#i like looking at clothes and my forever love is tulle

[wurdulac]

having a hard time holding an image of myself in my head, i mean the physicality of me. picturing myself. i just can't stand it..

[ystk-archive]

Do you have any favorite looks for Koshiko and Nakata? Like photos where you particularly liked their fashion or styling?

So many examples that writing a response to this simple question nearly drove me insane for several days lmao. One of capsule's biggest "selling" points for me was that they mostly wore their own clothes for photoshoots, MVs, performances etc and Nakata largely handled styling and whatnot. (Also probably one of the reasons that Metro Pulse landed disastrously with me, I don't want to see polygonal character models fighting to the death, I want you two to serve looks 😭)

Where Toshiko's concerned, I usually loved her outfits at the annual festivals they'd do like Rock in Japan and Countdown:

2010 RIJ FES fit is legendary

I honestly feel like this houndstooth configuration that appeared at CDJ 2012 altered my brain chemistry in some way. I can see it being a bit too "circus" or costume-y for some, the bi-color tights are definitely going a little overboard, but I still think about it all these years later (take a closer look at the heels she wore too).

2014 Summer Sonic, I like to call this the angel look; there's a pattern here with me liking these dresses/skirts with strange construction lol

Big fan of the OTONOKO 2018 sparkly tulle dress (may be a top + skirt combo, either way). It was extremely whimsical, looked beautiful on a stage environment, and I love the idea of Toshiko as a pinch of the night sky placed down on earth. (I like it so much you can have another photo of it here)

At their last Countdown appearance in 2019 she wore this draped dress; the blunt lob haircut really elevated the maturity of the whole look (I think some low denier tights would've made this even crazier).

Thigh-high boots go brrr (starting to wonder if I just really liked this wig a lot)

Special mention to this sequin dress, she is nothing short of a genius for wearing those nylons with it and Nakata was wrong for saying she looked like a fish lmao

I do actually like her simpler stage outfits like this gold babydoll dress. Her headwear is unparalleled, I can't imagine how many hats/hair accessories she owns...

Lastly her WAVE RUNNER tour encore look was just cute and nicely coordinated for being so simple; I also adore the way their shoes matched here but I lose my mind whenever they match their outfits at all…

In general I love how consistent she is in her style, it's very elegant and feminine overall but she likes to do these unusual silhouettes and whimsical accessories that have a lot of drama to them. This is my favorite example of her fashion outside of performances; my list highlighted major appearances where you'd expect her to go full theatrical but even her regular day-to-day outfits are nice, often simple but never boring.

Moving along...

Generally speaking Nakata has a great eye for individual pieces rather than excelling at putting together well-coordinated outfits (on himself at least, I loved the times he styled Toshiko). He's also the living embodiment of the shorts-wearing NPC trainer in Pokemon lmao. Like he's definitely shown the potential to Dress over the years and I'd actually love to see him do styling work on other people again (also would love to see art direction from him again, design, etc etc anyway :^)), he has a very particular aesthetic sense that I always enjoyed, but overall he seems to prize comfort and especially after 2016 you can see his style get increasingly...utilitarian? Unembellished? Honestly there was a video I saw by some YouTuber who attempted to discuss Nakata's style and all they had to go off was his Instagram and their conclusion was "he likes to wear his own logo a lot;" it's an understatement to say that made me die a little inside, lol (not the tuber's fault of course).

I tried to pinpoint specific ~whole outfits but it's kind of difficult, as a result the majority of these are from magazine shoots:

2007 Sugarless GiRL for MARQUEE - I've been obsessed with this since forever but I'm not even sure how to explain it... It's a wintry, boyish sort of look, the overalls were very flattering, the shoes are cute, and that scarf was actually really interesting because it had these weird hand pockets (you can see them in this photo). I'd kill to see more takes from any of their magazine shoots but especially this one.

2005 LDK event covered in CUTiE magazine - I think everyone loves this one lmao, whoever did Nakata's hair is a god. It's a great inbetween style from LDK to FRUITS CLiPPER; it's very interesting the way he sort of found his fashion "voice" the same time he found his musical one for capsule.

Speaking of which, 2006 FRUITS CLiPPER artist profile shoot (well, this is from MARQUEE, but he wore the same thing for their artist pics) - the black-white-gray layered look might be my favorite example of his ~eye for coordinating clothes or whatever you wanna call it lol. Love that C necklace too, he only really wore it during '06 though and was never much for necklaces in general (I think it's funny one of the few remaining pics on his Insta is this one). Blazers are notoriously tricky to wear without seeming like you're stuffy and/or going to the office, he somehow always pulled them off really well...

2007 capsule rmx for MARQUEE - another that seems unanimously loved. I liked that headscarf he's wearing so much that I bought the same one (not a single clue how to style/pull it off though)

2007 FLASH BACK for MARQUEE - love the long zip-up jacket with the fur-trim hood, love those iconic yellow Belly Button boots (yes, that's really the brand name)

Getting away from MARQUEE, I just posted these but his outfit for S&R was actually kinda good? I do wanna beat him over the head for wearing shorts to meet Sakamoto Ryuichi but it's a cute look and I think he was smart to wear the brown frames instead of his black ones as they would've been too harsh. The detailing on the shirt and shorts goes perfectly, while I don't like high-top shoes on him in a broad sense these had cute contrasting laces and I like their suede look. More accessorizing with jewelry would've been great here but at that point (2012) he put away pretty much everything apart from the watches...

self vol. 1 (spring 2009) - this one doesn't go like super crazy or anything but I think it's cute and nicely put-together, here's another picture of it in better/natural lighting. Really like that T-shirt from FRAPBOIS

2013 CAPS LOCK - you could say this is pretty boring compared to the other examples here but I reeeally liked the weird keycap rings(?) and the not-insignificant heels on his oxfords lol. The fact that these are capris and not full-length pants also keeps it from being too stuffy and basic. (And once again wearing the same color for the top + bottom makes this sort of "seamless" look that in turn helps create an illusion of proportionality.)

2015 Downtown appearance - and now I'm going to throw all fashion rules about proportions/looking ~taller out the window because I loved this lmaooo, peak comfy outfit and makes me want to buy an oversized white hoodie so bad (I haven't said it yet but I think white might be his best color). Also I'm pretty sure his hair was professionally done here, it looked great.

Also 2015, the Keith Haring print sweatshirt over a button-up

Since I'm nuts I'm gonna keep blathering but now about specific pieces he's worn that I really liked (not a complete list by any means, just what comes to mind right now):

This baseball cap with the half of a stag rising out of it, he's f*cking crazy I swear to god (naturally he wore this because they shot these pics at Hanjiro which was a clothing store with a particular sense of décor)

Bomber jacket at ageHa last year, I love stuff like this with that sort of mirror-like sheen (it's kind of iridescent but not quite) and the cut/style of it was good

I think way too often about this reversible jacket he wore on a karaoke date with Kyary. Up to that point I'd just seen him wearing logos and boring all-black semi-athleisure stuff for years so this was a pretty crazy statement piece

Speaking of random pieces that live rent-free in my head, I really want to know the brand of this sweatshirt from the 2019 album announcement, it's sooo weird and just, like, interesting

The blazer for WAVE RUNNER was shockingly cute, no comment on the rest of the fit or the wonky Photoshopping though (god their artist photos are so hit-or-miss)

The Jeremy Scott F/W 2007 hoodie of course

Studded bowtie

Uniqlo crossword puzzle shirt

Not the best possible pic of this but I like this shirt with the studded suspenders detail, he wore this to RIJ FES one year

Do headphones count? Headphones count, this is my favorite pair he ever had

This jacket is one of my favorites of his, I wanted the same one so badly for so many years lmao

Honestly there's so much that I'm exhausted writing this list, I'm gonna stop with these pants and leave it at that

His style at its best is just kind of quirky, very very playful, obviously keeps to a grayscale palette but he has some surprisingly colorful pieces. His taste in jewelry was pretty awesome too, he had some interesting rings I was a big fan of but I'm too lazy to go find pics (there was a Hello Kitty one, a giant star, a cow's head...).

In conclusion I think they share a lot of similarities in their style and I would kill for either of them to have ever released a ~style book (sadly the timing for that has long passed and the demand was probably nonexistent in the first place). Some people also may be wondering why I completely ignored their looks from pre-2006/the future pop neo whatever era and the simple answer is...IDK, it's not that I hated their styling back then (well, it was pretty rough sometimes), it was just more costume-y and as a result sort of inauthentic in a sense. They were also frequently styled by other people during that time; their own personal style and/or Nakata's styling had a much greater impact on my teenaged brain as far as influencing my tastes. But Toshiko wore the '60s silhouette and boyish sort of hairstyles extremely well and the contemode hair/makeup girlie Miyagawa Tomoko always did a fantastic job.

Whoever actually read this far is clearly very interested in this topic so if you want to feel free to message me your own favorite capsule outfits and whatnot. I know Toshiko particularly had some crazy colorful/weird dresses she's worn in the past that I didn't mention here lol

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Hi! First request ever lol

Could I request an afab!reader x timeskip!Takashi Mitsuya where she is his gf. His favorite thing to do in his free time at his clothing studio is to design and make pretty lingerie just for her. He always likes to ask her to model and take pictures in the outfits and do the dirty in them after <3

Quality Check: Mitsuya Takashi x Fem!Reader

wc: 652

tw: smut

masterlist

"Turn a little to the left," Mitsuya mutters with pins in his mouth. You do as your told, looking at the frilly piece of lingerie resting around your hips.

"Do you think that maybe you could..." You pause, digging a finger into the band of the bralette, and Mitsuya looks up, brows raised. "Add some of the tulle down here up here, too?"

"Anything for you, baby," Mitusya smiles, his fingers smoothing down your backside before resting on your hips again. "You like the color?" You see his eyes in the mirror - the same lavender as the lingerie set - and nod, slightly blushing.

"I love it." A few moments later, the camera comes out, and you adjust yourself on his bed, posing just suitable for the polaroids Mitsuya loves to use as decor around his small room. There are various ones of you and Mana and Luna, all scattered about the room haphazardly. The only ones closest to his bed are the ones of you in multiple lingerie items and short things he's made over the years.

They're the ones he loves - maybe a little more than the innocent ones of you and his sisters.

"Give me another pout," Mitsuya coos behind the camera, and you oblige, leaning forward to blow him a kiss. "Fuck, that's hot."

"Can we do the quality check already?" you beg. Mitsuya peeks out from behind the camera, winking at you.

"Patience, sweetheart. I don't want to rush this moment..."

But once you're both ready, Mitsuya climbs on the bed with you, undoing his shirt leisurely. "Hopefully, this one doesn't break like the last ones."

"That was your fault," you begin. "The straps weren't sewn on correctly."

"I'd beg to differ," he chuckles, placing his hand over your crotchless underwear. "You were so eager to take it off that you strained the seams."

"Well, if you hadn't taken forever, it would still be intact." Mitsuya laughs, his lips crashing into yours as you squirm under his touch, angling your hips into his palm.

"Come on, y/n," he croons, sucking on your bottom lip. "That's not fair."

"If you want to take it slow, you need to warn someone."

"I did warn you," the black-haired designer teases. "You just weren't listening."

"It doesn't count if--" A finger slips into you, and you moan, closing your eyes.

"Sorry, what was that?" Mitsuya breathes, kissing down your neck. "Did I hear a protest from those beautiful lips?" Another finger eases inside of you, and you inhale sharply, parting your legs a little wider for him. "No?" You shake your head, and he smirks, pushing your legs back a little more. "That's what I thought."

When his tongue strokes at your cunt, you can't help but jerk a little, praying that he wouldn't take his sweet time making you cum. Mitsuya observes you as he eats you out, his mouth kissing and sucking in all the right places. Your hand flies to his head, lacing through his messy hair, and he moans, his free hand working its way past his pants. "Mmmph... that's my girl."

"Taka..."

"You want to cum?" he asks, raising a brow.

"Yeah," you whimper, reaching down to play with your clit. Mitsuya dives his tongue back into your folds and you lean back a little more, panting softly. You can hear the soft movement of cloth, and if you were to open your eyes, you were sure you could see Mitsuya's cock leaking a bit of pre-cum as he stroked it.

But you leave the rest to your imagination, coming to your climax soon after. "Fuck, fuck," you grunt, your cunt spasming as you cum right on his tongue.

"That's it..." When you're done cumming, he lifts up off of his elbows.

"Think this little thing can stand the second round of the quality check?"

[bluebellwriting]

Love Me Tender Part 5

Walking down the street is harder without your own personal Radio Demon parting the crowd for you, but you make do as you near your sister’s boutique. At first you wanted to be alone, but that’s kind of hard in the most crowded place in the universe, and as you continued on your mindless walk through the Pentagram you realized that being alone might not be the best thing. What you needed right now was a hug and someone to tell you that you deserved far more than whatever Alastor could give you. You couldn’t be alone with your thoughts right now.

The neon from Molly’s sign hurts your eyes from a block away, and like moths to a flame shoppers flock towards the pink light. Molly’s Miracles is the place for those in Hell with an eclectic style and a preference for the sexy. It’s very rare that you find yourself actually stopping by for a reason other than checking in on your sister, but that excuse will have to do for now.

Just like the sign, the amount of glossy white furniture and sequined clothing forces you to blink and adjust your eyes. There aren’t too many people inside, thankfully, just a moth demon posing for her friend in a red dress with the deepest v you’ve ever seen. Not your thing, but the friends cheer and squeal at the sight of it, so Molly must know her clientele quite well. 

“(Y/N)?” Molly emerges from the back, her arms full of some green, glittery fabric. She all but drops them on the checkout counter so that she can properly engulf you in a hug. It’s scary how fast she can traverse a room with all those legs, but your desperation for a proper hug is too great to be startled right now. 

“I didn’t know you were coming by today!”

“I just,” you sniff, “wanted to check up on my baby sister.”

“Aww that’s so sweet!” She squeals. “But I thought you were out with a certain you-know-who? Is he here?”

You shuffle out of her arms and embrace yourself with your own.

“Who told you that?”

“Angie did. Text me this morning that you too had a little date,” she coos.

Of course Angel would find a way to blindly inform your sister about your love life. Except that it wasn’t your love life. Just life. Normal, regular, loveless life. 

“He just happened to have some business to attend to at Rosie’s at the same time as me.”

“But he walked you there.” 

“Molly--”

“And he didn’t have to! But he did! That is so cute!”

“It’s really not, Molly,” you grumble and move deeper into the store. You trail your fingers through the silks and tulle, pretending to be interested in something from the wracks when you and Molly know there’s only ever one article in the store at a time that you would actually wear.

“You okay, hun?” She trails you through the store.

“I’m fine, Mol. Just fine. I made a great deal today, dad will be really happy. Things are going well at the hotel.” You turn to her with a sigh, hoping with expulsion of breath you will also rid you of the sobs bubbling up in your throat.

It works for a minute.

“I’m fine. I’m doing fine.” Your voice cracks at the end and Molly rushes you again, except this time you’re also being surrounded by the moth demon and her friends who apparently can’t mind their own business.

“Oh sweetie, did he hurt you?” The moth asks.

“Men are fucking pigs!” One of her friends -- a wolf -- cries.

As these complete strangers surround you with man-hating indignation, Molly rubs your back and strokes your hair.

“I-It’s okay. It’s just a guy,” you gasp.

“That’s right, it is just a guy. You don’t need him and his nasty ass.” Another friend -- a blowfish -- says as the rest of the friends and your sister release you from their grasp but remain in a circle around you like some Sisterhood Against the Radio Demon.

Oh, if only they knew that was the man they were bad mouthing right now. Actually, you kind of wish Alastor was here right now. You’d pay money to see his reaction to the Sisterhood calling his ass “nasty.” Probably confusion, mostly.

"You know what you need,” Molly chimes in. “A new outfit!”

The friends cheer and you really wish you could just melt into the clothing racks. They’re all sweet, impossibly so, for helping out a complete stranger just because of the universal experience known as “guy problems.” But the last thing you want is to be surrounded by eyes scrutinizing your body in new clothing. Your heart feels like it’s about to implode in on itself and if one person says anything about your love handles or your back fat you are definitely going to ignite this entire city block on fire.

“Molly, that really isn’t necessary--”

“I know the perfect thing! You just head back into the changing room,” she says, making her way to a shelf of silk blouses. Your eyes dart to the door, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Molly.

“Don’t. You Dare.” Her eyes flash a brief red, so you shuffle over to the changing rooms.

---

Alastor sits in Rosie’s office, well, it’s more like he’s lying down on her chez, moaning towards the ceiling, and clutching his gift to you tightly as if it were the last piece of you he had left.

Rosie watches him from her desk, looking wholy unimpressed by this display from the all-powerful Radio Demon.

“Why did I even--”

“I don’t know, Alastor.”

“I never should have--”

“No, you shouldn’t have. As intelligent as you are, dear Alastor, you can be exceptionally dumb.”

Letting out another long whine, he grips the gift box harder and rolls over onto his side. He’s an Overlord. He should not be debasing himself like this in polite company. Or anyone’s company for that matter. But this is Rosie, who was for so long the only person in the history of human existence who he could trust with his truest emotions. But even this exhibitionary indulgence is a new milestone in their relationship, one he wasn’t even ready to take right now. He can’t help it though. Not when his heart feels like it’s being gripped and twisted between two fists. Not when his stomach has taken on this horrible, aching feeling, as if he’s being repeatedly kicked there. 

The worst part is the empty feeling that has been growing deeper and wider since you left him at Rosie’s. For so long now it’s been just this nagging little spot that formed when you first met, situated in the center of his chest, reminding him that he no longer owns the piece of himself that once filled it. You do. And as long as you were with him, close to him, that hole stayed the same, was comforted by its close proximity to its missing piece. But now you were gone, and the hole has become so gaping and so hollow without you, with the thought of truly losing you forever.

“You could always go find her,” Rosie implores, shoving away the paperwork she’s fruitlessly been trying to complete.

“She said she wanted to be alone,” he moans. 

“And since when were you one to respect others’ personal space?” She doesn’t get a response. He just rubs his face deeper into her chez, ruining the fabric with his blubbering. Part of her wants to relish the sight of her egotistical, maniacal, normally heartless friend reduced to a weepling in front of her. But the bigger part of her just really wants to get back to her work and Alastor’s need for validation is in direct conflict of that. 

“Alastor,” she sighs, “I know she wanted to be alone, but honestly, this might be an appropriate time for you to tell her how you feel. Or at least to try and remedy the situation a tad.”

Alastor sits up, shoulders hunched.

“Really?”

“Yes, you emotionally obtuse oaf. Go! Be romantic! Be spontaneous!” Get the Hell out of my office, she wants to add. 

Rosie goes over to him and all but yanks him off the chez. She places a jovial arm around his shoulders but is shoving him quickly through her store, past her girls, and outside.

“Good luck, darling!” She calls as she pushes him onto the street. He whips around, eyes briefly flashing her his radio dials but her motherly wave quickly reminds him of the task at hand. 

The dials disappear but he shoots her an uncharacteristic glare before he puts on his smile. He summons a shadow to traverse the Pentagram in search of you. As his shadow wiggles off, he begins his stroll through the streets roughly in the direction you were heading.

---

Molly brings you a red silk blouse and a red and black plaid pencil skirt. They seem modest enough but you dread the way the skirt will make your curves look, the lumps and thickness it will accentuate. The blouse is nice though, if not a bit tight around the stomach, but it makes your chest look amazing. You try looking for the flared skirt you came in with, but not so mysteriously, your clothes seem to be missing. Thanks, Molly. 

You have two options now. Go out into the store in front of strangers and in front of the giant windows Molly has in the front, or squeeze into the skirt, suffer through it for five minutes, and then demand your clothes back.

Once you actually have the skirt on it’s not... that bad. It digs into your waist just a tad, making your back straighten to make breathing easier. The fabric is thick, wool-like, but soft to the touch. It comes to your knees, probably the only skirt in the store that does so, and much to your surprise, it smooths out every piece of pudge even without tights. You look at yourself in the mirror and you look... lovely. Elegant, with a hint of sexy that looks good on you for once. 

Peaking your head out of the room, you see Molly and the group of friends -- Ramona, Hugh, Paul, and Chandler, you’ve since learned -- eagerly eyeing the dressing rooms. They’re all sitting on the pink, crushed velvet couch Molly has set up for shoppers, their knees bouncing with anticipation. 

You move your body out inch by inch, as if to step out of the room too quickly would cause your body to burst into flames. The closer you get to the main room, the hotter your body burns with embarrassment, the harsher the feeling of invisible eyes feel on you. You know that Molly won’t tease you, that she is a constant purveyor of how naturally gorgeous you are. But somewhere in the back of your head, the harsh words of your mother hammer away. You can just imagine that Ramona and Hugh and Paul and Chandler and whoever peaks through Molly’s windows will have some awful things to say. It wouldn’t be anything new, you’ve heard it all. Doesn’t mean you want to keep hearing it.

Molly spots your hair poking out of the doorway and squeals. Your “new friends” squeal in response and then it’s just a chain reaction of everyone squealing and cheering at you. You creep further into the room and Molly pushes you the rest of the way onto the fitting pedestal. 

“Do a twirl!” Molly yells and the rest of them start chanting until you do, in fact, twirl on the pedestal. More squealing. Their joy and support become infectious, and slowly you pull your arms away from their place shielding your stomach. 

You look head on at the three full length mirrors set up opposite the couch, you don’t shy away. You’re loving how you look in this moment, you find it impossible to fixate on the lumps and bumps anymore. It feels as though you made to look like this, still so completely you and yet as beautiful as you always wished you felt. It’s perfect now.

“Go off, girl!” Chandler yells.

“Your man is going to wish he had you back,” Hugh cheers.

“If he bothers you again you call us and we’ll all beat his ass,” Ramona says and her friends whoop in agreement.

Behind you, you can hear the jingle of the bell hanging from the door. Raising your head to stare at the door through the mirror, (e/c) eyes meet glowing red ones, wide with shock. He has a sheepish smile, not all teeth like his “going out” smile, but just as wide. He has that damn box in his hands, his claws tapping the sides. 

Everything goes quiet and you might as well have been the only two people in the room. Molly ushers Ramona and her friends into the back room before the terror can fully set in and you’re grateful. You don’t really want anyone nearby for whatever is about to happen. 

Once everyone is out of the line of fire, you sigh and turn to face him, willing the confidence from your little fashion show to sustain you for just a little longer. 

“Alastor.”

He doesn’t say anything back, eyes still trained on you, because what is he supposed to say? ‘I’m sorry for taking you to a cesspool of women thirsting after me?’ ‘I’m sorry I’m such a tainted, wretched soul who is so undeserving of you?’ ‘I’m sorry I’m too much of a coward to tell you I love you?’ He pulls the box closer to his chest. 

“You look stunning,” is all he can muster. Not horrible, probably not the best thing either, though.

“I know,” you say back, keeping your face stern.

His smile grows wider but remains sheepish, maybe even bashful, which is impossible because when has Alastor ever been bashful? 

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he murmurs.

“I’m really fine, Alastor,” you lie. “You don’t have as much of an effect on people as you think.” Another lie.

“There are millions of dead souls who would beg to differ but--”

You send him the most seething glare you can muster and he pulls back. He looks back down to the gift, eyeing it as if it has all the answers, the map to getting back what’s been lost between you.

“I apologize if you were uncomfortable. That was not my intention.” 

“I wasn’t uncomfortable,” you seethe. “I wasn’t anything except tired and overcome with a desire to see my sister.”

“You’re a horrible liar,” he says as he starts to roam around the store while remaining a safe distance from you. In the mirror, you catch the red glint in your eyes and blink to force it away.

Words start to pour from your mouth, recklessly and unhinged, “And you don’t owe me anything. I don’t need you following me around town after I explicitly told you not to follow me. I don’t need you to “escort” me to meetings just so you can see your girl toys. I’m not an excuse, I’m not a guise. I can take care of myself, lord knows I’ve done so for decades without you.”

“I know.” You were expecting the room to burst into flames and for the sound of radio static to overwhelm you, not for him to remain smiling down at the floor, albeit with a hint of melancholy.

“You know?”

“I know.” He starts to take small steps towards you. “I know you don’t need me, you proved that today. You are more than brilliant and poised and powerful in your own right. I know that. But I’m afraid that what has happened is rather the opposite.”

He makes it to the pedestal and even with the extra inches you are barely as tall as him. But he has never seemed so small to you in this moment.

He is not a man who cowers, he does not beg, that shows weakness and he learned from a young age that you cannot afford weakness. Don’t show your neck, don’t bow your head, stand as tall as you can and bare your teeth. He can’t do that, though, not with you. What you need is openness and vulnerability from him, signs that you bring out something that no one else can.

“My dear, you do not need me,” he whispers and holds out the box to you. Somehow you tear your eyes away to focus on unraveling the bow and peel back the packing paper. There, glittering on a small slice of foam, are two necklaces: one a heart with a keyhole cut out, the other, the matching key.

Alastor dips two claws into the package and takes with him the heart-shaped lock, and to your surprise, he clasps it to his own neck.

“But I, dearly and desperately, need you.” He plucks the key from the box and holds it out to you in the palm of his hand. 

“Alastor...”

“You can say no. You can throw this in my face and I won’t stop you,” he smiles sadly. “But you will always, in a way, have it. You will always have me.”

You’re not an impulsive person, not really, and not compared to your siblings and friends. Now that you think about it, you’ve never actually had an urge like that. Until now. Until the feeling of something glowing and bright moving up from the pit of your stomach, through your throat and your vessels until they reached your chest.

You surge forward, pull him down by his lapels, and kiss him. He tenses initially, and you hear the familiar pop of a radio cutting in and out, before he melts against you. One arm encircles your waist and the other goes into your hair, keeping you securely against him. The kiss itself is a little sloppy on his part, inexperienced and cautious, which makes sense considering his aversion to intimate activities. But there’s a relief in the inexperience, in knowing that you’re one of, if not the, first one to do this with him. It doesn’t go any further than passionate lip-locking, but the way he clings to you and you to him, like two cogs sliding together, is more than enough for you both. 

When you pull away he chases after you and his arms tighten. He’s not quite ready for you to be any less than a few centimeters from him. You release a giddy giggle and lean your forehead against his own, noses nuzzling, heartbeats sharing. You feel cool metal against your neck and look down, spotting your half of the necklace resting against your chest.

“We should go,” you whisper.

“Mm, go where?” He asks as he begins to sway your entangled bodies back and forth.

“Somewhere far away from the eager ears of my sister.”

Alastor’s ears perk up and his eyes dart to the back room, where he can just catch a retreating shadow, presumably belonging to Molly.

“You might be right about that, dearest.”

[cali-holland]

Forever and Ever, Ch 4: Fit for a Princess

Tom Holland X Osterfield!Reader, Wedding Series

While Tom’s away filming, you take a day to go wedding dress shopping, but you don’t expect Harrison to insist upon coming with you.

Warnings: probably swearing and some sexual themes but that’s it

Word Count: 3200

Series Masterlist

Masterlist   Tom Holland Masterlist

“You were my strength when I was weak

You were my voice when I couldn't speak

You were my eyes when I couldn't see

You saw the best there was in me

Lifted me up when I couldn't reach

You gave me faith 'cause you believed

I'm everything I am

Because you loved me”

Because You Loved Me, Celine Dion

A/N: this part doesn’t feature tom as much, but don’t worry he’ll be there in the next chapter!!

~~~

In the weeks following the engagement party, you spent a majority of your free time on the phone to Tom, given that he had a break between filming. When you weren’t talking to your fiance (as you so loved calling him that now), you were knee deep in wedding planning with your mum and Nikki. You were incredibly grateful for the both of them, happy that they were so willing to help and give you advice. No official plans were made, not without Tom there (well you did have an official date with the chosen venue reserved now) but just listing all the things you’d need to do was a lot.

“I was thinking we could visit a florist to get some ideas for bouquets and centerpieces.” You said casually to Tom, who was currently on speaker phone, while you folded laundry, setting aside the clothes you wanted to pack to go see him. In just two days, you’d be reunited, and, even if it was just a short trip, you couldn’t be more excited about it.

“I’ll have a couple days off when you’re here so that’ll work.” He replied. Laughing, he asked, “When do we get to the cake part of wedding planning?”

“Probably when you come back home. Floral arrangements are pretty consistent from florist to florist, cakes not so much.” You teased. “Speaking of flowers, I have yet to receive my monthly bouquet.”

You heard him chuckle on the other end of the line, “Give them some time, they’ll be there shortly.”

“They’re coming today?” You questioned, placing a few shirts in your suitcase.

“Yep.”

“You know I’m going to be gone most of the day, right?” You asked, and there was a pause on his end.

“What are you doing today?” He sounded bewildered at the thought of you doing something on a Saturday, as if it was surprising for you to have plans without him.

“Dress shopping.” You laughed.

“Oh,” He paused before realization struck, “Oh, dress shopping as in-“

“Yeah, wedding dress shopping.” You smiled to yourself, thinking of all the endless wedding dress possibilities. You had heard about the feeling of the perfect wedding dress, the one that makes you feel and look like a princess, and you couldn’t wait to experience that clarity. Subconsciously, you began to trace over the engagement ring on your finger in nervous excitement.

“So I guess I can’t ask for pictures of it?” Tom asked, chuckling a little.

You looked over at the clock, your heart dropping as you realized you needed to get ready to leave for your dress shopping appointment. You let out a small sigh, “I should get going.”

“I should too.” He said quietly, “My break was supposed to be over five minutes ago.”

“Tom, you told me you were fine on time!” You exclaimed, worried that he was getting himself in trouble just to talk to you. It wouldn’t be the first time he got told off for it.

“I am fine.” He reassured you. “Now, go find yourself a dress. You’re going to take my breath away, no matter what dress you wear.”

“Go back to set, you cheeseball.” You teased, “I love you, Tom.”

“I love you, too, Y/N.” Tom replied. You heard him make a kissing noise through the phone before the call ended.

With a small sigh, you made your way downstairs, knowing it was already time to go meet your mum, Charlotte, and Nikki at the dress store.

“These came for you.” Harrison called out to you from the kitchen as soon as he heard you come down the stairs.

Smiling, you made your way into the kitchen. Your heart soared as you saw the massive bouquet of red roses with white roses in the middle, forming a white heart, by far the biggest bouquet you’d ever seen in your life. You reached for the card, wanting to read the sweet message Tom had included.

‘Roses aren’t always red, violets technically aren’t blue, I miss you so much darling, I can’t wait to marry you ❤️’

“How cheesy is it this time?” Harrison asked you teasingly.

“It’s not cheesy, it’s romantic.” You argued, grabbing out a couple of vases because there was no way the bouquet could fit in just one.

“How long has he been sending you bouquets like that? It’s got to be over a year.” Your brother inquired as he helped you put them in the vases with some water.

“I think around eighteen months? He started with our two year anniversary.” You beamed.

“Three years later and you’ve still got him wrapped around your finger.” He chuckled.

“Yep, this finger.” You joked, showing off your left ring finger, adorned with the brilliant diamond.

“Mum says you’re going dress shopping today.” He started, and you hummed in agreement. “Can I go?”

“You want to go dress shopping with me?” You asked Harrison in confusion. Out of all the wedding planning that he had helped with so far, you never expected to hear him offer to spend hours with you staring at elegant white dresses.

“Yeah.” He replied with a nod.

“It’s going to be long.” You stated, giving him a way out, but making your way to the front door with him nonetheless, “And very boring. Like venue picking, but worse.”

“You’re really selling the ‘say yes to the dress’ thing.” Harrison chuckled, slipping on his shoes as his way of saying that he was definitely going and nothing you said would change his mind. You knew it was bad luck for the groom to see the wedding dress beforehand, but you didn’t know any superstitions about the brother of the bride seeing the dress; it simply never occurred to you that he’d be so invested in it.

“You’re not just coming to spy on the dress and tell Tom about it, are you?” You questioned as you tugged your shoes on.

“What? No. It’s bad luck.” He shook his head, and you believed him.

After stopping for some coffee, you and Harrison met up with your mum, Charlotte, and Nikki at the first dress shop. Hundreds of dresses lined their elegant white walls and you were questioned by the employees about the various aspects of wedding dresses- neckline, shape, sleeve length, material, shades of white, and even veils. Once you had said “I don’t know” for what was probably the seventh time, they finally let you and your party wander the store in search of dresses for you to try on. It wasn’t long before you were put in a dressing room with five different dresses to try on, each of varying styles.

“Which dress is this?” Nikki called out to you from her spot with the others on the plush cushions, waiting for you to emerge in your fourth dress.

“The one Charlotte picked out.” You answered. Pulling back the curtain, you stepped out in the satin mermaid gown with an unsure look on your face. “I like it, but I don’t think it’s-”

“It’s not the one.” Charlotte cut you off, her nose twisted up in disapproval, “No offense, it doesn’t fit you right.”

“None taken.” You laughed at your sister’s bluntness, returning to the dressing room to switch into another dress.

After another four dresses, you were starting to get a tired headache from the constant white materials getting thrown at you, even some off-white and cream materials. Stripped back down to your undergarments, you were ready to call this store quits and move on to another one.

“Can I be done yet?” You asked with a sigh. When you heard no reply from your family and Nikki, you poked your head out from the side of the curtain to see only Harrison standing there, his head tucked down with his eyes glued to his phone. You grabbed your shoe and threw it over at him, knocking him backwards into the stack of dresses.

“Hey! Watch it!” He exclaimed. Picking up your shoe, he said, “I was looking at places to go for lunch, and they’re out there searching for more dresses. I think Charlotte found a bridesmaid dress she likes.”

You didn’t really pay any mind to his reply as your eyes caught on one of the dresses behind him. “Hey Haz, grab me that dress. The poofy tulle one.”

“You know, when you said this was boring, you weren’t kidding.” Harrison teased, but grabbed the dress from the hanger anyway. He handed it to you, and he also gave you your shoe back as well. You closed the curtain on him and began to change into the new dress. “What about Mediterranean for lunch?”

You froze once you had the dress on all the way. It was a white tulle ball gown with delicate flowers all around the bodice and the gown. The flowers were white with light pink hues, almost the perfect pink hue that you and Tom had decided on for the color scheme.

“Y/N?” Harrison asked when you still didn’t respond.

Pulling the curtain open, you smiled at him nervously, “I think this is the one.”

Harrison’s eyes softened as he took in the dress. An awestruck smile overcame him, and he nodded, “You look like a princess.”

“Really?” Your voice was only just above a whisper. Your heart raced as you looked in the large mirror circling the far side of the room. Doing a little twirl, you felt his words sink in; you really looked and felt like a princess. You turned back to him, “Haz, can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

You took a deep breath, trying to control your nerves as everything suddenly started to feel more real. “I know you’re the best man and you’ve done so much for me and Tom already, but will you give me away?”

There was a comfortable silence that fell between you two as you looked at him with hopeful eyes. You watched as his icy blue eyes glossed over with tears, and he let go of your hands to pull you in for a tight hug. Quietly, he mumbled, “Of course.”

You held onto your twin brother tightly, fighting back the tears that pricked your eyes. You wouldn’t be where you are today without him; you would’ve never met Tom, if it wasn’t for him. Harrison was always there for you, and you couldn’t think of anyone else to be your biggest support on your wedding day.

“Did we miss something?” Your mother asked, coming back into the room with Charlotte and Nikki. Charlotte was holding onto a soft pink dress with flowers along the hemline. You and Harrison pulled away from each other, and he quickly rubbed his eyes.

“Are you crying?” Charlotte questioned him teasingly.

“No.” He muttered.

“This is the dress.” You smiled, fluffing the skirt a little. Instantaneously, your mother, Charlotte, and Nikki all surrounded you, feeling the dress’s tulle material in awe, complimenting you on how well it fit.

As he stepped back to watch you finalize the wedding dress details, Harrison felt an inexplicable feeling of astonishment overcome him. From all of the wedding planning going around recently, it all felt surreal, but now watching you smile, talking to your mother in a classically gorgeous white dress, he couldn’t hide his happiness. His twin sister is marrying his best friend- that’s nothing he would have expected up until three years ago.

In fact, he can recall the exact moment he realized that you and Tom were simply just meant to be.

It was a Friday in late January 2017, and Harrison was out, having a few drinks with his modeling friends, if he could even call them that. They were all good people, they were funny, but they just weren’t really his kind of people. They were acquaintances at best. He’d much rather be spending his Friday night with the boys, but Harry was out of town with Sam, Tom was on a date, and he didn’t even think to ask what you were up to that evening. Tom hadn’t explicitly said he was on a date, but Harrison could tell; it wasn’t a normal thing for Tom to set up reservations at a restaurant or to buy himself a nice button up.

Harrison drummed his fingers on the table, trying to come up with an excuse to leave the bar. It was far too early in the night for him to say he was tired, and he knew it’d be wrong to come up with some dramatic family emergency lie. Suddenly, a vibrant red dress caught his eye from the corner of the room. His eyes went wide as he took in the sight before him.

Across the room, you and Tom sat in a small corner booth- you, in a red dress that Harrison had never seen before, and Tom in his new, very nice blue shirt. Harrison blinked a few times just to make sure he was seeing things correctly. He thought that maybe you two just happened to run into each other, both of you dressed like you were going on a date, but then he saw you laugh, leaning into Tom. 

The table of models burst into obnoxious laughter, bringing Harrison away from his stunned stare. He took a couple more sips of his drink, trying to decide if he continues to suffer through this night or if he just goes and crashes with you and Tom. He couldn’t stop himself before he stood up from his table, grabbed his beer, and, without another word, walked over to you and Tom.

“Haz, what are you doing here?” You asked, all contact with Tom suddenly lost as you two moved apart. Self consciously, you adjusted the low neckline of your dress, and Harrison took a seat besides Tom.

Harrison nodded back to the group of friends that he just abandoned, “They’re boring. What are you two up to?” Acting oblivious to the truth, he drank the rest of his beer with raised eyebrows at you two.

“N-nothing.” Tom said, and you coughed a little. Tom looked at you, his eyes trying to silent ask if he was supposed to tell Harrison what was going on.

“Yeah, nothing. Just sharing some drinks.” You added.

“Ah, okay.” Harrison nodded. He thought about calling you two out for a moment, before deciding against it, “Y/N, is that a new dress? I’ve never seen it before. Did you get it when shopping with Charlotte yesterday?”

“What? No.” You defensively shook your head, but you were a terrible liar when put on the spot like that and both boys could clearly tell.

“And Tom, didn’t you have a date tonight? Or did you just feel like getting a fancy new button up?” He asked. Tom gulped beside you nervously and Harrison looked over at you with his classic shit eating grin, “What’s that look for? I’m just trying to figure out how long you two will sit there and act like you’re not clearly on a date.” At his last word, his eyes shifted over to Tom, narrowing intimidatingly.

Bubbling with embarrassed anger, you kicked your brother underneath the table. You didn’t care if anyone else heard you in the bar, shouting, “Harrison James, you’re the worst!”

“How’d you know?” Tom asked, trying his best to hide his new found fear of Harrison. After all, he had never actually cleared dating you with Harrison since this was your very first date and both of you agreed to keep it secret, just wanting to see how it goes for now.

But the secret was out now.

“This is the best either of you have looked in months.” Harrison just about scoffed, laughing at his friend’s astonishment.

“So you saw that we were on a date and thought ‘gee, I better go interrupt’?” You questioned, bitterness clear in your tone.

“Yeah, and I also truly wanted to escape that lot.” He laughed, “This is much more amusing. How long has this been going on?”

The grin slowly faded from his face as you and Tom both sat there quietly, both of you avoiding looking at each other awkwardly. The lack of response was enough to make him let out an uncomfortable breath.

“You know what?” Harrison stood up from the table, guilt starting to creep in, “Let’s just forget the past ten minutes. I’ll get back to my friends, you two get back to your date.”

You couldn’t get out another word before he left back to his friends. Needless to say, you and Tom had a good rest of the night. Harrison would glance at you two every so often, and he felt his heart soar with happiness as he saw how absolutely content you two were with each other. He knew then that there was only one guy he’d ever let date, and perhaps eventually marry, his sister, and that guy was Tom.

When Tom arrived home after dropping you off, he found himself scared over the talk he’d no doubtedly have to have with Harrison. Ever so awkwardly, Tom tried to ask his friend about if it was okay to date you, but Harrison just shrugged it off.

“It’s okay. Really, mate.” Harrison insisted, wanting to just go to bed and not suffer any longer from this painfully awkward talk.

“Are you sure?” Tom double checked and his friend let out a sigh.

“Yes.” He let out a small sigh. “Look, just, if way down the road, you want to marry her, you better ask me for permission first.”

Tom let out a small laugh. Nodding his head, he replied, “Got it.”

Harrison had meant it jokingly in that moment, but he knew one day he’d be asked that question, and he couldn’t be any happier for you two when Tom finally asked.

As the dress talk continued with measuring tapes and pins suddenly appearing, Harrison busied himself by wandering around the store. It was empty, save for a few employees, but he assumed that was the perk of a celebrity engagement- you could get the store to yourself for a few hours. He found himself in the veil section. He didn’t know there were this many types of veils- all sorted by length and then by cut and then by their accents, but he knew you needed one. With all the focus on the wedding dress, he hadn’t heard anyone speak about the veil.

“Harrison, where’d you go?” Charlotte called out to him from the opposite side of the store. Just as he was going to respond, one veil in particular caught his eye.

The veil was simple, yet long and elegant with a lace trim similar to that of the dress that you had chosen just moments before. And at the top of the veil was a thin band of diamonds, resembling a tiara in a way. Grabbing the veil, Harrison headed back to you and the others.

“Here, try this.” Harrison offered, coming up behind you. You watched him through the mirrors on the wall across from you as he put the tiara in your hair. With the way the veil seemed to flow into your dress, leaving just enough of a train, you knew it was perfect.

Smiling, you took your brother’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly, “Thank you.”

“What can I say? A princess needs her tiara.”

~~~

Tag List: @viagracex @theamazingtomholland @Hellomoveonby @heyitsshrez @harrisonosterfieldhazmyheart @joyleenl @t-o-m-hollands @lonikje @sleepybesson @sunkisseddreamer @hollandsamor @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh @gorrillaglue23 @petersoftboyparker @musicalkeys @duskholland @biebsmylife95 @dummiesshort @perspectiveparker @miraclesoflove

Tom Holland Tag List: @quaksonhehe @tomkindholland

Series Tag List: @thefallenbibliophilequote @wassup-peoples @thevelvetseries @greatpizzascissorstaco @tomhollandsotherpinkytoe @asonofpeter @fallinfortom @millennial-teenybopper @rebekkah4766​

[novannna]

Idk if this counts as a fic request? But If you're cool with it, maybe you can write a little thing about your OCs? I really liked hearing about Sloane and Jordan!!

ANON I LOVE YOUUUUU

ahhh i will forever talk ab them 🥺🥺 i love them so much tysm for listenign me scream incoherently ab them

i wasn't exactly sure what you wanted, so i wrote their first meeting (if you wanted something different, lemme know, i will happily write more of them ajhfsadf)

some background info that i may or may not have already said, idk, but im saying again: Jordan's name is technically Lydia Jordan, she changes it after she meets sloane, sloane works for a nameless organization where people hire thieves to steal for them, through the organization, and the organization in turn provides housing, and food, and safety, as well as guaranteed jobs.

this is all probably v confusing im so bad at explaining stuff, ask if you have questions!

also i kinda dont like this i was only partly coherent when i wrote this, but whatever :)

Sloane pulled at her dress, nose wrinkling as the fabric itched against her skin.

“Are you sure I have to wear shoes Elias?” She asked the man next to them.

He glared at her. “Yes. Sloane, this is for real now. You have to act proper. Stop fidgeting.”

Sloane sulked. “I am proper.”

Elias groaned. “Why did I have to be the one stuck with a fucking child?”

“I’m not a child!” Sloane protested. “I’ll knock you to your ass again, if you want me to prove it. And you’re only 10 years older than me, it’s not that much!”

“If you’re so grown up, then stop complaining.”

Sloane glared but didn’t say anything. They were sitting in a carriage, waiting to arrive at the Duke of Cantol’s manor. They had been hired to steal a case of jewels, hidden away somewhere within the grand building. The only way to steal them was to pose as nobles, and infiltrate the Duke’s solstice party themselves.

This was Sloane’s first real job. Before this, she had only done petty crime for the elders. Minor pickpocketing, and stealing for low paying clients.

This was their chance to prove themself, both as a thief worthy of jobs given out by the elders, and a chance to prove that she wasn’t merely a child.

The only problem was, Sloane had never interacted with nobles before. The other thieves had put her through rigorous training, everything from how to respond to questions, to which cutlery to use.

But it didn’t matter if this was all new to her. Sloane was prepared. These were high stakes, where they worked best. They wouldn’t fail.

Slowly, the carriage pulled to a halt.

“Remember, do not speak out of turn. You know your job?” Elias asked.

Sloane nodded. “Find out where the jewels are, then report back to you. I remember everything.”

Elias nodded, only partially sated. “And-”

“And don’t complain,” Sloane interrupted. “I know.”

“Good. Don’t forget who you are, and who they are. Don’t give them a reason to doubt you.”

Sloane nodded. Though her face was a perfect mask of emotions, her stomach was writhing. Their fingers were tapping out a pattern onto her leg, the familiar motion a relief.

Elias opened the door, and together they stepped out onto the lush lawn.

---

Lydia hated everything, she had decided. She hated her dress, which pinched her ribs and kept her from breathing in a deep breath. She hated her shoes, terrible contraptions that threatened to send her tumbling to the floor with each step. She hated all the formal dinners that her family had to attend.

It was ridiculous! Why couldn’t they just stay in Roidan? It’s where they lived, after all. There was no point in traveling across the country to attend a pointless dinner.

But, despite everything there was a glimmer of hope in Lydia. A week ago, she had heard whispers of priceless jewels within the Duke of Cantol’s manor, and an anonymous person who had wished to possess them. Lydia had heard that someone would steal them, and she was determined to stop them. Determined to show how skilled she was with both her blades and her wit. Determined to show that she wasn’t the helpless little girl everyone insisted on seeing.

Lydia was so much more. She just needed everyone else to see it as well.

“Lydia! Stop pouting, and hurry up!” Her mom bustled into the room, her gown an atrocious combination of velvet and tulle. It nearly swallowed Lydia up, as her mom grabbed her hand, and pulled her through the doorway.

“The Duke was kind enough to allow us to stay here, and you thank him by making us late?” Her mother sighed. “When will you grow up?”

Lydia bit back a retort, instead gripped the handle of a dagger buried within the folds of her dress. It had been her fathers, until she had stolen it years ago and taught herself how to use it.

Lydia kept her mouth shut, and her fingers strangling the hard hilt. Head raised high, Lydia followed her mother down the grand stairs, and into the dining room.

The room was large, with at least twenty people sitting around a large, deep mahogany table. Lydia vaguely wondered how much it had cost.

Looking around the table, she barely registered the faces. She knew everyone. Until her gaze settled on a mismatched pair, sitting closest to the door.

A man, with short red hair, and soft pink skin sat next to a girl, looking to be about Lydia’s age. The girl had dark skin and hair a black so deep, Lydia thought she was looking at a starless sky. She was not from here, that was for sure. Lydia felt herself be drawn to her, as if some form of magnetic attraction.

“Lydia,” her mother hissed. “Sit!” She nearly forced Lydia into the chair, right next to the duke himself.

Lydia tried not to grimace. She didn’t want to spend the evening wearing a forced smile and pretend to be the perfect lady. She looked up again, trying to spot a glimpse of the other girl. She sat perfectly still, her back almost like a ruler. Her face was perfectly poised, just the slightest hint of a smile, no sign of anger or uncomfortableness. She looked perfectly at ease.

Lydia had to stop herself from sighing. Disappointing. Another perfect noble, someone Lydia could never be. Never wanted to be.

And then, she spotted the crack in the other girl's impenetrable armor. Her fingers, tapping out an anxious rhythm against the elegant table cloth. That tiny sliver of personality, of imperfection made Lydia almost burst into a grin.

Under the layers of makeup, and finery, and jewels, she was still a child, just like Lydia. She was human. She was human, and she was real, and maybe, just maybe, Lydia could be real too.

But it was foolish to entertain such an unrealistic notion. So Lydia tamped her smile down, and turned to her food, ignoring the stare the other girl was burning into her head.

---

“Who will be most likely to know where the jewels are?” Elias asked Sloane under his breath.

Sloane glanced around the table. “The Duke, and a few of the servants.” Her eyes were fixed on the only other child at the table. A girl, around her age sat next to the Duke, her blonde hair twisted into a bun. A few strands had escaped, and were floating loose around her head. The girl was staring at her food, refusing to look around.

“Sloane!” Elias hissed.

Sloane stiffened with annoyance. “What?” they spat.

“I asked who you will need to talk to to discern the location of the jewels?”

“This isn’t a quiz. You don’t need to test me, I’ll get it done.”

“I do, actually,” Elias responded. “I’m not just here to steal, I’m here to supervise and see if you actually could handle a permanent position within the organization. The elders asked me to oversee, and if all went satisfactory, then you would get a chance. And if not… well failure isn’t tolerated.”

Sloane froze. She knew a lot had been riding on this for her, but she hadn’t known how much. She hadn’t known everything was.

“I’ll ask again. Who will you ask?”

“The girl,” Sloane said quickly. She nodded across the table pointedly.

“Her? She has no idea where they are!”

Sloane sighed. “Yes, but young ears are attuned to what others miss. And, I’m her age. Befriend her, get her to trust me, and I’ll find them.”

“You think that’ll work?” Elias scoffed.

“I’m willing to bet everything on it,” Sloane responded. She turned her fiery gaze to him. “Trust me, I can do this.”

Elias hesitated, before reluctantly nodding. “If you’re sure… But the servants would be a better choice.”

Sloane didn’t respond. They turned her gaze back to the girl, mind already racing to plot it all out.

---

Lydia walked her perfect little steps, completely in sync with her mom. She kept her head bowed low, and eyes downcast.

Perfect daughter, perfect lady.

God, she was tired of it all. Her hands had the imprint of a dagger on them, from clutching the blade so tight.

A hand reached out, touching her shoulder.

It was the girl, a slight smile on her face and a far off gleam in her eyes.

Her other companion stood right behind her, his suit tailored and pressed to perfection.

“My Lady, if I may,” he said smoothly, his voice like butter, “my young cousin hasn’t often gotten the opportunity to interact with ones of her own age. I was wondering, with your permission, if the two of them might be able to talk, if only for a bit?” His hands rested on the girls shoulders.

Lydia looked up at her mom, daring to hope.

“I suppose. My little girl is much the same. Why don’t we let the two of them run along to the library.” Her mom knelt down her face at Lydia’s level now. “Learn what you can about them, yes dear? What threat they may pose to your future crown. And don’t forget who you are.” She gripped Lydia’s shoulders tightly.

Lydia nodded. Always some scheme, and other motive. Just once, could her mother let her have something with no string attached?

“Good girl. Now run along, and don’t forget.” With a barely concealed shove, she sent Lydia tumbling down a side hallway, the other girl close behind.

Lydia led them to the library, not bothering to talk. Her throat was tight with something other than tears. She pushed open the ornate wooden doors, and practically collapsed inside.

The other girl looked around the room with a critical eye. Looking at everything, Lydia noted. Interesting.

“Where are you from?” Lydia blurted out. “I’ve never seen you before.”

The other girl turned to face her, amused. “You presume to know everyone in this world, then?” Her voice was more rough than Lydia expected, and strangely lilted, as if trying to hide something underneath.

Lydia blushed. “No. But I know most nobles. I’ve never met you before. So, where are you from?”

“Abrynth, as are you.”

“You don’t look it,” Lydia retorted bluntly.

The other girl laughed. “Straight forwards and honest. You're different.” Not a question, just a simple fact.

But it was so much more.

“And is that good?” Lydia couldn’t help but ask.

The other girl paused. “Well, I personally think that when everything’s the same, we lose sight of what we are as a whole.”

“And that is….?”

The other girl grinned, showing a flash of white teeth. “One people, no good and no bad. All unique and all the same. Something so beautiful and powerful.”

“So good then?”

“Definitely.” The other girl extended a hand out to Lydia. “I’m Sloane.”

Lydia paused, hesitant to reply. She didn’t want this girl to know the proper lady she was supposed to be. The one raised to one day court the prince, and hopefully become queen. The one whose very name meant royalty. Her mom’s voice echoed in her head, saying, “Lydia means noble one, beautiful one. You’ll live up to that one day. Focus, and one day you’ll be queen, at the King’s side.”

Lydia hated that version of herself. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t her.

But she was a Jordan. Sharp tongued and quick witted. Handy with a blade, but not so with words. She was her fathers daughter, the son he had wanted in every way but gender.

“Jordan,” Lydia replied, shaking Sloane’s hand firmly. Just a single word, but it changed everything. And it felt so right.

“I’m pleased to meet your acquaintance,” Sloane said, grinning.

“Likewise.”

---

Despite everything, Sloane couldn’t help but like Jordan. The noble was more aware than the others. She was smart, and bright, and honest.

But Sloane only felt a little guilty about using her. It wasn’t like she was hurting Jordan by doing this anyways. She was helping herself, and no one else. It wasn’t as if Jordan wanted for anything, after all. She was a noble. The world practically bowed at her feet.

“Is this your first time here?” Jordan asked, breaking the silence.

Sloane nodded. “My cousin doesn’t often travel. This is his first time bringing me anywhere.”

“Your parents don’t bring you?”

Sloane froze, unsure how to respond. What had they decided her backstory was? Fuck.

“They’re dead. I live with my cousin now, at least till I’m old enough to be on my own.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jordan said, actually seeming sincere.

Sloane smiled slightly. “Thank you. I try not to think about it too much.”

Jordan nodded. “Well, that’s understandable.”

Sloane nodded, with what they hoped was appreciation. In truth, it felt more like a grimace.

For a few hours, Sloane let them get lost in the world. She and Jordan talked about everything. Sloane was surprised by their similarities. It was only when Jordan’s shoulders finally relaxed, and her fists stopped clenching in her dress, that sloane knew the other girl fully trusted her.

“I was wondering,” she added, making her tone more shy, and apprehensive. “My uncle had mentioned the Duke was an avid collector of all things old. Have you seen any of them?”

Jordan’s face gleamed. “No, but I know where they are,” she said, smirking. “Do you want to see?”

Sloane hesitated. “Is that allowed?”

Jordan’s grin widened. “No.” She extended a hand, and Sloane hesitantly placed her own inside it.

She knew she had been right. Jordan had been the right person to use. She was leading Sloane towards the goal, not a doubt in her mind. Sloane would earn her place within the organization. The elders would see that she truly was a worthy thief. She’d show them.

Sloane followed Jordan as she led them out of the library, and through the halls. They were mostly quiet now, the guests retired to the parlor by now. It was just Sloane and Jordan, almost as if no one else had ever existed.

Jordan stopped in front of a door, and slowly pushed it inwards.

Sloane bit back a gasp as she saw the trove of treasures within. The room was a study, but it seemed more storage than anything. Priceless pieces were arranged on bookshelves and cases all over the room.

Old pieces of pottery, and intricate blades. Tapestries, and scrolls cracked with age.

But no jewels. Yet.

“Oh,” Sloane breathed, breathless from the beauty. And anger crackling within her ribs. These were all no doubt stolen from other nations and people. She couldn’t help but wonder how many of these things had come without the price of blood.

Jordan was similarly mesmerized, her eyes stuck on a pair of matching daggers.

“This is amazing,” Sloane said. “There’s so much.”

Jordan’s eyes brightened. “But would you like to see more?”

Sloane’s body tensed with anticipation. She was only supposed to locate the jewels, but if she could steal them now, then it would be less risky, wouldn’t it? No one would believe Jordan if she said the other girl at dinner had taken them. Barely anyone even noticed them. She doubted that they had all even realized she had been there.

“There’s more?” Sloane widened her eyes.

Jordan grinned, and stepped to a tapestry hanging on the walls. “I heard from a servant that the Duke had demanded nobody touch this tapestry. Claimed it was fragile. But-” she tugged it off the wall, sending the fabric tumbling to the floor. “I believe differently,” she said proudly, standing next to a newly revealed hole in the wall. A small wooden chest gleamed from within. Sloane felt her feet carry her closer, her deft fingers opening the box, and a smile lighting up her face as a collection of red, blue, and white stones gleamed up at her.

“Are these…?” Sloane asked, barely needing confirmation.

Jordan peared over her shoulder. “Ruby, diamond, and sapphire,” she whispered. “That’s gotta be worth…” she whistled. “At least 300,000 crowns.”

Sloane grinned. Confirmation enough. She snapped the lid shut, and turned to face Jordan sharply.

“Thank you, My Lady,” Sloane smirked, curtsying shallowly. “You’ve been quite helpful.” She grabbed the tiny chest, and shoved it into a pocket sewn into the inside of her skirt.

Jordan stared at her slack jawed with confusion. Then, realization dawned upon her. “It was you! You were the one who was going to steal tonight.”

Sloane stared at the girl, head cocked in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“I knew someone was attempting to steal tonight. But it should have been a man! An adult! You… You’re just a little girl.”

Sloane snorted. “Well, that little girl has places to be, and money to make. Get out of my way Jordan.”

“You used me,” Jordan spat. “I wanted a friend for the night, and you just wanted those jewels.”

Sloane rolled her eyes. “Don’t take it personally. If it makes you feel better, I didn’t completely lie about everything, I was pleased to make your acquaintance. You led me here, after all.” Sloane smirked. She was on top of the world. She was going to prove the world that she was good. She wasn’t just another useless pickpocket. That one day, she was going places. “Now get out of my way, and forget you ever met me. It’s easier for both of us that way.”

Jordan’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t let that happen.” She reached into the folds of her dress, and drew a long silver dagger.

“Put that back before you kill yourself,” Sloane scoffed.

“Try me.” Jordan was all hard edges now. Gone was the soft laughter, and gently smiles. She was completely serious.

Sloane was starting to think that Jordan was more than she had said she was. But it didn’t matter. No matter how good Jordan might be, Sloane would be better. She wasn’t ready to let herself be defeated by a noble. Not now, not ever.

Sloane darted forwards, quicker than lightning. She jabbed under Jordan’s stomach, knocking the wind out of the girl.

Jordan recovered quickly, and threw a punch towards Sloane’s face, grazing her cheek bone.

Sloane ducked under another blow, and kicked her legs out at Jordan’s face while flipping out of the noble’s hands.

Jordan knew what she was doing, Sloane would admit. In a fair fight, she may even stand a chance. But Sloane didn’t fight fair. She fought rough, and dirty. She survived, no matter what her actions were. That's where the two girls differed.

Sloane tackled Jordan, knocking them into a display case, the glass breaking under their weight.

“You aren’t getting away,” Jordan grunted.

Sloane laughed. “Keep telling yourself that,” she hissed. Sloane grinned, and leapt away from Jordan, right before the girl swung a punch towards her unprotected face.

Sloane backed away quickly, letting Jordan block the door.

“Nowhere to go,” Jordan taunted. “What’ll you do now.”

“My lady, it has been a pleasure,” Sloane said, bowing deeply. “But I’m afraid I’m needed elsewhere, and must call it a night.” In a single smooth motion, Sloane leapt out of the window, sending jagged shards of glass everywhere.

Jordan leapt forwards, too late to stop her.

Sloane had managed to catch a hold of the balcony on the next room over, and was quickly scaling down the wall, using ledges and decorative gargoyles as holds, Jordan’s silver dagger clenched between her teeth.

Sloane finally dropped to the ground, and waved up at Jordan standing far above. She slipped the stolen dagger into her waistline, and reached up into her skirt, pulling out the jewels.

The box was still shut tight, the contents rattling around inside.

“What the hell?” Elias screamed, running around the corner. “Locate them! You were supposed to locate them! We need to go, before the Duke realizes a child tried to steal his prize jewels.” He hooked his arm through Sloane’s and started dragging her away. “You aren’t ready to steal them. You ruined the job, for both of us.” He glared at Sloane. “You are taking blame for this. This is your failure.”

“Failure?” Sloane asked. “What do you mean? I got them!” She held out the box, rattling the jewels inside.”

Elias stopped dead in his tracks. “You got them? You actually succeeded?”

“Yes,” Sloane responded, her voice laced with annoyance. “I’m a good thief, a good fighter, a good liar. I’ve been trying to prove this to you all along. I did it. Will you recommend me to the elders now?”

Elias sniffed. “You are reckless, arrogant, loud. You are unable to follow simple instructions. But, you got it done.” He smiled slightly. “You impressed me, little thief. Well done.”

Sloane grinned. She cast her gaze back to the broken window one last time, where she could make out the shape of Jordan, still standing and staring at the two thieves.

Sloane bowed, as if she was on a stage, performing some great act. Then she hurried to catch up to Elias, and her future.

---

Lydia was furious with her mother, with Sloane, but mostly with herself. She had allowed Sloane to find the jewels, and couldn’t even stop her. Lydia was a failure.

But she wouldn’t be again.

Sloane may have bested Lydia once, but never again. She’d see the thief again, and Lydia would catch her, and prove to the world that she was more than just a lady, meant to sit and look pretty. She was strong, smart, and talented.

She’d catch the thief, and show them all who she was.

Not a beautiful noble lady, as her first name suggested.

No. Lydia had never felt right for a reason. It wasn’t who she was. She was Jordan, loyal to the country, and to herself.

She wasn’t anything but that.

Her name was Jordan, and she would catch Sloane, and make her hurt for giving Jordan a glimpse of a future she could never have. .

[amphtaminedreams]

Spring/Summer & Haute Couture Week 2021: Whoops, I’ve Missed a Loooot (Part 2)

Hey to anyone reading,

I’m so sorry for the gap between the last fashion week review post and this one! Argh. I had no idea I posted it as long ago as the beginning of March but I think we can all agree that lockdown has fucked with our perceptions of time completely. I wish I could say the delay in posting was as simple as me being busy but I’ve also started to reflect on whether or not I want to carry on this format of posts for the time being; on the scale of problems, this one is wayyy down there in the very lower quartile of the first world region, but my motivation to carry on this kind of content in the form of long-winded text posts is...meh...not so much there anymore. At first I was thinking the issue was that working on these was my last priority on my daily to-do lists but as I’ve got back into writing fiction, it’s kind of occurred to me that the fact I was putting these posts on my to-do lists in the first place along with things like doing the ironing and contacting student finance speaks volumes. When I’m back from work or winding down, opening up Tumblr and coming back to this draft isn’t something that I think of as a fun stress reliever in the way drafting stories is. It doesn’t feel like I’m using my imagination or my creativity or expressing myself in any way and it’s not much of an escape from day to day life in the way that writing dialogue or exploring characters is. Maybe it’s because I’ve done quite a few of these posts now but I just tend to feel like I’m repeating myself, you know kinda like when you’re writing an essay and trying to fill up a word count; of course there are collections that I do have a lot of opinions on but by and large, sometimes it boils down to THESE CLOTHES ARE JUST FUCKING PRETTY, OKAY?! There’s only so many things you can say about a tulle skirt or an exaggerated collar before you want to strangle yourself with said tulle. I used to think iF VoGUe RuNwaY wRitErs CaN dO iT WhAT's MY exCusE until I realised that 1). Vogue Runway writers actually get paid and 2). for the most part all they do is explain the designer's intentions behind the collections verbatim without giving a critical opinion anyway.

I think a lot of the pressure I feel to justify what are in reality quite simple observations and opinions goes back to some of the feelings I explained in my first ever fashion week review where people who know more about fashion and have a formal education in the subject tend to be kind of gatekeep-y and elitist. It can never be that you appreciate different things about a collection but rather than one of you has taste and the other doesn’t and if it wasn’t obvious, the taste level assigned to you by the powers that be tend to positively correlate with the amount of money you have available to spend on a degree that has a reputation for failing to provide a steady income, which for most makes it an unrealistic avenue to pursue. I know, I know, the pressure is totally self-inflicted and wholly imagined seeing as I have under 500 followers on here and those who do interact with these posts most likely do so for the pictures but I still feel it, and given that I’m going to have enough external pressure to write essays when I return to uni in September, why on earth am I wasting time putting it on myself? When just posting photosets of my favourite looks is not only actually enjoyable for me but is also what other people WANT to see too? Nobody wants to read a self-indulgent paragraph like this when they’re here for the clothes and to be honest, for the most part I don’t want to write them anyway unless it’s something I have strong feelings about or if a collection can only be properly appreciated with analysis. I think I’ve made pretty clear which designers I’m a fan of, do you really need to hear me raving about Gucci or Zimmerman or Miu Miu or Balenciaga again? Is there gonna be anything revolutionary in yet another rant about Maria Grazia? Course not. I mean, if you are reading, you might have to witness those things one last time because I do intend to finish off this season’s review in this format for consistency purposes and because I’ve already got all the notes now but on the whole, I doubt anyone will miss my rambles.

So, with all that in mind, I think after I finish my S/S21 posts I am gonna start just uploading these posts without the written part. I mean, for one, the simplicity of doing this means I’m much less likely to procrastinate making them which in turn means I’ll be able to get them out right after the shows as a kind of summary as opposed to months later when they’re no longer as relevant. This will also give me more time to work on the writing I actually enjoy. Right now I’m going through and editing my 17 year old self’s “grown-up” take on the Pretty Little Liars blackmail murder mystery style plot line which I wrote back when I was completely and utterly obsessed with the show and bitterly disappointed by the last couple of seasons. The writing is pretty mediocre and often hugely cringey to read back now but I am still a fan of the basic plot and I’m genuinely motivated to see if I can make it something actually worth reading, and to get onto that ASAP; this feels especially important right now given that the HBO version of the series’ apparent upcoming release has sent that ever-present writer’s fear of seeing-your-same-storyline-done-better-by-somebody-else-thus-forever-relegating-your-version-to-being-the-poor-imitation-so-you-gotta-get-there-first into overdrive (or maybe that’s just me and my neuroses). Again, it’s a totally unfounded fear based on the fact that the HBO show will probs get millions of viewers whilst I will be doing little more than shouting into the void but anybody who’s used Turnitin to submit an essay that ultimately counts for little more than like 1% of your grade or degree will know that no matter how irrelevant your work is, the concept of failing a plagiarism check, be it via a computer algorithm or one random stranger on the internet’s assessment, is enough to conjure visions of the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse galloping towards you screaming “START THE WHOLE THING AGAIN” before releasing a hoarde of 2015 Chanel vs. Walmart style comparison memes.

Now, speaking of Chanel, I should probably get back into the reviewing. 

So for the last time for a little while, here’s Christian Siriano:

Siriano’s designs are a great example of work I feel guilty enjoying. I know that when it comes to quality, the high fashion community have a lot of (negative) things to say and I really can’t speak to that because quite honestly, I know very little about textile manufacturing. Solely from my own point of view though, I do like his work a lot. I wouldn’t claim for a minute that he’s a pioneer in terms of his creations but I would 100% love to wear them and I DO hugely admire his commitment to putting women of all sizes on the runway and designing pieces that don’t simply cater to straight up and down types which is more than can be said for most brands. I get that his collections are pretty formulaic, taking what has worked for the likes of Chanel and Alessandra Rich, De La Renta and Carolina Herrera, Michael Kors too (who is kind of guilty of the same thing himself), but that’s not to say his work is bad. Let’s be real, we’ve been on this planet thousands of years, we’re all taking inspiration from someone, and maybe figures like Kors and Siriano could wait a *little* longer before taking said inspiration but their aim at the end of the day is to sell clothes, not break barriers, a task which although often left to the big name brands, they too often fail at. I’m not going to lie, I’m feeling this whimsical mid-century tea party vibe, it’s elegant and it’s cutesy and My Fair Lady-esque, and you bet your arse I would be absolutely thrilled to wear one of these looks on a summer red carpet. I just can’t say no to anything tulle-maybe it’s that I was on Toddlers & Tiaras in a past life or maybe it’s that I watched too many Barbie Princess films growing up, but I like pretty much everything going on here, especially Siriano is giving us matching fedoras too. Plus, can we take a moment to praise Siriano for his COVID relief efforts? Near the beginning of the pandemic, he turned his studio into a mask manufacturing factory in order to send them out as donations, and I think that is very cool.

Then there’s Christopher Kane who once again came through with the most insanely gorgeous prints:

I mean, paint splattering is hardly a new technique but I haven’t seen it done as a print so tastefully before-it eats the Moschino biro scribble print (which apparently was copied too speaking of the tendencies of designers to “borrow” inspiration) for breakfast. It’s shit because there weren’t many looks in this collection and they weren’t really shot in a way that does them any justice but I thought I’d include the few I saved.

Comme Des Garcons is a fave of the high fashion community and one I look forward to seeing at fashion week but can never quite get behind. I appreciate the what-the-fuckery of it all with this show totally being able to pass as a run-through of some kind of nuclear waste themed scare house at one of Thorpe Park’s fright nights. I assume given that and the plastic Mickey Mouse print it’s supposed to be some kind of reference to the part late-stage capitalism has played in the hellish landscape we find ourselves in today? Or something all intellectual? In which case I made my interpretation with farrrr too much confidence. But Anyway! Who knows! I’ll leave the analysis to the fashion students, and give it one word: trippy.

Onto Dion Lee, a brand I truly do get excited to talk about because it’s rare that I don’t LOVE his work.

Without fail, Lee manages to be confidently ahead of the curve without going out of his way to announce it and his genius to everyone with flamboyant shows and exaggerated designs and extortionate prices. He is very much an underdog in the fashion world in terms of big names but you’ll be hard pressed to find anyone who doesn’t love his collections. His S/S21 collection is one of my favourites of the bunch. I love seeing something I’ve never seen before and the palm leaf breast plate is so odd but so cool and so perfectly Dion Lee at the same time; we’ve seen jungle/tropical inspired collections sooo many times *cough cough D&G cough cough* and THIS is how you make them fresh and unique. I mean, never in a million years did I think I’d get behind the resurgence of the gladiator sandal trend but Lee has me changing my mind. This is one of the very rare times you will ever see me using this meme to praise a man but:

I mean, he has Fernanda Ly modelling for him, that the man has taste goes without saying.

Now for a bit of a full circle moment, given that I did actually praise Dior’s haute couture collection in my first ever post; Maria Grazia did GOOD. Well, with haute couture at least.

She’s always pretty hamfisted with her references, there’s no denying, with that Grecian Goddess style RTW collection typifying that statement completely, but luckily she struck gold this time round; as someone who studied the Tudors for A-level history, seeing a modern take on the exaggeratedly feminine renaissance silhouettes with the baroque prints and the deep jewell tones got me super excited especially when you throw in the dreamy tarot theming and the nods to the mystical and arcane. Seeing as the Heavenly Bodies Met Gala (I know, I know, I need to move on) was some time ago now and Cersei Lannister’s *SPOILER* been crushed by a rock (could also be seen as a metaphor for the irrelevancy David Benioff and D.B Wise condemned GoT to when they aired that shitty ending tehe) and so probably won’t be getting a collection based on her costumes any time soon, this is the only fashion take on this kind of period dress I’m going to get…and you know what? I’m okay with that. Thanks Maria, I guess?

Her RTW collection wasn’t absolutely awful either, and slightly better than the past few collections at least. Put a monkey in a room with a typewriter (or show it enough similar well-received collections) and it will eventually write something that makes sense, don’t they say? I like the nomadic feel of a lot of the looks and there’s beautiful layering going on but the aura of exotic opulence unsurprisingly didn’t stick around for long and I found that there was a decline in quality in the midsection of the show that landed a lot of the outfits in either awkward mother of the bride at a beach wedding or The Only Way is Essex Ocean Beach PLT sponsored poolside party territory. The looks picked back up a bit towards the end stretch of the show but I wasn’t a fan of the Gucci style oversized glasses which were so out of place with the rest of the theming that if anything they seemed like a cheap grab at relevancy. So yeah, a middling, subpar Etro-esque collection which is better than usual for Dior I suppose.

Next, Elie Saab, whose S/S21 collection was kinda disappointing, tbh. Oh how the turns have tabled given that positive Dior review and my usual love of Saab’s collections.

I know his dresses lose some of their appeal when we can’t see them in motion but even ON the runway I can’t see myself being dazzled by any of these pieces the way I usually am. They’re lacking the level of detail and craftsmanship I associate with the brand seemingly in favour of block colours and suits and the issue is that the whole Disney Princess fantasy has always been the appeal for me because the silhouettes aren’t interesting enough on their own. They’re not ugly pieces, they’re nice, but does nice really have a place in high fashion when the pieces are so basic in both their design and presentation that the shots could pass as ripped from a catalogue? The strongest parts of the collection were when it did go down the more delicate route with the muted blue suits and the white feather trimmed dresses, the small, ornamental gold details reminding me of a very toned down nod to Schiaparelli’s hardware, but with regards to the bright coloured pieces, I can’t lie-they did look like something you could find in the M&S Per Una holiday section. Then you’ve got the weakest parts, which were just flat out ugly: sheer giraffe print, sweat band style elasticated waits, and long chiffon shirts that I hate to admit read as frumpy. There are times where I’ve not been particularly excited by an Elie Saab collection in the past, but I do think this is the first time I’ve actively disliked parts of it.

Conversely, Erdem’s S/S21 collection was super strong, and solidified the brand’s place in my mind as a dependable source of kooky maximalism, this time round giving us  Anya Taylor Joy’s Emma wardrobe on speed. You could tell me Erdem Moralıoğlu had just raided the Bridgerton set’s fitting rooms and put it on a runway and I would 100% believe you and I mean that in a positive way because to give my unpopular opinion, the clothes were the only good thing about that show. The endearingly florid details of exaggerated bows and clashing florals were still there but this time in a way that felt more subtle and self-assured, as if the calming influence of the wooded set’d had a direct hand in the designs, giving the rugged, ethereal feel to the collection I associate with brands like Brock and Simone Rocha, all whilst keeping the parts of Erdem I’m so fond of.

Is it really much of a shock that I included pretty much every look from the Etro S/S21 show?  Like, you know that Christian idea of God, like, (the voice in my head is very much taking on the dumb valley girl voice that anybody who reads this is most probably getting too) knowing our souls? I think Veronica Etro knows mine. So no, no surprise. Though there were a few unconventional touches thrown into these looks (the campier prints and nautical theming we see with the 80s beach towel print, for example, reminded me a bit of Versace) the mystical bohemian it girl that Etro designs for would still be highly satisfied. Sure, it might be a wardrobe fit for a holiday less adventurous than backpacking but if she wanted a tropical poolside holiday, this collection is the one, the paisley print chiffon mini and maxi dresses especially. I’m just gonna pretend I don’t see the monstrosity that is leggings worn as trousers-it’s a fashion rule I refuse to abandon-because they are the only stain on an otherwise expectedly gorgeous collection.

Next, an unusually reserved RTW collection from Fendi:

More in line with the wardrobe of a European fashion editor than the glamorous trophy wife (who let’s say uses that facade as a guise to ruthlessly run her husband’s whole business empire from behind the scenes because in this house we do complex female characters only), these pieces are lot “smarter” and more professional looking than Fendi’s typical offerings; where I feel Fendi usually designs for the society girl who wouldn’t mind a front page scandal, these are the kind of outfits a young member of Monaco’s royal family would wear for a positively received but business-as-usual press tour. I know, Fendi is an Italian brand, but this is more Southern France to me. We’re talking some 2nd page shots of a Kate Middleton type on a yacht on the Riviera smiling and waving as her PR team’s ideal scenario. Still, whilst fewer exaggerated silhouettes, animal prints and overtly luxurious fabrics (real leathers, silks and furs for example) mean that the drama’s a little toned down, it’s all still very expensive looking and combines the classically feminine glamour of the past and the minimalism of modernity in the artful manner that we’re used to. Maybe it’s me being a basic bitch but I always love seeing Ashley Graham on the runway too, even if brands to tend to use her as their single token plus size model.

Kim Jones’ debut haute couture collection for Fendi, however, wasn’t a very well received one. I don’t hate it personally but I can see where the criticisms are coming from. Whilst it’s closer to the version of Fendi I’ve come to expect and there were some stunning pieces which completely encapsulated that distinctive aura of luxe and glamour, there were quite a few lazy pieces which could’ve been from any designer. I also felt the collection was a bit upstaged by what seemed to be a who’s who of the modelling world; having Bella, Cara, Kate and Naomi ALL walk in one show was a bit distracting and took the focus off the clothes completely.

Giambattista Valli’s RTW collection was gorgeous as ever; the man has undeniably mastered the art of delivering classic, objective elegance, the kind of designs I feel would make you light on your feet and smell like strawberries and cream the minute you put one on. Whilst as a brand his RTW shows are rarely trendsetting, they reliably produce a plethora of unfailingly graceful and demure pieces, as appealing to your mum and your grandma as they are to young women and little girls, and this collection is another victory lap for Valli when it comes to upholding his signature tea party and artisan cupcake making and rose garden strolling and bottomless rosé brunch appropriate aesthetic. There were a lot of outfits that were bordering on overly juvenile, with structures a little too basic to justify the amount of sequins thrown on, but when it’s good, it’s so sweet that regardless of how to formula it is, I can’t help but fall in love.

Valli’s haute couture collection was stunning too and for sure a more exciting offering than the RTW. There was of course a lot of the signature tulle but it was head-turning, over the top in a way that leant far more towards the experimental than I expected. The photos themselves are 100% believable as a some kind of Vogue behind the scenes editorial shoot on the set of live action Disney princess movie (in between takes of the climactic ball scene if you wanna get specific with the vision); if you are looking for a prettier alternative to the primary colours and disruptive shapes of a Molly Goddard collection, this is the one. It’s giving the themes of excess and abundance I associate with that of the Hunger Games Capitol but through the softer lens of a Sofia Coppola movie, and being the typical cinema loving white girl I am, I’m obviously on board with that vibe.

I did SUCH a 180 on Givency’s S/S21 collection from when I first saw it to writing a review. My initial reaction was one of disappointment, I guess simply because Givenchy has given us so many bold pieces and presentations over the last few years whereas this is more low-key. After properly considering it though as I would any other brand, I came to the conclusion that I do actually really like it. It’s still got the strange, androgynous silhouettes popping up throughout and the futuristic space-age details but with a more down-to-earth, streetwear feel, albeit a very slick, glossy spin on the trends of the rabble (that’s us guys) of course before we go believing it’s achievable. On the one hand, the devil horn accents are a touch Claire’s accessories halloween range but at the same time, done with confidence they’re kind of cool and bring something new and fun to the table in line with the dark theatre of Givenchy’s last few shows.

Now for Gucci, which for the first time I have to say, if I'm attempting objectivity, is not a standout. 

Like, can I just start by saying though the format it’s presented in is cute, it’s not ideal as a way of actually showing the collection. I get that the vintage shop bin vibe is a huge part of Gucci’s brand but polaroids make it SO hard to actually see the clothes, and that’s what we’re here for right? I don’t want to give the impression that I don’t like what I see here-the clothes are gorgeous, an idyllic ode to the off-duty wardrobes of Studio 54-ers, bohemian style icons like Charlotte Rampling and young Olivia Newton-John, psychedelic rock guitarists and the inhabitants of San Fransisco’s Haight during the late 60s and early 70s, Alessandro Michele’s favourite period of reference. I can’t pretend otherwise, or act like I wouldn’t want to wear the shit out of this collection. Buut, for Gucci? It’s a little underwhelming. These are the kind of filler looks we get in a typical Gucci show to go alongside the more statement pieces, which this collection is lacking. It’s just that these are designs which usually gets people talking and these pieces don’t do that. It sucks because for most other brands this would be a stand out collection, an immersive, luscious vignette of what people tend to think of as a cultural golden era, but when you’ve had a show that involved models carrying replicas of their own decapitated heads down the runway in the last 5 years, of course something more toned down like this is gonna generate a lot of “is that it?”s.

I owe Hermes an apology. Looking back, I have disliked all their previous collections for the same reason that I now really like this one; maybe it’s in part down to the frustration of still having to whack out the winter coat on occasion in May (fuck British weather and climate change), but suddenly I really appreciate the value of some good quality, versatile outerwear. Hermes is giving us that in spades here and for that, I bow down to them. The pieces on offer are clearly well-made and genuinely practical, and through the minimalist approach manage to retain both an air of timeless sophistication whilst also being youthful and on trend. The leather tactical vest co-ord I can easily see edged up and taking centre stage on one of those insane Seoul street style slow-mo TikToks that were big a couple of months ago and there are several pieces that could tie together a grunge influenced k-style look just as well as they could exist for years on end as the wardrobe staple of a high-powered businesswoman. Designer Nadège Vanhee-Cybulski’s strengths really come through with the simpler looks and it’s the patterned pieces that drag down an otherwise flawless collection; I guess because the aesthetic is very minimalist, the patterns can’t be anything overly decorative but unfortunately this has a bit of a dowdy effect when you pair it with such modest silhouettes. Disregarding those elements of the collection though, it was super good.

It goes without saying that Iris Van Herpen’s haute couture collection was breathtaking; if the fashion community can agree on anything, it’s that this woman’s work is consistently awe-inspiring. She captures the wonder of the universe, the biological structures and kaleidoscopic colours we don’t even register, through fashion in a way that others can only imitate, to mesmerising, truly transcendent effect; I can only assume Van Herpen has mother nature whispering into her ear because how the hell else do you explain her ability to take the kind of microscopic organisms they show you images of in an outdated GCSE science powerpoint and make a dress that resembles one so stunning? Care to explain, Iris? Because if there is some kind of line of communication between the two of you can you please tell the bitch I’m over this weather and that I have cute summer outfits I’m waiting to wear so can she pack this torrential rain shit in? K, thanks xoxo

See it seems shady as fuck to go from IVH to Isabel Marant like this because we are talking 2 designers with totallyyyy different approaches to fashion; Iris Van Herpen is haute couture for starters whereas Marant is commercial, and that’s her thing, but unfair comparisons aside this collection is still a bit of a let down. This is considering I do usually really like Isabel Marant collections based on whether or not I’d wear the pieces, which seems a more appropriate barometer to use to come to a quality verdict. Whilst there were a few of the elegant bohemian pieces my mind goes to when it comes to her brand, the steps outside of that comfort zone didn’t pay off; graffiti print (can be cool if done with some subtlety which apart from a few exceptions was not the case here), cheap looking reflective fabric, and MC Hammer style dungarees, it seems to be an attempt to merge 80s trends with modern urban culture, and an attempt that at times verged on the disastrous. It’s good for a brand to experiment, of course, and appeal to a wider client base than usual, but when it’s bad the unfortunate take away is that the design team don’t have the chops to pull off straying from familiar territory; designers wouldn’t be showing at fashion week if this was truly the case because disregarding the influence of nepotism, fashion is an area you need real talent, perseverance and business smarts to excel in, and so it doesn’t do a team justice when they do fail.

J.W Anderson, on the other hand, really put his best foot forward this season and presented this work in a really cool way too which only added to the positives; whilst the way the shots were edited was funky af, it didn’t detract from the actual outfits, and if we are to see the same limitations when it comes to the F/W collections being released, this is something a lot of designers and editing teams should take note of. The idiosyncratic exaggerated shapes that we see as a recurring feature of Anderon’s collections were still on show but this time round with added femininity, billowing skirts and trailing jewellery that channel the stage looks of Stevie Nicks in a way that’s modern and functional and maybe even fit for the office if you were to work in a more creative industry with a chill boss. Could also work for a coven of witches who practice meditation by bonfires in the moonlight and burn the letters of men who wronged them in some Arizonian desert, so like I said, functional! Who doesn’t like versatility? The only thing I’m not too keen on is the shoes but they’re not so bad that it affects my opinion of the collection and they look comfy I guess.

Lastly, we’ve got to talk about Jacquemus, one of the most influential names in fashion at the moment. And yes, this time round, I’m doing it: I’m buying into the hype.

This collection is gorgeousss! I can see already that a lot of the recurring elements of the show are going to be big summer trends for this year (the cut outs and strappy details on the blouses are everywhere already) even though it isn’t hot enough to have collectively decided the time to start dressing for heat is upon us yet, and that’s always a good indicator of how successful the designer was in their vision and attempts to assess the needs and wants of fashion enthusiasts; whether I’m as big a fan of his work as everyone else seems to be, there’s no denying Simon Porte Jacquemus has always excelled at this practice if the buzz around him is anything to go by. It makes sense given the last year of us all being stuck in and suppressed that a lot of us are already romanticising the summer ahead, anticipating picnics and beach days and general Theresa May running through wheat fields type shenanigans galore, in spite of how dubious an assumption it is to make that British weather will allow for this; Porte Jacquemus has very much catered to this wishful thinking and the popularity of the whole escapist “cottage core” aesthetic, sexing it up a little bit with pieces that hug the body in ways only Mugler knows how whilst being lightweight and relaxed enough to look good with windswept, sandy hair and a little dose of sunburn. I’m talking enough to give you some cutesy freckles and rosy cheeks not PSA on the importance of suncream territory, guys, what is it with those of us on the gen Z/millennial cusp not taking sun damage seriously!? Why do I have to beg so many of my friends to wear it!? Does nobody else remember those photos they’d show you in PSHE in English primary schools of burnt people’s skin under UV lights? Or is that just me being weird and only having such a vivid memory of the images because teachers told us we had to wait until year 6 to see them due they to their “graphic” nature only for my gore-loving self to be extremely underwhelmed when we finally did get that lesson? They showed us a woman giving birth in year 4 for fuck’s sake. THAT was traumatising.

Back to the actual point anyway, with just a couple of negatives, the first of which being that the pieces are very similar to those feminine looks we saw dotted about the Jacquemus menswear collection from last year that were all over fashion Twitter. In Simon Porte Jacquemus’ defence though, it makes sense that those tones and silhouettes would be revisited in a full womenswear collection for that very reason; considering they went down so well and that lockdown gave us a bit of a half-baked summer in 2020, expanding on those elements enough for a whole new collection makes good business sense. We did get some cool additions too, mainly in the form of accessories, with the hardware details on the belts similar to those included in the Givenchy collection and the abstract hair slides being standouts for me. It was all exquisite-the shoes, the jewellery, the styling, everything 10/10. My other nitpick, and I say nitpick not because it’s not important but because it’s an issue that’s hardly restricted to Jacquemus (this casting team are far from the worst offenders, Saint Laurent I’m looking at you), is that I WISH we’d see more diversity with the models. Despite what my body dysmorphia yells at me, I am small, and yet seeing all those fucking minuscule waists made me die a little inside; it’s crazy to me that in 2020 the lack of variety in body types on the runway is still such a problem.

I must have said this a million times but I don’t want to end on a negative note so let me reiterate: this collection was STUN. NING. Plus there were some others I’ve talked about in this post that I’m sure will make it into my top 20 in the final part, Jacquemus, Dion Lee and Etro for sure; we even got some gorgeous pieces from Maria Grazia which I thought was a sentence I’d never type out. Have I said enough to not leave a bad taste in the mouth of anyone who read to the end of this post? I hope so, lol! TBH, it’s impressive given everything that’s going on that the majority of designers did roll out collections in September as usual so serious respect to them and their design teams for that.

In the next post, I’ll fingers crossed be able to include everything from Kim Shui (exciting!) through to at least Off-White (actually pretty good this time?!) and make this whole thing a 4 parter before getting straight on top of the photo posts I’m thinking about doing for the time being for the F/W21 shows. So as usual, if you did read to the end thank you so much and I respect the perseverance you must have to get through all my rambling, lmao. Hope everyone is well and coping okay and again, my inbox is always open for any post suggestions, constructive criticism, or just a chat for anyone who needs a listening ear.

Big love and thank you again!

Lauren x

[its-nuwanda-baby]

its a bit of a odd pair but maybe some neil x knox?? hcs if you do them or a confession fic 👉👈

confession one shot, coming right up!

A Punch in the Right Direction (Knox x Neil)

Warnings: underaged drinking, language, slight mentions of blood, slight mentions of homophobia (only in the beginning!)

I PROMISE YOU IT’S WAYYY FLUFFIER THAN IT SOUNDS LOLL

when neil befriends a girl at rehearsals, he has no idea that she will single-handedly deliver him his doom... in the form of one, stupidly wasted knox overstreet. chaos ensues. also Todd and Stick are boyfriends because I can, and because that funky lil man will have a place in everything I write (I am but a stick stan account). ENJOY!!! let me know what you think!

Neil Perry had always known he was gay. He knew right when he kissed Charlie in the first grade, on a dare from Pitts, that this was what a crush was supposed to feel like. He accepted early on in life that the world was not kind to people like him. He understood that words like “queer,” “fairy,” and “homo” were names for people like him, and that the sneers of disgust that accompanied them were just part of a package deal. He knew when he started school at Welton Academy that there was the inevitable danger of crushing on roommates and friends, and by his senior year at the all boys school, he was used to the routine of identifying and burying unwanted feelings until they were forgotten. So, when Knox Overstreet had leaned against his doorframe on the first day of school, smirking like an idiot, Neil had no problem identifying the beginnings of a crush bubbling in his chest. He had no problem, when Knox had reached out to shake the hand of Neil’s new (incredibly shy) roommate, pushing down the goofy smile that had threatened to spread on his face at how sweet Knox was being. Neil Perry had a crush on Knox Overstreet, and, given his previous experiences, it was about as scary as a kitten.

He had no problem hiding his disappointment when Knox announced he wouldn’t be at study group that night, even trying to pull him out of his obvious state of disappointment- “anything’s better than Hell-ton hash, Knox…” he had said, with just the perfect amount of nonchalance to make it convincing. Oh well, he thought, at least it would be easier to focus on the trig homework he needed to finish. 

And, when Knox returned, looking like his head was stuck in the atmosphere of Jupiter, Neil had so convincingly feigned his excitement when Knox had announced his infatuation with Chris- “are you crazy? What’s wrong with that?”- when the only thought going through his head had been you idiot, she has a boyfriend. What about me? I’m right here? 

Neil Perry was, for the most part, a good actor. He could play the part of the excited friend, the matchmaker, the hopeless romantic, and he could play them with ease. It was Todd’s fault, really, that everything had begun to unravel. That the feelings became too much to bury. In Neil’s experience, once it was out in the open, there’s no going back. If only Todd wasn’t so damn observant.

The conversation had gone somewhat normal, in the beginning:

“I dunno, Todd… I guess I just don’t understand it! I mean, she has a boyfriend already! If Knox really loves her so much, why isn’t he happy for her?”

“Neil, no offense, but don’t you have more important things to worry about than Knox’s love life?”

“Like?”

“Like, just about everything else? Why is it so important to you, anyways?”

That had shut Neil up. Maybe he wasn’t too good at hiding his feelings, after all. Then, the dreaded question reared its ugly head.

“Do you… like Knox?”

He had never been good at this part, the part where he had to lie about his feelings. Usually, nobody could even tell something was off, and he never even had to think about what to say if someone guessed. Todd was just… different, somehow. Neil knew he was also queer. He had seen Todd holding hands with another boy from their hall, nicknamed Stick. They were a nice couple, and Neil had to bite back his jealousy at seeing what he only wished he could have with Knox. 

“Neil? You know you can tell me, right?”

“You know the answer to that question already.”

Todd gave a small nod and moved to sit next to Neil, putting an arm around his shoulders.

“You know, I may be the newest addition to this friend group, but I don’t think Chris is the one Knox really wants.”

And before Neil could process the implications of the statement, Stick was at their door, and Todd was waving goodbye to Neil and leaning to kiss his boyfriend hello, and then they were gone.

But, if not Chris, then who? The question haunted his mind for days, and by the end of October, Neil Perry’s crush had grown into quite a bit more, which meant that burying his feelings was about to get a hell of a lot more complicated. Thanks to rehearsals and a new friend, maybe even impossible.

Neil enjoyed rehearsals. He loved watching his fellow actors lose themselves in the performance. He loved listening to the chatter of the tech crew as they discussed backdrops and lighting. He loved the smell of sawdust and paint that lingered in the air and on his clothes. The one thing he never really got the hang of was the talking. Despite being known as a social butterfly at Welton, the mixture of Henley Hall girls and public school kids was a whole new atmosphere for him, and if there’s one thing Neil Perry hated, it was change. So, when the girl who played Hermia walked up and introduced herself, he was so overjoyed at the prospect of a friend that he hadn’t stopped to ponder over the familiarity of her surname. 

“Hey, you look a little lost! I’m Ginny, Ginny Danbury. I play Hermia.”

He had looked up, unsure at first of whether he was the one being addressed. In discovering that he was, his face broke out into the trademark Neil Perry Smile, the one he reserved for his dad and Dr. Nolan. 

“Neil. Perry. I, uh, I play Puck.”

They had shaken hands, he in his crown of twigs, and she in her pink tulle dress, and a friendship was born. 

Two weeks before the performance, she mentioned her older brother. 

“So, I got home last night, and Chet- that’s my brother, by the way- Chet asked me if I had been hooking up with someone. Apparently, he thinks the only valid reason to be out late is if you’re getting laid…”

She had kept talking after that, but Neil had stopped listening. What had Knox said about that girl? Practically engaged… to Chet Danbury. When rehearsal was over that night, Ginny asked Neil a question.

“Would you mind giving me your phone number?”

—

The smell of cheap liquor greeted Knox before he had even opened the door. Charlie’s words rang in his head; you don’t really think she means you’re going with her? He was right, after all… this was Chris’s boyfriend’s house, and he was a guest. His guest. He was really starting to regret passing up a Poets meeting for this, when he could have been cozied up next to Neil in the cave. Neil… with his perfect brown eyes that should be considered national treasures, in Knox’s opinion, and a voice like velvet… Neil, the reason he had even begun pursuing Chris in the first place, as a way to distract him from the true object of his affections. Neil, whose absent-minded, yearning looks were surely reserved for everyone, not just him… keep it together, Knox, tonight is the night you forget about Neil Perry, once and for all.

“Carpe diem, Knoxious… carpe diem.”

He opened the door.

About an hour later, he was wasted. His earlier attempt to get a beer had been sabotaged by two football players who were a little too closely acquainted with the bottles of vodka and whiskey lined up on the counter. Before he knew what was happening, his beer had been replaced by a shot of liquor that smelled exactly like the stuff his sisters used to clean off their nail polish, and he had been affectionately dubbed “Mutt Sanders’ brother” by the shorter of the two jocks, despite his protests of never having met a Mutt Sanders. A few shots later and he was stumbling into the basement, nearly incoherent. What happened after that would surely remain burned into his memory forever, but the most that he could bring himself to tell anyone was that he had somehow ended up on the floor with a bloody nose and a splitting headache.

The full story is a bit more complicated. Knox, intoxicated and feeling brave, had begun his search for Chris in the kitchen, weaving around crowds of people he didn’t know. If he had been sober, he certainly would have been a little less obvious, but Knox Overstreet was a man on a mission, and although the alcohol helped him focus on the task at hand (find Chris, woo Chris, (maybe) hook up with Chris, fall in love with Chris, forget Neil Perry), it certainly didn’t aid him in his attempts at subtlety. By the time he managed to get to the basement, he forgot why he was there.

Neil, Knox, you’re here to find- no, you’re here to FORGET Neil. Find Chris, forget Neil. Find Chris, forget Neil. It was here that Knox began to feel the fourth shot in his legs, and he quickly moved to sit on the couch before they gave out. Cursing his low alcohol tolerance, he began to scope out the crowd in the basement for Chris, when he suddenly became aware of two things at once: the presence of an annoyingly loud couple mid-makeout on his right, and the sleeping presence of Chris Noel on his left. And Knox Overstreet, in a burst of alcohol-infused idiocy, began to stroke her hair, and suddenly it wasn’t Chris on the couch beside him, but Neil. Neil Perry, and he was smiling up at Knox, saying something that Knox couldn’t understand because all he could see was the shape of Neil’s lips, moving ever so slowly towards his, and in that moment, as their lips met, time seemed to slow down, and the voices and music were all combining into a kind of ambient soundtrack- that is, until the distorted voice of Kitchen Jock #1 made its way into Knox’s alcohol-muddled brain, pulling him back to earth in word form.

Chet… CHET, it’s Mutt Sanders’ brother! And he’s feelin’ up YOUR GIRL!

And he wasn’t kissing Neil, he was kissing Chris, and she wasn’t asleep, she was sitting up, asking him what he was doing, and, hell, what was he doing? As he opened his mouth to answer her, he picked up a bright red blur in his peripheral vision, moving towards him.

Next thing he knew, he was on the floor.

—

There was a knock on the door.

“Mr. Perry. You have a phone call.”

“Yessir, I’ll be right there, sir.”

Todd shot him a confused look from where he was sat on the floor with Stick. He and Neil had left the Poets meeting about ten minutes after Charlie showed up with girls and liquor, and Meeks and Pitts had soon followed. The latter two had denied their invites to a study group, which meant they were most definitely making out in their room, so Todd had asked Neil about inviting Stick to work on the Latin conjugation assignment together, to which Neil had happily agreed.

In all honesty, Neil was glad for the phone call. Todd and Stick were so cute together it was nearly maddening, especially when Neil could so easily imagine him and Knox together in the same ways. The gentle brush of their shoulders against one another as Todd checked Stick’s spelling, the way Stick watched Todd’s lips moved as he practiced his pronunciations… to anyone else, it would have been endearing, but to Neil it felt like a lifetime prison sentence. 

Dr. Hager handed him the telephone when he got to the end of the hall, and he nodded a “thank you” before watching the man disappear into his room.

“Hello, this is Neil Perry?”

“Neil, thank goodness you’re there!”

“Ginny?”

“Yes, oh, I’m so sorry to bother you on a Friday night, but there’s been a bit of an… incident…”

Shit. Knox had been at the Danburys’ house. Neil’s blood turned to ice.

“What sort of incident? Is everyone alright?”

“Well, sort of… do you happen to know Knox Overstreet?”

Boy, did he ever…

So that’s how Neil ended up at the Danburys’ house at 10 pm on a Friday night, picking up a bleeding (and incredibly drunk) Knox. Ginny hadn’t been able to tell him what happened, and nobody else got a good look, but the story was that, while an intoxicated Knox had been trying to dance with Chris, Chet noticed and punched him in the nose. Neil believed it. 

So there they were, sitting on the dock near the lake as Neil pressed snow to the bruise that was rapidly forming around Knox’s eye. 

Around 11, Neil deemed Knox sober enough to take back to the dorms without causing suspicion, and they crept up the stairs and down the hall to Neil’s and Todd’s dorm.

Neil softly pushed the door open with his foot to see Todd at his desk, surrounded by crumpled pieces of paper. Upon seeing Knox’s inebriated state and the exhausted look on Neil’s face, he immediately jumped to help Knox out of his coat and tie while Neil guided him to sit on one of the beds.

“Neil! Buddy! How’d you get here?”

Neil and Todd immediately shushed Knox, whose bruised face contorted into a frown.

“Sorryyyy” was the slurred response, given in a sort of whisper-yell smoothie.

“Knoxy, don’t talk. Your nose is still bleeding.” Neil’s voice was dripping in concern, which caused one of Todd’s eyebrows to perk up in his tell-tale “I told you so” smirk. Knox was preoccupied with trying to lick the blood from his nose “to clean it!”, and Neil was trying to get him to sit still. 

After about an hour, Todd had gone to room with Hopkins for the night, to his immense gratitude (drunk Knox was not a character Hopkins was particularly interested in dealing with, and neither Todd nor Neil blamed him one bit). Knox, who had sobered up enough to gain the ability to form coherent sentences (but not a filter) was delighted to fill Neil in on the happenings of the party, to which Neil couldn’t bring an objection from his lips. As annoying as he could be, Neil loved Knox’s ramblings, sober or otherwise.

“And then, I was sitting on the couch and the strangest thing happened! Chris was there, but it wasn’t really Chris! It was you, Neil, can you believe it? You were there!”

Neil hummed in mock surprise, grabbing the cup of water he had gotten from the bathroom and wetting another towel.

“No, Neil, you gotta remember, you kissed me! Well, you almost did…”

Neil froze, almost dropping the water.

“I.. did what?”

“You kissed me, silly! And I thought I was drunk…”

“Knox, I wasn’t at the party… I didn’t kiss you.”

The crushed look on Knox’s face at Neil’s words would have been adorable if it hadn’t been so sad…

“You… didn’t kiss me?” Neil shook his head slowly. “But then, who did I kiss?”

“Knox, Chris’s boyfriend punched your lights out. You were seeing things.”

“But Neil, you don’t get it. That was supposed to be our kiss!”

“Shh, Knox, stop moving so much. Your nose isn’t bleeding anymore, so let’s get you to bed. Can you stand up?”

Knox pouted, pouted, which almost caused Neil to drop dead on the spot, and stood up shakily before giggling and leaning into the wall.

“Nope!” He sang, popping the “p.”

Neil sighed. Knox was wearing jeans and a dress shirt, which meant he was going to be incredibly uncomfortable. Might as well do it now, then at least he won’t remember if anything embarrassing happens…

“Knox, you’re going to be uncomfortable sleeping in that.”

“So strip me, Perry, I’m not afraid,” he said with a drunken attempt at a wink that should not have made Neil’s heart flutter in the way that it did. He sighed and moved to unbutton Knox’s shirt, breathing another sigh of relief when he was met with the sight of a cotton t-shirt underneath. Crisis number one, averted.

“If I hold onto your shoulders, can you get your own pants off?”

“Yyyyyyeup!” It took Knox three tries to find the button on his jeans, but eventually, his clothes were folded neatly on Neil’s desk and Knox was sitting on the bed in just a t-shirt and boxers.

“You know, Neil, it’s your fault I went to that stupid party anyways.”

“Pardon?”

“Your fault, Neil. You and your stupid hair and your stupid face… you’re so stupid and fucking hot and it drives me so insane. It’s your fault I tried so hard to get Chris, and… and it’s your fault that my fucking nose is broken. There, I said it.”

There had only ever been a handful of times where Neil Perry was rendered fully speechless. Usually, it happened when his father said something particularly nasty, or when Todd occasionally worked up the courage to read his original poems at DPS meetings. But nothing could have prepared him for what Knox Overstreet said to him at 11:30pm on that fateful Friday night as he knelt on the floor between his legs.

“Wh-what?”

“You’re so stupid, Neil… I can’t do this anymore.”

And before he could say anything, Knox pulled him in by his tie and captured Neil’s parted lips with alcohol drowned ones of his own.

Neil pushed him away with no hesitation. “Knox, I-“

“Neil, come on… first Chris, now you too?”

“Knox…”

“No, Neil. You always talk, now I’m talking. I’m in love with you, and I thought maybe you might have been in love with me after tonight, but I was wrong and I’m starting to think that maybe going after Chris was a good thing, because she made me forget about you, even if it was just a little bit for a little bit of time. I’m…” Knox went silent as Neil kissed him again, softly.

“Knox, I like you. I like you a lot, actually, but you’re still really drunk and we should wait to talk about this, yeah?”

He stroked Knox’s hair softly, smiling when the other boy nodded and leaned into his touch.

“Okay. I’m gonna get ready for bed now, alright? I’m not leaving, I promise.”

Knox hummed affirmatively, getting under the covers of Neil’s bed.

“Smells like you… smells nice.” He buried his face in Neil’s pillow.

Neil smiled as he turned off the lights and got into Todd’s bed, listening to Knox’s quiet snores until he fell asleep.

—

“Fuck”

Knox opened his eyes, and immediately regretted it when the world exploded, sending shards of light and color into his aching brain. Groaning, he buried his face in his (no, not his,  his was softer?) pillow, wincing at the unexpected throb around his eye. He rolled over, facing the ceiling, moving an arm up to cover his eye when he heard the door open and relaxing immensely when he heard Todd’s voice.

“Morning, Knoxious. You okay?” Todd’s concern was evident, which made Knox feel a lot better. He loved that about Todd, he made up for what he lacked in confidence with an abundance of love and care for other people. Here he was now, handing Knox a bad of ice and a plate of pancakes from the diner he loved in town.

“Stick and I got breakfast this morning, thought you could use a hangover cure. Oh, which reminds me, I also brought you this,” he said, handing Knox a cup of water and a bottle of aspirin. He took everything with a smile, which widened when he saw Todd return it. Todd never smiled, and when he did, it was almost always genuine, and it made Knox feel warm inside to know that he had caused it.

“Where’s- ahem- where’s Neil?” Knox cleared the sleep from his throat and gulped down a couple pills before digging into the pancakes- blueberry. My favorite! Todd knows my favorite!

“Oh, uh, I actually don’t know,” Todd shrugged, furrowing his eyebrows, “He might be down by the dock? He goes there to study sometimes when he’s conflicted.”

Knox nodded, drinking the rest of the water and making quick work of the remaining pancakes.

“I’m gonna go find him. We gotta talk. If you see him, let him know I’m looking for him, alright?”

Knox got out of bed, only slowing for a moment when he realized he wasn’t wearing pants, before grabbing his jeans from their place on Neil’s chair and tugging them on before leaving the room.

Knox Overstreet had shitty hangovers. He had the headaches, the nausea, the fatigue, the dehydration, you name it… but he couldn’t seem to get wasted enough to ever forget anything. Usually, that was a good thing. As Knox marched towards the dock, he couldn’t decide whether he was glad to have the memories of the previous night, or if he wished that they would disappear forever.

His eyes are so fucking pretty. Fuck, how could I ever think I was in love with Chris when he was right here in front of me? 

“Knox? You okay?”

“Mmm. You’re pretty, that’s all.”

He had laughed, then. God, his laugh was like music. His laugh was music.

“You’re pretty too, Knoxy.”

Fuck. It was too much, he was right here, and he had just taken Knox’s shirt off, and he was sitting on the floor between his legs, and it was all too much. 

Carpe fucking Diem.

“You’re so stupid, Neil… I can’t do this anymore.”

Knox was grateful for Neil’s tie in that moment, because it was the one thing tethering him to the mortal world. Neil’s lips felt like home, and he knew it was more than just a drunken kiss. He was made to be kissing Neil, and he felt like he could do it forever.

And then it had ended.

“Knox, I-“

“Fuck.” He cursed at himself, the memory hurting his head worse than the alcohol or the bruise. 

“I like you a lot, actually…”

“You’re pretty drunk still”

“Wait to talk about this, yeah?”

“Knox! Down here!”

Speak of the fucking devil. Neil Perry, looking as beautiful as ever, was sitting on the dock, long legs sprawled out, reading glasses balanced on the tip of his nose. He looked delicious. Knox shoved back those thoughts before they made themselves known on his physical form and waved at Neil, walking towards him.

“Hey, Neil.”

“I’m glad you’re up! How are you? How’s your head?”

“‘M fine, Neil. Really. Thanks to you and Todd.”

As he sat down next to Neil, he couldn’t tell if the look the other boy gave him was a look of concern or of longing.

“The bruise actually looks a lot better. I’ll bet it’s gone completely by Monday.”

Knox tried to hide the way his breath hitched as Neil’s hand moved to cup his cheek, stroking the area around his eye so tenderly it should have been illegal.

“Neil…”

“I know. We need to talk about last night.”

“I shouldn’t have…”

“Actually, I’m… I’m glad you did. Considering you meant it, at least.”

Knox was speechless. He had planned a whole speech out on his way down, only to have all words robbed from him by the flecks of sunlit gold in Neil’s brown eyes. 

I love you

“I did. Mean it, that is… I definitely meant it.”

Jesus Christ, I love you, Neil Perry

“Then you won’t mind if… if I did it again?”

Knox met Neil’s eyes with his own. 

“Not in the slightest.”

Then, he did the same with his lips.

And I love you, Knox Overstreet.

[separatist-apologist]

Speak Now

I can't justify this at all.

I am not the kind of girl who should be rudely barging in on a white veil occasion. But you are not the kind of boy who should be marrying the wrong girl.

“Elain,” Vassa hissed from behind a heavy velvet curtain. “If Ianthe sees you—”

“I know, I know,” Elain whispered back, letting Vassa use her body like a shield. “I just need to see Lucien.”

Vassa smoothed out the skirt of her hunter green dress. “Jurien is back there…I could send him a text?”

Elain nodded, her eyes sweeping through the room. She’d picked the worst possible moment to lay her feelings on the line. She’d had yearsto do it, to just come clean and tell Lucien she was in love with him, but every time she tried, she got tripped up. The words got lost in her throat. Elain had hoped Lucien might tell her, but he never had. She’d thought, for a time, that he might love her back, might want to be with her the way she wanted to be with him.

They’d kissed one summer right before Tamlin introduced Lucien to Ianthe. Elain couldn’t see Ianthe, hidden behind the curtain at the very back of the massive church, but she didn’t need to. Ianthe was everything Elain was not; tall, a society woman, and someone who could move through the same circles as the Vanserra’s. Elain was the girl who’d accidentally met Lucien at school while on scholarship. Her family didn’t have money; no one was impressed by the last name Archeron.

Elain assumed Ianthe and Lucien would burn out but Lucien proposed and now Elain was skulking through a church so she might beg him to reconsider. She was terrified he’d tell Elain it was too late, and he loved Ianthe now, the simpering, stupid blonde that didn’t love Lucien in return. She loved his money, his family name, and the thought of someday raising future Senators. If Ianthe found out Elain was here, she’d probably kill her.

The people sitting in pews were a veritable who’s who not just of the state but of the country itself. Elain slid out of the church back into the vestibule where Vassa was waiting. Vassa shouldn’t have been allowed either despite also having money and status. Vassa and Ianthe hated each other. Vassa was loyal to a fault and Elain would forever be grateful for her friendship. Vassa was also dating one of Lucien’s best men, Jurien.

“I texted Jurian but he’s not responding,” Vassa muttered, grabbing Elain by the arm and pulling her through the vestibule and up the stairs. “You should hide up here in the balcony until I can figure out how to sneak you past Ianthe and her bridesmaids.”

Elain nodded, her shoes clacking loudly on the marble steps. Vassa took one last look at Elain with pity in her wide, blue eyes.

“You just text him too, you know,” Vassa offered but Elain shook her head no. What if he didn’t see it until after he said his vows? It had to be now, and it had to be in person.

Vassa vanished through an archway, leaving Elain a phantom overlooking the ceremony. She caught sight of her sister Feyre, mulling about and talking to people Elain only vaguely recognized, her husband Rhysand by her side. She spotted who she assumed must be Ianthe’s family, judging by their pale skin and blonde hair, dressed in shades of pastel that washed them out. Lucien’s family, on the other side, easy to see with all that red hair. Beron seemed pleased enough in his tux, but Lucien’s mother’s face was unreadable. Elain imagined she didn’t approve, though it was possible she was just bored of waiting.

Elain was, too. As quietly as she could, Elain slipped back down the stairs into the vestibule and then down a hall where the bridal party was finishing up. Elain could hear Ianthe, her voice raised.

“We agreed to heeled Manolo Blahniks so why are youin flats that look like they came from Target?!”

“Ianthe, I’m pregnant, my feet are swollen—”

“How is that my problem? You look disgusting and I’d make you leave if it wouldn’t throw off the balance of the ceremony—” Elain slid past the half open door, catching sight of Ianthe as she did so. Ianthe was in a huge tulle grown that Elain supposed Ianthe thought made her look like a princess. It made her look like a cream puff. The thought gave Elain some small measure of joy, knowing that for all the money Ianthe had spent on this monstrosity of a wedding, Ianthe still couldn’t buy herself any taste.

Elain slipped into the room that should have belonged to Lucien only to find it empty. His regular clothes were sitting on a chair, marking that he’d been here at some point. Elain slid into the hard piece of furniture, pulling off the jacket hanging off the back and pressing it into her face. This was her fault. She’d been a coward, too afraid to tell the man she loved how she felt and now he was waiting on another woman. She took a deep breath, inhaling the faint scent of chestnuts and warm apples. Lucien somehow always smelled like a crisp, fall day. Elain took a breath and looked up in the mirror. She looked plain compared to Ianthe, even if Ianthe was more pastry than woman. Brown hair cascaded down bare shoulders and her dress, while long, was hardly the right dress for begging a man to reconsider his whole life. Off shoulder and dusty rose, it was the dress he’d kissed her in the summer before everything went to shit. One drunk kiss, a kiss he’d hastily told her the next morning meant nothing.

It meant everything to her.

Elain stood and replaced his jacket so she could make her way back to the curtain she’d been hiding behind. She wanted to see him, at least. Just one last time before he was lost to her forever. She’d leave, then and let him have happiness.

It was surprisingly easy to slip back behind the curtain and take one last look around. Lucien looked magnificent in his tux. He stood just off center, broad hands clasped in front of him, his russet eyes far away. He hadn’t cut his long, ruby hair though he had tied it off his face. He was every inch the prince she’d always imagined him to be, even as a gangly, awkward fourteen-year-old girl moving through the same private school as him. Lucien had always seen her, even when she couldn’t see herself.

Elain turned to leave when the music began. She froze, equal parts horrified and terrified as people began to stream down the red carpeted aisle one at a time. His parents and then Ianthe’s, followed by a long stream of groomsmen and bridesmaids, all in ugly, unflattering pale blue gowns. Elain caught sight of the pregnant one, her eyes red and face puffy, arms linked with Jurien. If that’s how Ianthe treated her maid of honor, how would she treat Lucien?

An adorable copper haired flower girl began tossing red petals on the floor to general awws, while a stoic, blonde boy marched to the front of the room with a little pillow.

Walk away. Don’t watch this, her brain screamed at her, but Elain couldn’t stop herself. Everyone stood, all eyes on Ianthe when Ianthe appeared, her arm linked with her father. She was floating somehow, like she was some sort of pageant queen. Elain turned her head to see Lucien. She didn’t know what she thought she’d find when she looked in his face. A smile, certainly. Tears, even. Some show of emotion that would let her finallyleave.

His face was unmoved, stone in the face of his soon to be wife. Lucien looked miserable. She was tempted to try and convince herself that was how he expressed himself, how he showed emotion, but she knew better. If he’d been overcome, she would be able to see it. She knew him better than that.

At least Ianthe’s face was hidden beneath a veil that trailed for miles behind her. Her pregnant maid of honor crouched to rearrange it when Ianthe made it to Lucien, her face a grimace. Elain took a look around at the ornate church, her eyes lingering on the stained glass and the marble arches. Had Lucien wanted this? Had he picked any aspect of it out? Lucien, the man who spent days camping with nothing but a pop-up tent and the same blue sleeping bag he’d been using since he was sixteen?

The preacher began speaking words of love, commitment, and forever. Elain kept her eyes on Lucien’s face, begging him for even a hintof emotion. Her hands shook violently, her throat dry. She had never meant to watch him get married. She’d just wanted to tell him how she felt. Lucien’s face didn’t move, betrayed nothing. He didn’t shift his weight from one foot to the other, didn’t itch, didn’t do anything. It was as if he’d grown roots right there on the dais.

“If anyone has any reason these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Elain willed herself to stay put. To say nothing. Silence filled the church and a few people looked around as though they expected an outburst.

Elain stepped out of the curtain, a ghost to the room. No one was looking at her except the preacher, who hesitated when he saw her quietly begin to walk forward. Vassa turned first, her red curls easy to spot in the middle of the crowd.

Lucien turned next. Their eyes met though his face was exactly as it had been a moment earlier.

“I object,” Elain said, her voice wavering.

“Oh thank God,” Rhysand muttered from somewhere close by.

“I uh…I’m not the girl who just…objects to a wedding, but they said speak now…Lucien, if you marry her, you’ll be marrying the wrong girl. It should be us. I love you, Lucien. I’ll…I’ll wait outside for you if you want to change your mind.”

“Get her out of here!” Ianthe screamed. Elain took one last look at Lucien’s face. His eyes shifted, the ice vanishing into something warm. Soft, even. She wasn’t sure if she imagined it; perhaps she only wanted to see emotion.

Vassa rushed forward, her dress swishing around her softly. She looped her arm through Elain’s and walked her out. Neither of them said a word until the warm sun hit their skin. Elain nearly collapsed onto the pavement in the parking lot.

“That took guts,” Vassa told her, walking her quickly towards the back of the church where Elain had come in.

Elain couldn’t speak. She sat on the edge of a concrete step and shook out her hands. “I shouldn’t have done that; I should have just let him marry her.”

Vassa shook her head. “Don’t torture yourself. You made a grand gesture and even if it didn’t work out, at least you tried.”

Elain exhaled. “I should go. I am going to go. I…I don’t want to see them walk out together.”

Vassa nodded. Elain stood, steadier this time and let Vassa hug her tightly. “I’m proud you tried. Plus, you made that wedding fun for the first time.”

Elain nodded, tears pricking at her eyes. She took off, walking through the parking lot quickly until she hit the sidewalk. She’d walked seven blocks from her apartment to get here; it wasn’t far. Elain tried to think of what she thought he’d say. She hadn’t planned it out, had never gotten that far. She supposed she always knew, deep down, that Lucien would never walk away. He’d proposed, hadn’t he?

Elain pushed the button at the streetlight, wondering absently if those buttons made the walk sign come faster or if they were a placebo when she heard a voice scream her name.

“Elain!”

Elain turned, expecting to see Vassa again. It was Lucien, in jeans and the jacket that had been hanging from the chair, running towards her. Elain took two stumbling steps, half certain she’d had a mental break, and this was all a very vivid hallucination.

On the third, Lucien caught her, arms around her body as he lifted her off her feet. His mouth crashed against hers before she could say a single word, warm and inviting just like she remembered.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling the hair tie from his hair. Lucien broke the kiss, eyes shining setting her back to her feet. He looked perfect, his hair framing his beautiful face, his eyes sparkling, and lips swollen from the bruising kiss he’d just given her. He reached for her face, holding it between his broad hands. “I didn’t say my vows,” he told her breathlessly, as if he felt as dazed as she did. “I…I love you too. I never thought you cared, I…thank God you said something.”

He kissed her again, softer this time. Elain was shaking. This wasn’t real, couldn’t be real.

“Say it again,” she whispered.

“I love you,” he repeated as though she’d asked something as simple as his name. “Since the first time we met and if I’d been smart, I would have told you that day. I didn’t think you felt the same and I didn’t want to lose you. It was better to be your friend than to not have you at all but Elain, God, I love you. I love you so much it makes me feel crazy, and right before you came out of that curtain, I was standing up there pretending it was you. Wishing it was you.”

Elain swallowed and then she laughed, unable to stop herself. Lucien grinned.

“Come on, let’s run away before Ianthe comes looking for us.”

“Where will we go?” She asked, taking his hand, and jogging back towards the intersection.

“Anywhere we want.”

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

Oooh how about one of my favorite cliches? The reader attends a fancy ball and picks out her nicest dress and wants to go support and impress Jaskier, but another girl gets jealous of her getting all the attention from Jask and trashes the dress right before she gets the chance to ask him for a dance. Not sure about the outcome. Maybe Jask or Geralt lends her some clothes? Or Yen? Or she owns it and dances in a messy dress. Haha. I'll let you decide. It can even be angsty. I love your stuff.

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 1,110Rating: GTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle a/n: First, thank you for your sweet words. Second, I hope you like how I resolved the issue of the dress. I was very strongly inspired by one of my favorite photos of Joey (see below). Enjoy!

You practically vibrated with excitement as you entered the ballroom. This was the moment you’d been waiting for since Jaskier had secured his position as premier entertainer. Well, one of the many moments. There had been coming downstairs after getting ready with Yennefer and Geralt giving you a small smile and complimenting you on how you looked, rare praise indeed. Then there had been entering the room, seeing all the eyes on you but most importantly seeing Jaskier’s as he took in your gown. You’d been saving this gown for a special occasion. It was pale pink and flowed around you like the softest, loveliest cloud. He’d made you promise to save him the first dance when he was finished, and you waited patiently as he performed. Every wink, every gesture, every word of praise for whatever lady fair he sang of was sent to you. You blushed at the attention, but you also preened, tallying up the moments as they came, eagerly anticipating the most important one; the dance. You pictured the moment over and over in your head. He would walk over to you and hold out a hand, asking you for this dance with that roguish smile he gave. You would curtsey and accept his hand. He would whisk you onto the floor, the dress swirling around you and you would dance all night in a close embrace while he whispered all the words you’d been waiting to hear.

Jaskier approached the end of his song, eyes on you with a look of soft adoration as he sang praises of a woman in pink (though you knew he’d changed that lyric just for you) and suddenly his expression turned from one of delight to shock. You turned towards where he was looking just in time for the wine to blind you. A full goblet had been thrown in your face, pouring down onto the dress and staining it in rivulets of deep crimson.

You ran, trying to wipe your face clean fruitlessly, your hands covered and smearing more of it on you. You felt your arms grabbed on each side and then Yennefer’s voice.

“This way,” she instructed. “You can catch her later, help me with Y/N right now.”

“Hmm,” an angry growl came from your left and you realized Geralt was helping guide you somewhere private. You heard a door shut and then you were seated on something soft. Before long, a towel was pressed gently into your hands and you used it to wipe your face, taking off the makeup you’d so carefully applied earlier in the evening. Once you could see you looked down at the dress and angry tears filled your eyes.

“It’s ruined,” you whispered.

There was banging on the door and you heard Jaskier’s voice.

“Y/N? Are you in there? Are you alright? Let me in!” he called. Geralt moved towards the door.

“No wait!” you called, causing him to halt in his steps, “I don’t want him to see me like this. It’s too embarrassing.”

“Y/N he doesn’t care about the dress,” Yennefer said, dabbing at the stains.

“Please let me in, Y/N, I need to see you’re alright with my own eyes,” Jaskier implored. You finally sighed and nodded at Geralt who pulled the door open, Jaskier nearly falling through it in surprise. His eyes quickly sought you and he was by your side in an instant, kneeling and taking one of your hands in his.

“Are you hurt? Did any get in your eyes?” he asked.

“No, I’m not hurt. Other than my pride,” you murmured, avoiding his eyes.

“Well, if you’re certain you’re alright I would like to collect on that dance,” Jaskier said. You looked up at him, eyes widening in surprise.

“You must be joking,” you said.

“Why would I be joking?” he asked, genuine surprise written on his face. You gestured to your body, the wine-soaked fabric that covered you, and looked at him as though he were speaking in tongues.

“Very well, let’s switch clothes,” he suggested.

“Sorry I think I must have wine in my ears, what was that?”

“I said let’s switch clothes. Mine might be a bit loose on you but I think I can squeeze into that dress,” he elaborated, eyes sizing you the garment.

“You’re serious aren’t you?” you asked.

“Absolutely. C’mon, Y/N, let’s show them that they can’t chase us away. You belong on that floor and I belong by your side,” Jaskier implored, squeezing your hand tightly in his.

The next several minutes were a blur. You and Jaskier were ushered to opposite sides of the room where Geralt and Yennefer helped you both undress, passing the garments back and forth with shared amused smiles. When all was said and done you stood in his clothes, more than a little bit impressed by how nicely you looked in his emerald doublet and trousers, enjoying the risqué low-cut of his undershirt and how it allowed a peek of cream colored chemise through. Jaskier wore your stained dress and somehow made it look like a piece of high fashion instead of a soiled garment.

“Almost perfect, just one more thing,” Yennefer said, approaching Jaskier with a tube of lipstick. She held his face steady by the chin and applied the deep, berry shade to his lips. He puckered at her playfully when he saw done and she swatted him and sent him on his way to you.

“You ready?” he asked, taking your hand in his.

“Ready,” you answered, gripping his tightly, excitement filling you once again.

There were moments you planned and practiced for, and then there were moments you never could have predicted. The moment you walked back into the ballroom hand-in-hand with Jaskier while Geralt and Yennefer walked behind you, glowering threateningly at anyone who so much as glanced at the two of you oddly, was one you could never have foreseen but would forever be one of your favorites. As well as the moment Jaskier took you in his arms and danced with you in a nearly empty ballroom as people moved away from the odd sight of the two of you. You would never be invited back to one of these balls and Geralt never did get to find the woman who’d done this to you, but the night turned out more perfect than you could have ever imagined. And when he pulled you in for a kiss, your hand tangling in the soft tulle of the neckline and the rough hair on his chest, the berry lipstick smearing on your face, you knew you would never be happier than that very moment.

[the-punk-innovator]

My friend is gender fluid and I’m genderqueer we loved your tux-dresses. I wanted to know if you had any advice or any places to buy stuff at. ( after all of this is over)

Hell yeah, I get what you mean.

Tux shirts, blazers, and bow ties+ cummerbunds can be rented from men's formal wear shops (which is what I did for my senior year prom) but I've also found all these things at thrift shops! The blazer I got at forever 21 so a jacket like that would be easy to find at a department store.

The skirt is a little tricky. I bought mine from a fantasy clothing etsy shop. I usually recommend people search for a white skirt made of tulle or some material that looks formal and matches the shirt's color. Try shops like Windsor or etsy!

Good luck on your search! 🍀🤞

[ladymelissaduthe]

Challenge #1

Alternately Titled: To be a Princess

I actually don’t have wifi right now, but hopefully data can come through for now. I’l probably reupload this with the gdoc format soon hehe 

I actually wanted to post Missy’s RP with Jackson which happens the night before all of this, but I’m not too happy with it right now so SJKNJKDNDK yeah here is the reaction fic for now + the first meeting RP,,, cause it’s technically late... I’M SORRY BSDJKDNKJD Mentions of @safiya-schreave and @felicity-graham HAHAHAHA and features the first meeting with @arin-schreave hehe, thank you guys for some spicy material to work with <3 (2341 words,,, I think)

When I was a little girl, I learned that to be a princess was to have a thousand pairs of shoes. Shoulders back and tummy in, lift the chin and slowly turn your head from side to side.

I would personally like to thank Barbie for being the role model I didn’t think I’d need on a day like today.

Sure, Barbie had Julian, (The superior Ken from a Barbie movie if you asked me), but today, we had a real life princess give us a crash course on… royal life amongst us. It was like Barbie: Princess and the Popstar more than the Princess and the Pauper really. She walked in, and well, it felt like the chatter in the room quieted down once she came in. Princess Safiya.

She seemed nice when she came in, clipboard an all—ah well doesn’t that sight remind me of days I’d be instructing relatives around a rehearsal dinner. She begins to read from a script attached to the clipboard.

“I hope you all had a restful first night in the palace because now our work begins. Today I will begin to instruct you on conduct and protocol, a process that will continue for the duration of your stay. Please know that I will be reporting any missteps on your part to the royal family.” An amused expression ghosts her features before she continues. “I know it sounds harsh, but this isn’t a game to be taken lightly. Someone in this room will be the next princess of Illéa. It is no small task. You must endeavor to elevate yourselves, no matter your previous station. You will become ladies from the ground up. And this very morning, you will receive your first lesson.”

Hm… fair. I nod from my spot in the room, ready as ever to learn. I mean, how hard could it be? The sound of the door opening catches my attention, was another girl late?

Oh… OH.

Well I’ll be damned, that was Felicity Graham.

I thought she was taller.

I focus my attention back to what the princess was saying, only seeing Felicity move through the corner of my eyes until she came right back into my line of sight when she walks over to where Safiya stood, the two seemingly having a hushed conversation the no one probably an ear away could hear. I lift a shoulder up, busying myself and turning my attention to around the room. Guess they needed their privacy.

The set up was simple around here, simple at a glance but most probably high quality and very expensive. The room was mostly decorated like it was straight out of a home décor issue on an old money family. The elongated room was complemented with high-rise curtains tied with golden chords, tables were laid with cloths that were definitely a multi-count. There were centerpiece bouquets at the center of every table: dahlias and veronicas, if I wasn’t mistaken, the accent cloths were pinned to the sides with a lighter tulle? No, more of a sheath with gold weaved into it.

A few months, I decorated a wedding in a location similar to this, a sort of hall in an old building back in Orleans for the governor’s daughter. Except, maybe this has twice the budget…. Or maybe five times the budget. I wonder what was happening with the princess right now?

Oh they’re still talking. Why does the princess give Felicity a look? You know, one of those scary looking faces you shoot at a girl when you both see the same dress on sale and it’s the last one in-stock.

I try to wrack my brain up for anything I knew about them, figuring out why Felicity would be here. Those two were best friends, I know, but I wouldn’t be caught dead in the same room with the girl(s) my ex was replacing me with. Well, ya know, that’s just me. I just needed a refresher on which glass was for water and which one for juice.

“My sister sent someone to replace her. Lucky for us.”

The princess doesn’t seem too happy. Sometimes I wonder what it’s like for your best friend to be your brother’s ex-fiancée. That whole… situation was a big question for the entire country. My circles of other wedding planners whispered reasons why it was called off. Interesting allegations really. Oh their poor wedding planners, they better had a cancellation clause.

“Table manners are very important, and before you can eat in front of the royal family, you must be aware of certain etiquette. The faster we get through this little lesson, the sooner you get to have your breakfasts, so faces forward, please.”

The princess continues onto basic table manners, easy things that my Grammy used to grill me for back when I was little girl. Then again, there was a time when she used to be a Debutante ‘round Midston and her habits never left her.

“If you follow this one, I’ll be disappointed.” Oh so I guess we were allowed to speak with our inside voices. That’s… convenient. I nod along, hearing a snort from Felicity. The princess makes a face before continuing.

“She wanted me to make a final addition about how to address me and the rest of my family.” I should be paying attention to this one. The whole addressing royalty was definitely a new thing to me. The princess proceeds to explain who we call what, all the formalities and whatnot before we’re asked to stand and start with a crash course on curtsies.

“Now, I suppose you’ll be practicing your curtsies. I’ll be walking around if you have any questions. Or to critique.”

A good piece advice my mama gave me rings in my head, Imagine that a string is attached to the top of your head and pulling ya up. Maybe it’ll help me right now. It was something she always told brides during wedding rehearsals so they looked like they just glided down the aisle. I straighten up, imagining a string on the top of my head.

“and don’t forget I’m here to help you.” I hear Felicity say.

Wow, was she really?  

let’s just insert a timeskip here

It took a bit of a while before it was my turn to meet the prince. Not too long, but I suppose the buffet breakfast was a nice consolation. It was lovely that there were some vegan options. I was careful not to eat anything that could have stained the lovely lilac dress that took me literally forever to pick last night.

I was led outside of the room right after I finished some sliced fruits, careful that my lipstick wasn’t ruined from the meal. Someone opened the door for me as I was led into the room.

Alrighty, here we go, Missy. It’s just like meeting a new client. Winning smile, spring in your step, genuine interest. You practiced a couple of questions with yourself last night. It’s just a boy. It’s just a boy. You could do this. Just, try to impress him. No pressure.

There was a sofa, and beside it stood the prince. Oh, he seemed shorter in pictures. I walk towards him, reminding myself to keep my smile on and recall that I needed to dip down in a quick curtsey.

“Hello Lady Melissa. Please have a seat.” The prince greets before motioning to the sofa.

“Good morning, Prince Arin.” I glance over to the sofa before taking a seat, keeping my smile. “Thank you.”

He sits beside me. Up close, the first thing I notice was that his hair looked nice. Was that shallow? I mean… hair care and personal grooming was a good sign, right?

“How is your morning going?”

Compared to last night, I was in a much better mood, but of course I still felt tense. The cameras around wasn’t helping.

“Nothing short of spectacular.” I reply, recalling the answer I practiced in my head. Sometimes, it helps to practice answers. Oh wow, I really was nervous about this, wasn’t I? Shoot. “Woke up, never though I’d see such a great view of the ocean from my room, but there it was,” without knowing it my hands go up, “the sky was orange and glowing.”

I look to him, the memory of the sunrise bringing a genuine smile to my face. “How about you? How has your morning been going?”

“My morning has been fine, thank you.” He smiles at me. “Which province are you from?”

“Proud to be representing Midston. I bet you kind of had a hunch from the accent, but Orleans to be more specific, home to Mardi Gras and the best looking French Quarter in Illéa.”

The prince shakes his head, “Sorry, I honestly hadn’t noticed. But how do you like Angeles so far? It must be different from Midston.” His eyes trail elsewhere. Maybe towards the cameras?

“Well one thing I noticed was that… the buildings here are pretty tall.” I lift a shoulder up. “Don’t see that often where I’m from.” I chuckle before I look to where he looked, and realize that it indeed was a camera he glanced at a couple of seconds ago.

Don’t fix your hair, don’t fix your hair. My hand reaches up to tuck literally nothing back into place. Shoot. Don’t fix yourself around cameras, much less the prince, MISSY.

“It’s just as hot here though,” I add while fanning myself with my hand, “but I don’t know if that’s the weather or I’m just really nervous.”

“Nervous about which part?” the prince seems to watch me, still trying to maintain his smile.

I try to stop fidgeting, letting out a deep breath. “Not might be the same for you but I think meeting a prince for the first time would make you feel the slightest bit of jitters.” An unintentional laugh escapes me, and I try to smile. “Sorry, is it a little too much?”

The prince seems to shake his head, “No, uh… I’m mostly used to it.” He seems to pause for a moment before speaking up. “What do you do in Orleans?”

Without thinking, “Weddings.” I instantly say, “I mean, I plan weddings and debuts.” I start to ramble, “Catering, decorations, invitation, whatever a client wants for their special day, I can make it happen.”

He blows out a breath and nods, “Ah, I see. And how is…” he seems to hesitate at the next word, “wedding planning?”

Someone please, slap me.

Oh dear, it must still be a sensitive topic for him.

I try to give him a comforting smile, “It’s quite lovely, I don’t think I’ve experienced something as magical as someone’s wedding day. I’m just happy to help make the magic happen.” I’m reminded of my conversation with Jackson in the kitchen last night. The happiest business… he called it.

I blink, ah yes… way to rub some salt into a wound. QUICK. Find a way to salvage this. “Debuts are just as fun too. Just as much cake and magic.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” He seems to shift slightly, “So you enjoy it?”

“Very much.” I reply. He still seems weirded out by it. QUICK. Change the topic. “Are you… a party person, your highness? Or a little more of a party of one kind of person?”

Prince Arin tilts his head, “I’ve enjoyed parties and sometimes I like to be alone. But honestly I don’t mind the chaos.” He then frowns. Why would he be frowning? Is he… one of those extra-introvert types? What did they call those people again? Eh, the only thing I really knew about those kinds of people was that they had a social battery or something like that.

“I think there’s always something to celebrate,” I bobble my head, “but we’ve all got a battery that can only take up so much uh… chaos. Nothing too different.”

He seems to blink in surprise, “That’s a different way of looking at things. It seems like you have a pretty high tolerance.”

Well, that’s one way to put it. I’ve always just been a really social type.

“I believe it’s all about perspective.” I smile, recalling another piece of advice my Grammy always told me. “Just gotta choose how you wanna perceive things instead of accepting them the way you first saw it. I mean, that’s what my Grammy’s always reminded me.”

“So move on with your life?” The prince looks at me curiously.

If only moving on was easy as saying that you were moving on.

“You make moving on sound bad.” I chuckle, recalling how… bad it really could be. “See it more of moving forward. Someone used to tell me , ‘Forward to a tomorrow, completely different from yesterday’. ” I glance to the prince. “I’m still figuring out that last piece of advice out though.”

I don’t know why I still quoted that. Quoted him of all people, but good advice… was good advice.

“And who was that?” Prince Arin asks, I catch him tilting his head to the side, “That sounds like something my mother would say.”

The answer seems to be stuck in my throat, I pause before saying, “That’s a story for another day, your highness.” I try to change the topic. “Your mother sounds very wise though. Are you two very close?”

“We are,” he nods before glancing at his watch. “But I can tell you more about that another day.” Touché, a chuckle escapes me.

Prince Arin stands, “It’s been a pleasure speaking with you this morning, Lady Melissa. I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay.”

“Missy, you can call me Missy.” I follow and stand up, dipping into another curtsy. “Have a nice day ahead of you, your Highness.” I give him one last smile, seeing him nod and take it as my cue to turn and leave.

Someone please tell me that was a good first impression.

[enterthesmosh]

You Made Life a Song (You Made Me a Singer): Damien Haas

Word Count: 1730 Summary: A new life and a new family.

The entire day had been pretty much a blur from the moment that you woke up; but one could really expect that since it was your wedding day. The entire morning was spent laughing and getting ready with your friends and five (and three quarters) year old daughter, Sutton, just enjoying the time and trying to distract yourself from the nerves that were building in your belly every time that you caught a glimpse of the time as it was ticking closer to the ceremony.

The actual ceremony itself was beautiful and sweet, from what you could recall. All you really saw or heard was Damien, and that was really enough. The two of you had waited quite some time to be there and all that mattered was that he was there in front of you, holding your hands, and vowing to be there forever.

At the reception, while waiting to be announced, you stood next to Damien and gripped his hand tightly as if afraid that if you let go you’d wake up and you wouldn’t have actually gotten married. You felt a tug on the skirt of your dress and looked down to see Sutton looking up at you. With a smile, you let go of Damien’s hand, and reached down to pick her up and prop her up on your hip.

“What’re we waiting for, mama? My feet hurt,” she complained, laying her head on your shoulder.

You laughed and pressed a kiss to her hair, “Soon they’re going to call us in and we’re going to go smile and sit.”

“C’mere, button,” Damien said holding his arms out and taking her from you, “We talked about this, remember? When we go in, me and your mom are going to dance and then we’re all going to eat some dinner and then your Uncle Shayne and Aunt Courtney are going to talk, then mama and your uncle are going to dance, then me and my mom… and then me and you!”

She narrowed her eyes back at Damien and for a moment, had you not known that Damien wasn’t her biological father, you’d have felt compelled to mention how that was such a Damien face.

Reluctantly, she nodded her head and squirmed out of Damien’s arms to stand on the ground in front of the both of you. “This seems like an awful lot of work just to tell people you got married,” she said with an eye roll. From beside Damien, Shayne let out a laugh and held out a hand to give Sutton a high-five. “Amen, little sister,” he chuckled before slapping Damien affectionately on the shoulder.

The wedding coordinator popped out from the main room and clapped her hands with an overenthusiastic smile, telling you all that they’re ready and to get into the order she’d given earlier. You, Damien, and Sutton were the last ones to enter. She stood between the two of you, holding tightly to both of your hands and you couldn’t help but grin broadly over at Damien as he looked down at her with an adoring look on his face.

When you reached the middle of the dance floor, Shayne came up and plucked Sutton up to carry her off to the table; she smiled and waved at the two of you over Shayne’s shoulder which just made you laugh softly.

“And now, the bride and groom will have their first dance,” the DJ said into the microphone.

You turned to face Damien and he very quickly took you into his arms as the song “We Found Each Other in the Dark” by City and Colour started to play over the sound system. You allowed one of your hands to come up to rest on Damien’s shoulder while the other slid into his own hand. You looked up at him and let out a happy sort sigh as the two of you began to sway.

“How’re you holding up?” he asked with a chuckle.

You nodded your head and smiled, “Good… Starving, but good.”

Damien laughed and shook his head as he pulled back enough to spin you and pull you back to him. When you had brought up dance lessons a few months ago, Damien had scoffed at the suggestion but it seemed like he had gone back on his first reaction. You bit down gently at the side of your lower lip and glanced over Damien’s shoulder to see Sutton was sitting in Shayne’s lap watching the pair of you rather intently but with a truly happy smile playing across her face.

“I don’t tell you enough… but thank you for loving her as much as you love me,” you said softly, glancing back at Damien.

He looked at you gave a small smile, “It’s hard not to. Besides, most people already say she’s mine.”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

Damien chuckled lowly and once again spun you slowly, crossed his arms over and pulled you back to him; he placed a small kiss to your cheek when you settled back into his arms. “We were out at the store the other night and an old lady said something to her about how pretty she was and how she looked so much like her daddy,” he said with a shrug. You could tell that he was trying to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal, but you knew that he absolutely loved it.

Sutton had him wrapped around her little finger from the beginning.

The song drifted to an end; you and Damien shared a kiss before he led you back to the table. Before you had even sat down, you spotted Sutton squirming out of Shayne’s lap and rushing over. He purple and gold brocade dress shone in the soft lights and you could hear the gold tulle rustling as she got closer. She all but climbed up into your lap and gave you a big hug, which you happily returned.

Dinner and speeches seemed the go by in a flash, which you were not completely thrilled with since it seemed like every time you sat down to eat someone else was heading over to talk and hug. But, thankfully, Damien saw your face and quickly intervened, allowing you some time actually eat something before you had to get up and dance with your brother.

After Damien had finished dancing with his mom, Sutton bounded up to the DJ’s booth and was promptly handed a microphone.

“Hi everyone,” she greeted, waving and beaming.

You leaned over to Damien and whispered, “She’s such a little cheeseball.”

He nodded and laughed before he pressed a kiss to your temple. Sutton took a deep breath and you couldn’t help but smile at her.

“My mom got married today… she married my daddy. I know he’s not my… bi-beb… he didn’t make me,” she stumbled over herself. She’d asked several times over the last few days how to say biological but she just earned a few chuckles in return. “But he’s my real daddy and I love him and I’m glad he married my mommy,” she said happily and you could feel tears already in your eyes, “And he let me pick any song I wanted to dance with him, so c’mon!”

Damien could only laugh loudly and shake his head; he started to stand up and kissed you quickly on his way up to the dance floor. Sutton handed the mic back to the DJ and all but run across the floor to Damien who scooped her up and held her tight as the music started. She hadn’t even told you what song she picked so you were very curious.

Through the speakers, you heard the beginning to “I Don’t Need Anything But You” from the 2014 Annie soundtrack, and you were sure you were going to cry.

“Together at last; Together forever. We’re tying a knot, they never can sever…”

You could see Damien laugh as he held her closer and started to sway with Sutton, her hands resting at his shoulders. You had never seen two people who loved each other as much as the two of them; from the moment you introduced them, it was obvious that Damien was going to be the one if not for you, but for her.

You sniffled and wiped at a tear that had slipped past your eye and down your cheek as you watched the two of them; you looked around the room and saw a few people doing the same thing. Suddenly, there was a hand on your shoulder and a handkerchief in front of your face. You looked up to see Shayne slipping into Damien’s vacated seat and you took the cloth from him, murmuring your thanks as you dabbed at your eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve seen Damien this happy in a while,” he said, sipping at his drink.

You nodded and looked over at him, “I haven’t see Sutton smile like that, ever.”

“Y’know, Y/N,” Shayne said, grinning at you, “I’m glad Damien found you. He’s my best friend and yeah, I give him shit a lot but… you and Sutton are great and I’m really happy for you guys.”

You cooed and leaned over to kiss Shayne’s cheek, “Don’t be getting soft on me now, Topp.”

He could only laugh and roll his eyes before he playfully shoved at your shoulder. “Fuck off, Y/N Haas,” he grinned and waggled his eyebrows at you as he stood up. You watched as he walked off back to his table and looked back just as the song was ending. Sutton wrapped her arms tightly around Damien’s neck and hugged him for all she was worth before she ran off towards you.

You just barely had time to react and pick her up before she barreled into you.

Damien came back and took his seat next to you, letting out a happy sort of sigh as he did so. The photographer came in front of the table and smiled at the three of you. “Can I get a few of you three together real quick?” she asked. Sutton scurried across your lap and settled in Damien’s before she smoothed out her dress and smiled toothily at the camera.

You could only laugh and roll your eyes; this little family was going to be just fine.

[ellebabywrites]

Hesitant Love - Park Chanyeol

Type : Oneshot // Angst // Fluff // Smut // Mafia!au

Warnings : Violence // Attempted Assault

Word Count : 6690

Author Note : Here is my Chanyeol Mafia!au/Arranged Marriage request , thank you for being patient , I hope you enjoy my lovelies 💛

A wedding is supposed to be a celebration. A joining of two people in love, to live happily forever as one family. Surrounded by the people you cherish most in this world; to dance and drink and enjoy, together. The happiest day of your life. Supposedly.

Your wedding was nothing but a complete representation of all the fuck ups in your life. It wasn’t out of love, but a business deal, a pay off.

As you walk down the aisle, your father’s grip on your arm is tight as if he’s afraid you’ll run out if he lets go. You’re thankful for the thick veil that’s successfully hiding the grimace painted on your face.

This isn’t a wedding. This isn’t what you wanted for yourself. But thanks to your father, that wasn’t your choice anymore.

It was just a little over a year ago when you’d finally left home and started college, being more excited about the leaving part than school you had to admit. Home was never an easy place to be, your mother left when you were 10 and now it was just your father and yourself. You never felt like the ‘child’ at home, constantly having to carry your father through whatever genius business plan he’d thought up, only for it to fall through and leave a mess; until the very next genius idea he had and the cycle repeats. The bills only got paid because you had worked 2 jobs outside of school. It was a miracle you’d managed to get into College at all to be honest.

Unbeknownst to you, the second you’d moved out and the money was no longer coming in, your father did what every other poor soul in your town did when they were down on their luck and desperate - he ran to get a loan from the one family you never want to be indebted to. The Parks.

When your father showed up at your door a few weeks ago, begging on his hands and knees for your help repaying said debts, you had no choice. They’d kill him if he didn’t pay up. The Parks were the most ruthless Mafia family in the city, they killed and stole and corrupted the likes of anyone and everyone stupid enough to fall into their world. And despite the years of resentment and bitterness you had piled up against your father, you didn’t want to see him hurt. No matter how much he undoubtedly had it coming.

So now here you are, in a church of all places, full of the most dangerous men and women around, all staring at you as you’re sold off to the next in line to the criminal empire - Park Chanyeol.

Your father would be right. If he let go of your arm now you would most definitely sprint right out of there. By the time he did loosen his grip, you were stood face to face with your betrothed at the altar. Through the thick white tulle you could see his hands move to de-veil you and it took all the strength you had to pull your lips into a smile. Chanyeol could see your face was strained from the second the fabric was gone. While you managed to keep a sweet smile for most of the ceremony, your eyes remained distant and sad. Not that he cared very much. Chanyeol didn’t want to get married, but in order for him to take over as head of the family, his father insisted, it made him seem a ‘stronger’ and more ‘put together’ leader, as his father had worded it. So he simply ignored you for the night, focussing on getting it over with so he could leave.

You however, spend the night hyper aware of every single moment. Letting your mind wander to all the things you were giving up for the sake of settling some debts.

As the vows were read you think of all your friends you’ve left behind at college, being forced to leave as your new ‘position’ as a Park would put yourself, and them, in unimaginable danger. As the pair of you kiss and the guests erupt in celebratory cheers, you think about your boyfriend, Minseok, whom you had to break up with just a few days beforehand, how he was supposed to be your ‘everything first’ and how he had promised to marry you right after graduation. At the after party dinner as you sit listening to people you don’t know make speeches with stories you weren’t apart of, you think about the wedding you’d always dreamed of. How it was supposed to be You and Minseok; and your friends would be the ones telling stories about how you both had met in the cafeteria at orientation, or that time you all had a sleepover in the library before exams, or about the time Minseok had first told you he loved you on the group trip to the beach last summer and sent them all into hysterics at the sight of you both all loved up.

It was supposed to be magical, it was supposed to be special, it was supposed to be you and the love of your life committing to each other with all your friends and memories. Not sitting in silence next to your stranger of a husband, who wouldn’t even look at you after you’d left the ceremony. You felt completely alone at your own wedding and you hated it. You hated him. You hated your father for dragging you into this. You hated the entire situation, but it was far too late.

The car journey to your new ‘home’ was spent in silence too, not wanting to engage with Chanyeol at all, and luckily he had the same idea, not sparing you a glance or uttering any words of comfort. But what else did you expect from someone like him?

Only when the car stopped did you look up from your hands. The house, if you could even call it that, was ridiculously huge; much too big for just the two of you, but maybe that would be a blessing. It was a modern mansion and you felt completely awestruck. Chanyeol watched you for a moment as you stared out the window at your new home, he watched as your eyes widened and mouth dropped, noticing the glistening of your lipgloss before he turned away, not wanting his mind to wonder there. Without a word he got out and headed inside. Noticing you were alone in the car, you sighed loudly and mentally prepared yourself for this new life you’d been thrown into.

The inside of the house was just as magnificent as the outside suggested. Marble floors and walls, a staircase that wound its way up the wall of the entrance hall, diamond chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Once again you’re left awestruck. With no sign of Chanyeol and the exhaustion from the day finally catching up to you, you decide to go find somewhere with a bed; ignoring the few members of staff that tried their best not to make eye contact with you.

Finding your room is surprisingly easy considering the sheer number of them, your bags left outside in the hallway are a clear give away though and you’re just thankful that you don’t have to share with Chanyeol. All you wanted was to get out of your suffocating wedding clothes; have a hot shower and crawl into bed, ignoring the world and forgetting the day. After making sure to lock the door, you do just that; letting the sounds of your own muffled sobs soothe you into dreamland.

◇

If it wasn’t obvious enough from your behaviour on the wedding night, the next week or so you spent locked in you room made your feelings exponentially clear. Chanyeol knew you hated him. He knew that this was the last thing you wanted and he knew that it was, partially, his fault. But he didn’t care. If you wanted to lock yourself away then fine, he’d leave you to it. With his father getting ready to hand him the family legacy, he had more important things to worry about than your ‘temper tantrum’, as he’d so fondly started referring to it.

“Are you really just going to ignore her forever?” Jongin, Chanyeol’s best friend, asked him one day. They were sitting out by the pool discussing business, when Jongin had caught a glimpse of you in the kitchen through the window. Sighing in frustration at the mention of you, Chanyeol turned to look the same direction.

“Yeah.” He answered bluntly. Watching as you got a drink out of the fridge and went back up to your room.

Jongin, finding the entire situation truly hilarious, nudges him in the arm and gives a teasing look, “c’mon Yeol, she’s your ‘wife’, you have to make some effort.”

“Why? She hates all of this. She stays out of my way, I stay out of hers. That’s how it is.” As nonchalant as Chanyeol was trying to be about everything, he couldn’t deny that your cold shoulder was starting to get to him. You rarely came out of your room and if you did, you’d avoid him; leaving the room if he was there; ignoring the staffs’ attempts at making you more comfortable; refusing to eat anything but those small packets of trail mix that had been in the cupboard forever. Chanyeol didn’t like feeling like he had to walk on eggshells around you; but god forbid if he’d be the first to crack.

“Yeah because that’s normal in a marriage,” Jongin laughs, watching how Chanyeol’s eyes lingered where you’d been standing in the kitchen moments before, “Hyung, just make an effort, you never know, she might be nice.”

Rolling his eyes at the mere thought of putting in any more effort than he already had, “let’s just get back to work” Chanyeol mumbled and turned back to business.

Jongin’s words stayed in Chanyeol’s mind for days after that discussion. Should he be trying more? Truth be told, he was never interested in the marriage or you, but now you were stuck together and the awkward tension that filled the house was becoming unbearable. He found himself thinking about you a lot more than he’d like to admit. If you were okay up in your room all alone; what your favourite food was; if you were warm enough at night or if you needed more blankets; if you still hated him. When you walked into the kitchen one morning while he was sitting there and you immediately went to avert your eyes and turn away; Chanyeol decided enough was enough.

“We’re going to the store.”

He said coldly, staring you down with his determined eyes, showing there was no room for debate. You stared back at him in shock that he’d actually spoken to you, “get dressed, I’ll wait by the door.” Then he got up and left, leaving you frozen and confused.

Reluctantly, you got dressed and went to meet your husband in the entrance hall. You debated just locking yourself in your room again and avoiding him, but you were all out of trail mix and your body was craving some fresh air.

Chanyeol has no idea what he was doing but thought if he could get you to spend more than a few seconds with him, that was progress.

When you met him at the door he let his eyes linger on you, he knew you were beautiful he just hadn’t seen you properly since the wedding, he caught himself taking mental notes of your features before forcing himself to look away. You’d noticed of course but couldn’t find the words to say anything.

“You look nice.” Chanyeol muttered, not facing you and moving to head out the door, “let’s go.”

The ride to the store is silent, bar the radio singing some old elvis song. It’s one your mother used to sing and you find yourself tapping along to the beat on you leg. Chanyeol notices and discreetly turns up the volume a little.

“Do you like Elvis?” He asks, keeping his eyes on the road.

You don’t want to talk to him about Elvis because that could lead to talking about your mother, about your father, and eventually this mess - so you just hum gently and keep your eyes planted firmly on you lap.

“I like Elvis too.” He says, and for the rest of the short ride Chanyeol sings softly along. His voice is beautiful, you think.

At the store, Chanyeol keeps trying to make small talk with you. It’s weird, you think, he’s never tried to speak to you before and now he’s suddenly interested in everything. Your favourite juice, your favourite meat, your favourite fruit. No matter how hard you try, it’s impossible to hide the small smile that tugs at your lips when he grabs a bunch of the old trail mix you’ve been living off so far and puts them into the cart without a word. Seeing you smile, and seeing you open up  but more as you’ve been talking, Chanyeol feels his confidence build and decides that making an effort may not be the worst thing.

“Ice cream.” He says, looking down at you expectantly, “huh?”, he looks around with furrowed eyebrows before grabbing your hand and pulling you through the aisles.

He feels you tense at his touch but you don’t pull away so he continues, “We need ice cream. We’re going to have a movie night.”

You’re taken back a bit because, did he really want to spend more time with you? And his hand did feel really nice in yours, so would it be that bad?

“Pick something, anything you like,” Chanyeol stops you in front of the huge freezer filled with tubs of ice cream and you don’t even hesitate before reaching for your favourite flavour, strawberry. It makes him smile seeing your eyes light up at something as simple as strawberry ice cream. He puts another couple of tubs into the cart.

The conversation isn’t restricted to the store. On the car ride back Chanyeol asks you a million more questions and for some reason you find yourself answering all of them.

“What movie do you want to watch?” Chanyeol asks as he pulls up to the house.

“I don’t mind, I like anything really.”

He grins and passes you one of the shopping bags.

“How about we watch my favourite film then, hm?”

You expected Chanyeol’s favourite film to be something rough, a horror or thriller maybe, so when he turns on Lilo and Stitch you can’t hide the shock that’s evident on your face. He giggles at your expression and you think it might be the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard, momentarily knocking you out of your frozen state.

Handing you a spoon and tub of ice cream, he sits down next to you on the sofa, “what? It’s a classic.”

As the movie plays, you realise you don’t mind that Chanyeol is sitting closer and closer to you everytime me shuffled in his seat, you find yourself liking his company, the way he giggles at the film and the way his eyebrows furrow at certain scenes. For the first time since the wedding you want to let your guard down. Maybe this won’t be so bad? Besides you have really started to hate being locked in your room all alone.

After that, your movie nights became a regular thing. It didn’t take too long for the pair of you to go through almost every Disney movie in Chanyeol’s inventory, swiftly moving on to his Studio Ghibli collection, your favourite. As time went on you found yourself more comfortable being around Chanyeol.

You’d engage in, and often initiate, conversations and you’d stopped locking yourself away and bolting out of rooms when he was there. It felt good to feel like things were finally starting to be okay. Chanyeol could see the change in you too. He loved that he was noticing all your little quirks and habits the more comfortable you seemed to get; he thought it was adorable. There was still some tension and awkward silences between the pair of you, but it no longer felt so strained. He liked it. He liked you.

When he felt your head lean against his shoulder one night he didn’t even question it, simply bringing his arm around your shoulders to hold you closer.

“So cute,” he whispered into your hair, placing a kiss on your temple and turning back to the movie.

It was confusing for you though, your feelings were getting all messed up and the line between love and hate were blurring. Every movie night, you’d let yourself get closer and closer to your husband, slowly opening up - only to spend the next night watching him leave the house strapped with weapons and returning covered in blood. Knocking you back to your senses and rebuilding those walls you kept around yourself.

After a while, Chanyeol had to go out more for business, meaning your movie nights got less and less and your anxiety went through the roof. You cared about him, that much you knew, but his world scared you and you hated the thought of being alone just as much as you hated seeing him leave every night.

“You’re leaving again?” You’re standing on the staircase watching Chanyeol and Jongin load their weapons by the door.

“Yeah,” he watched you chew on your bottom lip and avoid his eyes, a nervous tick he’s picked up on, and felt his heart melt a little bit. Chanyeol reached out to cup your cheeks to hold your forehead against his, skinship being a new thing for the two of you.

“We’ll be back tonight. Don’t worry, Jaehyun is here.” And then he turned back to Jongin.

Jaehyun is the bodyguard Chanyeol had hired to stay with you whenever he left for work. The two of you had grown incredibly close over the last month or so, other than Chanyeol, Jaehyun was the only person you’d warmed up to.

“So Y/N, what do you want to do today?” Suddenly appearing next to you, Jaehyun always tried to keep you distracted when he saw you were struggling.

“Hmm, we could check out that new cafe downtown you mentioned? Or maybe we could go to that bookstore you like?” Jaehyun was an expert at diverting your attention away from the violent truth of your lives by now, maybe that’s why you’d opened up to him so quickly, because he was a touch of normality for you.

At the sound of Coffee and Books, you finally turned away from watching your husband arm up, instead nodding at Jaehyun enthusiastically, “let me just go get ready!” You beamed at him before running up the stairs.

Chanyeol watched the exchange curiously, Your mood had changed so quickly, Jaehyun always seemed to know how to do that. It shouldn’t bother him, after all, it was what he’d hired him to do, keep you safe and happy when he couldn’t be there. So why was seeing you so excited to spend the day with Jaehyun making his blood boil?

“Jung.” Chanyeol called, catching his attention, “I want you to update me regularly today. I want to know how she’s doing, if anything happens, if she needs anything. Understood?”

The stoic expression on Chanyeol’s face was frightening. His eyes cold and intimidating as he gave his orders.

“Yes Sir,” was all that needed to be said as Jaehyun bowed respectfully and left the two men to wait for you in another room.

Chanyeol was sure that the lasers he was burning in the back of Jaehyun’s head would be enough to get his frustrations at the boy across. Only getting snapped out of it when Jongin giggled next to him.

“Could you be any more obvious Hyung?”

Not understanding what was so funny, Chanyeol groaned loudly and pushed passed the younger.

“What are you talking about?” His outward denial only made Jongin laugh even more.

“Seriously? Careful Yeol, you’re turning green with jealousy.”

“I am NOT jealous!” He scoffed back. ‘Jealous.’ What did he even have to be jealous about? He was your husband, he had nothing to worry about. But then you came bouncing down the stairs excitedly, not paying the two men a second glance before you asked for your bodyguard.

“Where’s Jaehyun?” Jongin had to laugh again at Chanyeol’s expression. It had turned ice cold as he tried to keep his teeth from clenching too hard.

“He’s in the other room,” he watched your face as you practically ran past him without so much as a goodbye.

“Yeah, definitely not jealous Hyung” Jongin teased.

◇

Chanyeol keeps a close eye on you. He didn’t like how close Jaehyun and you are, he didn’t understand how you had opened up so quickly to him while you’d only just started letting him touch you. But he wasn’t jealous. Not at all. At least that’s what he told himself as he watched you laugh gleefully with the bodyguard or how excited you’d get when the two of you went out. It was starting to frustrate him beyond belief.

To you however, Jaehyun was your safe place. Being conflicted with your feelings for Chanyeol made it difficult and confusing whenever he would leave you alone and you would worry. Truth be told you didn’t know the details about what Chanyeol did exactly when he went out, but he’d always take an abundance of weapons and always come back with new injuries.

He’d started missing movie nights and getting back in the early hours of the morning. It scared you. Somehow you had let Chanyeol into your heart and the thought of losing him was hurting you. Jaehyun understood this. He understood how confusing the entire situation was for you; just a few months ago you were loved up with another man, going to school everyday, surrounded by you friends - and now you hardly ever left the house, never spoke to your old friends, and now your heart was being pulled by some unpredictable Mafia boss-to-be who you previously thought you’d hated. Jaehyun was like a piece of home, he made you feel less alone.

“Jae? Jaehyun!” You were calling out through the hallways, making your way through the house, “Chanyeol have you seen Jaehyun?” You asked, seeing Chanyeol sitting in the kitchen eating cereal.

“I fired him.” Chanyeol doesn’t look up to see your reaction but he can practically feel the anger radiating off you.

“W-what…. why!?”

It was infuriating. Why did you care about him so much?

“Because he wasn’t needed.” Chanyeol’s attitude was grating on you, how could he be so cold?

“I needed him!” You shout, surprising both Chanyeol and yourself with your outburst, but you were upset and he was going to know it.

“You…. ‘needed’ him?” Chanyeol hissed at you. Both of your tempers were rising rapidly and anyone could see this wasn’t going to end well. He was jealous of how upset you were over Jaehyun and you didn’t like how he’d taken away the one person that made you feel normal.

Standing up from his chair, Chanyeol turned to you with a look that, a couple months ago, would have sent you running. His anger was getting the better of him, ears turning red and eyes shooting into you like daggers.

“Yes I needed him!” You had reached your breaking point, no matter how hard Chanyeol glared, you were about to explode, “You have taken everything from me! Everything! My school, my friends, my whole fucking life! Jaehyun made me feel normal! He was the only thing in this whole goddamn mess that didn’t make me feel so shitty Chanyeol, and now you’ve taken him too! I left the love of my life, the man I was going to marry, the man who was supposed to be my everything first; I left him, to be here with you, and you took away my only friend! Why!? Why would you do that Chanyeol!?”

Chanyeol was speechless. He’d never seen you so mad before, he had no idea you were feeling this way. For a split second he let his own feelings take over and went into Mafia mode; staring you down with the deadliest look he could muster, deepening and raising his voice to try and gain back some control of the situation.

“You’re forgetting the part where I saved you and your pathetic excuse of a father from death! The part where my family paid for his business and started him from nothing! I didn’t take everything, you owe me everything!” By this point you were shaking with rage, how dare he act like some sort of martyr when he’d torn your world apart, “I am your husband! Me! So forget about your old love, forget about Jaehyun and get fucking used to it sweetheart.”

“You dont fucking own me!” You snarled back at him as you held your ground glaring back. He wouldn’t see you cry, you wouldn’t give him the pleasure.

Throwing away the last of his cereal, Chanyeol moved around your trembling figure before whispering into your ear, “really love, now we both know that’s not true.”

For the first time in months you find yourself locked away in your room. So many questions ran through your head; why would he do this? Was it jealousy or just his Mafia side coming out? After staring at the ceiling patterns for what seemed like hours, mind spinning in circles trying to make sense of your feelings and the situation, you decide that The Parks’ have taken enough of your life and now you’re going to take it back. Starting with your friends.

Taking the phone you’ve had hidden under the mattress since the wedding, you press the call button and wait.

“Joy? Oh my god Joy!” You scream into the receiver. Joy has been your best friend since you were kids, it broke your heart to leave her behind but in the end, her safety was more important.

“Y/N? Is this really you? Oh my fucking god Y/N I’ve missed you so fucking much!” Hearing her voice for the first time in months made tears flood your eyes, you didn’t realise just how much you had missed till you heard that familiar squeal she always did when she got excited.

“Yes It’s me, I’m so sorry I haven’t called or text even though I’ve missed you like crazy. How is everyone? How’re the girls and Minseok? Is everyone well?” The pair of you babbled on for a few minutes, catching up on everything you had missed since you’d been away.

“Yixing’s throwing a party tonight, will you come? Min will be there,” Joy asked, not even attempting to hide the pleading tone to her voice. It would be a lie to say you didn’t want to go, but could you? Would Chanyeol mind?

“Of course! I’ll get ready now, meet you there in 15?” You decide you don’t care if Chanyeol minds. If just for one more night you could be with your friends, with Minseok, then you could face his wrath once more. Pulling on a simple black dress and heels, you quickly put on some makeup and call a cab. Sneaking out is even easier; Chanyeol must have left to sulk in his room too....not that you cared.

◇

The atmosphere was incredible. The dimmed lighting and smokey rooms packed full of people, all moving and dancing to some early 2000’s R&B album playing over the speakers, half empty red solo cups scattered everywhere and the smell of liquor and weed making your eyes water. It was perfect. Joy had left you on the dance floor with Wendy while she went to get another drink, when you felt those familiar hands wrap around your waist from behind.

“You’re back,” his husky voice mumbled against your neck, “I’ve missed you baby, don’t leave again.” leaning back into his warm embrace, you felt his lips leave a trail of kisses up your neck and you melted.

“Minseokie,” you turn your body in his hold so that you can see him, “I missed you more,” when you lean in to place a kiss on his lips, you’re hit with such a strong smell of alcohol that you almost pull back. Minseok was never a big drinker when you were together, maybe this has been harder on him than you thought.

“Come upstairs with me,” he asks you, though it doesn’t really sound like a question.

Once Minseok pulls you into an empty bedroom, his whole demeanor changes. Expression cold and body language confrontational, you just put it all down to a mixture of the alcohol and missing you.

“What’s wrong Minnie?” you ask timidly. In the whole time you’ve known him you’ve never seen him look this mad and it was starting to scare you; not even Chanyeol looked this aggressive when he was angry.

“You.” He inches closer to your shaking body, making you take a step back with each of his advancements, “You’re what’s wrong Y/N.”

“L-look Minnie if this is about me leaving, you have to know I didn’t have a choice, I never wanted to leave…”

“It’s not about that!” He shouts, cutting off your attempt at an explanation, “it’s about who you left me for. Park Chanyeol. Really Y/N?” He was looking at you with such hate, such disgust, you suddenly wished you’d stayed at home with Chanyeol.

“Do you even know who he is Y/N?” before you could even respond he was cutting you off again, “He’s a mafia, and a Park at that. You left me for some low life thug. Do you know how embarrassing that was for my family? The woman I’ve talked so highly of for over a year, the woman I was going to marry, leaving me for our biggest adversaries”

As the weight of Minseok’s words set in, the shock and confusion must have been evident on your face because the next second he was grabbing you by the shoulders to hold you in place, laughing dryly.

“Yes baby. The Kim’s are one of the greatest crime families in the country and you,” his hand brushed away a stray tear from your cheek, “you my love, have betrayed us.”

The next few moments happened too quickly for you to react. You were completely frozen. Maybe it was the shock from Minseok’s confession, maybe it was the confusion from his sudden personality switch, or maybe it was just whiplash from the way he grabbed a fistful of your hair and threw you onto the bed. His hands roamed your body, his weight keeping you pressed into the mattress while he continued to whisper lewd things into your ear, neck, chest. You feel the material of your dress start to tear and in the next second Minseok had managed to rip it off of your body completely.

“It was supposed to be us Y/N. You were supposed to be all mine, ‘first everything’ you said, remember, tell me, am I still your first everything?” You were clawing desperately at his arms trying to push him off of you, but it was useless. He bit onto your ear harshly making you cry out in pain, “you didn’t let him touch you right Y/N? You’re still all mine right baby?” The voice that once made you feel so safe and loved, now made you want to run hide.

You could feel Minseok’s hands moving to undo his own clothes and you choked out another sob, “please, please Minnie, no, no stop,” but it was futile.

Just as you were about to completely give up, body still frozen in fear and vision blurred from the tears; you hear someone breaking down the door.

The thought of you with someone else is enough to make Chanyeol homicidal, but when he heard your cries from behind the door, he snapped. Breaking down the wooden barrier with his foot, grabbing Minseok by the back of his neck and throwing him to the ground punching the living shit out of him. Chanyeol doesn’t stop. In a blind rage, punching over and over and over again till his fists are covered in blood and Minseok is unconscious.

“Chanyeol! Chanyeol enough! That’s enough!” Behind him you’re crying out, begging him to stop but he can’t hear you, too immersed in his assault. Only when he feels your trembling fingers pull the back of his T-shirt does he relent.

“Chanyeol let’s g-go, I want to go, p-please,” your voice was hoarse and face was stained, his heart broke seeing you look like that, it almost made him want to turn around and keep punching, but he didn’t.

“Okay baby, it’s okay, I’ll take you home,” Chanyeol lifts you up bridal style and holds you close into his chest, shielding you from onlookers as he carried you out of the party to his car.

“Jesus fuck Yeol, what happened in there?” Jongin was waiting for the pair of you in the front of Chanyeol’s car, that explains how he found you so fast. One look from Chanyeol and Jongin turns away, instead focusing on driving back to the house as quickly as possible. The whole ride you’re in Chanyeol’s lap, he strokes your hair and whispers reassurances into your temple as you continue to cry into his shoulder. You just couldn’t believe it. Minseok, your sweet, loving Minseok who would never hurt you, had been such a monster just then. He had attacked you, hurt you, if Chanyeol hadn’t have shown up who knows what else would happened. When your tears have slowed down, you reach out and grab onto Chanyeol’s hands, bringing them up to see if he’s hurt. Chanyeol watches in shock and anger as you do so, annoyed that you’d even think about him right now after what you just went through.

“I’m fine Y/N,” he pulls his hands back from you, “I’m worried about you, okay, I’m fine baby.” He notices how you avoid his eyes, your hands still trembling, so he pulls you back into his chest, holding onto you tighter than before until Jongin pulls up outside the house.

Exhaustion starts to set in once the adrenaline had worn off and you suddenly find it very difficult to move, afraid if you were to try to stand your legs would give out. Not that that’s an issue though as Chanyeol continues to carry you all the way up to your room.

“Y/N I’m going to help you get you dressed, is that okay?” He asks, not wanting to overstep any boundaries after what had just happened. When you nod weakly in consent, Chanyeol helps you remove your shoes and dress, the bruises that have started to paint your skin reignite the burning anger and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep calm. Once you've changed into a loose top and he has you tucked in, Chanyeol sits beside you on the bed and softly hums along to your favourite Elvis song till you fall asleep.

“God I love you so fucking much,” he confesses once he thinks you’re asleep, “I’m so sorry Y/N, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” playing with the stray hairs around your face, Chanyeol can’t stop the stray tears that run down his cheeks, “fucking hell.”

He stands up to leave but you grab onto his wrist. You don’t want him to go, you don’t want to be alone.

“Stay,” you whisper as he stares back at you with his own watery eyes, unable to turn away from you, so he agrees.

That’s the first night you and Chanyeol sleep in the same bed.

◇

After that night, you and Chanyeol always shared a bed, cuddling up together and finding mutual comfort in the contact. He never once pushed for anything more than cuddling, being careful to respect your boundaries and asking before he initiated anything and while that was nice - you were tired of it.

It felt like he was walking on eggshells around you even after weeks. You’d finally come to terms with your feelings and you wanted him. He was your husband and sleeping next to him every night without that extra level of intimacy was beginning to feel like torture.

It was late, 1am, when you finally worked up the courage to ask for what you needed.

“Yeol… are you awake?” You whisper into the darkness, feeling his even breaths against your back.

“Hmm..” he mumbles in response.

“Yeol… I need you,” You’re feeling nervous, it would be your first time, but you love him and you know this is right.

“What? Is something wrong?” Concern lacing his words as you slowly turn your body to face him.

“No Yeol,” you move his hand that’s resting on your hip up to cup your breast, “I need you”

The look on Chanyeol’s face is beautiful, you think. How his expression morphes from something of confusion to sudden understanding and finally one of nerves and shock.

“A-are you sure?” His big brown eyes staring deep into your soul, looking for any signs of uncertainty, but he finds none; and when you nod up at him, it doesn’t take him long to move his body to lie in between your legs and to start kissing you gently.

“I love you so much,” he whispers in between kisses, planting them everywhere from your lips, down your neck and onto your chest.

“Yeol please, please I need you now,” he doesn’t hesitate. Removing your panties in a flash and stroking his fingers between your folds, making you moan and buck your hips at the new feeling.

“You’re so wet baby, you really needed me this much? You’re so cute,” using his other hand to move your own to his growing erection, Chanyeol leans back down to suck your lip between his own, chewing on it gently and eliciting another string of moans from you. He feels hard in your hand, you can feel every part of him through his boxers and it almost feels natural when you push them off his hips.

“Need you,” you whimper when he pushes a finger inside your heat, the feeling foreign but pleasurable and when he adds a second you’re in euphoria. “Yeol, Y-Yeol,”

His smug face pulls away from the side of your neck to look down into your eyes as his fingers pick up their pace.

“What is it baby? What do you need? Tell me what you need.”

Not trusting yourself to talk without moaning, you move his erection to where his fingers are pushing in and out of you, trying to get the message across.

“You want me to fuck you Y/N?” He whispers, face back to being buried in your neck, sucking and biting on the flesh, marking you as his.

“P-please,” you whimper again and he can’t hold back anymore.

The whole time Chanyeol holds you close to him, both of his hands touching you at all times, on your hips, around your thighs, keeping your bodies pressed together. It’s soft and full of an indescribable kind of love that you’ve never experienced before. Between low moans and whimpers, whispers of how much you love each other are shared; he tells you repeatedly how much you mean to him and how special you are, how you’re safe with him and he’ll always be here for you; and in return you leave purple coloured marks up the column of his neck, so everyone can see that he is just as much yours, as you are his.

It was perfect. After you both come, you keep your bodies tangled together as you drift to sleep, feeling the happiest you’ve felt in months and never wanting to let it go.

[susspirria]

Perfect Wife - Chapter One

Fandom: Outlast Whistleblower

Pairing: Eddie Gluskin/Waylon Park (Weddie / Eddway)

Tags/Warnings: Kidnapping,Captivity,Bondage,Restraints,Dom/sub,Stockholm Syndrome,Forced Orgasm,Forced Relationship,Forced Feminization,Forced Eye Contact,Face Slapping,Misogyny,Derogatory Language,Rape/Non-con Elements,Non-Consensual Drug Use,Non-Consensual Touching,Non-Consensual Kissing,Oral Sex,Anal Sex,Anal Fingering,Anal Plug,Fisting,Spanking, Unreliable Narrator (Its Eddie)

Summary: When Waylon Park walks into Gluskin's Tailoring, Eddie Gluskin finds the perfect new bride. His darling is beautiful. She's slim and tall, soft spoken and polite. He was desperate to have her and make her his.

'Til Death Due Them Part.

Read here on Ao3 or below the cut!

Eddie Gluskin let out an impatient sigh as he looked upon the wedding dress that he had been attempting to stitch together for the past few weeks. It wasn’t coming out the way that he wanted it too, no matter what he did. The stitching kept puckering. The lace kept bunching up. The tulle looked unkempt and cheap. It drove him mad when things didn’t work out the way that they were supposed to. It felt to him like the fabric, silk and lace were being difficult and obstinate with him just to cause him pain and suffering. His eyes flashed towards the design that he had for it.

The design had come to him in a dream – it would be floor length, the skirt made of tulle and silk. The chest would be modest and sweet, with just a small dip to leave something to the imagination. The sleeves would be off of the shoulder. And last but not least, it would have embroidered roses in a pink champagne color would dot the entire length of the chest and the sleeves. Once it was finished, he was sure that it would look perfect, on his bride. When he found his bride, he would sweep her off her feet and walk her down the aisle. She would wear this dress and she would look beautiful in it.

But first, he would have to make it right. Then Eddie heard the bell ringing out, breaking him out from his thoughts. A ting-ting-ting that rang out clearly in the back room of his shop. Eddie sighed and put away the fabric and scissors. The dress could wait, he supposed, he had all the time in the world to make it perfect. “Hello?” He heard a soft, tentative voice call out. “Are you guys open?”

Eddie walked out, expecting to see a mother or a husband. Maybe one of his regulars had come in for a fitting or wanted something taken in or let out. But instead of any of that, standing in the middle of his shop was someone he had never seen before.

He couldn’t help but marvel at her. She was beautiful. She was tall and slim, with soft looking freckled skin. She wasn’t very curvy, her hips were slim and she had no breasts to speak of, but that didn’t detract from her beauty a bit. Her hair was a lovely strawberry blonde. Though, he thought it was a little too short but hair grew back, he reminded himself.

And they would have all the time in the world, for him to see it grow out to a lovely and feminine length – none of these choppy, uneven layers, no sir. It was unfit for a woman to be so unkempt. He tutted at her briefly before he greeted her hello.

“Hi.” She replied with an awkward wave of her hand. Eddie walked towards her, noting small tells of her discomfort. He told himself that it was because she was just shy. Poor thing. He moved close to her and offered her his hand out to her. She took it, after a moment of deliberation and shook his hand.

“Would you please tell me your name?” Eddie spoke softly, politely so as not to startle her. The weaker sex tended to shock easily, their hearts were so weak and their minds so fragile. One should be gentle with them when they needed it, and quick with discipline when they needed it. “I’m Eddie. Eddie Gluskin.” He added, as a quick offer of explanation on his behalf.

“Er, Waylon.” She replied, speaking in such a nervous tone. Eddie wanted nothing more than to hold her and tell her that everything would be okay. That he would be there to take care of her and love her in ways that she hadn’t been loved before.

Eddie grinned at her quick obedience. “Waylon, Waylon, Waylon…” He repeated a few times, enjoying the way that her name felt on the tip of his tongue. “That’s a lovely name.” He complimented in a genuine manner. “Waylon.” He said, one more time, just for good measure.

She let out a small scoff, “Um, thanks I guess?” Waylon replied in a tone that sounded a little confused, and he couldn’t help but smile at her with sympathy. She must not be used to being complimented so honestly, poor thing. Eddie would have to rectify that in the future, though he did quite like her shyness. It came off as sweet and demure, just how a woman as lovely as she was should be.

“Would you like to tell me what you’re looking for, Darling?” Eddie continued on, in that gentle tone of voice. He kept himself patient and calm for the time being, but he didn’t know how long he could keep it up.

Waylon pulled a confused expression. “Darling?” She muttered to herself and shook her head minutely. Eddie ignored that, pointedly. “Oh um, alright, well…” She replied, like she was so flustered that she had forgotten what she even came into his shop for. That was when Eddie knew that she must have felt it too. They were meant to be. She was meant to belong to him. “Yeah, I just needed something for a job interview. Something erm, professional and not too formal.” Waylon scratched the back of her neck and looked around the shop. “I don’t really- do you have anything like that?” She asked, tone hopeful.

Eddie nodded at her, “Yes, I think I can find you something.” He replied, “Just sit tight, Waylon… I’ll be back with something lovely for you to wear to that…” His lip curled a bit in distaste at the thought of her toiling away at some nine to five. “Interview.”

Waylon blinked a few times. “Lovely?” She muttered to herself, as if that was a strange thing to say. Eddie didn’t see why she would think like that, so he disregarded it with the rationalization that women were strange sometimes. Flirty, flighty creatures with no sense in their heads. It was best not to put too much weight in their fancies, he reminded himself. After a second the questioning air in her tone disappeared, proving to him that he was right, that she was just a flighty little thing.

“Okay.” She hummed back to him, unconsciously moving to get comfortable as she waited for him to get everything ready for her. “I’ve got some time, so I guess I can wait for a bit.” She added, speaking in a hesitant sort of way. He disregarded this as well. Of course she would wait. That’s what he told her to do, wasn’t it? And she was a good girl, he could see that. She would wait.

Nevertheless, he wasn’t gone from the shop for very long. They were fated to be together, he could see this, but one must not tempt fate. The walk back to his quarters was a short one, just up a flight of stairs and down a small hallway. It had been a long time, too long in his opinion, since he had last fallen in love, and he hadn’t needed his supplies in a while. But still, they were right here in his closet in a small box next to his shoes, waiting for him to come back to them like a long lost lover or, even better, an old friend. The thought of that made him feel incredibly warm and content inside.

Woman came and went, good girls could turn into filthy sluts with a bat of his eye – but this length of rope, these thick leather gloves, this bottle of chloroform and this rag would always be there to care for him. No matter what. They would always be there for him. He sighed and decided to get to work.

He dabbed a bit of chloroform onto the length of cotton. It would be useful to get her calm and ready for the reception. When he walked back into the main shop, his darling wasn’t paying attention to anything, her head was stuck in the clouds. She was sitting on the chair where he’d left her, with headphones in her ears, listening to music or some kind of podcast.

He walked behind her. She didn’t notice him moving closer to her and he smiled with pleasure at that. He couldn’t help but think about what a sweet, naive little thing she was. She needed a good man to protect her and take care of her. Eddie would be that man for her, he would keep her safe throughout the rest of their days.

Waylon didn’t notice him walking up to her until he had forced her to her feet and pressed the cloth tight to her face. She struggled a little bit, squirmed and lashed her arms and legs out at him, but there was no use. In a matter of moments, she was slumped over in his arms.

Eddie pet down at her hair, “It’s alright, my love…” He purred to her, before hoisting her up over his shoulder with ease. She was light as a sack of potatoes to him and she didn’t squirm a bit. That was good, he’d need to prepare her for the wedding and he didn’t need her acting out or getting uppity with him. “You won’t need to worry about a thing ever again, I’ll take care of you from now on… forever”

The first thing that Eddie decided to do with his darling, once he had her safe in his arms, was take her for a bath. She had let herself go a bit, there was scruffy hair all over her legs and arms – there was even a bit of scruff on her chin and jaw! That was just shameful. She needed to be shaved and moisturized as soon as possible. He stripped her out of her clothes, with little care or practice to it.

The rags that she was wearing would have to be done away with, he wouldn’t stand to see his woman looking so badly cared for. His heart clenched with sympathy, he was sure that she must have been abused at home. He shook his head at the thought. Well, no matter, she would make sure to take care of herself from here on out. He would help her grow and blossom into a beautiful young woman.

He sat her down a comfortable chair as he prepared a bath for her. It didn’t take him long to get it ready and soon he was lowering her into the warm water and pampering her with soaps and shaving creams and his gentle touch. At some point, in the middle of washing her body, Waylon began to stir. She made a few moaning sounds, whining soft and tight in her throat. Eddie just shushed her gently, petting at her hair in a soothing manner. “It’s okay, Darling.” He cooed, “I’m here to take care of you, don’t worry about a thing. Just relax. Just relax…” He added, speaking as gentle and calmly as one would with a very small child on the verge of a tantrum. She slurred a little bit, but ultimately she quieted down.

This happened more than once. He would start washing her hair and she would stir, then he’d have to start shushing her and soothing her that everything was okay again. She nearly became entirely awake and cognizant when he shaved her, thank god she didn’t.

By the time that he was done, she looked like a whole new woman. Her hair looked fluffy and soft, though it was till far too short for his tastes. Her skin was smooth and she was hairless from the chin down. And she smelled delightful! Like roses, honey and lilac. He buried his nose in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent before he finally pulled her out of the bathtub.

He patted her body down with a soft, fluffy towel until she was dry and then he pulled a delicate slip, made of satin in a soft pink color, onto her. When it was on, it barely went down to her mid-thigh. The sight of it was almost provocative. Eddie couldn’t help but think that she was doing this to him on purpose. What a naughty little minx, he thought as he picked her up and carried her into the small room that she would be living in until he was sure that he had made a good, honest woman out of her.

There wasn’t much to speak of in the room, just a small bed with chains attached to the head board and foot board, but that was kind of the point. Eddie had no problem with being kind, generous and magnanimous towards his little wife – but she would have to earn it first. Until she had proven herself as the good wife that he knew she would be, she would have to go without pretty things and luxury.

A woman needed both kindness and gentility, as well as a firm hand willing to punish whenever they needed it. Even a sweet, fragile and perfect girl like his Darling needed to be kept in her place, or she would start acting unruly and spoiled. The last thing that he wanted was for her to become some selfish, rotten whore – he didn’t want her to start acting like the rest of them.

Eddie chained each of her wrists to the headboard, and then each of her ankles. She was chained in such a way that she would be forced to lay on her back, with her arms above her head and her legs straight. She wouldn’t always be tied up like this, but he knew that she would be surprised when she woke up – chaining her up was for her own good.

Once he fastened all of her chains, all that was left to do was admire his work. Admire her. Eddie smiled, his fingers sliding down the silk smooth line of her cheek and her jaw. She looked so beautiful, especially restrained like this. His hands wandered down her shoulders and over her chest, smoothing and squeezing adoringly at her hips and thighs.

It took a lot of mental and spiritual energy to stop himself from unchaining her and having at her right then and there. No, they needed to have the wedding first. It wouldn’t be fair of him, not to make an honest woman out of her first. She wasn’t like the rest of those whores, she was a good woman. She deserved to be his wife.

Eddie covered her up with a small, thin blanket – so that she wouldn’t be too cool down here. He dared to kiss her one more time, just a slight peck to her temple – it was a nearly familial gesture, tender and soft. Then he got up and walked back down the stairs to his shop. He would be back in a few hours, he knew that his darling would be bound to wake sooner or later. And then they could have the wedding underway. She would look so beautiful in her dress. They would be so beautiful together.

The next time that Waylon woke up, he was laying on a small bed that he immediately assumed was his – because, really, who elses bed would it be? He wasn’t exactly the type to run off and sleep with strangers. His back ached and his neck was incredibly stiff. When he tried to move, get up off the bed and stretch his limbs out, he realized that he couldn’t move his legs or his arms. Waylon tried not to panic. He took a deep breath, though it was much more shaky than he would have liked it to be and then tried to look around the space that he was in. Then Waylon heard singing, from a masculine voice that was so loud and bombastic that it carried from outside the room. “When I was a boy, my mother often said to me… get married, boy and see…how happy you will be! I have looked all over, but no girlie can I find… who seems to be just like the girl I have in mind…” With every word that he spoke, the singing got louder and louder, until Waylon could swear he was right outside the room.

Then the door burst open and a large, broad and well kept looking man walked through the threshold. Waylon’s chains began to clatter and clank as he squirmed, trying to run even with the restraints as tight and oppressive as they were. His captor didn’t notice his discomfort and fear, thankfully. He just smiled down at Waylon in a way that came across as both predatory and gentle at the same time. “Ah… Darling, you’re finally awake.” The man said, speaking in a pleased tone of voice.

“You’re the guy from the…” Waylon trailed off as he started to remember everything. It took a few moments for Waylon to put everything together. He immediately started to panic, terror seizing up his all of his faculties and pushing him into overdrive. Gluskin’s Tailor shop. The tailor who kept smiling at him and flirting, even though it was clear that Waylon was not interested. Waylon couldn’t stop himself from babbling in his anxiousness, “The tailor shop. Oh my god, you kidnapped me you sick fuck-” He was forced to stop speaking when Eddie slapped him hard across the face.

He cried out in pain, but didn’t say another word. He felt fear, deep in his bones. Whatever this situation was, that he had landed himself in, he needed to be careful and watch himself. “Ah, tut-tut.” Eddie snapped at him, putting a finger to his lips. “Watch your language, my dear Waylon. A woman that is as beautiful as you are shouldn’t say such filthy words.” His tone teetered between gentle and mocking, loving and condescending. “It’s vulgar.” He added, lip curled in distaste.

“Woman?” Waylon parroted back with confusion heavy in his tone. He wasn’t a woman, that was obvious, nor was he a particularly feminine man. He supposed that he was a bit thin and a little shorter than he should have been, but that didn’t make him a woman. Just the thought of it was ridiculous. Still, he didn’t say anything more than just that one word.

He had no idea what was specifically wrong with this mad man that had kidnapped him, or what would set him off and he didn’t want to put himself in a situation that was even more vulnerable than the one that he was already in. Instead of panicking, like his instincts kept on raging at him to, he took a deep breath and tried to collect himself. He needed to play this cool. Play it cool. “Right,” He said, trying not to sound as bitter and frightened as he felt. He wasn’t that successful at it. “So, w-what am I doing here then, Eddie?” He asked, making his tone as gentle and coquettish as he could.

“You don’t remember?” Eddie pressed. Waylon shook his head minutely, but didn’t say a word as fear started to paralyze him. “You don’t remember my proposal? The wedding that we’ve been planning for months? Oh, darling, I’m hurt!” He grabbed Waylons hands and squeezed them momentarily before he started to explain the situation. Eddie believed them to be fated together, they would be wed because he thought that Waylon was the perfect girl for him.

“Oh.” This was worse than he thought. What was this man going to do, once they married? Mutilate him? Abuse him? Molest him? The odds weren’t in his favor, no matter what the case was. “Could you unchain me?” He asked, his tone nearly child-like with hopefulness that his captor would fall for the saccharine sweet way that he spoke to him. “I want to marry you as soon as possible. You should… you should make an honest woman out of me.” He added hopefully.

Eddie smiled at that, pleased as punch that Waylon was being so acquiescent to his whims. Once he was unlocked and free, Waylon took his chance at escape immediately. He kicked at Eddie’s shins, momentarily winding the larger man – who had not expected Waylon to do much but smile and sit there, looking pretty while Eddie prepped him for their, “union”.

Then he ran as quickly as possible out of the small room. He sprinted down a hallway, trying to burst through door after door – half of which were locked. He had no idea where he was going, he was running blind around the space that he was in. “Darling!” He heard Eddie scream in warning, “Get back here right now! You’ll only make things worse for yourself!” And maybe that was true, but Waylon wouldn’t let himself care.

Waylon screamed in panic and ran for the door. His only thought was that he had to get out of here as soon as possible. He didn’t get very far before Eddie caught up with him. Eddie grabbed Waylon by the waist, pulling him back from the threshold. He threw Waylon over his shoulder with a frightening ease. It occurred to him now, just how large his captor was. He could snap him in two – like he was nothing.

Eddie carried him back into the room, fuming with rage. He shut the door and dropped Waylon, who couldn’t move he was so scared. The next thing that he knew, he was being picked up and lain down on his stomach over Eddie’s knees. He had no idea why, until he felt Eddie striking his ass with his bare hand. Waylon screwed his eyes shut, tears bursting out of him from the humiliation and pain of being spanked over his captor’s knee like a child. Eddie’s hands were large and rough and he hit Waylon hard. “I’ve.” Slap! “Tried” Slap! “To be…” Slap! Slap! “Gentle.” Slap! “With you, Darling.” Eddie sneered down at him. “But, no…” Slap! Slap! “You just had to be-” Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! “Difficult!”

Waylon took the punishment passively, just waiting for it to be over. He tried his best to ignore how his heart seized up, beating so rapidly and so harshly that it was like it was a hummingbird trapped in his rib cage. When Eddie stopped spanking him he, foolishly, thought that that meant the punishment waso over. It wasn’t. The next thing that Waylon knew, he was being dropped down on the ground again. The impact hurt a bit, but nothing more than what he had already endured. Nevertheless, he let out a whine and curled up in on himself, trying to protect himself from even more damage.

It was done in vain. “I thought that you were a good girl-” He seethed with disgust for his ‘Darling’. She needed to be punished more, he decided, he needed to do something that would make sure that she understood how things could work here, if she wasn’t well behaved. “But you’re not.”

Waylon thrashed and cried out from the pain of being thrown down onto the floor. He crawled away, pathetically. “I am! I’m a good girl! I am, I promise!” He pleaded, not caring about how ridiculous he sounded or how humiliating and debasing it felt to acquiesce to each and every one of this psychopaths delusions about him. He just wanted to not be hurt anymore.

It didn’t go the way that he had hoped it would. He was disappointed and terrified, but not completely surprised. “No, no, no!” Eddie screamed, “You aren’t.” His tone turned cruel and venomous, “I know what you are…” He said cruelly, “You are a whore. You’re no better than the rest of them.” He spit the words out like they were acid on his tongue, “I know how to deal with shameful sluts such as you, my dear Waylon.” Every word that he spoke got angrier and angrier, until it was like he was hissing at Waylon – spitting venom in his face. It was terrifying.

Waylon started to back up in terror. He knew where this was going to go, though he hated it. “No, no please.” He begged, his voice barely louder than an impertinent squeak. “Please don’t do this! I know there must be good in you, somewhere! You don’t have to do this. Please… please…” Then he started to cry, ugly heaving sobs that broke up his voice and tore at his throat.

Any other man, any other person, would have felt sympathy for him. Any other man would have stopped what he was doing, but not Eddie. He didn’t care for Waylon’s tears. He didn’t care for the way he kept trying to get out of his punishment. He didn’t care. Period. Waylon had no idea that what he was doing was only making things worse for himself. How could he know?

Eddie looked at him with distaste and disgust as he forced Waylon down onto his hands and knees, lifting the slip up until it was halfway up his back, “This is for your own good, darling. I want to be kind to you! It’s all I want!” His voice lowered down from the scream to a hiss, so low in volume that Waylon had to strain to hear what he was saying. “But if you insist on acting like a worthless whore, then fine! I’ll treat you like one.”

Waylon didn’t bother with begging or screaming anymore. Maybe it was because he was already feeling hopeless, maybe it was because he was just tired out, maybe it was because he was too scared to act out anymore, he didn’t really know which one it was. No matter what it was, he lay there passively as Eddie pushed down in between his shoulder blades, forcing his face down in the carpet and his ass high in the air. Distantly, he thought that he probably looked like a mare built for fucking right then.

Waylon squeezed his eyes shut as Eddie’s fingers groped at his cheeks. Pulling, squeezing and prodding at the supple flesh in a way that could be barely counted a pleasurable. There was no doubt in Waylon’s mind that he would be left with bruising all over his flank and carpet burn over his knees by the time that Eddie was done with him.

The next thing he felt was a blunt intrusion – fingers, two of them he hoped. Waylon took a breath, forced himself to relax as Eddie briskly stretched him open. He was thankful, secretly, that he bothered with at least a little bit of prep before he took him. Eddie didn’t waste anymore time than he needed to, he just stretched him enough – barely – so he didn’t tear.

Then he felt something larger, nudging against his hole. Eddie didn’t bother pushing into him slowly, all his patience had run thin by this point. Waylon dug his fingers into the carpet as he was pulled flush against Eddie, while the larger man fucked him like he was an animal. His mouth opened up, trying for a scream, but nothing came out. His throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls.

He closed his eyes and let himself be lulled into something nearing peacefulness as he focused on the thump thump thump of his head rutting against the carpet over and over again with each thrust. Then with little warning to it, Eddie pulled out of him abruptly and flipped him over, forcing him to kneel in front of the larger and more intimidating man. Waylon cried out as his jaw was forced open and Eddie jammed his cock halfway down his throat.

Eddie was a large man, he was tall and imposing. Waylon supposed that it made sense that his dick was just as formidable as the rest of him. His mouth was full with Eddie. It burned his throat. His jaw ached and tensed, nearly spasming from sheer the girth of it. He could barely breath through his nose, the effort he concentrated to breathe through his nose made his nostrils burn. Eddie’s rough fingers buried in his hair, controlling the positioning of his head and forcing Waylon to take him in even deeper.

Waylon tried to keep up with the motions, but it wasn’t long until drool was dripping down his chin and his eyes were rolling in the back of his head. He kept fucking his throat like that for a while, and it wasn’t until Waylon was weak and dizzy – until his vision was spotting and he was on the verge of unconsciousness – that Eddie pulled off of him.

By that point, the feeling of being able to breathe deeply was almost foreign to him. His breath came out in short, puffy gasps. He hoped that it was over, all he wanted was for it to be over. He felt sick and uneasy. Eddie grabbed him by the hair again and positioned his cock right in front of Waylon’s face as he came. By the time that he was finally let go and there was no more tugging pressure on his scalp, he was out of tears – he had no more voice to cry out and scream. He was just blank and passive to whatever abuses that his captor might decide to inflict on him after this.

Eddie just smiled at him, his expression damn near passive. The change in his mood was so sudden that it nearly gave Waylon whiplash. “Have you learned your lesson now, darling?” He asked, leaning in close. His tone was saccharine sweet. It made Waylon feel a little sick, but he was learning how things worked with his captor.

Waylon turned to Eddie and smiled at his captor, through his tears, “Yes, I learned my lesson.” He said, trying to be as submissive as possible. Eddie didn’t look entirely convinced, but he didn’t strike Waylon or start screaming at him – so that had to be a good sign. Or, at least, it couldn’t be a bad one.

“I’m happy to hear that, Darling, I hate to see you cry.” Eddie said, not sounding like he was very broken up about hurting him. He pulled Waylon into his arms and started to absentmindedly pet his hair and caress his naked body. “And you’re sorry?” Eddie pressed on, further. For a moment Waylon just looked at him.

He nearly asked what he had to be sorry for, but he knew better than to act on that impulse. “…Yes, I-” Waylon sighed, swallowed down a bit of the bile that threatened to spill out of his mouth. “I’m sorry, Eddie. I’ll…” He couldn’t look the man in the eye as he spoke, he hoped that that didn’t warrant him anymore punishment. Eddie grabbed his jaw and forced it upwards, forcing Waylon to look Eddie in the eye as he spoke. He didn’t say a word, not an order or an insult, but Waylon got the message. He forced himself to keep looking at his captor. “I’m s-so sorry, Eddie, I’ll do better. I promise.”

I’ll do anything, everything that you want! Just… please stop hurting me.

Eddie looked at Waylon, pleased as punch. “I’m happy to hear that.” He crooned, “You’re a sweet girl, Waylon. Did you know that?” He didn’t wait for Waylon’s response, “I don’t want to have to punish you, don’t make me.” He added, his tone suddenly icy in warning. “Now be a good girl and tell me that you love me.”

Waylon’s expression screwed up at that. “What?” Was all he managed to say, before Eddie’s grip was on his throat, tightening around his neck until he could barely breath. “I love you!” He managed to say, before he lost his voice. It took nearly all of his mental strength not to start cursing at the man.

Eddie smiled again, his mood gentle and loving again. He stroked Waylon’s cheek, a cruel facsimile of what a lover would do, “I love you too, Darling. I love you more than anything in this world.” Then he kissed Waylon, just a soft, barely noticeable brush of their lips.

Waylon didn’t respond to the affection, just took it passively – eyes wide open and lips slightly parted, his affect was not unlike a dead fish and he was just as cold. Eddie didn’t mind though, he had gotten more than enough reaction out of Waylon that day. “I suppose you’re more than due for some rest. Women tire out so easily, it’s a wonder they can manage the heavy burdens that they carry.” Waylon had no idea what he meant by ‘heavy burdens’ but he thought it best not to ask. “Tomorrow, I’ll make an honest woman out of you.” He promised. “You’ll look so beautiful, when I finally walk you down the aisle. I’ve got a dress all made out for you… not the one I wanted, but it would be unfair to delay the reception. I suppose that we all make do. don’t we?” He chuckled and shook his head, like he was not speaking to Waylon at all, “Yes, we all make do…”

Eddie finally let him be then, humiliated and in pain. Waylon crumbled into a heap on the floor, the dress that he was in ruined and with sweat and cum all over his face face and chest. He held his face in his hands as his sobs racked his chest. Once he started crying, he couldn’t get himself to stop, it was like a dam had broken behind his eyes, letting free all the tears that he had been holding in in the short time since this nightmare had began. And he had a sickening feeling, deep in his gut that made his stomach feel heavy and pained, that the nightmare was just beginning for him.

[eleventoes]

as i told you | drabble

pairing: jungkook x reader | fluff (do i even write for any other genre at this point) word count: 1.5k warning(s): none synopsis: You and Jungkook are still idiots, except now you’re idiots in love. 

( a look into what happens after as i told you ) ***

The truth of the matter was this: the thought of strangling Jeon Jungkook with your bare hands still crosses your mind more than it should, and that’s not what a healthy, loving relationship looks like, at least not according to Wikihow.

The cheerleaders badger you all the time in the locker room after practice, bombarding you with questions about what the two of you get up to in the apartment (“Sooyoung, you can stop wriggling your eyebrows now,” you’d scowl.) and Taehyung isn’t any better, because he thinks the two of you have cute romantic dates at home, and he gets all dreamy when he talks about it.

Yes, okay, sometimes the two of you can be pretty darn cute, even if you say so yourself. Jungkook likes spoiling you every other week, so he trudges to that famous bakery on the far side of town just to get you those donuts you adore, even when he’s worn out from late night practices. And you hate seeing him tired every time practice gets a little too rough as well, so somehow weekly Sunday morning massages became a thing, even if it evolves into a mini-wrestling match more often than not.

But people around you seem to forget that the two of you share almost everything: an apartment, a bed, a toothbrush (when Jungkook accidentally flushed his down the toilet) and a relentless competitive streak.

“Is that my hoodie?” he squints one morning as he emerges from the bathroom, hair still damp from the shower and eyes still bleary with sleep.

You nod from where you’re perched on the kitchen stool, too preoccupied with the latest webtoon update to spare him more than one appreciative glance. It’s not your fault his clothes are so goddamn comfortable, plus they always smell like that body spray he’s obsessed with, and it makes you feel all homely and tingly inside.

Without looking, you can tell he’s squinting again, and he hovers a little before speaking, “I’m not saying it’s not cute, because it’s cute seeing you waddle around—”

“I don’t waddle,” you throw him your best faux glare.

“But it’s the fourth time this week,” Jungkook cries, a little too dramatically in your very objective opinion, “I’m literally running out of clean clothes to wear.”

“You don’t seem to have an issue wearing dirty ones,” you retort, not because you’re still being petty about him never doing laundry (okay so maybe that’s half the reason), but because it’s true, Jungkook recycles dirty clothes more than he actually recycles.

You should have known something’s up the moment Jungkook narrows his eyes at your smartass remark, because the next morning, you almost drop the milk seeing Jungkook wearing one of your looser t-shirts.

“What the fuck,” numbly, you choke out, because the shirt’s tearing at its seams, and is figure-hugging in a way it was never supposed to be.

Jungkook, that smug asshole whom you love and cherish, only smiles devilishly before slinging on his sports bag and announcing that he’s leaving for practice, leaving you stunned (and a blushing mess, but we don’t talk about that) in the kitchen.

You do end up dropping the milk.

But what ensues is this: the two of you have once again embroiled yourselves in another unspoken challenge. The goal? To wear as many of the other’s clothes until one admits defeat. The prize? Bragging rights, because the two of you are wired that way. Purpose of challenge? None, as usual.

For a week or two, the two of you were practically stars on the campus forums; there’s a whole thread filled with ridiculous pictures of the two of you wearing each other’s clothes. Jungkook showed up to lab wearing your baby pink coat (and almost ripping it), you show up at an art elective class donning his favourite Iron Man tee (the stains were thankfully non-permanent), and you’re pretty sure he was going to wear your cheerleading skirt as an arm band or something, but you’ve been guarding your uniform with your life to avoid that ever happening. Highlight of the entire challenge was when Jungkook wore one of your long flowy tulle skirts to class, because he’s a badass like that, and gave a whole speech about the toxicity of gender normativity when sneered at by one of the TAs.

Yeah, you were proud, but on the brink of tears when he confessed that he spilt coffee on it right after the speech.

The challenge quickly draws to a close when your closets are all mixed up and laundry gets confusing. It got so messed up that you thought you were looking at Jungkook’s wardrobe when you opened your own, and it ends up being a tie, because now the two of you were unknowingly sharing closets.

Not the goal of the challenge (if there ever was one), but then the two of you get all giddy and excited over shopping for a new wardrobe (so that you both can officially share the same closet, duh), and now there’s only one wardrobe between the both of you.

So yes, the both of you were pretty darn cute.

Until Christmas rolls around and Jungkook gets a polaroid camera from his brother, which shouldn’t sound like it’s anything significant at all, up till you walk into his bedroom unannounced one day and stumble upon him and a handful of photos. All of you.

“I swear it’s not creepy,” leaping out of his chair, Jungkook gets to his feet and holds up both hands defensively.

You don’t tell him that him being creepy hasn’t even crossed your mind, because really, you’re just embarrassed and ridiculously flustered by how soft he looked when he was arranging the photos, so you just nod speechlessly.

“I was just trying out the camera, and you fell asleep on me, and I thought you looked,” he looks down and whispers, sounding almost like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, “Cute.”

“After that it was just fun to play around with the angles and the lighting, and you’re a pretty good subject,” he continues, albeit a little more bashful that you’ve ever seen him, “I thought I could compile it all into an anniversary gift once I’m done.”

The first outcome is this: two really flustered people and a pretty intense make-out session. The second is as follows: you wanting to capture Jungkook and his beauty the same way he captures yours, you getting a polaroid camera of your own, and then the two of you obsessively taking pictures of each other.

Jungkook slumped upside-down on the couch gaming on his phone? Click.

You and your bedhead looking exceptionally murderous one fine morning? Click.

Jungkook almost exploding something in the microwave? Click.

Your friends have all caught onto this new challenge; some roll their eyes, some scoff affectionately, others scream and claim the both of you as their OTP.

Others, like Kim Namjoon, with a fondly exasperated look on his face, suggest that the both of you stop wasting expensive film like its nothing, and maybe start taking photos together instead. That seems to make perfect sense, and both you and Jungkook cannot wrap your minds around how neither of you have actually thought about the most obvious thing in the world.

(“That’s easy,” Namjoon replies, looking as if he’s nursing the beginnings of a migraine with how he’s pinching the bridge of his nose, “It’s because both of you are hard-headed idiots. And you are perfect for each other.”)

So the two of you get all giddy and excited once again at the home depot store next to campus, picking out a nice corkboard and some nice scrapbooking supplies for the kitchen.

The challenge didn’t have any winners (again), largely because the both of you forgot that it was a competition to begin with, and are now too busy filling the corkboard with cute couple polaroids that anyone would be jealous of (“We would out-couple every couple out there,” smirked Jungkook when he’d put the board up. You’d agreed.).

There’s this one the both of you took at the beach, and the smiles on your faces are wide, and there’s one where the both of you were trying to babysit Taehyung’s puppy and ended up taking a million selfies with the poor dog smushed between your faces. And there’s your favourite: a blurry photo of the both of you attempting a selfie with the camera for the first time, except none of you had figured out how it worked just yet and it ended up being a blurry photo of Jungkook mid-blink and you squinting.

And yeah, maybe the two of you weren’t that couple who’d take each other out to romantic candlelit dinners, and weren’t the type to call each other adorably affectionate pet names, and maybe the two of you get too competitive with each other sometimes.

But the both of you were still pretty darn cute, even if you do say so yourself.

a/n:

yay to uploading after forever; i just can’t seem to let this au go! special shoutout to @fan-ati--c for requesting this, i rly hope you liked it :3