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evanchantingpeters · 2 months ago

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How I met Evan Peters (Fanfic - Part 7 - Final)

Pairings ─ Evan Peters x Y/N (fem reader)

Summary ─ A couple of months after Jake’s (Evan’s friend) tragic accident left him fighting for his life in intensive care, Evan is spiralling, lost in despair, a shadow of his former self. Just as a sliver of good news about his condition offers a ray of hope, Y/N steps in, determined to bring some light into Evan’s shattered world. She starts with a seductive dance and builds to a night of passion. But Evan has a surprise—one that will change everything in a way Y/N never saw coming.

Warnings ─ Obscene language, lap dance, oral (both receiving), overstimulation, mild daddy kink, nipple teasing, spanking, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, cowgirl, missionary, extra smutty—like you like it.

Word count ─ 5.1K (I had a lot to say 🤫)

18+ This is ADULT content. I’m not your mummy to supervise your net access. If you’re a minor, do NOT read!

Previously on: How I met Evan Peters (Part 6)

“W-what’s up, Jeremy?” he stutters, his voice barely a whisper. “It’s Jake,” Jeremy blurts out, his expression twisting into one of anguish. “He’s fallen off the roof.” Jeremy’s words hit like a punch to the gut, the colour draining from Evan’s face. The room goes deathly quiet, the weight of his words sinking in. The room spins as everything comes to a screeching halt.

Two months after Jake’s accident

Thursday, 16:42 pm

You settle into the cosy corner of his New York apartment, the city’s hustle muffled by the soft hum of the radiator. A rustic wooden desk hosting your work setup and a quirky lamp, which has seen better days but adds to the character, stands against the wall. A plush bean bag chair invites you to sink in while a baroque rug sprawls beneath your feet, and a bookshelf stuffed with books and random knick-knacks lurks by your side. Sunlight streams through light, breezy curtains, making it a perfect workspace for your remote routine. With Evan busy with press and meetings for the next few weeks, this place feels almost like a retreat—if only you could shake off the looming frustration of the Excel table before you.

You’d think by now you’d have mastered the art of not losing your shit at work, being the corporate girlie you are, while dealing with this stupid spreadsheet, but nope. Here you are, puffing like the Big Bad Wolf trying to blow down formulas that refuse to behave.

As you’re fighting and suffering through, your hand drifts toward your phone. You know how it goes. Brain’s fried, and next thing you know, you’re aimlessly scrolling through the endless pit of Instagram reels without even realising it. Well, this time it’s Evan’s name glowing like a beacon of your favourite “distraction,” and your stomach flutters, your heart racing.

Oh, hello, messages!

You open the chat, expecting a quick “I’ll be back in 10’, baby. Can’t wait to kiss you” text or maybe a meme about cats judging people (you know, standard fare). Instead, what do you find? A picture. But not just any picture. Oh no, this man, YOUR man, is standing there in a white tee, his pose giving swagger “yo” next to Todd McFarlane, a comic book legend. The whole shebang.

And here comes the string of messages:

“Babyyyy, look - Todd McFarlane in da house for the press conference!!”

“he’s signed the Amazing Spider-Man hardcopy!!”

“ill bring it home and we frame it ;)”

“we’re going live.. tune in xx”

“changed into the blazer and stripy tee you picked for me. Love you so ♥️”

Let’s pause here. Not at Todd McFarlane – who, mind you, is hands-down a god in his domain, but no. Your eyes, traitors that they are, keep sliding back to that picture of Evan.

Because damn.

Todd’s cool and all, but Evan in that white tee and messy curls? Where do you even begin? The man looks like he rolled out of bed straight into a photoshoot and decided to smoulder for no apparent reason. You know the one—that half-cocked sly smile that screams, “Yeah, I know what I’m doing to do, and you’re welcome.”

You catch yourself zooming in and drooling over him like a total goofball. The scrunched-up grimace. The luscious Tarzan hair. The way his eyes carry a hint of sadness and fatigue but with residues of that familiar spark he always has. It’s weird how something as simple as a picture can make your heart do that silly backflip thing over and over again after more than a year with him.

Snap out of it, girl. Spreadsheet’s waiting. But no, instead of getting back to formulas, your brain takes a little detour down Memory Lane. Suddenly, you’re remembering the last time Evan was kneeling in front of you. Not in some adorable, “let me tie your shoes, princess” way, but more of an arousing “let me worship you, queen,” Roman Empire situation.

Oh, yeah. That night.

You’d seized your throne aka that big armchair in the middle of the dimly-lit living room. And there he was, on his knees, completely surrendered to you. His tongue was lapping on your wet folds like you were the sweetest cake frosting he’d ever tasted. His slender fingers were plumping in and out of you in all the right spots as he slurped up your syrups and juices, sucking on your clit like it’s cherry on dessert.

His tongue would thrash and french kiss your puffy sobbing walls up near the throbbing bulb of your sensitive clit. You tugged on his hair, his brown curls wrapped around your fingers like reins as he pulled you apart, inch by inch. Your jaw tightened as his tongue and fingers mercilessly rutted into you, giving you crazed whiplash as you squirt, all while licking you clean with eager choked moans.

Your body tremors and orgasmic vibrations were seismic… just like they are now as your cunt pulsates and aches for him, even though you’re sitting at the dining table, fully clothed and miles away from him.

Funny how memories can sneak up on you like that, isn’t it?

But here’s the kicker. As much as you’d love for a repeat performance, that’s not where you guys are at these days. Not since Jake fell off the roof at the party he hosted at his place. You get it–one of Evan’s best friends is in a hospital bed, clinging to life while in a coma, and Evan’s drowning in his own sea of emotions and sorrow. The man is dragging so much weight on his shoulders right now.

And you respect that. You really do. Your sex life has justifiably taken a backseat, but you’re not here to push or force him. What you have and share with him isn’t mere lust; you love him, and you acknowledge that he’s having it rough at the moment. You’ve been trying to be his rock, the one who keeps him grounded while he navigates the heavy blizzard of the tragedy.

But you can’t help it.

Sometimes, your mind slips back to those sizzling moments where your bodies speak in a language only you two comprehend. Because, let’s be real—he might be wearing the blazer you chose for him in the morning, but under all that fabric, you’re the one who gets to undress the real Evan. And if that’s not worth waiting for, you don’t know what is.

You sigh, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, but you’ve left the spreadsheets and work far behind with all those cheeky little fantasies that gnaw on your brain. Still knee-deep in wet daydreams of Evan and his—well, *coughing* talents, when the universe decides to slap you in the face with reality.

That “we’re going live, tune in xx” text blinks back at you from the chat, practically yelling to stop fantasising and actually be the supportive girlfriend you claim to be.

Gasp.

Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. Gasp again.

The press conference! You need to watch it. Like, now.

You scramble up from the table so fast, you’d think the chair is lava, and launch into a desperate hunt for the TV remote. The remote is like a cryptid—always hiding in the most inconvenient places at the worst times. Last week? In the fridge. Don’t ask. Today? Who knows. You’re flipping couch cushions like you’re on an archaeological dig.

“WHERE IS IT?!” you yelp, your high-pitched voice bouncing off the walls like you’re a banshee in panic mode. Female rage core.

Nowhere. Absolutely nowhere. It’s like the remote’s decided to pack its bags and set off to Narnia with no return ticket.

Curse you, technology masterminds.

Plan B.

You rush back to your laptop, slide your fingers along the trackpad to wake it up, and—oh no, what’s this? Your whole screen’s been hijacked by the most evil of phrases:

Software Update: 30% Complete.

Are. You. For. Real.

You stare at the loading bar like you can will it to go faster. Or pretend you’re not watching, so it speeds up. Smart but nah, that’s placebo—no such luck. This thing is moving slower than a Monday morning during rush hours, and if you wait for it, you’ll be watching Evan’s interview in the past tense or through his narration once he’s back home.

You let out a huff that could probably power a small wind turbine and whip out your phone, praying to every deity that your Wi-Fi doesn’t fail you amidst crisis.

“Come on, come on,” you mutter through gritted teeth, frantically tapping apps like your fingers are on caffeine overload. And just when you think someone is playing another cruel trick on you—boom, there it is. The live stream.

The screen lights up, and there comes baby Evan on stage, looking all sleek and profesh in his blazer (you knew the combo with the stripes underneath would work wonders *proud stylist smiling*). He’s sitting on a stool along with his co-stars, all of them gathered in this massive amphitheatre for their upcoming movie press tour.

He’s got the mic in his hand, finishing up a sentence with that smooth, husky tone. You know, that voice that sounds like a lullaby wrapped in velvet. But there’s also the twist of dorky humour and the cute brow furrows he taps into when he’s either totally in his element or way too awkward.

The interviewer gives him a nod, then sighs. Your stomach drops.

The next question is about Jake, as he’s guy well known for scripting some of the most beloved TV shows. If there were a Hall of Fame for TV writers, his star would be as big as a small planet. He’s adored by fandoms for his wit and creativity, and now you’re all grappling with the fallout from his misfortune.

You can see the shift in Evan’s face from media charm to something… darker, melancholic. He’s trying so hard to stay composed, but you know him. That tiny flicker of anguish behind his eyes filters through the cracks.

Evan takes a sharp breath and clears his throat. “Yeah, Jake was moved from LA and remains in ICU here in New York,” he admits, voice steady but edged with quiet vulnerability. “But there’s… a... there’s a glimmer of hope. He moved his hand today.”

For a second, the world stops spinning. Did he just say—? He moved?!

Your heart does a somersault, and you can’t help it—you cheer and clap right along with the audience, even though you’re alone in the living room in your mismatched socks, overstretched yoga shorts, and messy bun. Who cares, honestly? Jake moved his hand.

Evan lets the crowd’s enthusiasm bubble up for a second before he delicately taming it. “It’s good news,” he continues, his voice like a fuzzy blanket, soothing yet cautious. “But let’s not start planning the parade just yet—there’s a long road ahead for him. We’ll have to see how his health evolves from here. I just wanted to share this little nugget of hope. His family’s already spreading the word, and they gave me the green light to pass it on to all of you.”

There’s a tightness in his voice, and you can tell he’s got a fortress built around his emotions, probably fighting not to let it crumble in front of all those people and cameras. Your baby’s always been strong like steel this way, the type who carries everyone’s baggage on his shoulders without ever letting on how heavy it is.

You sit there, phone in hand, staring at his face on the screen. There’s so much going on behind those eyes, and you know he probably feels like crap underneath that calm exterior.

You wish you could reach through the screen and just be there with him in a “I’ve got you, you’re not alone” kind of way. You’ve been weathering this storm together, and it’s been tough as hell. It’s taken everything in him just to stay afloat, but he’s doing it. He’s really doing it...

There’s something about post-work Thursdays that sends you into this frantic, impulsive must-clean-everything-in-sight mode. Not that Evan cares if there’s a pile of laundry in the corner or if the dishes are threatening to stage a rebellion in the sink, but still. He doesn’t expect you to tackle it all just because you’re working fully from home; he can do it himself, but you want the place to look neat and tidy. You know, like “I have my life together and didn’t just spend the last two hours binge-watching cooking videos on YouTube” level of very demure, very mindful adulthood.

So here you are, in full-on cleaning tornado mode—scrubbing the counter with the kind of intensity that could probably burn calories—when your ears perk at the rustling sound.

That magical jingle of keys. The ignition. The click of the door unlocking.

Baby Evan’s home.

You drop the sponge like it’s on fire and just bolt. You don’t even think. It’s pure instinct, like you’re a puppy who heard the treat jar open. Your pulse leaps, your feet fly, and before you know it, you’re flinging the front door open just as he steps in. And there he is.

Your man. Your whole heart.

He’s got his arms full—takeout bags in one hand, his backpack slung over his shoulder, looking more mouth-watering than anything that could possibly be in those containers. His hair’s a little ruffled, his shirt rumpled from the day, but to you, he might as well be walking straight out of a rom-com.

“EVIEEEE!” you squeal, pouncing at him with the enthusiasm of a kid on a sugar high.

“Whoa!” he chuckles heartily, catching you mid-air. He spins you around even though you can sense the stiffness in his body as he battles not to drop the dinner. He’s out of breath, but he holds you tight, like he’s afraid to let go. His backpack slides down his arm, and for a second, you’re just tangled together—glued around him, his hands grasping on you firmly.

“Couldn’t wait to see me, huh?” he teases, his voice hoarse from the long day. But you can see it in his eyes—he’s just as hyped to be back in your little cocoon as you are.

“You have no idea,” you breathe, and before you can utter anything else, his lips are on yours, kissing you like he’s been starved for weeks. You’re pretty sure you hear the bags crinkle between you two, but whatever… they can wait.

It’s not just a kiss. Oh no, this is the you-just-got-kissed-senseless kind that says, “I’m never letting you out of my reach again.” It’s deep and sloppy, and you feel it all the way down your toes. Little lewd moans escape your bodies as your tongues greet each other, swirling around in a lustful dance. He tastes like toffee, baby powder, warmth, comfort, and home.

You melt into each other, completely forgetting about the bags or the fact that you’ve still got soap on your hands. You twirl faster together as his hands mischievously squeeze your ass, making you giggle into his mouth.

“I was counting the hours to get to you, Y/N, and time was a total bitch today,” he grumbles, and it’s a husky purr near the nape of your neck. Your plump lips curl into an “awh, my poor baby” pout, cupping his cheeks in your palms as you swarm his face with little pecks.

When he finally sets you down, you’re both grinning like idiots. Your heart’s doing cartwheels, and your stomach feels like you’ve swallowed a whole bunch of butterflies. You missed him. Not just having him around, but all the little things tied in—his laugh, his hands on you, the way he stares at you like you’re a precious gem.

Closing the door behind you, you pace together towards the kitchen, and get the itch to drop the question, “Did Jake really move?” Your voice is hopeful, but there’s a little tinge of fear there too. You know how much this means to Evan, so you need to tread about cautiously.

He pauses, chucking his backpack aside before turning to you. His eyes soften, and he nods, stepping closer. His hands find your waist again, his face buried in the crook of your neck. “Yeah. He really did.”

Before you can even process the relief, Evan’s lips are on yours again, soft whimpers rolling off him. This time, the kiss is slower, more tender like silky ribbons on your mouth. His lips trail from your mouth down to your neck, his breath tingly against your heated skin. “Gosh, how much I needed you today,” he whispers between kisses, his voice dense with emotion as he presses his mouth lower, toward the neckline of your sports bra. His fingers gently graze your sides and rest on your hip bones before massaging your ass, and your breath hitches.

You thread your fingers through his hair, feeling the tension melt out of him as his body leans into yours. “Me too,” you huff out, because honestly, you feel like you’ve been holding your breath all day, just waiting for him to come home.

But then you pull away slightly, the thought of Jake scratching the back of your mind. “Can we go see him now?”

Evan sighs, resting his forehead against yours for a moment, his breath warm and steady. “Not tonight,” he exhales, taking a couple of steps back. “It’s just family. They wanna keep it low with the visits.”

You shake your head in acknowledgment, nervously biting your fingernail. You get it—you really do—but there’s still that little sting of disappointment tugging at your chest. “How ‘bout tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, glancing over at you again as he tears the bags apart and unpacks the food. “We’ll try tomorrow afternoon. His family’s still adjusting, but I’ll talk to them.”

The relief that washes over you is like a pleasant, summer breeze, calming your frayed nerves. Tomorrow. You let out a breathy, “Okay, great,” your shoulders finally loosening. As you approach him to help dispose of the bags, Evan’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist in one quick, playful motion, pulling you flush against him.

You barely have time to gasp before his lips crash against yours, his tongue barging in your mouth without warning, assaulting yours in tantalising ways that are better left unsaid. You loop your arms around the back of his head and drag him closer, your tits cushioning his shredded chest.

“Don’t leave, please,” he hushes, his lips caressing yours. His voice is huskier now, a bit rougher around the edges, and you can feel the warmth from his body merging with yours. His free hand slips down to the supple flesh of your waist again, fingers curling just under the hem of your top to tuck underneath.

You smirk against his mouth, tilting your head slightly. “You know, we do live together, sir” you tease, playfully pinching the tip of his nose.

“That’s a reminder in case you forgot,” he quips, nuzzling into the slope of your neck. His broad shoulders are curved over you from behind like a shield, throwing every organ in your body on high alert, your heart drumming violently.

He pulls back, and before you can react, he gives your ass a quick, cheeky smack that makes you jump. Your mouth drops open in surprise, but he just grins smugly, like he’s fully aware of what he’s done, and he’s proud of it.

“Hey!” you whimper, swatting at him, but there’s no denying your pulse thumps fiercely.

“What?” he squeaks sheepishly, throwing his hands up in exasperation, but the glint in his eye gives him away. “You look too good to keep my hands off. Plus, guess who was stuck in my head the whole day. Hint—it’s not the burgers,” he fires back, waggling his eyebrows at you.

You roll your eyes comically, but your heartbeat is up now. There’s something about the way he’s staring down at you—like he’s hungry, and it’s not just for the takeout. You notice it when he leans in again, this time with a heat that wasn’t there a moment ago. His lips trace a line of open mouthed kisses from your jaw to your collarbone. Your fingers twist around his shirt, gripping it, as his hands roam a little lower, tugging you closer until you can feel every ounce of him pressed against you.

“Speaking of burgers, if food’s your love language, then you’re speaking mine fluently,” you chuckle, but the second you catch the look Evan gives you—whoa, buddy. Food’s officially second on his menu. His eyes are a pair of flamed balls, fixed onto you like you’re the main course, dessert, and everything in between—like you’re the most appetising thing in the room.

And, let’s just say, he’s a lot more “warmed up” than usual. His kisses grow deeper, rougher, and the way he’s touching you are the real giveaway… The man’s practically simmering.

And oh, honey, you’re more than pleased to help him get away tonight. So, in your most casual, not-at-all-planned-in-your-head-already way, you decide tonight’s the night to put up a show… Literally.

You let your hands glide down his chest, feeling every erratic beat of his heart beneath his shirt. “You’ve been through a lot lately,” you murmur softly, your fingers dipping lower until you’re just hovering over his belt buckle, toying with the metal. “How about I pamper you tonight?”

You let your tongue slide over his upper lip, and damn if he doesn’t shudder. His eyes flash with thrill and curiosity—mixed with something darker, more primal. “Oh?” His voice comes out in this sexy rasp like he’s intrigued but still playing along, letting you lead for now.

You bite back a smug grin. Oh, you have no idea what you’re in for.

With a playful wink, you step back, making sure to drag your hand across his chest one last time. “Sit tight, big boy,” you purr, backing away with just the right amount of sway in your hips. “This show’s just getting started.”

You saunter down the hallway, feeling his gaze burning a path down your back. You can feel your heart pounding as you head into the bedroom, closing the door behind you. The second it clicks shut, you lean against it for a second to catch your breath. The adrenaline makes your hands quiver a little as you rummage through the drawer.

There it is: that little black number you’ve been saving for a night just like this.

A lacy, black lingerie piece, sheer in all the right places, hugging curves like it was made for you. You shimmy it on, adjusting the straps, making sure everything’s sitting just so.

A quick glance in the mirror as you set your hair free from the bun—tousled, sexy-but-effortless vibe, check. The lace hints at more than it conceals, and your lips curl into a slow smile. Oh, yeah, he’s done for. You toss on a silky robe, leaving it untied, the lace peeking through just enough to give him a preview. A little fragrance spritz and a light touch of your lipstick, and you’re sorted.

When you open the door and walk back into the living room, you find him perched on the couch, his eyes snapping to you like magnets, intense and feral, as you come into view. His posture is stiff, knuckles blanched as they grip the cushions like he’s holding on for dear life. His pupils, wide and black with want, devouring the sight of you as if you are something forbidden, yet irresistible.

His gaze lingers, darkening when it catches on the soft peek of skin where your robe parts. He swallows hard, audibly, and when you let the silky fabric slip from your shoulders and pool at your feet, his jaw clenches—hard (hint: and not just his jaw).

The low light of the room encases you as it casts a sensual glow over the room, deepening the shadows and sharpening the tension between you two like a blade.

“F-fuck,” he wheezes, like the breath’s been knocked clean and shallow out of him. He tries to maintain some semblance of self-control, but the sharp despair in his voice betrays him. He sinks deeper into the couch, spreading his legs slightly, shooting you this look that’s pure, unfiltered desire as he drinks you in.

You want to torture him, enjoying how his gaze rakes over every inch of you, so you slowly strut over to him. Each step is deliberate, your hips swinging in a slow, intoxicating rhythm that’s nothing short of tempting. His composure slips just a little more—a twitch in his jaw, a harsh swallow, the way his chest rises and falls, faster with every second. His eyes flick down to the curves, then back up to your scandalous tits before snapping back to your face.

The heat from his body radiates into yours as you come to a stop, your thighs rubbing against his knees, and his hands instinctively move to grab your waist. But you’re not giving in that easily. “Uh-uh,” you purr, wagging a teasing finger at him, your lips forming a sly smile.

His fingers freeze, but his eyes burn with frustration as you stretch, purposely slow, letting your ass hover just above his lap. The unmistakable press of his hardness through his jeans sends a jolt of arousal through you, and you can’t help but smirk. “I’m in charge tonight, remember?”

Evan lets out a furious groan, his head falling back defeated against the cushions, hands flexing in silent restraint. The power you hold over him tonight? Oh, it’s delicious, addictive. You throw him one last, seductive glance before turning around, giving him the full view of your barely-there lingerie—delicate straps criss-crossing down your back and framing your ass like a gift he’s dying to unwrap.

You hear as a muttered curse slips past his lips, low and guttural. He’s so close to breaking, and you haven’t even actually started yet. You scroll through your phone’s playlist, cueing up the perfect song for the occasion. The room is soon filled with the slow, sultry beats of Beyoncé’s ‘Dance For You,’ wrapping around both of you like a spell. You start slow, letting the music guide your hips, rolling in hypnotic circles.

You saunter towards a nearby chair, aka your prop, bending over it as your body flows like liquid heat to the beat. His eyes religiously follow every motion, waiting, his breathing growing heavier like he’s holding on a thread with every flick of your hips, every arch of your spine.

You roam your fingers up my body, teasingly stopping at your hips before dragging them higher, skimming over your breasts. With agonising slowness, you untie your bra, holding his attention and eye contact hostage. The second the lace slips off your body, you toss it in his direction with a devilish grin. He catches it with a hungry grunt, burying his face in the fabric like a man possessed, his smirk turning malicious as he inhales deeply.

“God, you’re killing me,” he groans, eyes exploding with thirst for you. The sight of him, chest heaving, lips slightly parted—oh, it’s so sadistically satisfying.

You’re gonna make him beg for it.

Leaning forward, just enough for your bare breasts to graze his chest, you bring your lips up to his ear, hot breath fanning the side of his face, “Good,” voice dripping with a promise for more. You pull back just a fraction, your lips curving into a wicked smile. “I’m just getting started.”

You circle behind him, and he twists his head, tracking your every move, but you’re not finished (no pun intended).

“Please, Y/N. Come sit on my lap, or my face…just—” His voice breaks, raw and pleading, his body squirming as he shifts, desperate for release. The power thrumming through your veins is out of this world, and you bite your bottom lip knowing you’ve got him right on the edge.

You start with the lightest touch, dragging your fingers over the hard lines of his shoulders, tracing down the sculpted muscles of his chest, feeling the shudder that runs through him as you slide lower. Your fingers brush over the taut muscles of his thighs.

His stiff length twitches beneath your touch, his growl of desire low and animalistic. His hands stretch again, desperate to reach for you, but you chuckle softly, knowing he’s at your mercy tonight. His usual command is gone, flipped on its head, and that hunger in his eyes tells you he’s loving every second of it.

The music pulses through the room as you circle back around to him. You bend low, your curves on full display, just close enough for him to grab a handful of your ass with an eager groan that rumbles through his chest. He finally pulls you into him, lips attacking your skin, trailing down your spine with feverish kisses as he peels your thong off. His breath brushes against your slit and clit as he descends, his lips so dangerously close it sends your body humming with desire.

He can smell your fertility; the pheromones emitting from your body intensify his animal instinct to breed. His breathing is erratic now, his body practically vibrating with need to take you, but you still “hold the leash.”

He breaths come out in heavy bursts as he watches you straddle him, knees planted on either side of his hips. You grind down slowly, feeling the friction as you move in slow, sensual circles. His hands latch onto your thighs, his grip harsh and desperate, leaving marks that make your skin tingle. But still, you don’t let him seize control. Not yet.

Leaning in, you pepper steamy kisses along his neck, feeling his rapid pulse beneath your lips, your teeth tracing the sharp edge of his jawline. You tenderly bite at his earlobe, and he growls lowly, his hands spasming with despair to grab you, but even then, you won’t allow him to touch you the way he wants.

“The more you resist, the harder I’ll fuck you,” he warns with a hiss, his voice dark. It’s a threat and a vow all rolled into one that sends a heat pooling between your thighs.

“Perfect,” you retort in a hushed whisper against the shell of his ear, lips barely brushing the corner of his mouth—teasing but not quite giving in. “That’s the idea, baby.”

You’re serving cunt, and he knows it well.

With a slow, calculated slide, you lower yourself down his body, your hands stripping him of his blazer as you go. You let your hands trace over his thighs and the hardened, erected mound in between. Kneeling between his legs, you lock eyes with him, watching the way his breath stutters, anticipation swirling in the air. Slowly, you unbuckle his belt, your fingers stroking his length just enough to drive him nuts as he lets out a shaky gasp.

You pop the button on his jeans and pull down the zipper with your teeth. The second you free him from the tight confines of denim, his aching cock springs out, pulsing with raw desire for you, the fabric of his boxers barely able to contain him.

You glance up at him again with a smug smile before leaning down, your lips brushing along his head. His hips buck instinctively, a ragged groan tearing from his throat. But you take your time, taunting him with light flicks of your tongue.

Finally, you wrap your lips around him, licking his sensitive red tip with the end of your tongue. You swirl it around and lap up the shiny little pearls of precum that keep seeping out in his pent-up arousal. “F-fuuuck, Y/N. You’re gonna make me blow in a sec,” he grunts out with a hitched voice as you take his whole size in your mouth.

Your eyes flash up at him, filled with mischief as you take him deeper, your lips stretching to fit his full size. “Isn’t that the point?” you murmur, your voice on a seductive octave. “I want you to cum hard... fucking hard all over me.”

Your fingers trace the thick vein along the underside of his shaft before squeezing his hardness and pumping with a fast and firm tempo. Your hand works in sync with your mouth as you suck the upper half of his delicious cock, pulling him in and out, each movement making him gasp and buckle uncontrollably.

His head falls back, eyes screwed shut, muscles tensing. Some inaudible drabble slips off him as he thrusts into your mouth. Pools of saliva are pouring out of the edges of your lips, your eyebrows knitted together as you keep gagging at his cock hitting the back of your throat. You push further, your lips tight around him as you meet his gaze once more, your eyes wild with intensity. His fingers weave into your hair, but he doesn’t force you—he doesn’t have to. You’re in the saddle tonight, guiding him closer to his magical release.

Your hand reaches for his, fingers intertwining as your head bobs up and down on him, earning little moans of delight from his chest. He’s a hot mess; trembling under the weight of the pleasure you’re generously giving him as you slide your mouth down his dick, your cheeks hollowed in a blend of sensual sucks and frantic pumps.

The sound of you gagging, the wet slurp of your lips, and the way you glance up at him so innocently, brow furrowed with effort, has him reeling. “Ahh, yeah, keep going,” he breathes out, biting his bottom lip.

He gets a good yet gentle grasp of your hair, thrusting into your mouth in shallow, desperate strokes, but you maintain control, building him up slowly, methodically. He adores your lips, especially the way they loop around his dick and release these mewling sounds against it.

But now, his whole body is shuddering, his cock jerking inside, and you can feel the tell-tale sign he’s about to bust his load in your mouth. The blood rushes to his dick, draining any sane thought and cell in his brain, leaving him driven only by his primal instinct and craving for climax.

You slide onto his throbbing cock once more, gobbling on it like the insatiable whore you are. He presses your head down and keeps you there for a few seconds. As you detach from his member to draw a breath, his body immediately locks up, his abs contracting, and then—he’s there.

His head snaps back as he erupts shivering whimpers of your name, painting your face with copious amounts of his thick, white, and deliciously salty cum, his release spilling over your lips.

You open your mouth, tongue stretched out, catching the last drops as you pump him, milking every ounce of his release. His cum drips down your chin, and you let your fingers swipe off the remnants from your face, licking them off slowly, savouring the taste. Nothing goes to waste as you look up at him, lips wet, cheeks flushed with the aftermath of his orgasm.

“You’re one hungry bitch, aren’t you?” he rasps, his voice strained, still shaky from the intensity of his high. He laughs weakly, dragging his thumb across your cheek with a tender caress, though his hard-on still convulses, not quite ready to soften. He winces as he tries to adjust himself, zipping up his jeans with difficulty, but the look of satisfaction on his face is unmistakable.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, licking your lips as you flash him a sly, knowing smirk. His chest rises and falls heavily, his face reddish, eyes droopy, still lost in the haze of afterglow.

Without wavering your eyes from him, you crawl up and climb to his lap, feeling your pussy drip with every inch of his skin that presses against you. He ogles your naked torso like a dog drooling over the bone. You position yourself just right, his semi-clothed swollen tip nudging against your slippery entrance.

“I am hungry for you, baby,” you purr with a pout as your fingertips draw lazy circles over the ridges of his abs. His eyes darken, filled with a renewed lust as he watches you, licking his lips like a predator eyeing its prey.

Letting out a dark, throaty chuckle, he wastes no time—he hammers his lips against yours, shoving his tongue deep into your mouth and kissing you with reckless abandon. His hands greedily paw at your tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers, tugging them just hard enough to make you moan against his lips.

The arousal between you is electric as your body grinds against his, the friction sending sparks flying through you both; it’s like static rubbing off against each other, and you are about to feel yourself short circuit any minute.

His hands hook around your ass cheeks before delivering a sharp, stinging slap that makes you yelp in pleasure, the sound echoing through the room. You press your lips harder against his with a mewl, tongues tangling.

“Evan,” you hush out between sloppy kisses, barely coherent amidst loud teeth smacking and clashing together. All thanks to his fingers dipping between your legs, teasing your clit with maddening eights as he grins victoriously, knowing he’s got you right where he wants you.

“My slut’s ready for me?” he hums, giving your ass another smack, the sound of flesh against flesh making you quiver with delight. Your hips swerve on his raging boner, the body-against-body friction igniting an ever-powerful spark within you both. To say you’re a ‘mere’ tease for him is an understatement.

“You’re doing so good, my baby girl,” he gruffs, and his rough, veiny hands glide possessively toward your rocking waist as you begin to rub yourself against his thigh, slowly... teasingly. Every roll of your hips has him biting his lip, his eyes glued to the way your body moves against him.

“You’re in night care, baby boy, remember?” you hush, your voice laced with dominance as you lift your hips, fingers deftly undoing his trousers again. Your hand wraps around his cock, positioning him at your slick slit. Slowly, achingly slow, you sink down onto him, inch by inch. The stretch forces a moaning gasp out of you as your body adjusts to accommodate his size. Fiery electricity surges through you both, and he hisses watching as your pulsating pussy desperately tries to swallow his cock.

His hands tighten on your hips as you take him deeper, your nails digging into his biceps when he bottoms out, filling you completely. The fullness makes you shudder, your breath leaving you in a jagged burst as his tip presses snugly against your cervix. The deep groan that escapes his throat vibrates through your body, making you clench around him involuntarily, his hips stilling cautiously.

You start to move, rolling your hips in slow, languid circles, setting a rhythm that’s equal parts torture and bliss for both. His hands grip you harder, leaving faint red imprints on your flushed flesh, but he doesn’t push or pull—he’s letting you have the upper hand in riding him, his eyes dark and hungry as he admires you, mouth parted. The way he’s looking at you though? Like you’re a goddess descending from the heavens just for him. Oh, that does something to you.

“Look at you, baby. So fucking gorgeous, taking me like that,” he murmurs, pride and desire dripping from every word. A crooked smile is etched on his face hearing the sloshing whines squawk out of your poor needy folds as they cling to his cock. Every thrust, every grind, every little whimper from your lips makes his large member throb inside you, stretching you deliciously as you plop up and down on him.

You lean down, sealing your lips in a hungry, desperate kiss, your tongues twirling in a messy dance. It’s all teeth and moans again as he hits that sweet spot deep inside. It’s the type of kiss that makes time stop, like nothing else exists except for the raw, primitive connection between you two.

His hands trail up your bare back, fingers tangling in your hair, keeping you close as you grind down harder. Your bodies move in sync, perfectly attuned to each other, and you can feel his cock twitching inside you with every movement. His eyes dart down to your bouncing breasts and toned stomach, but you quickly grab his jaw, tilting his head up to meet your gaze. “Nu-uh,” you whisper against his lips, your voice tinged with authority. “Eyes on mine, boy.”

He lets off a hearty chuckle, even going so far as to wriggle your ass back against him. “You feel so damn amazing, baby,” he huffs, voice rough with desire, talking over your whiny babbles. He cranes his neck to kiss the edge of your jaw before tenderly nipping at the skin.

Panting heavily, you exhale, “I could do this all night.” Your hips move faster, sliding up and down his thick length, the friction sending bolts of euphoria through you. His breathing grows ragged, and you can feel the tension rising, winding tighter and tighter. You’re so soft—sweet gummy flesh compressing around him with such ease, wringing him tight like a vice. He chokes when your pussy flutters—the way you clamp down on his dick makes his body go slack and his eyes roll back.

He lets out a low groan, barely holding himself together as your walls squeeze around him. “Thaaat’s it, hngh. This pussy knows it’s place,” he grouses, and your eyes widen, realising the shift in dynamic—he’s reclaimed control, already winning ground, sis. Before you know it, his plumpish tip drills further between each corner of your dripping cunt. Your small sobs amplify as he starts to move beneath you, his hips thrusting up harder, making your entire body quake with each deep pound.

“I love fucking you so much,” he grunts, nearly whining, his head tilting back as his cock jerks inside you.

Before you can fully catch your breath, Evan’s grip tightens on your hips. With one fluid motion, he lifts you off him, his arms hook beneath your thighs. You gasp, caught off guard, your body hanging in his grasp as he stands up, practically growling with primal need.

“You’re mine now,” he says, his voice low and dangerous, sending a bolt of excitement straight down your spine.

Without hesitation, he spins you around, carrying you across the room, your legs instinctively bundling around his waist. You’re in such a sweet, sexual brain fog that it takes you a second to get what’s going on. With one swift movement, he sweeps his arm across the dining table, sending glasses, cutlery, and whatever else is there crashing to the floor in a chaotic symphony of clatters.

“Evan!” You giggle dazedly, hands clasping on his shoulders as he sets you down on the table, the cold wood against your back making you shiver—but not nearly as much as the fire blazing in his eyes.

He leans over you and shushes you with a kiss, his lips brushing against yours as he pushes your legs apart. “I’m not done with you yet.”

You don’t have time to argue—not that you want to. He grabs your hips, yanking you to the very edge of the table, his body wedged firmly between your legs. There’s no remorse in his eyes—just pure, animalistic desire. One hand snakes under your ass, the other glides down your left thigh, lifting it effortlessly over his broad shoulder. The way he leans down and looks at you now, almost in slow motion... gosh. It’s like you’re the only thing he’s ever needed… like nothing else matters but taking you right here, right now, and it sets your entire body on fire.

He wants to smash, and he’ll get it.

The scent of your cunt is intoxicating, stirring every primal instinct inside Evan that he knows he must keep in check. He draws his hips back slowly, only his tip nestling inside you, then jams just once inside you. Your whole body jumps at the impact, your pleading eyes boring deep into his, a breathy hum punched out of you. He pulls back and slams forward again, growling through his teeth. Your pillowy walls are cuddling him, his heavy balls aching to be drained, eager to breed the fertile womb his tip is wedged against.

His hands roam up your thighs, grasping you like he can’t get enough. With each slow, deliberate stroke, he sinks deeper into you, your body arching off the table in response. The sensation of him rutting in and out of your sobbing sex is overwhelming—every movement has your breath hitching, your fingers clutching the edge of the table, desperate for some kind of anchor.

Your orgasm is building again, fast and intense. As the pressure inside you give way to climax, tears cascade down your burning cheeks, your features contorted in ecstasy.

“E-Evan, I can’t take it! T-too much!”

He smirks, shaking his head. “Say please, baby,” he grits out, his voice low and commanding. His hips thrust into yours harder, making you lose all sense of logic. Your mind is blank, mouth hanging open, unable to form words as the pleasure consumes you.

“P-please,” a pained mewl tumbles out of you, and that single word tips him off the edge. His hips stutter, and with a series of deep thrusts along with a carnal chant of “ah, ah, ah, ah” pouring from his lips, he gushes inside you—creamy gooey ropes of cum dribble into you, not missing at all.

He’s panting heavily, hips jerking involuntarily as he empties himself, filling you to the brim with thick, sticky cum.

His groans of satisfaction blend with your breathy moans as you cling to him, feeling his weight stick against your skin like it’s adhesive. You bite into the soft skin of his neck, muffling your whimpers as he continues to thrust lazily, drawing out every last bit of his orgasm.

“Come for me,” he demands, his voice low and raspy, each word filled with the same raw desire that’s coursing through your veins. “I wanna feel you.”

That’s it—the words, the intensity, the feeling of him completely owning your body, claiming you in a way that makes your head spin—have you on a chokehold. You suck in lungfuls of air as the incoming pangs of orgasmic waves smash over you with impossible force. You can’t hold back the loud moans spilling from your lips, your body arching up and writhing beneath him as you come hard, your walls spasming around his cock.

He presses his forehead to yours, his hand gently stroking your cheek, his breath hot against your lips. Your body convulses uncontrollably in his arms as he rides out your climax with you, his cock still throbbing inside your over-sensitive core.

As you come down, your breaths laboured and uneven, he buries his head to your chest, his mouth warm against your skin as his kisses travel down to your boobs, his tongue flicking over your sensitive nipples. Each subtle touch sends aftershocks of pleasure through you, your body still buzzing from the intensity of it all.

You huff, a breathless laugh escaping your lips. “You’re a menace, you know that?” you whisper, still trying to catch your breath. But he’s not done yet. You giggle softly as he moves lower, planting tingly smoochies to your skin, his breath like a warm breeze against your thighs.

“You smell like honey… I wanna taste you,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose into the soft curve of your inner thigh. His fingers part your sloping folds, spreading you open for him as he watches the glistening cum leak from your swollen pussy. His primitive need to eat you up tests his sense of control.

His tongue plunges between your labia, stretching them up with a slow and deliberate lick. Your thighs quiver around his head in the aftershocks of your climax, straining moans and semi-shrieks falling from your lips as his tongue dives deeper between your folds. The wet sound of him slurping up the mix of your juices and his cum is obscene, but it only drives you wilder, especially as he mumbles the moto, “Y/N... Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Your fingers lace in his drenched thick, curly brown locks, holding him in place. The untamed animal inside him is finally sated, fed well at the meal between your thighs. His teeth sink ever-so-lightly into the plump pout of your lips, and you can’t stop the desperate little wails flipping from your throat.

Your eager pussy can’t help but drool. Streams of your slick cascade down between the crevices of your thighs and coat the entirety of his fingers. With a rosy flat tongue, he pads and licks you clean, taking every few seconds to pull his fingers in—only to push them right back out. As he re-enters, he pokes against your g-spot again, and again, and again…

That’s all it takes for the sharp twisting coil to snap within you for the second time, and your thighs turbulently shake within his feeble grasp. “Fuck, fuck,” you choke out, your breath coming in hollow bursts as you feel his hushed praises and loving words ghost against your clit. You can’t stay still for the life of you—it’s as if every muscle in your body rips apart once you come into his mouth, your jaw slackened and your eyes widened.

“Ohmygodohmygod,” you ramble, and Evan’s still flicking his tongue against your sobbing slit.

You’re making a mess out of him, and he’s still eating it up—the dedication. His chin got such a pretty glimmer of shine all thanks to your slick running down. With an echoing pop, he slides his fingers off your pussy, stretching his digits further apart just to see how your sap glues against them. The shaking from your multiple orgasmic release keeps on, the ringing in your ears never subsiding.

“Mmph, Y/N. So beautiful,” he cries out, his voice cracking with emotion as he presses a kiss to your swollen, sensitive lips. Your sweet slickness smears against his stubble even more, but he couldn’t care less. All that matters is you, lying there beneath him, glowing with the outcome of your pleasure.

Evan’s gaze lingers on you for a long moment, his chest still heaving as he melts in the sight of you—flushed, trembling, thoroughly wrecked from the intensity of what just happened. His hand gently strokes your thigh, trailing up and down in soothing circles as the both of you come down from the high together.

Propping your weight on your elbows, you stare down on him, a lazy grin playing at the corners of your lips. You pull him up for a sloppy, rough kiss. Your fingers pinch on his well-defined jaw as he rests on top of her. You can feel his stiff length press against her stomach, and it feels great.

You reach up to brush his damp hair from his forehead. “You really know how to leave a girl breathless,” you mumble teasingly, though your voice is barely above a whisper, still catching.

A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest, and he leans into your touch, nuzzling his cheek against your palm. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispers, and you giggle softly, the sound light and airy.

You lay there for a while, the after-sex haze still buzzing through your veins. Evan’s sprawled out on the sofa, shirtless. His hair is all tousled, looking like some kind of model from a cologne ad—except sexier, and definitely more accessible. You watch him, feeling a dopey grin spread across your face. This man… God, this man.

You pull yourself up, snuggling into that familiar blue blanket from the edge of the couch—the one you always steal when it’s movie night, or when you’re feeling cosy after a particularly intense workout (aka “fuck time”).

“You look like a smurf burrito,” Evan quips, his hand lazily draped across his abs as he watches you pace around the room.

You snort, cuddling deeper into the blanket. “Better than looking like a sweaty, shirtless disaster.” You throw him a wink and a brow waggle, but honestly, the view is prime real estate right now. That man should charge admission.

He smirks smugly, running a hand through his messy curls. “Sweaty, shirtless disaster, huh? I was under the impression you were enjoying said disaster inside you just a few minutes ago.”

“Touché,” you giggle as you flop down the sofa, letting your head fall back against the armrest. “But the jury’s still out on whether I enjoyed it or tolerated it.”

“Oh, is that so?” His eyebrow quirks, and that playful gleam you love so much flickers back in his eyes. He leans forward, crawling towards you on the sofa with that predator-like grace, his hands landing on either side of your bundled-up self.

“Maybe.” You bite your lip, trying to keep a straight face, but your heart's already doing flips at the way he’s looking at you. Damn, those eyes.

“Hmm. Well, maybe I should just—” Evan dips down, his lips grazing your ribcage, making you gasp. You wriggle away playfully, pulling the blanket up higher as if it’s some kind of armour.

“Okay, okay! I loved it. Five stars on Yelp, glowing review and a side of fries.” You’re laughing now, barely able to keep up the act.

Evan chuckles triumphantly, that warm, rumbling sound that makes your pulse leap in your throat. “Five stars? Well, that must make me the Michelin Man of love.”

“Please,” you laugh, “the only thing you’re qualifying for is most likely to be found with a pizza slice in hand.”

His grin widens, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head. “Well, speaking of pizza, how about we start planning our wedding menu? I’m thinking pepperoni and extra cheese for the wedding cake. You know, something to make the guests feel like they’re in a pizzeria.”

You roll your eyes, giggling at his ridiculousness. “So, pizza-themed wedding, huh? What are we going to serve? Breadsticks as the bouquet?”

“Absolutely! And the best part? I’ll have a pepperoni ring!” He starts mimicking a ring toss, and you can’t help but crack up.

“Oh wow, my future husband is a real romantic,” you say, shaking your head in mock disbelief.

But then Evan leans in closer, his expression turning serious, and you feel the air shift. “But really, I want to make sure I don’t just slice into this whole ‘life together’ thing. I want to do it right. So, how about we order that wedding cake now because…” He reaches into his pocket, and your heart skips a beat as he pulls out a small velvet box.

You narrow your eyes in suspicion as you sit up. “What are you doing? Is this some kind of prank”

“Well, not exactly a prank. Unless you think proposing is some kind of joke.”

Your heart stops.

“What?” The word barely squeaks out, and you’re pretty sure your brain just exploded. Did he—did he just say proposing?

Evan’s mouth pulls into this soft smile, and before you know it, he’s dropping to one knee on the sofa. “I mean, I’ve got the ring and all that the protocol requires,” he mutters and your eyes bulge, mouth agape. “...and I don’t want to waste another minute from making you my wife!”

Your heart stops.

You leap up from the sofa, shaky hands flying to your mouth, shock flooding your system. The blanket almost slips off, eyes wide and heart pounding like you’re on the world’s most chaotic and steepest rollercoaster. Did he—did he also just say wife? “Are you serious?”

“Y/N,” he starts, his voice a little shaky but full of that Evan confidence that always makes you feel like the only person in the room, “I’ve been through a lot lately. We both have. But the one constant through it all—through the tough days and the good ones, the sleepless nights and the mornings I wake up next to you—is that I want every single day to be with you.”

Your eyes are already welling up, and you try to blink back the tears because oh my God, he’s really doing this.

“From the moment I saw you in that club, I never looked away. We started off with a bang, quite literally, but I’ve felt like I’ve known you my whole life and won the love lottery. You’re my jackpot. The reason I smile—even when I feel like I’ve hit every bump on the road. You make even the ordinary feel extraordinary, and I want to make this last forever.”

Your eyes are already welling up, and you try to blink back the tears because oh my God, he’s really doing this. Your pulse hammers so loud you swear he can hear it. And then it hits you. Yes.

“So here I am, making it official, ready to take a gamble on the biggest bet of my life. Will you marry me and make me the luckiest man on the planet?” He opens the little box, revealing the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen—a subtle and stunning band with a sparkling diamond that seems to catch the soft light of the room just right.

You can’t even form words. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish, and your heart throbs so hard, you’re sure it’ll burst out of your chest.

“You drive me crazy in the best way possible. You’re my best friend, my partner in crime, my favourite person to order burgers with. I want to spend the rest of my life making you laugh, making you mad, and maybe every now and then... sweeping plates off the table to get to you faster.” He smirks, his eyes twinkling.

“Evan!” you gasp, half-laughing through your tears, remembering the chaos from a few minutes ago.

He chuckles heartily, but there’s something so tender in his expression now. “So, will you do me the honour of marrying me?” He opens the little box, revealing the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen—a simple yet stunning band with a sparkling diamond that seems to catch the soft light of the room just right.

You can’t even form words. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish, and your heart is pounding so hard you’re sure he can hear it. And then it hits you. Yes.

“Yes!” you shout, your voice breaking with joy as you toss the blanket aside and fling yourself into his arms, knocking him backward onto the sofa. He laughs as you straddle his waist, hugging him tight, tears of joy streaming down your face.

“I love you,” you whisper breathlessly, kissing him hard, your heart swelling with so much love it feels like it might burst.

“I love you too,” he murmurs, smiling up at you as you kiss him again, both of you tangled in this beautiful, overwhelming moment.

He slips the ring onto your finger, and you hold your hand up, marvelling at how perfectly it fits—how perfectly it all fits.

And as you both lie there, wrapped up in each other and the ridiculousness of the moment, Evan chuckles. “So, Smurf burrito, looks like you’re stuck with me for life.”

You laugh, smothering his face with smoochies of aggressive cuteness magnitude. “Lucky me. Now... about those burgers? I’m still hungry.”

Evan grins, pulling you closer. “First, how about I show you just how well I can speak your love language?”

“Burgers first, then more disaster sex,” you tease, giggling as he tries to tickle you.

“Deal,” he whispers, stealing another kiss, because honestly, in this moment, you’re the best thing on the menu.

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Taglist: sillysillygyal, junkie4weezer, frankiesweird, divinerulerz, nickrhodeslittledarling, @babymazz

Announcement

This might not be a forever goodbye, and who knows, a spinoff of this series might pop up someday, but this is going to be the final part, y’all. I’ll admit, I sometimes feel like I’m navigating through a tiny room with towering walls in this digital space; like my creative expression is being restricted and policed, and I cannot fully communicate or channel my “writing persona,” if you will, in here. Still, every bit of your love and support has made it worth it. I’ve poured so much into this world, and Evan, well… he’s been an incredible muse through it all. So, thanks a bunch, truly. xx

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seat-safety-switch · 3 months ago

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Civilization as we know it is wholly dependent on the functioning of coffee makers. It's our greatest weakness as a species: we crave the hot bean juice, but we need machines to make it. Sure, some of those machines are as simple as "cram two mesh thinguses together over it," but they are still machines. If you were stranded on a desert island with a buncha beans, do you think you could make coffee?

Don't fool yourself, you can barely mash a potato. Chances are no. It's terrifying, honestly. Humanity, in the end, are slaves to the machines that we foolishly trusted most with our breakfast routines. And I'm no different, which is why I've devised a cool new way to get coffee in the mornings.

That way is telling a bunch of survivalist YouTubers about the problem, getting them good and angry about my flippant attitude towards their authentic 8th-century mud huts, and then forgetting about the whole thing. Our greatest strength as a species is getting super pissed and doing incredible things out of spite. The computer you're reading this on was invented by Charles Babbage in order to get back at the guy who made his machine screws inconsistently.

When I remembered a couple months later, I quickly checked YouTube at the public library. And there, a huge quantity of what would be best described as Stone Age coffee makers. One particularly enterprising dude had even begun making a sundial-based timer system. A couple others just smashed the beans with hammers before sticking them in an old sock to be boiled. All excellent production, but nothing compared to the one guy who figured out how to make cold fusion from nothing but a bunch of sticks. Sure, he revolutionized the energy architecture of the entire planet from first principles, but he didn't actually get around to making a coffee maker to plug into it. Part marks.

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unsoundedcomic · 1 month ago

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Whumptober 2024 - 15 - "Childhood Trauma"

Will Argenti leaned in close, to be heard above the chatter of the busy tea house. "Do you ever dream about it?"

He sounded sad, uncertain. Mikaila wasn't so very much in the correct temper for sad uncertainty. "Look," she answered instead, grinning and pointing through the crowd. Her friend Genevieve was trying to balance four little plates of green tart, two in each hand. "Genny!" Mikaila called, "Genny, you're listing starboard! Ah! There you are, perfect! Upright! Upright! Impeccable! You're almost here-! Will, no!"

Will had moved to vacate his seat and help her, but Mikaila held him fast by the arm. "There is Mr Farold," she whispered, gesturing to a red-faced Soud scolding two Soud waitresses near the dessert case, "We need him to see her excellent balance and coolness under pressure. Genevieve is questing for employment here in the spring, while her Tomas ventures to Grettaerin on an errand for the family. Her father said she can wait for him if she brings in some coin while he is gone. Is that not the most romantic thing?"

"I don't want Genevieve serving here," Will groused, "She hates me and she'll skimp on pours."

"Genny is a perfect doll," Mikaila protested, "If she doesn't like you there is some good reason for it."

"I might have called Tomas a cocksucker once."

Mikaila's hand flew to her lips but the laugh was too fast for her, and spilled out everywhere. Will would never use such language with the other girls. But those were other girls. "What did Tomas do to you?" she asked merrily. Will shrugged a shoulder and started emptying his pipe into a drained tea glass.

"He was spelling his boots clean and I didn't like the way he asked me why mine were so muddied. He knew why. Cocksucker."

Mikaila exhaled through her teeth, one eye still on Genevieve's cake walk. "Is it growing worse, old bean?"

"I don't like pymary, is all," Will answered without answering, "I don't like it. You can tutor me until the silver's gone out my hair and into yours, but I'll never like it."

Mikaila didn't doubt it. She'd learned it was her good friend's heart and her good friend's memories that were in the way of her good friend's spellcraft. There was otherwise no reason why a young Silver gentleman with William Argenti's prospects had such difficulties conversing with the khert. "You think about it too much," she diagnosed, quieter, "I see it come upon you, when you cast. You tremble like the last… like the last bead of water, hanging to the kettle spout. You're so afraid of… what? Falling? Failing?"

Some guttural grunt hunched in Will's throat. He looked away. "I'm not bloody afraid. I just don't like it."

Wisely, Mikaila did not press the point. Genevieve had been stopped by Mr Farold. Some earnest conversation was happening there, but still the tart plates wobbled. How might Mikaila salvage them if they started to tip? So delicate, the motions so erratic. Her palms burned as she thoughtfully licked her lips and considered Momentum reversals. Oh, Ssael, would it be worse if Genny lost a plate or two or if four tarts catapulted up splat! against the ceiling?

Will watched her intently. Then, again, he asked: "Do you dream about it?"

"Hmm?" She jiggled her head a little as though dislodging a fly. "Sometimes. Less and less. But then I wake up, and it is today. The sun is high, there are new things to learn, and everyone I love is here and safe."

"Not everyone."

Mikaila's attention did not stray from Genevieve and her four plates.

"You remember him better than I do, Will. Don't think me wicked, but I'm happy to forget. Papa says memories are heavy, but we're the only ones stopping ourselves from setting them down."

"That doesn't make sense." Anger darkened Will's eyes to the colour of a storm's belly, and he scowled down at his weed pouch. Half his pinch was spilled to the tabletop. He gathered it up, tried to mash the moist strands together, but his hard wooden fingers were not well suited to the delicate work.

"How does it not make sense?" Mikaila asked gently.

"I was even younger than you when that monster- that monster ate my arm. But I haven't forgotten any of it. The stink of its mouth. The two-toes' eyes shining in the dark. And knowing that Roger Foi-Hellick was laughing about all of it; near but not near enough to kill him, hiding, laughing." The fingers of his simulacrum fumbled the pinch again. Mikaila touched his false wrist in a wordless gesture. He paused, and she gathered the fragrant strands herself.

"I think what happened to you was far worse," she whispered, pushing the wad into the pipe bowl, "And perhaps you haven't had… all I had. Perhaps it's worse for you now, even still."

"Don't say that. I don't want to hear that dogshit. Forget it, I'm fine. Everything in Durlyne is fine. And I don't dream about anything."

She put the pipe in his hand, closed his clicky false fingers over the stem, and pointedly did not light it with a spell. Will reached instead to his belt for a firestarter. Drag, scratch, flick! and then flame. It was a good smell. The weed caught, smouldered, and that smell was even better. Happier to associate it with Will than with a dead man. A dead man, impossibly tall, hunched over a desk in a messy library, puffing fragrant clouds, singing an old aria to himself while he scratched line after line in a book she was not allowed to read…

"My sincerest and humblest apologies for the wait, madame!" called Genevieve suddenly. Without a sound, a plate of green tart was settled atop the table - very professional! - then slid towards Mikaila, who clapped with showy gusto and appreciation.

And maybe a little pymary. She touched the base of her throat.

"I'VE NEVER EXPERIENCED SUCH EXQUISITE SERVICE!" boomed her voice over the heads of the tea house's clientele. Each one swivelled to face her. "I SHALL BE TELLING ALL OF MY FAMILY AND FRIENDS OF THIS FINE DINING EXPERIENCE."

Genevieve coloured prettily and Mikaila knew without asking that she'd been offered a job. "Thank you, madame! Honourable patron! Respected customer! And this man, is this your servant? Here you are, Silver Boy, some tart for you."

She set the tiniest of the slices in front of Will. A very long and curly blonde hair was draped across it, and the crust was broken. He sighed.

#unsounded #whumptober #for darling miao

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tozettastone · 2 months ago

Note

Fic prompt? Soulmate au: time travel!Itachi is Hashirama's soulmate. (Actually, maybe it's Itachi from Kabu, who knows)

Itachi's soul mark read, 'You must really like hanging around here, huh, shinobi-san?' in a hand that was at once both old fashioned and incredibly sloppy. But if he was honest, the mark had never had much impact on his life. Romantic ideas about soulmates had been out of fashion since before he was born. Besides, Itachi's own priorities were his village, his brother, and himself, in that order. These three had been so at odds with one another that including another party on that list seemed like a recipe for disaster.

By the time he retired to Kabu, the soulmate seemed perfectly irrelevant. On the odd occasion that he thought about them, he was uncomfortable at best. Sure, Itachi's obligations had all been discharged at last and he'd survived it mostly by coincidence... but now, at twenty two, his body and mind were so degraded that it seemed almost as though it might be a shame for a soulmate to appear. What, exactly, would such a person be getting in the shape of Itachi?

The tiny farming settlement that he'd come to call home was all he needed now. He had his little garden plot and his stretch of farmland that he barely tended, his cat and his geese, and his idiosyncratic, naive and well-meaning neighbours. Kabu was incredibly peaceful. (It remained peaceful in part because Itachi had come to address disturbances to that peace as though they were personally offensive.)

Itachi liked peace.

He was walking through a stretch of climbing beans on one cool spring morning, with Radish digging her tiny claws into his shoulder, when he fell through a crack in space-time.

He found that inconvenient, and not particularly peaceful.

He found himself falling, and with poor depth perception and little time to react, he executed one of the sloppier landings of his career: a meaty THUMP as his chakra-reinforced limbs bent to absorb the impact. The leafy forest floor beneath him compacted and cracked.

He cradled Radish to his chest one-handed for the drop, even though she was doubtless capable of falling from a tremendous height and landing on her own four paws. He wasn't surprised when she hissed, scratched him, and leapt away to go haring off into this strange forest.

Despite Radish's many excellent qualities and superior hunting skills, she was just a cat. If you scared her as badly as a sudden searing drop through space-time must have, she'd run away. But Itachi knew that, as long as he didn't go too far, she'd find him again.

He explored the area. It was a forest, but a different kind of forest to the one near Kabu. The trees were larger and sturdier, offering thicker cover. They reminded Itachi much more of the ones that surrounded Konoha. They even smelled identical.

Was this, then, what had happened? He'd fallen afoul of some natural chakra or local kami or an unseen shinobi's technique, and been somehow transported closer to his family's old home? Itachi did not want to visit Konoha. The village offered him nothing but ghosts and a bitter yearning for a time he could never reclaim.

The sun was up, through the trees, and so high in the sky that it was probably not far from noon, which made it fairly useless for navigation but meant he had lost several hours at least. He hoped he had not lost more time than that.

Itachi was not a particularly gifted sensor, but he could feel dimly that there were several large chakra signatures nearby. Ninja were a suspicious and hostile lot, but his reputation was such that few of them tried to pick fights with him unless they really had to. He could probably get away with just... walking up and politely asking for their shared time, date and location. It wasn't privileged information.

Itachi walked slowly. The forest was pleasant — green, shady, rustling faintly, full of the scents decaying leaves and wood and new green growth. He had no need to rush back to Kabu, and there was no good that could come from stressing his cardiovascular system. His illness responded to the weather, physical activity, sleep, emotional stress and the random whims of fate in equal measure.

After about a mile, Radish slunk out of the undergrowth to follow him step by step instead, rubbing herself on his ankles as he walked. She was absolutely underfoot and in his way, but it was only a little extra effort not to tread on her.

Itachi's eyesight was degraded from years of using the mangekyo sharingan, and it was now so poor that he couldn't make out individual leaves or twigs. His footsteps were quiet, but that was a chakra trick that came as second nature to him now.

His poor eyesight meant that he did not spot the trap quickly enough. Itachi had proceeded expecting something complex on the order of the force that had brought him here. He had not expected to be facing what appeared to be a well-hidden but very standard perimeter trap.

The hidden line snapped taut around Itachi's ankle and hoisted him up into the branches of the tall, sturdy trees.

For a second he spun there in slow circles. As he turned he caught a flash of old fashioned armour moving, leaping from the trees to land almost beneath him.

The armour belonged to a ninja who looked equally old-fashioned — tall and dark-haired, with the build of a taijutsu fighter and the chakra of a ninjutsu specialist. Combined with the armour, he looked like one of the older generation of wartime shinobi. The third shinobi war saw the rise of much greater team coordination and concomitant specialisation, even in assault squads. This was especially true in Konoha.

Radish, who had been spooked again when Itachi suddenly found himself heaved into the air to dangle and spin upside down, leapt at the ninja with an aggressive growl that Itachi had never once heard her make before.

He caught her around the middle. "Easy! Easy, kitty," he said, a sentiment for which she lacked any sympathy if her yowling was any indication.

Itachi slashed at the line holding him with a knife. It was not even a kunai, as he'd stopped carrying them, but rather a hooked and serrated harvesting knife. It growled against the line, but didn't cut through it — it seemed to be coated wire, not rope..

The big ninja held onto Radish effortlessly while she thrashed, apparently unconcerned by her attempts to free herself by force. He turned and grinned up at Itachi and then provided a devastatingly goofy quip: "You must really like hanging around here, huh, shinobi-san?"

Itachi wasn't paying much attention to the actual words. His brain registered the tone of someone who thought he was being clever, certainly, but he was watching Radish, cataloguing how her little claws scratched madly — and ineffectively _ at the shinobi's armour. Couldn't this buffoon see he was scaring her?

The wire holding aloft was resistant to blades. Fine. He spat a plume of fire at it instead, so hot it burned blue. Dangerous spatters of boiling metal hit the ground as it melted, but a single split-second glance with the sharingan predicted their paths. He evaded them.

He landed on his feet, eyes dark once more. He wasn't as fit, physically, as he had once been. If he had to fight, it would be best to avoid showing off his doujutsu, the better to surprise someone.

Really, he didn't want to fight at all. Itachi was not particularly bloodthirsty.

"Let go of her and you may yet retain the use of your hands," he offered, magnanimously.

There was a second's pause.

"You!" the big armoured ninja cried, but he did let Radish go — or perhaps, more accurately, he was so distracted by Itachi's statement that he loosened his hold, and Radish, being a clever cat, took advantage of his lapse to wriggle free and launch herself off his armour. This time, instead of bolting into the forest, she raced back to Itachi. She wound around behind him and peered out from around one of his ankles with a hostile expression, green eyes wide and pupils slitted close.

As far as Itachi could tell without using his sharingan — which wasn't very far, as his sight was very degraded — she was moving more or less as he expected her to move. She was probably not injured. Probably.

"All this time, it was about a cat?" the armoured ninja asked incredulously. "I thought it was going to be about at least a sister or a child or something..."

Itachi reviewed the last few moments.

Oh.

So this, then, was his soulmate?

To Itachi's eyes, he was a blur of warm-toned skin and dark hair and heavy armour. It was difficult to make out his facial features, but he was taller and heavier than Itachi himself. He seemed... foolish. But his chakra was dense, highly-developed and felt enormous.

He did not seem to be offering violence just yet, so Itachi merely laid down a precautionary genjutsu — the world as it was, but everything three inches to the left — and let him ramble on.

"Radish," he murmured, tuning his soulmate out entirely.

She looked up at him and twitched her ears. He gestured, and she leapt to his arm. He felt her little body, testing the little bones for any flinching or hissing. When he found none, he let her scale her pointy way up to his shoulder.

She smacked her little skull against his and rubbed her face so hard on his cheekbone that she smashed her face in her enthusiasm, and he felt a strange damp smear from her eye. He scratched behind her ear and returned his attention to his soulmate, who seemed to be having some kind of... emotional episode.

In Itachi's family, emotional episodes were typically managed by sullen repression followed by eventual unholy rage. His soulmate was of a different school of thought, evidently, because he was crouched, facing away, sharing his woes with a tree in a rambling and disorganised sort of way.

"...cat! I didn't ... possible it could be a cat... soulmate ... ignoring... cat..."

"Anija," came a strong voice from above, accompanied by barely a whisper of chakra. "The sealing experiment was a failure."

Itachi glanced up to receive an impression of pale skin, fluffy fur, and equally heavy armour.

"Excuse me," said Itachi, steadying Radish on his shoulder with one hand as he looked up. "Do you know where we are?"

The pale figure dropped from the trees to the ground below without a sound.

"You're in Senju clan territory, shinobi." It was a suspicious voice, but for all its hostility, there wasn't a flicker of killing intent... yet. "Are you claiming you're lost?"

"Yes," said Itachi. Very lost, he added privately to himself, because there had been no such thing as 'Senju clan territory,' for generations, since they'd founded Konoha.

"He's not lost!" yelped the other ninja, emerging from his despairing funk in 0.24 seconds to whirl around and wave his arms. "He's my soulmate!"

Itachi blinked slowly. He, personally, had never put much value on the idea of a soulmate. It was old-fashioned to be so deeply invested in that romantic idea — growing up, most of the people he had known who had met their soulmates had become fast friends with them, but they had still married who the clan told them to. But, evidently, Itachi had come to be in a place and time at which old-fashioned values prevailed.

"I believe there was a space-time... event," he offered to the pale one, who seemed most inclined to talk sense.

He kind of wished either of them would come closer so he could make out their faces, but he would avoid revealing the sharingan if he could, now that he knew he was in what anyone might still call 'Senju clan territory'. Itachi was not ignorant to his clan's history.

"Oh," said the new, pale figure.

There was a short and awkward pause.

"Yes. I... suppose there was."

"You summoned my soulmate!" the first one really did not sound like he knew whether he was delighted or aghast, and instead just sounded overwhelmed. "Otouto! My soulmate!"

"Your soulmate, in front of whom you're embarassing yourself. Yes, I see that." This statement caused a whimper and what seemed like a physical deflation in the elder brother, but the younger one continued as if utterly unfazed. This behaviour was normal, then. "Where and when did you come from?"

Itachi told him, for he had no reason not to — and if he had, as seemed likely, been subject to an accident caused by his soulmate's brother, then its remedy might be in his power, too.

But if it wasn't... Itachi really had nothing waiting for him at home. Just Radish, really. And she was here with him now.

(He touched her head. She rubbed her face on his fingers.)

"...That's a great many years. I think you had better come with us, shinobi-san, and introduce yourself to our encampment."

Itachi contemplated this. He was not certain that he wanted to follow a Senju shinobi into an encampment of more Senju shinobi at this time in history. He used his sharingan relatively frequently to pick out confounding details in daily life. He did not want to end up a prisoner of a war he cared little about.

This was when his soulmate at last reinflated himself and approached Itachi, coming close enough to expose the details of his face to Itachi's failing eyes.

"I think we might have got off on the wrong foot," he said, reaching out to clap Itachi on the arm.

He was so startled to recognise the man's face — fromstatues! — that he didn't sway out of the way of his hand, which seemed only to encourage him.

Itachi could feel the strange, sweet warmth where his hand landed. This was supposed to be common, between soulmates, but he'd never imagined it.

"I'm Senju Hashirama, and this is my little brother, Tobirama. It's a pleasure to meet you at last. Please come back to the camp with us!" He bowed with this last request, armour clanking softly.

"I..." Itachi blinked slowly. Somehow, exactly no part of his life had prepared him for this event.

How strange that after a lifetime of ignoring the very prospect of a soulmate, he was now faced with the reality of a permanent soul bond with Senju Hashirama, legendary warrior and founder of his own village.

"Nobody will hurt your cat!" Hashirama assured him, as though that was the key question. "I personally guarantee her safety!"

The pale blob of Tobirama's body shifted behind him — crossing his arms over his chest, Itachi thought. Senju Tobirama was crossing his arms at him like a petulant teenager.

"I won't lie and guarantee I can get you back," he said flatly. "But if you don't come, I can guarantee I won't be able to."

Itachi glanced between the earnest face of his soulmate and the less distinct features of his younger brother, feeling pretty well detached from reality.

"I'm Itachi," he said, foregoing his surname but bowing politely. "And I'll be in your care."

He supposed he had to be. At least for now.

#ask #anon #kabu #radish my beloved #my fic #uchiha itachi #this is not well written but in my defence i was in transit for thirty hours #prompt fill

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ethelcained · 7 months ago

Text

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍?

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 dominic fike & fem!oc

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : Vienna Hadid possessed a multitude of talents, excelling in singing, composing music, and the art of concealing her emotions, especially those she harbored for her bandmate and longtime friend.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : swearing, alcohol and drug consumption

𝐌𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐒 : yeah girl give us nothing! this is seriously so bad, please just understand that i haven’t written a fic in over four years 😭😭 this is for @fawnchives and her post that made me want to write a dom fic. please request things and give me ideas, i beg you

Walking through the narrow hallway, Vienna felt her nerves escalating. An early morning call from her manager summoned her to an abrupt meeting, leaving her with little information. Hastily donning her white top adorned with patched black stars and dark baggy jeans, she noted her roommate and bandmate Yves still in bed, amplifying her unease as she realized it was likely a solo meeting.

"Mornin'," Vienna mumbled upon entering the conference room, guided by her manager's receptionist, Julia. The room fell silent as she took her seat, greeted warmly by Molly, her manager's assistant. As she surveyed the unfamiliar faces occupying the usually familiar space, Dave, her manager, initiated the proceedings, handing out folders and expressing gratitude for their prompt attendance.

Attempting to decipher the folder's contents, Vienna was interrupted by Dave's address. He introduced John, a man in a suit whose significance she couldn't place, as the creative director for an upcoming A24 movie. John explained their proposal: they wanted Vienna to compose a soft, perhaps even a love song for the movie.

The room held its breath, awaiting her response. "Wait—what? So, I'm not in trouble?" Vienna stuttered, the weight of the revelation settling in. Laughter erupted as Molly reassured her, dispelling her apprehension with a wave of relief.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒

The sound of keys jiggling reverberated throughout the apartment. "My baby," Yves exclaimed with excitement as she rushed toward the front door, catching sight of a smiling Vienna. She held onto Vienna's face and peppered kisses all over her cheeks and forehead, both girls giggling as they made their way to the living room.

There, they found Chris sprawled out on the couch, Kevin seated on one of their large bean bag chairs, scrolling through the various options of cartoon series with a remote, and finally Dominic, occupying the other side of the couch with a guitar in hand, doing what Vienna recognized as tuning his instrument.

"What the fuck, bro?" Chris groaned as he repositioned his legs to make room for Yves, who pushed both of the boys' legs out of her way before jumping down on the couch, laughing at the thump it made. Dominic murmured a small "come here" as he tossed his guitar to the side, leaving space for Vienna to sit next to him, smiling as she eagerly did.

"Dave told us you had a meeting with him and the crew, how was it, Vie?" Kevin asked, turning his attention towards his friends after settling on watching the regular show.

"They asked me to make a song for an A24 movie," Vienna announced, smiling at her friends' surprised faces.

"That's cool, man. Are they giving you full creative freedom?" Dominic asked, staring at his friend as she settled into a comfortable position on the couch.

"Kinda? They want the song to be slower, but I can produce it with whoever, which is cool," Vienna replied. The band nodded in acknowledgment; Chris sat up as he started to light up his pre-rolled joint.

"You gonna write a love song about me?" He joked, exhaling the smoke he had previously inhaled.

"In your dreams, slut," Vienna exclaimed, chucking a pillow towards the drummer.

Chris Sturniolo earned a reputation as a "man whore," reveling in the excitement of flings without any desire for commitment. Despite his promiscuous nature, his charm never deterred women. Their paths intersected at a high school party where Chris, donning his most seductive smile, approached Vienna. Despite her initial rejection, she invited him to join her in a game of beer pong, igniting a friendship that would endure.

"Don’t stress about it too hard; you’re able to write a song by looking at a fucking rock!" Dominic told his friend, sensing her nerves and placing his hand over her fidgeting ones. The girl relaxed at his words and the feeling of his thumb caressing her palm, looking to the TV once she felt heat on her now rosy face.

"Sabrina’s asking if we wanted to go to this bonfire-type party Saturday," Kevin spoke, diverting the group’s attention from the TV to the singer.

"I’m down; Brina always has the finest girls at her parties," Yves answered, directing her focus towards an enthusiastic Chris, who enthusiastically dapped her up in agreement.

"Yeah, man, it’s fine with me," Dom replied once he noticed Kevin’s awaiting eyes, taking the joint from Yves and inhaling its contents.

Vienna couldn’t help but stare as Dominic blew out the smoke, the way his eyes were dilated and lidded. He always seemed at peace when intoxicated, his lips almost forming into a faint smile. The girl was brought out of her trance when she felt her friends' expectant eyes.

"Uh, yeah, it’s fine by me," she muttered, hoping that none of her bandmates noticed her previous actions towards her friend.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒

“You think Enya’s going to be at the bonfire?” Yves wondered as she fixed her eyeliner, looking behind her to Vienna rummaging through her closet.

“Who? The girl you made out with after our New York show?” She questioned while holding up two different dress options, awaiting her friend's response.

“That one, and no, the girl I met at Brent’s party last month,” her friend exasperated as she pointed at the short black lacy dress, turning back around to add the final touches of her eyeshadow as Vienna removed her articles of clothing to put the dress on.

“My bad, it’s been hard to keep up lately,” the girl let out a breathy giggle after pushing her head through the dress and settling down on the bed to put on a pair of burgundy kitten heels.

“You’re making me sound like such a whore, Vie,” her friend whined as she placed herself beside the girl, adding lipgloss over Vienna’s lip liner.

Fixing the girl's small smudge of lipgloss with her finger, Vienna grabbed ahold of her friend's hand and kissed it softly as she laughed at Yves’ dramatic endeavour.

“I think she’d be a fool to forget about a cutie like you,” the girl booped her nose as she stood up, grabbing her purse and filling it with what she thought was necessary for the night. Yves, on the other hand, was texting the boys to let them know that they’re almost ready.

Setting her phone down, she looked around her friend's bed, spotting the girl's notebook. Flipping through the pages, knowing that all of Vienna’s songs were usually written on these very pages.

“Have you come up with a song yet?” Yves asked, looking at her friend's defeated face.

“Nothing that’s good enough.” And it was true, Vienna had spent the last five days restlessly scribbling away at the pages of her notebook. Not finding inspiration was a foreign concept to her, and she hated that feeling more than anything, contemplating if she’s even deserving of such an opportunity if she can’t even come up with a melody for a song, let alone lyrics.

“Maybe you just need to recklessly make out with someone tonight, that usually helps with my writer's block,” her friend smiled as she guided the both of them out of Vienna’s room and towards their front door.

Since their elementary school days, their bond remained unbreakable. Yves served as the catalyst, introducing Vienna to the facets that now defined her, from the instruments she played to the music she cherished. While Vienna didn't inherently possess shyness, she perpetually grappled with dismantling her emotional barriers. Vulnerability unsettled her, viewing loss of control as her Achilles' heel. Yves, conversely, epitomized fearlessness, embracing her authentic self without reservation. Perhaps stemming from societal shame directed at her sexuality, she concealed her true identity for years. However, upon proudly declaring her lesbian identity, Yves refrained from fortifying any walls.

“There they are, finally,” Chris dramatically groaned once the girls exited the elevator and approached the three boys in the lobby of their apartment. Vienna rolled her eyes at the boys' lack of patience as they walked to Kevin’s car.

“Acting like you don’t take hours fixing that mop of yours,” Yves mumbled as she got on her tiptoes to pull at the boy’s hair, to which he turned back to give her a glare.

“You look so good,” Dominic told the girl as he grabbed her hand so Vienna could do a spin and show the boy the full outfit. “You’re an idiot,” she giggled as she let go of his hand and got in the backseat of her friend's SUV, making sure to hide her blush in the dark lighting of the vehicle.

“Let’s fucking go,” Kevin shouted excitedly once everyone settled in the car, Chris making sure to connect his phone to the Bluetooth. Shuffling his playlist after typing in the address of the party, the group screamed the lyrics of Childish Gambino’s "Bonfire" as Kevin backed out of the parking lot.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒

“You made it!” Sabrina screeched once she spotted her favorite group of people, drunkenly hugging her friends one by one. “Course we did, we’d never miss a Brina party,” Kevin laughed at his friend's look of surprise.

“Well, everyone’s at the bar mostly, but we have the whole beach to ourselves so feel free to do whatever,” the blonde explained as she guided the group to the open bar.

“Is Enya here?” Yves made sure to ask Sabrina as quietly as she could, her friend nodding and leading her to the girl in excitement.

“Well, guess I’m gonna go get myself a drink,” Chris said as he noticed the pretty girl sitting by the bar, causing his friends to laugh knowing that his motive was not getting a drink but flirting with the girl instead.

Vienna sighed as her group parted ways, walking to the bar to grab herself a drink. Looking at the infinite amount of alcohol sprawled out on the counter and settling on a rum and coke concoction and sitting on a beach chair that was located in the far end of the bonfire.

The loud music blaring through the speakers was all that Vienna could focus on. Taking sips as she observed the scenery in front of her, there were people everywhere. Some near the ocean discussing among themselves, others were near the bonfire dancing rhythmically to the music. She spotted Kevin playing beer pong with a few people, laughing loudly when Omar missed his shot, causing him to sulk.

Vienna discovered a profound sense of solace in Kevin's presence, experiencing a deep understanding whenever they were together. Their connection dated back to their shared 8th-grade music class, where they frequently collaborated, crafting their own melodies. While Kevin proposed the idea of forming a band, Vienna initially considered it absurd but eventually acquiesced, recognizing the potential in his vision.

The girl looked up when she heard a screech, seeing Dominic carry a girl over his shoulder as she begged for him to put her down through fits of laughter. Vienna couldn’t help but bite her lip and feel her chest tighten. Maybe it was the alcohol in her system, but she felt a bit agitated at the scene in front of her. Her gaze narrowed as she watched Dominic's playful antics, a mix of jealousy and annoyance bubbling within her. She took a deep breath, trying to shake off the unsettling emotions, but the sight of him with another girl stirred something unfamiliar in her heart. Determined to regain her composure, she turned away, hoping to find distraction elsewhere. Walking towards her friend Bea and sitting beside her.

“You want some?” the girl asked through a mouthful of s’mores, offering her friend the bag of marshmallows, which Vienna gratefully accepted

“How long are you staying in L.A this time?” Vienna questioned the girl, rummaging through the bag of marshmallows and grabbing a stick to roast them.

“I have no clue, I only came here for ‘Chella but I’m enjoying the Cali weather way too much,” the British girl continued to talk about her recent California stay as Vienna held the stick to the fire for her marshmallow. Though she felt distracted when she saw Dom’s figure sitting on the sand and conversing with the same girl, she had seen him with earlier behind Bea.

“Uh, Vie, your marshmallow’s burning,” Bea snapped Vienna back into reality upon hearing her friend's words. Vienna blew out the now burnt marshmallow, muttering a few curses in between each blow.

“I don’t understand why you don’t just get with Dom already,” Bea asked her friend after noticing the boy sliding his hand through his curly hair as he enthusiastically spoke to the girl in front of him.

“What? No, no way,” Vienna answered shocked at the girl's implication. “We’re just friends, Bea, you know this.”

Bea rolled her eyes, finding Vienna ridiculous when she’d dealt with the two’s secret longing glances anytime they were around each other. “That’s bullshit and you know it,” she said, giving Vienna another marshmallow that she hopefully wouldn’t burn once more. Vienna chuckled nervously, feeling Bea's piercing gaze.

"Come on, Bea, you're reading too much into it. Dom and I are just friends," she insisted, trying to brush off the tension in her voice. But deep down, she couldn't deny the truth in Bea's words. There had always been an underlying tension between her and Dominic, something unspoken yet palpable whenever they were together. She sighed inwardly, realizing she couldn't continue denying her feelings forever.

As the conversation shifted to lighter topics, Vienna couldn't shake the lingering thought of Dominic from her mind, wondering if maybe Bea was onto something after all.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒

The night continued with more drinks and glances between the curly-headed boy and the girl.

"Why're you sitting so far from everyone?" Vienna felt a hand on her shoulder, looking up to find the very same person her mind had been preoccupied with all night. "Not really feeling it tonight," the girl mumbled as she felt the boy's strong gaze. "You okay?" he softly asked, looking at her like she was a porcelain doll about to shatter at any moment. "Yeah, just got a lot up here," the girl explained, pressing her index finger to her temple, indicating that she'd been in her head tonight.

Dominic hummed as he took hold of her hand and tugged at it, signaling that he wanted her to stand up. "Where are we going?" the girl whined as he kept guiding her further from the party, stopping in front of the ocean. The girl looked around confused as to why he dragged her so far from the party where the only lighting were the twinkling lights at the bar, now far away from them.

"Come on," the boy urged as he started to remove his shirt, keeping nothing but his boxers on.

"The fuck are you doing, weirdo?" the girl nervously wondered as he stepped closer to her. "Waiting for you to get undressed?" he replied, inching closer and closer as the girl took a step back

When he noticed her nervous expression, he let out a laugh, finally understanding the situation. "Oh, fuck, Vienna, I just wanna get in the ocean with you," he breathily explained, laughing at the girl's look of realization and relief. "I mean, we could..." he started, groaning when the girl pushed his chest and called him an idiot.

Vienna couldn't help but laugh at Dominic's playful antics, feeling the tension ease from her shoulders as she stripped down to her underwear and joined him in the water.

The cool ocean breeze brushed against her skin, washing away the worries of the night as they splashed and laughed together under the moonlight. For a moment, everything felt perfect, the weight of unspoken words lifted from her chest as they enjoyed each other's company in the peaceful embrace of the sea.

As they swam further into the depths, Vienna couldn't help but feel grateful for this unexpected moment of connection with Dominic. She swam up to him, grabbing his face with both of her hands, tossing the hair that was covering his eyes to the side and caressing his apple tattoo underneath his eyelid with her thumb. Their heavy breathing and the crashing of the waves were all that the two could hear, feeling like they were the only people in this world. Dom couldn't help but melt at her touch, feeling her eyes on him as she kept caressing his cheekbone.

"You, uh, you had something on your eye,"

she mumbled after breaking out of her trance. She felt the boy smile as he replied with a small yet teasing "Oh yeah?" laughing as she splashed him with water.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒

Vienna stepped onto the stage, the crowd's applause washing over her, feeling vulnerable in the spotlight without her bandmates by her side.

It had been months since that transformative night when inspiration struck. She poured her heart into writing a love song, pushing through exhaustion to fill the blank pages with raw emotion. Now, in the studio, surrounded by industry professionals, she played her creation, feeling a mix of pride and insecurity. Their awestruck stares reassured her, confirming that her song was exactly what they needed.

In the following weeks, Vienna found herself swept up in a whirlwind of meetings and promotions, barely able to keep pace. And now, standing on stage, preparing to perform her single 'Guilty as Sin?' for the first time at the movie's release party, she couldn't help but feel a surge of nerves mingled with excitement.

Breathing in the sweet melody of the song, Vienna locked eyes with the boy who inspired its creation.

Dominic had been a constant presence in her life since high school, always seeming just out of reach. Despite her feelings for him, she buried them deep, watching him interact with other girls with a pang of longing. But as she poured her heart out on stage, singing every word to him, all she could think about was how his lips might feel against hers.

As the final notes rang out, Vienna was brought back to reality, the crowd's cheers filling the air.

Returning to her green room, her mind was consumed by thoughts of Dominic. Suddenly, he appeared before her, praising her performance. In a moment of impulse, fuelled by adrenaline and desire, Vienna closed the distance between them, capturing his lips with hers.

The kiss started with passion, a release of pent-up emotions, but as reality set in, it became tender and uncertain.

Breaking away, Vienna feared Dominic's reaction, but instead, he cupped her face, wiping away her tears. “You don’t know how long i’ve wanted to do this.” He whispered lowly. His confession took her by surprise, leaving her speechless as he kissed her once more.

In that moment, Vienna realized that sometimes, the most unexpected beginnings lead to the most beautiful journeys. With Dominic's lips pressed against hers, she embraced the uncertainty of the future, ready to face it with an open heart and a smile.

123 notes · View notes

lunardragon00 · 5 months ago

Text

Supernatural (Hongjoong x Reader)

Eternal Sunshine Masterlist

Fashion Designer!Hongjoong x Journalist!reader

This love's possessing me, but I don't mind at all It's like supernatural It's taking over me, don't wanna fight the fall

The alarm blared, disrupting the quiet of y/n's apartment. Groaning, she fumbled for the snooze button, her hand finally finding its mark. With a sigh, she rolled out of bed, her mind already buzzing with the day ahead.

After a quick shower and a hurried breakfast, y/n stepped out into the bustling streets of the city. The cool morning air greeted her, mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting from nearby cafes. With a glance at her watch, she quickened her pace, knowing she couldn't afford to be late for work.

The familiar routine of her morning commute unfolded: the rhythmic clatter of the subway train, the chatter of commuters, the fleeting glimpses of city landmarks flashing by the windows. Lost in her thoughts, y/n barely noticed the passing scenery as she mentally prepared for the day ahead.

Finally reaching her office, y/n greeted her colleagues with a tired smile before settling into her desk. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the rows of cubicles. With a sigh, she powered up her computer, steeling herself for another day of deadlines and assignments.

As the morning wore on, y/n found herself in need of a caffeine fix. Grabbing her coat, she made her way to the nearest coffee shop, the scent of freshly ground beans drawing her in like a siren's call. With a grateful smile, she ordered her usual—a strong black coffee—and settled into a corner booth, savoring the first sip as it warmed her from the inside out.

With her coffee in hand, y/n returned to the office, ready to tackle the day's tasks. As she walked past the glass windows, a figure steps out of their office.

"Hey, Y/N, can you come in here real quick." y/n nodded, setting her coffee cup down on her desk before making her way to the office where the figure stood waiting. She recognized him as her editor, Mr. Johnson, a no-nonsense man with a keen eye for news. Entering the office, y/n greeted him with a polite smile. "You wanted to see me, Mr. Johnson?"

Mr. Johnson gestured for her to take a seat opposite his desk. "Yes, Miss L/N, I have an assignment for you." He paused, eyeing her over the rim of his glasses. "It's a big one."

Curiosity flickered in Y/N's eyes as she leaned forward, intrigued. "What's the assignment?"

Mr. Johnson leaned back in his chair, folding his hands together. "We've been granted exclusive access to cover the rise of a promising young fashion designer. Kim Hongjoong."

Y/N's brow furrowed slightly. "Kim Hongjoong? I'm not sure I'm the right person for a fashion story, sir. Besides, I've already started working on the writer's strike piece."

Mr. Johnson arched an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "I understand your reservations, Miss L/N, but this is a unique opportunity for us. Hongjoong's story is more than just fashion; it's about ambition, creativity, and the relentless pursuit of excellence. I need someone who can capture the essence of his journey, someone with a fresh perspective."

Y/N hesitated, weighing her options. "I'm sorry, I'm a bit confused. You want me to write the strike story and the fashion story?" She questioned him. He leaned back and laughed a bit.

"Oh no no no, the striker's story will be given to Jongho. I want your focus to be on Mr. Kim. Don't worry, you'll still have 3 weeks to get the story done." Y/N felt a surge of frustration rising within her as Mr. Johnson clarified the assignment. She had poured countless hours into researching and preparing the striker's story, only to have it snatched away in an instant. And now, she was being thrust into a world she knew little about – the world of high fashion.

"But sir," she began, trying to keep her voice steady despite the annoyance bubbling beneath the surface, "I've been working on the striker's story for weeks. I've invested a lot of time and effort into it. I don't think it's fair to just pass it on to someone else."

Mr. Johnson leaned forward, his expression serious. "I understand your frustration, Miss L/N, but this is a decision that's come from higher up. The opportunity to cover Kim Hongjoong's rise to fame is too important for us to pass up. And I believe you're the right person for the job."

Y/N gritted her teeth, her annoyance growing with each passing moment. She knew Mr. Johnson had a point – opportunities like this didn't come around often – but that didn't make it any easier to accept.

"And what about Jongho?" she asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "He's going to be thrilled about getting the striker's story handed to him on a silver platter. He's going to see this as a victory over me."

Mr. Johnson sighed, rubbing his temples as if trying to ward off an impending headache. "I know Jongho can be... competitive," he admitted, "but this decision wasn't made to pit the two of you against each other. It was made because I believe both of you are capable of handling these assignments. And I trust that you'll rise to the challenge."

Y/N clenched her fists, her frustration reaching its boiling point. She knew arguing further would be futile; Mr. Johnson had made up his mind. With a resigned nod, she forced herself to accept the assignment, pushing aside her annoyance for the time being.

"Fine," she muttered, her tone curt. "I'll do it."

Mr. Johnson offered her a sympathetic smile. "I know this isn't what you had in mind, Y/N, but I promise you won't regret it. Now, go meet with Hongjoong and see where this story takes you. Who knows? You might just discover a whole new world waiting to be explored."

With a heavy sigh, Y/N rose from her seat, her mind already racing with thoughts of the daunting task ahead. As she left Mr. Johnson's office, she couldn't shake the feeling of resentment lingering in the air. But she knew she had no choice but to tackle the assignment head-on, no matter how much she wished things had turned out differently.

"This is such bullshit, I mean I worked day and night on that stupid article. I poured my blood, sweat, and tears into it and now it's going to just be handed off to Jongho. And now, I have to write and article about some random guy from nowhere land. It's an insult, seriously." Y/N stirred the pot of pasta on the stove as she spoke.

"I'm sorry hun, that sucks. But hey, maybe it won't be so bad, he could be a cool guy." Her friend, Wooyoung, trying to offer sympathy to her. Y/N huffed, her frustration still evident.

"I highly doubt it. He's just some fashion designer, probably full of himself and his fancy clothes. What could I possibly have in common with him?" She saw Wooyoung shrug through the camera, his expression thoughtful. "You never know until you give it a chance. And who knows? This assignment could lead to something unexpected. Maybe you'll find a new passion, or even make a new friend."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but a small part of her couldn't help but entertain the possibility. "Yeah, right. I highly doubt that." As she continued to stir the pasta, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of resentment lingering in her chest. But amidst the frustration and disappointment, a tiny spark of curiosity flickered to life. Maybe, just maybe, this assignment would turn out to be more than just a nuisance. Only time would tell.

"Hey, when are you coming over again? I need my drinking buddy, especially if I have to deal with some stuck up prick for almost a month." She heard wooyoung laugh through the speaker.

"I'll make sure to clear my schedule for you. We'll drown in our sorrows together," Wooyoung replied with a chuckle. Y/N couldn't help but crack a smile at Wooyoung's lighthearted response. Despite her frustration, his unwavering support brought a sense of comfort amidst the chaos of her thoughts.

"Thanks, Wooyoung. I appreciate it," she said, her tone softening slightly.

"Anytime, Y/N. Remember, I'm always here for you, no matter what," Wooyoung reassured her.

With a nod of gratitude, Y/N focused her attention back on the pasta, the rhythmic stirring providing a soothing rhythm to her troubled mind. As she contemplated the upcoming assignment and the challenges it would bring, a sense of determination welled up within her.

"Alright, let's plan for a night of debauchery then," she declared with a hint of newfound resolve.

The next day arrived, and Y/N found herself awake before the crack of dawn, her mind already buzzing with thoughts of the upcoming assignment. Determined to make the most of the opportunity, she had set her alarm early to dive into research on this Kim Hongjoong guy, the enigmatic fashion designer who had suddenly become the focus of her journalistic endeavors.

With a steaming cup of coffee in hand, Y/N settled into her cozy living room, her laptop open before her. She typed Kim Hongjoong's name into the search bar, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she delved into the depths of the internet in search of information.

As she sifted through articles, interviews, and social media profiles, Y/N began to piece together a picture of the man behind the designer label. She discovered that Kim Hongjoong had risen to prominence in the fashion world at a remarkably young age, his bold and innovative designs earning him praise from critics and admiration from fashion enthusiasts around the globe.

But amidst the glitz and glamour of the fashion industry, Y/N had found almost nothing about his life before fame. Nothing about his home life, nothing about his family, and barely anything about his friends. Hours passed in a blur as Y/N immersed herself in her research, her determination fueling her relentless pursuit of knowledge. By the time the sun began to peek through the curtains, she had compiled a wealth of information on Kim Hongjoong, ready to embark on the next phase of her assignment.

Y/N navigated the bustling streets of Seoul with purpose, her steps quick and determined as she made her way to Hongjoong's office. The city buzzed with energy around her, a vibrant tapestry of sights and sounds that served as the backdrop to her journey.

As she weaved through the crowded sidewalks, Y/N couldn't help but marvel at the juxtaposition of modernity and tradition that defined Seoul. Towering skyscrapers loomed overhead, their glass facades reflecting the morning sunlight, while historic palaces nestled amidst the urban sprawl, remnants of a bygone era.

With each step, Y/N felt a sense of dread building within her. She was about to meet Kim Hongjoong, the rising star of the fashion world, and she couldn't help but wonder what awaited her behind the doors of his office. Finally, y/n arrived at her destination – a sleek, modern building nestled amidst the towering structures of the city skyline. With a sense of determination, she pushed open the glass doors and stepped inside, her gaze sweeping over the pristine interior.

As Y/N made her way through the lobby, her gaze scanning the pristine interior, she was halted by a woman in heels standing by the elevator.

"Ma'am, you need to check in," the woman said politely, her tone firm but courteous. Y/N nodded, realizing she hadn't yet announced her arrival. "Of course, I'm here to see Kim Hongjoong," she replied, offering a small smile.

The woman nodded in acknowledgment and motioned for Y/N to follow her. Together, they approached a sleek reception desk where another impeccably dressed individual sat behind a computer screen.

"Good morning, how may I assist you?" the receptionist asked with a professional demeanor.

"I'm here to see Kim Hongjoong," Y/N repeated, feeling a twinge of nervousness creeping in despite her best efforts to remain composed. The receptionist typed something into the computer before glancing up at Y/N with a polite smile. "And your name, please?"

"Y/N.....Y/N L/N," she replied, feeling a surge of anticipation as she awaited the receptionist's response.

After a moment of typing, the receptionist nodded. "Ah, yes. You're expected. Please sign in here, and Mr. Kim's assistant will be with you shortly."

Y/N complied, quickly scribbling her signature on the designated spot before handing the pen back to the receptionist.

"Thank you. Please wait in the designated area over there," the receptionist said, gesturing towards a stylish seating area off to the side.

With a nod of gratitude, Y/N made her way to the designated area, her heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. She couldn't help but wonder what awaited her behind the doors of Kim Hongjoong's office, and she was determined to find out.

As Y/N settled into the designated seating area, she couldn't shake the nervous energy coursing through her veins. She glanced around the sleek and modern lobby, taking in the minimalist decor and the hushed murmurs of other visitors waiting nearby. Minutes felt like hours as Y/N anxiously waited for his assistant to arrive. Her mind raced with questions and uncertainties, her anticipation building with each passing moment.

Finally, a door to the side of the lobby opened, and a sharply dressed woman emerged. "Miss L/N?" she called out, her voice cutting through the air.

y/n rose from her seat, her heart pounding in her chest. "Yes, that's me," she replied, her voice betraying a hint of nervousness.

The woman offered a warm smile as she approached. "I'm Mr. Kim's assistant. He's ready to see you now."

Y/N followed the assistant through the door, her pulse quickening with each step. She couldn't help but wonder what awaited her behind the closed doors of Kim Hongjoong's office – a world of glamour and creativity, or something more unexpected. As they reached the door to Kim Hongjoong's office, the assistant paused and turned to Y/N with a reassuring smile. "Good luck, Miss L/N."

With a grateful nod, Y/N took a deep breath and braced herself before stepping through the door, ready to embark on the next chapter of her assignment and uncover the mysteries hidden within the world of high fashion.

As Y/N entered Kim Hongjoong's office, she couldn't help but feel a sense of apprehension mingled with her professional demeanor. The sleek interior of the room exuded an air of sophistication, from the modern furnishings to the artfully arranged fashion sketches adorning the walls.

Kim Hongjoong rose from his seat behind the desk, his presence commanding attention. Despite her reservations, Y/N couldn't deny the subtle charm that emanated from him as he extended his hand in greeting.

"Miss L/N, it's a pleasure to meet you," he said with a warm smile, his voice carrying a hint of genuine warmth.

Y/N accepted his handshake with a nod, her expression carefully neutral. "Likewise, Mr. Kim," she replied, her tone professional. As they settled into their respective seats, Y/N wasted no time in getting down to business. She fired off questions with precision, her demeanor cool and detached as she sought to glean insights into Kim Hongjoong's rise to fame and his creative process.

To her surprise, Kim Hongjoong proved to be an engaging and candid interviewee. He spoke with passion and conviction about his journey in the fashion industry, sharing anecdotes and insights that offered glimpses into the man behind the designer label.

As the interview progressed, Y/N found herself gradually letting her guard down, intrigued by Kim Hongjoong's sincerity and humility. Despite her initial skepticism, she couldn't deny the genuine passion he exuded for his craft, nor the depth of his knowledge and experience.

By the time the interview drew to a close, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of intrigue that lingered within her. Perhaps there was more to Kim Hongjoong than met the eye – perhaps he wasn't just another arrogant celebrity living off his family's wealth.

"That was great, Mr. Kim," she remarked, her tone softer than before. "If it's alright, I would love to come by your studio sometime this week and watch you work."

Kim Hongjoong's eyes lit up with genuine enthusiasm at the suggestion. "Of course, I'd be delighted to have you visit," he replied warmly, his smile infectious. "I'll have my assistant arrange everything. It'll be a pleasure to show you the creative process behind my designs."

Y/N couldn't suppress the flicker of excitement that sparked within her at the prospect of witnessing Kim Hongjoong's creative process firsthand. Despite her initial reluctance to take on the assignment, she couldn't deny the allure of delving deeper into the world of high fashion and exploring the complexities of Kim Hongjoong's journey.

With a nod of gratitude, Y/N rose from her seat, feeling a newfound sense of curiosity and anticipation coursing through her veins. Maybe, just maybe, there was more to Kim Hongjoong than met the eye.

As Y/N observed Hongjoong and his team tirelessly working to put together outfits for the upcoming fashion show, she couldn't help but feel a sense of detachment from the flurry of activity surrounding her. Despite Kim Hongjoong's kindness during their interview a few days prior, she remained largely disinterested in the fashion aspect of everything.

She watched from the sidelines as fabrics were draped and patterns were meticulously arranged, her mind drifting to other matters. The intricate details of the garments held little significance to her, and she found it difficult to muster the same level of enthusiasm as those around her.

Kim Hongjoong, ever the gracious host, occasionally glanced her way with a smile, eager to share his creative process with her. But Y/N's attention remained elsewhere, her thoughts consumed by the pressing deadlines and obligations awaiting her outside the realm of high fashion.

As the day wore on, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of restlessness gnawing at her. Despite her best efforts to immerse herself in the world of fashion, she found it increasingly difficult to connect with the intricate workings of Kim Hongjoong's design process.

But amidst the chaos of the fashion studio, a small spark of curiosity flickered within her. Despite her initial reluctance, Y/N couldn't help but wonder what drove Kim Hongjoong and his team to pour their hearts and souls into their creations. Perhaps there was more to the world of fashion than met the eye – and she was determined to uncover the truth, no matter where it might lead.

Summoning her professionalism, Y/N approached Kim Hongjoong during a brief lull in the chaos, her notepad in hand as she prepared to conduct her interview.

"Mr. Kim," she began, her tone businesslike yet polite, "I'd like to ask you a few questions for the report. What inspired the collection you're working on for the upcoming fashion show?"

Hongjoong turned his attention to Y/N, his expression brightening as he welcomed the opportunity to share his creative process. "Of course," he replied, his voice warm and inviting. "The inspiration behind this collection is a blend of traditional Korean elements with a modern twist. I wanted to pay homage to my cultural heritage while also pushing the boundaries of contemporary fashion."

Y/N nodded attentively, scribbling notes as Kim Hongjoong elaborated on his vision. Despite her initial reservations, she couldn't help but be drawn in by his passion and sincerity.

"And how do you go about translating that inspiration into your designs?" she inquired, eager to delve deeper into his creative process. Hongjoong's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he launched into a detailed explanation, his gestures animated as he described the meticulous craftsmanship and attention to detail that went into each garment. He spoke of hours spent sketching, draping fabrics, and experimenting with textures and colors until his vision was brought to life.

As Y/N listened to Kim Hongjoong's words, she felt a newfound sense of admiration for the fashion designer before her. Despite her initial skepticism, she couldn't deny the depth of his dedication to his craft and the genuine passion he exuded for his work.

With each passing moment, Y/N found herself becoming increasingly intrigued by Kim Hongjoong and the world he inhabited. But Y/N wasn't content with just Kim Hongjoong's perspective. She sought out other members of his team, eager to gain insight into their experiences working alongside the renowned fashion designer.

"Excuse me," she addressed one of the seamstresses, her voice polite yet inquisitive. "What's it like working with Mr. Kim? How would you describe his approach to design?"

The seamstress smiled warmly, her eyes sparkling with admiration for her boss. "Oh, Mr. Kim is truly a visionary. He's incredibly dedicated to his craft and always pushes us to do our best work. It's an honor to be part of his team."

As Y/N continued her interviews with various members of Kim Hongjoong's team, she couldn't help but notice the genuine respect and admiration they all held for their leader. She couldn't deny the impact Kim Hongjoong had on those around him, nor the depth of his commitment to his art.

The day drew to a close, the bustling activity in the fashion studio gradually subsided, signaling the end of another productive day. Fabrics were neatly folded, sketches were carefully stored away, and the last few adjustments were made to the outfits for the upcoming fashion show.

Kim Hongjoong, ever the gracious host, approached Y/N with a warm smile. "Thank you for joining us today, Miss L/N," he said, his tone genuine. "I hope you found the experience enlightening."

Y/N returned his smile, a sense of newfound respect evident in her expression. "Thank you, Mr. Kim," she replied, her voice sincere. "It was certainly an eye-opening experience. I appreciate you taking the time to share your insights with me."

As the rest of the team began to pack up and prepare to leave for the day, Hongjoong turned to Y/N once more. "Before you go, would you like to grab a coffee or a bite to eat? I'd love to continue our conversation."

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her initial reluctance warring with the growing curiosity within her. But ultimately, she found herself nodding in agreement. "I'd like that," she said, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Together, Y/N and Kim Hongjoong made their way out of the studio, making their way to a nearby coffee house that Hongjoong favors. The atmosphere in the coffee house was cozy and inviting, a welcome respite from the hustle and bustle of the fashion studio. Y/N and Kim Hongjoong found a secluded corner table, their conversation flowing effortlessly as they sipped on steaming cups of coffee.

"So, what did you think?" He asked, taking a sip out of the mug the barista had handed him moments ago.

Y/N paused for a moment, considering her response carefully. "Honestly?" she began, meeting his gaze with a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. "I didn't expect to enjoy myself as much as I did today. I've never been particularly interested in fashion, but seeing the passion and dedication you and your team put into your work... it's inspiring."

Hongjoong smiled warmly, his eyes reflecting genuine appreciation for her words. "I'm glad to hear that," he replied, his voice tinged with sincerity. "Fashion is more than just clothes – it's a form of self-expression, a way to tell stories and evoke emotions. I'm honored to be able to share that with you." Taking out her notepad, she quickly jotted the line down, mind still focused on work. Hongjoong smiled seeing this and gently took the pen out of her hand.

"You know, I was hoping to get to know more about you Miss L/N. I've only met the person interviewing me." Y/N felt a slight flush creep into her cheeks as Kim Hongjoong's words registered. She hadn't expected him to express an interest in her beyond their professional interaction. Despite her initial reluctance, she found herself intrigued by the prospect of getting to know him better outside the confines of their interview.

"I... I suppose there's not much to know," she replied, a nervous chuckle escaping her lips. "I'm just your average journalist, always chasing after the next story."

Hongjoong's smile only widened at her response, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. "I highly doubt that," he said, his tone playful. "I have a feeling there's much more to you than meets the eye. But hey, if you're not ready to spill all your secrets just yet, I understand. We've got plenty of time."

Y/N couldn't help but return his smile, her initial reservations melting away in the warmth of his presence. "What is it you'd like to know?" Y/N asked, her voice betraying a hint of curiosity despite her attempts to remain composed.

Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression crossing his features as he considered her question. "Well, for starters, what led you to become a journalist?" he asked, his gaze never wavering from hers.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her mind drifting back to the defining moments that had shaped her career path. "I suppose it all started when I was young," she began, her tone introspective. "I've always had a passion for storytelling and a desire to uncover the truth. Journalism felt like the perfect outlet for both."

As she spoke, Y/N found herself opening up to Kim Hongjoong in a way she hadn't expected. His genuine interest in her story made her feel seen and heard in a way she hadn't experienced in a long time. "And what about you?" she asked, eager to turn the spotlight back on him. "What inspired you to pursue a career in fashion?"

"Please, we've been talking about me all day, I'm sure your sick of me talking about myself." Y/N couldn't help but smile at Hongjoong's response, appreciating his humility and consideration.

"Well, in that case, let's change the subject," she replied, grateful for the opportunity to shift the focus away from herself for a moment. "How about we talk about something completely unrelated to work?" Hongjoong's eyes sparkled with amusement as he leaned back in his chair, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "I'm all ears," he said, his tone light and inviting.

And so, Y/N and Hongjoong spent the rest of the evening engaged in lively conversation, their laughter mingling with the ambient chatter of the coffee house. They talked about everything and nothing – from their favorite books and movies to their most embarrassing childhood memories.

As the hours passed, Y/N found herself completely immersed in the moment, grateful for the chance to simply be herself in the company of someone who accepted her without judgment or pretense.

By the time they finally parted ways, Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unexpected connection she had forged with Kim Hongjoong. Despite their vastly different professions, they had discovered a shared sense of camaraderie and understanding that transcended the boundaries of their respective worlds. As she made her way home, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of warmth and contentment that filled her heart.

"You're in trouble." Y/N stopped her task and looked at her friend. "Why do you say that." She asked. Wooyoung gave a stern look to her and stood.

"Have you realized you've been talking about nothing but Hongjoong for the past hour. I mean, come on, I know your doing this story on him but you sound obsessed. You'd think being around him 24/7 for the past week would make you not want to talk about him" Y/N paused, her friend's words sinking in as she considered them carefully. "I... I hadn't realized," she admitted, her brows furrowing in concern.

"I didn't mean to come across as obsessed. It's just... he's been on my mind a lot lately, with the interviews and everything." Wooyoung nodded sympathetically, taking a seat beside her. "I get it, believe me. But you need to remember to keep some perspective. This isn't just about Kim Hongjoong – it's about the story you're telling. Don't lose sight of that."

Y/N sighed, feeling a sense of guilt wash over her. "You're right," she conceded, her voice tinged with regret. "I guess I got caught up in the excitement of it all and forgot why I started this in the first place."

Wooyoung placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, offering her a reassuring smile. "Hey, it happens to the best of us. Just take a step back, breathe, and refocus. You've got this."

Feeling a renewed sense of determination, Y/N nodded, gratitude shining in her eyes. "Thanks, Wooyoung. I needed that."

"Is he at least nice?" Wooyoung asked. Y/N paused for a moment, her mind drifting back to her interactions with Hongjoong. Despite her initial reservations, she couldn't deny that he had been nothing but kind and welcoming towards her.

"Yeah, he's actually really nice," she admitted, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "He's passionate about his work and is genuine. It's... refreshing."

Wooyoung's smile widened at her response, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Well, then I guess it's not so bad after all," he said, his tone teasing. "Just remember to keep your head on straight, okay? Don't let those puppy dog eyes distract you from the task at hand."

Y/N chuckled, rolling her eyes at her friend's playful jab. "I'll do my best," she promised, feeling a sense of gratitude for his unwavering support.

The pair continued to enjoy their evening together, the gentle hum of conversation and laughter filling the air, Y/N's phone chimed with the arrival of a new email. Curious, she glanced down at the screen, her heart skipping a beat when she saw the sender's name: Kim Hongjoong.

With a sense of anticipation, Y/N opened the email, her eyes scanning the contents with eager interest. As she read Kim Hongjoong's words, a wave of disappointment washed over her.

"He won't be available for a one-on-one session for the rest of the week," she explained to Wooyoung, her voice tinged with a hint of regret.

Wooyoung frowned in sympathy. "That sucks," he said, leaning back against the couch. "But hey, at least you’ve got plenty of material already, right? And it might give you some time to reflect on everything you’ve gathered so far."

Y/N nodded slowly, setting her phone aside. "You're right. I've been so focused on getting more that I haven’t really taken the time to process everything I’ve learned."

Wooyoung grinned, nudging her playfully. "See? It’s all about perspective. Plus, now you can actually take a breather and maybe do something fun for a change."

She laughed, feeling the tension in her shoulders ease. "Like what? You know my idea of fun is curling up with a good book or binge-watching a series."

"Which is exactly what you need," Wooyoung replied, his eyes twinkling. "A little escapism never hurt anyone. How about we start with a movie night? Something completely unrelated to work."

"Alright, alright," Y/N conceded, smiling at his enthusiasm. "But you get to pick the movie, my brain feels like mush."

"Deal!" he said, jumping up to rummage through her collection of DVDs and streaming services. As he did, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a warm sense of appreciation for her friend’s efforts to lift her spirits.

As the opening credits rolled on a lighthearted comedy, Y/N settled back into the couch, her thoughts drifting briefly back to Hongjoong. Despite the disappointment of not getting more time with him this week, she realized that Wooyoung was right. This break might be exactly what she needed to regain her focus and ensure that her story about Hongjoong was as well-rounded and insightful as possible.

Halfway through the movie, Y/N found herself laughing freely at the antics on screen, the worries and stress of the past week melting away. She glanced over at Wooyoung, who was equally engrossed in the film, and felt a surge of gratitude for his unwavering support and friendship.

As the credits rolled and the movie came to an end, Wooyoung turned to her with a satisfied grin. "Feeling better?"

"Much," Y/N admitted, her smile genuine. "Thanks for this, Woo. I really needed it."

"Anytime," he replied, giving her a quick side hug. "Now, let’s plan something fun for tomorrow. Maybe a little adventure around the city or trying out that new café downtown?"

Y/N’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. "That sounds perfect."

Y/N sat at her desk, the soft hum of the office around her providing a comforting backdrop as she put the finishing touches on her article. The past few days had been a whirlwind, but the final one-on-one interview with Kim Hongjoong had been worth the wait. It had given her the deeper insights she needed to tie everything together.

She glanced at the clock, noting that she still had a few hours before her deadline. Taking a deep breath, she reread her article from the beginning, ensuring that every detail was perfect. Y/N leaned back in her chair, a sense of accomplishment washing over her. She had captured the essence of Kim Hongjoong, not just as a designer, but as a person. His passion, dedication, and kindness were all there, woven into the fabric of her article.

Satisfied with her work, she saved the document and sent it off to her editor. As she did, a wave of relief and pride filled her. She had done justice to Hongjoong's story, and she knew it would resonate with readers.

Just then, her phone buzzed with a message. It was from Wooyoung: "How's the article going? Ready to celebrate?"

Y/N smiled, typing back a quick response. "Just submitted it! Let's definitely celebrate."

Closing her laptop, Y/N felt a sense of closure and excitement for what lay ahead. She had grown both professionally and personally from this experience, and she was eager to see how her article would be received.

The elevator ride down felt different today. There was a lightness in her step, a sense of fulfillment that accompanied the completion of a job well done. Stepping out into the warm evening, she saw Wooyoung waiting for her by the entrance, his familiar grin spreading across his face as he waved.

"Hey there, star reporter," he called out, pulling her into a hug. "How does it feel to have finished your masterpiece?"

Y/N laughed, the tension of the past days melting away in her friend's embrace. "It feels incredible. I can't wait for you to read it."

Wooyoung gave her a playful nudge as they began walking down the street towards their favorite café. "I'm sure it's amazing. I wouldn't expect anything less from you."

They settled into a cozy corner of the café, the rich aroma of coffee and the soft chatter of other patrons creating a comforting atmosphere. Wooyoung ordered their usual drinks, and soon they were clinking glasses in a celebratory toast.

"To hard work, passion, and a job well done," Wooyoung said, his eyes twinkling with pride. Y/N raised her glass with him with a grateful smile.

As they sipped their drinks, Y/N filled Wooyoung in on the highlights of her final interview with Hongjoong. She recounted the moments that had left the deepest impression on her—the candid discussions about his creative process, his reflections on the challenges he faced, and his unwavering commitment to his art and his fans.

"You know," Y/N said thoughtfully, "this experience has really made me appreciate the power of storytelling. Hongjoong's journey is so inspiring, and I feel honored to have had the chance to share it."

Wooyoung nodded, his expression serious. "And you're amazing at it, Y/N. You have a gift for capturing the heart of a story. I'm proud of you."

Her phone buzzed again, interrupting the moment. It was a notification from her editor. Curious, she opened the message, her eyes scanning the text quickly. A smile spread across her face as she read the words of praise and approval.

"Well, it looks like the editor loves it," she announced, her excitement bubbling over. "They're going to feature it in the next issue!"

Wooyoung cheered, drawing the attention of a few nearby patrons who smiled at their infectious enthusiasm. "That's fantastic news! You deserve it, Y/N."

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter, conversation, and celebration. As they walked back home under the starry sky, Y/N felt a profound sense of contentment. She had achieved something meaningful, and she had done it with the support of her best friend.

It was a Wednesday morning, almost a week and a half after her article had been published. Today was supposed. to be her day off, her one day to sleep through the morning. Unfortunately, life had other plans for her. With a loud ring, Y/N groggily reached for her phone, her mind still hazy with sleep. She fumbled to answer it, her eyes squinting against the early morning light filtering through the curtains.

"Hello?" she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

"Good Morning Miss L/N," came the crisp voice on the other end. Instantly, she sat up, her heart pounding. She hadn't checked the caller ID and now realized it was her editor calling her this early for a reason.

"Good morning, sir," she replied, trying to sound more awake. "Is everything okay?"

"Better than okay," her boss responded, his tone filled with excitement. "Your article on Kim Hongjoong has been a massive success. The response from our readers has been overwhelmingly positive. You've done a fantastic job."

Relief and pride surged through Y/N, but before she could fully process the news, her boss continued.

"Listen, Fashion Week is starting in a few days, and we want to capitalize on this momentum. I want you to cover the event. You'll have full access to shows, backstage, everything. Think you can handle it?"

Y/N's mind raced. Fashion Week was a huge opportunity, a chance to solidify her reputation as a top-tier journalist. Despite the early hour and the whirlwind of thoughts in her head, she felt a surge of excitement.

"Absolutely, sir," she said, her voice firm with determination. "I won't let you down."

"Good to hear," her boss replied. "We'll send you all the details and your press credentials later today. And hey, Kim Hongjoong will be there so be sure to get some stuff on his collection. Get some rest; you're going to need it."

As she hung up, Y/N sat in bed, the news sinking in. Fashion Week. It was an event she had never dreamt of covering, but now it was happening. She quickly called the one person who could help her think this through.

"Girl, I didn't think I would hear from you until 1pm. I thought you were off today?" Wooyoungs voice echoed through the phone speaker.

"Just shut up and listen ok. My boss called me and guess what? My article on Hongjoong was a hit! And now I get to cover Fashion Week!" she paused, awaiting her friends reaction.

A reply came almost instantly. "Holy shit, that's amazing, Y/N! Please tell me you get to bring a plus one. I would kill to be there."

"Unfortunately not, but, I don't know if I can do this Woo. I still know almost nothing on fashion, and now I'm covering one of the biggest fashion events of the year." She got out of bed, her mind already buzzing with ideas for her coverage.

"What do you mean? You did the story with Hongjoong and look how that turned out." Y/N made her way to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee.

"That was different, that was about a person who just so happened to be in the industry. This will be about the industry itself." She heard Wooyoung hum in thought, her mind already racing to her natural pessimistic thoughts.

"Wait, that's it. Hongjoong, he's your key." Y/N furrowed her brows.

"What do you mean?"

"You already have a connection, Hongjoong. Ask him for advice, you're not doing on article on him exclusively anymore so it wouldn't be inappropriate to reach out randomly." Y/N's hand paused over the coffee pot, Wooyoung's words echoing in her mind. Of course, Hongjoong. She had built a rapport with him, and his insight could be invaluable for covering Fashion Week.

"You think he'd be willing to help?" she asked, doubt creeping into her voice.

"Absolutely," Wooyoung said with confidence. "He seemed to like you and appreciate your work. Just reach out to him, and I'm sure he'll offer some guidance. Besides, you made him look good with that article."

A small smile tugged at Y/N's lips. "You're right. I'll email him today and see if he has some time to chat before Fashion Week starts."

"Perfect! And remember, you’ve got this. You're more prepared than you think," Wooyoung said encouragingly.

"Thanks, Woo. I really needed that pep talk," Y/N replied, feeling a surge of determination.

"Anytime. Now go conquer the fashion world!"

After hanging up, Y/N sat at her kitchen table, her coffee steaming beside her. She opened her laptop and began composing an email to Hongjoong.

Hi Mr. Kim, I hope this message finds you well. I wanted to thank you once again for your time during our interviews – the article was a great success, and I owe a lot of that to your openness and insights. I have some exciting news: I'll be covering Fashion Week for my publication. Since this is my first time covering such a major event, I was wondering if you might have some time to chat and offer any advice or insights. Your perspective on the industry would be incredibly valuable as I prepare for this assignment. Looking forward to hearing from you soon. Best, Y/N

Satisfied with the message, she hit send and leaned back, sipping her coffee. The nerves were still there, but so was a sense of excitement and readiness. This was a huge opportunity, and she was determined to make the most of it.

Later that day, as she was organizing her notes and planning her coverage, her phone pinged with a new email notification.

Hi Y/N, Great to hear from you! I'm glad the article was well-received. I'd be happy to help you out with Fashion Week. How about we meet for coffee one morning? Maybe when you arrive in Paris? I have some time free before my final prep for the event. Looking forward to catching up. Best, Hongjoong

Y/N's heart skipped a beat. She quickly replied, confirming the time and place.

The morning came to meet Hongjoon. Y/N arrived at the coffee shop a little early, her notebook and pen ready. She felt a mix of excitement and nerves as she waited. When Hongjoong walked in, looking effortlessly stylish, she stood to greet him with a smile.

"Y/N, good to see you," he said warmly, taking a seat across from her.

"Thank you so much for meeting with me," she began. "I really appreciate it."

"Of course," Hongjoong replied. "So, tell me, what do you want to know about Fashion Week?"

As they chatted over coffee, Hongjoong shared his experiences, offering tips on what to focus on, key people to watch, and the latest trends. His insights were invaluable, and Y/N felt her confidence growing with each passing minute.

"Remember," Hongjoong said as they wrapped up, "Fashion Week is about more than just the clothes. It's about the people, the creativity, the stories behind the designs. Capture that, and you'll do great."

Y/N left the coffee shop feeling inspired and ready to tackle Fashion Week. With Hongjoong's advice in mind and her own determination, she knew she could bring something special to her coverage. This was her moment, and she was ready to shine.

The first day of Fashion Week arrived, and Y/N stood at the entrance of the grand venue, press credentials hanging around her neck. The energy in the air was electric, with designers, models, and fashion enthusiasts bustling around in a blur of colors and fabrics. She took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves.

Her first assignment was to cover the opening show, featuring several up-and-coming designers. She made her way to the press area, setting up her notebook and camera. As she scanned the crowd, she spotted Hongjoong speaking with a group of industry insiders. He caught her eye and gave her a reassuring nod, which bolstered her confidence.

The lights dimmed, and the show began. Models strutted down the runway in stunning creations, each piece telling a unique story. Y/N took meticulous notes, capturing the essence of each collection and the reactions of the audience. She remembered Hongjoong's advice: focus on the stories behind the designs.

After the show, she navigated through the sea of people, seeking out designers for quick interviews. She managed to speak with a few, their excitement and passion evident in their words. Their stories added depth to her coverage, providing insights that would resonate with her readers.

Later in the day, Y/N attended a panel discussion on sustainable fashion. The panelists, including prominent designers and industry experts, discussed the future of fashion and the importance of sustainability. Y/N found their perspectives enlightening and jotted down key points for her article.

During a brief break, Y/N sat in the press lounge, sipping on a bottle of water. She reviewed her notes, feeling a sense of accomplishment. The day had been intense, but she had managed to gather a wealth of information and insights.

Just as she was about to head to the next event, her phone buzzed with a new message. It was from her editor: "Great job so far! Your updates have been fantastic. Keep up the good work."

Smiling, Y/N replied with a quick thank you and made her way to the evening's highlight: Kim Hongjoong's collection showcase. The anticipation was palpable as she entered the venue, the air buzzing with excitement.

The lights dimmed, and the first model stepped onto the runway, wearing one of Hongjoong's creations. The audience watched in awe as each piece was revealed, a testament to Hongjoong's creativity and skill. Y/N could see the dedication and passion that Hongjoong had spoken about during their interviews.

After the show, Y/N managed to catch Hongjoong for a quick word. "That was incredible," she said, genuinely impressed.

"Thank you, Y/N. I appreciate your support," Hongjoong replied with a warm smile. "How's your coverage going?"

"Really well," she said. "Thanks to your advice, I feel like I'm capturing the essence of the event."

"That's great to hear." As Hongjoong chuckled, Y/N couldn't help but notice the way his eyes crinkled at the corners and the genuine warmth of his smile. There was an effortless charm about him, a confidence in the way he carried himself that drew people in. It suddenly struck her just how attractive he was, not just in appearance but in his demeanor and presence.

"I have to say," Y/N began, trying to keep her thoughts professional, "your collection really captured the audience. The details and craftsmanship were exceptional."

Hongjoong's smile widened, and he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Coming from you, that means a lot. I’ve read your articles; you have a way of bringing stories to life."

Y/N felt a blush creep up her cheeks. "Thank you. That really means a lot."

There was a moment of silence between them, filled with the buzzing energy of the crowd around them. Y/N took the opportunity to observe Hongjoong more closely. His eyes were focused, yet kind, and there was an intensity to him that was incredibly appealing. She found herself drawn to the passion that seemed to radiate from him, not just for his work, but in everything he did.

"I should let you get back to your evening," Y/N said, snapping herself out of her thoughts. "I’m sure you have a lot of people to talk to."

"Actually," Hongjoong said, glancing around, "I’ve spoken to most of them already. How about we grab a quick meal? I’d love to hear more about your thoughts on the show."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat. "That sounds great," she replied, trying to keep her excitement in check. "Let me just grab my things."

As they made their way to a nearby restaurant, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of warmth and excitement bubbling within her. She found herself stealing glances at Hongjoong, noticing the way he held himself with a quiet confidence, yet remained approachable and genuine.

Over dinner, their conversation flowed effortlessly, touching on everything from their shared love for art and music to their aspirations and dreams. Y/N discovered that Hongjoong had a passion for storytelling, not just through his designs but also through his experiences and the way he interacted with the world around him.

With each passing moment, Y/N found herself drawn deeper into Hongjoong's world, captivated by his insights and the depth of his character. She admired his humility and the way he spoke with such sincerity about his craft and the people who inspired him.

As they laughed and shared stories, Y/N realized just how much she enjoyed being in Hongjoong's presence. There was a sense of comfort and familiarity between them, as if they had known each other for much longer than just a few days.

As the evening drew to a close, Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of longing. She didn't want the night to end, didn't want to say goodbye to this newfound connection that felt so right.

As they stepped out into the cool night air, Hongjoong turned to her with a smile that reached his eyes. "Thank you for tonight, Y/N. I had a great time."

Y/N smiled back, her heart fluttering with anticipation. "Me too, Mr. Kim. It was... really special."

She heard Hongjoong click his tongue and playfully glare at her. "You don't work for me you know." He let out a small laugh. Y/N stared at him in question.

"What do you mean." Hongjoong's smile softened, and he shook his head gently. "I mean, you don't have to call me 'Mr. Kim' all the time. Just call me Hongjoong."

Y/N felt a rush of warmth flood her cheeks. "Oh, right. Sorry, force of habit, I guess."

"No need to apologize," Hongjoong said, his tone gentle. "I just want you to feel comfortable around me."

Y/N nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Thank you, Hongjoong. I appreciate that."

They stood there for a moment, the cool night air wrapping around them like a comforting embrace. Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of closeness with Hongjoong, a connection that went beyond their professional interactions.

As they said their goodbyes and went their separate ways, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between them, something deeper and more meaningful than just a casual acquaintance.

As she made her way home, Y/N couldn't help but replay their conversation in her mind, savoring the warmth of Hongjoong's smile and the genuine kindness in his eyes. She couldn't deny the flutter of excitement in her chest as she wondered what the future held for them. But one thing was for sure – she was eager to find out.

The sunlight streamed through the windows as Y/N bustled around the apartment she'd been staying at, preparing for the evening ahead. She was buzzing with excitement, and having Wooyoung on facetime only added to the anticipation. Y/N sat on the couch with her laptop, surrounded by a cozy atmosphere of dimmed lights and soft music playing in the background. It was a much-needed moment of relaxation after the excitement of the previous night.

"So, spill the tea," Wooyoung said, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. "How was your night with Mr. Kim?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, though there was a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "It was... interesting," she replied, choosing her words carefully.

"Interesting, huh?" Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Do tell."

Y/N recounted the events of the evening, from Hongjoong's invitation to grab a meal to the lively conversation they had shared. She described the way Hongjoong's passion for his work shone through in every word he spoke, and the genuine connection she felt with him.

"It was just... nice," Y/N concluded, her cheeks flushing slightly. "He's a really great guy, you know?"

Wooyoung nodded thoughtfully, a knowing smile on his face. "I'm glad to hear that. And hey, maybe this could be the start of something more, huh?"

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at the thought, a mix of excitement and uncertainty swirling inside her. "I don't think so," she admitted. Wooyoung loudly tapped his screen, gaining her attention. "Hey, I was joking. Look, whatever happens, I'm here for you, okay? Just like I've always been."

Y/N couldn't help but smile at her friend's words, feeling grateful for his unwavering support. Suddenly, her phone started ringing.

"Who is it? Oh, is it Soomi? We haven't heard from her in a while?" Wooyoung asks as Y/N reaches for her phone.

"No, it's an unknown number." Y/N contemplates hitting decline, but something tells her to answer the call.

"Hi, this is Y/N L/N speaking." A familiar laugh could be heard on the other line.

"Wow, so you're just professional in all areas of life huh?" Y/N nearly drops her phone from the realization. She dramatically turns to face Wooyoung on her computer screen, who immediately takes notices and mouths 'who is it?'

"Hongjoong, Hi! What uh...What's up?" Wooyoung quickly leaps from his couch to stand, shocked by the revelation.

Hongjoong's laughter echoed through the phone, warm and familiar. "Not much, just wanted to see how you're doing after last night."

Y/N felt her cheeks flush at the memory of their evening together. "Yeah, I had a really nice time," she admitted, trying to keep her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach.

"Good to hear," Hongjoong replied. "I know these events can be a lot, especially for first timers. Trust me, my first one I was about to have a panic attack." Y/N heart dropped to her stomach.

"Right-" she fake laughs. "Yeah, the fashion show. That...yeah it, it was fine."

Hongjoong chuckled softly. "Well, if you ever need someone to help navigate the chaos, you know where to find me. Speaking of which, I was wondering if you'd like to grab dinner tonight? There's this new restaurant I've been wanting to try, and I thought it would be fun to go together."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at the invitation, her mind racing with excitement and nerves. She glanced at Wooyoung, who was practically bouncing with anticipation.

"I...I'd love to," Y/N said, trying to contain her excitement. "Thank you for asking."

Hongjoong's smile was audible through the phone. "Great! I'll text you the details. Looking forward to it, Y/N."

As the call ended, Y/N couldn't help but grin from ear to ear. Wooyoung practically squealed with excitement, grabbing Y/N's hands and jumping up and down in excitement.

"This is it, Y/N! This is your fashion love story unfolding right before our eyes!" Wooyoung exclaimed, unable to contain his excitement.

Y/N laughed, feeling a surge of excitement and gratitude for her supportive friend. "I guess it is," she said, her heart brimming with anticipation for what the evening would bring.

As Y/N stepped out of the bustling restaurant, she was greeted by the sight of Hongjoong waiting for her, a genuine smile lighting up his face. The vibrant lights of the street cast a soft glow around them, adding to the enchanting atmosphere.

"Hey, I wanted to say this earlier but uh-" Hongjoong said, his voice warm and inviting. "You look absolutely stunning tonight."

Y/N felt her cheeks flush at his compliment, a shy smile gracing her lips. "Thank you, Hongjoong," she replied, feeling a flutter of excitement in her chest. "You look pretty amazing yourself."

Hongjoong chuckled, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "Thanks, but I think you might be biased."

They fell into step beside each other as they walked away from the venue, the energy of the night still buzzing around them. Y/N couldn't help but steal glances at Hongjoong, admiring the way he carried himself with grace.

As they chatted about the show and their shared experiences, Y/N found herself drawn to Hongjoong's presence more and more. There was something about him that felt familiar yet exhilarating, like finding a piece of herself she never knew was missing.

By the time they reached Y/N's car, she was reluctant to say goodbye. Hongjoong's kindness and charm had left a lasting impression on her, igniting a spark of curiosity and admiration.

"Thank you for tonight, Hongjoong," Y/N said, her voice soft with sincerity. "I had a really wonderful time."

Hongjoong smiled warmly, his gaze lingering on her. "The pleasure was all mine, Y/N," he replied, his voice filled with warmth. "I hope we can do this again sometime." Y/N showed him a soft smile before turning to her car, ready to open the door before Hongjoong gently moved her shoulder so they could face each other.

"Do you work tomorrow? For the article I mean?" Y/N turned back to face Hongjoong, a small smile playing on her lips. "No, I think they're having someone else cover the next two days so I don't get overwhelmed. Why?"

"I was wondering if you would like to accompany me to the show. All of my designs have been showcased, but I would like to see every one else's. I know fashion isn't your forte but, maybe.....I could change your mind about it." Y/N's heart skipped a beat at Hongjoong's invitation. The idea of spending more time with him, exploring something new together, filled her with excitement.

"I'd love to," she replied, a smile spreading across her face. "It would be a great opportunity to learn more about the industry, especially with such a knowledgeable guide."

Hongjoong's smile widened, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Great! I'll pick you up tomorrow afternoon, then. We can grab a bite to eat before heading to the show."

As they exchanged goodbyes once more, Y/N felt a rush of anticipation. She couldn't wait to see what the day would bring, eager to spend more time with Hongjoong. Once in her car, she immediately calls Wooyoung, knowing he'll freak out with her.

"Damn, you guys were out late. So, when's the wedding?" Y/N chuckled at Wooyoung's playful jab. "Very funny. But seriously, you won't believe what happened."

"Oh, spill it already!" Wooyoung's excitement was palpable through the phone.

"Hongjoong asked me to accompany him to another fashion show tomorrow!" Y/N exclaimed, unable to contain her excitement.

"No way! That's huge!" Wooyoung replied, his voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. "Looks like you're really making an impression on him."

Y/N felt a rush of happiness at her friend's words. "Yeah, it's been... really amazing."

"I'm happy for you, Y/N. This could be the start of something big," Wooyoung said, his tone sincere.

"Thanks, Woo. I'll keep you posted on how it goes tomorrow," Y/N promised, feeling grateful for her friend's unwavering support.

"Can't wait to hear all about it. Now, go get some rest. You've got a big day ahead of you!"

With a smile on her face, Y/N ended the call, feeling a sense of excitement and anticipation for what the next day would bring.

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. What the hell am I going to wear. Y/N assumed at this point she had pulled everything out of her closet. Sure, she had planned outfits for attending fashion week, however what she didn't plan was for Kim freaking Hongjoong to ask her to attend with him. Maybe she could just wear what she had originally planned, but would that be enough?

Y/N paced back and forth in her bedroom, her mind racing with a million thoughts. She had spent hours going through her wardrobe, trying on different outfits in a desperate attempt to find the perfect one for the fashion show with Hongjoong. But nothing seemed to feel right.

"Okay, calm down, Y/N," she muttered to herself, trying to quell the rising panic. "You've got this."

Taking a deep breath, Y/N forced herself to sit down on the edge of her bed, her eyes scanning the array of clothes strewn across the room. Suddenly, her gaze landed on a simple yet elegant dress hanging in the corner of her closet.

She hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was too understated for such a glamorous event. But then she remembered Hongjoong's warm smile and kind eyes, and she knew that it wasn't about the dress – it was about being herself.

With newfound determination, Y/N reached for the dress and slipped it on, feeling a sense of confidence wash over her. It may not have been the most extravagant outfit, but it felt right, like a reflection of who she truly was.

As she admired her reflection in the mirror, Y/N couldn't help but smile. Just then, she received a text message.

Joong Just curious, what's your favorite color?

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she read the message from Hongjoong. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she typed out her response.

Y/N Green, definitely Green. What about you?

She pressed send, her pulse quickening with anticipation. This simple exchange felt like the beginning of something new, something exciting. And as she waited for Hongjoong's reply, she couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement bubbling inside her.

Joong Probably red, or yellow. I kind of go back and forth.

Y/N couldn't help but smile at Hongjoong's response. It was endearing to learn a bit more about his preferences, and she found herself feeling even more drawn to him.

Y/N Red and yellow, huh? That's interesting. They're both such vibrant colors.

She hit send, her mind already racing with thoughts of their upcoming day together at the fashion show. This unexpected connection with Hongjoong was sparking something inside her, something she couldn't quite put into words. But one thing was for sure – she was excited to see where it would lead. Her mind wandered to the moments they had shared so far. From their conversations to their time spent together, she couldn't deny the growing connection between them. It was a feeling she hadn't experienced in a long time, and it both excited and scared her.

Her phone buzzed, snapping her out of her thoughts. It was a message from Hongjoong.

Joong Yeah, they are. They have their own energy, you know? So, are you ready for today? I should be leaving in about 2 hours to head your way.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she read Hongjoong's message. The anticipation of spending the day with him at the fashion show sent a thrill through her. She quickly composed her response, her fingers dancing over the screen.

Y/N I'm definitely ready! Can't wait to see all the amazing designs and spend the day with you. Let me know when you're on your way, and I'll be ready.

With a satisfied smile, Y/N hit send, feeling a rush of excitement coursing through her veins. Today was going to be something special, and she couldn't wait to see where it would take them.

.....shit, she still needed to get ready.

Y/N's heart fluttered with excitement as she heard a knock on her door, signaling Hongjoong's arrival. With a quick glance in the mirror to ensure she looked presentable, she hurried to answer it.

Opening the door, she was met with the sight of Hongjoong standing there, looking effortlessly stylish as always. His warm smile greeted her, sending a wave of warmth through her.

"Hey, Y/N," he said, his voice soft yet filled with energy. "Ready to go?"

Y/N returned his smile, feeling a surge of excitement as she stepped out to join him. "Definitely," she replied, her voice tinged with anticipation. "Let's do this." Hongjoong stepped out of the way so Y/N could lock her door and they both started heading towards the car. It was a simple black car, not anything extravagant like she had anticipated. Hongjoong reached to open the passenger door, and before she got in, she noticed the bouquet of flowers sitting on the seat.

"Oh my gosh." She reached down to pick them up, they were beautiful white roses with a light green tissue paper wrapped around the stems. Along with the wrapped tissue, a green ribbon was tied around them as well.

"Hongjoong, you shouldn't have." Hongjoong chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with warmth as he watched Y/N admire the bouquet. "I wanted to do something special," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "Consider it a small token of appreciation for your company today."

Y/N felt her cheeks flush with color at his thoughtful gesture. "Thank you," she replied, her voice filled with genuine gratitude. "They're beautiful."

As she carefully arranged the bouquet in her lap, she couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and affection towards Hongjoong. It was moments like these that made her realize just how much she enjoyed his company.

With a smile, she settled into the passenger seat, the scent of the flowers filling the air around her. As Hongjoong started the car and they began their journey to the fashion show, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that this day was going to be something truly special.

As they drove through the bustling streets, Y/N couldn't help but steal glances at Hongjoong, admiring the way he effortlessly navigated through the traffic with ease. His focused expression spoke volumes about his determination and drive, qualities that she found incredibly admirable.

"So, what are you most excited to see at the show today?" Y/N asked, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

She saw Hongjoong think for a moment, his mind drifting to the array of designers and collections they were about to witness. "Honestly, I'm excited to see the diversity and creativity on display," he replied, his voice tinged with anticipation. "Fashion has this incredible ability to tell stories and evoke emotions."

Y/N nodded in agreement, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I couldn't agree more," she said. "Each designer brings their own unique perspective and vision to the table, and it's always fascinating to see how it all comes together on the runway."

Hongjoong smiled, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. "Exactly. It's like witnessing art in motion."

As they continued their conversation, Y/N felt a sense of comfort wash over her. There was something about being with Hongjoong that felt easy and natural, like they had known each other for much longer than they actually had.

Before long, they arrived at the venue, greeted by the bustling energy of the fashion show. Y/N's excitement grew with each step they took towards the entrance, eager to immerse herself in the world of haute couture. She watched as paparazzi crowded the front entrance, only now realizing she would be captured with him. A sudden fear overcame her, she quickly reached for Hongjoong's hand after he turned off the car.

"Wait-" Hongjoong looked at her, putting his hand back down from where it was on the car doors handle. "Everything ok?"

"When we step out, you're going to be bombarded with questions. Especially with me right next to you." Hongjoong could see the anxiety filling her features, a soft smile played on his lips. "Y/N..."

"You know what, why don't you go ahead. I'll just park the car somewhere in the garage and meet you inside, ok? Ok, sounds great."

"Y/N, " Hongjoong removed her hand from his and gently held her face. "listen to me." Hongjoong's touch was gentle yet firm, his gaze unwavering as he met Y/N's eyes. "You don't have to worry about a thing," he said, his voice filled with reassurance. "I'll be right by your side every step of the way."

"I'm not worried about me, I'm worried about you. Your image." Hongjoong's expression softened at Y/N's words, a small smile playing on his lips. "My image?" he echoed, his tone curious.

Y/N nodded, her eyes searching his. "You're a public figure, Hongjoong. You have a reputation to uphold, and being seen with someone like me might not be the best thing for you."

Hongjoong's smile grew, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Y/N, you're not just 'someone like me'," he said, his voice earnest. "You're someone I genuinely enjoy spending time with, someone who I feel brings out the best in me."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at his words, a warmth spreading through her chest. "But-"

Hongjoong gently placed a finger against her lips, silencing her. "No buts," he said, his gaze unwavering. "I make my own choices, and being with you is one of them. So trust me when I say, my image is just fine."

Y/N felt a wave of gratitude wash over her, touched by Hongjoong's unwavering support. With a smile, she leaned into his touch, feeling a sense of comfort in his presence. "Thank you, Hongjoong," she whispered, her voice filled with emotion.

He returned her smile, his eyes soft with affection. "Anytime, Y/N. Now let's go show them what we're made of."

Hand in hand, they stepped into the world of fashion, ready to face whatever challenges came their way, together. As Hongjoong and Y/N stepped out of the car and made their way towards the entrance of the venue, they were immediately met with a flurry of flashing cameras and eager reporters.

"Hongjoong, who's the lucky lady you've brought with you tonight?" one of the reporters called out, his voice loud and persistent.

Y/N felt a surge of anxiety at the attention, but Hongjoong remained calm, his grip on her hand steady and reassuring. He turned to face the reporter with a smile, his demeanor composed yet friendly.

"This is Y/N, a dear friend," he replied, his voice carrying over the noise of the crowd. "She's here to experience the magic of fashion with me."

The reporters continued to fire questions at them, but Hongjoong skillfully deflected each one with ease, never once faltering under the pressure. Y/N couldn't help but admire his poise and grace in the face of such scrutiny.

As they finally made their way inside the venue, the chaos of the paparazzi faded into the background, replaced by the excitement and anticipation of the fashion show. Y/N glanced up at Hongjoong, gratitude shining in her eyes.

"Thank you for handling that," she said, her voice filled with sincerity.

Hongjoong smiled warmly, squeezing her hand gently. "Anytime. We're in this together."

With renewed confidence, they entered the venue, ready to enjoy the show and make memories together, no matter what challenges they might face along the way. Throughout the event, Hongjoong and Y/N stuck close together, weaving through the crowd as they admired the various displays and interacted with fellow attendees. Despite the occasional interruption from well-wishers and admirers, they remained focused on each other, their connection growing stronger with each passing moment.

Y/N couldn't help but be drawn to Hongjoong's passion for fashion, his eyes lighting up as he discussed the intricate details of each design and the creative vision behind them. His enthusiasm was contagious, and she found herself becoming more and more engrossed in the world of haute couture.

Throughout the event, Hongjoong's presence was a constant source of comfort and support for Y/N, his reassuring smile and encouraging words helping to calm her nerves and boost her confidence. Whether they were chatting with other guests, admiring the latest collections, or simply enjoying each other's company, their interactions were filled with warmth, laughter, and a growing sense of camaraderie.

As the night drew to a close and the last echoes of applause faded away, Hongjoong and Y/N found themselves outside the venue once more, the vibrant energy of the fashion show still lingering in the air around them.

With a contented sigh, Y/N turned to Hongjoong, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Thank you for inviting me to the show," she said, her voice filled with genuine gratitude. "I had an incredible time."

Hongjoong returned her smile, his eyes sparkling with warmth. "The pleasure was all mine," he replied, his voice soft yet filled with sincerity. "I'm glad you could join me. It wouldn't have been the same without you."

As they stood there, bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights, a sense of peace settled over them, their shared experiences and moments of connection weaving a bond between them that felt both comforting and exhilarating.

A few months later, the chill of autumn had settled over the city, bringing with it the vibrant colors of changing leaves and the crisp, invigorating air that heralded the approach of winter. Y/N found herself standing outside a cozy café, feeling a mixture of annoyance and impatience. She tapped her foot, glancing at her watch repeatedly as the minutes ticked by. Finally, with a sigh of frustration, she decided she had waited long enough. She turned on her heel and left the café, heading across the street.

Y/N walked with purpose, the path she took now ingrained in her memory from frequent visits over the past few months. After crossing the street and walking a few blocks, she took a left and entered one of the many tall buildings that adorned the strip. The lobby was bustling with activity, but Y/N moved through it with the confidence of someone who belonged.

Removing her sunglasses as she approached the elevators, she was momentarily stopped by Jisoo, a new employee at the building's reception desk. "Excuse me, Ma'am, you need to check.....oh," Jisoo's eyes widened with recognition. "My apologies, Miss L/N."

Y/N gave a curt nod and continued her route to the elevators. Once inside, she pressed the button for the floor she needed and leaned back against the wall, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves.

When the elevator doors opened, Y/N stepped out and walked down the hallway until she reached the familiar office door. Without hesitation, she knocked and waited for the response from within.

"Come in," called the voice from the other side.

Y/N entered the office, her eyes immediately finding Hongjoong behind his desk. He was currently on a call, his empty hand fiddling with a pen absentmindedly. When he looked up, a smile spreading across his face as he saw her. "Look why don't we discuss this later, I have an important client that just walked in..........Ok great, yeah just send me an email about it when you can." Hongjoong quickly hung up and walked towards her.

"Hey sweetheart," He leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek, but she moved her face to dodge it. Hongjoong paused, noticing the tension in Y/N's expression. "What's wrong?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

Y/N crossed her arms, trying to keep her irritation in check. "You were supposed to meet me at the café. I waited for over half an hour."

Hongjoong's face softened with guilt. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I got caught up in a meeting and completely lost track of time."

She sighed, her frustration still simmering. "It's not just today, Hongjoong. You've been so busy lately that I feel like I'm always waiting around for you."

Hongjoong reached out gently taking her hand, laying a kiss to the back of them. "I know, and I promise I'm not trying to neglect you. Work has just been overwhelming, but that's no excuse. I'll do better, I swear."

Y/N looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity there. Her irritation began to ebb away, replaced by a mix of relief and lingering disappointment. "I just want to feel like a priority sometimes."

Hongjoong nodded, squeezing her hand gently. "You are a priority to me, Y/N. I'll make sure you know that from now on. How about we go out for lunch? Just the two of us. No interruptions. No Mr. Kim no Ms. Journalist, just Y/N and Hongjoong."

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. But you have to promise that work won't come first all the time."

"I promise," Hongjoong said firmly. "Now, let's go. I've been craving that little Italian place you like."

They left the office together, walking side by side as they made their way out of the building. The crisp autumn air greeted them, and Y/N felt some of the tension in her chest ease as they stepped into the street.

As they walked, Hongjoong slipped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "I really am sorry," he murmured. "I'll make it up to you."

Y/N leaned into him, appreciating the gesture. "I'll hold you to that," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

next story coming soon......

Thank you guys for enjoying the series, it means a lot to see so many people like the posts. If you want to join the taglist, please let me know.

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