he says. “They’re not as much fun to play with as puppies, but they look oh so pretty in your lap. And sometimes it’s nice to have a pliant little thing that will let you use their holes without complaining.”

Oh, that does sound nice. You think you’d enjoy that sometimes, when you’re feeling softer and more fragile and just want to be cared for. And he’s so large and broad and warm that he’s practically custom made to have you in his lap. You’d fit perfectly and prettily and you sigh dreamily without realising. He laughs and you quickly regain yourself, blushing deeply.

“Sorry, sir,” you mumble. “Um. Were all your subs, like, pets?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve had a few slaves before as well,” he says. “They were lovely; obeyed me like it was second nature. Took all the pain and humiliation I inflicted on them and still wanted more. Almost made me rethink my policy on not drawing blood, but that’s not my sort of thing really; they took a whipping like nobody’s business though.”

You cower a little, gaze dropping downwards; this doesn’t seem like you. You’re more than happy to be hurt and humiliated by Johnny, but this just seems… too much. You’re not ready for that level of submission and you’re not even sure you want to be. You feel a faint pressure on your chest, a familiar feeling of having fallen short but you’re not sure why; you’re allowed to say no—when you signed up for the website you signed a contract which stated it explicitly, and Johnny himself has reiterated it to you multiple times. You don’t have to take everything he offers you and you don’t have to do or be or enjoy anything simply because he does.

So why does it feel like a shortcoming; like you’ve foundered and failed before you’ve ever started?

You’ve zoned out without realising, deep in thought; Johnny sees the gears turning in your head and clicks his tongue, nudging your jaw upwards again. His smile is warm and gentle when you finally meet his gaze and though his voice is still soft and patient, there’s a finality to it that wasn’t there before; a seriousness. “You don’t like the sound of that, that’s okay,” he assures you. “You should never, ever force yourself to do something just to please me, or to please anyone. Understand?”

“I understand, sir,” you whisper. The sternness in his voice tells you he’s not playing now; he needs you to know this and keep it with you.

“Good girl,” he praises. His voice lifts a little and you see the moment he changes tack, back to toying with you like he was before. “God, you’re pretty. I don’t think I could hurt a little thing like you that way even if you did want it.”

You whine without realising it; your mind is a complete fog now, control and awareness slipping away by the second but you manage to string the few words that come to you into a slow, stuttered sentence. “Are those, um… that’s all of it, sir?”

His laugh is fond and a little condescending, like you’ve said something adorably stupid. You feel warm. “Those are just some typical ones,” he says. “Ones I’ve played with before. You don’t have to assign yourself to any of them, it just helps me to see what you do and don’t like the sound of.“

“Right.”

“You seem to like being a puppy,” he continues. There’s a teasing edge to his voice and you hold back another whine. “I think you’d like being a kitten sometimes, too. Turning your brain off and just letting daddy use you, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

Your body reacts of its own accord to the title; you shudder in his hold, slumping slightly as a soft moan escapes your lips and it makes him laugh softly, fondly. “You really like the whole daddy thing, huh?”

You nod, a little embarrassed—it’s not even that you’re particularly into it on your own, in fact you only called your ex that because he wanted you to. Sure, you enjoyed it and it certainly made him fuck you harder and deeper and better, but you’ve never explored it of your own volition. You’ve never felt the need to.

But something about the way it sounds so sweet and natural on Johnny’s lips, like he’s acknowledging a reality rather than acting out a fantasy, makes it all seem so right—and so exciting. He certainly suits the name; so big and so strong and in complete control of you. Yeah, you’re definitely going to need to try this out.

You see in his face that his own thoughts are similar; his eyes are fogged with arousal and there’s a thick tension in his neck as he swallows. “You definitely make it work.” His hand moves from your jaw to cup your cheek and he lets you nuzzle against it greedily, a smile twitching on his lips. “Cute. God, there’s so much I could do to you.”

“Do it,” you breathe. “Please, sir.”

“Such good manners,” he croons. “You need it so bad, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whine. You don’t even know what ‘it’ is, but you know he’s right; you’re desperate, feverish for it. For anything, as long as it comes from him.

“Ask me nicely,” he whispers. “Ask me for what you want, baby, and I’ll give it to you.”

“You,” you say. “You, sir.”

In a moment of desperation—or stupidity, perhaps—you reach for him, hands curling into the material of his shirt and grazing against what feels like a full set of abs beneath it. Wrong move.

He lifts you by the hair, dragging you to your feet and throwing you over his knee. Your heart pounds with expectation but he doesn’t hit you as you expect him to; instead he flips you over so you’re lying on your back, head resting on the sheets; your hair falls prettily around your face and you make the perfect picture of innocence. You want him to ruin it.

The feeling of his hand on your throat is electric; the other roams across your torso, groping your tits with a detached interest. He’s in no hurry, after all.

“Who told you to touch me, huh?” His words are growled, arousal filled as he grabs one of your tits and squeezes hard enough to make you whimper. “Here I thought you were gonna be good for me.”

“I am,” you whine. “Sir, I’m sorry. I’ll be good, I will.”

He’s silent for a moment, staring you down like he’s figuring out whether he believes you before sitting you up so you’re perched on his knee. He grabs your wrists and moves them behind you, folded over each other and resting against your lower back. “Keep those there,” he says. “This is your first lesson. You don’t touch what’s not yours and you don’t move a muscle without my permission. Understand?”

You nod dumbly and he slaps your face just this side of painfully. “Words, my girl.”

My girl. Why does that feel so delicious and warm in your chest? “Yes, sir,” you mewl. “I understand.”

“Good.”

And then his lips are on yours, colliding desperately and almost painfully as if he’s been waiting for this his entire life. His hands are in your hair, tugging your head backwards to allow him to place a trail of wet kisses down your face and neck. His mouth latches onto your collarbone, sucking harshly at the skin and you know it’ll be purple when he pulls away. It stings in the best way and a string of curses tumble out in a rush as you ride the high of pleasure. He bites down a little, making you yelp. “Manners,” he grumbles against your skin but he doesn’t let go, so you figure he’s letting you off with that one.

When he finally pulls away his eyes are dark and feral; all pupil and all control. His hands roam up and down the sides of your torso and he looks ready to tear you apart. “Where’d you get this dress, pretty girl?”

You pause, caught off guard. He was sucking a bruise into your skin a moment ago and now he wants fashion tips? “Um… a mall, I think.”

“Is it special to you at all?”

“Not really.”

“Good.”

With both hands he grabs at the fabric on your chest and yanks it apart; the material rips easily, crumbling in his hands and there’s a million sensations in your body as he yanks the remaining fabric off of you. The sight of your lacy black lingerie makes him smile and he fingers gently at the soft fabric of your bra. “How about these?” He asks.

“They’re not special,” you mumble. “But it’s my nicest set.”

“I’ll get you nicer.” The bra and panties put up little fight against him, and soon you’re completely naked and dripping on his lap. He pinches your stomach, just above your pussy and you whine. “Don’t ever wanna see you in cheap shit like that,” he mutters. “My girl wears the best, you understand me?”

“Yes sir,” you whisper. “Wanna be pretty for you.”

“Always are,” he grunts. He stills for a moment, stroking your thigh before he clicks his fingers, pointing at the floor in front of him. “Down.”

You obey wordlessly; you’ve adjusted surprisingly quickly to the automatic obedience he seems to expect—your body is already following his orders of its own accord even while your mind fades away into subspace and he seems profoundly pleased by it. You settle on your knees, staring up at him with wide eyes.

His lips quirk. Seconds feel like minutes until he finally speaks.

“Give me your hands.”

—

Your friend has been silent for two entire minutes. That’s how long it’s been since you finished recounting the events of the night before and looked up to see her staring at you with an open mouth. She looks… well, you don’t know exactly, but she definitely wasn’t expecting this. That much is very clear.

“Dude.” You force an awkward laugh, trying to break the silence that seems to judge you as much as you fear she is too. “You good?”

Finally she recovers herself and nods, raising the coffee mug to her lips and taking a long sip. She puts it down and you see a small smile pulling at her lips. “Yeah,” she says. “I just. Wow, girl.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t expect… that from you. I thought you were vanilla?”

You frown; you’re not sure you’d categorise your exploits with your exes as strictly vanilla, but to someone like her, who’s more than versed in the world of dominance and submission and had only ended up as a sugar baby later on, you suppose it would be. “I thought so too. Mostly.” You shrug. “But he’s really good.”

“You don’t say,” she snorts. Her eyes are wide and you recognise the faintest hint of arousal in her expression—recognize it at as the same one you’d worn last night when Johnny tied you to a chair in front of his floor length mirror and forced you to watch as he fucked you with a vibrator until you came all over his hands.

You can’t help but rub your thighs together slightly at the memory. You clear your throat. “Yeah.”

“Fuck, I can’t believe he paddled you, girl.” She sounds impressed. “I still can’t convince mine to do that.”

You definitely didn’t have to convince Johnny; when he bent you over the bed and ran the black leather paddle across your ass, all he needed was the word ‘green’ tumbling from your lips and he was convinced and ready to go. You bite back a laugh at the thought. “Yeah,” you say.

“Did it hurt?”

“Kind of.”

You’d expected it to be worse, honestly; the paddle was fairly large and he wielded it in his hands like an executioner’s sword but as he explained to you, pain wasn’t the point of this one. It hurt, sure, but it was a slight sting and then a dull ache that was pretty bearable once the first rush subsided. But that was exactly what he wanted; the leather paddle was for play, designed for sensation rather than punishment—punishment, he told you, would come in the form of a larger wooden paddle you hope never to meet.

“Jealous,” she huffs. “And he sent you even more after?”

You nod. The transfer of ten million won as you stepped out of the taxi nearly made you collapse.

Good girl, the note said. You could almost see the smug smile as he typed it out.

“You got a good one, babe,” your friend says. “Hope he keeps it up.”

So do you.

—

The position you’re in is becoming familiar now; on your knees in front of him, naked and bound by ropes that snake down your back and loop under your thighs. What’s not familiar is the silicone plug sitting snugly in your ass and vibrating on a low, constant frequency; not enough to stimulate or satisfy you in any way, but enough to keep you needy and on edge.

Johnny is slouched slightly, lounging in his large, leather armchair and tapping his foot against the floor. His gaze is firm and authoritative but there’s a hint of a smile on his lips. He taps your cheek with his finger.

“What to do with you?” It comes out as a purr and you see his bulge beginning to strain against his slacks. Your breath hitches slightly, lips pursing and he notices, because of course he does; the grin that stretches over his lips is sly and scheming.

“You like my cock, huh?” He asks. “Haven’t even seen it yet, desperate girl.”

Your eyes flicker between his crotch and those dark, piercing eyes, unsure which is affecting you more. “Sir…”

“I’m right here,” he says. “You want it?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Please, sir. Want it.”

He leans back, adjusting himself slightly. “Take it out, then. Do your job.”

You nod; you can do that. You really fucking want to do that, actually. It’s been over a week of this and you still haven’t seen his cock—he, meanwhile, has seen and touched and marked every naked inch of you.

“Yes sir.” Your hands are shaking when you undo his slacks; you falter slightly when the zip comes down and you realise he’s not wearing underwear and he cocks a questioning eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

You shake your head, blushing slightly. “No sir.”

“Good. Pull it out.”

His cock springs up when you release it from the slacks and it’s just as big as you expected-slash-feared-slash-hoped it would be. It’s thick and veiny too, already leaking from the tip and you know your eyes are wide and desperate but you don’t care. You’ve never seen something more appetising.

“You like it, huh?” There’s amusement in his voice, layered beneath the husk of arousal. “Good. I’m gonna train you to take it every day, make you a total cockwhore for me. Hold still now.”

He pulls you towards him, holding your head steady as he pushes into your mouth. He’s not exactly rough with it, but he’s clearly not too concerned with your comfort right now; any attempt to stop you from gagging or coughing up on it is for his own sake, not yours. He guides it down into your throat and you feel yourself tearing up at the intrusion. You splutter slightly, unable to avoid choking and he tuts, yanking you back by the hair to give you a moment to breathe before pushing you back down.

“Have to train that out of you,” he mutters. “Gonna teach you to keep your throat open for me.”

He holds you still, cock resting in your throat until you settle around it, adjusting to the stretch and the feeling. “Good girl,” he grunts. “Take it like that, all the way.”

He pulls you back again and you gasp for breath, spluttering slightly but even as you regain your composure you’re still suckling eagerly at his tip like it’s the only thing you know how to do. You feel the shudder that runs through him as it reaches his cock, throbbing on your tongue. “You’re too good at this,” he mutters. “Learning so quickly. Who taught you to take a cock like that?”

“No one, sir.” Your voice is muffled around his cock, drool dripping down onto your lap.

“Shit, baby, you were really made for this. You need a reward.”

The feeling of his shoe nudging against your knees makes you jolt. “Open,” he says.

When you spread your legs you feel the stickiness of your thighs as they separate and your face burns—you’re leaking like a fucking bitch. Johnny’s smile is the widest you’ve ever seen it. “Oh, baby,” he tuts. “Dripping all over my floor like that. You in heat, honey?” His voice is teasing, gaze sharp and he doesn’t miss the shudder that rushes through you.

Still being in the early stages of your arrangement, you haven’t yet had a chance to explore the different dynamics Johnny had explained to you the first time you kneeled for him; to feel what it’s like to be his puppy or kitten whatever he wants you to be that day. For now, you’re his straightforward submissive and though you’ve certainly fucked yourself a few times to the thought of him pulling you around on a leash, you haven’t felt in a particular rush to pursue it just yet.

But those words. That tone.

You in heat?

You remember your neighbour in high school who bred dogs; how she’d sit at the table with your mother discussing puppies and litters and heats. It’s a distinctively… canine word to you; to hear yourself, your behaviour described in that way is thrilling. He knows it.

His foot moves forwards until it’s in front of your pussy and you don’t even hesitate for a second when he tells you to mount it. He watches you with a calm, pleased expression. “Look at me.”

He’s biting his lip when you meet his eyes, clearly as afflicted as you. “You remember your first lesson?”

“Yes sir.”

“What was it?”

“Don’t touch, sir,” you whisper. “Don’t touch, or— or move without permission.”

“Good,” he nods. “Remember that. You don’t move unless I tell you to. And you certainly don’t hump. Yeah?”

“Yes sir.”

He curls a stray hair behind your ear and a smile flickers over his lips. “You’re gonna tie that up next time,” he says. He tugs lightly at your hair to illustrate his point and you moan softly. “I don’t want you looking like a stray in here. I keep my toys clean.”

Fuck, you love the way he talks to you; insulting and demeaning yet tickling all the right parts of your brain to make you melt even deeper into submission.

He pulls you towards him. “Keep that mouth open.”

That’s the only thing you get that even resembles a warning before he’s shoving himself into you again and there’s no pretence of gentleness or caution this time as he forces his way into your throat. He holds your head down on it and pushes two thumbs into the top of your jaw so you can’t close your mouth even if you want to—all you can do is gag and choke and take it until he’s finished with you.

You’re faintly aware of tears streaming down your face, but by the time they land on your chest they’re mixed with the door that pours from your mouth as he fucks in and out. You’re so overwhelmed that you scarcely notice the feeling of your dripping pussy rubbing agonisingly against his shoe and trying desperately not to move; all the sensations have blurred into one now and everything is the same, everything is too much. You want more.

When he pulls out you can’t help but whine, feeling the loss and he chuckles. “Never met someone so desperate for cock,” he says. “Born for it, weren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Your gaze shifts to the cock in his hands, still hard and leaking and your tongue swipes over your bottom lip, practically salivating. You shoot him a pleading look and he clicks his tongue. “No, sweet thing. You’ve had enough of that. Besides, I don’t think you’ve earned my cum in your throat yet. Push your tits out for me.”

You obey begrudgingly, disappointed at the denial but still eager to please; he rewards you with a slight nudge of his foot against your pussy and you buck against it, falling against his shin and he laughs and pulls you back by the hair so he can see you properly.

“So easy,” he groans. His hand slides up and down his dick with increasing vigour and he throws his head back in pleasure. “Fuck.”

The tightening of his grip in your hair tells you when he’s about to cum and you push your tits out further to catch it. He grunts and moans through his orgasm and your chest and thighs are a mess of drool and spit and cum by the time he picks you up and takes you into his lap.

His rough hands are tender and careful now as he runs a warm wet cloth across your skin, gathering the mess you made together. His fingers are rubbing soothing patterns on your neck as he‘a mumbling something you can’t quite make out. Doesn’t really matter, though; his hold is warm and familiar and the low vibrations in his chest as he speaks are strangely comforting against the flushed skin of your face.

Maybe it’s the endorphins or the headrush that always follows your scenes with him, but you swear you’ve never felt safer.

The money’s not bad either.

—

nct taglist: @bbdeongi @yabbadabbatuh @fancypeacepersona

requests open.

[cosmerelists]

A Sexy Fireman Calendar But Make It Stormlight

Happy New Year! Let's imagine what a "sexy men of Roshar" calendar would be like. And yes, yes I am trying to do purely visual gags in a written medium. What can I say? I don't draw.

Anyway, here's how I think such a calendar would be designed if it were made for us since I'm too lazy to look up the names of Rosharan months and I want to make holiday jokes.

1. January: Dalinar

What better way to kick off the new year than with a man who reminds us to just keep taking the next step?

Dalinar is sitting in front of a fireplace full of flamespren wearing his uniform...but with the jacket and shirt all the way unbuttoned, like he's relaxing after a long day of work, his presumably hairy chest on full display.

2. February: Drehy and Dru

The Valentine's Day month of course must feature Urithiru's hottest gay couple.

Drehy and Dru are lying on a heart-shaped mattress, with a red blanket draped artfully across their bodies, rose petals surrounding them. Aside from the blanket, they don't appear to be wearing anything at all...

3. March: Adolin

Adolin is wearing his Easter Best--namely a pink linen shirt with a deep V-neck, a white scarf, white pants, and a winning smile. Also, I think he should be holding a baby bunny, just to really sell it.

4. April: Lopen

Lopen is upside down, stuck to a wall, his rakish grin suggesting that this April Fool's Joke is on you--but also that you'll be laughing along with everyone else.

5. May: Rlain

Like a herald of Spring, Rlain is sitting reclined, his back against a tree, surrounded by blooming flowers. He's in warform, his sharply chiseled muscles making an excellent contrast to all of the soft, bright nature around him.

6. June: Sigzil

Sigzil stands, shirtless and glistening with sweat, beneath the blazing sun. It looks like you caught him mid-kata, spear in hand.

7. July: Kaladin

Kaladin has been photographed in the midst of a summer thunderstorm: his wet hair blowing sideways but in an artful way, his wet undershirt sticking to his chest, and a dramatic bolt of lighting in the background.

8. August: Skar

The back-to-school month features our favorite teacher. Skar is clearly mid-lesson, floating off the ground, glowing with Stormlight, holding his hand up as though expounding.

9. September: Renarin

Renarin is standing amid fall colors, leaves floating gently to the ground around him. He's dressed as if for the crisp fall air in a long coat, flannel shirt, and pants. He's holding a warm mug of cider, the steam rising past his face.

10. October: Hoid

Hoid...well I'd have to say he looks both hot and creepy. He's wearing a masquerade mask and suit, holding a martini glass. His eyes say that he has many secrets.

11. November: Rock

Rock has made you a FEAST for Thanksgiving! He's standing in front of a table laden in food (stew front and center, of course), holding his arms out wide as if inviting you to join him, a huge grin on his face.

12. December: the Stick

It's stuck in the ground, standing up, with a single Christmas ornament as decoration.

Yes, despite not being a man, the stick has made it into the Sexy Men Calendar. What can't it do?

[honeylullaby]

“Well, she’s quite some lady…”

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black x Reader ft. Lord Tony Baddingham

Suggestion by the lovely @megangovier 🫶🏽 / Tony, desperate to get Rupert on the Corinium board, pays you both a surprise visit…

18+ FANFIC / Smut! Short work. Reader character aged at 21.

“Oh, don’t leave!” You groan, grasping onto Rupert Campbell-Black’s arm to prevent him slipping out of bed at the sound of a thunderous knock. “I have to, angel, whaddya want me to do? He’s going to come in, beg for a couple of minutes, and then leave.” The carven man responded, peeling a pair of tweed trousers onto his legs and trundling down the stairs. Swinging open the deep oak front door, Tony Baddingham stood before him — thin lips pressed together and a freshly-ironed navy blue suit accentuated with a droll silver tie. “Rupert!” The Draconian man exclaimed, stepping a leather brogue into the house and forcing his way in. “Baddingham. How great of you to drop by, old chap. Unfortunately, I am rather pressed for time at the moment-“ Rupert began, but Tony raised his arm to silence him. “It’s a quick one. So-“

-

Up the extravagant, winding staircase, you were pottering around Rupert’s bedroom, dressed in one of his best shirts — white & blue paisley, and it enveloped you like a dress. The tinny, unintelligible sound of the two men talking downstairs provided the most gentle reminder of how long you’d have to snoop around. Gently prising open the door of his humongous, built in wardrobe, you run your hand across the soft fabric of his shirts — magenta linen, ivory silk, azure cotton — with designer names you have never heard of, carefully embroidered onto them.

Taking a seat on top of his shoe rack, you pull from his laundry basket, today’s worn shirt. Salmon pink, extra soft with the most tremendous collar. Bringing it to your face, you breathed in the intoxicating aroma of Rupert. Why not, you think to yourself as you gently ruffle your shirt to your knees, allowing your hand to rub small circles over your swollen clit, still breathing in the scent of his aftershave.

-

“You must tell me where you bought the silk shirt from, the one you wore to Freddie’s gala.” Tony spoke, fickle flattery oozing from his pretentious grin. “I’ll let you borrow it if it gets you to leave.” Rupert muttered, leading Tony up the staircase and into his bedroom. “Angel, we’re coming in. Hope you’re decent.” Rupert chimed, opening the bedroom door. His nose crinkled at the sight of his empty bed. Tony’s eyebrow similarly crinkled, slightly amused by nobody being there, was he really at the stage of pretending he had a lover?

“Right, this shirt.” Rupert tutted, inching towards the wardrobe and sliding open the door. Much to his, and most definitely Tony’s surprise, you were sat atop his shoe rack, fingers delving into your wet cunt and Rupert’s shirt smothered across your nose. Both men stood, eyes widened and mouths agape. Taking a quick glance up, you yelped and slammed your legs shut, embarrassment coursing through your veins. “Well, she’s quite some lady…” Tony remarked.

-

Cackling fiercely as he closed the door on Tony, Rupert clapped his hands together and just about keeled over in wild laughter. “It’s not funny, Rupert!” You moaned, stomping your feet and pulling his shirt down over your thighs. “No, it’s absolutely bloody hilarious. His face! That bastard couldn’t have been more jealous.” He smirked, rather pleased with your performance. “Now, angel, I want to see you do it for my eyes only.” Rupert moaned, pulling you close to him and eyes glinting.

[wallofchynax]

SPOILED ROTTEN

Synopsis: Two things can be true at once. You can be a rising NXT Diva AND Shawn Michaels' sugar baby that he loves to spoil. It's time to show your appreciation for your many gifts.

content warnings: sugar daddy relationship, age gap relationship (shawn michaels is 59 and the reader is in her 20s), minor dom/sub vibes, blowjobs, female reader, PiV sex. no beta reading, we die like men.

got a request? send it over to me <3

The faint hum of the hotel room’s air conditioning fills the space, a stark contrast to the warmth of Shawn’s body as he leans back against the plush headboard. The lights are dim, casting a golden hue over the luxurious suite, soft sheets tangled between your legs, the faint scent of cologne and crisp linen mingling in the air. You shift, the silk of the robe he bought you slipping off one shoulder, exposing the smooth curve of your skin. 

This was part of the game. Shawn liked to watch you. Half amusement, half admiration, as his fingers reach to play with the feather like hem of the robe. It was a nice quality. You never asked how much things cost these days. Expensive. Shawn never spared expenses. Anything he bought you was in the more expensive bracket and honestly, you loved being spoiled.  

And it just so happened that Shawn loved spoiling you. So, what was the problem? 

“You know,” His voice was thick with desire, as it often was when he saw you try on clothing he had paid for, “I think I’ve outdone myself this time,” 

You knew what he meant. The shopping bags sat in the corner filled with luxury pieces.  Delicate lace lingerie, sky-high designer heels, diamonds, dresses, make up. Anything you asked for, he was more than happy to provide you with it. 

His fingertips trace your thigh, feeling the silky smoothness of your skin, the toned muscle beneath. You shiver at the featherlight touch, your breath hitching as he spreads his legs wider, pulling you into the space between them. His hands, large and rough from years in the ring, slide up, teasing over the swell of your hips, the dip of your waist, the plushness of your ass. He hums appreciatively, squeezing just enough to make you arch into him. 

“You know how much I love your legs, sweetheart,” He mused, fingers dragging down the inside of your thigh which sent a delicious shiver up your spine, “Watching you move in that ring, all that strength...that flexibility...” His palms sliding up your curves with them brushing against the side of your breasts through the thin fabric brushing the pad of his thumb against your pretty nipples. He leans in, “These...” kissing below just below your jaw, “These are mine,” 

Heat pooled below. Desire pulsed through your veins. You tilt your head to give him more room as his lips trail down, leaving slow, lingering kisses over your collarbone. His stubble grazing your skin, adding a friction, making you gasp.  

He chuckled lowly, a sound that vibrated against your neck, “Hm. You like that don’t you,” 

His hand moves lower, slipping beneath the robe, palm flattening against your bare stomach. "My girl, so spoiled… so soft." 

You whimper as he pulls you closer, your thighs straddling his as he tugs the robe open completely, exposing you to his hungry gaze. His pupils darken, the heat in his eyes making your skin prickle with anticipation. 

"You look like something out of a dream, baby," he murmurs, hands roaming, worshiping. His mouth finds the swell of your breast, kissing, teasing, savouring. His beard tickles as he works his way lower, tongue tracing along your navel before his lips find your thigh, biting down just enough to make you gasp. His fingers tighten around your waist. You let out a soft whine, but before you can catch your breath, Shawn is gripping your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His thumb brushes over your beautiful full lips, his eyes dark with something sinful. 

"You know, sweetheart…" His voice is all low gravel and heat. "I did spoil you tonight. You think maybe I deserve a little appreciation for that?" 

You nod instinctively, licking your lips, already knowing where this is going. 

He chuckles, “Yeah, then come here baby. Show me how grateful you are,” 

Just as he spoke, he was undoing his pant buttons and pulling them down with your help as you were eager to show your appreciation for all the gifts you have been given today. You crawled between his legs, looking up at him through your lashes (extensions that he had paid for, no doubt) with your hands resting on his strong thighs. He’s thick, stiff and absolutely aching for you. 

Shawn watched you with hooded eyes, reaching forward trace his fingers through your hair. 

“That’s my girl,” he said, “Take it nice and slow...” 

You gripped the base of his cock, stroking him slightly. You leaned forward, dragging your tongue up the length of his cock. He let out a breathy groan, hips flexing as he watched you. 

“Fuck...” he hissed, voice tight as his jaw flexed, “You love tasting my cock, don’t you?” 

You hum around the tip, wrapping your lips around him, sucking lightly. His fingers tangle into your hair, gripping just enough to make you feel controlled but not forced. He lets you take your time, enjoying the way your tongue swirls around the sensitive head, the way you press wet, open-mouthed kisses down the thick vein running along his shaft. 

"Such a perfect fucking mouth," he groans, his grip tightening slightly as you hollow your cheeks, taking him in deeper. "Always so eager to please me, huh?" 

You never took your eyes off him. His abs tensing, his muscles taut as he kept his eyes on you too. You moaned around his cock, the vibrations making his thighs flex underneath you. You take him much deeper, pushing until the head of his cock is threatening to push into your throat, the deep guttural fuck that spills from his mouth. He tilts his head back, gripping your hair as he guides your movements. 

“That’s it, baby. Just like that. Take it all,” 

You let him control the pace as he started to fuck your mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts. His breath got heavier, his hips lifting with each movement. 

“You were made for this...” he groaned, his voice ragged. His free hand comes, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin as he watches himself disappear between your lips. "Look at you, taking me so fucking well." 

Tears sting your eyes as he nudges deeper, but you don’t stop, your throat relaxing as you let him have what he wants. You moan around him again, and his grip tightens, his breath hitching. 

"Shit, baby, I’m gonna come," he growls, his abs tightening, his hips jerking slightly. "You gonna swallow for me, huh? Gonna be a good girl and swallow it all?" 

All you could do was moan in response.  

Shawn’s body tensed as his cock twitches on your tongue. Next, his realise spills down your throat in hot spurts and you do your best to swallow every single drop, not pulling away until you’ve done as he asked and swallowed it all. His grip loosens, his thumb brushing against your cheek again as he exhales sharply, looking down at you with something between admiration and possessiveness. 

“That’s my baby girl...” He said, tilting his head, looking at your face. Your make-up was well and truly ruined, lipstick smudged between your face and his cock, “Look at you. You’re such a mess, baby,” He cooed. 

His hands roam, rough and greedy, claiming every inch of your body. He cups your breasts, squeezing just enough to make you gasp, thumbs brushing over your nipples, teasing them into stiff peaks. His breath is hot against your throat, lips tracing the line of your jaw as he murmurs, “You love this, don’t you, baby? Love the way I take care of you.” 

With a swift movement, he flipped you onto your back, spreading your legs apart as he settles himself between them. His hands grip your thighs as he quickly pulls the lacy underwear off you before his eyes got to take in the sight of you; wet, swollen and glistening. 

“Goddamn...” His breath caught, “Look at you. You’re shaking baby...” 

You are shaking. Your body strung up so tight. He had barely touched you but giving him a blowjob always made her extra horny. You were always amazed at how eager Shawn was at his age. Already, you looked at Shawn and his cock, thick and flushed, the tip slick with precum. He strokes himself slowly, watching you with dark, hungry eyes. 

“You want this,” his voice teased but his jaw was tensed. 

He wants this just as badly as you do. 

You whimpered and all you could do was stretch your legs more, wider in anticipation. His cock twitched, and with a groan, he then lined himself up with you, his head pressing against your entrance teasing you and making you squirm. 

And then, he pushed in. Your body stretched around him, hot and slick as the tightness throught a guttural moan deep from Shawn’s core.  He gripped your hips, holding you down and stopping your from moving as he pushed deeper in by inch until he’s fully seated inside of you. 

“You feel so fucking tight,” 

Shawn doesn’t give you much time to adjudge as he pulled back only to thrust into your again, slow and deep, making you gasp each time. His pace builds, every stroke hitting deep, his cock dragging against that spongy spot that drives you insane. Shawn is so much bigger than you; his body covering yours entirely as he fucks into you. The bed creaking beneath you as your moans mixed in with the slap of skin filling the room. 

But his control was slipping. You could feel it. His thrusts were less even, more desperate as he gripped your thighs and pushed them up, testing your flexibility by bending you in half so he could fuck you deeper. 

You were equally unravelling. Pleasure coiled tight in your belly, and he knows it. He can feel the way your thighs tightened around him, and the way your moans turned into desperate whimpers. 

“Come for me,” he growled, his hand slipped between you as his thumb rubbed your clit in tight circles, “Come on, sweetheart. Come for me. Let me feel you squeeze my cock,” 

And then you felt his teeth on your shoulder, and it was all over for you. 

Wave after wave of hot pleasure washed over you as your body trembled below him. You cried out his name, legs tightening around his waist as you pulse around his cock, milking him. The sensation pushes him over the edge, his thrusts turning erratic before he buries himself deep and groans, spilling inside you, filling you with his release. 

For a moment, neither of you move, just panting, bodies slick with sweat, tangled together in the sheets. Then, Shawn lets out a breathless chuckle, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. 

“You spoil me, baby,” you murmur, still breathless. 

Shawn smirks, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “That’s my job, baby.” 

[cybergracie]

the white lotus ⋆ ˚｡⋆ chapter one

✧ the art of being invisible ✧

wc: 7.5k

pairing: personal assistant!oc x family reunion attendee!hyunjin

synopsis: Gemma Parker has spent years keeping things under control -- her career, her emotions, her impossible boss. But when a work trip takes her to a luxury resort in Italy, she finds herself slipping into a world of salty air, stolen moments, and lingering glances with a boy who sees right through her carefully built walls. Hyunjin is charming, frustrating, and absolutely not a part of her plan -- but as the trip stretches on and their paths keep crossing, Gemma starts to wonder if she's been chasing the wrong dream all along. Because sometimes, the best stories aren't the ones you plan -- they're the ones you never see coming.

masterlist | dividers by @strangergraphics

There are two kinds of writers in the world. 

The ones whose names are printed in bold on the spines of bestsellers, who get flown to Italy for exclusive literary retreats at five-star beach resorts, who sip Aperol Spritzes at golden hour while talking about ‘the craft’ as if they weren’t just regurgitating half-baked ideas in expensive clothing. 

And then there are the ones like me. The ones who pick up the scraps, who scramble for a piece of the pie by making the reservations, by handling the tantrums, by sending polite decline emails with just the right amount of fake regret. The ones who run on caffeine and damage control, who sit in the back of luxury cars, juggling schedules and power dynamics like some kind of uncredited assistant to the universe itself. 

The ones who are invisible. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was always supposed to be the first kind of writer. The kind people read. The kind whose words mattered.

Instead, I was here. At a flashy beachfront resort in Southern Italy, watching my boss – world-famous novelist and professional narcissist Celeste Laurent – flirt with the valet, even though she had spent the entire flight complaining about how ‘the service industry was dead to her’ after a slight inconvenience involving a missing bottle of imported sparkling water. 

Celeste was the kind of woman who made a scene wherever she went. That was the power of being her. She demanded attention, and even worse, she got it.

I, on the other hand, was twenty-six, exhausted, and still trying to convince myself that working for her was a step toward my dream rather than a slow, calculated erasure of it.

“You should be grateful,” my best friend had told me when I landed this job. “Celeste Laurent is a library legend. Think of the connections! The industry knowledge!”

Yeah. The knowledge that no one takes you seriously when you’re the person fetching dry cleaning and fixing wifi connections.

That’s how I ended up here – at one of the most exclusive resort chains in the world, surrounded by ridiculous wealth, ridiculous egos, and ridiculous men who wore linen suits unironically – with no manuscript, no articles, no actual work of my own to show for the last two years of my life. 

Celeste’s nasally voice snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts. 

“Gemma, stop standing around. We have a suite to get to. And I’m going to need a Negroni before I unpack – why does check-in always take so long? Is it a global conspiracy against successful people?”

I sighed, adjusting the strap of my bag. This was going to be a long trip.

The check-in desk at the Villa Fiorella Resort & Spa was a pristine marble monstrosity, its sleek Italian design almost mocking me for how out of place I felt. The air smelled expensive – some kind of citrus-and-bergamot scent pumped through hidden vents, designed to lull you into thinking life was effortless when, in reality, some underpaid assistant had probably spent three hours this morning ensuring that the ambience of wealth and success remained undisturbed.

“Welcome to Villa Fiorella,” the concierge purred in a silky Italian accent, flashing a smile so polished it belonged in an ad for luxury travel. “Checking in?”

Before I could open my mouth, Celeste swept forward, oversized designer sunglasses still perched on her face despite being indoors. She had perfected the aura of don’t waste my time years ago, and she wielded it now like a weapon. 

“Celeste Laurent. Presidential suite.” She didn’t bother with pleasantries. Celeste didn’t ask for things – she expected them to materialize in front of her.

The concierge’s smile faltered. Here we go…

“Ah, yes, Ms. Laurent. However, there was a slight adjustment to the suite allocation –”

I winced preemptively. 

Celeste’s head tilted slightly, her lips pursing in the way they did when she sensed incompetence. “An adjustment?” she repeated, the temperature in the lobby seeming to drop.

I was already pulling out my phone, opening my email, bracing for impact. 

“There was an unexpected extension of a VIP guest’s stay in the suite you originally booked,” the concierge explained, shifting his weight. “But we have upgraded you to a penthouse villa with a private infinity pool, which I can assure you is –”

“Upgraded?” Celeste scoffed. “I booked the presidential suite six months ago. You expect me to believe it’s no longer available? For who?”

“I’m afraid we can’t disclose –”

“Let me guess. Some man who threw money at you last minute? A footballer? A tech billionaire? Someone who collects yachts instead of books?”

This was Celeste’s favorite game – intellectual elitism mixed with barely disguised disdain for anyone who had more money than her. 

The concierge’s composure wavered. “I can assure you, Ms. Laurent, the penthouse villa is actually more spacious and offers –”

“Gemma.”

Oh no.

“Fix this.”

There it was. My cue.

I swallowed my sigh and stepped forward with my best ‘I apologize for my employer’ smile.

“I do understand the… misunderstanding,” I said smoothly, as if Celeste weren’t radiating do you know who I am energy beside me. “We appreciate your help, and I’m sure we can find a solution that works for everyone.”

The concierge visibly relaxed, as most people did when I stepped in. I was the soft buffer between Celeste’s unfiltered chaos and the real world. The translator for her literary-goddess-turned-tyrant persona. 

“I will personally make sure everything is to her satisfaction,” I added. “And perhaps… some complimentary drinks while we get settled?”

The concierge jumped at the peace offering, glancing between me and Celeste. “Of course, signorina! The bar is at your disposal.”

Celeste sniffed, clearly still irritated, but accepted the free drinks as a temporary truce. 

Crisis averted. For now. 

I took a steadying breath, signaling for the bellhop to grab our luggage. Maybe if I got Celeste drunk enough, she’d forget to make me rewrite and send all her email drafts before dinner. I turned back to the check-in desk – only to catch a dark pair of eyes watching me from across the room. 

A man. No – a boy, no older than me. Tall, lean, with black hair that fell a little too perfectly over his forehead. He was casually elegant, draped in a linen shirt that looked effortlessly wrinkled in a way only rich people could pull off. He was standing beside a group of other guests – family, from the looks of it. They were talking, laughing, radiating the kind of relaxed ease that people like me never had. 

But he wasn’t paying attention to them. He was looking at me.

And I knew this because the moment our eyes met, he smirked. Like he had just witnessed that whole interaction and found it entertaining. 

I felt annoyingly warm. My pulse did a weird thing I refused to acknowledge. I quickly looked away, forcing myself to focus on the check-in process, on getting Celeste upstairs before she started a literary revolution in the lobby. 

But I could still feel his gaze lingering. 

And as I signed off on our room details, I heard his cousin – brother? – loudly say something in broken Italian that I didn’t understand, but I absolutely understood the tone. The universal tone of flirtation. I glanced up, just in time to see the boy roll his eyes before grabbing his leering relative by the collar and physically dragging him away. 

“Apologies for him,” he called over his shoulder, giving me one last look, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. 

Then he was gone. 

And I absolutely, definitely did not watch him walk away. 

The penthouse villa was obnoxiously extravagant – floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bluest stretch of ocean I’d ever seen, crisp white linens, marble floors that my salary could never even laugh at, and a private infinity pool shimmering under the late afternoon sun. 

And yet, I knew before even stepping inside that it wouldn’t be good enough for Celeste. 

“Too modern,” she would say. “Too sterile. No character.” As if she weren’t the living embodiment of a New York Times op-ed about modernism’s death.

Still, I did my job. I unpacked her suitcases, lined up her vitamins, laid out her beauty products. I took a lap through the villa, checking every ridiculous detail – pillows fluffed, minibar stocked, god forbid the staff forgot her handwritten welcome note. 

Everything was perfect. Which meant Celeste would find something to complain about within the first five minutes. 

But that was future me’s problem. Present me had one singular goal: station Celeste at the bar and ensure that she was well on her way to being too drunk to micromanage me.

I made my way back to the lobby bar, where Celeste was already holding court on one of the plush velvet stools, sipping a Negroni and pretending to enjoy the company of men who were, I assumed, ‘important’ in some vague publishing-adjacent way.

I sat my bag down and leaned in. “Everything is ready for you in the villa. The staff is on standby for whatever you need.”

Celeste didn’t even glance at me. “Gemma, darling, don’t hover. Have a drink. Relax.”

That was Celeste’s favorite brand of condescension – telling me to relax while making it physically impossible to do so.

“You’re right. You should enjoy yourself. Call me if you need anything,” I replied smoothly, already backing away. The best way to handle Celeste sometimes was to leave her to her own devices. By my estimation, she’d be three drinks deep in twenty minutes, possibly on the verge of drunkenly calling an ex-husband or just fully passing out on her ultra-king size mattress.

Which meant I had exactly one small window of freedom. And I took my chance.

The resort’s outdoor terrace was quiet, the sun dipping lower, casting gold across the rolling waves. I settled into a lounge chair, pulled out my phone, and started going over the itinerary for the next week. Celeste was notoriously unpredictable, but I had planned this trip down to the minute, balancing appearances, workshops, and just enough leisure to keep her from snapping. 

Tomorrow, Celeste would attend the welcome dinner hosted by the resort, a mix of media personalities and publishing execs that she would either love or emotionally eviscerate. That left the majority of the daytime free, which I assumed she would fill with spa treatments or day drinking. Tuesday she would attend a Q&A event at a historic Italian library, Wednesday a boat tour, and Thursday through Sunday would be the literary retreat – the entire reason she was here. An elite event filled with authors, critics, and self-proclaimed visionaries who would spend hours discussing narrative structure while sipping wine that cost more than my rent. 

I scrolled through my notes, mentally adjusting for potential crises, making sure I was ten steps ahead of whatever bullshit Celeste would inevitably throw my way. I had built my entire career around managing chaos. I knew how to stay in control. 

And yet…

Something pulled my focus. Movement just beyond the terrace – a small group of men passing through the courtyard, speaking in low, easy laughter.

And there he was. Linen shirt. Messy dark hair. That same amused, sharp gaze. 

I froze, watching as he strode past with his relatives, all of them radiating the kind of effortless confidence that came with being both rich and stupidly good-looking. 

And he was looking at me, again. He hesitated, just for a second, just long enough for me to notice, like he wanted to stop, like he wanted to say something. But before he could, one of his cousins grabbed his arm, pulling him into the conversation, dragging him forward. He glanced back one last time before disappearing around the corner. 

I felt my lips quirk. It was the smallest reaction – barely there – but undeniable.

A spark. Of what, I wasn’t sure. Excitement? Curiosity? Something else entirely? 

I exhaled, shaking it off, forcing myself back into my itinerary. I had more important things to focus on.

But still… I caught myself tapping my fingers against my phone screen, barely absorbing the words in front of me. Because now, in the back of my mind, there was a boy with dark eyes and a smile that felt like a secret. And I wanted to know what it was. 

By the time I made it back to Celeste’s villa, the sun had fully dipped below the horizon, casting the resort in a hazy glow of dimly lit lanterns and distant laughter. I braced myself before stepping inside, mentally preparing for whatever state she’d be in – throwing a tantrum, complaining about the air conditioning, or, worst-case scenario, bored and looking for someone to torment. 

But when I walked in, I found her in a rare form of calm. She was curled up on the sprawling white sofa, robe loosely tied around her waist, hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun that almost made her look approachable. A half-empty tumbler of something expensive rested on the glass coffee table beside an open leather notebook, where she had been actually writing.

Celeste barely looked up as I walked in, lazily flipping a page. “Oh, there you are. Thought maybe you finally ran away.”

“I wish,” I muttered, setting my bag down. 

She smirked. “If you were going to quit, you would’ve done it ages ago. You love me too much.”

“Love is a strong word.”

“Fine. You tolerate me. But don’t pretend you won’t miss the chaos when you finally leave.”

I scoffed but didn’t argue. Celeste had an annoyingly sharp way of reading people – when she wasn’t busy being insufferable. For a moment, there was just silence. The sounds of the waves outside, the soft flick of a page turning. It was weird. Unsettling, even. Celeste being quiet meant she was either deeply focused or on the brink of passing out.

“You’re actually writing?” I asked, crossing my arms. 

“Obviously,” she drawled, taking another slow sip of her drink. 

“Wow. A whole paragraph? That’s impressive.”

“Watch it, Parker.” She arched a brow but didn’t seem annoyed – which was always a good sign.

I sighed, toeing off my shoes as I sat on the opposite end of the couch. “So, you’re in a good mood. Should I be concerned?”

Celeste smirked. “I’m relaxed. This place isn’t so bad. The villa has a certain… minimalist charm.”

I nearly laughed. Minimalist charm. This was the closest she’d ever come to admitting she liked something. “And let me guess,” I teased. “This mood has nothing to do with the alcohol?”

“Oh, darling, it has everything to do with the alcohol.”

This time I laughed. I rolled my eyes, but she wasn’t wrong. Celeste could be an absolute nightmare, but when she was tipsy – just the right level of drunk – she softened. The sharp edges dulled. The version of her that had once been young and idealistic and actually excited about writing peeked through.

“I want to go on the tour tomorrow. The one the resort hosts,” she announced suddenly. “Move anything important to later so I can soak up the history of this place. Oh, and get me another bottle of this before you go.”

I nodded, glad I had reviewed her itinerary to know she didn’t have anything planned until tomorrow evening, which left her day wide open to join whatever tour she was referencing. “Anything else, Your Highness?”

“Maybe a breakfast spread.”

“Of course. Only the best for you.”

She clinked her glass against the air in a mock cheers, already shifting back to her notebook. 

I stood, stretching. “Try not to die in your sleep or anything.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Parker. Besides, you’d miss me.”

I rolled my eyes but said nothing, heading for the door. It was one of those rare moments where I remembered why I hadn’t quit yet. Because Celeste, for all her flaws, was still one of the most brilliant minds in publishing. She had clawed her way up, built an empire of words, and somehow, someway, I had ended up in her orbit. 

Maybe, if I stuck around long enough, I’d figure out how to do the same. 

By the time I had finished settling everything for Celeste – confirming her addition to the tour hosted by the resort, ensuring her breakfast would be delivered right when she woke up, and bribing the concierge with my most charming smile to keep a running tab on her preferences – I was exhausted. 

I made my way to my own suite, smaller, tucked away, and far less extravagant, but mercifully quiet. It was one of the few perks of my job – Celeste traveled like royalty, and her staff, though severely underpaid, at least got decent accommodations.

I kicked off my shoes, rolled my stiff shoulders, and exhaled slowly. Then, I did something I hadn’t done in a long time. 

I pulled out my laptop, opened a blank document, and stared at it. 

The cursor blinked. I tried to write. But nothing came. 

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, waiting for the words, for something to hit me, for the feeling I used to get – when stories lived in my head, begging to be let out. But all I could think about was itineraries. Reservations. Celeste’s fucking coffee order. 

I had spent so long managing someone else’s life that I had lost my own voice. 

After an hour of getting exactly nowhere, I sighed, slamming the laptop shut. 

I needed air. 

The resort had its fair share of late-night drinkers and wealthy couples meandering about, but the beach itself was nearly deserted. It stretched wide and empty under the glow of the moon, the sand still warm beneath my feet. The waves rolled lazily onto the shore, a soothing hum against the otherwise quiet night. 

I walked, letting the weight of the day slip off my shoulders. Celeste. My job. The gnawing frustration of feeling stuck, uninspired, unseen. How had I gotten here? This wasn’t the dream.

The dream had been bylines, published articles, stories that mattered. The dream had been words flowing freely, not gathering dust at the back of my mind while I booked spa appointments for a woman who could barely even send an email. 

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. Maybe I was the problem. Maybe I had let myself disappear. I sank onto the sand, pulling my knees to my chest, watching the waves as if they might have answers. 

And then – a flicker of red. 

A tiny, moving speck of light in the distance. 

At first, I thought I was imagining it – some reflection of the moon, a trick of my tired mind. But no, it was real. A little red flashlight, weaving slowly along the shoreline. I frowned, watching it drift closer. 

Then, I saw him. The boy from earlier. Linen shirt, knowing smirk, stolen glances. He was alone, moving at a slow, unhurried pace, the red light swaying lazily with each step. And before I could scramble away, he saw me, too. 

I froze as he approached me, watching as he hesitated for a moment. Then, in a voice lower, softer than I expected, he asked, “Would you like some company?”

I sized him up, letting the moment stretch between us. Up close, he was even more unfairly pretty than I had initially realized. The kind of good looks that felt unintentional – sharp jawline softened by the dim glow of the moon, dark hair tousled like he’d been running his fingers through it absentmindedly. His linen shirt was unbuttoned just enough to make me suspect he had absolutely no concept of the word effort, of trying too hard. He didn’t need to.

But what caught me off guard wasn’t any of that. It was the way he looked at me – like he was curious. Like he wasn’t just offering polite conversation to be nice. Like he actually wanted to be here.

I considered saying no. I didn’t do vacation flings. I didn’t do getting to know beautiful strangers on the beach in the middle of the night. 

But then I thought about how exhausted I was with being practical. About how I had spent the last two years watching Celeste live her life while mine shrank into a series of itineraries and coffee runs.

And then I thought – fuck it.

“Sure,” I said, patting the sand beside me. 

His eyes lit up, and I watched as the corner of his mouth quirked, amused, like he knew I had just fought some internal battle before making my decision. Smug. I should’ve been annoyed, but instead, I found myself biting back a smile. 

He lowered himself onto the sand, stretching his legs out in front of him, leaning back onto his palms like he belonged anywhere he sat. “So,” he said, tilting his head toward me. “Do I get a name?”

“That depends,” I said, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. “Do I?”

His grin widened. “Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin. That name suited him. I let it settle in my mind before offering mine. “Gemma.”

“Gemma,” he repeated, slow and thoughtful, as if testing how it felt on his tongue. Something about the way he said it made my stomach do a weird, annoying flip.

I cleared my throat, gesturing to the flashlight in his hand. “And what’s with the red light, exactly? You planning some kind of secret heist?”

Hyunjin chuckled, holding it up between us. “Nothing that exciting. I heard red light is best to use during turtle hatching season. It doesn’t confuse them like regular flashlights.”

I blinked, caught off guard again. “Wait. You’re telling me you’re out here… searching for baby turtles?”

“Obviously,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

I studied him for a long moment. The soft glow of the red light cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp curve of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw. I could make out a tiny mole right beneath his eye. “Huh,” I murmured. 

“Huh?” he echoed, arching a brow. 

“I just wouldn’t have guessed ‘turtle enthusiast’ when I first saw you.”

He smirked. “And what would you have guessed?”

“I don’t know,” I mused, pretending to think. “Maybe ‘trust fund kid who collects expensive sneakers and doesn’t know how to do laundry.’”

Hyunjin barked out a laugh, throwing his head back. “You wound me, Gemma,” he said dramatically, hand over his chest. 

“I’m just saying, you’ve got a bit of a look.”

“A look?”

“Yeah. This whole ‘I-woke-up-like-this-and-have-never-worked-a-day-in-my-life’ aesthetic.”

Hyunjin snorted. “Maybe I just have good genetics.”

“Right,” I muttered, shaking my head.

He grinned, studying me in return, as if he was also trying to figure me out. “And you?” he asked, his voice softer now. “What’s your ‘look?’”

I shrugged. “‘Overworked personal assistant in a constant state of existential crisis.’”

He chuckled. “Sounds exhausting.”

“You have no idea.”

For a while, we just sat there, the ocean stretching endlessly before us, waves rolling in and out, the space between us shrinking without either of us moving. 

I should’ve been back in my room. I should’ve been asleep, resting up for another day of playing Celeste’s shadow. But instead, I was on a beach with a boy I didn’t know, watching his red flashlight flicker across the sand. He had this way of looking at me – not quite intense, not quite teasing, but something in between. Something that made me feel like he saw more than I wanted him to.

“So,” I said, tilting my head at him, trying to get my bearings. “What’s a turtle enthusiast like yourself doing here in Italy?”

“Family reunion,” he answered easily, dragging his fingers through the sand. “My grandfather’s Italian. My grandmother’s Korean. They met in Milan, moved to Seoul, had my dad, et cetera et cetera, and now here we are – visiting my dad’s roots.” 

I blinked, surprised. “So you’re like, a quarter Italian?”

“That would be the math, yeah.”

“Huh.” I took a good look at him. The sharp cheekbones, the full lips, the dark features – it all made sense now. “That explains a lot.”

He smirked. “Like what?”

“Like why you look like a Renaissance painting but also like you could headline a K-pop group.”

Hyunjin laughed, loud and unrestrained, and I had the distinct, annoying thought that I might get addicted to the sound.

“Well,” he mused, watching me now with interest, “that would be fitting, considering I’m an artist.”

That made me pause. Artist?

“Oh?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “Like… you paint?”

“Sometimes. But mostly dance.”

Of course he dances. Of course he does.

“Seriously?” I tried to picture it, but the image was way too appealing, so I immediately shut it down. “Like, ballet? Ballroom? Hip-hop?”

“A little bit of everything,” he admitted, running his fingers through his hair, making it even messier than before. “I’m still figuring it out.”

I scoffed before I could stop myself. 

“What?” He turned toward me, amused. 

“Nothing,” I said, a little too fast. 

His eyes narrowed slightly, reading me too easily. “No, tell me.”

I exhaled, giving him a pointed look. “It must be nice.”

“What must be nice?”

“Having the luxury of ‘figuring it out.’”

His expression shifted – just a flicker, a small twitch of his lips, before he smirked like he knew exactly where my mind had gone. “Ah,” he said, nodding slowly. “So that’s what this is about.”

I stiffened. “What what is about?”

“You think I’m some cushy rich kid who gets to float through life with no consequences.”

I opened my mouth to deny it, but… well.

I wasn’t not thinking that.

“Am I wrong?” he teased, tilting his head.

“I just…” I exhaled, fighting the irritation creeping up my spine. “It’s hard not to be jealous of someone who gets to pursue their passions without worrying about, you know… survival.”

Hyunjin hummed, considering this. “So, what’s your passion, then?”

“Writing,” I admitted before I could overthink it. “I want to be a journalist.”

“And instead, you work for…?”

“Celeste Laurent.”

His eyebrows lifted. “The Celeste Laurent?”

“The one and only.”

“Damn.” He let out a low whistle. “That’s intense. No wonder you look like you need a vacation.”

I huffed a laugh. “I wish this was a vacation.”

“I take it your boss is a nightmare?”

“On a scale of one to Satan? She’s at least a solid eight and a half.”

Hyunjin chuckled, but there was something thoughtful in his gaze now. 

“And you think if you grind hard enough, you’ll get your shot?” he asked. 

“That’s the plan,” I said, even though it didn’t sound as convincing out loud as it used to in my head. 

There was a beat of silence. His gaze flickered over to my face, lingering a little longer than necessary. “You should let yourself breathe a little, you know.”

“And do what? Walk the beach with a stranger at midnight?”

“Exactly.” His smirk was entirely too self-satisfied, and before I could think better of it, I reached over and snatched the red flashlight out of his hand. 

“Hey!” he protested, laughing. 

“If you’re going to lecture me, the least you can do is let me use the fun toy,” I said, clicking it on and waving the little red beam across the sand. 

“Fun toy?” he repeated, offended. “This is top-tier turtle conservation technology!”

“Oh, of course. My mistake. I’m honored to be in the presence of such an elite environmentalist.”

“Damn right,” he muttered, but he was grinning. 

His gaze softened then, something fonder, heavier behind it. “You know,” he said, voice a little lower now. “You’re kind of cute when you’re not scowling at me.”

I stiffened, pulse skipping for just a second. “I do not scowl,” I shot back, choosing to focus on that instead of the heat creeping up my neck.

“Mmm.” He tipped his head to the side, considering. “I don’t know, Gemma. I’ve seen a lot of scowling.”

“Well, maybe that says more about you than me.”

“Maybe,” he said easily. “Or maybe I just like seeing you try to hide that you’re enjoying this.”

I turned toward him fully, meeting his gaze head-on. Big mistake.

Because up close, with the moonlight in his eyes and the lazy tilt of his smirk, he was unbelievably handsome.

And he knew it. 

I huffed, handing back his flashlight before I did something stupid, like let myself actually flirt back. “Go find your turtles, Romeo,” I muttered, shaking my head. 

He just grinned, clicking the flashlight on and off and waving it over the sand. “If I find one, you’re naming it.”

Hyunjin suddenly stood up, brushing sand off his pants, then turned to me and offered his hand. “Come on,” he said, palm open, fingers waiting. “Walk with me.”

I raised a skeptical brow. “Why?”

“Because,” he smirked, tilting his head toward the shore, “I know where the turtle nests are. If we’re lucky, we might see some hatching.”

I glanced at the flashlight now clutched in his other hand, the red glow softly illuminating the sand. “You’re really committed to this, huh?”

“Someone’s gotta care about the great turtle births of the Italian coast,” he quipped. “Maybe you can write an article about it. ‘An Exclusive Look at Nature’s Most Underrated Spectacle.’”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the way my lips twitched upward. “That’s a terrible headline.”

“You’re right. Should probably workshop it.” His grin widened. “Walk with me anyway.”

I hesitated, looking at his outstretched hand. 

It would be easy for me to say no. To tell him I was tired, that I had to work tomorrow. That I didn’t have time to go gallivanting through the sand at midnight with a boy who smiled like he was used to getting exactly what he wanted. 

But then I thought about the blank page of my laptop, the way my chest had felt too tight all day, how much I needed something – anything – to remind me why I even wanted to write in the first place. 

And maybe – just maybe – this was it. 

I exhaled, placing my hand in his. 

His fingers curled around mine, warm, steady. 

“Fine,” I muttered. “But if I trip in the dark and die, I’m haunting you forever.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” he said, smirking as he pulled me up. 

We strolled along the beach, the quiet hum of waves filling the spaces between us. Hyunjin kept the red flashlight low, sweeping it gently over the sand, scanning for signs of movement. “So,” he said, glancing at me. “Where’s home for you?”

I hesitated, tucking my hands into the sleeves of my cardigan. “New York. Born and raised.”

“That tracks.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, side-eyeing him. 

“Just that you’ve got that whole no-nonsense city girl thing going for you.”

“And you’ve got the rich boy on vacation trying to ‘find himself’ thing.”

He let out a sharp laugh, head tipping back. “Okay, fair. But for the record, I didn’t come here to find myself. I came because my family basically forced me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know how it is – big family, overbearing relatives, everyone wanting you to be something you’re not.”

I huffed. “Oh, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

He cast me a knowing look. “Right. Your whole life is obviously completely put together.”

“Exactly,” I deadpanned.

Hyunjin chuckled, then kicked at the sand, thoughtful. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess I always thought being an artist would be enough for me, but my family… they don’t really get it.”

“You mean they don’t think art is a real job?”

“Bingo.”

I frowned. Somehow, I had expected his family to be fully supportive – cushy rich kid, endless opportunities. But now, I wasn’t so sure. “I think that’s a universal experience,” I muttered, watching the waves. “Parents being… disappointed in your career choices.”

“Yeah?” he nudged me lightly. “What did yours want you to be?”

“Something stable.” I shrugged. “Doctor, lawyer, something that actually makes money.”

“But you chose journalism.”

“I chose writing,” I corrected. “I just figured journalism was the most practical way to do it.”

He hummed in response, like he understood exactly what I meant. And somehow, that made me feel lighter.

“So what kind of stuff do you want to write?” he asked.

I hesitated. When was the last time someone had actually asked me that?

“I used to want to do investigative pieces,” I admitted. “The kind that actually matter. Exposing corruption, bringing stories to light, making a difference.”

Hyunjin tilted his head. Something about his gaze made me feel… seen. “And now?” he asked, voice softer.

I sighed. “Now I write very professional emails all day and manage the emotional instability of a literary icon.”

“Well, that sounds thrilling.”

“Oh, it’s a dream come true.”

His grin returned, teasing, but his eyes stayed thoughtful. “You should write something,” he said, flipping a shell in the sand with his foot. “Not for work. Just for you.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Maybe,” he said, glancing at me again, “but you don’t seem like someone who gives up that easily.”

The words hit deeper than I wanted them to. I swallowed. Looked away. “Well,” I said, clearing my throat, deflecting, “if I’m ever desperate, at least I know I can write about turtle conservation.”

He chuckled. “Hey, don’t knock it. These guys deserve their time in the spotlight.”

“Right. What would the world do without ‘the great turtle births of the Italian coast?’”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

I laughed, genuinely, fully, for the first time in what felt like forever. 

“Wait –” Hyunjin froze, grabbing my arm gently, stopping me in my tracks. I stilled, heart skipping, but not because of him this time. Because just ahead of us, in the sand, something small was moving.

He crouched down, flicking the red flashlight toward it, his smile slow and spreading. “Looks like you might actually get to name one.”

The movement stopped for a second, then scuttled forward again – but instead of tiny turtle flippers, a pair of long, spindly legs stretched toward the moonlight. A crab.

Hyunjin let out a dramatic sigh, running a hand through his hair. “False alarm.”

“What, are you disappointed?” I teased, nudging his side lightly. 

“I mean, a baby turtle hatching would’ve been a moment, you know?” he said, folding his arms. “This guy’s just… vibing.”

I ignored him, already crouching down, watching as the tiny crab hustled sideways across the sand with impressive determination. “I like him,” I said, smiling despite myself. “He’s got places to be.”

Hyunjin chuckled. “Should we name him, then?”

I thought for a second. “Hmm… he kinda looks like a Bernard.”

“Bernard?”

“Yeah, like… sophisticated. Business crab. Family man.”

Hyunjin grinned. “So you think he’s got a whole life out there?”

“Absolutely.” I nodded. “Wife, kids, a nine-to-five in the seaweed industry. This guy is booked and busy.”

“Damn.” He let out a low whistle. “Respect to Bernard.”

We watched as Bernard scurried toward the waves, disappearing into the foam like a tiny little soldier returning home.

For some reason, it made something in my chest ache.

I cleared my throat and stood, brushing the sand from my hands. When I turned, Hyunjin was already looking at me. Not just looking – watching. The kind of quiet admiration that made my stomach do something stupid. “What?” I asked, raising a brow.

He shook his head, a lazy smile spreading across his face. “Nothing. Just didn’t take you for a crab enthusiast.”

“I contain multitudes.”

“Clearly.”

We stood there for a beat too long – both of us still, the space between us small enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. He was close enough that I could see the moonlight reflecting in the slight sheen of humidity on his collarbone, the way the night breeze shifted his hair just slightly. Close enough that my gaze drifted to his lips, unbidden, unintentional.

I wondered – for less than a second – what it might be like to kiss him. If he’d be slow about it, teasing, letting it build just to see if I’d get impatient. If he’d take his time, deliberate and confident, the same way he moved, like he already knew the outcome.

The thought startled me, caught me off guard for the third time that night. 

And yet… I didn’t step back. 

Instead, Hyunjin did something worse – he stepped closer.

Not enough to touch, but enough that the air between us felt heavier, charged with something unspoken. 

“I was gonna ask if you wanted to come back for a drink or something,” he murmured, voice smooth, easy, almost teasing. “But now I’m worried that Bernard set the bar too high.”

I barely had time to smirk before my phone rang. 

Loud. Abrasive. Reality slamming between us like a wall.

I jolted, startled by the sound, by how instantly the moment shattered. 

Hyunjin leaned back just slightly, exhaling through his nose, shaking his head with a half-smile like he should’ve expected it. 

I barely glanced at the screen before muttering, “It’s Celeste. I have to go.”

Hyunjin watched me for a second, something unreadable flickering across his face. Then, with a slow nod, he stepped back. “Duty calls,” he said lightly, but the warmth from before had dimmed just slightly. 

I hesitated, phone still buzzing in my hand. Some part of me wanted to stay. 

But instead, I forced a smile, turned on my heel, and started walking back towards the resort – leaving behind the ocean, the moonlight, and the boy with the red flashlight who had almost convinced me to forget everything else.

I power-walked back to my room, cheeks still burning from Hyunjin and his stupid, stupid smirk. The way he looked at me. The way he stepped closer, like he was about to say something that would’ve unraveled me completely. The way I had actually wondered, even for just a second, what kissing him would be like. 

I exhaled sharply, shoving the thought away as I slipped into my suite, pressing my cool fingers to my too-warm face. “Get it together, Parker,” I muttered under my breath.

I crossed the room in three strides, heading straight for the mini bar. I yanked it open, wincing at the overpriced selection before grabbing the first tiny bottle of vodka I could find. 

One sip. Two. I winced again, swallowing hard. Great. Now my face was burning for an entirely different reason.

I collapsed on the edge of the bed, phone still clutched in my hand. I wasn’t sure why I lied to Hyunjin, why I said Celeste was calling when in fact, it was my mother. The missed call sat on my screen, glaring up at me. 

With a sigh, I redialed. It barely rang once before she picked up. 

“Gemmy!” my mom’s voice greeted me, warm and familiar, like home. “I was just about to light a candle for you!”

I smiled, shaking my head. “Hi, Mom. You don’t have to light a candle every time I go on a trip, you know.”

“Excuse me,” she said, feigning offense. “Cleansing your energy is very important, missy. You’re surrounded by wealthy people and entitled egos – you don’t want that energy leeching onto you.”

“Too late for that,” I muttered, rubbing my temple.

“How’s Italy?” she asked, genuinely excited. “Did you see anything amazing yet? How’s Celeste? Any existential breakdowns yet?”

I huffed a small laugh. “So far, she’s only at one minor tantrum and two unnecessarily dramatic monologues, so we’re pacing ourselves.”

“That’s actually impressive restraint for her.”

“Right? I think the Negronis are helping.”

Mom laughed, and for a moment, I felt the tension in my shoulders ease. 

“Tell me everything,” she said. “What’s the resort like?”

I leaned back against the pillows, closing my eyes. “It’s… surreal. It’s exactly the kind of place people like Celeste thrive in – stupidly luxurious, way too polished, the kind of resort where they manufacture the atmosphere to make you feel like your life is perfect.”

“And is it working?”

I hesitated. Because honestly? I hadn’t let myself enjoy it. Not really.

But then I thought about Hyunjin and the way the moon reflected in his eyes, the sound of his laugh against the ocean, the way he looked at me like he was actually interested in what I had to say. 

And okay, maybe for a second, I had let myself enjoy it.

“It’s… nice,” I admitted, “in a fantasy sort of way.”

“Mmm, I hear something in your voice.” 

Her sing-song tone made me roll my eyes. “Here we go.”

“Gemmy,” Mom said knowingly, “are you getting into trouble?”

“Not yet,” I said, but I didn’t sound convincing.

“You met someone.”

I groaned. “How do you know that?”

“I’m your mother, that’s how. And also, my tarot reading this morning said something about unexpected romantic entanglements, so spill.”

I sighed, knowing she wouldn’t let it go. “It’s not a thing, okay? I met a guy. He’s… interesting.”

“Interesting how?”

“Korean-Italian. Stupidly good-looking. Too charming for his own good.”

“Oooooh, Gemma!”

“Don’t ‘ooooh, Gemma’ me.”

“Sweetheart, I have never heard you call a man ‘stupidly good-looking’ before. This is a milestone.”

“Oh my god.” I pressed a palm to my forehead. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Too late!” She sing-songed again. “So, what’s his deal?”

“Aspiring artist. Dancer. Rich family. They’re here for some big reunion, reconnecting with their Italian roots or whatever.”

“A rich artist? Oh, honey, that’s a dangerous combination.”

“Tell me about it,” I muttered. 

“But?”

I hesitated again. 

Because despite every single reason I should keep my distance, I really liked talking to him. 

More than that – I related to him. Sure, he had the luxury of financial freedom, but he still had pressure. Expectations. The fear of not being good enough. And that wasn’t something I could talk to a lot of people about.

“But…” I exhaled. “I don’t know. It’s nothing. Just a conversation on the beach.”

“Mmm. Still, I wouldn’t ignore it.”

“You think this is fate or something?”

“I think this trip is going to be big for you,” Mom said, suddenly serious. “I feel it.”

“You always say that.”

“And I’m never wrong.”

I sighed, but I couldn’t help but smile. Because as much as my mom drove me crazy sometimes, she was always reliably my mom.

She had been through so much – losing Dad when I was thirteen, struggling through her own mental health crisis after that, working jobs she hated just to make sure I never went without. 

And now, she was stronger, softer in a way she never used to be. She had her spirituality, her tarot cards, her sage-burning rituals, and full-moon intentions. 

And she had me.

“Well,” I said, pulling the blankets up around me, “we’ll see what happens.”

“Just don’t get too distracted,” Mom warned, but not unkindly. “Celeste still needs your attention.”

“Trust me, that’s never in danger.”

“Good. Now get some rest. You have a big week ahead of you.”

I nodded, letting my eyes droop. “Love you, Mom.”

“Love you more, sweet girl.”

I hung up, exhaling slowly, my mind still racing. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe something was coming. 

I just didn’t know if I was ready for it. 

I stared at the ceiling, begging my mind to quiet down. Because no matter how much I tried to push it away, I kept thinking about him. Hyunjin. His smirk, his smile, the way he watched me like I was something worth paying attention to. The way he had stepped closer, the space between us narrowing like something inevitable.

And, of course, his damn red flashlight. 

I sighed, tossing my phone onto the bed, then stood and shuffled toward the bathroom, rubbing my face to cool the warmth still lingering on my cheeks. A quick, half-hearted skincare routine. A long sip of water. Then I brushed my teeth and slipped into the softest, most unremarkable sleep shirt I owned. By the time I climbed into bed, I did what any rational person would do. 

I grabbed my phone and googled: ‘Sea turtles in the Mediterranean.’

Great. Now I was committed to this, too.

I tapped the first article that popped up. Something about nesting habits, hatching seasons, conservation efforts. 

‘Sea turtles have an extraordinary ability to return to the beaches where they were born, guided by the Earth’s magnetic field – a phenomenon known as natal homing.’

I frowned, rereading that line. Returning to where they were born. Following some invisible pull in the sand, like they already knew where they were meant to go. 

Lucky them.

My eyes flicked to the red light of my charging cable, and for some reason, I imagined it flickering across the beach. Imagined Hyunjin, walking alone in the dark, scanning the sand, completely content in his own little world. 

I sighed. Ridiculous.

And yet, as I curled into my pillow, letting the words on my screen blur, I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe I’d met him for a reason. Maybe Mom was right, maybe something was coming. 

But that was tomorrow’s problem. 

Tonight, I let my phone slip from my fingers, my eyelids heavy, the glow of the screen fading as sleep pulled me under.

[miapcain]

are the outfits in VDtWOF inspired by anything in particular or generic in a way?

Thank you for the ask! I love getting these :p

I had the opportunity to borrow a historian's rare book on 14th century bohemian clothing after he heavily criticized the last game I had a big hand in, Rhythm of Triverz, for period inaccuracies. That gave me a convenient ceiling for the most advanced gowns and armour you could expect in the region at the time. Resources on this are extant online but many don't cite their sources and most good ones are maintained on individual german historians' websites, so I need to do more research on this in general, but here are my basic rules for designing their clothes:

Everyone wears long gowns. Hose were pretty rare in this period. Women might have slightly longer dresses

Everyone wears a plain "shift," a garment that's worn under the main article of clothing. This is the one that gets washed

Garments, even rich ones, are unicolour. Mixed fabrics and colours appear later.

There's very little embroidery or detailwork on regular clothing

A garment will be worn with a belt, which might be longer the higher a person's status, and a pouch carrying an eating knife and other personal items

Most people will wear a head covering. Married women will always cover their hair outdoors, other women might do so too, and all women and girls cover their hair in church. Most common hats should be bundhauben or gugel.

A garment can be worn with a contrasting cloak (blue/red is a common one)

Jewellery is occasionally ok, but no piercings (?)

Shoes as we know them are more 14th/15 century; no big boots. Most shoes will be more like pointed leather socks or for ladies silk slippers. Poor people might wear wooden clogs.

No or very few fancy cuts. Later on you see tunics and gugel with with triangular or even fancier hems; This possibly exists very rarely in a limited capacity on things like a noblewoman's 'Kruseler' veil at this time, but that's probably it.

No black. No one depicted in this comic would be rich enough to waste money on black dye. Nuns and so on wear undyed or brown wool.

Military clothing is more "primitive" than might be expected. Not really any fancy visor helmets or big articulated suits of armour yet, most men-at-arms and even knights wear a mail shirt and a surcoat

As I understand, and I'm more than happy to be corrected on any of this, this applies almost universally. Peasants working in the field will wear dyed colourful garments, not plain rags. If it's hot, you don't take the outer garment off, you tuck the front hem of it in your belt to expose the shift. Masons will climb ladders and haul stone in this stuff. Some labourers or craftspeople will wear an apron and other specialized clothing like a toolbelt, too.

Note how Vesna wears a plain linen shift under her nicer yellow dress. I usually draw her with the sleeves all the way at the wrist, which would be the appropriate way to wear them, but she has it folded back here to make the composition nicer.

Bonus: Amusing pictures of King Václav IV slaying (150 years after when Vesna is set) and the "work uniform" of a bathhouse maid

[realmadridfamily]

"I like that my social media allow you to get to know a little part of me because we all know that you don't share everything or get to know the person by Instagram"

Mother, model and former stewardess. Although many people know her through her husband Dani Carvajal, Daphne Cañizares presents herself as a woman full of enthusiasm, a little shy at first, in love with her family and fond of fashion. She confesses to us that, despite enjoying photo shoots, she feels a little insecure during interviews.

Daphne started her adventure in the world of fashion at the age of just 8 as a child model and, looking back on her time as a model, she says she has very fond memories of it: “For me it has always been a hobby that I enjoyed a lot. The best things are the experiences, the travels, meeting people… and the joy of getting a job that will fill your book with high-quality work and allow you to grow as a fashion professional”.

At the same time, she explains how she sees the world of modeling today: "I think the model profile has changed a lot, it's much more diverse, and girls are calmer. I've seen friends who've had difficult times, but I've also seen that agencies have listened to them and helped them to see what can be done." She also tells us about her experiences with fashion standards: "It depends on where you worked. In Europe, they were looking for blondes, slimmer girls, but in Turkey, for example, they told me that I had small breasts and that I was too skinny. When I heard "no," I thought that this was simply not the profile they were looking for. I didn't blame myself for it or want to change because of it".

Daphne Cañizares is not only a model, but she also worked as a stewardess and she tells us that although it is a very exciting job, she is very grateful to be home with her sons 24 hours a day : "It's very difficult for cabin crew and pilots to be away from home for so long, especially if you have children. You can reduce the number of hours, but the balance is complicated because the less you travel, the less you earn. It is very complicated and currently it is difficult to live on your salary. Even if you reduce, you will not achieve everything".

Although Daphne is no longer a model, she still has an interest in fashion and says that one of her favourite summer trends is linen: “It’s a bit of a love-hate relationship because it wrinkles a lot, but I think it’s a necessity for men and women in the summer. It looks great and anything linen is essential.” On the contrary, she says she wasn’t encouraged to join the fishnet dancers. “From a distance it looks really cute but up close it’s a bit weird.”

Daphne describes her style as classic. Blazers and jeans are some of her staples, and when it comes to colors, she prefers neutrals. She tells us about her inspirations that she really likes Karl Lagerfeld. “I think their designs are long-lasting and quite inspiring for everyday wear.” Yves Saint Laurent is also another of her key designers. “He created a lot of the wardrobe pieces that women wear today, like the jumpsuit, the suit, the tuxedo.” However, for more special occasions, she turns to Spanish designer Alejandro de Miguel. “I am inspired by their designs and we managed to create something beautiful, like for my wedding, when I wore 2 of their designs. The truth is that he is a designer who inspires me a lot and I really like him.”

Daphne is also a very family person and tells us how she has been able to enjoy these months with her husband and her children. “My role as a mother is 24/7, I am always with them. My eldest son Martin started school a few months ago and the youngest Mauro is still small. For us, the most important thing on vacation is that my husband is at home and we can wake up all 4 of us together. And well, we have enjoyed the beach, but above all what we enjoy the most is being able to be together full time.” She also tells us about the change that her relationship has experienced since the birth of her children. “Since we had Martín, we are quite clear that we are no longer a couple, but rather a family. They are very young and need us and the truth is that we cope very well with not being able to spend so much time alone. For us, quality time is also being with the children and right now, we are really enjoying the moment. We believe that children grow up very quickly and that this is a time that will never come back. And the truth is that we are very happy.”

She loves sharing moments of her life on social media and she also tells us about it: "I started like everyone else sharing fashion photos, of my daily life with friends and family. Yes, my followers started to grow when I started my relationship with my husband, but I always wanted to maintain the essence of a woman who shares a small album of some moments of her life. I am also very grateful for the work opportunities that have come my way and when I share a job it's because I really love it and I am grateful to have the opportunity to campaign. I like that my social media allow you to get to know a little part of me because we all know that you don't share everything or get to know the person by Instagram. But hey, let them see a little of my likes and my daily life".

Finally, Daphne says that she has several projects in her mind, but right now her sons are small and they are her main project. However, she assures that she will continue to work on these projects in the future.

[manic-maniac-man]

HUgE April 2010

Talking about My T-SHIRT

T-shirts are an item that, precisely because of their simplicity, directly express the designer's intentions. The attention to detail you'll only notice when you put it on. We spoke to eight designers who are renowned for their T-shirt designs.

What role do T-shirts play in the fashion world?

"I think of the men's collection as a wardrobe.

T-shirts are always part of my wardrobe. They're very basic and something I never want to be without."

--It's a very simple item, but how do you make it unique?

"We express originality in various ways, such as necessary dyeing, cutting and collage, deconstruction and reconstruction, embroidery, printing, patchwork, etc. Prints are sometimes inspired by rock and roll and sometimes trompe l'oeil. The most original T-shirt for us is the charity T-shirt for the eradication of AIDS, which we have released in different colors every season since 1994."

-What is the most important thing to consider when designing a T-shirt?

"It depends on the concept of each season. It can be part of a basic silhouette, a key element in a look, or it can create an attractive, relaxed silhouette. In the 2010 S/S collection, we had a lot of basic cream-colored T-shirts. And for autumn/winter, we have leather T-shirts made from soft sheepskin."

-What is your favorite material to use for making shirts?

"I'm particular about using basic 100% cotton fabrics. But I'm not limited to just that. The fabrics I use change depending on the theme of the collection."

-Do you have any rules for yourself regarding the function and performance of a T-shirt?

"There are no limitations to making T-shirts."

--What have you discovered in the process of continuing to make Shaf? "T-shirts are something that goes beyond 'fashion'. They can sometimes transcend seasons and time."

-What do you care about most when choosing a t-shirt?

"It varies from collection to collection. Depending on the concept, I change details such as materials, necklines, sleeves, and lengths."

-What is it about T-shirts that appeals to you?

"It's simple and doesn't have a time element. A T-shirt can completely change your whole look, and it's a playful item that can express both elegance and casualness."

--What detail do you pay the most attention to when making your T-shirts?

"Every detail is made with the utmost care."

-Can you give us some advice on how to wear a T-shirt?

"T-shirts are an item that can be worn with any look, whether casual, business or evening."

-If you were to give a keyword to the shirt, what would it be?

"Functional, stylish, decorative, conceptual"

-What kind of man looks good in a T-shirt?

"That depends on each individual's choice."

―What kind of T-shirts would you like to make next?

"It's a T-shirt that's comfortable, looks good, and can be worn all the time."

MAISON MARTIN MARGIELA Design Team

"There are no limitations to making T-shirts."

(Maison Martin Margiela) T-shirt ¥26,250 (Kokonoe)

-What role do T-shirts play in your men's collection?

“I always hope that the BALMAIN HOMME collection will be the ideal wardrobe for men. Therefore, when I design the men’s collection, I think about what a man’s closet should have. Among those items, the T-shirt is an essential item. It can be worn with jeans, or with something more sophisticated like a tuxedo jacket or suit. It’s an absolute must-have that can be worn anywhere.”

--It's a very simple item, but how do you make it unique?

"Generally, when it comes to men's clothing, T-shirts depend on excellent fabrics, perfect fitting and color. When I design a T-shirt, I actually test it on a model many times. As you can see, we don't cut corners in terms of washing, dyeing, or tearing it to shreds, in order to get a perfect fit. In addition, using environmentally friendly fabrics and treating it with care for nature are also important factors."

--What is your favorite material to use when making T-shirts?

"Cotton and linen. I only use natural fabrics."

-Do you usually wear champagne a lot?

"I always wear T-shirts, including in winter. Lately I've been enjoying mixing summer T-shirts with thick winter clothes."

-What is your favorite T-shirt in your private life?

"It's a white crew-neck T-shirt I bought in LA a few years ago. It was already ripped and in tatters, but I love the quality of the fabric and the way it looks aged."

-Do you have any rules for yourself regarding the function and performance of a T-shirt?

"Comfort is key when I design, whether it's a T-shirt, a suit or an evening gown. I just want men and women out there to feel comfortable and free in the clothes I design."

--What do you find attractive about Ashan?

"T-shirts have infinite possibilities and can express sophisticated formal style, ultra-casual style, or both at the same time. In fact, I can't imagine my collection without T-shirts and jeans."

-Do you have any advice for how to wear a T-shirt?

"I think everyone should dress in their own style. Especially a T-shirt, it's an easy piece to wear and you can match it with anything."

-If you were to give your t-shirt a keyword, what would it be?

"free"

"It all comes down to the fabric, the perfect fit and the colour."

Christophe Decarnin

(BALMAIN HOMME) T-shirt ¥19,950 (RESTIR

-What role does the T-shirt play in your men's collection?

"All my T-shirts are unisex. At first, I made a line of women's T-shirts based on a seasonal theme, but after the Monkey Tee became popular, men started wearing them too. T-shirts are more affordable than other items, and it's wonderful that so many people of all ages can get their hands on these little pieces of artwork and live with them."

--It's a very simple item, but how do you make it unique?

"Each season I design t-shirts using images that evolve the main collection, so my t-shirts have a lot to do with my vision for that season."

--What is the most important thing you look for when designing a TShirt?

"The most important element in a T-shirt is to make something that is so attractive that people just have to get it, something that you can't get anywhere else. For my T-shirts, it's important that they are comfortable to wear, and that they have a sense of luxury, so I'm particular about the jersey I use."

-Do you usually wear T-shirts often?

"I always wear T-shirts. They're comfortable. I especially like wearing T-shirts that I own. I think it's very difficult for men to find a T-shirt that suits them. That's why we have a series of T-shirts that you can collect every season."

--What is your favorite T-shirt in your private life?

"I made a series of hand-printed T-shirts while I was a student. I still like those T-shirts, and I would like to reissue the T-shirts I made back then in different colors someday. They are surreal designs, but they are very beautiful. Another one is the "Monkey Tee," which is one of my favorite T-shirts no matter when I see it."

--Do you have any personal rules regarding the functionality and performance of your equipment?

"It has to be fast. But a designer T-shirt can't just be that. It has to stand out from the crowd and look cool."

"It's a small piece of artwork that many people can own and live with."

(Christopher Kane) T-shirts and reference items (Isetan New Store)

-What role do T-shirts play in your men's collection?

"T-shirts are a very important part of my collection. The casual feel created by the combination of jersey and woven fabric is the signature of my T-shirts."

--It's a very simple item, but how do you make it unique?

"For our T-shirts, we use loose-fitting, very soft fabrics, which is why they end up being a bit larger in size. For this season's collection, the theme was to make the most of the designs as they are, in their original form as much as possible. That means we left the sleeves, hems, and even the collars untouched. We also use luxurious materials that are as natural as possible against the skin. For our jersey fabrics, we use a blend of cotton, cashmere, or silk."

--What is the most important thing to consider when designing a T-shirt?

"Black materials, the fit and the silhouette are always key elements. I like to keep it as pure and simple as possible, so I spend a lot of time working on the quality of the materials."

-What is your favorite material to use for making t-shirts?

"My favorite material is a fine blend of cashmere and cotton. We are working with a Japanese factory on the quality of the jersey."

-Do you work hard at T-shirts from the ranks?

"I wear it almost every day. I really love the T-shirts."

--What is your favorite T-shirt in your private life?

"This season's (Damir Doma) long sleeves and T-shirts. They're very pure T-shirts made from a cotton-cashmere blend that was developed for the 2010-11 A/W collection."

--- Do you have any personal rules regarding the role or mission of a T-shirt, or what a performance should be?

"I believe that comfort is the most important quality in a T-shirt."

--What did you discover in the process of making T-shirts? "There is no such thing as a 'basic' in my collection. Even a single T-shirt is always in line with the theme of the collection every season. Choosing the perfect T-shirt for the season is one of the most difficult aspects of preparing a collection."

-Any advice on how to wear a T-shirt?

"Personally, I like pairing a T-shirt with a woven fabric for a casual look."

--If you were to give keywords to your T-shirts, what would they be?

"Soft, casual, pure, luxurious."

"In my collection, There is no such thing as "basic."

(Damir Doma) T-shirt ¥36,750 (Lift Etage)

[vintagecontinuum]

Clothing

True vintage from the 1930s and 40s is often fragile, damaged, and expensive. Here are my favorite modern brands selling vintage or vintage-inspired designs:

Price key:

$: $50-150 (basic pieces, simpler designs)

$$: $151-300 (well-crafted garments, premium fabrics)

$$$: >$300 (luxurious, exact reproductions)

Other notes:

📏: offers custom sizing

👥: employs height-inclusive models (5'5 / 168cm or shorter)

🗺️: country of origin

All the Vintage Lovers ($) 📏 🇷🇴

A vintage Etsy shop offering made-to-order classic designs. While not explicitly repro, the variety of wide-legged pants suits the 30s on.

Allure Originals ($-$$) 📏 🇺🇸

Androgynous, classic designs in the 1930s and 40s style. Most pieces are one-offs.

Bee's Knees ($$-$$$) 👥 🇨🇳

A vintage-inspired boutique with both day- and eveningwear spanning the 1920s to the 1950s, but especially emphasizing the 1930s. One of the models (Lolo) is 5'1 / 155cm.

Bellaha ($-$$) 📏 👥 🇻🇳

Quality linen timeless garments. While not explicitly repro, the shop's classic undertones read as 1930s forward. One of the models is 5'1 / 155cm.

Cathcart ($$-$$$) 📏 🇬🇧

Custom vintage-inspired heritage wear adapted to the modern times yet equally suited for 1930s and 40s ensembles.

De IONESCU ($$) 🇷🇴

Although many pieces read as modern, the classic businesswear sets, knits, and suit jackets fit the rugged, militaristic 1930s and 40s aesthetic.

Emmy Design ($-$$$) 🇸🇪

Well-fitted, high-quality repros befitting of many ages.

Epicoene ($-$$) 🇺🇸

A gender-inclusive microlabel offering 1940s and 50s-inspired garments.

FineThee ($-$$$) 📏 👥 🇷🇴

Curated vintage and handmade pieces from fine fabrics. Repro pieces range from 1930s-adjacent to modern. The model is 5'5 / 168cm.

Hearts and Found ($-$$) 📏 🇻🇳

Late 40s and 50s-inspired feminine dresses and separates with a wide variety of fabrics.

House of Kitchstitch ($) 🇬🇧

Handsewn 1940s and 50s pants, specializing in denim but also offering swing trousers and shorts.

House of Lewko ($$-$$$) 📏 🇨🇦

Bespoke 1930s and 40s-inspired formalwear and eveningwear for both men and women.

Kinzzza ($$-$$$) 🇺🇦

Handmade, antique-styled linen basics. Perfect for almost any decade.

Knitwear By Vessela ($$) 🇧🇬

Classic, Nordic-inspired unisex sweaters and cardigans.

Korsena ($$) 🇵🇱

World War II-era practical civilian wear and winter wear for women.

Let's Backtrack ($-$$) 📏 🇺🇸

Feminine, cotton dresses inspired by the 1930s to 50s.

Oldfield Outfitters ($$-$$$) 👥 🇬🇧

Vintage-inspired British countryside gear channeling the 1920s, 30s, and 40s. Two of the models are 5'2 / 157cm and 5'3 / 160cm.

On the Sunny Side ($-$$$) 🇧🇪

Vintage sportswear and suiting in the 1930s and 40s style. Features dapper menswear adapted for women's measurements.

Roksolana Knits ($$-$$$) 📏 🇺🇦

Bespoke repro knitwear and vintage-inspired pieces. The shop offers a wide selection of patterns and colors, albeit with a long waitlist.

Swinging Oldies ($$) 🇫🇷

Vintage-style sweatshirts, jeans, and swimsuits fitting the 1940s forward.

The Seamstress of Bloomsbury ($-$$) 🇬🇧

Late 1930s, 40s, and early 50s British aristocratic fashions harkening the wartime spirit.

Vecona Vintage ($$-$$$) 🇩🇪

Classy 1920s to 40s suiting and dress. Most notable for its three-piece ensembles in both men's and women's sizing.

Woolwhite ($$-$$$) 🇩🇪

Timeless knitwear and overcoats. While not specifically repro, many designs are vintage inspired and range the late 1920s on.

[samkkshopping]

Top Men's Suit trends to Watch in 2024

Men’s fashion in 2024 showcases a blend of innovative styles and classic elegance. This guide explores the latest trends, from suit styles and colors to fabric choices, along with essential styling and care tips to ensure you look your best.

1. Exploring the Range of Men’s Suit Styles for 2024

Tailored Suits Providing a Precision Fit for Modern Elegance

Tailored suits are designed to offer a perfect fit, enhancing both comfort and style. These suits are expertly crafted to complement your body shape, providing a sleek, refined silhouette ideal for a sophisticated appearance.

Italian Suits Featuring Luxurious Craftsmanship and Timeless Appeal

Italian suits are celebrated for their luxurious craftsmanship and elegant cuts. These suits, made from high-quality fabrics, are perfect for high-profile events and stylish occasions, offering both traditional and modern design elements.

Jodhpuri Suits Combining Classic Design with Modern Fashion Trends

Jodhpuri suits offer a distinctive blend of classic design and contemporary style. Traditionally worn in India, these suits now feature modern elements, making them suitable for weddings and formal ceremonies with a touch of tradition.

Two-Piece and Three-Piece Suits Providing Versatility for Formal and Semi-Formal Settings

Two-piece suits are versatile and suitable for various occasions, from business meetings to casual events. Three-piece suits, which include a vest, add an extra layer of sophistication for more formal settings.

Casual Suits Designed for Comfort Without Compromising Style

Casual suits are crafted for comfort and relaxed style. Made from lighter fabrics and featuring relaxed cuts, these suits are ideal for semi-formal events and everyday wear.

Designer Men’s Suits Showcasing Unique Cuts and Premium Fabrics for Statement-Making Looks

Designer men’s suits are known for their unique cuts, high-quality materials, and innovative designs. These suits are perfect for making a fashion statement at special events, combining exclusivity with style.

2. Choosing the Ideal Suit for Every Occasion in 2024

Best Suit Options for Weddings Providing Luxurious Looks for Your Special Day

For weddings, Jodhpuri suits or Italian suits are excellent choices. Their luxurious fabrics and elegant designs make them perfect for grooms and groomsmen, ensuring a refined and sophisticated appearance.

Statement-Making Party Wear Suits Ensuring a Bold Impression at Social Events

For social gatherings and parties, designer men’s suits and Italian suits offer a striking appearance. Opt for bold colors or patterns to stand out and make a memorable impression at any event.

Casual and Semi-Formal Suits Balancing Comfort and Style for Everyday Wear

Modern tailored suits and two-piece suits are ideal for casual and semi-formal occasions. They offer a stylish yet relaxed look, suitable for casual meetings or informal gatherings.

Professional Business Suits Achieving a Polished Look for the Workplace

In professional settings, classic business suits and precision-fit tailored suits are the ideal choices. These suits ensure a sharp, polished appearance for interviews, meetings, and daily office wear.

3. Trendsetting Colors for Men’s Suits in 2024

Timeless Black Men’s Suits Providing a Classic Choice for Formal Occasions

The black men’s suit remains a staple for formal events. Its versatility makes it suitable for various occasions, offering a sophisticated and classic look.

Refined Navy Blue Men’s Suits Offering a Modern Alternative for Versatile Use

Navy blue men’s suits provide a stylish alternative to traditional black. Their versatility makes them suitable for both formal and semi-formal events, offering a modern yet classic appearance.

Contemporary Grey Men’s Suits Delivering a Sleek and Modern Look for Various Events

Grey men’s suits offer a sleek and modern look suitable for various occasions. Whether for business or social events, they provide a stylish and adaptable choice.

Warm Brown Men’s Suits Presenting a Unique and Inviting Option for Seasonal Appeal

Brown men’s suits offer a distinctive alternative to more conventional colors, making them ideal for fall and winter. Their warm tones add elegance and uniqueness to your wardrobe.

Bold Patterns and Vibrant Colors Allowing Expression of Individuality with Flair

Boldly patterned and vibrantly colored suits are trending this year, allowing you to express your personality and stand out with flair.

4. Selecting the Best Fabrics for Men’s Suits in 2024

Versatile Wool Suits Offering Classic Fabric for All Seasons

Wool suits are versatile and classic, suitable for all seasons. Their durability and timeless appeal make them a reliable choice for various occasions.

Lightweight Linen Suits Ideal for Warm Weather Comfort

Linen suits are perfect for warm climates, offering lightweight and breathable comfort. They are ideal for maintaining style during hot weather.

Relaxed Cotton Suits Providing Comfort for Casual and Semi-Formal Settings

Cotton suits offer a comfortable and relaxed option for casual and semi-formal events. Their breathable fabric ensures ease of wear while maintaining a polished look.

Innovative Blended Fabrics Combining Functionality and Style

Blended fabrics, such as wool-polyester mixes, provide functionality and style. These fabrics offer durability and a refined appearance for everyday wear.

5. Where to Find the Best Designer Men’s Suits Online

For those seeking designer men’s suits online, Samyakk is an excellent destination. The site offers a broad selection of luxurious suits, including precision-fit tailored suits and sophisticated Italian suits. With detailed product descriptions and high-resolution images, Samyakk provides a seamless shopping experience for finding your ideal suit.

6. Essential Styling Tips for Men’s Suits in 2024

Enhancing Your Look with Stylish Accessories to Add Flair and Sophistication Accessories such as ties, pocket squares, and cufflinks can transform a suit, adding a personal touch and enhancing your overall look.

Choosing the Right Footwear to Complement Your Suit and Match Suit Formality Selecting the right footwear can enhance your suit’s appearance. Choose classic leather oxfords for formal occasions or stylish loafers for a more relaxed look.

The Importance of Professional Tailoring for a Perfect Fit and Optimal Appearance Professional tailoring ensures your suit fits perfectly, enhancing both comfort and style. This process helps your suit look its best and feel more comfortable.

7. Caring for Your Suit to Maintain Its Quality

Regular Dry Cleaning to Preserve Suit Quality and Maintain Fabric Integrity Regular dry cleaning helps maintain the fabric and appearance of your suit, ensuring it stays in top condition.

Proper Pressing Techniques to Keep Your Suit Crisp and Remove Wrinkles Use a steam iron to press your suit, removing wrinkles and maintaining its crisp, polished look.

Storing Your Suit Correctly to Protect Its Shape and Ensure Longevity Store your suit in a breathable garment bag to protect it from dust and damage, helping to maintain its shape and extend its lifespan.

Final Thought

The latest trends in men’s suits for 2024 offer a diverse range of styles, colors, and fabrics to suit every occasion and personal preference. From tailored suits to luxurious designer options, understanding these trends and following essential styling and care tips ensures you look sharp and stylish. For a wide selection of designer suits, including luxurious Italian options and precision-fit tailored suits, Samyakk is a top choice, offering an excellent shopping experience for finding the perfect suit.

People Also Ask:

1. What Are the Key Differences Between Tailored Suits and Off-the-Rack Suits? A: Tailored suits are custom-fitted and offer a precise, personalized fit, while off-the-rack suits come in standard sizes and may need alterations. Tailored suits typically provide better quality and a more refined appearance.

2. How Do I Choose the Right Suit for a Wedding? A: For weddings, choose elegant suits like Italian or Jodhpuri styles. Classic colors such as navy, black, or grey are timeless. Consider the wedding theme and venue, and ensure the suit fits well and complements accessories.

3. What Are the Best Fabrics for Men’s Suits in Different Seasons? A: For warm weather, opt for linen or cotton suits for breathability. Wool and blended fabrics are ideal for cooler seasons. Italian suits offer versatility across seasons due to their high-quality materials.

4. How Can I Maintain and Care for My Suit to Ensure Longevity? A: Dry clean regularly, press with a steam iron to remove wrinkles, and store in a breathable garment bag. Avoid over-wearing and use suit hangers to maintain shape and extend the suit’s lifespan.

5. Where Can I Find the Best Designer Men’s Suits Online? A: For top designer men’s suits, Samyakk offers a premium selection, including tailored and Italian designs. Browse their online collection for high-quality suits and excellent customer service.

[daincrediblegg]

all right. since you asked very nicely I'll do an outfit breakdown for our dear girl, complete with pictures because I’ve become a bit of a hoe about victorian clothing since I began this whole fucking thing bc of her. (And everyone kindly thank @thejewelsofmyheart for asking)

Now I will note that some of the photo accompaniments are not quite completely the vibe I was going for sometimes in terms of fabric/color/vibe, but let it be noted these are all from my references I’ve collected on here and on pinterest over months and hey this is what I got if I was talking to a costume designer tho this is the kindof breakdown I would give them

Lady Terror's typical undergarments consists of drawers (notably crotchless- as ladies drawers were back then for what should be reasonably obvious reasons), corset (notably one with the recently invented front clasp closure that would make it easier to do up and undo without assistance- on a ship full of dudes this would be wise), chemise, petticoats 1 (linen), 2 (flannel) and 3 (which she only truly occasionally wears) corded- to give her skirt a bit of extra poof (not a fan of this when the cold gets extreme tho understandably). And those are at least the basic components.

Moving outward it gets a little different from what would typically be worn by women even on a ship, but Lady Terror's whole thing is she's trying to fit in with the men while still holding onto her identity as a woman. So to start, we have a collared shirt and waistcoat (where she also notably keeps her pocket watch, given to her by her father), which she typically wears while she's inside the ship and the climate isn't... fucking dead freezing all the time. in lieu of the vest sometimes she wars a smart red crossover. She also has two knitted sweaters (one a slightly lighter than naval blue - one her father used to wear- , one a handsome cream with a slight puff at the forearm to imitate the women's fashions of the day- knitted by a friend) . Alternatively, she has two thick long-sleeved woolen bodices, one in a more formal style that matches her woolen naval blue skirt (which she typically reserves for dinner with the officers) , and one lighter colored more casually styled one that she can wear with her vest over it (much more practical during the colder winter months).

As for OUTERWEAR she has a long naval peacoat (similar to that which most of the officers wear, save for a little more flare at the skirt to accommodate her skirt- and btw the coat pictured above I actually own), a capelet for when she needs to look a little more feminine and extra formal. Gloves, of course, are a must (one pair knitted, one pair lined with fur, and a pair of fur over-mittens that match her hat), a fur hat that she favors from her time in the Prussian seas, a bonnet (that she loathes), and a long red scarf, knitted for her by a friend back home.

And that just about does it for her everyday outfits while on the ships at least. She has a few more bodices and lighter underthings kept in store on Erebus(including one fancy dress complete with crinoline skirt), which doesn't much see the light of day anymore, but on the few occasions that she had to wear it before the expedition, she enjoyed it quite a lot.

Of course also, in my lady terror energy and inspiration tags I continue to compile and collect some dresses that I think would suit her for formal gatherings. She brought only one of note with her on the ship, but it remains in store for the majority of the story (but allow me to say without spoiling anything: Francis would recognize it on sight). I only had room for one more photo so there you have it. Outfit breakdown of the century. Good night.

[prettyboybillyhargrove]

POLITIX BREAKFAST

Hollywood star Dacre Montgomery- the face of Politix menswear- unvelled the premium suiting brand's spring/summer collection at Ace Hotel's Kiln restaurant on Tuesday.

Vogue Australia hosted an intimate breakfast panel with the Stranger Things actor, while media personalities mingled over barista coffee, fruit plates, quiches and cupcakes.

The topic du jour was modern masculinity in Australia, with Montgomery speaking to his own experience: "Sensitivity wasn't something that was promated or encouraged when I was growing up.

I wanted to go against the grain, not for the sake of it, but because I was quite unhappy as a kid. "My mum always said just be you, but expressing that was confronting to other young men."

Accompanied by his girlfriend model Liv Pollock, Montgomery said he'd spent four hours in Politix's fabric factories pouring over the new designs and adopting linens and colour into his wardrobe.

Mikaela Wilkes/the sunday telegraph

[running-dumpster-in-germany]

Chapter 1 of Amidst the Heather and the Moor (so far)

It was midnight when Lewis showed up at Archie’s house. Occasionally, Lewis would arrive at Archie’s house in the middle of the night, but he wouldn’t come in, cold and wet from the rain, nor would he have a look on his face that could only be eased with gin or vodka.

“Lewis—what on earth are you doing here?” Archie scolded. Lewis just put a hand against the brick and shook his head.

“Archie, I need a place to stay.” Lewis, or more known as Lew to Archie, looked pathetic. Luckily, he had a soft spot for men with a habit of getting themselves into trouble. He sighed and stepped out of the doorway. He let him change into fresh clothes and crawl into Archie’s bed. He didn’t question him, just held him and stroked his hair like a

The next morning was quiet. Archie sat on the edge of his bed, observing Lewis sleep with a visibly uneasy expression on his face. God, what did this poor man do this time? Archie found the strength to pull his eyes away and get dressed. Today did not differ from most days, at least that’s what he thought. Lewis awoke—to say the least—groaning and stretching. Archie found it amusing.

“Good morning to you too,”

“Where am I?”

“You’re in my house, remember?”

Lewis thinks for a bit. Archie’s brows furrow as he watches him. He sits down next to him and rubs his back. “Lew, what is the matter?” Lew glances over to him, a sense of horror in those eyes.

“I need to flee to Ireland or… maybe Sweden.” he says breathlessly, “I don’t have much time,” suddenly all panicked and flushed

“What on earth are you talking about?” Archie stands up, standing in front of him.

He looks up at him, tears welling up. “Oh lord, you can’t keep this from me,” Archie says firmly, though his body language said tenderness. He couldn’t bear to be upset with him, not when he was looking up at him like that. He was too pretty for his own good and Archie too sinful in the head to forget it.

Lewis looks away, wiping any tears that might’ve leaked away. “Lew,” He says even firmer. “We have to talk. I can’t help you if you don’t talk.”

“I killed a man.”

Before he knew, he was standing outside Madame Claudette’s home. Not Lewis’ wife’s home. Claudette’s. The building was extensive and well kempt. People knew Madame Claudette for renting out her rooms to the wealthy around town. Despite this, Lewis rented out the attic. He wasn’t the wealthiest; he was heir to a small fishing business that gave him enough to support himself for half a decade. His possessions were modest, mostly clothes and basic furniture.

Lewis knocks the door knocker. It wasn’t long before Claudette opened the door, holding back a very enthusiastic Great Pyrenees with a posh brass and leather collar.

“Ah, Lew, come in.” She opens the door wider with unusual pep and her more usual raspy French accent. Lewis drops to his knees in front of the dog.

“Who’s the most beautiful and opulent girl? You’re the star of the world.” He coos as he pets her. The inside was as extravagant as the outside, the wallpaper was a beautiful Paris Green and the rug a velvety red with a Persian design. The painting on the wall reminded Archie of his mother’s sense of decor. She was modest, yet her taste was akin to an eclectic crow; anything shiny and eye-catching.

Claudette prattles on about something to do with another tenant, but Archie tunes it out. She leads them upstairs, scolding a girl smoking in the hallway. It seemed as if the second story had more character than the first. The mansion was more of a labyrinth than a house. The decor was getting dizzier the more they hiked through the house. Eventually, they reach the attic. The dancing dust catching the light. Lewis’ bed was dressed with white linen and his dresser was scuffed and chewed by critters.

“Ah, thank you Mademoiselle, me and Mr Crestwell can handle it from here,” he says politely.

“Suit yourself,” she sets off, the sound of her chatelaine rattling as her hips sway while she walks.

The second she shuts the door, Lewis sighs and sits on the bed. Archie didn’t know what to do. Sure, they had been friends since Lewis was a young lad at the gentlemen’s club, looking for company and alcohol, but this was awkward. The silence was loud and ringing, and the musty smell of a barely lived in attic during the fertile days of spring.

“So… Let me get this straight.” he pinches his nose bridge, getting ready to address the unavoidable truth

“You stumbled into a pub, used my identity, nearly took a man home, then killed him.”

“You aren’t getting it right!” He whines, “He was gonna hurt me or worse. What if I was raped?” He stands back up, trying to get him to take him seriously.

“You can’t kill a man! What part of stay out of trouble says homicide?! Are you illiterate? Isn’t what we do not much different from rape. You could’ve got me arrested for sodomy!”

Lew’s face hardens. “Would you be quiet? We’ll be caught before you stop being a fool and take this serious.”

[theduchessgeorgiana]

Georgian Garments

For my project I wanted to conduct further research into the different types of Georgian garments to ensure that I could create a historically accurate final piece, as well as making it appear as if it belonged in "The Duchess" film.

Women's garments consisted of a relatively relaxed and comfortable form of dress for day-to-day wear whilst also maintaining a level of sophistication and structure through tailored gowns. Women of the higher class would wear "mantuas", a trained gown that was open at the front and draped at the hips with their train pinned up behind . This enabled them to have free movement and comfort during the day. Beneath their mantua would be a "chemise", a knee-length garment composed of linen to prevent skin contact with the expensive silk gown. Chemises would be decorated with ruffles and lace stitched at the neck and cuffs as they were designed to be visible at the neckline and sleeves of the gown. For evening wear, large "paniers" become considered the most formal mode of dress. "Stomachers" became adorned with embroidery, beading, ribbons and quilting. It was shown that the more decorated the stomacher was the more wealth and status she had.

As for men's garments, the silhouettes remained rather feminine, soft shoulders, small waists, full skirts on coats. Basic garments for men would include the three piece suite consisting of a suit coat, waist coat and breeches paired with a shirt and cravat or a stock and solitaire. One aspect of the menswear that really interested me was the range of military jackets worn by Britain during the Georgian period. The British soldiers became known as "the redcoats' due to their striking red coats which made them stand out on the battlefield. These jackets were decorated with golden detailing on the shoulders, collars and chest as well as brass buttons lining the front.

[llamamamarisen92]

The Wolf and the Lion

Chapter 2 - The Devil’s Impatient Fiddle

Chapter 1 Link:

https://www.tumblr.com/llamamamarisen92/760358991851290624/the-wolf-and-the-lion?source=share

Chapter 3 Link:

https://www.tumblr.com/llamamamarisen92/760459094954065920/the-wolf-and-the-lion-chapter-3-a-bottle-of-wine?source=share

Named Dark Urge

Pre-BG3 Dark Urge/Gortash Head Canon

Warning: Threats of violence

Characters: Johim (Durge), Gortash, Cazador

Word Count: 1,100ish

By: Jesh Llamas

A few weeks went by without a response from Gortash. He was growing tired of waiting around. Today he had some business to conduct with the Szarr family. Their lord was a tiresome fellow and he would rather chop off his own ear than sit listening to Cazador ranting about whoever wronged him this time. He knew what Cazador was and it suited him for the most part to filter some of the temple's victims to him for a steep price. The vampires underlings were also very good at getting valuable information. Not that his spawn was ever around when Johim showed up at the castle.

He put on a brightly colored tunic with billowing pants. Tying the outfit together with a tasseled linen waist wrap. Deciding whether he should bring his fiddle or not? When he was out in public he usually acted the bard. Finally deciding to grab it he headed out for his meeting. He enjoyed walking through the streets. A group of young women giggled as he walked by. He grinned flirtatiously and winked before continuing on his journey. Cazador's castle loomed ahead and he snapped his fingers to ensure he was invisible on his approach. Walking up the castle stairs undetected. Before he opened the door he made sure he was transformed into the form Cazador and other collaborators knew. A towering white dragon born. A picture of might and power. The sun was out and so he knew he wasn't in any danger from any of Cazador's tricks. Not that he ever was. If it ever came down to it he could put him in his place easy enough.

"Come in Lord Ba'elwyn, the master is waiting for you in his receiving room."

Barely glancing down he walked past the servant with his head held high. This was the dragon. Where the bard was fun and flirtatious among the crowds, the dragon was serious and never lowered himself enough to address servants directly. Cazador sat upon a chair that tastelessly mimicked a throne. The entire castle's decor was tasteless. The overdone design of a delusional maniac with the overpowering scent of perfume wafting in the air.

"Welcome Lord Ba'elwyn to my home." Cazador watched him with impertinence. It vexed him that Johim refused to bow or show deference.

Johim sat across from him. Not so much as allowing his chin to dip an inch towards him. He sat there silently waiting with an air of dangerous boredom.

Cazador cleared his throat. After a few more minutes he sighed with frustration and came out with his request.

"I am struggling to... locate my staff."

Johim's eyebrow raised, taking on an impatient tone. "You called on me to locate a missing trinket?" He leaned back into the chair, the tip of his illusory tail swaying back and forth.

"It's not just any trinket! You fo-."

Cazador was smart enough to stop himself before ending up in a situation where he was skewered on Bhaal's altar. He breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration before continuing.

"The staff is an heirloom and I need it to conduct certain business."

"And what makes your trinket worth my time?"

"Ah, it is a gift passed to my ancestors by Mephistopheles himself. Trust me when I say this trinket is worth your precious time."

He loved to brag. It was what made him such a fount of information. So sure in his power that he was careless with his words. Perhaps there was an opportunity for him to take advantage of this man's careless tongue.

"I can have some men of mine locate your trinket. But only if you have good answers to some of my questions."

Cazador nodded.

"What do you know about a man named Enver Gortash?"

Cazador smirked. "He's a minor player. An artificer who's been trying to work his way up the ranks with our city's grand players." He examined his nails before continuing. "I've heard he studied under the Gondians and is quite promising in his talents at the Steel Foundry."

"He seems to have come out of nowhere. I don't recall a Gortash family amongst the sword coast." 

"He's not from a great family." Cazador pointed the toe of his boot in his direction. An ornate boot decorated with crimson bats. "But he does know how to design a marvelous shoe."

"He's a cobbler?" Johim was expecting him to be something a bit more... scholarly. Not a shoe maker.

"Yes. Flymm's cobbler. It's how he was able to gain a foothold with the upper class in the first place. One fashionable boot turns up at court and suddenly everyone needs a pair."

Clever wolf indeed. He was almost tempted to chuckle at the ridiculousness of it. But his composure never broke. He rose from the chair.

"Fine, I will make sure to locate your trinket. You can drop off your payment at the usual spot. Oh, and if you tell anyone about our discussion I'll destroy you." His voice still remained in that bored, neutral tone. Cazador nodded, still steaming at the lack of deference.

He made his way out of the castle invisibly. When he was a good ways away he reappeared in his normal form. Walking until he found the cobblers shop. He perched himself on a fountain across from it with his fiddle out. Watching the shop as he played a crowd drawing melody. Something soft and playful with a dangerous undertone. He glanced up at a window two stories high. Grinning wildly when he found a face smiling right back at him.