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wincore · 5 years ago

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runway (m) | jung yoonoh

pairing: model!jaehyun x fashion designer!reader

words: 18.7k

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

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

warnings: sexual content, mentions of anxiety

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s some nods and sounds of affirmation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_jeongjaehyun:

My manager told me it was good publicity

But I could take it down for you

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t make the same mistake twice.

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

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

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

Do you love it?

Of course you fucking do.

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

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

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

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

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

You. You’re a big deal.

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

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

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

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

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

D-1. Same feeling, new season.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My job? What do you think, genius?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The buzzing reaches a peak before everything is drowned out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Afterparties are not your thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could have, too.

No way. You tell yourself that’s ridiculous.

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

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

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

Afterparties are not your thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The director smiles at you, her hand gesturing rapidly at you to come forward.

“You’re going to be so happy,” she says, signalling Taeyong to continue.

“Uh, hi,” he greets.

A little awkward for a world-class designer, you think.

“I’m Lee Taeyong. You might have heard of me—”

“I know who you are,” you interrupt, ignoring the disapproving look of the director.

“Oh, that’s good!” He smiles. “I’ve seen your work—I’ve been following your work for a few years now…and, well, I’d love for you to work under my label—in a collaboration of sorts. You’ll have full creative freedom, of course! I’m just there more or less for supervision, really…”

You think you feel your heart stop for a few moments, Taeyong’s sudden stream of information fading out. The pinnacle of your career, you believe, had been Paris Fashion Week four years ago and you’d been dreaming of it ever since. This is a business contract, you’re sure, and you don’t know if you have a real choice but maybe you could take that step forward you’ve always wanted to.

“Isn’t that great, (name)?” The director interjects. “You get to work under the Lee Taeyong label. And…surprise! You’ll have your work presented at New York Fashion Week in September. They’ll hit the stores a week later.”

You freeze.

“New York?” you manage to squeak.

“Yep!” Her voice a notch away from annoying. She’s not the first person you’ve met who sounds so goddamn manufactured. “Pack your bags, darling. You’re flying next weekend.”

You must be looking like a deer caught in the headlights because Taeyong opens his mouth to say something, alarmed. You speak before he does.

“Okay,” you say, more to yourself than them. It should be a good thing. It’s supposed to be a good thing. Even so, you feel the anxiety in your ribcage threatening to overgrow into thorns.

“I’ll- I’ll do it,” you clarify. Looking from your manager’s bright yet stern face to the hopeful smile on Taeyong, you don’t think you have much of a choice.

New York, huh. How long has it been? You shudder at the memories, your focus a little off for the rest of the day.

Joohyun visits you a day before you leave. She places the box of chocolates on the coffee table, that Doyoung apparently sent for you.

“You know, I’m really happy you’re getting this chance,” Joohyun says, crouching down beside where you’re splayed, trying to count the travel essentials and everything else on your messy checklist.

“He gets promoted and now he can’t even come visit me, huh?” you say, shifting to grab the box and tear off the clear wrap.

Joohyun laughs. “He’s certainly enjoying his duties. I can’t wait to boss him around again after I leave.”

Your shoulders hunch, a sigh leaving your lips. “Great. You’re leaving. Doyoung’s too busy to annoy. And now I’m a part of this godforsaken project for almost six months.”

Joohyun softens a bit, running her hand through your hair. “I heard you accepted it. All by yourself. You’ll do just fine, don’t worry.”

You feel yourself turn pink, a feeling of warmth you’ve been missing for a week. It’s cozy in your apartment, always the right temperature with a tinge of happy memories. You wish you could find comfort in people as easily as others do. Everything happened so fast, you can barely remember the conversation you had with Lee Taeyong. A few moments pass, Joohyun and you picking out chocolates before you can rummage through your suitcase again.

“I hate New York, Joohyun. Just what else can you throw into the mix to make me hate it even more?”

She freezes for a fraction of a moment, pressing her lips together before clearing her throat. “Oh. Uh. I probably shouldn’t tell you what I was about to tell you then.”

You turn your head to her, eyes narrowing. “What?”

She shrugs, eyes not meeting yours. “You know. New York. Fashion capital of the world. Lots of things to love.”

“What are you not telling me, Joohyun?”

She sighs, defeated. “A certain someone might be on the same flight as you. I was about to give you his number in case you needed help.”

You pause to think, curling your lips. “It’s Jaehyun, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

You groan, dropping your head back and yelping when it hits the coffee table. Joohyun moves to rub your head and ease the pain as you let out a stream of complaints.

“You really thought I’d call him for help?” you yell. “Him? Of all people?”

“I think you’d rather have a known face there. Besides, he’s a good kid,” she reasons, looking you in the eye. “And stop yelling.”

You quieten a bit at her glare, gulping. She adds the number to your contacts, saving it with a professional ‘Jung Yoonoh’ before she helps you clean up, advising you on how to manage your finances abroad. You know she’s trying to ease you, but how could she—after dropping this awful news on you like it shouldn’t matter at all? She doesn’t even know what happened—almost happened in Paris, or the fact that your honeyed feelings had turned bitter so easily. She’s worked with him before, you know this, when he was a much younger model and she trusts him more than you ever could.

But maybe, just maybe she can’t see what you see—after all, she’s also part of the elite, crème de la crème of this industry, more so in this country. It’s frightening, and so vague what goes on up there, at the top of the chain; and whatever you have—it might never be enough.

You’re you. Sometimes, that isn’t enough.

You jump at the water rushing from the shower, too cold for skin and scramble to twist the knob the other way. This time, the water’s too hot and you yelp, shutting it off altogether.

You press your hand against the shower glass, breathing heavy. You’re trying—you’ve been desperately trying ever since you landed a week ago. Change is not something you can take lightly. You miss the dim lights of your apartment in Seoul that Joohyun always warned would get you some brand new prescription glasses. You miss walking down the streets to your favourite convenience store at three in the morning to get honey butter chips. You miss picking fights with Doyoung over which detail to scrutinise during your project discussions. This project seems to have torn apart several things that belonged to you.

You can’t seem to get your head into it either—even spacing out during the meeting you had with Lee Taeyong among several other things. You can’t remember a single design detail he’d specified or what the theme was even supposed to be—a bunch of bright foggy lights replacing whatever fuzz was growing in your head. A twenty-something-year-old shouldn’t be letting homesickness affect them like this.

You finish the rest of your shower with a heavy heart and a clouded head.

Taeyong booking a luxury suite for you was a bit…much. Not that you’re complaining, but it gives more fuel to the profound sense of emptiness you keep drawing. There’s no intimacy to this place, no love. It’s a little hard to create things without love, and comfort.

Still, you grit your teeth and get dressed into something more comfortable for the night. If not today, then tomorrow. Something will have to give, even if it costs you—whatever the hell your parents keep telling you when you’re going through problems. What if you don’t want to be cost things? Compromise isn’t as delicate as it sounds. You try to comfort yourself, rocking yourself on the much too large couch, hugging a pillow close and trying to think of things that don’t immediately make you want to throw up.

The memories of your first visit are a little less than pleasant. You think you cried after the entire ordeal because you thought you did a bad job of talking, socializing, the most ordinary things. There are some people who are good at wearing masks—good at making copper look like gold, good at shining under dim lights, and good at using words that don’t have much meaning to their existence other than being pretty.

You were not one of them.

The intense need for everything to be perfect was still there, even when you couldn’t possibly have achieved it. You wanted to make things and show them to the world—what was so wrong with that? Why did being there make you feel like you could never even touch your dreams? You were so out of place, feeling completely out of touch with yourself. There were people from the top there, established and famous. It felt out of your grasp. You felt fake.

The city lights twinkle with life but there’s no sound, the windows shut tight. The ambience of the room is kept to a caramel minimum—the best you can do to honour your sweet little home back in Seoul.

The hatred for everything pretentious was born with your first step into this place, into the game that the big boys play. It showed in your designs, your choice of fabric, your distaste for certain people. You wanted reality—you wanted a taste of life in your everyday clothes. You wanted that flavour you feel on your tongue in a room full of strangers or the one on a quiet night by yourself at your apartment rooftop. You didn’t want dignified fur coat ensembles, you wanted the naive chaos you feel every day and you wanted to make it look good. It’s driving you insane just how much you feel like you’re losing now.

You take out your phone after what seems a few minutes of contemplation.

Jung Yoonoh. Your finger hovers over the call button. What would he say if his night is interrupted by your voice?

You’d met at the airport after landing, though you were only two seats away in the plane. You’d made no error in acknowledging his presence, browsing through the inflight magazine half-heartedly. Truth be told, sometimes you couldn’t really seem to get over him. Sometimes the thought of him made you so pissed, you had no idea what to think of it.

“Welcome to New York,” he had said shortly after you’d exited, a giant crowd of people greeting out-goers, holding up placards with names of people, in numbers you’re unaccustomed to. Or, used to be accustomed to.

You hadn’t talked since—and really, you weren’t expecting to.

You press your home button, any lingering thoughts of him vanishing at the force with which you tell yourself it’s not worth it. How is Jung Yoonoh better than anyone else you know here? He might have been living in New York for quite a few years now, and he’s probably the only one you’d feel comfortable enough to swear at—that doesn’t mean you’d actually ask for help. That doesn’t mean he’d actually help. Joohyun must have had her hopes far too high to have convinced you for even a moment.

The couch feels colder all of a sudden, and you turn down the air conditioner. This place will never adjust to you, and your stubborn little self won’t either.

You think of Jaehyun from the afterparty, loose shirt and knowing eyes, and you wonder if he feels just the same frustrated agony, if not more. You think of his parted lips and breathing words close enough to be provocative, discomfort growing at the base of your stomach. Who does he think he is? He might have the airs and dignity of someone way up in the hierarchy of society but you know what people can be like. You know envy, you know malice, and you know lies. He has to fit in there somewhere—and perhaps you would have hated him less if he did.

Even if you’d scoffed at the idea of jealousy, that might very well be the closest to what you feel, what you keep hidden in the darkest corners of your locked chest. When you first met at that star-spangled dinner, you’d felt what it’s like to watch a fireworks show or a big musical opening; but the fireworks are being blocked by skyscrapers and you’re only the helping staff at the theatre, watching from a balcony at the very back. Jaehyun was impressive with barely any words. It annoyed you so much and somehow, the only solution you arrived at was the tremendous need to understand him, pick him apart and see what made him.

No. That’s wrong. You were annoyed because you still wanted to kiss him after he’d pushed you away, his dislike steaming clear. It strikes you as gently as lightning that the only reason someone would have to hate Jaehyun is being attracted so violently to him. God, you hate making a fool out of yourself.

You pass the night in quiet contemplation, promising yourself a better tomorrow. After all, no one else is going to do it.

You walk with your chin up as if you don’t feel the weight of the world on your shoulders. You picked out your black Harrington jacket to look at least a little more professional, but you might have miscalculated the size and the material in the equation because you look completely and utterly ridiculous in it. No one would look at you and think you even work in fashion, much less be competent in that line.

(To be fair, you wear the same beige sweater and black corduroy pants to work and if your coworkers choose to judge you, you wouldn’t blame them.)

It’s only been a month and somehow, it translates to forever to you. You think you’re adjusting better now, and you pat yourself on the back for it. It’s not raining today at the mercy of the skies, a tidal wave of sunlight splashing through the buildings every time you take a turn. The city doesn’t scare you all that much anymore. It’s a good day, for once.

You lean your head against the car window, eyes trailing up and down the reflective blue of each skyscraper. You can barely see any clouds, and the sky’s endlessly the same, comforting blue. Just like back home, you think for a moment. Your eyes move back to the sidewalk, people passing by—mothers with their babies in strollers, kids clutching the strap of their school bags as they run, men and women in all levels of professional clothing. No one stops in this city. Except the fucking traffic apparently.

You sigh, glancing at your watch. Only moments ago, you were moving and yet again, you’ve stopped. The cycle keeps repeating and you’re trying to keep patience focusing on things around you that you can appreciate.

Maybe you jinxed it when you said it was a good day.

You reach Taeyong’s studio just in time (not that you’d get yelled at or anything, he’s too nice of a guy). Your eyes fixate on the numbers that light up on the elevator one by one till it finally reaches the first floor.

You walk right into someone’s chest, an apology tumbling out of your lips as you bow out of habit.

“(name)?”

You look up to find Jaehyun in the elevator of Taeyong’s building, a casual white shirt clinging to his frame that’s tucked into his jeans to look somewhat formal. A pink overshirt hangs at his forearm and from the windswept styling of hair and his perfected dark locks, you’ll assume he’s here for a shoot—even without it, he looks like something from a teen magazine, someone people would see and instantly daydream of. Best known for high fashion, Jung Yoonoh is still a spectacle in casualwear.

“I can’t believe I have to see your face here too,” you mutter, getting into the elevator. You’ve had your share of moments with him.

“Good to see you too,” he says, bemused.

You make a sound of acknowledgment, taking out your phone to turn the damn notifications off so you don’t feel it vibrate in your pocket every few minutes. You feel eyes on you for a moment and snap your head to the side.

Jaehyun has his eyes focused on the door, quiet breathing fresh against his lips and you hesitate before concluding you might have been mistaken in your perception.

“You’re here for a shoot?” you ask, curious about his relationship with Taeyong.

“What else can I be here for?” He says nonchalantly.

“Sarcastic. Very nice.”

“It’s a little weird, you trying to make conversation with me. You’re usually raving about me too much to actually talk to me.” He smiles, the dimples provoking and eyes the familiar beguiling brown.

“I’m not trying to make conversation,” you hiss, crossing your arms. “I’m sorry, I forgot you’re only a person in front of cameras.”

Jaehyun takes a sharp breath before turning to you, a not-so-happy look on his face despite the calmness over his features. You’ve seen it enough times.

“How long are you going to keep up the pretentious this and pretentious that before you face it, really?” He looks at you with tight lips, poisonous implications in his question. “Why you love to get up in my case all the time?”

The words take time to settle in. You shake your head when you realize, a sardonic laugh leaving your lips. Of course he’d think that.

“Oh my god,” you scoff. “You’re so full of yourself. You think I’m interested in you? Don’t let what happened years ago get to your head.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Oh, what did you mean then? Pray tell.”

“First of all, stop cutting me off,” he says, taking a step towards you. A certain feeling of uneasiness runs through you when you detect annoyance in his quiet statement.

“Secondly,” he says, taking a another step forward just as your back hits the wall of the elevator, “Stop treating me like I’m the bane of your existence. I have nothing to do with you.”

He’s right, of course, but the words sting where they hit. Asshole, you think. He has no business telling you what to do and what not to do. But in this moment, you can’t fish for the correct words—you don’t have the strength to when you’re so close to each other like this, the scent of his cologne syrupy and sickening. His tall stature is intimidating, with his straight shoulders and proud jawline.

The elevator dings at the seventh floor, Jaehyun stepping away from you without a glance or care, striding out just as smoothly as on a runway.

You take a moment to breathe, unsaid words burning holes into your tongue. You wish you could’ve said something better, anything that didn’t make you feel so pathetic. Maybe you should’ve told him to stick his words up his ass, sounding vulgar being the least of your worries. You wait patiently to reach the last floor, each ding souring your mood little by little.

You are so glad you didn’t call him that night. To think he’d ever help you knowing it’s mutual, the whole hating each other’s guts. You just can’t believe the audacity of him—to accuse you of, what, romantic feelings? In an industry where you can’t tell apart gold from copper? Where all the people warming up to you are fair weather friends and competitors? He must have let all that attention get to his head. Runway faces aren’t as easy to fall in love with as he thinks.

“(name)! Come quick!”

Taeyong’s voice urges as soon as you enter and you settle your bag down, rushing to him. His smile drops when he sees your seething figure place your bag on the desk with a loud thud. You turn to him, without a hint of sweetened formality and ask him the day’s schedule.

Taeyong gulps before responding, undoubtedly afraid of your lips, a twitch away from a scowl, but he explains nicely nonetheless.

“Can you do a rerun of these designs for me?” he says, arranging the papers on the desk. That’s how he says these need improvement. No wonder the interns love him.

Taeyong’s in his usual attire, still too chic for you but strangely comfortable to look at. You nod, immediately scrutinising them, your (almost pointless) years of training trying to give you hints as to where you went wrong. You’re not really expecting to find big flaws or anything—just details you can enhance. You’ve learned enough about Taeyong in a month and it’s that his sense of style encompasses comfort, even in the most abstract of concepts. You respect him for that. It doesn’t change the fact that you think it’s a little overdone maybe.

Taeyong laughs, breaking you out of your daze. You raise an eyebrow.

“Is- Is something wrong?” You look at him, perplexed.

“It’s just that- It’s just you remind me a lot of the fashion students.” He smiles at you.

Your shoulders droop. Amateur. New. Unprofessional.

“Oh.”

Taeyong rephrases himself quickly, waving his hands about. “I don’t mean it as a bad thing! It just means you still…love doing it.”

It sticks with you longer than you’d expect, as you work throughout the day. You think Taeyong is too nice to criticize you properly but he eventually gets the point across—stick to the theme, written in Taeyong’s dainty handwriting and pinned to the softboard.

Secrets.

What an atrocious concept. Firstly, it makes no sense apart from sounding like a fucking lingerie collection. Secondly, when you went over Taeyong’s designs with the layers and patches, you supposed he wanted to focus on the inside of things because everything he’d drawn was inside out. Thirdly, when you heard him explain it, you were a little taken aback to hear it was going to be all about you, us. The designers, the models, the photographers, the magazine editors—there are millions and millions of people working to make sketches come to life, for a few items of clothing in someone’s closet. It feels nice to hear that from him. You promise you’re going to perfect it.

And perfection is your dear old friend.

It’s what you always strive for, but end up with something else that’s a little less beautiful. You take slow breaths, removing and adding details (after all, art is in the details). But perfection can easily grow tiresome. It makes you increasingly frustrated and you don’t think you have the heart to tell Taeyong everything in his studio stresses you out.

“So, you’re working with Jaehyun?” you ask, trying to look less antsy.

Taeyong blanks out for a moment before responding. “Yes. Why? Is he- Is he making you uncomfortable?”

Uncomfortable wouldn’t even begin to explain what he makes you feel.

“No,” you deny. “Just curious.”

Taeyong smiles. “We usually work on summer shoots together. It’s like tradition.”

“That’s…nice,” you say, trying to reciprocate his smile.

“Oh, but we’re having terrible weather so the shoots keep going longer than planned. That’s why I’m having to compromise planning time with you. Sorry about that.”

You try to keep your posture despite the mild annoyance brewing at the back of your head. Great. Now you have to see Jaehyun’s unbelievably annoying face every time you walk in. Maybe if you plead enough, you’d get permission to leave early and not want to throw some insults at him.

You decide to walk, despite Taeyong insisting his driver help you get home. He doesn’t act like it but he’s a busy man, with side projects and interviews coming up so often you lose count. It’s no wonder he had to, and you hate using this word, hire someone for the label’s next venture. You think articles like Lee Taeyong loses touch and hires designers instead of doing his job would make him upset but he seems to genuinely not let it bother him. It’s about ideas to him. His label, almost large enough to be a brand, is for ideas; what a pretty thing to base your business around. While you thought you were a big shot back in South Korea, you’re almost nothing more than Lee Taeyong’s co-designer—assistant here.

You feel drops of what you felt years ago trickling down your throat. Overshadowed. Powerless. Imposter. Something about New York makes you want to pull all your hair out. You wish you hadn’t been here in the first place, maybe then this would seem more of a fun trip than memories weighing you down. But then if you hadn’t been here, you might not have even started.

You hug yourself at the sudden downpour, clouds kind enough for it to be nothing more than showers but you’re soaked anyway. Kind, but still a little cruel. Running under the eaves of a store, you curse yourself for not bringing an umbrella the only day you needed it. You stand there for a while, just breathing.

Real life is never like movies, is it? Cameras lie. Pretty faces lie. Sometimes you end up stuck in New York rains without an umbrella or a friend to call or a lover to protect you. You end up getting an Uber, taking awfully long to arrive due to the traffic the rain had ensued and try your best to ignore the disgruntled driver mumbling about you wetting his seats.

You still don’t know how the goddamn shower works.

You manage to complete without either scorching your skin off or freezing it to Greenland and back—a feat much more successful than whatever you had going on for today. You slip into the absurdly soft mattress, pillows and covers swallowing you into a state of sleep.

You start the day almost pouring coffee onto Jaehyun’s spotless white shirt. And you might have were it not for immense self-restraint, and the fact that Taeyong’s eyes were trained on the two of you.

“So…are you two…a thing or something?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“No,” Jaehyun responds calmly while you sputter it out.

Taeyong apologizes, a laugh following. “You seem to have worked together before. Jaehyun, you never told me that.”

“I…I thought you knew,” he answers, leaning back against the tabletop.

“Ah, well,” Taeyong shrugs. “Thanks for helping me out with this, (name). Maybe- maybe we can draw some inspiration for the collection from outdoors.”

“Of course,” you say as you smile wide, trying hard not to break the coffee mug in your hand.

If you’re being honest, you had a gut feeling you’d be asked to help with Taeyong’s (apparently) infamous summer shoot. He walks into his studio every morning with hair in a disarray, talking to more people than he might enjoy and the entirety of New York weather against him. There’s only so much time a man can have and under pressure, he’s going to have to choose. It’s easy to feel sorry for someone like him.

This should be the stylist’s job. Jaehyun stands with his chin up as you adjust the fitting, smoothing out creases and making sure the cerulean shirt is pinned right, satin feeling cool and nice under your fingers. Sleeveless is back in trend this summer, and so are low-cuts.

“Careful there,” he says when you hand brushes a little lower, just below the full-grain leather belt.

You hope your face isn’t steaming from the rush of heat but you manage to limit your emotions to a sound of discomfort, remembering the horrendous accusation he’d thrown at you. “I don’t care about your dick, twit.”

Jaehyun laughs, bending a little to whisper. “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“You look like you’re having a wonderful time making me uncomfortable.”

“You’re just so easy to work up.”

His dimples are getting on your nerves. You reach up to button his collar, perhaps a little too harsh because he chokes, an uncharacteristic sound leaving his mouth as he winces. You suppress a smile, glad you managed to do something about the look on his face.

The sunlight over this park feels like Christmas come early, with the way Taeyong is flitting from model to model and stylist to stylist with the intensity of a five year old after an ice-cream truck.

“Is he- Is he usually like this?” you ask, eyes on the makeup artist getting directions from Taeyong.

“I just assumed all of you are this way,” Jaehyun, responds looking at the same sight.

You roll your eyes. “We’re not all crazy.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe a little bit,” you correct yourself, watching Taeyong almost trip over someone’s bag in order to greet the magazine’s style director.

Jaehyun chuckles, eyes meeting yours for a moment before the two of you go about your own business.

You like magazine shoots for the most part. You never find a glass of water anywhere, but some intern or the other will definitely be there to fetch you Starbucks. There’s at least three people fussing over each model and at least two exasperated photographers trying very hard to snap clean shots. The stylist and designer look as though they might explode any minute, although the relief on their faces after it’s all over is something worth looking at. The skies are so bright and blue, you think, for a cosmopolis. The trees and shrubs lining the park are in a state of tranquility compared to the chaos it encircles.

Magazines might not be as important in an age of social media advertisement, almost part of nostalgia now—but maybe some of you are not yet willing to deny kids the thrill of reading a magazine under their blankets in the middle of the night. It often gave hope to little boys playing dress up and little girls sewing their own clothes.

You’d forgotten just how exhausting shooting with magazines is. The models must be having it worse but their masks don’t come off easy. If you had ever underestimated their job difficulty, it comes back to throttle you at full speed every time you’re at a shoot.

Looking good in front of a camera is pretty damn hard.

They don’t even get to keep the clothes, unless some asshole of a designer decides to pay them in apparel instead of actual money. Most models leave New York in debt. Men are paid even less than women. You’re surprised Jaehyun is as celebrated as he is—or the fact that he was clever enough of a businessman in launching his own high fashion-themed restaurant. You’ve heard he barely visits it, like a careless afterthought. But you’re not one to get carried away by sketchy articles on the internet. All you’ve needed are more reasons to hate him.

You sip the iced coffee, its effect pretty much worn out during humid afternoons. It’s time for a break, but no one’s willing to break momentum. You find yourself feeling a little awkward, as nothing more than a guest with creative advice, and so you sit under the comforting cool of the giant green umbrella at one of the tables. You could sink into your chair were it not so damn uncomfortable.

Jaehyun takes a seat right beside you to your surprise, offering you a box of diced mango before you fervently decline. You still think he’s an asshole. It doesn’t make any sense—why accuse you of unsaid affections and then flirt with you like he never said it? It’s not like you’re even friends, how ridiculous. There are quite a few jerks you’ve met in your life, but Jung Yoonoh really takes the cake.

“What?” you snap when his gaze gets on your nerves.

“I didn’t say anything.” He raises his hands defensively, eyes still on yours. “You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“I enjoy the air conditioned suite Taeyong booked me more than this, yes.” You sigh, leaning back. “I don’t really have anything to do.”

“I’m assuming he booked you the luxury suite on the fifteenth floor,” he says, chuckling.

You furrow your eyebrows. It’s not impossible that Jaehyun knows Taeyong’s favorite suite to book for guests.

“The view’s pretty nice from there, right? Oh, and you must be enjoying the silence.”

“I actually like the outside sounds,” you defend. “It’s calming.”

“Not when you’re on the third floor,” he says, shoving a piece of mango into his mouth with a fork. “All you hear is middle aged men screaming.”

You rest your elbow on the table, placing your chin against your palm. The shade is separated from sunlight by a thin line against his chest, pale blue satin glimmering where the sun meets it. Jaehyun’s eyes shine a darker hue of honey under the shade, moving to the box in his hands occasionally before trailing back to the background noise again. Taeyong really does love pretty fits, but this might just be one of the most gorgeous pieces you’ve seen this summer (and you’ve already been through all the ready-to-wear lookbooks you possibly could). A thought passes you in a breeze, that maybe it's the model making it seem that way.

“You’re talkative today,” you note quietly, the sun harsher on your cheeks than before.

Jaehyun shrugs, hurrying to finish all the pieces. He suddenly pulls a face, one you don’t see very often in high fashion websites and Instagram pages. It’s almost cute.

“Sour.”

You find yourself laughing, a gentle influx of peace filling the inside your chest. You quickly recover, looking back up to see Jaehyun simply staring at you, breathing. He looks caught off-guard, no camera to warn him. You straighten, your cheeks flushing with heat.

“Is- Is something wrong?”

He immediately shakes his head, more to himself than you. There’s a pause before the two of you are happily distracted. The style director appears to be gesturing at him from the other side and Jaehyun responds with a curt wave.

“You’re doing two different concepts today?”

“Three, actually.”

You raise your eyebrows. Well, they’re definitely taking advantage of the good weather. They could just photoshop it, in your opinion, but authenticity is everything when it comes to magazines nowadays.

“Well, don’t let me hold you back,” you say, your tone dismissive. “Go get changed into whatever pretty shirt Taeyong has up next in his collection.”

“The next shoot doesn’t have a shirt,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirked upward.

You almost choke on your coffee, blaming the heat for your weak state of mind. You’re just having one of those strange days—just that, nothing else.

You finish the rest of the coffee, cup resting in your hand till you find the energy to get up and find a trash can.

Jaehyun was right. This time the shoot’s a little too wet and a little too much skin for you to enjoy. The only thing added to Jaehyun above the waist are a dainty red scarf knotted over his neck and a small, flat hoop earring on his left ear. The velvet fingerless gloves, although you’re not very fond of them, complete a rather rugged yet soft look. You didn’t expect Taeyong to come up with something like that.

Jaehyun’s well-developed physique, while you’ve seen it in other shoots and online articles, is completely different when you’re a few feet away from it. The dark blue cargo pants, silken, are a signature style of Taeyong but the details don’t distract you easily enough. Funny, this is the first time you’re feeling somewhat flustered in a place full of half-naked models.

You suddenly think of reds and oranges, lilac shrubs and a hint of Burberry men’s perfume. In a way, it reminds you of the strums of the guitar your roommate used to play while you stayed up late, coming up with concepts. Cherishing, soothing—and special, just enough. The corner of your lips twitch and you take out your pocket sketchbook. It’s never too late to add a design to the collection, right? After all, you have secrets too. Maybe Taeyong was right about the outdoors for inspiration.

Something sets into motion, subtle but sharp.

The next time you walk into Taeyong’s studio, you feel the sun on your face better. Everything seems to be fitting into place, as you smooth through designs at a pace your student self would be jealous of. When Taeyong praises your work, you feel a rush of pride smearing the inside of your chest and you finally feel like everything’s not falling apart. It feels good. It feels like you’re someone.

The days go by in what seems like barely seconds—you know what they say about New York minutes. The mustard cloth draped over your desk to the cottage blue of your curtains, the colours around you change as quickly as the wind. Sometimes they’re abstract—and other times, well, they have more to do with a stranger’s eyes, or the swirls within a coffee cup. It’s the way in which transition occurs around you, that you often forget it moves something within you too.

You’ve put together some samples with Taeyong, most of them by yourself; the process of making is ever comforting, fabric even more so. You’ve sent the revised designs for production, feeling giddy about whatever is to come like it’s something new. (It shouldn’t be.)

You fucking hate how different this is. Seoul is nothing compared to New York. The anxiety is nearly ten times worse, the streets are far more attractive when it comes to inspiration and the figure of Jung Yoonoh is no longer as easy to ignore.

Even after the summer shoot’s over, Jaehyun often comes by to hang out at the studio, dressed in what you would call the simplest fucking thing you’d ever seen and still managing to look just as gorgeous. He blends in well with university students, often wearing the ugliest baseball cap you’ve ever seen, and the look of his face feels much, much worse than ever before. It’s at ease, smug even, but never failing to smile at you when you’re trying to focus. You don’t care how good of friends Taeyong and Jaehyun are—you want to tell him to leave.

But you just can’t bring yourself to. It’s not that you don’t trust yourself, you certainly do, but whatever New York has done to you, includes making you feel a different way about him. Sometimes you find yourself pressing your legs together harshly, stiffening at any proximity with him and a pool of warmth at the base of your stomach you’d rather not feel.

It’s embarrassing to even think about it—the fact that he makes you feel that way, so hot and bothered like it’s your first time. You blame your lack of going out these few months because after all, anyone could fall in love with runway faces. It doesn’t have to mean it’s him you want. You carry on doing what you’ve been doing for the most part of your career, your best to avoid him. There are more pressing matters, and your head might just implode if you keep on worrying about things (a man, of all) you need not.

Time passes even faster when all your thoughts revolve around the same thing.

One month. D-30. Whatever the hell you call time before the end of the world.

Your palms sweat a whole lot easier here. It’s a little weird, considering you don’t find much difference in humidity between Seoul and New York. Your heart often catches up in your throat too. Not a great feeling, your heart choking the breath out of you, but you’re used to it. You cope and you learn, that’s what it means to be human.

You pull your hand down before it reaches your teeth. The day ended in a meeting with Taeyong’s production team—everything’s running smoothly so you need not worry, he said.

Why are those the words that make you worry the most?

You check the time on your phone. 23:05 and a whole month to go. You better get some sleep for all the meetings you have scheduled tomorrow. You close your eyes and for a while, everything falls quiet.

You dream of New York Fashion Week. People come here to feel included. Everyone wants to be a part of something they don’t understand.

The models walk down the runway in increasingly uncomfortable outfits. You didn’t design any of them. Where are the ones you worked on? You can’t move from your seat, or turn your head from the runway, anything at all. Something’s wrong, everything’s wrong. You don’t belong here. Thunder strikes outside the venue and you wake up with a gasp caught in your throat, and the clock on the bedside table flashing 2:14.

You’ve had enough. You swear you’ve had enough.

You get up out of bed, pacing the giant bedroom, the empty spaces making you feel more and more miserable. The city twinkles with innumerous stars beyond your window, curtains half drawn so they can comfort you whenever you need—but these lights don’t shine for you, or anyone else. They shine for themselves. That’s what it means to be in New York again.

What time is it in Seoul? Could you call your mother? Joohyun? Everyone must be busy right now—you don’t know what to do. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt so helpless. There’s a reason you’ve been avoiding New York for this long and now it’s come crashing down on you.

This was a mistake. All of it was a mistake.

You look down at your phone, the light hurting your eyes despite being set to the lowest brightness. You think a little, and then some more. There’s no one else you can call. Even if he’s busy charming all the other employees whenever you see him, even if half the world is in love with him, there’s no one else you can call. This time you don’t stop yourself.

You tap the call button beside the Jung Yoonoh saved neatly. Tapping your foot against the floor nervously, your mind goes blank for a few seconds or so. He answers when you’re just about to hang up, breath hitching in your throat at the sound of his voice.

“Hello? Hello? If this is a reporter—”

“It’s me, Jaehyun.”

The line goes quiet for a moment and your voice overlaps his before he can begin.

“I- I didn’t mean to call so late. Sorry…uh.”

You scrunch up your face at your own voice. This is not getting you anywhere.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, voice lower.

You fall silent, unable to answer without breaking down into tears. You did not call Jung Yoonoh for that.

“Yeah,” you choke out. “Fine. Completely fine. I just…”

You trail off, trying to get yourself to breathe.

“I’ll send you an address. Be there in an hour.”

You blink back tears, confusion adding to the burning pile of worries inside your head.

“What?”

“Address. I’ll text you. Be there. One hour.”

“I’m not stupid, Jaehyun,” you snap, strength refilling your voice. “Why?”

“I’m not answering questions, just be there.”

With that, the line goes flat and an embarrassing amount of ‘hello’s get you to realize that he hung up. A notification pops up a minute later and you’re too groggy to decipher it, logging it to Maps instead so you can follow. It’s fifteen minutes away, you realize with a sigh of relief, so you can at least present yourself within the given constraint.

You can’t grasp what you feel in the moment, the night air and warm streets beckoning you to leave the clamped apartment soaked in fear. You think this is unlike Jaehyun, what he’s doing, but you’re too shaken to care. You need some respite, even if it comes from somewhere you can’t picture.

“You…wanted to meet me at a Korean barbecue restaurant?”

Jaehyun’s ears turn red, as they often do when he doesn’t know how to respond to you.

“I-It’s not that I…Never mind,” he tries to explain, fidgeting with the cloth over his shoulder. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”

We? You think, eyes scanning his face in confusion. If you want? Where’s the uncaring Jaehyun you’ve known, foreign eyes and impassive lips? He hardly looks the part he’s meant to play—a billboard face with a confident jawline and nothing more behind it. Outside of work—you don’t even know what else to call this—Jaehyun looks hardly intimidating, or abrasive. He seems different, gentle almost, although the dark circles under his eyes might have something to do with it. Maybe he’s too tired to say anything more and that’s it.

But he still came all the way here.

“Aren’t you a little…overdressed?”

There comes the remark you were hoping to not hear. You just wanted to look nice; you’d hardly call this overboard. The loose, mustard-colored chiffon shirt cinches at the waist, paired with your nicest (only not faded) pair of light blue jeans and shoes that haven’t seen the light of day since you arrived here. You barely ever design clothes for yourself anymore but you thought you looked good in this.

“No,” you defend quickly, feeling your face grow warm. “You’re underdressed.”

You say that, but he clearly looks good in anything he wears. Could you expect any less of a supermodel? He doesn’t seem to have dressed in as much a hurry as you had. Clad in a plain black T-shirt that’s half tucked into skinny jeans, he’s added his hideous baseball cap and a pair of navy blue shades which looks just as ridiculous as it sounds. You really think he shouldn’t be leaving his house without the help of a stylist.

“I…I just mean you don’t wear anything other than the same sweater and pants combination to work, so… please excuse my surprise.”

Jaehyun's eyes flicker over your figure before masking it with an awkward cough. You reach out and pull the shades over his head, the look bothering you more than anything else. He doesn’t respond to it, at least not in a way that’s obvious, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do—you fixing his hair and unquestionably awful sense of style.

“There’s a soju place a few blocks ahead. Or if you’re not into that, there’s a noodle shop just at the edge of K-town,” Jaehyun rambles on, not meeting your eye. “If you’re looking for something inexpensive—"

“You came all the way here to give me directions?” You raise an eyebrow. You might even be enjoying this, although your inner voice bites back at you, denying it.

Jaehyun shakes his head, the red in his ears pulsing back up. “No. I…I needed some fresh air.”

“You…have someplace to be then?”

Jaehyun might not realize it, but the answers he gives always have room for teasing. Aloof. Vague. Yet somehow sweet.

“And you’ll go alone? At this hour? No, I’ll accompany you,” he says out loud, trying to play off the sudden vocal inflection. You sigh. Boys will be boys, as they say. Even if they’re twenty-six.

You let him keep you company. Though the first few minutes are painfully quiet, neither of you knowing quite what to say without starting a disagreement, you continue your walk through a city that never sleeps. It’s awkward even, being side by side without you seething at his charming, (undoubtedly) fake smile. He feels real, for once, and you don’t know how to react. There seem to be some gold-tinted cracks appearing in your reality, slowly but surely, and you’re not very good at patching anything other than fabric.

“You know, it’s actually a little relieving to see Korean letters here,” you say, sighing. You never thought you’d be so corny, but it really does feel good being here.

Or is it him?

“Thanks,” you add quietly, hoping he doesn’t hear. No, maybe you do. You can’t tell at this point.

“I…I know what it’s like,” he says, so softly that it almost gets carried away by the wind. He clears his throat, an ‘ah’ escaping his lips as he stops abruptly.

“We…We missed the turn,” he declares, a little sheepish as he scratches the back of his head.

You look at him in disbelief. “Jaehyun, how long have you lived here?”

“Oh, I was born here actually,” he says, tilting his face to look at you, blunt sarcasm evident on it. “How many times have you lost your way to the convenience store in Seoul?”

“Literally zero times.”

Jaehyun puffs a cheek before going back to normal and turning a hundred and eighty degrees down the street.

“Hey, wait up!” you huff at his increased pace, half jogging to keep up.

You reach the acclaimed noodle shop, your breath barely within your lungs and swearing at Jaehyun who looks like he wasn’t bothered one bit. He reaches his hand out to help you and you swat it away, chest still heaving with your hands on your knees.

“Dickhead,” you hiss.

“I don’t think I deserved that,” he responds with a widening smile.

“Asshole,” you say, standing up straight to glare at him.

“What would Seoul say hearing their beloved designer swear like this?” Jaehyun looks almost amused, as if you hadn’t shared an awkward time together, like two teenagers who were forced to walk home together from the bus stop.

“They can go to hell,” you retort. “As can you.”

Jaehyun laughs, a strange sound to hear and you blink a few times, unsure of what to do. You wonder if it’s the night playing tricks or if Jaehyun really is an actual person, not the basket of preprocessed insults you were used to. The cracks are widening—you’re not sure if they’re meant to be patched.

Perhaps you were a little eager to enter someplace warm, but you feel immense relief in this little shop, despite the smell of chili paste and noodle soup wafting through the air. It’s a little empty; in fact, you two seem to be the only people there apart from some students at the other corner, but you sit there in your own bubble, talking with Jaehyun of all people about which singer is better. He laughs occasionally, still managing to catch you off-guard with how honest it sounds and you wonder for a moment, how nice this feels. For the first time in a month, your heartbeat seems to have settled at a normal rate.

“What?” you enounce, a little offended. “What’s so wrong about my love life?”

“You just- You just don’t seem that type,” he explains, his ears as red as the bowl.

“I don’t have time for commitments, Jaehyun,” you sigh. “It’s what happens when you’re good at your job.”

Jaehyun nods, something akin to agreement in his response.

“So, your, uh, what is it? Training camp? What’s that about?” you ask, in between blowing your food.

“You could really Google things once in a while, you know?” he replies, bringing his chopsticks close to his mouth.

You roll your eyes. “I’m sorry I’m not one of your creepy stalkers, Mr. Jung.”

“Nothing to do with that,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s for kids interested in fashion, modeling, photography—stuff.”

“Oh? How so?”

“I just sponsor them. You know how difficult it is to get noticed in…this industry,” he explains, like it’s not a big deal. Nothing ever seems to be a big deal to him.

You nod, unable to help the smile. Maybe it isn’t a big deal, but you’re sure now that you were mistaken. Just a little bit.

“I was lucky,” you mumble. “I can’t believe they saw those ugly embroidered patches and decided to sponsor me, oh my god. That sweater was hideous.”

Jaehyun laughs loudly. “They saw me cleaning outside my school and decided to pick me up and ship me straight to Paris.”

“Nothing’s worse than the first day.” You take another mouthful, the taste savoury and filling.

“You know, I’m pretty sure they photoshopped my ears out in the first magazine shoot I had.”

You laugh, leaning in a little closer. “Your first year was rough, huh?”

He hums, his eyes flickering from your nose to your lips. It makes you a little self-conscious, blood rushing to your cheeks at an unexpected pace. Who knew Jaehyun could have such an effect on you?

Your eyes flutter over his face once again.

He’s handsome. But it’s the sort of handsomeness that tells you, you don’t know much beyond it. You look back at your bowl, sobering up and completing the rest of the noodles.

It’s still midnight blue in the faraway sky as you walk down the streets. Most of the people you see out and about are those drunk off their faces from club hopping or a particularly enthusiastic group of tourists. The watermelon soju, while better with budae-jjigae and arguably the best soju flavor, somehow had little effect on you with the bitter aftertaste still settling in. The crowds in other places would make for great people-watching but you walk in a lonely street that calls for proximity. Beside you, Jaehyun sneezes, the sound of it making you jump on the quiet sidewalk.

“Jesus Christ, Jaehyun,” you huff, wincing at the sound, “you sounded like a fucking tractor.”

Jaehyun laughs, looking down at the pavement. When he looks back at you, the circles underneath his eyes seem to have darkened and you wonder if yours are the same. Yours can’t possibly be as important as his, though, and you wonder if it’s appropriate to laugh at how dorky he looks.

You find yourself not wanting to walk back into the safety of your suite. Jaehyun has a look of calm across his features, drawing over the landscape around you. New York lights don’t faze him, they only reflect in his eyes.

The way his soft breaths fan out against his lips remind you that he is human, after all—he has a soul and body, thoughts and its beautiful intricacies. When he turns back to you, you feel those criminal feelings all over again, except this time it’s even louder. It feels so wrong, and yet you can’t help but think of the liberation that could come with his lips on yours.

You could swear out loud, all the colorful words ready at the tip of your tongue.

“Your collar’s…”

Jaehyun’s voice trails off, his hand moving to fix your flipped collar, and when the heat of his skin brushes your neck, you try to not think of where else his hands could be, his lips could be.

In fact, there’s a moment within where it’s perfectly reasonable for him to kiss you, the taste almost on your tongue. But Jaehyun moves away, an indecipherable look across his face.

“I should get going,” he says, “I have a- I have a shoot early tomorrow—today.”

You nod, cheeks coloring at your own unsaid thoughts. Just what have you done to yourself? Why is your skin searing, why does your stomach feel upside down and why were you so ready to give in to him? To Jaehyun? You’ve never felt want like this before, this need to press skin against skin in a manner so illicit.

You part with a short goodbye, the sudden loneliness in your path making you want to backtrack, ask if you can go somewhere else again—maybe there’s a club nearby so you can see him through a round of shots as you usually do. Maybe the bitter feelings will return then.

When you think of the words you exchanged over the course of so unusual a night—your former unforgiving words contradict you. You hate the realization but being so obscure in front of a camera doesn’t have to mean he’s pretentious. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe someday you’ll even admit it.

You feel a flash of heat in your face. You are not running to Jung Yoonoh—what an embarrassing thought. If the very core of your being isn’t repulsed by it, there’s something wrong with you.

There’s something definitely wrong with you, love.

You breathe sharply, trying to organize your thoughts. As if the paparazzi wouldn’t have a treat out of this meeting you had with him if they got to know. You’d better limit it to the only one.

You bite your nails out of force of habit. It’s not going to help. You know. But there’s hardly anything else to cool your nerves.

Front row tickets to New York Fashion Week—the most mortifying dream out of all the ones you’ve ever had. The way Taeyong fidgets, you want to believe he’s in the same boat as you—it makes you thankful even.

Even outside of New York, Lee Taeyong is known for booking out exclusively intimate spaces. There are some props for the pre-show photography, including inked sketches on giant vertical banners stuck to the walls and tables with a messy collection of coffee cans, pencils and a sewing machine. Diverse types of fabric roll off the table in long strips, gently lining the floor till they end midway to another table. It’s a mess—a mess you made look good.

You’d left that and the backstage behind now. All eyes are on the sparsely lit runway, your aspirations coating the air in a thick veil. Are you ready? You won’t know till the first model steps out and till you can elicit a response from the audience.

Jaehyun’s at another venue—career before friendship, or, heaven forbid, attraction. You’d seen the fitting, cape skirt doing daringly well with his long legs clad in black pants, and a classy vest over a ruffled white shirt. You hate seeing other designs before a show, but god, were you glad you’d visited Givenchy to meet Johnny.

But you’re relieved even, that Jaehyun isn’t here. You don’t have the strength to face him anyway, all your energy directed into this chasm of whatever you’d call six months of effort. You want to call yourself accomplished. You want to be proud of yourself.

So this time, you remember all twenty-six minutes of it.

God, they look so beautiful up there, when they’re being looked at, seen for what they are—you’ll never get over it. There’s still hardly much to remember, except this time you’re happy to do it all over again. Effort only exists if it’s acknowledged.

It settles in quite a while later, the weight of all you’d done. You could almost cry, but that’s better left to pillows and the unrelenting skies above a midnight-coated rooftop. This is your moment. For once, you’re anything but afraid.

Afterparties are still not your thing.

However, you had your nicest outfit picked out and Lee Taeyong’s fancy, themed afterparties are something notorious among your colleagues. You’ve heard designers tend to go all out, wearing the best things they’ve designed even if it makes them a little embarrassed to be wearing their own work.

You feel a sigh leave your lips as you finally find a place to sit, your earlier conversations leaving you drained of social energy. You don’t feel alien—it’s strange—and their compliments feel almost warm. The music playing over the speakers is something, you’re sure, from a 60’s American movie, and while it has its own strange allure, the champagne gives you a larger dose of relief.

In fact, if you’re not mistaken, it’s quite like the ballroom in Paris, although significantly smaller. Burgundy wallpaper and lit up crystals hanging in hexagonal shapes across the ceiling—it’d look lovely on a dress too.

Taeyong’s speech, of course, gives you a spike of anxiety with the sudden announcement of his label’s future, a brand now. He smiles on the small podium, everyone admiring his radiance when suddenly he gestures at you, the glass in your hand feeling hotter and hotter.

“…I couldn’t do this without the only designer I felt was up to this—the first designer to work under my brand, as of now…”

You try not to blush under all the pairs of eyes that turn to you.

“(name), thank you.”

Success feels good. Gratitude feels even better.

Everything feels natural, as if a dream gone right. You’re no longer afraid of the world you stepped into, or the accumulation of feelings that molded you into the person you are now. The confidence you so chased after as if it were morphine, you’re going to be keeping an eye on it before it can run away again.

There’s still one little problem to your night of triumph, though.

Jaehyun hasn’t taken his eyes off you ever since you entered, a conversation yet pending. You already know he looks good in the plainest of T-shirts, so it might be a no-brainer that he looks absolutely stunning in a suit. The crystals lining the lapels of his coat glimmer amidst the crowd he’s gathered. It’s hard to come in contact, however. He’s magnetic, almost formidable in the way he attracts attention, and you know it’s something that comes with being a man of few words.

“You’re not enjoying the party?” you ask, taking in Jaehyun’s figure on the veranda overlooking the garden. He sits on one of the mahogany chairs, swirling the glass of champagne with a look of indifference coating his eyes and lips.

“I am,” he says, turning to face you. “Needed a short break.”

“I suppose being the most attractive man in the room needs a break,” you say, taking a seat beside him.

A wry laugh leaves his lips, as he lays his eyes on you. “You don’t seem bothered by it though?”

“I believe that pretty is as pretty does,” you say, your lips twitching.

Jaehyun smiles, furrowing his eyebrows yet still. “You think multimillionaire companies are built on things like inner beauty?”

He’s right. What’s inside is beautiful—it’s too idealistic a phrase. You sigh, adjusting your sleeve. It’s a difficult life, walking the runway no one dares to step on.

I think you’d make that cut too, you want to tell him.

“You know the best thing I got told today?” you ask, diverting the stream of conversation. You think he’s a friend. Even if it could be the champagne talking. Even if you want something more than the innocence of friendship.

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow. “Did Cristóbal Balenciaga’s ghost show up to compliment you?”

“No,” you emphasize, laughing at his pronunciation. “It was this girl. A student. Said she wrote an essay about me.”

Jaehyun hums, dimples marking his cheeks. “I didn’t know a student could get you so giddy.”

You laugh, looking down at your hands before resting your gaze on him again. He leans forward in his seat, strands of hair falling over his face from the rest and a contemplating look over his features. He looks much, much different from when you first saw him, and even handsomer, if that were possible. He’s grown up from the awkward boy you saw in the press release pictures of the Saint Laurent Fall Collection—he looks sharp and valiant on front covers, his shoulders broad and his eyes darling. Jaehyun is still unironically the most breathtaking man you’ve ever met. He might even be one of the sweetest, inside out.

You look to his lips, full as ever. Perhaps you have something to confess. Secrets aren’t meant to be kept so long.

“Jaehyun,” you call, bringing his attention before faltering. It’s not like you’re the only one fawning over his smile. You get up instead, excusing yourself. “I’ll see you inside I suppose.”

“You know I like you, right?”

You turn around. “What?”

Jaehyun gets up, brushing his suit and fixing the lapels. The gentle night haze and the contrasting calls of the brightly lit party inside brush over an effect you’ve never felt before. “I…I like you. It’s pretty straightforward, I think.”

You deny it, or rather, some repressed little emotion inside you denies it vehemently. “Jaehyun, really. I admit I was a complete asshole to you and- and...it was…kind of you to accompany me that night but—”

“Stop. Don’t- Don’t call that kind. You’re not seeing the full picture.”

You stand there, unsure of what to do as you feel your chest grow warmer. Jaehyun turns his head upwards, letting out an audible breath. You can see conflict on his face, the struggle of someone still mulling over the perfect words.

“I don’t hate you. I never really hated you even if I wanted to.”

You suppose it wouldn’t be the right time to say that you might have indulged in that.

“I did,” you confess. “I hated you for a very, very long time, Jaehyun.”

“I know,” he whispers, looking straight at you. “I didn’t mean to leave you hanging—”

“Jaehyun, I don’t care about that,” you say, your voice rising, “You told me you felt suffocated in bow ties and laughed when I asked if you wanted to run away with me. I just ended up thinking you were a goddamn liar.”

“Fine,” he says quietly in his baritone timbre, sounds of the chatter from inside numbing away. “Then let me be honest.”

“When I met you, I thought there was someone like me doing just the same—so…suddenly in the midst of everything. Even if you were a complete asshole to me. You were still real.”

He phrases it delicately, lilting, as if that hasn’t been your whole purpose here. He’s only a breath away from you, but you don’t want to push him away this time. There’s a moment’s pause.

“Between work and myself, which is more important? For once, I thought I could answer that question.”

Your breaths are soft and shallow as they fall, trying to understand his words.

“And then you just fucking stopped. You stopped flying out and I’d barely see you outside of Seoul like you- like you gave up or something. I didn’t understand—what happened to you?”

Jaehyun looks at you with a hardened expression, ears turning red as if he hadn’t expected this outburst of truth. He gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. It’s not like him to open his mouth and let out words that are raw and honest; it makes you feel the weight even more. You were still kids that night. You’re not anymore.

“Jaehyun,” you whisper before reaching your hand out and placing it against his cheek.

It’s so hard to not take in the details. The prominence of the muscle by his mouth when he speaks, the fine lines by his nose which appear sporadically or the look of complete reverence in his eyes when he’s staring at you like this—everything those runway shots can’t possibly capture. Your eyes trail to his lips, your own drawn to it with a desire you don’t know how to comprehend—and don’t quite wish to, either.

You want to believe he made the first move but you give in so easy, it’s alarming. Your lips move against his in a rhythm new and frantic, his hands gripping you with full strength at the waist and you part your lips to allow a deeper kiss. Your hands are free to roam his perfectly styled hair, tousling it in a fashion that makes him groan, only to push you harder against the wall.

“I should’ve- I should’ve let you kiss me that night,” he mumbles against your lips. “Maybe I…I wouldn’t have made you hate me.”

“Maybe you should shut up and kiss me right now,” you respond, your mouth pressing against his, effectively doing the job.

It’s not difficult to see stars when his hips press against yours, his hand resting on one thigh to pull it up slightly. You feel the impact of it head-on, gasping out loud when his fingers press harder against the back of your thigh.

“Tell me- Tell me you want this,” he breathes out when he breaks the kiss.

You respond with reconnecting your lips, your tongue sliding against his in fervent affirmations. You’ve already forfeited your modesty, there’s no reason to stop.

You leave early, getting into the car you’d booked for the night. It would be far more embarrassing were it not for the separation between the front and backseats, when Jaehyun’s hands are up your clothes and his lips rough against your neck. The lip colour has smudged by the side of Jaehyun’s lips, a short giggle escaping you when you notice. It’s not enough to halt the kissing, or feeling each other up —something that feels long overdue. You try to keep your sounds to a minimum but Jaehyun seems to not care about things as worthless as shame, at least for the moment.

“Well, you’re about as graceful as a sea lion when you’re off the runway,” you hiss when Jaehyun’s teeth prick your skin.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” he responds in a low tone, the rest of his retort pushed away by his lips against your mouth.

You don’t have time to take in the details of Jaehyun’s apartment because he’s already carrying you to the bed, your legs around his waist and continuing to kiss you as if making up for something. All those years, you could have been doing this. Maybe you do have some regrets.

The material of his dress shirt feels expensive but clothes are not what you need right now. His phone rings once but he drags a finger over it to reject the call, his mouth still pressing against your collarbone. The only sounds you hear are rugged breathing and you fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as you pull it over his shoulders. The city lights below you reach through the drawn curtains, all the unrelenting complications left behind in those faraway streets.

Jaehyun makes a sound of annoyance at the phone ringing yet again. He breaks apart from you, receiving the call while his fingers massage his temple.

“Hyung, I’m fine. I’ll talk to you later—”

“I was just wondering where you disappeared and you don’t even grace me with a hello?” Johnny’s voice rings clear in the all too silent bedroom.

“Hyung—”

“Wait a minute.” There’s a pause within which Jaehyun seems to tense up. “Are you fucking? Like did you leave the party to get la—”

“Hyung. I’m hanging up.”

The coral pink spread over his ears is almost as pretty as the look of pure annoyance over his face.

“That—”

“Didn’t happen,” you complete, giggling. If someone were to tell you’d be seeing Jaehyun like this a few months ago, you wouldn’t know whether to be embarrassed or exhilarated.

You place your hand at the nape of his neck, pulling him into another kiss.

Sex is barely ever beautiful—even if it’s Jung Yoonoh over you, planting kisses from your mouth to jaw, neck to chest and whispering sweet, delicious words against each part. He certainly knows how to use his assets better than you’d expect from a boy so pristine.

It doesn’t matter if it’s not beautiful, when it’s just like a slow dance—in shared solace and love out of time. You bite your lips to stop smiling too often for it to feel as serious and indifferent as all the other times. Sometimes you feel Jaehyun grinning into the crook of your neck, the giddiness of love taking over the movement of your hips against his. The perfect anatomy of his, paired with his candied words makes you think that maybe you do fit together.

You let someone else take charge for once, his praising whispers of ‘that’s my baby’ or ‘you just look so good’ far too teasing but he follows through, your body barely able to respond apart from shaking and shuddering till you reach your high.

The sound of skin against skin dies down well into the night and you get cleaned, still blissed out from making the summit of all your senses. It’s warm inside, despite turning the air conditioner on.

“Jaehyun,” you call, lowering yourself to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“Hm?” He gives you a drowsy smile, arm under his head and hair sticking to his forehead funny.

“Did you really not hate me? Not even once?” You rest your cheek against your palm as you lie beside him.

Even under the dim lights, it’s not hard to spot the blush on him when he positively glows. Jaehyun reminds you of warm auburn and the touch of cool satin—it’s easy to make things, find inspiration in love.

“Oh my god, you were lying!” you accuse, sitting up straight. “There’s no way you didn’t hate me. I called your modeling as good as a coconut under spotlight!”

“As you so love to remind me,” he mumbles.

There’s a brief moment before the two of you crack up, his deep laughter perfectly mismatched with yours. There’s hardly many sounds on the eighteenth floor, but maybe you’ve always been yearning for this privacy—this proximity in shared laughter and warm touches.

“No, I didn’t,” Jaehyun answers your question after it’s quiet once again. “I thought...I think you’re…”

Jaehyun trails off, his eyes flickering over your face before fixing on your lips as his own tug into a smile. He gulps. “I think we’d be in trouble if the paparazzi saw us throwing choice words at each other, don’t you think? You were barely out of school then.”

“Me?” You laugh. “You were thinking about me?”

“And a little bit about me.”

You fall asleep against Jaehyun’s chest with the certainty of kinder tomorrows, a thing he teaches you through whispers against the pillow and fingers playing with your hair. There’s something private in the way he holds your face, something delicate and homely running from his long fingers to his flushed knuckles and the rest of his hand as it presses against your cheek. It’s warm here, and safe, and maybe home is where the heart is, after all.

“Really? You’re not even a little bit sad I’m leaving?” you ask, placing your hand over your heart. “Who’s going to help you when you’re getting bullied in the workplace now?”

Doyoung huffs in annoyance, placing the box down beside the moving truck. “You’re the only one who bullies me in the workplace.”

You adjust the ugly baseball cap on your head, the one Jaehyun had pulled over your head in an attempt to stop you from complaining about his messy apartment. You hadn’t realized you’d worn it all the way to Seoul till the articles about your questionable choice of accessories had surfaced.

“Your boyfriend’s calling,” Doyoung says, making a face as he picks your phone up from the box near him. “I can’t even believe this. All those years of flirting and—”

You snatch it from him, glaring at him for the choice of words. He raises his hands defensively, rolling his eyes at your sudden movement.

“Are you sure you don’t want me flying to Seoul?”

“Unless you’re planning to work in a truck rental.”

You hear Jaehyun laugh on the other side of the line. Is it normal to have blood rush straight from your chest to your ears at the sound of laughter? You hope that doesn’t change.

You’d visited him a day before your flight. It hasn’t been all that long but Jaehyun certainly makes it out to be, just so he can use his cheesy one-liners. You try not to smile thinking about how he had flung his hair band out, immediately tousling his hair back into a pretty mess and struggling to keep a straight face when you’d visited out of the blue. Jaehyun wakes up at one in the afternoon when his schedule is empty and it had appalled you enough to help him out with basic chores before you left. (It didn’t end well. He kept putting his chin on your shoulder and sneaking his arms around you while you did the dishes.)

“(name)? (name), are you daydreaming again?”

You sigh. “You can’t wait three more days, Jae? It’s, what, one in the morning there!”

“Do you want me saying something cheesy?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I don’t think I can sleep without waking up to your face.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, unable to grace him with a response. The dreamy languor in his voice is more than recognizable and if you’re not mistaken, he’s going to be saying something highly inappropriate.

“Do you know what dream I had last night?” he asks, the smile almost evident with how suggestive it sounds.

“Jaehyun, no,” you warn before lowering your voice. “I swear if it’s another dirty dream—”

“Come home and I’ll tell you all about it. With demonstrations.”

This time you can’t help the laughter, trying to mask it with a cough only to fail. You push the back of your hand against your cheek in order to soothe the involuntary blush. Your perfume smells just like him, and you realize suddenly why he’d gifted it to you.

“That definitely makes me want to leave faster,” you quip.

“I certainly hope so.”

It’s different now, especially if you remember your feelings just last February. Change feels easy for the first time in your life. You check off your list of items, counting the boxes as they’re lifted onto the truck. It took a good amount of thinking, and a bunch of fights before you could decide. New York isn’t so bad. Not when you have reason to be there. You’d like to call it love.

A list of things you do appreciate: Jung Yoonoh. Jaehyun. Whatever.

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cheseyre · 4 years ago

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DAMMMMN

he looks GOOD 🖤🖤🖤

Absolutely living for those ✨ details✨, babe

I haven’t drawn him in SO long-

Here’s My favorite snake to distract me from studying :)

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanart #ts sides #deceit sanders #ts janus #Janus Sanders #look at that snake man #bout to commit some assault and arson whilst looking ✨spiffy✨ af #honestly just pop some shades on him and boom #instant crowley cosplay 😎#we stannnn #your colorings finnnnne #the splashes of yellow and peach stand out nicely against the stark blacks and whites #although it is hard to make out the yellow stuff that's going on in the bg #it may just be my dumb eyes being dumb #but i cant tell if that's supposed to be words or simply decoration #idk if its a result of your camera quality but it looks like you used a pretty bright shade of yellow; im guessing along the lines of lemon #(not) pro tip for the future: using such a bright yellow if fine in tandem with stark blacks #but against soild white it not only blends into the bg but it also strains the eye due to the brightness of it all #in the future id recommend using a darker shade of yellow (probably on a range of butter to honey) if its going to be paired with white #not only will doing that lessen eye strain and make the details pop but playing around with the tints and shades can really liven up a piec #look at me; getting on hung on on the details 😌#it looks good all in all; minus a few areas where the shading can be darker (the areas of his neck and shoulders inside the hoodie)#his palm and the folds of his glove #and his sleeve cuff; whites a pretty hard color to shade but remember that whites also a reflective surface #so for this piece i would use warm colors like light pinks and desaturated reddish browns #okay; art teacher mode over lmao #i am so tired #and don't kick yourself over the nose #i thought we both agreed noses suuuuuck lol

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t4tharuspex · 3 years ago

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house of mirrors

2.5k word mlp fanfic. dont judge me >.>

summary: rarity and twilights visit to the crystal empire is more eventful then either had hoped. somethings wrong with the castle, and more importantly, somethings wrong with shining armor...

content warnings: fear of transphobia (no actual rtansphobia bc this is the colorful horses show)

Rarity held back a whinny of delight as she trotted off the train and into the crystal empire station. Everywhere she looked she was dazzled by gleaming crystals of every color refracting rainbows on every surface while somehow remaining the farthest thing from gaudy. Starting to feel faint from excitement, she leaned on twilight's shoulder as her eyes fluttered.

“Rarity come on!” The alicorn laughed as she helped her friend upright. “We’ve hardly been in the empire for a minute! Save your fainting for the ceremony.”

The white horse perked up immediately at the reminder of what she had come here for: she was to assist Cadence and Shining Armor in the preparations for the newborn princesses presentation to the public! She cantered in place with excitement, lifting twilight's luggage with her magic and running off to their suite in the castle with twilight hot on her heels.

The suite was spacious with generous decor in simple light colors. the main focal point of the suite was the giant bay windows which cast giant swathes of warm light across the room. upon closer inspection rarity was amazed to discover that the windows were made entirely of cut crystal rather than glass. the faint color of the gemstone created a slight cast on the light coming in, giving a view of the city below that was ever so slightly tinted. this realization recontextualized the furnishing in rarities mind: it wasn't dull and plain, but simply a blank canvas for whatever the crystal windows brought in. a strange method of decor indeed. or was it a response to the material conditions of living in a house of crystal?

When the two had almost settled into their apartment, they were startled from their rest by a brisk knock at the door.

“A summons for princess twilight sparkle,” a booming voice called from behind the door. “You are needed urgently by princess mi amore cadenza for matters concerning his highness the prince.”

Worry flooded the purple alicorns features. “Urgent? Then I guess I had better go now.” She magically gathered a few items into her saddlebag and gave a parting smile to her friend as she was rushed away by royal guards.

Shocked by the suddenness of it all, rarity let out a chuff and sat squarely on her quarters. Was shining armor alright? she wanted to put her anxieties to rest, but it was plainly obvious that she hadn't been invited. would the entire trip to the empire consist of her sitting alone in her room while twilight attended to all matters of actual importance?

Trying to shake the thought from her head, rarity got up and left her room to explore the castle. It truly was extravagant, with pillars of crystal stretching to the high vaulted ceilings spreading refractions of glittering iridescence that made the whole space seem somehow both extraordinary glamorous and warm and homey. Inspiration flooded her mind as she trotted the decadently decorated halls. She just couldn’t wait to get back to her studio and put this inspiration to good use.

She was halted in her exploration when her ears picked up familiar voices talking from behind an ajar door. She knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but she couldn’t help but listen in...

"-i don't know what to do twilight, he hadn't seemed this off for years, and now flurry is here and hes completely absent!"

"i don't know cadence, he hasn't said anything in his letters-"

“- all I’m saying is maybe you could get through to him! He won’t talk to me, or anypony else here. you're my last hope. maybe hell listen to his best friend”

“i've never been able to help him in one of these episodes before. if he’s not ready to talk then confronting him will only make him more defensive.”

“That’s a risk we’ll have to take. I’m worried for my husband twilight.” Rarity leaned on the door to hear better as the princesses voice dropped, “please, if not for shining armor, or for me, then for flurry heart. She deserves to have a father who can dedicate himself to her, not one who’s so preoccupied that he can hardly look after her.”

There was a sigh, then rarity heard twilight speak “very well. I’ll do this for her. Maybe that will get through to my brother.”

Sudden approaching hoofsteps started rarity out of her reverie. She stumbled backwards just in time to miss the swinging door as twilight entered the hall. “Rarity? I thought you were still in the room? Oh well, I need your help anyway." She looked over her shoulder as if to make sure they were alone. "I think somethings wrong with my brother. It's possible that one of the unreformed changelings has taken his place to try too take advantage of the upcoming love boom from flurry hearts royal presentation."

Rarity was taken aback by her friends leap of logic. "Doesn't that seem like an extreme suspicion? Having a baby is stressful enough for normal ponies, I cant imagine what kind of pressure would be on a royal prince."

"I don't know rarity, after what happened at the wedding we can't be too careful. I hope its just nerves and parental stress, but we have to expect the worse if we want to be prepared to handle it."

rarity nodded. "alright, then let's find your brother."

The two ponies galloped down the halls in search of the princes chambers. the crystal walls seemed to burn with energy, the warm cast of light from earlier having turned harsh and almost too bright. rarity wondered absently if this was a product of the changing time of day or a trick of the mind. could the walls of a castle really know how somepony felt, and shine it back at them like a diamond mirror?

a distant commotion pricked the two mares ears. "this way!" twilight called as she rounded a corner, dashing after the sound with rarity at her side.

the two skidded to a stop when they reached an open doorway from which the sound seemed to emit. with a flick of her ear twilight motioned for rarity to follow her and the two cautiously made their way into the room. twilight emitted a small light from her horn, then lit the rooms lamp once she could find it on the wall. with the room lit rarity immediately got an impression of drabness and depression, the tightly draped windows letting in no light and the gemstone walls shining the same dim echo back and forth across the space, almost seeming to beg for the light to go out again.

twilight gestured with her chin to the curtained bed at the center of the room, grabbing one edge of the curtain with her magic and indicating for rarity to take hold of the other. once the unicorn had secured the curtain, twilight gave a sharp nod and both ponies tugged their curtain aside, revealing a stallion-sized lump that spectacularly failed to live up to either mares fearful imagination.

the blue-maned unicorn sat up at once, alarmed by the sudden intrusion. he seemed to calm down slightly when he recognized his sister, but he remained guarded. "twily? rarity? what are you two doing in my private chambers?"

"well to be fair," rarity gestured back at the entrance, "you did leave your door open."

"cadence must have done that when she left." shining armor gruffed. "that doesn't answer my question though: what are you doing here?"

twilight stepped forward with a cautious expression, ready to fight if this really was a changeling. "were just here to check up on you, see how youre handling the upcoming princess presentation" it was clear that twilight was being reserved with her supposed brother.

then, shining armors eyes met hers, and her suspicion evaporated. that peculiar sadness that had haunted her brother in her young filliehood, then she had thought he'd escaped when he found happiness in cadences arms, was burning hot tears from shining armors eyes. she had never seen a pain like that before or since. if there was anything twilight was certain of, it was that this pony was the same one she had known her whole life. but the question still lingered, was he the real shining?

completely without her permission, tears began to well in twilight's eyes. "oh shinning, whats happened to you?"

her brother choked on a sob. "I'm sorry twily, you were never supposed to see me like this. no one was. i should be able to hold it together for you... for cadence... for my daughter..."

"shining nopony wants you to hide any part of you! we want to know when you're hurting so we can help. i had thought you'd healed from whatever's causing this pain but it seems to be back and i wont let you hide it from me this time!" the purple alicorn sniffled as tears streaked down her muzzle. "please shining, tell me whats wrong."

The stallion nervously rubbed his hooves together and cast his gaze to the ground. "i don't even know where to start."

"the beginning," twilight proposed. "i want to know everything. you cant heal until you let your wounds be seen."

shining nodded and took a deep breath, "its just that, when you were a fillie, everyone expected me to be the perfect big brother, and i never measured up to that expectation. it was like being thrown into the ocean with no idea how to swim, and everypony kept insisting that i was a fish and i should know how, but i didn't. then in the royal guard it didn't matter how i felt as long as i followed orders and played the role, so that's what i did. i don't know if it actually quieted the pain or just forced me to ignore it, but for a few years i thought maybe i could live with it. cadence was the only pony i've ever met who could make that noise in my brain silent; with her it didn't matter if I wasn't brother enough fro you or stallion enough for the military. i was always enough for her, no questions asked. i was so happy when we got married that i could almost forget about that feeling, telling myself it was a phase i'd outgrown. but now with flurry heart, all that anxiety is back. its like no matter what i do ill never be able to be a good father for her. i love her more than anything, id do anything for her, but it isn't enough. i'm not enough." the white unicorns neck gave way as he succumbed to quiet sobs, his once proud chin quivering and brushing his chest.

"shining... i..." twilight was speechless. what could be said? her brothers pain went far beyond anything she knew how to mend. at that moment being the princess of friendship meant nothing; she couldn't even move herself to speak in the face of her first best friends deep sorrow.

"i hope im not overstepping here," a timid voice chimed in, startling both siblings as rarity cleared her throat. "but i think i may have an idea as to the source and solution of your distress."

"rarity?" shining choked, "how could you possibly know how i feel?"

the mare nervously flicked her mane with an idle hoof. "there's a lot you don't know about me." turning to twilight, she asked "would it be alright if the prince and i could have a moment alone?"

Twilight nodded and bowed out of the room, and the two remaining ponies listened to her hoofbeats echo down and again further down the labyrinthine crystal hallway, which now seemed to glitter coldly like a sterile knife where it once had gleamed so warmly. rarity shivered at the thought of living in a place like this, which could transform before your eyes depending only on ones own emotion. that was, she mused, the property of crystal. it created nothing, only reflecting what was cast onto it. in a dimly lit cave the finest diamond was often mistaken by novices for a common quartz, but at the heart of a kingdom built on a foundation of admiration it gleamed on every surface like the morning dew on a freshly budded rose. this castle wasn't a cold cage or a warm embrace, it was an endless hall of mirrors, each perfectly angled to show you the deepest darkest crevice of your heart.

"i understand why it tortures you to live here." rarity whispered. "each surface gleams to a pristine chrome finish, yet the face it reflects is fundamentally and inconceivably wrong."

shining armor appeared startled, "that's exactly how it feels. how do you know? is it that obvious how miserable i am?

the mare shook her head, "only to those who have felt the same misery. shining armor, i once lived the same life as you, albeit in a much more drab estate. I felt that at every turn i failed at the very task of existing as myself, my relationships suffered because it pained me to view myself as a part of them. mirrors became my enemy because i couldn't face the pony looking back at me. the stallion looking back at me."

a small gasp escaped the taller unicorns lips "what-"

"think about it shining," rarity pleaded shakily, " everything you cant stand to be: brother, father, soldier, prince. they all have one thing in common." tears welled in her eyes and choked her throat "you cant run from it shining. it never stops. you only make yourself more and more miserable. you can cover as many mirrors as you like but eventually you're going to look around and realize that you're still the same pony you hated, standing alone in complete darkness."

something clicked behind the other ponys eyes. "no, it cant be... what about cadence? flurry? twilight? i cant throw all of them away because i have some twisted dream of living as a-"

"-you're not sick shining. maybe a bit different, but there's nothing wrong with you. you'll find that the friends worth keeping don't care at all. they're suffering by watching you suffer; freeing yourself will only free them too."

"i have no idea where to even start though. aren't i a bit too old for this?" shinings eyes were wide and scared.

"i would love to personally see to all the aesthetic changes you wish for, if you'll have me. you really couldn't ask for a more qualified personal stylist. and as for the social shift, you've got the princesses of love and friendship in your corner."

"but that's just it: they're not in my corner. they may as well be on the other side of equestria, or a gaping cavern. how can i even know that they'll still see me as me?"

"i know how scary it is, especially in the early days, but i can personally account for twilights acceptance. and as for cadence, i'm pretty sure they don't go around giving titles like the princess of love to ponies who cant accept others for something so harmless as gender." her smile faded and her face grew a bit serious "i can be there with you if you want. like i said, i know how scary it is." she placed a hoof on top of the other mares own.

She smiled. "I think id like that."

#mlp fanfic #mlp fanfiction #rarity #twilight sparkle #shining armor #princess cadence #mlp trans #trans shining armor #transfem shining armor

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xxwritemeastoryxx · 5 years ago

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Lost Memories Part 11

Author: xxwritemeastoryxx

Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

Word Count: 1.9K

Warnings: Nope. None

Author’s Note: Excuse me while I cry for a moment. This is the last part to this one and I don’t know how to feel about it. Its probably why it has taken me so long to get this one done. I just wanted to hold off a little longer. With that being said, I hope that you guys have enjoyed this one! Thank you guys for reading, for commenting, for reblogging this series. It means so much to me! Maybe one day I’ll come back and add on to this one. We’ll see.

Feedback gives me life and motivation for future things. ♥

5 years later.

After an evening of party goers leaving the bar in the early morning hours, Y/N began her usual tasks of getting the bar back to its original state before it opened for the next night. Her job was easier being a vampire. She learned that such a mundane thing made for the best distractions.

Y/N left New Orleans just as Elijah asked her to do. Her heart hurt to do it, but she understood Elijah’s pain as well. If things had been under different circumstances, things might have been better. But between her being on the run from Lex and Klaus sending her away, things became complicated. Things had changed in a way that Y/N knew that things would never be fixed as it used to be.

So she left and didn’t look back. She found herself in California when she finally stopped driving. That’s where she decided that she would make her new home. In the process of doing so, she found a property she wanted and turned it into a successful business over the last few years.

Katherine and Victoria came and visited often. When they had, it was just like old times. They partied with the other patrons and spent the night discussing how much things had changed since they last came together.

“You know he misses you, right?” Victoria would tell her every time.

It never failed that the words had brought some hope to Y/N. But every time they did, she was reminded of the hurt she had put Elijah through. “He told me to leave, so I did. I think that ship has sailed.” The conversation of Elijah would stop after that.

Even now as she turned the chairs over onto the tables, that flame of hope had still been lit. She hoped with time things would get better. That maybe in a handful of years, she and Elijah might be able to have a conversation that would make them okay again.

She wanted Elijah to have his space that he needed. If she was being honest with herself, she wished there was some spell that could make her travel back in time and fix things before it got this bad. But even if there was, the changes made probably wouldn’t have gotten to where she was right now.

As she flipped another chair over, she heard the front door open and close. Sighing, she shook her head. “We’re closed.” She said as she moved to pick up another chair. “Last call was about two hours ago.”

“Would you make an exception for someone you know?”

Placing the chair on the table, she turned quickly at the voice. In the last five years, she hadn’t once heard his voice. Somehow, even through the hurt, Y/N’s heart picked up at seeing Elijah standing there by the entrance of the bar.

“Elijah.” She said softly, never making a move towards him. She wasn’t sure if this was real. No matter how many times she had wanted this moment to happen, she couldn’t believe her eyes in that moment. “What are you doing here?”

“Believe it or not, my family and I are just a few miles up the road, enjoying a vacation.” He said as he took a step closer to her. His eyes wandered around the bar, taking in the details that Y/N had decorated the place with. “I heard there was a bar that could make anyone believe they were in New Orleans. You’ve obviously accomplished that.”

“Couldn’t go to New Orleans, so I brought it here.” She said as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Makes me feel at home.” The bar had done just that. It gave her the comfort she needed to stay put. A home away from home. “If you were really here for the bar, you wouldn’t have come after closing.”

“Would you believe me if I said I was hoping to speak with you?” His voice was soft. Y/N could hear it in his voice that this must have been hard for him to do. She didn’t blame him.

“About what?” She asked as she began walking towards the bar. She had to bite her tongue because part of her wanted to say that she believed he had said everything he needed to. But he hadn’t done anything wrong. She had.

Elijah watched as she walked around to the other side of the bar and pulled two glasses off the shelf and grabbed a bottle of bourbon from the top shelf. He walked over to the bar and pulled one of the stools down and took a seat in front of her.

“There were a lot of things left unsaid between us.” He said as he reached for the glass Y/N had poured for him. “I wanted to apologize for-”

“You didn’t do anything wrong Elijah.” Y/N said cutting him off. “I hurt you and put your family in danger. You asked me to leave and that was right on your part. I should be the one apologizing for everything I’ve done to get us here.”

“It wasn’t just on you.” He took a sip of the bourbon and placed the glass back on the bar. “There were several factors that made you do as you had. I should have been understanding, but I let the feeling of betrayal get the best of me.”

Y/N looked down at the glass before her. Her hand had been wrapped around it, but she made no move to take a drink from it. “I would have told you eventually. Maybe not when we fought, or when things were getting crazy, but at that time, it wasn’t my place to tell you.”

“After you had left, I spoke with my brother.” He said as he watched her gaze leave the cup and back up to him. “He mentioned that you fought him on an occasion or two about telling me. One of those times had been a day or two before James made his move. Not only had you been the key to James’ plan, Klaus used your argument with him to give him the push he needed to send you away.”

Y/N listened to his words and while she had only gotten her memories back five years ago, the details had become clouded to her. But that conversation she had with Klaus was clear as day.

“I cant keep lying to him, Klaus.” Y/N said as she walked into Klaus’ study.

“I don’t have time for this.” Klaus said as he moved to leave the room.

Y/N moved to stand in front of him. “Make time. Because this deal can’t stand between us anymore.”

“If you go to my brother, I’ll make sure that you won’t have a heartbeat.” Klaus threatened as his eyes narrowed. “Plus you aren’t lying, you are simply omitting information.”

“If you trusted me enough to help stop them from coming after Hope, why won’t you trust me to tell Elijah?” Y/N asked frustrated.

“Because it is with me you hold this deal.” Klaus reminded her. “I am the one that holds that information over your head. Yes, you may have saved Hope for now. But I know there will be a day that you’ll need to keep good on your promise.” Klaus pushed passed her after that.

Y/N turned around and faced him. “I’m telling him the first chance I get.”

Klaus stopped mid step for a moment before continuing. “Your funeral.”

“The next day Alyssa had been murdered.” Y/N corrected. “I never got a chance alone with you to tell you. You had gotten home late the night before and you were gone when I woke. After that, Rebekah pulled me into a shopping spree. Of course you know what happened after that. After I got my memories back, I knew that I never got that chance. And when Lex threw that information at you, I knew you’d be angry with me. I just didn’t think you would want me to leave.” A sad chuckle passed her lips.

“While I was angry, I almost expected you to fight to stay.” There was hurt in his words that Y/N hadn’t missed. “It was Victoria that told me you’d left. I thought maybe you hadn’t cared enough.”

Y/N placed her free hand on top of his. “I always cared.” She said with a slight nod of her head. “ I cared from the moment I bumped into you at Alice’s, to meeting you for the second time when I didn’t have my memory. You had an impact on me in a way that was completely unexpected. But when you asked me to leave, the anger and the hurt that was in your voice hurt me to hear it and I knew I didn’t deserve to stay.”

“I am sure you and I would have felt the same way if the roles were reversed.” He turned his hand over and took her hand in his. “When you were forced to leave, I thought I wouldn’t survive that. You and I had become so intertwined for those ten years. And for a brief moment I had you back and I remember thinking I wasn’t going to let you leave my sight. When I pushed you away, I believed I’d be alright. That I had done this before and I survived. But I couldn’t.”

That flame of hope that had been within Y/N had grown and she hoped that they’d be able to fix this. That once everything was out in the open that they would be able to get past this. She bit down on her lip for a moment before sighing.

“Why don’t we start over?” She asked. She watched as his eyebrow raised. She smiled and shook her head. “If you want. I know forgetting everything isn’t an option. But just as you said, we have this connection that is hard to ignore. Maybe the third time will be the charm?”

Elijah laughed at that. It was the first time she heard him laugh in decades. It was a sound she didn’t think she would ever hear again. “And I suppose we should reintroduce ourselves and tell each other our life secrets?”

It was Y/N’s turn to laugh. “I wouldn’t say go to that extreme. Start over in regards to there not being any lies between us. Tonight we’ll clean out our closets and go from there.”

“That is centuries worth of skeletons that will need to be cleaned out between the two of us.” He noted.

“I’ve got nothing but time.” She said with a smile. “Plus there is a fully stocked bar behind me just in case we need that.”

Elijah thought about it for a moment before he nodded. “To a night of really getting to know each other.” He stopped for a moment, a twitch of a smile pulling at his lips before he placed his hand out in front of him. “I’m Elijah Mikaelson.”

Y/N’s eyebrow raised as she took in what he had done. Shaking her head, she took his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Elijah.” She said with a smile. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

It was as they began talking about their past, it was the first time that both of them really got to know each other. There was no compulsion, no deals made between siblings or even friends. It was something the two of them needed from the beginning but never got a chance to. And as the night carried on, they were realizing that just like the first time, they wouldn’t be leaving the other anytime soon.

Always & Forever Tag: @taylordrunkonwhiskey @thewolf-and-thesheep @wayward-dan @neeadinghugs @fafulous @kenmen02 @elizamonet @dora-the-grownup @mschellehitt @xanderling @fandom-princess-forevermore @buckysarm4 @hi-my-name-is-riley @helenasingers @alka16555 @yaniiie

Lost Memories Tag: @jenniferpendragon @captainshurley @spookske1999 @anything-ispossiblenow @therealwatermelon @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @andrea25434 @cumberbabe92 @une-lueur-dans-la-nuit @vampiregirl1797 @crushingbigtime @the-loveliest-lies-of-all @xxbeckybeexx-blog @twigstar18 @winchestert101 @the-missunder-stood

Stag Tag: @elejah-wonderland @cheers-my-dears-16 @xxsovereignsarayaxx @asiaaisa77 @astudyoftimeywimeystuff

The Originals Tag: @zillahvathek @obsessedwithvampires @alien-sida

Thank you sooo much for reading! For those of you on the lost Memories tags, if you’d like to be moved to another list, please let me know. ♥

#The Originals #The Vampire Diaries #Lost Memories #Lost Memories part 11 #Elijah Mikaelson x reader #Reader insert #Series #Series ending #elijah mikaelson #TVD #Elijah Mikaelson fanfiction #Elijah Mikaelson fics #TO

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castlevania-afterdark-imagines · 5 years ago

Text

Fem s/o soft-doms Isaac (pt. 2)

Click here for pt1!

It was going to happen. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but Isaac was certain of the fact he was going to kill Godbrand.

After he had patiently waited for so long, his beloved was going to give him exactly what she'd promised. She, already bare before him, hadn't even managed to remove his outer layers before that neanderthal had kicked open the door. He was blathering on about Isaac's presence being needed and he figured this was the place to check since the forge was empty. Isaac didn't know if the vampire had seen anything before the forgemaster managed to bolt to the door and slam it shut, to the very satisfying thud of the old oak colliding with the vampire's face.

He was ready to go out and stake the bastard right then, but a twittering of laughter behind him brought his eyes back. She was covering her mouth, giggling. Of course she would find this entertaining. Her thighs were still damp from her release. Isaac however, felt as though his insides were being clenched tight between two gears.

To his mild horror she stood and started to assemble her underclothes back onto her body. He didn't realize his palms were still pressing against the door until she glanced up and smiled, giving the gentle order of, "Stay there for a moment.” After taking inventory of his stance, he immediately felt a wave of revulsion. The position reminded him of darker times, cruel punishments, cold hands. But he did not have to think on it longer than a few breaths before she appeared, slipped under his arms to put herself between him and the door. Her hands went to hold his face and he sighed, relief flooding his veins.

"Beloved-"

She shushed him, standing on her toes to kiss both corners of his mouth. "It's alright. Go take care of whatever it is, and I'll wait here for you."

He snorted in frustration but nodded. Yes, if they were going to have any peace this night he'd have to go see what exactly was so important to warrant the intrusion. And make it very clear that no one else was going to want to demand his attention again, unless they wanted a blade in their gut.

"Maybe I'll go find some wine, while I wait," she offered, slipping back out under his other arm, trailing her fingers across his torso as she went. "We could have dinner here, just the two of us. What do you think?"

Isaac chuckled, looking at his palms still placed on the wood. Funny, he did not mind this position so much when he could still feel the heat from her palms on his cheeks. He straightened his back, looking over his shoulder at her. "That sounds perfect."

- - - - -

It had been a trivial matter, because of course it would be. Hector was already doing a fine job of wrangling in the bickering between the generals, it was the addition of a partially blinded gaibon coming through a third story window that made things exciting. Isaac left the calming of the beast to Hector, while he made quick work of silencing the vampires back to their rooms until their Lord Dracula returned to settle the current debate. Hector made to thank the other forgemaster but one sharp look was enough to tell him that gratitudes could be given later. However, that didn’t ease the knowing smirk from his face, giving a quick perk of his eyebrows before turning to guide the struggling creature to his quarters.

Isaac didn’t mind Hector knowing of his affairs, not the details perhaps but it had been at his suggestion that he could both juggle his obligations to the war while entertaining the company of the woman he was so suddenly smitten by. Also, Isaac was in no place to snipe at Hector for that knowing look when he’d already caught him hilted between his lady’s legs in a previously unoccupied corridor.

Twice.

But he would have time to check in with Hector later. Right now, his focus was rapidly narrowing to finding the fastest route back to her chambers and a hopefully occupied bed. He left the great hall in a flourish, ignoring the dirty looks from the vampire guards. His heels clicked on the stone and announced his advancement down the halls, though he could barely hear it over the rushing of blood in his ears. It was only by the gracing of his robes that he’d managed to conceal his arousal upon entering the hall earlier, and while the tension had subsided quite a bit he could still feel the press of her hands on his cheeks, the brush of her slipper against his crotch. Would he be jumped upon his return? Or would she taunt him further over his supper?

As he tried to quell the onslaught of mental noise he glanced upon one of the many potted urns that decorated this particular wing of the castle. It was one of the few wings with windows left uncovered, a convenient deterrent to any vampires who might otherwise wander this way, but it also made for a convenient way to grow medicinal herbs in an ever moving structure. His eyes glimpsed a patch of aconite, fully in bloom, their purple color almost blended into the dark stonework behind them. His lips pursed into a small smirk. It might be a bit off color for him, but this whole evening was… experimental. He crossed to the flowers, flicking his knife from it’s casing, and cut three stalks long enough to be held in one of the water decanters he kept in his chamber. She had done a thorough job of courting him this week, he could return the favor.

When he finally arrived at the door he noted a slight gap, the latch carefully balanced to be only a breath from falling open. He took a moment to lament that this likely meant he was not going to find her strewn naked on her bed, they were more careful than that, but he all the same took the grace to rap softly on the door.

“Come in, Isaac.” He huffed a laugh, pushing open the door and carefully hiding the blossoms behind his back. “How did you know it was me?” he teased, gazing up to find her perched on the edge of her armchair in a brilliant burgundy robe, a small table of assorted meats and breads nearby along with a very elegant bottle of what he presumed to be wine. “I could have been a starved beast, prowling for his next victim.”

“Beasts do not knock,” she quipped back, standing and tightening the sash around her middle. “Especially when they are approaching their 'victims'.” She let him close the door and lock it, smiling at him fondly until he began to cross the floor towards her. Then she picked up on his carefully hidden arm and bit her lip to hold back a laugh, halting his progress with a held up palm. “What have you got?”

Isaac simply shrugged, giving her a beat to roll her eyes and cross her arms in an entirely over dramatic display of popped hip and tossed hair. Then he broke, chuckling at her and holding out the flowers. Immediately she clapped her hands to her chest, cooing in approval before reaching to carefully take them from his outstretched palm. “Perhaps it is a bit unusual to bring gifts so late in our courtship, but I thought you would approve nonetheless.” He felt his chest puff a bit in pride as she made a show of smelling them, canting her head in mock shyness behind the blooms. What caught him off guard was when she then stepped right up to him, pulled his face down by the back of his neck, and positively stole any remaining thoughts from his mind with her lips on his own.

Much like earlier she was slow but deliberate, purring her contentment across their mixed breaths and using her grip on him to guide his position to her liking. Just when he remembered how to make use of his arms and made to touch her waist it was over and she was flitting away to put the flowers in a spare glass with water. “They’re lovely Isaac, thank you.”

His hands flexed for a moment in the empty air before he shook his head, it seemed the game was still on then. “Much as you are, beloved. I apologise for leaving you to wait for so long.” With a small flick of her wrist she didn't pay mind to his apology, just settled the blooms into the glass. He wasn't quite sure if it was on purpose, but he felt the embers in his gut spark back to life as he admired the way the thin fabric clung to her frame. The drapes clinging to her hips in particular…

"Yes, Isaac?" Her purr snapped his eyes back to her face. Oh yes, she was doing this on purpose now. Both of her hands placed delicately on the table in front of her, rump pressed back just enough to exaggerate the pose.

"Do I not have your permission to admire such a pristine display?" He smirked, glowing under the tittering of giggles that fell from her lips.

"You do. But," she paused, lengthening her spine and stretching her arms over her head, the sleeves falling back to reveal the soft skin of her forearms while the waterfall of fabric from her waist down fell away to hide her form again. "You also have permission to ask for more."

That word again. Empty in specifics, and yet it sent a thrill through him. "I always want more when it comes to you. It seems nothing in this world can satisfy me as long as you are present." She smirked over her shoulder at him, lowering her arms and trailing her fingers over the fringe of the robe that was slowly parting across her collarbones. When her hands stopped again she hummed, raising her eyebrow at him. Isaac remembered to breathe, but was still unsure of how to play this game. He flipped through the mental pages of the evening. Right, he was supposed to be asking for things. And praying it would be in her interest to provide them. "May I see more of you?"

She grinned, tugging carefully to loosen the collar of the robe around her neck. Isaac wet his lips absently as she carefully drew the fabric down over one shoulder. She gave it an exaggerated roll accompanied with a toss of her hair and he found himself spiraling even faster into admiration for her jovial antics. She never let him dwell, never made things too serious. Always a game, never an obligation. He laughed when she turned and shimmied her shoulders, the tops of her breasts bouncing out from behind the fabric without fully revealing themselves. The mirth left him grinning and he ran a hand over his face, closing his eyes to steal against the borderline ludacris (lewdacris) display. "Please, beloved, you have tempted me for weeks already. You know I desire you, mind, body, and soul. Will you ask me to be so deliberate with my words even now, in the state that I am?"

"And what state is that?" Her voice was much closer than anticipated, and his eyes opened to see her standing before him. At the present angle he could look directly down the part of her robe, over her chest, which he did before meeting her sparkling gaze.

"Hungry."

She quirked an eyebrow, gesturing at the tray of food nearby with an open palm. He puffed a breath of annoyance through his nose, the air ruffling the delicate fabric catching on her nipples.

"You know what I hunger for."

"I do," she purred, hands dropping to her waist and loosening the sash to let the robe fall open. The forgemaster felt his heart jump to his eyes, she was completely bare beneath and the faintest waft of her perfume graced him upon the reveal. "I will do my best to satisfy you Isaac, you have done everything I asked. I did not think it was possible for you to leave me so…" She hummed softly, stretching up on her toes to wrap her arms around his shoulders. Carefully she pressed against him, he could feel her warmth through his layers and groaned when she placed a small kiss on his earlobe. "Enthralled."

Isaac groaned through pursed lips, fighting to keep his arms pinned at his sides even as she laved kisses down his neck, purring and cooing her satisfaction as she felt him harden against her thighs. He prayed to every nameless god that she wouldn't bring him to climax this way, he had not waited this long to ruin his pants and his pride over provocative writhing. Finally she took mercy on him. "Carry me to the bed, Isaac."

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure," he growled, barely finishing his sentence before her hands were on his face and directing him into another breath stealing kiss. She ground her body against his and his hands remembered their purpose in life, grabbing greedily at her ass and lifting her into his arms. She moaned into his mouth, gasping breaths escaping between their lips as he crossed the floor to her bed. Once he set her down he meant to push her down, but she resisted and remained sitting up as she broke their kiss with a careful drag of teeth across his lower lip.

"Will you perform this last task for me?" she asked softly, running her fingers down his cheeks to follow the collar of his tunic.

"Yes," he hissed immediately, not caring what it was going to be. He would wrangle the sun out of the sky if it would allow him into her bed at this moment.

She scooted back to sit at the headboard propping herself up among the pillows. Deliberately she spread her legs as she let the robe fall from her shoulders, pooling around her hips like an oasis of silk. Isaac felt himself quiver as he watched her trace one hand down her sternum, over her belly, pausing just as her index finger brushed her lips. He heard her shudder a breath free hand jumping up to her mouth. She moaned softly, dragging her fingers over the already wet folds, but not yet parting them.

"Undress," she murmured, the phrase forcing his eyes up from the display she was putting on for him. It took another moment for the command to parse, his hands balancing on the edge of the bed, his breathing already laborious. When it finally caught fire he immediately straightened up, grabbing at the hem of his outer layers before he heard a small tutting from her. “S-slowly,” she ordered, pausing in her ministrations. Isaac pursed his lips, taking a slow inhale while he forced his body to still. As he stopped she slowly started pleasuring herself again, reclining back among the pillows and splaying her legs wide for him to watch. He felt a thrill tremor through his torso as he started again to remove his clothing at an agonizing pace. When she didn’t stop he tried just a little faster, only to lament when he watched her pause again. Though admittedly, she did not look thrilled about stopping either. “You enjoy this,” he mused softly, returning to the horrible pace that made the pull of cloth on his skin feel like grains of sand. She chuckled a little, rolling her shoulders and moaning softly as she carefully pressed a finger inside herself. “As do you,” she cooed back, breath hitching a little as she fought to keep composure. Isaac felt himself laugh, but he was more focused on trying to get his tunic over his head fast enough to not miss a simple movement of hers but slow enough that she wouldn’t stop again. She seemed to give him mercy when he tossed it off over his head and froze again, letting a beat hang in the air before his hands went to his trousers.

The game continued for what felt like ages, with her sometimes stopping just to see if he was still paying attention. By the time he was blissfully naked she had nearly worked herself flat on the bed, writhing and panting softly as she worked herself over. The blood was rushing in his ears and he nearly broke composure. Surely she wouldn’t object if the game could be considered completed, if he could hilt himself inside her as fast as his mortal body would allow. But something kept him rooted, the pleasant buzzing in his skull as he watched her, eyes half lidded as she held his gaze. Spellbound he waited, cock very proudly displaying his interest until she finally removed her hand from herself, fingers glistening and he heard himself groan softly. Finally she smirked and gestured lazily with the slick digits for him to approach. “Are you ready for your reward, my love?”

“Yes,” he hissed, crawling onto the bed, all other words faded from his mind. Her legs parted further to allow him to kneel between them and he took her raised hand between both of his. Her scent reached him and he sighed blissfully, bending his head to kiss her knuckles but pausing to catch her eyes. She gave a little nod and he continued, pressing careful kisses from her knuckles down to her carefully groomed fingernails. It took a present mind to not lick his lips as her juices stained them, but then when he’d reached the end of each finger he caved, sucking the tips of her index and middle fingers and pressing his tongue to the soft skin. He heard her moan, felt her legs shake against his thighs and continued. Any other evening he might be bothered by how depraved he might look, cleaning her fingers like a dog might try to remove the sinew from a bone, but each fluttering of her breath kept him enraptured with his task.

Too soon she pulled her hand away, which he regretfully released, but he couldn’t dwell long on the disappointment when she sat up, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Take me, Isaac, you’ve earned it.”

Any other night Isaac knew he would have behaved one hair short of a feral beast and leapt at the opportunity, but something kept him tethered, laboriously slow. At her words he moaned, pressing his face into her neck, lowering the two of them down to the strewn pillows, wrapping one arm around her middle while the other reached between their grinding bodies to position himself. He was acutely aware of the kisses she left on his brow, the whimpering cry she tried to stifle by his ear when he pressed in, but every other modicum of thought was preoccupied with her warmth and the burning trails it left on his skin. When he was fully buried inside her he gasped, legs flexing and back tensing with the effort it took to not climax immediately. Everything bled away into the press of skin on skin, her neck finding its way between his teeth, their arms wrapped around each other like leather bindings. Nothing but friction, heat, and the satisfaction he felt in his core with each thrust that made her cry his name. When he quickly reached his breaking point he could barely speak, only a fumbling of “please” and “I can’t” spilled from his lips. By some cosmic grace she only replied with a flurry of “yes” and “hurry”. He was sure his heart stopped when he came, body trembling and hands gripping her body like he might shatter without a frame to hold onto. The squeeze of her legs around his hips and shaking of her body beneath him told him everything, her satisfaction, her release, his purpose.

When his mind finally pieced back together he was vaguely aware they had simply collapsed, he was still inside her, and she was running her fingers down his spine. When he made to move, grunting as his arms refused to obey orders, she shushed him, squeezing a little around his shaft which made him quiver. “Not yet,” she purred.

He chuckled, testing his motor functions in his legs by flexing his muscles and curling his toes. “At least let me adjust so that I am no longer crushing you.” He heard her hum in contemplation, clearly unconvinced that was a better option than the current position she was in, which forced a laugh from him. He scooted his arm underneath her mid back lower, giving the top of her butt a light pinch. She yelped, lightly slapping his back with her hands before shimmying to roll him off her. The cool shock of air to his dick from the sudden withdrawal made him shiver, but he continued to chortle as she fussed and rubbed the spot he’d pinched. He laid back and tugged an edge of the duvet over his lower half, still pleasurably pliant as he relaxed among the pillows. When she settled again, curling up against his chest he positioned his arm behind her head to use as a pillow, the two of them murmuring in pleasure at the warmth of the other’s skin. “Was that alright?” she asked softly, tracing patterns over his chest with her index finger. “I hope you were not frustrated with me.” Isaac rolled his eyes, nudging his hip against her. “I was frustrated, but that does not mean it was an unpleasant experience.” He felt her tilt her head on his chest to look at him, but he was still enjoying the blissfully limp sensation pulsing through his body. “It was nice to not think, to not have to contemplate my next move. I did not think I would enjoy it as much as I did.” He felt her purr of satisfaction on his chest and bent his arm to wrap better around her shoulders, brush his fingertips along her arm.

“Soooo, tomorrow?” He sighed, using his free arm to reach up and grab a pillow. She sensed the attack before he could drop it on her face and rolled away, eyes lit up with playful energy. Isaac smirked at her, rolling onto his side and propping his head up on his fist. “Tomorrow, beloved, I repay you for your incessant teasing.” She bit her lip at that, sitting back on her heels and cocking her head to the tone of ‘Is that so?’. “Oh yes, I think I will render you boneless by the time I’m through with you. It is only fair.”

In his mind it was a promise, even if that meant locking every vampire in their coffin the next night to guarantee it came to fruition. -Mod Soviet

#isaac #fem reader #mod soviet #imagines #Castlevania

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cryoculus · 5 years ago

Note

More love for Semi please? Anything will do, your writing is exquisite in any form anyway :D

» Word Count: 1,857 wordsCross-posted on AO3

SORRY THIS IS SO LATE :(( I actually wrote three chapters’ worth of content for him already and you can read the whole thing on the ao3 link.(NOTE: This is based on the current events of the final arc of the Haikyuu manga. I tagged it as a spoiler but I won’t really go into the specifics of what’s going on. Semi is our main focus here ^__^)

—

“Please?”

“No,” was your flat reply.

Semi heaved a long sigh, mouth twitching into an irritated grimace. You returned his reaction with a sassy look of your own—one, finely penciled brow quirked as bright, red lips rivalled the adamance that Semi brought about. While you were in no position to tell him to just go back to his cubicle and get today’s work done (you, sadly, held the same position in office), you at least had the right to turn him down. Your department had a monthly financial report coming up. Why on Earth did he want your help writing a song?

“Come on,” he groaned. “You know I’d eat my fist first before asking for your help, but our manager really digs your old pieces from college.”

Your eye twitched.

“Way to beg for someone’s aid in a time of dire need,” you bit back sarcastically. “Go do it then.”

“What?”

“Eat your whole fist.” You gave him a pointed look, even making a show of paying attention by putting your pen down.

Your co-worker let out a frustrated groan, fingers carding through his messy, ashen hair. The gesture made the tattoos on his chest visible for a second, before disappearing again behind his barely done button-up. It was a mystery, how a man like him made it as a public servant—with his flamboyant piercings and tip-dyed hair—but you supposed you should learn to look past physical appearances. The agency allowed it, so why should you make a fuss?

Ah, right. Semi Eita was the most hot-headed man in your department, and he had a knack for picking fights with you.

“If you get the balance sheet done by five o'clock, I might reconsider,” you told him, not really meaning the words, as you directed your attention back at the paperwork on your desk. Balance sheets are the toughest to fill out, since the data needed had to be collated from different sectors of the city. You highly doubted that Semi, with his thinner-than-a-strand-of-hair patience, could finish it in one sitting.

“Deal.”

Your gaze hardened as you looked back up at him. “Come again?”

“Are you deaf?” he asked, folding lean arms across his chest. “I said it’s a deal.”

You couldn’t help the snort that made its way past your lips. Whatever his reasons may be, it was painfully obvious that he was desperate. But still. You knew that he wouldn’t be able to carry out the deed in your given deadline, but instead of talking him out of his own agreement, you merely shook your head in acceptance.

Semi eventually stalked off to his cubicle; the one just in front of yours. There was a divider that separated each employee’s workspace from the others, and it at least granted some semblance of privacy from outside gazes. You’ve been to Semi’s cubicle a couple of times—more to coordinate paperwork than engage in conversation, really—and he decorated his personal space exactly how a part-time rock band vocalist would. Though he didn’t exactly put up posters and painted the walls black, he added his own flair to his desk with guitar figurines, neon stickers on his desktop, and a photo of his bandmates enclosed in a sparkly picture frame.

The only reason you bothered looking so closely was the fact that you also went to the same university together (under the same degree, too!) You’ve always been keen around him, with his loud way of living, as opposed to you, who’s always chosen to live simply and without pretentiousness. Sure, the disparity between your lifestyles had caused you to be at each other’s throats since freshman year, but it was still a surprise that your synergy was top notch. You would, as Semi put it so delicately, eat your fist first before admitting to the fact, but it’s a given that you preferred to work with him instead of other, unfamiliar people.

You sighed, brandishing a bored look at the bleak document in front of you. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to help him out…

But when you recalled every time he’s talked over you during board meetings, sneered at you when he got a higher score during exams, and his distateful behavior in general, you steeled your resolve.

Either he’s going to get that balance sheet over with or he’ll keel over. If he wanted your help, he’s going to have to work for it.

—

You were in the middle of fixing your belongings when the sound of a stack of papers hitting your desk rang in your ears.

“There,” Semi said breathlessly, making you look up at him in surprise. He even tossed a flash drive on top of the papers he deposited, where you saw the city hall’s heading printed in full color. You reluctantly checked your phone for the time. 16:57, it said, in a mockingly bold typeface before shoving it in your pocket.

The damn guy really did get it done before five.

“The electronic document is saved in there, in case you lose the print.” He was panting at this point, and you had a vague idea as to why he looked like he just ran a marathon. The one printer in your department (this year’s budget was cut) broke down a few days ago, and the nearest functional one was at the Logistics office three floors down.

Still refusing to believe it, you peered at the documents he just brought in. You scanned each of the entries printed on each page. That’s when you realized that Sendai City’s expenses have skyrocketed since the new year because the list of expenses occupied a whole page alone. A worried sigh made its way past your lips, but at least the liabilities were cut down to a minimum. You heard that the governor of Miyagi was going to pledge a few hundred thousand yen for the city’s founding anniversary, too.

You paused. Blinking, you rearranged the papers neatly back into its pile—biting back the urge to clutch your wounded pride. Semi was looking at you expectantly, like he wanted you to praise his flawless bookkeeping.

In actuality, his determination was beginning to freak you out.

“Why do you want me to help you so badly?” you asked, voice almost trembling. “Seriously, dude. I thought we hated each other. Quit acting out of character.”

“I told you, our manager really liked the songs you composed back in senior year,” he drawled, tired of having to repeat himself.

Your face twisted in confusion. “Who even is this manager of yours?”

There was a half-second delay in his response, but before you could paint a reason for his hesitation, he immediately replied with, “Saito. Saito Makoto.”

You stiffened, gaze going rigid at the mention of that name. “Oh.”

“Yeah. If I manage to give him a piece by the end of the month, he’ll help us sign a contract with a big-shot record label,” Semi explained, oblivious to your discomfort.

“But haven’t you been writing songs since high school?” you wondered aloud. “That’s what you said during our Pol-Gov class ice breaker.”

He frowned. “You still remember that?”

Okay. You kept forgetting that your sharp memory wasn’t always a praiseworthy thing. You gulped, feeling the heat creep up your face. “Um, anyway, the point still stands. You’ve been writing songs for God-knows-how-long, and while I’m not one to dish out compliments especially to you, I’m pretty sure they’re okay if you managed to gather a decent fanbase.”

He rolled his eyes, leaning against the divider of your cubicle. “We’re a rock band. I write rock songs, but Saito wants me to write a goddamn love song.”

Typical Saito. Though he looked like a rugged high school delinquent, he was awfully sentimental when it came to music. He was the one who inspired you to write the songs Semi was pestering you about all day after all…

“Fine,” you relented. “I never go back on my word and since you did a…good job with this, I’ll help you out.”

His light brown eyes lit up for a moment, but Semi managed to mask his relief in a split second—containing his excitement in a single nod. “Are you free this Saturday? You can come by my place and we could start getting to work.”

Well, that was forward of him. You expected to work on the song in a coffee shop or something, but he went on ahead and invited you to his own humble abode anyway. You parsed through your weekend plans in your mind, and once you confirmed that you were free, you scribbled down your phone number on a sticky note. Almost five years of acquaintance and you’d never bothered giving it to him. Huh.

“Just text me the time and place,” you told him, pocketing the flash drive as you slipped the balance sheet in one of the empty folders in your organizer. “You better not pull anything funny and lead me to a secluded alley or something.”

Semi scoffed, folding the piece of paper and sticking it inside his trousers. “As if.”

You then slung your bag across your shoulders, grinning insincerely. “Glad we’re on the same page, then.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

With that, Semi exited your cubicle, leaving you no room to wonder why he didn’t even spare a quick ‘thank you’.

Just as you were smoothing out the creases on your pencil skirt, your phone began buzzing in the pocket of your blazer. Brows raised, you fished it out and unlocked it.

From: Makohey, wanna grab some dinner? its on me :3

Speak of the devil. You swallowed the lump in your throat, fingers shakily managing to type a coherent reply.

To: MakoYeah sure. Where to tho

From: Makocan we get some italian? ik u love the udon place across the street but akane’s having dinner w her friends there

From: Makocant have her seeing us together now do we

The way he put that so casually made your chest constrict with a too-familiar sensation. You heaved a deep breath, pursing your lips into a thin line as you sent a quick “Ok” text to end your conversation. Saito replied with those iffy heart-eyed emojis that he only ever used when he wanted something from you, and you had to compose yourself so you wouldn’t burst into tears right there.

“Oi.”

You almost jumped at the sound of Semi’s voice as he peered inside your cubicle once more. He clutched his suitcase in one hand, eyeing you curiously.

“What do you want?”

“You’re headed uptown, too, right?” he asked, and you nodded reluctantly. “Thought you’d want a lift.”

“Semi, just because I’m helping you achieve your dreams, doesn’t mean you have to be nice to me.” You laughed softly, tension easing from his uncalled for kindness.

He, however, looked unconvinced. “Do you want a ride or not?”

You raised your hands in defeat, managing a genuine smile. “Alright, fine. It’ll be a hellish commute anyway.”

You liked to think that that’s how you started becoming friends with your odd, hot-headed co-worker.

#haikyuu!!#semi eita #semi eita x reader #shiratorizawa #hqscenario #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu spoilers #hq headcanons #hq!! headcanons

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drabblesanddreams · 6 years ago

Text

Black and White- Fyodor Dostoevsky

This turned out so much longer than i planned it to be sorry folks!! But this imagine i tried making it slightly diff than the imagines, i honestly wouldnt say its romantic tbh it also doesnt have as much fyodor as i planned for there to be sadly :(( but let me know what yall think!! also im on vacation again this time for a month so im so sorry yall if i cant post as much!!

word count: 2.5k

summary: The black and white of your world holds a whole new meaning when you meet him.

TW: Hints towards depression a lot, really depressing dialogue

The day before he came into your life everything was black and white. A perfect world encased in various shades of grey, shrouded in a two-tone hue of barrenness and desolation.

The light that poured into your world started off as a warmth seemingly brought forth by an angel. But slowly, before you could even realize it at the time, the warmth grew more and more intense the longer you spent time with him. It grew and grew until that once comforting warmth turned into a scalding sensation, burning your touch along with the pretty pictures of your life. It burned the new-found colours until you saw yourself left in the end with no picture at all, surrounded by the darkness that once upon a time was all you knew.

In the end, you horrifically realized that he was no angel at all.

He liked to claim that he was a god, but you didn’t believe his words even from your first meeting up until the last. You knew better than that, in the end, he was more so like Lucifer.

Once an angel indeed, you suppose so judging from not only his carefully crafted facade of a morally virtuous persona but also his physical features.

You remembered the first day he came into the music shop that you worked at, his angelic features drew and ensnared your attention almost immediately.

That particular day it was snowing lightly, the white flakes gently building on top of one another until the city was a buried underneath one of the worlds most beautiful creations.

Beautiful, untainted white snow with unique patterns pressed onto each flake. However, when mingled with the rest of its own kind, it was as ordinary as it could ever be to the naked eye. An average speck who will never stand apart from the rest of its kind and will instead be overshadowed by those who come after it.

Much like you.

Despite the gloomy thoughts, it didn’t make the snow any less cold.

“Shit,” you scowled as a gust of cold air blew into the store, taking with it a flurry of snowflakes, “Hurry up and shut the door behind you, Ann.”

The person in question was your friend and the sole reason you had this shitty job working as a cashier at the music store. Her family had hired you purely out pity when your parents died. You were at the tender age of 12 at the time.

You liked that word. Died. It was straight to the point, no bullshit and no cushioning of the hard blow it delivered. You remembered at the funeral how the many unrecognizable people who had attended came up to you, choking out apologies for your late parents.

Or how they passed away.

Or how they were deceased.

Died. Dead. Death. It didn’t matter, you liked the foreign comfort the words gave you. It meant that the world you spent so much time analyzing was the same as you made it out so sure to be. It meant that one day you too were going to “pass away” and your existence would then blend into the hundreds of thousands of those who lived and died before you.

And then, you’d be forgotten.

You never figured out why that morbid thought was so relieving to you.

Ann rolls her eyes, shaking you out of your stupor and back into the real world. She closes the door behind her but not before ruffling her hair free of snowflakes, this action allowing another draught of frigid air to enter.

“Okay miss grumpy, chillax ‘kay?” she teases and it's your turn to roll your (e/c) eyes as she slips off her coat, tossing it behind the cash register.

“Besides,” she continues as she takes a seat next to you behind the register, “Your shift is up in literally ten minutes so you can go home and sleep.”

You look at her from the corner of your eye as you rest your cheek in the palm of your hand. She has taken to sorting the receipts silently for a moment before she asks, “How long did you sleep for last night?”

You blink a couple of times before realizing the exhaustion must be painted so easily on your face. The purple eyebags decorating your face must not be a pretty sight. You can feel the weight of your own existence pulling you downwards, like all you want is to crawl under the covers and fall asleep to a mixture of winter and Chopin. Today has hit you particularly hard, but you don’t let her know that.

Inhaling through your nose, you sit up right before casually replying, “Seven hours give or take”

She beams at the easy lie as she nods approvingly, “Making progress, good.”

All you do is shrug, its been a slow day all you want to do it go back home. There have barely been any customers and the shop is completely empty at the moment save for the both of you.

‘Anyways,” her tone changes to one full of pep, “Can I tell you about my tinder date? I’m gonna tell you about my tinder date” she doesn’t wait for your approval.

You snort, standing up as you make your way over to the hanging instruments opposite on the wall. You intend to straighten them up again for the millionth time, the slightest crook getting on your nerves.

She takes this action as a sign to go on, “So, I swiped on this guy na-“

She is cut off by the soft chime of bells filling the small store indicating a customer has entered.

Before even moving, you feel the cold air gently sweep across your exposed skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

You turn your head to the door, your hand pausing on its readjustment of the violin hanging on the wall.

A tall slim young man, maybe somewhere aged in the mid 20s has entered, his seemingly delicate pale hand pressed against the window of the door. His shoulder length black hair falls softly onto his shoulders, ensnared underneath a ushanka as white as the snow that has entered the store. The white snowflakes stand out against his long black coat.

He searches around the shop for a moment before his eyes catch onto yours. That’s when the air leaves your lungs and you feel a shiver run down your spine.

Never in your life had you ever met a man so…so…beautiful.

Beautiful was an understatement, he was simply breathtaking.

The most striking thing about his visage, however, were his eyes.

Purple eyes. Never in your life had you ever met anyone with that particular eye colour. But it was more than that, it was the sharp look in them as well.

You felt yourself tense up at your eye contact, something about this man was unsettling you quite so. You can barely breathe, your body shrinking back into itself as all you wanted to do was run and run. You wish you had an ability that enabled you to do so.

His eyes flickered downwards before they moved upwards to catch your eyes once more and it was then that you felt so exposed. Like an insect underneath a microscope, completely visible and naked.

Compared with his striking features, you no longer felt human standing next to this man.

Suddenly, someone clears their throat, effectively breaking the silent game of observation occurring between you and this stranger.

You turn your head to the source, Ann, who raises an eyebrow at your impolite and reclusive behavior. Even more reclusive than usual.

She turns her head to the customer, interest taking over her features as she too realizes just how otherworldly this man is.

She wears a charming smile, “Hello sir, can I help you with anything today?”

“Good day,” the stranger says, the words rolling off his tongue in a seductive Russian drawl and you feel yourself heat up. You turn away, busying yourself with straightening the instruments once more.

Ann’s got this; you’ll just ignore him.

“I was wondering, do you perchance sell cello’s here?” he asks smoothly. Your hands freeze on the cello you were adjusting and briefly wonder for a moment why he even asked when you know he clearly saw it behind you with that little stare off just a few moments ago.

Ann confirms that, yes, we do sell cello’s here.

And when she asks what particular one, he is looking for, she mistakenly points towards a Franz Sandner instead of an August Kohr.

You take the liberty of correcting her.

“Its actually this one,” you quietly point out her mistake and effectively drawing the stranger’s attention back towards you. Beside him, Ann glowers knowing that you have somehow ruined her plan of seducing the customer with talk of a cello.

You wish you didn’t because the fear that washes over you feels stronger than before.

“Okay well,” Ann glowers at you, “I’m pretty your shift is up, (Y/N).”

You falter at her statement before swallowing and nodding. You weren’t going to fight over something that wasn’t worth fighting over.

You’re glad at your friend’s dismissal, as it means that you can get away from that man’s burning gaze asap. You make quick work of gathering your belongings and making your way to the exit, to freedom.

All the while, your heart beats quick for an entirely different reason

Because for the first time you feel fear on behalf of your friend’s safety, as the distance between you and the pair grow larger and larger.

You’re were right to feel worried over the protection of your friend, because two weeks later under the same frigid weather, you are staring down her coffin.

It’s eerily similar to how her funeral likens to the one of your parents. If you shut your eyes really tightly and pretend for a moment that you are fourteen, it is exactly the same funeral.

Life goes on.

Except the biggest difference between this time is that this was no accident.

You’re good at observations, spending more of your life alone and isolated left you with the only thing to pass the time; watching people.

Putting two and two, you know now that this a murder caused by no one other than that man in the shop. You don’t know how but you know for sure that he possesses some sort of ability. After all, you don’t what sort of weapon could make that kind of wound in her head.

Currently, you’re the only one left in the graveyard. The sun is setting soon but you pay no mind to that fact and instead tilt your head upwards, watching the snow lightly fall around you and, on the coffin, -Ann’s coffin.

You hear the familiar sound of shoes treading on snow, but you don’t bother looking to see and instead focuses on the number of snowflakes covert he lid of the coffin.

“What a miserable affair,” a voice sighs, the smooth Russian accent unforgettable to you, “Wouldn’t you agree?”

You turn your head to see the devil himself, you should be vengeful and raging right now. A small part of you wants to jump at him, tearing his pretty face apart with your nails and to just watch the blood draw and spill. But as quick as that thought appeared, it disappears for at the moment you just don’t care.

You have nothing left. The logical part of you know that’s it will not bring her back; the only family you had left. You have nothing anymore.

But this time your anxiety is non-existent, you don’t feel afraid. In fact, you don’t feel much of anything at the moment.

From your apathy or the cold, you’re not quite so sure which. You close your mouth before opening it once more.

“It wasn’t sad,” you simply say, relishing in the slightest sign of surprise that registers on his handsome face. You look deeply into those purple hues of his, admiring for a moment before you continue, “It was boring.”

You turn your head back to the coffin and blankly blink at the slight buildup that you have missed.

“Boring,” he repeats, “Such is the debility of human existence, such things take the liberty of latching onto my heart from time to time”

You let his words sink for a moment.

“No, it doesn’t,” you softly deny, “Not to you” “May I perhaps ask why?”

You turn your head to him, the first sign of emotion crossing your visage as you stare hard, “Because you’re not human.”

You say this statement with so much confidence and let it ring in the air. The man takes this fact in before smirking, “Then what could I possibly be?”

You don’t hesitate to answer, “A devil.” If he is offended, he doesn’t show it and instead chuckles lightly, purple eyes dancing with joy. At what, you have no clue, but you feel yourself recoil at this.

“No little bird,” he smirks drops into a soft smile, “I think you will find that I am more of a god than anything.”

Your eyebrows furrow for a moment as you study him. He breaks your eye contact to look at the coffin in front of both of you. He then answers your unasked question.

“The sinful nature of humans demands to be cleansed.” He utters into the empty space, and you raise both brows in interest at this statement. You follow his gaze to the coffin before tracing it back to his eyes.

Sinful. How could a young girl commit a sin so grave she had to answer with it for her life? Who was this man to judge her for that?

“And what of my human nature?” you quietly ask. He turns back to you, “Oh but little bird,” corners of his mouth tilt upwards and his eyes flash as if he knows something you don’t. Your heart rate raises as you wait for him to finish his sentence.

“You’re not much of a human anymore, are you?”

Your mouth falls agape slightly and your blood turns into ice easily.

“In fact,” he continues, suddenly taking a step forward, reaching forward to caress your cheek, “You’re not much of anything anymore” he whispers.

His thumb presses slightly against your bottom lip and your eyes flicker downwards before meeting his again. Your mouth dries.

“Correct?” he asks venomlike.

You’re ensnared into his trap as you nod, but you barely register the movement.

“Good.” He steps back and his smile is back as he holds his hand out.

“Seeing as you no longer have a place in this world little bird,” he says calmly, “Come with me and let me seat you among the stars.”

You don’t hesitate in taking his hand, somewhere in the back of your head a part of you is screaming, saying you are walking into the exact same trap that your friend has walked into.

But you don’t care, because you are sick of seeing the white of the snow and the black of your soul.

If that means walking into the lion’s den of the man named Fyodor Dostoevsky, then so be it.

At least it’ll mean a small part of you will have meaning again.

#bsd #bsd imagine #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs imagine #fyodor dostoevsky #bsd fyodor #fyodor imagine #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #fyodor dostoevsky imagine #bsd fyodor imagine

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raendown · 5 years ago

Link

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 1957 Soulmate au: The one where you have a black stain where your soulmate will first touch you and when they do it bursts in to color

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 199: Madara/Tobirama

Madara wore gloves. The habit was a common one among both shinobi and civilians not willing to risk find their soulmate in unwanted places, a habit that Tobirama himself followed religiously everywhere but inside his own home, so it wasn’t something that should had stuck out as much as it did. Yet on the days his eyes lingered he couldn’t help but notice that Madara wore gloves no matter where he went. More than that, he clothed himself in the traditional Uchiha garb even when many of his clansmen began following other fashion trends which meant that he was covered from head to toe. If one were hoping to discover Madara as one’s soulmate there were no visible marks to give hope.

It was lucky, then, that Tobirama was clearly not hoping for anything of the sort. Obviously.

No matter the hopes and distractions that so often filled his mind to never be given voice, Tobirama’s thoughts today were tainted with a somber, maudlin sort of flavor as he lounged on the sill of his office window, fingers picking at the leather gloves that covered them. The day was hot and his palms had been sweating uncomfortably since noon. If he were bolder he might have taken after the new trend of leaving the gloves at home while inside the confines of the village, if he were more trusting he would have recognized that anyone who lived here in Konoha would at least be a safe match. If he weren’t clinging to dreams with all the stubborn tenacity of a child he might have been able to move on from the fantasy of an impossible match.

Turning away from the window and leaning back against the pane of glass, Tobirama lifted his hands to stare at the gloves covering them. He’d been holed up in his own office since midmorning with no one to disturb him, busy as they were with the festival raging through the streets below, so it couldn’t possibly hurt anything to let his palms breathe a little while he was alone. Anyone who might bother him here was occupied with festival activities. Most likely none of them had even noticed the lack of his presence – except for Izuna, maybe, but only in the sense that his old rival had promised to chuck sweets at his head and was probably disappointed that he hadn’t had the chance to yet.

Peeling the gloves away from his skin outside the safety of his own home felt akin to the thrill of breaking a rule. Feeling much like a naughty child doing something he knew he wasn’t supposed to, Tobirama smiled bitterly and with affected carelessness tossed the gloves away from himself towards the desk. He didn’t need company. It might have been nice for someone to notice his absence, might have even been nice for someone to want his presence enough to drag him down in to the festivities despite how he would surely protest, but it wasn’t necessary. There was plenty to keep him occupied here and all of it was necessary to the survival of the village. Perhaps Tobirama did not have a large social network quite the same way his brother did but he had more contacts in more places than any spy could dream of. He performed so many functions without which the infrastructure of the village would collapse and he didn’t need anyone’s acknowledgement to know that he was vital.

That was enough for a man like him.

On a whim Tobirama retrieved the papers he was meant to be working on and settled back in to the window seat rather than read through them at his desk. The seat here was more comfortable and without anyone here to see him so casual he could be productive without risking a back ache for once. That was nice. As it always did, time passed him by almost unnoticed once he sank himself in to reports of orphancy in each of the clans and budget proposals for how many orphanages would be needed. Could he request foster homes in the interim? He wondered if some of the families might be encouraged to adopt if offered a tax benefit for doing so.

With his back to the window Tobirama had only the shadows in the room to judge how much time had passed when the door to his office opened and startled him out of his work coma. His guess would be somewhat more than two hours, just long enough for him to sink so deep he hadn’t felt Madara's chakra approaching. It was hard to tell who was more surprised between the two of them when their eyes met.

“The hell are you doing here?” Madara demanded.

“I would posit that such questions apply more to you. This is my office.”

“Quit being wordy and keep quiet, I need to hide! He’ll never look for me in here!” With no more explanation than that Madara slipped in to the room uninvited, closing the door behind him with exaggerated care.

Tobirama canted his head to one side curiously. “Do you know that you have flowers in your hair?”

“Yes,” the other man hissed. “Your brother is high on spring or whatever and he’s determined that everyone else should share in the joy. He’s been growing flowers in my hair all evening. I can’t get them out!”

“Ah. He does that. It’s the main reason I learned to keep my hair short.”

Well, that and he’d looked terrible every time he tried to grow it out.

“Hilarious as it is trying to picture you with long hair”-Tobirama really hoped he couldn’t-“I’m more concerned with my own at the moment. Izuna absolutely cannot see this or he’ll start those ridiculous rumors again about me and your stupid tree of a sibling. Can you just…”

“Get them out for you?”

“Please,” Madara whimpered, the sound of a broken and desperate man. He must have been trying to escape Hashirama for some time to have reached the level of asking someone else for help.

Tobirama sighed and waved him over, setting his paperwork aside without looking to make sure it all landed together. Normally the tidiness of his work was the highest priority in his day but right now Uchiha Madara was begging for help with flowers in his hair and that was definitely something he wanted burned in to his memory as deeply as possible.

Without waiting for any words to rub it in Madara was moving across the room as quickly as he registered that he was allowed to, eyes lowered grumpily to the floor. It was a terribly adorable look on him to see the way he stomped in a little circle and crossed his arms with a huff to await the offered help. Tobirama held back until the man couldn’t see him before allowing his lips to twitch. He would definitely be revisiting this memory more times than Madara needed to know about – and for reasons that would surely upset him.

After surveying the damage Tobirama shook his own head with a small amount of pity welling up in his chest. It was no wonder the man couldn’t get the flowers out on his own, Hashirama had twisted them all together with vines woven in between the locks. They were probably all snarled up and hurt to pull on. He would need to be gentle.

“Other than my brother’s idiocies, how is the festival? Are the people having fun?” Perhaps some conversation would relax the atmosphere around them.

“You’d know for yourself if you would deign to crawl out of your office for even one evening,” Madara snapped back. Apparently he was not in the mood to relax. With a sigh Tobirama lifted his hands and reached for the bottom of the thick hair before him. It would be better to start from underneath.

“I have no one with which to attend,” he murmured simply as he lifted the mass of dark locks.

Then he froze and whatever Madara had been about to say what cut off with a panicky, “What? What!? The hell kind of noise did you just make? It didn’t sound good! What is it!?”

“Your hair–!”

That was all he could choke out, wildly unhelpful for the now frantic Madara. He watched with shock numbing his limbs as the man cast about for some kind of reflective surface and practically dove for the decorative little mirror hanging on one wall. It was lucky, Tobirama mused in an effort to focus on anything but the reaction about to roll over him, that Hashirama had decorated the office in a fit of despair after realizing his little brother had no knack for such things. Without Hashirama's décor there would have been no mirror to show Madara the brilliant rainbow sheen cascading out from the top of his head.

“My hair!” he squeaked, both hands snapping up and patting at the locks like he expected them to be poisonous.

“I didn’t mean to…”

Tobirama looked down at the hands that he only now realized were still not wearing gloves. He had touched Madara's hair without wearing gloves. Deep black hair that he may or may not have spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about it non-work capacities. Hair that now shone with every color of the rainbow, catching the light as he turned side to shift and shifting like a kaleidoscope.

“Oh sweet mother of chakra…my hair…”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Well no damn wonder I never had a stain!” Madara spun around with a light in his eyes Tobirama couldn’t quite interpret and he wasn’t given much time to. “My whole hair is a stain. And you’re- you’re my soulmate!”

Instinctively hiding his hands behind his back, Tobirama licked his lips nervously. “Sorry about that too,” he whispered. Madara gave him an incredulous look.

“Why the hell would you be sorry!?”

He didn’t wait for whatever stupid answer Tobirama might have come up with, lunging back across the room to twist still gloved hands in the front of his shirt and drag him upright. For a frantic moment Tobirama thought they were about to kiss – not something he would have exactly protested – but he found the obi of his shirt being untied and honestly did not possess the faculties to stop it at the moment. Without the ability to protest he simply sat there and allowed his chest to be exposed for Madara to see the bright splotch of black curling over one shoulder.

And after that he definitely didn’t have it in him protest as he watched the other man peel off his leather gloves for the first time to reveal pale and surprisingly thick fingers, fingers that reached out to curl themselves over his shoulder to line up with his stain. He didn’t need to look to see the results. They were obvious enough in the wonder that played across Madara's face.

“You don’t look particularly upset,” Tobirama noted with his own measure of wonder.

“Upset? Why would I-? I’ll show you upset!”

Fingers clutched at the back of his neck and then he really was being pulled in to a kiss, the world around him erased by sensation and the fruition of more hidden fantasies than he cared to admit. Madara was kissing him, Madara was his soulmate, and as he tried to convince his body to unfreeze from shock Tobirama couldn’t help but think that he was so glad no one had dragged him out to that stupid festival. He was much happier here waiting for the moment it occurred to Madara that he would spend the rest of his life with hair the color of shifting rainbows.

#rae writes #soulmate collection #madatobi #madara #tobirama #fanfiction

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peytonhudson · 5 years ago

Text

Daddy || Peychuck

tagging: @thepuckrmn & @peytonhudson

time frame: valentines day night

location: puck’s tattoo shop

notes: puck is soft.

puck

Puck managed to kick out all of his employees 15 mins before Peyton was supposed to show up. He felt bad lying to her, but it was for a good cause. Puck had told her that he was slammed at work but that she should swing by later to watch him work and get a drink after. What she didn’t know was that he had completely transformed the back room into their own private date night. Candles were scattered around the room, giving it a soft glow. Puck made sure to get all of her favorite food, including Devon-delivered cheese fries. He set the bottle of champagne in ice and did a final walk through of the room. Hearing the bell from the front door ring, he grabbed the bouquet of roses and stood up in front of the set up, blocking her view. “Hey babe,” he said with a smile. Handing her the roses, he stepped aside to reveal the decorated back room. “Surprise!”

peyton

Peyton had fallen in love with Puck knowing who he was. She was the cheesy one in their whatevership, and it really didn’t bother her that he wasn’t into Valentine’s Day. She just wanted to spend time with him — plus she’d blown up his phone all day with romantic puns so it wasn’t as though she didn’t get to be cheesy. Once Lexi was at her mom’s, Peyton picked up the large heart shaped chocolate box she had filled with miniature alcohol bottles instead of chocolate and made the now very familiar trip to Puck’s shop. Her smile brightened when she saw him standing in the middle of his empty shop with the roses in hand. “Hey baby,” she greeted him happily, moving up to him and pressing a quick loving kiss to his lips. “You’re so cute, and I-“ Peyton’s words drifted and her eyes widened as Puck moves to the side to show the transformed back room. “Oh my god,” She breathed out as she took a step forward to look at all the effort he had put in. “You are... something else, Puck Puckerman.”

puck

A big smile spread across his face as he watched her react to the set up. Feeling proud of himself, he stepped into the backroom. “I hope that’s a compliment,” he joked as he moved to the coffee table. Puck lifted the lids of the food containers. “Got your favorites. Cheese fries. Pizza. More cheese fries. And ma sent you brownies. Yes. You. Not me.” He grabbed the bottle of champagne and worked on opening it. “I just wanted to do something special for you.” Puck popped the champagne and watched the cork fly out into the empty studio. “I wanna spoil you. You deserve it,” he explained as he poured the champagne into two glasses. Sitting on the couch, he beckoned her to join him and handed her a glass. “A toast. I moved here thinking it was just going to be a a few years to build my brand and get out. I never thought I’d meet someone that was going to turn my life upside down. You had me hooked from the first time we sat on this couch together. I fucking hate this holiday….but I would literally do anything to make you happy.” Puck clinked his glass against hers and leaned in pressed a loving kiss to her lips. “Happy Valentine’s Day, beautiful.”

peyton

“Definitely a compliment,” Peyton replied with nod, grinning from ear to ear. She watched as Puck walked through the room, opening up all her favorite foods and popping the champagne. No one had ever done anything like this for her before. They hadn’t always had a smooth relationship, but he really was the best thing that’s happened to her since Lexi was born. The very best. “This is so much better than watching you work.” She commented, still slightly in awe of it all. Peyton placed the roses carefully on the coffee table before moving to sit down next to him, leaning in to kiss at his cheek softly. “I love this... and you, so much.” She took the glass from Puck and listened quietly to his toast. It was so hard to sit there and not tell him she had heard him the other night, it’s been hard all week, but if she didn’t already know he was in love with her, she’d be able to tell from this. She happily returned his kiss, cupping at his cheek gently, “Happy Valentines Day, handsome.” Peyton looked down at box in her lap, and hands it to him. “Compared to what you’ve done, this is nothing. But... It’s Valentines Day.” She smiled and took a sip of champagne before placing it down on the coffee table and shifting to sit in Puck’s lap. “You have no idea how happy you make me, baby.” She muttered softly as her fingers raked through his hair. “Talking to you is honestly the best part of my day, and I can’t even imagine my life without you in it anymore. You’re perfect, and sexy, and you have the world’s biggest - most badass - heart. You pun with me, and listen to me ramble about nothing for hours, and find a way to make me laugh when I don’t even want to. I’m so insanely in love with you, Puck, and I’m so lucky to be lo-” Peyton cut herself off before she accidentally blurted out something that would kill the mood or cause him to run. “But there are cheese fries within arms reach and my heart is also very much in love with them.”

puck

Taking the box she handed him, he leaned back to give her room to get into his lap. He opened the box and smiled widely at the contents. “Oh fuck yeah. You know me so well. Are we gonna get drunk tonight and have sloppy sex? Say yes. Thank you, baby,” he said as he leaned in to kiss her. His eyes stayed locked on her as she spoke about what he meant to her. Puck had been completely emotionally closed off for the last 10 years, but this girl had broken through every single wall he had built around his heart. “I’m the lucky one,” he said as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I’m going to fucking marry you, Peyton Hudson.” Pulling away, he reached over and grabbed the container and put it on their laps for easy access. Puck took a couple of fries and held them up to feed them to Peyton.

peyton

“Of course.” Peyton chuckled, smiling against his lips as they kissed. The more Puck told her he was going to marry her, the less it felt like a joke. And the more time she spent with him, the less she wanted it to be. She would marry him in a heart beat. It might not have made sense, but nothing about the way she felt about Puck — or even their relationship to some degree — really made sense. “And I cant wait to be Peyton Puckerman,” she murmured happily. Peyton shifted slightly on Puck’s lap to make room for the container of food, “You really do know the way to my heart.” Peyton joked as she took the fries offered, humming contently to herself. “Do you think if I didn’t accidentally text you, we’d still be here? I mean together... right now. Not here-here, like in Doveport or... alive. I’d really hope we’d both still be alive either way.”

puck

He popped a couple of fries into his own mouth and nodded in agreement. “Cheese fries are a fucking gift from God.” Puck rested his chin on her shoulder as he thought over her question. “I dunno. I mean we bumped into each other on the beach…exchanged phone numbers…ran into each other at like bars and stuff…I mean I always thought you were gorgeous. I was just preoccupied with being an whore and you seemed like the good girl type. But then you accidentally texted me. And you sent me that pun about wanting me inside of you and I realized you weren’t as much of good girl as I thought.” He lifted his head up to look at her properly. “I think you would’ve always been in my life in some sort of way…but I’m really fucking glad you texted the wrong person.” Puck shifted her in his lap to face him more. “You and Lexi really gonna move to LA with me?”

peyton

Peyton quietly continued to eat more cheese fries as she listened to him talk about what things could have been like. “Wait... You don’t think I’m a good girl?” She joked and placed a kiss on his forehead. “I didn’t think I’d ever be a girl who’d turn your head, honestly? I’m just me, and you’re... you. There’s a reason girls fall at your feet, babe. I mean, I’ll fight them now, but back then I didn’t feel like I stood a chance. So... I’m really happy you were my wrong number. And I love that you agreed to go with a possibly crazy person to a wedding of no one you knew... Our wedding will be better, don’t worry.” Peyton moved the container of food off her lap and onto the couch next to them, turning her attention to the hazel eyes of the man she had fallen for. “We are.” She replied simply. “You know I always wanted to move somewhere bigger for my career, now it’s just happening a little sooner? But I’m going to be wherever you are. And Lexi... She’s just part of the package deal. She loves you though, and would probably be more upset than me if you left without us. Unless... you were joking about us moving with you?”

puck

“You knocked me off my feet...I mean literally because I wasn’t paying attention and ran into you...but the thought still counts.” He smirked at her mention of their wedding and wrapped his arms tightly around her. “Hawaii at sunset with an open bar and only cool people invited. Sounds like the dream.” A smile replaced his smirk as she spoke about moving to LA with him. Shaking his head at her question, he leaned in to kiss her quickly before responding. “Never was joking. Seeing you and talking to you has been the best part of my days since we started hanging out. I don’t wanna think about a world where you’re not close by. And Lexi too. I’d do anything for that little girl. Both of you.”

peyton

“You don’t have to think of that world.” Peyton replied with a warm smile. “Our world would be weird if you weren't in it. Plus there’s more for all of us in LA. Just don’t leave until I’ve graduated... Two and a half more months.” It was one thing to find someone who loved her, but it was another to find someone who cared about her daughter just as much. It was hard not to fall more in love with Puck when he talked about Lexi like this. Peyton leaned in to press a lingering kiss to his forehead before pulling away and reaching for the container of brownies on the table. “I don’t know if I’m allowed to share with you, but I can keep a secret if you can?” She smirked slightly, taking a bite and holding it out for Puck.

puck

“I can wait a few more months. You’re worth it,” he said simply with a smile. Puck couldn’t help but chuckle at her comment. “You can keep a secret? Uhhh are you sure about that, babe?” he said teasingly. Leaning in, he took a bite of the brownie in her hand. “Delicious.” Puck raised his head to capture her lips with his. “You taste better,” he muttered. Moving the container away from them, he shifted her in his lap so that she was straddling him. His hands ran over her back as he pulled her into a deep kiss. Puck preferred to explain how he was feeling through his actions rather than words.

peyton

“Hush, I could keep a secret.” Peyton joked, not even believing herself as she says it. Honestly, the only secrets she’s been able to keep are the ones that could hurt Puck. Everything else slowly eats away at her until it eventually blurts out at inappropriate moments. She leaned into his kiss, humming against Puck’s lips softly. “You taste like cheese fries and brownies. No wonder I’m so crazy about you.” Peyton lets Puck shift her to get closer to him, and wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. When Puck kissed her like this the world always seemed to fade around her, his lips had a way of telling her how he was feeling even when he couldn’t. Eventually pulling away for breath she rested her forehead against his and brushed her thumb softly over the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t change a thing,” She whispered into the small space between them, the words of his half-asleep confession still playing in her head. “I’ve never been this happy, Puck.”

puck

Puck stared up at her when she pulled away from him. A smile spread across his face as he listened to her speak about their whatever-ship. “I’m happy too,” he replied quietly. Puck dropped his head into the crook of her neck and squeezed her tightly, just wanting to hold her for a moment. He pressed a kiss to her neck before pulling away to look at her properly. “You know. After my dad leaving…and Quinn…and the baby…I dunno. I thought there was something wrong with me. Something about me that made it impossible for people to stick around or for people to love me. I accepted it. Closed myself off to emotions and was happy doing the casual thing for the rest of my life. Until I met you…you’re pretty fucking stubborn, babe.” Puck leaned up and kissed her lovingly. “But like stubborn in a good way. Because you took the time actually see me. Instead of just using my super sexy body for your pleasure.” He cupped her face in his hands and smiled up at her. “I can’t wait to fucking marry you, baby girl.”

peyton

Biting softly at her lip, Peyton fell quiet as she listened to him speak about how he felt. She knew it didn’t always come easily to him, but that was okay, Puck had a way of showing her how he was feeling. Her hand glided down his chest and rested over his heart. “Hawaii...” Peyton murmured with a bright smile before leaning in to press her lips against his tenderly. “For the record, baby... you are so easy to love,” she pulled back on his lap and shook her jacket off onto the couch next to them. “And I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to get you to see yourself the way I see you. I promise. It’s probably going to drive you crazy,” Peyton chuckled. Reaching for the hem of her shirt, she slipped it over her head and dropped next to her jacket. “I’m all yours...” She told him quietly, leaning in to bury her face in the crook of his neck and smirking against his skin. “Daddy”.

puck

He smiled at her words. “Hawaii,” he repeated. The idea of them getting married in Hawaii may have started as a joke, but the more time they spent together, the more real it became. Puck leaned back against the couch as he watched her take off her jacket. A smirk crept onto his lips as she pulled off her shirt as well. Not wanting her to feel alone, he took the chance to pull off his own shirt as well, tossing it to the side. It was all beginning to remind him of their first night together. His smirk grew wider when he heard her call him daddy. “Oh you fucking know how to get me going, baby,” he said as he tightly wrapped his arms around her. Puck just held her close for a moment, resting his chin on the top of her head. “Mine,” he muttered. His fingers tangled into her hair, pulling her head back so he could capture her lip with his in a heated kiss.

peyton

Peyton closed her eyes against him for a moment, happy to just enjoy the feeling of his body close to her. When it came to Puck she could contently do this all night. He made her feel safe, and loved all without having to say a word. “Yours,” she smirked, biting into his neck gently. Her hands cupped his face, instinctively deepening the kiss between them. A lot of things were the same as the first night they spent together. It was still easy, and it still caused her skin to electrify. But the way they kissed had changed, and the way she felt about him had definitely changed. Peyton pulled away from his lips, close enough to still feel his breath on hers. “Best valentine ever,” she muttered with a smile.

And then they fucked a lot. K bye.

#askmepara #para: puck #para: daddy

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blackrose-ffxiv · 6 years ago

Photo

Scheming Minds 11/14

Lebeaux Desrosiers wandered through the rooms, admiring the décor. It was certainly nice, considering the Hingan style, rather like the rest of the club. It could do with a little more stained glass and a little less ‘clutter’ but that seemed to be the aesthetic. He continued until he found the other kneeling in front of an altar. “My, my.” He mused as he tapped the parchment against his chin, the flat smile growing somewhat. “Are you praying? How charming.”

Daijiro Satake lifts his head when he is addressed, but he does not yet turn it, as if making a point to finish something. "Hello, Ser Desrosiers", he says, then reaching for a small cup that stood on the altar and pouring some tea into another cup, doing so rather slowly and gracefully.

Lebeaux leaned a shoulder lightly against the nearby pillar, folding arms across his chest so he could continue tapping the parchment lightly against his chin as he observed the ritual. “As I said, good afternoon. How nice to find you well. And tending to your faith, if you can call it such. I was beginning to worry that for all your talk of kami you were a godless sort after all. Of course, it’s still the wrong god, but at least it shows some devotion.”

Daijiro hums. "I was communing with my families' ancestors", he remarks. He then turns around and takes on the same formal pose, gesturing to the pillows on the floor. "Please, do remove your shoes and headgear and sit?" he asks.

Lebeaux lifted a shoulder in a small shrug as he pushed himself upright and removed his hat, hanging on a nearby partition. He left the boots on, though. If he was going to sit on the ground he wasn’t going to bother with the effort of removing his shoes. “I don’t intend to stay long. While the club shows at least a touch of Ul’dahn influence here and there I see you have built a little piece of Kugane here for yourself.” He mused as he flicked his wrist, tossing the folded parchment to land in front of Daijiro on the altar’s steps like an offering.

Daijiro inclines his head. "These are my personal quarters, after all", he remarks. Eying the other. He then bows forward, picking up the paper and perusing its contents.

It was a bill, of course. An invoice that gave very few details other than the patient’s name was Rashk Geilt and he had undergone a medical examination with intent to begin treatment. There was also a fairly hefty sum listed as the cost for the visit. “Of course. And they certainly do reflect you well, don’t they.” He mused as he looked around the small corner the altar was tucked into.

Daijiro hums. "That is yet to be seen", he remarks. He then looks over the document and frowns, putting it down. "Ah. Is this just a financial matter? Surely such things are better handled by Kareem." He folded the piece of paper and tucked it into his pocket. "Congratulations, you finally are getting your hands on some of my gil." He offers a faint smile then. "Ah. I shall have Kareem look into the price and such. I was given to understand you needed to travel to Ul'dah to treat Rashk?"

Lebeaux smiled sweetly as he laid a hand on his own chest, gloved fingers sinking into the fur ruff as he adopted a look of theatrical surprise at the accusations. “You speak as though that’s been my goal all along.” The smile returned and he smoothed the lapel where he had grasped it briefly. “I did, indeed. To his private rooms, to ensure there would be no unwanted ears nor eyes about.” He noted, lifting his chin slightly to peer down his nose at the Hingan, despite Daijiro being seated higher than him. “Cozy little place, isn’t it. Quite intimate. Who would have known fortune telling paid so well.”

Daijiro hums. "I have never understood why a personage such as yourself would be so crassly obsessed with money, rather than simply accepting an exchange of favours graciously", the Hingan says, looking down the other with ease this time. "But then, it is tempting to reumburse you for travel expenses and pass the rest of the bill on to Gakunin Kasumi. Ah. But it would be crass to make a point when Rashk needs medical attention." He folds his hands into his lap. "I do desire for my hosts to be happy and healthy, and if such requires gil, so be it."

Lebeaux held out his hands, palm upwards as though the matter was out of his hands. “There is nothing you are able to exchange that would be of equal value to me as my time and talents. Your favors mean little and less, but the coin I can put to good use.” He explained calmly. “I suppose you could bring Lady Kasumi into the matter, yet I suspect she would refuse payment, and you would as well. And I would be force to leave Rashk untreated until someone picked up the tab.” Lebeaux exhaled a soft sigh. “It would be unfair to leave him in such a purgatory.”

Daijiro hums. "This is so", he remarks matter of factly. "Though I will overlook the insult provided by your crude words. You simply cannot help yourself. Is this not so?"

Lebeaux lifted a dark brow, still smiling calmly all the while. “Now, now. There was nothing crude about that. Honesty is a virtue, is it not.” He lowered his hands back to his lap, settling them comfortably on his thighs. “I was simply stating the truth of the matter. If you believe I’m wrong, you are welcome to change my mind.”

Daijiro hums. "Ah. That would be too much trouble. You are the sort of personage that judges quickly and changes his mind slowly, after all. If you believe my skills and contacts to be useless to you, then so be it."

Lebeaux nodded slightly. “Mm, and you’re the sort to never show a full hand. Even if you were hiding a potentially valuable ace, it certainly would be well-hidden up those ridiculous long sleeves.” He teased with a low chuckle. “Speaking of hands, have you had the opportunity to test the gift I gave you yet.”

Daijiro shakes his head. "I have not. And I have no desire to inflict such cruelties on another personage", he states simply. "It is a memento and a reminder. Nothing more."

Lebeaux clicked his tongue, tutting quietly. “I see, such a waste. Such beautiful craftsmanship left to rot away on a shelf.”

"Would you rather have it crushing bone and flesh? I was not aware that Halone was the sort of Kami that enjoys pain as much as you do." He showed a slight smile. "But then, she may be just as secretive about such things as you are. It is difficult for an Ijin like me to tell."

Lebeaux chuckled quietly at that. “You aren’t a heretic, Halone would gain nothing from your pain and suffering. That was a matter between us.” He explained calmly. “Though if you mean in its original use, yes. The thumbscrews were intended to inflict pain on those who had forsaken Her. Their screams and pleas for mercy would be as hymns to Her.” A shoulder lifted slightly. “Yours were merely satisfying for me.”

Daijiro hums. "I see. Such an unusual notion. Then, were they as hymns to you as well? Ah. I mean, those screams of your victims."

“I suppose there is some satisfaction in hearing the honest remorse of those who have wronged you.” He noted calmly before he looked around. “Even though I said it was only a short visit, you’ve yet to offer me tea.”

Daijiro raises his eyebrows slightly. "Ah. You did desire tea? I had the impression you merely wished to drop off a bill, as a loyal paid servant is wont to do." He smiles faintly and rises. "Then, you shall be a guest and we shall have tea. Will you join me?" He beckoned for the other to follow him.

Lebeaux sniffed haughtily as he rose to his feet and removed his hat from where he had rested it on the partition. “Do you often sit around and have discussions with paid servants as well. If so, you indulge them too much.” He declared as he followed after him. “We have decided to be friends, have we not. It would be for the best to continue to treat me as such.”

Daijiro hums. "Of course I do", he says. "But then, if you were truly my friend you would not bring me a bill. Is this not so? The matter becomes quite confusing when one mixes roles." He then moved over to the bedroom, where he kept his tea.

Lebeaux tilted his head. “Then perhaps I should hire a servant to attend to such matters for me as well. Give me that bill back, I shall adjust it accordingly.” He teased as he followed the smaller man through the rooms. The smile flattened slightly as looked around the decorations of the ‘bedroom’ area. A few familiar looking wooden cases caused him to fold his arms lightly across his chest again as he eyed the smoldering embers nearby.

Daijiro poured two cups of bitter green tea, adding no sugar or cream. The drink served was clear and yellowish-green in colour. As Daijiro held it with both hands, he looked up. "Will you sit on the bed? I'm afraid I have no chairs in this place. Do mind the hot pokers~.”

Lebeaux accepted the tea and lifted his chin up high. Banishing any indication that he was anything other than calm in the presence of such unusual tools. “And you would call my tools barbaric.” He noted calmly as he took a seat on the edge of the bed, making himself comfortable as he held the tea between his hands. “Quite rich, coming from a man who keeps hot pokers within reach.”

Daijiro smiles faintly. "Ah. Then, is it troublesome to have such tools close?" he asks. "I am no torturer after all." He picks up his own cup and then joins Lebeaux, canting his head slightly as he takes him in. "You seemed on edge for a moment. I hope I have done nothing to trouble you? Would you like me to remove these tools from your sight?"

Lebeaux tilted his head thoughtfully. “That rather depends on just what it is you do with the tools. Do enlighten me.” He insisted, allowing the tea to cool. “There is no need for concern. I was simply taken aback to find such things around your bed after our little talk of cruelty.”

Daijiro hums. "Is it cruel to inflict pleasure upon a willing personage?" he asks. "Is it cruel to use such things to restore health?"

Lebeaux smiiiiled at Daijiro. “And which do you use the hot pokers for. I can’t imagine anyone enjoying third degree burns nor it having any health benefits.”

Daijiro smiles. "Then, that is simply because we have a different conception of health", he remarks. "Wounds must be cauterised some times. Whether they are wounds of the flesh or wounds of the spirit. You yourself have benefited from my fire treatment, have you not?"

[16:11]Lebeaux Desrosiers sniffed in distaste. “Cauterization is a last-ditch effort on a battlefield to save a life at any cost. Not for clinical application where other options may first be utilized.” He explained calmly. “And there is quite a difference between a needle and a poker. The burns from that treatment only took a spot of aether to soothe.”

Daijiro nods. "I do use the needle more often", he admits. "Ah. But it does add to the aesthetic of this place. It provides a certain energy. Is this not so?" He takes a sip from his tea. "You might enjoy my music box as well."

Lebeaux smiled flatly at Daijiro before he took a small sip of his tea. Immediately wrinkling his nose in distance. “This would do well with some sugar or honey.” He suggested. “If your energy aesthetic is that of a torture chamber, then yes. I would say it fits the bill quite neatly.” He stated calmly. “You seem to damn me for enjoying others’ pain, yet I suspect you savor it just as deeply. If not more so.” He held the cup out to Daijiro. Still expecting a sweetener. “Why, what tune does it play.”

Daijiro hums. "It is not considered a civilised custom to drink tea with sweeteners. Especially tea such as this, of the first harvest, which is especially favoured." He took another sip from his tea, seeming quite pleased by it. "It is healthier too." He smiles faintly. "As for the tune, ah, it is a rather haunting one. I suspect you might not have the bravery to face it. Though I admit that I am curious."

Lebeaux rolled his eyes, for both the tea and the music box. “It tastes a bit burnt.” He noted off-handedly as he took another sip. Yep. Still bitter. The laugh he exhaled was dry and humorless. “Bravery, to face a music box. What a curious turn of phrase. Is there supposedly a kami trapped within it or some such."

Daijiro looks faintly surprised. "Burnt? What a curious notion." He then smiles faintly. "Not exactly a Kami, and not exactly trapped", he remarks. "One is simply confronted with ones' own imaginings."

Lebeaux drank the tea anyways, for lack of anything else to wet his mouth with. Still not appreciating the finer nuances of a good green tea. “Then it is supposed to ensnare those who hear it.” He mused thoughtfully. “Or releases some sort of mind-altering magics. Have you tried it yourself, or only on others.”

Daijiro hums. "Something like that. The shade thus summoned can be a pleasurable or a fearful experience. Usually a bit of both", he remarks. He sips from his tea. "For complex reasons I cannot be affected by the music box. Lest you plan something along those lines. You do have a scheming mind~."

Lebeaux smiled sweetly enough over the rim of his cup to cancel out even the bitterest of teas. “All this time and you still mistrust me so.” He noted in a bemused sort of tone. Plainly enjoying that. “That must be frustrating. Having such an interesting toy in your collection and not even being able to enjoy it properly.”

Daijiro chuckles. "Ah. I derive plenty of enjoyment from it. Please do not be troubled on my behalf." He shakes his head slightly.

Lebeaux smiled thoughtfully for a moment, his icy pale gaze drifting down from Daijiro’s face to the other’s lap before it raised again. “Hm.” He noted with a small shrug. “So it creates illusions akin to nightmares, or sinful dreams. It sounds a touch dangerous. Possibly tainted.”

Daijiro smiles. "I can contain the dangers. To do so one simply stops playing the music. And then, it is only a shade." He hums. "Even so, it is best if the personage in question is constrained in movement."

Lebeaux allowed the smile to dim slightly, suddenly less than amused at the prospect. “A rather complex story you have woven for the sake of tying me up and humiliating me. Again.”

Daijiro shakes his head. "Not at all. I did not believe you would have the courage to surrender yourself to such a degree. Therefore you will not experience the pleasures of the box." He sips from his tea primly. "I would have mentioned it sooner if I thought you might."

“And yet you would mention it now.” He noted calmly as he took a sip of his own tea. “You are aware of how displeasing me does not end well for you.” Or your fingers. The medic explained calmly. “With that in mind, you may show me the box. You have certainly piqued my curiosity.”

@grey-lotus-ffxiv

#lebeaux #daijiro #these two #they can't just sit down and have a nice chat #always gotta be conning each other #or trying to trap each other #i love it #:3c

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quinlin-blog1 · 6 years ago

Text

Blurb from What’s It Like

Axel Fletcher was a nine year old boy. He had brown eyes that were full of life and messy brown hair to match. He lived with his Mother and Father and his two siblings, both were girls.

Axel went to school like any other child would do, he did his homework, he got good grades and he even helped the Kindergartners with their lunches. But like any other child, Axel also got bullied.

It was always during break, Axel had just finished helping the Kindergarten class and he would make his way outside to the playground. Axel’s favorite spot on the playground, was under the slide. Not many kids went there because they were too busy playing on the swings or on the slide itself. All break, this was where Axel would sit, happily coloring in his drawing book, oblivious of the other children.

This obliviousness left Axel when two eighth grade boys came up to him. These two boys were known throughout the entire playground as the bullies and if you see them, you’d best avoid them. But unfortunately for Axel, today, he didn’t see them coming.

Axel was using an orange coloring pen, to color in the bill of the duck on the page, when suddenly the pen was ripped from his hands and a muddy, scuffed boots stepped right on his picture.

“Hey!” Axel exclaimed.

It was in the moment that Axel chose to look up at whoever had ruined his picture, expecting and hoping for it to be a kindergartener, playing around with him like they had done moments before, but not today.

“Watch it Shrimp!” The first boy told Axel as he snapped the coloring pen in his beefy hands.

Axel looked at the two boys, hoping that maybe he could just disappear and they would never see him again.

“Hey! We were talking to you Shrimp!” The second boy exclaimed.

Axel looked around the playground for a teacher, even another student that may help him, but the playground had been deserted. There wasn’t a teacher or student in sight. Now Axel really wish he was invisible.

The one boy watched ass Axel’s glance fleeted to his picture, so the older boy picked up the drawing and laugh a loud, fake laugh.

“What’s this supposed to be? Roadkill?”

Tears jumped to Axel’s eyes and he quickly looked away, hoping that the bullies wouldn’t see him crying and pick on him even more.

But luck, just didn’t like Axel today.

The first boy pulled Axel up by the collar of his shirt and then shoved Axel down to the hard gravel ground again. Axel could feel tiny pebbles sticking into the palms of his hands and his back and bum hurt from the harsh impact, but Axel didn’t cry, not again, he didn’t want to be weak in front of the older boys.

Once again, Axel was picked up by his collar and the second boy hung him on the edge on the railing for the slide, high enough to make sure that Axel’s feet didn’t touch the ground.

Axel thrashed and kicked, hoping that if he moved enough he would get unhooked, but looking down at the ground, it seemed much farther away than it had before and suddenly Axel didn’t want to fall, nor did he want to stay hooked on that railing. The two boys stepped back and started laughing cruelly, really, Axel didn’t see what was so funny. Why would you laugh at someone who’s stuck and can’t get down? But it was the mind of a big boy, as much as Axel tried, he didn’t understand how an eighth grader thought and didn’t think he ever would.

Now Axel was just hanging limply in the air, trying to hold his head up although it felt like his head weighed a million pounds. His legs were beginning to go numb and Axel already couldn’t feel his fingers. His back was getting cold from the light wind, the back of his shirt was stretching awkwardly and to make matters worse, the bell rang.

The bell rang, this meant that the other children would be coming out from wherever they had been playing and would see Axel hanging there. They were bound to laugh at him. He was going to get teased, laughed at and people would never let Axel live this day down.

But one good thing would come out of this, maybe a teacher would see.

‘Maybe they’ll get expelled’ Axel thought bitterly ‘maybe they’ll have to do community service.’

As children filled the school yard once more, Axel became aware of how many students there really were, there were hundreds. And they were all standing there, laughing at him.

Well most of them were, the only ones that weren’t were the ones that thought practical jokes were silly and a waste of time, but these children wouldn’t voice their thoughts, nor would they help poor Axel down from his perch, so really, Axel would remain there.

It was when a teacher came five minutes later that Axel finally got down. For the rest of the day, Axel kept his head down, hoping that his classmates wouldn’t tease him too harshly. The end of the day couldn’t have come quicker in Axel’s mind. As soon as the bell rang, Axel was out of his seat, grabbing his backpack and putting his coat on, soon Axel was running out the front doors of the school, ignoring the other people that were snickering and pointing.

The bus ride home wasn’t eventful. Axel sat in the seat closest to the driver hoping that no one would throw paper wads at him if he did this. But instead, kids just spat spit balls at the back of his neck and called out mean things. No matter how hard, Axel couldn’t shut it all out.

So when the bus reached his stop, Axel jumped up and ran out towards his home.

Axel opened his front door, took off his coat and shoes, dumped his backpack on the ground and ran up to his bedroom. He knew that his parents weren’t home yet, his mother was visiting his aunt in Florida whilst his father was at work. The babysitter was going to be there soon so Axel only had a few moments to himself.

In those moments, Axel decided that he was going to go hide himself in the attic and not come out for the rest of the day. In his mind, it made sense, he didn’t want to be bothered and no one went into the attic anyway, so Axel grabbed his favorite comic books, a few packages of crackers from the kitchen and pulled the ladder down. The attic was dusty, as attics are, in one corner there were boxes of old Christmas decorations that would not be taken out for another few months, in another corner there was a box that was labeled “Axel’s Baby stuff” and there was a clutter of other random boxes around the attic.

Axel found a folder out chair in one of the many boxes and unfolded it next to the grimy window. Looking out of the dirty glass pane, Axel could see the other houses on the street, cars driving, most likely filled with children from school, there were dogs running on the street, cats sitting on fences and leaves blowing from the trees. It was truly beautiful. Now that Axel cared. The beauty of the outside world never really struck Axel and he never understood why his mother was always talking about how amazing nature was.

Huffing, Axel sat back in the chair and watched as the sun slowly went down behind the clouds and down onto the horizon. He could hear his babysitter downstairs, calling for him, telling him that it was dinner, but Axel wasn’t hungry and he was pretty sure that if he tried to eat, it wouldn’t end well.

So Axel stayed in the chair, in the attic, looking out the window, watching as the sky faded into oranges and pinks and yellows, then as sit faded into a dark blue and black. The stars had come out by the time that Axel heard this front door opening, alerting him that his mother and father had returned home and his babysitter was leaving.

Something glittered in the sky and Axel looked up. It was a star, just like the other stars, but this one was special somehow. It was brighter, bigger and Axel could’ve looked at it all night long.

“If you wish on a star, maybe it will come true”

Axel remembered the words his mother had told him when he was young, of course Axel didn’t believe any of that nonsense at the time nor did he now, but it was worth a try.

So Axel closed his eyes, took a deep breath and thought to the star.

“I wish I was invisible. I wish that I was invisible and no one would ever know where I was. I wish that I was invisible so that I will never get teased again”

With that last thought, Axel opened his eyes and looked at his hands. When he realized that they were still there, he sighed.

Axel folded that chair up once more and put it back in its box, making sure that he put the box exactly where he found it, because he didn’t want his mother to be cross with him and then Axel went down the ladder.

“Axel! You didn’t eat your dinner” Axel’s Mother stated as he walked into the sitting room. She’d returned earlier that day.

“I’m not hungry” Axel said quietly.

“The Sitter said that you’ve been up in the attic since you got home from school. Did you need something?” Axel’s father asked.

Axel simply shook his head “I thought I would find my Soldier toy up there, but I couldn’t find him” Axel lied.

“Well I’m sure he’ll turn up. Now, go eat your dinner, I’ve just warmed it up and then go straight to bed” His mother ordered.

So Axel went and sat at the table and slowly ate his cold dinner. The chicken didn’t taste good, the potatoes were dry and his broccoli were mushy, all in all, Axel was excited to go to bed. Once he had finished his dinner, Axel put his plate in the sink, kissed his mother and father good night, then went up to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

As he did this, Axel wondered why his wish hadn’t worked.

‘Did I do it wrong? Was I missing something? Maybe the star needed some food and maybe it would have answered my wish if I had given it some chicken. Do stars eat chicken? Do stars eat at all?’

All these thoughts went through Axel’s mind as he finished brushing his teeth and he climbed into his warm bed.

Grabbing his stuffed bear, Axel closed his eyes and the last thing he saw was the star, before he fell asleep.

The next Morning Axel woke up dreading school. He didn’t want to go and he buried himself deeper into his covers, hoping that the world would disappear and school would cease to exist. But reality came to him when his babysitter called up the stairs to him, saying that it was time to go to school.

So Axel begrudgingly got out of his bed and trudged over to his cupboard, where he quickly got dressed, put on his shoes on, brushed out his hair and grabbed his backpack and ran down the stairs, where his sitter was holding his lunch.

“Turkey and Cheese, with no mayo and extra ketchup” His sitter recited.

Axel smiled a fake smile and took the paper bag out of the baby sitter’s hands.

“Thank you” He said before rushing out the door.

But as soon as he did, Axel felt a sudden wave of dizziness surround him, stumbling for a moment, Axel blinked the spots dancing in front of his eyes away and he continued to walk to the bus stop. He was hesitant when he saw that there were other kids standing there, he didn’t want to be made fun of because of what had happened yesterday, but when he arrived at the bus stop, no one greeted him, no one said hi, or asked him how he was, no one teased him, no one even looked at him. This relieved Axel, he waited at the bus stop in peace, and no one spoke to him, which was alright with Axel because he didn’t really know any of them.

When the bus arrived, Axel was the first to get on, he sat in the front row where no one else joined him.

In wasn’t a very long drive to school, around five minutes if the stops to pick up the other children weren’t long. During this short time, Axel looked out the window and waited to get to school, still dreading what might await him.

But finally the bus stopped at Axel’s school and all the children got off the bus, Axel going last, hoping to get lost in the crowd, but nobody noticed him.

Everything went normally, Axel went to his locker cubby, placed his coat and backpack in it, and then walked to class, where Axel sat at his desk, waiting for all the other children to join him.

Soon enough, the classroom slowly filled with other children and Axel’s teacher began roll call.

Considering the first letter in Axel’s name was A, his name was quite near the beginning of the list.

“Axel” His teacher called out

“Here!” Axel replied like always. But his teacher didn’t hear him.

“Axel?”

“Here!”

But once again, poor Axel wasn’t heard.

“He wasn’t on the bus today. Maybe he’s sick?” One of the other children suggested

“But I’m right here!” Axel protested, getting up out of his seat.

Axel walked over to his teacher and waved his hand in front of their face, but it was like Axel was invisible.

Then the thought hit Axel. He had wished on the start that he could be invisible, he woke up this morning and he wasn’t.

‘But then I got very dizzy when I walked out the front door’ Axel reminded himself ‘Maybe I’m only invisible when I’m not in my home’

This made Axel very happy. He could do whatever he wanted to and not have to worry about anybody seeing him.

Grinning to himself, Axel made his way silently (Although no one could hear him) out of the classroom and down the hall to find the grade eight class.

Inside this classroom, was a grade eight class learning about biology, and the two bullies from the day before were there as well.

Axel slowly walked into the classroom and sat in the teacher’s chair, watching ass the teacher explained bird physiology. Axel played with the things lying on the teacher’s desk, things like tack and erasers and confiscated phones. The class seemed to drag on forever in Axel’s mind and he was sure that some of the other students felt the same way. Some of them were staring blankly at the chalk board, other were napping with their heads tucked onto their desks, while there were very few writing down every word the Teacher was saying, whether it be important or not.

From what Axel gathered, the teacher was both telling a story about a bird and telling a story about his childhood, both were equally boring. Axel looked around the classroom for anything he could mess with and his eyes came into contact with the other chalk board. The one the teacher wasn’t writing on. One this chalk board was the date, the eighth grade lessons for that day, reminders about a math test on Wednesday and an old game of tic-tac-toe. Grinning, Axel made his way over to this board and picked up the chalk board eraser. Axel raised the Eraser and began to wipe away the words and numbers written there. Slightly paranoid, Axel kept looking over his shoulder to see if any of the students had seen him, but no one had, in fact Axel had remained invisible to the entire class.

Soon, Axel had wiped the entire chalkboard clean of the writing and he picked up a piece of blue chalk, grinning a Cheshire Cat grin. Axel put the chalk to the board and began drawing a giant wobbly picture. As he drew, the picture turned out to be a picture of a volcano, a blue volcano with pink lava flooding from the top. Personally, if you were to ask Axel, he’d say it was the best Volcano he had ever drawn. As Axel moved on to draw a spaceship hovering in the sky by the volcano, he realized that he was too short to reach the place he needed to. So Axel walked over to a stack of spare chairs in the corner and picked one up. Looking around Axel realized that surely someone would notice a floating chair being walked across the classroom.

Ignoring those thoughts Axel began to carry the chair to his old spot in front of the chalk board. To his shock, no one saw him.

Shrugging, Axel began to draw the Millennium Falcon from Star Wars.

AS he drew, Axel heard a grunt as one of the students woke up, yet he ignored this noise and continued to draw. Suddenly, the classroom erupted into whispers and chatter and the teacher stopped his droning.

“What is the matter?” He asked

One of the eighth grade students pointed to the chalk board and the teacher looked over and let out a shriek.

The author is sure that you would too if you saw a floating piece of chalk drawing a picture of a spaceship.

“What is this!?” The teacher demanded.

“The classroom is haunted!” One girl cried out

Grinning again, Axel put the chalk down, causing several children to squeal and look around to look for him. Axel went over to one of his bullies from yesterday and began playing with his hair.

“What’s happening!?” His friend exclaimed as Axel put a pencil in the boy’s ear.

As the cherry on the cake, Axel went over to the chalk board with the teachers writing and wrote, in giant letters. BOO!

Everyone in the classroom began to scream and they jumped from their seats out of the classroom, the teacher close behind them.

Axel was doubled over in fits of laughter as he listened to the class freak out in the hallways.

‘That was fun’ Axel thought to himself ‘What should I do now?’

As a response to that, Axel’s stomach rumbled and Axel happily skipped to the classroom, giggling as he passed the grade eight class. In the cafeteria, the lunch lady was scooping things into bowls, getting ready for lunch which happened to be very soon. Axel walked over and grabbed a piece of a turkey sandwich, which had been put on a plate not moments before. When the lunch Lady turned around and saw a sandwich missing she looked around and picked up a cleaver.

“Come here ya vermin, try it!” She then began to run around the cafeteria, trying to find the “Mice” that had stolen the sandwich.

The day went by too quickly for Axel’s liking. During the next few hours, he had thrown cheese strings at the Secretary, Poured water on the head of his French teacher, whom he thoroughly disliked, given flowers to the girl that he had a tiny crush on and sat in the principal’s office, while spinning on the Principal’s chair.

The bus ride home was pretty boring compared to the rest of the day, he stood at the very front, not sat, stood and waited to get off. When he got off the bus, he ran home and stopped at his porch.

‘If I go into my house, will I reappear?’ He asked himself. ‘Well I’ll have to go in sometime’

So Axel took a step forwards and walked into his house.

“Hey Axel” His babysitter said “How was school?” She looked over at his, smiling lightly.

Axel grinned and set his bag down “Oh you know, pretty boring”

#superpowers #wishes #kids #school #humor #comedy #invisibility #short stories #fantasy #imagination

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dancingkirby · 6 years ago

Text

In which Bolin plays with toys and Eska fails at flirting

I’m going to have to think up a title for this story soon. I was thinking maybe “Into Open Waters.”

“How dare she? How dare she?”

Eska paced around the room, trying her hardest to keep her voice low so as not to disturb Kinalik. The stress of the previous sleepless night, their escape in the wee hours, the sheer physical effort required to waterbend all the way to Republic City with a toddler and luggage in tow, the energy required to interact with people in a strange place…all of it was consuming her.

She collapsed in a chair, her body shaking and angry tears streaming down her face, which made her feel all the worse; like she was no more mature than her daughter.

Did their courtiers think that the twins did not hear the snickers and whispers of “half breed?” And yesterday…they had all looked at Kinalik like she was a monster. They felt that their only option was to get her out of there.

“I was trying to explain, but she wouldn’t listen!” she moaned to her brother.

“Perhaps she felt the same about you,” Desna offered cautiously.

“Perhaps,” Eska muttered, making an enormous effort to control her crying. “I have no harsh feelings towards our cousin’s significant other; she is not nearly as uncouth as the others. I was just…trying so hard not to cry in front of them that I forgot to thank her. People only seem to care about what I do incorrectly; not what I do the appropriate way. Yes, I know you are an exception, brother,” she hastily added to ward off his protests. She furiously scrubbed the tears away.

“I recommend that we go to sleep right now and ponder the matter further in the morning,” Desna said.

“Yes…that would probably be wise.”

Eska was worried that she’d have problems falling asleep like she often did in locations that weren’t home. However, the rhythm of Kinalik’s breathing soothed her, and the trio was soon huddled together in a deep slumber.

When Eska woke up who-knows-how-late in the morning, her back was throbbing in pain. She supposed it was to be expected with all the exercise and lifting that she did yesterday. Even attempting to roll over caused her to moan. Thankfully, Desna had already awoken, and was ready with the bowl of water. He and Eska silently healed each other, then Eska also healed Kinalik, who was uninjured but wanted to do what the grownups were doing. It didn’t get rid of all the pain, but reduced it enough to allow her to perform the usual morning functions and help Kinalik with hers.

When they got downstairs to the breakfast room, Korra was sitting there alone. She had finished her own meal, but there was still a pot of tea and a plate of steamed buns filled with bean paste on the table. Eska was impressed to see that they’d remembered about Kinalik’s noodles, and that the child’s chair had a pile of cushions on it in lieu of a booster seat.

“Asami’s in the shower,” Korra said in response to their unspoken query. “She likes to fiddle around in her workshop first thing in the morning when she’s feeling upset.”

Even Eska could tell that the last few words were pointed. “Hm,” was all she could trust herself to say in response as she grabbed a bun.

“Does she eat anything else?” Korra asked, referring to Kinalik. That was a somewhat safer topic, at least.

“Rice. Eggs. Apples peeled and cut to slices exactly ¼ inch thick. Arctic hen. Some types of fish; she seems to change her mind about exactly which types by the day,” Eska answered. She stopped to think. What else was there?

“We have been having modest success in getting her to eat kelp,” Desna reminded.

“Oh yes. The first time she ate that was a triumphant occasion indeed. And before you ask, cousin, we do give her a daily multivitamin.”

“I wasn’t going to ask,” Korra said quickly. She took a sip of her tea and said, “I wonder if she’d like Narook’s? They have a kid’s menu.”

“Is it noisy?”

“Dinner can be…lunch is usually quieter.”

“We will consider it.”

They were spared from doing further chatting for the moment by Asami entering the room, fully dressed but with a towel wrapped around her head. Korra looked at Eska expectantly.

Eska supposed that this was her cue to apologize. Damn it. She’d never cared about the feelings of anyone outside of her family before.

“I’msorry,” she mumbled while looking down at her hands. This seemed to satisfy the requirements for now.

“It’s okay,” Asami said. “I know you must have been under a lot of stress. Now, is this enough food for you? We could have the cook make something hot…”

“This is sufficient,” Desna assured her.

Asami sat down as well and got her own breakfast, and apparently decided that it would be best to get right to the point.

“So…Korra said that you were concerned about Kinalik’s safety…”

“That is one way to phrase it.”

“So exactly how deep into hiding did you want to go?”

Good question.

“We hadn’t thought things through that far yet,” Desna admitted. “All we were hoping for was to buy a few days of time to strategize. That was why we chose not to stay at a hotel.”

“Simply arriving at this destination was the main objective. They will discover our location sooner or later, but I doubt that they would take our lives here. Nevertheless, we should take precautions,” Eska added.

Korra and Asami stopped to think, and then Korra said, “Well, you do have one thing going for you. You’re fairly obscure. Probably all that most people in Republic City know about you is that you’re those creepy twins.”

Eska clenched her jaw, and willed the angry words ready to spring from her back down her throat. She didn’t want another argument to start so quickly. Desna appeared to be having a similar struggle, but was able to state in an even tone, “We do like our privacy.”

While they had been talking, Kinalik had finished her noodles and was getting bored.

“Down!” she commanded. Eska rose to help her off the cushions, and sat back down with her daughter in her lap.

“And that’s another thing,” Asami said. “I didn’t even know of Kinalik’s existence until yesterday, and I don’t think Korra did either.”

“They may have mailed something,” Korra said. “But I was kind of distracted at the time.”

“We did air a birth announcement on the radio,” Eska remarked. Granted, it had run only once. At 6 AM. Neither the twins nor their advisors had wanted to call much attention to it.

“Well, anyway, if all that the general public knows about you is that you’re twins, we’d want to make you look as unalike as possible. Plus, the weather’s much too warm right now for your regular wardrobes. We’ll need to shop for new clothes, and one of you might have to cut your hair.”

Asami looked over at Desna, but Eska quickly said, “I’ll do it.” Desna had done so much for her; it was only fair that she should be the one to make this sacrifice.

“I have to go get the rest of my stuff this morning, but…hold on, let me write this down,” Korra said.” She retrieved a notebook and pencil from a side table.

“Asami, could you take them downtown this afternoon? I’ll probably want to rest, and you’re the one with the style sense. And um…I still can’t drive that well.”

“Sure, but maybe one at a time? Whoever is after them would be looking for twins.”

“No prob. Desna, you okay with waiting until tomorrow?”

“Whatever you think is best,” Desna answered, albeit apparently with some unease about them being separated. The twins squeezed hands under the table.

“Bolin might want to join us,” Asami remarked. “You know how he is about makeovers.”

“Oh, yeah, whoops, I forgot about Bolin. And we were going to do a proper introduction today.”

“I wonder…” Asami trailed off as Korra scribbled away.

“Hm?”

“I was just thinking about how to make all this more pleasant for Kinalik. I think I have an idea. You go over to Air Temple Island. I can take care of arranging things.”

“’Kay, love you.”

They kissed. Eska was relieved. All of the talking had been making her dizzy.

After Korra had finally departed, Asami got Eska, Desna, and Kinalik situated in the living room. Unlike the more formal parlor they’d seen on the tour yesterday, this room was stocked with comfortable furniture, which was a blessing for Eska’s back. It was decorated with plush carpeting, wooden paneling, several paintings, and a tall bookcase in the corner. Eska made a beeline for the latter and thumbed through the selection.

While Eska was busy with her browsing, Asami used one of the mansion’s many phones to call Bolin.

“So what do you think about coming over here shortly? Makeovers may be involved.”

Eska could hear Bolin’s shriek of joy from clear across the room. Asami had to hold the receiver at arm’s length until he calmed down.

“I take it that’s a yes? Okay, what time? Yeah, I think we can do that. So see you…oh? What is it?”

She listened for a few seconds, then said, “Well, I’ll ask them,” and covered the receiver with her hand.

“Eska, Desna, Bolin says that Opal wants to come meet you. Is that okay?”

Eska was intrigued in spite of herself. She wanted to see just what sort of powerful woman had managed to ensnare her ex’s heart.

“It is all right with me. Desna?”

“Me as well.”

“Great!” exclaimed Asami. She turned back to the receiver and said, “That’s a yes from both of them. See you in a few, then? All right. No, Pabu had better stay at your apartment this time. Bye.”

She hung up the phone, then left the room, saying vaguely that she had to “get things ready.”

Eska, in the meantime, had found several recent issues of Republic City Style. She had first encountered this publication in the storage room of the library back home, and knew that it was trash, but had been unable to stop reading these chronicles of uncivilized famous people and their clothing. And it definitely wasn’t because she was jealous of them and their hedonistic lives! No, if ever asked, she would claim that it was simply anthropological studies.

“All right, let’s see who Ginger is dating now,” she murmured as she sat down to look at the pictures with Kinalik.

“May I have one?” Desna asked.

“You may.”

They were deeply engrossed in their reading material, with occasional snorts of incredulity from the twins and squeals of “Pretty!” from Kinalik, when they heard something being hauled down the stairs and dragged into the living room.

“I found that box of t-o-y-s that I was telling you about yesterday!” Asami said as she beamed. She had removed her towel, and looked no worse for wear from the exertion. Eska wished that she could look that put-together.

“So I was thinking that Bolin could help Kinalik look through these, and that maybe she would warm up to him more if she associated him with a positive thing like that.”

Kinalik perked up at the mention of her name. Eska thought that this was actually a clever idea, and wished that she could have thought of that herself.

“Shall we see what is contained in here?” Eska asked Kinalik. Her daughter didn’t answer verbally, but appeared happy for the first time since they’d left the palace.

As Asami left to get some scissors with which to open the box, the doorbell rang. The door was opened shortly thereafter, presumably by the butler…what was his name again?

“We have arrived!” Bolin announced as he bounded into the living room, followed closely behind by Opal. “And…hey neat, what’s that?” He gestured at the box.

Asami explained her idea to him as Kinalik removed the first item from the box: a stuffed animal in the form of a cat-owl.

“Great, sounds great!” Bolin enthused as made to sit down right next to Kinalik, then caught himself in time and picked a spot a respectful couple of feet away.

Asami had certainly never been lacking in any amusement as a child; Eska felt a twinge when she remembered how her own toys had been taken away when she wasn’t too much older than Kinalik. There were stuffed animals of all sorts (yes, including a turtleduck and a koala otter), dolls, and Satomobile models. Thankfully, nothing was in that box that would pose a choking hazard; Eska presumed that Kinalik was smart enough not to put toys in her mouth, but one never knew for sure.

Kinalik was insistent on doing the unpacking herself, and kept most of the toys to herself, but every so often she would shyly offer one to Bolin.

“Thank you!” he exclaimed at her latest offering of a stuffed animal that was so worn that Eska couldn’t even tell what it was supposed to be. “Do you wanna know something, Kinalik? I don’t remember what toys I had when I was your age. I wish I did. So this is really as exciting for me as it is for you!”

Kinalik scrunched her nose, and either because she didn’t know how to respond or didn’t have the words, settled for “Okay.” But she did hand over a toy truck to him.

“Oh, she’s just adorable!” said Opal, which slightly startled Eska because she’d been so focused on the scene across the room. She was seated at the opposite end of the couch from the twins.

“Yes,” Eska answered. She and Desna switched places so that there would be no one between Eska and Opal. Then she remembered.

“I have on my possession a copy of Kinalik’s birth certificate,” Eska stated as she took the piece of paper out of her pocket. “It contains proof that Bolin was not being unfaithful to you. Not with me, at least.”

Opal didn’t move to take it.

“It’s okay, I believe you. Really,” she said.

It was just that easy? Eska had been anticipating a more frosty reception.

“So what do you think? Can we be friends?” Opal asked as she smiled gently. She extended her hand, and Eska forced herself to make eye contact while tentatively reaching her arm out as well. But she only had the nerve to brush Opal’s fingers with her own.

Just then, there was much excitement from the duo on the floor. Having removed all of the toys from the box, they had reached the best part…the packing paper. Kinalik reached for a particularly large piece and gleefully ripped it in half.

“That makes a cool sound, doesn’t it?” Bolin observed.

Kinalik studied the two halves in her hand, and then crumpled one up, walked over, and reached up to place it on Bolin’s head.

“Oh wow! A hat! Just what I always wanted!” Bolin said with all evidence of sincerity. He tossed his head ever so slightly, and the paper fell to the floor.

“OOPS! It fell off! How clumsy of me!”

Kinalik looked at him, then at the paper, then back at him. And she laughed.

This was something that even Eska herself rarely elicited from her daughter. She wished that she could telepathically transmit to Bolin the significance of this event. But as he glanced over it her, it seemed that he already knew to some extent.

Shortly thereafter, Korra returned, and while the servants transferred her things, Asami herded them all into the main dining room for lunch. Evidently, Korra had informed her partner of Kinalik’s preferences, because the meal was omelets…plain for Kinalik and with vegetables for everyone else. Kinalik actually ate most of hers, and even sampled a piece of mushroom from Eska’s plate without spitting it back out.

When that was concluded, Desna put Kinalik down for a nap while Eska ventured out into the great unknown.

For what felt like the millionth time, Eska felt the ends of her now shoulder-length hair. It felt exceedingly strange to not have it hanging halfway down her back.

Also, the hairdresser had insisted on using hair clips to pin her bangs back.

“You have such a perfectly-proportioned forehead!” the older woman had gushed. “And such delicate eyebrows. Why would you ever want to cover that up?”

At least it might work as a disguise. And Asami and Opal had wholeheartedly agreed with the stylist. They had tried to get Bolin’s opinion as well, but he held up his pointer finger for silence.

“Please don’t disturb me. I have attained manicure Nirvana,” he stated in an exaggerated whisper.

When Bolin had finally descended back down to Earth, they went clothes-shopping. First they got some everyday items. Eska was rather embarrassed that she had to wear clothing from the Juniors section due to her petite frame, but she managed to tolerate the shopping long enough to attain several new outfits. The store had a changing room in case one wanted to wear an outfit out of the store, so Eska had changed her regular tunic and leggings for a sky-blue shirt with cap sleeves, white pants that fell just below the knee, and white sandals. It was odd to have so much of her skin exposed in public, but it was amusing to imagine how the dreaded councilors back home would react.

She was taken aback when she realized that she would have to help carry her own belongings for the first time in her life, but decided not to argue.

Then Asami had remembered about Korra’s party, to which Eska hadn’t realized that she was invited, so they went to a more upscale boutique that specialized in Water Tribe inspired designs to find a dress. Of course, the one that caught Eska’s eye was too large for her, so she would have to come back later for fitting.

By the time that was over, all of them were loaded with shopping bags and getting tired, and Eska’s back was acting up again. She still didn’t understand why some girls and women did this for fun.

“There’s a bubble tea shop just down the street. Let’s stop there,” Asami suggested.

Eska was about to inquire what bubble tea was, but her thoughts slammed on the brakes as a horrific sound rose from the corner next to the tea shop.

“What. Is. That?” she demanded as she jammed her fingers inside her ears.

“That’s a trombone,” Opal answered. She and Asami rolled their eyes at Bolin, who was edging nervously closer toward the tea shop door.

Even leading such a sheltered life, Eska had heard of street musicians. But she had been under the impression that most did it for money. There was no tip box beside this man’s feet, so either he was just doing it for fun or wanted to cause all pedestrians an agonizing death. Probably the latter, she thought.

“I am going to ambulate over there right now and inform that man that he must cease and desist immediately,” she declared.

“Maybe…just going inside would be a better idea?” Bolin offered. “Come on quick, before he sees us!”

Bolin dashed inside, and the three women had no choice but to follow, Opal and Asami both making noises of disapproval.

They got their orders and sat down. Eska had assumed that the bubbles would be some form of carbonation, but they were actually solid spheres. She guessed that it was not called “sphere tea” because it didn’t roll off the tongue as easily. In any case, the spheres had a pleasantly chewy texture.

Meanwhile, Asami was still scolding Bolin.

“He’s a much better person now and you know it!” she said.

“He still scares me!”

“Well, I invited him to the party, so get used to him.”

“You what? Oh frick…here he comes.”

The door abruptly swung open as if accompanied by a musical cue, and Trombone Man walked in like he owned the place. To Eska’s relief, he had put away that torture device for the present. Wait…why was he making a beeline to their table?

“Hi, Tahno!” Asami said cheerfully as Opal waved. The latter elbowed Bolin, who squeaked out a “Hi!”

The name rang a bell. Eska tried to recall where she’d encountered it.

“Now who is this lady here?” Tahno the Trombone Man asked. “I don’t believe that I’ve seen you here with the Uh-vatar’s crowd before.”

Eska assumed that he was referring to Opal. But after several seconds, she realized that he was looking at her. Just in time, she remembered how she knew of him.

“I saw you in the magazines,” she said. “Except then you weren’t there anymore. And then you were, but not quite as often.”

“Guilty as charged.”

Was he flirting, or just making fun of her?

Eska rose from her seat and affixed her best glare.

“Your subpar pronounciation irritates my auditory receptacles. As does your so-called musical talent.”

The look she was giving him would have sent a whole room full of courtiers fleeing. But Trombone Man just laughed.

“Oh, did I offend you, Ice Queen?”

Did he know? At any rate, Eska realized that he towered over her by at least a foot, despite her drawing herself up to as full a height as her back would allow. This would not do.

“If I am the Ice Queen, then you are my subject. I demand that you swear fealty to me by kneeling.”

She heard three sharp intakes of breath. But kneel Tahno did, after only a brief pause. He kept his eyes and his smirk on Eska. Eska remained outwardly composed (at least she hoped so), but her heart was starting to pound…from anxiety or from something else?

“Of course…you do know what this means, Ice Queen? Now I must kiss your hand.”

Eska barely had time to process the words before Bolin leapt in between them.

“O-kaaaayyy!” he exclaimed louder than he had to. “I know we’re all having a wonderful time here, and it was great seeing you again, but look at the clock! We really have to be going now, so bye and see you at the party, I guess!”

He herded the trio of women out the door, drinks, bags, and all. Eska didn’t know whether she wanted to thank him or throttle him.

“That was interesting,” Eska mused as they walked back to the Satomobile. “However, I doubt he would show the submission required to be my husband.”

Bolin choked on his last sip of tea.

“Mental images, Eska! Mental! Images!” he gasped out.

At least he was starting to show his true self around her.

#legend of korra #fanfic #eska #boleska #now you know why I was looking up tahno a few days ago

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jeonggukingdom · 7 years ago

Note

Hello! Can I please request 35 & 50 for the Halloween Drabble Game with Namjoon, preferably smut? :) Thank you and much love ❤️❤️

Prompt: “You don’t fear me? Well, I will make you a believer tonight” + “How did you know where the spare key was?”Pairing: Namjoon x ReaderGenre: Smut, vampire!AUCount: 6.146 words

warnings: mention of blood, graphic depictions of sexual intercourse, dom-sub relationship, use of blindfolds and bondage practices, oral sex, dirty talk, cum play, orgasm denial.

Author’s note: I’m going to dedicate this to @justanotherbangtanblog because she’s always there for me when I’m being obnoxious and whiney, because she always listens and encourages me and also because I lover her very much and I also love to hurt her greatly with Namjoon smuts.Also, if you’d like a visual reference of the OC Halloween costume, you can see it: here - and for Namjoon’s costume you can go: here.

The inevitable chain reaction instigated by one, simple, quick, decision is what lead you to this very moment. Frantic bodies basked in moonlight that seek heat into each others embraces; tongues that slide against each other and shivers that run down spines in both excitement and coldness; the silence of the night only interrupted by the sounds of kisses shared on the verge of a deserted garden that secludes the old hovel from the hundreds of bodies mingling together in the frat-house at the end of the road.

The dimmed light outside the abandoned house flickers intermittently casting dancing shadows on the concrete that you’re bound to deem ominous just because, for less than two more hours, it’s the Halloween night and everything seems to turn frightening and lugubrious when surrounded by dark costumes and gloomy decorations.

“I’m going to freeze my ass off,” you mutter under your breath as the little warmness his body could provide is ripped away from you by the steps he takes in the dim light of the porch.

“Plus, this place gives me the creeps,” your eyes dart upwards and take in again the somber appearance of the small building: windows shut by wood and greasy with dirt and dust; broken glasses on the porch that are nothing but the sign of vandals and drug-addicts using the place as either an amusement park or a refugee; the looming fall of the ragged chimney on the rooftop.

A shiver runs down your body and covers your skin in goosebumps that have nothing to do with the pleasure of kissing plump lips that taste like honey.

You curse under your breath as the prickly gust of wind hits your way too exposed skin, your arms embrace your body in a vain attempt to keep yourself warm in the tiny red polka dress that was supposed to make you look like a sexy version of Minnie Mouse, but that is now providing as much coverage as a bathing suit would have.

“Is the mighty ____ afraid?” he asks with a provocative smile that makes his dimples appear and your heart warm up with an affection that shouldn’t be blooming there already - this night being only your second date, if a party can be considered as such, and the rest of your relationship based on nothing more than mere platonic conversations held through messages and hasty phone calls.

You bite your bottom lip and a stream of fear coils down your stomach making your insides clench. Indeed, you are afraid, but you’re also far too proud to admit it.

“Of course not,” you reply, your eyes fixed on the ground as the obvious lie escapes your mouth in a swift whisper, “Just hurry up before I freeze to bloody death.”

His wide back is what your eyes meet as you return your whole attention to him and it happens to be just in time to watch him jump on the porch’s fence and reach the roof with his arm.

“What the hell are you doing?” you ask while moving forward, your arms grabbing onto his jacket to pull him down before someone sees him or, worse, he breaks his neck by falling off the rotten wood rail.

He turns around and you’re met with the most gorgeous smile you ever witnessed in your entire life and for an entire second, you seem to forget who you are or where you are.

“Got it,” he exclaims triumphantly and your gaze falls upon a rusty little key held between his fingers.

He swiftly jumps back on the ground right next to you and you’re far too preoccupied with the question pending on your lips to notice he has grabbed your hand, opened the door, and successfully walked you inside the abandoned house rumored to be haunted by ghosts ever since its owners died there seventy years ago.

“How…?” your eyebrows knit together and finally you outspoken the doubt clouding up your mind, “How did you know where the spare key was?”

The door closes behind your back with a soft click that for some reason seems to echo in your head like a thunder would have and the way he turns toward you, a glacial smile upon his lips, makes all the fear coiled in your stomach expand and devour your entire being.

“Well,” his deep voice crawls on your skin and covers it in goosebumps that aren’t as enjoyable as the ones he created with the soft touches of his mouth and the languid strokes of his tongue, “That’s one of the perks of living here.”

You do not know if it’s the bloody Halloween night’s fault but his words sound more sinister than they should and they do nothing but accentuate the fear permeating your body. Thoughts as: it could be just a joke, maybe he has come here before, maybe this is where he takes all the girls to; they do not form in your mind for more than an instant because there is simply something in his eyes that tells you he means every single word he says.

“You live…here?” you look around the evidently abandoned place and take in the dusty floor and unattained furniture that makes it perfectly clear no human being has lived here for a very long time.

He smiles at you, tilting his head to the side as to ponder why you’re so doubtful about his statement and then he follows your gaze and a little laugh escapes his mouth.

“You see,” his eyes fix upon you yet again and his gaze is so intense it makes your legs feel like jelly and your heart rampant in your chest, “When you’ve lived for a good old century, you tend to stop caring about very futile and materialistic things.”

Your eyebrows knit together and a pout forms on your mouth as you struggle to get a grasp of what his words entail.

His hand strokes your cheek delicately and his pearly white smile comes into view, successfully dissipating all the fear in your stomach as if it was ice under the most blinding sun.

His smile twists into something sinister as his face inches forward and his nose touches yours.

“This is the moment where you try to run and start screaming, petal.”

He smirks upon your lips and his tongue darts out to lick your mouth suggestively.

“Why would I run away from you?” you ask in a whisper as he pushes you back until you softly hit the closed door behind your back.

He snickers and locks his gaze in yours, his mouth slowly opening to reveal two perfectly shaped canines that have nothing mundane about them.

Your eyes widen in surprise and a rush of adrenaline sparks up your body turning your skin feverish as he answers the question that fear has trapped in your throat.

“I’m what humans call vampire,” his voice turns cold as he spits out the monstrous name that was forced upon him.

It is something akin to survival instinct that keeps you from doing exactly what he was expecting from you - which also happens to be the most rational and natural thing a human like you should do in such a situation.

“What?” he murmurs, his brows knitting together as he studies your face, looking for a hint of the fear that is strangling you up from within, “You don’t fear me?”

He shakes his head in disbelief, clearly pondering whether you’re just the stupidest human he has ever encountered or the bravest.

“I don’t believe you,” you whisper, tilting your chin up faking a courage and an assuredness you do not have.

“Well,” he interjects, his nose nuzzling on your neck to breathe in your scent, “I’ll make you a believer tonight.”

And it happens just like that, as the clock strikes onto the eleventh hour: his perfectly shaped teeth sunk into your skin and rupture the soft flesh until blood is trickling down your neck and into his parted mouth.

His wintry hands grab your waist to keep you steady in his arms as he ravishes you whole, his fingers leaving purple-shaded marks onto the delicate skin as a clear reminder of the unholy sin that he’s committing in the abandoned foyer of a haunted house.

A soft whimper escapes your mouth as your body starts to tremble with the utter pleasure that, inexplicably, comes along with the soft pain expanding from your neck up to your jaw and down to your chest - a delectation that you deem as the nefarious sign that you either had way too many raspberry mojitos or you just lost all your rationality altogether. As you close your eyes whilst biting your bottom lip, it becomes clear it is probably a fine mixture of the both.

His lips kiss the broken and bruised skin, taking all the delectable pain away, and he meets your hooded gaze with stupor across his features and pleasure inside his dark irises.

A rivulet or your blood escapes from his lips and glides along his chin till he catches it with his thumb and brings it back to his mouth, sucking on his finger whilst staring at you.

“You taste like heaven, petal.” His raspy voice sends a shiver down your spine and you gulp audibly as your heart somersaults between your lungs.

His hand moves from your hips to grasp your chin and tilt it upwards so he cant take a better look at your face.

“You know,” he interjects, his head tilting sideways as he pouts in contemplation, “By now you should be screaming or begging me for mercy.”

He inches forward and brushes your nose with his own, his soft breath hitting your lips as he does so.

“But are you, perhaps” he touches your lips in a brief contact and you grasp his white shirt with your fists, “Enjoying it?”

A shaky breath escapes your mouth and you close your eyes whilst gulping down into a mere attempt to calm yourself.

“If you wanted to kill me you would have done it already.”

He smirks upon your mouth before licking his lips, almost as if he was savoring the taste of you.

“What would you say?” his soft breath hits your ear as he whispers those luscious words that function only as a prelude to what his body pressed against your own suggests, “About starting back from where we left?”

It takes only a small ’yes’ and a little whimper from your part for him to crash on your lips with a ferocity far greater than the one he used on your neck. He steals your breath away and parts your lips with his inviting tongue.

The lewd sounds of your heated kiss fill the emptiness of the dark foyer and you lose yourself into the exquisite pleasure that saturates you whole.

Your hands reach behind his neck to pull him closer and he growls into your mouth, his teeth glissading on your tongue before puncturing it hard enough to tear the muscle open and let the blood flood between your lips.

The pain is shortly subdued by a wave of pleasure as he deepens the kiss, his hips rocking against your own as he gets drunk on your piquancy.

When he leaves your lips, you’re left with the taste of iron in your mouth and the loud ringing of your ears which you’re not sure if it’s due to the blood loss or the great excitement building between your legs.

“Wait here,” he orders and completely disappears from your sight in nothing but thin air, leaving you flabbergasted and confused.

Your palm glides on the wooden door in search for support and, when you feel steady enough on your feet, you take a few tentative steps towards the hallway and the big stairs that undoubtedly lead to the master bedroom.

A glacial hand grips your wrist and turns you around as if you were a leaf under the strongest wind. Two black pupils meet your gaze and a snarl escapes his mouth in what you assume is nothing but a warning.

“I told you to stay put and you will do as I say.”

You quickly nod in response, gulping down the fear trapped in your throat.

“I want to hear you say it.”

He traps your chin into his fingers again so there is no way for you to escape the deepness of his eyes and, with a feeble breath, you do exactly as he says.

“I will do everything you tell me to.”

His grip on your face tightens and your eyes water in pain.

“For a smart mundane girl, you’re being quite ill-mannered, petal.”

“I-I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, what?” He growls upon your lips and your heart misses a beat before going rampant in your chest.

“I’m sorry, Master.”

“Good girl.”

The smile you’re rewarded with erases all the pain in your jaw and fills you up with glee.

“Come with me.”

He grabs your wrist and you quickly follow his rapid steps on the stairs and into the dark hallway - the ominous appearance of the walls and the paintings hanged there, the greasy and torn carpets on the floor and the putrid smell of decaying wood, do nothing to calm your breathing or your heart.

When you step into his bedroom, though, you’re met with a luminous ambient and the sound of crackling fire in the furthest corner of the room.

Your body welcomes the new found warmth with a pleased sigh and you wonder if this is why he left you in the foyer earlier.

Your eyes dart around the room and take in the seemingly freshly-painted white walls; the mixture of modern furniture and the baroque-like curtains on the large window in the corner; the grandiosity of the huge chandelier at the center of the room, right above the canopy bed decorated with silk red covers and black cushions.

The whole room smells like sage and citrus incense - a flavor you’re far too familiar with, it being you’re absolute favorite to diffuse in your own campus room.

“Is the room of your liking?” he asks on your ear, his cold breath sending shivers down your spine and fully awakening the butterflies in your stomach.

“Yes, Master.”

He smirks on your jaw before playfully biting down the soft skin there - crimson petals spreading on your cheeks at the affectionate gesture.

His fingers brush against your shoulders and grab the hems of your dress, slowly gliding it down your body to expose the black laced underwear underneath.

The dress falls on the floor and his hands grab your waist to turn you around and fully take in your half-naked body.

“I want you to keep the heels on” he murmurs against your neck before placing a kiss there. You softly hum whilst tilting your head backward as to grant him more access, your eyes closed in pure ecstasy.

His plump lips move down towards your clavicles and his hands unclasp your bra so he can have full access to your breasts.

He smirks on one of your nipples before taking it into his mouth and sucking hard on it, his other hand caressing the other breast in a soothing yet possessive manner.

You whimper in his embrace and he rocks his hips on yours to show you just how much he’s enjoying what your body has to offer.

“Can I…” you breathe out before sighing loudly at the sensation of his tongue rolling around your fully-hardened nipple, “Can I undress you too, Master?”

He snickers at the boldness of your requests and grabs the hem of your panties to drag them down and let them fall right on top of your flimsy dress.

You open your eyes at your new found nudity and catch him staring at you, bottom lip trapped under his teeth.

“Aren’t you full of surprises?” he mumbles under his breath as his hand glides down from your breast to your stomach and further more, to your sex.

As soon as he touches your labia, you quiver in desperate need for more.

“You’re dripping wet, petal.”

His hand leaves your sex and you whimper in disapproval at the sudden loss.

“You may undress me, now.”

It is not something he has to repeat twice for, the exact instant the words leave his mouth, you’re hands are already dragging down his emerald and golden jacket, the material soft under your fingertips.

“Did you wear this when you were a human, Master?” you ask in a whisper, curiosity beating the excitement between your legs.

“I did, yes.”

He concedes his reply but does not elaborate and you take it as a hint he does not wish to remember the times he could still walk under the sunlight.

Your fingers brush against his white shirt and unsteadily undo each of his buttons until his chest is completely exposed.

The toned skin of his abdomen contracts as your fingers brush against it, the softness and golden hue of it almost taking you by surprise and leaving you wondering how it would’ve looked like glistening in the sun.

With a shaky breath - furthermore disclosing your excitement - you grab the hem of his pants and slowly start dragging them down to meet the mass of your clothes mingled together on the floor.

Inch after inch, his skin gets uncovered and you’re quick to realize he’s not wearing any form of garment under his pants. You gulp audibly as the fabric surpasses his hips and the full length of his hard-on gets released from its confinement.

“Stop.” He says before you can even think about encompassing his member in your hand.

“Come with me.”

Just like before, you quickly follow him without emitting so much as a sound, not even daring to pose a question, and you let him blindly drag you to the bed and onto his leg - your legs spread around him so he can support you on his toned thigh, your chest firmly pressed against his own, and his lips attached to your mouth into a searing kiss that makes your head spin and your lungs contract in lack of oxygen.

His thigh flexes involuntarily under your naked, wet, core and you can’t help the whimper that escapes your mouth nor the small rocking of your hips that desperately demand more friction.

“Did I say you could move?” he asks, leaving your mouth to stare at you with the same glacial eyes he reserved for you when you disobeyed him downstairs.

“No.” The whimper that escapes your mouth is as helpless as you feel at his reprehend - the feeling of being scolded as a disobedient child into a candy store making your heart ache.

“No, what?” He growls against your mouth, his hand grasping your chin almost painfully so you cannot break the eye contact even if you want to.

“No, Master.”

He releases the hold on your face and for a long second he stares at you, deep in thought, and you can’t help the shiver that comes with his intense scrutiny.

“I think I should teach you a lesson.” He blatantly affirms, his hands grabbing your waist to lift you up and gently drop you onto the mattress.

He climbs on top of you, forcing your back to touch the soft silky material of the covers and there’s something so feral about his every movement you do not dare to question him or resist him.

Your head hits the velvety black cushion and he grabs both of your wrists to lift them up and, soon you realize, binding them to the bed-stand. The ropes feel smooth against your skin and you trace your fingers on the small inches you can reach. The position is not uncomfortable in the slightest, though you can already imagine the dull pain that will come with straining your arms into such a position after a while. You try to tug on them to find out how much room for movement they provide and the fiber reddens your skin quite instantly.

“Do not move, or you will hurt yourself.” He instructs, tying the knot on top of your head and testing out its resistance.

“Choose a word.”

You blink at him, your mind totally blank at the request you’re unsure how to respond to.

“I need a safe word for you to use whenever something bothers you, makes you uncomfortable or starts hurting too much.” He tucks a strand of hair between your ear, “I won’t stop unless you use it. Do you understand?”

You nod in understanding, your heartbeat increasing each and every second more, so much so it feels like it’s going to explode soon.

“So?”

“Cloud,” you whisper, saying out loud the very first word that came to mind.

“I’m going to put a blindfold on you,” his tone is gentle and soothing and it dissipates easily all your fears and doubts.

The blindfold is quite soft against your skin and it forces your eyes to close shut - the knot he ties behind your head tight enough to let it stay in place for the rest of the night but still loose enough for you not to feel too constricted.

As soon as your head falls back on the cushion, his lips find their way back to yours and you don’t know if it’s the fact that one of your senses was rendered completely useless or not, but his mouth feels like unadulterated heavenly fire and you find yourself wishing it would never end. But his lips eventually do leave your mouth and they attach to every inch of skin they can reach: your jaw, your neck, your collarbones and slowly after, your breasts.

His mouth opens on your stomach and his tongue leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses and saliva onto your skin until he reaches your belly button and, further more, your core.

Your hips involuntarily arch towards him and for a long second you expect him to scold you again but he simply moves forward, leaving your sex untouched yet again.

His lips kiss the soft skin of your inner thigh and you tremble in excitement, already foretasting the moment his canines will bite down the flesh and take a bit more of the lifeblood you can provide him.

“You taste like strawberry honey,” he whispers on your skin, his tongue licking the flesh as he grabs your thigh with both hands, his nose inhaling deeply the sweet scent he described as your own and you wish nothing but to touch his hair now, let your fingers get lost into his locks while he kisses and bites down the skin and drink from you, lost into his own world.

Your head falls on the cushion and your eyes roll back at the undiluted pleasure that pervades you.

It is only when your ears start to ring and you feel like you could lose your senses in a matter of few seconds that he lets go of your leg and stops draining you down.

Your chest heaves up and down rapidly and he strokes your body almost lovingly, trying to bring back the warmth you now realize has left your limbs due to the blood loss.

Time stops making sense and every second starts to feel like a whole minute or even an entire day. You’re not sure anymore of where you are or when all of this is taking place - or even if it is real and not a dream induced by alcohol.

But ultimately, as his mouth finally finds the center of your arousal, everything else dissipates into nothingness.

His tongue licks your labia, scooping up some of your juices with each stroke of his sinful muscle and you continuously arch your back, silently begging him for more now that you have his undivided attention right where you need it the most.

He sucks hard on your clitoris and you whimper loudly, your abdomen contracting at the pleasure flaring up in your abdomen.

“Do you like it, petal?” He asks, his breath hitting the wet skin in a purposeful way to make you shiver and whimper more.

“Yes, Master” you whisper in a shaky breath, “Please don’t stop, Master.”

He attaches his mouth onto your clitoris and sucks hard on the bundle of nerves, his fingers sliding inside your core one after one with incredible ease.

Soon enough he’s filling you whole, fisting you rapidly until you’re reduced to a whimpering mess.

“You cannot come until I tell you to.”

You cry out in response, the desperate need of release becoming unbearable with each and every stroke of his devilish hands.

“Fuck my hand, petal.” He growls, halting his movements, “Let me see how needy you are for your Master’s touch.”

And oh, do you follow his orders. Your hips push down on his hand with frantic speed, the overwhelming sensation of his fingers and his tongue working wonders on you too much to bear. Your walls contract and you’re sure you’re going to come in the span of a few seconds, of just a few more strokes. And then his hand leaves your sex and you’re left contracting on thin air.

Your bottom lip quivers at the orgasm denial and a tear rolls down your cheek in utter frustration.

“Not yet.”

He kisses your temple and strokes your cheek in an attempt to soothe your nerves and only when your breathing slows down he dares to leave your side. It takes a few second for you to realize he’s completely gone and panic shoots through you, a desperate scream of his name escaping your lips as you fight against the ropes blocking your hands.

“Shh, I’m right here, petal.” He whispers in your ear and your muscles relax almost instantly.

His lips touch yours and you share another kiss, one that is sweet and full of promises for the very near future and you willingly concede yourself to his loving care.

“Open your mouth for me, petal.”

You do not question his instruction and you open it as wide as you can, your tongue flat against your bottom teeth, unsure of what to expect.

It’s the taste of precum that gives you a sense of what is going to happen very soon, and you immediately hum against his cock knowing oh-to-well how the vibrations will be affecting him.

His hand grabs your hair and you take it as a sign you can hollow your cheeks and bob your head on his full-hardened length.

Your tongue dances around the tip of his cock, teasing his head until he whimpers loudly and encourages you to continue with your ministrations. You drink up all the little noises he emits, letting them guide you towards what he likes the most and how to please him right.

His fist on your hair tightens and you’re forced to halt your movements as he starts rocking his hips against your mouth. He sets the pace for himself and shortly your eyes start to water and you feel like you might choke on him.

“You feel so good, petal.” He growls, resisting the urge to keep fucking himself just like that to allow you to breathe.

You feel your saliva dripping down your chin and you take in a long two breathes before his tongue traps your own and he kisses you almost desperately. A clash of teeth and tongues and swollen lips.

“I want all of you.”

He roughly grabs your hips and guides you down to meet his member, your saliva spread all over it functioning as lubricant as he fills you up inch by inch until he’s balls in inside of you.

His movements are sinuous but firm and as the pleasure fills you both he starts becoming rougher and rougher, his speed increasing with each and every stroke.

The lewd sound of skin against skin drives you absolutely crazy and as his momentum accelerates to a speed no human could even dream to achieve, you’re reduced to a screaming mess.

Your pleasure builds up quickly in your abdomen, your hips moving desperately against his own as his fingers stimulate your clitoris.

“I…” you scream loudly, your back arching forward, the straining of the ropes becoming a dull consistent pain at the back recess of your mind, “I’m gonna…”

It is right when your vision starts turning white that he stops moving inside of you and leaves you unsatisfied yet again.

This time a sob escapes your mouth and you’re reduced to actual tears - your bottom lip quivers helplessly at the pleasure denial and he has to kiss and cradle you for a long time before you’re even capable of uttering a single word.

His fingers brush against your entrance and your walls immediately contract, the need for release rendering you desperate and needy.

“I’m going to fuck you senseless,” he whispers in your ear and slides inside of you, quickly filling you up to the brim.

His movements are slower now, more controlled, yet still rough and firm, hitting precisely you’re most sensitive spot.

He builds his speed second after second, giving you the time to stretch around him and not crumble into pieces under his touch.

“More, please, Master.” You beg in a broken whisper and he picks up his speed, quickly restoring his deadly momentum. You’re taken to the brim of cumming again in the span of mere minutes and this time the fear of getting denied again makes you scream your plea.

“Please… please, Master.”

You wouldn’t have thought it possible for him to still pick up speed but he does and oh, your body starts to quiver so deliciously you think you’ll die if he won’t let you come this time.

“Cum, petal, cum.”

Your vision turns completely white, your ears ringing loudly as a deafening scream escapes your mouth and steals your breath away.

You fill him cum inside of you and milking his release out yet you don’t have an ounce of strength left to even acknowledge his presence right on top of you.

You feel like losing your self on cloud nine and it’s only when you’re freed from your restraints and you’re able to see again that you realize you just had the best sex of your entire life.

His arms engulf your trembling body and hold you tight in place - his fingers get lost inside your locks and his lips kiss softly your temple every now and then until your breathing calms down and your body relaxes against his own.

“You know, petal?” He brushes your nose against your own and closes his eyes as a sigh escapes his mouth, “In all these years I’ve lived on this shallow Earth, you’re only the second one who ever stayed.”

His confession leaves you baffled but you don’t have time to pry into what his words entailed for he bites down onto his finger and lets the blood cascade on all the wounds his teeth created.

You blink your eyes as utter magic happens right before you: every little bite, every little scratch, disappear as if they were never there to begin with.

“Here,” he offers you his wounded finger and you look at him perplexed.

“What happens if I drink it?”

“You’ll feel less tired and more present to yourself, but…” he trails off and you can’t help the question that rapidly leaves your mouth.

“But?”

“If you die within the next twenty-four hours, you’ll comeback as one of my kind.”

It takes a few seconds for his words to sink in and you don’t know yourself exactly what pushes you towards his finger but you encompass his wounded digit in your mouth and drink up his crimson blood. The taste of iron hits the back of your throat and you almost gag on it - the thought of someone not only surviving but even enjoying such foul taste incomprehensible for your mundane taste buds.

“You stopped shivering.” He observes, still caressing your head in his own version of aftercare, “Good.”

You’d want for this moment to endlessly stretch until the moment to part your ways never comes but it does not and it’s him the first to acknowledge your need to return to your mundane life.

“The sun is going to be up soon and I’ll have to sleep.”

He leaves your body and quickly dresses up in last night’s clothes, leaving you cold and disheartened on the bed.

Slowly you pick yourself up and prepare for your walk of shame with dozens of other college students that spent a crazy rough night out just like you - well, not exactly like you.

He accompanies you at the door and he’s about to close it behind your back when the question hanging on your tongue gets finally voiced out.

“Will I ever see you again?” you ask in a whisper, turning around to look at him in what could quite possibly be the last time. He looks breathless just standing there - his left shoulder leaning on the door, his wide and naked chest and the ruffled hair on his head that give away what was consumed behind those four decadent walls.

“That, petal, is up for you to decide.”

Your heart leaps in your chest at the possibility of seeing the impossible man standing before you once again, and a smile spreads on your features at the mere thought. You know it’s not a rational thought nor something you should indulge in, for he is immortal and you’re on the exact opposite spectrum for, your life is, by definition, both frail and brief.

You bite down on your bottom lip as you struggle to gather up the courage to ask one last question before you go. But eventually, you do.

“The other girl you mentioned… The one that stayed,” his gaze turns icy cold in an instant at the sole mention of her existence, “What happened to her?”

Pain shoots through every crevice of his body and you can see him quivering as memories of her quite clearly flash before his very eyes.

“She came back.”

The answer leaves you flabbergasted until he closes his eyes and exhales loudly, his hands into fists.

“Without a beating heart.”

You nod in understanding, your eyes fixed on your feet as you cannot stand to look into his eyes full of pain and, possibly, regret.

“______” he softly calls your name and you lift your gaze towards him, realizing this is the first time he has called you by your name ever since you entered his house and, for some reason, it makes your heart leap in your chest, “Good luck.”

The door closes before him and you’re left with nothing but doubts and questions you’re dying to ask but, most importantly, with the desperate need to see him and feel him again.

That reverie is what makes you absolutely certain you’ll see him again. With or without a beating heart in your chest.

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