#i know i already told you this but i hope you have the most loveliest day 🥹

[raisy-archive]

ooh, you make me live now, honey

for @slightlymad <3

[gauloiseblue]

A Loyal Dog

Years of dealing with people, he too has developed some kind of intuition. Although it's more about who he can trust, and who is not

But in this case, he can sense a strange devotion from the gardener

He knew people who had blind faith in someone, just like him. And they're both the most submissive, and the most ruthless people he ever met. They're docile when it comes to the person they trust, but when it threatens the person's safety, they won't hesitate to bite

The boy's behavior might be normal for now, but he just feels it in his gut that it's more than that

He mentions the boy to Liv, and she immediately laughs

"Oh, that sweet boy." She chuckles, "He follows her around like a dog. He'd pick the loveliest flowers for her everyday, and she'd tell him to put it in the vase. It's a bit sad that they don't do that anymore, I guess she too keeps him at a distance now."

He learns that they both were close, before the words started to spread. Liv describes that she thought of him as a son, but he didn't seem to think of her as a mother figure

"I told this to her, and do you know what she said? She said, 'I'm glad then, it means he has a loving mother.' I mean, I get it, but he can take it in the wrong way, you know?" She groans, "Not to mention that he already took interest in her long he started working for her."

He raises his brow at her, "Really?"

"Yeah, well, I'm not sure when it started, but his uncle sells gardening tools. She's a frequent in his store before he took care of everything. You said that one day he suddenly knocked on her door right? Maybe he knew her from his uncle."

After his conversation with the baker, his perception of her changes slightly. There's a lot of people who prefers younger people, and it's possible that she's one of them. The distance that they put is just a facade, because behind all that, they do have a feeling for the person. If she's one of them, he won't know what to think of her

Perhaps the reason for it is just because he likes her, and he wants it to be yet another puzzle to solve. That the complexity of her feeling isn't about love, but something else entirely

Nevertheless, he keeps a good relation with her

Sometimes he dares himself to take her out, or simply hanging out in her place

She seems to enjoy his company as well, for a reason that he can match her witty remarks

Maybe it's a privilege to be in their late 40s, where they can be as free as they want, and not hiding anything from each other, knowing that they'll find it one way or the other

He doesn't hide his interest in her, and she doesn't shy away from it, so it's no surprise when they become close in relatively short time

"There'll be a festival next week," He told her one afternoon, "Do you wanna come?"

She pauses, idly traces the rim of her mug with her finger, "Sure, I want to. But Finn has asked me to come too, and I said no."

"Are you afraid that you'll run into him?"

"A little bit." She sighs, "He has a habit of dragging people along, I don't want to walk with him in the crowd."

"You can use me as an excuse." He smiles, "I won't let go of your hand."

She laughs, "You better hold it tight, then." She hums, placing her chin on her palm, "Let's just hope Bonnie sees him first, she won't let go of that boy's hand for sure."

"Bonnie? The carpenter's daughter?"

She nods, "She likes him, so she won't pass up a chance to explore the festival with him."

They both agree on the plan to wall together to the festival, and stay in the adult only place, which is an open bar with a poker table. They jokingly make a bet on whoever wins the most money, with the prize of whatever the winner wants

On the day the festival is held, they both meet up at her place, before heading to the town

It's a common festival, with food stalls and other items being sold at cheaper prices. She can't resist the discounted grapes, and ends up buying a basket's worth of it

Unfortunately, they both meet Finn before Bonnie could find him, and so they play the adult-only card

"I'm not a kid anymore, Mrs. (name), I can handle the alcohol."

"But you can't come with us, we're going to the gambling table."

"I'll stay at the bar—"

"No." She said sternly, "It's not your place to be in. I won't allow it. If I see you anywhere near the bar, I'll tell your parents."

It seems to have an effect on him, as he falls quiet. She keeps the stern expression on her, before she softens up and pats on his head

"Enjoy the festival with the other kids, Finn. I'm sure you'll have more fun with them."

His face shows a disagreement for a split second, but he nods afterwards

He pats on his arm to cheer him up, before they both leave him, all alone in the crowd. He does feel bad for the kid, but the feeling doesn't stay for too long

When they join the poker table, the people around them seem surprised, but excited to see a new face in the game. Though it's mostly aimed at the woman beside him

As they agreed on, they'll only play for 2 hours, with £20 as the start

The thing about him is that he always wins at every poker game, but only when his opponents are men. He manages to outplay the other players until they fold and out, except for her

Still, there's people who dares to challenge her. They'd put their money on the table, and play against them both. But little do they know, they're the fool one on the table

They end up playing for more than 2 hours, and he begins to get tipsy from the beer he's been drinking. It's when he blunders by putting all in

Turns out, she has a 4 of a kind, while he just has a full house king

That's when she grins at him, signaling that the game's over

"Alright gentlemen." She announced as she stood up, "Thank you for the game, it was fun. I know you probably want me to go all in and give it to whoever's the luckiest, but I'll treat you all to a glass of beer, yeah? Sounds good?"

Almost everyone around the table agrees, with a few cheers and claps

After going through the rowdy crowd, they both manage to make it out of the festival, giggling and waking fast on the road

At her home, he sinks into the sofa as the wearin begins to settle. She slips into the kitchen with the basket, and comes back with a whiskey and two glass shots

He groans, "I had enough, I can't drink anymore."

"I'm not forcing you to drink." She said as she sat down, "We're just gonna play a game."

"What game?"

"Truth or drink." She grins, "If you don't wanna get drunk, you should tell the truth."

He snorts, but straightens his back to join the game

"I'll go first." She said, "Do you have kids, John?"

He shook his head, "Didn't have the time for it, and we ended up splitting. Have you been married to someone?"

"No, I didn't have the time for it." She said, which made him chuckle, "Why did you move to this town?"

"A friend of mine once told me about this village, it sounded good, and the land's cheap as well, so," He shrugs, "Why did you come here?"

"To escape from the big city." She replied, "Where's your friend now, John?"

He doesn't want to answer it, so he takes a shot. "Are you an artist, name? A big time artist perhaps?"

Now it's her turn to drink her shot. "Do you plan to move again someday?"

"No, at least not yet. Liked it here." He answered, "What do you think of Finn? Do you know he likes you in a romantic way?"

"One question at a time." She said, "I think he's a good boy, a bit naive though. What have you been talking to Liv about me?"

"Nothing much, just the basic stuff." He clears his throat, "What were you like when you first moved, your entire history with Liv, and then Finn. Do you know he likes you in a romantic way?"

She sighs as she scratches her head, "I know… I wish he'd see me like a mother, or a generous aunt, I don't mind, but then again, we always search for something we can't have, aren't we?" She shook her head, "Do you dislike him, John?"

"Not at all." He smiles, "I have no reason to dislike him, he's a good kid." He then lifts his gaze to her, "What do you think of me, (name)?"

She fell quiet for a second, before she told him, "I think you're just like me. We've been running from the past, until we forgot how to stop running. What do you think of me?"

"I think you're lovely." He replied, "You're like a pretty puzzle that I'd like to solve over and over again, something that I'd like to keep in my pocket, so I could unravel you whenever I wanted."

The alcohol in his blood begins to work, as he gets enough courage to lean closer, reaching out to touch her cheek

She doesn't pull away, but doesn't move either, instead, she asks him, "Do you like me, John?"

"One question at a time." He retorted, "Would you allow me to kiss you?"

To his disappointment, she prefers to take a shot than giving him an answer

"Well, let me ask you again, John. Do you like me?"

"Do I look like someone who'd kiss anyone I didn't like?"

"No, you don't." She lets out a chuckle, "Say, if I were to go to Italy, would you come with me?"

He snaps his head towards her, not prepared for the question. "... What?"

"Do you wanna go to Italy with me, John?"

"I already heard that." He tilted his head, "What's the occasion?"

"I won the bet, didn't I?"

"Oh… that." He rubs his face to sober up, "You're telling me you want to go to Italy with me as the prize?"

She nods, "I always want to travel the world with a partner, and I'd like to know if you're qualified for it."

"All expenses paid?" He jests, but she nods nevertheless, "What if I end up disappointing you?"

"Then I'll stay here for the rest of my life."

He can't help but grin. "It's a big commitment, y'know."

"Didn't you say you want to keep me in your pocket?"

"Won't it be suffocating for you?"

"That's what I asked." She tugs her lips slightly, "Suffocate me, John."

Her hand reached up to touch his, it was cold, pleasantly cold against his skin. His face heated up, as if he's been kissed, but what she gave him was sweeter than a kiss. It was indeed sweeter….

《 Prev | Next 》

[nillegible]

(Part 7 of Stay, the MY time travel fic. Well, Chronologically follows Part 3, But you can read them any which way! Read the others using: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7)

“I can take a hint, you know,” says Qin Su a few days later. “I’m not going to keep chasing you if you’re not interested, you didn’t have to tell my father to interfere.”

“I. I did not do such a thing, Qin-guniang,” says Meng Yao.

She glares at him as if to divine how truthful he was being. An interesting precaution but ultimately futile. She wouldn’t ever be able to see through him if he chose to deceive her. “I suppose I’ll believe you,” she says. “Meng-shidi should know that I had the most uncomfortable discussion with my father today. Since it’s your fault – regardless of what you told anyone – you owe me!”

“This Meng Yao has little to offer, but is yours to command regardless,” he says, sweetly.

“Then call me Su-shjie. If you’re part of my sect, you should act like it.”

“Alright, shijie,” says Meng Yao with a smile, hoping that she’ll accept it.

“Better,” she says approvingly. Then, lighter, “It is hard to stay angry, Meng-shidi’spractically weaponized those dimples.” It startles a genuine laugh out of him. She really was the loveliest person; proof that Jin Guangshan’s seed was not all rotten.

“This Meng Yao will find Su-shijie to continue our conversation later? I’m to help demonstrate muffling talismans for the junior disciples today.”

“Of course, go on! I’ll see you later!” The last is a promise, she obviously intends to see it through.

It hurts a little less when he nods and agrees, before hurrying to the class he was meant to help with. They could be friends, this time.

This time, Meng Yao wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

(This time, he wouldn’t hurt her.)

---

If everyone else is also strangely kind to him for a few weeks after, then Meng Yao doesn’t really notice, nor make the connection, until he’s following Su-shijie and two of her friends on a trip to the market. He’s being used mostly to hold packages; the girls had picked up quite a lot of novels; more than fit into the few qiankun bags they had brought with them.

“Apologies to Meng-shidi, we didn’t think we’d be stopping here,” they’d said, or something along those lines, at four different places already.

Aside from the packages, he was only occasionally consulted over the appearance or worth of some small trinkets – one of the youngest disciples had recently received a sword, and they wished to give her gifts for the occasion – but as Meng Yao’s being treated to snacks as an apology for every hour the trip extends, he barely minds. He is free for the day and it’s almost fun.

Li Feilong finds a green ribbon, almost exactly of a shade to match with official Nie robes. Huaisang would like that, he thinks, just as she says, “Oh, doesn’t this look lovely?” holding it out. She wraps it around her wrist to observe the colour.

“Feilong-shimei’s partiality is showing again,” ribs Qin Su, eyeing the other wares, and picking a midnight-blue one for herself.

“Shijie,” Li Feilong huffs, before releasing the ribbon, saying under her breath, “But he is handsome, I don’t know how he’s only ranked seventh on that blasted list.”

“We’ve all heard it before, Feilong-shijie,” laughs Lin Biao. “Well, I suppose Meng-shidi hasn’t.”

“Meng-shidi!” says, Li Feilong suddenly, whirling towards him. “You used to be Sect Leader Nie’s deputy, were you not? Come, tell me if this colour truly matches his robes,” she says, and Meng Yao steps closer even though he’s sure it is close enough.

“It would be hard to tell them apart,” he says. “Though such a light silk would be more Nie-gongzi’s style than Nie-zongzhu’s. He doesn’t know if it’s because Nie Mingjue’s cultivation was so advanced that he could not tell the weight of his robes, but his silks were heavy.

“That doesn’t matter, thanks, shidi! Auntie, may I have three lengths of this, please?”

“Three lengths, Shimei?”

“Hush, Shijie. I’ll wear it to the hunt on Phoenix mountain, next season! I can edge my cuffs with it, to match.”

The three women pick out other ribbons as well, a pretty pale periwinkle, a few yellows and roses, and some Qin-sect blues. Meng Yao finds his eyes being drawn to the green ribbon again and again. He can’t really believe that he thought that, so what if Huaisang would like it? There was no shortage of green silk in Qinghe, and Meng Yao is no longer... no longer beholden to him.

Some habits were clearly hard to break, that is all, and ‘Huaisang would like that,’ is a decade long habit, that led to him buying multiple pretty things for him. Fans yes, for birthdays, but he’d spoiled him with other things, too.

Meng Yao had always treated him like a child, and somehow missed what was right in front of his face.

It doesn’t stop Meng Yao from buying a length of it before they leave, as well as some colours of thread to go with it. He slips it all into his sleeve, and pretends not to notice the curious looks that he gets form his three companions.

“Shall we return then?” he asks.

“Just a few boxes of tanghulu for mother, and then we can go,” Qin Su decides, and they nod, trailing after her.

On the way back, Qin Su asks, voice mild enough that he’s instantly on guard, “Will Yao-shidi be wearing a green ribbon to the hunt as well?”

Wait, what? When on earth had he given her that impression?

“This shidi will of course be in Sect colours,” he says, while he frantically tries to pick out how this misunderstanding had come about. “The ribbon is for a gift.”

“Oh, of course,” says Qin Su.

“At least agree with me that Nie-zongzhu should be ranked higher, Meng-shidi,” says Li Feilong, from behind them. Meng Yao had assumed they were not listening, and when he quickly glances behind them, Lin Biao is elbowing her, trying to shut her up.

Oh?

Too startled by the byplay and its potential implications, he demurs politely, “I have no opinion on the matter, Feilong-shijie.” Then he smirks, “But I do know why the ranking is in the order that it is!”

Lin Biao gasps, and bounds closer. “You know who makes the rankings?” Conversation neatly diverted, Meng Yao spends the rest of the walk back coyly refusing to reveal his source – not that a drunk Huaisang in the future, confessing to ranking Jin Zixuan above Wei Wuxian just to see Wei Wuxian’s face, and putting his brother seventh because he had to be somewhere is much of a source – and the three ladies graciously allow for the change in topic.

If he returns to his room and skips dinner that night, well, he had been treated to a lot of snacks that afternoon. And it gives him time to try to figure out how exactly he’d convinced Sect Leader Qin that he was a cutsleeve. (He pretends that this is pressing enough that he doesn’t need to think about the green ribbon he’d bought so impulsively, and shoves it beneath his simple sewing kit.)

---

Meng Yao very very cautiously observes his disciple-siblings over the course of the next few weeks, but except for two offhand comments – quickly shushed – no one comments on his supposed inclination for cutting his sleeve. He’s a little bemused but after some thought and delicate probing, he works out the evidence for their “deduction”. In addition to his unexpected rejection of Qin Su, there was the matter of his apparent fear of Jin Guangshan; who was well known for his intolerance for such “deviancy” within his sect.

It's so absurdly sensible a conclusion to draw from the limited evidence available that Meng Yao has no defence to offer. Surely it made more sense than Meng Yao having returned from the future.

And most importantly: no one cared. They were trying to be kind.

If he didn't know better he would think he had developed a second golden core; so warm is the feeling that fills him up and settles in.

[onesidedradiostatic]

So you know how I said something about writing a fic inspired by your existence. I've started a little, but I don't know, I fear that the way I write might be confusing in some parts. So I'd very much like to hear your thoughts, if you want to share them

___

“Indeed, I quite enjoy our commonalities. I’ve always found more fun in spending time with my radio and friends than looking for someone I haven’t met.”

What if you’ve met them now? Vox thought, discreetly, not at all looking into Alastor’s lovely red eyes. Shoot! Vox downed another drink, hopping Al didn’t think him weird. Still, can’t leave a friend hanging, say something.

“I love you.” WHAT!!? NO! NOT THAT! “I- I- I mean, there is someone I love.?” Yeah, sure, he’s totally gonna buy that.

“I- Good for you?” Alastor started unfiltered, surprised, before going back to his normal, lovely radio voice. “And who might that be, my good fellow?” Wait, he bought it? No, don’t be an idiot! He’s totally psyching us out! Well, I’ll play your game and I’ll win!

“You know, just a cool dude with the pretties’ eyes and loveliest smile.”

“A dude?” Alastor questioned. Wait. Why does he sound so confused over that? Did- he had actually bought it?! Wait. We just told him we like guys, right? Is that, bad? What if he hates us now? What if he thinks we’re weird? Awful? Repugnant? There’s no way he doesn’t know we love him now! Practically said it to his face twice! Twice! No! I can’t handle that! Please! I- we have to save this.

“Hey Al, just forget I said anything.” Please. You’re the best thing in my life. So, whatever happens, please, stay. I need you. ___

I feel I need to rework some of the above parts, but unsure off how. Regardless, I hope my characterisation so far is good, I'd imagine that the love Vox has is more an obsession that genuine care and Al is just living his best life having fun and not really picking up anything Vox is putting down. I especially like this little exchange:

___

“Vox.”

“Yeah?” He could see that once genuine smile turn sinister. Oh. Hot.

“This is hell, everyone here is a repugnant wrench, so if anyone ever tells you you’re wrong. Just relay that me, I’m sure we can make some use of their meeker existence. Everyone has a voice, after all, and if they want to use it so much, who are we to say no to helping them? Right dear friend?”

“Yeah.” Vox couldn’t help but join in on the sinister smile. This is exactly what makes Alastor, just so Alastor. He genuinely cares and will make any opponent of his friends another key in his piano of the dammed. A horror feared by all, but a few, and Vox is one of those few. ___

I just- their dynamic is so fun Alastor being all "Yay! Murder!" while Vox just thinks "OMG! He's doing all this for me?! There is no way he doesn't love me!" I think one exchange that exemplifies that is:

___

“Oh! I wouldn’t say I’m the best at giving advice when it concerns matters of the heart. Me being heartless and all that. Hah!”

Alastor’s little chuckle is one which Vox can’t help but adore. He’s probably heartless because he’s already put his heart in a box and is just waiting for the moment he can give it to me. I’m reserved, special, he’s waiting for me. He can only be mine and I only his.

“I’m pretty heartless too.” Vox respond, joining in Alastor’s play. He doesn’t mind being a puppet on a string, as long as he can play the most important part.

“Oh, I’m quite aware dear friend."

___

He's just can't think, there is only Alastor in his head. Plus Alastor not understanding that there is a misunderstanding is just making Vox believe in the delusion more. Bet his screensaver was Alastor themed before they had their falling out Also, sorry for this being quite long Hope you have a lovely day at least!

(reference to this ask)

hi sorry for responding to this late, hard to say much without a full story but I appreciate the thought of it being inspired by me 🫡🫡, but yes I do love vox being down bad for alastor, exploring some of the period-typical homophobia definitely is interesting, alastor could easily have not had that normalised for him and vox... depends on how much he ventured through his bisexuality in life or whether he only accepted it in death. his screensaver being alastor themed skjdfkglhl. very true

[axel-silverly]

Okay so... I know I said next post would be about Aglas's relationship with the Kings, that is, until I realized how behind I am with the story *cough* midchapterthree *cough* and unholy boards, and so I'm afraid I'm missing key informations about the characters.

But. I still wanted to post something in the meantime (cause knowing me it could take months), so, as a compromise, I present to you...

Coversations that Aglas had at some point with the devils (1)

Aglas: has been staring at Satan for some time

Sitri: "Mh? Is something the matter, Solomon?"

Aglas: "My name's Aglas. But anyway, it's nothing much, just... I'm only just realizing that Satan saved me from certain death. And that I had intercorse with him. And, he proclaimed me as his. Multiple times."

Sitri: "Mh? But all those things had already happened in the past, I thought you would have been used to it by now."

Aglas: glares at him

Ppyong: tries to ease the tension "S-Still, Mr. Aglas, I get that for a human this might be overwheliming! After all, humans can't handle strong emotions that well, and I'm sure that interacting with an handsome devil such as His Majesty-"

Aglas: "Oh, no, no. That's not what I meant."

Ppyong: "Oh, Is that so..? Then, what did you mean?"

Aglas: "Just, you know, that I've done all of that with Satan. Like, the Satan. In flesh and blood."

Ppyong: "So- You mean you knew about his Majesty Satan back on earth?? That's amazing!!"

Aglas: "Uh, of course I did. You don't even need to be interested in demonology, Satan's the most known devil on earth, everyone knows who he is."

Satan: "Oh? grins Is that so? You knew about me?"

Aglas: Smirks "Yeah, although, I never would have guessed the Devil himself would be so easy on the eyes~"

Satan: chuckles "Is that so? What? You disappointed, Aglas? Did you expect me to be big and scary?"

Aglas: "Oh, don't get me wrong darling, your good looks were not an unpleasant surprise~ Still, I did expect you to be more than a few centimetres taller than me.."

Satan: glares "Oi, you're stepping into dangerous territory, you know that?"

Aglas: "Mhhh, but, what if I say I like the danger, darling~?"

Satan: "Why you... You really are... something else." Leans in

Aglas: "Oh wait!"

Satan: "Huh?"

Aglas: "Well, see I told you were the most known devil on earth but actually it's a sort of competition with Lucifer..."

Satan: "Wha- Lucifer?"

Aglas: "Well yes, some even think you two are the same devil."

Satan: "The same- What?"

Aglas: "Yeah, don't blame them honestly, theology is so complicated... But, one thing that's mostly agreed upon on Lucifer is that he used to be God's loveliest angel."

Aglas: his cheeks flush red  "Aaahh... I do wonder if his beauty matches the descriptions~"

Satan: "..." grinds his teeth and grabs Aglas's wrist, dragging him along

Aglas: "Eh? And where are you taking me exactly?"

Satan: "In that back alley."

Aglas: "Back- ... Oh my! I love how straight foward you are, darling~"

Satan: "Shut up and just come here." Pulls him out of sight

Aglas: "Aaahhhn~"

And yes, he totally brought Lucifer up on purpose to rile Satan up.

Anyway, it was supposed to be short but that was quite long, wasn't it? Hope you liked it! Also, you decide wheter I'm really bad at naming things or if the series name was so specific on purpose

~🔮🖤

[canirove]

The Princess & the Football Player | Chapter 12

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Masterlist

"Ellie... I'm in love!" Roberta says while dramatically falling on my bed.

"What?" I chuckle.

"Mason. I'm in love with him."

"Roberta, you've known each other for just a few weeks."

"Enough to know that he is the one, Eleanor."

"That good was your date yesterday?"

"So so good! We talked for hours about everything and anything, ate the loveliest food, and then... Eleanor, what happened next... That was the best sex of my entire life. The best!"

"Ok" I laugh.

"Like, the way he made me feel... Dear God. Before, during and after. I've never felt this with anyone else."

"Nevertheless, you should take it slow."

"I know, I know. But ugh. I am so happy!" she says, smiling from ear to ear. She does look happy. Very happy. "What about you and Declan? Did something finally happen?"

"We kissed."

"No!" she screams, getting up from the bed. "I need all the details. Now."

"It was just a kiss. Well, a few. And when things started to get a bit more interesting, we were interrupted by my uncle Jaime."

"What? He caught you?"

"No, no. I hid Declan in the bathroom."

"You... Ok, I'm gonna need you to start from the beginning."

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━        

"Semi finals, girls. How are we feeling?"

"I'm shitting myself" Roberta says.

"Same" I reply. I think I have never been this nervous about a game in my entire life. Not even when both them and the girls played the Euros finals. 

"It is the toughest game of the tournament so far, but I'm confident these boys can win. You'll see" my uncle Jamie says, giving both Roberta and I an encouraging smile.

"Is it always going to be like this?" Roberta whispers while my uncle is busy talking with some members of the FA. "Like, am I going to feel this thing on my stomach every time he plays a big game?"

"You probably will, yeah" I chuckle. "The wag life."

"I don't see most of the wags being this worried about their games, to be honest. Their outfits and making sure their makeup looks good seems more likely."

"Roberta!"

"As if you didn't think the same" she winks.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━        

"I think I'm going to be sick" Roberta says, grabbing my arm and squeezing it.

"Make it two."

We've made it to the penalties, and I can feel the ghosts from the Euros final everywhere around us. Thankfully, Declan got subbed during the extra time and he won't have to take one. But Mason does, and let's be honest... It isn't his forte.

"Ellie, he is going first!" Roberta says, squeezing my arm even tighter. "I can't watch, I can't."

"He's scoring, look at how confident he looks" my uncle says, grabbing my free hand. 

"He always looks like that."

"Ellie..." Roberta says, hiding her face on my shoulder as Mason takes a few steps back. And then...

"See? I told you!" my uncle screams.

"He scored? Ellie, he scored!"

"He did!"

"I am so relieved" she sighs, finally letting go of my arm. Or whatever is left of it.

"I thought you were a Rashford's fan" my uncle Jaime says, arching a brow.

"It's... I... They are going again!" Roberta says, pointing at the pitch.

"You two are hiding things from me" he says, giving us a suspicious look before focusing on the penalties again.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━        

"They all looked so gutted... Poor guys" my uncle says.

They always say penalties are a lottery, and they aren't wrong. It wasn't until the 7th one that England missed, and all our hopes of getting to the final disappeared.

When we walk into the changing room, the silence we are met with is something I have never witnessed before. They all are devastated. 

"Thank you for coming, your Royal Highness" Southgate says.

"I... I don't know what to say. Everything seems so... Pointless right now. I think we should leave" I say, already turning around and bumping into someone. Declan.

"Eleanor" he whispers, his eyes red from crying. But he doesn't meet mine. He is looking at anything but me.

"I'm so sorry" I whisper back. It is taking everything on me to not throw my arms around his neck and hug him, tell him everything is going to be ok. Instead, I just lift my hand, wanting to give his arm an encouraging squeeze. But before I can do it, I hear David clearing his throat behind me, disapproving my movement.

"If you'll excuse me" Declan says before walking away, passing next to me as if I didn't exist.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━        

"He was so... Cold. He didn't meet my eyes, not once. And since the first moment we met, he's never been afraid to do it."

"He was devastated, Eleanor. It is normal" Roberta says.

"Yeah, I guess it is" I sigh. After my short visit to the changing room, they told me that we could wait for them with their families and friends, that the mood would probably be a bit better with them. 

Some of the players have already arrived, a few chuckles and laughs from their kids being heard here and there. And Roberta and I have already had a little chat with Mrs. Rice and Mrs. Mount, Mason's mum definitely knowing about what his son has been doing lately. Declan's mum doesn't seem to know a thing, tho.

After they left, I spotted Lilith, who was giving me a murderous look. She definitely knows something is going on between me and Declan.

"Roberta!" I said when she waved back at her, making her roll her eyes before turning her back at us.

"What? She was looking at us. The polite thing is to say hello" she shrugged.

A few minutes after that, the doors of the room open again and most players walk in, Mason and Declan among them. Mason goes to hug his mum and dad, and Declan...

"What the fuck?" Roberta whispers.

The moment Declan walks in, Lilith is in front of him, hugging him. And he hugs her back. He hugs her back and very tightly, burying his head on her neck while his whole body starts shaking. He is crying. He os crying on her shoulder, looking for her comfort. 

"I... I have to go."

"Eleanor, wait."

"No, I... I have to go" I say, running towards the door, already feeling like I can't breathe.

"Ma'am" David says behind me. "Ma'am, where are you going?"

"Outside. I need to be outside, I..."

"This way" he says, grabbing me by the arm. "Take deep breaths."

"Yes" I say, trying to do as he says. But when we make it to one of the corridors that lead outside the stadium, we are met by a crowd. They are talking very loud, and I can feel the walls around me suddenly being closer and closer.

"David..." I whisper, tears starting to fall down my cheeks.

"It's ok. You are ok. Just breathe, Eleanor."

"I can't, David. I..." 

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━        

"Easy there."

"Uncle Jaime?" I murmur, my head pounding.

"You are back at the hotel. You are ok" he says.

"What... What happened?"

"Looks like you had a panic attack and fainted."

"What?" I say, trying to open my eyes. Why is it so bright? "What time is it?"

"11 a.m. You've been sleeping for the past twelve hours."

"Really?"

"Yep. You seemed to be exhausted. Are you hungry?"

"I actually am, yes" I say, slowly sitting up on my bed.

"I'll call for breakfast, they had everything ready in case you woke up. And speaking of calling..." he says, giving me my phone. "Someone named Declan has been calling and texting you like crazy, asking if you are ok."

"Oh."

"Is he who I think he is?" my uncle asks.

"Maybe?"

"So you girls were flirting with players, uh? Best friends with best friends" he laughs.

"Wait, do you know..."

"About Roberta and Mount? Yeah, I know. She was with his family when I went to find her after you fainted."

"Already meeting the family" I chuckle.

"That's Roberta. And I better go get that breakfast, leave you alone so you can call him."

"I don't want to talk to him."

"Why? What happened? He seems to be really worried about you."

"His ex can comfort him. Again" I say, laying down again and hiding under the covers, not being able to contain my tears.

"Oh, Eleanor" I hear my uncle say, giving my arm a squeeze before he leaves. 

[groovebunker]

firstly, thank you for answering all my questions <3

I finished their story. Idk why I feel so heartbroken.

I'm soooo happy their story ended in the loveliest thing ever. And the one by one confessionals as if dragrace kinda scenario of the family. All of those got me laughing my soul off, esp poor Gracie. Like imagine she saw them doing—okay, too mature for baby Gracie there. (idk which timeline in this, but bc I'm just in s1, my mind is there so Gracie is still smol). Yetta (whom I never met YET), the reassurance they give to Claire. Like that's the most parental figure she'll ever got since her fucked off family refuses to have Claire. (I'll give her everything I have fr. Claire is just that important).

Back to heartbroken. I think it's because it's finished. Nothing to distract me again lol. But, my head is lightheaded still. Thanks to this fic. Got a little over dramatic and listened to ton of heartbreak songs since I'll miss them. Ao3 authors who created the 100 stories will feed me through this pain. (I know you're the most who created those, hallejuah to you.) Small fandom problems (used to it, why do I love impossible fandoms?) Or might be bc I feel like some problems might occur to their life and then Claire might fled? I know deep down she won't, my overthinking is just killing me. I mean a small argument that morning and Claire is already hanging on a thread. Thank you, sandwich, made by Francine.

So, yeah. You can see how I love your story. Only if someone will understand me like you do lol. I might mouth off someone with my now thoughts about them (until canon ruins it. canon always ruins things. been there, done that lol)

To end off, I admire your acknowledgements. I hope you're happy with your decision and have a wonderful wonderful day (I'm not telling you, I'm just wishing you'll have it. if not, I'm cursing the soul of the person who made it bad).

Merci beaucoup <3

this has made my DAY. i'm sorry you're so sad you finished but there's still so much fun stuff to explore in the tag (pls read vignettes from the kitchen and the couch, it's the fic that made me want to write for them and it's phenomenal). there are also a few short (pwp) pieces in the wwyd universe up on ao3 and rumour has it, there might be something new soon to celebrate its first birthday 👀

the first part of the last chapter is one of my favourite parts of the whole fic - especially sylvia being told and just sort of shrugging. yetta & cc are such a brotp to me - it's a theme in some of the other stuff i've written for sure. i just love them so much.

honestly, finishing it made me so fucking emotional so i get it. canon does get quite batshit towards the end of the show but what can we do? (write tons of fic about it, apparently). feel free to mouth off at all times, i love talking about them so much.

all things are possible through the squad, honestly.

thank you so much 💖

[townsenddecades]

1308 – Day 4 – Praaven Castle

Robert has been Sir Silas’ page for a year now, and at this point, he has managed to settle in. He even likes some of the work and lessons. Even the fighting is more fun than he anticipated. Working on the farm has given him strength enough, if not exactly finesse.

Which does not mean that he doesn’t feel stupid when the men-at-arms shake their heads at his difficulty with reading and writing or lack of expertise in etiquette. Part of him wants to fail, just to spite them, but his mother is hoping for so much for him. He can’t bear to disappoint her.

One day, towards the end of the year, Sir Silas tells him that he will be accompanying him to meet the Lady of the castle. He stares at him in bewilderment.

“But you said it would be uncourteous to the Countess to take me there!”

“So I did, and so I believed. But Lady Petersmarch has asked me to take you along.”

“She wants to see me?”

Sir Silas lifts a brow. “Do I need to repeat myself, lad? Make yourself ready.”

And so he does, fear and confusion quickly turning into annoyance at the feelings. He has no desire to be belittled by some high-and-mighty noble lady, as he has been by so many of the servants who know, of course, that he is the bastard of their former employer. He follows Sir Silas up the tall stone stairs to the entrance of the castle and comes upon one of the loveliest women he has ever laid eyes on. He had seen the Countess before, but never this close.

She is dressed in a silk gown of darkest blue – blue and gold being the Dudley family’s colours – and a long veil that covers most of her strawberry-blond hair. Her big, amber eyes seek him out immediately, or at least that is his impression before he bows deeply, as Sir Silas has instructed him.

“My lady.”

“You may rise, young page. So, Sir Silas, this is the boy that's been serving you?”

“It is, my lady. Robert Townsend.”

“You do look remarkably alike to my late husband, Robert. But I’m sure enough people have told you that already. You come from one of the farms outside the city, is that so?”

He struggles to keep his composure but manages to nod. “Yes, my lady. We live near Tovar.”

“We?”

“My parents, my siblings and I.”

“Ah. Well, I hope you’ve settled in well. Now then, Sir Silas, about your report.”

Unbeknownst to the all of them, they are being watched. Three curious heads peak over the railing of an upstairs gallery, the high, echoing walls making it easy to catch what is being said below. Two of the children have the same red-gold hair as the Countess, while the eldest’s hair is pitch black.

Ralph Dudley Jr., eleventh Earl of Petersmarch, turns to his siblings and motions them to follow him into a nearby bedroom, so their conversation won’t be overheard.

“So that’s our brother”, Elizabeth says.

“He’s not our brother, stupid”, Clement interjects immediately. “He’s just father’s bastard.”

Elizabeth raises a brow, in a manner very similar to her mother. “I believe a sibling is customarily someone with whom one shares at least one parent, brother.”

“Yes, but bastards don’t count.”

Ralph clears his throat. “He is a bastard that is currently training to be a knight, though, so we can’t exactly ignore that he’s here. Although mother has done a good job of doing so in the past year. I wonder what’s changed.”

“Doesn’t Your Lordship have all the information he could ever want?”, Clement teases, but his elder brother only rolls his eyes.

“I’ll take the reins soon enough, you’ll see.”

“We should introduce herself, now that he’s here”, Elizabeth puts in, to end the quarrel before it can start. She doesn’t have time for her brothers’ useless squabbles. “I at least am curious to meet him. A peasant brother, can you imagine!”

“Yes, let’s”, Ralph agrees. “Who knows, maybe he’ll prove useful to have around.”

So down the stairs they go. They don’t sneak – Ralph doesn’t feel he has to sneak, he is the Earl and this is his castle, after all – and peer around the corner. Their mother and Sir Silas have moved on into the banquet room to have their discussion, but their half-brother is standing near the door, trying to be subtle in gawking at the rich interior. Ralph assumes he has never been in a place like this. He has grown up in some peasant hut, after all, and the guard hall is rather sparse.

“Pssst”, he hisses, and motions the boy over when that catches his attention. Robert looks towards the Countess and Sir Silas briefly, sees that they are deep in conversation, and sneaks over into the side room the three noble children retreat into.

And then they stare at each other, before the peasant boy bows stiffly.

“Lord Petersmarch, I presume?”

“You presume correctly”, Ralph answers, with just as much dignity. “And these are my sister Lady Elizabeth and my brother Clement.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you”, Elizabeth says kindly. Clement just nods, though more in greeting than to echo his sister’s sentiment. “We were so curious to meet you! It seemed strange to have another child of our father’s living so close yet never to interact with them.”

“We would have sooner, but our duties have kept us away”, Ralph, who doesn’t want to admit that he has bowed to his mother’s wishes on the matter, adds a little pompously. “But we couldn’t let the opportunity pass by now that you’re here.”

“Is it true that you grew up on a farm?”, Elizabeth asks immediately, not especially tactfully, but she is only nine years old.

Robert stiffens, but nods. “It is. I’ve lived there with my parents until Sir Silas kindly took me on as his page.”

“With you parents?”, Ralph asks, with his emphasise on the s.

“My mother and her husband. The man that raised me.”

Clement scoffs, but Elizabeth smiles kindly. “I’m sure it would be hard not to see your mother’s husband as a father. I’m sure it must be nice to…to still have one. I at least miss our father a lot.”

They talk some more, but it remains awkward, and gets more so when the Countess and Sir Silas walk into their hideout, having obviously noticed that Robert has gone missing. Both look disapproving, so Ralph quickly puffs out his chest and looks square at them.

“We were curious to talk to Sir Silas’ protegee, Mother, and it didn’t seem like he was involved in your conversation, so we didn’t think it would do any harm to steal him away.”

“Did you, now?” She studies all of them. “As an Earl you should know that it isn’t right to interrupt other peoples talks by ferreting away participants, Ralph. And any good page stays until he is dismissed.”

Robert swallows with an effort. “I beg your pardon, Lady Petersmarch, Sir Silas. I fear I wasn’t certain whether a summons from my liege overrides my duty to my knight.”

Sir Silas chuckles, and quickly hides it in a cough when the Countess shoots him a disapproving glance. She then turns to Robert. “A valid point, I confess. Still, stealing away is never a sign of a good conscience, is it?”

He just lowers his head at that, although, it must be said, mostly to hide his face.

“But it was interesting to get to know him, Mother”, Lady Elizabeth interjects.

“I’m sure it was, my dear. And I’m sure there’ll be other opportunities, seeing as he’ll stay on here for the time being.”

Robert doesn’t know whether to take this as an invitation or a challenge. 

Prev: 1308, Day 3 <--> Next: 1308, Day 4, Part 2

[musette22]

Hiiii loveliest Minnie!! I hope you’re having a wonderful time in Portugal! 💗💗 I finally caught up on sleep lolol so now I can scream about Seb at the Globes 😂

I don’t know if you’ve seen this (Sebastian’s at the bottom of the page) but I love how we’re not the only ones that agree that he’s too pretty, and that it doesn’t matter what he wears for him to be the prettiest 💕💕 and GOD did he look pretty, I don’t know how he does it, surprise me like this every time with a different look and make me go a little insane bc damnnnn he looked hot 😭 I’m especially weak for those videos where he goes from looking so serious and dilfy to like, smiling and looking so baby, even with the grey in his beard, to his freaking adorable self 😭 Don’t even talk to me about the jewelry bc 😫😫😫 TOO MUCH.

I still kinda have to pinch myself to realize he’s really, finally, getting the recognition he deserves & its only gonna be better from here for him. He really is thriving isn’t he? And damn are we lucky to witness it 🥺 SO proud of him 💖

Maya honeyyyy!!! 💖💖💖💖 I've already told you this, but you're seriously die hard for staying up to watch the GG, in my book!! And I'm sorry for the late reply, work has been very busy and I'm also trying to make the most of being away, so I'm a little all over the place rn 😅 But on a 2,5 hour drive to Lisbon now, so I've had some time to answer a few messages 😊

Hahaha I had not seen that article, but I love that 😂 "He's too pretty for that" - hard agree!! Way too pretty for anyone's good, this man 💞💕💖 It's so good to finally see him getting recognition for his talent and hard work, and he's looking absolutely incredible all the while. The jewellery is a lethal touch, honestly 😫 SO HOT. And yessss oh my god, when he goes from smouldering movie star to cute dork baby, that's my favourite thing too 🥺 I just love him so much!! And I'm so proud of him too!!!! Love you Maya baby, I hope you're having a wonderful day so far with lots of Sebastian thoughts 💛💕😘

[xx-vergil-xx]

So I’m officially Crushed that Hounds is finished, even though the ending was perfect! So I’ll take the opportunity to respond to the writing style thing from earlier this week. Sorry if this is too random! I have 10 billion things I love about your writing, I’ll just pick out some that come to mind spontaneously

Thing 1, I love how you write supernatural beings! Genuinely alien and scary at first, but then we spend more time with them, and find such a human core to them. Like, the potential of the supernatural-as-metaphor is realized to perfection over and over again?

There’s something so recognizable in the way Desire toys with people, in Dream’s guardedness, in the Corinthian’s hunger. One example is in the Corinthian’s interactions with Daniel, the tension between experiencing sudden unexpected freedom, but registering it as rejection, as feeling obsolete and useless because who even are you when you aren’t needed…for him, that arises from his supernatural nature as a creature literally created for a specific purpose, but for me as a reader, it still speaks to something relatable and painful. Really great stuff

Thing 2, the references! To literature, poetry, myth, music, history…I just recently read “Underland” by Robert MacFarlane (warmly recommended) and he does something similar, to similar effect. It gives everything such scope, makes it feel so much bigger than the immediate story being told, like it situates the story in some Great Narrative about all of humanity, with the references connecting it all like a myriad mycelial strands.  

Thing 3 is that I love the way you word familiar things in an unusual way, which always feels like I’m getting some kind of revelation about what the thing’s essence is. I always struggle to put into words why a certain moment, or gesture, or landscape, or person makes me feel a certain way, and then I might encounter it in your writing and suddenly I’m like “Yes, finally someone gets it!” And I especially love it when the verb is doing the heavy lifting.  Random example, how to immediately capture the eerie vibe of a lonely nighttime street – “buzzing security lights futilely scratching at the darkness”.

Aaanyway this is way too long already, but I want to just thank you again for sharing your writing :) Hope you have a good weekend!

hi??? hello??? and what if i wept??? what THEN??? what if these businessfolk on this commuter train had to watch me sniffle with pure inexpressible joy???

but seriously — wow this really sent me reeling in the best loveliest most consuming way!! it is maybe the most richly validating feeling in the world to have someone point out bits of your work they love and it is genuinely such a gift — your time and your thoughts are of immeasurable wonder and i will stuff these praises in my pockets like treasured cool rocks from a beach <3

i am thrilled my supernatural creatures hit — in even my non-fic stuff i am absolutely fascinating by scales of humanity — by the way the immensely surreal and even the seemingly ahuman can contain with in it exaggerated mirrors of the truest human experiences. i love playing with that like bizarre distortion (especially w my baby cori, but all the endless were such a sublime opportunity to Mess Around With That), and then narrowing the aperture down to try and pinpoint the real, authentic humanity that the most inexplicable wildness can contain <- all that to say made me feel crazy wonderful that you liked the way i mucked about with the wild supernatural gang !!!! bodes well for my future projects <3

i am going to put underland on my library list!! i am such a sucker for intertextuality like what if words were a sculptural medium what if by compounding text on text on text you build a form greater than the sum of its parts ANYWAY gosh makes my spirit light and free to know you liked all that <3 <3 <3 i look forward with delight to reading that book!! (also mycelial is such a brilliant word thank you for reminding me it exists <3)

the moments of articulating specific little feelings are generally the ones i beat my head against the wall about the most and so it is genuinely so rewarding to know that they hit and they resonate <3 and verbs!! to the chagrin of some professors i tend to insist on giving descriptions active agency and it is again wonderously validating to know that that’s a vibe!!! thank you thank you thank you <3

this really make me feel like my body was full of light and i’m going to have a real killer of a day now <3 thank you so so so much for your kind words they mean everything under the sun to me <3

[thecontumacious]

Hi i saw the request was open (not sure but if it is u can delete this)

So remember the offstream collab where nina, vox, ike, and mysta were drinking milo? so what i was thinking was that when they were drinking the milo what if someone suddenly knocked on the door and nina was like “oh i’ll get it”cause she brought y/n as a secret to suprise them and then y/n says “did any of you order more milo?” Then they recognized their voice (also chat) and they all looked back and saw y/n who is 6’2 and they ran to hug her but they fell down on the floor after that they questioned things about her and how she had like prada,gucci clothes and they said that they are a fashion model (not sure if u use faceclaims but the faceclaim i chose was @/jihoonkim) and suddenly mysta said “damn she can be my sugar mommy” and ike and vox nodded agreeing to what mysta said and suddenly y/n being straight serious y/n went “aight bet what you wanna buy?” and mysta jokingly said “i want a whole pack of pocky and some more milo” and she actually bought it

Later when i don’t remember when but one of them said(?) vox had a designed jacket(?) and y/n was like “Vox no were going to my wardrobe and make you look fabulous…actually i’ll change all of you to become fabulous” so she brought all three of them and gave them each a fancy outfit and after changing they all looked fabulous “DANG y/n you have good taste in fashion” and y/n said “i know😌💅” and went back to chat and complimented y/n’s taste in fashion considering she was a fashion model.

I ran out of writing juice you can add more if you want also if it’s possible could i be 🎧 anon if there is already one could i be 🖍anon? Hope u have a good day/night! ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭

Have some photos i made at 2am ( i can’t post the photos without showing my anon)

to be fawned over

pairing: nijimilo x fem!model!reader (ft. nina) a/n: JSHJKAHSJKAHSL THESE PHOTOS ISTG okay i got you covered for this one hehe. alright honest thought about milo: i don't actually rly like it? like vox said, it's like watered down chocolate milk. i like my milk super wholesome :3

reminder that all my work and others in the fandom are purely fiction and intended to entertain, not to be projected irl.

you've met all tons of people, varying from the most pleasant to the most unpleasant ones because of the socially demanding job of being both a fashion model and a successful v-tuber

but you're very safe to say that your co workers here at niji en were one of the loveliest people you've ever met

so why the heck were you so nervous waiting outside the hotel room everyone was streaming in? holding a milo twelve pack no less like this ;-;

you were lucky no one was rly around to pass by as it was sort of late into the night

nina had told you in advance that neither vox, mysta or ike knew of your arrival, and that was completely on purpose

"i thought it'd be fun to surprise the boys is all," she snickered through the phone. "don't forget to bring the extra milo okay! i'll text you when it's time to come in."

continuation utc!

you'd been lying if you said it wasn't a rather fun idea

the element of surprise is always entertaining, both for the sake of yourself, your friends and the chat

from the other side of the door, you can hear the boys' positive comment on the milo drink, claiming they'd like to have more but slightly disappointed that mysta had only brought a few this time

then, a text comes through and as you suspected, it's from nina signalling to you to knock on the door

you inhale and did exactly that, pressing the canned drinks against your chest with a nervous grin

"i'll get that!" nina exclaims from the inside, standing up and heading towards you

with every step she took, you grew nervous but at the same time super excited to see everyone for the first time

in the next second, the door swings open and you come first face to face with their streaming setup and all three boys facing the door

you laugh, raising the pack of milo in the air, "did someone order more milo?"

"HOLY SHIt?" mysta stands abruptly, nudging ike to the side a bit. he earns himself a slap from the novelist. "oW, IKE!"

"don't 'ow' me, mysta! you literally shoved me!" he playfully scolds him

vox begins to holler, heading towards the chat upon confirming himself it actually is you at the door, "GUYS GUESS WHO IT IS!"

luxiem was chaotic, yes

never expected them to be this chaotic though

but were you complaining? nope

nina from the door ushers you to come inside, "come in, come in, surprise guest!"

you giggle and stride into the room, placing the rather heavy cans onto the kitchen counter. "do i get a tip for carrying heavy cargo?"

ike is first to approach you, his arms wide open with a very bright smile, "do hugs count?"

"yes, they do," you lean forward and wrap yourself in ike eveland's arms for the first time. sure, you and ike were good friends online but to finally see each other like truly sealed the deal

he's squeezing you tight, all the while grinning like he had never grinned in his entire life, "uwahhh it's so good to finally see you!! did you and nina plan this?"

you pull away, smirking, "nah, don't blame me. nina made me do it."

"made you? y/n, you immediately jumped at the idea!" nina pouts, offended by your accusation as she sat back down on the couch to handle the stream

mysta comes stumbling next, offering a hug to you as well, "i don't give a fuck! what's important is that she's here now!"

"i can say the same, mysta!" ike lets go of you so you can now hug mysta, firmly holding him against you

"holy shit, you're so tall???? what the fuck is going on?" mysta points out, causing for you and the other to laugh

ike chimes in, "actually yeah... i was so excited to see you i completely let that slip past. jesus y/n, you are tall."

"gentleman, there's a clear reason why she also works as a fashion model," vox shakes his head, walking towards you and pretty much asking for his turn of pleasantries. he winks at you, "gorgeous at that."

"why thank you, milord," you giggle, offering him a hug too.

vox easily receives it, patting your back while he was at it. "in complete seriousness, it's good to see you."

"yes, chat, it is the great y/n who has just arrived!" nina announces, turning back to you. "come say hi to the chat, y/n."

you let go of vox and you're off to greet your fans.

"hi chat!"

your eyes almost couldn't keep up with what they're saying, save from the occasional superchats.

"yes, none of the boys actually knew beforehand i'd be coming here," you chuckle, eyeing ike, mysta and vox behind you. "i can tell they're already head over heels for me."

"oh fuck yeah," mysta admits, ike laughing beside him as vox completely agrees. "i mean look at her chat! man, if you saw her, you'd be down bad. ain't i right boys?"

"i've gotta be honest but taking a good look at her, she's super well dressed. among us boys, she definitely has the better closet," ike comments

vox interjects, "would it be okay if we leaked your drip? i mean, imagine the fanart!"

you nod your head, cheeks slightly flushed, "go ahead."

vox drops onto the empty space next to you, leaning close towards the mic, "alright, listen well chat. she's wearing a black coat dress with a matching belt. a silver chain necklace, silver earrings and knee high boots in brown. if that isn't a drip, i don't know what is."

[or you can imagine whatever clothes you'd like to have, this is just my personal preference ^^]

"kudos to me for inviting her over, huh?" nina laughs, slapping your arm playfully.

"guys, she could be my sugar mommy if she wanted to," mysta adds, "whispering".

you smirk, crossing your legs. "alright, bet. what do you want?"

the detective merely chuckles in response, "right now, i need myself some more milo to take home. oh and strawberry pocky* for the ride back."

*yes i headcanon mysta rly likes strawberry flavored pocky

you clap your hands, "i'll see to that done, then!"

after that, it's back to bonding between the members + nina ofc with you as an added treat!

mysta is more than glad to have someone who can keep up with him, vox finding himself a flirting buddy, ike gaining at least one more sane person in the group and a female nina can side up with if the boys ever gang up on her lmao poor nina

the night ways itself further, but the laughter between the five of you don't cease (the alcohol too aye)

it included stuffing your faces with food nina kept buying, convincing mysta not to handle the knife both when he's around people and by himself, chaperoning fox akuma with ike and making sure nina doesn't fall over drunk

ah, what a family

it's no surprise all of you woke up with a headache, but that most certainly did not stop you from venturing into the city before streaming hours

"guys, guys, let's go to this restaurant i found! it has good reviews, good food, drinks and i heard there's a beautiful view!" nina shows you her phone, displaying the mentioned food place

you skim through the information and indeed find it to be of decent quality. you hum, taking a sip of water as the boys only start cracking their eyes open to the new day.

"seems legit enough, let's go then!" you smile

ike comes over and nina hands him the phone.

he too seemed to approve, "looks good to me. i feel like we all need something so we don't feel so bad right now."

the three of you laughed

"i'm in for good food, ju-just, ah," vox hisses, holding his head. "someone get me some aspirin."

"get me some too, please," mysta hiccups, chugging down a gallon of water down his throat

after an hour or so of getting everyone back into safer conditions, you and nina head back to your rooms to get ready.

"y/n, y/n, i have an idea," nina chirps, pulling you towards her. "since you're the fashion expert here, why don't you dress me up? i mean, you always look amazing! i want a taste of that myself."

you giggle, "i'm the model, nina. not the stylist."

"don't be so humble now, baby. at the very least you've seen what your stylists have dressed you in. come on, let's look fabulous today," nina flips her hair dramatically and you can't help but just give in to her antics, seeing as there was no harm to it anyway

"alright, fineee. suppose it'll be fun," you shrug. the woman shrieks of enthusiasm, tugging you quicker towards your room.

"here's what i brought! put together an outfit for me, baby," nina flips her suitcase open, giving you free reign of her outfit for the day

after a bit of mix and matching, swatching the colors, you finally settle on something that would suit nina's confidence and maturity.

"and a matching bag of your choice, nina! this should be it," you dust your hands together, smiling as nina studied herself through the mirror with awe in her eyes

"oh my god, this looks so good! man, i never knew my closet had these," she comments

"you do, you just haven't tried matching them together!"

"so, just the model huh," nina wiggles her eyebrows.

"oh please, it's nothing."

"hey, hey, another idea!!"

"what is it, nina?"

she grins, "how about you dress the boys too?"

"you sure they'd want that?" you scratch the back of your head sheepishly, looking away.

"oh it'll be fine! besides! the boys were obviously fawning over you last night, why wouldn't they let you style them?" she encourages you, clasping your hands into hers. "come on!! it'll be super fun! and i know you'll come up with something good!"

"okay, okay fineee. we'll go ask them after i dress, okay?"

"don't worry about it!"

it's only a matter of time you exit the bathroom with your chosen outfit.

"there she goes, slaying the day with the drip," nina gawks upon exiting the bathroom. you wave her off, grabbing your things and heading for the door.

"oh hush, come on. let's see the boys!" nina nods and you two are off to find them in their rooms.

"hi boys, we come proposing an idea!!" your friend announces from the other side of the door

ike is the one to answer the door, "huh? what idea?"

"y/n here is gonna dress you guys up for the day!"

"dress... us up?"

"yo, is that nina and y/n?" mysta hollers from inside. "we're not ready yet! but come in."

"OH PERFECT! excuse me ike," nina softly pushes ike away from the door as she comes inside, pulling you with her. "boys, stop dressing because y/n's gonna do it for you!"

"pardon me?" vox pops his head out, still with his previous shirt on. "what's going on in that head of yours again, ninaur?"

"it's a good idea, i promise," nina giggles, pushing you up front. "she's gonna be styling you guys today."

"ah, i see what's going on here," vox smirks, leaning onto the wall with his arms crossed. he eyes you, "well, miss fashionista, my suitcase is yours to go through. i'd like to see what you come up with."

"hey, hey! i want in too!" mysta shouts.

"well if everyone is doing this, i guess i'll do it too," ike laughs, walking over to his luggage area. "i'm in your care today, y/n."

nina nudges you, smirking, "this is gonna be a fun day, huh?"

you smile, "indeed it will."

bonus:

"hey, mysta!" you call over, mysta looking up from his phone.

"what's up, y/n?" he asks

you grin, digging into your bag to reveal a few boxes of his pink pockey and individual milo cans specially for him.

his mouth gapes open, looking between you and the food items in your hands. "wh-? i thought you were kidding???"

you shove them into his hands, forcing him to take them with a wink, "then no, i wasn't. i'd gladly take that offer to be your sugar mommy, mysta."

mysta looks at you one last time, this time his cheeks a very bright red and unknowing what to say. "wh--well, i--"

"if you're mommy, can i play daddy?" vox interjects, leaning towards you with a suggestive grin. you giggle.

"perhaps."

"are we really going to have this type of conversation in public?" ike groans, glaring lasers into the three of you.

nina can only laugh at the interaction between you and the boys, very extremely glad she came up with the idea of secretly inviting you.

(i apologize in advance for the rather wonky anatomy bcs i did these in the literal dead of night and also bcs nina's got cut ;-;)

references i used:

Masterlist!

[folkloreguk]

🍒Cherry Ice Cream (2)🍒

A/N: Part two is here! There won't be another one after this. I just wanted to split it into two little scenarios with one being cute and the other not so cute lmao...I hope you enjoy - as always I appreciate feedback a lot!

taglist: @lovely-ateez

genre: smut, optional bias (m) x reader (f), lifeguard!au, pool sex, unprotected sex

words: 3.4 k

PART 1 (fluff, both parts can be read independently)

It was the middle of the summer holidays and you had never been happier. Sunny weather, swimming, lots of free time and as much ice cream as you wanted were only a few of the reasons for your luck. The main cause was the boy of your dreams. A few weeks ago, you had met. It had been the most chaotic, embarrassing day at the public swimming pool – or so you had initially thought. Turns out being a walking disaster could not only attract negative attention. When the otherworldly handsome and kind lifeguard had pulled your clumsy figure out of the water and even bought you ice cream to make you feel better, you had a feeling things were about to change. And you hadn’t been wrong. Maybe you were seeing things through rose-colored glasses and a mix of lovestruck hormones, but you suspected he might just really be this great.

Ever since your first ice cream date, the two of you had been inseparable. Looks were one thing – and you had made yourself aware that though he was a picture of perfection, he could still have turned out to not be your type at all. But the inside reflected on his outside. Every day you found out a new enrapturing detail about him. He was a never-ending book that you were utterly unwilling to put back down.

Your days were spent at the public swimming pool, watching your lifeguard boyfriend do his job and questioning if this was all some sort of hidden camera prank. During his break he came running straight to your spot under the trees and plopped down on your towel, ready to spend the most time with you until he had to go back. Although your streak of bad luck was over, he still took care of you and made sure you were okay in the heat. He reminded you to drink enough water and sent you a good morning text every day. When he had first asked you to help him put sunscreen on his shoulders, you had hesitated with cheeks hotter than the sunlight that day. Now it was a daily thing, and sometimes when his hands were on your back, rubbing in the lotion, you caught yourself wishing there weren’t a hundred families around you. But it was hard scoring alone time with him at the pool. Even later at night, right before closing time, there were always one or two diehard swimming fans there.

“I love watching my cute girlfriend swim,” he would keep telling you.

“You better make sure you’re paying attention to the rest of the visitors, too,” you would reply, but secretly love his flirty remarks. Perhaps he wasn’t even so far off. After your first encounter, it was apparent that maybe you were the one guest who didneed the closest monitoring. Even his co-workers knew of you. They had made it their life mission to remind him daily how whipped he was for you, but he never cared about their teasing.

At night, you rode your bikes home. Towards the candy cotton clouds on the horizon, through the small suburb, you rode side by side, still damp hair flowing in the wind. Outside your home he cupped your face then, the sun kissed skin of his hands still warm to the touch. Like he was the slowly setting sun himself, he kissed you goodnight. You were addicted to his lips. He made you fly, brought back all your fondest memories as if he himself was in them, and let you forget every worry you’ve ever had in the world.

One evening at the pool, you lay on your bathmat, headphones in your ears and your favorite summer playlist taking you to another world. Suddenly, two hands grabbed you by the shoulders. You jerked up in surprise.

“Oh my god, we could have hit our heads together!” you scolded your boyfriend, who was smiling at you like an innocent five-year old.

“Guess what. My boss just told me that I can close the place up tonight. You know what that means, right?” he said.

“Tell me more,” you smirked.

“Technically, we can stay here however long we want. And do whatever we want. As long as no one finds out,” he whispered the last part into your ear. Chills ran up your spine despite the heat in the air.

“Do whatever we want, huh?” you said. “I thought you were being a model employee?”

“I am,” he shrugged with his child-like smile. “And the model employee needs to go back to work now. I have a reputation to uphold. You’ll be waiting for me, right?”

“Of course,” you nodded, watching his figure as he jogged back to his seat by the pool. The next hours seemed to go by extra-slowly, to your dismay. After his announcement, you only found yourself staring in his direction more than on any other day. Truly, you could never get used to his handsomeness. You thought of his voice that made you melt like ice and his hands when he kissed you. Too often they remained in innocent, safe territory. Maybe that was about to change. It was a Friday, meaning the opening hours were longer than usual. By 10 pm however, even the last person had left. The public swimming pool was closed. Officially.

You had to admit, you could get used to having an enormous swimming pool all to yourself. Blissfully, you dived through the water, not having to worry about crashing into anybody’s legs or losing track of your surroundings. You had always felt as though swimming was a little like flying. Not that you knew what flying would be like. But if you had to make a guess, feeling weightless and small in a seemingly endless space probably came close. All your life, it had remained the same. Playing pretend in the water, acting like a mermaid scavenging for the most precious treasure of the seven seas – all your loveliest ideas lingered in your memory like it had been yesterday.

The pool had a shallow end, about the depth which allowed your head to reach above the surface, and progressively deepened towards the other end. You took a gulp of air and descended into the darkness. Taking long strokes, you dived towards the white light at the wall of the shallower pool end. With the brightness ahead of you, you failed to notice the shadow behind you.

As you were in the process of coming up from the water, a pair of arms suddenly wrapped around you. For the second time that day, you jolted in surprise and quickly gasped for air.

“You scared me out of my wits! Will you stop that!” you said, but you were already smiling. It was hard to carry grudges against the boy behind you. Not when he held your waist and rested his chin on your bare shoulder, grinning as if it was a crime to even suspect him of such things.

“Hi, there,” he said and pecked your cheek sweetly. “I missed you.”

“So did I,” you admitted. Only months ago, you had made fun of how lovestruck your friend had been. You weren’t one to speak now. His hands let go of you while you turned your body to face him. Then they were on you again, and although it was a small touch, your lack of clothes created a tension between you right away.

“Wanna race me?” he whispered into your ear, as if there was anyone around to listen in. Was he serious? Did he really think you wanted him to let go of you now? His voice on your neck rendered you wanting him so bad, you had to take a deep breath to compose yourself.

“I’ve been swimming all day,” you said. “Besides, didn’t you say we could do whatever we wanted? We can swim whenever we want, during opening hours.”

“Oh, sounds like you have better plans?” he asked. For a moment, he touched your forehead with his. If you bent forward slightly, you could have kissed him. His hungry eyes were on your lips when you had finished the thought.

“I was thinking you could kiss me, for starters?” you coaxed him. He chuckled.

“So you’ve been thinking about it too, the past few hours,” he realized. “You know, I was trying to be subtle about it.”

“Forget about being subtle,” you said. “Let’s just make out, please?”

“I’d like nothing better than that,” he smiled, and then your mouths touched. His gentle lips tasted faintly of chlorine and salt, a taste you had come to associate with him and magnificent things. You held his face in your hands tightly and pushed your body against him yearningly. Reacting, he sighed and deepened the kiss. His wandering hands found the small of your backside as you arched your back into his frame. You hummed quietly, hands burying in his wet hair and playing with it at the nape of his neck.

All your childhood you had been searching for your treasure under the water. Now you understood. He was right there in front of you. Little you would be proud you had found someone this precious and incomparable. And hot.

“Jump,” he said. You did as he suggested and wrapped your legs around his waist. The proximity of his body made your heart hammer against your ribcage with such feverishness, you worried it might jump through your chest. With the way he touched every curve of your body, you almost forgot how to kiss. Luckily, your instincts did the job for you as you sipped on his lips and sighed every so often. He caught your bottom lip between his teeth, and you felt his smirk when you moaned in surprise. Every inch of your skin burned with desire for him.

As he carried you over to the side of the pool, you pulled away shortly. You took the liberty to attack his neck with frenzied kisses. It felt just as you had imagined a thousand times. You couldn’t possibly recount all the instances when you had found yourself staring at his neck and shoulders in the past weeks. He was easily the biggest distraction you had ever known. But it wasn’t your fault his tanned skin was so inviting and his strong presence ever so alluring. Returning his teasing, you bit into his shoulder, kissing and sucking on it right after.

“Fuck, baby,” he said in a throaty tone. “You’re amazing.”

Softly, he rubbed his nose against yours before your lips locked again. The kiss was all but soft. Your tongues meddled as if you were starved people and you could barely keep your hands in one place. Not that you would want to. You wanted to glue his hands onto your body or better yet handcuff him to your wrists. What was the opposite of a restraining order called? You were about to invent a word for it. Never before had you been so intoxicated, so in ecstasy with another person.

He pulled aside the fabric of your top momentarily and cupped your breasts in his hands. You gasped and melted into his touch and the way he played with your nipples. He attacked your neck in kisses and you shut your eyes, enjoying the sensation of his lips.

“I really want you.” He had his hands on your ass and all you could think about was the growing bulge in his swimming shorts. Your hard nipples rubbed against his chest, the thin fabric of your swim top doing little to nothing to separate your bodies. How could somebody’s whole existence be so titillating? He pulled away, just far enough to speak but barely. “I’ve wanted you like this for a while. But I didn’t want to unsettle you by making you think I just want sex from you. Truth is, I don’t want you to be just some summer romance, Y/N. Every day I hope you’ll still be here when summer is over.”

“Why would you think I’m going anywhere?” you asked. “You’re the reason I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. I ask myself every day how I managed to end up with you in the first place.”

“That’s easy. First, threaten to demolish the turnstile with your stubbornness, second, offer your head to a bunch of kids with a water ball, third, square up against a bug in front of a hundred people, fourth- “

“Okay! Enough,” you said. “Don’t bring up my clumsiness. That’s just about the least sexy thing in the world.”

“Baby, I think there’s nothing not sexy about you,” he spoke. He kissed you deeply and all your embarrassing memories vanished at once. “So, you’re cool with this?”

His sudden change in tone caused your breath to hitch in your throat, as his hands lingered by your hips, just above your bikini bottom. You only nodded, the motion getting more eager as the words sunk in. He slid his fingers along the inside of your thigh, and you squirmed under his touch in desperation. Swiftly, he pushed aside the material above your center. His digits slid through your wetness, catching the nub between them, and rubbing ever so slowly. An overwhelmed gasp spilled over your lips, and you closed your eyelids.

“Fuck- ,“ you muttered under your breath. He teased your core, nearly sliding his finger into you, but then pulling away to find your nub to toy with.

“You look so beautiful,” he said. At his words, you looked at him through fluttering eyelids. He was one to talk about beauty. The luminescence from underwater sharpened his features, and his eyes had something magical, something enchanting about them. Like he could have you – or anyone – without saying a word. He reminded you of a merman, or rather a siren. Ready to drag you along with him, deep under the surface. And you were so willing to let it happen. For all you knew, you were long lost and under his spell anyway.

“Have you ever done it in public?” he asked. You were too distracted by his fingers on you at first, head hanging back in ecstasy, until you snapped out of it.

“No, but – fuck – I guess I can strike that one off my sex bucket list after tonight, can’t I?” you said.

“You have a sex bucket list? Interesting, tell me more about it,” he smirked. His eyes darkened and his tongue licked over his lips once. As if on command, his lazy ministrations on you quickened, rubbing your clit in small, circular motions until you were a moaning, stammering mess. You suspected he did so just to see your immediate reaction, and you gave him just what he wanted.

“Can we postpone the – the talking…on later?” you murmured, feeling like collapsing against his broad shoulders. “I’m kind of too busy to – to talk.”

“I can see that,” he teased you, kissing you gently. The delicacy of his lips only made your head spin more. “You’re so sweet, baby.”

“Don’t you want to get busy too?” you asked. You reached for his swimming trunks and wrapped your hand around his hard member through the material. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”

“Shit- me too.” His arousal echoed in his moans, and he sucked in a breath. There was a sense of power in knowing you could make him react so gravely by doing so little. You tugged on his trunks and pulled them down a little to reveal his full length. Palming him, you felt how painfully hard he must have been for a while now. He groaned and it was the best thing you had ever heard. Eagerly, you slid your bikini bottom off and watched for a moment as it sunk down into the depths of the pool. Your legs wrapped around his waist again as he aligned his cock with your core.

At this point you supposed you were both out of words. Hunger had taken over and you barely managed to form a sentence. He kissed you and you hummed and nodded, wanting him to know you were ready. Easily, he entered you and you whimpered at the way he stretched your velvet walls after all the wait. Your senses were overcome with everything around you. The warm water enveloping the both of you, the soft summer breeze caressing your faces, his hands on your hips as he guided your body into his thrusts and the sound of your breathless moans and sighs – it was pure bliss. Night had almost fallen, with the sky being a deep blue, almost black by now. It was a perfect setting for a perfect night with your favorite person.

You gazed into his dilated pupils and the coil in your stomach tightened in the most delicious way possible. Now you recounted a myriad of dreams you’d seen him in. Not always, but occasionally he showed up in your dirtiest of dreams, with his gorgeous, addictive smile and strong arms. But now he was right there, in front of you – inside of you – and you apprehended how weak your boldest imaginations had been. Your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders as you clenched around his cock. He moaned your name huskily and it only clouded your head further.

It was crazy how loving a person could magnify everything. Even with closed eyes, the mere idea of him fucking you, at night in a public pool, could beat every single other experience you’d ever had. You felt like you were blessed with the audience with a god. A god, who had manifested on earth only to scoop you up and show you the finest things in life. You definitely couldn’t think of a finer thing than his cock dragging through your walls, hitting your g-spot repeatedly, while he had you cased against the pool tiles. Moans and little whimpers fell from your lips, and you were glad there wasn’t a single soul close by who could have heard.

He was jaw-dropping. With the way he pounded into you hard, using the poolside wall as support on your back, you felt your head spin as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Your skin seemed to prickle wherever he touched you and you pushed your chest against his. Just a little closer, you told yourself, even though you were running out of space already. It was body against body while he whispered naughty things into your ears, telling you how incredible you felt, how lucky he had gotten with you and how sexy he found you.

“You’re the fucking best I’ve ever had, baby,” he said. His teeth grazed your neck as he kissed your sensitive skin messily. You could have counted every single drop of water hanging from the strands of his hair and adorning his face. Could have taken notice of every single eyelash and even the tiniest speckles of color in his irises. But you could barely command your eyes to stay open.

“So- close,” you said. In your ecstasy, you clawed at his back as another wave of pleasure went through your entire body.

“Together, hm?” he said, lips brushing over your cheek with every thrust. You hummed and nodded, as he picked up his thrusts to a toe-curling speed. With every touch of your sweet spot, you felt reality slip away a little further, and you were doing nothing to fight it. You invited the feeling in, resting your forehead against his, breaths coming out in short puffs. And then it overcame you. Your orgasm jolted through you like electricity, and you clung to him as if you might have sunken otherwise. It made your shared moans high pitched, and he followed you, pulling you into his arms like it was alone you who was keeping him afloat.

The splashing of the water softened as he drew out your highs for as long as possible with slower thrusts. Eventually, he halted completely. He cradled your face in his hands and when you finally opened your tired eyes, he was watching you with full adoration. His charming smile caused an eruption of butterflies in your stomach. This was only the beginning of your time together, yet you could barely fathom your fortune. And as it seemed, this time fate was on your side.

[misselko]

Gardening is a hobby that you picked from Professor since your academy days. It's fun to see a tiny seed sprout turned into flowers, growing under the love and care of your hands. But the most precious part is when you gave them to your special someone! How do the Blue Lions react when you give them flowers that you raise by yourself? (Post timeskip)

FLOWERS LANGUAGE

Dimitri (Chamomile)

He was utterly shocked when you give him a bouquet of delicate chamomiles. As much as he appreciate your tender gesture, he’s too afraid to touch and destroy them. He treats them like a precious jewel.

“Dimitri.. do you know what chamomile means? May all your dreams and wishes be fulfilled. And I really hope so from the bottom of my heart.” His face is redder than a tomato and he somewhat forgets how to speak when you told him so. It takes all of his might to not crush you in his tight embrace!! It hurts a bit

Almost crying in panic and went into feral mode when the chamomiles starts to wilt. Mercedes and Dedue teach him how to boil and turn the almost withered flower into chamomile teabags. Although he can’t taste them, Dimitri can feel your love and kindness in it. And much to his joy, he often invite you to settling down for a private tea time in his quarter with the chamomile tea. Guess it’s all’s well ends well for both of you.

Sylvain (Lily of the Valley)

Giving flowers to flirt someone is a frequent habit of the Garreg Mach’s infamous philanderer back then in his academy days. Yeah, he got his fair shares of flowers from the girls as well. But your Lily of the Valley strikes him wonders. Unlike other gaudy, vibrant flowers that he often received back from the others, yours are small and unique.

“I grew these flowers by myself, Syl. And they made me think of you. Lily of the valley are thought to bring luck in love but can also symbolize a return of happiness. I hope we can find yours someday!” You said as you present him the flowers bouquet in his quarter at his birthday.

If he was not certain before, now he’s sure that you’re the one. “I have found it already.” He draws you into a hot, searing kiss right then and there, pulling away with the loveliest genuine smile. “Before I met you, I’d gone my whole life not knowing there was another way for me to live. So from the bottom of my heart…I’m glad we met.” He grins at your blushing face and plant another kiss on your forehead. Sorry for the pun word

Felix (Rose)

"Quit joking around.” He tried to push it off but stopped when he saw your fingers that is littered with cuts here and there from cleaning the rose thorns. “You don't have to go out of your way to do ridiculous stuff like this.”

He struggles to keep a straight face and keep the blush across his cheeks from showing. Despite his harsh words, Felix took you to infirmary and put some healing ointments over the scrapes gently (while berating you non-stop).

Much to your surprise, he put them nicely and well-kept in a vase in his room. He quickly tried to hide it when you saw them. “I don’t hate them and they smell pretty nice so I put them in my room. Don’t get any wrong ideas, moron.” You swear you can see the faint tint of pink at the tip of his ears but he’s practically glares daggers at you when you said so.

 

Dedue (Tulip)

This green finger man always has soft spot for you. He may never say it much but he always got this rare tender smile while he helps you watering your flowers. When you present him a bouquet of tulips with unique colors that only grow in Duscur (that is able to grow nicely thanks to your hard work and monastery greenhouse’s dry, fertile soil) he blinks at them for a moment, totally silent.

“Duscur is a dead land. But seeing this blossom brings back memories.” A slow smile blooms over his face as he accepts them. “Someday, I hope to show you a whole landscape of these flowers in full bloom.” He thanks you in quiet voice, holding your hand tenderly. “I’ll cherish them lovingly. This means a lot to me.”

He turned the tulips into pressed flowers and treasure them in his room. You can often caught him marveling at your pressed tulips with gentle smile on his lips during your tea time with him.

(When Dedue said that there are some flowers color that only available in Duscur, a dry land that turned barren because soldiers have trampled upon the flowers, I like to imagine flowers that he mentioned as tulips because they do come in various colors. Needless to say, they are pretty delicate and can only grow in dry, fertile soil. So it matches!)

 

Ashe (Sunflower)

He smiles so bright with a faint blush spread across his freckled face  when you gave him a bouquet of sunflower. “Are you really sure that I can have this?” He’s definitely tearing up over them and just can’t stop grinning while hugging the bouquet tightly.

Ashe pick one flower and tuck it behind his ear and run around the monastery to brag it off to everyone that he met on the way.  Later, he put them in a vase inside his quarter and take a really good care of it.

As a token of gratitude for the sunflowers that you grew by yourself, Ashe invited you to enjoy a dinner that he made by himself in his room! From your favorite appetizer, main dish, and the dessert, he got you covered. It was very delightful. “If you don’t mind.. may I ask for more flowers in the future and more? They are lovely to watch over dinners like this, aren’t they?” He said between nervous glances over you and the sunflower on his table. You wouldn’t be able to say no to that puppy eyes, would you?

[celestialevie]

Birthday surprise // Niall Horan x singer! Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: none

A/N: Since it's officially my birthday week and Niall's has just passed, I decided to write this very self-indulgent fic (even though I can't sing, but a girl can dream </3). I mostly wrote this for myself because I adore this human with my whole heart. Anyways hope someone will enjoy this fic just as much as I did writing it.

Finishing the first two songs, you chat a little with your fans. Noticing some of the signs they brought with them to get you to notice them, some of them making you laugh, while some of them made your heart clench with love. Sitting down at the piano, starting to play 'champagne problems'. While you were in the happiest relationship to date now, you still had some issues with your past relationships, where you were made the villain and them a victim when in reality it was the literal opposite. Niall was the blessing you were praying for. So what if you were fucked in the head? Niall loved you just the way you were.

Your birthday was coming up, and you were going to spend it while being in one of the cities you absolutely love touring in – Dublin. Although you were heartbroken because this will be the first birthday you were going to celebrate without your boyfriend, Niall. Ever since you've known him, you celebrated both of your birthdays with one another. His tour lead him to being in America during your birthday, which really sucked. You were both bummed out about it, he even offered to reschedule that concert, so he can be with you in Dublin, maybe even visit his family whilst already being in Ireland, you told him no. You didn't want to be selfish just because it's your birthday. Talking on the phone with him right from the moment he was awake (which was already in the afternoon for you). '' It feels weird to not be with you on your birthday, how will I survive without my birthday kisses and hugs from you? '' you ask while pouting. Niall chuckled and mimicked your put. '' I will give you your birthday kisses and hugs as soon as I see you. With extra ones for each day between your birthday and the day we see each other again. I promise. '' he gives you a smile. And you just pout harder. '' I really miss you. I can't wait to see you soon. '' checking the time, you realize it's almost time for you to start getting ready. '' Hey baby, I have to go start getting ready soon. I'll make sure Jenna calls you to FaceTime and shows you at least some concert if you're not busy. I love you and I miss you. '' as you say that, you hang up and quickly text your makeup artist, she can come over. Two minutes later, her and Jenna (your assistant and close friend) are in your dressing room, and you're getting ready. An hour later, you were done with your makeup and hair and all that was left was to put on your outfit. Ten minutes later, you were slowly making your way towards stage. Quickly texting Niall another I love you, and wishing him good luck on his own show later, you were off on the stage, the intro of your song' dress' starting to play as you were brought onto the stage. Let the fun begin.

After champagne problems, one of your favourite songs you wrote was next.

''... Don Perignon you brought it, no crowd of friends applauded

your hometown sceptics called it, champagne problems.''

'' A lot of you might not know, but this next song was inspired after I was done watching the amazing spider-man 2 for the millionth time. My love for Emma Stone and Andrew Garfield is unmatchable. Just ask my boyfriend, who's been hanging out with Tom Holland, how both of them are feeling betrayed by my love for both Amazing Spider-man's movies. This is How you get the girl. '' The intro of the song started playing and so were the screams of people.

Singing two more songs, you go get changed into a different outfit. Going back onto the stage, you're surprised that your manager Anna is standing there with a grin on her face.

'' Stand there like a ghost

Shaking from the rain

She'll open up the door and say 'are you insane?'

Say it's been long six months

And you were too afraid to tell her what you want, want...''

'' Uh-oh, manager is grinning, prepare yourselves guys, it's not going to be good. '' The crowd laughs while Anna rolls her eyes and smiles at you. '' We have a small surprise for you. '' as she says that, she points on the big screen behind you, when you turn around you are surprised to see a familiar face of one of your closest friends, Lewis Capaldi, wishing you a happy birthday and saying you guys need to go clubbing again soon. Laughing as his face fades away and the next one shows up, your very close friend and sometimes co-writer Taylor Swift, again wishing you the happiest birthday and saying how much she adores working with you and that she loves you very much. It went on for a while, all your friends and even your parents were there. Tears were falling down, and you didn't care it ruined your makeup. And then at the end there he was. My favourite face to see. Niall. '' Happiest birthday to you angel. I wish I could be there with you, just like we are always for our birthdays, but unfortunately I am not there to give you all the birthday hugs and wishes. I love you so much angel, keep rocking the world, and I will see you as soon as we can. '' At the end you were full on sobbing happy tears, hugging your manager and your band. The best surprise ever. '' I am very sorry for being a mess so publicly '' wiping your tears and thanking to whoever invented waterproof mascara for being the reason your makeup is not that ruined. '' Anyway, the show must go on, so let's go. '' picking up your acoustic guitar, adjusting it, you announce the song. ''You are in love. Let's go.''

''(...)

As the show is slowly coming to an end, and you're about to play a song that is about your boyfriend, that he inspired you to write. And Taylor helped you co-write it.

Morning, his place

Burnt toast, Sunday

You keep his shirt

He keeps his word

And for once, you let go

Of your fears and your ghosts

One step, not much

But it said enough

You kiss on side walks

You fight and you talk

One night he wakes

Strange look on his face

Pauses, then says

You're my best friend

And you knew what it was

He is in love. ''

'' Sadly, the show is slowly coming to an end. You guys were the absolute best and I adore spending my birthday with you all. This next song is literally one of the most accurate songs I've written about any of my relationship. When I got inspired by my loveliest boyfriend, I had to invite Taylor to help me write it, as we all know she is the lyrics master. Lover is one of my many nicknames I use for Niall, and I know that he's probably watching this or will watch it later, so hi Niall. '' you wave to one of the camera's while the crowd laughs. Gently, you start playing the guitar.

What you didn't know is that your boyfriend is a liar and is actually hiding with your assistant Jenna, waiting to come on the stage to surprise you. Of course, he wouldn't miss your birthday, even if he has to reschedule the concerts. You were absolutely worth it. As he waits for the part of the song he's gonna crash in, Jenna and Anna are making sure you don't accidentally notice Niall before time. The plan is for Anna to quickly distract you on one side while Niall comes out on the other side of the stage.

'' (...)

We could let our friends crash in the living room

This is our place, we make the call

And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you

I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close forever and ever?

And ah, take me out, and take me home (forever and ever)

You're my, my, my, my

Lover '' as you sing that part, you notice Anna waving at you like a maniac, distracting you and mouthing something to you. As you're trying to figure out what is she saying, the crowd starts screaming, and you freeze as the familiar voice starts to sing the next part of the song

''Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand?

With every guitar string scar on my hand...''

The song soon comes to an end, and you're bringing Niall into another hug. He just smiles and wraps his arms around your waist. '' Happy birthday, angel. I hope you don't mind me crashing. '' You just shake your head while holding him as close as you can. '' You are always welcome to crash my show. The next song is your song anyway, so you might as well stay and sing with me. '' he pulls away and looks at you. '' Let's go finish this show, so I can give you all the birthday kisses and hugs you want. ''

You turn around with your hand on your mouth, as the man himself makes his way towards you. You're in absolute shock because this man is supposed to be in America. He only laughs at your reaction as he pulls you towards him in a tight hug while still singing. Hugging him back, not wanting to let go of him. Slightly pulling away, looking him directly in his beautiful blue eyes while singing.

'' I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover

My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue

All's well that ends well to end up with you

Swear to be overdramatic and true to my lover

And you'll save all your dirtiest jokes for me

And at every table, I'll save you a seat, lover ''

[kiridarling]

𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐊𝐈, 𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐊𝐈, 𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐊𝐈 (𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐌𝐘 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄)

denki kaminari | escort!denki, f!reader, choking (m!recieving), tongue piercing, face-sitting, switchy themes, but he's on top in the end. minors dni!

— 2.4k words

"Look at you, drooling all over the pillow. I make you feel that good, Sweetheart?"

"Ever had an escort, Cutie?"

The electric blond pulls the belt to his silk robe and it runs off his shoulders like water. The diamond choker with CHARGEBOLT embezzled in gold glistens under the red lights of the private room, and you couldn't feel more out of place.

"I’m going to put this nicely," you run your lips together—as if it isn't painfully obvious, written in the way you shift from foot to foot and fiddle with your thumbs in the doorway. "I don’t want to be here."

Frankly, your friends set you up for this stupid thing. Something about you needing to get out more. If you’re going to be completely honest, you wish the owner of CLUB 777 would get off her high horse and shut this whole loud place down for good—it's disturbing your peace more than you could ever hope for it to.

Chargebolt—you assume—watches you fumble nevertheless, because fucking sue you, he’s wearing nothing but a very tight pair of tighty whities that are colored a simple black instead of white (not shorts—there’s no way in hell those are shorts). His freckled shoulders glisten gold with glittery body lotion, and part of you wonders if he tastes as good as he looks. Fuck. This.

"C'mere, Cutie," Chargebolt beckons you with a curled finger, and you finally figure fuck it. You’re already here and paid for. Once you're close enough, he pulls you down using your chin and cocks his head to the side, canary eyes flickering to your lips. He hums. "You look much better up close."

You try to repress a shiver. It doesn't really work.

"Well?" He says with a smile, "Don't you wanna kiss me?"

You gnaw on your bottom lip, eyes shooting to his. You kind of want to.

"Need me to make the first move, Gorgeous?" Chargebolt purrs, and your teeth dig deeper into your lip as you nod with a frustrated blush. He's nearly smiling against your lips anyways.

Chargebolt kisses hot and fast—lips lighting your body on fire as it sends frissons of electricity up your spine. You find the confidence to push back with something a little stronger, headier—and it has him wantonly moaning into your mouth.

"Fuck," he breathes against your lips as you pull away. You're both out of breath and you're positive you've kissed his lips deep pink, but you suppose that could be the makeup. "You're a better kisser than you look, Cutie."

You narrow your eyes. "Is that an insult?"

Chargebolt chuckles, turning to properly face you on the bed. "It's a compliment."

With that, lips hips are on you again, and so are his hands—grabbing yours to guide them over his glittering chest and to his waist, where he leaves them and flings his arms around your shoulders.

He curses when you trail wet kisses down his neck, teeth nipping in the spots that make his thighs jump. You're sure you're not allowed to leave hickeys so you don't, and it's hard not to get tipsy off the way he trembles underneath you, especially when your thumb pops under the waistband on his boxers.

"Is this—um," you swallow hard. "Is this okay?"

Chargebolt snorts, raising an eyebrow at your sudden shyness and gesturing to exactly where you both are right now and...touché.

With that, you run your hand over his slowly hardening cock through the cotton material. The electric blond nearly recoils, hissing at the sudden move.

"O-Oh," Chargebolt shudders, bucking against your hand. You muffle a grin in favor of grinding your hand a little harder, giggling at his lidded eyes and haggard breath. He pouts as you grip his hipbone to keep it from moving—you want him to take what you give him, and nothing else. "Can't you—can't you at least press a little harder?"

When you shake your head, the electric blond chucks his head back in a groan. The choker around his neck gleams under the neon red lights, which prompts you to place your hand to the back of his neck and tug. His canary eyes round and roll to the back of his head.

"I nee—Can I have you on me?"

Though you're doing all the work, his chest rises and falls with a pant. You climb into his lap with resignation and Chargebolt groans when your clothed cunt drags over him.

"Fuck, just like that Sweetheart," his head lolls to rest on his right shoulder, elbows propped in the pillows before his upper body drops in favor of putting guiding hands around your waist. You hold onto his shoulders for balance as he tugs your hips forwards, though it's not like it helps much. This time, instead of pulling on his choker, you wrap your hand around his neck and though it doesn't wrap all the way around, Chargebolt's breath still hitches under your palm.

"Harder," he wheezes past your grasp. You tighten for Chargebolt to release a broken moan under the pressure and his hips buck so hard they nearly send you flying off his chest.

"Watch it," you say, though it's breathier than you'd like. The sight of him getting worked up pumps your blood faster than you feel like it should, and you find yourself squinting through the light to see if that really is a blush you see dusting his cheeks.

"Right—right sorry," the electric blond rasps once you finally let go of his throat. Licking his lips, his eyes dart to where you're connected before he's pleading, "Can I fuck you? Please?"

"Yeah," you say without hesitation, and Chargebolt guides you over his face, eyes blow wide with lust and desperation. He groans softly at the sight of you splayed over him, hiking up your dress and pulling your panties aside to run a finger through your slit.

"You're soaked, Gorgeous," Chargebolt says, borderline giddy, and you shiver as he flicks your clit, biting his lip. "I might have to make a quick detour."

"I don't like the way you phrased that," you grouse towards the ceiling, and Chargebolt chuckles before adjusting between your legs until his breath ghosts your cunt. It's not until he licks a fat stripe up your slit that you understand how completely and utterly fucked you are, grabbing onto the bedframe in consternation as the cool metal ball sliding between your folds to make you squeal.

He has a tongue piercing.

Chargebolt plunges two fingers into your pussy and you suppress the embarrassment creeping up your neck at how easy the slide is. If your friends told you where you'd be this evening, you wouldn't have wasted all that time masturbating in the shower this morning.

"Ah, ah," Chargebolt tsks when he feels your thighs tense around his head. "You gotta relax for me, remember? Or else I can't make you feel good."

"I'm—" you try, but there's no point in trying to deny it though, is there? "Fuck, fine. I'm trying."

"No, you're not," Chargebolt quips with a giggle and you nearly slap him across the face. You would've done something if he didn't grab you by the hips, wrap his sinfully plush lips around your clit and suck, pulling an eep from the very base of your throat.

"Relax," he moans into your cunt, and when you try to look away he snakes a hand up your chest to seize you by the jaw. You huff but keep eye-contact—mostly because his hand doesn't leave your chin—and he bites into your inner thigh with a groan, making your thighs tense for another reason that isn't stress.

"There you go," he coos, sliding a third finger in with the two others he works into your sopping cunt. You finally start to "relax" or whatever, chest shuddering as hot arousal floods your veins. "Atta girl."

You whimper at that, grabbing a hold of his hair and grinding against his face. Chargebolt takes every motion in stride, grinning against your wetness with the acknowledgment that he's the one making you feel this good. "Just lie back and let me make this pretty pussy feel good, yeah?"

His lips return to nurse your clit as his three fingers fill you up the best they can. And they do it well, scissoring and sliding between your pliable walls to make you keen. Chargebolt plays your body like a fiddle, making you sing sounds you didn't even know you could make.

"I—can you fuck me now?" You say once your body starts to quiver, head spinning with the steady build-up in your core. "I wan—wanna cum on your cock."

Chargebolt groans at that and doesn't hesitate in pulling away with glossy lips, fingers soaked in a white gooey mess. He rubs it into the sheet and you flush at the mess you made.

"Yeah? Want me to fuck you?" He challenges with a raised eyebrow and the cockiest fucking grin. The only reason why you don't bite is in favor of cock.

"Yes, asshole."

Okay. Maybe you'll bite a little.

But you seem to have little to no repercussions as he rolls you into the sheets and hikes your knees up to your chest (er—as far as they'll go) and you grapple for the sheets as he slowly pushes inside, teeth digging into your bottom lip at the painful pleasure.

"Oh, you're gonna kill me, Cutie," he nearly wheezes as he bottoms out, and you squat due to being so full after...however long it's been.

"F-Fuck," you quiver, and Chargebolt's thumb press bruises into your hipbones.

"Can I—can I move? He pants, eyes full of so much hope it'd be comical if you weren't so down bad.

"Y-Yeah," you nod, shivering when he already starts to move. "Yeah, please—"

Chargebolt wastes no time in picking up the pace. His thrusts are sharp and face, hips hammering into your warmth, and you find yourself bouncing each time your hips connect.

"Fucking moan for me, Gorgeous," he grunts as if you aren't loud enough already, and your fingers scramble for his choker so you can watch his eyes roll to the back of his head like they did earlier. It earns you the loveliest broken moan and your lazy lips slide into a fucked out grin.

Pressing his thumb on your bottom lip, Chargebolt pries it open in favor of seizing your tongue and pressing it flat to your chin. His throat produces the most disgusting sound before his lips purse and he's spitting down your gullet with a feral grin, chuckling when you swallow without him needing to do so.

"Good girl," Chargebolt thrusts cease for a moment if only to return tenfold. "Good fucking girl—"

You watch his eyebrows furrow in concentration, sweat making the gold on his shoulders shine and the access glitter on your own chest. As he plows you into the bed, he drops a thumb to rub your clit; you move your legs around his back and tug on his choker again.

"Oh fuck," Chargebolt's eyebrows furrow as the new position only buries him deeper. "Look at you, drooling all over the pillow. I make you feel that good, Sweetheart?"

Your moan gets cut short when he delivers a sharp slap to your ass, cursing when you tighten around him in surprise. You don't have the energy to wipe the drool away nor to be embarrassed about it, and Chargebolt decides he likes you like this much better.

"Who knew you were such a submissive little thing, huh? Coming in here and barking orders—if I hadn't known any better, I'd think you were a top."

The way he says it is mokcing enough to make your blood boil, and you grit your teeth to growl, "I am a top."

"Really?" Chargebolt pants, face twisted in faux confusion. "Cause you look like you enjoy being under me a little too much."

You curse because not only is he right, but you're close—and painfully so. You figure he can tell just by looking at your reaction, and his spit-glossed lips slide into a cocky grin."

"Admit it, Gorgeous—you fucking love taking this cock, don't you?" He growls visage morphing into something more feral as his hips gain inhumane speed.

"I—" you start with a gasp, but Chargebolt's hips slow down in a threat and you dig red lines into his back as you say, "Yeah—yes, Chargebolt pleas—"

"Denki," he edits, and clarifies as your face twists in confusion, "Call me—call me Denki."

"I'm gonna cum, Denki," you let out a broken moan, thighs burning from the position in the best way. Denki groans, keeling over you with furrowed eyebrows as his thumb returns to your clit to push you off the edge.

"Fuck, say it again Pretty," he pants, pink tongue darting to wet his lips, "Say my name again."

Your chest shudders with an impending orgasm. Denki falls first, with a breathy groan and stuttering hips, arms wobbling in threat of collapsing. The sight of him riding on cloud nine prompts your own ecstasy, forcing your body upright as your orgasm steals your breath and wracks through your bones like an earthquake.

Denki rides both of your orgasms out, his cock twitching inside your spend little walls until his hips connect with yours for a final time.

"Holy shit," Denki wheezes a laugh after a silence spent catching your breaths. "You—Has anyone ever told you you're a good fuck?"

“I—“ you take a step back from his statement with a blink, body spent and sweaty on the bed. “I don’t fuck...often?”

Denki’s eyes bulge before he’s shaking his head with a click of his tongue, “Issa shame.”

“If this is your way of recruiting me as an escort, the answer’s no,” you deadpan towards the ceiling. It takes the electric blond a moment to react, but when he does, he’s dropping his head with a snort.

“I—no, I wasn’t recruiting you or whatever you wanna call it,” he chuckles, assuming the space to your right. Even though your skin is on fucking fire, for some reason you don’t mind.

“But I do...” Denki starts, and you have to nudge his shoulder for him to finish. He shakes you off with a chuckle and scrunch of his nose, before finally saying:

“But I do...wanna keep you around.”

[wincore]

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.